I Saw the Best Minds of My Generation Destroyed...

Well, while I'm here I'll
do the work -
and what's the Work?
To ease the pain of living.
Everything else, drunken
dumbshow. - Memory Gardens, Allen Ginsberg

You would do yourself a favor if the only modern poetry you picked up and read was written by Allen Ginsberg. If you want some direction, try Ginsberg’s 1956 “Howl,” classically considered his most famous piece of work. If you want some further direction, then listen to the words this man writes and float away on a cloud of LSD just as he did. Ginsberg wrote the way your mind works: he wrote as a run-on thought string, each memory perpetuating the continuation of the sentence. But, more importantly, Ginsberg wrote the way you wish you could say. He believed that it was the poets job, his burden, not to write what came into his mind while he sat down to write a poem, but rather to write about the thoughs that crept into the poet’s head while he lay in bed at night – while his mind was most free and most truthful.

What more is our struggle in life except the struggle to ease the pains that life brings us? And if we are constantly struggling, surely we must say that we are constantly working. What option do we have, then, in our lives, except to “do the work?” More specifically it is the “Work” that is our job to make life as enjoyable as we can for ourselves and those around us (work – capitalized, thus connoting this is our most elemental form of labor; this is our Heavenly Work). It’s Ginsberg’s suggestion that everything else we do in our lives should be considered play time, here noted as drunken dumbshow. Though somewhat tongue-in-cheek, Ginsberg believes, in essence, that anything we do in life that does not ease the pain we experience simply by living is a waste of time. In other words, our thoughts and goals should constantly be tilted towards the easing of our pains. In other words, life on its own is pain. Our jobs in life is to enjoy it as best we can with disregard for the pain, acknowledging that it is there and it hurts us, but without letting the perpetuation of pain become our work.

Chemotherapy is obviously part of the beat culture along with Allen Ginsberg. I dig that. If we are to agree that our work is to ease the pain of living, then chemotherapy does work as it eases the pain of cancer. I find that as long as I do my “Work,” then chemotherapy does his. Sometimes phrases become cliches because they are true, like when a sports player says, "Well, you just gotta go out there and give it your all." That's a truth-cliche. It pertains to life in general and it is a good life lesson. Other times cliches are formed because people do not stop and ask why, like the phrase "When in Rome do as the Romans do." That is an untruth-cliche. I'm not a fucking Roman. If I followed that cliche as a lesson for life it would tell me that I should change my beliefs and practices depending on the beliefs and practices of those surrounding me. If I'm off my rocker I want people to know about it. Do as the Romans do is death to you as you. I'll live doing unlike the Romans because I can rest my head on the pillow knowing that I heeded Ginsberg's advice: "Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness."

"The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction." - Allen Ginsberg

Oh, How Times Have Changed...

As many of you know, yesterday was April 1st. The infamous day of pranks and practical jokes known as April Fool's Day. Yesterday also happened to be the one year anniversary of my surgery to remove a potentially fatal brain tumor. As a form of habit we compartmentalize our days according to some habit forming method. The day starts when we wake up, the next phase being the arrival at work, the 10 o'clock pause to fill the coffee cup, lunch between 12:30-1:30, another pause around 3 o'clock and the punching out of work being the final. Yesterday, though, my day was separated according to a different set of references. 7:30 was not associated with my half-way point between work and home, but rather with my preoperative preparation at last year. 8:15 was not associated with my arrival at work, but rather the acceptance of my epidural. 7 o'clock was not quitting time, but rather the time I could remember being brought into the Neurology Observation Unit. It was certainly a different way to view my day, but I got through it.

It was very surreal though. I continued to recall blurbs from last year. The discussion with the anesthesiologist of preferring scotch to margaritas. His insistence that I would soon fall asleep, and my subsequent refusal to do so. His frustration and ultimate timidity in giving me doses that exceeded those he normally likes to distribute. My anxious dissipation into ultimate darkness. My cloudy immersion in the recovery unit and the shrouded realization of where I was and why I was there. Recognizing the nursing assistant in the corner who was the first person to know that I was awake who immediately called in the doctors and assistants. Hearing the question, "You are recovering right now. Do you know where you are." The shaking of my head indicating that I did not know. "Do you know why you would be in the hospital or why you would have had surgery?" The second shaking of my head in denial of understanding the situation. "Do you know who you are?" My occipital response of gazing off into the upper left corner of my eyes as if trying to recall my name and who I am. Observing the deeply concerned looks exchanged between attending surgeons and nurses who were immediately instructed to get the primary surgeon. I recalled the slowly cracking smile that stretched painfully across my face as I finally spoke saying, "Hey! April Fools." Watching as the surgeons and nurses angrily sauntered out of the room and hearing that initial nursing assistant hold back her laughter. 

