Is it a society of wicked liars?
Is it a race of contemptible malefactors?
Or is it, instead, just a group of people coming to terms with their lives in a different way?
A growing number of people are choosing to live—and die—without judgment, without the reward of popularity, without the flattery of public adulation.
Most people—without much fuss—are choosing to die quietly, often in comfort, not coughing up blood, losing organs, gasping for air. Rather, they do the things they like, they have their lovers, fall in love again. They experience as many experiences as possible. They have children, watch them grow up, let them out. They do the things they love. In fact, they do as much as possible.
Maybe they are only one of millions who will die this way, quietly, without much attention at all. But for those who read about the Swedish model, maybe they’ll read about this man who, when he was ten years old, decided to end his life when his family wouldn’t let him live the life he wanted to. Maybe they will read about one of the last people on the planet who were given the opportunity to kill themselves.
Maybe they will read about the first person.
Whether he knew it or not, it was Doran, the poet, who led us here. In 2020, when he was 36, he pulled his wife and a friend onto a commuter train in Paris. They sat at a table, drank wine, and ate wild boar with the train’s conductor.
After that, he had a drink with friends. By 2:
Then they all took colors all within their head. And they tried to say the unspeakable.
:: 10.21.2020 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 