When I was younger I knew precisely what to think about the death of Robin Williams. It was a sin. He killed himself. End of, as the say in England. Now, I’m far far less judgmental and take a live and let live stance with the proviso that actions aren’t impinging negatively upon others.
Robin Williams is one of the reasons I went to college when I was an adult. His film Dead Poets Society coalesced thoughts of mine regarding the flawed nature of education in Ireland in general and my trip through it in particular.
How shocked was I when reading Greek and Roman poetry on finding the traditional poetry we have in English is lifted directly from Latin. That the unanswered questions I had a 15 about the clunkiness of revered poetry was in fact correct. And there are really only two true poets in English before 1900, Shakespeare and Byron.
Joan Rivers, her I knew of, but much less. What I did know provided a picture of a moxy dame in the old meaning. A woman with real gumption.
I think she may well have toured this side of the Atlantic since she started but I remember from the 90s only. And yes, some of her stuff was USofA big time. Mostly it was general to the human condition.
Kilcash Castle, from about a mile away to the south.
When I saw this pattern I thought of tick-tack-toe, or as it’s known here and the UK. Naught’s and Crosses or Exe’s and Oh’s.