A director just pushes them a little this way or that way.
quote by Debbie Allen
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Related quotes
We Can Create A Modern International Community
And I wonder when Congress will allow public nationwide schools...
in the United States to set aside time for children again to pray?
To pray for, or quietly reflect on behalf of, their once great Nation!
To pray for their nation during this proclaimed danger time...
of struggle against the forces of evil dark international terrorism!
But in the White House lurks a dark soul of 100% fetus murder!
Barack against murder international terrorism with Pro-Abortion Record!
Like Pharaoh in the time of the birth of Moses, like King Harold at the birth of Jesus, killing innocent children based on state law is ok in America today!
Why? How can this be? On 9th of March 2008 Barack proclaimed “We were once were, we are no longer a Christian nation, at least not just....”
No Ten Commandments, No God’s law displayed in government buildings!
15th April 2009 Barack proclaimed “We can create a modern international community that is respectful that is secure that is prosperous....
(in an aside to himself) and like Baal Worshippers we will support propagate
State Policies funding killing innocent children against the will of the majority of Americans and I Barack will use tax payer dollars to kill innocent unborn! We will fill White House high office with Pro Abortion all! Yes We Can!
Darth Vader will create a universal New World Order!
And in the on going baby killing sweepstakes infant killer Obama selects: -
Pro-Abortion Sen. Joe Biden as Obama’s vice-presidential running mate. Pro-Abortion Rep. Rahm Emanuel as Obama’s White House Chief of Staff.
Pro-Abortion former Sen. Tom Daschle as Obama’s Health and Human Services Secretary.
Former NARAL legal director Dawn Johnsen to serve as a member of Obama’s Department of Justice Review Team. Next appointed Assistant Attorney General for the Office of the Legal Counsel.
Betta check Obama’s rap sheet Pro-Abortion Record, for the rest of his all star elite baby killing machine selections.
'President Barack Obama's Pro-Abortion Record: A Pro-Life Compilation
Washington, DC (LifeNews.com) - The following is a compilation of bill signings, speeches, appointments and other actions that President Barack Obama has engaged in that have promoted abortion before and during his presidency. While Obama has promised to reduce abortions and some of his supporters believe that will happen, this long list proves his only agenda is promoting more abortions.
During the presidential election, Obama selected pro-abortion Sen. Joe Biden as his vice-presidential running mate.
Post-Election / Pre-Inauguration
November 5,2008 - Obama selects pro-abortion Rep. Rahm Emanuel as his White House Chief of Staff. Emanuel has a 0% pro-life voting record according to National Right to Life.
November 19,2008 - Obama picks pro-abortion former Sen. Tom Daschle as his Health and Human Services Secretary. Daschle has a long pro-abortion voting record according to National Right to Life.
November 20,2008 - Obama chooses former NARAL legal director Dawn Johnsen to serve as a member of his Department of Justice Review Team. Later, he finalizes her appointment as the Assistant Attorney General for the Office of the Legal Counsel in the Obama administration.
November 24,2008 - Obama appoints Ellen Moran, the former director of the pro-abortion group Emily's List as his White House communications director. Emily's List only supports candidates who favored taxpayer funded abortions and opposed a partial-birth abortion ban.
November 24,2008 - Obama puts former Emily's List board member Melody Barnes in place as his director of the Domestic Policy Council.
November 30,2008 - Obama named pro-abortion Sen. Hillary Clinton as the Secretary of State. Clinton has an unblemished pro-abortion voting record and has supported making unlimited abortions an international right.
December 10,2008 - Obama selects pro-abortion former Clinton administration official Jeanne Lambrew to become the deputy director of the White House Office of Health Reform. Planned Parenthood is 'excited' about the selection.
