Recently I did a Pandora thumb-up on "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" sung by Amy Winehouse. The way she sings the song reaches straight into my heart; how could the person who sang this have had such a troubled life that ended in 2011 from an alcohol overdose?
We'll never know, of course, whether she drank herself to death on purpose or whether it was just another binge that went a step too far. One thing I do know: It is tomorrow, and I do still love her.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Friday, December 12, 2008
Porn and suicide
I've been noticing lately quite a bit of news reports about suicides that are apparently linked to pornography -- especially kiddie porn.
"And what's the problem with that?" you ask. "If the slimeballs involved in kiddie porn want to off themselves, they're doing us all a favor!"
Yeah, well, if only life were always so simple as we want it to be! In scratching beneath the surface, I see numerous problems here.
For one thing, in at least one of the reports I spotted -- the one about the cop in St. Louis -- the guy never harmed any kids. He just had a collection of porn on his computer that he had (probably) downloaded . To jack off with, in other words.
It's illegal to own pictures of kiddie porn, and the social stigma associated with it is pretty severe also, so the guy blows his brains out.
Probably a smart move, actually, because -- as he surely knew, being a cop -- if he had gotten convicted and sentenced, he would have not only spent a goodly amount of time in the slammer, when he got out he'd have to go live under a bridge because of the new laws that prohibit, for the rest of their lives, "sex offenders" from living in most habitable places.
It's much worse to get caught jacking off to pictures of kids fucking than to spray bullets into a grade school class, in other words. For the latter, the government might take care of your suicide for you, or, in some states, they might just keep you in the slammer the rest of your life with three squares and a bed. But for jacking off, you'll be left to roam the streets, marked with a scarlet letter for the rest of your life.
Well, OK, I know the argument about how the jack-offs who create a demand for kiddie porn are the ones who ultimately make the production of it happen. But I was reading somewhere recently where now it's also illegal -- at least in some places -- to possess depictions of children involved in sex even where no actual children are involved. Cartoons, I guess, or some such. Some of those feature film cartoons are pretty life-like, you have to admit!
So, as much sense as it makes to want to protect children from nasty people forcing them to fuck on camera, I don't think that's the whole dynamic of what's going on here. It looks like a lot of what's driving this is some people wanting to prevent other people from jacking off. The "children" angle is just a convenient way to get the job done. It will keep on being convenient until some other people start noticing and blow the whistle. Like me. And maybe you too, I hope.
This real vs. unreal distinction is likely to become more and more important as time goes on. It's just a matter of time before the convergence of robotics and materials science and artificial intelligence makes it possible to produce androids that are so lifelike that they can't be discerned from the real thing without an invasive medical examination.
So now what happens when some company starts turning out child-like androids that fuck? There's not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that the same people who now want to destroy the lives of people who jack off to kiddie porn will see to it that it's illegal to make and own these androids.
They'll say, "It encourages people to try it with real children." And of course they won't be able to produce a shred of evidence to back this up, but nobody will probably demand that they do so either. Unless between now and then us whistleblowers stop giving them a free ride and make them put up or shut up.
If the goal is to protect children from predators who whisk them away to tawdry rooms and force them to fuck on camera, let's start by explaining the process to children so they won't be such easy prey for the predators. Of course, to do that would require that we start being honest with children about sex, which is certainly light years from happening for some parents.
Then again, why is it that you hear so few of these children reporting the crime? Is it out of a sense of shame? Gee, and who instilled this sense of sex-shame in them, anyway? Kids don't usually refrain from reporting being assaulted in other ways. If an adult stranger started pummeling a child, it's hard to imagine the child not quickly reporting: "Mama, a man came up and hit me today in front of the grocery store!" No shame, no secrecy, the matter gets immediately investigated.
Or are there cases where the children don't report the crime because they actually enjoy doing it? We're talking about a really broad range of ages and circumstances here, and I don't want to impute anything to situations that don't apply -- such as that thing they had on the news the other day about the guy who had a friend who tortured babies so he could watch. No one argues about the horrific nature there. But I think honesty demands that we all think back to our own childhoods and try to remember what our attitudes were.
