Shuicize ?.5, by Q. Synopsis
I made several attempts to learn the skill, but it was not until my mother placed a lamp on the floor so that I could clearly see the dark laces of a new pair of dress shoes that I really mastered it; she explained again how to form the introductory platform knot, which began high in the air as a frail, heart-shaped loop, and shrunk as you pulled the plastic lace-tips down to a twisted kernel three-eighths of an inch long, and she showed me how to progress from that base on to the main cotyledonary string figure, which was, as it turned out, not a true knot but an illusion, a trick that you performed on the lace-string by bending segments of it back on themselves and tightening other temporary bends around them: it looked like a knot and functioned like a knot, but the whole thing was really an amazing inter-dependent pyramid scheme, which much later I connected with a couplet of Pope's:
Man, like the gen'rous vine, supported lives;
The strength he gains is from th'embrace he gives.
- Nicholson Baker, The Mezzanine
On the Tying of Shoes
By age 10 the tying of shoes is an act which has lost all ecstasy - even acknowledgement. By age 9 a repetitive method has evolved, dependent at most upon the type of shoe. Unless a particularly challenging pair of boots is attempted you will not consider experimentation. In this matter you learn to get on with the day, deepening your groove without needless thought spent on any method you have already mastered to perfection, or adequacy.
Most shoes do not undergo much abuse, a simple halfsquare, anchor knot combined with the creation of the loops, is enough. The plastic shoelace tip will never decay through use (that hideous unraveling) because it will never be rethreaded through the eyelets and thus the lamination will never fracture.
Shoes of heavy use, athletic shoes or boots, may necessitate a more careful tying. Tighten the laces beginning at the toe--where the center of the lace passes between the first pair of eyelets--and work your way up towards the ankle, feeding the slack through the eyes and up the tongue.
The knot itself can be improved in two ways:
1. by tying each end of the lace into a small knot too large to pass through the eyelet, preventing the shoes from becoming unlaced.
2. by tying the loops in a second anchorknot.
This will prevent the shoelace from coming untied under any conditions. A knot is perfect if it never loosens. The knot doesn't exist: it's a bump in the rope. In the middle of the day it will not occur to you that the knot in your shoelace could be improved. At the end of the day you step with one shoe on the heel of the other and remove them without looking. At the beginning of the next day you slide the shoe back on, knot intact.
On the Methods Of Suicide
don't go anywhere i can't. don't accept the inevitable. you can die when you're dead.
All my attempts would fail through dilution of resolve. At first I would only attempt the slow, painless methods. Each time, however, as my consciousness dwindled, so too did my desire to die. An avoidance/approach conflict became apparent: the farther from life I strayed, the more I would wish to return. As the bathtub gradually became clouded in a swirling mixture of blood I would abruptly pull the plug, bandage my wrists, and go to bed. The scars were difficult to explain. I even survived my own poisoning with a fist of barbiturates and a fifth of Arandas tequila. It was the worst hangover I ever had--which consequently provoked my hanging attempt. I began to assume that the deficiencies which necessitated my death also prevented it. I now think differently. It is not death I want.
| slow (relatively) | quick | |
| painless (relatively) | Freezing to death Smoking cigarettes |
Bullet in the brain Overdosing Good poison |
| painful | Dying of thirst Joining the military |
Asphyxiation Lying in the path of an oncoming train Jumping from the center of the Sydney Harbor bridge into the bay |
The slow methods are all flawed because they are reversible at the last instant. When I hung myself I did not kick away the chair--I just stepped off of it. Sixty seconds later I managed to get back on it. The quick and painless methods never appealed to me because all deny me the experience of dying; they are only painless because they are too quick to scream.
On the Similarities between Sex and War
Soldiers are sperm. It is arguable that instead of collectively destroying the egg, (a particular[ly heroic]) sperm cause(s) it to explode slowly in the miracle of birth. This is touching. However, on a microscopic level, conception more closely resembles gang rape than true love. Also, in an efficient war, the target is not destroyed but altered/imbued with the genetics of the invading culture.
7/5/1995
Dear _________,
I am stationed in U.S. FORT MECCA. I am proud to have finished basic conditioning. Tomorrow I will be assigned to EXOTIC DANCING CORP. I am doing well. Please give my love to _______________________.
THIS LETTER AUTHORIZED BY THE UNITED STATES
MILITARY FORT MECCA SAUDI ARABIA.
dear lover,
i did not want to fill out a reply.
i have been assigned to helicopter refueling at richmond royal australian air force base. i am in the office filling in the hourly log when i feel a stiff pressure behind me. it is my 1st lieutenant. his greaseblackened fingers enclamp me. my face is forced onto the ledger and my uniform, pens and toolbelt, is loosened almost as much as is necessary to insure an efficient penetration: he removes one pantsleg. afterwards he expects me to address him by rank. i know not to cry. i fall ill and am granted a daypass.
i am not in uniform and am writing this letter in a postoffice in downtown Sydney. i am terribly sad.
they have separated us to prevent us from protecting and comforting one another. i want to come and be with you.
I walk from the operahouse along the harbor and stop to stare at a Pip'a player. I do not notice that neither he nor the crowd is making any sound. I climb stone stairs onto the bridge that spans the harbor. As i walk along it an American soldier of Japanese descent follows me. In broken English he is loudly proposing that we should exchange money and fuck on the bridge. It is not clear who is expected to pay whom for the privilege.
The sun is setting, reflected in golden shards from the rippling surface of the water.
