Andrea Mantegna The Madonna of the CherubimAndrea Mantegna The Adoration of the ShepherdsAndrea Mantegna St GeorgeThomas Moran Zion Valley, South UtahThomas Moran The Wilds of Lake Superior
The rope completed its swing. There was a noise exactly like a rubber sack full of butter hitting a stone slab and this was followed, after a moment or two, by a very quiet ‘oook’.
The pike clanged away in the darkness. The Librarian spread‑eagled himself starfish‑like against the wall, ramming sighed. ‘There must be thousands of them, and no‑one’s selling ‘em anything.’
The wheelchair slid to a halt in another spray of sparks.
Victor was waiting for it, the spectral horse flickering under him. Not one horse, but a succession of horses. Not moving, but changing from frame to frame.
Lightning flashed again.fingers and toes into every available crevice.He might have been able to climb his way down but the option never became available, because the Thing reached out a flickering hand and plucked him off the wall with a noise like a sink‑plunger clearing a difficult blockage.It held him up to what was currently its face. The crowds flowed into the square in front of Unseen University, with the Dibblers to the fore.‘Look at them,’ Cut‑me‑own‑Throat
Tuesday 31 March 2009
Monday 30 March 2009
Paul Gauguin Tahitian Woman
Paul Gauguin Tahitian WomanPaul Gauguin JoyousnessThomas Kinkade country livingHenri Matisse View of CollioureHenri Matisse The Painter's Family
Great harm will befall,’ muttered Gaspode. ‘That’s boding talk, that is.’
‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ said Victor. ‘You asked me to stop you! Come back. Come back with me now.’
He tried to climb up . . .
. . . and slowly out of the wall and smashed on the seats. Fragments of rock pattered down, and a rumbling counterpoint to the blare suggested that the noise was rearranging the shape of the whole cavern.
And then it died, with a long strangulated gurgle and a final gasp. A series of jerks and creaks indicated that whatever prehistoric machinery had been activated by Victor had given of its all before collapsing.
Silence returned.something sank under his foot. There was a faraway gurgling noise, a metallic clonk, and then one watery musical note billowed up around him and echoed around the cavern. He moved his foot hurriedly, but only on to another part of the ledge which sank like the first, producing a different note.Now there was a scraping sound as well. Victor had been standing in a small sunken pit. Now to his horror he realized that it was rising slowly, to the accompaniment of blaring notes and the whirr and wheeze of ancient machinery. He thrust out his hands and hit a corroded lever, which produced a different chord and then snapped off. Laddie was howling. Victor saw Ginger drop her torch and clap her hands over her ears.A block of masonry leaned
Great harm will befall,’ muttered Gaspode. ‘That’s boding talk, that is.’
‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ said Victor. ‘You asked me to stop you! Come back. Come back with me now.’
He tried to climb up . . .
. . . and slowly out of the wall and smashed on the seats. Fragments of rock pattered down, and a rumbling counterpoint to the blare suggested that the noise was rearranging the shape of the whole cavern.
And then it died, with a long strangulated gurgle and a final gasp. A series of jerks and creaks indicated that whatever prehistoric machinery had been activated by Victor had given of its all before collapsing.
Silence returned.something sank under his foot. There was a faraway gurgling noise, a metallic clonk, and then one watery musical note billowed up around him and echoed around the cavern. He moved his foot hurriedly, but only on to another part of the ledge which sank like the first, producing a different note.Now there was a scraping sound as well. Victor had been standing in a small sunken pit. Now to his horror he realized that it was rising slowly, to the accompaniment of blaring notes and the whirr and wheeze of ancient machinery. He thrust out his hands and hit a corroded lever, which produced a different chord and then snapped off. Laddie was howling. Victor saw Ginger drop her torch and clap her hands over her ears.A block of masonry leaned
Friday 27 March 2009
Claude Monet The women in the Garden
Claude Monet The women in the GardenClaude Monet The PicnicClaude Monet La GrenouillereFabian Perez TangoFabian Perez Flamenco
back of the alcove was a brass key.
He took the key, and then he took a deep breath.
All the Books of Power had their own particular natures. The Octavo was harsh and imperious. The Bumper Fun The door swung open.
In the darkness within, a chain gave a fait clink.
‘She’s still breathing,’ said Victor. Laddie leapt around them, barking furiously. Grimoire went in for deadly practical jokes. The Joy of Tantric Sex had to be kept under iced water. The Librarian knew them all, and how to deal with them. This one was different. Usually people saw only tenth- or twelfthhand copies, as like the real thing as a painting or an explosion was to, well, to an explosion. This was a book that had absorbed the sheer, graphite-grey evil of its subject matter. Its name was hacked in letters over the arch, lest men and apes forget. NECROTELICOMNICON. He put the key in the lock, and offered up a prayer to the gods. ‘Oook,’ he said fervently. ‘Gook.’
back of the alcove was a brass key.
He took the key, and then he took a deep breath.
All the Books of Power had their own particular natures. The Octavo was harsh and imperious. The Bumper Fun The door swung open.
In the darkness within, a chain gave a fait clink.
‘She’s still breathing,’ said Victor. Laddie leapt around them, barking furiously. Grimoire went in for deadly practical jokes. The Joy of Tantric Sex had to be kept under iced water. The Librarian knew them all, and how to deal with them. This one was different. Usually people saw only tenth- or twelfthhand copies, as like the real thing as a painting or an explosion was to, well, to an explosion. This was a book that had absorbed the sheer, graphite-grey evil of its subject matter. Its name was hacked in letters over the arch, lest men and apes forget. NECROTELICOMNICON. He put the key in the lock, and offered up a prayer to the gods. ‘Oook,’ he said fervently. ‘Gook.’