Myself, I can pretty clearly remember when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. I was really, really interested in how good it felt to stroke my wee-wee, and I was also really, really interested in how this all worked with respect to girls, who apparently had a hole where you could stick your thing. This never happened, but honesty compels me to admit that if an adult woman had approached me in a friendly way and had offered to let me feel her tits and stroke her pussy and even stick my cock in her pussy, I would have been all, "Hell, yeah!"
Or, to make it completely relevant to this discussion, if she had brought her 7-year-old daughter along and had suggested that the two of us play sex games with each other while she filmed us, and if her daughter had also been up for the idea, there's no way I wouldn't have done this! Again and again, as often as possible!
Would I have reported this to anyone, knowing that if I did everyone would go to jail and I wouldn't get to keep on fucking this girl? Heh, heh, what do you think!
And would I have been harmed by this? Again, honesty compels me to admit that I don't think I would have. I think I was much, much more harmed by all the body shame and sexual repression I was exposed to.
But that's just me.
"And what's the problem with that?" you ask. "If the slimeballs involved in kiddie porn want to off themselves, they're doing us all a favor!"
Yeah, well, if only life were always so simple as we want it to be! In scratching beneath the surface, I see numerous problems here.
For one thing, in at least one of the reports I spotted -- the one about the cop in St. Louis -- the guy never harmed any kids. He just had a collection of porn on his computer that he had (probably) downloaded . To jack off with, in other words.
It's illegal to own pictures of kiddie porn, and the social stigma associated with it is pretty severe also, so the guy blows his brains out.
Probably a smart move, actually, because -- as he surely knew, being a cop -- if he had gotten convicted and sentenced, he would have not only spent a goodly amount of time in the slammer, when he got out he'd have to go live under a bridge because of the new laws that prohibit, for the rest of their lives, "sex offenders" from living in most habitable places.
It's much worse to get caught jacking off to pictures of kids fucking than to spray bullets into a grade school class, in other words. For the latter, the government might take care of your suicide for you, or, in some states, they might just keep you in the slammer the rest of your life with three squares and a bed. But for jacking off, you'll be left to roam the streets, marked with a scarlet letter for the rest of your life.
Well, OK, I know the argument about how the jack-offs who create a demand for kiddie porn are the ones who ultimately make the production of it happen. But I was reading somewhere recently where now it's also illegal -- at least in some places -- to possess depictions of children involved in sex even where no actual children are involved. Cartoons, I guess, or some such. Some of those feature film cartoons are pretty life-like, you have to admit!
So, as much sense as it makes to want to protect children from nasty people forcing them to fuck on camera, I don't think that's the whole dynamic of what's going on here. It looks like a lot of what's driving this is some people wanting to prevent other people from jacking off. The "children" angle is just a convenient way to get the job done. It will keep on being convenient until some other people start noticing and blow the whistle. Like me. And maybe you too, I hope.
This real vs. unreal distinction is likely to become more and more important as time goes on. It's just a matter of time before the convergence of robotics and materials science and artificial intelligence makes it possible to produce androids that are so lifelike that they can't be discerned from the real thing without an invasive medical examination.
So now what happens when some company starts turning out child-like androids that fuck? There's not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that the same people who now want to destroy the lives of people who jack off to kiddie porn will see to it that it's illegal to make and own these androids.
They'll say, "It encourages people to try it with real children." And of course they won't be able to produce a shred of evidence to back this up, but nobody will probably demand that they do so either. Unless between now and then us whistleblowers stop giving them a free ride and make them put up or shut up.
If the goal is to protect children from predators who whisk them away to tawdry rooms and force them to fuck on camera, let's start by explaining the process to children so they won't be such easy prey for the predators. Of course, to do that would require that we start being honest with children about sex, which is certainly light years from happening for some parents.
Then again, why is it that you hear so few of these children reporting the crime? Is it out of a sense of shame? Gee, and who instilled this sense of sex-shame in them, anyway? Kids don't usually refrain from reporting being assaulted in other ways. If an adult stranger started pummeling a child, it's hard to imagine the child not quickly reporting: "Mama, a man came up and hit me today in front of the grocery store!" No shame, no secrecy, the matter gets immediately investigated.
