I write about suicide and death because I choose to be honest with myself about the mysteries of this somewhat elongated melancholy of existence.
As mature human-beings, we cannot afford to approach the mysteries of suicide and death with a proliferation of naive realism and self-delusion—we must be honest about it. if not, our outcries for meaning and purpose will be like the moments of in-between time; a void with voiceless continuities.
Insofar, the ones amongst us who can afford to approach life with ambiguity so innocent, are the population of children; for nature, at least in the meanwhile, has provided them with the iconography and configurations of meaning—-both father and mother. Whence, a child cries out for both its biological and superficial needs—-such as breast milk and structure, the mother and father is there.
But not so much for the adult, who is alone—for his outcries for meaning does not lead him to the privilege of suckling. Thus, if mature human-beings can indulge themselves in the honest dialogue of suicide and death, then they would be better prepared for the disappointing emotionalism caused by the finality of being left alone by their creator.
Disclaimer; I am not going to commit suicide—this is just creative writing.
Why lock people up in this institution if their only crime was wanting to commit suicide? I believe, suicide is the analogue that marries truth, while divorcing the post-intricacies of ignorance and human sensuality for captivity.
Let it be known, that I am not planning on seducing the mistress of suicide, but I am advocating for the freedom of spiritual departure from this straight jacket paradigm of physical existence for others who choose to traverse that seductive avenue. Locking up individuals who want to “leave,” only inflames that burning desire within them; it also makes the desire for “departure,” more attractive and alluring—-prohibiting it, only makes them feel cheated or robbed from a inside knowledge that everyone seems to know besides the individual.
Disclaimer: I am not going to commit suicide and I do not suggest anyone should. This is just creative writing. However, if you feel like doing it, first seek a second opinion from a trained psychiatrist or counselor.
Today more than any other day ti’s the day for suicide. the feeling of mental peace of mind, the gentleness in the air, and the quietness all around me—all footnotes of favored suicide; it just feels right. although, man will be terribly disappointed—the universal god up somewhere in the universe, would be ecstatic and over-joyed of his soul-dust, who was never fit for the soils of earth, finally returning home.
When I die today, someone please tell Ally that she is the most beautiful thing that I’ve seen in the last two and half months; because the princess that tops her and looks more stunning than all the Disney princesses combined is non-other than, Veronica. This beauty queen has redefined the standards of beauty; her elegance, exotic features, and radiant glow, deserves a category of its own. No other girl on earth can top her beauty. The only place that might prove me wrong would be in heaven–where I’m sure beauty queens, such as Veronica, are made.
It’s unfortunate that although her returning is a rock throw away from this day of my departing, I will not get to see her one last time. It is also unfortunate that I will not get to hear her call me “lew lew” one last time, or the way she crunches her face together one last time, and how she makes me feel like the luckiest guy on earth to be her friend one last time. Such subtle things, but some times it’s the subtle things that pack the most emotional punches and attachments.
Goodbye my friend,
yours truly Lew Lew