|Reading these suicide pages you will find people seeking help and people offering their help. Some witness about suicide from real life experience, others who play along with me would pretend it's a children's game. Some make sick and cruel jokes about it, and angry people blame me for even mentioning the subject. You might also want to read my favourite answers. If you want your answer to be included here, fill in the form.|
What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13?
Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
|03 Mar 2003||Felicia||How To Give Water To A Dead Horse
Number one the horse is dead; so you flip him over with mouth open face forward towards the boat, positioned belly up. Then you tie a few ropes, loop the rope to a pulley, and rev your engine to sail using Lucy Cortinas 40 DD bra. The water will surely go into the dead horse. Though you try to make sense of the whole thing, youve accomplished your goal. Never think that anything is impossible, because impossible is but a word. But never kill yourself for the sake of having to end a miserable life, because you never know whats on the other side it could be your Mother-in-law or someone you really cant stand.
End of story.
|21 Feb 2003||Lucy Cortina||*OO-ER*, I suspect a little too much of the old Smirnoff Ice may have passed your lips Michael.
I am only an inoccent gal floating in the corner of the room with delicate satin to spare my blushes.
We come in peace!
|21 Feb 2003||nomeD cilegnA||~Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has been lodged within my heart. As long as it stays put i am ironic... if it is pulled out i shall die. ~Soren|
|20 Feb 2003||Lucy Cortina||Yes Michael, Solaris has been spotted, sandwiched in between my baps. Leave the poor mite be, he's safe and warm, with milk on tap if he needs it.|
|19 Feb 2003||Lucy Cortina||Things get weirder in my life. And in life in general.
After sucking on too many yellow lollies, my lips got stuck together and I ended up with a "trout pout". So as you can imagine I look like a fish. Or a mermaid. A mermaid with 2 inflated dinghies on top of her.
So here I am, floating along in the ocean of life, waiting for a big steamer full of sailor boys to pick me up.
Shit! I just forgot about the WAR. I remember seeing signs saying "Don't Attack Iraq!" this morning when I went to buy my newspaper + condoms.
I could be killed by some huge navy vessel!!! So I need another type of 'vessel' to save me...
"BILLY!!! GET YOUR COCK HERE THIS INSTANT!!!!"
|18 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||...back where the dogs bark/where still-life bleeds the concrete white/try not to go too far inside/your mind//back where the cars collide/where the lame star limps an endless mile/you can only go so far/for Womankind//if you were the one... would i even notice now that my mind has gone/if you were the one... would i even notice? back where the past is parked/where the canine in the A-line stole your time/have i gone too far inside/my mind?
~Bernard Butler+Brett Anderson
Has anyone out here seen Solaris??????
|15 Feb 2003||Lucy Cortina||Boob update: expansion of the fittest. Swelling phenomenal. I'm becoming one of those black African women that you see on these TV adverts that say "Please donate £1/month for some starving baby you have never and will never meet". You know, the ones with well droopy titties. I would give just £1 a month to those poor people so that the lady-folk could buy a bra between them. Anything to stop this horror on my TV screen!
Which is why I'm urging the lovely suicidal community of mouchette.org to donate me £1 a month so that I can purchase a stronger bra (I already used all the shopping bags, bin liners (not Bin Laden!), bed sheets and sellotape trying to keep my knockers under containment. They all broke).
So, that's £1 a month, and 2 bottles of lip gloss and 10 packs of self-heating face masks a month, please! And any other donations are welcome (even sperm if you so wish. I will have your babies for you, so long as it pays!)
