Cao Yong Day of LoveCao Yong cao yong Red UmbrellaDiego Rivera View of ToledoDiego Rivera Motherhood Angelina and the Child DiegoLeroy Neiman Resting Tiger
Ginger stared, panic‑stricken, out of the carriage window.
‘Who are all these people?’ she said.
‘They’re fans,’ said Dibbler.
‘But I’m Exactly how long was Holy Wood’s real history? Perhaps there was some ancient stone calendar, down there on the sea bed, among the lobsters. Perhaps there was no way it could be measured. How did you measure the age of an idea?not hot!’‘Uncle means that they’re people who like seeing you in the clicks,’ said Soll. ‘Er. Like you a lot.’‘There’s women out there too,’ said Victor. He gave a cautious wave. In the crowd, a woman swooned.‘You’re famous,’ he said. ‘You said you always wanted to be famous.’Ginger looked out at the crowd again. ‘I never thought it would be like this, though. They’re all shouting our names!’‘We’ve put a lot of effort into telling people about Blown Away,’ said Soll.‘Yes,’ said Dibbler. ‘We said it was the greatest click in the entire history of Holy Wood.’‘But we’ve been making clicks for only a couple of months,’ Ginger pointed out.‘So what? That’s still a history,’ said Dibbler.Victor saw the look in Ginger’s face.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with Felt Hat grey
Vincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with Felt Hat greyVincent van Gogh Seascape at Saintes-MariesVincent van Gogh Road with CypressesVincent van Gogh Peach Tree in BlossomVincent van Gogh Orchard in Blossom
Holy Wood was awake long before Victor, and the hammering from Century of the Fruitbat echoed around the sky. Waggonloads of timber were queuing up to enter the archway. He was buffeted and pushed aside by a hurrying stream of plasterers and carpenters. Inside, crowds of workmen scurried around the arguing figures of Silverfish .
‘We’ll find the money somehow,’ said Dibbler calmly.
Silverfish couldn’t have looked more horrified if Dibbler had worn a dress. He tried to rally.
‘Well, if you’re determined, Throat-’
‘Right!’
‘-I suppose, come to think of it, maybe we could amortize the cost over several clicks, maybe even hire it out afterwards-’ and C.M.O.T. Dibbler. Victor reached them just as Silverfish said, in astonished, tones, ‘The whole city?’ ‘You can leave out the bits round the edge,’ said Dibbler. ‘But I want the whole of the centre. The palace, the University, the Guilds - everything that makes it a real city, understand? It’s got to be right!’ He was red in the face. Behind him loomed Detritus the troll, patiently holding what appeared to be a bed over his head on one massive hand, like a waiter with a tray. Dibbler had the sheets in one hand. Then Victor realized that the whole bed, not just the sheets, was covered in writing. ‘But the cost –’ Silverfish protested
Holy Wood was awake long before Victor, and the hammering from Century of the Fruitbat echoed around the sky. Waggonloads of timber were queuing up to enter the archway. He was buffeted and pushed aside by a hurrying stream of plasterers and carpenters. Inside, crowds of workmen scurried around the arguing figures of Silverfish .
‘We’ll find the money somehow,’ said Dibbler calmly.
Silverfish couldn’t have looked more horrified if Dibbler had worn a dress. He tried to rally.
‘Well, if you’re determined, Throat-’
‘Right!’
‘-I suppose, come to think of it, maybe we could amortize the cost over several clicks, maybe even hire it out afterwards-’ and C.M.O.T. Dibbler. Victor reached them just as Silverfish said, in astonished, tones, ‘The whole city?’ ‘You can leave out the bits round the edge,’ said Dibbler. ‘But I want the whole of the centre. The palace, the University, the Guilds - everything that makes it a real city, understand? It’s got to be right!’ He was red in the face. Behind him loomed Detritus the troll, patiently holding what appeared to be a bed over his head on one massive hand, like a waiter with a tray. Dibbler had the sheets in one hand. Then Victor realized that the whole bed, not just the sheets, was covered in writing. ‘But the cost –’ Silverfish protested
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Herbert James Draper Lamia
Herbert James Draper LamiaHerbert James Draper Lament for IcarusGeorge Inness The Coming StormGeorge Inness SunsetGeorge Inness Peace and Plenty
wizards lay trembling on the flagstones for several minutes. After a while the Dean’s muffled voice, ‘Was that all, do you think?’
The Archchancellor raised his head. His face, always red, was now incandescent.
‘Bursaar!’
‘Master
Victor pulled on his trousers.
‘I suppose I get to eat breakfast?’ he said sarcastically. ‘Mr Dibbler is havin’ food laid on, Mr Dibbler says,’ said Detritus. There was a wheezing noise from under the bed. Gaspode emerged, in a cloud of old-rugness, and had an early morning scratch.
‘Wha–’ he began, and then saw the troll. ‘Bark, bark,’ he corrected himself?’ ‘That’s what I call shootin’!’ Victor turned over. ‘Wzstf,’ he said. ‘It’s six aye-emm, rise and shine, Mr Dibbler says,’ said Detritus, grasping the bedclothes in one hand and dragging them on to the floor. ‘Six o’clock? That’s night-time!’ groaned Victor. ‘It’s going to be a long day, Mr Dibbler says,’ said the troll. ‘Mr Dibbler says you got to be on set by half past six. This is goin’ to happen.’
wizards lay trembling on the flagstones for several minutes. After a while the Dean’s muffled voice, ‘Was that all, do you think?’
The Archchancellor raised his head. His face, always red, was now incandescent.
‘Bursaar!’
‘Master
Victor pulled on his trousers.
