Bill Walker
Well-Known Member
Oh I like that Mr pineapple
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Death
- Thread starter Bill Walker
- Start date
henrythedogcity
Well-Known Member
What happens if you happen again as a United fanAlan Watts knew the score.
What has happened once can very well happen again. If it happened once it’s extraordinary, and it’s not really very much more extraordinary if it happened all over again. I do know I’ve seen people die and I’ve seen people born after them. So after I die not only somebody but myriads of other beings will be born. We all know that; there’s no doubt about it. What worries us is that when we’re dead there could be nothing at all forever, as if that were something to worry about. Before you were born there was this same nothing at all forever, and yet you happened. If you happened once you can happen again.
denislawsbackheel
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 28 May 2008
- Messages
- 26,073
- Team supported
- We went to Rotherham…
Philip Larkin - The Old Fools
What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Who called this morning? Or that, if they only chose,
They could alter things back to when they danced all night,
Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September?
Or do they fancy there's really been no change,
And they've always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,
Or sat through days of thin continuous dreaming
Watching the light move? If they don't (and they can't), it's strange;
Why aren't they screaming?
At death you break up: the bits that were you
Start speeding away from each other for ever
With no one to see. It's only oblivion, true:
We had it before, but then it was going to end,
And was all the time merging with a unique endeavour
To bring to bloom the million-petalled flower
Of being here. Next time you can't pretend
There'll be anything else. And these are the first signs:
Not knowing how, not hearing who, the power
Of choosing gone. Their looks show that they're for it:
Ash hair, toad hands, prune face dried into lines -
How can they ignore it?
Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms
Inside you head, and people in them, acting
People you know, yet can't quite name; each looms
Like a deep loss restored, from known doors turning,
Setting down a lamp, smiling from a stair, extracting
A known book from the shelves; or sometimes only
The rooms themselves, chairs and a fire burning,
The blown bush at the window, or the sun's
Faint friendliness on the wall some lonely
Rain-ceased midsummer evening. That is where they live:
Not here and now, but where all happened once.
This is why they give
An air of baffled absence, trying to be there
Yet being here. For the rooms grow farther, leaving
Incompetent cold, the constant wear and tear
Of taken breath, and them crouching below
Extinction's alp, the old fools, never perceiving
How near it is. This must be what keeps them quiet:
The peak that stays in view wherever we go
For them is rising ground. Can they never tell
What is dragging them back, and how it will end? Not at night?
Not when the strangers come? Never, throughout
The whole hideous inverted childhood? Well,
We shall find out.
What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Who called this morning? Or that, if they only chose,
They could alter things back to when they danced all night,
Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September?
Or do they fancy there's really been no change,
And they've always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,
Or sat through days of thin continuous dreaming
Watching the light move? If they don't (and they can't), it's strange;
Why aren't they screaming?
At death you break up: the bits that were you
Start speeding away from each other for ever
With no one to see. It's only oblivion, true:
We had it before, but then it was going to end,
And was all the time merging with a unique endeavour
To bring to bloom the million-petalled flower
Of being here. Next time you can't pretend
There'll be anything else. And these are the first signs:
Not knowing how, not hearing who, the power
Of choosing gone. Their looks show that they're for it:
Ash hair, toad hands, prune face dried into lines -
How can they ignore it?
Perhaps being old is having lighted rooms
Inside you head, and people in them, acting
People you know, yet can't quite name; each looms
Like a deep loss restored, from known doors turning,
Setting down a lamp, smiling from a stair, extracting
A known book from the shelves; or sometimes only
The rooms themselves, chairs and a fire burning,
The blown bush at the window, or the sun's
Faint friendliness on the wall some lonely
Rain-ceased midsummer evening. That is where they live:
Not here and now, but where all happened once.
This is why they give
An air of baffled absence, trying to be there
Yet being here. For the rooms grow farther, leaving
Incompetent cold, the constant wear and tear
Of taken breath, and them crouching below
Extinction's alp, the old fools, never perceiving
How near it is. This must be what keeps them quiet:
The peak that stays in view wherever we go
For them is rising ground. Can they never tell
What is dragging them back, and how it will end? Not at night?
Not when the strangers come? Never, throughout
The whole hideous inverted childhood? Well,
We shall find out.
Grassland Blue
Well-Known Member
After hitting a 147 break...An acquaintance said similar, but ended with, after nailing her on a snooker table and being battered to death with a cue...
Grassland Blue
Well-Known Member
Those people working the security cameras, they look down on us...I used to worry about getting old and dying when I was a young kid. Especially at night in bed, used to shit me up!
My first proper girlfriend when I was 18 used to have counselling about the same thing when she was young.
