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• DeathKnightv4
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• DeathKnight
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Birthday
• 1988-08-10
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Male
Location
• Dancin' with Enkidu.
Member Since
• 2003-08-12
Occupation
• Robot Lord of Kyoto.
Real Name
• Kenneth.
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• Painting our sky ocean.
Anime Fan Since
• I saw Sailor Moon.
Favorite Anime
• Last Exile, Infinite Ryvius, Da Capo, Air, El Hazard, Rozen Maiden, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya.
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• Dynastic cycle.
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• All rise.
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• Thumbs down.
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Monday, November 24, 2003
Extirpative.
I love how suicide and cutting has become a trend. I dislike the melodrama of describing my own times of extreme malcontent causing physical repercussions, but I think that everyone knows that story.
Winter is a depressing time for me. January is when my friends commited suicide, after all. It is hard not to get all reminescent about things and people that no longer exist, and memories that just linger to make you painfully wonder if you could have done something to stop it.
It is sad that that happened so early. It hangs on your back consistantly, no matter what anyone says to you. "It wasn't your fault"; "You couldn't have done anything". I think I could have. I know I could have. I could have saved three of my closest friends, but I couldn't really beleive for a second they were that unstable.
I couldn't even follow them into death, fate would not lend me that blessing. It hangs like a bad odor, restless, relenting. Never leaving.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I take offense to people who display it as a trend.
The personal affairs of men and their knives, as taboo as ever somehow becomes cool to parts of early teenage society. The real people who turn to knives mixed with those who wish to put on a facade, it is all mixed and blurred- the real not getting the help they need and the fake getting the pseudo-popularity they desire.
I see that a sad time falls on all, a worse time on many, a hellish time on a few. All are different in how they deal with it- writing, gaming, singing, punching, cutting. But some just have no way to go on and, in their own fury, end up hurting more than them.
The one common factor in all is pain, and how it molded them- stronger? weaker? more intelligent? more common sense?
Or was it just too much for them, and it ripped them apart?
All the poets in the world can try to describe the moment after you slit your wrists, but it is a moment that even sages cannot tell you.
Maybe it will stop someday. Just, stop. Like a halt to a fast car, or a train skidding to it's demise.
And yet,
I salute ye, men of valor. For life has seen no war greater than the tribulations of man, and yet the tribulations of man is a war that will never end. Combat casualties mount, the maelstrom is all consuming.
Take my hand and dance with me, for tomorrow we may all die.
But, poetics aside, behind me.. lies another fallen soldier.
May his soul find the peace that I never saw him attain in life.
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