William Bouguereau RestWilliam Bouguereau The Rapture of PsycheWilliam Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as ChildrenWilliam Bouguereau Charity
'My cartoons,The Patrician played with it for a while.
'What's the glue made of?'
'Boiled slugs.'
The Patrician pulled the paper off one hand. It stuck to the other hand.
'Is that what you came to see me about?' said Leonard.
'No. I came to talk to you,' said Lord Vetinari, 'about the gonne.'
'Oh, dear. I'm very sorry.'
'I am afraid it has . . . escaped.'' said Leonard.'This is a good one of the little boy with his kite stuck in a tree,' said Lord Vetinari.'Thank you. May I make you some tea? I'm afraid I don't see many people these days, apart from the man who oils the hinges.''I've come to . . .'The Patrician stopped and prodded at one of the drawings.'There's a piece of yellow paper stuck to this one,' he said, suspiciously. He pulled at it. It came away from the drawing with a faint sucking noise, and then stuck to his fingers. On the note, in Leonard's crabby backward script, were the words: 'krow ot smees sihT: omeM'.'Oh, I'm rather pleased with that,' said Leonard. 'I call it my "Handy-note-scribbling-piece-of-paper-with-glue-that-comes-unstuck-when-you-want".'
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Rene Magritte The Big Family
Rene Magritte The Big FamilyRene Magritte PrimevereRene Magritte Personal ValuesRene Magritte Dangerous Liaisons
monochrome them into contact with animals. They wore scent or aftershave a lot and tended to be very fastidious about their food. And kept diaries with the phases of the moon carefully marked in red ink.
It was no life, being a werewolf in the country. Abackground against which the sounds and, yes, the smells seared like brilliant lines of . . . coloured fire and clouds of . . . well, of coloured smoke.That was the point. That was where it all broke down. There were no proper words afterwards for what she heard and smelled. If you could see an eighth distinct colour just for a while, and then describe it back in the seven-coloured world, it'd have to be . . . 'something like a sort of greenish-purple'. Experience did not cross over well between species.Sometimes, although not very often, Angua thought she was very lucky to get to see both worlds. And there was always twenty minutes after a Change when all the senses were heightened, so that the world glowed in every sensory spectrum like a rainbow. It was nearly worth it just for that.There were varieties of werewolf. Some people merely had to shave every hour and wear a hat to cover the ears. They could pass for nearly normal.But she could recognize them, nevertheless. Werewolves could spot another werewolf across a crowded street. There was something about the eyes. And, of course, if you had time, there were all sorts of other clues. Werewolves tended to live alone and take jobs that didn't bring
monochrome them into contact with animals. They wore scent or aftershave a lot and tended to be very fastidious about their food. And kept diaries with the phases of the moon carefully marked in red ink.
It was no life, being a werewolf in the country. Abackground against which the sounds and, yes, the smells seared like brilliant lines of . . . coloured fire and clouds of . . . well, of coloured smoke.That was the point. That was where it all broke down. There were no proper words afterwards for what she heard and smelled. If you could see an eighth distinct colour just for a while, and then describe it back in the seven-coloured world, it'd have to be . . . 'something like a sort of greenish-purple'. Experience did not cross over well between species.Sometimes, although not very often, Angua thought she was very lucky to get to see both worlds. And there was always twenty minutes after a Change when all the senses were heightened, so that the world glowed in every sensory spectrum like a rainbow. It was nearly worth it just for that.There were varieties of werewolf. Some people merely had to shave every hour and wear a hat to cover the ears. They could pass for nearly normal.But she could recognize them, nevertheless. Werewolves could spot another werewolf across a crowded street. There was something about the eyes. And, of course, if you had time, there were all sorts of other clues. Werewolves tended to live alone and take jobs that didn't bring
Monday, April 27, 2009
Marc Chagall The Three Candles
Marc Chagall The Three CandlesMarc Chagall Paris Through the WindowMarc Chagall Adam and EveMarc Chagall La Mariee
radius' will be appropriate.
Vimes therefore pushed the door open carefully. The smell of dragons engulfed him. It was an unusual smell, even by Ankh-Morpork standards – it put Vimes in mind of a pond that had been used to dump alchemical waste for several years and then drained'
The sack was thrust into his arms. At the same moment a talon ripped out of the bottom of the sack and scraped down his breastplate in a spirited attempt to disembowel him. A spiky-eared head thrust its way out of the other end, two glowing red eyes focused on him briefly, a tooth-serrated mouth gaped open and a gush of evil-smelling vapour washed over him.
Lady Ramkin grabbed the lower jaw triumphantly, and thrust the other arm up to the elbow down the little dragon's throat.
'Got you!' She turned to Vimes, who was still rigid with shock. 'Little devil wouldn't
radius' will be appropriate.
Vimes therefore pushed the door open carefully. The smell of dragons engulfed him. It was an unusual smell, even by Ankh-Morpork standards – it put Vimes in mind of a pond that had been used to dump alchemical waste for several years and then drained'
The sack was thrust into his arms. At the same moment a talon ripped out of the bottom of the sack and scraped down his breastplate in a spirited attempt to disembowel him. A spiky-eared head thrust its way out of the other end, two glowing red eyes focused on him briefly, a tooth-serrated mouth gaped open and a gush of evil-smelling vapour washed over him.
