Word: twilighter
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...Twilight Figures" by Jeanette Fintz, uses unusual tones, and emphasizes tension, rather than respectful interplay of human figures. No figure faces any other in this work; the elements in the painting are held together by the boundaries of the canvas and the consistency of pigment...
This semidocumentary is an attempt to dramatize case histories of people who have somehow revived after having been pronounced dead. The film stresses the similarity of their experiences in the twilight zone: a sense of hovering above their beds, a trip through a prettily lighted tunnel toward a bright glow, pearly gates (or something quite like them symbolically), the whole accompanied by warm, sensual feelings. Many, of course, catch a glimpse of God along the way, and they all make The End sound infinitely preferable to a case of the Russian flu. But the film is so simplemindedly earnest...
...conversation disappointed me. Everything Ginsberg talked about was dead and gone; Kerouac, who depicted Ginsberg as Carlo Marx in his novel, On the Road, is dead; so is Neal Cassidy. Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksters have since faded into twilight...
Kafka's spirit was as precise as hallucination, but triply or quadruply removed, adrift, isolated: a German-speaking Jew living in Prague in the twilight of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, emotionally overpowered by his father. Interesting, if futile, critical combats have been waged over the question of whether Kaf ka was merely a talented neurotic or a visionary genius. Edmund Wilson wrote in 1950: "Kafka is being wildly overdone . . . The trouble with Kafka was that he could never let go of the world-of his family, of his job, of his yearning for bourgeois happiness-in the interest...
...chance of at least one major spill and near certainty that there will be more than 1,700 "nickel-and-dime" disasters. The public, she laments, seems unconcerned. "The trade-off is almost made - a viable coast for the plunge offshore, for a few more moments of twilight before the oil lamp goes out, for prolonging the ocean-sink concept until some version of Black Mayonnaise hits us in the face, the nostrils...