"Good taste is the death of art." Truman Capote

"Good taste is the death of art."  Truman Capote
Check in at The Cirrhosis Motel with your host, freelance literary loiterer and epicure, Dennis McBride

photo by John Hogl

Monday, June 25, 2007

A Playboy Interview with Yellow and Brown

PB: I’m going to jump right in and go straight to your relationship. You’ve managed to keep it somewhat secret and I’m wondering if that has been intentional?”

Yellow: “Well, the truth is, Brown and I have never made any attempt to hide anything, it’s just that we seldom draw attention when we are together, which we prefer. It seems that once you’re noticed it all gets predictable. Look what happened to two and two, doomed to four forever. We like not knowing where the day will lead.”

PB: “I’m interested in when, or should I say how, it started. Would you talk a little about that?”

Brown: “Well we had known of each other since the beginning although we did not formally meet till Lascaux, the caves in France, and then it didn’t become serious until the Cathedral at Chartres, although Yellow remembers it differently.

Yellow: “Yes, I still say it was Turner’s landscapes. That was where I first sensed the possibility of something.”

Brown: “In any event we had known for some time and it just kept quietly growing the way those things sometimes do. Then at some point shortly after Vincent and Gauguin, on that we agree, there was the sense of something that will not be avoided, when the wanted releases itself.”

Yellow: “In truth, we were infatuated in the Mesozoic, when the first flowers appeared, the magnolias.”

Brown: “Yes, before that there was only the forest, just Green and I. It was assumed we would always be together. Who would have thought of Yellow! Anyway, Green and I are still close. I guess we just wore each other out. No one knows why these things happen the way they do, why anything ends when it does or why it begins even, or what comes after.
“Anyway, after Green, I tried a short detour with Red on the old opposites-attract theory, which turned into a modest disaster. Red only has eyes for Red, doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Only one who can put Red in its place is White. Does it by simply ignoring. It’s brilliant really, drives Red crazy. I like White actually. Bit of a strange bird though, goes with everyone but still remains a loner.
“But, as I was saying, after Green I gradually withdrew into myself. You see I’d never found anyone who could understand what it was like for me, so there just didn’t seem any point and in truth I became quite content. I began to find a warm strength in the ample pleasure of the tree and soil and the fur of animal and after a while that settled inside, something solid and yet soft. I became utterly glad to simply relax into the basin and range. Then, when Yellow happened, I had to leave that. I was sad at the loss of my solitude at first, but I was too buoyant to remain where I was.
“I guess it started with the night. You see, I’ve never really liked the night. It brings on a kind of anxiety. I think it’s the loss of the light. I feel like I’m disappearing. But that first time with Yellow when we stayed together and darkness came and put on its black clothes piece by piece, Yellow just laughed, and the darker it got the louder grew the laughter. I’ve never been bothered by the night since.”

Yellow (erupts with a soft smile): “Yes I remember that, although in truth there is also some personal history involved with that story. Brown and I both benefited from our encounter with Black. You see Black was my first, that is before Brown happened. Black always tried to intimidate me, thinking that because it had worked with others it would work again, but it didn’t and we drifted apart. But at least in the beginning, Black was a new and wonderful sensation for me. I was suddenly beautiful in a way I hadn’t seen before. I became intoxicated. Seeing myself with Black released a kind of radiant, radical potential in me I’d never experienced before. It took my breath away. I didn’t know I possessed such brilliance, an almost reckless brilliance really. A sense of spectacular possibility came over me, something resembling freedom, but beyond it. I was like a child, able to run, laugh, leap and shout while believing in nothing. Variety replaced limitation. I had never known what it was like to have a true lust for existence. Even Vincent and Gauguin didn’t do that for me.
“It’s been different with Brown, a sort of calm steady ecstasy. None of the ups and downs like with Black. It’s odd but I think I know what perfect means now. It’s not wanting to leave. That even if what comes tomorrow is what was there yesterday, it’s enough. It’s patience, I think. With Brown I finally feel patient. I don’t need to need.”

PB: “What are your plans for the future?”

Brown: “Oh the future is always here. It’s even back there. I don’t mean to be glib but what you call time or soul or personality or even Life and Death are really unclear to you.
You don’t understand yet. Your life is a sort of fiction you’re still walking through intensely, as though it were fact. That’s one of the things we’re here for. Not just yellow and I but the others too, Red and Blue and Purple and Orange and all the rest. To clear up your confusion, to offer you the absolutely lovely. There are places we go where there are no plans, where the clouds are dark and light browns and it rains yellow. We love it.

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