mill girls
lugubrious singing
O broncho that would not be broken of dancing?
When you sell your product, you retain your person. But when you sell your labour, you sell yourself, losing the rights of free men and becoming vassals of mammoth establishments of a monied aristocracy that threatens annihilation to anyone who questions their right to enslave and oppress. Those who work in the mills ought to own them, not have the status of machines ruled by private despots who are entrenching monarchic principles on democratic soil as they drive downwards freedom and rights, civilization, health, morals and intellectuality in the new commercial feudalism.
The investors or factory owners built hundreds of boarding houses near the mills, where textile workers lived year-round. A curfew of 10:00 pm was common, and men were generally not allowed inside. About 26 women lived in each boarding house, with up to six sharing a bedroom… a small, comfortless, half-ventilated apartment containing some half a dozen occupants. Life is typically strict. The houses are run by widows who kept a close eye on the workers and made church attendance mandatory for all of the girls. However, half-days and short paid vacations are possible due to the nature of the piece-work. Close quarters fostered community as well as resentment.
Once she got started, Daisy couldn’t stop herself, her anger increasing with every comment. She had them with her promised brevity, one talking point at a time. Not too much to think about at once. Trying to arouse those still sleeping to the alarm that is the reality in this aggressive, gestating country within this promising continent called North America. Bordering on the extreme, she only hinted at names to confront, companies to start with, barely suggesting the potential for violent correction by the workers themselves. Another hollering voice interrupting with, We know who you are! You’re a business owner yesself! And a wealthy one! And with a wealthy fancyman too! Unmarried whore! No business here!
Who danced, through the ages, in corridors golden.
Henry watched her visions and her contracting on her Kimmswick mansion and worried as he saw signs of senility in her. Daisy saw actuality of senility in him as he gambled incessantly, began to forget some of the resulting debts and threw money toward the SS Dart. Both shrugged off their concerns for the other to be addressed in later times. Now those times were here: memories of a way not taken. Young Henry met a Lowell girl on the train to Paul’s place in the Adirondacks. He was on the way to St. Louis and the Gold Rush well before the war. She was a darling thing and he never forgot her. Wild oats only concerned horses in those days.
The war was coming and we knew it. Like rabbits in a garden before a rolling thunderstorm, like all small creatures who must find hiding places sensing electricity in the air… we had an endless summer. Winter was coming just the same with all her terrible beauty. We knew it and simply did not care. Birds gathering in migration, bombs bursting in air. The ones who played the part big usually fell first- but not always- much like nuts on a tree. Crazy fucks like Sherman and Jackson could make men do crazy things. That is how we got here. Chaska came from a warrior culture that knew nothing about war. Thabo likewise has slaves of his own. Henry came from European culture- the biggest joke of all.
Daisy shook her head in disbelief. She had come to her senses after sleeping at her desk and having a most realistic and frightening nightmare, only to find a ghost of her Henry, in a momentary visit of his spirit, right within reach of her. What did it mean? Surely he’s not dead. Surely she didn’t see his actual spirit. The clock struck three. She wasn’t sure if it was day or night. She turned off the desk lamp, and headed for the stairs, stopping to touch the wing chair and trying to touch him, feel him where she thought he had been. As she reached the bottom step, she could smell his scent and turned back abruptly.
Stopped the red reaper, to give you a chance
The Lowell girl sensed freedom and talked about going west as well. Henry was no flash pan gold digger. The Hawken is the most beautiful rifle he had ever seen… for the least amount of money. He intended to invest in the Hawken company and sell rifles to the buffalo hunters servicing the railroads. It was a long plan reaching back to unserm Deutschland and forests and rivers and castles and the revolution we both know and love. He would send for her as soon as he reached St. Louis. There was no place she could receive a wire, so a letter would have to do. Her address was one of the first things Henry lost to a cavalryman when the wagons were raided in the Dakotas.
There was nothing there but her dreams.