Thursday 26 March 2009
Johannes Vermeer Diana and her Companions
Johannes Vermeer Diana and her CompanionsJohannes Vermeer Christ in the House of Mary and MarthaUnknown Artist warmth by volkUnknown Artist James Wiens Birch Silhouette IPablo Picasso the dog
tried a dive, fighting his way down until his ears clanged. The largest lobster he had ever seen waved its feelers at him from a rocky spire and snapped away into the depths.
Victor bobbedbut apparently by design, in neat piles. Further along, stones had been stacked into a crude fireplace.
It was clogged with sand. Maybe someone else had been living on the beach, waiting for their big chance in moving pictures. Come to think of it, the timber behind the half-buried stones had a dragged-together look. You could imagine, looking at it from the sea, that several balks of timber had been set up to form an arched doorway. up again, gasping, and struck out for the shore. Well, if you couldn’t make it in moving pictures there was an opening here for a fisherman, that was certain. A beachcomber would do all right, as well. There was enough winddried firewood piled up on the edge of the dunes to keep Ankh-Morpork’s fires supplied for years. No-one in Holy Wood would dream of lighting a fire except for cooking or company. And someone had been doing just that. As he waded ashore Victor realized that the wood further along the beach had been stacked not haphazardly
tried a dive, fighting his way down until his ears clanged. The largest lobster he had ever seen waved its feelers at him from a rocky spire and snapped away into the depths.
Victor bobbedbut apparently by design, in neat piles. Further along, stones had been stacked into a crude fireplace.
It was clogged with sand. Maybe someone else had been living on the beach, waiting for their big chance in moving pictures. Come to think of it, the timber behind the half-buried stones had a dragged-together look. You could imagine, looking at it from the sea, that several balks of timber had been set up to form an arched doorway. up again, gasping, and struck out for the shore. Well, if you couldn’t make it in moving pictures there was an opening here for a fisherman, that was certain. A beachcomber would do all right, as well. There was enough winddried firewood piled up on the edge of the dunes to keep Ankh-Morpork’s fires supplied for years. No-one in Holy Wood would dream of lighting a fire except for cooking or company. And someone had been doing just that. As he waded ashore Victor realized that the wood further along the beach had been stacked not haphazardly
Wednesday 25 March 2009
Paul Gauguin Breton Girls Dancing
Paul Gauguin Breton Girls DancingHenri Matisse The MoroccansHenri Matisse Still Life with OrangesHenri Matisse Open Window CollioureHenri Matisse Blue Nude
then, very carefully, turned over the paper on the desk.
After ten seconds, and against all reason, he turned it over again just in case there had been a mistake and the rest of the the more logical it seemed. The Archchancellor had probably signed the papers and then, when the clerks had been copying them out, one of them had got as far as the all-important first question and then maybe had been called away or something, and no-one had noticed, and it’d got put on Victor’s desk, but now he wasn’t here and Ponder had got it which meant, he decided, in a sudden rush of piety, that the gods must have wanted him to get it. After all, it wasn’t his fault if some sort of error gave him a paper like this. It was probably sacrilegious questions had somehow been on the top side after all. Around him there was the intense silence of fifty-nine minds creaking with sustained effort. Ponder turned the paper over again. Perhaps it- was some mistake. No . . . there was the University seal and the signature of the Archchancellor and everything. So perhaps it was some sort of special test. Perhaps they were watching him now to see what he’d do . . . He peered around furtively. The other students seemed to be working hard. Perhaps it was a mistake after all. Yes. The more he came to think about it,
then, very carefully, turned over the paper on the desk.
After ten seconds, and against all reason, he turned it over again just in case there had been a mistake and the rest of the the more logical it seemed. The Archchancellor had probably signed the papers and then, when the clerks had been copying them out, one of them had got as far as the all-important first question and then maybe had been called away or something, and no-one had noticed, and it’d got put on Victor’s desk, but now he wasn’t here and Ponder had got it which meant, he decided, in a sudden rush of piety, that the gods must have wanted him to get it. After all, it wasn’t his fault if some sort of error gave him a paper like this. It was probably sacrilegious questions had somehow been on the top side after all. Around him there was the intense silence of fifty-nine minds creaking with sustained effort. Ponder turned the paper over again. Perhaps it- was some mistake. No . . . there was the University seal and the signature of the Archchancellor and everything. So perhaps it was some sort of special test. Perhaps they were watching him now to see what he’d do . . . He peered around furtively. The other students seemed to be working hard. Perhaps it was a mistake after all. Yes. The more he came to think about it,
Monday 23 March 2009
John Constable The Hay Wain
John Constable The Hay WainJohn Constable Salisbury CathedralJohn Constable Salisbury Cathedral from the MeadowsJohn Constable Hadleigh CastleJohn Constable Flatford Mill
'As an assassin, I mean. You get paid to kill people. Have you killed lots? Do you know you tense your back muscles a lot?'
'I don't think I ought to talk about it,' he said.
'I ought to know. If we've got to cross the desert together and everything. More than a hundred?'
'Good heavens, no.,
'Well, ?'
'There's a different name for that sort of woman,' said Ptraci, but without much rancour.
'Sorry. Less than ten?'
'Let's say,' said Ptraci, 'a number between zero and tenless than fifty?' Teppic rolled over. 'Look, even the most famous assassins never killed more than thirty people in all their lives,' he said. 'Less than twenty, then?' 'Yes.' 'Less than ten?' 'I think,' said Teppic, 'it would be best to say a number between zero and ten.' 'Just so long as I know. These things are important.' They strolled back to You Bastard. But now it was Teppic who seemed to have something on his mind. 'All this senate . . .' he said. 'Congress,' corrected Ptraci. 'You . . . er . . . more than fifty people
'As an assassin, I mean. You get paid to kill people. Have you killed lots? Do you know you tense your back muscles a lot?'
'I don't think I ought to talk about it,' he said.
'I ought to know. If we've got to cross the desert together and everything. More than a hundred?'
'Good heavens, no.,
'Well, ?'
'There's a different name for that sort of woman,' said Ptraci, but without much rancour.
'Sorry. Less than ten?'