I had told my brother Sam before the surgery that if I woke up after the operation and I could still make a joke that my family should know everything was okay. I remember the primary surgeon coming in to perform a quick mental test. If you recall, this is where I was asked to remember those three words: Cat. Apple. Table. I did. My reward: seeing the family members who had been sitting in the lobby of the hospital for endless hours. My mom came in holding back tears and my father came in with a happy smile on his face. I presumed above average news was relayed to them. I remember my brother coming in pretty even-keeled. My Aunt Lucine stayed at the entrance way and was hesitant to come into the room. My family could only stay for a few minutes and I asked them if things had gone well. They said the doctor gave them positive reinforcement that things had gone exceptionally well. They left.

I asked the nursing assistant to make sure that as soon as Katie got to the hospital to make sure that she was allowed to come right in to see me. She promised. And when Katie arrived she came right in along with my brother. Man, Katie looked horrified when she saw me. I don't know if I told her that before this. I told her that she looked horrified when they removed my bandages, but I don't think she knows how she looked when she first saw me post operation. To her credit, she tried to hide it. I was happy to see her. I was ready to be moved out of the recovery room immediately. Finally around seven-ish I was brought into the observation room. I spent the night acting as if nothing had happened and trying to avoid the 1,000 pound gorilla in the room. It was interesting to say the least.

Last night I was driving home around 7:00 p.m. I arrived at my fiancee's house after 8 o'clock. We watched shark-inspired episodes of Mythbusters. We fell asleep on the couch around 9:30. Then I went to bed.

A lot can change from one year to the next. That's the simultaneous beauty and disgust of life. But that's the way things go, so either deal with it or be destined to suffer because of it.

Call Miss Cleo for Your Free Tarot Readin'...

It seems to me that the existence of psychic abilities is something that most definitely exists. The definition of psychic abilities is the ability to perceive hidden information through means independent of the physical senses and independent of previous experience. This is more popularly known as extrasensory perception or ESP and it can be manifested through clairvoyance, precognition, or telepathy.

I tend to believe in the existence of psychic abilities because the main focus of the textbook definition maintains the ability to know things, or know about things, that already exist in reality. Clairvoyance and telepathy are the abilities to uncover information about an object, person, place, or action that actually exists. For instance, a clairvoyant could describe the actual appearance of a house in the Czechoslovakian countryside as if he were standing in front of it or had stood it front of it, though he has had no previous experience with the house. The point is that the house is actual and not potential and the psychic "power" is the ability to describe it without having experienced it. It is similar with precognition. Every moment of existence leading up until today has created a trajectory for the future. If we freeze time and prohibit any stimuli from acting on the present, then there will be a logically determinate future. I believe that precognitive people are able to tap into this trajectory at a given moment in time, but the prediction would only be true if nothing else changes, which we know is not the case. Therefore, any prediction a precognitive individual can make, though it may be true at the time of the prediction, will subsequently be subjected to an ever depreciating ratio of truth.

In a sense, psychic abilities are the abilties to access the mental atmosphere that encapsulates the earth and all of it's objects. This is known as the noosphere, which is the sphere of human sonsciousness and mental activity especially in regard to its influence on the biosphere and in relation to evolution (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/noosphere). The noosphere is a global consciousness in which the knowledge and emotions of every individual in the world comes together in an ocean-like existence. The belief is that all people are able to access the noosphere, thus access the collective knowledge of the human race if they could only train their minds properly. It is in this light that I believe psychic powers exist. They are not determining something that is not there or does not exist; rather, they are able to manipulate their minds to access the global knowledge of the noosphere.

