Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts

Sunday, June 21, 2009

The Sin of Sloth

I was channel surfing earlier this evening when I came across an episode of Biography’s The Seven Deadly Sins. This one was about The Sin of Sloth, and it revealed to me some things about my own condition that I was not aware of. As if I actually needed more reasons to feel pissed off and outcast in this Hell on Earth global nuthouse.

Never having been one for religion, I had always assumed that the sin of sloth referred to people being too lazy to work or to maintain good personal and household hygiene. But apparently that’s only part of it. The sin of sloth also has to do with the causes of such laziness, such as having a weak moral character and being depressed – which many today still think of as being synonymous – and the things those causes lead to, like criminal activity and suicide. Apparently this is the reason the religious folk claim that sloth is the second most deadly sin.

As one who has suffered from depression for many years, I can see how others can confuse my lack of motivation with laziness. After all, I make no effort to “get out and meet people” yet still complain about being so terribly alone. And since I don’t anticipate being around anyone I care to impress, I’m not exactly what you’d call “diligent” when it comes to personal hygiene (I can’t stand an unkempt house, however). But I challenge anyone to label what’s important to me, my writing, as the work of a “lazy” person. And as far as having “a weak moral character” is concerned, I think the subject matter of my writing speaks for itself.

Now I have known lots of people who, just like me, don’t work. And yet most of them have no problem whatsoever when it comes to taking care of their personal hygiene or “getting out and meeting people.” Hell, as far as I can see, there’s nothing in the world more important to them than “feeling good, looking good, and looking for love.” And yet few of them seem to give a damn about cleaning their house and taking care of the property they live in and depend upon. So while you could argue that neither of us have much to show for our time on this Earth, you certainly can’t say that that has anything to do with who we are inside. So much for depression being synonymous with having a weak moral character.

If you’ve read the articles in the My Life volume of this blog, you’ll know that I do have some experience with the subjects of crime and suicide. So the question becomes: was it depression or having a weak moral character that led me to those things? Or perhaps more fundamental questions should be asked: if having a weak moral character and/or being depressed are such horrible personality traits, then why is suicide considered to be the worst sin of all, and why are all those religious folk so determined to prevent it? Why on Earth would they want us to stay?

I have to admit that I really wasn’t certain of where this would end up when I started writing. But then I guess that’s why writing is so therapeutic for me. All I knew when I turned on my old hunk-o-junk was that what was said on the TV show pissed me off, and I needed to deal with it. But now that I’ve worked it through, I’m left with one inescapable, if sickeningly familiar, conclusion: The prohibitions against Sloth and Suicide are “moral” justifications for human bondage.

Every culture that has ever existed has had at least one thing in common: the need for an “underclass” who can be blamed for the all the failings of that culture and who can be forced to do all that culture’s dirty work. Who better to blame for a culture’s lack of success than those who are “unproductive?” And who better to force into menial labor than those who are “shiftless” and “lazy?” Is this starting to sound familiar yet? Haven’t we all been taught that religion is both the “founding” and the “civilizing” force of our societies? What could be better than a justification for slavery that only a “heathen” would argue against?

I’ve spent my whole life resenting people because they’re all too willing to let me do their thinking and their work for them, and resenting religion because it tries to rob me of my individuality and my self-esteem. The problem with this logic is that it has lead me to erroneously think that I’ve been waging a war of two fronts, when the fact that over 95% of people are religious means that I’ve actually been battling an enemy with two faces. Like the character “Two Face” from the Batman comics, who swung from being the best kind of person one moment and the worst kind the next, the real enemy is the one who wants to be the slave-master but is willing to settle for selling his brother into bondage instead.

Now I know that we’ve come a long way since the days of treating those who suffer from depression as if they were possessed by demons, but it’s clear that some degree of animosity, disbelief, and distrust towards those so afflicted still exists, especially within the “less enlightened” segments of society. And it’s also true that the current age of “enlightenment” has brought with it every manner of “snake oil” salesman promising a pricey cure to a very vulnerable group that includes both the afflicted and those who care for them. Perhaps the lunatics are indeed running the asylum.

And now I think that it’s only proper that I include some lyrics from Pink Floyd:

Brain Damage

The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path

The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon

The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me ’till I’m sane
You lock the door and throw away the key
There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon

“I can’t think of anything to say except…
I think it’s marvellous! HaHaHa!”

