tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16993122336897528202024-03-28T20:28:57.221-07:00AS MOSCAS DE DEUSUM BLOGUE PARA TODAS AS MOSCAS E PARA AS (E OS) MERDAS QUE AS ALIMENTAMtempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.comBlogger823125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-2274309321782363922024-03-28T06:27:00.000-07:002024-03-28T06:29:46.051-07:00Parr came to Earth as the advance guard for an invasion. His mission: to see that every person received a package that was being mailed— SPECIAL DELIVERY By Kris Neville - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65886/pg65886-images.html<p> <span style="text-align: justify;">A cannonade of shell fire met the silver listening post as it zipped across the moonlit desert. It twisted erratically, trying to dodge. Then a radar controlled gun chuckled to itself, and the listening post faltered in flight, slipped air, plunged sandward.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">In the Advanceship, far above and to the west, one of the Knougs pressed a button and the listening post exploded in a white flare.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">Afterwards, no fragments could be found. The newspapers said the usual thing. The government issued the usual profession of disbelief—and finally even the gunner became convinced of the usual explanation: he had tried to pot Venus.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">While on the Advanceship the Knougs continued to prepare for D-Day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-qea3oCrdUHvHgCp7gqvooyHRwzcB5Qj2xIcPozqpnETPCImhRmKz8cbHMQ0zHZawZYisVdHqmZwSj7kYQP55DaFVZA6BB0XQHEabflPfNg1i-eaf_OBKzKpUPca5Gs0iLRbAk-iOipLh49r1lFWLGmOflgRgGTSjYrOhAjUguqeaMlDNuYr5KlR7vh1/s500/illusc%20(10).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="354" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-qea3oCrdUHvHgCp7gqvooyHRwzcB5Qj2xIcPozqpnETPCImhRmKz8cbHMQ0zHZawZYisVdHqmZwSj7kYQP55DaFVZA6BB0XQHEabflPfNg1i-eaf_OBKzKpUPca5Gs0iLRbAk-iOipLh49r1lFWLGmOflgRgGTSjYrOhAjUguqeaMlDNuYr5KlR7vh1/w260-h366/illusc%20(10).jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-46429949850500310482024-03-27T07:07:00.000-07:002024-03-27T07:07:46.221-07:00Once a Greech By EVELYN E. SMITH - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/31664/pg31664-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2TiWJ9jQM1Ude3VhDpZihVzuzProCAgoKC2hulqKroqFvAc0o0Q02Rvs5fcKmyXfUophcddeYLWMht8nqNKIbcfwNR-baE5bWNjTQjhmzUd1XVOtdwIkoZ71_gMmnlGo8i5zw37ZddaYZVCZXvwyzbOD1pfqo7IanKgqWqwvhxdUTLO0GWXHzhoH0T3O/s480/cover%20(41).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2TiWJ9jQM1Ude3VhDpZihVzuzProCAgoKC2hulqKroqFvAc0o0Q02Rvs5fcKmyXfUophcddeYLWMht8nqNKIbcfwNR-baE5bWNjTQjhmzUd1XVOtdwIkoZ71_gMmnlGo8i5zw37ZddaYZVCZXvwyzbOD1pfqo7IanKgqWqwvhxdUTLO0GWXHzhoH0T3O/w292-h389/cover%20(41).jpg" width="292" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-47895399911447765062024-03-27T05:20:00.000-07:002024-03-27T06:02:42.379-07:00... and it comes out here By LESTER DEL REY - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/51046/pg51046-images.html<p> <span style="text-align: justify;">You get up your courage and go up to a boy selling something that might be papers on tapes.</span></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;">Souvenir," it announces in a well-modulated voice. "This is a typical gem of the twentieth century, properly cut to 58 facets, known technically as a Jaegger diamond, and approximately twenty carats in size. You can have it made into a ring on the third floor during morning hours for one-tenth credit. If you have more than one child, press the red button for the number of stones you desire</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a_-epDGSP6bCqQ5WFEHHaB2EjigAlJ3JVbst_970mlc0l3LxJ8fb-8oeejJrcUwNAs01MK_-KE6yovSUjkK4gisPSsz6GI6dfNj4zhIl8YQSzatx4Ax2ztwqSyZOBk96d1kmw3s4T5ewR5SSVAzQmuV1SYKKWVJAqlWODM8L0maXpmylSBvsBtDh7PNM/s265/pg51046.cover.medium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="200" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a_-epDGSP6bCqQ5WFEHHaB2EjigAlJ3JVbst_970mlc0l3LxJ8fb-8oeejJrcUwNAs01MK_-KE6yovSUjkK4gisPSsz6GI6dfNj4zhIl8YQSzatx4Ax2ztwqSyZOBk96d1kmw3s4T5ewR5SSVAzQmuV1SYKKWVJAqlWODM8L0maXpmylSBvsBtDh7PNM/w288-h381/pg51046.cover.medium.