“I hope the exit is joyful and hope never to return” - Frida Kahlo’s last words
I had a dream my family were driving me through Switzerland, to a suicide clinic. Gut-stomping ugliness shot passed the window, but it was beautiful because I was looking at it for the last time. Moment by moment I let go of the idea of having moments. I felt nauseous looking at the little languid people pacing the pavements, plaguing the planet like a cancer. Content in their mediocrity. The pavements repulsed me. Give people the chance to pave the world over in any colour, and of course, they choose grey. The car was a warm womb though, and my family were happy to drive me to death because they knew it was what I wanted. When I got out of the car, they just smiled and waved to me, as if to say “See you on the other side”. There was no other side, but that was how I liked it. Everything made sense.