‘I suppose I get to eat breakfast?’ he said sarcastically. ‘Mr Dibbler is havin’ food laid on, Mr Dibbler says,’ said Detritus. There was a wheezing noise from under the bed. Gaspode emerged, in a cloud of old-rugness, and had an early morning scratch.
‘Wha–’ he began, and then saw the troll. ‘Bark, bark,’ he corrected himself?’ ‘That’s what I call shootin’!’ Victor turned over. ‘Wzstf,’ he said. ‘It’s six aye-emm, rise and shine, Mr Dibbler says,’ said Detritus, grasping the bedclothes in one hand and dragging them on to the floor. ‘Six o’clock? That’s night-time!’ groaned Victor. ‘It’s going to be a long day, Mr Dibbler says,’ said the troll. ‘Mr Dibbler says you got to be on set by half past six. This is goin’ to happen.’
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Unknown Artist Music and Literature
Unknown Artist Music and LiteratureUnknown Artist heda Still LifeJohn Constable Wivenhoe Park EssexJohn Constable Weymouth BayJohn William Waterhouse Destiny 1900
the sort of thing you expected in the Street of Alchemists. The neighbours preferred explosions, which were at least identifiable and soon over. They were better than the smells, which crept up on you.
Explosions were part of the scenery, such as was left.
And this onevoice, ‘f’r a word. Tip of my tongue.’
‘Blister?’ volunteered Throat.
He recovered his commercial senses. ‘After an experience like that,’ he added, proffering a pastry case full of so much reclaimed organic debris that it was very nearly sapient, ‘what you need is to get a hot meat pie inside you-’ was pretty good, even by the standards of local connoisseurs. There was a deep red heart to the billowing black smoke which you didn’t often see. The bits of semi-molten brickwork were more molten than usual. It was, they considered, quite impressive. Boom. A minute or two after the explosion a figure lurched out of the ragged hole where the door had been. It had no hair, and what clothes it still had were on fire. It staggered up to the small crowd that was admiring the devastation and by chance laid a sooty hand on a hot-meat-pie-and-sausage-in-a-bun salesman called Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler, who had an almost magical ability to turn up wherever a sale might be made. ‘Looking,’ it said, in a dreamy, stunned
the sort of thing you expected in the Street of Alchemists. The neighbours preferred explosions, which were at least identifiable and soon over. They were better than the smells, which crept up on you.
Explosions were part of the scenery, such as was left.
And this onevoice, ‘f’r a word. Tip of my tongue.’
‘Blister?’ volunteered Throat.
He recovered his commercial senses. ‘After an experience like that,’ he added, proffering a pastry case full of so much reclaimed organic debris that it was very nearly sapient, ‘what you need is to get a hot meat pie inside you-’ was pretty good, even by the standards of local connoisseurs. There was a deep red heart to the billowing black smoke which you didn’t often see. The bits of semi-molten brickwork were more molten than usual. It was, they considered, quite impressive. Boom. A minute or two after the explosion a figure lurched out of the ragged hole where the door had been. It had no hair, and what clothes it still had were on fire. It staggered up to the small crowd that was admiring the devastation and by chance laid a sooty hand on a hot-meat-pie-and-sausage-in-a-bun salesman called Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler, who had an almost magical ability to turn up wherever a sale might be made. ‘Looking,’ it said, in a dreamy, stunned
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Paul Klee Ancient Sound
Paul Klee Ancient SoundRene Magritte HomesicknessArthur Hughes PhyllisFranz Marc Zwei KatzenFranz Marc yellow cow
throbbing, a faint rising tone.
The pyramid towered over him. (IIb could have told him that this was because the walls sloped in at precisely 56 degrees, and an effect known as battering made the pyramid loom even higher than it really was. He probably would have used words like perspective and virtual height as well.
The black dead in such a bad temper,' said another priest.
Koomi watched the approaching army in mounting bewilderment.
'Where's Dios?' he said.
The old high priest was pushed to the front of the crowd.
'What shall I say to them?' Koomi demanded.
It would be wrong to say that Dios smiled. It wasn't an action he often felt called upon to perform. But his mouth creased at the edges and his eyes went half-hooded.
'You could tell them,' he said, 'that new times demand new men. You could tell themmarble was glassy smooth. The masons had done well. The cracks between each silky panel were hardly wide enough to insert a knife. But wide enough, all the same. 'How about once?' he said. Koomi chewed his fingernails distractedly. 'Fire,' he said. 'That'd stop them. They're very inflammable. Or water. They'd probably dissolve.' 'Some of them were destroying pyramids,' said the high priest of Juf, the Cobra-Headed God of Papyrus. 'People always come back from the
throbbing, a faint rising tone.
The pyramid towered over him. (IIb could have told him that this was because the walls sloped in at precisely 56 degrees, and an effect known as battering made the pyramid loom even higher than it really was. He probably would have used words like perspective and virtual height as well.
The black dead in such a bad temper,' said another priest.
Koomi watched the approaching army in mounting bewilderment.
'Where's Dios?' he said.
The old high priest was pushed to the front of the crowd.
'What shall I say to them?' Koomi demanded.
It would be wrong to say that Dios smiled. It wasn't an action he often felt called upon to perform. But his mouth creased at the edges and his eyes went half-hooded.
'You could tell them,' he said, 'that new times demand new men. You could tell themmarble was glassy smooth. The masons had done well. The cracks between each silky panel were hardly wide enough to insert a knife. But wide enough, all the same. 'How about once?' he said. Koomi chewed his fingernails distractedly. 'Fire,' he said. 'That'd stop them. They're very inflammable. Or water. They'd probably dissolve.' 'Some of them were destroying pyramids,' said the high priest of Juf, the Cobra-Headed God of Papyrus. 'People always come back from the
Friday, March 20, 2009
Henri Matisse The Green Line
Henri Matisse The Green LineHenri Matisse Red FishHenri Matisse Pink NudeHenri Matisse OdalisquesHenri Matisse Odalisque
Ptaclusp's brow furrowed. 'Tricky, that,' he said thoughtfully. 'Interesting idea. I suppose one could build a small one, a million tonner, and float it out on pontoons or something...'