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-60436510082220310372024-03-26T06:20:00.000-07:002024-03-26T06:20:38.608-07:00PELLUCIDAR By Edgar Rice Burroughs - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/605/pg605-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPN6wsVi6tHEwzupB0GilAoevrszR85RYerTmoYwN9XRe1sehTC394qwgkELIjMP3ciH8sJrqLnbl8KRl2PGXfwZQnAaakcaElACydM6I69Dc8PgIFYD-21_tgyttp4ysDuH6wupFL068TU3Y5Pqsk_MZdp4KwgxCrXDeen1tnNaz9sQiXu7JsO-2RUn7/s1008/cover%20(40).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="650" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPN6wsVi6tHEwzupB0GilAoevrszR85RYerTmoYwN9XRe1sehTC394qwgkELIjMP3ciH8sJrqLnbl8KRl2PGXfwZQnAaakcaElACydM6I69Dc8PgIFYD-21_tgyttp4ysDuH6wupFL068TU3Y5Pqsk_MZdp4KwgxCrXDeen1tnNaz9sQiXu7JsO-2RUn7/w254-h395/cover%20(40).jpg" width="254" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-44803743377244129932024-03-25T06:20:00.000-07:002024-03-25T06:20:09.849-07:00Forever We Die! By C. H. Thames - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66825/pg66825-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP31WFiccuLbV7rGXmRuOx_y61INvltbPxMmQcA2gCCrNvfLmza48qI9TpXEt-deEWfow_pBC5zEfaS28iOTV2rBsnDwqdQrV8jqOnibKU9XrIP7Me4e8jctkOuBsddraWO4WPdYIaYYatpWDcdopVglpfXz85K7UvR4W7G3gbRrz5xWg2b-IdHeF9qME_/s269/pg66825.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="200" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP31WFiccuLbV7rGXmRuOx_y61INvltbPxMmQcA2gCCrNvfLmza48qI9TpXEt-deEWfow_pBC5zEfaS28iOTV2rBsnDwqdQrV8jqOnibKU9XrIP7Me4e8jctkOuBsddraWO4WPdYIaYYatpWDcdopVglpfXz85K7UvR4W7G3gbRrz5xWg2b-IdHeF9qME_/w283-h380/pg66825.cover.medium.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-64239523548495854012024-03-24T05:11:00.000-07:002024-03-24T05:32:26.908-07:00A TRANSMUTATION OF MUDDLES By H. B. FYFE - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/24187/pg24187-images.html<p> <span style="text-align: justify;">The </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Gemsbok</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> was—or had been—an ungraceful, thick starship on the verge of aging into scrap. Towering here between the village and the huge, bluish-green leaves of the Kappan forest, she was in the process of being transformed into a planet-bound object of a certain weird grace.</span></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-69395327580367568802024-03-24T03:54:00.000-07:002024-03-24T03:54:10.880-07:00House Operator Author: Randall Garrett Robert Silverberg - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65231/pg65231-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNGkyNprZC-AjlYtFKkG8vS6akUR3RBA6SQV2nEe52kM7Ko1fobA_fWXnCSPKlLfeZF-L8ZugCEyneQ4pw97H8YpHA3GknB4HcVRcYkgFDkxd4RfB4uDm_JC-o-G3GKNGSS0MGE8X0FIiZTxYYx1o8qAnkK-Y0uI-p_Mbu_HKfWz0LU8HB78l2HmHh96G/s271/pg65231.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="199" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNGkyNprZC-AjlYtFKkG8vS6akUR3RBA6SQV2nEe52kM7Ko1fobA_fWXnCSPKlLfeZF-L8ZugCEyneQ4pw97H8YpHA3GknB4HcVRcYkgFDkxd4RfB4uDm_JC-o-G3GKNGSS0MGE8X0FIiZTxYYx1o8qAnkK-Y0uI-p_Mbu_HKfWz0LU8HB78l2HmHh96G/w294-h400/pg65231.cover.medium.jpg" width="294" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-72383648259344002502024-03-23T06:28:00.000-07:002024-03-23T06:28:34.691-07:00Static By Wallace G. West - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/73175/pg73175-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-mM-E8Xw_pXujzlVK7AwzJMepEKPP_5KivVD-WG24EGTs0GHds0xlAaf4-ahUPBKHHEEre3hCPkh5L-lBrP3EevppsqAnIb3F6WCHXkl338-xPWNIKgUqEq4A1gmSVO3Ew7W7gw894LQQEfrkfSBnr7wWilvSNC9-phdxktm-RSNL9mhDhH5S9_hsOhW/s296/pg73175.