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Pushing Me Away
I've lied to you
The same way that I always do
This is the last smile
That I'll fake for the sake of being with you
(Everything falls apart/Even the people who never frown/Eventually break down)
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
(Everything has to end/You'll soon find we're out of time/To watch it all unwind)
The sacrifice is never knowing
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
I've tried like you
To do everything you wanted too
This is the last time
I'll take the blame for the sake of being with you
(Everything falls apart/Even the people who never frown/Eventually break down)
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
(Everything has to end/You'll soon find we're out of time/To watch it all unwind)
The sacrifice is never knowing
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
The sacrifice of hiding in a lie
The sacrifice is never knowing
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Why I never walked away
Why I played myself this way
Now I see your testing me pushes me away
Pushes me away
song performed by Linkin Park from Hybrid Theory
Added by Lucian Velea
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A accountant at a transport company
Figures on paper glare at me
with the sun hanging bright in a blue sky,
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and drivers walk about talking
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
When the managing director looks in he wants
me to make changes, to do an act of fraud.
Figures on paper glare at me
with a bonus waving,
and my name, my integrity is at stake
and drivers walk about talking
and I wonder how to get out of this trap
when I catch the eye of the managing director’s charming daughter
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
I again check calculations, re-determine and add
and I keep things correct
and my name, my integrity is at stake.
The managing director wants the final figures,
he makes threats and his temper is just under control.
Figures on paper glare at me
while I complete the financial statements
and thousands of things go through my mind
and I keep things correct
and the day rushes past
the managing director’s daughter winks at me, walks down the passage
while busses and lories drive past the whole time,
sirens are ringing in the distance and the wall-clock ticks off the last minutes
and I know that I can loose my job
and thousands of things go through my mind
when the girl walks in with eyes cutting into my soul,
say that her dad is waiting and I feel like caught in web.
Figures on paper glare at me
while busses and lories drive past the whole time
and I hear excited voices in the managing director’s office.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and I know that I can loose my job,
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Only Love Can Say...
Count them like the random pennies safekept for a rainy day,
the obvious cruel reasons of the hows and whys;
loss pushes love away...
Take the cold frigid reasons to hand spread them out to lay,
ignoring the broken spirit that ever sighs;
with reasons only lost love can say...
While seconds force selective minutes to burn hours into play,
just as clouds make love to the unassuming skies;
loss pushes love away...
Where decisions forget to decide to remember what to say,
as the chance of choice whispers their goodbyes;
with reasons only lost love can say...
Reasons are adamantly ignored in this penny for a thought display,
but truth still screams from dead eyes;
loss pushes love away...
with reasons only lost love can say...
poem by LoraMae Hawkins
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I think the director is becoming more important. To work under rushed conditions, you need to have an extremely professional director. If the director's good than the end result will be good.
quote by Glenn Ford
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It all has to do with the director, the captain of the ship. He sets the pace, the mood. If the director is quiet, the set is quiet. If the director is loud, then everybody has to be louder to be heard.
quote by Eva Marie Saint
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Mel is a great director because he's not just a director, he's an actor, so he knows how to direct actors. I loved working with him. He's great as a director. He's so intelligent. He's generous. I really loved him.
quote by Monica Bellucci
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It's a dumb question, because I don't look at things as a black director, just as a director, so ask me as a director first and we can segue into the colour thing later.
quote by Antoine Fuqua
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First Encounter - Yasmin Ahmad
the first and the last
at long last
best director at home
Malaysia Film Festival awards for Best Director (2009) Talentime. Her first and last for best director from the Malaysian premier film festival. was there at Putra World Trade Centre for the ceremony. She was clad in a yellow ensemble.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Beauty And Doubt
Beauty should be cause of doubt,
remaining as a paradox
within a fog that, with lights-out,
become its combination locks
which only should be opened for
the people that it may deceive
and all its images adore,
since they’re unable to believe
that lying very far beyond
the beauty that they worship lie
not icons of which they are fond
but feelings hidden from the eye,
felt only by the loving heart
that longs for union of the mind
with images that works of art
cannot portray till eyes are blind.