'No,' said very survival depended on his memorising it in extreme detail.
'Wrong?' said Dios.
'No offence. I'm sure you mean well,' said Teppic. 'It's just that, well, he seemed very clear about it at the time and-'
'I mean well?' said Dios, tasting each word as though it was a sour grape. Ptaclusp coughed. He had finished with the floor. Now he started on the ceiling.
Dios took a deep breath. 'Sire,' he said, 'we have always been pyramid builders. All our kings are buried in pyramids. It is how we do things, sire. It is how things are done.'
'Yes, but-'Teppic, trying not to laugh, 'I think what he meant was, buried without-' 'Teppicymon XXVII means that he would want to be buried without delay,' said Dios, his voice like greased silk. 'And there is no doubt that he would require to honour the very best you can build, architect.' 'No, I'm sure you've got it wrong,' said Teppic. Dios's face froze. Ptaclusp's slid into the waxen expression of someone with whom it is, suddenly, nothing to do. He started to stare at the floor as if his
Ptaclusp's brow furrowed. 'Tricky, that,' he said thoughtfully. 'Interesting idea. I suppose one could build a small one, a million tonner, and float it out on pontoons or something...'
'No,' said very survival depended on his memorising it in extreme detail.
'Wrong?' said Dios.
'No offence. I'm sure you mean well,' said Teppic. 'It's just that, well, he seemed very clear about it at the time and-'
'I mean well?' said Dios, tasting each word as though it was a sour grape. Ptaclusp coughed. He had finished with the floor. Now he started on the ceiling.
Dios took a deep breath. 'Sire,' he said, 'we have always been pyramid builders. All our kings are buried in pyramids. It is how we do things, sire. It is how things are done.'
'Yes, but-'Teppic, trying not to laugh, 'I think what he meant was, buried without-' 'Teppicymon XXVII means that he would want to be buried without delay,' said Dios, his voice like greased silk. 'And there is no doubt that he would require to honour the very best you can build, architect.' 'No, I'm sure you've got it wrong,' said Teppic. Dios's face froze. Ptaclusp's slid into the waxen expression of someone with whom it is, suddenly, nothing to do. He started to stare at the floor as if his
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Andy Warhol Fiesta Pig
Andy Warhol Fiesta PigAndy Warhol dollar sign black and yellow on redAndy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes Lilac Blue GreenAndy Warhol Daisy Double PinkAndy Warhol Buttons
'Not at all,' said the clerk, sliding a sheet of paper across the table. 'Look here . . .'
Tomjon let the as though she owned a controlling interest.
It wasn't his face she was examining. It was his features. Her eyeballs were tracking him from nape to nose like a pair of calipers. He gave her a little brave smile, which she ignored. Just like everyone else, he thought.
Only the Fool noticed him, and returned the smile with an apologetic grin and a tiny conspiratorial waters of debate close over him again.Everyone wanted him to be king. No-one thought twice about what he wanted. His views didn't count.Yes, that was it. No-one wanted him to be king, not precisely him. He just happened to be convenient.Gold does not tarnish, at least physically, but Tomjon felt that the thin band of metal in his hands had an unpleasant depth to its lustre. It had sat on too many troubled heads. If you held it to your ear, you could hear the screams.He became aware of someone else looking at him, their gaze playing across his face like a blowlamp on a lolly. He looked up.It was the third witch, the young . . . the youngest one, with the intense expression and the hedgerow hairstyle. Sitting next to old Fool
'Not at all,' said the clerk, sliding a sheet of paper across the table. 'Look here . . .'
Tomjon let the as though she owned a controlling interest.
It wasn't his face she was examining. It was his features. Her eyeballs were tracking him from nape to nose like a pair of calipers. He gave her a little brave smile, which she ignored. Just like everyone else, he thought.
Only the Fool noticed him, and returned the smile with an apologetic grin and a tiny conspiratorial waters of debate close over him again.Everyone wanted him to be king. No-one thought twice about what he wanted. His views didn't count.Yes, that was it. No-one wanted him to be king, not precisely him. He just happened to be convenient.Gold does not tarnish, at least physically, but Tomjon felt that the thin band of metal in his hands had an unpleasant depth to its lustre. It had sat on too many troubled heads. If you held it to your ear, you could hear the screams.He became aware of someone else looking at him, their gaze playing across his face like a blowlamp on a lolly. He looked up.It was the third witch, the young . . . the youngest one, with the intense expression and the hedgerow hairstyle. Sitting next to old Fool
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
John Collier A Devonshire Orchard
John Collier A Devonshire OrchardCao Yong Red UmbrellaCao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIESCao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of Love
raked his claws across the place where the Fool's ears should have been, and was rewarded with nothing more than a metallic scraping noise.
'Who's a good boy, den?' said the Fool. 'Wowsa wowsa whoosh.'
This intrigued Greebo. The only other person who had ever spoken to him like this was Nanny Ogg; everyone else addressed him as 'Yarrgeroffoutofityahbarstard'. He leaned down very carefully, intrigued by the new ' one of them remarked, after a minute or two's reflection.
'See who it was?'
'The Fool, I think.'
There was a thoughtful pause. The second guard shifted his grip on his halberd.
'It's a rotten job,' he said. 'But I suppose someone's got to do it.'
raked his claws across the place where the Fool's ears should have been, and was rewarded with nothing more than a metallic scraping noise.
'Who's a good boy, den?' said the Fool. 'Wowsa wowsa whoosh.'
