Vincent van Gogh The Night Cafe in the Place Lamartine in ArlesVincent van Gogh The good Samaritan DelacroixVincent van Gogh A Novel ReaderLeonardo da Vinci The Virgin and Child With St AnneLeonardo da Vinci Madonna With The Carnation
threedimensional. The arm flailed vaguely ‑at Victor as he methodically threw coils of octo‑cellulose over it. He ran back to the booth and pulled out the stacks of clicks that Bezam, in defiance of common sense, had stored under the bench.
Working with the methodical calmness of bowel‑twisting terror, he carried the cans by the armload to the screen He pushed open the doors to the, foyer and dashed out into the street, where the crowds were milling around in horrified fascination and watching a fifty‑foot Ginger disentangling Itself from the wreckage of a building.
Victor heard a clicking beside him. Gaffer the handleman was intently capturing the scene on film.
The Chair was shouting at Dibbler.and heaped them there. The Thing managed to wrench another arm free of two‑dimensionality and tried to scrabble at them, but whatever was controlling it was having trouble controlling this new shape. It was probably unused to having only two arms, Victor told himself.He threw the last can on to the heap.‘In our world you have to obey our rules,’ he said. ‘And I bet you burn just as well as anything else, hey?’The Thing struggled to pull a leg free.Victor patted his pockets. He ran back to the booth and scrabbled around madly.Matches. There weren’t any matches!
2009年3月29日星期日
John Collier A Devonshire Orchard
John Collier A Devonshire OrchardCao Yong Red UmbrellaCao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIESCao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of Love
. a Golden Warrior, who drove the Fiends back and saved the World, and said, Where the Gate is, There Am I Also; I Am He that was Born of Holy Wood, to guard the
Wild Idea. And ‘And the People said to one another, Funny, he lookes just like my Uncle Osbert . . . ‘
The Librarian turned the page.
‘ . . . But there were among them, humans and animals alike, those touched by the magic of Holy Wood. It goeth through the generations like an ancient curse, until the priests cease in their Remembrance and the Golden Man sleepeth. Then let the world Beware . . . ‘
The Librarian let the book snap shut. they said, What must we do to Destroy the Gate Forever, and he said unto them, This you Cannot Do, for it is Not a Thing, but I will Guard the Gate for you. And they, not having been Born yesterday, and fearing the Cure more than the Malady, said to him, What will you Take from Us, that you will Guard the Door. And he grew until he was the height of a tree and said, Only your Remembrance, that I do Not Sleep. Three times a day will you remember Holy Wood. Else The Cities of the World Will Tremble and Fall, and you will See the Greatest of them All in Flames. And with that the Golden Man took up his golden sword and went into the Hill and stood at the Gate, forever.
. a Golden Warrior, who drove the Fiends back and saved the World, and said, Where the Gate is, There Am I Also; I Am He that was Born of Holy Wood, to guard the
Wild Idea. And ‘And the People said to one another, Funny, he lookes just like my Uncle Osbert . . . ‘
The Librarian turned the page.
‘ . . . But there were among them, humans and animals alike, those touched by the magic of Holy Wood. It goeth through the generations like an ancient curse, until the priests cease in their Remembrance and the Golden Man sleepeth. Then let the world Beware . . . ‘
The Librarian let the book snap shut. they said, What must we do to Destroy the Gate Forever, and he said unto them, This you Cannot Do, for it is Not a Thing, but I will Guard the Gate for you. And they, not having been Born yesterday, and fearing the Cure more than the Malady, said to him, What will you Take from Us, that you will Guard the Door. And he grew until he was the height of a tree and said, Only your Remembrance, that I do Not Sleep. Three times a day will you remember Holy Wood. Else The Cities of the World Will Tremble and Fall, and you will See the Greatest of them All in Flames. And with that the Golden Man took up his golden sword and went into the Hill and stood at the Gate, forever.
2009年3月27日星期五
Rene Magritte The Ignorant Fairy
Rene Magritte The Ignorant FairyRene Magritte The Human ConditionRene Magritte The Great WarRene Magritte The Empire of LightRene Magritte The Big Family
M’Bu leaned on the fence and waited.
‘Maybe two hundred, give or take ten,’ said Azhural, throwing down the stick. ‘Nowhere near enough.’