'Let's say,' said Ptraci, 'a number between zero and tenless than fifty?' Teppic rolled over. 'Look, even the most famous assassins never killed more than thirty people in all their lives,' he said. 'Less than twenty, then?' 'Yes.' 'Less than ten?' 'I think,' said Teppic, 'it would be best to say a number between zero and ten.' 'Just so long as I know. These things are important.' They strolled back to You Bastard. But now it was Teppic who seemed to have something on his mind. 'All this senate . . .' he said. 'Congress,' corrected Ptraci. 'You . . . er . . . more than fifty people
Friday 20 March 2009
Jack Vettriano And So to Bed
Jack Vettriano And So to BedJack Vettriano an Imperfect pastJack Vettriano An Imperfect Past IIJack Vettriano Amateur PhilosophersJack Vettriano along game a Spider
about. The unsuccessful ones weren't around to ask.
Teppic's mind filled up with options. At a time like this, he thought, some divine guidance would be necessary. Where are you, dad?'
He envied his fellow students who believed in gods that were intangible and lived a long way away on top of some mountain. A fellow could really believe in gods like that. But it was extremely hard to believe in a god when you saw him at breakfast every day.
He unslungof his mind.
He knew he couldn't.
Octeday afternoons was Political Expediency with Lady T'malia, one of the few women to achieve high office in the Guild. In the lands around the Circle Sea it was generally agreed that one way to achieve a long life was not to have a meal with her Ladyship. The jewellery of one hand alone carried enough poison to inhume his crossbow and screwed its greased sections together. It wasn't a proper weapon, but he'd run out of knives and his lips were too dry for the blowpipe. There was a clicking from the corner. Mericet was idly tapping his teeth with his pencil. It could be a dummy under there. How would he know? No, it had to be a real person. You heard tales. Perhaps he could try the rods- He shook his head, raised the crossbow, and took careful aim. 'Whenever you like Mr Teppic.' This was it. This was where they found out if you could kill. This was what he had been trying to put out
about. The unsuccessful ones weren't around to ask.
Teppic's mind filled up with options. At a time like this, he thought, some divine guidance would be necessary. Where are you, dad?'
He envied his fellow students who believed in gods that were intangible and lived a long way away on top of some mountain. A fellow could really believe in gods like that. But it was extremely hard to believe in a god when you saw him at breakfast every day.
He unslungof his mind.
He knew he couldn't.
Octeday afternoons was Political Expediency with Lady T'malia, one of the few women to achieve high office in the Guild. In the lands around the Circle Sea it was generally agreed that one way to achieve a long life was not to have a meal with her Ladyship. The jewellery of one hand alone carried enough poison to inhume his crossbow and screwed its greased sections together. It wasn't a proper weapon, but he'd run out of knives and his lips were too dry for the blowpipe. There was a clicking from the corner. Mericet was idly tapping his teeth with his pencil. It could be a dummy under there. How would he know? No, it had to be a real person. You heard tales. Perhaps he could try the rods- He shook his head, raised the crossbow, and took careful aim. 'Whenever you like Mr Teppic.' This was it. This was where they found out if you could kill. This was what he had been trying to put out
Thursday 19 March 2009
Andrea Mantegna Virgin and child with the Magdalen and St John the Baptist
Andrea Mantegna Virgin and child with the Magdalen and St John the BaptistAndrea Mantegna The Madonna of the CherubimAndrea Mantegna The Adoration of the ShepherdsAndrea Mantegna St GeorgeThomas Moran Zion Valley, South Utah
He wondered whether he dared shout, and decided against it.
He stood up. He removed his helmet, to show respect, and sidled through the damp grass to the back door. He knocked, very gently.duke.
The sergeant stared fixedly at an area a few inches to the right of the duke's chair.
'She give me a cup of tea, sir,' he said.
'And what about your men?'
'She give them one too, sir.'you did not in fact do this thing that I asked?'
'Sir?'
'I expect she said some magic words, did she? I've heard about witches,' said the duke, who had spent the night before reading, until his bandaged hands shook too much, some of the more excitable works on the subject.[3] 'I imagine she offered you visions . It had currants in it.'
Felmet sat absolutely still while he fought for internal peace. Finally, all he could manage was, 'And what did your men do about this?'
'They had a bun
He wondered whether he dared shout, and decided against it.
He stood up. He removed his helmet, to show respect, and sidled through the damp grass to the back door. He knocked, very gently.duke.
The sergeant stared fixedly at an area a few inches to the right of the duke's chair.
'She give me a cup of tea, sir,' he said.
'And what about your men?'
'She give them one too, sir.'you did not in fact do this thing that I asked?'
'Sir?'
'I expect she said some magic words, did she? I've heard about witches,' said the duke, who had spent the night before reading, until his bandaged hands shook too much, some of the more excitable works on the subject.[3] 'I imagine she offered you visions . It had currants in it.'
Felmet sat absolutely still while he fought for internal peace. Finally, all he could manage was, 'And what did your men do about this?'
'They had a bun
Wednesday 18 March 2009
Garmash Sleeping Beauty
Garmash Sleeping BeautyMarc Chagall The Wedding CandlesMarc Chagall The Cattle DealerMarc Chagall Lovers in the MoonlightMarc Chagall Le Champ de Mars
are lost, aren't we?' said Tomjon, after a while.
'Certainly not.'
'Where are we, then?'
'The mountains. Perfectly clear on any atlas.'
'We ought to stop and ask someone.'
Tomjon gazed around at the rolling countryside. Somewhere a lonely curlew howled, or possibly it was a badger – Hwel was a little hazy about rural matters, at least those that took place higher than about the limestone layer. There wasn't another human being within miles.
'Who did you have in mind?' he said sarcastically.
'That old woman in the funny hat,' said Tomjon, pointing. 'I've been watching her. She keeps ducking down behind a bush when she thinks I've seen her.'
