When faced with truth, there are two general reactions possible - acceptance or denial. The vastness of the universe challenges the sad, anthropocentric notions upon which most systems are based. Futility. Why continue? Why not run, shivering and afraid, to an omnipotent saviour who conveniently bears a striking resemblance to the cowering wretch?
Where is the weakness in suicide? Celebrate the courage it takes to face the wholeness of existence - or at least that infinitely small grain to which we are privy. The weak man trembles, his mind breaking, refusal to acknowledge the meaninglessness.
Vast and vaster, just specks on an insignificant crumb. Faced with this, who could fail to comprehend the inability to effect permanent, substantive change?
You shits. You fucking pathetic creatures. Without meaning, there is only a need to ease the suffering which is the standard of existence. One who, finding himself in a situation where the potential for further pain outweighs the probability of enjoyment, decides to take measures into his own hand - one who decries the giving up of choice and thus takes (control of) his own life - you pity him.
Santa is not real. Jesus does make it better in the end. If you require a mystical afterlife of stagnation, free of adversity and strife, to give meaning to corporeal existence, you are nothing.
You talk about fucking "terminal" illnesses as if there's another way out. You debate whether or not its ethical for someone to end their own misery - and define that misery solely as it relates to identifiable physical ailments.
A life not worth living is not worth living. We should call martyrs all those who killed themselves before their bodies shut down out of weariness. We should canonize all those who came to the realization that they did not have to take the seemingly endless drudgery and monotony of an existence defined by anguish and misery.
I'm really goddamn tired of you fucking scum.
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