I'm crazy... yeah, like a fox:
In the 1960s it was believed that the Russian government was investing extraordinary amounts of money into funding and developing psychic research as it pertained to effective government and military usage. Apparently it was such an issue that between 1968 and 1971 the United States government developed a similar program that existed until 1995 under both the United States Army and the Central Intelligence Agency (C.I.A.). The Stragate Project was de-classified in 1995, at which point various members associated with the program authored books and gave interviews documenting their experiences with the project. This was not just a program that scientifically researched whether or not psychic abilities existed. The Stargate Project has documented well over 100 missions in which remote viewers (psychics) were used to gather intelligence that had not been recovered through any other possible means. The most gifted individuals within the prgram achieved over 65% accuracy above chance. The individuals of the Stargate Project displayed elements of clairvoyance and precognition. Even though funding ended in 1995, the actual use of people as psychic spies and over two decades worth of research entails the United States government believed in the existence of psychic abilities. They believed in it to the tune of $20 million (www.fas.org/irp/program/collect/stargate.htm).

Does this mean that some psychic reader popping you off at $60 per 30 minutes in "Earth Spirit" along the strip mall is telling the truth when they say you have an old soul, or that your relationship will/won't last, or that so-and-so will/won't die? Hardly. Consider: if psychics (and I mean street psychics that purport to know the future and delegate that information at a cost) were accurate, why would you ever need to go back? Is it any wonder why they only predict your life three to six months into the future and tell you to come back for more after then? These people should be avoiding death, anticipating stock market moves, curing cancer, predicting natural disasters, and betting the ponies. They should be doing anything with their skill other than peddling pennies from people who enjoy the theatrics and awe of magic tricks.

Any single, individual life is capable of progressing down an infinite number of paths. The decisions and goings-on of today dictate the possible futures that can exist. If we are to believe that all psychics (even the street psychics and Tarot card readers) are honest and legitimate, then a professed psychic AT BEST is able to predict one of the infinite pathways your life can take, but in no way can guarantee that things will manifest themselves according to the manner they have predicted. Again, if the psychic is real, then we must assume the reason they tell us to return in six months is because the decisions and happenstances that have occurred in the six months since your visit have dramatically altered your future. In short, they tell you what your future will be, but it's up to you to decide if you want to change it.

It's okay to believe in psychic abilities, it would appear it's even rational to do so. But then, on pain of irrationality, should believe in Judeo-Christian predestination, proclaimed prophets, UFOs, aliens, and God. Do me a favor though: let's not get all fidgety just because Sarah the psychic in Red Bank says I'm going to die before 30 after I have my first child, because last time I was having three children and living into my 60s, and the time before that I was marrying someone I don't even know yet and dying in my 40s, and before that I was not going to live more than a few more months.

Just like a story's plot doesn't progress if you never read the next page, your future cannot be determined until you decide to make it so. So fuck the psychics and forget the trembling worries of what may come and step outside of your bubble. Life is waiting for you to tell it what to do.

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility...

Super-heroes and super-villains are the fictional recreations of our society’s dialectic between good and evil and the human condition in its entirety. As I’ve said before, all forms of art are only effective through their ability to reflect a tangible aspect of society back towards the audience. Super-heroes and super-villains hold a place within all of us exactly because of their usefulness in magnifying the fundamental aspects of good and evil, making these abstract concepts more accessible. The three most widely recognizable superheroes are Superman, Spiderman, and Batman. This triumvirate are intrinsically balanced as each of these three super-heroes represents one of the three major types of super-people.

Superman represents the first group, which is the alien super-hero/super-villain. Superman, who was born as Kal-El on the planet Krypton, arrived in Kansas and was raised by farmers and he assumed the identity of Clark Kent. A fundamental understanding of Superman is that he is NOT human. There is an implied philosophical sentiment by Superman supporters that presupposes that, if we are to take Superman as wholly good, then the human condition, even in its most optimistic proliferation, is incapable of ultimate success or ultimate “good” just as humans are incapable of doing the things Superman does. Kal-El is an alien, but he represents what we humans consider as desireable traits. He is strong, fast, and supremely moral. His superpowers are of the best ilk. He can fly, he has x-ray vision, he is faster than the speed of light, he is bulletproof, he has endless strength, and so on and so forth. All of these traits are juxtaposed with his nemesis Lex Luthor. Luthor is viewed as existing in the highest tier of humanity. He is wealthy, philanthropic, and intelligent. Moreover, Lex Luthor is the one that is human, yet he is the embodiment of what humans stereotypically consider evil. Superman does not represent what a man can become, rather he represents what we want to become, but never will. There is the implication that the human is less than perfect in his inability to become what Superman is.

