How Brawling Dramas Take the Fight to the Oscars
With their slow-mo punch sequences and actors’ body transformations, pugilistic films from “Rocky” to “Christy” have aimed for the academy’s approval.
https://t.co/96PVfkun2MThe last note still ringing in his ears, the night’s events still swirling around in his head, he walks out of the door into the warm evening air. The entire atmosphere is one of joyous sadness. Emotions course through the air, giving it some sort of charge. The next morning shall be the last exchange of the drink of the fruit of passion, and yet the solemn first for him. Later tomorrow he knows, they all know, that they must part ways. They must all leave their oasis of comfort and security to dive again into the vast sea of reality, of conformity. Yet still they cherish it, hold on to it. Even in the last moments of such a magical night, they open their minds, their hearts, open their souls to each other and learn to love that which is there in what others have exposed. The chants of “…MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE” truly resound in not only everyone’s thoughts but in their utmost desires.
Late that night, lying in that same old bed for the last time, gazing up at the concrete ceiling. Finally, his thoughts allowed to sit and slowly filter out. Shock, insubordinate yet knowingly unjust anger. A few muttered words from the other side of the room, a brief agreement of opinions. Then silence. The hazy recollection of events over the past three weeks, the bittersweet insanity which so marked each and every day. The mistakes made, the friendships formed, the battles lost and won. And as all of this starts to settle down into a gentle murmur, he drifts off into sleep.
The next morning, torn from the warm embrace of his frail sheets, down to the circle, sips from the glass, toasts to a fallen comrade. Soon enough the group all progressed to go through their daily routines one final time. They returned to what they knew was the inevitable.
They were there, it was time to be rounded up and brought back to their respective lives. Tears were shed, last goodbyes, every single one of them joined as one united being, as one entity separate from their single selves. Each and every one of them will never leave the spot they were when they knew it was time they had to leave. Those who knew they could never return let fall the rains of their misery. Their true love for something so intangible yet so true and so real ripped apart their true selves and lovingly joined their true selves back together in an instant.
But, as inevitabilities go, by midday it was empty and silent. Once could almost feel on the air all that had occurred there so few hours ago. That evening, He finally lay in bed before sleep. All were dispersed from that place they cherished so dear, back in the true world but thinking of naught but what they had left behind.
And all at once, without warning, from places near and far came the sound of 300 voices: “This will be the day that I die…”
a black and white photo of a city street
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Recipes for capirotada — a bread pudding served on Good Friday — vary across the country, but it's usually made from:
- Bread similar to a baguette (bolillo), which has been soaked in mulled syrup made from sugar, cinnamon sticks, and cloves.
- Nuts, dried fruit, and sprinkles are common toppings.
Capirotada is meant to signify the crucifixion: the cinnamon sticks represent the cross, the cloves represent the nails, and the bread represents Christ's Body.
verse 1
I’ve put my life on the line
In the search to find true happiness
On a dream is where I’d dwell
I had my life on the line
It was all on hold and colourless
The darker spirits had cast a spell
I’ve placed a trust in myself
My life will not be lead in loneliness
The streaming tears must float away
I had a trust in myself
Life can’t remain so passionless
Until that time I am a stray
chorus
One can’t just force the emotion
Force it to a place,
Where it can’t blossom proud and true
It lays low then attacks
Attacks when it finds someone
Connecting strong with you
I put my heart and soul
To find the one who’d show me heaven
There were few who took me high
Heaven never heard my cry
My efforts were for nothing I could tell
And whenever fortune approached
I’d be brought down to serve in hell
Verse 2
I felt so blind to the truth
Naïve and young I wanted it
Because my life was bland and blue
I was so blind to the truth
Seeking all who I connected with
It wasn’t real love I knew
I’ve got a fire in my heart
Warm and raging, still alive
I’m alone, but I’m complete
I had a fire in my heart
It swung around, then learned to live
It’s independent to the heat
chorus
Bridge
The error of my ways was to
Seek compassion from another
My flaw in the day was to
Reciprocate from my lover
Yet all I ever needed was to love myself
With all my heart, from within my soul
Life’s just a series of moments
Mortal, null, and full of stress
A break to being must unfold
Life is a series of moments
Learn not to waste and self confess
So seize yours, don’t be told
Final Chorus
I have my heart and soul
I am the one who’ll show me heaven
With the one’s who took me high
Heaven never heard my cry
My efforts had been for nothing, I could tell
Now whenever fortune approached
I’m not brought down to serve in hell
, genre: landscape, style: Impressionism, gallery name: National Gallery of Victoria (NGV), Melbourne, Australia, tags: Natural environment, Prairie, Ecoregion, Grassland, Plain, completition: 1893.
https://uploads8.wikiart.org/00283/images/jane-sutherland/dd102181.jpg
, genre: landscape, style: Impressionism, gallery name: Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, Russia, tags: houses-and-buildings, countryside, rivers-and-waterfalls, mills-and-windmills, forests-and-trees, Natural landscape, Tree, Water, completition: 1902.
https://uploads2.wikiart.org/images/valentin-serov/watermill-in-finland-1902.jpg