I have reached the center of the bridge's 503 meter span, the top of the gentle arc. I stop walking and examine the fence. It is composed of a dense wire mesh which curves inwards over my head, topped with coils of barbed wire. The man is becoming more insistent and threatening. I remove from my purse heavy clippers I brought from the base. I create an opening. I step outside across the 59 meter drop. Once outside, clinging to the wire fencing like a spider, I reach a ladder which leads down to a maintenance walkway which runs beneath the pedestrian walkway and motorway and is about 50 meters across. The maintenance walkway has only a single bar for a railing. A sign explains that there is a $1000 penalty for suicide. Hopefully, the Air Force will be expected to pick up the tab. I step over the bar and jump.
The clippers fall into the blue water. I am hanging by one foot, my bootlace snared by one of six million rivets. I hang paralyzed by fascination. Below me steel girders span the sky. Above me the red sun is refracted by a ceiling of water.
I step off the helicopter into the desert. The sand bites my cheeks through my bandana as i run away from the whirling storm the rotor raises.
My bootlaces, obscured by dune, do not match.
I am directed to my quarters, partially constructed from an abandoned tank. I meet the two men I am sharing it with. There is a short one with a soft voice, and a tall one who refuses to shake my hand.
There is a voice from below (above). It is the soldier. He has followed me down to the maintenance platform. he is willing to allow me to have sex with him if i grant him the privilege of saving my life.
I look up (down). At the end of my arm hangs my purse. It is very heavy. I pull it closer, open it, and one by one remove its jumbled contents...
I open my footlocker and arrange my belongings within it according to the order stipulated by the memorized diagram... I withhold the water purification tablets. I put them in my utility belt.
Laughing, I let my breathmints fall upwards into the water. Splash?
I retain one of the bandages and store the rest.
My tampons slip from my fingers disappearing swiftly into wind and darkness. No splash.
My wire tourniquet (to terminate bleeding until a proper battlefield amputation can take place) i store in my belt reluctantly, hoping i will never use it.
Ha! My birthcontrol. My foaming suppositories, Encare Ovals. I insert them into the bay where they will distribute spermicides to the tides and fish and other creatures unaffected.
My gasmask, grim reminder of the threat of chemical weapons. I replace the filters.
Ha! Condoms. Splash!
My radiation suit, I fold carefully according to instruction and store on top of my other belongings.
My suntan lotion, another useless vanity...(splash)
My knife. I stow it in my footlocker.
My mace... but the Jap has already left so i drop it as well.
My photograph of her, posing for an international ma(n)sturbation publication. I adhere it inside the hinged lid of the footlocker. My bunkmates express interest...
My wallet... my photographs...
"dig that bitch." (the tall one rudely)
"she is beautiful" (the short one quietly)
I pick my knife back up. "that's my woman and if either of you sticks his dick in her direction i'll slice it off quicker than you can wet yourself."
The tall one enjoys this. "she's an ugly cunt and so are you”
The short one steps back. "this is a centerfold. you know her?"
The tall one steps closer: "didn't your daddy ever tell you? if you touch your cunt too much it'll fall off."
Like lightning i grab his scrotum and jerk him off his feet. He is a crybaby for quite some time. “i hope we’re killed at the same time so my last memory is you squirming in the dirt." The short one's disapproval is diluted by fright.
I am overcome by regret. The water hisses greedily at the photo of my lover hanging from fingernailtips. I imagine her, imagine myself inside her and her inside me and she hangs from one shoelace. It is distressingly undignified, she cannot keep her skirt and blouse down (up) and her breasts are pulled toward her shoulders, her hair obstructs her view of everything. I do not want her to die. She tries to reach her shoelace but she is not quite strong enough.
"your attitudes, while sufficiently violent, are not acceptably militaristic. i am going to recommend you to basic conditioning as soon as possible."
The doctors are all men. They are unsympathetic. They need to consult manuals and find unusual electrodes. Because I am a woman they have no idea how to trigger an orgasm. Finally they succeed and I let them know it.
I am in a movie theatre in an audience of men. The film begins with a woman undressing in front of a mirror. I enjoy it. Then the male characters enter. They display excellent cooperation as they systematically rape her. My clitoris is given electric jolts too intense and frequent to be even remotely pleasurable.
The men all hoot in unison. I am exhausted. I know not to cry.
Afterwards I am allowed to return to my barrack. The short one is gone. There is a fat one instead. They eye me hungrily. I back out and wander around the installation until I find the officer's club. There I am allowed to drink beer. Strobe lights and the music/repetitive synthhorn blasts remind me of a battlefield. All the men dance. Then on stage colored lights flare up. The men begin to hoot in unison.
She comes out onstage and begins to remove her ostrich feathers. The men all shout unpleasant propositions. I stop drinking and watch.
I want her back. I am suicideproof and a good diver.
On Diving From A Great Height
The legs function as an aileron.
The colored lights go down and I find her dressing room. I knock.
"go away. i'm off duty now."
I say her name. she cracks the door. She apologizes.
"i thought you were a man. come in quickly."
"don't you recognize me?"
"no. i don't think i've seen you around here before."
I say my name. She shrugs and apologizes.
I strike her to the floor and quickly tie my bandage around her mouth, my tourniquet around her wrists. I remove her g-string with the knife which I subsequently hold to her throat while I remove one pantsleg.
With the hand holding the photo I remove my cigarettes from the purse, light one, and let everything else fall into the black bay. I can feel the individual strands of shoelace snapping. I inhale deeply. My Virginia Slim in my pursed lips I touch my fingertips together. The water abruptly rushes at me.
The sun is rising, reflected in golden shards from the rippling surface of the water.
The warning claxons wail. Her eyes register no understanding, no fear, no recognition, no motion. I turn her face to the floor and leave the officers club.
A million tiny men stream across the border,
wriggling their bayonets.
Splash!
1991