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

Artists in Action #525

John Barrymore wonders where it all went to.


Tempest said...

He doesn't care where it all went. What he cares about is the next drink.

Christopher said...

"you a woman"

Tommy O'C said...

According to Errol Flynn in "My Wicked, Wicked Ways" (A great read, I don't care how much is/is not true), Barrymore lay in his death bed, moaning, "Oh, God, oh God..." and looked up at his nurse, who was, well, not a sight for dying eyes, and, seeing her startling visage, said, "Oh, God!" Regaining his composure, Barrymore summoned the strentgh, pulled back the covers on his hospital bed (allegedly hours from death), and said, "Oh, well, honey, hop on in, anyway."