Jack Vettriano An Imperfect Past IIJack Vettriano Amateur PhilosophersJack Vettriano along game a Spider
'Sounds like "Rocks, Rocks, Rocks",' said Cliff.
The door burst open and Dibbler half‑ran, half‑fell in.
'You've got to get out there!' he shouted. 'Right now!'
'I thought the Insanitary boys–’Glod began.
'Don't even ask,' said Dibbler. 'Come on! Otherwise they'll wreck the place!'
Asphalt picked up noticed it. But there was a twang on the edge of Buddy's words, a sibilance of strings.
'Oh, that. Of course,' said Dibbler. 'Got to cover expenses. There's your wages . . . wear and tear on the floor . . . heating and lighting . . . depreciation . . .'
The roar was louder now. It had a certain footstamping component.
Dibbler swallowed. He suddenly had the look of a man the rocks.'OK,' he said.'No,' said Buddy.'What dis?' said Dibbler. 'Nerves?''No. Music should be free. Free as the air and the sky.'Glod's head spun around. Buddy's voice had a faint suggestion of harmonics.'Sure, right, that's what I said,' said Dibbler. 'The Guild–’Buddy unfolded his legs and stood up.'I expect people had to pay to get in here, didn't they?' he said.Glod looked at the others. No‑one else seemed to have
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Jack Vettriano words of Wisdom
Jack Vettriano words of WisdomJack Vettriano Woman PursuedJack Vettriano Winter Light and Lavender
he very carefully reached out and touched the–
To call the sudden snapping sound discordant would be too mild. The sound had a snarl, it had talons.
Glod sat back. Right. Right. It was Buddy's instrument. An instrument played by the same person over the years could
And there was a troll story about some stones that, on frosty nights . . .
The point was that magical instruments turned up every so often.
Glod reached out again.
JUD‑Adud‑adud‑duh.
'All right, all right . . .'become very adapted to them, although not in Glod's experience to the point of biting someone else. Buddy hadn't had it a day yet, but the principle maybe was the same.There was an old dwarf legend about the famous Horn of Furgle, which sounded itself when danger was near and also in the presence, for some reason, of horseradish.And there was even an Ankh‑Morpork legend, wasn't there, about some old drum in the Palace or somewhere that was supposed to bang itself if an enemy fleet was seen sailing up the Ankh? The legend had died out in recent centuries, partly because this was the Age of Reason and also because no enemy fleet could sail up the Ankh without a gang of men with shovels going in front.
he very carefully reached out and touched the–
To call the sudden snapping sound discordant would be too mild. The sound had a snarl, it had talons.
Glod sat back. Right. Right. It was Buddy's instrument. An instrument played by the same person over the years could
And there was a troll story about some stones that, on frosty nights . . .
The point was that magical instruments turned up every so often.
Glod reached out again.
JUD‑Adud‑adud‑duh.
'All right, all right . . .'become very adapted to them, although not in Glod's experience to the point of biting someone else. Buddy hadn't had it a day yet, but the principle maybe was the same.There was an old dwarf legend about the famous Horn of Furgle, which sounded itself when danger was near and also in the presence, for some reason, of horseradish.And there was even an Ankh‑Morpork legend, wasn't there, about some old drum in the Palace or somewhere that was supposed to bang itself if an enemy fleet was seen sailing up the Ankh? The legend had died out in recent centuries, partly because this was the Age of Reason and also because no enemy fleet could sail up the Ankh without a gang of men with shovels going in front.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Claude Monet Poplars
Claude Monet PoplarsJohannes Vermeer View Of DelftJohannes Vermeer The Kitchen MaidDiane Romanello Sunset Beach
Susan walked around the patch of carpet. The man took no notice.
The Death of Rats shinned up the table leg and landed on a slice of fried bread.
'Oh. It's you.'
SQUEAK.
The old man looked around.
'Where? Where?'
Susan stepped onto the carpet. The man stood up so quickly that his chair fell over.
'Who the hells are you?'
'Could you stop pointing that sharp bacon at me?'
