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Wednesday 22 December 2021

Following up on the wrong story: a review of Robert MaCauley’s A Secret History of Time to Come: a Chilling Vision of the Future.

 


              I was recommended this book for it’s ‘Edgeland’ or liminal feel, but I couldn’t find that feeling. Perhaps as a European I was unable to tap into the real scope that MaCauley was driving at with his vision of an American Midwest that has broadened in distance due to a technologically-strapped future that must rely on foot and horse for travel. We aren’t given much of a time frame for this future, and I feel it unfortunately falls into that nebulous ‘in the time before’ storytelling, also somewhat reflected in the over-the-top and jumbled choice of title & subtitle. This is also prominent in the referral to our own era as the time of the ‘forefathers,’ with ruined ‘forefather cities’ and roads treated with wonder. More interesting was the treatment of geography; Lake Erie, without constant use and treatment by humans, changes shape, casting a long swamp over much of its flood plains, covering roads and settlements under swamp and lake.

              The few passages we get on the race war that consumed the US preceding any kind of collapse were the main hook for me, feeling like the inevitable end of a chaotic nation from a writer standing in the cold war era (originally published in 1979.) Some have read this sub-plot as a racist prediction, claiming the black population of the United States is blamed for its doom, even comparing the book to the infamous Turner Diaries, but I feel it was fairly implicit that we are rooting for the black liberation movement as it is shown to us through the eyes of an African-American intellectual and former reporter whose protected and hidden journal we are exposed to. We are shown the natural conclusion to white ignorance; as the world creeps closer and closer to a nuclear war the United States Government (or USG as it is referred to as a faction in this near-future civil conflict) becomes immaturely obsessed inward, becoming “genocidal” against a more and more promising black power movement resulting in a war that bursts from the tension of maltreatment of African-Americans as they increasingly make up the population of urban areas.

              The race war was the drawing moment in the early pages- and then it stops. We are never again given a glimpse of this pivotal moment in this ‘secret history,’ and are instead told that the Black Liberation movement (BLAC- Black Liberation Army Corps) led by ‘Brother Soul’ in this near-future instance (set in 1983-6) were defeated and a successful genocide waged on African-Americans, the horrific beginnings of which we witness as BLAC and the USG clash in Gary, Indiana. African-Americans become canonized as a ‘shadow people’ who cause the end of the ‘forefather’s’ world- but the reader has been told the truth of nuclear strikes in the ex-reporter’s journal. The remnants of the USG become the villainous slavers, the ‘horsemen,’ becoming more and more stylized as a sort of future confederate army.

MaCauley then settles in to the far future, telling a story of only whites, with simply too many shadows of story cast before being lost; we are told about different factions, individuals and their choices, even fictional cultural nuances, but not necessarily where it all goes or what it all means. Perhaps this is a disservice to the bulk of the story which is fundamentally the story of Kincaid, the wanderer as he follows his Esso road map and intuition to explore an area made vaster and vaster by it’s unknowns. A fairly likeable story of individuals striving for knowledge and freedom, but I can’t help but be hung-up on the dead end treatment the civil war was given. Perhaps as he wrote in a melting pot moment, with debates on race within the context of Vietnam, South Africa still in apartheid and riots such as the Los Angeles riots on the horizon, MaCauley didn’t realize that the contemporary teetering edge of society he was portraying was the more interesting part of the story.

A Secret History of Time to Come: A Chilling Vision of the Far Future by Robie Macauley (London, Corgi Books) 1983.

Thursday 9 September 2021

LAND SPAGHETTI

 


Out there, is sea spaghetti. It’s a seaweed that resembles a dark green cooked spaghetti, and can be eaten as such. It is wild, organic, salty, tangled in the dark depths. It’s free range.

===

It was revealed to me in a dream- there is a hole in the ground, deep. It is night time. Stood looking down into the hole is my father and an associate; a younger man, very tall, in a denim shirt, who is smoking. My father decides something about the hole, reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little revolver. He passes the gun to his associate, who languidly aims the barrel into the hole. That’s when I see what looks strange for a moment; eight pale emergences, grubs or worms? No- they are fingertips, just visible over the rim of the hole, the hole must be very deep, deeper than a man with his arms stretched up high above his head. These are the fingertips of a man who isn’t using his arms to climb out of the hole, or dig the hole, but he could’ve been doing that until he saw the gun- those are the fingertips of a man begging for his life, his hands high above his head.

