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I was looking for something to post today and came across this quote I’ve held onto for a while:

fuck the poets of the past, my friends.
there are no beautiful suicides
just cold corpses with shit in their pants
& the end of the gifts.

I have no idea who said it but I saw it on a PostSecret way back in the early days. Seeing it today made me think of our dearly departed Lane Pryce. Don told him to come up with “an elegant exit” presumably for his resignation but which Lane took literally.

He was gifted with numbers and certainly didn’t get the respect for A) creating SCDP (in what’s still the best season finale of the show) and B) keeping them afloat after Lucky Strike left. Yet the poem is right… Lane was scared (shitless) of what would happen to him. But whether he did it in the Jaguar, in his office, with Pete’s rifle or down the elevator shaft, death is nothing if not gruesome. They teased it out of us by showing Joan trying to get in his door, then showing Pete’s reaction to looking over the divider, and eventually we all wanted to see. Well, we got our wish.