‘You can’t give or take ten elephants, boss,’ said M’Bu firmly. He knew that counting elephants was a precision job. A‘Drawing a map, boss,’ said M’Bu.
Azhural shook his head. ‘Not worth it, boy. Three thousand miles to Ankh, I reckon, I let myself get carried away. Too many miles, not enough elephants.’
‘We could go across the plains, boss,’ said M’Bu. ‘Lot of elephants on the plains man might be uncertain about how many wives he had, but never about elephants. Either you had one, or you didn’t. ‘Our agent in Klatch has an order for’, Azhural swallowed, ‘a thousand elephants. A thousand! Immediately! Cash on delivery!’ Azhural let the paper drop to the ground. ‘To a place called Ankh-Morpork,’ he said despondently. He sighed. ‘It would have been nice,’ he said. M’Bu scratched his head and stared at the hammerhead clouds massing over Mt F’twangi. Soon the dry veldt would boom to the thunder of the rains. Then he reached down and picked up the stick. ‘What’re you doing?’ said Azhural.
M’Bu leaned on the fence and waited.
‘Maybe two hundred, give or take ten,’ said Azhural, throwing down the stick. ‘Nowhere near enough.’
‘You can’t give or take ten elephants, boss,’ said M’Bu firmly. He knew that counting elephants was a precision job. A‘Drawing a map, boss,’ said M’Bu.
Azhural shook his head. ‘Not worth it, boy. Three thousand miles to Ankh, I reckon, I let myself get carried away. Too many miles, not enough elephants.’
‘We could go across the plains, boss,’ said M’Bu. ‘Lot of elephants on the plains man might be uncertain about how many wives he had, but never about elephants. Either you had one, or you didn’t. ‘Our agent in Klatch has an order for’, Azhural swallowed, ‘a thousand elephants. A thousand! Immediately! Cash on delivery!’ Azhural let the paper drop to the ground. ‘To a place called Ankh-Morpork,’ he said despondently. He sighed. ‘It would have been nice,’ he said. M’Bu scratched his head and stared at the hammerhead clouds massing over Mt F’twangi. Soon the dry veldt would boom to the thunder of the rains. Then he reached down and picked up the stick. ‘What’re you doing?’ said Azhural.
2009年3月25日星期三
Johannes Vermeer Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window
Johannes Vermeer Girl Reading a Letter at an Open WindowGustave Courbet Plage de NormandieThomas Kinkade Town SquareThomas Kinkade PARIS EIFFEL TOWERThomas Kinkade Hometown Pride
box.
It was black. On it, in white, were the words ‘Noe! Noe!’
He walked away. The villain twirled his moustache. The man walked back with a board. This time it said ‘Ahar! My proude beauty!’
Another of the seated watchers picked up a megaphone.
‘Fine, fine,’‘He’s in the offices over there,’ said the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder without looking around.
‘Thank you.’
The first shed he poked his head into contained nothing but rows of small cages stretching away into the gloom. Indistinct things hurled themselves against the bars he said. ‘OK, take a five minutes break and then everyone back here for the big fight scene.’ The villain untied the girl. They wandered off. The man stopped turning the handle, lit a cigarette, and then opened the top of the box. ‘Everyone get that?’ he said. There was a chorus of squeaks. Victor walked over and tapped the megaphone man on his shoulder. ‘Urgent message for Mr Silverfish?’ he said.
box.
It was black. On it, in white, were the words ‘Noe! Noe!’
He walked away. The villain twirled his moustache. The man walked back with a board. This time it said ‘Ahar! My proude beauty!’
Another of the seated watchers picked up a megaphone.
‘Fine, fine,’‘He’s in the offices over there,’ said the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder without looking around.
‘Thank you.’
The first shed he poked his head into contained nothing but rows of small cages stretching away into the gloom. Indistinct things hurled themselves against the bars he said. ‘OK, take a five minutes break and then everyone back here for the big fight scene.’ The villain untied the girl. They wandered off. The man stopped turning the handle, lit a cigarette, and then opened the top of the box. ‘Everyone get that?’ he said. There was a chorus of squeaks. Victor walked over and tapped the megaphone man on his shoulder. ‘Urgent message for Mr Silverfish?’ he said.
