I paint from the top down. From the sky, then the mountains, then the hills, then the houses, then the cattle, and then the people.

Now, it's full night, clear, moonless and filled with stars, which are not eternal as we once thought, which are not where we think they are. If they were sounds, they would be echoes, of something that happened millions of year ago: a word made of numbers. Echoes of light, shining out of the midst of nothing. It's old light, and there's not much of it. But it's enough to see by.

I know that look.” Jack shook his head ruefully. “Doan worry; she’ll give you your balls back as soon as she’s done getting her way.

Written By Vincent C. Ven

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links