The image is to history
what certainty must be to doubt,
solution of a mystery
that true love can do well without.
Michael Kimmelman (“Unravelling a 15th-Century Whodunit, ” NYT, December 11,2008) writes about three images attributed to the Master of Flémaille, St. Veronica, Madonna and Child and Gnadenstuhl:
Here at the Städel Museum “The Master of Flémalle and Rogier van der Weyden” is an old-fashioned whodunit. Almost exhaustingly erudite, it mixes up very great Netherlandish paintings of the 15th century with a few not so great ones to unravel perennial questions from galaxy academe about which artist painted what. Why should we care? For the same reason film buffs debate if Howard Hawks was the real director behind “The Thing From Another World, ” the sci-fi classic from 1951 he produced, rather than Christian Nyby, the credited director, or whether the 1943 thriller “Journey Into Fear, ” for which Norman Foster is listed as director, was taken over by Orson Welles, who played a Turkish police detective in it and whose other movies it partly resembles.We should care because, commerce and the usual scholarly nitpicking aside, the debate is itself an excuse for looking closer, and because piecing together any great artist’s legacy is a bit like composing a novel, every chapter part of the artist’s grand narrative, without all of which the story is incomplete. And, well, also because good mysteries beg to be solved…. And yet. Some things are clear. The weary, aged face of Veronica looks deeply, memorably human. The young woman from Berlin is heartbreakingly beautiful. Elsewhere, a painting of a stout man who at first looks identical to a second portrait is built up from layers of paint that subtly absorb light and give weight and density to the face. Max J. Friedländer, the eminent historian, many years ago attributed the portrait to the Master of Flémalle, then later wondered if it wasn’t by Rogier. The curators here think maybe it was. But maybe not. Dendrochronological tests, to measure the dates of trees, have estimated the age of the wood panels on which it and other pictures were painted; spectrographs and X-rays have provided proof of under-drawings, pentimenti and erasures. The famous Mérode Altarpiece from the Cloisters in New York, long attributed to the Master of Flémalle, turns out to be partly copied, it seems, from a picture in Brussels, long thought to have been a copy of the altarpiece. That’s nice to know. But in the end the story of this exhibition is that beauty resides not just in the pictures (of course) but in doubt itself. That art of such profound and unprecedented verisimilitude, which took such pains to record the minutest details of the world, should remain shrouded in such a fog is both a paradox and healthy reminder of a basic truth. Great art is always a mystery.
12/11/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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What I love about new technology is that it really pushes the art. It really pushes it in a way that you can't imagine until you come up with the idea. It's idea-based. You can do anything.
quote by Robert Rodriguez
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Sea-Shore Memories
OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child,
leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare-headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower'd halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they
were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother--from the fitful risings and fallings
I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with
tears, 10
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the
transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous'd words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither--ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man--yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, 20
Taking all hints to use them--but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.
Once, Paumanok,
When the snows had melted--when the lilac-scent was in the air, and
the Fifth-month grass was growing,
Up this sea-shore, in some briers,
Two guests from Alabama--two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with brown,
And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,
And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright
eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing
them, 30
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.
Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great Sun!
While we bask--we two together.
Two together!
