Word: twilight
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...happened this year to Harvard and other schools around the Ivy League. In an attempt to help you reach this state of nirvana, I’m going to share with you some of the sound bytes and references from my experience in a veritable “Section Twilight Zone...
...life and I follow the Gospel according to R. on a daily basis. A sinner and a saint, R. Kelly is the prophet for the 21st-century, a time in which materialism and sexual profligacy can compliment rather than contradict brotherhood and spirituality. His mysterious persona exists in the twilight hours between the V.I.P. lounge and the church pews, stuck in a perpetual cycle of hedonism and repentance. From church choirboy to transcontinental thug, the 36-year-old Kelly has seen more than most people see in a lifetime. One would do well to heed his invaluable wisdom...
...home, Abdi Salan had calculated that by now, two months into the trip, he would have already reached Europe. But the smuggler's one-month delay turns into two. Finally, in the first week of June, he gets the good word and sets out on a city bus at twilight for a rendezvous on the edge of town. Doubts run through his mind: Will the truck be there? Will it be able to evade the Sudanese security forces? Is the Sahara as unforgiving as they say? When he arrives around 8 p.m., with 24 other Somalis, there is good news...
...dark thread; someone has worn its satin lining, the color of plums, fuzzy at the shoulders. When, sliding my hand into the right pocket, I finger a cigarette burn, I imagine the coat’s previous owner, gesturing with a cigarette, its tip bright in the early winter twilight. When I button the coat I imagine a button detaching under her hurried fingers and tumbling to the ground, imagine her pocketing it so that she could later sew it back on with heavy black thread. When I shrug off the coat I imagine her arms, an inch shorter than...
Love comes at you lean and fast, like a pulp paperback. A woman named L handles the opening exposition in the foreboding tones of Rod Serling introducing a Twilight Zone episode. Picture, if you will, a broken-down beach town on a quietly nonspecific stretch of the East Coast. The town was once dominated by Cosey's Hotel and Resort, a swanky getaway with "more handsome single men per square foot than anyplace outside Atlanta." But Cosey's is now a Gothic ruin, and Bill Cosey, its handsome, charismatic playa-patriarch, is long dead...