'I asked you a question, young woman!'
'I'm Susan.' This The hippo of memory wallowed . . .
'. . . Albert . . .' said Susan, 'right?'didn't sound enough. 'Duchess of Sto Helit,' she added.The man's wrinkled face wrinkled still further as he strove to comprehend this. Then he turned away and threw his hands up in the air.'Oh, yes!' he bawled, to the room in general. 'That just puts the entire tin lid on it, that does!'He waved a finger at the Death of Rats, who leaned backwards.'You cheating little rodent! Oh, yes! I smell a rat here!'SQUEAK?The shaking finger stopped suddenly. The man spun around.'How did you manage to walk through the wall?''I'm sorry?' said Susan, backing away. 'I didn't know there was one.''What d'you call this, then, Klatchian mist?' The man slapped the air.
Albert thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
'Worse and worse! What've you been telling her?'
Susan walked around the patch of carpet. The man took no notice.
The Death of Rats shinned up the table leg and landed on a slice of fried bread.
'Oh. It's you.'
SQUEAK.
The old man looked around.
'Where? Where?'
Susan stepped onto the carpet. The man stood up so quickly that his chair fell over.
'Who the hells are you?'
'Could you stop pointing that sharp bacon at me?'
'I asked you a question, young woman!'
'I'm Susan.' This The hippo of memory wallowed . . .
'. . . Albert . . .' said Susan, 'right?'didn't sound enough. 'Duchess of Sto Helit,' she added.The man's wrinkled face wrinkled still further as he strove to comprehend this. Then he turned away and threw his hands up in the air.'Oh, yes!' he bawled, to the room in general. 'That just puts the entire tin lid on it, that does!'He waved a finger at the Death of Rats, who leaned backwards.'You cheating little rodent! Oh, yes! I smell a rat here!'SQUEAK?The shaking finger stopped suddenly. The man spun around.'How did you manage to walk through the wall?''I'm sorry?' said Susan, backing away. 'I didn't know there was one.''What d'you call this, then, Klatchian mist?' The man slapped the air.
Albert thumped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
'Worse and worse! What've you been telling her?'
Friday, 8 May 2009
Diego Rivera Detroit Industry
Diego Rivera Detroit IndustryLeroy Neiman Rocky vs ApolloAndy Warhol SupermanAndy Warhol Sunset
is a story about memory. And this much can be remembered . . .
. . . that the Death of the Discworld, for reasons of his own, once rescued a baby girl and took her to his home between the dimensions. He let .
. . . that he later hired an apprentice called Mortimer, or Mort for short. Between Mort and Ysabell there was an instant dislike and everyone knows what that means in the long term. As a substitute for the Grim Reaper Mort was a spectacular failure, causing problems that led to a wobbling of Reality and a fight between him and Death which Mort lost . . .
. . . and that, for reasons of his own, Death spared his life and sent him and Ysabell back into the world.her grow to become sixteen because he believed that older children were easier to deal with than younger children, and this shows that you can be an immortal anthropomorphic personification and still get things, as it were, dead wrong . .
is a story about memory. And this much can be remembered . . .
. . . that the Death of the Discworld, for reasons of his own, once rescued a baby girl and took her to his home between the dimensions. He let .
. . . that he later hired an apprentice called Mortimer, or Mort for short. Between Mort and Ysabell there was an instant dislike and everyone knows what that means in the long term. As a substitute for the Grim Reaper Mort was a spectacular failure, causing problems that led to a wobbling of Reality and a fight between him and Death which Mort lost . . .
. . . and that, for reasons of his own, Death spared his life and sent him and Ysabell back into the world.her grow to become sixteen because he believed that older children were easier to deal with than younger children, and this shows that you can be an immortal anthropomorphic personification and still get things, as it were, dead wrong . .
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
Bill Brauer Harvest Moon
Bill Brauer Harvest MoonBill Brauer Gold DressUnknown Artist Audrey Hepburn pop artPiet Mondrian Tableau I
say I do. Can't say I do. Clothing has never been what you might call a thingy of dog wossname.' Gaspode scratched his ear. 'Two metasyntactic variables there. Sorry.'
