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

They Were Collaborators #275

Mayo Methot and Humphrey Bogart


Ivan G. said...

"Embrace sweet embraceable you...embrace irreplaceable you..."

Tom Sutpen said...

My favorite Battling Bogarts story (probably apochryphal):

Cab pulls up to the Bogarts' residence, Humphrey crawls in, bombed out of his skull, lays flat on his stomach on the seat, says 'Take me to Ciro's'.

Driver glances over his shoulder, sees a knife sticking out of Bogart's back and makes a beeline for the hospital instead.

According to the story, the knife wasn't plunged in deep enough to do anything more tha superficial damage; but as I say, it might be one of those apochryphal Tinseltown anecdotes (though when you think about that was known about their marriage . . . it could well have happened).

Vanwall said...

Yeah, I heard that tale - maybe it was right after this piccie!

HenryW said...

The old line applies: "There was madness in his Methot."