Trying to Understand (and Failing)

Social media has been abuzz all day – well, yesterday, now since it is past midnight – about the apparent suicide of Linkin Park frontman Chester Bennington. This coincided with, and some people believe may have even been triggered by, the fact that it was also the birthday of his friend and Soundgarden and Audioslave frontman, the ethereally beautiful Chris Cornell; who also very recently is alleged to have committed suicide (on 5/18/2017).  Both men are said to have hanged themselves.

Depression is a hell of a thing, isn’t it?  By all outward appearances they both lived very fortunate lives… they were and/or had all of the coveted things.  They were white, male, American born, healthy, functional, attractive, talented and wildly successful.  They had people who loved them.  They were both multi-millionaires and could not want for anything that money could buy.

I know, I know, I get the fundamental basics of it… depression.  I know all about depression.  Anybody who has read even a part of this blog should have been able to determine that by now, one would hope.  Depression can happen to anybody.  I know. However, even as a fat little thing with a busted face, who has managed to be betrayed by almost everyone I’ve ever cared about, I have still managed not to resort to suicide.

What is going on that is so horrible that they did?

I do not purport to know much if anything about their lives, but comparable to theirs, mine seems pretty well shit-splattered.  I have actually had people ask me why I am not suicidal (thanks! jerks!) and sometimes I wonder that myself.  I tend to be more murderous than suicidal, but only in my blackened little heart.  I’m tethered enough to the real world that I would never act upon such urges, which only occur when I am being provoked.  I have never, nor do I intend to ever, seriously contemplate of suicide or murder.  These are things that I would vastly prefer to remain personally devoid of for all of my life.  Those sorts of things can only end poorly, in the karmic realm as well as in the physical one.

This is stuff that I have been meaning to write about for a while, but it’s all wrapped up in a myriad of potential ideas or beliefs surrounding dream series, and simulation theory, and time/space and this:

http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html

I don’t consider myself a member of any particular religion nor do I have any strong feelings, pro or con, about the Jesus scene. I am pretty neutral about it, well, there is a mild distaste that is associated more to extremely neurotic, hyper-Christian former friends than to the religion itself (the dissolution of the friendships were not based on religion at all).

The thing about time – it is so massively, stupendously HUGE. The span of a human life is microscopic in the vast expanse that is time. By all mathematical odds, you should be either long dead or not even born yet.  What are the odds that you would be alive right now?  Pretty slim?  So in a bizarre, convoluted way, does that not imply that we must always be alive?  Not necessarily as the people or lifeforms that we are right now, of course…

Anyway due to (literal) dreams and ideas (some of which I will expound upon elsewhere in this blog) I’ve developed this idea that you can’t just get off scott-free for a suicide. It would seem that there would almost certainly be some sort of karmic consequence. Not necessarily the Christian Hell, but maybe… if everybody has to be everybody… then who you will be next is determined by your current performance.  If you suck as a person or if you bail out, next time you get reincarnated into an even shittier life. If you persevere, maybe next time you get to be somebody whose life sucks a little bit less.

I don’t know. It’s just an idea based on my personal experiences and theories. Hell, if it’s what is keeping me from taking a bath with a toaster, and if it is the thing that keeps me from lapsing completely into becoming a vengeful, hate-filled little monster, then why should I not buy into it, even if only as a method of self-preservation?

I don’t want to end up like these guys, who outwardly appeared to have it all, but were apparently suffering a hellish inner turmoil.  I can’t fathom having even a fraction of what was available to the likes of them – more, when my grandmother dies I will truly have nobody left in the world who will so much as give a shit about me. If I did off myself (and I don’t intend to) then I would be one of those persons who lay there rotting undiscovered and cat-chewed until the landlord finally came round wondering where the hell his rent is.

That’s how isolated I will be. For the most part I am alright with that because the world has made me a misanthrope, but I just hope it doesn’t weigh too heavily and that I’ll continue to avoid this fate. I think I’ll be OK – barring temporary roommates and letting homeless or sick friends crash in my spare bedroom, I lived alone for 10 years and I loved it. But, I still always had family on the other side of the phone back then. That won’t happen anymore, which, given my family, isn’t necessarily such a bad thing. Also, the friends – they’re all gone. So I will be truly alone alone for the first time ever.

If this post seems devoid of compassion, it’s not like that at all. I liked Chester and I adored Chris and all of this sucks – and it sucks very badly. In addition to this I have also had 3 Facebook friends (one of whom was the son of 70’s French pop-stars Sheila and Ringo) commit suicide in this last month. (I didn’t even know that about him until he was gone).  There is another who talks about it all of the time.  Alarmingly, all of these people (barring Cornell) are right around my age.  It is very discouraging.  It’s just.. these people were not fat, busted-faced, unloved, ridiculed recluses, they had so much, and yet they still threw in the towel.

And if I should ever reach such a miserable state, what will keep me going, if not a belief of karmic consequences of the most dismal variety?

Remember, my mother committed suicide too, as did my cousin. It’s everywhere. Suicide is everywhere.

I returned briefly to Dreamscope – which I had intended to desert entirely – to process a few pictures of Chester.  😦

I made several but I think these ones turned out the best:

https://dreamscopeapp.com/i/TM4CyaVETQ
https://dreamscopeapp.com/i/Fkwyk2-0RN
https://dreamscopeapp.com/i/qtkvss2WQW

I know that this is a very disjointed post and that it never arrives a satisfying conclusion, but… I don’t even know how to conclude this. It is all just so very damned sad and upsetting.  All of this all-seeing-eye shit, and the mouth-covered (shhh!) shit, and the butterfly and pyramid crap and the other blatant symbolism going on, never mind the things that a whole host of celebrities have come right out and said, (River Phoenix, Bob Dylan, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Eminem, Corey Feldman, Elijah Wood, Katt Williams, Roseanne Barr and Kanye don’t even begin to scratch the surface and they ALL have had quite a bit of interest to say), it really does make it easy to buy into those rampant Illuminati and MK Ultra stories.  Why were these seemingly fortunate men really so unhappy?

Is something really sick going on in the entertainment industry? Or does it all really just boil down to something so mundane as depression?

It brings to mind a lyric from The Black Crowes song, “Time Will Tell”:

Time alone, oh! time will tell
Think you’re in heaven but you’re living in hell

EDIT 7/25/2017 – In the few days since I wrote this, the interwebz has exploded with a myriad of conspiracy theories surrounding the deaths of these men.  I don’t even know whether or not to buy the stuff they are saying… they’re talking about the Clintons, Podesta the Molesta, pedophiles, human trafficking rings, murder, so on etc.  It’s a sordid mess.  Real or not?  How could I know?

I get it better now – I’ll never be rich or good looking or successful, I will never have access to the things, the lifestyle or the respect that these men had access to. I will always be poor and I will continue to look like shit and be treated like shit, but in the end it doesn’t even matter, because everything, everywhere is a festering cesspool of shit.  All of it.

No matter who you are or what you have.

The monsters are everywhere now.

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