I await your generosity in the name of breastexplosionity.
|12 Feb 2003||Kim Mackellar||Don't come to me_it's difficult for me to talk with you_i cannot Love you_and it's not within me to give_that breath of Truth_Don't come to me The years have closed tight shut_in the abyss of terrible distances_the flamelets of desire have died_you have become a memory deceived_you are somewhere near_the years have closed tight shut Don't come to me_i shall not return to that crystal world_you are the distant echo of a song_you were for Us but became_that which one loses without finding_Don't come to me [unknown mental patient]|
|10 Feb 2003||Michael Cygne||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. !! It is said that 2 English noblewomen were once riding along a road when they met a man whose horse had run away with him and who, being in danger of falling off, shouted out for help. One of the Englishwomen turned upon the other and said, "A hundred guineas he bails." "Taken," said the other. With that they spurred their horses to a gallop and hurried on ahead to open the tollgates and to prevent anything from getting in the way of the runaway horse. In the same way, though without that heroinic and billionaire-like spleen, our own reflective and sensible age is like a curious, critical and worldly-wise person, who, at the most, has vitality enough to lay a wager. ~Soren|
|10 Feb 2003||Lucy Cortina||Sorry I've been away. My boobs have expanded cos I had an allergic reaction to some soft mints. I'm red raw and like a fuckin hippo with tits. Still, I managed to play more pranks in the seaside town with my friend, who did a poop in a bag and then posted it through the letterbox, so the postman will get a poopy surprise! Poop Post, Royal Mail.
I love that t.A.T.u lesbian love song. The nurse at my unit who is a lezbo rubbed my back down with cream cos of my rash the other day, which was sickening.
Hmm I'm just telling you about my real life now, which is rather boring compared to the schizophrenic one :)
|10 Feb 2003||Ichabod Doldrumsky||Eclipse 3 [ADROIT IDIOT] ...i will take Legos and slam them into my body. Very, very repeatedly. Very, very... ineffectually. So it may make just as much sense as what most americans do with the day. i will draw up a conventional plan. i will wall up myself every day, say 2 Legos, for instance. Then i will set fire to everything. It will burn for a time. It will burn for 13 minutes. Only the Legos will remain, all melted together and ebonized... And so i shall remain. So i shall survive... or at least as an imitation on the order of actual-survival. ~Sorry i left CA so prematurely. i really needed to finish up 'The Limits of Vision'. Honestly, i also really needed to talk with you... yet, sensing myself as having nothing worth saying, and lacking the strength to go through with proving it... left no room for the Splendor which still feels so inclined to await.|
|08 Feb 2003||nosaM legnA||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.5
A thinker erects an immense building, a system, a system which embraces the whole of existence and world history... and if we contemplate her personal life, we discover this terrible and ludicrous fact, that she herself personally does not live in this immense high-vaulted palace, but in a barn alongside of it, or in a toolshed... or at the most in the porter's lodge. If one were to take the liberty of calling her attention to this by a single word, she would be offended. For she has no fear of being under a delusion, if only she can get the system completed... by means of the delusion. ~Nicolaus Notabean
|06 Feb 2003||Anton Anomalovich||INVISIBLE INK. there comes a time when you swim or sink so i jumped in the drink because i could not make myself clear... maybe i wrote in invisible ink i've tried to think how i could have made it appear... but another illustration is wasted since the results are the same... i feel like a ghost who's trying to move your hands over some ouija board in the hopes i can spell out my name... what some take for magic at first glance is just sleight of hand depending on what you believe... something gets lost when you translate it's hard to keep straight perspective is everything... and i know now which is which and what angle i ought to look at it from... i suppose i should be happy to be misread... better be that than some of these other things i have become... and aside from that this chain of reaction is losing a link... though i'd hope you'd know what i tried to tell you... and if you don't i could draw you a picture with invisible ink. ~Aimee|
|06 Feb 2003||Anti Climaxicus||If conscience is deceived, does it finally take its toll? It is like the woman who offered to sell to Tarquin a collection of Divine Psychology books and when he would not give the sum demanded she burned one-third of them and demanded the same sum, and when again he declined the sum demanded she burned another third of them and demanded the same sum, until finally he gave the original sum for the final third... ~Judge William|
