Showing posts with label quotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quotes. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Carpe Diem, My Captain...
I really don't understand why the death of Robin Williams is hitting me so hard. As shocked as I was to hear of his death, I was (and still remain) almost as shocked by the depth of my reaction to it. I mean, sure I've felt saddened by the death of other celebrities before. I remember being particularly saddened by the death of Heath Ledger, and more recently, Philip Seymour Hoffman. But I've never been moved to tears like this before. Celebrities are, by nature, almost fictional characters to us themselves; always removed from our actual lives by cameras and screens. (I think that might have something to do with why it feels so strange whenever you see one in person - it's almost like TV or a movie coming to life!) And since we don't really know them personally, there's only so much their death can move us.
Or so I thought.
I don't know why this one hurts so much. Maybe it's because I grew up with him? Because I've enjoyed him so much for my entire life? I remember the rainbow Mork suspenders I had when I was five years old. (My first cosplay, I guess?) I remember seeing Popeye in the theaters with my parents just a few years later, and loving it completely. I have the same memories of Good Morning, Vietnam. And Hook. (Oh, Peter Pan! Why did you have to grow up?!) I watched Mrs. Doubtfire and Jumanji over and over, just because of the way it delighted both the boy and the man in me at the same time.
And I've seen Dead Poets Society so many times I can practically quote the whole movie. I don't know when I'll be able to watch that one again now. At the very least, I know I'll never be able to see it the same way again.
Maybe it's because it was apparently a suicide? It's possible. Might be the connection to my own mother's death. But I haven't reacted this way to other suicides or overdoses, so why this one? Maybe it's just the fact that suicide adds that final crack of heartbreak to the story. We didn't just lose one of the greats forever; we lost him to himself, to his own demons, to his own sickness. It feels like there must've been something that could've saved him. It feels like it didn't have to end this way. And it touches us all because, let's face it, haven't each and every one of us been there, or somewhere close to it, at least once in our lives? But if we could survive it, then why couldn't he?
I think it's true that there are few things more sad in this life, than a funny man, with a broken heart. His mentor, Jonathan Winters, knew that only too well. But he survived it anyways. It's too bad he couldn't be there to help his friend, who clearly needed him more than anyone knew.
Like so, so many of us today, I feel the need to pour my heart out to the memory of this funny man, who's been there my whole life, in some vain and desperate attempt to figure out just what in the fuck it means to live without him now.
Below, I've collected some of my favorites that other people have been sharing today. Some are funny, some are poignant, some are heart-breaking. But they all made me feel something. And that's helped, at least a little.
Here's hoping it can do the same for any of you.
"Robin Williams is not dead, he is just waiting in the jungle until somebody rolls a 5 or 8." -testingonetwothreetesting, via imgur
"One of the funniest people alive died from sadness." - chili1179, via imgur
And finally, this is how I always want to remember him:
Your barbaric YAWP! was heard around the world, sir, and inspired MILLIONS.
And you will always be my captain.
Or so I thought.
I don't know why this one hurts so much. Maybe it's because I grew up with him? Because I've enjoyed him so much for my entire life? I remember the rainbow Mork suspenders I had when I was five years old. (My first cosplay, I guess?) I remember seeing Popeye in the theaters with my parents just a few years later, and loving it completely. I have the same memories of Good Morning, Vietnam. And Hook. (Oh, Peter Pan! Why did you have to grow up?!) I watched Mrs. Doubtfire and Jumanji over and over, just because of the way it delighted both the boy and the man in me at the same time.
And I've seen Dead Poets Society so many times I can practically quote the whole movie. I don't know when I'll be able to watch that one again now. At the very least, I know I'll never be able to see it the same way again.
Maybe it's because it was apparently a suicide? It's possible. Might be the connection to my own mother's death. But I haven't reacted this way to other suicides or overdoses, so why this one? Maybe it's just the fact that suicide adds that final crack of heartbreak to the story. We didn't just lose one of the greats forever; we lost him to himself, to his own demons, to his own sickness. It feels like there must've been something that could've saved him. It feels like it didn't have to end this way. And it touches us all because, let's face it, haven't each and every one of us been there, or somewhere close to it, at least once in our lives? But if we could survive it, then why couldn't he?
I think it's true that there are few things more sad in this life, than a funny man, with a broken heart. His mentor, Jonathan Winters, knew that only too well. But he survived it anyways. It's too bad he couldn't be there to help his friend, who clearly needed him more than anyone knew.
