forty six

I had a poem in my head all day, but i’ve forgotten it. I always do. Too, i’ve decided to begin once more to write poetry. Probably just silly rhymes like always, but maybe real poetics, ya dig?

Anyway, a few days ago i was on about suicide. It’s an intriguing thing, this killing of self. As i said some forty posts ago, i’ve no desire to kill myself and never had any, but it’s a thought i find interesting and worth a bit of thought, or at least a few words.

I see nothing wrong with the desire to die, even if it means killing oneself. It’s when you kill another that i’ve a problem. By all means, do what you like with and to yourself, just leave me out of it. Though, that’s where things get real interesting. When you’re asked to aid in the dying. I can’t know now if i’d do it, but i’d like to think i’d help any creature suffering, even if it means to put an end to it by ending all of it.

Because death can be reprieve. And it’s not necessarily taking life, which is the case of murder, but of freeing life. And maybe that’s an insufficient metaphysical gap, but i think it’s an important one. Helping someone die is different than killing or helping to kill.

Of course many disagree. We can’t all be Kevorkians, though there’s this thing, let’s see if i can track it down in a minute or less. Bah, can’t find it. it’s called the Kevorkian Society or some such thing. People fighting for the right to die, essentially.

I think i should be able to choose when to die if i see fit. There’s a character in, i think, The Brothers Karamazov, though it could be something else, and i want to say his name’s Dmitri, though that, too, could be wrong. Anyway, he, for philisophical reasons, decides to kill himself, though it’s done a bit comically as–i just remembered it’s in The Idiot–the main character’s always expecting him to be dead, but he persists and persists. I don’t recall rightly if he does end up killing himself or no, but that’s hardly the point here.

Death, she calls me, for surely it’s a she or i wouldn’t love her so and she wouldn’t be so elusive nor would she ravage me so, ripping my body apart with each molecule disintegrating till there’s naught to hold it all together and i melt into the essential and leave the impermanence of existence behind.