The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

When Men Were Men #5:
The April Fools' Edition

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Andy Warhol, showing off the scars he got back in the 50s trying to make it to the top of the Commercial Art zigurrat. The mean streets of Madison Ave. were never meaner than in those days. Just ask Vance Packard. (1968)


Kerri Rachelle said...

More Andy, less Stanley.

Tom Sutpen said...

Some might say there's too much Andy on this blog (let's just say he's long been something of a personal inspiration for me), so I'm glad someone seems to recognize and encourage his presence. In many ways, Warhol is the guiding spirit of this corner in cyberspace.