This intrigued Greebo. The only other person who had ever spoken to him like this was Nanny Ogg; everyone else addressed him as 'Yarrgeroffoutofityahbarstard'. He leaned down very carefully, intrigued by the new ' one of them remarked, after a minute or two's reflection.
'See who it was?'
'The Fool, I think.'
There was a thoughtful pause. The second guard shifted his grip on his halberd.
'It's a rotten job,' he said. 'But I suppose someone's got to do it.'
Monday, March 16, 2009
John William Waterhouse Destiny 1900
John William Waterhouse Destiny 1900John William Waterhouse The SirenJohn William Waterhouse The Lady ClareJohn William Waterhouse FloraJohn William Waterhouse Circe offering the Cup to Ulysses
'You,' she said to Hron, 'will stay here. Or run away, for all I care. But you won't follow us.'
He nodded, and stared after them as they hurried down the passage. 'The door's locked,' said the Fool. 'There's all sorts of noises, but the door's locked.'
'Well, it's a dungeon, isn't it?'
'They're not supposed to lock from the inside!'
It was, indeed, unbudgeable. Silence came from the other side – a busy, thick silence that crawled through the cracks andAnd she realised, in an absolutely clear way, that her padding had slipped down to her waist, her head felt as though a family of unhygienic birds had been nesting in it, and her eyeshadow had not so much run as sprinted. Her dress was torn in several places, her legs were scratched, her arms were bruised, and for some reason she felt on top of the world.
'I think you'd better stand back, Verence,' she said. 'I'm not sure how this is going to work.'
There was a sharp intake of breath. spilled out into the passage, a kind of silence that is worse than screams.The Fool hopped from one foot to the other as Magrat explored the door's rough surface.'Are you really a witch?' he said. 'They said you were a witch, are you really? You don't look like a witch, you look very . . . that is . . .'He blushed. 'Not like a, you know, crone at all, but absolutely beautiful . . .' His voice trailed into silence . . .I am totally in control of the situation, Magrat told herself. I never thought I would be, but I am thinking absolutely clearly.
'You,' she said to Hron, 'will stay here. Or run away, for all I care. But you won't follow us.'
He nodded, and stared after them as they hurried down the passage. 'The door's locked,' said the Fool. 'There's all sorts of noises, but the door's locked.'
'Well, it's a dungeon, isn't it?'
'They're not supposed to lock from the inside!'
It was, indeed, unbudgeable. Silence came from the other side – a busy, thick silence that crawled through the cracks andAnd she realised, in an absolutely clear way, that her padding had slipped down to her waist, her head felt as though a family of unhygienic birds had been nesting in it, and her eyeshadow had not so much run as sprinted. Her dress was torn in several places, her legs were scratched, her arms were bruised, and for some reason she felt on top of the world.
'I think you'd better stand back, Verence,' she said. 'I'm not sure how this is going to work.'
There was a sharp intake of breath. spilled out into the passage, a kind of silence that is worse than screams.The Fool hopped from one foot to the other as Magrat explored the door's rough surface.'Are you really a witch?' he said. 'They said you were a witch, are you really? You don't look like a witch, you look very . . . that is . . .'He blushed. 'Not like a, you know, crone at all, but absolutely beautiful . . .' His voice trailed into silence . . .I am totally in control of the situation, Magrat told herself. I never thought I would be, but I am thinking absolutely clearly.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Sung Kim Escape
Sung Kim EscapeUnknown Artist Tango Rouge by Hamish BlakelyUnknown Artist Orange HorizonUnknown Artist Jillian David AgaveUnknown Artist Les Vins Rouges
said it was a good squint, then Magrat's eyes were probably staring up her own nostrils.
Unlike wizards, who like nothing better than a complicated hierarchy, witches don't go in much for the 'No dancing,' Granny had warned. 'I don't hold with dancing. Or singing or getting over-excited or all that messing about with ointments and similar.'
'Does you good to get out,' said Nanny happily.structured approach to career progression. It's up to each individual witch to take on a girl to hand the area over to when she dies. Witches are not by nature gregarious, at least with other witches, and they certainly don't have leaders.Granny Weatherwax was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn't have.Magrat's hands shook slightly as they made the tea. Of course, it was all very gratifying, but it was a bit nerve-racking to start one's working life as village witch between Granny and, on the other side of the forest, Nanny Ogg. It'd been her idea to form a local coven. She felt it was more, well, occult. To her amazement the other two had agreed or, at least, hadn't disagreed much.'An oven?' Nanny Ogg had said. 'What'd we want to join an oven for?''She means a coven, Gytha,' Granny Weatherwax had explained. 'You know, like in the old days. A meeting.''A knees up?' said Nanny Ogg hopefully.
said it was a good squint, then Magrat's eyes were probably staring up her own nostrils.
Unlike wizards, who like nothing better than a complicated hierarchy, witches don't go in much for the 'No dancing,' Granny had warned. 'I don't hold with dancing. Or singing or getting over-excited or all that messing about with ointments and similar.'
'Does you good to get out,' said Nanny happily.structured approach to career progression. It's up to each individual witch to take on a girl to hand the area over to when she dies. Witches are not by nature gregarious, at least with other witches, and they certainly don't have leaders.Granny Weatherwax was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn't have.Magrat's hands shook slightly as they made the tea. Of course, it was all very gratifying, but it was a bit nerve-racking to start one's working life as village witch between Granny and, on the other side of the forest, Nanny Ogg. It'd been her idea to form a local coven. She felt it was more, well, occult. To her amazement the other two had agreed or, at least, hadn't disagreed much.'An oven?' Nanny Ogg had said. 'What'd we want to join an oven for?''She means a coven, Gytha,' Granny Weatherwax had explained. 'You know, like in the old days. A meeting.''A knees up?' said Nanny Ogg hopefully.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Albert Bierstadt Quiet Pond
Albert Bierstadt Quiet PondAlbert Bierstadt A Quiet lakeFabian Perez Waiting for the romance to come
'There's an old log over there,' she said conversationally. 'There's quite a good view across the valley. In the summertime, of course. I should like to sit down.'
