Care For the Dying

I am a communist. Your culture’s systems of denying the idea of death are a pornography, just like your society is. That will get me kicked off the NYT for being uncivil. Again. If you have strong, considered opinions about anything whatsoever, let alone, death, you get the censor’s boot. The life and death issues surrounding how we die (most of the dying poor are poor) has nothing to do with how we live. By inches. Yet, we have been deliberately late regarding the quality of life while facing death are sticky (code for religious) pieces of chew. The NYT takes on ideas that are not accepted by a deluded American middle class who remains indifferent. If we ignore a things, in much the same way women commonly used to hide the state of being pregnant as to why I have to idea. How about stigma. Line up all the usual suspects. Which in the Wikipedia Cosmic Timeline there are differentiating degrees to which everything gets better. This is so not true. Everything can completey fall apart in the bink of an eye and, often, down is just down. But it goes away to the island of ignored things. I tried to kill myself. I failed. People like me don’t know what to do regarding having been abused. It confuses us and we shut up or look like a luntaic, no kidding. Then, you become one of them, The Other. Raped. You can’t say rape, Say it.  Parental abuse. Whips and tied to the wall. Don’t hit the kidneys. Usually, we’re working for minimum wage where a loser’s hope is a dead end. Where it sits sweating in the prison of We Never Knew Our Parents Were in So Much Pain. Because we did not know and we need Stuff. Doctor Death perhaps just fix suburbia. Your parents refuse to leave the house and the lawn they own. Why are you here. Your culture. A narcostate. I have a fatal disease. You have nothing for me. I do not care. Watch my lips. I do not care. I did see The Kindness Of Strangers in that life of voices. I tried killing myself with a gun. I failed. Life has not been worth the struggle. Leave me alone. There is some dignity in one’s last defiance beyond another fix. And then, go up the mountain and sit on the rocks and fly away to the darkness the stag of your new womb the deep his midnight lair and long nights of walking. I could climb up those very rocks and did.