Monday, 11 April 2011

A stroke of luck

I met someone yesterday pretending he was homeless. I say pretending and
it's an educated guess. He was drinking Tennants Super, the ironic beer
of the homless, but slowly. He misquoted the system for hostels as far
as I am aware and I think he was hoping to scam me out of money.

I chatted to him about my suicidal desires. He'd had them as well. He
offered to help me. In fact he offered to kill me.

I'd been so hopeful that Dignitas could help me but even they deny the
mentally ill the rights of others. I wanted a peaceful death but was
faced with the prospect of a messy end, one where my organs couldn't be
recycled.

There are always other ways. I'd forgotten what an old friend once told
me. He was reputed to be a hitman but he never told me that story. He
was involved in the world of crime and helped me get drugs. He explained
bits of the world of crime. Basically if I could find a crack addict I
could get anything done. I tried crack cocaine once so I undersrtand
why. Just once. It's the most addictive drug I've ever tried. To fund
their habit crack addcits often turn to crime and prostitution.
Hopefully I can find one who's willing to help me for a fee.

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About Me

We It comes in part from an appreciation that no one can truly sign their own work. Everything is many influences coming together to the one moment where a work exists. The other is a begrudging acceptance that my work was never my own. There is another consciousness or non-corporeal entity that helps and harms me in everything I do. I am not I because of this force or entity. I am "we"