Mort helped her through the drifts and brushed as much snow as possible off the wood. They sat down with the hourglass 'Well, we can.'
'He doesn't like wizards and witches much,' Mort volunteered.
'Nobody likes a smartass,' she said with some satisfaction. 'We give him trouble, you see. Priests don't, so he likes priests.'
'He's never said,' said Mort.between them. Whatever the view might have been in the summer, it now consisted of black rocks against a sky from which little flakes of snow were now tumbling.'I can't believe all this,' said Mort. 'I mean you sound as if you want to die.''There's some things I shall miss,' she said. 'But it gets thin, you know. Life, I'm referring to. You can't trust your own body any more, and it's time to move on. I reckon it's about time I tried something else. Did he tell you magical folk can see him all the time?''No,' said Mort, inaccurately.
'There's an old log over there,' she said conversationally. 'There's quite a good view across the valley. In the summertime, of course. I should like to sit down.'
Mort helped her through the drifts and brushed as much snow as possible off the wood. They sat down with the hourglass 'Well, we can.'
'He doesn't like wizards and witches much,' Mort volunteered.
'Nobody likes a smartass,' she said with some satisfaction. 'We give him trouble, you see. Priests don't, so he likes priests.'
'He's never said,' said Mort.between them. Whatever the view might have been in the summer, it now consisted of black rocks against a sky from which little flakes of snow were now tumbling.'I can't believe all this,' said Mort. 'I mean you sound as if you want to die.''There's some things I shall miss,' she said. 'But it gets thin, you know. Life, I'm referring to. You can't trust your own body any more, and it's time to move on. I reckon it's about time I tried something else. Did he tell you magical folk can see him all the time?''No,' said Mort, inaccurately.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Vincent van Gogh The potato eaters
Vincent van Gogh The potato eatersVincent van Gogh The Bedroom at ArlesVincent van Gogh Couple in the Park,Arles
'I've walked through walls,' he said, slowly and deliberately.
'Of course you have, of course you have,' mumbled Cutwell, not taking his eyes off the bag. He flicked the cork out of the bottle of blue liquid and took an absent-minded swig.
'Only before I Mort carefully picked up the bag and pulled out one small gold coin.
'A down payment,' he said, putting it on the table.
Cutwell picked up the coin as if he expected it to go bang or evaporate, and examined it carefully.
'I've never seen this sort of coin before,' he said accusingly.
'It's gold, though, isn't it?' said Mort. 'I mean, you don't have to accept it —'did it I didn't know that I could, and when I was doing it I didn't know I was, and now I've done it I can't remember how it was done. And I want to do it again.''Why?''Because,' said Mort, 'if I could walk through walls I could do anything.''Very deep,' agreed Cutwell. 'Philosophical. And the name of the young lady on the other side of this wall?''She's —' Mort swallowed. 'I don't know her name. Even if there is a girl,' he added haughtily, 'and I'm not saying there is.''Right,' said Cutwell. He took another swig, and shuddered. 'Fine. How to walk through walls. I'll do some research. It might be expensive, though.'
'I've walked through walls,' he said, slowly and deliberately.
'Of course you have, of course you have,' mumbled Cutwell, not taking his eyes off the bag. He flicked the cork out of the bottle of blue liquid and took an absent-minded swig.
'Only before I Mort carefully picked up the bag and pulled out one small gold coin.
'A down payment,' he said, putting it on the table.
Cutwell picked up the coin as if he expected it to go bang or evaporate, and examined it carefully.
'I've never seen this sort of coin before,' he said accusingly.
'It's gold, though, isn't it?' said Mort. 'I mean, you don't have to accept it —'did it I didn't know that I could, and when I was doing it I didn't know I was, and now I've done it I can't remember how it was done. And I want to do it again.''Why?''Because,' said Mort, 'if I could walk through walls I could do anything.''Very deep,' agreed Cutwell. 'Philosophical. And the name of the young lady on the other side of this wall?''She's —' Mort swallowed. 'I don't know her name. Even if there is a girl,' he added haughtily, 'and I'm not saying there is.''Right,' said Cutwell. He took another swig, and shuddered. 'Fine. How to walk through walls. I'll do some research. It might be expensive, though.'
Vincent van Gogh The Bedroom
Vincent van Gogh The BedroomVincent van Gogh Wheatfield with CrowsVincent van Gogh The Starry Night
Mort listened to the clatter of stone under the horse's hooves. Then there was the soft thud of packed earth as they reached the road, and then there was nothing at all.
He looked down and saw the landscape spread out below him, the night etched with moonlight silver. If he fell off, the onlyBut it was outshone by the glow that rose towards the stars from the Rim itself. Vast streamers of light shimmered and glittered across the night. Great golden walls surrounded the world.
'It's beautiful,' said Mort softly. 'What is it?'
THE SUN is UNDER THE Disc, said Death.
'Is it like this every night?' thing he'd hit was air.He redoubled his grip on the saddle.Then Death said, ARE YOU HUNGRY, BOY?'Yes, sir.' The words came straight from his stomach without the intervention of his brain.Death nodded, and reined in the horse. It stood on the air, the great circular panorama of the Disc glittering below it. Here and there a city was an range glow; in the warm seas nearer the Rim there was a hint of phosphorescence. In some of thedeep valleys the trapped daylight of the Disc, which is slow and slightly like silver steam.
Mort listened to the clatter of stone under the horse's hooves. Then there was the soft thud of packed earth as they reached the road, and then there was nothing at all.
