Death is beautiful.

Philosophy Forums Religion and Spirituality
1

Death is beautiful in the artistic sense. We see sad lovers dying lovers. It is transcendent.

There is nothing more beautiful than being laid on a table and sacrificed, cut in half by your master the magician, your smooth, flesh body used as a sacrifce, your holy spirit beautiful, innocent, and transcendant. There is nothing more exciting than certain doom, being tied up with your legs spread apart, on the railroad tracks, waiting for the train to enter and utterly destroy your body. It is invigorating, and utterly sexually spiritual.

Another good one is being tied up to a chair with rope around you, with a bomb to your belly. It is sexually thrilling. But there is another reason to this besides the sexual, being sacrificed is spiritually fulfilling. It is an acceptance of one’s fate and a beautiful recognition of one’s innocence and femininity. It is the abandonment of all masculine drives.

In fact, death is a feminine endeavour. Estrogen is released as one bleeds out, as an emergency medicine. Death is a love affair. But it is more to it than masculine/feminine archetypes. Death is a release from one’s pains. When the burden is too great to bear, death’s loving embrace carries us away. Death is the dark lover that rescues us from our burdens.

I have been so unloved in my life that it is unbearable for me. To think about death is so beautiful, almost relaxing, like water washing me away from my pain, so I don’t have to wake up another day to this. I have had guys tell me they love e and then tell me it was a joke. I have litterally made out with a girl, only to have her block me on facebook one week later over some trivial thing. I find myself utterly and totally unloved. There is no hope, they all just lie to me and don’t care about me. I find myself always chasing after mirages. Mirages don’t chase after me.

But I cannot die. It is irrational. I cannot make a deal with the devil until the devil makes a deal with me. For all I know I could end up in a bad place, or some type of recurrence. Suicide is not the answer, when we do not know where the ticket leads. So as beautiful as death is, it is yet another love that I cannot have.

I hope that one day we may finally have the answers, so that we may be free.

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This is why I am an absurdist like Maldoror and DeSade, You begin to love the negative, the ugly, the repressed, unconventional. Genet and Dali were once unloved, but they communicated their thwarted sense of the seeming unconvertability of self love, into the higher realms of sensibility, and vohla the at once felt and understood it all, and they were privileged to give love. Their masochism hurt if any one even so much as tried to reciprocate their worthlessness.

And then strange , unexplainable thugs start to happen. This inversion finds things, but all, in love.

3

its not so poetic when someone is 90 yrs old etc. Perhaps its a thing of youth, where your world has death in small part, so death can be elaborated with roses - so to speak. Eventually with age, most things that are ‘life’ become the minority aspect.
If vampires were real, the pretty lady would be kissing an animated corpse ~ for example.