Or are there cases where the children don't report the crime because they actually enjoy doing it? We're talking about a really broad range of ages and circumstances here, and I don't want to impute anything to situations that don't apply -- such as that thing they had on the news the other day about the guy who had a friend who tortured babies so he could watch. No one argues about the horrific nature there. But I think honesty demands that we all think back to our own childhoods and try to remember what our attitudes were.
Myself, I can pretty clearly remember when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. I was really, really interested in how good it felt to stroke my wee-wee, and I was also really, really interested in how this all worked with respect to girls, who apparently had a hole where you could stick your thing. This never happened, but honesty compels me to admit that if an adult woman had approached me in a friendly way and had offered to let me feel her tits and stroke her pussy and even stick my cock in her pussy, I would have been all, "Hell, yeah!"
Or, to make it completely relevant to this discussion, if she had brought her 7-year-old daughter along and had suggested that the two of us play sex games with each other while she filmed us, and if her daughter had also been up for the idea, there's no way I wouldn't have done this! Again and again, as often as possible!
Would I have reported this to anyone, knowing that if I did everyone would go to jail and I wouldn't get to keep on fucking this girl? Heh, heh, what do you think!
And would I have been harmed by this? Again, honesty compels me to admit that I don't think I would have. I think I was much, much more harmed by all the body shame and sexual repression I was exposed to.
But that's just me.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Enslavement
Suicide is an expression of a larger political issue: Ownership of one's own body.
Ownership of your own body is the most fundamental form of ownership. Everything else is just a form of social contract. For example, I "own" a car because I gave someone some money and he or she agreed to give me, in exchange, a piece of paper that says I own it and a set of keys that gives me access to enter and drive it. But I could sell it, and then it would be the same car but I woould no longer "own" it. My body, on the other hand, can only belong to me.
Or so it would seem that it should be. The thing is, if you truly own your own body, then you should be free to kill it!
But down through history there has been a persistent attempt to deny people ownership over their bodies. Slavery has been the most egregious one, and it continues to be so in some parts of the world. At one time, a slavemaster had the legal right to do anything to a slave. Torture, rape, even kill. The slave truly did not own his or her own body.
Denial of the right to suicide is the same thing, just in a milder form. It's milder because it's ultimately so absurdly unenforceable. But it does have the effect of limiting one's ability to act freely. You can't for example, calmly and rationally discuss your detailed suicide plans with a professional counselor without triggering some form of legal intervention -- forceful, if necessary.
Here's another example of people denying the right of others to their own bodies: Laws prohibiting public nudity.
If you truly own your own body, you have the right to display it or hide it as you see fit. Laws demanding that you not display certain parts of your body are attempts to limit your ownership of your body and thus are attempts to enslave you.
The Muslims carry this to great extremes with their requirements that women cover most or nearly all of their bodies whenever they step outside their homes. In countries where they are politically dominant, they have managed to enact this bizarre idea into laws that are enforced by armed thugs known as "police". People wearing uniforms and carrying badges in these countries are authorized by the majority to kidnap, torture and even kill women who don't dress as they demand. The Islamists' actions differ only in degree, not in kind, from the actions taken by Christians in the countries where they dominate.
Christians don't demand that women cover all their bodies, they just demand that they cover their nipples and pubic hair. It's a much smaller surface area, but it's still the same principle, it's still a demand limiting one's ownership of one's body, and it's still enforced by the same armed thugs who will, to be fair, probably not stone offenders to death but will kidnap them and hold them in small, uncomfortable cells until they pay a ransom known as "bail" and agree to begin covering those parts of their bodies demanded by the Christian majority.
Both Christians and Muslims demand that men not display their penises. Everywhere in the world that is politically dominated by Christians or Muslims, there are laws to enforce this form of slavery.
