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

Before and After #69 (redux):
Raymond Chandler birthday edition




Vanwall said...

One of a boy soon to lead men over the top, trying to live forever, another of a man searching for his lost beloved Cissy, only to be buried ignominiously so far from her.

Vanwall said...

As an addendum for the after picture, it was prolly about this time that Chandler, his neighbor Ted Geisel, (yes, Dr. Seuss!), and Neil Morgan, a local newspaperman from the San Diego Tribune, would go on some legendary, serious bar-hopping in La Jolla and environs, sometimes with a little local law involved towrads the end. Chandler was beloved by the local cops, so it was always a ride home in an unmarked car and to bed, as I understand it. Chandler came by his knowledge of violence honestly thru harrowing trench fights in The Great War, and cops were generally just regular joes in his stories, so a certain amount of respect was accorded the old gentleman. His plain gravestone is unworthy of a man who ought to have a bronze statue somewhere.