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

Faces From the Past #9


Folk musicians (circa 1900)

I found this photo at an antique fair in Union, Maine (which also happens to be the birthplace of Moxie). Judging by the homemade balalaika on the right, I'm guessing that some, if not all, of these men are immigrants, who've come to Maine to work in the busy logging industry, but also came together to make music during their down time. Of course, I could be completely wrong (see the Preston Sturges/Howard Hughes photo), but it sounds like a good story.

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