I refute it Thus!

But yester-day, an Incident, common enough in the Traffick of daily Existence, yet singular in Import, & to the profit to humane Learning, requiring acute Attention & a pretty Interpretation to justify its Profundity, came to pass, tho' quickly, & so common, that it wou'd defy the sharpest of naturall Philosophers to capture. For it has been said, that no Observation can be made, without subtly changing the Observ'd; so does my Quill quiver at the Thought of recording so particular, & yet so instant, an Occurence.

Brick Stairs ascend to the Door of Lantz Chapell. This Work of ancient artisanry reflects the finer religious Sentiments of this porcinely profane Valley. Its stained-glasse depicts noble Scenes, exemplary Tales of Biblical History; its Gables aspire into the Sky, as do the pious & noble Souls praying therein.

On yesterday, Marcus Hockaday, a Musician, one skill'd in Composition & the arts of Conduction, strode towards the Chapell. Carrying to this, his Place of work, a sheaf of Papers, musics, notes, the Papers of his Students, he hurry'd & hoped to gain the Chapell before his Strength yield'd. As its Construction seems accomodat'd to Giants of both Spirit & stature, its Stairs are an easy Foot in height. He tripp'd his Toe against the tip of the Brick, stumbl'd, & explod'd into a Torrent of paper. & from the Depths of this white Whirlwind erupt'd a Cry, a horrid Expression of turgid Rage - "F_____!"

Marc. H. came to me, grievously cut & troubled that he wou'd lose his employ. Seeing the grizly Wound, smudg'd verdant, vermillion & teal, & hearing Marc. H.'s acc't of the terrible Incident, where by Pain & startl'd Rage he found himself utterly unmann'd, I found myself troubl'd. A nagging Sore had appear'd in the Tissue of my Thought, & I cou'd not rest till I found Balm & Bandage.
***

Why shou'd we, when fill'd with Disgust, or enflam'd with Agony, yelp out that one Word that signifies Copulation, the sacred Act of Love? Or, given the other Choice, why hurl from one's throat, "Excrement!", or "Scally-wampus!"

Such Reactions are all the more peculiar, for they cross-breed Instinct, with Learning. Pain inspires a natural Cavill to rise from our Throats, & yet we must be taught these Words, before we can employ them as the supposed instinctive Flexes of outraged Sense.

First, a distinction: that there are Curses, where one might wish Evil upon another; this is what Montaigne means when he describes, "In times past, when those of Crete would curse any one, they prayed the gods to engage him in some ill custom." Thus, when we say, "Fie on ye, & yr wretch'd whorish Family entire!", we wish that the Gods wou'd descend & violate their bodily Dignity.

Otherwise, there are Oaths, where one invokes, as Witness, a Deity or spirit presumed Oblivious. Id est, when Hamlet cries,
"Swounds! I shou'd take it: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter."
we know that he calls upon the very Wounds of Christ's Passion, both to evoke the Depths of his abasement, & to stand as Emblem of his monstrous Iniquity.
***

But before we proceed to the finer Analysis, we must ask - which, then, of the two, shou'd be nobler? Is the untrammel'd Sincerity of the Heart to be valued, so that pure Exclamation gains Weight, in direct proportion to its unthinking Utterance? Or shou'd we value that man, that on a Sea of troubles, refuses to relinquish his Piety, & calls to lofty Heaven to scan his Misery?

Picture, then, monstrous plum'd Vanity, that with an outrag'd Toe, stubb'd to blood, cries to our Saviour Himself, dragging the Attention of our Almighty Redeemer to the gory Stubb that he trails along the Ground. Or a Strumpet, suddenly blossom'd with Cankers all along her most intimate Parts, giving out a cowish Bellow that summons the very Spiritu Sancto to her splay'd Legs - a Nothing, a Trouble sprouting on a Naught.
***

Nothing outrages the Reader so, as settling on a Void; so let us return to our favored Word: "F_____!", & our Theory of the Exclamation.

Earlier I claim'd it as a signal Mystery that, when in Pain, we evoke that supreme conjugal Pleazure. Even aside Ned Bearskin, I have seen him slice his Palm with an oyster-shell, & faster than Blood sprung to the Wound, the very word, "F____!" burst from his brazen Lips.

& yet this Digamma gives the Clew to the Mystery entire. For any Exclamation is an Excess of feeling - an o'erbrimming of sentiment that crushes the Frame, firing our Fury further with its own wheezing Torrent.

Linguists, in their prettiness, call these words "Expletives," from L. expleo, "I fill up." This descends yet further from the Greek - pleio, "more or many"; & plethon, "plenitude" (vide "plethora"). On the one, pain, or Frustration, to excess, inspires our ejaculation; whereas amatory Desire, fuelled by the tender Twigs of conjugal Ardor, explodes in that Burst of pent-up longing.
***

Devolving my Theory thus, I tugg'd at the Ear of young Goodman Stubb, as in his assoc. with the commoner Sort, he must have more Occasion to philosophize on the Meanings of colorful Language. When we had bandag'd Marc. H., & sent him off fie'ing & thumbl'ing the World in his Waggon, Goodman turn'd, with sagacious Humour in his Eyes. I cou'd only assume that my Physick of the Emotions had convinc'd him fully. "I must say, Sir;" and here he paused, searching my Face for Clews of my Honesty, looking for Hints of Hostility surging at my Brows, or some other, more obscure Passion, clamoring for expression in another Part of the Plantation. "I must say, I don't understand why you talk on so; seems to me, you go to some Lengths, to give a f______ about a nothing."