Winds blow South, or winds blow North,
Day come white, or night come black,
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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Memory Lane
This is the place
You end up when
You lose the chase
Where you're dragged against your will
From a basement on the hill
And all anybody knows is
You're not like them
They kick you in the head
And send you back to bed
Isolation pulled you past a tunnel to a
Bright world where you can make a place to stay
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
The mayor's name is fear
His force patrols the pier
From a mountain of cliche
That advances everyday
The doctor spoke of cloud
He rained out loud
You'll keep the doors and windows shut
And swear
You'll never show a soul again
But isolation pushes you til every muscle aches
Down the only road it ever takes
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
If it's your decision
To be open about yourself
Be careful or else
Be careful or else
I'm comfortable apart
It's all written on my chart
That I take what's given to me
Most cooperatively
I do what people say
And lie in bed all day
Absolutely horrified
I hope you're satisfied
Isolation pushes past self-hatred, guilt, and shame
To a place where sufferings just a game
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
Your little house on memory lane
song performed by Elliott Smith
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Inside My Head
Every time you think of me like your goddamn trophy
It just pushes me away
Pushes me away
I never said that I'd make you mine
Why do you insist on pushing all the time
I know it's not my vivid imagination
Telling you lies
Telling you lies
It's funny how you found the time
To expose yourself and be another one of these
Psychos all around me
Psychos all around me
Like to say my head's not right
My head's not right
Medicated aren't we all
Turning into you
Got me crazed with what you do
Inside my head there's a vision of you
And nothing's changing
Nothing's changing
I want to run away
And you says it's alright
I want to run away
Walk away
Just go
I think you're pushing, pushing
To seek and discover to notice you're different than all the rest
Kepp telling me to ask why
Would it really hurt you to leave me alone sometimes
To seek and discover your genius uncovered
Your pain
Nothing's changing
Nothing's changing
Medicated aren't we all
Turn me into you
Got me crazed with what you do
Inside my head there's a vision of you
And nothing's changing
Nothing's changing
I want to run away
And you says it's alright
I want to run away
Pushing me away
Pushing me away
Pushing me away
Pushing me, pushing me
Pushing me
Medicated aren't we all
Turning into you
Got me crazed with what you do
[...] Read more
song performed by Orgy
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The Cool, Cool River
Moves like a fist through the traffic
Anger and no one can heal it
Shoves a little bump into the momentum
Its just a little lump
But you feel it
In the creases and the shadows
With a rattling deep emotion
The cool, cool river
Sweeps the wild, white ocean
Yes boss. the government handshake
Yes boss. the crusher of language
Yes boss. mr. stillwater,
The face at the edge of the banquet
The cool, the cool river
The cool, the cool river
I believe in the future
I may live in my car
My radio tuned to
The voice of a star
Song dogs barking at the break of dawn
Lightning pushes the edge of a thunderstorm
And these old hopes and fears
Still at my side
Anger and no one can heal it
Slides through the metal detector
Lives like a mole in a motel
A slide in a slide projector
The cool, cool river
Sweeps the wild, white ocean
The rage of love turns inward
To prayers of devotion
And these prayers are
The constant road across the wilderness
These prayers are
These prayers are the memory of god
The memory of god
And I believe in the future
We shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime
But in yours I feel sure
Song dogs barking at the break of dawn
Lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm
And these streets
Quiet as a sleeping army
Send their battered dreams to heaven, to heaven
For the mothers restless son
Who is a witness to, who is a warrior
Who denies his urge to break and run
Who says: hard times?
Im used to them
[...] Read more
song performed by Paul Simon
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Julia
Danger
I've been told to expect it
I begin my descent
Down the cold granite steps
And who could have turned among those I confide in?
I think that I know what I haven't known yet
'Cause a week is a month
and an hour a day
When your reaching just pushes it further away
With your past and your future precisely divided
Am I at that moment?
I haven't decided
And stretching out into the sea... Aquitana
Is that what the prophet told me he saw?
You gave it to me but I really don't want it
I came out on top by the luck of the draw
'Cause a week is a month and an hour a day
When your reaching just pushes it further away
And what's the return on the faith I've provided?
I think that I know now but I haven't decided
song performed by Phish
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Julius
Danger
Ive been told to expect it
I begin my descent
Down the cold granite steps
And who could have turned among those I confide in?
I think that I know what I havent known yet
cause a week is a month
And an hour a day
When your reaching just pushes it further away
With your past and your future precisely divided
Am I at that moment?
I havent decided
And stretching out into the sea... aquitana
Is that what the prophet told me he saw?