Like so, so many of us today, I feel the need to pour my heart out to the memory of this funny man, who's been there my whole life, in some vain and desperate attempt to figure out just what in the fuck it means to live without him now.
Below, I've collected some of my favorites that other people have been sharing today. Some are funny, some are poignant, some are heart-breaking. But they all made me feel something. And that's helped, at least a little.
Here's hoping it can do the same for any of you.
Every time I hear a siren I still say "that's my ride." Thank you Robin Williams. I wish your ride had not arrived.
— John Hodgman (@hodgman) August 11, 2014
 |
| Spontaneous tribute appearing at the bench in Boston, made famous from the scene in Good Will Hunting. |
We mourn
the loss of our friend Robin Williams, who always made us laugh and
smile. pic.twitter.com/UOY8LTjVRA
—
Sesame Street (@sesamestreet) August
11, 2014
"Robin Williams is not dead, he is just waiting in the jungle until somebody rolls a 5 or 8." -testingonetwothreetesting, via imgur
"One of the funniest people alive died from sadness." - chili1179, via imgur
Nanu
nanu.
— SarcasticRover (@SarcasticRover) August
11, 2014
Come on in Rob. I got
you.
— Jesus Christ (@jesus) August
11, 2014
 |
| The first comment on this image, from NancyNevada, I think says it all: "When Peter Pan dies, don't tell us to grow up." |
Goodbye pal.
Thanks for everything.
— Louis C.K. (@louisck) August
12, 2014
 |
| This was reportedly posted to Disney's FB page this morning. Heart-wrenching. |
"But
doctor, I AM Pagliacci."
That's the
only way this makes sense. Can't stand thinking of him being
that sad. #RIPRobinWilliams
—
Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt) August
11, 2014
And finally, this is how I always want to remember him:
Your barbaric YAWP! was heard around the world, sir, and inspired MILLIONS.
And you will always be my captain.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
A Glimpse Into My Heart...
My time is running out
and still
I have not sung
the true song
the great song
I admit
that I seem
to have lost my courage
a glance at the mirror
a glimpse into my heart
makes me want
to shut up forever
so why do you lean me here
Lord of my life
lean me at this table
in the middle of the night
wondering
how to be beautiful
-Leonard Cohen
"My Time"
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
On Creating...
I've never read Bukowski.
So, naturally, I was surprised to discover that he'd already said this long before me, and probably better than I ever could.
So, naturally, I was surprised to discover that he'd already said this long before me, and probably better than I ever could.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
In Toto Memorium...
There's a War Memorial in the middle of my town.
It's a park, actually. It's filled with dozens of memorials, each one for a different conflict. Apparently, it's the only park in Maryland that commemorates soldiers from every American war; from the French and Indian War, all the way to the first Gulf War. There's even a monument dedicated to the residents of Frederick County that lost their lives fighting the Barbary Pirates.
Apparently, there are also some soldiers buried under that park. Which I guess is fitting, considering its purpose.
I first discovered the park a few years ago, on another Walpurgisnacht, while drifting through town in the middle of the night, in my usual state of psychedelic illumination. It was knowledge of the bodies buried there that actually drew me to investigate it; tickling my sense of ghoulish voyeurism. But I ended up having an entirely different experience.
I imagine most people have been to war memorials at one time or another. Living in the D.C. area, it's an especially common occurrence; I'd lost track of the number of memorials I'd been to before I'd even made it to high school. After a while, they just start to blend into one another, and it's easy to become desensitized to their meaning. But, usually, those are memorials dedicated to one, single, specific war or conflict. I found that the effect of a memorial dedicated to All American War to be powerful in the extreme, even to someone as jaded as I sometimes pretend to be.
The first effect I noticed is that there are simply so many monuments in this park. And when you realize that each one is dedicated to a different war, then you begin to get a sense of the scope of just how much of our history we have spent trying to kill other people before they could kill us. And you can't help but start to ask yourself, Have we ever been at peace? Is peace even a realistic possibility? Or is it just an idealistic fantasy we tell ourselves to soothe our sense of fear and alienation in the face of a violent, hostile, uncaring world; just like "God" and "Heaven"? (How ironic that those two concepts in particular, so often the direct cause of so many wars, are actually responsible for all wars, in a way. Would it be so easy for us to kill one another so often, and in such numbers, and for such ridiculous reasons, if so many of us didn't believe with such absolute certainty that they wouldn't really be ending forever, but simply traveling to "a better place?" I would wager that Life means more to the atheist, who understands its true finality.)
