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TELLING THE TRUTH WHEN

Formerly the time tell the child that is a single mother son had no date, it was rather conceal the fact to always be considered a disgrace and many of these children grew up believing that they were sons of his grandparents and brother of the brothers of his mother.

Currently is thought to be the most convenient tell them the truth just the child begins to ask why his family isn't as their friends. Know the truth carried the child takes reality and take it naturally, for which it is necessary to convey safety and confidence in their future, not must be details unless requested by the child, and make it as it grows.

For a preschool isn't necessary to give many details simply that there are many types of families and yours is one that not coexists with the father despite that it has.

Schoolchildren will instead require a bit more in detail, know who is his father, how, where, etc., to be very important to tell you that he will be well cared for and loved, and will always have a good life.

Adolescents require greater care to the answers given because they tend to catalogue the facts and people with adjectives. It should be well clear that his family is a family type and there is nothing wrong with that, not should speak ill of the father and to the extent possible it positively. Don't let the opportunity pass and takes maximum advantage of benefits of grants for single mothers .

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Pietr Gourchenko brief conversation with

Moistened among old papers from a Soviet reporter, was found on April 28, 2010 interview with a fragment of the famous musical scholar Pietr Gourchenko Ivanovich, known for his studies of Siberian music and the Stalinist regime polkas exiled communist Poland. In this passage, though not in the musician in question is suspected to refer to the famous composer and pianist Nikolai Gaviriin Abramsky, or his cousin, former imperial shoemaker and amateur musician, Alexander Glinka Abrasmky, doubt remains because both underwent the same procedure, with similar results. The translation is presented below contains the informal tone, perhaps too colloquial and even disrespectful, a national polytechnic student kindly offered to do it.

- And in his spare time composing like crazy.

- Aha.

- Free, free time, go irony.

- No way.

- But hey, the man did what he could. He wrote at night, sometimes for food, usually in the bathroom.

- Oh.

- Yes, it's politically incorrect to reveal the intimacies of great men, but from the auction of JD Salinger toilet things have changed in the world.

- course.

- He composed symphonies, string quartet pieces, waltzes. Typical. Of course, tarnished with a martial air, autumn, and of nostalgia for the glorious days of the Czar.

- That must have caused problems.

- had them, yes, did.

- can specify more about these problems.

- First, in the chair Harmony and Composition at Boch to bring out the theories of Adam Smith. You can imagine the horror of the board members of the Conservatory.

- course, the most ardent capitalist theoretician ...

- Not to mention bestiality to make an analogy between the counterpoint of Bach and chaos theory applied to the Stock Exchange, which, moreover, was walking pretty bad then ...

- As always. I read somewhere that had also been banned for not being able to compose a sonata using a translation of Marx's initial enigmatic scale.

- Marxism was never easy.

- And how the story ended, how it was with the composition on the sly.

- basically good. Towards the end of his life, having spent many economic fortunes, having seen his work censored and endure the scorn government, received a public apology from the Congress after the regime ended, and winter of 91.

- course.

- So, in conclusion, his life was a constant struggle to build an independent work while adapting to the political circumstances, dealing with censorship, and maintain a balance between the hours of reading and composition in the bathroom. It was not easy.

- And what finally happened.

- wrote twenty symphonies, ten pieces for string quartet, 12 waltzes and blues.

- Would you say that the end of his life was good?

- Yes, he was happy to receive awards and accolades from all sides. The most excited him was the Black Ant prize of the Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians. Sure, they gave him two days after the end of the scheme. He had won. Not everyone lost 25 kilos in two months without passing through Siberia.

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stupid Ko who sleeps at the beginning of the road, while others talked about the movie of the blondes that were taking place in Nantes, on the bus trip of 12 hours now and all they listen to pendrive and whisper things in my ear, things that never whisper to her, now that they The lights in the past that dignban to read the diary of Bolivia, now that the road gets dark corner and now Ko just makes you want to talk on the stars above the Tropic of Capricorn, on the desert wilderness on the highlands of endenante ... but everyone is asleep, they all whisper, everyone hears something else .. so Ko is preparing to look out the window from the second floor of the bus ... "In vola see a UFO." Stupid .. ko, had not settled enough on the couch when you open the curtain and realize how fast will the machine to the other side where they go, the machine faster than anything left behind, which leaves her there lying on the plateau is not how many meters above sea level, there where no one you find it, there where UFOs are invisible, where flamingos and put their legs.

