-Making Friends-

I donít know much, but I can tell you this: you have not lived or felt closer to life until you have a gun stuffed down most of your throat.

Itís like if you jam it in deep enough, it hits a little button back there that really does something to you. I imagine the button has a label that simply says ďperspectiveĒ.

The finger on the trigger is mine, of course. Sometimes I get bold and take the safety off, Iím not sure just how much pressure it takes to pull the trigger, though. I wonder if that kind of information is readily available.

ďAlive and wellĒ are three words Iíve not been able to bring myself to say lately. I wonít bore you with the details.

Iíve come to realize that I am completely excited and fascinated by the wonder that is death.

Can you imagine what one must feel moments before it all ended? I sometimes get myself worked up into that stage, and let me tell you, itís an incredible feeling. Complete excitement. A little nervousness, but on the whole, itís an amazing feeling. I mean what aspect of life is without nervousness, right? Itís just part of it all. I guess itís something you eventually get over, like public speaking or driving a car.

I guess you could compare suicide, or flirting with death to driving a car. Itís something youíve got to practice a bit and itís something youíve got to have a reason to do.

I guess driving requires a permit. Suicide doesnít. What if it did? What if a person had to first take a test in order to obtain the proper piece of paper in order to be lawfully allowed to off his or herself.

Wouldnít that be something?

ďExcellent work, youíre doing great, I love the way your brains splattered against that wall after you pulled the trigger. You passed. Enjoy.Ē

Iím kidding of course. I guess such a test would just demonstrate the proper ways to do such a thing with your weapon of choice. To do it quickly and cleanly while still having a good time. Thatís what they should teach.

Iím sorry; I guess Iím just stalling. It happens when I get nervous.

When I think about anyone who has ever tied that noose, dragged that blade, popped those pills or stepped over that edge, I am overcome with a complete sensation of intrigue. Iíd like to call it simple curiosity, but, sadly, it is not. Itís jealousy I feel. To have an answer to that question ďwhat comes after this?Ē is something I long to know. To feel that peace they must feel, well itís something I need.

I guess I lack the guts. Make no mistake about it; to pull something like this off, you need guts.
Well, guts, and a reason, I suppose.

Like so many, Iíve got the reason; Iím just working on the guts.

I guess itís why I wish there was a class on this sort of thing. I guess itís why I also tease myself from time to time.

If you push that button in the back of your throat too many times in one sitting, it gives you a little too much perspective. Too much of anything is not a good thing, this I can assure you.

Perspective is something we all fight for, but most of us never truly find. Perspective gives you that birdís eye view of your entire life and, while some if it is surely not that attractive, you have to marvel at the fact that it is, indeed, yours.

I used to find it slightly sad that the only way for me to get this birds eye view was to make friends with death.

Itís like a first date, where you make plans to hang out and it really excites you for a while, but on the night of the event, you get so excited and nervous that you call it off or look for an excuse. And itís not that you donít want to see the person, itís just that you are legitimately scared. Lacking perspective on the entire situation, you might say.

Scared of what? I donít know. I guess sometimes we know exactly what we want, and how to get it but we put it off. Each and every one of us lacks guts from time to time. Itís something youíve got to deal with.

Iíve sat here for hours tasting nothing but the barrel of a gun, swishing and swallowing the metallic taste as it mixes with my saliva. Iíve gotten used to this, which is probably a step in the right direction.

I guess, a lot of people wouldnít understand, which is fine, no one really has to. Iíve found what I need and one day the plans I make will go through, Iíll introduce myself, shake its hand and weíll have a hell of a night.

They say in time, everything fades, but weíll be the best of friends and like the blood on the wall; my finger wrapped tightly around the trigger of this smoking gun will be my promise that it will last forever.

written and owned by Dan Chubaty