Juan Gris Landscape at Ceret paintingJuan Gris Harlequin with Guitar paintingJuan Gris Guitar on a Chair painting
rubbing the rough edges off one another, adjusting their inventions, moulding imagination to actuality, learning how to be together: or not. It works out or it doesn't. But to suppose that Gibreel Farishta and Alleluia Cone could have gone along so familiar a path is to make the mistake of thinking their ordinary. It wasn't; didn't have so much as a shot at ordinariness.
It was a with serious flaws.
("The modern city," Otto Cone on his hobbyhorse had lectured his bored family at table, "is the locus classicus of incompatible realities. Lives that have no mingling with one another sit side by side upon the omnibus. One universe, on a zebra crossing, is caught for an instant, blinking like a rabbit, in the headlamps of a motor-vehicle in which an entirely alien and contradictory continuum is to be found. And as long as that's all, they pass in the night, jostling on Tube stations, raising their hats in some hotel corridor, it's not so bad. But if they meet! It's uranium and plutonium, each makes the other