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THE EVIL CLERIC. THE LAMP

A serious man who seemed quiet smart clothes and a gray beard, I did go to the attic room, and I spoke these terms:

"Yes, here he lived ... but I advise you not to touch anything. Your curiosity makes you irresponsible. We never come here at night, and silo keep it this way it is, is only his will. You know what he did. That abominable society took charge at the end, and do not know where is buried. Neither the law nor anything else could get to that society.

"- I hope not to stay here until nightfall. Please do not touch what's on the table, that looks like a matchbox. Do not know ourselves what it is, but suspect it has something to do with what he did. We even avoid looking too intently.

Soon after, the man left me alone in the attic room. Was very dirty, dusty and primitively furnished, but had a neatness which showed it was not a slum of a commoner. There were shelves full of theological and classical books and other library with treatises on magic: Paracelsus, Albertus Magnus, Trithemius, Ilermes Trismegistus, Boreilus and others in a strange alphabet whose titles I could not decipher. The furniture was very simple. There was a door, but it led only to a closet. The only way out was the opening of the ground, up to which the crude, steep staircase. The windows were portholes, and the black oak beams revealed a great antiquity. Obviously, this house belonged to old Europe. I seemed to know where I was, but I can not remember what I then knew. Since then, the city was London not. My impression is that it was a small seaport.

The purpose of the table fascinated me. I think they could use, because I got a flashlight, or something like a flashlight from his pocket and nervously tested its flashes. The light was not white but violet, and the beam seemed less a ray of light that a radioactive bombardment. I remember I did not consider a flashlight power: in effect, had a common in another pocket.

was getting dark, and the ancient roofs and chimneys, outside looked very queer through the glass of the porthole windows. Finally, gathering value, relied on my HBRO the small object on the table and then turned the rays of the peculiar violet light. The light seemed to be more like a rain or hail of small violet particles than a continuous beam. As the particles struck the glassy surface of the strange object appeared to produce a crackle, crackling horn of a vacuum tube to be traversed by a shower of sparks. The dark surface of a pinkish glow, and a vague white shape seemed to take shape in its center. Then I realized I was not alone in the room .. and put the projector rays in the pocket.

But the newcomer did not speak, nor hear any noise during the moments that followed. Everything was shadowy pantomime, as seen from great distance> through a haze ... Although, on the other hand, the newcomer and all subsequent comers loomed large and close, as if both far and near, according to some abnormal geometry.

The newcomer was a thin, dark man of medium height, dressed in clerical garb of the Anglican Church. He looked about thirty years old, sallow complexion, olive, and a pleasant face, but his forehead was abnormally high. His black hair was well cut and neatly combed and his face shaved, though blue due to the chin beard. He wore rimless glasses with steel rims. Her figure, and factions of the lower half of the face, were like those of the clergy that I had seen, but his face was surprisingly high, and had a sullen expression and clever, while more subtle and secretly perverse. At that time - just turn on a weak oil lamp -. seemed nervous, and before I knew it I had begun to show the books of magic to a fireplace that was next to a window of the room (where steeply inclined wall), which I had not noticed before. The flames devoured the volumes greedily, leaping up in strange colors and emitting indescribably foul odor while the pages of mysterious hieroglyphs and wormy bindings succumbed to the devastating element. Suddenly, I noticed that there were other people in the room: serious-looking men, dressed as a priest, who included one wearing bow tie and pants bishop. Though I could hear nothing, I realized they were bringing a decision of enormous importance to the first arrivals. He seemed to hate and fear him at the same time, and that such sentiments. His face a grim expression, but I noticed that when trying to grip the back of a chair, his right hand shaking. The bishop pointed to the empty and the fireplace (where the flames were extinguished in the middle of a pile of charred debris and reports), special prisoner apparently upset. The first comer then gave a wry smile and extended his left hand toward the small object on the table. All seemed frightened. The procession of clerics began filing down the steep stairs through the trapdoor in the floor, while returning and making menacing gestures disappear. The bishop was the last to leave the room.