===

“Land mate” the ancient creature gasps. “know what done?” it’s eyes roll above the course of the waves, raking the sky, settling on Jacques. “know what done á eternity?” A plume of salty, bloody mist shoots out of its blowhole. A guttural rumble echoes through its throat. “brothers once, broke now. Eternity- halved! Oh…p…pain!” the creatures eyes roll fast into its head, as the bulk of its body begins to rise to float dead on the surface. “know what done- no! no…” a crewman comes besides Jacques with a marking flag on a harpoon, which he throws at the dead beast. “plenty a’ meat on that ‘un”, he tells Jacques.

===

Joey Tribiani looks out the floor to ceiling windows. It’s raining at night in the city; he wears a dressing gown and swirls his brandy in its glass. His voice drifts from the television, as he plays a vhs of days of our lives, featuring himself as Dr Drake Ramoray. Lightning illuminates his apartment, overfilled with expensive sculptures, for an instant. He stares down at the vehicle filled streets, and utters “I piss on you from a height, and tell you it’s rain.” He swigs his liquor, turning away. “and you all believe me.”

Under the floorboards Matt le Blanc’s skeleton rests.

===

"Thanks NHS!" He screams, his finger pulling so hard on the trigger of the assault rifle his fingernails go paper white, a blitzkrieg of bullets vaporizing the ward hallway and all in it. Sweat rolls off of him. "Protect the NHS!" he feverishly yells, smashing office windows in the childrens ward with the butt of the gun; he realises its out of ammo and drops it in favor of two pistols, which he shoots without aiming, randomly, at patients, doctors, nurses, porters... He stops for a moment, screams and moans and alarm bells finally audible with no gunfire. He whispers, "clap for carers," and pulls the pin on the grenade, clutching it tightly to his chest.

===

"Oh goody! You're awake, we can watch Downton Abbey!" He starts doing an excited little jig. You reel around in confusion. "who- who are you?!" you demand. He stops to regard you, head cocked, arms by his sides, smiling. "Me? Why, I'm Delighted!" Sweating and breathless, you look around. You are surrounded by desert.

===

Kennedy is bored but waves anyway as the motorcade trundles on- and then stops. Everything stops. Birds hang in the sky. The crowd is frozen in cheer, the car not moving, even Jackie next to him is glassy, solid, unmoving. “Hello.” He turns- crouched on the back of the car is Dewey Wilkerson, the youngest brother from Malcolm in the Middle, portrayed by Erik Per Sullivan. Though just a young boy, Kennedy is startled silent by an overpowering sense of omnipotence. “This is already written.” Dewey lifts his left hand in the air, in front of JFKs face. “I’m sorry. There’s no choice. It’ll make sense in a century. But-“ he gently touches JFKs forehead, causing it to explode.

Dewey disappears

Time unfreezes

Jackie Kennedy is sprayed with her husband’s, the president’s, brains.

===

You are Fuller from Home Alone. On the night before your family goes to Paris for Christmas, you drink a Pepsi, knowing that it makes you wet the bed and that you have to share a bed with Kevin that night. You smile at him across the room.

You are woken up in the night by a scraggly figure struggling to breathe in the room. You find your glasses and look. It is Macaulay caulkin aged 28. He catches his breath, then tells you “this night changes absolutely everything... every atom... every choice...” he looks hard at you, his unshaven and lined face a mask, his long blond hair like straw. He inhales and disappears as he reaches out to your cheek.

Your bed is soaked in piss because you drank a Pepsi earlier.

===

Boris Johnson leans against the wall in the dark and exhales his cigarette smoke. He lets his head hang back. He's tired. "So, what did you think?" Quampf looks at him with his one eye. Before Quampf can say anything, he sneezes out his other liver. He doesn't care, and soon replies anyway; "QUAMPF!!!!" Johnson smiles. "Thanks buddy. You've been a great help." "QUAMPF!!!!!" Quampf makes an obscure gesture with his stubby green arms. "I know. I know."

"QUAMPF!!!!"