Hwel 'What about my poor old heart?' said Granny, who wasn't used to acting like an old woman and had a very limited repertoire in this area. But it's traditional that young heirs seeking their destiny get help from mysterious old women gathering wood, and she wasn't about to buck tradition.
'It's just that you mentioned it,' said Hwel.
'Well, it isn't important. Lawks. I expect you're looking for Lancre,' said Granny testily, in a hurry to get to the point.turned and looked down at a bramble bush, which wobbled.'Ho there, good mother,' he said.The bush sprouted an indignant head.'Whose mother?' it said.Hwel hesitated. 'Just a figure of speech, Mrs . . . Miss . . .''Mistress,' snapped Granny Weatherwax. 'And I'm a poor old woman gathering wood,' she added defiantly.She cleared her throat. 'Lawks,' she went on. 'You did give me a fright, young master. My poor old heart.'There was silence from the carts. Then Tomjon said, 'I'm sorry?''What?' said Granny.'Your poor old heart what?'
are lost, aren't we?' said Tomjon, after a while.
'Certainly not.'
'Where are we, then?'
'The mountains. Perfectly clear on any atlas.'
'We ought to stop and ask someone.'
Tomjon gazed around at the rolling countryside. Somewhere a lonely curlew howled, or possibly it was a badger – Hwel was a little hazy about rural matters, at least those that took place higher than about the limestone layer. There wasn't another human being within miles.
'Who did you have in mind?' he said sarcastically.
'That old woman in the funny hat,' said Tomjon, pointing. 'I've been watching her. She keeps ducking down behind a bush when she thinks I've seen her.'
Hwel 'What about my poor old heart?' said Granny, who wasn't used to acting like an old woman and had a very limited repertoire in this area. But it's traditional that young heirs seeking their destiny get help from mysterious old women gathering wood, and she wasn't about to buck tradition.
'It's just that you mentioned it,' said Hwel.
'Well, it isn't important. Lawks. I expect you're looking for Lancre,' said Granny testily, in a hurry to get to the point.turned and looked down at a bramble bush, which wobbled.'Ho there, good mother,' he said.The bush sprouted an indignant head.'Whose mother?' it said.Hwel hesitated. 'Just a figure of speech, Mrs . . . Miss . . .''Mistress,' snapped Granny Weatherwax. 'And I'm a poor old woman gathering wood,' she added defiantly.She cleared her throat. 'Lawks,' she went on. 'You did give me a fright, young master. My poor old heart.'There was silence from the carts. Then Tomjon said, 'I'm sorry?''What?' said Granny.'Your poor old heart what?'
Monday 16 March 2009
Albert Moore A Musician
Albert Moore A MusicianMark Rothko White over RedPaul Klee Red BridgePaul Klee Red And White DomesPaul Klee Fire in the Evening
. . .he had to kiss her. Very romantic, Black Aliss was. There was always a bit of romance in her spells. She liked nothing better than Girl meets Frog.'
'Why did they call her Black Aliss?'
'Fingernails,' said Granny.
'And teeth,' past and afternoons that had lasted forever. Some minutes had lasted hours, some hours had gone past so quickly she hadn't been aware they'd gone past at all . . .
'But that's just people's perception,' she said. 'Isn't it?'
'Oh, yes,' said Granny, 'of course it is. It all is. What difference does that make?'
'A hundred years'd be over-egging it, mind,' said Nanny.said Nanny Ogg. 'She had a sweet tooth. Lived in a real gingerbread cottage. Couple of kids shoved her in her own oven at the end. Shocking.''And you're going to send the castle to sleep?' said Magrat.'She never sent the castle to sleep,' said Granny. 'That's just an old wives' tale,' she added, glaring at Nanny. 'She just stirred up time a little. It's not as hard as people think. Everyone does it all the time. It's like rubber, is time. You can stretch it to suit yourself.'Magrat was about to say, that's not right, time is time, every second lasts a second, that's what it's for, that's its job . . .And then she recalled weeks that had flown
. . .he had to kiss her. Very romantic, Black Aliss was. There was always a bit of romance in her spells. She liked nothing better than Girl meets Frog.'
'Why did they call her Black Aliss?'
'Fingernails,' said Granny.
'And teeth,' past and afternoons that had lasted forever. Some minutes had lasted hours, some hours had gone past so quickly she hadn't been aware they'd gone past at all . . .
'But that's just people's perception,' she said. 'Isn't it?'
'Oh, yes,' said Granny, 'of course it is. It all is. What difference does that make?'
'A hundred years'd be over-egging it, mind,' said Nanny.said Nanny Ogg. 'She had a sweet tooth. Lived in a real gingerbread cottage. Couple of kids shoved her in her own oven at the end. Shocking.''And you're going to send the castle to sleep?' said Magrat.'She never sent the castle to sleep,' said Granny. 'That's just an old wives' tale,' she added, glaring at Nanny. 'She just stirred up time a little. It's not as hard as people think. Everyone does it all the time. It's like rubber, is time. You can stretch it to suit yourself.'Magrat was about to say, that's not right, time is time, every second lasts a second, that's what it's for, that's its job . . .And then she recalled weeks that had flown
Sunday 15 March 2009
Frida Kahlo Thinking about Death
Frida Kahlo Thinking about DeathFrida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy HaleFrida Kahlo Sun and LifeFrida Kahlo Still Life with ParrotFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with Loose Hair
Nothing there. Nothing there. The feeling was all around her, and there was nothing to cause it. She'd gone down about as far as she could, to the smallest creature in the kingdom, and there was nothing there.
Granny Weatherwax sat up in bed, lit a candle and reached for an apple. She glared at her bedroom wall.
She didn't need to be, the construction of the castle being such that it swayed slightly even in a gentle breeze. A small turret toppled slowly into the depths of the misty canyon.
