You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Robin Williams hanging from a door, a belt around his neck.
The thought is repulsive, unbelievable.
Robin Williams’ suicide is seismic, the equivalent to Whitney Houston dying in a hotel bathtub.
There’s a sense of loss, a sense of isolation, a pain that haunts a man.
I hate that Robin Williams is dead.
I hate that he killed himself even more.
Investigators say he hanged himself with a belt in a room in his house.
Lonely. Disturbing. Wrong.
Why? How?
Suicide is sad. Suicide is selfish.
I love Robin Williams, but I’m pissed. He hangs himself leaving his family, his kids, his loved ones to deal with a lifetime of why?
For the rest of time his children will wonder “could we have done something?”
From the outside, you’d think this comedic genius was happy, set for life, didn’t have a care in the world.
Money. Leisure. Fame. Fortune.
He was the Genie in Aladdin’s lamp. It would seem that life granted him all his wishes.
But from the inside, it’s obvious now that the funny man was crying.
His psyche was a haunted house, walking through cob webs that can’t be pulled off. His depression was over powering, real, like a falling dream where you can’t wake up.
I saw Robin Williams decades ago at the Comedy Store in L.A.
He was coming off the meteoric rise of Mork and Mindy. Williams wasn’t on the comedic bill. He just showed up.
He was younger, hairier, crazier. His set lasted a while.
I remember him being extemporaneous and brilliant.
He was like a jar of fire flies dancing wildly against the curved glass.
He was a comedian who made other comedians laugh.
Robin Williams hilarity was immense, like a typhoon of silly string being injected into your funny bone.
Now he’s dead. The final curtain has fallen.
I still have trouble believing that Mrs. Doubtfire is gone.
A car accident, a fall, a fire?
I could have dealt with that.
But suicide?
I hate it.
Robin Williams hanging himself alone in a room in a mansion is so so wrong. It’s like tossing puppies in a sack on the interstate. It’s like ripping a smiley face in half and setting it on fire.
Williams’ brain was a jet dragster of quick. When his brain was red lining, conjuring, stirring up vats of creativity, even he didn’t know what would exit his mouth.
Robin Williams was unique. Intelligent, passionate, a conduit of visceral intoxication.
His brain was a comic eight-cylinder engine, constantly firing neural impulses.
While a normal person uses 10 percent of their brain to simply exist.
Robin Williams used the same 10% of his brain to simply tell knock knock jokes.
He was in a word; STELLAR.
He was a hairy armed, percolating genius.
Compared to Williams, other comedians are asleep, telling jokes in frozen quick sand.
Williams’ mind was faster than a blender set on puree.
Ideas hit his brain like a comet crashing through the atmosphere, captured for eternity by a thousand Russian Dash Cams.
I remember watching Williams sitting calmly on the talk show set. Banter, banter small talk, then WHAM.
Suddenly the comedic genius was on fire, burning up, jumping out of his seat and making David Letterman laugh.
One minute Williams is talking about the movie he’s plugging, the next minute, his synaptic torpedoes are engaged and he is wobbling out of control.
Suddenly Williams is having an out-of-body experience, transforming into a hunchback who doesn’t like damp castles and talks with a lisp.
Robin Williams was more spontaneous than a girl’s gone wild video.
His creative meter could only be measured with a seismograph.
Robin Williams dyeing should make all of us angry.
He cheated me, he cheated you, he cheated his family, he cheated himself.
He had a long bout with substance abuse.
Now we are learning that he was depressed.
Depression is a dark mysterious place where the mind can trick you into thinking that life isn’t great.
Robin Williams depressed?
That’s like the sun being sad that its hot.
He was a genius trapped inside a psyche haunted by fun house mirrors and scary clowns.
It makes you wonder how so much brilliance can function inside a skull full of so much darkness, so much duress.
Life is precious. We often take it for granted.
Then Robin Williams dies and you remember that it’s over in the time it takes to blow out a birthday candle.
Remember to look at the sun and the blue sky and the puppy wagging its tail.
LIFE. Breathe it in.
Remember to laugh.
Robbin Williams would want it that way.
Life’s crazy™