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And I was, I was exhausted, so even in the pain I was managing to get some sleep, but then I would sleep and my lips would weep, and the pus would dry and my mouth would stick together with the dried pus? [Sighs] so my mum used to come and periodically through the night, with sort of a lukewarm glass of water with some salt mixed in, and with some cotton buds, and she used to use the cotton buds to sort of prise my mouth back open so I could go back to sleep. And this sort of became a regular routine, [laughs] and I would cry in pain when she was do it, doing it and she would cry because she could see me in pain and sort of it was a huge emotional toll on my whole family. Yeah, it was a really difficult time.
It would be a sort of cousin to my dream paper; one feature only wouldbe omitted. There would be no malicious personalities. There are somethings that one may like to read, but does not care to write. For thesake of a few pennies and a few paragraphs, I would not run the risk ofinjuring a friendship.
He was a heavy, thick-set man, square-jawed, clean-shaven, middle-aged;the sort of fellow who acts the part of the strong business man inAmerican films, who sits back in a chair with a cigar stuck into theside of his face, his hand on the receiver of his telephone, while asecretary in the corner watches the fluctuations of the tape machine.The sort of man, in fact, whom one meets too often in London to be ableto welcome with any enthusiasm on a holiday.
And so back to that original, that disconcerting fact that FlorenceBarclay was to me ten years ago an equivalent for Turgenev. She meant asmuch; she revealed as much. She touched the heart as surely and asdeeply. And again comes that uncomfortable knowledge that a book isafter all only a focus for135 ourselves, a spade to unearth the absolute.And does it matter what sort of a spade you use as long as the work getsfinished? The object of any emotion is of less matter than the intensityof the emotion that object has evoked. Is a love any the less real, lesstender, less passionate, less unselfish because it has been inspired bya shallow, trivial, worthless woman? Does it very much matter whence wederive that state of heightened consciousness that we undoubtedly reachthrough literature, as long as we do reach it? We come the richer fromKing Lear, from Anna Karenin, from Lycidas, because these bookshave revealed to us what is eternal in ourselves. In their company wehave forgotten momentarily the anxieties, the ambitions, the frivolitiesthat dazzle and distract us, that move in glittering, bewilderingprofusion on the surface of our lives, that belong to time and space. Insuch moments of heightened consciousness we are in harmony withourselves, we see ourselves as a part of that pattern that Pater spokeof, the pattern whose threads pass out on either side of us.
During the war many of us had come to look on the Labour party as a sortof fairy godmother. Labour was the only party that had included in itsprogramme a ruthless avoidance of war. And, as the man who is hungry canthink only of food, so in 1917 it had seemed to us that the avoidance ofwar was the one thing that mattered. We expected great things of theDaily Herald. But long before the end of 1919 we had realised that nomore bellicose production had been ever presented in large quantities tothe public. It had substituted one form of war for another. Nations werenot to fight each other, but classes were. The proletariat of the world,with the possible exception of the French, was to ride triumphantly overthe mangled remains of the idle and blood-sucking rich. It was to be warto the death. Prizes were offered for the best slogan. The people whohad clamoured in 1916 for arbitration and compromise between the demandsof Germany and those of the Allies, would not listen to arbitration andcompromise when the Tynesider demanded another shilling a day from hisemployer. The Herald became the champion of every trade dispute, andsome of us began to wonder. Was this international peace, we askedourselves, worth the purchase at such a price? If it came to a fight,would we rather fight beside English navvies and English ploughmenagainst the navvies and ploughmen of Germany and Russia; or would werather fight160 beside English, Russian, French, Belgian, German, andSwedish ploughmen against Russian, English, French, German and Swedisharistocrats, or vice versa? Of two wars, which was the lesspernicious? And we began to think that class is a habit that can bechanged in half a generation; a man who is a newsboy at seventeen may bea baronet at fifty and a viscount at seventy; but race is a tree planteddeeply in firm soil. We can change our class as easily as we can changeour clothes; but English blood is English blood in the pit, in Mayfair,in the shires; and we should have no sympathy with that party thatstrove to divide a people against itself.
Consider the position of the city man. His daily routine is a matter ofgeneral knowledge. In order to carry on his business a great number ofpeople must171 know where he is at any given moment to be found. Hissecretary should even know where he is lunching. If the telephone maybe, and it doubtless is, of considerable assistance in the happyordering of an intrigue, it is of no less service in the detection ofit. If a wife rings up her husband in the afternoon and finds him awayshe begins to wonder. She knows, too, at what hour he leaves his officein the evening. If he is not home half an hour later her wondermentincreases. He has either to resort to a lunch in a cabinet particulieror he has to manœuvre with endless deception a week-end, or a businesstrip to Leeds. Every assignation has to be skilfully arranged. There issmall scope for the sudden, the unpremeditated moment. It is asmachine-made as the hosiery he handles.
Adam's brutishness and faux-sexism provided much of the comic relief of season one (a much-gif'd line: "Yo skank, where you at? Gettin' that pussy pounded?"), but his lack of regard for women reached a new level of severity in season two, particularly in the much-discussed sex scene (some say rape scene) with Natalia.
MR: I deliberately wanted to take the cultural forms that are part of the black community, that are very well-respected and well-loved, that in some ways are deemed classic cultural forms. It might be dancing or singing, here it's four part doo-wop harmony. (I actually had wanted to do rap, a black gay rap, as well, but I couldn't get that together. Maybe it'll come in the future.) My goal was to take those things which in some ways have become very much enshrined in traditional popular culture, black American popular culture, and infuse them with something just a little bit different. In this case, a black gay aspect. Viewers can be simultaneously hooked and repulsed: "Boy, can that child sing! He's talking about black men loving black men." I'm playing with such conflicted reactions throughout Tongues Untied. The marching, the civil rights protests interwoven with black gay men marching in gay rights marches, the black-gay-doo-wop love song. All of these things sort of snap, like the rhythm and rhyming of rap. We're talking about something that's in black gay expression. All the time I'm playing with traditional forms, yet altering them, perhaps innovating them because of this infusion of a black gay expression.
The Nina Simone song was one I had always loved. I played over and over as a kid and teenager the way some people played Beatles' songs or the Fifth Dimension or the Temptations. I'd pick up the record and play it again and again: "Black is the color..." I'd listen to Simone's voice tremble, it'd get so soft and it was so filled with....I didn't know then why that song had such strong feeling and meaning for me. Now I look back and see obviously why. Her voice is androgynous and could almost play as a man's voice: "Black is the color of my true love's hair...his hands...his face"--it's obviously male gender here. That was before I knew I was gay and my response was not about a man talking about a woman. I had this sort of involuntary response to that song which really built up over the years. 041b061a72