'It's different with you. You know what I am. Anyway, dogs are naturally naked.'
'So're humans'You can open your eyes now.'
Gaspode blinked. Angua in both shapes was OK to look at, but the second or two in between, as the morphic signal hunted between stations, was not a sight you wished to see on a full stomach.
'I thought you rolled around on the floor grunting and growing hair and stretching,' he whimpered.
Angua peered at her hair in the mirror while her night vision lasted.
'Whatever for?'
'Does . . . all that stuff . . . hurt?'—'Angua changed.Gaspode's ear flattened against his head. Despite himself, he whimpered.Angua stretched.'You know the worst bit?' she said. 'It's my hair. You can hardly get the tangles out. And my feet are covered in mud.'She tugged a sheet off the bed and draped it around herself as a makeshift toga.'There,' she said, 'you see worse on the street every day. Gaspode?''What?'
say I do. Can't say I do. Clothing has never been what you might call a thingy of dog wossname.' Gaspode scratched his ear. 'Two metasyntactic variables there. Sorry.'
'It's different with you. You know what I am. Anyway, dogs are naturally naked.'
'So're humans'You can open your eyes now.'
Gaspode blinked. Angua in both shapes was OK to look at, but the second or two in between, as the morphic signal hunted between stations, was not a sight you wished to see on a full stomach.
'I thought you rolled around on the floor grunting and growing hair and stretching,' he whimpered.
Angua peered at her hair in the mirror while her night vision lasted.
'Whatever for?'
'Does . . . all that stuff . . . hurt?'—'Angua changed.Gaspode's ear flattened against his head. Despite himself, he whimpered.Angua stretched.'You know the worst bit?' she said. 'It's my hair. You can hardly get the tangles out. And my feet are covered in mud.'She tugged a sheet off the bed and draped it around herself as a makeshift toga.'There,' she said, 'you see worse on the street every day. Gaspode?''What?'
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Cao Yong cao yong Red Umbrella
Cao Yong cao yong Red UmbrellaDiego Rivera View of ToledoDiego Rivera Motherhood Angelina and the Child DiegoLeroy Neiman Resting Tiger
'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'Mm?'
'How many hands, then?'
'Fo'?'
'Blimey, I haven't seen him like this for years,' said Colon. 'Here, let me try something. Want another drink, captain?'
'He certainly doesn't need a—'
'Shut up, I know what I'm doing. Another drink, Captain Vimes?'
'Mm?'
'I've never known him not be able to give a loud clear "yes!",' said Colon, standing back. 'I think we'd better get him up to his room.'
.
'This is where he lives?' said Angua. 'Good grief.'
'What did you expect?'
'I don't know. Anything. Something. Not nothing.'
There was a joyless iron bedstead. The springs and mattress had sagged so that they formed a sort of mould, forcing anyone who got into it to instantly fold into a sleeping position. There was a washstan'I'll take him, poor chap,' said Carrot. He lifted Vimes easily, and slung him over his shoulder.'I hate to see him like this,' said Angua, following him into the hallway and up the stairs.'He only drinks when he gets depressed,' said Carrot.'Why does he get depressed?''Sometimes it's because he hasn't had a drink.'The house in Pseudopolis Yard had originally been a Ramkin family residence. Now the first floor was occupied by the guards on an ad hoc basis. Carrot had a room. Nobby had rooms consecutively, four so far, moving out when the floor became hard to find. And Vimes had a room.More or less. It was hard to tell. Even a prisoner in a cell manages to stamp his personality on it somewhere, but Angua had never seen such an unlived-in room
'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'Mm?'
'How many hands, then?'
'Fo'?'
'Blimey, I haven't seen him like this for years,' said Colon. 'Here, let me try something. Want another drink, captain?'
'He certainly doesn't need a—'
'Shut up, I know what I'm doing. Another drink, Captain Vimes?'
'Mm?'