Spiderman represents the second group of super-heroes/super-villains, which are those that are genetically altered human beings. As opposed to Superman, Spiderman is a human being. He is Peter Parker. In order to become Spiderman, though, Peter Parker had to be bitten by a radioactive spider whose radioactive venom significantly altered his genes, thus creating Spiderman. While Superman maintained his powers as an element of his physical construction alone, Spiderman's powers are a mixture of his physical mutations and his pre-existing intelligence. He has "spidey-senses" and he is fantastically agile and much stronger. He also has the ability to defy gravity by climbing walls and by having a supreme mastery over his body. Intellectually his powers are made more prominent as he creates a technological device that allows him to shoot a web-like substance from his wrists in the likeness of a spider. We must note, though, that there is a significant distinction between Peter Parker and Spiderman. Peter is a kind and gentle-hearted individual who keeps his identity hidden, but Spiderman is a lush for the spotlight. Spiderman is received with mixed reviews by the public as some see him as a savior, but others see him as a menace. Since Spiderman is created from a genetic mutation of the human condition, we must view Spiderman similar to Superman, though we are able to relate with the former more than the latter: Spiderman does not represent into what a man can make himself, rather he represents what we might possibly be is we were changed. Again, there is an implication that human beings are destined to fall short of the desired self since they cannot become what Spiderman is without the rarest of circumstances.

Batman represents the third group of super-heroes. These characters are human through and through and their "super"-ego (not Freudian) is entirely consistent with their humanity. Batman is neither an alien, nor have his genetics been altered in any way shape or form. Batman is the multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne, owner and operator of Wayne Enterprises. Batman is not an example of what we want to be or what the maximum human output could be if external influences are introduced, rather Batman exemplifies what a strong human will can do all on its own (and lots and lots of money). Batman captures humanity completely. Unlike Superman, there is no definitive distinction between good and evil. In reality, we do not live in a black and white world. We live in a world of infinite shades of gray. Good and evil ("in and of themselves" - : P) are illusions; the method that Batman operates on, and the method that appears most in sync with reality, is that the situation and the environment and the "before" and "after" determine what is good and what is bad, and that distinction only applies to that specific situation. Batman does not have superpowers, he uses intelligence and grit to establish himself as a super-hero. An awesome car, a trusty utility belt, a resolute mind, and complete fearlessness are Batman's powers. Even Batman's enemies do not have superpowers. They are all perversions of the human form. The Joker is a sadistic, schizophrenic, masochistic individual who is severely detached from rality. The Penguin is a deformed human, abandoned in his infancy, and looking for vindication. Two-Face was the famous politician Harvery Dent who lost the love of his life because of Batman's mistake and now vows to oppose Batman at every turn. Batman represents exactly what a normal, yet determined individual can accomplish if he grits his teeth and decides that no matter what he will perservere.

We will not all be Superman.

We will not all be Spiderman.

We will not all be Batman.

The thing is this:

We don't have what we need to become Superman.
We don't have what we need to become Spiderman. (Sorry Sam)
But we have exactly everything we will ever need to become Batman: determination and perserverance.

I am the Bat!

The Song Remains The Same...

Life is a song...

A gorgeous blend of rhythm, harmony, melody, tonality, theme, and motif. An antiquated balance between form and function, between studied theory and whimsical talent, between percussive dominance and rhythmic passivity. A continuous interplay between instrumental equivalents finding a voice within a construction and settling into a comfortable role. Think Jazz with me: any instrument can lead the musical arrangement, it just depends on the intended construction and the moment in the song. Sometimes, each instrument has it's time in the sun. Now the lead guitar vacillates all over the musical staff - major, minor, thirds, sevenths, diminished, augmented, pentatonic - the direction is left to the guitar. Now the bass takes hold, the grooving bass that forces you to bob - not nod - your head in calm and collected coolness. Then the drummer kicks it with some rolls, a bit of a high hat, syncopated beats, speed ups and slow downs that beg for toe-tapping.

Life is similarly constructed of a confluence of elements that result in a symphonic and harmonious output. Some lives are psychedelic, some rock and roll, others are classical, and still others are somewhere else. Some people do a lot of talking in their lives, just like some songs focus on the lyrics. Some people do a lot of waiting in lives, just like some songs focus on the music. Some people do a lot of crazy things in life, just like song solos are all over the place. Some people stay very close to the chest, just like some songs keep it very simple. There is no life that is definitively and objectively better than another, just like there is no definitive and objective way to place songs in a particular order.

