Richard Blanco looked exhausted, didn’t he? And I would have expected him to. After writing a brilliant poem honouring the American experience to commemorate the second term of America’s first black president, I would have expected him to look the way he did. I would think he probably died a few times on those beautiful final few lines:
And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together.
Whereas, you know, James Franco, the Artist of our time, after writing his “poem”, I imagine he must have burped before going back to bed. It took him all of 10 minutes.
Anyway, I either have the flu or I over-gorged on Inauguration Porn. Everyone’s talking about how this is the worst flu season in years. Since I work from home, I usually miss out on whatever gross sh-t is being passed around offices, which is great. Only it’s the flying. It’s all the flying. Will try to blog for as long as I can today before the shakes and vomits take over. Harry helps though. He really, really does.
Also, it’s Haute Couture Week in Paris. Will be posting images from the runway. Please check LifeStyle to see.
Yours in gossip,