Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


Choose pain

(messages and rants to people who will never read them, part #1)

Cossetted, over-priveleged, ungrateful fucking pussies and cowards, with your absurd sense of entitlement, your greedy fucking eyes, and all the wealth that you don't even recognise as such thrown at you by the welfare state. You act as if waking in minor opiate withdrawals is the closest thing to hell on earth.

Oh no. Human experience gets worse, so much worse. I'll spare myself from listing all the blood-chilling ways it could be worse. You could be waking up in a ruined bunker with your rifle frozen to your fingers, your toes going black, the supplies are cut off and you've had nothing but thin cold cabbage soup and a few coffee-beans to chew on for the last two weeks, and there are ten divisions of Russians with bayonets, flamethrowers and tanks somewhere out there in the -20 C blizzard, coming to disembowel you and burn you and squash you into the ice under their tank tracks.

And you'd still have something to be thankful for, then: a chance of survival. If that's something to be thankful for. You could be alone, bound spread-eagled to rocks, the desert sun scorching your skin and stabbing your defenceless eyes like spikes (their obsidian knives neatly removed your eye-lids), praying for some wild beast to find you and devour you and end it all now. But there is no life here, in the burned desert, and no one will find you. Your strength ebbs, and long before you become crazed enough to do it, you won't have the strength to smash your own head on the rocks to hasten your terrible passing...

As stated here previously - take hope, ye people! - there is a painless cure: death.

At least you have the luxury of the option.

Choose pain.