Let the Oscar be an award of the heart for those who make humanity a ward of their own.
Let the Oscars be held in the neighbourhoods that need hands to hold, that need hope that the stars shine for them in this their long night, that they can have trust their stories will be told to rouse the rescue they need with all dignity preserved. Let the world see beloved actors who write large their pain and suffering upon the silver screen show that they make these folk the wards of their hearts, that what they feel before the camera lens has a realness in the world. For this is the purpose of these blockbusters, to bust the blockages of the soul and usher in a new age of loving hearts translating into loving action and deed. So let us be moved into a new life, a new "vie de bonne chance."
The Oscars were turned upside-down as if by wizard's touch, as if by wave of magic wand. For as the movies conjure journeys to loves true core, so the ceremony began to resemble this humble homey truth.
The Oscars were held not with gilded balls, yet in the palaces of nature, in branched vaulted halls.
Say, put on your woodland dress, dear sister of the day-shine, sister of the newborn light, for the Oscars are held this year in places heaven holds dear.
The foundation of the Oscar is the writer, the poet soul, and so though we of course honour the entire ecosystem that makes the movie, those that convert light into sugar must realise their worth as producers.