Half Glass
To Carnegie Hull
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Daisy was busying herself most earnestly these days in order to take her mind off Henry’s latest pending voyage to Europe. Kaiser Wilhelm had summoned Henry to meet with him in Bremen over plans for a new luxury ocean liner. Henry’s reputation regarding nautical speed had reached Norddeutscher-Lloyd and, while gathering the names of potential consultants, Henry’s was one of the primary prospects. To Henry- it was just another job. Fuck the Kaiser. At Henry’s age- there had to be fun in it. The Buoys would make sure there was profit. Henry had to decide if they would take the bid. Buoys did not want to hear any of his wishy washy tales of the tableware.
Glass-half-full is now becoming toxic waste and here’s why: positive attitude becomes passive aggression. Like mines and sanctions and sieges. Like booby traps. Like verbal violence and civil war and all the oxymorons that grow out of euphemisms like a camel dick growing from the forehead of your eldest daughter. An Arabic curse. Pigeons dew coo at your poetry drop poop as soon as they are startled probably don’t know poetry from a pound cake. Half glass is half ass when professionalism today becomes cosplay. Costume play. But anybody who has worked in the lumber industry knows that a plaid shirt doesn’t make you a lumberjack. Even if you put on ladies clothing and hang around in bars.
Boosters and cheerleaders melt away when the job turns grim. Lightweights are lost when it gets heavy and dirty. Only the professionals are left… and he ain’t heavy. He’s my brother. Professionals have done it a million times before… and they know every reason why they can not possibly do it again. Possible becomes tractable like that old civil war word practicable- we do what we do because we do it. We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because the thing that makes a gambler- is the loving of the game. Anybody who hates to lose should not play. That’s what they say. And noobs who say yazbutt who is they can get run over by a forklift in the middle of their chin symphony.
I doubted if I should ever come back.
A scaffold collapsed with all the dilly bars who were busy looking busy for the boss on the golf course in Scotland. How do you get to Carnegie Hall. Practice daddy. Practice. Daisy. You mistake which side of the ocean is feudal. Or did you mean futile. Do me a service while away this time, will you. In the midst of all you’re researching, find me civilization, will you. Can you? Because, I look for it everywhere. And as soon as I find it, it seems to need defending. Then lies. Then war. Then it’s no longer civilized. So, write to me when you find one of these places, Daisy. Oh, and make sure this place doesn’t have gold, or crops or people that can be used as slaves. Because if you find it, and it has any of these things that other places want, it brings you right back to war and the beginning of a non civilization. But, you write to me as soon as you locate it. I promise I will then…stay with you, but in that very place.
She returned to her cellar pondering how long it would take to plan, build and launch a ship that would bring him back to her in six days. Then she forgot all this and started to organize some desk drawers, smiling all the while. The pilot must have been surprised seeing the Dutchman at anchor among the moonlit clouds. Not nearly as surprised as when a total stranger describes the sight later… along with the exact date and time. The pilot had been too desperately looking for a hole in the deck to admit to having hallucinations. They will call upon me to run for office someday she said in frustration. Perhaps of the largest consolidated union within the nation. I’m not now, but will be ready before too long. And you and your men will be my body guards. Like in the old days, ja.
And looked down one as far as I could
The sky is made of stone. Not wood.
mcmlxviii
Krugeblitz Fluxliner
VonHot20 Hotel & Outfitters
Last Resort of the Scoundrel
That only a strange ship could fly
And my sanity scans the horizon
In the light of the darkening sky.
Daisy snickered. Samuel Johnson said an appeal to patriotism is the last resort of the scoundrel. Has been a favorite quote of mine for a long time, although I could never make it work during the war between the states. Civil War, they called it. Recent Unpleasantness. War of Rebellion. Well. Would you care for a glass of claret, my dear? I’ll pour myself a whiskey, if you aren’t offended. Offended! Pour me one as well. And we will toast to the memory of a giant and the working toward a solid conglomerate of the unions. Patriotically. Ja. Saw your Georgia patriotic aplenty. I must beg your pardon here. The only request I made was for your speeding vessel not any semblance of permission.