|05 Feb 2003||Jean-Paul Mackellar||DAS BOSHAFT HUND. If i tried to imagine the public as a particular person... i should perhaps think of one of the Roman emperors, a large well-fed figure, suffering from boredom, looking only for the sensual intoxication of laughter, since the Divine gift of wit is not earthly enough. And so for a change he wanders about, indolent rather than bad, but with a negative desire to dominate. Everyone who has read the classical authors knows how many things a Caesar would try out in order to kill time. (Those who perceive time as something to be killed, condemn themselves to die bit by bit.) In the same way the public keeps a dog to amuse itself. That dog is the sum of the literary world. If there is someone superior to the rest, perhaps even a great man, the dog is set loose upon him and then the fun begins. The dog goes for him, snapping and tearing at his Doc Martens, allowing itself every conceivable ill-mannered familiarity... until the public tires, and says it may as well stop. That is an example of how the public levels. Their betters and superiors in strength are mishandled and the dog remains a dog which even the public despises. The leveling is therefore done by a third party; a non-existent public leveling with the help of a third party which in its insignificance is less than nothing, being already more than levelled... The public is unrepentant, for it is not they who own the dog, they only subscribe. They neither set the dog on anyone, nor whistle it off-directly. If asked they would answer: the dog is not ours, it has no master. And if the dog had to be put down they would say: it was really a good thing that bad-tempered god was put down, everyone wanted it bumped-off... even the subscribers. ~Soren|
|04 Feb 2003||Newland Mackellar||ENNUI. The gods were bored, and so they created man. Adam was bored because he was so Alone, and so Eve was created. From that moment on boredom entered into the world, and increased in proportion to the increase of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam+Eve were bored together; then Adam+Eve+Cain+Abel were bored en famille; then the population of the world increased, and the peoples were bored en masse. To divert themselves they conceived the idea of constructing a Tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea is itself just as boring as the Tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom gained the upper hand. ~i desire no disciples; but if there happened to be someone present at my beloved Deathbed, and i was certain that the end had arrived, then i might in an attack of philanthropic delirium, whisper my theory in her ear... uncertain whether i had done her a service or not. ~Aybe|
|02 Feb 2003||Joel Podbereski||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 87 As the captive animal paces about its cage every day for the sake of movement or to measure the length of its chain, so i measure the length of my chain every day by turning to the thought of Death... for the sake of movement and in order to endure Living. ~Soren|
|01 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||DISTRESS. HELLOKELLY. DIE TUR IST ZU.
[You could live...]
"Of course. If we couldn't, we'd be classified as dead. That's the criterion which defines our hell: we can survive in ordinary society. Our deficiencies aren't overwhelming... and we can usually fake a lot of what's missing. Sometimes we can even convince ourselves that nothing's wrong. For a while."
[For a while? You have jobs, money, independence. What else does it take to function?]
[You mean sexual relationships?]
"Not necessarily. But they are the most difficult. And the most... illuminating. Everyone- or almost everyone -instinctively attempts to understand other human beings. To guess what they are thinking. To anticipate their actions. To... know them. People build symbolic models of other people in their brains, both to act as coherent representations, tying together all the info which can actually be observed-speech, gestures, past actions-and to help make informed guesses about the aspects which can't be known directly-motives, intentions, emotions. In most people, all of this happens with little or no conscious effort: there is an innate ability to model other people. It's refined by use in childhood, and total isolation would cripple it's development... in the same way as total Darkness would cripple the visual centers. Short of that sort of extreme abuse, though, upbring isn't a factor. Our hell can only be brought about by congenital brain damage, or later physical injuries to the brain. There are genetic risk factors which involve susceptibility to viral infections in utero-but hell itself is not a simple hereditary disease. The brain structure involved occupies a small region in the left frontal lobe. The specific details describing individual people are scattered throughout the brain-like all memories-but this structure is the one place where those deails are automatically integrated and interpreted. If it's damaged, other people's actions can still be perceived and remembered-but they lose their special significance.They don't generate the same kind of obvious implications; they don't make the same sort of immediate sense. The structure in question probably began to evolve toward its modern humanAngel form in the primates, though it had precursors in earlier mammals. It was first identified and studied-in chimpanzees-by a neuroscientist called LaGronder, in 2014. The corresponding human version was mapped a few years later. Maybe the first crucial role for LaGronder's area was to help make deception possible-to learn how to hide your own true motives, by understanding how others perceive you. If you know how to appear to be servile or cooperative-whatever's really on your mind-you have a better chance of stealing food, or a quick fuck with someone else's partner. But then... natural selection would have upped the ante, and favored those who could see through the ruse. Once lying had been invented, there was no turning back. Development would have snowballed."