The recent brouhaha about the Wikipedia article that displays a picture of a naked pre-pubescent girl on a 1976 album cover from the German rock group "The Scorpions" (shown here) demonstrates this Christian enslavement enterprise in full force. Display of the naked body 
of a person not yet an adult is now deemed by certain of these groups to be "pornographic" and thus has caused all the ISPs in the UK to block Wikipedia for their subscribers."
of a person not yet an adult is now deemed by certain of these groups to be "pornographic" and thus has caused all the ISPs in the UK to block Wikipedia for their subscribers."Pornographic" and the root word "pornography" would seem to be another of those magic words like "terrorist" that, upon invocation allows the user to take any action at all. We are expected not to question the word or the concept, having been hypnotized by its incantation.
I question the whole thing.
I question the definition of "pornography". Is "pornography" just something that gives a male an erection or causes a female to get a wet cunt? I no longer get an erection as readily as I once did, and some men apparently can't do it at all without the help of pills. So apparently, older men should be able to view things that would be denied to younger men? But, even more fundamentally, what is the problem with men getting erections and women getting wet cunts? This is how the sexual process starts, and so is it that the enslavers want to deny sex altogether?"
Oh no, we're just concerned about the children," is the response I expect to hear. That's another one of those incantations like "terrorist" and "pornography" -- whenever I hear "it's for the children" I immediately start looking to see how I'm being conned. Supposedly, seeing naked people is bad for children, which seems like an odd idea given the complete lack of evidence that children living at nudist camps suffer any ill effects from being naked or seeing other naked people. So let's forget about that smokescreen.
What's really going on here is just one more attempt at enslavement by those who aren't satisfied with living their own lives and feel a need to control others. Religious people, in other words.
Islam is said to be the fastest growing religion, so it seems likely that before long some US communities will begin to be populated by majorities adhering to this new perversion. Thanks to the Christians who have imposed dress codes on everyone else for centuries, the Islamists will have plenty of legal precedent to impose their own stricter dress codes and require that Christian women to walk around in chadors or get thrown in jail. I can hardly wait.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The thing that makes death such a fascinating subject is that, by definition, it's a once-in-a-lifetime event. So is birth, too, but there's no "you" sitting around beforehand to ponder your forthcoming birth, so that's in a different category. To state it precisely, death is the only once-in-a-lifetime event that is ponderable beforehand. That's why you do it.
Pondering death in general is one thing. "Yeah, yeah, one of these days I'm gonna go." Sometime way in the future, presumably, and under circumstances only vaguely imagined. "Maybe I'll have a heart attack in bed," you hope to yourself, considering this to be preferable when measured against such things as the slow suffocation of emphysema or watching your body rot away from cancer.
Foreseeing death as something you wait for but don't bring on yourself makes it fascinating, but since it doesn't involve making any decisions, there's no immediacy to it.
Suicide, on the other hand, means that you have to plan. And when you're planning for a once-in-a-lifetime event, there's a lot of pressure to get it right. If you miss your golf shot there's always another game, but with suicide you only get one chance. If it doesn't work out the way you figured, well, too bad, you missed your chance to get it right because now you're gone!
And maybe the worst thing is you never even get to be sure it DID work out the way you planned!
It's like you planned a big, elaborate wedding for somebody else, but then you left just as it was starting. Maybe you flew off and lived the rest of your life on a desert island. Did the bride walk down the aisle without tripping? Was everyone seated properly at the reception? Did the caterers do their job without spilling anything on anyone? You'll never know!
The only way you get to find out what happened after your suicide is if it fails. You didn't take enough pills. Or the bullet missed your brain. You find yourself in a hospital bed going, "Oh man, this sucks!"
So that's the thing: You really, really don't want to fail, but if you succeed you'll never know!
That's where religions come in. I blame religions for suicide, and here's why:
Religions promote the idea of an afterlife. After you die, you sort of float off somewhere, peering back whenever you wish at earthly mortals in some sort of cosmic vouyeurism. By pushing the idea that you CAN check out the results of your suicide, religions remove that big "what happened next?" barrier.
