Who wants to live forever?

A question I often ask myself.

And since I was in one of my less tenacious moods today, I decided to Google my pathetic state of mind-wallowing.

[Mind wallowing is a distinct art form, btw-- Not meant for the weak of heart, or vegetarians. It involves thinking solely about your thinking. Sounds easy? Ha. Amateurs.]

Thus-- pop open firefox. Type in "self destruction".

[No caps. Heavens to Betsy, no fucking caps, please. We can all hear you.]

Voila. Page upon delicious page of possible little tools with which to shovel about in the mud even more.

First favoured link?

Narcissistic Personality Disorder: Self Love and Self Destruction.

[Expect the worst, always. As I always do. But admit it-- you love me for my honesty]

The second was a a most delicious romp through a narcissist's theme park: misanthropic site called The Self Destruction Handbook. Come see even if you're filled with cereal and Dr. Phil's tough love. The grunts and guffaws are worth it.

The third was a link on Gia. For those of you who missed it when it played on HBO, Angelina Jolie played the part of real life supermodel Gia Carangi. And for all of you who figured bulimia, designer lingerie, fake eyelashes and drinking problems were all that supermodels were made of--- Watch Gia. The woman made self destruction an art. As tragic and beautiful as it can be.

The last-- for such gets boring, even for one as self-indulgent as myself-- is a defintion:

Self-destruction (Self`-de*struc"tion) (?), n.

The destruction of one's self; self-murder; suicide. Milton.

Milton??

"they also serve who only stand and wait"...

to turn the mud over with idle toesies
tea time hopes fading like burnt rosies.
And thus they bury those who dived first
before their idling brains yawn and burst.

Give me Gia any day.

Actually, just give me my bed. Am tired. Think I'll go now.