Sentences with phrase «girls take to the air»

Not exact matches

Mom told the girls that once they took off she was going to take a nap and, once in the air, she handed them their electronics, put her head on the tray table and proceeded to sleep.

Some of the stories include a submarine crew running out of air, a lumberjack hunting for a missing girl, vampires called «aswang,» a mustache that has come back to life, and a man teaching us how to take a bath.

10:00 pm — TCM — Forbidden Games A young girl orphaned in an air raid on her French village gets taken in by a young boy's family, and the pair of them attempt to come to grips with the death and destruction they've seen, but don't have the age or maturity to really understand.

Sure Adam Driver from «Girls» and «Mad Men» star John Slattery are solid in their parts, but it's the terrific trio of females in the film that are particularly remarkable including Amy Morton (Tony winner for «August: Osage County,» also George Clooney's sister in «Up In The Air»), Louisa Krause (the bitchy, scene - stealing hotel clerk in «Young Adult «-RRB-, and Emily Meade («Fringe,» «My Soul to Take «-RRB-.

Now she would have liked to open a window and let in the fresh October air, but the windows were permanently shut, sealing out dust and grime that might affect the measurements she and the other girls took — or was it that the tiny parts they were measuring needed to be pristine in order to function?

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

«The pieces that are very adult and which contribute to the sexualisation of young girls — especially in the poses portrayed — do not take account of the child protection concerns that have been well - aired.»