Archive for the ‘Death’ category

40 Poems in 40 Days – Part 13

February 27, 2013

Day 13 and for such an unfortunate number I thought it appropriate to go with a fairly morbid poem, so if you’re not a fan of contemplating your own mortality, I’d recommend skipping.   I went through a phase of suffering from anxiety recently and, although it’s cleared for the most part,  I had few further ominous feelings of inevitability on Monday.   Fortunately, I was able to channel my mood into a poem that I’m really pleased with, so think of this as a working example of art being a form of emotional catharsis.   Carrying on from last night’s theme it’s about the heart (the physical one rather than the metaphor)!   Enjoy.

 

Heart

Tick, tick, tick, tick,

Counting out the seconds quick

Atria closing with each click

Click, click, click, click,

Does its job without a thought

Pumping quietly pulling taught

Pressing on with every kick,

Kick, kick, kick, kick,

Years of life stealthy fats steal

They’re hiding inside every meal

Buttering the arteries thick

Thick, thick, thick, thick,

Exercise increase pumps rate

To keep up pulse accelerates

Running through its beats too quick

Quick, quick, quick, quick,

Never let me down before

Keeps on beating evermore

A constant candle burns its wick

Wick, wick, wick, wick,

Metronomic slowly surely

Life is creeping forwards for me

Slowly growing weary sick

Sick, sick, sick, sick,

Like a bomb strapped in my chest

A timer ticking down from death

Towards its end with every click

Click, click, click, click,

Time is passing with each bump

Got to value every thump

Someday soon my heart will stop

Tick, tick, tick, tock.

40 Poems in 40 Days – Part 7

February 20, 2013

So it’s day 7 now and I’m beyond 1/6th of the way through my challenge.   I’m honesty feeling a little tired at the moment through juggling various commitments, but I’m still confident.   As promised, the poem today is the sibling poem to yesterday’s one, so expect similar themes, albeit communicated in a very different style and with a much bleaker outlook.   I’ve liked William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience since I studied them at school and was particularly fascinated by the way that the poems that could be paired, so consider this a heads-up that there may be several more two-part poems on the horizon in the coming weeks (although not necessarily on the themes of Innocence and Experience).   Anyway, hope you enjoy today’s!

 

River Drought

There was a river here ago,

It’s source has now run dry

And now one wouldn’t ever know

That something here once died.

 

Where once bright flowers grew and bloomed

And milk and honey flowed,

Babylon’s raiders have consumed –

I’m forced to leave my home.

 

Am I condemned to e’er lament

And hope springs round the bend?

With holy water I’m content

And never thirst again.

Reflections on the Man in the Mirror

January 20, 2010

Two nights ago I was watching an old film, “Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker”.   I remember enjoying it when I was a massive Michael Jackson fan as a child (when he was considered cool and not weird, at least not really weird), but couldn’t for the life of me, remembered what the film was like.   It was, in fact, pretty hilarious; following the interesting wordless biopic at the beginning of the film, the film jumps into a full-blown adventure!   For those who don’t like “spoilers” skip the next paragraph, but I wouldn’t say that “spoilers” is an appropriate way of describing revealing this plot!

Michael and three kids (who else?) are playing with a “soccer” in a park with a dog.   The dog runs away with the deflated ball and goes missing, Michael Jackson goes looking for the dog with the kids, at which point they come across a “evil” businessman called “Mr Big” who is trying to close all the world’s playgrounds in order to sell products to children, after all “a young customer is a loyal customer”.   “That’s terrible”, Michael comments. Quite.   Unfortunately, Mr Big is difficult to stop and is determined to kill MJ and all his friends, who know too much, with the use of his heavily armed SWAT team!   Cue a great adventure where Michael must transform into all manner of different machines, in order to survive and save the world’s children!

Ridiculous plot aside, there were some cool bits in the film; for instance, during the “Smooth Criminal” video, where MJ crushes a cue ball in his hands and blows the dust into the face of someone.  Here’s a taster: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ex30DYwQlHU.   However, in my opinion, probably the most interesting aspect to the film is what we can draw from what the man himself was like, the greatest pop musician of the last century.