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="200" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-mM-E8Xw_pXujzlVK7AwzJMepEKPP_5KivVD-WG24EGTs0GHds0xlAaf4-ahUPBKHHEEre3hCPkh5L-lBrP3EevppsqAnIb3F6WCHXkl338-xPWNIKgUqEq4A1gmSVO3Ew7W7gw894LQQEfrkfSBnr7wWilvSNC9-phdxktm-RSNL9mhDhH5S9_hsOhW/s1600/pg73175.cover.medium.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-15918584544541250812024-03-23T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-23T06:00:05.958-07:00ABSOLUTELY NO PARADOX By Lester del Rey - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/70464/pg70464-images.html<p> <span style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">If time-travel is possible, then</span></p><span style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">why haven't we been visited by</span><br style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">people from the future? But Pete</span><br style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">LeFranc found the answer to that.</span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kTcanOnkjsIoKZaY8tIjhLzLgCCczSYTgnLKYIzr95yzOFwnknQAJwN2UDZNj-emS-KShEujd0Idn7aI_5cM0GR2w1Jgpr28G_q9AXqliLz76O1A6I4ama4d8RNx6nV7FyI52RCtb09VzVM6drW5PZTWKweURAYtpPbbe1aRyCVDGg7mSJkiShyphenhyphenlF3ra/s291/pg70464.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="200" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kTcanOnkjsIoKZaY8tIjhLzLgCCczSYTgnLKYIzr95yzOFwnknQAJwN2UDZNj-emS-KShEujd0Idn7aI_5cM0GR2w1Jgpr28G_q9AXqliLz76O1A6I4ama4d8RNx6nV7FyI52RCtb09VzVM6drW5PZTWKweURAYtpPbbe1aRyCVDGg7mSJkiShyphenhyphenlF3ra/w260-h378/pg70464.cover.medium.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-60569673079179894352024-03-22T06:10:00.000-07:002024-03-22T06:10:16.813-07:00ENGINES of the GODS By GARDNER F. FOX - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/63786/pg63786-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKcortA9KiHOgtFb3mbP30qju1e4lgJY0z7qbFw9wjn7MjgQJnu__NtzpZ3plXZc3QrZtQIA_k8Y7MAU2OHdxE7rsfaFDpkZqTvGKC3QqUQRizLLGHZhMc2TBnfZEqSwaN9ItTu6BaVQPfPgI-E9sjEUmZGtrvj4_s0bds7PwfE_8akYb_wfwEOg3S5wEn/s284/pg63786.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="200" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKcortA9KiHOgtFb3mbP30qju1e4lgJY0z7qbFw9wjn7MjgQJnu__NtzpZ3plXZc3QrZtQIA_k8Y7MAU2OHdxE7rsfaFDpkZqTvGKC3QqUQRizLLGHZhMc2TBnfZEqSwaN9ItTu6BaVQPfPgI-E9sjEUmZGtrvj4_s0bds7PwfE_8akYb_wfwEOg3S5wEn/w266-h378/pg63786.cover.medium.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-78976705045845649002024-03-21T07:11:00.000-07:002024-03-21T07:11:11.653-07:00The Sargasso of Space By Edmond Hamilton - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/28832/pg28832-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhg2klIu3lexwX6hsl8DxZJZz7-rp9kv-DF9lJmiEdgdg6J2mcN98uAbbfrTBWjZmjsut_d6-K0qTGbO2AkpKBApgw0AjkjbZ_G38ZlRQ7nHooervZ9cSZOOaVvIZLm5slmalY5T0zFj5ISBS4rJ4tK3XwcsdkyEZB04iW_zoUx-t-29G3m1Z00dOMrILh/s285/pg28832.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="200" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhg2klIu3lexwX6hsl8DxZJZz7-rp9kv-DF9lJmiEdgdg6J2mcN98uAbbfrTBWjZmjsut_d6-K0qTGbO2AkpKBApgw0AjkjbZ_G38ZlRQ7nHooervZ9cSZOOaVvIZLm5slmalY5T0zFj5ISBS4rJ4tK3XwcsdkyEZB04iW_zoUx-t-29G3m1Z00dOMrILh/w279-h398/pg28832.cover.medium.jpg" width="279" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-21758112215310972072024-03-21T06:17:00.000-07:002024-03-21T06:17:19.283-07:00Prison Of A Billion Years by C. H. Thames - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32150/pg32150-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvwMdNCd4tnOaBXV8Vai3s1oKkpbtdAbQKeVJJBiLO-qzy9SCy_YOoZvvmJONRcrUXrY2U22Iu90SlNVZcaRTCtb61zbBfNaS6LxdIWvd6C6ycjxta1oElmy6pEJAcqq-QYlcmaXiz3jKGDBeX2aQ9QcKdfJljf8vL9qcJXBUhBb8vPnxpGB6rniK1Ceg/s276/pg32150.