Lady Ramkin grabbed the lower jaw triumphantly, and thrust the other arm up to the elbow down the little dragon's throat.
'Got you!' She turned to Vimes, who was still rigid with shock. 'Little devil wouldn't
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Bridge of Faith
Thomas Kinkade Bridge of FaithThomas Kinkade Autumn LaneJohn Collier SpringCaravaggio The Crucifixion of Saint Peter
swarms spiraled up over the clearing, circled once, and then broke and headed away. Others joined them, out of backyard skeps and hollow trees, blackening the sky.
After a while, order became apparent in the great cir-cling cloud. The drones flew on the wings, throbbing like bombers. The workers were a cone made up of thousands of tiny bodies. And at its tip, a hundred queens flew.
The fields lay Queen Ynci laughing scornfully from a thousand years ago. She’d not give up. Magrat was just another one of those dozens of simpering stiff women who’d just hung around in long dresses, ensuring the royal succession—
Bees poured down out of the sky.
Granny Weatherwax turned her face toward Magrat.silent after the arrow-shaped swarm of swarms had gone.Flowers stood alone and uncourted. Nectar flowed undrunk. Blossoms were left to go fertilize themselves.The bees headed toward the Dancers.284LQRQ6 ft/YQ Lft0f£8Granny Weatherwax dropped to her knees, clutching at her head.“No—““Oh, but yes,” said the Queen.Esme Weatherwax raised her hands. The fingers were curled tightly with effort and pain.Magrat found she could move her eyes. The rest of her felt weak and useless, even with chain-mail and the breast-plates. So this was it. She could feel the ghost of
swarms spiraled up over the clearing, circled once, and then broke and headed away. Others joined them, out of backyard skeps and hollow trees, blackening the sky.
After a while, order became apparent in the great cir-cling cloud. The drones flew on the wings, throbbing like bombers. The workers were a cone made up of thousands of tiny bodies. And at its tip, a hundred queens flew.
The fields lay Queen Ynci laughing scornfully from a thousand years ago. She’d not give up. Magrat was just another one of those dozens of simpering stiff women who’d just hung around in long dresses, ensuring the royal succession—
Bees poured down out of the sky.
Granny Weatherwax turned her face toward Magrat.silent after the arrow-shaped swarm of swarms had gone.Flowers stood alone and uncourted. Nectar flowed undrunk. Blossoms were left to go fertilize themselves.The bees headed toward the Dancers.284LQRQ6 ft/YQ Lft0f£8Granny Weatherwax dropped to her knees, clutching at her head.“No—““Oh, but yes,” said the Queen.Esme Weatherwax raised her hands. The fingers were curled tightly with effort and pain.Magrat found she could move her eyes. The rest of her felt weak and useless, even with chain-mail and the breast-plates. So this was it. She could feel the ghost of
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Frederic Edwin Church Sunset
Frederic Edwin Church SunsetFrederic Edwin Church AutumnLorenzo Lotto St Catherine of AlexandriaTitian Emperor Charles
swung back and forth across the scale.
Shawn leaned his rusty pike against the wall and drew his sword. He knew how to use it. He practiced for ten min-utes every day, and it was one sorry hanging sack of straw when he’d finished with it.
204
LQRQ6 ftWO Lft0/£6
He slipped into the keep by the back door and sidled along the passages toward the dungeon. There was no one else around. Of course, everyone was at the Entertainment.
And they’d be back any time now, carousing all over the
place.
The castle felt big, and old, and cold.
Any time now.
Bound to.
The noise stoppedwhite-clad figure next to it.
Shawn blinked.
“Aren’t you Miss Tockley?”
.Shawn peered around the comer. There were the steps, there was the open doorway to the dungeons.“Stop!” shouted Shawn, just in case.The sound echoed off the stones.“Stop! Or ... or ... or ... Stop!”He eased his way down the steps and looked through thearchway“I warn you! I’m learning the Path of the Happy JadeLotus!”There was the door to the cell, standing ajar. And a
She smiled at him. Her eyes glowed in the dim light.
swung back and forth across the scale.
Shawn leaned his rusty pike against the wall and drew his sword. He knew how to use it. He practiced for ten min-utes every day, and it was one sorry hanging sack of straw when he’d finished with it.
204
LQRQ6 ftWO Lft0/£6
He slipped into the keep by the back door and sidled along the passages toward the dungeon. There was no one else around. Of course, everyone was at the Entertainment.
And they’d be back any time now, carousing all over the
place.
The castle felt big, and old, and cold.
Any time now.
Bound to.
The noise stoppedwhite-clad figure next to it.
Shawn blinked.
“Aren’t you Miss Tockley?”
.Shawn peered around the comer. There were the steps, there was the open doorway to the dungeons.“Stop!” shouted Shawn, just in case.The sound echoed off the stones.“Stop! Or ... or ... or ... Stop!”He eased his way down the steps and looked through thearchway“I warn you! I’m learning the Path of the Happy JadeLotus!”There was the door to the cell, standing ajar. And a
She smiled at him. Her eyes glowed in the dim light.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Pop art coltrane on rust
Pop art coltrane on rustPop art Bruce Springsteen - The BOSSPop art booker t & the mgs on green
thought that sort of thing was, you know,” the king grinned sickly, “folklore?”