One constant theme in the film, was Michael’s constant stream of transformations.   He is at various points in the film, a child, a rabbit (which he calls “Spike”), a policeman, a car, an android and an airship.   It is hard not to think of the plastic surgery he had on his nose.   The first time Jackson had plastic surgery, however, was entirely necessary, as he broke his nose during a complex dance routine in ’79 and then had to have further treatment due to pyrotechnics setting fire to his hair during the filming of a Pepsi advert (this fire would also be the beginning of Michael Jackson’s addiction to painkillers, which ultimately resulted in his death).   Despite MJ’s protestations, it seems beyond reasonable doubt that he had further unnecessary plastic surgery following this and his face didn’t just “change with time”.   But what was the reason behind this addiction?   From analysing the evidence it seems to be escapism.   Michael Jackson lived in a media bubble for almost his entire life, so it’s not surprising that the fantasy of speeding away on a motorcycle from the autograph-hunting masses was appealing.   The depiction of the autograph hunters in the film was quite surprising given Jackson’s relationship with his fans and the fact that they were dehumanised into devilish clay models seems to indicate a strong resentment.   Note also the video for the song “Leave me alone”, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJvfnQ_E7uw, and the way that Jackson disappears from the public eye completely soon after releasing “Bad” and becomes increasingly reclusive and you get the picture of a man who wants to escape the whirlwind he started spinning from the age of 8.

The other predictably major theme in Moonwalker was his relationship with children.   There was nothing really suspect or impure in the film and yet there is clearly enough the willingness to engage exclusively on a personal level with the young.   The adults of the film are either subordinates, obsessive greedy demon-people or sadistic villains who like nothing more than to hit and kill children for financial profit.   I wonder sometimes whether this was reflective of his relationship with other adults too.   He had been stuck in the middle of a cut-throat industry his entire life, where people profit from sexing things up and being dishonest.   His relationship with his father was an unhealthy one.   Moreover, he was exposed to all kinds of sexual immorality from a relatively early age by his older brothers.   It is not surprising that he shunned the adult world and yearned for a more innocent way of life; the life before he was famous and the one he was robbed of: the life of a child.   Having not grown up around other kids, he never learned about how childhood often holds the same evils as adulthood (no, I do not subscribe to the ludicrous Romantic child youth is innocence theory).   However, relative to adults, children are honest and straight-forward, their motives are often laid clear, which must have been refreshing for a man surrounded by people pretending to care, but really trying to line their own pockets.   Therefore, was it surprising that he only sought significant relationships with children?

There are a few things I should clear up: I do not believe Jackson was guilty of molesting children; in the age of cynicism and where we can check internet histories etc, this can be cleared up by the fact that he wasn’t found guilty.   Heck! The children even admitted that they’d been forced to lie to court after the verdict was delivered!   MJ admitted to sharing a bed with children, but he didn’t understand that this was wrong, because he segregated himself from society.   You might ask, how do we know that he didn’t equally know molestation was wrong, but it seems out of character to me, given his exposure to a very sexual world and been married twice.   The main assumption for his sexual activity with children seems to come from our very Freudian outlook of the world, the idea that everyone needs a sexual outlook.   How about this theory though: Michael Jackson was asexual?   Before you accuse me of making things up, let me just clarify what this is: an asexual is an individual who does not have strong sexual feelings towards either gender, there is a website about the forgotten minority here: http://www.asexuality.org/home/overview.html.   This is less sensational than the whole paedophilia story, but who will that bother?   The media, for one, and the family’s who were trying to make a lot of money from MJ’s bizarre way of life second.

While we’re on the subject of malignant rumours, it seems highly unlikely he bleached his skin; it is reported that his skin depigmentation was caused by vitiligo and lupus, a fact confirmed by his brothers who in interviews have supported this by affirming that as Michael was growing up his skin was “blotchy” and required make-up to hide this.

Overall, I believe that Michael Jackson was a gentle and good man, he used his influence to help others and heal the world.   He did not use his vast wealth wisely, but his heart was good and he used it to write some of the best pop-music ever written.   However, he is also a troubled man, one damaged by his relationship with his father and a foray into the adult world before he had even started to grow up.   As a result he hid in his Neverland ranch and his reality gradually became more and more diverse from that of the rest of the world.   I believe we need to stop judging the man by our standards, because Jackson wasn’t normal.   He was special, but we corrupted him and now we have lost him, but I still have my precious childhood memories with his music right in the background.

