It’s better than dying. During my blue period, when the first protean delights of immortality had passed, and I was left with the prospect of undying boredom. Artistically, I mastered painting, sculpture, and drama. Athletically, under the guise of several generations of athletes whose fathers abruptly met with death, I dominated the arenas, stadiums, rinks. Sexually, I had sampled women, men, animals, insensate objects. Anything to pass the time.

I had sampled Life’s wares, and found it wanting. Time is a thief, and enough of it robs you of your joy. Never did I know I would relish death. I feasted from a smorgasbord of Death. It found me willing. Do you want the details?

First, the conventional suicides. Razorblades, drowning, shocking, plunging. Then on to the more unconventional. Hostage in a bloody bank hold up. Innocent bystander in a apartheid. Crushed under massive construction equipment. Then it was on to medieval torture manuals.

It was a blue period, and hey, eventually I overcame it.

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