But then I began to wander through the monuments, one-by-one, down through the history of our wars. The Persian Gulf War. The Vietnam War. The Korean War. Each one filled with names chisled in stone. Names of people who lived here, in my town. Who wandered these same streets at some point in their youth. Some who even wandered the same school hallways. Maybe some who had even lived on my street. Fools and Heroes, every one. Strong, and Doomed, and so unbelievably Brave. Braver than I will ever be. Braver than I ever could be. And just boys! Just boys. They'd only just started. They had so much left to do. Just boys. How is it possible that this country, of all countries, that coddles and insulates and over-protects its children to such a ridiculous, obsessive degree, could do all of this? Could still be doing all of this? It is literally, staggering.
And so many names. So many names. The World War II memorial is the largest in the park, by far. A wall, ten feet high, and fifty feet long. Entirely filled with names. Our names. And I wandered down that memorial, reading those names, trying to take it all in. It was almost too much. I could barely comprehend so many people, just from my tiny little town alone(!), all fighting and dying all over the world, not much more than sixty years ago. How could that possibly have happened?! And this, the most moral and just of all the wars! The one where we were most clearly combating an Evil; the greatest Evil the modern world had ever seen. It was still almost too much to believe. But I finally got to the end of that immense list, and the end of that long wall... and then I realized - the list of names had stopped at "L." Oh, no, I thought, it's not possible. But I rounded the corner of that wall to discover, to my horror, that the entire other side was filled in, as well.
It felt like a lead weight had been inserted into my chest. It was all I could do to keep myself from breaking down into tears right then and there. I simply could not comprehend that amount of pain and suffering, on that enormous scale.
But the memorial that affected me most, and that I will always remember, was the memorial to the soldier boys of World War I.
I've always had a bit of a fascination with WWI. It was, by far, the most gruesome and horrible conflict that humanity has ever seen. The brutal combination of trench warfare and the advent of modern weaponry - the machine gun, the tank, the flamethrower, the grenade, the fighter plane, chemical warfare, etc., etc. - created an environment that was, quite simply, more akin to a meat grinder than what we think of as "war." Almost forty MILLION people killed, wounded, or missing-in-action. By the end of the war, Europe was running out of fighting age men. So they were drafting men as old as seventy, and boys as young as fourteen. More meat for the grinder.
At the time, they called it "The Great War."
The memorial dedicated to this human atrocity is obviously the oldest in the park. It's almost certainly the first one built there. It was sculpted in the style of classic monuments, with a bronze statue of a doughboy standing atop a large, octagonal concrete base. Onto each of the eight sides of the base has been affixed a bronze plaque, each about three feet wide by four feet tall; and each plaque is, again, a list of names. The names are so small that they are impossible to read without climbing up onto the memorial itself. They had to make them that small in order to fit them all on the monument. And unlike the other monuments in the park, which list the names of everyone involved in their conflict in any way, the WWI memorial is from an earlier time in America's history - it only lists the names of the boys who never came home. Boys from my hometown. Dozens and dozens and dozens of them. All slaughtered. Gone now, even from memory. All that's left of them are names on a plaque, that you can't even read.
As I wandered around the memorial, trying to comprehend the weight of it all, I came upon one plaque that was different from the others. It had fewer names, and was in a larger font. I noticed it had a title across the top that was large enough that I could it read it:
"The Negro Men of Frederick County, Who Gave Their Lives In The Great War of 1917"
I've been sitting here for fifteen minutes, trying to come up with my response to that; to sum up how it made me feel then, or how I feel about it now. I'm sorry, but I can't. I just don't have the words. I guess I should try to concentrate on feeling grateful that they were even included in the memorial at all.
I'll leave you with this thought for this Memorial Day. Sums up my feelings pretty well.
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. And while you're out there, barbequing, and sunbathing, and partying - try to be good to someone. Just because you can.
And just because, it's something.
It's a park, actually. It's filled with dozens of memorials, each one for a different conflict. Apparently, it's the only park in Maryland that commemorates soldiers from every American war; from the French and Indian War, all the way to the first Gulf War. There's even a monument dedicated to the residents of Frederick County that lost their lives fighting the Barbary Pirates.
Apparently, there are also some soldiers buried under that park. Which I guess is fitting, considering its purpose.
I first discovered the park a few years ago, on another Walpurgisnacht, while drifting through town in the middle of the night, in my usual state of psychedelic illumination. It was knowledge of the bodies buried there that actually drew me to investigate it; tickling my sense of ghoulish voyeurism. But I ended up having an entirely different experience.
