|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?
|29 Jan 2003||Fionuellia Mackellar||OGANACH. My sorrow is my baronial castle, which lies like an eagle's nest high upon the mountain peak among the clouds. No one can take it by storm. From it i swoop down into actuality and snatch my prey, but i do not stay there. i bring my prize home, and this prize is a picture i weave into the tapestries at my castle. Then i live as one already dead. Everything i have experienced i immerse in a baptism of oblivion unto an eternity of recollection. Everything temporal or fortuitous is forgotten and blotted out. Then i sit like an old grey-haired man, pensive, and explain the pictures in a soft voice, almost whispering, and beside me sits a child, listening, although She remembers everything before i speak it. ~Soren|
|29 Jan 2003||Daniel Day-Mackellar||DORCHADAS. In addition to my other numerous acquaintances, i have one more intimate confidant... my depression. In the midst of my joy, in the midst of my work, She beckons to me, calls me aside, even though physically i remain on the spot. My depression is the most faithful mistress i have known... No wonder, then, that i return the Love. ~Soren|
|28 Jan 2003||Darius Mackellar||FORUNDERING. Imagine somewhere a great and splendid hall where everything is done to produce nothing but joy and merriment... but the entrance to this room is a nasty, muddy, humble stairway and it is impossible to pass without getting disgustingly soiled, and admission is paid by prostituting oneself, and when day dawns the merriment is over and all ends with one's being kicked out again... but the whole night through is done to keep up and inflame the merriment and pleasure! What is reflection? Simply to reflect on these two questons: How did i get into this and how do i get out of it again, how does it End? What is Thoughtlessness? To muster everything in order to drown all this about entrance and exist in forgetfulness, to muster everything to re-explain and explain away entrance and exit, simply lost in the interval between the birth-cry and the repetition of this cry when the one who is born expires within the Death struggle.
Many folks are afraid of Eternity. If we can only endure Time, certainly we can cope with Eternity. Therefore when one hears the Lovers swear mutual Love for all Eternity, it does not mean nearly as much as when they pledge Love for Time, because one who pledges Love for Eternity can always answer: You shall have to excuse me this Time... ~Soren
|28 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 319 When Philip threatened to lay siege to the city of Corinth, and all its inhabitants hastily bestirred themselves in defense, some polishing weapons, some gathering stones, some repairing the walls, some overdosing on cloxazolam... Diogenes seeing all this hurriedly folded his mantle about him and began to roll his tub zealously back and forth through the streets. When he was asked why he did such a thing he replied that he wished to be busy like all the rest, and rolled his tub lest he should be the only idler among so many industrious citizens. ~Soren|
|24 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||Life at my in-patient unit this week was a blast again!!
I was unleashed from the unit for a day beside the seaside. The first thing I heard when I arrived was one of those escapologist-guys (they dress in chains and then break free. Just another form of S & M). He exlaimed: "My pole isa stiff no more!!" His Popeye lookalikey mate said "It must be the smell of the fish!" Well, it was a seaside town :)
Anyway I walked along the promenade past fish & chip shops, amusement arcades and the odd dungeon. I almost thought I heard Billy's cries of frustration from one, but put it down to my new medication. Anyway, as I turned a corner, plop! on my head it was! A seagull had pooped on me. Fantabbytastic! Poopy Cortina. I had spent ages perfecting my hair into a bun too!
Anyway, outside a gift shop I spotted one of those buggies that old people use to speed around in. I decided it would be nice to try it out, see if it can go faster than me. Well, boy was it fast! It shot forwards like Billy's cock!! 15 mile an hour those things can go. They're lethal, I'm sure I could have mown down a few tourists while I was there (A lot of Aussies were there too. One even said: "G'day Lucy, yie 'ad 'yer titties on the barbie?"). Anyway I was off, speeding around town on my buggy. Until the police caught up with me. Revealing my cleavage couldn't save me this time - the police guy escorted me back to my in-patient unit.
Which is when I opened my bottle of "fart spray" and sprayed it on the doorhandle to the doctor's office. The doctor once said to me: "I like your pig, Lucy. It looks very professional" (I once made a pig out of clay in an Art Group at the unit). Now it's even more professional, and she will soon find out!
