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

Tiny Giants and Tiny Mummies #2

E.B. White


estiv said...

Looking at the way he's dressed and the furnishings behind him, it kind of brings home that what the New Yorker represented was an American version of a stereotypically English style: a kind of brightness and elegance so casual that it's begun to go to seed a tiny bit. And the person is too naturally elegant to care.

Greg said...

Tom, I'm so happy you decided to post a picture of White. As brilliant as his children's books are, it saddens me that his essays seem to have been forgotten, even as the majority of them hold up quite well out of context--and in some cases, quite eerily mirror/foreshadow the societal trials we're revisiting now.

The Demarest said...

Ah, if I could turn back time, that would be the kind of office space I would love.