Word: fists
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...Libyan officials sit onstage in dark suits and ties, addressing scores of Western executives in flawless English about the country's new business opportunities. A few feet away is a huge portrait of the most famous face in Libya, Muammar Gaddafi, in his trademark African robe and sunglasses, fist in the air, a defiant look on his face, as if to say to the roomful of businessmen: I still run things around here. But the businessmen don't seem to notice. Instead they are transfixed by a tall young man with wire-rimmed spectacles and a fashionably shaved head. When...
...Alice. We are shown only the beginning and end of each affair, when hopes are surging or betrayal sours the air. The piece is a series of cardiograms: hearts open and shut down. "Have you ever seen a human heart?" says Larry, a doctor. "It looks like a fist soaked in blood...
...Libyan officials sit onstage in dark suits and ties, addressing scores of Western executives in flawless English about the country's new business opportunities. A few feet away is a huge portrait of the most famous face in Libya, Muammar Gaddafi, in his trademark African robe and sunglasses, fist in the air, a defiant look on his face, as if to say to the roomful of businessmen, I still run things around here. But the businessmen don't seem to notice. Instead they are transfixed by a tall young man with wire-rimmed spectacles and a fashionably shaved head. When...
...When you see him in his finely tailored all black three-piece suit, thrusting his arm and clenched fist out at the packed crowd in a sign of Black Power, his voice wavering like an erratic EKG printout, reaching a crescendo mid-sentence and then trailing off so that he whispers the last word, syllable by syllable—“hu-man-i-ty”—it is then that you realize that Cornel West is not your ordinary professor...
...celebratory destruction were carrying traffic cones they’d stolen. There was a lot of milling around. A guy ran through the yard yelling, “Let’s go break shit!” Nobody followed him. The shouting grew ragged. There was lots of fist-pumping and inarticulate yells, including abortive attempts at a chanted “Yankees suck.” One of my roommates said, “I feel like I should be singing the score of Les Misérables.” I said, “I want...