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="200" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvwMdNCd4tnOaBXV8Vai3s1oKkpbtdAbQKeVJJBiLO-qzy9SCy_YOoZvvmJONRcrUXrY2U22Iu90SlNVZcaRTCtb61zbBfNaS6LxdIWvd6C6ycjxta1oElmy6pEJAcqq-QYlcmaXiz3jKGDBeX2aQ9QcKdfJljf8vL9qcJXBUhBb8vPnxpGB6rniK1Ceg/w257-h354/pg32150.cover.medium.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-14298769180552041552024-03-20T06:06:00.000-07:002024-03-20T06:10:02.922-07:00THE HATED By PAUL FLEHR - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/29503/pg29503-images.html<p> T<span class="dcap" style="text-align: justify; text-transform: uppercase;">HE</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">bar didn't have a name. No name of any kind. Not even an indication that it had ever had one. All it said on the outside was:</span></p><div class="bk3" style="clear: both; margin: 1em auto; width: 20em;"><p class="center" style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-top: 0.75em; text-align: center;">Cafe<br />EAT<br /><i>Cocktails</i></p></div><p class="noin" style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-top: 0.75em; text-align: justify;">which doesn't make a lot of sense. But it was a bar.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmixFz5k7jLVbfhT30fJ4WG5CxOrBuSh5oPj6FOsxrBw1TM2saTV2jrBkdy6zLoeHC47QD8qzi56gdbCZ4VS2ao4ZwFUfoA1t57Q4ss_heepUg9SGyk8yvGHL83olTpV_PAh8tAE9meVIyXEQQlauvB9tOtwA6LkYytLzjLFv3fcRt6KvSfSrraMDxLJKY/s600/002-2%20(9).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="456" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmixFz5k7jLVbfhT30fJ4WG5CxOrBuSh5oPj6FOsxrBw1TM2saTV2jrBkdy6zLoeHC47QD8qzi56gdbCZ4VS2ao4ZwFUfoA1t57Q4ss_heepUg9SGyk8yvGHL83olTpV_PAh8tAE9meVIyXEQQlauvB9tOtwA6LkYytLzjLFv3fcRt6KvSfSrraMDxLJKY/w299-h394/002-2%20(9).jpg" width="299" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-40084049084240795832024-03-19T06:09:00.000-07:002024-03-19T06:09:19.518-07:00Slaves to the Metal Horde Author: Stephen Marlowe - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66351/pg66351-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqgAnufLF2kay12D27o_HWvoYdOxnXzVockF0ZXFFAJM6GLq6KKlqX6qQ3q7DndZPAlXI7aR418woobC30FtAKAj9NZ_5ra5yiFUqle7hY3iRbVhxoMZcCrQkFKdn9eWuXbB4TECP8gDRNEFQd4cLVl02HsSnxNaic0hZdBl14CwAVr0PDWMS9d52l38p/s269/pg66351.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="200" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbqgAnufLF2kay12D27o_HWvoYdOxnXzVockF0ZXFFAJM6GLq6KKlqX6qQ3q7DndZPAlXI7aR418woobC30FtAKAj9NZ_5ra5yiFUqle7hY3iRbVhxoMZcCrQkFKdn9eWuXbB4TECP8gDRNEFQd4cLVl02HsSnxNaic0hZdBl14CwAVr0PDWMS9d52l38p/w287-h386/pg66351.cover.medium.jpg" width="287" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-69680365994234509152024-03-18T10:54:00.000-07:002024-03-18T10:54:06.725-07:00RAZÃO MORAL DA VOSSA EXISTÊNCIA PERSISTIR NO TEMPO PERSISTIR APESAR DE TUDO É O SONHO DE TODOS OS MEGALOMANÍACOS COMO PUTIN E DAS SUAS CIVILIZAÇÕES E IMPÉRIOS EXTINTOS PELO TEMPO E PELOS ACIDENTES CÓMICOS TAMBÉM CHAMADOS CÓSMICOS<p> <a href="https://oprincipioantropico.blogspot.com/search/label/E%20EM%20TODOS%20OS%20MESSIAS%20UM%20HOMEM%20E%20EM%20TODOS%20OS%20HOMENS%20UM%20MESSIAS%20PROPAGANDO%20A%20SUA%20F%C3%89%20NA%20ETERNIDADE%20E%20NA%20ETERNIDADE%20S%C3%93%20A%20F%C3%89%20SE%20PROPAGA" rel="tag" style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #ffcf3b; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 10.8px;">E EM TODOS OS MESSIAS UM HOMEM E EM TODOS OS