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

Self Portrait #2


Orson Welles passed from us on this day in 1985, and we here at If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger . . . long ago vowed never to let such an occasion, however solemn, pass without some form of tribute. It is our hope that today's posts fulfill our ambitions in that regard.

1 comment :

Vanwall said...

An excellent sentiment.

"We drink to the sounding rafters
the walls all around us are bare,
They echo the peals of laughter,
It seems like the dead are there.

So stand by your glasses steady, boys,
This world is a world of lies,
Here's a toast to the dead already,
Hurrah for the next man to die!"