Russell Brand’s keyboard is molded of chopped onions. That’s how I’m gonna explain the wet stains on my face after reading his eulogy to Amy Whinehouse:
… She was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that “Winehouse” (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it’s kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; “Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric” I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.
Russell and Amy were club acquaintances bonded by fame and addiction. Russell is recovering, tentatively and carefully, but Amy, as we know, is deceased. She couldn’t escape her darkness and the addiction swallowed her. We’ve lost innumerable precious souls to drugs and, ultimately, this eulogy is for them. It’s a prayer, that we living, use this tragedy as an opportunity to rethink conceptions of addiction. Compassion versus scorn and rehabilitation over punishment.
It begins when you reach out to the addicts in your life. HELP, before the pain overpowers them or causes them to destroy another life
Read these last two stories and tell the coworkers you ate lunch in an onion factory.
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