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I ordered two kitchen sinks because I’m crazy. They’re for my blue pastel villa in Italy.  The blue is cerulean and at night reflects the yellow light of the outside lamps in shapes resembling swaths of butter pads. It’s a reclusive place that sits near the water. It’s two levels with a walkway leading up to it and stone stairs at the doorway. The walkway meanders along the water’s edge and provides pristine views of the bay. The upstairs bedroom boasts an iron veranda that offers up stunning vistas as well. Further up the coastline there are large, steep cliffs that people often leap from.

I’ve watched many times as a figure approached the edge of one of the cliffs and then horrifyingly jumped off. I’ve gone to the authorities about this and proposed they erect some kind of barrier at the top or a net at the bottom, but each time they said they cannot defile the natural beauty of the place. Too many people would complain, they said.  

Well, isn’t that about right. Human selfishness to the point of obscene and disgusting disregard for the lives of others. I suppose they’ll soon start setting up lawn chairs at the top of the cliff so they can sit and spectate as the aching souls leap to their demise. What next? Applause? Betting? Cheers and jeers? Prayers? Monetary rewards for slinging racial slurs at the death-bound?

The great golden Buddha must then float down from the heavens on a spaceship and blast them with his ray gun of peace and love. That would cast their ghastly practices to the netherworld. Or maybe Jesus would appear, and he’d be so pissed off he’d want to shake the selfish suicide downplayers until the lumps of coal from their rotted hearts fell out as he yelled, “This is not what I said!”

I ate real Italian pizza by myself at the lone table and chair in the kitchen. It was May and warm and I had windows open in the house. I could hear the watery songs of the bay and the far-away yelps of joy emanating from the wandering tourists on holiday. I sipped on my Italian soda espresso and slowly thought about life. What should I do now? I’m running out of ideas. The villa was quiet, a reminder of lone living. Then I heard another distant cry and the crash of bones.

What kind of world do we live in where people want to end their own lives? It doesn’t seem blessed to me. I wonder if there is anywhere else in the universe where beings do this. Maybe there is. But to do it because things are so bad, that’s just sad. There’s no need to crush one’s self. Hang on. Go to sleep. Wake up.

I went outside to smoke an Italian cigarette and watch the end of day close in. I looked up toward the cliffs. They seemed innocent enough. The bay shimmered. Acid trip colors began to melt across the sky, and once again, I decided I wouldn’t climb that night.     

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