Ooh I'm evil!
|24 Jan 2003||Jeanie||There is a serial killer in my neighborhood. I've been walking two hours a night since I found out about him. You think this dumb ass would have found me by now... FRESH MEAT! For someone that has killed dozens of people... he sure is off his game.|
|21 Jan 2003||Felicia||I was just walking by the in-patient unit to drop by a basketful of purple, pink, and yellow daisies to Lucy. There she was on the phone talking to a tampon company, complaining that the Procter & Gamble establishment was cutting off her lifetime supply of "weaved cotton, stop-leak protection". Procter & Gamble, were filing for Chapter 7 Bankruptcy, and willing to charge their faithful customers, promising discounts on free samples, to make extra cash. The profit margin didn't look great in Wallstreet. Dow Jones decided that supply and demand was at an all time low for tampon companies. Recently, most of their customers got spayed at the nearest animal clinic to cut the costs of hospital bills. But not Lucy, she kept all her equipment and cherished her wondrous bosoms. The Christina Aquilera sound-alike on the phone for Procter & Gamble customer service, was a ditzy blonde look-alike with a Britney Spears mentality and the ass the size of Kylie Minogue's or was it J.Lo? Oh gosh! My memory is going dead! Anyways, Lucy, it was rumored that Procter & Gamble was indeed a behind the scenes gypsy "cult" and their only Oracle is an Ouija board. My dear friend, stay away from these people, because they will scam you for every penny that you have.|
|18 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||Life at my inpatient unit is SUCH a blast. It's more like a youth hostel rather than a psychiatric unit.
Spying on a vegie-lezbo "doing her bits" in the bathroom alone excites me to an almost orgasmic state.
It may be unhealthy for a teenage, deeply curved, busty girl to develop obsessions with nurses, but hey-ho! I'm Lucy, I do as I please!
One of the nurses has a "third tit" - a yukky mole on her face. She's such a sad old bag. I tried to take a pic of the third tit as evidence, but couldnt bear the thought of being exposed to a bra-less tit on a face as cratered as Mars.
Anyway, from tits to 'down belows' - the only UK Tampax factory is closing down! (makers of English tampons). I was on the phone for over 2 hours today, waiting to complain. It was an automated phone service.
"To speak to an operator who is very nice, but no help at all, press 1.
To be cut off for no apparant reason, press 2.
To speak to an over-enthusiastic office girl, press 3..."
and so on, and so on. When I finally got through to complain, a voice - eerily similar to Christina Aguilera's - said in a sweet tone: "I'm sorry, we no longer produce tampons. Good day to you".
So I'm here all alone and tampon-less. Thanks to Christina Aguilera. She insists that people get "Dirrty".
Bang goes my chances with Billy...
|17 Jan 2003||Larius Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.1 What is a poet? An unhappy soul who in her heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music. Her fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And the masses crowd about the poet and say to her, "Sing for us soon again" -which is as much to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would only distress us, but the music... the music is delightful." And the critics lurch forward to say, "That is perfectly done-just as it should be, according to the rules of aesthetics."
Now it is understood that a critic matches a poet to a hair; he only lacks the anguish in his heart and the music upon his lips. I tell you, i would rather be a swineherd, understood by the swine, than a poet misunderstood by the masses. ~Soren
|17 Jan 2003||John Coulter||For how much longer must i howl into this wind? For how much longer must i cry like this? A thousand wasted hours a day...just to feel my heart for a second. A thousand hours just thrown away...just to watch this shell decay. ~Bob Smithers|
|16 Jan 2003||Felicia||Est-ce que vous m' ecrirez, Mademoiselle Lucy Cortina? Je parle un peu le francais. Comprenez-vous? S'il vous plait comprends, Je suis American. Comment dit-on "fake boobs" en francais? Je ne peux rien manger de cuisine au pickled durs l'oeuf.|
|15 Jan 2003||Anton Anomalovich||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.?? It happened that a fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The Clown came out to inform the public. They thought it was just another jest and applauded. He repeated his warning, they shouted even louder. So i think the world will come to an end amid general applause from all the wits... who have been led to believe that it is just another joke. ~Soren|
|15 Jan 2003||nosaM legnA||SAIGNER... PLEURER... RESISTER... VERSER. I am counted among Them, that go down below the pit. I have Become... like a man without longing, free among these dead. They lay me in dampness, within the lowest loneliness... and beside the shadow of onDem. I laugh as my head turns to rust, as the sky... and the Impossible explode. Held for one moment i remember a dream... an impression of Loss... and then everything in gone. Forever.|