"On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail,
Reason the card, but passion is the gale."
--A. Pope, Essay on Man

Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes?

Winter chokes up Virginia like Pneumonia. The Sun, drained of summer Quickness, totters to southerly Climes, & the sweet Haze off the blue Ridge evaporates. Each day-light blanches what it reveals, bestowing a weary & sickened Kingdom on the Eye.

& yet Consolation comes, cheery & inconstant as a Wench. I journey'd to Winchester, a Citadel of Folly, where Iniquity & Tradition seat side-by-side, jostling each other for the Favours of that gruesome Capital, Washington. So far has the noble Name of Winchester fallen, to Whore as Bedroom-community for that Babylon on the Potomac!

For the Romans knew Winchester. From Venta Belgae - the Market-place of those savage Belgae, whom Caesar found spread thro'out wild Gaul. As the golden Tongue of Tully & the Gracchi decay'd to Barbarism, Belgae disappeared, and the bearded Saxons spoke only of the Venta Castra - the Market-Camp. "T" slid into "Ch", and the liquid "V" coagulated to "W."

So perhaps it shou'd be no Surprize that yr humble Epaph found himself quaffing Spirits & talking unseasonable late into the Night, dissecting with whate'er clouded Acuity possible the Problem of Preservation - how to hold back the Horde of Hacksaws, Shovels & Hammers that pound regular at the Door of Aniquity. In Staunton young Counsellors, full-up on Bachelor'd Learning, live in the rennovated Madhouse, & Richmond sees her Warehouses re-lit as Cells for lunatic Youth. In the last Days of Rome, Architects degenerate cut from old Monuments the Marble they would use for new Palaces - mutilating the ancestral Memoriae, to preserve themselves from the Labor of extracting new Stone from the Earth.

Such Problems twist'd the Knot of my enfum'd Brain. Not till an Hour before the cruel Crow of the Cock did I lay to Rest - & my Dreams haunt'd me that I wou'd miss the next Day's Appointment. For I had volunteer'd for an onerous Duty - to journey with a Train of Privy Counsellors (hence, Privies) to school them in the gentlemanly Ars Belli. We cross'd Mountains, Rivers, & even broke the State-line - into vicious, base Mary-land.

Enmity betwixt myself & this State being well-establish'd, I shall offer no further Comment thence. Only one Jewel offer'd Redemption for the diseas'd State, a Gymnasium of War, a University of Combat - Medieval Tymes.

Scoff tho' you may, Reader; chortle tho' you must, with yr knowing Glances & Smirks, much Wisdom derives from this Carnival. For the Solemnity of Rite only chokes the naturall Chuckle of unconvinc'd Humanity - & our Jollies contain subtler Philosophy than the learn'd Logic-Choppers of Wm. & Mary College.


A spindly Gent. welcom'd us to our Tickets. He point'd, with his poney-tail, and gestur'd to our Seats. At our Seats, we were treat'd to a Serving-wench. Now, I have had Occasion to describe such Personages in my various Post-Mails, but never, not even in my Days in whorish Williamsburgh, have I heard a Wench say the Following:

I am yr Serving-Wench this eve, & yes, you are to call me yr Serving Wench.

They are proverbial for their Liberality, but never had I encounter'd such generosity as this. We were to cheer the Red & Yellow Knight, a foppish Youth of some twenty&eight Years at the Most. His butterfinger'd Use of Sword gave Shame to the worthy Works of European Duellry, and a long time he gamboll'd about, showing little Pluck & less Skill. I mutter'd to my Companions a very dry Species of Drollery.

When all at once the Serving-wench return'd, and gave us such poor Eatings as I have never seen! Half a chicken, a tomatoe soup, slices of garlick'd Bread, several Ribbs of sauc'd ham, and a flakey apple-pastry of a Lightness much ador'd by the French. Such middling fare I accept'd, tho' did not relish - for what Man cou'd expect to be nourished by such a Poverty of Delight?

Altogether I was asham'd. We had dragg'd the young Councillors to an iniquitous Place, such as Mary-land undoubted is, given them a Presentation of the most effete Sort, and not e'en satisfied their Hunger - arous'd, surely, by the misleading Pungency of the Food!

I approach'd my previous poney-tailed Acquaintance. I spoke to him in subdued Tones, so as not to excite him - for he seem'd poised on the Edge of some aweful Precipice. I had no need for his squealing Excitement to overwhelm my Message. These people must be instruct'd in the proper Uses of the Sword. Sword-work, more than any other Qualification, makes a Gentleman. Now, Parisian Passions have made Sentiment the tubby Emperor of our Time, but what good will a Stack of Love-letters do, when facing an outrag'd opponent?

