Andy Weston

“Thou too art doomed..”
― Ernst Raupach, Non disturbare il sonno dei morti

“From the age of six I had a mania for drawing the shape of things.
When I was fifty I had published a universe of drawings.
But all I have done before the age of seventy is not worth bothering with.
At seventy three I have learned something of the pattern of nature, of animals, of plants, of trees, birds, fish and insects.
When I am eighty you will see real progress.
At ninety I will have cut my way deeply into the mystery of life itself.
At one hundred, I will be a marvellous artist.
At one hundred and ten, everything I create - a dot, a line - will come alive.
I call on those who still may be alive to see if I keep my word.”
― Hokusai, The Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji

“The Cadillac was vast, domed, vaulted and trussed, specially built by Detroit to the Gospel Singer's own specifications, but costing as much as Detroit cared to make it cost, expense being no consideration with the Gospel Singer because he consistently made more money during any given year than he was able to spend. The interior was deep savage red: the seats and headliner formed in heavy leather; the floor padded in spongy carpet. A pale mauve light-indirect, as though emanating from the passengers themselves-lit up the Gospel Singer in the back seat where he lolled, long-jointed and beautiful under his incredible head of yellow girl's hair, and lit up Didymus-manager, chauffeur and confessor to the Gospel Singer-where he sat, narrow-faced and nicotine-stained, rigid in his dark blue businessman's suit. He turned to look over his shoulder at the Gospel Singer, his mouth like the blade of a hatchet. He wore a clerical collar.”
― Harry Crews, The Gospel Singer and Where Does One Go When There's No Place to Go?

“Slabber Olli told her about the places he had been. He had been to the bottom of the sea and wandered endless gardens of stars in outer space. He said that human time as we know it was over.
That the waters would rise and then fall, and then fiery waters would come. The Earth would be reshaped into something new. Mud would flow. Boiling canyons would open up.
"The mountains are already starting to move,” Slabber Olli said.
He told her about creatures that used to live in the sea, like reptiles with two mouths, a horizontal one and a vertical one. He told her about creatures at the bottom of the sea shaped like elm leaves, with five eyes and long, bendy elephant trunks and scissors on their heads.
About sharks with anvils growing on their backs. Flightless birds three meters tall that ran after deer on graceful, muscular legs that bent and stretched, bent and stretched, their beaks opened wide. He told her about the rockets people would build to shoot themselves off to other planets, and how badly it would turn out. Humans would continue their journey. They would find doors to knock on and portals that wouldn't open when they knocked, and the humans would break them down, and the ones they couldn't break they would build keys for. And all the while, humans would be changing. Humans would be changed not just by time but by humans themselves, and before long you'd have to call them human derivatives, and then something else entirely. In the end, it was just matter rearranging itself over and over. What was the Earth? Nothing more than an entrance hall where humanity had once briefly waited.
Slabber Olli talked about a lot of other things, too, and Elina listened and understood that the part of Slabber Olli that was still human wanted to wander and search for knowledge, just like anyone else. The evening advanced, the light softened. At some point, Slabber Olli disappeared. Elina went back to the boat.”
― Juhani Karila