Now, even though I’m getting older, I barely ever think about it. I think I’ve come to terms with the thought that we are just a collection of cells and when we die, we die, like any other collection of cells do and our collection of cells just rot in the ground and that’s that.
Now I know that’s the case, I’m fine with it. When I was a kid I went to a CofE Primary School and was brainwashed by religion and i think it used to worry me whether there was an afterlife and what it all meant… this is as a young 6-8 year old! But when I got to about 8 years old used to think “this is just a load of made up rubbish all this”, and by my teens I was a convinced atheist.
I’m more content with the fact that nobody “Rests In Peace”, there’s no afterlife, no spirits or souls, no ghosts, no heaven or hell, nobody looks down on us from above; than I would be if there was all these things.
Saddleworth2
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 27 Jan 2014
- Messages
- 21,658
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
oakiecokie
Well-Known Member
I`ve just been talking to a very good mate mate of mine who lost his wife some 2 years ago.He recently had what he thought was a heart attack and spent nearly two weeks in hospital.
Wonderful to see him again but even now he says he doesn`t give a shit what happens as he`s had a very enjoyable life.
He would leave behind a wonderful daughter and plenty of grandchildren but his son passed away some 20years ago, but he still has no regrets.
Is he being selfish ?? No !!
His daughter is fully behind her Dads wishes and should the worst case scenario happen, then she would back her Dads decision should he wish to not be resucitated.
Wonderful to see him again but even now he says he doesn`t give a shit what happens as he`s had a very enjoyable life.
He would leave behind a wonderful daughter and plenty of grandchildren but his son passed away some 20years ago, but he still has no regrets.
Is he being selfish ?? No !!
His daughter is fully behind her Dads wishes and should the worst case scenario happen, then she would back her Dads decision should he wish to not be resucitated.
denislawsbackheel
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 28 May 2008
- Messages
- 26,073
- Team supported
- We went to Rotherham…
Roger - geniusLet me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
mancity2012_eamo
Well-Known Member
I’ve seen both sides.
Along drawn out illness with my mother over years suffering the progressive distress of emphysema dying at 63 and the sudden bang of heart attack in my father aged 73.
I think for those left behind the aftermath is worse in the short term for the latter, but ultimately brings comfort that the loved one didn’t suffer.
My 19 year old never knew my parents but has experienced the death of his grandfather, my father in law, who had battled for years on dialysis three times a week.
It affected him but what I’m going to say next will be strange to some and not others.
This week he is experiencing the reality of death in the family and all that goes with it, really for the first time being personally involved and emotionally ripped apart.
And it the news that our beloved family pet ‘Bowie’ has lung cancer, his spleen has haemorrhaged and has been sent home to us this weekend with a fortnight’s steroids, basically for us to say our goodbyes. Bowie is the most placid Labrador you’ve ever come across and not only our family but friends families are devastated.
The wife is sleeping downstairs with the dog. I’m here sipping a whiskey listening to both of them breathe and my son who broke down last night and texted two of his mates, after a night out and coming home to see the dogs condition and they came around in the early hours of the morning. I kid you not.
This is hitting home to him more than death has ever, previously.
And there is worse to come in the next few days, when the reality of calling time, will sink in. A decision that I’ve explained, he’ll have to be comfortable with before my wife and I will go ahead.
Life’s a woman but death is horrible for those left behind.
Along drawn out illness with my mother over years suffering the progressive distress of emphysema dying at 63 and the sudden bang of heart attack in my father aged 73.
I think for those left behind the aftermath is worse in the short term for the latter, but ultimately brings comfort that the loved one didn’t suffer.
My 19 year old never knew my parents but has experienced the death of his grandfather, my father in law, who had battled for years on dialysis three times a week.
It affected him but what I’m going to say next will be strange to some and not others.
This week he is experiencing the reality of death in the family and all that goes with it, really for the first time being personally involved and emotionally ripped apart.
And it the news that our beloved family pet ‘Bowie’ has lung cancer, his spleen has haemorrhaged and has been sent home to us this weekend with a fortnight’s steroids, basically for us to say our goodbyes. Bowie is the most placid Labrador you’ve ever come across and not only our family but friends families are devastated.
The wife is sleeping downstairs with the dog. I’m here sipping a whiskey listening to both of them breathe and my son who broke down last night and texted two of his mates, after a night out and coming home to see the dogs condition and they came around in the early hours of the morning. I kid you not.
This is hitting home to him more than death has ever, previously.
And there is worse to come in the next few days, when the reality of calling time, will sink in. A decision that I’ve explained, he’ll have to be comfortable with before my wife and I will go ahead.
Life’s a woman but death is horrible for those left behind.
Bill Walker
Well-Known Member
I'd prefer a general anestheticLet me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death