Sir, said I, I have certain Skilles that wou'd be most useful for yr Enterprise. He look'd intrigued, shifted to another Foot. "How do you know my enterprise?"

I have seen it readily displayed, and I am ready to offer my Services for yr Undertaking. I am well-skill'd in such Practices & shou'd have no Trouble instructing any Novice ye shou'd wish upon me.

He look'd upon me dubious now, and tapp'd his girlish Chin. "Follow me," he spoke. We came past various Barriers, paint'd quite well to appear as Rock. Finally, after succeding Hallways of Curtaines & Gowns, we came to a Dressing-room, where a burly Scalawag rubb'd his Belly, chewing on a long-exhausted Straw.

"Another one?"
"Yes," Poney-Tail replied.
"Sure about this one?"
"Yes. Look at him - none shall stop him at a Check!" They both look'd me over, curious & scornful in their Observation.
"Well, show him his Task."

We repair'd to yet another Room, and left the Scalawag to his Musings. If I had known then what I have learn'd since, I wou'd have broken my Knuckles across his moldy Brow. But instead, I continued down the useless Path towards Shame. Poney-tail stopped me ominously, before a Brief-case. He open'd it, and remov'd what appear'd to be a Sausage-sleeve enclosing a Sea-Cucumber.

What is this?
"You swallow it. You can only swallow - well, you cd swallow perhaps 5. But if they break, you'll die."
Why wou'd I swallow them? Why wou'd I die?
Fluster'd by my stupidity, he yelp'd, "You wd overdose!"

I leapt from the Room and fled, insensate, back to the Carriage waiting for to take us across the Mountains yet again. & that Night I slept sound, in the Knowledge that my Belly was Mule to no Man.

The Devill & Jack Deale

I give this out, as a Tale of Wonder.

A gent. of Quality shou'd ever make a Habit of disdaining public Intercourse. Such are the Perils, according to wise Counsel:

By being seldom seen, I could not stir
But like a comet I was wonder'd at...
And dress'd myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
And won by rareness such solemnity.

In such ringing & measured Tones did I oft hear Schoolmaster Wendell upbraid me for my Liberty, wishing he cou'd bolt me to a Chamber lined with Books & empty of Females. But if every Poet has his Zoilos, every Hamlet has his Polonius, and Wendell's petulant cavills rang hollow 'gainst my chest.

In such Concourse I encounter'd my ancient tavern-companion, Bunston Deale. I had been arguing with a noisome Snail at the Ordinary, a nametagg'd Monstrosity call'd Snerdly. Snerdly has held some sundry Goods of mine for Weeks, including a precious Store of Damasck Myrrh. Burbling into his kerchief with a monstrous Hub-bub, he sort'd a Lump of what he call'd Tobaccky round his mouth, and fairly blotted the Fabric with that rotten Juice. I tugg'd at his stain'd Collar, & wish'd he wou'd be honest with me, concerning his late Failures. Amidst my buttonholing of the Cretin, Deale arriv'd, much displeas'd with the State of some hemp-rope recently purchas'd of Snerdly. Thus cornered, Snerdly appear'd on the Verge of Tears, and seem'd entirely overcome with a Wealth of Emotion, in his Poverty of Goods. He sniffled, & scrubb'd his Nose on his tatter'd Sleeve. Epaph! rumbled Deale, Ye must beware these Richmond Merchaunts! They disguise their wealth in Rags - the better to thieve us all!

Then Deale executed a peculiar Maneuver, one I had not seen since my Days at the Side of Ned Bearskin, deep 'neath the Dan R. Catching eye of a Snake, Deale grabb'd it from the Ground, and thrust its hissing Jaws into Snerdly's very Face. Oh - aho! Oh! Quite right!

Snerdly's Brains bubbl'd, & promis'd to burst from his very Ears. I loop'd my Arm through the Crook of Bunston's, & drug him away to a Stoop, to beseech his Attention.

Bunston, sd I, whence this curious Competency?

Georges Dealle, first Scion of his noble Line, spear'd the Devil with his Staff, cleaving ignoble Scratch quite in two. For his Struggle with Old Tom Devil, he became St. of England, & his Saint's Day April 23rd - that same day that birth'd Shakespere.

Deales of all kinds became acquainted with the finer Aspeckts of Devilry, the wild Doings of untamed Men & the lascivious Lusts of craven Witch-Harlots. These Humbugs trifled the kingdom of Brittannia so greatly, that the Deales did pluck up their Trousers, & sail to VIRGINIA.

& no nobler Move cou'd be imagined! The Dealles, various known as Deals, Deales, Dayles, & Doyles, spread themselves across the Middle Peninsula of James & Charles Cittie Shires. Mighty as the James, their Family split into a thousand Creeks, Runs & Streams, divergent off the main flux of aequeous Power. Deales lived as Kings alongside Shirley Run, & Doyles lived as bondsmen in Accamoosik Swamp. A Dealle Hand clutch'd a pearly Goblet in the panelled dining Rooms of Governors & Chauncellors; a Deal Shoulder crack'd, heaving against an intransigent Plough.

