The poem by Dylan Thomas may have been made most famous because of excerpts from it in the speech given in "Independence Day" which may have been one of the most rousing movie speeches ever.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage 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.
Old age should burn and rage 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.
The poem is clear in what it says but it does not reveal Dylan Thomas was a raving alcoholic when he wrote it and it was for his father and may have been written in 1952. Thomas died of alcoholism in 1953 so he didn't listen to a word of it.
Maybe you want to get romantic and say the alcohol enabled his creativity but the reality is he created in spite of it and finally it killed him. He wasn't even forty years old when he died.
For my own situation, I'm now sixty-five and I credit a large part of that to the fact I never got deeply involved with drinking alcohol. There was experimentation when I was kid but from that I learned I really, really don't like what alcohol does to you. In my view, that perception has probably had a significant effect on why I have lasted this long despite other possibly irresponsible abuses.
The situation just now is questionable and it's not explained by some stomach upset. I'm sucking up electrolytes and protein drinks as fast as I can swill them into myself but there's a persistent dizziness and weakness which just is not explained to me by getting sick in that way. There is no way to see a doctor on any immediate basis so the most effective pursuit is to continue being meticulous in what I eat, etc, etc.
Unknown if I have some mysterious malady but definitely clear is the strongest pursuit I've got is to live every word of this poem and definitely do not do it blind drunk. Thomas died a year later and that is not anywhere close to my plan.
Yesterday there was some guitar play and I wasn't sure I could even tune her when I picked her up; I wasn't even sure if I would be able to pick her up. I don't pick up the Galaxy Guitar out of rage but I definitely do it out of defiance and, most of all, love. Through her is the best way I can show love and share it and all the more important that becomes when any other way is limited.
Most important of all to me is dispel any idea I ever give up. Frasers don't ever give up. I said that to Tinkerbell a couple of days ago and she understood immediately. She is one tough kid.
(Ed: kid?)
We're all babies under the sun in the end.
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