2009年3月24日星期二
Peter Paul Rubens Samson and Delilah
Peter Paul Rubens Samson and DelilahJohn William Waterhouse Waterhouse NarcissusJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of ShalottJohn William Waterhouse waterhouse OpheliaJohn William Waterhouse Hylas and the Nymphs
a time of crisis, possibly any high-born minister of state would suffice,' she went on.
Dios looked up, his face mirroring the agony of his tendons.
'I see,' he said. 'And who would be high priest then?'
'The gods would choose,' said Koomi.
'I daresay 'Very well, then,' he said. 'I have one final request.'
'Yes?' Koomi's voice had timbre now, it was already a high priest's voice.
'I wish to be interred in the-' Dios began, and was cut off by a murmur from those priests who could look out across the river. All eyes turned to the distant, inky shore.they would,' said Dios sourly. 'I am in some doubt as to the wisdom of their choice.' 'The dead can speak to the gods in the netherworld,' said the priestess. 'But the gods are all here,' said Dios, fighting against the throbbing in his legs, which were insisting that, at this time, they should be walking along the central corridor en route to supervise the Rite of the Under Sky. His body cried out for the solace over the river. And once over the river, never to return . . . but he'd always said that. 'In the absence of the king the high priest performs his duties. Isn't that right, Dios?' said Koomi. It was. It was written. You couldn't rewrite it, once it was written. He'd written it. Long ago. Dios hung his head. This was worse than plumbing, this was worse than anything. And yet, and yet. . . to go across the river . . .
a time of crisis, possibly any high-born minister of state would suffice,' she went on.
Dios looked up, his face mirroring the agony of his tendons.
'I see,' he said. 'And who would be high priest then?'
'The gods would choose,' said Koomi.
'I daresay 'Very well, then,' he said. 'I have one final request.'
'Yes?' Koomi's voice had timbre now, it was already a high priest's voice.
'I wish to be interred in the-' Dios began, and was cut off by a murmur from those priests who could look out across the river. All eyes turned to the distant, inky shore.they would,' said Dios sourly. 'I am in some doubt as to the wisdom of their choice.' 'The dead can speak to the gods in the netherworld,' said the priestess. 'But the gods are all here,' said Dios, fighting against the throbbing in his legs, which were insisting that, at this time, they should be walking along the central corridor en route to supervise the Rite of the Under Sky. His body cried out for the solace over the river. And once over the river, never to return . . . but he'd always said that. 'In the absence of the king the high priest performs his duties. Isn't that right, Dios?' said Koomi. It was. It was written. You couldn't rewrite it, once it was written. He'd written it. Long ago. Dios hung his head. This was worse than plumbing, this was worse than anything. And yet, and yet. . . to go across the river . . .
2009年3月20日星期五
Unknown Artist Red Horizon
Unknown Artist Red HorizonUnknown Artist jasper johns Target with Four FacesSalvador Dali ArgusJohannes Vermeer The Little StreetJohannes Vermeer Mistress and Maid
king craned nearer.
Gern rummaged around at his end of the job and then gave a long, low whistle.
'Will you look at the colour of this!' he said. 'You wouldn't think so, would you? Is it something they eat, master?'
Dil sighed. slightly muffled.
'Our mum said he was all right as a king,' said Gern. 'What do you think?'
Dil paused with a jar in his hand, and seemed to give the conversation some thought for the first time.
'Never think about it until they come down here,' he said. 'I suppose he was better than most. Nice pair of lungs. Clean kidneys. Good big sinuses, which is what I always look for in a king.' He looked down, and delivered his professional judgement. 'Pleasure to work with, really.''Just put it in the pot, Gern.' 'Right you are, master. Master?' 'Yes, lad?' 'Which bit's got the god in it, master?' Dil squinted up the king's nostril, trying to concentrate. 'That gets sorted out before he comes down here,' he said patiently. 'I wondered,' said Gern, 'because there's not a jar for it, see.' 'No. There wouldn't be. It'd have to be a rather strange jar, Gern.' Gern looked a bit disappointed. 'Oh,' he said, 'so he's just ordinary, then, is he?' 'In a strictly organic sense,' said Dil, his voice
king craned nearer.
Gern rummaged around at his end of the job and then gave a long, low whistle.