In this gnarl'd & twist'd Swampland of Relation & Obligation, one cou'd only expect that a Twitch upon the Thread wou'd set spinning the Scene entire. & befitting the watery course of Human Spirits, it was the swollen Moon that was most to blame for what ensued.

When silver Light fill'd every Corner of that swampy Peninsula, Ptolomy Deale, a Rioter, had spent 3 hours occupied with Drink. Quite sunk under the water-Line of drunkenness, he stumbled forth from the Door of a Tavern with his Chums. He cried to the open Heavens, limn'd with shining Silver, B'lieve I cou'd drink the Devil under the Table!

At which a Flash, & old Jack Scratch himself appear'd. In brimstone Notes of Menace, he utter'd his Curse - as long as a Deale man walk'd Sober, he wou'd claim the Family entire.

In Pitch-terror & Fear the Deales began their Campaign of Drink. This Sea-change switch'd out the commodious & pleasant Waters that formerly sustain'd a Body, replac'd instead with the choking dizzying Fluids of Brandy. One male especial became a Designated Drinker, & swallow'd down a Clan's Share of Alcohol.

This ran in fine til the Time of Bunston's great-Grandfather, Euphabius Deale, yclept "Jack" Deale. This Jack Deale play'd a most grossly wondrous Violin, a fiddle unlike any previous heard. But most especial, he became known as a dauncer.

Dancing being the principal Delight of the young Scampers & fillies, this Expertise prov'd invaluable, winning the Hearts of a thousand disappointed Ladies. For as his Feet flick'd & tapp'd, they traced out the Lines of lascivious Wonder. This devilish Habit made him many Admirers, to be certain, but also cancell'd the Esteem he had once held in divers Ancient hearts.

The day arrived, when young Jack Deale wou'd be forc'd to take up the Mantle of Family Drunk. & yet he refus'd, crying out to his greyed & wizen'd mater, The Devil is a Coward! I dare him a Challenge, that he cou'd not dance worth a lick on the Wide banks of the James R.!

In a flash, tiresome predictable, the Devill appear'd, & dragged young Deale down to the banks of the River, where Jamestown Island meets the Waters of the old Powhatan Flu. Whetting his old Hooves against the marshy Sand, the Devill murmur'd one of his Taunts, that old King Bettie will surely take glee in yr soul, Jack Deale, & yr prostrate limbs, as Well! The noble Deale only ran his Fingers through his bounteous Mustache, & call'd to dance a vicious Reel.

Ancient Clio Waggins call'd the Dance, & John Brackis fiddled til the very Wood sweat'd with Exertion. The Devil retriev'd from his deepest Bag of Chaunts & Magicks an intricate Swirl, a Foot-maelstrom that bewilder'd the Sense of poor Waggins & nearly chafed the Excellence of his Calling.

& yet the Deale was greater! Blazing Lightning of Heels, swift Murmur of Steps - an Audacity of Step not seen since the Bal des Ardents! The Devill, corner'd & humbl'd by the Majesty of Deale's footwork, crumbled into a faint Shadow of himself, a mere Goat of a man.

Oh Deale, sd he, what wou'd you have me do?

Devill, sd Deale, I wou'd have you leave this Place forever. Henceforth, ye shall live ever - in Surry Shire!

A Punishment then quite wretch'd, now perhaps moderat'd in the Light of subsequent Development - the Wilds of James & Charles Cittie o'errun by scrofulous Tourists & mealymouth'd Foreigners. But in these precious Days passed, I have oft wish'd that I might be given such sweet Punishment.

The Compleat Anglist

[A guest-post yet again. A nervous affliction of the Limbs has paralyzed poor Epaph., leaving yr humble Correspondent bereft of his typickal vigor. In my distress, a Friend from the crowded Cittie of Williamsbourg has volunteer'd to write. Soon enough ye shall be acquaint'd; Learning crowds his Stile, sometime to Disadvantage. His Brains are dusty & coiled as an old Scroll - and as easily, come apart.]

Insofar as I am able, please allow me, under yr kind & expansive Graciousness, to offer sincerest & most eloquent Greetings to you, my Reader. Under yr Eyes, shou'd you agree to such an insolent & impetuously daring Imposition, shall pass a Rivulet, a coursing Flood of images. Myself, a mere Waif with roll'd Pantaloons on the Shore, shall assay a Poke, with my fishing-stick, whereby I might angle-out some delicious Catch - both to sate the Soul, & repast the Mind.

Ovidius gives out the Tale thus, in barbarous & low Manner, as usual:

That nigh on Halicarnassus, in the cool, dark Shadows of a Forest-glade, Hermaphroditus bathed, washing his youthful Limbs in the purest water of auld Anatolia. Born of Hermes, by the noble & pure Aphrodite's loins, Hermaphroditus had grown to be the comeliest of Youths. The Souls of his parents, Heaven-born, had drawn the Lines of his Face - so that none cou'd deny the beauty of Hermaphroditus, nor anyone begin to approach him.