'I've never known him not be able to give a loud clear "yes!",' said Colon, standing back. 'I think we'd better get him up to his room.'
.
'This is where he lives?' said Angua. 'Good grief.'
'What did you expect?'
'I don't know. Anything. Something. Not nothing.'
There was a joyless iron bedstead. The springs and mattress had sagged so that they formed a sort of mould, forcing anyone who got into it to instantly fold into a sleeping position. There was a washstan'I'll take him, poor chap,' said Carrot. He lifted Vimes easily, and slung him over his shoulder.'I hate to see him like this,' said Angua, following him into the hallway and up the stairs.'He only drinks when he gets depressed,' said Carrot.'Why does he get depressed?''Sometimes it's because he hasn't had a drink.'The house in Pseudopolis Yard had originally been a Ramkin family residence. Now the first floor was occupied by the guards on an ad hoc basis. Carrot had a room. Nobby had rooms consecutively, four so far, moving out when the floor became hard to find. And Vimes had a room.More or less. It was hard to tell. Even a prisoner in a cell manages to stamp his personality on it somewhere, but Angua had never seen such an unlived-in room
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Thomas Kinkade The Light of Freedom
Thomas Kinkade The Light of FreedomThomas Kinkade The Hour of PrayerThomas Kinkade The Heart of San FranciscoThomas Kinkade Sweetheart Cottage II
done this before,' said Sergeant Colon, as he and Nobby approached the Fools' Guild. 'Keep up against the wall when I bangs the knocker, all right?'
It was shaped like a pair of artificial breasts, the sort that are highly amusing to rugby players and anyone whose sense of humour has been surgically removed. Colon gave it a quick rap and then flung himself to safety.
There was a whoop, a 'Sergeant Colon, Night Watch,' he said, 'and this here is Corporal Nobbs. We've come to talk to someone about the man who . . . was found in the river, OK?'
'Oh. Yes. Poor Brother Beano. I suppose you'd better come in, then,' said the clown.
Nobby was about to push at the door when Colon stopped few honks on a horn, a little tune that someone somewhere must have thought was very jolly, a small hatch slid aside above the knocker and a custard pie emerged slowly, on the end of a wooden arm. Then the arm snapped and the pie collapsed in a little heap by Colon's foot.'It's sad, isn't it?' said Nobby.The door opened awkwardly, but only by a few inches, and a small clown stared up at him.'I say, I say, I say,' it said, 'why did the fat man knock at the door?''I don't know,' said Colon automatically. 'Why did the fat man knock at the door?'They stared at each other, tangled in the punchline.'That's what I asked you,' said the clown reproachfully. He had a depressed, hopeless voice.Sergeant Colon struck out towards sanity.
done this before,' said Sergeant Colon, as he and Nobby approached the Fools' Guild. 'Keep up against the wall when I bangs the knocker, all right?'
It was shaped like a pair of artificial breasts, the sort that are highly amusing to rugby players and anyone whose sense of humour has been surgically removed. Colon gave it a quick rap and then flung himself to safety.
There was a whoop, a 'Sergeant Colon, Night Watch,' he said, 'and this here is Corporal Nobbs. We've come to talk to someone about the man who . . . was found in the river, OK?'
'Oh. Yes. Poor Brother Beano. I suppose you'd better come in, then,' said the clown.
Nobby was about to push at the door when Colon stopped few honks on a horn, a little tune that someone somewhere must have thought was very jolly, a small hatch slid aside above the knocker and a custard pie emerged slowly, on the end of a wooden arm. Then the arm snapped and the pie collapsed in a little heap by Colon's foot.'It's sad, isn't it?' said Nobby.The door opened awkwardly, but only by a few inches, and a small clown stared up at him.'I say, I say, I say,' it said, 'why did the fat man knock at the door?''I don't know,' said Colon automatically. 'Why did the fat man knock at the door?'They stared at each other, tangled in the punchline.'That's what I asked you,' said the clown reproachfully. He had a depressed, hopeless voice.Sergeant Colon struck out towards sanity.
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