“Of course it’s folklore, you stupid man!”
“I do happen to be king, you know,” said Verence reproachfully.
“You stupid king, your majesty,”
“Thank you“Hah! Right, but no.”
“Muscle? Mucus? Mystery?”
“No. No. No. Means like . . . seein’ the other person’s point of view.”
Verence tried to see the world from a Granny Weatherwax perspective, and suspicion dawned.
132
LQR06 fiNQ LfiQIEQ.”“I mean it doesn’t mean it’s not true! Maybe it gets a lit-tle muddled over the years, folks forget details, they forget why they do things. Like the horseshoe thing.”“I know my granny had one over the door,” said the king.“There you are. Nothing to do with its shape. But if you lives in an old cottage and you’re poor, it’s probably the nearest bit of iron with holes in it that you can find.”“Ah.”“The thing about elves is they’ve got no ... begins with m,” Granny snapped her fingers irritably.“Manners?”
thought that sort of thing was, you know,” the king grinned sickly, “folklore?”
“Of course it’s folklore, you stupid man!”
“I do happen to be king, you know,” said Verence reproachfully.
“You stupid king, your majesty,”
“Thank you“Hah! Right, but no.”
“Muscle? Mucus? Mystery?”
“No. No. No. Means like . . . seein’ the other person’s point of view.”
Verence tried to see the world from a Granny Weatherwax perspective, and suspicion dawned.
132
LQR06 fiNQ LfiQIEQ.”“I mean it doesn’t mean it’s not true! Maybe it gets a lit-tle muddled over the years, folks forget details, they forget why they do things. Like the horseshoe thing.”“I know my granny had one over the door,” said the king.“There you are. Nothing to do with its shape. But if you lives in an old cottage and you’re poor, it’s probably the nearest bit of iron with holes in it that you can find.”“Ah.”“The thing about elves is they’ve got no ... begins with m,” Granny snapped her fingers irritably.“Manners?”
Monday, April 20, 2009
Mark Spain Flamenco I
Mark Spain Flamenco IMark Spain Eternal FlameMark Spain Encore
Hehheh!”
From somewhere in the distance came the scream of Hodgesaargh as nature got close to him.
Crop circles opened everywhere.
Now the universes swung into line. They ceased their boiling spaghetti dance and, to pass through this chicane of history, charged Terry Pratchett
Not knowing the future was bad enough, but at least she understood why. Now she was getting flashes of deja vu. It had been going on all week. But they weren’t her deja vus. She was getting them for the first time, as it were—flashes of memory that couldn’t have existed. Couldn’t have existed. She was Esme Weatherwax, sane as a brick, always had been, she’d never been—
There was a knock at the door.forward neck and neck in their race across the rubber sheet of incontinent Time.At such time, as Ponder Stibbons dimly perceived, they had an effect on one another—shafts of reality crackled back and forward as the universes jostled for position.If you were someone who had trained their mind to be the finest of receivers, and were running it at the moment with the gain turned up until the knob broke, you might pick up some very strange signals indeed .. .The clock ticked.Granny Weatherwax sat in front of the open box, read-ing. Occasionally she stopped and closed her eyes and pinched her nose.103
Hehheh!”
From somewhere in the distance came the scream of Hodgesaargh as nature got close to him.
Crop circles opened everywhere.
Now the universes swung into line. They ceased their boiling spaghetti dance and, to pass through this chicane of history, charged Terry Pratchett
Not knowing the future was bad enough, but at least she understood why. Now she was getting flashes of deja vu. It had been going on all week. But they weren’t her deja vus. She was getting them for the first time, as it were—flashes of memory that couldn’t have existed. Couldn’t have existed. She was Esme Weatherwax, sane as a brick, always had been, she’d never been—
There was a knock at the door.forward neck and neck in their race across the rubber sheet of incontinent Time.At such time, as Ponder Stibbons dimly perceived, they had an effect on one another—shafts of reality crackled back and forward as the universes jostled for position.If you were someone who had trained their mind to be the finest of receivers, and were running it at the moment with the gain turned up until the knob broke, you might pick up some very strange signals indeed .. .The clock ticked.Granny Weatherwax sat in front of the open box, read-ing. Occasionally she stopped and closed her eyes and pinched her nose.103
Friday, April 17, 2009
Cao Yong LILY POND
Cao Yong LILY PONDCao Yong KOI PONDCao Yong GIRL WITH MUSICIAN
assorted grails and crucibles, and a box full of
29
Terry Pratchett
rings, necklaces, and bracelets heavy with the hermetic sym-bols of a dozen religions. She tipped them all into a sack.
Then there were the books. Goodie Whemper had been something of a bookworm among witches. There were almost a dozen. She -bles, or even a hiss. But it just sank. Just as if it wasn’t any-thing very important.
Another world, another castle .. .
The elf galloped over the frozen moat, steam billowing from its black horse and from the thing it carried over its neck.
It rode up the steps and into the hall itself, where the Queen sat amidst her dreams .. .