But for one - Salmacis. This most uncouth Chapter, where we do see the moist Depths of Woman's cavernous Vanity, warns & cautions all those young Boys who might be tempted to stray from Study, and to ennervate their poor, pure Limbs, in the Bed of some lusty Temptress. These lusty Maids most afflict our Quarter of the Globe, most specially Williamsbourg; for we are just as Hermaphroditus was - mere Youths, a gentle Foundling with no more uncouth & bloody Desires than cou'd a Dandelion have! Yet all besides, the Rude Manners of the frontier surround us - the toga'd yester-strumpets, replaced now with buckskinn'd & cotton'd Hussies, always hawking their wares.

And none do they please, so much as themselves!:

"...oft would bathe her in the chrystal tide,
Oft with a comb her dewy locks divide;
Now in the limpid streams she views her face,
And drest her image in the floating glass:
On beds of leaves she now repos'd her limbs,
Now gather'd flow'rs that grew about her streams..."

So do we see the auto-Erotic, the self-caressing Tendency of these Women. Not to be trusted, not a single one, for they spiral & snare with their soft, their sweet & perfum'd, their tumescent bosoms - But! I anticipate myself.

Whilst caressing herself in loathsome Desire, Salmacis did regard her prey:


Here the innocent Laddie is nearly obscur'd by those monstrous, unearthly Buttocks, and that Arm that hangs jellied, like a Sausage fill'd with Pudding. She is most unnaturally contort'd, twist'd & turn'd into the 1,000 Arabesques of feminine Witchery. See how even her very Garments, even her Scarlett rag of whore-dom, weaves & twines about her sinful Legs, the very Causeway to Hermaphroditus' Ruin!

& yet her naif Modesty makes her shield her eyes. Oh Woman! That ye cou'd acknowledge the hollow'd Hunger of yr Desires!

And yet another, more robust View:

"...behold a willing bride in me!"

And now we come to the Conclusion of this wretch'd Tale. Overcome with Lust, Salmacis jump'd to Hermaphroditus. But, like a good little Stripling, Herm. had no understanding:

"The boy knew nought of love, and toucht with shame,
He strove, and blusht, but still the blush became..."

Alas! That even in his Struggle to escape the uicious Tart, he comes to yet greater Beauty! And in the above Depicktion, the Artist has again shown us her sturdy Buttocks, well-fortified by much bed-exercise. She has, true, comely-arrang'd her Hair, but left so much of the Graces behind, in her Pursuit, that she seems most lumbering.

The poor Gamin cries, No, no, take me not!

This most pleasing Aspeckt shows the full Beauty of young Hermaphroditus. But yet worse things wait, for the poor Youth! See how he turns, and tries to repel, with commendable Delicacy, Lust, as she tries to drag him into the Ripples of dissolving Water! That water, which:

"...with weak enfeebling streams
Softens the body, and unnerves the limbs."

And, once dragg'd into the Water, then does Salmacis cry her treacherous Prayer, that they might never part.

"So pray'd the nymph, nor did she pray in vain:
For now she finds him, as his limbs she prest,
Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast;
Till, piercing each the other's flesh, they run
Together, and incorporate in one:
Last in one face are both their faces join'd,
As when the stock and grafted twig combin'd
Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind:
Both bodies in a single body mix,
A single body with a double sex..."

So poor Hermaproditus did become Hermaphrodite; so does the Original come to be mutilated, in the manifold Hybrids of mutant Fancy. How cou'd such Monstrosity stalk the Earth? for keep well in Hand the fact - that Hermaphrodite is nowhere near so warp'd, as is Salmacis' simple-minded Longing, to never be sunder'd from her Folly.

[And Folly, just the other-day, did put me in mind of these speculations.

The Rambles of my Friend Anglus, tho' instructive in some musty way, give way at this Point. Having rubb'd himself raw in the Course of his Speculation, he retreated to his Quarters at college, and no more heard of him this Week past. He is fond of these Letters to me, these Examinations of recondite Subjects, that tend him towards the full unveiling of his obfuscatory Powers.

And yet his twist'd speech recalls me to a Conversation I had. To be resumed...presently:]

I, un-italicised Bainton, was in the midst of heady Negotiations. A squad of rumptious & rambuncting Ministers of state jostled at my Door, whilst many other robed Notables tapp'd their Counters, waiting for my Lecteur of the day. My very Bones buzz'd with the incessant Syllables, the continual hum of their suffocating Chatter.

Then, as I was to take the Lectern, a most astonishing Wonder of the Lecture-hall occur'd. A light Ringing, something like the clinking of a Champagne glass off the Pearls of a Provencal hussy, sound'd from the back of the Room. One of the Councillors, a Magistrate in knickers, suggest'd I answer this Ring. I pick'd up the bone-shaped Conveyance, and was astonished when a tinny & worn Voice bark'd thro' my ear!

"Epaph! Epaph Bainton!"