Madame Lacroix warned us about patriotism. That is why we are here. She would displace 700 tons below the waterline just like when we took her back in ’65… with her full complement of 200 or more. Now she does not displace. She co-occupies. Wave or particle. Thanks to those steel beer keg things in the hold- you can sail her alone. Up to 1000 feet in any direction. There is no up or down- left right forward backward as such… but be careful. Imagine an object propelled by 700 tons of thrust- indefinitely- and the object weighs essentially… nothing. Weird things happen. Think about this. Taste some of the finest cuisine in the western hemisphere. Create an illusion for your brain so you can safely sail The Dutchman. Enjoy.
And the sky was the colour of clay.
Nightshade in Green Town. This way comes an amusement park. Toot like Wagner opera. Sound of farty old butt skreel wahoo up ye Scotsmanny kiltoon. Ship vanish. Sometime ball lightning. Sometime nothing. Alway come back unnoticed. Empty. There ye sea spake Henry we are cages for souls like the wild hurricane fly as birds together flock the world. Dock clock finger cross dark moon and probe the passenger nay- not empty- only a shroud to soften our terror to know. Probing Irish Lincoln head wound like bowling ball. Steam calliope pooty cushion is the hit of every party. Red button for the ejector seat is the door prize. Pop. Quiz. Son of a gun. Goanna have big fun on the bio. Happens when the carnival is parked too long.
Please offer it for me
When the bridge to heaven is broken
And you’re lost on the wild wild sea
Lost on the wild wild sea…
Sherman’s Mummers
March to the p-
Camp Schatzenputz: year full score since the Haymarket… and still talking about the war
!
Two old gentlemen arrive on campus before sunrise. Professor Chaska of course- the boss big chief Indian lawyer. But the kids were all waiting for black Thabo to arrive in his big black car. It had taken Chicago boss a week to drive up from Sioux Ste Marie on shitty non-roads and both geezers were mad as hell at old man Henry. Dumb kid was working on the capacitors and Fat would charm the old men into a good mood. Happy- in the meanwhile- is preparing for the moment when the old men would see the SS Dart hovering above the water. A special class of branes is found when the Dirichlet boundary conditions are used so the endpoint is fixed to move only on some p manifold. D-branes are the result of this.
Let me ask, please, dear Henry, how is it you have such an important connection to August Spies. I’m a revolutionary soldier. You’re an aging, tired mercenary. She saw his hurt and tried to soften the comment. A handsome and sweet old softy of a mercenary, who I’m very sure would work pro bono for the right cause. As you have done in the past, of course. And when this would might have been. On the farm in Georgia, on the river in Missouri, in the slave markets of South Carolina, in the entertainment business when things were…..unfair. He asked simply: Cause. There are higher dimensional objects in string theory with dimensions from zero (points) to nine, called p-branes.
The Theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer’s part;
The Devil enters the prompter’s box and the play is ready to start.
In terms of branes, what we usually call a membrane would be a two-brane, a string is called a one-brane and a point is called a zero-brane. Get the point. Yeah. We get it. Your bumblefuck ass gonna bring more heat down than a blast furnace. Chaska scowl at you shitting on mother moon again. No. I am telling you. Rosa saw it all in a flock of birds. Ten years after the battle. I told them aim small- miss small. They buy microscopes. I tell them to catch risk fish in wireless. They build networks. Remember our motorcar and Northfield Insurance. Nobody will believe it. Well they will believe THIS shit you asshole. You cannot suppress a thing like this. It can bring more harm than the iron horse.