HOMENS UM MESSIAS PROPAGANDO A SUA FÉ NA ETERNIDADE E NA ETERNIDADE SÓ A FÉ SE PROPAGA</a></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-55925591849125383942024-03-18T10:02:00.000-07:002024-03-18T10:02:06.695-07:00In South-eastern Europe at the present day ceremonies are observed for the purpose of making rain which not only rest on the same general train of thought as the preceding, but even in their details resemble the ceremonies practised with the same intention by the Baronga of Delagoa Bay. Among the Greeks of Thessaly and Macedonia, when a drought has lasted a long time, it is customary to send a procession of children round to all the wells and springs of the neighbourhood. At the head of the procession walks a girl adorned with flowers, whom her companions drench with water at every halting-place, while they sing an invocation, of which the following is part: "Perperia all fresh bedewed, Freshen all the neighbourhood; By the woods, on the highway, As thou goest, to God now pray: O my God, upon the plain, Send thou us a still, small rain; That the fields may fruitful be, And vines in blossom we may see; That the grain be full and sound, And wealthy grow the folks around." In time of drought the Serbians strip a girl to her skin and clothe her from head to foot in grass, herbs, and flowers, even her face being hidden behind a veil of living green. Thus disguised she is called the Dodola, and goes through the village with a troop of girls. They stop before every house; the Dodola keeps turning herself round and dancing, while the other girls form a ring about her singing one of the Dodola songs, and the housewife pours a pail of water over her. One of the songs they sing runs thus: "We go through the village; The clouds go in the sky; We go faster, Faster go the clouds; They have overtaken us, And wetted the corn and the vine. That’s the gist behind Saturday’s Weird Animal Question of the Week from TJ Skelton, who asks via Facebook: “ Can a color-blind animal still tell if another animal is [venomous], even if they can’t see the bright colors? Shades of Prey: Can Color-blind Predators See Warning Colors? Snakes, butterflies, and more have evolved vibrant patterns to advertise their toxicity to predators. Picture of a poison dart frogtempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-53409334561651614482024-03-18T06:10:00.000-07:002024-03-18T06:11:56.104-07:00EINSTEIN'S PLANETOID An Engrossing Tale of An Incredible World by PAUL DENNIS LAVOND - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/73173/pg73173-images.html<p> <span style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">Paul Dennis Lavond is a pseudonym known to be used by three different authors: C. M. Kornbluth, Robert A. W. Lowndes, and Frederick Pohl.</span></p><p style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 3em; text-align: center;"><span class="it" style="font-style: italic;">They were the heirs of space-flight: They planned to be the first humans to land on Alpha Centauri, but the original Hartnett expedition had been lost and they had to find it first. They followed the signals and found that they led to what looked like a one-way excursion to the screwiest planetoid in the galaxy!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizP9HCtPNNu5to1pbZnEEf4SCmY4Y-mWzpHxcj09PhB6Zbtahmgk8LZ6E5X-XxH1TD1djjW0fojvKMtOlfKMd3A1BFBo_qiXc6nSvRmlOYA0Zrrsq2hw0WrsLDbdBQIBkL3k8IGFRWoC0wAkMXQHU2VY05berezHnZlDXIwvuj5RKHGi6yazZEq8zMj3Wm/s300/pg73173.cover.medium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="183" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizP9HCtPNNu5to1pbZnEEf4SCmY4Y-mWzpHxcj09PhB6Zbtahmgk8LZ6E5X-XxH1TD1djjW0fojvKMtOlfKMd3A1BFBo_qiXc6nSvRmlOYA0Zrrsq2hw0WrsLDbdBQIBkL3k8IGFRWoC0wAkMXQHU2VY05berezHnZlDXIwvuj5RKHGi6yazZEq8zMj3Wm/w244-h400/pg73173.cover.medium.