(My blog has migrated to both www.diggingthedirt.net and www.scintilligence.net)

I love death. I used to talk on it quite a lot. I’m sure of it. That is why I love certain things. They summon it up. Staying up into the dead of night. Naps. Certain musical things. Talking to a shrink about sad, depressive things. Some people love the life part of life. I like reveling in the death part. I like people who can appreciate the mystery and beauty in these sorts of ruminations. I don’t need a religion to uncover any mysteries of death. That’s silly, really. I can get there on my own. No one has the answers. I should try to remember that I am okay with death. What do you think we were talking about on the second floor lounge all those hours? At least in my case, death. And I attract the true death devotees, the ones that put me to shame. My closest friends are as such and always have been. We talk about existential things. That’s the whole idea. And even if we aren’t talking explicitly about it, we are talking around it. They look to me for insights in the matter. I look ahead to it. I size it up. That is probably what happens when I play music. It is an elegy on the afterlife or whatnot. It isn’t notes. It is thoughts. It is life. It is death. It is. It is existential. It is the end of all humanity.
That is why I must title my blog entries as such. They are not real. They are not for the faint of heart. They ask. They surmise. They are meant to ask more than answer. So the titles aren’t there to give it away. To give the answer. They support the enigma.
I’m even willing to go to 12 step meetings where I don’t suffer from the addiction in question. I like the meetings. I like the digging into the yucky meat of life. I appreciate it. Dick probably didn’t know this about me. But he opened up his meetings to me. He sponsored me. He befriended me.
Now I go to eating disorder chat rooms. This is where I find people who toy with death and discuss the pros and cons. I spend most of my time in the trivia room nowadays, but I still feel close to the community of semi suicidals. I should know that threatening myself with death by chocolate/overeating isn’t all that persuasive. I’m better off with another threat. Rotten teeth?