“My lord Lankin?”
“A stag!”
It was still alive. Elves were skilled at leaving things alivehesitated about the books, and finally she let them stay on the shelves.There was the statutory pointy hat. She’d never liked it anyway, and had always avoided wearing it. Into the sack with it.She looked around wild-eyed until she spotted the small cauldron in the inglenook. That’d do. Into the sack with that, and then tie the neck with string.On the way up to the palace she crossed the bridge over Lancre Gorge and tossed the sack into the river.It bobbed for a moment in the strong current, and then sank.She’d secretly hoped for a string of multicolored bub
assorted grails and crucibles, and a box full of
29
Terry Pratchett
rings, necklaces, and bracelets heavy with the hermetic sym-bols of a dozen religions. She tipped them all into a sack.
Then there were the books. Goodie Whemper had been something of a bookworm among witches. There were almost a dozen. She -bles, or even a hiss. But it just sank. Just as if it wasn’t any-thing very important.
Another world, another castle .. .
The elf galloped over the frozen moat, steam billowing from its black horse and from the thing it carried over its neck.
It rode up the steps and into the hall itself, where the Queen sat amidst her dreams .. .
“My lord Lankin?”
“A stag!”
It was still alive. Elves were skilled at leaving things alivehesitated about the books, and finally she let them stay on the shelves.There was the statutory pointy hat. She’d never liked it anyway, and had always avoided wearing it. Into the sack with it.She looked around wild-eyed until she spotted the small cauldron in the inglenook. That’d do. Into the sack with that, and then tie the neck with string.On the way up to the palace she crossed the bridge over Lancre Gorge and tossed the sack into the river.It bobbed for a moment in the strong current, and then sank.She’d secretly hoped for a string of multicolored bub
Thursday, April 16, 2009
John William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest
John William Waterhouse Miranda - The TempestJohn William Waterhouse My Sweet RoseJohn William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
feeling of rushing wind in Brutha's mind, and a voice . . .
-obuggerbuggerbuggerhelpaarghnoNoNoAarghBuggerNONOAARGH-
Even Vorbis got a grip of himself. There had been just a moment, when he'd seen the eagle-but, no . . .
He extended his arms and smiled beatifically at the sky.
"I'm sorry," said The Great God rose over the Temple, billowing and changing as the belief of thousands of people flowed into him. There were shapes there, of eagle-headed men, and bulls, and golden horns, but they tangled and flamed and fused into one another.
Four bolts of fire whirred out of the cloud and burst the chains holding Brutha.
II. He Is Cenobiarch And Prophet of Prophets.Brutha.One or two people, who had been watching Vorbis closely, said later that there was just time for his expression to change before two pounds of tortoise, traveling at three meters a second, hit him between the eyes.It was a revelation.And that does something to people watching. For a start, they believe with all their heart. Brutha was aware of feet running up the steps, and hands pulling at the chains.And then a voice:I. He is Mine.
feeling of rushing wind in Brutha's mind, and a voice . . .
-obuggerbuggerbuggerhelpaarghnoNoNoAarghBuggerNONOAARGH-
Even Vorbis got a grip of himself. There had been just a moment, when he'd seen the eagle-but, no . . .
He extended his arms and smiled beatifically at the sky.
"I'm sorry," said The Great God rose over the Temple, billowing and changing as the belief of thousands of people flowed into him. There were shapes there, of eagle-headed men, and bulls, and golden horns, but they tangled and flamed and fused into one another.
Four bolts of fire whirred out of the cloud and burst the chains holding Brutha.
II. He Is Cenobiarch And Prophet of Prophets.Brutha.One or two people, who had been watching Vorbis closely, said later that there was just time for his expression to change before two pounds of tortoise, traveling at three meters a second, hit him between the eyes.It was a revelation.And that does something to people watching. For a start, they believe with all their heart. Brutha was aware of feet running up the steps, and hands pulling at the chains.And then a voice:I. He is Mine.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Leroy Neiman Michael Jordan
Leroy Neiman Michael JordanGeorge Frederick Watts The Recording AngelGeorge Frederick Watts She shall be called womanGeorge Frederick Watts Creation
You can remember them just by looking?" said Urn.
"Yes."
"The whole scroll?"
"Yes.". He shut his eyes. For a moment the jagged outline glowed against the inside of his eyelids, and then he felt them settle into his mind. They were still there somewhere-he could bring them back at any time. Urn unrolled another scroll. Pictures of animals. This one, drawings of plants and lots of writing. This one, just writing. This one, triangles and things. They settled down in his memory. After a while, he wasn't even aware of the scroll unrolling. He just had to keep looking."I don't believe you.""The word LIBRVM outside this building has a chip in the top of the first letter,' said Brutha. "Xeno wrote Reflections, and old Aristocrates wrote Platitudes, and Didactylos thinks Ibid's Discourses are bloody stupid. There are six hundred paces from the Tyrant's throne room to the Library. There is a-”"He's got a good memory, you've got to grant him that," said Didactylos. "Show him some more scrolls.""How will we know he's remembered them?" Urn demanded, unrolling a scroll of geometrical theorems. "He can't read! And even if he could read, he can't write! ""We shall have to teach him."Brutha looked at a scroll full of maps
You can remember them just by looking?" said Urn.