I want ice water.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Singing The Blues

As I’ve said before, I suffer from depression. Sometimes the bottom just drops out, usually for no rational reason that I can discern. When I’m laying on the bottom of one of these downturns, it’s very difficult for me to do anything, let alone writing. As much as I would like to write about it while it’s happening, I’ve never been able to do so. I’ve just been through one of these phases and I want to share with you, as best I can, what it’s like.

The following is a list of Pink Floyd song lyrics that not only describe the feelings I have when I’m in the middle of one of these funks, but are the actual songs that I sometimes listen to - and sing along with - while it’s happening. Amazingly enough, these songs somehow help me get through it.

The last song, by Emerson, Lake & Palmer, represents my underlying desire to persevere and reclaim my hold on life.

Please note that whether you are reading this on Blogger or on WordPress, I have made it possible for you to listen to these songs. On Blogger, they’ve all been included as individual songs in the Blog Playlist in the sidebar. On WordPress, you’ll find the same playlist on the Songs for this Blog page.


Pink Floyd - Another Brick In The Wall (Part III)

I don’t need no arms around me
I don’t need no drugs to calm me
I have seen the writing on the wall
Don’t think I need anything at all
Oh no! Don’t think I’ll need anything at all

All in all it was all just bricks in the wall
All in all you were just bricks in the wall



Pink Floyd - Goodbye Cruel World

Goodbye cruel world
I’m leaving you today
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye all you people
There’s nothing you can say
To make me change
My mind
Goodbye.



Pink Floyd - Hey You

Hey you!
Out there in the cold. Getting lonely, getting old,
Can you feel me?

Hey you!
Standing in the aisles with itchy feet and fading smiles,
Can you feel me?

Hey you!
Don’t help them to bury the light
Don’t give in without a fight.

Hey you!
Out there on your own sitting naked by the phone
Would you touch me?

Hey you!
With your ear against the wall, Waiting for someone to call out
Would you touch me?

Hey you!
Would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart, I’m coming home.

But it was only a fantasy
The wall was too high as you can see
No matter how he tried he could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain.

Hey you!
Out there on the road always doing what you’re told,
Can you help me?

Hey you!
Out there beyond the wall, breaking bottles in the hall,
Can you help me?

Hey you!
Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
Together we stand, divided we fall.


Pink Floyd - Is There Anybody Out There

Is there anybody out there?
Is there anybody out there?
Is there anybody out there?
Is there anybody out there?


Pink Floyd - Nobody Home

I’ve got a little black book with my poems in
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in
When I’m a good dog they sometimes throw me the bone in

I got elastic bands keepin’ my shoes on
Got those swollen hand blues
I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from

I’ve got electric light
And I’ve got second sight
I got amazing powers of observation

And that is how I know,
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you,
There’ll be nobody home

I’ve got the obligatory Hendrix perm
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favorite satin shirt

I’ve got nicotine stains on my fingers,
I’ve got a silver spoon on a chain
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains

I’ve got wild staring eyes
And I’ve got a strong urge to fly,
But I got nowhere to fly to

Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone
There’s still nobody home

I’ve got a pair of Gohills boots
And I got fading roots


Emerson, Lake & Palmer - Still... You Turn Me On

Do you want to be an angel,
Do you want to be a star,
Do you want to play some magic on my guitar?
Do you want to be a poet,
Do you want to be my string?
You could be anything.
Do you want to be the lover of another
Undercover? you could even be the man on the moon.

Do you want to be the player,
Do you want to be the string?
Let me just tell you something,
It just don’t mean a thing.
You see it really doesn’t matter
When you’re buried in disguise
By the dark glass on your eyes,
Though your flesh has crystallized;

Still .... you turn me on.

Do you want to be the pillow where i lay my head,
Do you want to be the feathers lying in my bed?
Do you want to be a colour cover magazine;
Create a scene.
Every day a little sadder,
A little madder,
Someone get me a ladder.

Do you want to be the singer,
Do you want to be the song?
Let me tell you something
You just couldn’t be more wrong.
You see i really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense.
from my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense,

Still .... you turn me on.

Hmmn .... you turn me on.

Hmmn .... you turn me on.



I want ice water.