[...]I heard it said once suicides were angels heading home, but it would seem science says all is Heaven now and such is just another way the old books were meant to be read. Love is a lie, the same as hatred. Yet, one cant help get lost in Godels theorem of a Gods human potential, because one will find every stride is imaginary held up to time. Theres a madness festering in knowing through history all was lost when given a name. That our supposed truths are but fragments, trying to portray what was always complete behind a face. Its absolutely terrifying to see this, yes? Such is just a play on perspective though, because theres a possible euphoria in knowing theres nowhere to go. Nothing we have to become. We were always home, but the guilt of those before is the hardest of these imaginary battles to face. To stand before the hypocrites, seeing where the knowledge of all the world interconnects to paint a picture of one always there before seems ludicrous and it rips at every fiber of our created beings. We deny it. They began to watch as others attempt to tear apart the fickle egos being flung at one another that simply are not there. Such is the life of those who see the answer, so when suicides leave us it hurts because we are saying goodbye to ourselves.[...] They caught a glimpse of what the world is so hellbent to ignore, the heart of all matter that can only be read between lines. The knives across wrists but more spaces between the notes keeping the symphony going. Everyone chooses to play parts instead of becoming the conductor because to those locked in small spaces, a bigger world looks terrifying... Looking over bits in Cutter: A Suicide Memoir tonight. Editing takes too damn long to get this thing out into the world.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Mar 2014 06:47:31 +0000
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