The first was that it had reached a bottom cabinet and pulled out a coil of rope. Mounting a chair, tied one end to a hook in the large central beam of black oak, and began making a noose at the other end. Realizing he was about to hang himself, I thought to dissuade or save him. He saw me and ceased his preparations, he looked with a kind of triumph that puzzled me and filled me with unease. Declined slowly from the chair and started toward me with a smile clearly wolf in his dark, thin lips.

I felt that I was in mortal danger and got the projector beams strange as a weapon of defense. I do not know why, I thought I would help. I turned it on full face and saw the sallow features, in light purple first and then pink. His expression of wolfish exultation began to give way to one of deep concern, if not entirely borrársele reached. He stopped short, flailing his arms wildly in the air, began to stagger backwards. Sc approached I saw the opening of the floor and screamed to warn him, but did not hear me. A moment later. staggered back. fell through the opening and disappeared from sight.

I took forward to the trapdoor of the staircase. but on arrival found that there was no crushed body on the floor below. Instead. was a clatter of people coming up with lanterns, had broken the eerie silence time and again heard noises and saw figures usually three dimensional. It was clear that something had drawn a crowd to this place. Had there been a noise I had not heard? Then the two men (simple villagers, apparently) who went to the lead saw me off, and stayed paralyzed. One of them shouted in a thundering:

- Ahhh! ... "So are you? Again?

then turned and fled frantically. All but one . When the crowd was gone I saw the man serious gray beard who had brought me to this place, standing alone, with a flashlight. He looked at me stunned, fascinated, but not with fear. Then started up the stairs and met me in the attic. Said

So not left it in peace! Sorry. I know what happened. Already happened once, but the man got scared and shot himself. There ought to have brought back. You know what he wants. But you should not panic as scared the next. Has something happened very strange and terrible, but not to the extent of damage your mind and personality. If you keep your cool, and accepts the need to make some radical adjustments in your life, you can still enjoy the existence and the fruits of their knowledge. But you can not live here, and I do not want to return to London. My advice is to go to America.

should not play again this ... object. Now, nothing can be as before. Invoke the do-or-anything would simply worsen the situation. Has not left you too badly as it could have happened ... but have to leave here immediately and settle elsewhere. Can thank heaven that has not been more serious.

"- I'll explain with the greatest possible openness. It has been a certain change in ... personal appearance. It's something he always causes. But in a new country, you can get used to it. There, on the other side of the room, there is a mirror will bring it. Will suffer a strong Print .. but it will not be repulsive.

I began to tremble, dominated by a fear of death; bearded man almost had to hold me while I accompanied to the mirror, with the weak light (ie, which was previously on table, not lamp, even weaker, which he had brought) in his hand. And what I saw in the glass:

A thin, dark man of medium height and wearing the clerical garb of the Anglican Church , about thirty years, with rimless glasses and steel rings, glasses glistening on his forehead sallow, olive usually high.

was the silent who had arrived first and burned the books.

For the rest of my life, physically, I was going to be that man!

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Alhazred, COLLABORATION OF AUGUST Derleth. (PART 2) THE LAMP

The scene seemed to represent the earth in its principles, while still in training. Jets of steam issuing from the fissures of the rocks. The footprints left by some reptiles were clearly drawn in the mud. Top flying in the air, gigantic beasts fought and tore each other. Among the rocks of a beach, the tentacles of a monstrous animal uncoiled menacingly serpentine and red light of day, as a creature drawn from some fantasy fiction.

Then, gently, the scene changed. The rocks were replaced by a wind-swept desert, and, like a mirage, there was the hidden and deserted City of Pillars, also known as Irem. Phillips knew that now, when no human foot trod and streets of this city, some terrible ones still lurking in the stone pillars of the houses, that were not in ruins, but remained in the state in which they were when the ancient inhabitants were killed or driven from the city by those bodies come from the sky to besiege Irem and seize it. Of these creatures could not see anything, only be guessed marauding the anguished movement, like a shadow out of time. And far behind the city and desert, stood the mountains whose tops were covered with snow when I was contemplating the still, Phillips learned their names do, because at that moment revealed to his mind. The desert city was Ciudad Sin Nombre, and the snowy peaks were the Mountains of Madness, or maybe Kadath in the Desert Cold. A Phillips amused give their names to these parts of the landscape, it occurred to him easily, he came to mind as if they had been around the perimeter of his thoughts, waiting for the opportunity that allowed them to incarnate in a realistic experience.