"Yes."
"The whole scroll?"
"Yes.". He shut his eyes. For a moment the jagged outline glowed against the inside of his eyelids, and then he felt them settle into his mind. They were still there somewhere-he could bring them back at any time. Urn unrolled another scroll. Pictures of animals. This one, drawings of plants and lots of writing. This one, just writing. This one, triangles and things. They settled down in his memory. After a while, he wasn't even aware of the scroll unrolling. He just had to keep looking."I don't believe you.""The word LIBRVM outside this building has a chip in the top of the first letter,' said Brutha. "Xeno wrote Reflections, and old Aristocrates wrote Platitudes, and Didactylos thinks Ibid's Discourses are bloody stupid. There are six hundred paces from the Tyrant's throne room to the Library. There is a-”"He's got a good memory, you've got to grant him that," said Didactylos. "Show him some more scrolls.""How will we know he's remembered them?" Urn demanded, unrolling a scroll of geometrical theorems. "He can't read! And even if he could read, he can't write! ""We shall have to teach him."Brutha looked at a scroll full of maps
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The Source
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The SourcePeter Paul Rubens Samson and DelilahJohn William Waterhouse Waterhouse Narcissus
little over seventy-nine minutes."
Vorbis laughed. Brutha wondered why. The puzzle wasn't why he remembered, it was why everyone else seemed to forget.
"Did your fathers have this remarkable faculty?"
There was a . There was a cloud of dust about a mile behind them on the road.
"Here come the rest of the soldiers," he said conversationally.
This seemed to shock Vorbis. Perhaps it was the first time in years that anyone had innocently addressed a remark to him.
"The rest of the soldiers?" he said.
"Sergeant Aktar and his men, on ninety-eight camels with many water-bottles," said Brutha. "I saw them before we left."pause."Could they do it as well?" said Vorbis patiently."I don't know. There was only my grandmother. She had-a good memory. For some things." Transgressions, certainly. "And very good eyesight and hearing." What she could apparently see or hear through two walls had, he remembered, seemed phenomenal.Brutha turned gingerly in the saddle
little over seventy-nine minutes."
Vorbis laughed. Brutha wondered why. The puzzle wasn't why he remembered, it was why everyone else seemed to forget.
"Did your fathers have this remarkable faculty?"
There was a . There was a cloud of dust about a mile behind them on the road.
"Here come the rest of the soldiers," he said conversationally.
This seemed to shock Vorbis. Perhaps it was the first time in years that anyone had innocently addressed a remark to him.
"The rest of the soldiers?" he said.
"Sergeant Aktar and his men, on ninety-eight camels with many water-bottles," said Brutha. "I saw them before we left."pause."Could they do it as well?" said Vorbis patiently."I don't know. There was only my grandmother. She had-a good memory. For some things." Transgressions, certainly. "And very good eyesight and hearing." What she could apparently see or hear through two walls had, he remembered, seemed phenomenal.Brutha turned gingerly in the saddle
Monday, April 13, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Reaper
Vincent van Gogh ReaperEdmund Blair Leighton OffFord Madox Brown Work
vermin?"
The tortoise continued to stare. Practically nothing can stare like a tortoise.
Brutha felt obliged to do something.
"There's grapes," he said. "Probably it's not sinful to give you one grape. How would you like a grape, little tortoise?"
"How would you like to be an abomination in the nethermost pit of chaos?" said the tortoise.
The crows, who had fled to the outer walls, took off again to a rendering of The Way of the Infidel Is A Nest Of Thorns.my lips."
Brutha looked closer.
"You haven't got lips," he said.
"No, nor proper vocal chords," agreed the tortoise. "I'm doing it straight into your head, do you understand?"
"Gosh!"Brutha opened his eyes and took his fingers out of his ears again.The tortoise said, "I'm still here."Brutha hesitated. It dawned on him, very slowly, that demons and succubi didn't turn up looking like small old tortoises. There wouldn't be much point. Even Brother Nhumrod would have to agree that when it came to rampant eroticism, you could do a lot better than a one-eyed tortoise."I didn't know tortoises could talk," he said."They can't," said the tortoise. "Read
"You do understand, don't you?"
"No."
The tortoise rolled its eye.
vermin?"
The tortoise continued to stare. Practically nothing can stare like a tortoise.
Brutha felt obliged to do something.
"There's grapes," he said. "Probably it's not sinful to give you one grape. How would you like a grape, little tortoise?"
"How would you like to be an abomination in the nethermost pit of chaos?" said the tortoise.
The crows, who had fled to the outer walls, took off again to a rendering of The Way of the Infidel Is A Nest Of Thorns.my lips."
Brutha looked closer.
"You haven't got lips," he said.
"No, nor proper vocal chords," agreed the tortoise. "I'm doing it straight into your head, do you understand?"
"Gosh!"Brutha opened his eyes and took his fingers out of his ears again.The tortoise said, "I'm still here."Brutha hesitated. It dawned on him, very slowly, that demons and succubi didn't turn up looking like small old tortoises. There wouldn't be much point. Even Brother Nhumrod would have to agree that when it came to rampant eroticism, you could do a lot better than a one-eyed tortoise."I didn't know tortoises could talk," he said."They can't," said the tortoise. "Read
"You do understand, don't you?"
