Word: torning
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...writing is diversion from heavier judgements. The photo Saturday Off is of a beautiful young black woman leaning up against the base of a column crossing her arms before her like a springer spaniel, looking rich and sexy as any Scarlett O'Hara. "A piece of body torn off at the roots might be more to the point," is what James Agee and Walker Evans in their Let Us Now Praise Famous Men had to say about the rural south in the thirties. It is difficult to forgive the thirties, and Eudora Welty, in particular, their lack of rage...
Writing. Every morning Malraux tears up the previous day's page from his appointment calendar. "Why go back?" he says. "The torn page is no longer there." In the same manner, he abjures birthday celebrations, and there were none last week. Still, Malraux has reached a degree of eminence at which there is universal agreement on his importance, if virtually none on his foremost achievement. Some believe that Malraux will be remembered largely for his writing. "A very great writer," says Pierre Viansson-Ponté, political editor of Le Monde. "With their backgrounds of the Far East, Spain...
...State Mutual has finally accomplished its public service goals. Whites, blacks, and Spanish Americans are moving into the project, now called Plumley Village East-a year and a half behind schedule. Most of them live in more attractive apartments at lower cost than in the old houses that were torn down...
Moments later, Actor Rip Torn, who has played a bodyguard called Raoul Key O'Houlihan, goes after Mailer (or Kingsley) with a hammer. "You're supposed to die, Mr. Kingsley," Torn yells. "You must die, not Mailer." The director stares at him in frightened disbelief. At that moment, Mailer later said, it was impossible for him to tell whether Torn was serious or only acting. Torn claimed he was acting, but audiences still cannot tell as they watch the episode. In this scene Mailer achieves his objective: the melding of screen illusion and reality...
...savage sounds of the African forest ... I forced myself to appear uninterested and busy, eating some roots from the ground. The end of the branch above me hit my head. With a stamping and slapping of the ground a black shape charged through the undergrowth ... I expected to be torn to pieces. I do not know how long I crouched there before I realized that everything was still and silent again, save for the drip-drip of the raindrops...