Innocence Lost - RIP Robin Williams

News of the death came suddenly and unexpected, yesterday afternoon.  I was sitting on my couch, flipping through my Twitter feed, like I've done thousands of times before, when all of a sudden the feed was blanketed with well wishes and RIPs to the beloved comedian.  My heart stopped and sunk deep into my chest.  Panic overwhelmed me, mixed with confusion and disbelief.  What sort of tragedy could've happened? I wondered, speculating maybe another heart episode, given he'd had heart problems in the past.

I scrambled to my PC and immediately tapped his name into Google.  I was first met with a website that claimed that Robin Williams was the victim of a death hoax, similar to one's experienced by Jeff Goldblum, Jackie Chan, Russell Crowe and even Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, who responded "I would love to meet the person who is starting rumors of my death - to show them how a dead foot feels up their ass!"  I rested back in my chair, relieved for a moment that the reports of Williams' death, was a a ruse.  However, the dozens of websites directly beneath that one, told a much different tale.  A much darker and dreadful story, that broke my heart all over again.

Reports that the actor was discovered asphyxiated in his home.  Immediately, speculation jumped to suicide, although at the time, it was only mentioned that the actor had been experiencing major depression as of late.  To jump immediately to the conclusion of suicide, though...  I didn't want to believe it.  I refused to believe it.  It's one thing to feel helpless and alone.  I feel like that almost everyday.  It's another thing, I feel, to feel this way, yet have dozens of avenues all around you.  Robin has wonderful loving children.  He's got a beautiful loving wife. Dozens of caring friends and millions of fans.  Twitter, alone, is a fantastic artery for fans to connect with their heroes to send well-wishes and praise.  Albeit, there are some assholes who use the social media device to shit on people, but this is Robin-freakin'-Williams, an angel of men who walked amongst us.  I'm nobody special, but I get overwhelmed with good will and pride when someone responds positively to one of my tweets.

Found asphyxiated, they claimed.  I thought immediately that perhaps it was an accident.  Perhaps an allergic reaction to something.  Maybe he was on a new prescription and it reacted the wrong way.  Speaking personally, my allergy to peanuts is so bad, that if I'm simply in a room with the nut, I can feel my chest grow tight and breathing becomes laboured in a major way.  If left too long, I'm confident my dead ass would be found slumped in a corner.

Sadly, the news was broke today.  Robin Williams committed suicide by hanging himself with a belt.  I was speechless.  Saddened by the report, but more so by how sad and miserable he must have been in those final moments.  The room grew silent, as if the entire world had been placed on pause.  No birds were chirping, no traffic passed by my house.  It was like the entire world had stopped for a respective moment of silence.  I commented on a friend's Facebook post yesterday that if feels like a huge void has been left in his wake.

Left to my own thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder about his state of mind.  Curious as to what brought him to the point that he felt there was no other alternative, but to exit this world.  In the past, I can recall a couple of occasions where I was so low that I did actually want to die.  Once in high school, but opted out realizing that it was more out of spite than out of releasing any sort of mental anguish.  Then again a few years ago, when I'd lost my job due to horrendous circumstances.  Kind words from a person I cared deeply for, literally saved my life that day.  Nowadays, I have a cat.  My "little boy", Monkey, and as goofy as it sounds, no matter how dark and sad and depressed I get, I will never do anything malicious to myself, because I have him and he depends on me.  I have nephews, too.  About the only family members that I actually like on a personal level, but it's my boy, Monkey that keeps me inside the lines of sanity.

It's not out of some kind of morbid curiosity that I think about the suicide, but more of a need to understand.  The human body, as a whole, possesses a natural need to survive.  It does it without thought.  As natural as it is for your heart to pump blood or your lungs to inhale oxygen, so is the will to survive.  So to wrap a belt around your neck then lean into it in order to choke yourself out...  I can't fathom it.  It ranks up there with my fear of drowning.  I can't wrap my head around the mechanics required to succumb to that.

Depression is a helluva thing.  I don't know why I suffer from it.  I don't take medication for it, nor have I sought out any sort of counselling to solve it.  It's something that I live with every day...  It's another fact of life.  Like asthma, my sore broken back, or my rugged good looks.  They're all a curse, but it's what makes me... well... ME!

