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

The Art of Labor #1:
Labor Day Edition


Flickhead said...

If only . . .

Vanwall said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Vanwall said...

The Wobblies never could get the timber beasts, black gangs, and Cousin Jacks to stick together long enough - usually the Pinkertons were the fulminate, the Hearst yellows the tinder, and the Joe Hills the match. A sad testament to unbridled capitalism, which seems to have made a comeback under the New Harding Administration, with a dose of Silent Cal for bad measure. Where's Bob La Follette when ya need'im - we've got another Albert Fall runnin' around, dontcha know?