[So the fully-infernalized can't lie, or judge someone else to be lying. But the partially-infernalized...?]
"Some can, some can't. It depends on the specific damage. We're not all identical."
[Okay. But what about relationships?]
"Modeling other people successfully can aid cooperation, as well as deception. Empathy can act to improve social cohesion at every level. But as early humans evolved a greater degree of monogamy-at least, compared to their immediate ancestors-the whole cluster of mental processes involved in pair-bonding would have become entangled. Empathy for your breeding partner attained a special status: their life could be, in some circumstances, as crucial to the passing on of your genes as your own. Of course, most animals will instinctively protect their young, or their mates, at a cost to themselves; altruism is an ancient behavioral strategy. But how could 'instinctive-altruism' be made compatible with human self-awareness? Once there was a burgeoning ego, a growing sense of self in the foreground of every action, how was it prevented from overshadowing everything else?...
The answer is, evolution invented intimacy. Intimacy makes it possible to attach some, or all, of the compelling qualities associated with the ego-the model of the self-to models of other people. And not just possible- pleasurable. A pleasure reinforced by sex, but not restricted to the act, like orgasm. And not even restricted to sexual partners, in humans. Intimacy is just the belief-rewarded by the brain-that you 'know' the people you 'love' in almost the same fashion as you know yourself."
[And even partial-infernalization makes that impossible? Because you can't model anyone well enough to really know them at all?]
"Again, we're not all identical. Sometimes the modeling is accurate enough-as accurate as anything's-but it's not rewarded: the parts of LaGronder's area which make most people feel good about intimacy, and actively seek it out, are missing. Those people are considered cold, aloof. And sometimes the reverse is true: people are driven to seek intimacy, but their modeling is so poor that they can never hope to find it. They might lack the social skills to form lasting sexual relationships-or even if they're intelligent and resourceful enough to circumvent the social ineptness, the brain itself might judge the model to be faulty, and refuse to reward it. So the drive is never satisfied-because it's physically impossible for it to be satisfied."
[Sexual relationships are difficult for everyone. It has been suggested that you've merely invented a neurological syndrome which allows you to abdicate responsibility for problems which everyone faces, as a matter of course.]
"And we should just pull ourselves together, and try harder?"
[Either that or have brain-grafts to correct the damage.]
"Yes. Up to and including the complete excision of LaGronder's area."
"Again, that's a complicated question. Everyone has a different reason. For a start, i'd say that as a matter of principle, we should have the widest possible range of choices. Like transsexuals."
[The endpoint of either operation on transsexuals is a healthy woman or man. That's hardly the same as becoming...]
"But we do suffer a mismatch, just like transsexuals. Not between body and brain but between the drive for intimacy and the inability to attain it. No one-save a few religious fundamentalists-would be cruel enough to tell a transsexual that they'll just have to learn to live with what they are, and that medical intervention would be a wicked self-indulgence."
[But no one's stopping you from choosing medical intervention. The graft is legal. And success rates are sure to improve.]
"And as i've said, Voluntary Hellists don't oppose that. For some people, it's the right choice."
[But how can it ever be the wrong choice?]
