Autumn is here and the early darkness is depressing I know. Autumn is here and you feel absolutely no interest in going on. Ending your life seems like the best way to deal with the boredom and savagery that this urban failure brings upon you. It’s this season that can save you if you let it. Hail the oncoming winter weather. Soon it will be silent and cold. The nights will be safe and frozen. Germ free. Humans are toxic but easier to take in this weather. Their smell is down somewhat. Dont end your life in a dimly lit room. Dont let the dead end of your job destroy you. The cold air is good for you. Walking alone is one of the best breaks you ever get. No one to have to put up with. No one to disturb your thoughts. No one to have to come home to. If you need company, you can always play an Art Tatum record. Fall is coming and the idiots are back in the suburbs they crawled out of on their insect legs. The wood burning fires are filling up the night air, making it worth sticking around for. In defense of the fall weather!
Tip: Dont blow your brains out.
Sleep is better in cold weather. Autumn is the time when a good book is a better friend than your fellow panicked urban compressionist. Falling leaves and grey sky is the time of the greats; …. Company is nice, but only if they keep their mouths shut and leave when you want them to. And since they never do, let’s leave them out of this. The summer leaves me feeling old and wrong. It’s only in the Autumn where I can take breaths that make me want to take more breaths. This is important. I know that most of the things I am trying to do will end in total failure and disappointment. I know I will have a later life that will be bitter and full of regret. I know that many of the people I worked so hard to please will let me down, as I will eventually let them down. I see that no matter what I do, I will always be solitary and somewhat tragic. But I will always enjoy the grey solemn solitude of this season that grows darker and colder, day by day. The season that seduces and prepares me for the greatest season of them all. Winter. The season of heroes and gods.
— Henry Rollins, from his novel “Solipsist” 2.13.61