The Fool lay on his flagstones and shivered in his sleep. He appreciated the honour, if it was an honour, but didn't like being beaten. There was something out there, something drinking in magic, something growing, something dial seemed so alive it was all around the house, and she couldn't find it.She reduced the apple to its core and placed it carefully in the tray of the candlestick. Then she blew out the candle.The cold velvet of the night slid back into the room.Granny had one last try. Perhaps she was looking in the wrong way . . .A moment later she was lying on the floor with the pillow clasped around her head.And to think she had expected it to be small . . . Lancre Castle shook. It wasn't a violent shaking, but it
Nothing there. Nothing there. The feeling was all around her, and there was nothing to cause it. She'd gone down about as far as she could, to the smallest creature in the kingdom, and there was nothing there.
Granny Weatherwax sat up in bed, lit a candle and reached for an apple. She glared at her bedroom wall.
She didn't need to be, the construction of the castle being such that it swayed slightly even in a gentle breeze. A small turret toppled slowly into the depths of the misty canyon.
The Fool lay on his flagstones and shivered in his sleep. He appreciated the honour, if it was an honour, but didn't like being beaten. There was something out there, something drinking in magic, something growing, something dial seemed so alive it was all around the house, and she couldn't find it.She reduced the apple to its core and placed it carefully in the tray of the candlestick. Then she blew out the candle.The cold velvet of the night slid back into the room.Granny had one last try. Perhaps she was looking in the wrong way . . .A moment later she was lying on the floor with the pillow clasped around her head.And to think she had expected it to be small . . . Lancre Castle shook. It wasn't a violent shaking, but it
Friday 13 March 2009
George Inness Pond at Milton on the Hudson
George Inness Pond at Milton on the HudsonGeorge Inness Passing CloudsGeorge Inness End of Day
all those statues!'
THOSE STATUES, I'M SORRY TO SAY, WERE PEOPLE. SERVANTS FOR THE KING, YOU UNDERSTAND.
Ysabell's face him, and peered over a canoe at a young girl sprawled across a pile of rugs. She was wearing gauze trousers, a waistcoat cut from not enough material, and enough bangles to moor a decent-sized ship. There was a green stain around her mouth.
'Does it hurt?' said Ysabell quietly.
No. THEY THINK IT TAKES THEM TO PARADISE.set grimly.THE PRIESTS GIVE THEM POISON.There was another groan, from the other side of the cluttered room. Mort followed it to its source, stepping awkwardly over rolls of carpet, bunches of dates, crates of crockery and piles of gems. The long obviously hadn't been able to decide what he was going to leave behind on his journey, so had decided to play safe and take everything.ONLY IT DOESNT ALWAYS WORK QUICKLY, Mort added sombrely.Ysabell clambered gamely after
all those statues!'
THOSE STATUES, I'M SORRY TO SAY, WERE PEOPLE. SERVANTS FOR THE KING, YOU UNDERSTAND.
Ysabell's face him, and peered over a canoe at a young girl sprawled across a pile of rugs. She was wearing gauze trousers, a waistcoat cut from not enough material, and enough bangles to moor a decent-sized ship. There was a green stain around her mouth.
'Does it hurt?' said Ysabell quietly.
No. THEY THINK IT TAKES THEM TO PARADISE.set grimly.THE PRIESTS GIVE THEM POISON.There was another groan, from the other side of the cluttered room. Mort followed it to its source, stepping awkwardly over rolls of carpet, bunches of dates, crates of crockery and piles of gems. The long obviously hadn't been able to decide what he was going to leave behind on his journey, so had decided to play safe and take everything.ONLY IT DOESNT ALWAYS WORK QUICKLY, Mort added sombrely.Ysabell clambered gamely after
Thursday 12 March 2009
Joseph Mallord William Turner The Burning of the Houses of Parliament
Joseph Mallord William Turner The Burning of the Houses of ParliamentJoseph Mallord William Turner RainbowJoseph Mallord William Turner Moonlight A Study at Millbank
to get it off his chest. Own up like a man. Take his on table. Beating about bush, none of. Mercy, throw himself on.
The cunningly mimic the real thing. There are the right flies for morning. There are different flies for the evening rise. And so on.
But the thing between Death's triumphant digits was a fly from the dawn of time. It was the fly in the primordial soup. It had bred on mammoth turds. It wasn't a fly that bangs on window panes, it was a fly that drills through walls. It was an insect that would crawl out from between the slats of the heaviest swat dripping venom and seeking revenge. Strange wings and dangling bits stuck out all over it. It seemed to have a lot of teeth.
'What's it called?' said Mort.piercing blue eyes glittered at him.He looked back like a nocturnal rabbit trying to outstare the headlights of a sixteen-wheeled artic whose driver is a twelve-hour caffeine freak outrunning the tac hell.He failed.'No, sir,'he said.GOOD. WELL DONE. Now THEN, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS?Anglers reckon that a good dry fly should
to get it off his chest. Own up like a man. Take his on table. Beating about bush, none of. Mercy, throw himself on.
The cunningly mimic the real thing. There are the right flies for morning. There are different flies for the evening rise. And so on.
But the thing between Death's triumphant digits was a fly from the dawn of time. It was the fly in the primordial soup. It had bred on mammoth turds. It wasn't a fly that bangs on window panes, it was a fly that drills through walls. It was an insect that would crawl out from between the slats of the heaviest swat dripping venom and seeking revenge. Strange wings and dangling bits stuck out all over it. It seemed to have a lot of teeth.
'What's it called?' said Mort.piercing blue eyes glittered at him.He looked back like a nocturnal rabbit trying to outstare the headlights of a sixteen-wheeled artic whose driver is a twelve-hour caffeine freak outrunning the tac hell.He failed.'No, sir,'he said.GOOD. WELL DONE. Now THEN, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS?Anglers reckon that a good dry fly should
Wednesday 11 March 2009
Claude Monet The Water Lily Pond
Claude Monet The Water Lily PondEdgar Degas Four DancersFrida Kahlo Viva la vidaFrida Kahlo The Two Fridas
have a pretty good idea about how to develop more effective habits: force yourself to do something until it becomes second-nature.
