I-Is this the s-s-suicide h-h-hotline?
Yes. My name is Chris. What’s yours?
That’s a beautiful name. French?
Haitian. I’m going to kill myself. I’m
taking pills. Reds, blues, greens.
What? Wait a minute… talk to me.
Life doesn’t… make… sense. This city’s
k-killing me. I want my liquid hijack
What? Life’s beautiful. Depression isn’t
permanent. Don’t you believe that?
What is it ? did your girlfriend leave
No! I have a boyfriend. He loves me
You see? You have someone to live for.
No, I don’t. I’m alone. We all are.
Especially here. The world’s unjust. The
respect fools get. The disrespect I get.
What is it you want? Respect? I have
respect for you, just for making this
call. One philosopher said “Sadness is a
sin against the richness of the world.”
Think about it. Feel it.
You don’t even know me. I want real
Everybody wants to get on the Van Gogh boat.
There’s no trip so horrible that someone won’t take it.
The idea of the unrecognized genius slaving away in a garret is a deliciously foolish one.
We must credit the life of Vincent Van Gogh for really sending this myth into orbit.
How many pictures did he sell? One?
He couldn’t give them away.
We are so ashamed of his life that the rest of art history will be retribution for Van Gogh’s neglect.
No one wants to be part of a generation that ignores another Van Gogh.