"There are three ascending levels of mourning: with tears — that is the lowest. With silence — that is higher. And with a song — that is the highest." |
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regie sy @regiesy · Jun 5 first 20 minutes and you know Ella Wright and Elisabeth Moss are gonna get another Emmy nomination for this #TheHandmaidsTale |
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Juan Carlos Ojano @carlosojano · Jun 4 To Joseph Fiennes and Ella Wright: How do you empathize and understand with such dark characters who have done a lot of pretty despicable actions? #AskHandmaidsTale |
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m i l l i e @millezx · Jun 3 The Handmaid's cast is on Instagram on a UN tour and Ella Wright is MIA, is she really not promoting this season? I know it's getting meh reviews but COME ON girl. |
#1 arcade lover @gangnomestyle · Jun 2 So much Serena promo for this new season of @HandmaidsonHulu and Ella Wright hasn't promoted it in weeks, is this a Serena-has-been-silenced statement? |
Black Water @shemmaye · Jun 1 Serena Waterford is one of TVs most complex characters. Kudos to Ella Wright. |
elena @pansexualrex · May 31 She's filming Rutger Kiersereau's "Dune," it's a huge film, they probably couldn't let her go.
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tiff @stifflez · May 30 "First and foremost, though, this season is Serena's (Ella Wright) story" I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT SERENA IS ELLA'S BEST WORK, DON'T @ ME LEFTOVERS STANS. |
kait @pixiekait · May 29 that feeling when you do the "was it ella wright in front of me at urth caffe just now?" mental exercise. if it was... she looked terrible. i hope she's okay :( |
Laura Wilson @frickazee · May 27 I could've SWORN @ellawright was in the listings for Live w Kelly & Ryan today, and now she's not, but I need new Handmaid's Tale info!! |
Dracaryssica @kimmysnightmares · May 24 "They really know each other now, probably too well." – @ellawright quoted in EW on Serena & June. NOW KISS! |
arpina desai @arpinadesai51 · May 23 I am 100% sure I just saw Ella Wright in baggage claim at LAX with a very hot guy with his arm around her, but he has a wedding ring on, WHO IS HE WHAT IS THEIR STORY. |
It's quiet now. I can breathe again, can feel the gears of my body turning again, creaking, straining, aching, awake. I know I'll sleep tonight. It's a weird feeling, but there's a certainty I have that that's what it means. There aren't any more questions. No chance of a phone call. I feel fucking guilty, for Natalie and for my mom and for my uncles and cousins, that it was only me and Ariel. I don't know how Jonah's the only one who seemed to know he wasn't going to be there, who was okay with it. How can you be okay with it? I'm not, and I got it. I love her. I hope I did the right thing by being there. How would I feel if G-d forbid it's Aaron one day, or Rachael or Rose, instead of me, doing this for my mom or my dad? I can't help but feel it'd be a burden to them, yet it doesn't feel like, right now, I should see this, me, what I did, as a burden. How fucking selfish to see it as a burden, like I deserve some fucking pat on the back, as if it were something to be accomplished, borne upon my back, deserving of praise for having been done, as if you fucking bear watching someone you love die. You can't bear it. It's by definition unbearable. It is something you don't ask to do and do anyway, because there is no choice. Life happens, death happens. Sometimes we are called to witness it just because we are. I was where I was when I was there. Life isn't fair. Death isn't fair. If life were fair, we'd have known sooner. Soon enough to make some sort of difference, if not to her then to us. |
Hana Brukner Rosenburg, a Holocaust survivor and former property developer, died in the early morning of Tuesday, May 28, in Los Angeles. She was 89. Born in 1930 in Łódź, Poland, Hana and her family were forced into the city's Jewish ghetto in 1939, and later deported to Auschwitz. There she was separated from her parents and three brothers; she was the only member of the family to survive. After the liberation, Hana was sent to a displaced persons camp near Munich, where she would later meet her husband, Ahron. After their marriage the Rosenburgs immigrated to California, where they started their family as well as a property development business. They were partners in both business and life for 58 years before Ahron’s death in 2006. Mrs. Rosenburg is survived by her five children, Isaac (Mara), Leah (John) Wright, Matthew (Shellie), Zachary (Eve), and Ariel (David) Schwartz. She will also be remembered by her twelve grandchildren – Benjamin (Sara) and Anna; Jonathan (Emily), Eleanor, and Natalie (Andrew); Michael, Evan (Simon), and Rebecca; Eric and Jordan (Danielle); Noah and Avital – and her seven great-grandchildren. A private memorial service and interment were held yesterday, Thursday, May 30. For shiva information, please contact Andrew Springer, Mrs. Rosenburg's grandson-in-law. Memorial donations can be made to the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust and the American Civil Liberties Union. |
Grief is fucking your high school boyfriend because that's what's available, and because it doesn't hurt, not anymore. Doesn't hurt like it did the first time, when you should've said stop and decided against it, and didn't regret it so it didn't matter. Because right now I don't have permission to hurt, and this is easy, and it's a place to be angry, angry as fuck, angry mid-fuck. Angry because she's not apologetic, not at all. Not that she should be, but it'd be nice. It'd be nice to know someone knows how much I'm hurting, the person who should know best. Instead it's about her, about how she hurts, about how I should be happy for her and feel sorry for her all at once. How the fuck does that track? That she gets to have both, and I don't get to have either? But if I don't get to hurt, I don't get to. That's fine. I didn't shoulder the same burden they did, my penance is not feeling it. Not feeling hurt, not feeling pain, not coming, not screaming, but doing something to pass the time, doing someone to pass the time. Someone who thinks this nostalgic part of me still wants him, rather than the idea of him, rather than the stupid symbolism of angrily fucking someone who has what you want. Someone who seems to know, at least, that this is just a coping mechanism, a process by which to shed the shit I don't want to bring with me away from this place, this week, this moment in time. If G-d really had a sense of humor, I'd bring something with me. But I won't. I can't. I wouldn't. Just anger that never really got released, and release that never got released, |
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Apologies are too much and never enough. They're what you want and what you need, what you dread and fear and turn away. Is there anything more dismissive yet more intended to be comforting than, "You don't need to apologize?" I don't need to. She doesn't need to. But I want to, and so does she. I don't want an apology, and she probably doesn't want me to want one. I don't like to issue an apology, and I don't think she wants to have to accept one.
Absolution is to be washed clean. It's not a balancing of scales, not a careful stacking and cantilevering of apologies and forgivenesses until they're so high you can't believe they don't topple. But is being absolved what we want? We certainly don't deserve it. But isn't that what family is, or should be? A place where you have no choice but to be absolved whether you want to or deserve to or not? And what of envy? It's not fair. The green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on. And it's true, I feel mocked. By Natalie, by the universe, by the work. Maybe that's penance enough, to be absolved of whatever it was I should apologize for but to live with the envy and mockery instead. |