I imagine most people have been to war memorials at one time or another. Living in the D.C. area, it's an especially common occurrence; I'd lost track of the number of memorials I'd been to before I'd even made it to high school. After a while, they just start to blend into one another, and it's easy to become desensitized to their meaning. But, usually, those are memorials dedicated to one, single, specific war or conflict. I found that the effect of a memorial dedicated to All American War to be powerful in the extreme, even to someone as jaded as I sometimes pretend to be.
The first effect I noticed is that there are simply so many monuments in this park. And when you realize that each one is dedicated to a different war, then you begin to get a sense of the scope of just how much of our history we have spent trying to kill other people before they could kill us. And you can't help but start to ask yourself, Have we ever been at peace? Is peace even a realistic possibility? Or is it just an idealistic fantasy we tell ourselves to soothe our sense of fear and alienation in the face of a violent, hostile, uncaring world; just like "God" and "Heaven"? (How ironic that those two concepts in particular, so often the direct cause of so many wars, are actually responsible for all wars, in a way. Would it be so easy for us to kill one another so often, and in such numbers, and for such ridiculous reasons, if so many of us didn't believe with such absolute certainty that they wouldn't really be ending forever, but simply traveling to "a better place?" I would wager that Life means more to the atheist, who understands its true finality.)
But then I began to wander through the monuments, one-by-one, down through the history of our wars. The Persian Gulf War. The Vietnam War. The Korean War. Each one filled with names chisled in stone. Names of people who lived here, in my town. Who wandered these same streets at some point in their youth. Some who even wandered the same school hallways. Maybe some who had even lived on my street. Fools and Heroes, every one. Strong, and Doomed, and so unbelievably Brave. Braver than I will ever be. Braver than I ever could be. And just boys! Just boys. They'd only just started. They had so much left to do. Just boys. How is it possible that this country, of all countries, that coddles and insulates and over-protects its children to such a ridiculous, obsessive degree, could do all of this? Could still be doing all of this? It is literally, staggering.
And so many names. So many names. The World War II memorial is the largest in the park, by far. A wall, ten feet high, and fifty feet long. Entirely filled with names. Our names. And I wandered down that memorial, reading those names, trying to take it all in. It was almost too much. I could barely comprehend so many people, just from my tiny little town alone(!), all fighting and dying all over the world, not much more than sixty years ago. How could that possibly have happened?! And this, the most moral and just of all the wars! The one where we were most clearly combating an Evil; the greatest Evil the modern world had ever seen. It was still almost too much to believe. But I finally got to the end of that immense list, and the end of that long wall... and then I realized - the list of names had stopped at "L." Oh, no, I thought, it's not possible. But I rounded the corner of that wall to discover, to my horror, that the entire other side was filled in, as well.
It felt like a lead weight had been inserted into my chest. It was all I could do to keep myself from breaking down into tears right then and there. I simply could not comprehend that amount of pain and suffering, on that enormous scale.
But the memorial that affected me most, and that I will always remember, was the memorial to the soldier boys of World War I.
I've always had a bit of a fascination with WWI. It was, by far, the most gruesome and horrible conflict that humanity has ever seen. The brutal combination of trench warfare and the advent of modern weaponry - the machine gun, the tank, the flamethrower, the grenade, the fighter plane, chemical warfare, etc., etc. - created an environment that was, quite simply, more akin to a meat grinder than what we think of as "war." Almost forty MILLION people killed, wounded, or missing-in-action. By the end of the war, Europe was running out of fighting age men. So they were drafting men as old as seventy, and boys as young as fourteen. More meat for the grinder.
At the time, they called it "The Great War."
The memorial dedicated to this human atrocity is obviously the oldest in the park. It's almost certainly the first one built there. It was sculpted in the style of classic monuments, with a bronze statue of a doughboy standing atop a large, octagonal concrete base. Onto each of the eight sides of the base has been affixed a bronze plaque, each about three feet wide by four feet tall; and each plaque is, again, a list of names. The names are so small that they are impossible to read without climbing up onto the memorial itself. They had to make them that small in order to fit them all on the monument. And unlike the other monuments in the park, which list the names of everyone involved in their conflict in any way, the WWI memorial is from an earlier time in America's history - it only lists the names of the boys who never came home. Boys from my hometown. Dozens and dozens and dozens of them. All slaughtered. Gone now, even from memory. All that's left of them are names on a plaque, that you can't even read.