===

You pick the juniper berries off of the prickly twig. ‘Delightful.’ You gently take your huge hairy form through your Forest home. ‘It is good to be alive’ you think, and hum an ancient Sasquatch song to yourself. Then you see it- a human! You’re so excited, it’s been over a century! You clear your throat; you hope they still speak French. It looks a little rattled... what’s that metal thing in its paw?

===

you're getting sick of Eblfetz daemon of the rot crashing at your place, eating all your cereal and watching cartoons all day. you sit on the sofa and pick up the remote. "put on Garfield" he says through a mouthful of coco pops, "or i'll make you Garfield." You sigh, cycling through the channels. "It's not on" you say. "I-I h-hate M-Mondays" you say. "L-l-l-l-l-lasa- lasagna" you say.

===

You are walking on your ancestral lands. It's mid-morning, so the desert sun is building up to searing, but the occasional rocky shade is cool and clean. "<gentle, tigre,>" you say to your dog in Diné. You follow the ancient path down around a rocky carapace, humming a Navajo tune to yourself. The cacti come in to view, dusty and wind battered. Tigre stiffens, and you notice a few footprints in the dust. You unshoulder your rifle, and creep further among the cacti, and finally see him. A white guy with a beard is naked, on a yoga mat, holding his big toes with his legs stretched wide and his asshole pointed at the sun. He has a classic 'tribal' design bicep tattoo, and also a tattoo of a dreamcatcher. He sees you, and says "my dude! Morning! Just gotta absorb some of that sunlight dude! Gotta sunbathe my perineum!" You think about shooting him with the rifle but beat him to death with the rifle butt instead.

===

They have him cornered. "Make him say the shibboleth." One of them steps forward and unbuckles his holster. "Say 'telephone.'" The man breaks into a sweat. "te...tell.... teleRAG N' BONE!!!" No sooner has he said it than the little device is pointed at his head. "please no! don't send me back to the zone!" But it's too late, they press the button on the anti-cockney device and send the cockney back to cockneyland.

===

You get home upset and run to your room crying. You bury your Face in your pillow and think of all the problems that would be solved if only you had that big Mack truck.

Your mother starts to go upstairs to comfort you, but your father grabs her arm.

“Leave him ma, leave him to think about that big Mack truck.”

 ===

He emerges from the shore. Tangled in bladderwrack and kelp, covered in whelks and wriggling things, his moustache green. From his clothes, his hat, we can see that he is a 19th century Italian peasant. The seaside town freezes, as everyone stares, their mouths agape as he makes his way up the mainstreet.

He sits outside a restaurant, crosses his legs, and picks up a menu. He studies it, then puts it down shocked. “Spaghetti… from the land… Land Spaghetti?!”

 

 

Thursday 10 June 2021

The Glossary


 


words I picked up and carried back with me.

Bristolian Slang/ Words heard in Bristol/ Work Words

-Winkle- to move the right control for an excavator left-to-right vigourously, making the digger bucket curl and uncurl quickly, chipping or scraping away at rock or compact clay.

-Bruck up- broken or messed up.

-Dervs- Diesel fuel (old technical anacronym for Diesel Engine Road Vehicle.)

-Disco Biscuit- Ecstasy Pill.

-Macky- massive. Bristolian slang.

-Wester/ Proper Wester- Someone 'born and bred' in Knowle West, a notriously rough area of South Bristol

-Meader- someone 'born and bred' in Southmead, a notoriously rough area of North Bristol

-Hedgehogs- tufts of grass (especially stalks from flowers or seed heads) that remain sticking up high after a mower has gone over it

-Grey Fleet- Bristol City Council term for the vehicles owned by employees and used for work for the Council.

-A Gurt lush 'un- a very ('gurt') lovely ('lush' possibly short for 'luscious') thing/ person ('un', English slang for 'one' possibly derived from Norman French.) Though a very Bristolian utterance, these words are also common in the West Country in general, and in my native Gloucestershire I think of 'gurt' spelt as 'gert,' reflecting the different vowel vocalisation. 

Possibly invented by myself (nothing to be proud of)

Spug/ to be Spugged- a negative connotation. to get spugged could be beaten up, paraletic, being stupid or injured. to be a spug, or a 'spug head' is to be an idiot, bonehead, or junkie.

Gumbled- mashed or mixed up. To feel gumbled is to feel disoriented or strongly hungover or tired. For something to look gumbled is to not look right.