Though our verses tell the story of the goings-on that make up the fluidity of our lives, it is the chorus that is the real meat and potatoes. Those battle-tested beliefs and ideals that we continuously fall back on. Our cheat-sheet that we use as the basis for all of our decisions. Just like the song, our lives always come back to the chorus or the hook. And just like a good song, if you have no hook, then you have no song. It's the "Bye, Bye, Bye" and the "Oops, I Did It Again" that pulls you back in. It's the "Let It Be" and the "If You Want Blood" that grabs our attention. It's the "Sipping on Gin and Juice" and the "It's Tricky To Rock Around, To Rock Around the Clock" that sticks with us. It's the "Lovin' Is What I Got" and the "Whoa, Amber is The Color of Your Energy" that bobs the head.

A great song is like a beautiful work of art. Whereas artwork stimulates your mind visually, music stimulates your brain sonically. Both are constructed with interconnected complexities that add or subtract various levels of depth. The most important correlation between the two, however, is that the power both have over the individual. Moreover, that power is directly proportionate to the ability of the artwork to impact the audience through the reflecting of life back towards the audience. Every great piece of artwork - paintings, songs, symphonies, sculptures, novels, theater, television, films - is characterized by the ability to reflect an aspect of life back to the audience. Some for humor and some for drama and some for both. This is no matter. The point is to remember that these artistic creations reflect our lives and we are not supposed to make our lives reflect them.

Sometimes, even, art can be an even better representation of the realities of life than life:
"And, in the end, the love you take,
Is equal to the love you make." - "The End", The Beatles, Abbey Road

"People used what they called a telephone because they hated being close together and they were scared of being alone." - Chuck Palahniuk

Do you ever feel that when you are talking to someone they are not really listening to you, but really just waiting for their turn to talk? Sometimes they don't even wait politely, right? Those are the people that say "right" or "yeah" after every sentence just waiting for the moment you hesitate too long so they can tell you how what you are telling them is "just like this one time..." I am trying to figure out how it is that some people just always know exactly what you're talking about and, luckily enough, are able to relate it to some story in their own lives. I'll tell you it feels refreshing when someone can relate to what you are going through. At the same time, it's awfully annoying when the person makes it seem as if they are the only ones that have anything interesting to say. Even if they don't believe it, they sure as shit need to pretend a lot better.

Sure it comes from our narcissistic, ego-centric belief that we are the proverbially straw that stirs the drink. Again, we are the star actors in our own lives. It's like a self-help author reading his own book for advice. If you don't want to hear what other people have to say, then talk to the mirror. Although, that might result in You fighting Yourself since neither You nor Yourself would get a chance to talk since the other one will constantly be talking over the other. That's a good way to guarantee split-personality disorder. You will be fighting with Yourself because You won't stop talking over Yourself and You won't be giving Yourself a chance to talk.

People won't even listen to you when they think you're going to die. They really try at that time to convince you of what you should or should not be feeling. I laid in the hospital the night before my brain surgery and had my brother and my future sister-in-law and my parents there. Of course, My Love was there as well. Some close relatives on the low. I told my parents that I just wanted to hang out and stay relaxed. In no time I had a church ceremony taking place in my hospital room. Frankincense and myrrh including in the celebration of "mass." Even a sermon was given in which the participants prayed for a "miracle" hoping that I would come out alive. Goodness, I was nervous, but at least I was confident. Then I hear people praying for the miracle of my survival and I became upset. Pissed off I believe would be the accepted F-ing vernacular. People pretend they want to listen to you when they think you are dying, but really they just want to savor those last few moments to tell you what they really think. I assume they hope to send you up to heaven with their words as your last memory so that you can tell the peoples upstairs how awesome they are.

I don't like to lack faith in people, but sometimes people make it too hard not to lose faith. People don't want to talk to each other. Politicians don't want to listen, they are all a bunch of opportunists. They want the power superstructure to fail so that they have a platform on which to pontificate their equally ridiculous ideals. Many religious individuals don't want to listen, they would rather explain how you and your peers seated around you are spitting in God's face just by enjoying a fine meal or a few glasses of an alcoholic beverage, while they are somehow closer to God because they attended seminary school. It doesn't just float to the top though, even our peers don't want to listen. We all want to be the one to untie the Gordian Knot (or at least be savvy enough to slice through it with our mighty sword Excalibur, thus ascending the throne and running Camelot like a BAMF).