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-80251071560157390022024-03-17T08:37:00.000-07:002024-03-17T08:37:31.314-07:00THE WAR IS GOING ON FOR YEARS - EUA quer aprovar “rapidamente” mais €275 milhões de apoio à Ucrânia: o que marcou o 762.º dia de guerra<p> 762 days of war in europe </p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-8339496885193795012024-03-17T06:34:00.000-07:002024-03-17T06:35:41.054-07:00THE WALLS *** By KEITH LAUMER - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/72410/pg72410-images.html<p> <i style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">Four walls do not a prison make—unless</i></p><i style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">they look out upon a world<br />that doesn't exist anymore.</i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqxAYPZVtIcJY3uGgyIAm496dZFauwxiM6QWIT6ajtKPF4kVmCN7Ns5_j5GGBmvB2sMjU-SBytUmNVJfVLCwI_qpDJwli5iuc2sw1KC0q97celKiSbnsiEWZBoPXAWoMkqbEhiXcdtB0lhaIaUzmKCmmeghLJzIRO-PDjEyzoL3B2VSJvGzCj4bQbCA1r/s285/pg72410.cover.medium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="200" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqxAYPZVtIcJY3uGgyIAm496dZFauwxiM6QWIT6ajtKPF4kVmCN7Ns5_j5GGBmvB2sMjU-SBytUmNVJfVLCwI_qpDJwli5iuc2sw1KC0q97celKiSbnsiEWZBoPXAWoMkqbEhiXcdtB0lhaIaUzmKCmmeghLJzIRO-PDjEyzoL3B2VSJvGzCj4bQbCA1r/w257-h366/pg72410.cover.medium.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-86396932771096371112024-03-17T06:31:00.000-07:002024-03-17T06:31:08.464-07:002 B R 0 2 B by KURT VONNEGUT, JR. - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/21279/pg21279-images.htmltempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-80205781842285714362024-03-17T04:03:00.000-07:002024-03-17T04:15:19.048-07:00WIND IN HER HAIR By Kris Neville - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65032/pg65032-images.html<p> <span style="text-align: justify;">The Big Ship, the balanced terrarium of fifty lives, swung downward in her path, rushing toward her parent sun, the first interstellar voyager coming home.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">Home. After twenty-one generations had peopled her vast bulk, after four hundred long years in space.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhdZ5gosEHlgKCzbxhgi4W2ZSPz-6rrrmWhA_2swFORGCULqKaemEHgNt37PUc3Fs_-_urmfZwqWm3j98VQ5TyPHeASbzoHVuXzpl_nB7l-AOW2iC4aP7AI8SyKP-Sa09Uc0tc7GOYD07TiGrYX7AhTbgtrcxedjKsdIDf88Stvj7oW30QsBuQ19cug6a/s288/pg65032.cover.medium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="200" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhdZ5gosEHlgKCzbxhgi4W2ZSPz-6rrrmWhA_2swFORGCULqKaemEHgNt37PUc3Fs_-_urmfZwqWm3j98VQ5TyPHeASbzoHVuXzpl_nB7l-AOW2iC4aP7AI8SyKP-Sa09Uc0tc7GOYD07TiGrYX7AhTbgtrcxedjKsdIDf88Stvj7oW30QsBuQ19cug6a/w276-h397/pg65032.cover.medium.jpg" width="276" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-51209065734676221952024-03-16T07:25:00.000-07:002024-03-16T07:53:29.496-07:00NOT IN THE RULES By Mack Reynolds - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65140/pg65140-images.html<p> <span style="text-align: justify;">I handed the Martie a kopek and put the yellow envelope in my pocket, as though I was used to getting spacegrams.</span></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;">Sure, I'm a gladiator, but I've always been strictly a second rater; in fact, some of the sports writers call me a third rater. Anyway, I've always worked in the smaller meets where the gladiators, even when they lose, usually get off with their lives. In the small town stuff, they don't kill expensive gladiators, if they can help it.