He looked down and saw the landscape spread out below him, the night etched with moonlight silver. If he fell off, the onlyBut it was outshone by the glow that rose towards the stars from the Rim itself. Vast streamers of light shimmered and glittered across the night. Great golden walls surrounded the world.
'It's beautiful,' said Mort softly. 'What is it?'
THE SUN is UNDER THE Disc, said Death.
'Is it like this every night?' thing he'd hit was air.He redoubled his grip on the saddle.Then Death said, ARE YOU HUNGRY, BOY?'Yes, sir.' The words came straight from his stomach without the intervention of his brain.Death nodded, and reined in the horse. It stood on the air, the great circular panorama of the Disc glittering below it. Here and there a city was an range glow; in the warm seas nearer the Rim there was a hint of phosphorescence. In some of thedeep valleys the trapped daylight of the Disc, which is slow and slightly like silver steam.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Arthur Hughes Phyllis
Arthur Hughes PhyllisFranz Marc Zwei KatzenFranz Marc yellow cow
Mistress Weatherwax," said Granny. "Three sugars, please."
Mrs Whitlow pushed the bowl towards her. Much as she looked forward to Granny's visits it came expensive in sugar. Sugar lumps never seemed to last long around Granny.
"Very bad for the figure," she said. "And the teeth, so Aye hear."
"I never had a figure to speak of and my teeth take care of themselves," said Granny. It was true, mores the pity. Granny ?"
"I couldn't even venture a guess," said Granny, weakly.
"She said the dust was afraid of it! Can you imagine?"
"Yes," said Granny.
Mrs Whitlow pushed her teacup towards her and gave her an embarrassed smile.suffered from robustly healthy teeth, which she considered a big drawback in a witch. She really envied Nanny Annaple, the witch over the mountain, who managed to lose all her teeth by the time she was twenty and had real crone-credibility. It meant you ate a lot of soup, but you also got a lot of respect. And then there was warts. Without any effort Nanny managed to get a face like a sockful of marbles, while Granny had tried every reputable wart-causer and failed to raise even the obligatory nose wart. Some witches had all the luck. "Mmph?" she said, aware of Mrs Whitlow's fluting. "Aye said," said Mrs Whitlow, "that young Eskarina is a real treasure. Quate the little find. She keeps the floors spotless, spotless. No task too big. Aye said to her yesterday, Aye said, that broom of yours might as well have a life of its own, and do you know what she said
Mistress Weatherwax," said Granny. "Three sugars, please."
Mrs Whitlow pushed the bowl towards her. Much as she looked forward to Granny's visits it came expensive in sugar. Sugar lumps never seemed to last long around Granny.
"Very bad for the figure," she said. "And the teeth, so Aye hear."
"I never had a figure to speak of and my teeth take care of themselves," said Granny. It was true, mores the pity. Granny ?"
"I couldn't even venture a guess," said Granny, weakly.
"She said the dust was afraid of it! Can you imagine?"
"Yes," said Granny.
Mrs Whitlow pushed her teacup towards her and gave her an embarrassed smile.suffered from robustly healthy teeth, which she considered a big drawback in a witch. She really envied Nanny Annaple, the witch over the mountain, who managed to lose all her teeth by the time she was twenty and had real crone-credibility. It meant you ate a lot of soup, but you also got a lot of respect. And then there was warts. Without any effort Nanny managed to get a face like a sockful of marbles, while Granny had tried every reputable wart-causer and failed to raise even the obligatory nose wart. Some witches had all the luck. "Mmph?" she said, aware of Mrs Whitlow's fluting. "Aye said," said Mrs Whitlow, "that young Eskarina is a real treasure. Quate the little find. She keeps the floors spotless, spotless. No task too big. Aye said to her yesterday, Aye said, that broom of yours might as well have a life of its own, and do you know what she said
Francisco de Zurbaran Still life
Francisco de Zurbaran Still lifeAlbert Bierstadt The Last of the BuffaloDante Gabriel Rossetti Venus Verticordia
know you're awake," said the voice of Granny Weatherwax. "You could make yourself useful and light a fire. There's damn all wood in these parts."
Esk sat up, and clutched at the juniper bush. She felt light enough to float away.
"Fire?" she muttered.
"Yes. You know. Pointing the finger and whoosh," said Granny sourly. She was sitting on a rock, trying to find a to allow me into the University. A wizard told me, and I dreamed about it, and it was one of those true dreams. You know, like you told me, a maty-thing."
"Metterfor," said Granny calmly.position that didn't upset her arthritis. "I - I don't think I can." "You tell me?" said Granny cryptically. The old witch leaned forward and put her hand on Esk's forehead; it was like being caressed by a sock full of warm dice. "You're running a bit of a temperature," she added. "Too much hot sun and cold ground. That's forn parts for you." Esk let herself slump forward until her head lay in Granny's lap, with its familiar smells of camphor, mixed herbs and a trace of goat. Granny patted her in what she hoped was a soothing way. After a while Esk said, in a low voice, "They're not going
know you're awake," said the voice of Granny Weatherwax. "You could make yourself useful and light a fire. There's damn all wood in these parts."
Esk sat up, and clutched at the juniper bush. She felt light enough to float away.
"Fire?" she muttered.
"Yes. You know. Pointing the finger and whoosh," said Granny sourly. She was sitting on a rock, trying to find a to allow me into the University. A wizard told me, and I dreamed about it, and it was one of those true dreams. You know, like you told me, a maty-thing."
