"The Stonemason, the artist meets, known for his tombstone's, is also semi famous, creating shiny sculptures that are placed in the nearby towns." link
"Fish really is the cure all food, Its in the fatty Omega 3 fish gives you.
Fish it seems is the answer to a healthy brain and body. Fish also supposedly rids of split border line personality, mood swings and harbors against anger or depression, migraine headaches and is good for your eyes and memory. You can also loose weight regardless of its fatty Omega- 3, and is good for the heart, helps prevent breast cancer apparently and menstrual cramps, lowers blood pressure and raises good cholesterol. If there’s a bunch of pills on the market you could not afford, or you simply reject taking any kind of drugs, fresh fish or fish oil capsules is the answer, and is probably the only gel capsule your need on your shelf." link
The changing scenery in London, from the late seventies to the mid eighties with the novelty of Arabs, giving out easy money, while they became educated, had followed by the left over stench in the air of the Iran war. Heavy metal bands, drugs, the AID scares and the confusing beginnings of the first computers taking over, that empted the paper shelves to discs were all part of the horrors that made her flee to North Wales where she continued to edit the novel, Cass. Again, she had to flee from there, due to the Welsh politics of the time, which were burning the British bought homes there. Who knew?
“Poshlust,” or in a better transliteration poshlost, has many nuances, and evidently I have not described them clearly enough in my little book on Gogol, if you think one can ask anybody if he is tempted by poshlost. Corny trash, vulgar clichés, Philistinism in all its phases, imitations of imitations, bogus profundities, crude, moronic, and dishonest pseudo-literature—these are obvious examples. Now, if we want to pin down poshlost in contemporary writing, we must look for it in Freudian symbolism, moth-eaten mythologies, social comment, humanistic messages, political allegories, overconcern with class or race, and the journalistic generalities we all know. Poshlost speaks in such concepts as “America is no better than Russia” or “We all share in Germany's guilt.” The flowers of poshlost bloom in such phrases and terms as “the moment of truth,” “charisma,” “existential” (used seriously), “dialogue” (as applied to political talks between nations), and “vocabulary” (as applied to a dauber). Listing in one breath Auschwitz, Hiroshima, and Vietnam is seditious poshlost. Belonging to a very select club (which sports one Jewish name—that of the treasurer) is genteel poshlost. Hack reviews are frequently poshlost, but it also lurks in certain highbrow essays. Poshlost calls Mr. Blank a great poet and Mr. Bluff a great novelist. One of poshlost's favorite breeding places has always been the Art Exhibition; there it is produced by so-called sculptors working with the tools of wreckers, building crankshaft cretins of stainless steel, Zen stereos, polystyrene stinkbirds, objects trouvés in latrines, cannonballs, canned balls. There we admire the gabinetti wall patterns of so-called abstract artists, Freudian surrealism, roric smudges, and Rorschach blots—all of it as corny in its own right as the academic “September Morns” and “Florentine Flowergirls” of half a century ago. The list is long, and, of course, everybody has his bête noire, his black pet, in the series. Mine is that airline ad: the snack served by an obsequious wench to a young couple—she eyeing ecstatically the cucumber canapé, he admiring wistfully the hostess. And, of course, Death in Venice. You see the range.
They say twins know each other's thoughts. While on vacation, Cathy and Pat who are twins just might be in denial of this factor. When it comes to much needed love and Owen the next door neighbor is the only man in their lives, in reality, only one can have him, but it may appear everyone's in denial as each live out a fantasy with deep and somewhat strange psychological consequences in this gripping short story as they deal in their own way to let go of the guilt of a tragic family accident.
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