Cold Me

Posted on September 17, 2005 at 23:01:16.

Suicide: A failure to hate enough

By M Satai

Suicide: A failure to hate enough

1. “There is nothing less suicidal than pure despair, or perfect ruination.”
--Vauung

Despair is a spotted, long-limbed suicide in action, its suicide by the second, the slaughter of moments. Despair is a leaping on the neck of life and sucking it until its knees buckle. Despair is a wild predator with no natural prey.

I hate too much to kill myself. I hate you, all of you, life itself. I hate like a nuclear holocaust. If I kill myself…indeed, what is the point?

If I kill myself, I give you hope.

I consider despair a predatory super-virus, as well as a spotted, long-limbed suicide in action, a leaping on the neck, and all the rest. There is no self-destruct mechanism in pure despair.

As long as there is fuel, there is the fire.
As long as there’s life, there’s my despair.
As long as I have a breath, I’ll curse you, poison you, try to murder you.

Pure despair wants to survive at all costs: it wants to survive to eat up every hope, every smile, every ideal, every everything.

How can I kill you, if I’m dead?

Did I mention it?…I hate you.

2. “’Did I really commit a suicide after all?’" It doesn’t matter, or it matters to the zeroth degree, where anything at all could happen (for no reason). --Vauung

You find me: asphyxiated, poisoned, car-crashed, shot through the upper palate. Immediately, you use my death as propaganda.

You reinterpret my act of terror. He was sad, disappointed, insane. He couldn’t cope, couldn’t love, couldn’t find happiness.

Life controls all the media, the capital, the sex, the women, the prizes, the fame…it pays off all the novelists, screenwriters, philosophers, poets, and artists.

This is a war. Suicide is conventional warfare, but despair is the recurring malignancy of terrorism.

I’ll move in stealth. I’ll refuse to act with honor, courage, or principles. I’ll refuse to die until I‘m slaughtered. I’ll refuse defeat because I have no objectives.

I am the ultimate enemy: there is nothing I can consider victory.

I am in the horror movie of life simply this:

MONSTER.

Suicide is part of the social contract, a special circumstance of clause 1313, paragraph 13X. Suicide is an “honorable” death, its going to the place of execution with a quiet dignity, even in the worst of circumstances.

I’ll live as long as possible, spitting, biting, kicking…a pure torrent of virulent nonsense pouring from the hole in the center of my face, eyes cold as dimes in a wintry twilight…and when I die it will be because you had to murder me.

Suicide is a failure to despair: it’s a failure to hate enough.

Only when I can concentrate my hate into an area so microcosmically tiny that the resultant repellent force will rebound outward in a blast whose shock waves cause eternal disruptive waves throughout the macrocosmos all the way to its never-endingness like a slap on black jelly, a blast whose epicenter will leave a cold crater, an enigmatic absence, the size of the earth in all that space (a black hole?)…only then would I consider self-destruction.

And not even then--even then suicide would be a failure, a mercy killing.

Despair is an unsatisfiable sadism, a torture machine, a concentration camp, a weapon of war with no objective but more war, a prolongation of hostilities, an absolute waste.

Despair is delicious. Its neither a meal nor a snack. It’s an appetite with no food to satisfy it.

--MS

Replies:

Re: Suicide: A failure to hate enough RN 23:08:01 9/17/5 (0)
Re: Suicide: A failure to hate enough Val 23:01:43 9/17/5 (7)
- Re: Suicide: A failure to hate enough RN 23:02:06 9/17/5 (6)
  - Re: Suicide: A failure to hate enough Val 23:02:32 9/17/5 (5)
    - of course I dont know what Im talking about! M Satai 23:04:36 9/17/5 (3)
      - Re: of course I dont know what Im talking about! Val 23:05:05 9/17/5 (2)
        
        laughing along with you... M Satai 23:07:14 9/17/5 (0)
        
        Muster in... RN 23:06:14 9/17/5 (0)
    - Cata- RN 23:03:29 9/17/5 (0)

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: Suicide: A failure to hate enough

: 1. “There is nothing less suicidal than pure despair, or perfect ruination.”
: --Vauung

: Despair is a spotted, long-limbed suicide in action, its suicide by the second, the slaughter of moments. Despair is a leaping on the neck of life and sucking it until its knees buckle. Despair is a wild predator with no natural prey.

: I hate too much to kill myself. I hate you, all of you, life itself. I hate like a nuclear holocaust. If I kill myself…indeed, what is the point?

: If I kill myself, I give you hope.

: I consider despair a predatory super-virus, as well as a spotted, long-limbed suicide in action, a leaping on the neck, and all the rest. There is no self-destruct mechanism in pure despair.

: As long as there is fuel, there is the fire.
: As long as there’s life, there’s my despair.
: As long as I have a breath, I’ll curse you, poison you, try to murder you.

: Pure despair wants to survive at all costs: it wants to survive to eat up every hope, every smile, every ideal, every everything.

: How can I kill you, if I’m dead?

: Did I mention it?…I hate you.

: 2. “’Did I really commit a suicide after all?’" It doesn’t matter, or it matters to the zeroth degree, where anything at all could happen (for no reason). --Vauung

: You find me: asphyxiated, poisoned, car-crashed, shot through the upper palate. Immediately, you use my death as propaganda.

: You reinterpret my act of terror. He was sad, disappointed, insane. He couldn’t cope, couldn’t love, couldn’t find happiness.

: Life controls all the media, the capital, the sex, the women, the prizes, the fame…it pays off all the novelists, screenwriters, philosophers, poets, and artists.

: This is a war. Suicide is conventional warfare, but despair is the recurring malignancy of terrorism.

: I’ll move in stealth. I’ll refuse to act with honor, courage, or principles. I’ll refuse to die until I‘m slaughtered. I’ll refuse defeat because I have no objectives.

: I am the ultimate enemy: there is nothing I can consider victory.

: I am in the horror movie of life simply this:

: MONSTER.

: Suicide is part of the social contract, a special circumstance of clause 1313, paragraph 13X. Suicide is an “honorable” death, its going to the place of execution with a quiet dignity, even in the worst of circumstances.

: I’ll live as long as possible, spitting, biting, kicking…a pure torrent of virulent nonsense pouring from the hole in the center of my face, eyes cold as dimes in a wintry twilight…and when I die it will be because you had to murder me.

: Suicide is a failure to despair: it’s a failure to hate enough.

: Only when I can concentrate my hate into an area so microcosmically tiny that the resultant repellent force will rebound outward in a blast whose shock waves cause eternal disruptive waves throughout the macrocosmos all the way to its never-endingness like a slap on black jelly, a blast whose epicenter will leave a cold crater, an enigmatic absence, the size of the earth in all that space (a black hole?)…only then would I consider self-destruction.

: And not even then--even then suicide would be a failure, a mercy killing.

: Despair is an unsatisfiable sadism, a torture machine, a concentration camp, a weapon of war with no objective but more war, a prolongation of hostilities, an absolute waste.

: Despair is delicious. Its neither a meal nor a snack. It’s an appetite with no food to satisfy it.

: --MS

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