gunshot

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Papa Hemingway

Yeah, death in the afternoon after all.

Ernest Hemingway shot himself on July 2, 1961. Though bent he was still a tall man so the gun fit nicely underneath his neck. It would have felt cool. He could reach the trigger with his toe. He knew there was nothing to wait for—shock treatments had wiped out the important parts, the discussion in his mind that could be written down, the stories. What is a writer without his stories? His memory?

“Death is like an old whore in a bar—I’ll buy her a drink but I won’t go upstairs with her.” Ernest Hemingway, “To Have and Have Not” Finally though, the old whore has her way. Every story has an ending writ in the stars.

 Posted by Subhadip Majumdar, Ernest Hemingway

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Happy Birthday

To one of our fine fellows, as posted by Poetic Outlaws. And we do wish that he had chosen to remain with us, but the monster inside would just not be silent. It was not of mean spirit that he stopped his life here. When the torment cannot be withstood or silenced by alcohol or drugs or personal heavens, then the only option is suicide. Did you know that by far the depressive’s way out is a gunshot to the head? To silence the monster.