"Aye, Madam."

"Have ye written a walking-pass for young Sire Quincy?"

"Aye."

"Why?" At this I quite lost my Tongue. Insult to Honor & Name was plain enough; but the Idiocy of the Query hung in the Air, heavy as the scent of a rott'd Mind.

"He had been detain'd by other Worthies. I thought it suitable that he ought not suffer Punishment for leaving his Bookes in my Quarters."

"Mmm. Yes. They need their books at all Times. You cannot write such a Pass. Don't write that again. We'll dialogue about this."

Sputtering, I resumed my quaestio on the Import of Naturall Law. But I cannot lie - I was discomfort'd. For what kind of World, wou'd hermaphrodite a Noun, into a Verb?

Wel loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes

The Cafeteria must rank high 'mongst the modern Conveniences. Where in Rome wou'd they have design'd such a Contrivance? What Tyrant of Auld Anatolia wou'd have the subtile Reasoning, that allow'd him to design such a simple Improvement, for the Welfare of his People?

A Tale is told in Siam, of a gold-paint'd king named Boromorachas. So lazy & lax was he in the enforcement of his Laws, that Penury oppress'd his Subjects. Gnawing Depredation wore thin the Skin of their Skulls, till at a ten-foot distance, one cou'd read the Heartbeat pounding in their bared Veins.

Boromorachas betook himself to a lowly Shanty, the sole refuge for a sayer of SOOTH. This wizen'd Figure impart'd the cryptic Message, handed to him by the Sauvage Idolls - "Build ye a Mess Hall, that yr People might rejoice, at the Tubbs & Buckets & Tins of food!"

But Boromorachas sneer'd, & instead invest'd the Money in divers Entertainments - follies, and such Capers as wou'd shame the highest Cizar of Degenerate Rome. Principle among these, the hire of one Garrey Glitter. Glitter, a sage & wize Privy Counsellor, skill'd in politicking & the stewardship of State, came at a Flash.

Borne to Earth in a Shower of sparkling green & lavender Drops, Glitter descended on the Wings of Nymphs. Being a savage State, they recogniz'd him at once for a God. But noble Glitter refus'd the heathen honours, knowing them to be false & unbecoming to the proper Stature of a Philosophe. Instead, with his paw resting on the shoulder of a wimpering Cherub, he offer'd the following:

"I refuse to play for ye, Boro.! For your tyrranous Rule has unstitch'd the noble Rainment of Mankind, leaving them hobbled, parch'd & sully'd."

Boromorachas chuttled at this, and lick'd the rim of his gold Goblet in glee. "Speak thusly, Glitter, and ye soon shall find yrself in the Stockade! For full five days have my Slaves labored, sewing new vests festoon'd with diamonds, pearls, & glass-baubles, laying abroad the Contents of my luxuriant Harem and its indolent lusty crew, & Finally baking such treats, candies & delights as ladies adore."

Glitter sniff'd at the unwholesome Treats, specially the table of Cookies, richly laid out in the best fashion. At once the spongy Fingers of an avaricious Wench groped across the sweet-breads, like the sopping Tentacle of an Octo-pod. At once, Glitter spat at the whole assembly, and flew 'cross the Country.

Landing in the North of Siam, a remote Corner where the strain'd clerickal Eyes of the King's Court cou'd not penetrate, Glitter establish'd a most Remarkable Experiment: a Line of Foods, tasty & sumptuous; a Shanty-town of Tents & Hovells for the poor. And always, for the Poorest, a spare Place in the plain yet noble Tent of Glitter, Himself.

Such Speculations as these crowded up the Channals & Eddies of my busy'd Brain, yester-noon, as I sat chewing away at a Pizza-Boat. This peculiar Contrivance resembles a Bier, such as Cleopatra herself might've couch'd upon, and yet instead, has been heap'd with divers cheeses, tomato paste, and a certain crusting of burnt Ingredients. In my Approach to the Food-counters I most frequently bear the Aspect of a half-madden'd Prophet, fix'd to the inevitable satiation of my hollow'd-out Gut. My Belly so yowls & grumbles during the day, that I have wonder'd, might this not signify yet another be-witchment by the nefarious King Bettie?

There is no Question that fills a Bowl, however, and soon enough I have shov'd from the Shore the stinking Pizza-boat. As it floated past my Teeth, a noxious humor float'd off it, more befitting one of the fabled Vikings Death-ships, stuff'd with Death & Gold. Cheese bubbled off, white as bone, lump'd & clump'd as Mucous, and the bread crackled in my poor buttery hands, as I realized the Tomato-paste had quite greazed my Fingers. Quickly I did upend my Jaw, and allow the Pizza-boat to sink into my Gullet, quite like the Titanic, crack'd in half on the moonless Ocean. Thus did the Pizza-boat serve as Funeral-pyre for my appettite.

