Croydon’s currently full of billboard adverts for Sominex, a brand of sleeping pill marketed with the phrase “Let the day go.”
The ads feature an image of a woman falling into blissful oblivion as icons of modern stress (like a sneaker, an iron, a senior female relative and a man on an office chair) float from her head and out of her open window into the starry, inky blue Croydon night.
I first noticed the posters on the day newspapers were reporting alleged claims by Conrad Murray that Michael Jackson died from from a self-administered Propofol overdose.
How about if what really killed Michael Jackson was that he wasn’t allowed to let go of things: fame, youth, the weirdness of his childhood; and that he used neurochemical cudgels like Propofol to beat down the shitty vibes that resulted from that failure to let go?
The letting go is what he needed. It wasn’t inherent in the Propofol; nor is it inherent in the fucking Sominex.
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