One thing that I'm sure of is that I have to kill myself. The question, then, is, when, how, and, more importantly, how many times? I haven't killed myself yet, but I have died several times. Dying is not easy; not because you die, but because it takes damn' long. One fellow investigator of mine once told me that what makes a pleasure valuable is not its intensity, but its duration. Ironically enough, he didn't die that well, but, at least, he had some good suicide attempts. Once someone truly concludes that the only way of getting rid of the clear limitation of this peculiar self is killing it, the path looks more delightful. This conclusion has been made; I have to die, and Seneca's death is the model; long, painful and sweet.
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