The Living Dead

May 13, 2008

Hello blog-readers to the latest post of the Great Saundini! If you’re new here, I’d like you to wave your hands and twirl around. Alternatively, you can just ignore my wishes, which may or may not be dying, as you never can tell. Why, only today my mother told me to watch out for a birth-mark on my back, which may or may not be cancer (please note: I do not have cancer). So ignore this wish at your peril. I am merely trying to save you from the overwhelming guilt that you would almost certainly feel! By the by, apologies for people reading this hoping to read about zombies, this is a totally unrelated topic, possibly.

Funerals have always seemed a funny concept to me. For instance, in context with my Christian upbringing, why feel sad if we believe that a person is going to the best place in the universe? Now the bog-standard solution to this, at least the one I quickly learned, was that we mourn loss on the behalf of the people still alive. This seems to make sense for me. Mourners are suddenly having to live without loved ones whom they are accustomed to seeing regularly, leaving a hole in their everyday routine. This even translates to the tragedy of a young death, as the family around them do not expect to lose the years that seem pre-destined for them. However, I wonder sometimes if this reason accounts for all the feelings associated with mourning.

I remember when a friend of mine committed suicide when I was 17.  It was a bit of a shock and it felt like such a waste of potential. He had played in my Steel Band and I had known him since First School. I remember going to his Birthday parties as a boy, playing that cops and robbers game when the robbers have to draw arrows on the floor and the cops have to follow them. He even gave me my phobia of Wasps (not the Rugby Union club that have just made the Premiership play-offs) in one fateful P.E. lesson by over-reacting to being stung. Now I can’t even muster the courage to open a window to let wasps out, instead opting for the ‘waiting outside and hoping everything will be okay when I get back’ method. Anyway, I remember the Will Young hit “Leave Right Now” was played at the end of the service, which I thought was some unintentional black humour. Of course, I didn’t venture to laugh out loud, though I found this funny. Much of the service beforehand however, I spent wondering why I wasn’t more upset about this. True, it was shocking and sad news, but it seemed as though the convention of how I was supposed to be reacting contributed to my actual mood.

I know in this case I was relatively distant from the case, but in other death’s I have mourned the same dilemna and feelings have been present. Culture seems to have a large say over our reactions to death. It was really interesting to hear details of Sylvan Historian’s poetry project last term, particularly in reference to the different culture’s different attitudes towards death. From what I gather from various sub-conscious sources, China, with it’s bulging population, seems to have a lower view of human life than the Western world and this therefore has a bearing on how death is perceived. The Hindu’s, owing to their belief in re-incarnation, do not even allow for mourning as they fear this slows the progression of the soul into rebirth. I can’t remember the other examples, so maybe Sylvan can help me. My proposal however is that maybe our declining death rate and longer life expectancy because of the improvements in modern medicine, alongside our increasing athiesm and emphasis on free-thinking education, is causing us to fear death more rather than less having become so unaccustomed to it.

For me, the Hindu attitude to death seems much more healthy than our own, though some may argue that it is a repressive attitude. My counter-argument would be however that my lack of Hinduism limits me in my understanding and that it could well be that grief is something that is more prevalent in a culture such as ours that nurtures it. Essentially, death is a natural part of life. It’s a cycle. Although we should not neglect the memories of our loved ones, I think we should honour them by remembering the good memories and enjoying them instead of dwelling on sadness and absense. After all, every day seems to me a type of death. We can never get a day back once it’s gone. We’re just left with the memories of it. I will never be able to enjoy the days of courting my fiancee again, though that summer I remember being the most glorious and exciting of my life. It’s obviously better looking back than living through it. That’s the nature of nostalgia. However, I seem to go through life constantly missing out on the present because I look back too much. The unappreciated present, in the meantime, takes refuge in the past and becomes idolised itself. Nothing ever will be the same again. In turn, everyone who dies gets eulogised. Could it be that death is simply a rubber-stamp of the trauma of time passing? If this is true who is really dead out the corpse and it’s mourners?