'Will you look at the colour of this!' he said. 'You wouldn't think so, would you? Is it something they eat, master?'
Dil sighed. slightly muffled.
'Our mum said he was all right as a king,' said Gern. 'What do you think?'
Dil paused with a jar in his hand, and seemed to give the conversation some thought for the first time.
'Never think about it until they come down here,' he said. 'I suppose he was better than most. Nice pair of lungs. Clean kidneys. Good big sinuses, which is what I always look for in a king.' He looked down, and delivered his professional judgement. 'Pleasure to work with, really.''Just put it in the pot, Gern.' 'Right you are, master. Master?' 'Yes, lad?' 'Which bit's got the god in it, master?' Dil squinted up the king's nostril, trying to concentrate. 'That gets sorted out before he comes down here,' he said patiently. 'I wondered,' said Gern, 'because there's not a jar for it, see.' 'No. There wouldn't be. It'd have to be a rather strange jar, Gern.' Gern looked a bit disappointed. 'Oh,' he said, 'so he's just ordinary, then, is he?' 'In a strictly organic sense,' said Dil, his voice
2009年3月19日星期四
Vincent van Gogh Still life with a bottle of lemons and oranges
Vincent van Gogh Still life with a bottle of lemons and orangesVincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with StrawVincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with Felt Hat greyVincent van Gogh Seascape at Saintes-MariesVincent van Gogh Road with Cypresses
'That's where you've been getting it all wrong,' said Granny, 'Destiny is important, see, but people go wrong when they think it controls them. It's the other way around.'
'Bugger destiny,' agreed Nanny.
Granny glared at her.
'After all, you never thought being a witch was going to be easy, did you?'
'I'm learning,' said Magrat. She looked across the moor, where a thin rind of dawn glowed on the horizon.
'I think I'd better be off,' she said. 'It's getting early.'
'Me too,' said Nanny, now.'
'That's nice,' said Granny. 'What about you, Magrat?'
'There always seems to be such a lot to do at this time of year, don't you find?' said Magrat.
'Quite,' said Granny Weatherwax, pleasantly. 'It's no good getting yourself tied down to appointments all the time, is it? Let's just leave the whole question open, shall we?'
They nodded. And, as the new day wound across the landscape, each one busy with her own Ogg. 'Our Shirl frets if I'm not home when she comes to get my breakfast.'Granny carefully scuffed over the remains of the fire.'When shall we three meet again?' she said. 'Hmm?'The witches looked at one another sheepishly.'I'm a bit busy next month,' said Nanny. 'Birthdays and such. Er. And the work has really been piling up with all this hurly-burly. You know. And there's all the ghosts to think about.''I thought you sent them back to the castle,' said Granny.'Well, they didn't want to go,' said Nanny vaguely. 'To be honest, I've got used to them around the place. They're company of an evening. They hardly scream at all
'That's where you've been getting it all wrong,' said Granny, 'Destiny is important, see, but people go wrong when they think it controls them. It's the other way around.'
'Bugger destiny,' agreed Nanny.
Granny glared at her.
'After all, you never thought being a witch was going to be easy, did you?'
'I'm learning,' said Magrat. She looked across the moor, where a thin rind of dawn glowed on the horizon.
'I think I'd better be off,' she said. 'It's getting early.'
'Me too,' said Nanny, now.'
'That's nice,' said Granny. 'What about you, Magrat?'
'There always seems to be such a lot to do at this time of year, don't you find?' said Magrat.
'Quite,' said Granny Weatherwax, pleasantly. 'It's no good getting yourself tied down to appointments all the time, is it? Let's just leave the whole question open, shall we?'
They nodded. And, as the new day wound across the landscape, each one busy with her own Ogg. 'Our Shirl frets if I'm not home when she comes to get my breakfast.'Granny carefully scuffed over the remains of the fire.'When shall we three meet again?' she said. 'Hmm?'The witches looked at one another sheepishly.'I'm a bit busy next month,' said Nanny. 'Birthdays and such. Er. And the work has really been piling up with all this hurly-burly. You know. And there's all the ghosts to think about.''I thought you sent them back to the castle,' said Granny.'Well, they didn't want to go,' said Nanny vaguely. 'To be honest, I've got used to them around the place. They're company of an evening. They hardly scream at all
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