Most people seem to hold this insatiable opinion that they are different from those around them, and more so distinctively superior. They hold on to this belief that I can see was clearly instilled in them as children that they are somehow more deserving of all the good this world has to offer as opposed to the bad, of which, in turn, is reserved for "everyone else, certainly not me....I'm different...I'm special....the bad things in this world can't and shouldn't happen to me." So these entitled individuals proceed to go about their life and their business as usual seeking whatever they desire, for their very principles were formed on delusion, if not, deceit, and therefore even the thought of any type of hindrance in their holy path of aberration is seen as nothing short of a blasphemy to their way of life. I can assure you that we all have about as much sense of this world as an eagle as it soars the skies. So much of what's happening on the surface eludes the eagles watchful eye, but it doesn't change the fact that the world is happening to him all the same.
Everyone is a part of this world. No one is immune to its ways.
Their arrogance enrages me, and therefore on that note I find myself embracing my endeavors more fondly then I had ever anticipated, for they must soon discover for themselves that even they are a part of this world and are therefore subject to its atrocities. Whether they like it or not.
Do not mourn me, for I have reached my conclusion not out of psychological ailment or burden, but because of a profound understanding of my place in the world and moreover how it functions. It has been made apparent to me over the years that life is not the most important aspect of this world as it would shamelessly lead you to believe, and therefore, a man can and should be able to part with it if he so chooses and be rid of any accusations of any form of psychiatric or otherwise psychological ailment. To accuse such a man of any such ailment is debauchery, as much as an insulting display of arrogance on the accuser. I have not ended my own life. I have merely succumbed to the most powerful thing this world must offer, and the only worldly thing I aspired for.
Violence.
What men desire most in this world is control, albeit by threat of violence, by quantifying the otherwise unquantifiable through the abstract and worldly practices of science, or by the creation of yet another interpretation of why a portion of your earned wages must be paid to someone else under the façade of "religion" or "government." What man fails to understand is that utmost control is nothing but a myth instilled by delusion and Godlessness. Man must find for themselves that they will never have total control over the world, and they are but a minuscule blemish when the entirety of space and time are taken into account along with its Divine Creator. Genesis tells us, "...out of the ground we were taken from the dust that we are, and to the dust we shall return...," and after analyzing this segment of historic scripture, if Man still believes that he is any more than a beloved speck of dust, then he too has joined the ranks of the deceived.
Do not mourn me, for I, like Henry David Thoreau, have lived my life deliberately and articulately, and I have sought only the essential facts of life, and having discovered them, have found that when it came time to die, there was no fallacy in my conclusions that I had truly lived. For Walt Whitman taught me that most men lead quiet lives of silent desperation, and at the time of my death, not a shadow of desperation existed in my being. Every man must take responsibility for his own life, and me having done that to its fullest extent, have also taken on the burden of responsibility for my death. Do not mourn me, for I have prayed for my day of reckoning to come since I became a man, and that when it came, that the Lord, my God, will allow me to live the last few minutes of it well. David wrote "Blessed be the Lord, my God, who prepares my hands for fighting and my fingers for war." I can assure you that in my last moments, I asked my God to make my hands fast and accurate, and it was so that I could embrace Death and His warm embrace evanescently. Every man's day of reckoning will come, and when it does, nothing but that vast expanse of open space will matter, that middle ground amidst the fray, and beyond the breach. One of my favorite authors always said that maybe it's about time that men stop worrying about their lives so much, and start to love the tomahawk.
Do not mourn me, for my life was concluded on my terms, and not the terms of the world. This was not an elucidation to my suicide. This is a testament to man's insatiable desire for conflict, his unquenchable thirst for violence, of which I possessed no immunity to. I longed for it. I pursued it. War. The ultimate trade, awaiting its ultimate practitioner. Plato once wrote that only the dead have seen the end of War.
In this case, he was right.