"No."
The tortoise rolled its eye.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Guido Reni Joseph and Potiphars' Wife
Guido Reni Joseph and Potiphars' WifeFrancois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess ReposingFrancois Boucher Brown Odalisk
waves of rock, from somewhere else. Maybe it had been there before' the Disc itself, but Rincewind didn't like to consider that, because it raised uncomfortable questions about who built it and what for.
He examined his conscience.
It said: walls.'
'Where are we?' said Conina.
'And is there any alcohol?' said Creosote. 'Probably not,' he added.
'And why is it rocking?' said Conina. 'I've never been anywhere with metal walls before.' She sniffed. 'Can you smell oil?' she added, suspiciously.
The genie reappeared, although this time without the smoke and erratic trapdoor I'm out of options. Please yourself.Rincewind stood up and brushed the dust and ash off his robe, removing quite a lot of the moulting red plush as well. He removed his hat, made a preoccupied attempt at straightening the point, and replaced it on his head.Then he walked unsteadily towards the Tower of Art.There was a very old and quite small door at the base. He wasn't at all surprised when it opened as he approached. 'Strange place,' said Nijel. 'Funny curve to the
waves of rock, from somewhere else. Maybe it had been there before' the Disc itself, but Rincewind didn't like to consider that, because it raised uncomfortable questions about who built it and what for.
He examined his conscience.
It said: walls.'
'Where are we?' said Conina.
'And is there any alcohol?' said Creosote. 'Probably not,' he added.
'And why is it rocking?' said Conina. 'I've never been anywhere with metal walls before.' She sniffed. 'Can you smell oil?' she added, suspiciously.
The genie reappeared, although this time without the smoke and erratic trapdoor I'm out of options. Please yourself.Rincewind stood up and brushed the dust and ash off his robe, removing quite a lot of the moulting red plush as well. He removed his hat, made a preoccupied attempt at straightening the point, and replaced it on his head.Then he walked unsteadily towards the Tower of Art.There was a very old and quite small door at the base. He wasn't at all surprised when it opened as he approached. 'Strange place,' said Nijel. 'Funny curve to the
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Jean Francois Millet Harvesters Resting
Jean Francois Millet Harvesters RestingJean Francois Millet GardenHerbert James Draper Ulysses and the Sirens
blushed. 'Yes, well, but from him I got sinews you could moor a boat with, reflexes like a snake on a hot tin, a terrible urge to steal things and this dreadful sensation every time I meet someone that I should be throwing a knife through his eye at ninety feet. I can, too,' she added with a trace of pride.
'Gosh.'
'It tends to put men off.'
Well, it would,Conina sighed.
'Not much call for a barbarian hairdresser, I expect,' said Rincewind. 'I mean, no-one wants a shampoo-and-beheading.'
'It's just that every time I see a manicure set I get this terrible ' said Rincewind weakly.'I mean, when they find out, it's very hard to hang on to a boyfriend.''Except by the throat, I imagine,' said Rincewind.'Not what you really need to build up a proper relationship.''No. I can see,' said Rincewind. 'Still, pretty good if you want to be a famous barbarian thief.'But not,' said Conina, 'if you want to be a hairdresser.''Ah.'They stared into the mist.'Really a hairdresser?' said Rincewind.
blushed. 'Yes, well, but from him I got sinews you could moor a boat with, reflexes like a snake on a hot tin, a terrible urge to steal things and this dreadful sensation every time I meet someone that I should be throwing a knife through his eye at ninety feet. I can, too,' she added with a trace of pride.
'Gosh.'
'It tends to put men off.'
Well, it would,Conina sighed.
'Not much call for a barbarian hairdresser, I expect,' said Rincewind. 'I mean, no-one wants a shampoo-and-beheading.'
'It's just that every time I see a manicure set I get this terrible ' said Rincewind weakly.'I mean, when they find out, it's very hard to hang on to a boyfriend.''Except by the throat, I imagine,' said Rincewind.'Not what you really need to build up a proper relationship.''No. I can see,' said Rincewind. 'Still, pretty good if you want to be a famous barbarian thief.'But not,' said Conina, 'if you want to be a hairdresser.''Ah.'They stared into the mist.'Really a hairdresser?' said Rincewind.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Amedeo Modigliani Seated Nude
Amedeo Modigliani Seated NudeAmedeo Modigliani Red NudeAmedeo Modigliani Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne
ARE ANY OF THESE FRIENDLY? he said.
‘Sir, I think I can say, without fear of contradiction, that we have never based our purchasing policy on the amiability of a priest in the Lost Jewelled Temple of Doom of Offler the Crocodile God was that you got to go home early most afternoons. This was because it was lost. Most worshippers never found their way there. They were the lucky ones.
