suicide cold line

[jimboloco]

me friend from the vets group
had a brother who had blown his brains out
he cleaned it up

then he invited me to go with him and his other brother
and his brother's wife and little kid to a petting zoo
in the country. it was nice, yet we were all in pain.

i was always in pain.
christ.
not the physical kind.
christ.

then his other brother lost his job at the supermarket
they were gonna lose their house
he sealed himself in the car
you know the rest

one eve the lone survivor came over to chat
sitting there at the table he pulled out a .38
was languidly waving it around snake-like
would pass it before my head, back and forth

i yelled at him
he said, "thought ya might wanna see it."
i yelled again
he left

the therapist called me an elitist
i left

therapist took the survivor to nyc, saw "cats"
he got his mojo back
haircutter in the mall

didn't wanna talk to me after that

dated a lady whose first hubbie was a nam vet suicide
she was a goupie
dished out sympathy fucks
her baseline
my heartbreak

don't come talking to me about suicide
i will yell at you.
i fight to the death.

[stilltrucking]

don't come talking to me about suicide
i will yell at you.
i fight to the death.

it is all around us,
we are on a mission
we got to listen

on the edge of an abyss
can we fall off the edge of our minds?
suicide all I know is what I know

Baltimore, 1948
I think I was eight when the idea first came to mind. Curiosity and feeling unloved, The closet, the coat hook, and the belt. I felt it tighten as I leaned forward, it tightened to a certain point and I stopped. I say I stopped but not quiet correct. Something stopped me, I say say just like i used to hear the curly headed people sing, "the good lord was with me" maybe it was just instinct. Modern Ancient said he was fifteen, wrote a nice story about his parents and a shot gun. Somebody wrote back to critique it, you know look at metaphors and stuff. This may be a double post but maybe I can say it better, remember all those songs about watching your parents hell go buy and you can only look at them and cry and dylan's lament your sons and your daughters are beyond your control, a thousand HST could make a mess but I would care much more to see one child make that permanent mistake.
. For now I llisten to the children. I thought I grew up in a strange time, but these days are even worse then that for kids.


" U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), suicide is the third leading cause of death for those ages 15 to 24, surpassed only by car accidents and homicide. Suicide rates are on the rise for younger adolescents as well, with dramatic increases noted in this age group from 1980 to 1996. Suicide attempts are even more prevalent, though it is difficult to track the exact rates."

Silver Spring Maryland, 1974
He said it all started with one mescaline trip.
He was an artist and a medical student. He painted pictures of his wife as a devil. There were aliens from outer space who were trying to make him change his chromosomes. He said they would make him kill himself if he didn't do it.. I wasn't much help. I said, "If I were you I would change my chromosomes." He killed himself. Pathetic. This was about the time of my scarlet letters and I was pretty focused on my own self pity. When push comes to shove maybe that is how some comes to do it. Tunnel vision no thought of anyone else but themselves. No thought of anyone's pain but their own. Now I pray for a hearing heart.

San Antonio TX 1984
Unassisted doctor suicide
No heroics. She was at peace with her G-d, she had fought a good fight for ten years diabetes, three heart attacks, one massive stroke, and now cancer.
Homeboy her number one son had talked it out with her and we were all agreed, no heroics. Her heart stopped, and in the middle of the night a doctor decided to be a hero. So now she lies in the ic unit with that pacemaker kicking her heart to beat, blood samples being drawn every four hours, but she ain't done in yet. She tells homeboy to take her home. She wants to go home to die. She had a good death. Only sorry my sister withdrew in guilt, I could see her freeze up inside. My sister my self I knew the symptons.
There is a different standard for the old. We have a rights. Kids are something else. Since Columbine a kid can't write a story in school, somebody sees their journals or diaries it is off to the shrink or worse. Maybe what they need more than pills or a shrink is an English major to help them create, sublimate.