"I'll blow my brains out, then Suzie will be sorry she turned me down!" As though you'll be able to sit up in a cloud somewhere and chuckle with sadistic pleasure while you watch Suzie beating her breast in guilt and grief.
You can't, you won't, you'll never know. Suzie might turn out not to give a shit. She might not even show up at your funeral. You'll be gone forever, so if you want to be sure Suzie feels like shit, you better stay alive and work on a different plan.
And don't even get me started on Islam and the 72 virgins. "Go blow yourself up in a crowded marketplace or fly an airliner into a skyscraper. Afterwards, you'll spend eternity getting attended to by 72 virgins." Yeah, right.
You'd think at the very least these poor, gullible slobs would ask some pertinent questions before strapping on the explosive belt: "Are all these virgins good looking? How much do they weigh? Who's going to keep them from coming to me whining about annoying, inconsequential bullshit? Do they keep being virgins even after I fuck them? If so, how does that work? Do their hymens grow back right away? Why is that something I would want, anyway? Could I opt instead for 72 deflowered maidens so I wouldn't have to go through all the extra effort of busting their hymens?
Since people apparently fall for something this lame, it's only a matter of time before some enterprising con man will put together some competition. "Don't blow yourself up for Islam, folks, where you only get 72 virgins. Join my new religion, "Malsi", and get twice the virgins! You heard right, 144 prime virgins for each and every time you blow yourself up as your Imam directs! And that's not all! Our virgins are certified to be not over 14 years of age, none are over 100 pounds, and all are 100% acne-free! And if you act in the next half hour, we'll throw in a matron attendant who will supervise your virgins, making sure their petty grievances are all taken care of outside your bed chamber. All you do is fuck, fuck, fuck, for all eternity!"
As the late George Carlin said about religion in his final HBO special,
"It's all bullshit, folks, and it's bad for 'ya!"
Pondering death in general is one thing. "Yeah, yeah, one of these days I'm gonna go." Sometime way in the future, presumably, and under circumstances only vaguely imagined. "Maybe I'll have a heart attack in bed," you hope to yourself, considering this to be preferable when measured against such things as the slow suffocation of emphysema or watching your body rot away from cancer.
Foreseeing death as something you wait for but don't bring on yourself makes it fascinating, but since it doesn't involve making any decisions, there's no immediacy to it.
Suicide, on the other hand, means that you have to plan. And when you're planning for a once-in-a-lifetime event, there's a lot of pressure to get it right. If you miss your golf shot there's always another game, but with suicide you only get one chance. If it doesn't work out the way you figured, well, too bad, you missed your chance to get it right because now you're gone!
And maybe the worst thing is you never even get to be sure it DID work out the way you planned!
It's like you planned a big, elaborate wedding for somebody else, but then you left just as it was starting. Maybe you flew off and lived the rest of your life on a desert island. Did the bride walk down the aisle without tripping? Was everyone seated properly at the reception? Did the caterers do their job without spilling anything on anyone? You'll never know!
The only way you get to find out what happened after your suicide is if it fails. You didn't take enough pills. Or the bullet missed your brain. You find yourself in a hospital bed going, "Oh man, this sucks!"
So that's the thing: You really, really don't want to fail, but if you succeed you'll never know!
That's where religions come in. I blame religions for suicide, and here's why:
Religions promote the idea of an afterlife. After you die, you sort of float off somewhere, peering back whenever you wish at earthly mortals in some sort of cosmic vouyeurism. By pushing the idea that you CAN check out the results of your suicide, religions remove that big "what happened next?" barrier.
"I'll blow my brains out, then Suzie will be sorry she turned me down!" As though you'll be able to sit up in a cloud somewhere and chuckle with sadistic pleasure while you watch Suzie beating her breast in guilt and grief.
You can't, you won't, you'll never know. Suzie might turn out not to give a shit. She might not even show up at your funeral. You'll be gone forever, so if you want to be sure Suzie feels like shit, you better stay alive and work on a different plan.
And don't even get me started on Islam and the 72 virgins. "Go blow yourself up in a crowded marketplace or fly an airliner into a skyscraper. Afterwards, you'll spend eternity getting attended to by 72 virgins." Yeah, right.