Traditionally, only two people ever went into the innermost sanctuary. They were the High Priest and the other priest who wasn’t High. They had been there the stones in question,’ said the merchant. He was uncomfortably aware that things were wrong, and that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was wrong with them, and that somehow his mind was not letting him make that final link. And it was getting on his nerves.WHERE IS THE BIGGEST DIAMOND IN THE WORLD?‘The biggest? That’s easy. It’s the Tear of Offler, it’s in the innermost sanctuary of the Lost Jewelled Temple of Doom of Offler the Crocodile God in darkest Howandaland, and it weighs eight hundred and fifty carats. And, sir, to forestall your next question, I personally would go to bed with it.’One of the nice things about being for years, and took turns at being the high one. It was an
ARE ANY OF THESE FRIENDLY? he said.
‘Sir, I think I can say, without fear of contradiction, that we have never based our purchasing policy on the amiability of a priest in the Lost Jewelled Temple of Doom of Offler the Crocodile God was that you got to go home early most afternoons. This was because it was lost. Most worshippers never found their way there. They were the lucky ones.
Traditionally, only two people ever went into the innermost sanctuary. They were the High Priest and the other priest who wasn’t High. They had been there the stones in question,’ said the merchant. He was uncomfortably aware that things were wrong, and that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was wrong with them, and that somehow his mind was not letting him make that final link. And it was getting on his nerves.WHERE IS THE BIGGEST DIAMOND IN THE WORLD?‘The biggest? That’s easy. It’s the Tear of Offler, it’s in the innermost sanctuary of the Lost Jewelled Temple of Doom of Offler the Crocodile God in darkest Howandaland, and it weighs eight hundred and fifty carats. And, sir, to forestall your next question, I personally would go to bed with it.’One of the nice things about being for years, and took turns at being the high one. It was an
Monday, April 6, 2009
Caravaggio The Seven Acts of Mercy
Caravaggio The Seven Acts of MercyCaravaggio The Lute PlayerCaravaggio The Inspiration of Saint Matthew
come on!’
IT WON’T WORK. I WAS WRONG TO THINK THAT IT WOULD. BUT IT
WON’T. THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. YOU
CANNOT LIVE FOR EVER.
‘Why not?’
Bill Door looked shocked. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
‘Why can’t you live for ever?’
I DON’T KNOW. COSMIC WISDOM?
‘‘Is there any way we can barricade the doors or something?’
DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING?
‘Well, think of something! Didn’t anything ever work against you?’
NO, said Bill Door. with a tiny touch of pride.What does cosmic wisdom know about it? Now, will you come on?’The figure on the hill hadn’t moved.The rain had turned the dust into a fine mud. They slithered down the slope and hurried across the yard and into the house.I SHOULD HAVE PREPARED MORE. I HAD PLANS -‘But there was the harvest.’YES.
come on!’
IT WON’T WORK. I WAS WRONG TO THINK THAT IT WOULD. BUT IT
WON’T. THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. YOU
CANNOT LIVE FOR EVER.
‘Why not?’
Bill Door looked shocked. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
‘Why can’t you live for ever?’
I DON’T KNOW. COSMIC WISDOM?
‘‘Is there any way we can barricade the doors or something?’
DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING?
‘Well, think of something! Didn’t anything ever work against you?’
NO, said Bill Door. with a tiny touch of pride.What does cosmic wisdom know about it? Now, will you come on?’The figure on the hill hadn’t moved.The rain had turned the dust into a fine mud. They slithered down the slope and hurried across the yard and into the house.I SHOULD HAVE PREPARED MORE. I HAD PLANS -‘But there was the harvest.’YES.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Claude Monet Haystack at Giverny
Claude Monet Haystack at GivernyJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The SourcePeter Paul Rubens Samson and Delilah
saw or otherwise perceived the wizards, and did a creditable impression of a trolley that had just been left there by someone. The Bursar crept up to it.
‘It’s no use you looking like that,’ he said. ‘We know you can move.’
‘We all seed you-‘ the Senior Wrangler began.
‘Shut up,’ said Ridcully. ‘Hmm. Is this made, though?’ ‘It’s wire,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘Wire’s something that you have to make. And there’s wheels. Hardly anything natural’s got wheels.’
‘It’s just that up close, it looks -‘
‘- all one thing, ‘ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, who had knelt down painfully to inspect it the better.
‘Like one unit. Made all in one lump. Like a machine that’s been grown.,’ said the Dean.The trolley maintained a low profile.‘It can’t be thinking,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.’There’s no room for a brain.’‘Who says it’s thinking?’ said the Archchancellor. ‘All it does is move. Who needs brains for that? Prawns move.’He ran his fingers over the metalwork.‘Actually, prawns are quite intell
saw or otherwise perceived the wizards, and did a creditable impression of a trolley that had just been left there by someone. The Bursar crept up to it.
‘It’s no use you looking like that,’ he said. ‘We know you can move.’
‘We all seed you-‘ the Senior Wrangler began.
‘Shut up,’ said Ridcully. ‘Hmm. Is this made, though?’ ‘It’s wire,’ said the Senior Wrangler. ‘Wire’s something that you have to make. And there’s wheels. Hardly anything natural’s got wheels.’
‘It’s just that up close, it looks -‘
‘- all one thing, ‘ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, who had knelt down painfully to inspect it the better.
