Rosa’s Reformation Day
The bronze meatball
So nerved, you fought wisely and well;
And live, twice live in life and story…
It was the Pharaoh’s obelisk from hell. Rosa was just coming of age when she saw the birds flying in formation… the girl’s cage when the cycle starts. She saw the birds… and attained (blink, smack, do ink, whatever) eye Enlightenment (whatever that is). Wisdom of sages, ages, whatever. And a choice: stop World War I… or go through the Portal with Queen Mab. There is a Gatehouse on Cemetery Hill in Gettysburg There dwelleth Kapu Mate, Mother of Graves, but her name is Elizabeth too. Thirty thousand years old. They are. Murmuration of starlings so far. Starlings are baby stars. Like Pleiades. Queen on the hill. Whoever she was. Elizabeth Thorn, whose lot was to keep the portal, forfeited her eldest daughter to whatever you might call nationalism. It is a spirit thing… real as typhoid or cannonball. Or aircraft. Don’t you think the Mother of Graves could see her own? It’s a little dog thrown from the bone zone.
Rosa’s eighteen day old baby ears heard Lincoln’s Gettysburg address ringing in a November air barely clear of the death stink. And now we see her as a little bronze meatball under Elizabeth’s dress. A new birth of freedom.
Also the damned obelisk. Think about that. Ever since they figured out how to lock up the fucking food. Nationalism. I swear the gooks carried truck parts all the way from the North Pole and assembled them to fuck with us. We blew them apart and sent LRRPs to check the burned out wrecks. And guess what. They had no fucking engines. Hobo spat into the fire. Having eyes, see ye not? and having ears, hear ye not? and do ye not remember? Church boy, cackled the Hen. You get this way when you drop acid. And you babble this Civil War shit you egg. Great Remembering, ya dig? I do, I dew remembered Henry and started humming a song from 1972. Aint it funny how the night moves. What wondrous love is this droned the rebs and yanks alike going into battle. Down the chute like cattle.
To bear the dreadful burden of my soul.
Clouds of Asia
Portal Da Marble
Palely intent, he urged his keel
Full on the guns, and touched the spring;
There was a big red mountain next to an angry red thunderhead. Beanfield Hank was having a dream. The mountain was grinning at a red storm rising…
Mount Airy plantation
Richmond, Virginia, April 1860
Miss Daisy. May I sign your dance card? I have no dance card. What the fuck? How did you know my name? Whoa. Foxy lady.
Beanie. Beanie. Wake up. It’s that prima lucky light you tolt me bout. Nice job kid. Tell Harney I’ll need the muffler. Jenny’s prop bit into the yellow fog and the red runway lights slid by and the IO360 snarl was nowhere as loud as a BUF’s taxi. Headset cackled hell inside white plastic shell egg spurt red rover angle 30 clear pop eye out. There those fuckers are no lights of course stay four miles back you assholes. Red sky at morning… good thing no squids flying my Jenny. Throttle prop back 10 there’s the light and Jenny smelled it too as she turned our nose toward the deck. You was having that airy mountain dream again huh. Yeah. Union soldiers. And all that blood sloshing around in the slick. I know what I saw goddamit Hobo. You was drunk as a monkey Hen. Fuck yeah. Is the Shenandoah open yet? Do I look like a fuckin alarm clock.
You almost crashed your stupid limey bike.
Hendrix playing on the eight track. Dinks on the trail hauling an artillery tube like it was Pharos’s fucking obelisk and they don’t even look up shit rocket cob throttle WHUMP n’ snarl yellow wing Jenny point her tail at em and climb like a homesick angel. Yell at mike. Chevron. Yellow. Dark gunships burn a bunch a wood chips and meat and just enough time to get down before the fucking monsoon hit. Get down huh. Hey Eggbert. Howcum an outlaw like you wanna hang around a Lynchburg. Fu kit Hobo. Copula more keys o this shit and I’m gonna buy a house. Headed for Durham. Is that why you dream that Civil War shit. Us grunts was already down. With it. Ya dig. You dig, grunt. Only hole I’m gonna leave is the last one. I’m leaving a professional tradesman in charge. Carolinas got the bricks and lots a panty dew.
His shall op was. Die or das.