"Metterfor," said Granny calmly.position that didn't upset her arthritis. "I - I don't think I can." "You tell me?" said Granny cryptically. The old witch leaned forward and put her hand on Esk's forehead; it was like being caressed by a sock full of warm dice. "You're running a bit of a temperature," she added. "Too much hot sun and cold ground. That's forn parts for you." Esk let herself slump forward until her head lay in Granny's lap, with its familiar smells of camphor, mixed herbs and a trace of goat. Granny patted her in what she hoped was a soothing way. After a while Esk said, in a low voice, "They're not going
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Claude Monet Vetheuil In Summer
Claude Monet Vetheuil In SummerClaude Monet The LuncheonClaude Monet Sunflowers
just you listen to me, Mr. so-called Theoretical Basis Tree, if women were meant to be wizards they'd be able to grow long white beards and she is not going to be a wizard, is that quite clear, wizardry is not the way to use magic, do you hear, it's nothing but lights and fire and meddling with power and she'll be having no part of it and good night to you.
The owl swooped away from the branch. It was only because it would interfere with the flying that Granny wasn't shaking with rage. Wizards! They talked too much and pinned spells down in books like butterflies but, worst of all, own house, too?"
Moving very slowly, she walked over to the inglenook, threw a couple of split logs on to the embers of the fire, and pumped the bellows until the flames roared up the chimney.they thought theirs was the only magic worth practicing. Granny was absolutely certain of one thing. Women had never been wizards, and they weren't about to start now. She arrived back at the cottage in the pale shank of the night. Her body, at least, was rested after its slumber in the hay, and Granny had hoped to spend a few hours in the rocking chair, putting her thoughts in order. This was the time, when night wasn't quite over but day hadn't quite begun, when thoughts stood out bright and clear and without disguise. She.... The staff was leaning against the wall, by the dresser. Granny stood quite still. "I see", she said at last. "So that's the way of it, is it? In my
just you listen to me, Mr. so-called Theoretical Basis Tree, if women were meant to be wizards they'd be able to grow long white beards and she is not going to be a wizard, is that quite clear, wizardry is not the way to use magic, do you hear, it's nothing but lights and fire and meddling with power and she'll be having no part of it and good night to you.
The owl swooped away from the branch. It was only because it would interfere with the flying that Granny wasn't shaking with rage. Wizards! They talked too much and pinned spells down in books like butterflies but, worst of all, own house, too?"
Moving very slowly, she walked over to the inglenook, threw a couple of split logs on to the embers of the fire, and pumped the bellows until the flames roared up the chimney.they thought theirs was the only magic worth practicing. Granny was absolutely certain of one thing. Women had never been wizards, and they weren't about to start now. She arrived back at the cottage in the pale shank of the night. Her body, at least, was rested after its slumber in the hay, and Granny had hoped to spend a few hours in the rocking chair, putting her thoughts in order. This was the time, when night wasn't quite over but day hadn't quite begun, when thoughts stood out bright and clear and without disguise. She.... The staff was leaning against the wall, by the dresser. Granny stood quite still. "I see", she said at last. "So that's the way of it, is it? In my
Edward Hopper New York Restaurant
Edward Hopper New York RestaurantEdward Hopper Les Pont RoyalEdward Hopper Les Pont des ArtsEdward Hopper Jo in Wyoming
desperately to the lock again. It must be made of little bits of metal, not very heavy —
From the grille came the faintest of sounds. It was the noise of wizards untensing themselves and shaking their heads.
Someone whispered, 'I told you—'
There was a tiny grey-faced and swaying.
'Not bad,' said one of the wizards, looking closely at the lock. 'A little slow, perhaps.'
'Never mind that!' snapped Jiglad Wert. 'Did you three see anyone on the way down grinding noise, and a click.Rincewind's face was a mask. Perspiration dripped off his chin.There was another click, and the grinding of reluctant spindles. Trymon had oiled the lock, but the oil had been soaked up by the rust and dust of years, and the only way for a wizard to move something by magic, unless he can harness some external movement, is to use the leverage of his mind itself.Rincewind was trying very hard to prevent his brain being pushed out of his ears.The lock rattled. Metal rods flexed in pitted groves, gave in, pushed levers.Levers clicked, notches engaged. There was a long drawn-out grinding noise that left Rincewind on his knees.The door swung open on pained hinges. The wizards sidled out cautiously.Twoflower and Bethan helped Rincewind to his feet. He stood
desperately to the lock again. It must be made of little bits of metal, not very heavy —
From the grille came the faintest of sounds. It was the noise of wizards untensing themselves and shaking their heads.
Someone whispered, 'I told you—'
There was a tiny grey-faced and swaying.
'Not bad,' said one of the wizards, looking closely at the lock. 'A little slow, perhaps.'
'Never mind that!' snapped Jiglad Wert. 'Did you three see anyone on the way down grinding noise, and a click.Rincewind's face was a mask. Perspiration dripped off his chin.There was another click, and the grinding of reluctant spindles. Trymon had oiled the lock, but the oil had been soaked up by the rust and dust of years, and the only way for a wizard to move something by magic, unless he can harness some external movement, is to use the leverage of his mind itself.Rincewind was trying very hard to prevent his brain being pushed out of his ears.The lock rattled. Metal rods flexed in pitted groves, gave in, pushed levers.Levers clicked, notches engaged. There was a long drawn-out grinding noise that left Rincewind on his knees.The door swung open on pained hinges. The wizards sidled out cautiously.Twoflower and Bethan helped Rincewind to his feet. He stood
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuil
Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuilPaul Gauguin Woman with a FlowerPaul Gauguin The Seed of AreoiPaul Gauguin The Moon and the Earth
A MINUTE – PESTILENCE IS SOUTH?
'Oh, come on, Mort, He explained that. What if Famine had played a – what was it – a trump return!' It was a breathy, wet voice, practically contagious all by itself.
'Ah, then you'd through the velvet.
'Do you understand any of that?' she asked.
'Not a word,' he said.
