Before he died, Tupac Shakur once sang that “although it seems heaven sent, we ain’t ready to see a black President.” One can imagine Tupac smiling right now.
Watching this election, electronically linked up to voters across the United States and beyond, is a surreal and beautiful experience.
Before Rukosyla died, she stood up to the men that surrounded her. She displayed anger, and I suspect that this was the last straw.
Buoyed up by the “young and plucky” governor from Alaska, “plucky” enough to hear death threats against her opponent and not bat her mascara, this campaign has entered into its most surreal phase yet.
Courting controversy is one thing, the normalization of domestic violence is something else entirely.
Poker-faced Soviet villains had hot side-kicks. Hollywood loved them.
Political elites benefit from grand-standing, regular people just lose their limbs in the process.
It feels instinctive to say that the death of Alexander Solzhenitsyn marks an end of an era. Which era, though?
If the God doesn’t beat the Nymph, for example, that’s all fine and well. But if he does, well, we say, she “knew” what she was doing when she decided to become a Nymph and seek out a God in the first place.
I believe that Holland failed where Spain succeeded because the former just didn’t have that cohesiveness, and that captain.