Death

[daft twat]

You twat rags think about your mortality much?

Jeff Ross posted a picture with Godfried, Saget, and McDonald after Gilbert died. I stared at that for a bit. They all factored in my life to some extent. In a 6 month span, all three were gone. Famous people dying weirdly makes my own mortality feel more inevitable and less scary. At some point all of my music, movies, and tv are just going to be predominantly ghosts.

I’m 45. Maybe I have 20 years left. That’s such an easily comprehendible time. I’ve done it twice already. Both times went pretty fast. I’m in no rush to kick off, but I’m glad I’m not 18 now. I might miss some milestones in my own family’s lives when I go, but I’m not remotely bummed about anything I might miss on a global scale.

Let’s talk about death, baby.

[epilogue]

I think my uncle is planning on suicide soon.

[BurtReynolds]

Fuck Death!

[daft twat]

I think my uncle is planning on suicide soon.

Assisted or just DIY? My old man talks about the former.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[verb_to_trust]

I want to die mainly to see if I get to be reunited with my cat

[Higgs]

If the day ever comes that I feel my daughter has the skills and community to survive in this world without me, then every day after that is gravy.

My kids are 18 and 21 and well sorted to deal with life. My wife has commented how knowing this has allowed her a really different, more positive mind set when dealing with her recent health dramas.

It gives me comfort.

(wife isn't facing imminent death or anything btw, just back on the cancer merry go round for a bit).

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Ms Harmless]

I turned 40 this year, yes I think about it

I'm just trying to make my last however-many-years my best ones

[PHATJ]

I think about death a lot, especially after my heart attack. I wish I didn’t.

[wease]

I don’t think about it a lot, but I don’t want to do it.

[Biff Pocoroba]

I never thought I would commit suicide. But as I have gotten older I have a better understanding why some do, particularly people with serious health issues and/or people who are in a situation they feel like they’re a burden to others.

[Ello Sailor]

Pretty solid metal band.

[BurtReynolds]

Really wishing these two fat kids behind me would drop dead. I'm trying to eat.

[Ello Sailor]

Really wishing these two fat kids behind me would drop dead. I'm trying to eat.

Wouldn't that be more disruptive to your dining experience than them just being fat behind you?

[Jorge]

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[epilogue]

I think my uncle is planning on suicide soon.

Assisted or just DIY? My old man talks about the former.

DIY

We just got back from my Grandfather's 90th Birthday party. This is my uncle's dad. And at the end of the night my aunt (his wife) said to my grandfather "We'll be back this way in the summer, so you'll get to see him one more time."

Could be taken a lot of different ways, to be sure. But with everything else that I learned this past weekend, and given the conversations we had, I'm pretty sure this is happening.

[Mickey]

I think about death a lot, especially after my heart attack. I wish I didn’t.

[daft twat]

I think my uncle is planning on suicide soon.

Assisted or just DIY? My old man talks about the former.

DIY

We just got back from my Grandfather's 90th Birthday party. This is my uncle's dad. And at the end of the night my aunt (his wife) said to my grandfather "We'll be back this way in the summer, so you'll get to see him one more time."

Could be taken a lot of different ways, to be sure. But with everything else that I learned this past weekend, and given the conversations we had, I'm pretty sure this is happening.

Sorry?
I really think Mellencamp was onto something with, “Oh yeah, life goes on….long after the thrill of living is gone.’” We’re not supposed to live into our 80s and beyond.