Miss Givings
Tinclad Privateer
( Winter on the Atlantic, 1865 )
With shouts the torrents down the gorges go, And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.
—Melville
Hello Mister James. Engine thumping bass notes merrily below. Wooden deck slat oboe a-creaking quietly. Chemical fumes sting the nose as wind blows up from Atlantic sunrise. Midway in the green captain. They will wonder why we aint putting out no smoke. Anthracite sir. Throw some on. Outside Henry heard all hands topside melads and heist are colors proud. Lively now god damn ye. Henry raised his best Zeiss glass from Germany. To his eye. Ironclads floating either side of the pilings guarding the river. Steam at steady. Gun ports open. Tiny bayonet muskets glitter in the dawn, But the guns are not run out. They see our friendly flag. One of the yankee warships winks a mirror. Greet them with our new steam Gotterdammerung horn sir. They will know it is the Baron. Coming to do business. Special cargo for City Point. Himmel BLAAAAAA. Haw louder than a goddam Parrott rifle. Loud as a row of poor Dilger’s brass Napoleons. Back there with jackass Howard and Sherman. Schurz brown nosing Slocum in my sweet daisy Georgia. The yankee boys on deck raise big cheer. Damn you.
Whiskey and women. It takes a lifetime to know either one. Like horses. Gott im Himmel how the Americans know horses. But soon there will be machines. We Germans will do nationalism like that. Cruel and stupid. We will find a victim. Gypsies maybe. Who knows. You used to be a Colonel. You used to be a Major. But you are no longer officers. I hope that you are still gentlemen. You prattle about principal. What interests you is gold in the hold. Halt. Now Tom and the lads will help you over the side, and with that, a pleasant Good Morning. Fighting is an art. War is a business. You have learned much about the art of war. You did not need to pay attention to the business of art. Henry waited for the splash. And then went back to sleep. The light will soon be better but the current is against us. We must find fuel for the engine. To do magical things. In an age when it was never easier to hunt for answers. The Walker turned smoothly again and shone like a dark star. Burple quiet like Walker click sparkle into shot glass shining. Nobody makes whiskey that sings like the goddam Scotts. Niggers sing under the wheel like a storm groaning over horizon.
Where are my letters. The girls you sent me are too hard. They are below giggling in the parlor. But them boys is used to hardtack. I want to meet President Lincoln. And I could probably do so now. But I once saw General Meade… and he frightened me. General Grant would scare me even more. I could not speak to them. Too much danger. Carny tells me Lincoln will understand. Grant and Meade are fierce and powerful war wizards. Like Jubal. Who spared my life because I am a gentleman and a friend of the South. Which I am. I love her like my beautiful Hessenland. Like the river… my old friend, Mr. James. E pluribus unum. Hello to you old Sir. Do you still run ugly in Tar Bay? What once only an old sea dog could do in three days by sail… a dandy like me can do in a day by steam. But I am only powerful enough to handle one war wizard. Dilger tells me that uncle Billy Sherman would make me shit my pants. The pilot boats are coming to board us your grace. Call me that again and I shoot you. You never saw a noble in your life, kammeraad shithead. Drink up the good stuff before the dumkoffs get here. And take care of my boat while I go West to see the real Dutchman. There will be plenty of time to meet Mr. Lincoln. I must tell the People what is coming. Stay safe, old lederhosen.
I will see you after the war.
Counting Coup
How a year crossing the Great Plains drove Henry quite mad:
Counting coup is the tradition of winning prestige against an enemy in battle. It is one of the traditional ways of showing bravery in the face of an enemy and involves shaming him, and, it is hoped, persuading him to admit defeat, without having to kill him. These victories may then be remembered, recorded, and recounted as part of the community’s spoken, written, or pictorial histories.
Mount Airy plantation: Richmond, Virginia, April 1860
Miss Daisy. May I sign your dance card?
I have no dance card.
Vot iss? Du bist… the most beautiful woman in the room. My hand, madam. Allow me the pleasure of this dance.
How did you know my name?
Please. The orchestra is about to begin. Vardamt! A Strauss… please!
You are German, sir.
And you. Madam, are not a Virginian.
I will dance with you, sir.