My heart is broken, today.  Saddened at what the world has lost.  Just like the years that have followed 9/11, where I can't look around without remembering how things were before we'd lost our innocence, I'm not going to be able to look around at all the absurdity and comedy in the world without thinking about Robin Williams.

"You're only given one little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."

- Robin Williams -

August 11th, 2014 - The world lost something truly special.  The important thing, though, is to learn from this tragedy.  See you on the other side, Oh Captain, My Captain.

Cookie Crumbles

I was drowsy, going in and out of consciousness, when I learned of her passing.  I'd fallen asleep in bed with the television on, so my lethargy was from exhaustion, and not drug induced like Whitney Houston's life had become in recent... uh... decades.  Still, her death comes as a surprise.  To me as well as the world over.

For those unaware of her fame, specifically fans of today's bubble gum-cookie cutter pop icons instead of artists of substance, Whitney Houston rose to fame in the mid-80's and garnered herself many gold and platinum albums.  She coined the phrase "The children are our future" from her song "The Greatest Love of All".  Practically a child, her first album, the self-titled "Whitney Houston" debuted when the singer was just twenty-one years of age.  So in a sense, she's matured before the world.

It was throughout the early part of her career, that she was able to ascend to superstardom through her music and movie appearances, acting in films like "Waiting To Exhale" and "The Preacher's Wife" (which paid her an astounding $10M, a lot of dough at the time).

She married former "New Edition" member, Bobby Brown, who was a success in his own solo career, with hits like "My Prerogative" (later covered by Britney Spears) and "On Our Own" featured in Ghostbusters II (1989).  However, life with Bobby wasn't all that it was cracked up to be (pardon the pun).

It seemed like her life and career after that union came to be, quickly began to spin out of control.  The relationship and marriage was rocky, even at the best of times, and the only real success the duo had, came with the birth of their daughter, Bobbi Kristina Brown (1993).  Reports of improprieties began to flow into the media, like a rushing waterfall.  For a time, you couldn't turn on the television without viewing reports of their crazed drug-induced antics.  Two personalities who'd once held the world in the palm of their hands, were now the dirty crusties found under your couch.  The picture above is the best illustration I could produce that showed the tremendous "before and after" affects of the drugs.  Undeniably, Whitney Houston was once a vibrant beauty queen with a face that could launch a thousand ships.  Look at that gorgeous smile.  Then look at the inset of what a horrible hag she'd become.  A true American-tragedy.

Though she'd attempt many comebacks over the years, I don't think she ever truly shook the drugs.  I can't say that I know what she sounded like the past five or ten years, but I'm willing to bet that it failed exponentially when compared to her former prowess.

As I read the reports of Whitney's passing, I am a little bothered by the instant assumption that foul play must've been involved.  I see the term "criminal intent" repeated throughout the media circus.  A concept now being tossed up by fellow celebrities.  Without viewing all the facts, I am confident in reporting to the world that there was NO CRIMINAL INTENT, unless you include the dealer who sold the drugs to Whitney Houston.  In the weeks to come, after the autopsy and all the tests come back, it will be revealed that Whitney Houston died of a drug overdose.  That's how all the great ones seem to die.  Elvis Presley, Jim Morrison, John Belushi, Janis Joplin and even that child molester, Michael Jackson, all died due to the monkey on their backs.

I don't understand the need for drugs, especially when you're someone famous.  They always say it's the pressure of the business.  Bullshit.  I've worked in retail.  THERE'S pressure.  People yelling at you and treating you like shit.  The lives of singers and actors...  Pressure?  You're a f*cking singer, for Christ's sake.  You sing!  That's it!  You do what you love!  Where's the pressure?

Although, I have never been a fan of her music.  That genre failing to meld with the likes of the styles I prefer to listen to, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate true artistry.  One of her greatest hits, was a song originally recorded by country crooner, Dolly Parton, "I Will Always Love You", from the movie (and a personal favourite of mine), "The Bodyguard", starring Kevin Costner.  I think despite the way her life ended, she will go down in the annuls of history as one of the true great ones, continuing to be loved, ALWAYS.