You gave it to me but I really dont want it
I came out on top by the luck of the draw
cause a week is a month and an hour a day
When your reaching just pushes it further away
And whats the return on the faith Ive provided?
I think that I know now but I havent decided
song performed by Phish
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Tornado
Nature deadly twisters
War of winds strikes again
You live in a nice neighborhood
As nice as it will be after
They drop down from the clouds
Completely out man's control
Some day it's gonna catch me
The tornado is right behind
It picks me up to overseas
The tornado is right there
Cumulonimbus storms arrive
Lightning flashes a hundred miles around
Electrical collision course
Creates the elephant trunk
Creeping and looking for your home
Sucking anything from the ground
Go 25.000 feet in the air
The deadlist of all thunderheads
The strong winds and the vacuum
Are gonna take you to the heart of the storm
Moving and turning
No escape, you disappear
It rips you off, keeps you in
Rises you up and pushes you out
Into the guts of the tornado
Get high by the suction of the funnel
Spinning at 300 miles an hour
And trying to outwit this monster
Moving and turning
No escape, you disappear
It rips you off, keeps you in
Rises you up and pushes you out
The frontal attack, now is in the past
Is it finished, or is it coming back?
No one knows, where it goes
Am I safe ? Am I gone with it ?
Running scared !!
Do it quickly, if you see it
There is no time, for a warning
The tornado has struck, hope you have some luck
Dust will make you blind, nothing you can find
Running scared !
Tornado ! Tornado ! Tornado !!
song performed by Voivod
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Dedication to M.
Swing of the heart. O firmly hung, fastened on what
invisible branch. Who, who gave you the push,
that you swung with me into the leaves?
How near I was to the exquisite fruits. But not-staying
is the essence of this motion. Only the nearness, only
toward the forever-too-high, all at once the possible
nearness. Vicinities, then
from an irresistibly swung-up-to place
-already, once again, lost-the new sight, the outlook.
And now: the commanded return
back and across and into equilbrium's arms.
Below, in between, hesitation, the pull of earth, the passage
through the turning-point of the heavy-, past it: and the
catapult stretches,
weighted with the heart's curiosity,
to the other side, opposite, upward.
Again how different, how new! How they envy each other
at the ends of the rope, these opposite halves of pleasure.
Or, shall I dare it: these quarters?-And include, since it
witholds itself,
that other half-circle, the one whose impetus pushes the
swing?
I'm not just imagining it, as the mirror of my here-and-now
arc. Guess nothing. It will be
newer someday. But from endpoint to endpoint
of the arc that I have most dared, I already fully possess it:
overflowings from me plunge over to it and fill it,
stretch it apart, almost. And my own parting,
when the force that pushes me someday
stops, makes it all the more near.
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Sullied
She plunges into the hot water
and begins to scrub. Brush and
soap on skin. She wants him off
and out of her. Undo him from her.
Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches.
She breathes in. She reeks, stinks
of him. He seems to have penetrated
every orifice on her body. She pushes
herself under the water, holds herself
there, opens her eyes even the sting
brings no purification. She sits up and
holds the sides of the bath. Calm down
she tells her shaking hands and legs
but they disobey and carry on like
disobedient children in play. She tries
to think of other things. Think of
somewhere nice, some time once
enjoyed, some pleasure once had,
sipping of the best wine, greedy
eating of caviar or grape. But no.
Everything is focused on him and
the rape. She rubs and scrubs until
she's red and raw. Stop stop her
inner voice screams. Nothing is
what it seems. He pushes his way
even into her every thought now.
He seeps into every pore. The water
fails to clean. She sits there naked,
undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess.
This is not real she says, but knows
it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore
and sullied. Yes that's a word mother
would have used: sullied. Tainted,
tarnished, degraded or as Mother
would have said: dishonoured. She
focuses on each aspect of her flesh
as if seen for the first time. What
you focus on is your reality. Who said
that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky?
The Idiot, that book. Who cares who
[...] Read more
poem by Terry Collett
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