As I wandered around the memorial, trying to comprehend the weight of it all, I came upon one plaque that was different from the others. It had fewer names, and was in a larger font. I noticed it had a title across the top that was large enough that I could it read it:
"The Negro Men of Frederick County, Who Gave Their Lives In The Great War of 1917"
I've been sitting here for fifteen minutes, trying to come up with my response to that; to sum up how it made me feel then, or how I feel about it now. I'm sorry, but I can't. I just don't have the words. I guess I should try to concentrate on feeling grateful that they were even included in the memorial at all.
I'll leave you with this thought for this Memorial Day. Sums up my feelings pretty well.
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. And while you're out there, barbequing, and sunbathing, and partying - try to be good to someone. Just because you can.
And just because, it's something.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Contemplations of Liu I-Ming...
Dead Trees, Cold Ashes
When a tree is dead there is no flame when you burn it; when ashes are cold there is no warmth when you stir them. What I realize as I observe this is the Tao of transformation of temperament.
When people become temperamental, the harm is very great; the slightest offense sets them off into a rage. It damages nature and inures reason, so that they are unaware of their own greed and passion, they do not understand their own narrowness, they do not care about essential life, they are not mindful of life and death. The troubles this causes are not simple.
If one can master oneself and exercise restraint, turn back from inflexibility and become yielding, sweep away all anger, resentment, and annoyance, get rid of all contentiousness, change the aggressive and violent nature back into a gentle taciturn nature, concentrate the energy and make it flexible, empty the mind and nutrure the spirit, be selfless and impersonal, not discriminate between self and others, view one's own body as having no such body, view one's mind as having no such mind, have no discrimination and no knowledge, and be empty and open, this like dead wood not flaming when burnt, like cold ashes yielding no warmth when stirred.
One can thereby be in the midst of Creation without being influenced by Creation, be in the midst of yin and yang without being constrained by yin and yang.
...
Drawing Water with a Well Sweep
When a well sweep draws water, the bucket goes down empty and comes up full, drawing water in a continuous cycle to water the fields.
What I realize as I observe this is the Tao of the twin functions of emptying and filling.
If people can empty their hearts and be humble towards others, they will receive benefits that will fill them within and elevate them beyond others. The more they become empty and humble, the more they are fulfilled and elevated.
Continually becoming empty, continually being fulfilled, continually becoming humble, continually being elevated, so that one is empty yet full, full yet empty, low yet high, high yet low, one attains to a state in which above and below are in communion, emptiness and fulfillment correspond.
Filled with the qualities of the Tao, those who reach this state never fail to ascend to lofty and clear perception.
When a tree is dead there is no flame when you burn it; when ashes are cold there is no warmth when you stir them. What I realize as I observe this is the Tao of transformation of temperament.
When people become temperamental, the harm is very great; the slightest offense sets them off into a rage. It damages nature and inures reason, so that they are unaware of their own greed and passion, they do not understand their own narrowness, they do not care about essential life, they are not mindful of life and death. The troubles this causes are not simple.
If one can master oneself and exercise restraint, turn back from inflexibility and become yielding, sweep away all anger, resentment, and annoyance, get rid of all contentiousness, change the aggressive and violent nature back into a gentle taciturn nature, concentrate the energy and make it flexible, empty the mind and nutrure the spirit, be selfless and impersonal, not discriminate between self and others, view one's own body as having no such body, view one's mind as having no such mind, have no discrimination and no knowledge, and be empty and open, this like dead wood not flaming when burnt, like cold ashes yielding no warmth when stirred.
One can thereby be in the midst of Creation without being influenced by Creation, be in the midst of yin and yang without being constrained by yin and yang.
...
Drawing Water with a Well Sweep
When a well sweep draws water, the bucket goes down empty and comes up full, drawing water in a continuous cycle to water the fields.
What I realize as I observe this is the Tao of the twin functions of emptying and filling.
If people can empty their hearts and be humble towards others, they will receive benefits that will fill them within and elevate them beyond others. The more they become empty and humble, the more they are fulfilled and elevated.
Continually becoming empty, continually being fulfilled, continually becoming humble, continually being elevated, so that one is empty yet full, full yet empty, low yet high, high yet low, one attains to a state in which above and below are in communion, emptiness and fulfillment correspond.
Filled with the qualities of the Tao, those who reach this state never fail to ascend to lofty and clear perception.
-Liu I-Ming (~1737 - ~1830)
translated by Thomas Cleary
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)