You'd think at the very least these poor, gullible slobs would ask some pertinent questions before strapping on the explosive belt: "Are all these virgins good looking? How much do they weigh? Who's going to keep them from coming to me whining about annoying, inconsequential bullshit? Do they keep being virgins even after I fuck them? If so, how does that work? Do their hymens grow back right away? Why is that something I would want, anyway? Could I opt instead for 72 deflowered maidens so I wouldn't have to go through all the extra effort of busting their hymens?
Since people apparently fall for something this lame, it's only a matter of time before some enterprising con man will put together some competition. "Don't blow yourself up for Islam, folks, where you only get 72 virgins. Join my new religion, "Malsi", and get twice the virgins! You heard right, 144 prime virgins for each and every time you blow yourself up as your Imam directs! And that's not all! Our virgins are certified to be not over 14 years of age, none are over 100 pounds, and all are 100% acne-free! And if you act in the next half hour, we'll throw in a matron attendant who will supervise your virgins, making sure their petty grievances are all taken care of outside your bed chamber. All you do is fuck, fuck, fuck, for all eternity!"
As the late George Carlin said about religion in his final HBO special,
"It's all bullshit, folks, and it's bad for 'ya!"
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
What did you decide?
When you've thought about Doing It, what did you decide would be your preferred method?
The fact that people even care about this suggests to me that they might not be serious. After all, once you're dead, you're dead, and it doesn't make the slightest difference how you got there.
I thought about this the other day when I was carrying a kitchen knife. I thought, "I could just plunge this into my solar plexus right now and I would die." But I quickly realized there was no way I could get myself to do this, so I'd say I'm not really serious about it.
Then I thought about the Japanese author Yukio Mishima who actually did something like this, and I confess I felt quite a bit of admiration for him. He was recapitulating the ancient practice of "seppuku", which is how honorable people are supposed to kill themselves when faced with dishonor. It escapes me now why Mishima felt that he was dishonored and so resorted to disemboweling himself, but the fact that he used this method to kill himself certainly tells me he had a lot more courage than I do!
The old gun-to-the-head method has the same no-turning-back finality to it, but squeezing a trigger is not in itself a violent act, so it seems to me a tad less deserving of respect than the guy who sticks a knife in his own heart -- or especially belly. I mean, Wow!
A method that occurred to me once would be simply to disappear off the face of the earth by burying myself. Oh, well, maybe they'd dig me up and blow my cover, but, hey, it would give them something interesting to do, right? Here's how it would work:
Of course, that's the annoying thing about killing yourself -- you never get to find out what happens afterward!
The fact that people even care about this suggests to me that they might not be serious. After all, once you're dead, you're dead, and it doesn't make the slightest difference how you got there.
I thought about this the other day when I was carrying a kitchen knife. I thought, "I could just plunge this into my solar plexus right now and I would die." But I quickly realized there was no way I could get myself to do this, so I'd say I'm not really serious about it.
Then I thought about the Japanese author Yukio Mishima who actually did something like this, and I confess I felt quite a bit of admiration for him. He was recapitulating the ancient practice of "seppuku", which is how honorable people are supposed to kill themselves when faced with dishonor. It escapes me now why Mishima felt that he was dishonored and so resorted to disemboweling himself, but the fact that he used this method to kill himself certainly tells me he had a lot more courage than I do!
The old gun-to-the-head method has the same no-turning-back finality to it, but squeezing a trigger is not in itself a violent act, so it seems to me a tad less deserving of respect than the guy who sticks a knife in his own heart -- or especially belly. I mean, Wow!
A method that occurred to me once would be simply to disappear off the face of the earth by burying myself. Oh, well, maybe they'd dig me up and blow my cover, but, hey, it would give them something interesting to do, right? Here's how it would work:
- I'd dig a big hole -- you know, a grave. Six feet under, etc.
- I'd get a tractor with a pusher blade. Buy it, rent it, whatever, wouldn't matter because I'd be dead, remember?