He sat for a long time, fascinated, until a slight feeling of alarm you removed. The landscapes that passed before his eyes were similar to those that might appear in a dream, and yet, Phillips felt growing concern. I sensed something of the presence of evil, while taking consciousness of certain unmistakable signs of the horrible beings who occupied these places. Finally, he could not resist any longer bound to that anguish, turned off the light and, somewhat shakily, lighting a candle. Immediately felt comforted by its brightness faded and family.

He

long time meditating on all that he had seen. His grandfather had told him of the lamp that was his "most valuable possession", with which it was evident that its properties were known. And what were these properties but the power to transmit the ancient and magical memories of a revelation, so that those who sit in its light could see the places of terror and beauty of their respective owners had known? Phillips was convinced that the landscapes that he could see were familiar places to Alhazred. But this explanation had little logic. And the more laps he was more increased his perplexity. Decided to return to work had turned away, turned on him and got away from it all the fantasies and alarms began to settle in his mind.

The next day, Phillips went to the October light downward to walk out of town. Took the car line to the end of the residential area, and then walked toward the field. Came to a place she did not know y que distaba por lo menos una milla de cualquier lugar por donde hubiera paseado antes. Siguió una carretera hasta la bifurcación al noroeste de Plainfield Pike y subió por la falda oeste del Nentaconhaunt. Allí pudo disfrutar de una vista realmente idílica. Era un panorama de praderas, de viejas paredes de piedra, de blancas alamedas y de lejanos tejados al oeste y al sur. Phillips se encontraba a menos de tres millas del corazón de la ciudad y sin embargo, estaba como sumergido en la primaria Nueva Inglaterra rural de los primeros colonizadores.

Antes de la puesta del sol, subió hasta arriba de la colina en dirección a uno de sus escondrijos familiares, que siempre le había attracted. Never before had noticed at the prospect that had the extensive field. Everything was shining streams, forests and distant mystical orange sky, the great red sun disk between strips sinking layers of clouds. He went into the forest and beheld the same sunset through the trees. Then turned east to cross the hill toward one of their hideouts family and had always attracted. Never before had noticed the vast expanse of Nentaconhaunt. More than just a hill, was a true plateau in miniature, with valleys, ridges, and their own tops. Since some of its hidden meadows -So far from any sign of human life, the view was offered on the Sky remote town marveled: it was a happy dream of peaks and domes half floating in the

air surrounded by a dark aura of mystery. The upper windows of some of the tallest towers preserved the glow that the sun was lost and offered a vision of surreal glow. Then, Phillips was able to admire the great disk of the moon Orion floating around the steeples and minarets, while to the west, the bright orange horizon, Venus and Jupiter began to flash. He went into the plain. The road crossed varied landscapes: sometimes snaked through the interior, and other penetrations in the woods and crossed to reach out to the valley of darkness that slid into the plain below. The large boulders that were swaying in the rocky heights produced a spectral effect, Druid, the cut in the twilight.

finally came to a few places that you were more familiar. There, covered with grass, the promontory of an old buried aqueduct gave the illusion of stepping on the remains of a Roman road, and there was the top of the hill known ever heard. Extended to his feet, the city was lit up quickly and looked like a constellation lying in the deep dark. The moon poured a flood of pale gold, and west, the glow of Venus and Jupiter was increasing in intensity on the horizon more and more diffuse. The path that led him to his house stood before him, he was only down the last slope to reach the car line that would lead to the prosaic places frequented by humans.

But during all this time peaceful, Phillips had not forgotten a single moment of your experience last night and could not deny who eagerly anticipated the arrival of the night. The sense of alarm which had seized him had become the promise of a new nightlife experience of unknown nature.

That night, he took his solitary dinner faster than usual to go immediately to the studio, where the rows of books that reached the ceiling, waiting for him with permanent greeting. But he did not even look at the work he had left on the table, but Alhazred lit the lamp and sat down to wait for what might happen.

