this morning i broke the lamp and the string of the ceiling fan in the guest room when dancing to warpaint's undertow
and i realised my thumb was slit.
i used to think of suicide as one atrocious action. i'd like to think that i am now more open to possibilities.
the week before the dream i read the bell jar and how i became stupid. i watched norwegian wood and caught a prolonged glimpse of the first page of the virgin suicides. i still don't fancy death much even after all these reading and watching, not yet, despite being immensely curious about the idea of it.
latest survey showed that
51 percent believe that there is an afterlife while 23 percent believe they will just "cease to exist." Around a quarter (26 percent) simply don’t know what will happen after death.i belong to the third category. i've never tasted a dip of death, so how am i supposed to know? death so much resembles one nasty trick pulled off by some superior force. (regardless of whether you believe in supreme being, you still can't escape death --> you're inferior to death) you can't satisfy your curiosity just like that, you can't 'try' death for it has no fitting room, you have to thrust your whole body into the sea of death, or not at all.
this is one very premature stance though, i still yet have to read more from the science side. a friend is currently reading science tackles afterlife, perhaps that'll be one good start.
all the books i've read last week never try to look beyond death. the presence of death in life, the truth that death itself is a part of life are much more emphasised, and they're already complicated that way.
in how i became stupid, professor astanavis of suicide for all by any means says
...we don't choose to live, we don't choose what language we speak, what country or what age we live in, what tastes we have, we don't choose our lives. Our only freedom is death; death means finding freedom.
of course she's talking about a planned death of oneself, a suicide.
death is an idea so easy to provoke in mind. it doesn't wave its hands pleading for you to come around; it's static, standing there just around the lumpy corner. it's just there, waiting for you to approach.