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

Sex Education #66

Louise Brooks


Vanwall said...

Chaplin was right - "breasts like perfect little pears" - and she was awesomely natural - no merkins and no scalpels, and she didn't need any, that's for sure. The stories about her talents in bed are almost dreams of fantasists, but evidently she could back 'em up. Damn, she was lovely and talented.

swac said...

I officially designate this photo as The Greatest Artifact of the 20th Century.

Tim Lucas said...

Such grace, such purity. In a pose that would make most other women look at least silly and probably vulgarian, Brooksie somehow looks like the model for the hood ornament of a Rolls, or a wood sprite gliding across the surface of a silver lake. To think this vision was once flesh and blood. I feel extraordinarily privileged just to have seen this.