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">I wouldn't have been on Mars in the first place if it hadn't been for an argument I had with Suzi back on Terra just before she was scheduled to blast off for Mars to cover the Interplanetary Games. Suzi is a sports reporter, see. She covers the meets from the woman's angle. What she really wanted to do was write books about primitive culture; and what I wanted her to do was spend the rest of her life being my wife. Neither of us seemed to have much of a chance of making good.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">Well, three days after getting the telegram, I met the other two gladiators from Terra in our dressing room at the arena. They weren't much happier about the meet than I was.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">It's one of the occupational hazards of our trade. If you get too good, you'll probably be chosen as Terra representative to the Interplanetary Meet and your chances of surviving are almost nil. Of course, the pay is high and your survivors get a big chunk of credits but it's a chilly prospect at best.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em; text-align: justify;">The other two were pretty well armored and had chosen spears as weapons, but I left off all armor and took a short sword. I planned on moving fast and the less weight I carried the better.</p><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7V2Fol154iD5YTimW0H7AK4jYHbPC3jwFJ9veiSDpfIUbie1UyixYPVAhVmCHlGeeGJNgM4UQ-JntxsD3WeqEYNOMti3ddRcpPQVgC-kxFjgpMJgmYJzSwtQmtn9JGT6xCyOx-QusngFfwugqBEViCh8i92JEUXynkHPH7ZCUnSufxXwnHS-7KoFnXxYv/s283/pg65140.cover.medium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="200" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7V2Fol154iD5YTimW0H7AK4jYHbPC3jwFJ9veiSDpfIUbie1UyixYPVAhVmCHlGeeGJNgM4UQ-JntxsD3WeqEYNOMti3ddRcpPQVgC-kxFjgpMJgmYJzSwtQmtn9JGT6xCyOx-QusngFfwugqBEViCh8i92JEUXynkHPH7ZCUnSufxXwnHS-7KoFnXxYv/w254-h360/pg65140.cover.medium.jpg" width="254" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-65911079295709900242024-03-15T07:30:00.000-07:002024-03-15T07:30:01.265-07:00Armageddon, 1970 Author: Robert W. Krepps - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66021/pg66021-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHbzNlYhv_8EJ4E4DJI1xT-eilf1oEbWvELeAh6dE8q4A3kocM_fc79yigLk3_5MyKOEuv33oxhCtMa2n0tRfowZrOXRNfNwElo7xMBjUPe_-blUvvlPv1Xx5oE59s3xJ7NmI-7J-YJNyj3KVL8edZ3YCf_GxCKG8WPVKEyuSU00XJkEB_RUe1dFmqXX6/s297/pg66021.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="200" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHbzNlYhv_8EJ4E4DJI1xT-eilf1oEbWvELeAh6dE8q4A3kocM_fc79yigLk3_5MyKOEuv33oxhCtMa2n0tRfowZrOXRNfNwElo7xMBjUPe_-blUvvlPv1Xx5oE59s3xJ7NmI-7J-YJNyj3KVL8edZ3YCf_GxCKG8WPVKEyuSU00XJkEB_RUe1dFmqXX6/w269-h399/pg66021.cover.medium.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-43760390802584596782024-03-15T06:01:00.000-07:002024-03-15T06:01:31.006-07:00MEET ME IN TOMORROW By GUY ARCHETTE - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65053/pg65053-images.html<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zUIFLgMBn6hF80O4BiLaWJ5BMhfd_mrX2JllK8f_oCYlk2R1-B1b66ooIJSNpgXFvrtWstDxS9_19JhrfJuNOYalOup4s0WntQp6CiZaqHwLOkT3SJg3ZyFfk4Hr_0yyTT-PvSiK1jt2HjlOc6V06Hkw3Gpp91ngI2Dsafr27YQYsq1VxHX1UxPC4mS8/s292/pg65053.cover.medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="200" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zUIFLgMBn6hF80O4BiLaWJ5BMhfd_mrX2JllK8f_oCYlk2R1-B1b66ooIJSNpgXFvrtWstDxS9_19JhrfJuNOYalOup4s0WntQp6CiZaqHwLOkT3SJg3ZyFfk4Hr_0yyTT-PvSiK1jt2HjlOc6V06Hkw3Gpp91ngI2Dsafr27YQYsq1VxHX1UxPC4mS8/w272-h397/pg65053.cover.medium.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><br /><p></p>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1699312233689752820.post-14542039156538700602024-03-14T06:39:00.000-07:002024-03-14T07:02:30.629-07:00 THE GOOD WORK BY THEODORE L. THOMAS - https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/60682/pg60682-images.html<p> <i style="font-size: large; font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">In the cities, 350 billions swarmed</i></p><i style="font-size: large; font-weight: 700; text-align: center;">like termites in a hill; but Jeremiah<br />Winthrop still called himself a man....