Quotes from THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day... a sort of intellectual 'There!'"

"All she wanted was to be a little girl, to be efficiently taken care of by some yielding yet superior power, stupider and steadier than herself. It seemed that the only lover she had ever wanted was a lover in a dream."

Maury perturbed thus retorted to Richard's preference for writing over socializing, "Noble aesthete. And I poured alcohol into my stomach."

"Both were walking alone in a dispassionate garden with a ghost found in a dream."

"Halcyon days like boats drifting along slow-moving rivers; spring evenings full of a plaintive melancholy that made the past beautiful and bitter, bidding them look back and see that the loves of other summers long gone were dead with the forgotten waltzes of their years."

During a dinner out, one of Gloria's suitors Mr Bloeckman blurted, "When a man speaks he's mere tradition. He has at best a few thousand years back of him. But woman, why, she is the miraculous mouthpiece of posterity."

"There's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses---bound for dust---mortal---."

"They plunged like divers into the dark eddying crowd and merging in the cool fifties sauntered to each other ... both were walking alone in a dispassionate garden with a ghost found in a dream."

"Intolerably unmoved they all seemed removed from any romantic imminency of action. Even Gloria's beauty needed wild emotions, needed poignancy, needed death. ..."

I found Gloria's simple confession (below) somewhere in the novel's Book 2, Chapter 3 quite pathetically suitable for today's common mood and posture...

"I don't care about truth. I want some happiness."

"Added to this was the wretched aura of stale wine, with it's inevitable suggestion of beauty gone foul and revelry remembered in disgust."

This fuckin' brilliantly written novel of the 1910s/1920s mirrors something too goddamn familiar in 2010s (per last quote above). The Voltairean beast advances physical well-being while strangely never electing beyond the feast, fuck and fight, that is, the seemingly "evil destiny" by disregard of the endowed divine image or mark, distinction among all other species, the soul, in brief and simplicity; the ability to emote and reason as well to instinctively behave, continuously, simultaneously. Thus from Voltaire's 1764 book Dictionnaire Philosophique...

Ye naked bipeds, without beaks or claws,

Hairless, and featherless, and tender-hided,

Weeping ye come into the world—because

Ye feel your evil destiny decided;

More to come...

Note:
As stated in another blog, I decided to forgo my long regarded personal studies in ethics, philosophy and economics (i.e. praxeology) for now, tempering my time spent reading poetry as well, in favor of reacquainting myself with the classic novels and writers of the early 20th century. It seems to be a necessary change, or at least desirable. With that said, I shall pursue writing poetry for books 9 (poetic mysteries) and 10 (essays/poems), with the latter as a metaphoric bookend of sorts... The book cover was the 1st edition, published in 1922 by Scribner's.

This blog...
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modififed/2016-07-26
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modified/2016-08-20
modified/2016-08-30

Rhyme on Rye No. 29

The poetic trilogy THE MEMPHIS NIGHTCLUB MURDERS are near completion as the story-line rushes, as lushes to trough, to dramatic scoff and cuff, flesh and thud per flood of blood `tween rain and mud, along US 61 near state line, mid early AM hours of a stormy morn on March 31, 1957...

Rhyme on Rye No. 29

“Damnation rings, by obsessed things, as little-kings within

Reason lacking, inner-trolls stacking, racking to bitter ends

Blending the ash-n-cinder, descending on litters of corpses
O monotony’s lovely courses and insanity’s rutted forces”

... for the previous 28 Rhymes on Rye, see link below...

http://cafeperq.blogspot.com/2016/08/rhymes-on-rye-no-1-28.html

Rhymes on Rye No. 1-28

Rhymes on Rye No. 1-28 (so far), as part of the trilogy of poetic mysteries THE MEMPHIS NIGHTCLUB MURDERS - PARTs 1, 2 & 3, with the 3rd still being written. Rhymes on Rye are scattered throughout the narrative/story-line (also in poetic form), serving as poet/writer and/or characters' thoughts...

Rhyme on Rye No. 1

“As bawdy the crass sax, or perhaps paramours' brass sex

Words form then stack, betwixt thighs' impasse vexed

He her rex and she his text, the poet's verse un-tersely

Pretzel'ing below the canopy's white lace so transversely”

Rhyme on Rye No. 2

“Mercy eludes, then grace concludes, while two strews

Amid the satin scattered, under the eiderdown skewed

Later undone, upon limbs flung, as passion's corpses

So love spoiled, and mortals un-coiled; their quiet crisis”

Rhyme on Rye No. 3

“Scattered the chalice shattered on history's cold floor

Water splattered, as goddamn blood, on misery's door

Like fallen lovers in passionate wars, blown the petals

Of rose to drenched furrow, by lust's wrenched fettle”

Rhyme on Rye No. 4

“While drunk brutal by duplicity, sipped from antiquity

Fitly, memories mid tattered kodachrome photography

Bored by wallow, hording the fallow, seeking release

Yet reeking of obese sorrow, fattened by non-caprice”

Rhyme on Rye No. 5

“Blindness curtains, consummating the second show

The last reckoning in solo, within littered theater rows

Exits dim, she turns to him, he discerns the chagrin

As shadows belong, unrelenting; death's song and gin”

Rhyme on Rye No. 6

“Fits intense by curious itching, such feared bewitching

Hence queer twitching, as eyes widen by livid pitching

So fibs lessen by ditching, betwixt twain supple fawns

`Low fain lunar dawn, disdaining pride, waning brawn”

Rhyme on Rye No. 7

“Oh yore's smirk, lore's curt frown, per damn metaphors

Cloaked storms gowned by social norms (a fuckin' hoar)

Hence sounds of silent words, while neon twilight stirs

The felines' purrs and canines' slurs, as bourbon ensures”

Rhyme on Rye No. 8

“Charting the whole, `low streetlamps on cold benches

Sorted souls' intermission, cramped in gutters' stenches

From bar stools to fools, smearing the human shadow

Down grayish sidewalks nicely iced, to hazy hollows”

Rhyme on Rye No. 9

“O their irony; mirth, dirge, or mere dearth, within skirt

And `neath blouse, to rouse and douse, while lust smirks

When love shirks it's duty (per poetry's chimerical fires)

Crumpling stockings on trousers, piled as funeral pyres”

Rhyme on Rye No. 10

“Ah, the daily fuss, goddamn eve’s maddening rush

Suited cowboys to gin mills, to fill their mulled hush

Dirtier the martinis, flirtier the ladies, as perceived

Love believed by pairs heaved, till each tab received”

Rhyme on Rye No. 11

“Bypassing the rife harassing, to prowl, slink and creep

Into penumbras deep, among swelter then shit in heaps

Death too bereft to expire, one’s breath inept to suspire

Liken prayers for mortal spires, or truth dared by liars”

Rhyme on Rye No. 12

“Amassing the knifed passing, oh howls per jinxed reap

Grim the tundra concrete, while her weltered ardor leaps

Like Abel clept, life not kept, per hatred thus hot desire

Till two paramours slept restless in loveless, lustful ire”

Rhyme on Rye No. 13

“Reeking of schemes unseen, preened by conundrum

As his sax arched her moan, her sex enlarged his hum

Ever last and anon so cast subtly, oh love’s lost finale

For atop morrow’s bureau in view; sorrow’s challis”

Rhyme on Rye No. 14

“Seeking of reams teemed with screams un-succumbed

O’er cornet’s tones, as blood bleeds along spilled rum

From first, his alpha-kin, to last, her omega-sin madly

Upon tomorrow’s dying, after multum in parvo killing”

Rhyme on Rye No. 15

“Freakin’ twain as team tho’ oppose, as thorn and rose

`Twixt corn in rows thus lost, on floor mid undone clothes

Spun within till shunned again, so goes paramours’ lust

As the pair heaved, cleaved to leave, their fuckin’ cusp”

Rhyme on Rye No. 16 (reprised of No. 7 revised)

“Oh yore's smirk, lore's curt frown, per damn metaphors

Stoke the storms of reciprocal norms (all fuckin' hoars)

Latter rounds of violent words, while neon twilight lurks

As felines covert, and canines overt, work the un-alert”

Rhyme on Rye No. 17

“Mind’s knick-knacks scatter, as tits-for-tats on platter

Upon drunk mad-hatters’ pilfering, mid deafening clatter

Ah, love’s tattoo undone, feels good as killer’s revenge

Fitly stung, rung and hung by hangman’s lustful binge”

Rhyme on Rye No. 18

“Thrilled by the killing spree, skilled by the swilling free

Blood and buzz, just because, as reaper grimly emcees

Till all sprawl to prostrate, aft’ brawl and broken plates

Fear innate, tears translate, inner silence’s altered state”

Rhyme on Rye No. 19

“Elixirs swilled as real, ah logic lost, per anagogic lines

Amongst purrs, slurs, by nightclub felines and canines

Sensuality stirred, garnished by olive, later her lipstick

Rim so smudged, hem then nudged, his usual shtick”

Rhyme on Rye No. 20

“Else, lovers’ stints and fits, scents from previous skits

Flicks then devious flits, o’er whiskey’s schizoid-wit

Dirty martini’s android-moods, ah nonetheless broods

Subtly duels, `tween monotony’s psycho-pistol feuds”

Rhyme on Rye No. 21

“O lady he so loves, on bar her drink, gun and gloves

Mary sips, to her lips his blood, and their lust thereof

What fuss, hot as musk, fraught the dusk with death

Liken Duncan caught mid thrust, envy and Macbeth“

Rhyme on Rye No. 22

“Lies oft are, cloaked by ties, coats, hats like old czars

As actors too, some ramblers, spilling tumblers on bars

Fools on stools, rarely a few, on par the colloquial ruse

Wide and far the usual excuse, till paid the rude Muse”

Rhyme on Rye No. 23

“As gun-smoked films noir, and hate-stoked dames are

The unexpected usually, unsuspected presumably starred

In spars and schemes bizarre, to mar, scar, for all to see

O her revenge cold, as barren wold or endless cruel seas“

Rhyme on Rye No. 24

“Ah the hiss faint in mind, beyond kiss of suspected kind

Expected as blind, by love sublime, however maligned

Oh the serpentine and brass ring, elusive and conducive

By the guile upon the guileless, such the wiles collusive”

Rhyme on Rye No. 25

“Like befalling Stygian shrouds, so darkness upon stage

While 100 candles flicker, till flamed to a vicar’s rage

O symphonies of everybody’s lies, their Lust connived

Love incised, Hate canonized, as 100 more vilely die”

Rhyme on Rye No. 26

 “Whiskey arouses souls, like bloody tattoos incite flesh

By ills in thrills enmeshed, as chaff-n-wheat pre-threshed

So are facts killed, else skewed, by inebriation’s effects

Too wrecked to judge, to deflect nudges then neglects”

Rhyme on Rye No. 27

 “Whiskey douses whole; love’s affairs, later life’s wares

Staring fraught, dreaming lost, such insistence for despair

Fairest not the ego, darkest the soul ergo, forever 3:00 AM

Suspending in goddamn ends, while pretending to begin”

Rhyme on Rye No. 28

“Whiskey espouses wise, as twilight rises until love dies

Lust despises of course; causes cavort, effects chastise

As advised per eternal praxeology of temporal sexuality

Such coitus of Passion and Reason, a divine sensuality”

(--- in progress, to be published in 2017 ---)

THE MEMPHIS NIGHTCLUB MURDERS

&

Other Poetic Mysteries

Copyright © 2016 by D.C. Quillan Stone

ACT II - Gash Bequeathed by Gnashed Teeth

Verses from the 3rd installment of the poetic trilogy and mystery The Memphis Nightclub Murders. Photo for both new business card as well cover of aforementioned trilogy/book...

ACT II

Gash Bequeathed by Gnashed Teeth

30 March 1957, 11:59 PM

New Year’s Eve revisited, revelry persisted, passions
As trysts’ mutations, swelled to cyst-like damnation
Spontaneous ovations, at end or mid precarious tunes
Nefarious runes, spewed, consumed `twixt swills, spills
While rills of unknowns, flowed along shoes of drones
Upon barstool-thrones, debutants’ flaunts and taunts
As garish storefronts, flesh flashed, slapdash for cash
Indulgence ash’ed in trays, `tween red nails as clichés
Puffed to allay, to seduce and betray, the air so piqued
As well reeked, menthol critiques, perfumes oblique
No-one thing and no-one unique, every-thing employed
Every-one there to exploit, from minutely to reciprocally
Of nil cutely until ill reputedly, still, all cruelly perhaps
Filling time-gaps that lapsed, by the humanitarian games
Instead of actualities inhumane (for lame the mortals
Or blame the devil’s chortle and his court min-jesters
Rather, pestered and festered, by propensities for error
Far less fairer, proclivities for excess) largesse hoped
Per finesse and grope, within whiskey’s kaleidoscope

Rhyme on Rye No. 27

 “Whiskey douses whole; love’s affairs, later life’s wares
Staring fraught, dreaming lost, such insistence for despair
Fairest not the ego, darkest the soul ergo, forever 3:00 AM
Suspending in goddamn ends, while pretending to begin”