Henry grinning say Flying Dutchman. Black hull… fluyt rigging… with her neutral buoyancy she can actually sail… at an altitude of 1000 feet. It’s all because of that bell thing they put in the hold. Powering forward is dangerous because of the time-space thing. Thabo can do the math. Chaska Mateo will be as easy to follow as Dancing Bear tiptoeing through the torpedoes just like we did in the old days. The point is Zero Point. Energy. I don’t understand it. It’s magic. Weird science and fucking magic. Most fun. Least money. Come on buoys. Let’s do it. We drawing with the vanishing point ja.
And ’tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.
Excuse me? Daisy was livid. I ordered this subscription! It is extremely important that I understand workingmen’s concerns in large cities. Who would say such a thing? I demand to know! Oh, ma’am, I will get to the bottom of this, I swear. Here’s what we have. Take them. Daisy left without another word, piling them into her bag, noticing that they had appeared to have been well read, disturbed and mangled. She started home but with a smile. She had her papers, and someone else, perhaps more than one person, had received an important education.
It’s not the earth the meek inherit. It’s the dirt.
XXii
Resaca Riot
Devil’s Dictionary
The best soldier of our staff was Lieutenant Herman Brayle, one of the two aides-de-camp. I don’t remember where the general picked him up; from some Ohio regiment, I think; none of us had previously known him, and it would have been strange if we had, for no two of us came from the same State, nor even from adjoining States. Resaca must have been a heap o’ fun… fought in Gordon and Whitfield Counties, Georgia, and is generally viewed as inconclusive. Conclusive for McPherson though. Wrong place- wrong time- poor fucker. Could happen to anybody. Especially to those who do not watch the machine closely while it is running. We had all seen riots before. Not touched by fire. Bitten by a snake.
He was to be recognized by his dark black Utrecht velvet cap and he was seated at a table with a stein of ale and a friend seated across from him who never bothered to turn around when she and Albert approached. Neither man stood nor removed their caps when she reached them. Daisy was not insulted. Daisy and Spies’ companion both froze as they were exchanging handshakes. August Spies, one of the most wanted conspirators of the Haymarket Riot, was seated and fraternizing with his friend who had recently returned from Europe, and introduced him to them as simply Henry. I believe we’ve been formerly introduced Daisy said tersely. August Spies seemed to be instantly put at ease.
While we were marchin’ through Georgia
She started suddenly and changed color. This stain is it – surely it is not – Madam pardon me but that is the blood of the truest and bravest heart that ever beat. She hastily flung the letter on the blazing coals. Uh! I cannot bear the sight of blood! How did he die? I had involuntarily risen to rescue that scrap of paper, sacred even to me, and now stood partly behind her. As she asked the question she turned her face about and slightly upward. The light of the burning letter was reflected in her eyes and touched her cheek with tinge of crimson like the stain upon its page. I had never seen anything so beautiful as this detestable creature.
It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it. There was a pause. Then both Lee and Longstreet laughed. That was at Fredericksburg. Ha. Ha. They had all kinds of balloons and bands and boats and banners and shit. Singing their songs. Standing on their marks reciting their lines for the general amusement of everybody. Paybacks is a motherfucker kids. Rational people turn silly when it comes to getting paybacks. They get it finally sitting alone in their own pew at the church of what’s happening with the paperwork. Lee and Longstreet probably didn’t laugh. They did not get the joke. Yet.
XI
Penny dreadful
Grant US a pass
Of conquest and love.
Camp Schatzenputz ; Falling Leaves Moon, 1903
Historically speaking, we went from being Indians to pagans to savages to hostiles to militants to activists to Native Americans. Its five hundred years later and they still cant see us. We are still invisible. Vanishing Americans they say. They require more than new rhetoric and good ideas, and much more than a successful election cycle; they require a dogged, generation-long effort in the face of overwhelming obstacles. Hence the sense of frustration – always covered over with hope – that pervades the book. Progressive policies are always viable, always sensible, yet they consistently remain beyond reach. Conquest can take many forms.