</i><div><span style="text-align: justify;">Jeremiah Winthrop rode the spiral escalator up, up to the two-part cubicle he called home on the one hundred and forty-eighth floor. He stood swaying slightly as the escalator wound its serpentine way upwards. Others rode with him, tight people, tense people, pushed together, staring straight as they rode the spiral escalator up.</span></div><div><span style="text-align: justify;">Winthrop boarded a moving belt that carried him over to his own corridor. He walked down the corridor for ten minutes. It was easy walking, for there were far fewer people now. Finally he came to his own door. He inserted his thumb in the thumbhole, slid the door open and walked in.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ann took three glasses from the tiny cabinet. She went to the synthetic milk faucet and filled the glasses and then put them on the table. She went to the bread slot and removed six slices of bread. One after the other she dropped the six slices of brown bread through the toaster. She picked up a knife and scooped big gobs of rich yellow synthetic butter out of the butter slot and spread it on the toast. She made a pile of the toast on a plate and then cut the pile in half. "All right," she called. And she put the toast on the table and sat down.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">People don't need money, what with free movies and clothes and food and everything else. No one buys food. They all live on Standard Fare and they don't seem to care any more.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em;">Winthrop looked at it and gasped. "An egg. A real hen's egg. I recognize it from the pictures." Winthrop looked up. "But I can't take it, John. I can't."</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em;">"I want you to have it, Jeremiah.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em;">Ann nodded, quickly read the cooking instructions, and set about preparing scrambled egg. Winthrop got out the cooking pan, wiped off the dust, and set it down near her. She smiled at him and put a large chunk of butter in it and placed the pan on the heater. When the butter bubbled, she poured the beaten egg into the pan; it hissed as it struck the hot butter. She began to stir the egg as it cooked. Winthrop picked Davy up so he could see into the pan as the egg thickened. In a moment it was done.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.49em; margin-top: 0.51em;">Ann lifted three small dishes from a cupboard, placed them on the table, and carefully scraped the egg onto the plates. Buttered toast and milk came next, then they sat down to eat. Winthrop said a grace.</p></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-bvFHX4Bzkat1PaRn3e3UHfldpi5i3e_MX_2mjnKgIv-nOMP-gqmaXaakRYx0k2QuuOuR6etTOhOskBJdzDkMhqksi93rrbAV4puEyW7nBkXNANE9B_LxRmC7n6Vksob2kXAN9hhi1QcitYy59uPfWrpXCImKk2dtTj4-824vNdjjOfhEiIIc7xrVd6R/s500/cover%20(39).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="344" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-bvFHX4Bzkat1PaRn3e3UHfldpi5i3e_MX_2mjnKgIv-nOMP-gqmaXaakRYx0k2QuuOuR6etTOhOskBJdzDkMhqksi93rrbAV4puEyW7nBkXNANE9B_LxRmC7n6Vksob2kXAN9hhi1QcitYy59uPfWrpXCImKk2dtTj4-824vNdjjOfhEiIIc7xrVd6R/w282-h410/cover%20(39).jpg" width="282" /></a></div><br /><i style="font-size: large; font-weight: 700; text-align: center;"><br /></i></div></div>tempus fugit à pressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14016161054765653473noreply@blogger.com1