I’ve always been a fan of Mickey Rourke. He lives life like there’s no tomorrow [literally] … like he already knows there will, in fact, be no tomorrow.
Mickey’s a few years older than yours truly, but we’re in the same ballpark, generation-ally speaking.
We also share a certain playful audacity that comes with the territory when you’re an older, successful actor, artist, entertainer, writer, photographer and the like.
We are what civilians refer to as “out there,” some more so than others, but still.
Many people probably see Mickey as some drug-addled psychopath with delusions of relevance. What I see is an extraordinarily talented man who believed in himself, and through sheer force of will, lived to see another day.
What’s left standing is not a man in his final hours, but a man who wears the scars of his life like a badge of honor.
After all, not everyone is a normal, well adjusted adult with reasonable expectations, and thank God.