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

The Friends of Flagg #17


William S. Hart

"Hero of Westerns before these degenerated into horse opera with singing cowboys in white sombreros and technicolored Indian lassies. I always liked Bill on the screen, but I could see the funny side of his always being reformed by looking into the eyes of a pure girl. So I did a movie take-off called PERFECTLY FIENDISH FLANAGAN in which I played the part of Bill, a rank parody. They wrote him from the East Coast that someone was stealing his stuff and sent him the reels. He laughed himself sick and we became friends for thirty years. He always called me pardner, with emphasis on the 'd'. Bill never had any stand-ins. If the script called for putting his horse over a cliff or through a saloon window, he performed the feat himself."

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