human disaster: a novel

Person A: Gay

why has this become a fuckboy classic

So, those are my reasons for this particular interpretation.

also I just wanted to add that both the directors are transgender woman, the Wachawowskis, and they also directed Matrix

Blackout | Voodoo 🌘

J P Lucien

collective individuals

6.  Ahaṃkāra by @artofmaquenda

John Berkey’s 1974 cover to The Undefeated, by Keith Laumer

MARTY (1955) dir. Delbert Mann Essayist Judith Smith explains in her discussion of Marty that its writer Paddy Chayefsky “meant Marty’s love story to rebuke Hollywood’s conception of glamour: ‘I didn’t want my hero to be handsome, and I didn’t want the girl to be pretty. I wanted to write a love story the way it would literally have happened to the kind of people I know.’ “He also meant for Marty’s world of the ordinary to provide an alternative to drama that uncritically reproduced the privileges of wealth and power. ‘These values are dominant in our way of life and need to be examined for what they are… [Marty] was a comment on the social values of our times… I am just now becoming aware of this area, this marvelous world of the ordinary.’” In a 2008 interview with Henry Colman and Jenni Matz, Ernest Borgnine recalled his audition for Marty before director Delbert Mann and Chayefsky. The three were in a motel room in Lone Pine, California, where Borgnine had been on location. “And we got to the part where she says, ‘Why don’t you put on the blue suit or the grey suit and go down—there’s a lot of tomatoes’—you know, and it—and I turn to her and I said, ‘Mom, don’t you understand? I’m just an ugly, ugly man!’ And I—I started to cry, because I was that much into it, you know? And they turned away, and I came back for my retort—said, ‘Alright, I’ll put on my blue suit,’ but then I saw [Chayefsky] crying. And I looked at Delbert and he was crying. And inwardly I said, God, I’ve got the part! [boisterous laughter] It was the best performance of my life, that day, to try to prove to those two men that I could do it.” Borgnine’s portrayal of Marty Piletti was unforgettable. The following year, he would—to his own bewilderment—receive the Academy Award for Best Actor. Marty would also win additional Awards for Best Picture, Best Screenplay, and Best Director.

BELLE 2013 | Director: Amma Asante

The remains of the Roman aqueduct of La Bouillide near Valbonne, France                    

John Bradshaw

“My mom cried before they even said cancer. But my dad was stone cold, listening to every word the doctor said. It wasn’t until a few days later, when we were going through a list of my possible treatments, that he started sobbing like a child. I was the one hugging him, telling him it was going to be OK. Dad was my best friend. He was the favorite of everyone in our family. He spoiled all my little cousins. He’d let them sleep on his belly. Everyone got a little motorized jeep for their birthday. And he had the biggest laugh, he was always cracking jokes and telling stories. Our house was so lively that I never even felt like I had cancer. My tumor was shrinking, and it was easy to assume that things were going to get better. Then a few months into my treatment, Dad started getting fevers every night. Really high fevers. When we finally took him for a biopsy, he was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I knew that his was the worse of the two. But I didn’t think much about it. I didn’t research survival rates. I was only fourteen, it honestly never occurred to me what could happen. I wasn’t wondering: ‘Will I make it? Will he make it?’ I just focused on getting better. Dad and I started doing our chemo together. We’d give each other encouragement. He’d tell me that I looked like a model with my bald head. I’d tell him the same thing. Whenever I wasn’t nauseous, he’d cook me his signature dish: South Indian Chicken Curry. He taught us all the recipe before he got really sick. We all huddled in the kitchen one night and he explained it to us step-by-step. I’m so thankful that my sister wrote it all down, because a couple months later he was in the ICU. I don’t think my family wanted me to know how bad it was. They didn’t want to jeopardize my recovery. So they kept me from the hospital until the very end. By that time he was heavily sedated. He couldn’t talk anymore. I wasn’t allowed to enter the room because I was still immunocompromised. But they told him: ‘Mani, your daughters are here.’ And he struggled so hard to open his eyes. He had the biggest eyes. Even from the other side of the glass, I could see his eyes. And he opened them as wide as he could.”

