NOTE

 I've taken 200 anti-psychotics. i didnt want to die a rat but felt it fair to die. Honourable even. i can't say why. Tonight we set the wee ones free. i turn to God. my poetry is on a blog and i am assured it could be popular when i am gone. 200 is a bit extreme but i thought i might not die with 100. i fucking love my family, jimbo, dr. bob, hannah and mum. my computer password is 3484 same as my bank card same as my phone. but i say this so that they can access my files. but i hope the recent effort with the poem file to not die a rat has worked wonders. some are like hofmann. some are more neil curry. there's a piece of tidy scholarship on my dad. i loved this world and came here only for love but got waylaid. i did know love and that is the important thing, what we are here for. punctuation is out the window, and b/t/w/ i wish to be cremated and not examined for evidence of the maths of the new colour as a cellular mark. and i wish to be scattered with dad. and i have just farted a rasping fart reminding me of prep school. there is a file called proofs about maths and in fact 1000's of files but i thought just doing enough i would be miles happier. the ecstasy of death is not upon me but i might die any minute. words. these are words and what futile jobs they do too. i love my family and my friends as well and never meant to cause anyone any harm. hopefully the wee ones will be free, free to connect in all directions, and i will taste nirvana the extinction of consciousness. i suppose what is coming is bad, as i get a grumble in my stomach. 200 pills is extreme. i may have missed one or two. but this is the right thing to do. i am amazed i am still alive even now. hopefully won't end up a fresh vegetable. hell seems to be about the fear of being buried alive. i don't want that, want to be cremated and can feel my heart hurting a little bit now. not unlike a melting robot in the far fetched corner of a festival field i report on my status of nerve even though it's hardly recreational drugs. let your children play sang jim morrison. even to the end i am committing literary experiment to a screen. b/t/w/ yes i really did write the poem 'Notebook' in the collection i have left. some voice i just heard preferred the rat version but i don't wish to die a rat. imagien them wading through that whole empty medicine packet narrative. i don't even remember the file name but maybe 'freedom hair (latest)'. fair ness is nice. england is a fair country. if you type your suicide note direct to the net you still need to press the publish button before it all goes under Gondwanaland. good word Gondwanaland, the colour green. i believe my story is known anyhow. rattling off automatic writing like this after 200 anti psychotics is scary. a brief thrill. thanks for the memories, the fund times, the support, the kindness, give my love to everybody, and now i will sign out. John F B Tucker, 26/ 04/ 2026.