And yet worse wonders await'd poor Epaph! In towne, I wended way to that Mexican Tavern, hoping to secure Victuall in anticipation of the mighty Tasks ahead of me. Upon opening the door, a sweeping Bluster of Wind, hot as Zephirus' spring-Gusts, bust'd my Face. The Room had been festoon'd in such Ponchoes, of garish colors, as usual accompany such Eateries. White as the angelic robes, the walls reflect'd every Shadow; Silence paw'd at every corner with his lugubrious digits. I felt sweat curdle at the Skin of my Back.

"You - sit, you can sit anywhere," said she, and I travell'd to my chosen Table. A flagon of Iced sweet tea, I demanded, & a Bucket thereof for my Horses as well! Goodman Stubb had been kind enough to sit outside, but I knew that Rapscallion wou'd ignore the proper equine Diet & refuse my noble beasts their Treat. So she waddled out, and to grumblings, G. Stubb did my Bidding.

In sprawling Delight I array'd my papers & Issues across the Counter. Of late I have been much occupy'd with legal & fractious Troubles, such as wou'd concern none but the Iniquitous. I had planned a noon of sumptuous teas & salsas, a Burrittoe-loaded day of Work.

And then I touch'd Tongue to the Tea, and knew someone had blunder'd. The tea cloy'd at my Taste, duplicitous-sweet & tart as a 2-Doubbloon harlot, as are easily found along the Docks at Richmond. A merest Fascimile of the noble Southern maid, Sweet-tea, had been slipp'd to me by these treacherous Nacho-Merchants. I knew, above all, Caution must preside over my next action.

I dipped a dainty Chip into the Salsa, and found it little more than piping-hot Tomatoe Sauce! Spaghetti'd thro' the Sauce were chunks & flecks of the Nastiest sort. A singular Disgust curled at the corner of my Mouth; and yet I said nothing. Epaph. is nothing, if not the model of Circumspection.

"Madam," quoth Epaph., "have ye any better wares than these?"
She giggled.

"Madam, I must ask again. Have you any of the Genuine sweet-Tea?" She point'd, gnomically to the Kitchen-house. I point'd as well, and nodded, as if to ask, you mean for me to proceed? And she did.

So I Stroll'd. There I found a most debas'd Scene, of the sort that has set Men into Madness. A Cook, crouch'd above a Pot. Usual enough, you may say; Encumbrances such as Toilets have no place in a crowded Kitchen. And yet he had been defecating in my very Victualls - a Pot on the Stove. He held his Apron before him like a Skirt, and mutter'd wild Phrases in a kind of scatter'd Greek at the edge of his Tongue. He seem'd busy at some Figuring, which he carry'd out with an ink'd Feather on his skirt.

The Door only part-open'd, I peek'd in, viz., Sir are you indeed the cook in charge of my Pulled Pork Sandwhich -

And the Door slid, and open'd the room, and unveil'd a-top the Ice-Chest - the Brazen-oak Visage of my most dire Enemy, my Nemesis, Antithesis, warped Father of all that has come to Plague -

KING BETTIE, dictating the Chaunts & Tags of Devillish Iniquity!

On Giving the Lie

"...the fact that, to a certain extent, the head and the genitals are opposite poles to each other."
-A. Schopenhauer, World As Will & Representation

I am gratingly Simple. Tho' I wear the Crown of Learning, I am but Pretender to that noble Throne; tho' I have tasted up caviar, & the Oysters of Chesapeke Bay, I have a Purse as deep as the Grand Canyon, & as parch'd of Filling. I explore, simply, a Home-Colony - that is, a place so antiently inhabited & storied with Tradition as to be a Home; and a place so unfamiliar, so transiently Occupied as to be a Colony.

Eagerly I seek in writings & Incident the tales, Exempla, Wit & whimsy that so delight a Reader. And yet wherever I turn there is the Janus-Face of Virginia. Truth is a but a door, that only bars Entry, or hides its shamed Face from us. Some Modesty in Almighty's constitution has occluded the Nature of Things, or else why wou'd so many great philosophers chase after rocks and trees? Why wou'd Johnson, in a rage, kick a Rock, rather than kick up an argument?

"Things are only mannequins and even the great world-historical events are only costumes..."
-Walter Benjamin

But we cannot ask Benjamin why; things switch'd their garb and chased him to Spain.


Mounting a full 2-weeks past, I partook of a local Tavern's wares. Two gentlemen of Learning accompanied me, one an eminent Divine, as yet entering his Programme of study; the other a student of historical Philosophy, acquainted with the profounder history of this Noble State, VIRGINIA.

As we scrutinized the nachoes, burrittoes, & sundry Salsa-dip'd dishes, I noticed that my belov'd beer, the 32 oz Dos Equiz (XX; $4.50, 1/4 doubbloon) had been removed. A 20 oz Tecate (also a 1/4 doubbloon!) wd have to suffice, tho' it barely did. Grumblingly settling for this new Stab at my tender Purse, my scholarly company did jest at my Exploits - those committ'd while under the full Weight of Beer's gold-fizz'd River. Such did we pass Time, till waittress came.

