A lot of people are remembering the late Robin Williams this week -- in so many moving tributes.
I was inspired to add my own verse to the outpourings.  
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
Song of Myself (excerpt) - Walt Whitman

The movie Dead Poet's Society, where Robin played an English Teacher named John Keating, who inspires his students through his teaching of poetry, had such a profound effect on me.    It was released in my final year of high school.   A time when all youth standing at the precipice of adulthood must seek the answer to that question:   What Do You Want To Do With Your Life?

I always had written in a journal.   English was my best and favourite subject.   I also participated in my high school dramatic productions.   Clearly the counselor who advised me not to drop my math subjects was Not paying close attention.

These things I loved.  These passions I held dear.   They had no value in the adult world that told me to choose a study that was more "realistic."
Um, that translated means:   that will get you a good job that will give you lots of money.

The creative heart within me broke... and rebelled.
And then I saw this:

I enrolled at University of Western Ontario:   Combined Honours English Literature and Dramatic Arts.

Someday.  Somehow.  In some way.
I was going to contribute my verse. 

And now this beautiful mad spark of genius has been extinguished.

The Price of Fame
I see a lot of comments on posts and articles about the passing of Robin Williams, that mention the loss of privacy, the constant intrusion of the public into his private life; is the Price of Fame.

And I’m sorry - but I have to reject this notion.  Categorically. 
Honestly.   Did it hurt when the stupid leaked out of your head?
I may have to slap you on general principle. 

It should NOT be the price of fame.   You should not have to trade your privacy just because you became successful at the thing you love.   Is the money celebrities make ridiculous?   Yes, often.     But we, the fans, are the ones that decide with our wallets who will rise, and who will fall.    You bought a movie ticket fuckie — not their soul. 

I cannot imagine if the one thing I loved; became so tainted.   It should not be acceptable ever to intrude upon anyone’s privacy: at any time.   No matter who it is.   How did it come to this notion that we think as fans, we have a right to all aspects of a celebrity?   That all of them should be made available to us at all times.   We made you!  And we can bring you down!    Are we all really drowning in that much Entitlement?

I swear I would feel like a genie trapped in a bottle.   Only existing for the whims and wishes of a selfish master.   I would probably laugh a lot; to cover my pain.

Genie - You're Free
 (a side note:  suicide is not a romantic option.  It's a final one.   Do not be tricked into thinking there will be beauty in such a death -- I have seen suicide up close and personal:  There Is No Beauty or Glamour.   There is no decency.   If you are having such thoughts - talk to someone.  Please.)

I know it’s a far more complicated issue than what I have said here.   Because yes: obvious famewhores are obvious.    Suffice to say:   I would never want to be party to the very thing that leeched all the joy out of anothers’ passion.    I almost let others do that to me. 

Shame on news programs providing gruesome details and asking invasive questions.  I don’t need to know the details of Mr. Williams passing.   Shame on you web demons who ran his daughter off her social media sites with your venom.    His family deserves privacy and respect — and they shouldn’t have to ask for it. 

I just want to mourn the loss of this incredible man of comic genius.   I want to remember the joy that his performances brought to my life; even while I grieve over the sad realization that he appeared to not find such joy in his personal life.    Or, maybe he did.   We can never really know anything, except that this vile thing Depression chooses who it will.    It is only clear that he touched so many lives with his humour and his heart.

And I think that is the only verse we need to know.   It’s enough that he lived, and that we were privileged to watch him on his awfully big adventure.    That his mad spark of genius was "not a bit tamed," and that so  many of us were all the better for it. 

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, 
  Old Time is still a-flying: 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 
  To-morrow will be dying.    
To the Virgins, to make much of time - Robert Herrick

Farewell my captain.
Your yawp carries ever on.

About The Author
Leslie Botchar, aka "RoryBore", is a SAHM enjoying life one day - and one cup of coffee - at at time.
She has had several articles published in The Huffington Post, and hopes to one day marry her skills as Word Wrangler and Photo Ninja. Leslie spills it all on her blog Time Out For Mom, and invites you to join her for some Mom "Me" Time.
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