I don't remember the crash, but I remember, sometime later, crouching on my hands and knees over a pool of my own blood contemplating my own death with relief. Blind, I had never seen things so clearly. I understood for the first time that life was simply an intricate and complicated arrangement of tensions supporting one another like a modern architectural edifice. Now all the tensions were relaxing, one by one; I was going loose as though I was nothing so much as a little machine made of rubber bands and springs and cables that were now breaking apart or slackening up and releasing me. I had the impression that I had an unlimited amount of time to think about this and to appraise my life and to decide whether to live or die; I remember very leisurely checking off a list of things that seemed to make up my life and that I would no longer have to confront. They were all little things, hundreds of little irritations, banalities, silly challenges, hypocrisies, self-delusions, inanities. How could I consider for a moment that it would be worthwhile to reconstruct and connect and tighten these springs and cables that were going slack, especially when I contemplated the alternative with such joy, my own sweet, peaceful dissolution. My God, how wonderful to live free of those enslaving tensions, how wonderful to die. I checked down the list, "No, I won't miss that - nor that - nor that."
And I knew immediately that it was true. I was struck with another fantastic intuition about death: that in some way it was optional, that you had power over it, and that it came only when you really wanted it.
Three weeks later,with his teeth bared in a animal snarl and his senses once more blunted with cane alcohol, this same homicidal manic is established behind the wheel of another bananero and is rolling from side to side down the highway looking for something else to destroy.
Extracted from book "The Farm on the River of Emeralds" by Moritz Thomsen
And I knew immediately that it was true. I was struck with another fantastic intuition about death: that in some way it was optional, that you had power over it, and that it came only when you really wanted it.
Three weeks later,with his teeth bared in a animal snarl and his senses once more blunted with cane alcohol, this same homicidal manic is established behind the wheel of another bananero and is rolling from side to side down the highway looking for something else to destroy.
Extracted from book "The Farm on the River of Emeralds" by Moritz Thomsen
Honestly, it's really weird just how convenced we are that we KNOW what is going on, what is happening, and what is going to happen. I love science, but it does not flex beyond the scientific view. Researches say that they can duplicate the feeling of an out of body experience with certain chemicals supplied and denied to certain areas of the brain and jolt of electricity. How do they know they aren't just causing out of body experiences? how can they be sure that it really is a faux OBE. Scientists also seem to think that an extra amount of certain neurotransmiters in the brain is the cause of depression. How do they know that is not, on some level, the conflict between a demon and angel in a person's brain duking it out causing their brains to squirt extra chemicals sending them into a depressed state? Maybe the unconscious knowledge that a little devil is putting the mother of all sleeper holds on an angel is just really really sad
:grumpy: 