In the case of developing a more intentional attention, the tools for this are already, very likely, part of your mental , of being prepared at any moment to write down or otherwise record anything and everything that crosses your mind, wherever you may happen to be at the time.
Intentional attention is just an extension of ubiquitous capture; instead of focusing inward, it involves cultivating a constant readiness to capture external things – images, pieces of information, descriptions, snippets of text, whatever feels useful – to process and make use of them later. toolkit. If you’ve been – or any other productivity-oriented site – for any length of time, you probably already know how much I and most other writers who focus on productivity advocate the idea of ubiquitous capture
have a pretty good idea about how to develop more effective habits: force yourself to do something until it becomes second-nature.
In the case of developing a more intentional attention, the tools for this are already, very likely, part of your mental , of being prepared at any moment to write down or otherwise record anything and everything that crosses your mind, wherever you may happen to be at the time.
Intentional attention is just an extension of ubiquitous capture; instead of focusing inward, it involves cultivating a constant readiness to capture external things – images, pieces of information, descriptions, snippets of text, whatever feels useful – to process and make use of them later. toolkit. If you’ve been – or any other productivity-oriented site – for any length of time, you probably already know how much I and most other writers who focus on productivity advocate the idea of ubiquitous capture
Monday 9 March 2009
Edward Hopper Night Windows
Edward Hopper Night WindowsEdward Hopper Lighthouse HillEdward Hopper Hotel Room
Cutangle's mouth snapped shut.
Esk and Simon were lying on a table in one of the side readingrooms, with half a dozen wizards watching over them. They drew back nervously as the trio approached, with the librarian swinging along behind.
"I've been thinking," said Cutangle. "Surely it would be better to give the staff to Simon? He is a wizard, and -"
"Over my dead body," said Granny. "Yours, too. They're getting their power through him, do you want to give them more?"
Cutangle sighed. He had been admiring the staff, it was one of the best he had seen.
"Very storm strode around the sky, trying to lift the lids off houses.
Granny sat down on a pile of books and rubbed her eyes. Cutangle's hands strayed towards his tobacco pocket. The wizard with the nervous cough was helped out of the room by a colleague.
"Ook," said the librarian.
"I know!" said Granny, so out of his nerveless well. You're right, of course." He leaned down and laid the staff on Esk's sleeping form, and then stood back dramatically. Nothing happened. One of the wizards coughed nervously. Nothing continued to happen. The carvings on the staff appeared to be grinning. "It's not working," said Cutangle, "is it?" "Ook." "Give it time," said Granny. They gave it time. Outside the
Cutangle's mouth snapped shut.
Esk and Simon were lying on a table in one of the side readingrooms, with half a dozen wizards watching over them. They drew back nervously as the trio approached, with the librarian swinging along behind.
"I've been thinking," said Cutangle. "Surely it would be better to give the staff to Simon? He is a wizard, and -"
"Over my dead body," said Granny. "Yours, too. They're getting their power through him, do you want to give them more?"
Cutangle sighed. He had been admiring the staff, it was one of the best he had seen.
"Very storm strode around the sky, trying to lift the lids off houses.
Granny sat down on a pile of books and rubbed her eyes. Cutangle's hands strayed towards his tobacco pocket. The wizard with the nervous cough was helped out of the room by a colleague.
"Ook," said the librarian.
"I know!" said Granny, so out of his nerveless well. You're right, of course." He leaned down and laid the staff on Esk's sleeping form, and then stood back dramatically. Nothing happened. One of the wizards coughed nervously. Nothing continued to happen. The carvings on the staff appeared to be grinning. "It's not working," said Cutangle, "is it?" "Ook." "Give it time," said Granny. They gave it time. Outside the
Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ
Paul Gauguin The Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin The Vision After the SermonPaul Gauguin Spirit of the Dead Watching
cold desert where strange creatures lurched across the dry sand and stared at her through insect eyes ....
There was a creak on the stairs. Then another. Then a silence, the sort of choking, furry silence made by someone The staff clattered to the floor and lay surrounded by a faint octarine glow.
Esk got out of the bed and padded across the floor. There was a terrible cursing; it sounded unhealthy. She peered around the door and looked down on the face of Mrs Skiller.standing as still as possible. The door swung open. Skiller made a blacker shadow against the candlelight on the stairs, and there was a faintly whispered conversation before he tiptoed as silently as he could towards the bedhead. The staff slipped sideways as his first cautious grope dislodged it, but he caught it quickly and let his breath out very slowly. So he hardly had enough left to scream with when the staff moved in his hands. He felt the scaliness, the coil and muscle of it .... Esk sat bolt upright in time to see Skiller roll backwards down the steep stairladder, still flailing desperately at something quite invisible that coiled around his arms. There was another scream from below as he landed on his wife.
cold desert where strange creatures lurched across the dry sand and stared at her through insect eyes ....
There was a creak on the stairs. Then another. Then a silence, the sort of choking, furry silence made by someone The staff clattered to the floor and lay surrounded by a faint octarine glow.
Esk got out of the bed and padded across the floor. There was a terrible cursing; it sounded unhealthy. She peered around the door and looked down on the face of Mrs Skiller.standing as still as possible. The door swung open. Skiller made a blacker shadow against the candlelight on the stairs, and there was a faintly whispered conversation before he tiptoed as silently as he could towards the bedhead. The staff slipped sideways as his first cautious grope dislodged it, but he caught it quickly and let his breath out very slowly. So he hardly had enough left to scream with when the staff moved in his hands. He felt the scaliness, the coil and muscle of it .... Esk sat bolt upright in time to see Skiller roll backwards down the steep stairladder, still flailing desperately at something quite invisible that coiled around his arms. There was another scream from below as he landed on his wife.
