Zelda Williams is an unquestionably beautiful young woman. This is how I, a heterosexual man, would at first view her.
Of course, I never would VIEW her in the first place, she’d never come to South Bend, Indiana, and I’d never go to the yuppy places where she, through no fault of her own, would be more likely to live.
I am proud to say I have never been guilty of hating Dead Poet’s Society. The psychologist scene in Good Will Hunting is one of the most heart-wrenching, inspiring of all time. Robin Williams was never a “celebrity” to me; he was an artist of the stage.
So someone’s wrong here. Because he killed himself. A Taoist, perhaps eastern Alan Watts-ian tenet would say that HE’S the one who’s wrong, that, as Aldous Huxley penned in the beautifully gargantuan novel Point Counterpoint, “Everything that happens is intrinsically like the man it happens to.” Then how do you explain the hate, the droves of people lined up his whole life to take pot shots at the droll Dead Poet’s Society, the sicko fu**s who’ve sent Zelda Williams lewd twitters in the wake of her father? They’ve been driven there too.
Every day, every day, we get reminders that life is crazy. Yet, so many people try to snipe on these celebrities like they’re supposed to perfect, when half of them can’t even enjoy something beautiful when they see it. Just sayin’.