Dying to Live

Today in my Nonfiction II class we read a passage from the book Shot In the Heart by Mikal Gilmore.  It was a gripping tale about his brother, Gary Gilmore, who viciously shot two innocent people.  The death penalty had been illegal prior to this incident, but the state of Utah invoked the death penalty specifically for Gary.  Gary’s brother, Mikal, didn’t want his name associated with the return of the death penalty and so tried to ensure his brother would, rather, have a life sentence.  Mikal’s thoughts on death and capital punishment are eye opening as well as thought provoking.  Gary wanted to die because he didn’t want to suffer in jail for the rest of his life.  And as Mikal points out, one cannot argue with death, it usually comes without warning, but not in Gary’s case.

Death is a somber subject, but much has been written about death because of how mysterious it is, yet how it’s a constant in everyone’s life.  Eventually in some shape and at some time, death will claim us all.  And as Ronnie Radke so cleverly penned, “If we are born to die and we all die to live/Then what’s the point of living life if it just contradicts?”  Fascinating, right?  And such a true, although pessimistic, statement.

I’m not trying to bum anyone out, but I’d like to share some insightful and gorgeous words about death.

1.  “Dying is an art, like everything else.  I do it exceptionally well.” – Sylvia Plath

2.  “From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am them and that is eternity.” – Edvard Munch

3.  “You have a choice.  Live or die.  Every breath is a choice.  Every minute is a choice.  Every time you don’t throw yourself down the stairs, that’s a choice.  Every time you don’t crash your car, you re-enlist.” – Chuck Palahnuik

4.  “Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put he gun to your chest.” – Ellen Hopkins

4.  “But we try so hard not to die, sometimes we forget to appreciate life.” – The Spill Canvas

5.  “I’d drive my car off of the bridge if I knew that you weren’t inside.  Put the pedal to the floor, who could ask for more?  A fantastic way to kill some time.” – Brand New

6.  “The calm cool face of the river asked me for a kiss.” -Langston Hughes

7.  “Everybody wants to go to Heaven, but nobody wants to die.” – Bring Me the Horizon

8.  “Will someone tell me what it means to be alive?  It feels just like the feeling when you die.” – Pierce the Veil

9.  “Can’t you see it’s better to die on your feet than to live down on your knees?” – Dan Nigro

10.  “The death of one is a tragedy, but the death of a million is just a statistic.” – Marilyn Manson

My Own Deadline

What does it take to write something moving, mesmerizing, powerful, and beautiful?  It’s a recipe of inspiration, motivation, determination, a Thesaurus, some inner monologues that go something like: well I like this paragraph, but I don’t know if it really belongs here, but then I’d have to change that last sentence, and actually this character’s name should be changed, and I don’t know if that fragment is helping, etc; a few tears, memories, frustration, and tons and tons of editing.

I hate to confess, but I haven’t been motivated to write.  I’ve been inspired; I’m always inspired to write.  I’m reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, and her conversational tone urges me to write.  I’m also reading Lucy Howard Taylor’s book, Biting Anorexia and her well crafted prose insist I grab a pen.  The time I have on my hands; the hours I have to myself, practically taunt me into opening a new Word Document.  But, I don’t.  I haven’t.

How can I claim the title of a writer if I don’t execute?  I wrote all quarter long, editing essays, typing up stories, I even wrote a poem one night.  I’m so used to deadlines telling me when and what to write.  Those deadlines have been lifted for my break, and all of a sudden the freedom to write leaves my mind a little scattered.  Evident in the fact that I’m reading three different books, and a magazine.  In the shower, I’ve created so many little snippets of future works, but nothing coherent and complete.  My energy hasn’t gone into writing.  It’s gone into the paintings I’ve made for friends for Christmas gifts; it’s gone into the 12 handwritten letters I’ve sent, it’s gone into the workouts I get up and do each morning, it’s gone into the books I’m reading.  And that’s okay, we all need a respite.

HOWEVER, just to stay on track, I’d like to share some snippets I have written that I’m fond of:

Your teeth as white as notebook paper.

Fill my lungs with ice.

My frozen breath shall lay

heavy on your chest.

Maybe I can save face through the mangled sentences I fabricate.

I’ve been picking apart my skin.

Hoping you would listen.

My flesh begs to be seen.

But I’m not just a body.

The secretion of words.

Do you know what I said?

Can you repeat my secrets?

What thought is locked in my head?

You’re speechless again.

The piano keys remind me of teeth.

Gnawing, grinding chomping on my heart strings.

This emaciated melody isn’t enough.

With that said, here’s my own personal deadline.  Before the new year arrives, I WILL write something, completely for myself.  Whether it be a short story or a poem, most likely the latter, but I will do it because I don’t like to lie, and this blog is all about life and truth, so thusly.  And for the new year, I’ll share it, so be sure to keep reading!