When Henry arrived in Philadelphia in 1849, he purchased a theater. Then a machine shop. Then a boat-builder. And finally a fine gun store in Harrisburg. All with the Baron’s guilders. Then (with many good co-workers) he learned the river. Pittsburgh railroad Cincinnati to New Orleans and the steamships to Key West and California. Traded in slaves, too. Purchased entire families. All with the dutchman’s gold. Bought Taverns along the Ohio and left the families in charge. In 1860 Henry had been corresponding with Carl Schurz about Marx and the Manifesto. Henry was in Big Lick, Virginia… having a packet boat built by black craftsman… with intentions of shipping it by rail to Norfolk. There it was to meet with the engine and screw-propulsion system, but that was all shot-to-hell with Ft. Sumpter etc.. Henry could be a rifle salesman. He could also be foreign dignitary or traveling tinker or a priest or parson or even a southern belle. Henry had put Marx theory to the test… and made more for the Baron with information than with gold. But that’s another story. And yes- the “major” was a JP Morgan spy.
Norfolk and Southern Railroad: Virginia, 1883
Gresley locomotive, Pullman prototype car.
Now Tom came out of the river. Two headless volkers floating away. Biggest blackest nigger eye ever seen. And me with only my dick and a stick. Dilger roar and slap fine linen. Big fish ha! Ja. That is how he become Now Tom. Now Tom. Please do not snatch my head off. And god dammit he has not done it yet. Best of your river property ja Henry with Von Hot boats and landings and all. Ja true, Dilger. You know rules. We got ten chips. Here is my first. Ten percent sure. You got a hand or not. You got any better whiskey. Yes I do, aunty. Lager beer then. Fuck you Dilger. Ante up or fold you silly dutch vixen. Your hand can go to your pants Henry you goddam piker. Gimme that deck. Dutchman just like Bishop Polk. Like tickling a fat cheese at 1200 yards. Zing go the 3 incher through and he stand there wobbling like jelly. Jacks or better, jackass. Where is your own puffer billy Bishop Polk. Jubal the Jew reb cheese. Did he find the papers in Petersburg. Take two. I hold what I got you withered old goddam piker Dutchman. Why aint you a citizen yet. Aint a pot I want to piss in Dilger. Raise you one and then tell about the horses. And the farm. You have not bought the farm yet darling. Refrigeration. Lager beer cold. How are you wise about that. Hesh. Secesh. Young girls are there listening. I think they do not know the dutch talk. You randy old goat. Aces and eights. You shoot toy Walker revolver. I have family. I have heard goddam you chatty mutti. Chemicals in mine lederhosen you dirty old man. What you got.
Yellow Rose and Edna were returning from the theatre in Harrisburg. The car was quiet (for a railroad car) and the dining room spacious enough (for a horse box) and the menu ambitious enough (according to that lovely negro boy). Yellow Rose worked for the company. The theatre company, you know. Although she was not in the play, she produced this wonderful thing about a Sleeping Car and confusion about fathers and brothers. Edna met Yellow Rose at the station, and together they took space on the sleeping car. Yellow Rose is too tall… but somehow beautiful. She looks Castilian Spanish, but says she is Shoshone. Edna is a proper little Southron young lady who exhibits bravery and independence by attending a finishing school up North (alone!). Her creamy cheeks dawn at the proper time and the veal cutlets are divine. But the sauce. Oh. The sauce has a New Orleans petit foie gras thunder with a down home flash of mammy’s garden vegetables. Dear. Those two bearded boho figar-smoking stokies appear to be getting quite drunk. Edna giggled. Yawl pike COD! Ve make carney EMPEROR! Shhh. They’ll hear you. Edna giggled. Rose. You’re about a thousand kisses shy. Yellow Rose say they no smoke um peace pipe in my wigwam. Ugh. Whatever lingo they are talking. Tell me about the company. Oh especially the actors. What are they like when the lights… you know. That is not what makes a play. Fathers and brothers be damned (storm blush). Some of us slept on both sides. Like miserable cowardly traitors. And you? I was a little indian girl out west. We did not get to choose so much. But there are mechanical things that make the play. Like lights. And flats. Ropes and pulleys. And chemistry. Rose and Edna made their way out of the car. Edna had been educated at the Sorbonne. And Edna understood every word the anarchists were saying. Complexity is just an illusion.
But it is vital to JP Morgan and our investors.
waldopaper 
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