I talk a lot and I sure as shit act like I know what I'm talking about all the time. I hate being wrong. When I am, I will admit it (however begrudgingly it comes). I will also try and see anything from your point of view even if I disagree with it. I really will. No matter how far up my own ass I have to try and put my head. I'm flexible. We don't even really like each other except for the few specials in our lives. Why else would we invent phones to be used between individuals separated by mere rooms. Or the Internet. We would rather text a question than ask it. MensHealth actually had to survey women to see what their reactions are to being asked out through text/e-mail because so many jack-asses seem to be doing it instead of the phone call, which is already distancing in itself.

All I think is deserved is the mutual respect among all of us to shut up and listen when someone else is having a conversation with you. One-on-one we should wait, listen, then thoughtfully respond rather than bite our tongues until it's our turn. Just listen with open ears and an open mind and I promise you will hear new things in old places, and you will gain knowledge where you thought none existed.

Be like water...

“Success and failure are both difficult to endure. Along with success come drugs, divorce, fornication, bullying, travel, meditation, medication, depression, neurosis, and suicide. With failure comes failure.” – Joseph Heller
Many people throughout history have discussed suicide. It has been understood both as a form of cowardice and a form of heroism. Aristotle believed that even though suicide displayed bravery in the face of death, it is always the escape of some fearful thing and so it is the love-child of cowardice. Albert Camus wrote about suicide being the only thing that a man can do that is truly taking control of his own life. Phil Donahue believed “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Shakespeare focuses on suicide over and over throughout his plays and, coincidentally they are featured in his most celebrated plays “Romeo and Juliet,” “Hamlet,” “King Lear,” “Othello,” and more. There was even a time in our history that believed that suicide was fashionable as satirically portrayed in the Winona Rider movie “The Heathers.” Dante Alighieri believed the innermost circles of hell were reserved for the abhorrent individuals who chose to commit suicide instead of face life. Arthur Schopenhauer said, “They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice… that suicide is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person.”
I fall on the side of cowardice. Life is hard. It’s supposed to be hard. It’s hard for every animal on the planet, the difference being our knowledge of the difficulty. I can agree that surviving in life is difficult and the knowledge of our unforgiving existence is regrettable, thus I suppose that suicide, or the wishing for death to come, is a means of relieving the pain and difficulty. But it is not life that we are hoping to avoid through suicide; rather, it is the tribulations and afflictions that confront us in life that we run from through suicide. So, suicide simultaneously delivers us from our pain, but condemns us to never experience the positives that come from life.
We refuse to accept the vicissitudes of life and this is why we are met with adversity that we believe we cannot overcome except through suicide. Some forms of martial arts, such as Aikido, discuss the forces of fighting like the forces of nature, more specifically as the force of water. The key to be truly prepared to endure any attack from an opponent is to remain in a relaxed position that is adaptable to an attack from any angle. Most importantly, one should not attempt to defend the incoming force with opposing outgoing force; rather, the trick is to use the incoming force as a method of avoiding the contact. Is that confusing? Instead of trying to block a punch by forcefully raising your arm, logically it is easier to avoid the punch by stepping to the side and using the puncher’s momentum to put him to his back. Such is the same in life. Instead of fighting against the difficulties of life, which can lead us to take extremes measures to avoid them, we need to work with the forces of nature in order to survive. We say we want to live in reality, that is what “The Matrix” portrays, that if given the choice between a real reality and a fake reality we will take the real one. I agree with this idea, but I disagree that people truly want this. Most people are like Cipher from the first matrix movie, they wish they had taken the blue pill.
Reality is the painful and usually slow realization that your life is not like the movies and books you have wished them to be. Your life is hard and it sucks, but it’s a better option than death I assure you. Our buddy Chuck Palahniuk said, “Reality means you live until you die. The real truth is nobody wants reality.” They want a hyper-reality. They want a life that they believe they deserve rather than the life that they have been given. Suicide may not be cowardice and it may be brave, or the opposite. I don’t know for sure. I can tell you this much: with people trying to hang on to life by a thin thread, clinging on and fighting to endure things unimaginable, even the mere contemplation of suicide, let alone the act of suicide, is a direct slap in the face. Some have lost loved ones against their wills, and when they are confronted with a person who decides that taking their own life is their will, I think it is perfectly acceptable to slap them right back. Draconian laws are acceptable with suicidal miscreants.
“There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance, that imitation is suicide, that he must take himself for better or for worse.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson