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leondumoulin.nl: Beware The Savage Roar (Volume 1) (): Randall R Wheeler: Books.
Table of contents
Poa the Destroyer (song)
What appears to have been a missed downshift on the long slide down into the turn 2 hairpin caused him to miss marks and run wide, losing touch with the leaders on lap 1. While Taylor never quite catches back up with the pack he started the race aiming to take down, he does negotiate traffic quite deftly. The A. Know This Car. Bradley Brownell. Filed to: Vintage Racing.
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His was a wise and instinctive temperateness that savoured of the Greek. Yet he was far from Greek. And in truth he looked it, a compound of strange and ancient races, what with his swarthy skin and the asymmetry and primitiveness of his features. His eyes, under massively arched brows, were wide apart and black with the blackness that is barbaric, while before them was perpetually falling down a great black mop of hair through which he gazed like a roguish satyr from a thicket. He invariably wore a soft flannel shirt under his velvet-corduroy jacket, and his necktie was red.
This latter stood for the red flag he had once lived with the socialists of Paris , and it symbolized the blood and brotherhood of man. Also, he had never been known to wear anything on his head save a leather-banded sombrero. It was even rumoured that he had been born with this particular piece of headgear. And in my experience it was provocative of nothing short of sheer delight to see that Mexican sombrero hailing a cab in Piccadilly or storm-tossed in the crush for the New York Elevated. As I have said, Carquinez was made quick by wine--"as the clay was made quick when God breathed the breath of life into it," was his way of saying it.
I confess that he was blasphemously intimate with God; and I must add that there was no blasphemy in him. He was at all times honest, and, because he was compounded of paradoxes, greatly misunderstood by those who did not know him. He could be as elementally raw at times as a screaming savage; and at other times as delicate as a maid, as subtle as a Spaniard. And--well, was he not Aztec? And now I must ask pardon for the space I have given him. He is my friend, and I love him. The house was shaking to the storm, as he drew closer to the fire and laughed at it through his wine.
He looked at me, and by the added lustre of his eye, and by the alertness of it, I knew that at last he was pitched in his proper key. They deal and shuffle all the cards. Think not that you have escaped by fleeing from the mad cities. You with your vine-clad hills, your sunsets and your sunrises, your homely fare and simple round of living! You have not won. You have surrendered. You have made terms with the enemy. You have made confession that you are tired.
You have flown the white flag of fatigue. You have nailed up a notice to the effect that life is ebbing down in you. You have run away from life. You have played a trick, shabby trick. You have balked at the game. You refuse to play. You have thrown your cards under the table and run away to hide, here amongst your hills. He tossed his straight hair back from his flashing eyes, and scarcely interrupted to roll a long, brown, Mexican cigarette.
It is an old trick. All the generations of man have tried it. The gods know how to deal with such as you. To pursue is to possess, and to possess is to be sated. And so you, in your wisdom, have refused any longer to pursue. You have elected surcease. Very well.
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You will become sated with surcease. You say you have escaped satiety! You have merely bartered it for senility. And senility is another name for satiety. It is satiety's masquerade. I have watched men play for years what seemed a winning game. In the end they lost. Let me tell you. There was Marvin Fiske. You remember him?
And his Dantesque face and poet's soul, singing his chant of the flesh, the very priest of Love? And there was Ethel Baird, whom also you must remember. Holy as Love, and sweeter! Just a woman, made for love; and yet--how shall I say? Well, they married. They played a hand with the gods--". The world sees only the face of things. But I know. Has it ever entered your mind to wonder why she took the veil, buried herself in that dolorous convent of the living dead? The world's judgment! And much the world knows about it. Like you, she fled from life. She was beaten. She flung out the white flag of fatigue.
And no beleaguered city ever flew that flag in such bitterness and tears.
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They had pondered the problem of satiety. They loved Love. They knew to the uttermost farthing the value of Love. They loved him so well that they were fain to keep him always, warm and a-thrill in their hearts. They welcomed his coming; they feared to have him depart. He was ever seeking easement, and when he found that for which he sought, he died. Love denied was Love alive; Love granted was Love deceased. Do you follow me? They saw it was not the way of life to be hungry for what it has. To eat and still be hungry--man has never accomplished that feat.
The problem of satiety. That is it. To have and to keep the sharp famine-edge of appetite at the groaning board. This was their problem, for they loved Love.
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Often did they discuss it, with all Love's sweet ardours brimming in their eyes; his ruddy blood spraying their cheeks; his voice playing in and out with their voices, now hiding as a tremolo in their throats, and again shading a tone with that ineffable tenderness which he alone can utter. I saw--much. More I learned from her diary. This I found in it, from Fiona Macleod: 'For, truly, that wandering voice, that twilight-whisper, that breath so dewy-sweet, that flame-winged lute- player whom none sees but for a moment, in a rainbow-shimmer of joy, or a sudden lightning-flare of passion, this exquisite mystery we call Amor, comes, to some rapt visionaries at least, not with a song upon the lips that all may hear, or with blithe viol of public music, but as one wrought by ecstasy, dumbly eloquent with desire.
To feast him was to lose him.
Their love for each other was a great love. Their granaries were overflowing with plenitude; yet they wanted to keep the sharp famine-edge of their love undulled. They were robust and realized souls.