Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

that ain't nothing
the suicide of a child
now that is not painless

Maybe eight years old.
A belt, a coat hook, a closet
Unlove precedes predeath
Locked in a closet
Punishment for some crime
I forgot the crime
Probably the usual, making too much noise.
Just childhood curiosity
What does it feel like to be hung?
Scared the hell out me
Maybe seven or eight years old
Never lost consciousness
Pulled my way back unbelted myself
Left me with a lingering memory
Struggling for breath
As if I remember my death
And I cannot wear any shirt buttoned at the neck
Turtlenecks an anathema to me
I was such a precocious child


1948 I would have been about seven and a half.
Was it Israel
Something happened that year
I remember looking at the calendar and saying to myself, remember 1948
maybe it was just a belt a coat hook and a closet.

Eidetic images from a semi autistic childhood. Store happy memories I knew. Sitting at the dinner tables with my brothers laughing eating, a loaf of Koestler's bread on the table. Save them remember the feeling of being with your loved ones. The unhappy memories did not require any special effort. They just seemed to accumulate.


Survivor Syndrome
memories that overwhelm
how many holocaust survivors
turned suicides?

Background noise...
Something on either the history channel or discovery about Hitler, Hemlar (sp) and the death machines ( as i call them).

I really didn't pay that much attention, such an ugly thing to do to humans, not my cup of tea.

Hemlar literally threw up when they place them in front of the firing squad. That's how the gas chambers came to be.

Hitler had to be satan in the flesh. Such an ugly man. Those that survived had to be really strong. Those that turned suicide... erased the memories anyway.

Wished I had paid more attention, but this just reminded me of what my grandfather. I do think he was in WWII. Thank god he fought for america, and not the germans.

Sorry I ramble. just thoughts

suicide is
never standing up for yourself
lying down in front of mass hysteria
wishing away life
sitting on your hands
holding your tongue

waiting for the train that never arrives, sleeping when it comes, waking up and waiting once more

suicide is self-annihilation
a slow burn on a burnt out fire
a quick freeze caught in an upward stalagmite

sue me
i cede

j wrote:

why suicide?
why bother?
why the pretense that i'm worth the pain?

living is suicide
a one-directional moment
you begin, you know there's a finish line one day

why suicide?
it's all heading to that point

muscles contract
glands secrete thoughts
I am so bored with it all
sick and tired
of being sick and tired
of generation after generation of vipers

The meat speaks

moving on to here

j wrote:

suicide is
never standing up for yourself
lying down in front of mass hysteria
wishing away life
sitting on your hands
holding your tongue

waiting for the train that never arrives, sleeping when it comes, waking up and waiting once more

suicide is self-annihilation
a slow burn on a burnt out fire
a quick freeze caught in an upward stalagmite

sue me
i cede

suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem

headburner?

lying down in front of mass hysteria

ha ha, yes we won't get fooled again.
Oh lordy sister J, dem american security moms give me female problems. "enough to give a man a pause." lyrics billy c wirtz

judih wrote:she unrolled the turkish carpet
and found herself flattened in anticipation

walked on for centuries
looking up the ladies' skirts
into gentlemen's trousers

she felt the worst and the best of cobblestoned soles
she saw that all were the same
massive and plodding

the few who flew were saluted

she, flat and looking up
been so down it all looked up from there
gazed at the sky
waiting for a rush of salvation

##Now this, judih, deserved to be posted on its own. This encapsulates life and the suicide that some live from birth 'til death. Don't just salute the few who fly though, join them. You are nearer than you perhaps realize. Redundancy is suicide. Transcend and then transmute life's redundancy. 'Ev'ry day's an endless dream of cigarettes and magazines, ooh, ooh, ooh...and each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories...and all my dreams (earthly) come back to me in shades of mediocrity...homeward bound, I wish I were...Homeward bound...' Nice, judih, very nice. Terse and distilled well.

lenny

flying can often be confused for hitching a ride on a cloud
flying can be gravitationally confusing
flying is what flying is

the few who fly
(who knew?)
fly by our side

thanks, lenny, for your uplifting comment!

This one was written for Maya, age 14 - suicide September 4, 2004

Feel the tears
Feel the thick sadness
in the air.

Wipe the eyes
the heart rains
in the light.

Listen to the noise
the love that cries
with nowhere to go.


sept. 5/04

Suicide was about me writing about how a cousin of mine took his life three years ago and how it felt to me.

I Remember Tim

Tim was cousin on my DadÂ’s side. We were almost the same age. We grew up knowing each other. He was Big and knew how to take care of himself. He played football went into the army. He then became a police officer.
He served to protect those in the community. He then married. Started a family. Bought a home. Settled into a Life of his own. Often I would be invited to his children’s birthday parties. Oh how we would celebrate together. I remember how he would say to me as I was leaving to go home. “Do you have a ride back home?” I would reply back to him by saying “Yes Officer I do have a ride back.” “Do you have one?” He would laugh at my remark. But now I will no longer hear his laughter or see the life that he would have lived as those years go by. I now have only Memories of Him in my life. These I will cherish for the rest of my life. Tim I will always remember the good times you and I had shared together. May you now find Peace in your Life.


Your Cousin Dave
_________________
beginners guide to investing

i want to go outside
and lie down in the meadow
with open veins

and the rain
shall play me a mass
and shall drive across me
strong
like a train
and paint me white
like an empty
river bed
drained by light

and i shall spread out
in the grass
like a bird in flight
like a dead bird
with feathers shed

i shall bleed out my pain
and the rain shall
colour me pure
shall wash off the stains
and the fight and the red

and shall cure
me while i pass
into the bright

healing comes to those who melt
stir up the muck
and let it bleed

one trench, me and my patch of ground
we meet again at the root

suicide only a thought ripped through my racing mind at times through diagnosis of depression a rail I have slid down many times in my doomed adult life swallowing every anti sadness pill made by corporate America...at Roger Waters Dark Side Of The Moon concert 2 days ago in darkest abyss when the lyrics cut through with razor accuracy..." you rearrange me till I'm sane..."....so I take my pill and smile.......

"There really is no dark side of the moon it's all dark really..."

I think about suicide quite a bit
But I am high on polonium 210

Sorry to hear about your cousin Dav

the blood jet is poetry she wrote
there is no stopping it
I have never been able to learn anything from her death
In life she learned me.