A book that came in appeared to be something that I would have been interested in about 15 years ago. It was an art book but included pictures that I would classify as something less than artful.
The pictures in question were of successful suicides that were exceptionally gory.
15 years ago I would have seen this as artful. Back then I was immortal and life had no meaning. The demise of others that I viewed as entertainment and could not happen to me.
Today, I see life as something that has meaning. I intentionally bring joy to each other's lives as I un-intentionally cause pain. In my youth I would have paid less attention to the latter. As I have aged I become aware of the pain of others as much as the joy.
I see that pain and death as art or entertainment is grotesque. I can't begin to think past the life that no longer feels the joy or pain. These are the two reasons for living. Pain pushes me to change and joy gives me the reason to do it.
later...