Thursday 5 March 2009
Edward Hopper Summertime
Edward Hopper SummertimeEdward Hopper Night WindowsEdward Hopper Lighthouse Hill
looked at him blankly, paper halfway to his lips.
'Isn't what exciting?' he said.
'All this magic!'
'It's only lights,' said Cohen critically. 'He hasn't even produced doves out of his sleeves.'
'Yes, but can't youhad ducked instinctively, waiting for the explosion of white light or scintillating fireball or, in the case of Cohen, who had fairly low expectations, a few white pigeons, possibly a slightly crumpled rabbit.
It wasn't even an interesting nothing. Sometimes things can fail to happen sense the occult potentiality?' said Twoflower.Cohen produced a big yellow match from somewhere in his tobacco bag, looked at Wert for a moment, and with great deliberation struck the match on his fossilised nose.'Look,' he said to Twoflower, as kindly as he could manage. 'What do you expect? I've been around a long time, I've seen the whole magical thing, and I can tell you that if you go around with your jaw dropping all the time people hit it. Anyway, wizard's die just like anyone else when you stick a —'There was a loud snap as Rincewind shut the book. He stood up, and looked around.What happened next was this:Nothing.It took a little while for people to realise it. Everyone
looked at him blankly, paper halfway to his lips.
'Isn't what exciting?' he said.
'All this magic!'
'It's only lights,' said Cohen critically. 'He hasn't even produced doves out of his sleeves.'
'Yes, but can't youhad ducked instinctively, waiting for the explosion of white light or scintillating fireball or, in the case of Cohen, who had fairly low expectations, a few white pigeons, possibly a slightly crumpled rabbit.
It wasn't even an interesting nothing. Sometimes things can fail to happen sense the occult potentiality?' said Twoflower.Cohen produced a big yellow match from somewhere in his tobacco bag, looked at Wert for a moment, and with great deliberation struck the match on his fossilised nose.'Look,' he said to Twoflower, as kindly as he could manage. 'What do you expect? I've been around a long time, I've seen the whole magical thing, and I can tell you that if you go around with your jaw dropping all the time people hit it. Anyway, wizard's die just like anyone else when you stick a —'There was a loud snap as Rincewind shut the book. He stood up, and looked around.What happened next was this:Nothing.It took a little while for people to realise it. Everyone
Juan Gris Guitar and Music Pape
Juan Gris Guitar and Music PapeJuan Gris Fantomas Pipe and NewspaperGeorge Bellows The PicnicGeorge Bellows The Circus
any better, but what about you?' He pointed downwards, to where the other wizards were toiling up the stairs. 'What about them?'Blue light speared down the inside of the tower. There was a peal of thunder.The wizards reached them, coughing horribly and fighting for breath.'What's the plan?' said Rincewind.'There isn't one,' said blank,' he whispered. 'Every page is completely blank.'
'Then he did it,' said Wert. 'He's read the spells. Successfully, too. I wouldn't have believed it.'
'There was all that noise,' said Rincewind doubtfully. 'The light, too. Those shapes. That didn't sound so successful to me.'
'Oh, you always get a certain amount of extradimen-sional attention in any great work of magic,' said Panter dismissively. 'It impresses people, nothing more.'
'It looked like monsters up there,' said Twoflower, standing closer to Rincewind.
'Monsters? Show me some monsters!' said Wert.
Instinctively they looked up. There was no sound. Nothing Wert.'Right. Fine,' said Rincewind. 'I'll leave you to get on with it, then.''You'll come with us,' said Panter.'But I'm not even a proper wizard. You threw me out, remember?''I can't think of any student less able,' said the old wizard, 'but you're here, and that's the only qualification you need. Come on.'
any better, but what about you?' He pointed downwards, to where the other wizards were toiling up the stairs. 'What about them?'Blue light speared down the inside of the tower. There was a peal of thunder.The wizards reached them, coughing horribly and fighting for breath.'What's the plan?' said Rincewind.'There isn't one,' said blank,' he whispered. 'Every page is completely blank.'
'Then he did it,' said Wert. 'He's read the spells. Successfully, too. I wouldn't have believed it.'
'There was all that noise,' said Rincewind doubtfully. 'The light, too. Those shapes. That didn't sound so successful to me.'
'Oh, you always get a certain amount of extradimen-sional attention in any great work of magic,' said Panter dismissively. 'It impresses people, nothing more.'
'It looked like monsters up there,' said Twoflower, standing closer to Rincewind.
'Monsters? Show me some monsters!' said Wert.
Instinctively they looked up. There was no sound. Nothing Wert.'Right. Fine,' said Rincewind. 'I'll leave you to get on with it, then.''You'll come with us,' said Panter.'But I'm not even a proper wizard. You threw me out, remember?''I can't think of any student less able,' said the old wizard, 'but you're here, and that's the only qualification you need. Come on.'
Tuesday 3 March 2009
Jack Vettriano long time Gone
Jack Vettriano long time GoneJack Vettriano Lazy Hazy DaysJack Vettriano Just Another DayJack Vettriano her Secret life
Two miles away a string of horses trotted through the night. Three of them carried captives, expertly gagged and bound. A fourth pulled a rough travois on which the Luggage lay trussed and netted and silent.
Herrena softly called the column to a halt and beckoned one of her men to her.
'Are you quite sure?' she said. 'I can't hear anything.'
'I saw troll were many drawbacks to being a swordswoman, not least of which was that men didn't take you seriously until you'd actually killed them, by which time it didn't really matter anyway. Then there was all the leather, which brought her out in a rash but seemed to be unbreakably traditional. And then there was the ale. It was all right for the likes of Hrun the Barbarian or Cimbar the Assassin to carouse all night in low bars, but Herrena drew the line at it unless they sold proper drinks in small glasses, preferably with a cherry in. As for the toilet facilities . . .