"Many fully afflicted people suffer additional brain damage, and various kinds of mental retardation. In general, we don't. Whatever damage we've suffered to LaGronder's area, most of us are intelligent enough to understand our own condition. We 'know' that non-afflicted people are capable of believing that they've acheived intimacy. But in Voluntary Hell, we've decided that we'd be better off without that talent."
[Why better off?]
"Because it's a talent for self-deception."
[If your Hell is a lack of understanding of others... and healing the lesion would grant you that lost understanding...]
"But how much IS understanding- and how much is a delusion of understanding? Is intimacy a form of knowledge, or is it just a comforting false belief? Evolution isn't interested in whether or not we grasp the truth, except in the most pragmatic sense. And there can be equally pragmatic falsehoods. If the brain needs to grant us an exaggerated sense of our capacity for knowing each other, to make pair-bonding compatible with self-awareness, it will lie, shamelessly, as much as it has to, in order to make the strategy succeed."
[Hell is a... tragic, disabling disease. How can you romanticize it into nothing more than some kind of... viable alternative lifestyle?]
"i'm not doing any such thing. i've met over a hundred fully-afflicted people, and their families. i know how much pain is involved. If i could banish the condition tomorrow, i'd do it. But we have our own histories, our own problems, our own aspirations. We're NOT fully-afflicted... and excision of LaGronder's area, in adulthood, won't render us the same as someone who was born that way. Most of us have learned to compensate by modeling people consciously, explicitly- it takes far more effort than innate skill, but when we lose what little we have of that, we won't be left helpless. Or selfish, or merciless, or incapable of compassion... or any of the other things the murdochs like to claim. And being granted the surgery we've asked for won't mean loss of employment, let alone the need for institutional care. So there'll be no cost to the community"
[Cost is the least of the issues! You're talking about deliberately-surgically-ridding yourself of something... fundamental to Humanity!!]
"...Exactly. And we've lived for decades with a 'fundamental' truth about human relationships, which we choose not to surrender to the comforting effects of a brain-graft. All we want to do now is make that choice complete. To stop being punished for our refusal to be deceived."
|31 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||[insoc] _don't be afraid_ KURT HARLAND crawl across the floor if it feels like something you know. curl up in a ball if it feels like home. sleep as much as you can. if you can't sleep then lay there. pick at yourself until you feel pure. something's pulling you to the floor. like a long-time friend. someone's banging your head on the wall. as the means to an end. empty. filling up with... sick. like evil-horde slime in your lungs. sucking yellow fog around your skull. this must be the end of you. but you know this will never stop. you can't hear anything anymore. just the hammer in your soul. walk on through the growing noise of your inescapable past. walk willingly into the dark. nothing can touch you now. once you were a child. fear rang through the halls. but you won't think about that now. just some warmth and a home. and an end to the task. your doors are standing wide open. but it's too late for you now...|
|31 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||(in olden days before christ)
"Oh yes" screamed the girl, "stick it in!!!" The handsome prince was busy with his ravishment of cinderella. Or was it sleeping beauty? Anyway, she was a princess. The angels of darkness, the dark riders and Lord Saaron himself were in pursuit of the 2 lovers. They had found thongs and g-strings strewn about the landscape of Mordor in their pursuit of the pair. No, not Lucy's breasts, THE RUNAWAYS! They searched far and wide, and among the scattered tampons - and even an erotic toy - they found a ring. The ring. What a ring it was! It would lead them to the couple.
But alas! using her super strong bras, Lucy and the prince had made catapults and were flinging dildo missiles at the crew following them. Saaron and his crew were dead in seconds...
(2003, UK, A Psychiatric unit)
As the prince and the lady embraced at their survival against Saaron back in the olden days, in 2003 a girl named Lucy lay in her bed in an in-patient unit as the doctors cured her of her schizophrenia. Slowly her visions were no more, and the tales of Mordor and breasts were nothing more than a fleeting memory of the past. No more breasts, no more Willy's, no more sisters.
Just Lucy again.