The soft yellow glow of the lamp is spread over the walls lined with shelves. The flame did not move, burning quietly and steadily, and like yesterday, the first impression was that Phillips received a warm comforting and lulling. Then, gently, books and shelves seemed to fade, fade, and gave way to scenes from another world and another time. Although we were completely unknown, the names of the scenes and places he saw surfaced naturally to mind, as if the glow lamp Alhazred stimulate their imagination. He saw a beautiful house, crowned with smoke, on a promontory as the nearby Gloucester. He saw an old Dutch-style village with a dark river that ran through a town like Salem, but more evil and mysterious, and called the people Arkham, and the river Miskatonic. He saw the dark coastal town of Innsmouth, and behind it the Devil Reef. He saw the watery depths of Cthulhu R'lyeh where the deceased lay sleeping. He stared at the Plateau of Leng, ravaged by wind, and the dark islands of the South Seas. Could see the Dream Land, the landscapes of other places, space and life forms that had existed in other times and that, older than the earth itself, dating back to the primordial, to Hali, and beyond .

But these scenes as witnessed through a window that seemed to invite you to leave their own world to travel to these realm of wonder and beauty, and temptation Phillips was getting louder, shaking with the desire to obey, to stop being what it was trying to be so maybe it could be. But as the night before, turned off the light and thanked the appearance of the walls filled with books in the study of his grandfather Whipple. He resigned from the monotonous revisions awaiting him, and spent the rest of the night, the candlelight, writing short stories, inspired by the scenes and people who had seen the light of the lamp Alhazred. He spent all night writing, and all the next day sleeping, exhausted.

And the night before to get back to writing, was answering some letters. They spoke of his "dreams" such as knowing whether he had actually seen the pictures that had passed before his eyes, or if he had dreamed. Recognized that the worlds of their own fiction were intertwined with the worlds of the lamp. The wishes and desires of his youth had been cast in his mind with visions of his creative endeavors, which had absorbed the same way the places of the lamp and the hidden secrets of his heart, which, as the lamp of Alhazred, had reached the far ends of the universe.

passed many nights without Phillips return to light the lamp.

The nights were added, forming months, and months years. Aged, her fiction were published, and with them the mythologies of Cthulhu, Hastur the Unspeakable; of Yog-Sothoth, Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Offspring; of Hypnos, the god of sleep ; of Primeval Major and his messenger, Nyarlathotep, all these mythological beings, the dark world of shadows they represented, became an integral part of Phillips' privacy. His knowledge of them was such that he could bring to reality Arkham. Shadow Over Innsmouth discovered, spoke of whispers in the dark mold of Yuggoth, and gave the Dunwich Horror. And throughout his prose, in all his poems, the light shining lamp Alhazred, even if Phillips was no longer used.

Sixteen years passed in this way, until one night, Ward Phillips came to where he had left the lamp behind a row of books on one of the lower shelves of the library of his grandfather Whipple. Took it from there, and immediately all the old charm and all the things were revived for him. Again cleaned and placed on the table. In recent years, the Phillips' condition had deteriorated sharply. Was ill incurable and he knew his days were numbered, but do not want to die without going back to look one last time, the worlds of beauty and terror, which enclosed the lamp Alhazred.

lit the lamp again and looked at the walls. But something strange happened. In the same walls where they had been presented before the places and things related to the life of Alhazred, now came the appearance of a magical place known for Ward Phillips, but not the current time, but as it was in a bygone era loved and lost time when the boy frolic on the shores of the Seekonk, busy with the games that inspired their imagination in Greek mythology. There it was again the children: there were the coves where he had spent his early years, there was the roundabout was built in honor of the great Pan, all the irresponsibility and freedom of that happy childhood is reproduced on the walls, because the lamp was now reflected their own memories.

Longing, thought maybe it had always provided the lamp ancestral memories, for who could deny that his grandfather Whipple, when I was young, or those who preceded him in the line of Ward Phillips had seen all places illuminated by the lamp? And again it was as if he were looking through an open door. The scene was inviting him. He got up and walked painfully to the wall. No doubt more than a moment, then continued on to the books.

