Last week, I watched The Help. Then I read the book. After the various articles, editorials, and Facebook postings, I wanted to form a thoughtful opinion about the responsibility of a writer when speaking in another’s voice, the roles given black actresses in Hollywood, my own place in the world as a well intentioned white girl — instead, I’m sitting on my couch with Crisco slathered on my face. And this is what I’ve taken away.
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Moderately well-read. Fairly socially awkward. According to Greg, 'a sentimental cynic with artistic sensibilities.' Somewhat nifty.Categories
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So I, from the near skies bestrewn with stars
gaze at New York
through the Brooklyn Bridge.New York, heavy and stifling till night,
has forgotten its hardships and height;
and only the household ghosts ascend
in the lucid glow of its windows.If the end of the world befall
and chaos smash our planet to bits,
and what remains will be this bridge,
rearing above the dust of destruction,He will say: -- Yonder paw of steel
once joined the seas and prairies.
from this spot, Europe rushed to the West.
For some, life here had no worries;
for others it was a prolonged and hungry howl.Now my canvas is unobstructed
as it stretches on cables of string
to the feet of the stars.-- Vladimir Mayakovsky
Yonder Paw · "now my canvas is unobstructed, as it stretches on cables of string to the feet of the stars"
Your face sounds delicious.