31 March 1957, 00:59 AM

Three-point surveillance, mixture of perusal and glance
 Across barroom’s smoky expanse, perchance to match
Then to catch, per immediate dispatch of the mottled lot
Motley trio as poorly mixed dough, unfit by the lumps
First, a bit frump in raincoat, perpetual thumps to glass
(As one could note none too fast) the lady private eye
Shifted to hide, `hind shadow lines, smokers’ blindside
As well others bromide, second, the disheveled reporter
Normally, recorder of folks, hoarder of notes and quotes
Yet instead of news and acclaim, devoted to ruse and aim
Preventing new bloody frames (rampage on stained stage
Bodies torn, gore arranged on floor, so gauged for more
Although the bane, abhorred by the sane, at times arcane
O the Abels versus Cains, societies be damned, scammed
By artistries’ anagrams, flimflams, madams and whores
Politicians’ scores and blow, tucked in drawers in rows
For apropos medicine shows, to brass poles, rash flings
To gold rings for gonorrhea’s sting, self-toasting to boast
Self-hosting inner-ghosts, to gain most with less finesse
Leaving a crimson mess, with disposition of jest’s venom
Cruelty of juxtaposition; humoring in evil, loving to hate
Rumoring upheaval, shoving while berate, sardonic shit
Ironic remit, moronic lit mortals’ reason, passion-beasts
To feast, fuck and fight, to decease in muck among mite)

Rhyme on Rye No. 28

“Whiskey espouses wise, as twilight rises until love dies
Lust despises of course; causes cavort, effects chastise
As advised per eternal praxeology of temporal sexuality
Such coitus of Passion and Reason, a divine sensuality”

Fixing the triangulation, Boldren sauntered to end of bar
Crowd’s roar versus jazz score, sparred in the smoky air
Most in chairs, others along wall without care perchance
To left of main door and entrance, cluttering the ingress
With mélange of flesh, suited and dressed, pressed aside

(--- in progress, more to come ---)

THE MEMPHIS NIGHTCLUB MURDERS

&

Other Poetic Mysteries

Copyright © 2016 by D.C. Quillan Stone

The 2005 film Good Night, and Good Luck

Written and directed by George Clooney, as well co-starred as CBS producer Fred Friendly, with David Strathairn as multi-honored/awarded radio/TV journalist Edward R. Murrow. The year is 1953 and once again society is duped by government towards another witch hunt against suspected Communists with little to no evidence. Sounds familiar, it should. For as now (more than before) so it has since this country's beginning. It would behoove Americans to see this film, currently on Amazon Prime. No, I don't work for Amazon, merely an ardent fan of this important piece of cinematography.

Trailer...

More info about the film...
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Night,_and_Good_Luck




Peace is always a Choice. Come let us Reason.

Q.

Quotes from THE SUN ALSO RISES by Ernest Hemingway

While dining, dancing and much drinking in Paris...

"I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories hold together."

"Going to another country doesn't make any difference. I've tried all that. You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There's nothing to that."

"This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste."

"I was a fool to go away. One's an ass to leave Paris."

"Be ironic... You ought to be ironical the minute you get out of bed. You ought to wake up with your mouth full of pity."

Somewhere between Paris and Spain, perhaps the few days in Burguette...

"Coffee is good for you. It's the caffeine in it. Caffeine, we are here. Caffeine puts a man on her horse and a woman in his grave."

Upon first dinner in Pamplona...

"It was like certain dinners I remember from the war. There was much wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people."

During the week long festival of San Fermín in Pamplona...

"I could not shut my eyes without getting the wheeling sensation. But I could not sleep. There is no reason why because it is dark, you should look at things differently from when it is light. The hell there isn't!"

And finally rejoining in Madrid after many drinks, flings, banters, and flown fists...

"Oh, Jake," said Brett, "we could have had such a damned good time together." "Yes, " I said, "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

Note:
I decided to forgo my long regarded personal studies in ethics, philosophy and economics (i.e. praxeology) for now, tempering my time spent reading poetry as well, in favor of reacquainting myself with the classic novels and writers of the early 20th century. It seems to be a necessary change, or at least desirable. With that said, I shall pursue writing poetry for books 9 (poetic mysteries) and 10 (essays/poems), with the latter as a metaphoric bookend of sorts... The book cover was the 1st edition, published in 1926 by Scribner's.

This blog...
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