Weeeeeeelllll, my roommate and I just watched the 2012 Les Mis (again, and yes, there was singing) and I spent about thirty minutes after it ended in a state of near-incoherence rambling about humanity at large and the last fucking scene with the great barricade. Yep. Just in case you thought you were following someone who, you know, had their shit together, this is your regular reminder that you’re actually following a bitter cynic who is occasionally taken so much by surprise by humanity’s triumphs as to be reduced to tears.
I have long said that in order for any comedy to truly succeed as a story, there has to be meat beneath the jokes. There has to be that moment when it is not funny any more.
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.
"
— Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night (via marsza)
