Testaments to the Boom Times to Come

[Testaments to the Boom Times to Come]

[vega-ofthe-lyre]

…The moon slips into the mountains like a lost penny and the fields are black and punguent and I want you near so that I could touch you in the autumn stillness even a little bit like the last echo of summer. The horizon lies over the road to Lausanne and the succulent fields like a guillotine and the moon bleeds over the water and you are not so far away that I can’t smell your hair in the drying breeze. Darling—I love these velvet nights. I’ve never been able to decide whether the night was a bitter enemie or a ‘grand patron’—or whether I love you most in the eternal classic half-light where it blends with day or in the full religious fan-fare of mid-night or perhaps in the lux of the moon. Anyway, I love you most and you ‘phoned me just because because you ‘phoned me tonight—I walked on those telephone wires for two hours after holding your love like a parasol to balance me.

Zelda to Scott Fitzgerald, Fall 1930

[Testaments to the Boom Times to Come]

The Flapper awoke from her lethargy of sub-deb-ism, bobbed her hair, put on her choicest pair of earrings and a great deal of audacity and rouge and went into the battle. She flirted because it was fun to flirt and wore a one-piece bathing suit because she had a good figure, she covered her face with powder and paint because she didn’t need it and she refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn’t boring. She was conscious that the things she did were the things she had always wanted to do. Mothers disapproved of their sons taking the Flapper to dances, to teas, to swim and most of all to heart. She had mostly masculine friends, but youth does not need friends—it needs only crowds.

Zelda Fitzgerald, “Eulogy on the Flapper" (via starsplummet)