- I'd experiment with the tractor, running it out of fuel, then putting small amounts of fuel in the tank to see how far it would go on a given amount.
- Once I'd determined the exact distance the tractor would go on a given amount of fuel, I'd load that amount into the tank and start it up, putting it in gear, slowly headed toward the dirt berm next to my hole. The amount of fuel would be such that it would just push the dirt into the hole, then stop.
- I'd jump into my hole, then I'd kill myself. Gun-to-the-head, cut my jugular vein, whatever. I'd collapse in the hole, the tractor would bury me and stop. End of caper. Literally!
Of course, that's the annoying thing about killing yourself -- you never get to find out what happens afterward!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Different strokes
It always struck me as odd -- ever since I was a little kid -- when I learned that suicide was illegal. Maybe that was when I started questioning the whole legal thing, but that's another subject, so let's not digress off to a tangent.
Nowadays, it's legal in Oregon. Under certain circumstances, of course. There again, I'm going, "Why"? If it's legal to kill yourself when you're terminally ill, why stop there? Sure, the idea behind the "terminally ill" thing is that you're going to die soon anyway, so why prolong the agony. But everyone's "terminally ill" in the sense that we're going to die sometime, so why doesn't the same logic apply to a person who, let's say, decides that his or her life isn't worth living anymore because of loneliness or being broke or -- well, whatever!
Maybe your thing is nooky. You heard me, poontang, sex, the f-word. Tons of people ain't gettin' any, you knew that, right? Especially old people. Take your average old person who isn't getting any more nooky, wouldn't it be reasonable for this person to say, "Hey, if I'm never gonna get any more, why not just quit right here!"
Sort of reminds me of the Gershwin song, "It ain't necessarily so". One of the verses goes like this:
Nowadays, it's legal in Oregon. Under certain circumstances, of course. There again, I'm going, "Why"? If it's legal to kill yourself when you're terminally ill, why stop there? Sure, the idea behind the "terminally ill" thing is that you're going to die soon anyway, so why prolong the agony. But everyone's "terminally ill" in the sense that we're going to die sometime, so why doesn't the same logic apply to a person who, let's say, decides that his or her life isn't worth living anymore because of loneliness or being broke or -- well, whatever!
Maybe your thing is nooky. You heard me, poontang, sex, the f-word. Tons of people ain't gettin' any, you knew that, right? Especially old people. Take your average old person who isn't getting any more nooky, wouldn't it be reasonable for this person to say, "Hey, if I'm never gonna get any more, why not just quit right here!"
Sort of reminds me of the Gershwin song, "It ain't necessarily so". One of the verses goes like this:
Methus lah lived nine hundred years,
Methus lah lived nine hundred years.
But who calls dat livin' when no gal will give in
to no man what's nine hundred years?
Same principle applies, whether it's 900 years or 50 years, seems to me. How can you blame somebody who decides to pull the plug at any age once the nooky dries up?
So somebody answers, "There's more to life than sex, you know." Yeah? Speak for yourself, bucko!
Getting Started
Don't tell me you've never thought about it. It's like masturbation: There are only two kinds of people -- those who admit to doing it and those who don't.
This is a blog. Nobody's watching you, so you can relax and admit that you sometimes think about the unthinkable -- offing yourself.
No rules here. No judgements. Nobody trying to talk you out of it -- or into it, for that matter. Just comments and thoughts about the subject as they come along.
If you stop reading, well, maybe you did it. Or maybe you just got bored with the subject. Whatever. Same goes for your humble poster. If I stop posting, maybe I'm dead. Or maybe I just moved on to something more interesting. Whatever. It's not important.
This is a blog. Nobody's watching you, so you can relax and admit that you sometimes think about the unthinkable -- offing yourself.
No rules here. No judgements. Nobody trying to talk you out of it -- or into it, for that matter. Just comments and thoughts about the subject as they come along.
If you stop reading, well, maybe you did it. Or maybe you just got bored with the subject. Whatever. Same goes for your humble poster. If I stop posting, maybe I'm dead. Or maybe I just moved on to something more interesting. Whatever. It's not important.
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