| Labrīt, ! |
[Sep. 18th, 2012|09:30 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Hospitāļu Iela - Sirds | ] |
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
/Dorothy Parker/
Man vienmēr interesējis pašnāvibu tematika. Ne tādā romantizējoša kontekstā(nekā romantiska ciešanās nesaskatu), bet tā..hmm..es pat īsti nezinu kā lai to nosauc. Manā izpratnē, sevis pārtraukšana ir tāda kā "pārākā brīvās izvēles/gribas izpausme". Cilvēka prāta mehānika tā uzbūvēta, ka ķīmiskie procesi nosaka garastāvokļus, kas ietekmē domas, savukārt domas ietekmē ķīmiskos procesus feedback loopā. Attiecīgi, šis sistēmas lēmums pārtraukt sevi, man šķiet gana interesants, jo tas izslēdz organisma vienu no galvenajām funkcijām - pašsaglabāšanos.
Šobrīd lasu diezgan smagu grāmatu par šo tēmu. Saucas "Night Falls Fast". Tas ir labs pētijums uzdrukāts normālā valodā, neiebraucot pārāk dziļi psihiatrijas pinumos.
308 lappuses galēja izmisuma, bezpalīdzības un nolemtības sajūtas. Kam seko 106 lappuses atsauču uz publikācijām.
Par gadījumiem, par cilvēkiem, par statistiku(metodes un success rate), par to cik grūti ir iepriekš paredzēt personas noslieci uz pašnāvību utt.
Daži citāti no šīs grāmatas seko, ...
The young boy scrawled a note and pinned it to his shirt. Then he walked to the far side of the family Christmas tree and hanged himself from a ceiling beam. The note was short - "Merry Christmas" - and his parents never forgot or understood it.
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Apbrīnojama ir arī cilvēku mērķtiecība šādos brīžos :
The cuckolded householder had sat up drinking after his wife had gone to bed announcing her intention to put spongy rollers in her hair. This had become and intimate code which meant to him she did not want to have sex with him but wanted to look good for the boss tomorrow. He'd finished the bottle of Dunphy's Irish and raided her stash of Valium, then gone to the drawer where the Black&Decker electric carving knife was kept between Easters and Thanksgivings and Christmases. He'd plugged it into the wall socket on his side of the bed, locked his jaw against any utterance and, lying down beside her, applied the humming knife to his throat, severing his two ascending carotid arteries and jugular veins and making it half through his esophagus before he released his hold on the knife's trigger. It had not his coming to bed, nor the buzz of the knife, nor any sound he'd made, if, indeed, he'd made any that woke her. Rather, it was the warmth of his severed blood vessels halfway up the master bedroom wall and soaked her and her spongy rollers and saturated the bed linen and mattress and box springs and puddled in the carpet beneath the bed that woke her wondering was it just a dream.
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Un re, dzejolis, ko sarakstījis 15 gadīgs puika :
Once...he wrote a poem.
And he called it "Chops,"
Because that was the name of his dog, and
that's what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A"
And a gold star.
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door,
and read it to all his aunts...
Once...he wrote another poem.
And he called it "Question Marked Innocence,"
Because that was the name of his grief, and
that's what it was all about.
And the professor gave him an "A"
And a strange and steady look.
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never let her see it...
Once, at 3 a.m. ...he tried another poem...
And he called it absolutely nothing, because
that's what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A"
And a slash on each damp wrist,
And hung it on the bathroom door because he
couldn't reach the kitchen.
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divus gadus vēlāk viņš izdarīja pašnāvību.
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Kāda jauna ķīmiķa pēdējie burtiņi: "This is my last experiment."
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Un tur pilns ar šādiem. Man vienkārši slinkums visus pārrakstīt, tā ka izlasiet šo grāmatu, tiešām laba - gan izdzīvotājiem, gan palicējiem, gan vienkārši tiem kam interesē(rūp) tēma.
Mums visiem tak kādreiz būs jamirst. |
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