Greetings, Prophet!

You are now witnessing my attempt at vomiting all my Angels in America caps on tumblr.

Bless Tony Kushner, Mike Nichols & HBO.

#hdu

8/27 17:27 - 4 notes
8/26 19:29 - 12 notes
1/10 20:42 - 22 notes

Roy: Can I ask you something, Sir?
Belize: Sir?
Roy: What’s it like… after?
Belize: After?
Roy: This misery ends?
Belize: Hell or heaven? Like San Francisco.
Roy: A city. Good. I was worried it’d be a garden. I hate that shit.
Belize: Big city overgrown with weeds, but flowering weeds. On every corner a wrecking crew and something new and crooked going up catty-corner to that. Windows missing in every edifice, like broken teeth. Gritty wind… and a gray, high sky, full of ravens.
Roy: Isaiah.
Belize: Prophet birds, Roy. Piles of trash… with lapidary like rubies and obsidian, and diamond-colored cowspit streamers in the wind. And voting booths. And everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages. Big dance palaces full of music and lights. Racial impurity and gender confusion. And all the deities… are Creole. Mulatto. Brown as the mouths of rivers. Race, taste and history are finally overcome. And you ain’t there.
Roy: And heaven?
Belize: That was heaven, Roy.

1/9 22:17 - 63 notes
12/29 21:38 - 14 notes
12/28 18:16 - 76 notes

everythingweeds:

Justin Kirk in “How Blue”

My internet connection has kicked the bucket. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, here is the flawless Justin Kirk in a music video.

12/18 18:53 - - 11 notes
12/13 19:35 - 27 notes
12/12 17:36 - 15 notes

Hannah: Are you a… homosexual?
Prior: Oh, is it that obvious? Yes, I am. What’s it to you?
Hannah: Would you say you’re a typical… homosexual?
Prior: Me? No, I’m stereotypical. What do you mean, like, am I a hairdresser?
Hannah: Are you a hairdresser?
Prior: Well, it would be your lucky day, because frankly…

12/11 17:43 - 41 notes
12/11 14:09 - 27 notes

Joe: Are you… Don’t cry.
Hannah: If I ever do, I promise you, you’ll not be privileged to witness it.

12/10 21:41 - 22 notes
12/9 18:21 - 24 notes

Belize: I hate America, Louis. I hate this country. Nothing but a bunch of big ideas and stories and people dying, and then people like you. The white cracker who wrote the national anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word “free” to a note so high nobody could reach it. That was deliberate. Nothing on earth sounds less like freedom to me. You come with me to Room 1013 at the hospital, I’ll show you America; terminal, crazy, and mean. I live in America, Louis. I don’t have to love it. You do that. Everybody’s gotta love something.

12/8 22:29 - 48 notes
12/7 17:47 - 19 notes