When Grant crossed the river in 1864 we did not know him. We were trying to get away from the war with our merchandise intact… and we were headed upstream against a tide of fighting soldiers while carrying valuable property- wheelwrights and blacksmiths, seamstresses and such. In the early days, our product was crude indeed- but highly serviceable and on time- even if the price was high. Cold Harbor it was. And Hampton and his 4 Virginia cavalry finally proved they were worth a shit. The blue officer said this pass comes from General Grant himself.
The blackbird must be flying.
When Stevens wrote of a whirling blackbird that it was a small part of the pantomime, he meant that it was a part of something larger — of a drama without an author, unfolding every instant. His birds were communicating in many ways, all of them through movement — another point of contact with House’s view of the world. Consciousness is, as James suggested, a series of flights and perchings — and neuroscience is, too. After all, what is any science — any way of looking — but a movement of sorts. The question is: where we kicked that bird 90 years down what road…
But worst of all, as Daisy raised a glass with Henry on New Year’s Eve before 1884, she became somewhat morose over one of the events of 1883. They were having a grand old evening of laughing and drinking on her riverboat and remarking of all the marvelous advancements throughout the year. Each month of that year gave them reason to clink glass, swirl and drink to celebrate until Daisy suddenly stopped celebrating and resurrected the memory of March as well as the memory of her personal hero. She wistfully raised her glass again and waited for Henry’s to reach proximity. Gathering her words, there was an awkwardness to their pose until she finally spoke.
It was snowing
Here’s to Karl Marx. May he Rest In Peace and be resurrected in economic glory for the benefit of humanity!
She heard Henry smash his glass as she exited.
xx
North of Turtle Island
Time after time
He lived in a box.
He swam in a puddle.
He climbed on the rocks.
suitcase of memories… almost left behind
VonHot20 Hunter’s Moon 1910
And so it is today. Loco weed is locomotion… there are no weeds on Turtle Island. Invasive species, perhaps. White man handles magic plants like Indian handles whisky. Not enough practice. Plenty theory float over glass bottle from China. Humbuggery. Come in here making bald chin music. Forest people. Like the Iroquois. Send them to Siberia to count trees. They hear now plenty from trees. Feather in our hat and call it marconi totems- Black Hills to Raven Rock. We know size speed and direction. Like good bookends at the race track.
She chewed her scone slowly and thought about this. There could be no boundaries to such an invention. She began to envision lights and wires all around the riverboat and gaming tables free from oil lamps. One observation deck would have to be darkened for the audiences for full benefit of their fireworks displays, of course. Wondering how long it would be before this knowledge and supply might be available to her, her imagination ran wild. She had the carriage take her to J & D factory and told Joseph of her new direction. Daisy wanted to organize a Let There Be Light Ceremony from the riverboat.
It was back in ’83… when times was hard
In the rip of the racing tide,
Henry and Daisy have this feel for the entertainment businesses. And Daisy was restless for something new. She didn’t need it to be a huge deal, but she nurtured her own imaginative process for months while searching for her new challenge. Henry was limited by his own vices. Daisy loved to witness the delight of her clients. It was right around the corner. Will you meet me for dinner. Will you spend the night with me. Brief silence followed. Yes. They both answered simultaneously and laughed. Only hardtack and defeat were hard during the war. We were all professionals by Gettysburg… and we were all good at that business.
Now there they sit- fat dumb and happy. Fat might even be a girl. Dumb certainly is not that. Happy comes forward with a grievance. Why don’t you tell us what you are looking for. Because then you’ll find it. That is what we learned in the war. Most of us did anyway. The ones who saw the Manitou and lived to tell about it. And all of us lie. Henny penny especial. Crazy old fuck. We come and bail out Fryer Fuck ever so often. You looking for a voodoo child. Standing next to a mountain. And if I don’t meet you no more in this world… I’ll meet you in the next one. Booga booga.
On the horns of death I ride.
Comin union is what we do… when we eat our animal friends.
-30-
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