Jack Vettriano 301.129
you boys are in a bit of trouble,' said Dibbler. 'Broken furniture and whatnot.''We're not even going to get paid,' said Cliff, glaring at Glod.'Well now,' said Dibbler, 'it could just be that I could help you there. I'm a businessman. I do business. I can see you boys are musicians. You play music. You don't want to worry your heads about money stuff, right? Gets in the way of the creative processes, am I right? How about if you leave that to me?''Huh,' said Glod, still smarting from
Jack Vettriano Zara Philips by RankinJack Vettriano You Can't Come To This Party!
'Gook!'
'I ain't talking to you! I'm talking to you other guys.'
'No,' said Buddy, 'I don't think we have.'
The grin appeared to widen.
'I hear the insult to his financial acumen. 'And what can you do?'
'Well,' said Dibbler, ' I can get you paid for tonight, for a start.'
'What about the furniture?' said Buddy.
'Oh, stuff gets busted here every night,' said Dibbler expansively. 'Hibiscus was just having you on. I'll square it with him. Confidentially, you want to watch out for people like him.'
He leaned forward. If his grin had been any wider the top of his head would have fallen off.
'This city, boys,' he said, 'is a jungle.'
'If he can get us paid, I trust him,' said Glod.
'As simple as dat?' said Cliff.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Jack Vettriano Elegy for the Dead Admiral
walked through the hall of lifetimers. Even those on the highest shelves rattled gently as she passed.
She'd save lives. The good could be spared, and the bad could die young. It would all balance up, too. She'd show him. As for responsibility, well . . . humans always made changes. That was what being human was all about.
Susan opened another door and stepped into the library.Around her the busyness of the library went on. Millions of books quietly carried on writing themselves, causing a rustle like that of cockroaches.
She remembered sitting on a knee or, rather, sitting on a cushion on a knee, because the knee itself had been out of the question. Watching a bony finger follow the letters as they formed on the page. She'd learned to read her own life–
It was a room even bigger than the hall of lifetimers. Bookcases rose like cliffs; a haze obscured the ceiling.
But of course it'd be childish, she told herself, to think that she could go in waving the scythe like a magic wand and turn the world into a better place overnight. It might take some time. So she should start in a small way and work up.
She held out a hand.
'I'm not going to do the voice,' she said. 'That's just unnecessary drama and really a bit stupid. I just want the book of Imp y Celyn, thank you very much.'
She'd save lives. The good could be spared, and the bad could die young. It would all balance up, too. She'd show him. As for responsibility, well . . . humans always made changes. That was what being human was all about.
Susan opened another door and stepped into the library.Around her the busyness of the library went on. Millions of books quietly carried on writing themselves, causing a rustle like that of cockroaches.
She remembered sitting on a knee or, rather, sitting on a cushion on a knee, because the knee itself had been out of the question. Watching a bony finger follow the letters as they formed on the page. She'd learned to read her own life–
It was a room even bigger than the hall of lifetimers. Bookcases rose like cliffs; a haze obscured the ceiling.
But of course it'd be childish, she told herself, to think that she could go in waving the scythe like a magic wand and turn the world into a better place overnight. It might take some time. So she should start in a small way and work up.
She held out a hand.
'I'm not going to do the voice,' she said. 'That's just unnecessary drama and really a bit stupid. I just want the book of Imp y Celyn, thank you very much.'
Monday, May 11, 2009
Gustav Klimt dancer
br />saw it too,' said Cliff. 'When we was walking here, you were bouncing along.' He looked under the table. 'And you is tapping your feet.'
'And you keep snapping your fingers,' said Glod.
'I can't stop . 'No‑one's got that many teeth.'
'I didn't mean buy it,' said Glod. 'Just . . . borrow it for a while.'
'Days stealing,' said Cliff.
'No it's not,' said the dwarf. 'We'll let them have it back when we've finished with it.'
'Oh. Dat's all right den.'
Buddy wasn't a drummer or a troll and he could see the technical flaw in Glod's thinking about the music,' said Buddy. 'You're right. We need . . .' he drummed his fingers along the table, '. . . a sound like . . . pang pang pang PANG Pang . . .'You mean a keyboard?' said Glod.'Do I?''They've got one of those new pianofortes just over the river in the Opera House,' said Glod.'Yah, but dat sort of thing ain't for our kind of music,' said Cliff. 'Dat sort of thing is for big fat guys in powdered wigs.''I reckon,' said Glod, giving Buddy another lopsided stare, 'if we put it anywhere near Im‑ near Buddy, it'll be for our kind of music soon enough. So go and get it.''I heard where it cost four hundred dollars,' said Cliff
'And you keep snapping your fingers,' said Glod.
'I can't stop . 'No‑one's got that many teeth.'
'I didn't mean buy it,' said Glod. 'Just . . . borrow it for a while.'
'Days stealing,' said Cliff.
'No it's not,' said the dwarf. 'We'll let them have it back when we've finished with it.'
'Oh. Dat's all right den.'
Buddy wasn't a drummer or a troll and he could see the technical flaw in Glod's thinking about the music,' said Buddy. 'You're right. We need . . .' he drummed his fingers along the table, '. . . a sound like . . . pang pang pang PANG Pang . . .'You mean a keyboard?' said Glod.'Do I?''They've got one of those new pianofortes just over the river in the Opera House,' said Glod.'Yah, but dat sort of thing ain't for our kind of music,' said Cliff. 'Dat sort of thing is for big fat guys in powdered wigs.''I reckon,' said Glod, giving Buddy another lopsided stare, 'if we put it anywhere near Im‑ near Buddy, it'll be for our kind of music soon enough. So go and get it.''I heard where it cost four hundred dollars,' said Cliff
Friday, May 8, 2009
Paul Klee Zitronen
FORGET ANYTHING. EVERYTHING.
