Not like the quarry slave...
Excuse me if I vent a little.
Why is it better to die than be disabled?
Seems like all those proponents of eugenics were successful after all
as they’ve got the bulk of society on their side now.
It is making me tired.
Crossing Jordan: daughter thinks it's better for her mother to die
than to lose her limbs and live.
To live. Life. She admitted herself that her mom needed more time to
do her thing. But oh, well. If she was going to have to be a person with
a disability she was a scratch.
I hate it. Yo lo odio. Je le hais. I'm nearly embarrased about how much
it scares me. I find it difficult to explain how deep this growing river
flows.
Life still continues with a disability. People learn the essentials,
now don't they? But they say it's better to die than to live differently.
The thing about humans is that they are designed to adapt. There is
something very creepy about this backslide.
Why rush off to silence? There is no action in death.
No chance for change, expression or love. There is no beauty, no
intrigue, no passion, no desire, no thought, no sight, no hope.
It's just sleep, but strong. This is a sleep that belongs only to those
who have exausted the day. Why go to sleep before your work and joy is done?
Don't go gentle, all quiet and complicit. Take off your blinders, death
isn't a party. Fight for goodness sakes.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
...
...
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Thanatopsis.
William C. Bryant
Thanatopsis is no contradiction to Thomas' poem.
One cannot rest in peace until one has exhauted all options and
completed all work.
Procrastinators are miserable.
When you've lived strong, Earth summons you... don't seek its
call. Death is not kind, nor gracious.
This thing... this whole,'let me die' phenomenon is a culture of suicide.
Why is it better to die than be disabled?
Seems like all those proponents of eugenics were successful after all
as they’ve got the bulk of society on their side now.
It is making me tired.
Crossing Jordan: daughter thinks it's better for her mother to die
than to lose her limbs and live.
To live. Life. She admitted herself that her mom needed more time to
do her thing. But oh, well. If she was going to have to be a person with
a disability she was a scratch.
I hate it. Yo lo odio. Je le hais. I'm nearly embarrased about how much
it scares me. I find it difficult to explain how deep this growing river
flows.
Life still continues with a disability. People learn the essentials,
now don't they? But they say it's better to die than to live differently.
The thing about humans is that they are designed to adapt. There is
something very creepy about this backslide.
Why rush off to silence? There is no action in death.
No chance for change, expression or love. There is no beauty, no
intrigue, no passion, no desire, no thought, no sight, no hope.
It's just sleep, but strong. This is a sleep that belongs only to those
who have exausted the day. Why go to sleep before your work and joy is done?
Don't go gentle, all quiet and complicit. Take off your blinders, death
isn't a party. Fight for goodness sakes.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
...
...
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Thanatopsis.
William C. Bryant
Thanatopsis is no contradiction to Thomas' poem.
One cannot rest in peace until one has exhauted all options and
completed all work.
Procrastinators are miserable.
When you've lived strong, Earth summons you... don't seek its
call. Death is not kind, nor gracious.
This thing... this whole,'let me die' phenomenon is a culture of suicide.