nipple, tit or pussy

“The screams and laugh of ecstasy, hallucinations wandering the desert, inflammations, reductions, reversals losing the won race, plummeting over the guard rails, easing in. Hands slipped into the waistband, the sudden flash of nipple, tit or pussy, the slow grind of her buttocks in my forever attentive lap. Someday you’ll tell your grandkids you knew me but they won’t believe anything so ridiculous, the night engulfs us, embraces us, smothers us. Let’s give a warm round of applause; a nun wouldn’t say that about a mountain.”

— Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

smoke small pipes

“Disdaining sexuality the singers would gather and smoke small pipes of weed and laugh at the vagaries of odd parlor games, finding humor in word play, floating in thick grey clouds. Authenticity in the lame joys of those who warble for fun, the spirit of rebellion quashed, kill the engine and put it in neutral. They say I’m crazy: I really don’t care.”

— Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

arrogance or stupidity

“I looked up when Ralph called my name. Pushing the table back, I shoved my body upward, a momentum that leaned and maneuvered, stumbled through the thicket of tables and chairs to reach the stage. Taking hold of the microphone stand, I adjusted the height with a twist, pull and twist. Heeding my daughter’s advice, I never held a microphone, allowing the freedom of my arms to release the strength of my lungs. I look down on any singer who holds the microphone in arrogance or stupidity, for they weaken their own performances. The screen before me revealed the song title and key. “Key of A,” I might whine, “I hate the key of A.”

— Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

the slippery slide

“When a relationship dies, sometimes the couple is the last to know. We can see the death in their eyes particularly if the slippery slide from the honeymoon proves gentle, as often they know and deny, clinging to the sparse advantages being part of a duet confers or an apartment, a house, the hassle of moving, enough drama without starting over until the craving for freedom overtakes the stagnant momentum. Inertia needs an explosion. Sometimes finding the next victim sometimes just having enough.”

— Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

violins packed

“I closed my notebook, no more answers could be found within the bound graphs. The list had lost meaning, for time being, the songs had been played, the scenes came to a close as the curtains fell, violins packed in their cases, amps unplugged and stowed away, Ralph staggering out of control, leaning on the loving shoulder of Misses O. Rebel yells crying more, more, more.”

— Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

three women

When I found myself alone again at home, and remembered that I had taken a drive that afternoon with Albertine, that I was to dine in two days’ time with Mme. de Guermantes and that I had to answer a letter from Gilberte, three women each of whom I had once loved, I said to myself that our social existence is, like an artist’s studio, filled with abandoned sketches in which we have fancied for a moment that we could set down in permanent form our need of a great love, but it did not occur to me that sometimes, if the sketch be not too old, it may happen that we return to it and make of it a work wholly different, and possibly more important than what we had originally planned.

Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way

as a makeshift

But these conversational openings, trivial to begin with, then hinting at love, would not be required; I could trust Saint-Loup’s letter for that. Mme. de Stermaria would yield herself to me from the first, I should have no need therefore to engage Albertine to come to me, as a makeshift, later in the evening. It would be superfluous; Robert never exaggerated, and his letter was explicit.

Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way