'It . . . er . . . it happens automatically.' The prospective acolytes had turned the bend on the mountain path. The holy man hastily picked up his begging bowl.
'Let's say this bowl 'But alcohol debilitates the body and is a poison to the soul.'
SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.
'Master?'
The holy man looked around irritably. The acolytes had arrived.
'Just a minute, I'm talking to–’is your memory,' he said, waving it vaguely. 'It can only hold so much, see? New things come in, so old things must overflow–’NO. I REMEMBER EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. DOORKNOBS. THE PLAY OF SUNLIGHT ON HAIR. THE SOUND OF LAUGHTER. FOOTSTEPS. EVERY LITTLE DETAIL. AS IF IT HAPPENED ONLY YESTERDAY. AS IF IT HAPPENED ONLY TOMMOROW. EVERYTHING. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?The holy man scratched his gleaming bald head.'Traditionally,' he said, 'the ways of forgetting include joining the Klatchian Foreign Legion, drinking the waters of some magical river, no‑one knows where it is, and imbibing vast amounts of alcohol.'AH, YES.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Lord Frederick Leighton The Fisherman and the Syren
thought some more, and sighed.
'Oh, I remember. It's the one in the throat,' he said.
Vimes Dink. 'Corporal Carrot says there's some good buried somewhere in everyone,' said Detritus.
And what's your job, Detritus.'
Dink. 'Engineer in charge of deep mining operations, sah!'
Vimes scratched his head.
'That was very nearly a joke, wasn't it?' he said.
'It this new helmet my mate Cuddy made me, sir. Hah! People can't say, there go stupid troll. They have to say, who that goodlooking military troll there, acting-constable already, great future behind him, he got Destiny written all over him like writing.'stepped out into the sunlight, except that there wasn't much of it. Clouds were blowing in from the Hub. And—'Detritus?'Dink. 'Captain Vimes, sah!''Who're all these people?''Watchmen, sir.'Vimes stared in puzzlement at the half-dozen assorted guards.'Who're you?''Lance-Constable Hrolf Pyjama, sir.'And y— Coalface?''I never done nuffin.''I never done nuffin, sah!' yelled Detritus.'Coalface? In the Watch?'
'Oh, I remember. It's the one in the throat,' he said.
Vimes Dink. 'Corporal Carrot says there's some good buried somewhere in everyone,' said Detritus.
And what's your job, Detritus.'
Dink. 'Engineer in charge of deep mining operations, sah!'
Vimes scratched his head.
'That was very nearly a joke, wasn't it?' he said.
'It this new helmet my mate Cuddy made me, sir. Hah! People can't say, there go stupid troll. They have to say, who that goodlooking military troll there, acting-constable already, great future behind him, he got Destiny written all over him like writing.'stepped out into the sunlight, except that there wasn't much of it. Clouds were blowing in from the Hub. And—'Detritus?'Dink. 'Captain Vimes, sah!''Who're all these people?''Watchmen, sir.'Vimes stared in puzzlement at the half-dozen assorted guards.'Who're you?''Lance-Constable Hrolf Pyjama, sir.'And y— Coalface?''I never done nuffin.''I never done nuffin, sah!' yelled Detritus.'Coalface? In the Watch?'
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Camille Pissarro Jardin Mirbeau aux Damps
'Good. Now go and get Coalface.'
'Er . . . he's in a bit of a bad temper, Corporal Carrot.'
'On account of being chained togo and bring out the prisoner.'
'I don't see why—' a dwarf began.
'You shut up, you horrible man,' said Detritus, drunk with power.
You could have heard a guillotine drop.
In the crowd, a number of different-sized knobbly hands gripped a variety of concealed weapons.
Everyone looked at Carrot. the floor,' volunteered another guard.'Well, now,' said Carrot. 'The thing is, he's going to be unchained right now.' The men shuffled their feet nervously, possibly remembering an old proverb that fitted the 'Quirm is very nice at this time of year,' said Sergeant Colon helpfully. 'They've got a floral clock.''Er . . . since you mention it . . . I've got some sick leave coming up,' one of them said.'I should think that's very probable, if you hang around,' said Carrot.They sidled off as fast as decency allowed. The crowd hardly paid them any attention. There was still a lot more mileage in watching Carrot.'Right,' said Carrot. 'Detritus, you take some men and
'Er . . . he's in a bit of a bad temper, Corporal Carrot.'
'On account of being chained togo and bring out the prisoner.'
'I don't see why—' a dwarf began.
'You shut up, you horrible man,' said Detritus, drunk with power.
You could have heard a guillotine drop.
In the crowd, a number of different-sized knobbly hands gripped a variety of concealed weapons.
Everyone looked at Carrot. the floor,' volunteered another guard.'Well, now,' said Carrot. 'The thing is, he's going to be unchained right now.' The men shuffled their feet nervously, possibly remembering an old proverb that fitted the 'Quirm is very nice at this time of year,' said Sergeant Colon helpfully. 'They've got a floral clock.''Er . . . since you mention it . . . I've got some sick leave coming up,' one of them said.'I should think that's very probable, if you hang around,' said Carrot.They sidled off as fast as decency allowed. The crowd hardly paid them any attention. There was still a lot more mileage in watching Carrot.'Right,' said Carrot. 'Detritus, you take some men and
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