“I’d never given it any thought. But when my boss’s husband got a kidney from a newscaster in town, it sorta became a local story. And I began to learn more about it. I found out that a kidney from a living donor can give someone more than twenty years of life. And there were 2500 people in Ohio on the waiting list. So after confirming that I’d still be able to drink, I signed up for the registry. Two months later I got an email saying that they’d found a match. They’d only say that it was a local man. But I was excited. I think I needed a little purpose in my life. I didn’t have any children. I didn’t have anyone to carry on my whatever. And I loved thinking that I could help someone in such a major way. Not everyone meets their donor. But since both of us agreed, a meeting was arranged for after the surgery. They sat me in a conference room at the hospital. I had no idea who was going to walk in the door. And when Tom walked in, I could only think one thing: ‘Oh my God. I’ve given my kidney to Wesley Snipes.’ He was really quiet, so I did most of the talking. But at the end he said: ‘I only have one question. Why would you do this for someone you didn’t know?’ And I said: ‘Why not?’ After that it was like a light switched on. We were going to be friends forever. That’s just how it was going to be. Tom became like a brother to me. He makes fun of me a lot, but he’s also extremely protective. Not that I’d ever need someone killed, but if I did, I’d know who to call. Three years after the transplant I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a nasty kind. And I didn’t have any family around. But Tom called my sister in Florida and said: ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got this. It’s my turn to take care of her.’ He took me to every single one of my chemo appointments. He kept me company the entire time. A few weeks after my treatment ended, I threw myself a 50th birthday party. At the end I gave a little speech. I was looking out at all the people I loved. All the people who’d helped me. And I couldn’t even speak. I turned into a big sobbing mess. Tom got up from his chair and walked to the side of the stage, and grabbed my hand. And he held it until I could speak again.”

The Wall of Mom in Portland being gassed by Trump Paramilitar Gestapo.

“My grandparents had a tiny house, but it was full of love. And there was structure. Breakfast was always at 8. Dinner at 5:30. And there was an expectation that this would happen every day. It created a buffer from the chaos in my home. It was never an official adoption, but I stayed over there as much as I could. My grandfather was an entertainer. He’d sit for hours on a bench outside the grocery store, and strike up conversations with strangers. He’d tell them how he served in the Navy for thirty years. And how he survived Pearl Harbor. He’d even been reported dead in the local paper. As I grew older, these stories became more detailed and more emotional. On the holidays he’d have a couple beers, and he’d sit with me, and he’d start crying. He’d talk about the things he’d seen and the friends he’d lost. He told me that when his ship was bombed at Pearl Harbor, one of his best friends was stuck in a stairwell, and he had to make a choice to leave him behind. I’d already moved away for college by the time my grandfather died. And my grandmother passed away soon afterward. It felt like I’d lost my two lifelines in the world. My mother cleaned out their house and took all their possessions, so I had little to remember them by. Then a few years ago I started researching my grandfather on the internet. It was coming up on his birthday, so I was searching for a little bit of connection. Maybe just an old crew member that he’d served with. But what I found made my whole world stop. An old Ebay listing came up. My grandfather’s military jacket had been auctioned to the highest bidder. For $62. It was like a punch to the gut. I felt betrayed. So much childhood trauma came swirling to the surface. I was scared to reach out. I didn’t want to overstep or seem vulnerable. But I emailed the highest bidder—a woman named Deborah in California. We arranged to speak on the phone. And after a few minutes, both of us were crying. Her grandfather’s uniform had been lost too. And she’d only bought the jacket as a way to feel close to him. Not only did she agree to return it, but she arranged for a group of local veterans to escort the package to the post office. It arrived on my grandfather’s birthday. When I got married the next year, we set aside two empty seats for my grandparents. And I was able to wrap his jacket around one of the chairs.”