|14 Jan 2003||Felicia||There I was sitting amongst a gang of angry mimes doing sign language in French. They were arguing on who ever misplaced their black and white make-up. Poor me, sitting in the back by the break room feeling over worked and underpaid. Break was over and I went to the nearest merchandising booth to sell magic potions, t-shirts, and voo doo paraphernalia. There was Lucy standing in the middle of the pebbled street in sarong garb dancing to the tune of "The Girl From Ipanema". There she was just shaking her wonderful tasseled casabas to the incoming crowd. She began to attract the hairy furry hobbits, enchanting them with her two wondrous gifts. Then in came Elijah Frodo Baggins with his mysterious blue eyes. For an instant, I feel deeply in love with him. Until I turned to look and my backpack full of juicy apples and bread were gone. I scorned and murmured, Why that dirty rotten scoundrel! But I found it was not he and that my burlap backpack had a gaping hole in the bottom. I followed the tracks of the crumbs from my missing food back to the break room in the tent. I opened the curtain and found the mimes were quietly chewing on my bread and savoring the apples to their delight. Maybe they were hungry and it appeared that they were not doing angry sign language in French anymore. Then I got really hungry.|
|14 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||Yes, well i've been thinking about swapping my wagon in for a new Honda S2000. Has anyone ever driven such a car? i almost took a silver one for a test-drive yesterday, but the fact that i could hardly afford to buy enough monopoly money from the local KB toy store to pay for it, even after the focking trade-in, sort of made the whole scene reek with ridiculousness. "Une femme est plus belle que le monde ou je vis... et je ferme les yeux." ~Eluard.
Becca? We met at our crossroads. Remember? ... i lost your Time in a corner of that darkening sky. Forgive me. i've been thinking of you at a rate which approximates perpetuality... Please write. Your words can still stave-off the inevitable.
What an interesting poem i've been working on lately... involving a young, slightly sociopathic girl who somehow manages to extinguish the Sun. The overture based loosely upon her Afterlife is a soul-curdling page turner. Odd. Another one revolving around a man who suddenly realises that his depression is entirely due to the fact that he has the most absurd dysfunction. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot convince himself to fall asleep without first finding a time and a place for it.
Narcolepsy, in this day and age, is probably a sure sign of Saintlihood.
|14 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECRONENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 20 How much the same human nature is! With what innate genius a little child can often show us a vivid picture of the larger scale. i was really amused today by little Frodo. He sat in his tiny chair and looked about with visible delight. Then the nursemaid, Maren, walked through the room. "Maren!" he shouted. "Yes, little Frodo," she answered with her customary friendliness and came over to him. He tilted his big head to one side a bit, fastened his enormous eyes upon her with a certain roguishness and then said quite phlegmatically, "Not this Maren; it was another Maren." What do we adults do? We shout out to the whole world, and when it approaches us in a friendly manner we say, "It was not this Maren." ~Soren|
|11 Jan 2003||frodo Lucy Cortina's new boyfriend||there's no easy way to say this michael but PISS THE HELL OFF WITH UR CRAP!!!!|
|11 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SONA Ag breacadh an lae do chumar ag suil/ aoibhneas an tsaiol amach romhainn/ clocha draiochta chomh geal lenar suile/ casan ag glioscarnach duinn// Suaimhneas na coillte is ceol inar gcroithe/ macalla fuaim an tsruthain/ duilloega fomhar mar ghuth ar an ngaoth/ se nadur is cuis lenar ngra// Anois ta realta a'rince sa speir/ is an saol ina gholadh go samh/ aislingi aille i ngairdin mo run/ briongloidi thart orainn ar snamh// Suile sior lasta le solas... suile faoi gheasa na run... taibhreamh ar sheoda an ghairdin... iontais nach sceithfear go buan// A'taisteal sa choill seo ar fan is ar fuaidreamh/ realta geala eolais ag lonradh don ri/ A'taisteal sa choill seo ar fan is ar fuaidreamh/ clocha bana ag lasadh ar sli Mick O'Brien|
|10 Jan 2003||nosaM legnA||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.21 The talk that suicide is cowardice is for most people nothing but a leap under a stage. Those shrewd and proud commoners who have never known that it requires courage!! Only those who have had the courage to commit suicide... can say that it was cowardly to have done it.|
|10 Jan 2003||Ichabod Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.242 Most people rush after pleasure so fast that they rush right past it. They are like that dwarf who guarded a kidnapped princess in his castle. One day he took a noon nap. When he woke up an hour later, she was gone. Hastily, he pulls on his seven-league boots; with one step he is far past her. ~Soren|