Sunlight suddenly erupted around them. He felt free of his chains and ran lightly along the edge of the Seekonk, where the scenes of his early years was expected to rejuvenate, to start life again in quiet times, when the world was young ... It was discovered the disappearance of Ward Phillips when an admirer of his stories, I was curious to meet him, came to town to visit him. It concluded that he had been wrong in the woods and died there, for his solitary walks were well known by the residents of Angell Street, and the gradual deterioration in his health.

organized several trips to explore nearby Nentaconhaunt and the banks, but found no trace of Ward Phillips. The police hope that someday find his remains, but found nothing and, eventually, the unsolved mystery archive purpose was lost in the years passed. The Angell Street House was demolished, the library acquired by some libraries, and what was in the house was sold as scrap, including old and ancient Arab lamp, which anyone in a technological world back to the time of Phillips, became interested and not found any use.

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Alhazred, COLLABORATION OF AUGUST Derleth. (PART 1) WINDOW

Seven years had passed since the disappearance of his grandfather Whipple when Ward Phillips received the lamp. This, and the Angell Street home where Ward lived, had belonged to his grandfather. Phillips had been living in the house since the demise his grandfather, but the lamp had been left to the lawyer until after the seven years that should elapse before finally giving up for dead. It had been his grandfather's wish that the lamp was well kept during those years, in the hands of drowning, if something unexpected occurred, death or other accident. The case was that Phillips had the time to familiarize yourself with the impressive library Whipple, in which he expected a great deal of wisdom. The old Whipple had decided that, if Phillips had finished reading the huge volumes that filled the shelves, have reached a sufficient level of maturity in order to inherit the "treasure valuable "to his grandfather, as Whipple's own statement.

Phillips was then thirty years old and in poor health, which was normal for a child, had always been a bit sickly. He was born in a family of moderately wealthy, but the savings from his grandfather flew in a misguided investments, so that Phillips the only thing left was the Angell Street House and what it contained. Phillips worked as a magazine editor in scandal, then, to round out the few gains that gave him the job, was engaged to review and correct the numerous and very promising manuscripts of prose or poetry other writers, more inexperienced than him, sent him with the hope of seeing his work published, once the pen Phillips had worked a miracle. Sedentary life had not improved their resistance to disease was tall, thin, wore glasses, had frequent colds, and when, much to his shame, sick of measles.

When the days were warm, loved to walk through the fields where he played as a child. On those occasions, he would take his papers under his arm and work outdoors, sitting in the lovely leafy banks of the river during his childhood, had been his favorite hiding place. This edge of the Seekonk River had not changed in all these years, and Phillips, who lived much of the past, believed that one way to defy time was to stay near the places that did not change. In a letter to a correspondent had described his feeling thus: "Among those paths of the forest that I knew, the gap between the present and the years 1899 or 1900 disappears completely, so that often surprises me to find again in the city, finding that it has lost its appearance of fin de siècle. " In addition to the banks of the Seekonk, another place he chose for his walks was Nentaconhaunt Hill. He liked to behold, From there, his hometown at sunset, and wait for the peaceful panorama of the population to be reflected in its nightlife, with the steeples and roofs of Dutch style gradually going darker on the bottom orange and crimson sunset . He thrilled the emerald glow or pearl that melted the horizon, and finally flashing lights that turned the vast and unequal city in a magical land for Phillips exerted a stronger pull than during the day.

Phillips had long had resigned illuminated by electric light because it was too expensive for its modest income. But as his long day trips required him to work late into the night, the famous lamp of his grandfather Whipple, however strange and old it was, it would be of great use. The letter that accompanied the last gift the old man, whose relationship with his grandson had been profound since the death of the child's parents, explaining that the light came from a tomb of Arabia, at the beginning of history. He said he had belonged to a half-mad Arab named Abdul Alhazred. Was the work of the great tribe of Ad, one of the four mysterious and little-known Saudi-Ad was in the south, Thamood in the north and the center of the peninsula was occupied by Tasm y Jadis-. Había sido hallada hace mucho tiempo en una ciudad oculta llamada Irem. Edificada por Shedad, el último de los déspotas de Ad, era la Ciudad de las Columnas, conocida por algunos como la Ciudad Sin Nombre. Decían que se encontraba cerca de Hadramant; según otros, debía estar enterrada bajo las antiquísimas y siempre movedizas arenas de Arabia. De todas maneras, salvo los favoritos del profeta que habían logrado encontrarla, nunca nadie había conseguido verla. Para terminar su larga carta, el viejo Whipple había escrito: «Puede proporcionar tanto placer encendida como apagada. Igualmente puede traer dolor. Es la fuente del éxtasis o del terror.»