This Serving-wench was a young lass of perhaps 22 or 23, with honeyish blonde hair & the brown eyes as one might see flitting thro' the woods, on a delicate, nymph-like Doe. Let us call her Olivia. That she had her charms is admitt'd, tho' none so strong as to win me entirely from Mme Bainton. Blondes hold only the rarest appeal to yr correspondent.

She began her eve with us by leaning 'gainst the Table, & thrusting her Breasts quite in our faces. Bent in that attitude, she flitted her Eyes most daringly. When I spoke my desire for a Siam Pea-nut Burrittoe, she smirked, remembering this to be my Favorite. She danced her eyes to the Divine, and again she found a Hero's form, with grace & wit commodiously blended. And in the Philosopher she had found a Love deserving her dowry. I shd say, this Olivia has tuned her voice to a desirous huskiness, the sort of Forest-rustle that discloses animal Lust. Thus did our table begin a Colloquium, as to the delirious & inflamed behavior of our Hostess.

Befitting the eternal Contest with my Liver, already I had dispensed with the foppishly inane Tecate, and desired more Drink. Spirits were high, and the keen taste of daring was fresh as salt on my tongue. I wished - a Margarita.

The Divine and I began to debate the divers merits of the congregated tequilas. Already we had comment'd & discuss'd the peculiar behavior of this Saucy bit of Mutton, for she seem'd to have those profligate Affections common to Kitchen-slatterns, and yet all the sincerities of the most devoted Amour. I was all at sea.

She returned. She express'd her distaste for indecision. "What is needed," she offered with glee, "is a round of tastes!"

So she recruit'd her friend, another bar-Harlot, and gave her six bottles of the finest Spirits behind the bar. She crawl'd on her Back, adjusted her various petties and nonesuches, and, squirting Lime on her bare Stomach, dripped Salt in circles round three shot-glasses. This, we were given to understand, was our sampling tray.

Thus began the richest & most profligate Debauch recorded by human Sense & understanding. There was a great tapping of Canes, which delighted the Strumpets past the gates of Delirium. They saw no end of Pleasure in examining our Hats, strain'd in their puritan formality, when compared to the Dandyish excesses surrounding. The Divine swung, monkeyish, from the stuff'd moose, and hung down to grope the bosoms of passing femmes. The Philosopher shook his head, and order'd another tup off the barley-faucet, passing the night in bewilder at the Bar. And when I struck at their electric candles with my Dagger, the Hussies laugh'd, fiendish & choral as the pipes of an infernal organ. All the while, Olivia dragged my hand off her thigh, & then wou'd whine and cavil at the Loss of my Affections. "O, I am so glad to have had you at table to-night!" she whisper'd.

Wou'd that I cd say, I took her thro' the Kitchen & roger'd thoroughly. Wou'd that I cd say her Hands clasped mine in the door, and we made quick to a secluded spot of Romauncing. Wou'd that I cd say, she lies indolent & warm, and at the sound of my scribbling, a sleepy soft grunt might sound: "Mn."


But I cannot. We made to leave, quite disorder'd in Costume & Understanding, Cravats all askew, the work done to my Boots taking two of my good Stubb's Sundays to repair. And as I turn'd to grasp my harlot's paw, her warm entangling fingers, Olivia turn'd up her face, and heaved a moldering bucket of bar-slop to the side-walk. "Take ye & yr curly-cued Friends away! And remember next time of the Tip!"


Perhaps, in the Great Lottery of Souls, I shd have won a Precious scholar, a Dunce well-practised in Logic-chopping, or a bean-eating Philosopher, such as Pythagoras, or that high-flown saint, who, refusing Woman because of her sundry Charms, turned away even his mother. But I have not, and struggle & tumble yet with my liver, and my studying brains muddle with the incessant coquettries of serving wenches. I am worldly enough to recognize kisses for hire, but not yet lamprey enough to disdain them.


"...the final cause of the beard is...the rapid change in the features of the face which betrays every hidden movement of the mind...visible mainly in the mouth and vicinity. Therefore...nature gave man the beard. Woman, on the other hand could dispense with it, for her dissimulation and self-control are inborn."
-A. Schopenhauer, World as Will & Representation



For the curious: a brief filmic representation & True History of the Debauch, earlier alluded to but passed over in consideration of lewdness and time:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYK4Z7jNs8I

Chopping Out

When, in Antient Times, our Forebears did survey a Ground, establishing those Lines which wou'd ensure all the commodious assurances of Property, those hearty men wou'd "Chop Out" a section of Woods. Taking down saplings and lesser Trees, leaving the Titans of that primeval Forest to break of their own Accord, these Explorers chopp'd into the Unnamed Wilderness.


And, as they with their clumsy axes did divvy the mute and remote Woodlands, so I set forth into that unseen VIRGINIA; the moreso ignored because omnipresent; as a Housewife's domestic improvements, by their very Success, are sure to be ignored. Or, as a Beggar's ubiquity blanches the Horror of Poverty.


I shall present True & Accurate notes on the body of our Dominion, not flinching from the bitten Nails and broken Bones, but neither forgetting to compliment her graceful carriage, her sweet-tuned Voice, and the autumnal light in her hair.