‘Like one unit. Made all in one lump. Like a machine that’s been grown.,’ said the Dean.The trolley maintained a low profile.‘It can’t be thinking,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.’There’s no room for a brain.’‘Who says it’s thinking?’ said the Archchancellor. ‘All it does is move. Who needs brains for that? Prawns move.’He ran his fingers over the metalwork.‘Actually, prawns are quite intell
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Spring is in the Air
Spring is in the AirSalvador Dali The Great MasturbatorSalvador Dali Leda Atomica
be getting back to the house, then,’ she said.’You can bring the mug back in the morning.’
She sped away into the night.
Bill because it was in fact on the first floor above a tailor’s shop. Entrance was via an alleyway. There was a wooden door at the end of the alley. On its peeling paintwork someone had pinned a notice which read, in optimistic lettering:
‘Come in! Come in! ! The Fresh Start Club.
Being Dead is only the Beginning! ! !’
The door opened on to a flight of stairs that smelled of old paint Door took the drink up to the loft. He put it on a low beam and sat and watched it long after it grew cold and the candle had gone out. After a while he was aware of an insistent hissing. He took out the golden timer and put it right at the other end of the loft, under a pile of hay. It made no difference at all.Windle Poons peered at the house numbers - a hundred Counting Pines had died for this street alone -and then realised he didn’t have to. He was being short-sighted out of habit. He improved his eyesight.Number 668 took some while to find
be getting back to the house, then,’ she said.’You can bring the mug back in the morning.’
She sped away into the night.
Bill because it was in fact on the first floor above a tailor’s shop. Entrance was via an alleyway. There was a wooden door at the end of the alley. On its peeling paintwork someone had pinned a notice which read, in optimistic lettering:
‘Come in! Come in! ! The Fresh Start Club.
Being Dead is only the Beginning! ! !’
The door opened on to a flight of stairs that smelled of old paint Door took the drink up to the loft. He put it on a low beam and sat and watched it long after it grew cold and the candle had gone out. After a while he was aware of an insistent hissing. He took out the golden timer and put it right at the other end of the loft, under a pile of hay. It made no difference at all.Windle Poons peered at the house numbers - a hundred Counting Pines had died for this street alone -and then realised he didn’t have to. He was being short-sighted out of habit. He improved his eyesight.Number 668 took some while to find
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Pino WHISPERING HEART
Pino WHISPERING HEARTPino THINKING OF YOUPino THE DANCERPino SWEET DREAMSPino SENSUALITY
cruet moved.
He reached out again. It slid away.
Ridcully sighed.
‘All right, you fellows,’ he said.’No magic at Table, you know the rules.
Who’s playing silly buggers?’
The other senior wizards stared at him.
‘I, I, I don’t think we can play it any more, ‘ said the Bursar, who at the moment was only occasionally bouncing off the sides of sanity, ‘I, I, I think we lost some of the pieces . . .’
He looked around, giggled, and went back to trying to cut his mutton with a spoon. The other wizards were keeping point down on the table by the Archchancellor’s hand and stuck there.
The wizards turned their eyes upwards.
The Great Hall was lit in the evenings by one massive chandelier, although the word so often associated with glittering prismatic glassware seemed inappropriate for the huge, heavy, black, tallow-encrusted thing that hung from the ceiling like a threatening overdraft. It could hold a thousand candles. It was directly over the senior wizards’ table. Another screw tinkled on to the floor by the fireplace.
The Archchancellor cleared his throat.knives out of his way at present. The entire cruet floated up into the air and started to spin slowly. Then it exploded.The wizards, dripping vinegar and expensive spices, watched it owlishly. ‘It was probably the sauce,’ the Dean ventured.’It was definitely going a bit critical last night.’Something dropped on his head and landed in his lunch. It was a black iron screw, several inches long.Another one mildly contused the Bursar.After a second or two, a third landed
67
cruet moved.
He reached out again. It slid away.
Ridcully sighed.
‘All right, you fellows,’ he said.’No magic at Table, you know the rules.
Who’s playing silly buggers?’
The other senior wizards stared at him.
‘I, I, I don’t think we can play it any more, ‘ said the Bursar, who at the moment was only occasionally bouncing off the sides of sanity, ‘I, I, I think we lost some of the pieces . . .’
He looked around, giggled, and went back to trying to cut his mutton with a spoon. The other wizards were keeping point down on the table by the Archchancellor’s hand and stuck there.
The wizards turned their eyes upwards.
The Great Hall was lit in the evenings by one massive chandelier, although the word so often associated with glittering prismatic glassware seemed inappropriate for the huge, heavy, black, tallow-encrusted thing that hung from the ceiling like a threatening overdraft. It could hold a thousand candles. It was directly over the senior wizards’ table. Another screw tinkled on to the floor by the fireplace.
The Archchancellor cleared his throat.knives out of his way at present. The entire cruet floated up into the air and started to spin slowly. Then it exploded.The wizards, dripping vinegar and expensive spices, watched it owlishly. ‘It was probably the sauce,’ the Dean ventured.’It was definitely going a bit critical last night.’Something dropped on his head and landed in his lunch. It was a black iron screw, several inches long.Another one mildly contused the Bursar.After a second or two, a third landed
67
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)