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 grieve 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 champions the fight and to an extent I have an appreciation...but it gets to a point where you create this beautiful miracle, this wondrous thing, and instead of beholding that miracle and allowing it to shine, you control, manipulate, choreograph. It's like creating a symphony then once it's ready to play it's tune, you INSIST on blathering and talking LOUDER than your own creation in an effort to establish your merit and importance. It is as though you have never been a father, never allowed your child to shine in the pageant unless you stand up on the stage and take part...that's not how the passing of the torch works. You have to allow the children to take the wheel. Every attempt to manipulate invites a cloud of gnats that choke the essence of the very happening you are encouraging us to slog through and be excited about. We're all f***ing exhausted. We don't care anymore. I particularly don't care to shadowbox with your stupid puppets. Three f***ing days to clean a house that takes six hours at most. If this was drug out so long, what else has been for the sake of greedy greatness? I don't give a f***, I could quit the internet tomorrow, leave all hints and pointers in my brain. And another round of playing pretend I just might do that. I sense Moz agrees, he had shit to say today but a band of pukers is more GREAT, an opportunity to poke the cancel stick in him. Now this phoney body image shit? This isn't lessons. This isn't learning. This is wasting our time. My time, anyway. Don't even get me started on FAIRNESS of the situation. It's getting to a dangerous turning point where if pushed too far and too long with nothing, no gas in the car, no fluid in the radiator, crank case dry of oil in the car you drove into the ground for years, it's over. It's not great if that happens, it's a shame if that happens. Somewhere bad advice is being dispensed. The wrong source material is being referenced. When I point out quoting RB is wrong, that isn't me. That's God telling you to check your sources because the wrong manual is being used to operate the chariot that'll help us. That's my hindsight-is-20/20 opinion. I'm never not listening. You need to start listening and stop talking and controlling.