Tag Archives: death

DFW and Why Suicide still feels soooo Good

‘The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be or you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains constant. the variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s the terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling “Don’t!” and “Hang on!”, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

David Foster Wallace

I agreed with this for a long time because of the eloquence of the wording… because of the truth…

…but, you see… part of me… and just me, chill… desires a bit of the fall. …absolutely not the whole fall… but I’d be lying if I said that “It’s not desiring the fall”.

…because of the fear. But that’s the thing. We are stupid bitches retarded to our own flesh and it’s actual FLESH.

the live version and the dead version. cold. dead.

sorry, but david foster wallace was an example of the moderately mundane youth-ish ‘troubled’ white american man of yesterday.

I mean, are you serious?… this fuckin’ book… that weighs more than my torso?

Fuck you.

But, I get it… and I like that he was self-indulgent enough to go there… but 46 or something and then this explanation…


Let the suicidal people of the world feel what they feel and kill themselves in the way that they’d like.

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Where have all the E-ple gone?

Speaking of Ecstacy… MDMA… an analogue of amphetamine…

I realize that I’m writing more and more about history than anything else. Present history. Recent previous history. something…

I’m just thinking about the death of the rave scene.

But it’s not dead. It never died. And it existed long before the late 1980 – early 1990 kandy kids first stepped foot into Twilo.

It’s just that… it bubbled to the surface, I suppose. And society embraced…

There are a whole bunch of factors, of course.

The least of them being a weaker, more pampered generation of youth. And the connotation of Ecstacy.

“It’s not really speed… not an actual drug. Like… cocaine!… so it’s okay”

Its strange how many people… adults and kids alike.. embraced it. Strange.

Strange that it was okay.

But I digress. This whole thing has been one huge-ass digression.

Jai Ho from Slumdog… is a softer, less techno, ethnic version of Paul Oakenfold… I mean, the drum and bass and the euphoric riff of it all. It’s grand that way. Almost Jungle at times… poseurs would categorize as “Goa Trance” and be… well… WRONG! and categorically, the poseurs that they are.

It may be drum and bass/jungle but it certainly has a beginning, middle and end. Verse, chorus, verse. Very traditional in this sense… very American (like a progressive trance Bollywood version of a non-alcoholic Billy Joel).


Okay, so I’ve just been burned to a slight crispy broil… due to the aforementioned Billy Joel reference.

But giving nothing more than anything away… I know suburban New York. The boroughs that lay beyond even the dirty outer boroughs. I know that shit for better or worse.

I’m granted the derogatory slurs of my own. So fuck you.
…in the nicest possible way, of course. 🙂

In any event, I mean, just hearing the song… I want to be at a rave right now… rolling on Ecstacy that is neither speedy nor dopey… pure MDMA… or whatever.

A version of me this second… older and, yes… wiser?… putting down the speed and embracing this version of my reality. Going for the sensual ecstacy while leaving the shear driving happy hardcore beats behind.

The escalating driving and pounding and go-go-go!. I am a machine. To the beat… forever.

My open hand, in a wave of recognition slowly closes as my fingers fall into my palm weak with weary.

Maybe I’m actually learning something…

…lets hold off on that theory.


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