appearance Alhazred lamp was unusual. Worked with oil, and seemed to be golden. By the way, resembled an oblong pot with a curved handle on one side and a spigot for the flame to the other. Its decor was strange drawings, mixed with letters and placed in such a way that seemed to form a word. But that language was unknown to Phillips, who knew several Arab dialects, however, could not decipher the inscription on the lamp. It was not Sanskrit. Undoubtedly it was an older language, his writing consisted of letters and glyphs, some of whom were pictographs. Phillips spent a whole afternoon to clean the inside, outside and, after he shined, filled with oil.

That night, Phillips removed the candles and lamp oil, which had lighting for so many nights of work, and lit the lamp of Alhazred. He was surprised a little warm in brightness, the stability of the flame, and the quality of its light. But the amount of work that awaited him was such that he could not continue playing in the lamp. Without wasting time, began to review a play in verse, which began as follows:

bright and early in the

dawn of a year, long before I was born,

When the earth was still chaos

filled long before the struggles ...

and continued so in the same archaic style completely fallen into disuse. However, it was a style that Phillips liked. He lived much in the past that their views and their philosophy about the influence of the past overflowing every fantasy. His notion of time and space was, from his earliest memories, so inextricably linked to her deepest thoughts and feelings that any attempt to describe in words their moods seem artificial, exotic or conventional. For decades, the dreams of Phillips were composed of an odd mix of adventurous restlessness coupled with landscapes, architectural perspectives and purposes of the sky. Kept in mind a certain image of itself to the three years was on a railway bridge. Through the gaps in the railing, his eyes penetrated the densest part of the city. And then she felt the imminence of a prodigy, he could not describe or to understand in its entirety, it was the sense of something wonderful, hidden in a dark dimension release. I sensed that, although rarely and with difficulty, the dimensions could be achieved by certain visual perspectives, such as the sight of an old road through miles of mountainous countryside, or the balustrades of the terraces focused from below, from the very foot of the endless marble staircase leading to them. It is true that Phillips dreamed of living in the eighteenth century or earlier, when there was still time for the art of conversation and when the man could dress a certain elegance without being observed with astonishment by their neighbors. But it was his intense desire to return to a time when the world was younger and less rushed, lack of imagination and the few ideas that reflect the lines on which he was working, coupled with his own exhaustion, made him feel unable to continue their task. Recognized that there could be interested in these lines so uninspired, set aside the manuscript and leaned back to rest. ue then observed the sudden change that had occurred around them.

The familiar walls lined with books, except in the recesses of the windows-Phillips had a mania for cover with curtains so that no external light, either the sun, the moon, or the stars, invade his sanctuary, were strangely changed. It was not just widespread clarity on them by the Saudi lamp what had changed, but the same light projected against the walls for Phillips unknown objects. Wherever illuminate the lamp, the walls, on the volumes of books lined up on shelves, Phillips watched a few scenes that neither the funds most mysterious of his imagination could have created. In contrast, in all dark areas, such as the large patch of shade that the back of the chair of Phillips planned on some of the shelves, he saw nothing, nothing but the darkness of the shadows and in them the monotony of books aligned.

Phillips remained

sit and wonder, watched the scene unfolding before him. Then he wanted to react and thought that was the victim of an optical illusion. But such an explanation to this phenomenon was not satisfied, and rejected it. On the other hand, had the curious belief that he did not want to find any explanation, that did not need it, something wonderful had happened, I knew I had to be temporary and would not know or feel that admiration for what her eyes witnessed. The world saw the light of the lamp was a supreme rarity. It was a world that never had access, not by sight or by reading, even by way of their dreams.