But she was too big to be a thief, too honest to be an assassin, too intelligent to be a wife, and shapes,' he said flatly.She looked around. The trees had thinned out here, there was a lot of scree, and ahead of them the track led towards a bald, rocky hill that looked especially unpleasant by red starlight.She was worried about that track. It was extremely old, but something had made it, and trolls took a lot of killing.She sighed. Suddenly it looked as though that such a bad option, at that.Not for the first time she reflected that there
Two miles away a string of horses trotted through the night. Three of them carried captives, expertly gagged and bound. A fourth pulled a rough travois on which the Luggage lay trussed and netted and silent.
Herrena softly called the column to a halt and beckoned one of her men to her.
'Are you quite sure?' she said. 'I can't hear anything.'
'I saw troll were many drawbacks to being a swordswoman, not least of which was that men didn't take you seriously until you'd actually killed them, by which time it didn't really matter anyway. Then there was all the leather, which brought her out in a rash but seemed to be unbreakably traditional. And then there was the ale. It was all right for the likes of Hrun the Barbarian or Cimbar the Assassin to carouse all night in low bars, but Herrena drew the line at it unless they sold proper drinks in small glasses, preferably with a cherry in. As for the toilet facilities . . .
But she was too big to be a thief, too honest to be an assassin, too intelligent to be a wife, and shapes,' he said flatly.She looked around. The trees had thinned out here, there was a lot of scree, and ahead of them the track led towards a bald, rocky hill that looked especially unpleasant by red starlight.She was worried about that track. It was extremely old, but something had made it, and trolls took a lot of killing.She sighed. Suddenly it looked as though that such a bad option, at that.Not for the first time she reflected that there
Monday 2 March 2009
Edward Hopper Office in a Small City
Edward Hopper Office in a Small CityEdward Hopper New York RestaurantEdward Hopper Les Pont RoyalEdward Hopper Les Pont des Arts
Rimwards, in the direction of Great A'Tuin's travel, the sky had been swept of stars.
In that circle of blackness there was just one star, a red and baleful star, a star like the glitter in the eyesocket of a rabid mink. It was small and horrible and uncompromising. And the Disc was being carried straight towards it.
Rincewind knew precisely what to do in these circumstances. He screamed and pointed the broomstick straight down.
Galder Weatherwax stood in the centre of the octogram and raised his hands.
'Urshalo, dileptor, c'hula, do my bidding!'
A small mist formed over his head. He glanced sideways at Trymon, who was sulking at the edge of the magic circle.to the Spell and hardly paying any attention to Trymon.
Words of power rolled around the room, bouncing off the walls and scuttling out of sight behind shelves and jars. Trymon hesitated.
Galder shut his eyes momentarily, his face a mask of ecstacy as he mouthed the final word.
Trymon tensed, his fingers curling around the knife again. And Galder o'This next bit's quite impressive,' he said. 'Watch. Kot-b'hai! Kot-sham! To me, o spirits of small isolated rocks and worried mice not less than three inches long!''What?' said Trymon.That bit took quite a lot of research,' agreed Galder, especially the mice. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes . . .'He raised his arms again. Trymon watched him, and licked his lips distractedly. The old fool was really concentrating, bending his mind entirely pened one eye, nodded at him and sent a sideways blast of power that picked the younger
Rimwards, in the direction of Great A'Tuin's travel, the sky had been swept of stars.
In that circle of blackness there was just one star, a red and baleful star, a star like the glitter in the eyesocket of a rabid mink. It was small and horrible and uncompromising. And the Disc was being carried straight towards it.
Rincewind knew precisely what to do in these circumstances. He screamed and pointed the broomstick straight down.
Galder Weatherwax stood in the centre of the octogram and raised his hands.
'Urshalo, dileptor, c'hula, do my bidding!'
A small mist formed over his head. He glanced sideways at Trymon, who was sulking at the edge of the magic circle.to the Spell and hardly paying any attention to Trymon.
Words of power rolled around the room, bouncing off the walls and scuttling out of sight behind shelves and jars. Trymon hesitated.
Galder shut his eyes momentarily, his face a mask of ecstacy as he mouthed the final word.
Trymon tensed, his fingers curling around the knife again. And Galder o'This next bit's quite impressive,' he said. 'Watch. Kot-b'hai! Kot-sham! To me, o spirits of small isolated rocks and worried mice not less than three inches long!''What?' said Trymon.That bit took quite a lot of research,' agreed Galder, especially the mice. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes . . .'He raised his arms again. Trymon watched him, and licked his lips distractedly. The old fool was really concentrating, bending his mind entirely pened one eye, nodded at him and sent a sideways blast of power that picked the younger
Sunday 1 March 2009
George Bellows The Circus
George Bellows The CircusGeorge Bellows Summer FantasyGeorge Bellows Romance of AutumnGeorge Bellows Red Sun
In return," continued Dactylos, without much apparent hope, "you would set me free, and refrain from chopping off any appendages. I require no treasure."
"Ah, yes. I in the entire square (save for the buzzing of a few expectant flies) as his silver hand came up, very slowly, and fingered the arrowhead.
Dactylos grunted.
"Sloppy workmanship," he said, and toppled backwards.
The Arch-astronomer prodded the body with his toe, and sighed.recall now." The old man raised a blueveined hand, and added, "I lied."There was the merest whisper of sound, and the goldeneyed man rocked on his feet. Then he looked down at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, and nodded wearily. A speck of blood bloomed on his lips.There was no sound
In return," continued Dactylos, without much apparent hope, "you would set me free, and refrain from chopping off any appendages. I require no treasure."
"Ah, yes. I in the entire square (save for the buzzing of a few expectant flies) as his silver hand came up, very slowly, and fingered the arrowhead.
Dactylos grunted.
"Sloppy workmanship," he said, and toppled backwards.
The Arch-astronomer prodded the body with his toe, and sighed.recall now." The old man raised a blueveined hand, and added, "I lied."There was the merest whisper of sound, and the goldeneyed man rocked on his feet. Then he looked down at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, and nodded wearily. A speck of blood bloomed on his lips.There was no sound
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