'It sounds awfully complicated.'
On the other side of the door the heavy voice saidonly be able to ruff one Turtle instead of two,' said Twoflower enthusiastically.'But if War had chosen a trump lead originally, then the contract would have gone two down?''Exactly!'I DIDN'T QUITE FOLLOW THAT. TELL ME ABOUT PSYCHIC BIDS AGAIN, I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING THE HANG OF THAT. It was a heavy, hollow voice, like two large lumps of lead smashing together.'That's when you make a bid primarily to deceive your opponents, but of course it might cause problems for your partner —'Twoflower's voice rambled on in its enthusiastic way. Rincewind looked blankly at Ysabell as words like rebiddable suit', 'double finesse' and 'grand slam' floated
A MINUTE – PESTILENCE IS SOUTH?
'Oh, come on, Mort, He explained that. What if Famine had played a – what was it – a trump return!' It was a breathy, wet voice, practically contagious all by itself.
'Ah, then you'd through the velvet.
'Do you understand any of that?' she asked.
'Not a word,' he said.
'It sounds awfully complicated.'
On the other side of the door the heavy voice saidonly be able to ruff one Turtle instead of two,' said Twoflower enthusiastically.'But if War had chosen a trump lead originally, then the contract would have gone two down?''Exactly!'I DIDN'T QUITE FOLLOW THAT. TELL ME ABOUT PSYCHIC BIDS AGAIN, I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING THE HANG OF THAT. It was a heavy, hollow voice, like two large lumps of lead smashing together.'That's when you make a bid primarily to deceive your opponents, but of course it might cause problems for your partner —'Twoflower's voice rambled on in its enthusiastic way. Rincewind looked blankly at Ysabell as words like rebiddable suit', 'double finesse' and 'grand slam' floated
Monday, March 2, 2009
Johannes Vermeer A Lady Writing a Letter
Johannes Vermeer A Lady Writing a LetterUnknown Artist Wooded LandscapeUnknown Artist The Wetterhorn with the ReichenbachtalUnknown Artist Peter Monamy
Trymon had tugged a heavy, full-length mirror into the middle of the floor. When I am head of the Order, he told himself, I certainly won't shuffle around in carpet slippers.
Trymon, as 'allow for wind speed of, say, three knots' and 'adjust for temperature' and then, with a rather disappointing movement, released the arrow.
If the laws of action and reaction had anything to do with it, it should have flopped to the ground a few feet away. But no-one was listening to them.
With a sound that defies description, but which for the sake of completeness can be thought of basically as 'spang!' plus three days hard work in any decently equipped radiophonic mentioned earlier, felt that a lot could be done by fresh blood if only the dead wood could be removed – but, just for the moment, he was genuinely interested in seeing what the old fool would do next.He may have derived some satisfaction if he had known that Galder and Skrelt Changebasket were both absolutely wrong.Galder made a few passes in front of the glass, which clouded over and then cleared to show an aerial view of the Forest of Skund. He looked at it intently while holding the bow with the arrow pointing vaguely at the ceiling. He muttered a few words like
Trymon had tugged a heavy, full-length mirror into the middle of the floor. When I am head of the Order, he told himself, I certainly won't shuffle around in carpet slippers.
Trymon, as 'allow for wind speed of, say, three knots' and 'adjust for temperature' and then, with a rather disappointing movement, released the arrow.
If the laws of action and reaction had anything to do with it, it should have flopped to the ground a few feet away. But no-one was listening to them.
With a sound that defies description, but which for the sake of completeness can be thought of basically as 'spang!' plus three days hard work in any decently equipped radiophonic mentioned earlier, felt that a lot could be done by fresh blood if only the dead wood could be removed – but, just for the moment, he was genuinely interested in seeing what the old fool would do next.He may have derived some satisfaction if he had known that Galder and Skrelt Changebasket were both absolutely wrong.Galder made a few passes in front of the glass, which clouded over and then cleared to show an aerial view of the Forest of Skund. He looked at it intently while holding the bow with the arrow pointing vaguely at the ceiling. He muttered a few words like
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Arrival of the Boats
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Arrival of the BoatsJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Valencian SceneJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida The Wounded FootJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Stemming Raisins Javea
and quite a large amount of floating wood in the form of planks, baulks and even whole natural tree trunks, some still sporting green leaves. This close to the Edge the disc's magical field was so intense that a hazy corona flickered across everything as raw illusion spontaneously discharged itself.
With a last few squeaky magic was sleeting soundlessly into the world.
The wizard and Twoflower scrambled onto the planking and for the first time Rincewind saw the troll.
It wasn't half so dreadful as he had imagined. Umm, said his imagination after a while.
It wasn't that the troll was horrifying. Instead of the rotting, betentacled monstrosity he had been expecting jerks the boat slid up against a small driftwood jetty. As it grounded itself and formed a circuit Rincewind felt all the familiar sensations of a huge occult aura - oily, bluish-tasting, and smelling of tin. All around them pure, unfocused
and quite a large amount of floating wood in the form of planks, baulks and even whole natural tree trunks, some still sporting green leaves. This close to the Edge the disc's magical field was so intense that a hazy corona flickered across everything as raw illusion spontaneously discharged itself.
With a last few squeaky magic was sleeting soundlessly into the world.
The wizard and Twoflower scrambled onto the planking and for the first time Rincewind saw the troll.
It wasn't half so dreadful as he had imagined. Umm, said his imagination after a while.
It wasn't that the troll was horrifying. Instead of the rotting, betentacled monstrosity he had been expecting jerks the boat slid up against a small driftwood jetty. As it grounded itself and formed a circuit Rincewind felt all the familiar sensations of a huge occult aura - oily, bluish-tasting, and smelling of tin. All around them pure, unfocused
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