August 8, 2011

I was asked to edit a small residence magazine at university. It was supposed to be mostly a newsletter telling everyone about events to come, what was news in the residences etc. I made it into a literary mag. Which pissed a lot of people off.  Around the middle of February there was a week we used to call ‘Suicide Week” because it was the week with the highest number of suicides among college kids. Mostly kids who had squandered their time or money and were now feeling the pressure of papers and exams and their parents wrath in the spring.

I put a special edition of the mag out in February called DEATH. It was an irresponsible thing to do. From my viewpoint now. But at the time, it seemed important to ridicule what no one wanted to talk about. (The next year they inauggerated ‘reading week’ that week to ease the pressure on students.) After the publication came out, I was under some pressure from the administration to resign. I wouldn’t. So they cancelled the mag.




i was sitting on a park bench trying to learn how not to speak when a guy, with a suit to match the sky’s, sat down beside me and asked what i was doing. i said i was writing my epitaph, ‘BORN 1948. NOT DEAD YET, BUT TRYING.’ he laughed, slapped my knee and began to weep. someone was stealing his wife at lunch and he couldn’t catch any sleep. he asked for a match, poured lighter fluid over himself and lit his head (the flames matched the colour of his hair) and screamed “hurry please – make a wish and call the press. i think i’m ready for my interview.” i tried to ignore him but was prevented from doing so by a cop who reminded me several times (the cop stuttered) that barbecues were not allowed in a public park. he would let me off with a warning if i took over the custody of this girl who had LUCY carved in her forehead & was now pulling up her dress and going down on the flames. just then lucy’s boyfriend appeared on the scene. he was one of the original founders of chaos. he rolled up his sleeves and began to make tracks across my face mumbling to himself. “don’t mess with my woman. it ain’t good for your complexion.” then the two of them left after asking if there was anything else i might need. there didn’t seem to be much else to do so i just layed on the grass, watching the clouds, and trying to bleed.

2 Responses to “Suicide”

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  2. Ashlyn said

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