Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
And the violence, caused such silence
Who are we mistaken?

But you see, it’s not me
It’s not my family
In your head, in your head, they are fighting
With their tanks, and their bombs
And their bombs, and their guns
In your head, in your head they are crying

In your head, in your head
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie
What’s in your head, in your head
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie, oh

Dolores O’ Riordan died today at the young age of 46.

I was 13 years old when Zombie was released, a song…

by Raymond Carver

“And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Raymond Carver died of lung cancer in 1988, at the young age of 50. “Late fragment” was his last piece, written during the final stages of his illness. I love its simplicity and it’s sense of accomplishment in the face of mortality. The triumph of love and the human spirit.

Champions League Final, half time, 1–0 down to Bayern Munich

At the end of this game you’ll be just six feet away from the European Cup, but you won’t be able to touch it, of course.

And I want you to think about that fact that you’ll have been so close to it and for many of you this will be the closest you’ll ever get.

And you will hate that thought for the rest of your lives.

So just make sure you don’t lose.

Don’t you fucking dare come back in here without giving your all.

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When we won the league for the first time in 1993 I didn’t want the team to slacken off. That thought appalled me. I was determined to keep advancing. To strengthen our hold on power.

I told that 1993 side that some people, when they have a holiday, just want to go to Saltcoats, a small town twenty-five miles along the coast from Glasgow.

Some people don’t even want to do that. They’re happy to stay at home or watch the birds and the ducks float by in the park.

And some want to go to the fucking moon.

It’s all about ambition.

by Saxon White Kessinger

Sometime when you’re feeling important;
Sometime when your ego ‘s in bloom;
Sometime when you take it for granted,
You’re the best qualified in the room:
Sometime when you feel that your going,
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow these simple instructions,
And see how they humble your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist,
Pull it out and the hole that’s remaining,
Is a measure of how much you’ll be missed.
You can splash all you wish when you enter,
You may stir up the water galore,
But stop, and you’ll find that in no time,
It looks quite the same as before.

The moral of this quaint example,
Is to do just the best that you can,
Be proud of yourself but remember,
There’s no indispensable man.

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A poem by Seamus Heaney about the death of his younger brother Christropher

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o’clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying—
He had always taken funerals in his stride—
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were ‘sorry for my trouble,’
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my…

Des Traynor

Co-founder of @Intercom. I write at I use Medium to share pieces I enjoy.

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