Blorf-Norf- phrase used to describe feeling somewhat nauseous

Scrunge- mess of miscellaneous size. While working I was struggling how to describe the dirt and bits & pieces left when you hedge cut and then pick up the clippings.

Flamf- bits & pieces, 'stuff', mess.

Wickering- That strange chatter cats do when they're anticipating pouncing on something.

Domestic (at least to me) English terms

-The Side- The kitchen counter/ kitchen side. I thought this was common until I told my partner something was 'on the side' and she asked 'the side of what'?

-Her Indoors- sexist term to describe ones female partner, more likely wife. Incredible how assumptions about gendered spaces, roles and tasks can be packed into two words.

-Big Light- the main light for a room, usually the ceiling light(s) as opposed to other lighting like desk lamps or low level lighting.

-Nice Bread- of the two bread options, the other being 'normal' or 'regular' bread. 'Nice bread' is not only characterised as the nicer bread, it is saved for special uses only, and generally you always have to slice it yourself.

-The Wooden Hill- the staircase. When I was a child, my Dad would often say "Up the Wooden Hill" meaning 'time for bed.'  

General English/ Unsure of Origin

-Sacrifice Zone- an area given over to activities that ecologically damage or economically devalue the zone i.e. landfill sites, bomb test areas, etc.

-Whale Fall- when the carcass of a whale falls to the floor of the ocean and creates a feast moment for the bottom dwellers of the deep.

-Kayfabe- portrayal of staged events in wrestling as authentic and real.

-Cunch- London slang for 'countryside' as a concept, place etc. (thank you to my friend Samia for telling me about this.)

-Smoko- smoke break, Australian. Heard in this song by the Chats

-Cheesed in- the intense need or craving for cheese. Heard from an old work colleague; use; "Paul pull over, I need to get cheesed in."

-Jolly Bite- the final bite or forkful of a meal, that consists of the best-saved-for-last, perfectly seasoned for a final delicious bite. Thanks to my friend Finn for introducing me to this phrase.

-The Pit- an insatiable appetite the result of being hungover or on one's period.

-The Filth- The Police. Obvious reasons.

-West Briton- derogatory term for an Irish person who is perceived as an anglophile (Ireland) Possibly less used is the opposite 'East Yank,' meaning an Irish person perceived to be an Americanophile.

-The Fifth Column- a group already existing in a nation (e.g immigrants and their descendents) that are perceived as a threat during war for their possible treachery. Usually fanatic, for example the internment of Japanese & Japanese-Americans during WWII.

-Ecumenopolis- Conceptual planet-spanning city. Coined by Constantinos Apostolou Doxiadis

-Eperopolis- Conceptual continent-spanning city. Coined by Constantinos Apostolou Doxiadis#

-Transitional Love Object- For children, a totem object that represents home and the comforts of familial/ parental love therein, such as a stuffed toy or a blanket. 'Transitional' because it helps with transitioning from the home to the wider world, such as school.

From Graham Greene's Brighton Rock

Bogies- Police

Milky- weak, soft, untrustworthy

Polony- slightly derogatory slang for 'woman'

Buer- definitely derogatory slang for 'woman' possibly from Shelta/ Irish Cant 'Byor'

Other Languages

-Ladino- Judeo-Spanish language spoken by Spanish Jews who then took this language with them after they were forced out by the Spanish requisition. Became the language of Jewish populations in places such as Thessaloniki, Greece, before the Jewish population was decimated by Nazi occupation. Learned from 'The Apostate' by James Angelos in The Passenger Volume 2: Greece about former Thessoniliki mayor Yiannis Boutaris. First stumbled upon this in Primo Levi's The Truce, where I was becoming confused by Levi describing the Greek Jews from 'Salonika' speaking 'Spanish.'

-Fressen- to wolf down, to eat like an animal, as opposed to Essen, the verb for eating. Learned from Primo Levi’s If This is a Man (German)

-Oubliette- secret dungeon with access only through a trapdoor. (French?)

-Milaya- Darling (Ukrainian.)

-Pal of the Boor- Brother of the Hedge/ Hedgehog (Romany-English)

-Avos- What if (Russian.)

-Lethe- 'oblivion' 'forgetfulness' or 'concealment' one of the five rivers of Hades (Classical Greek)

-Varangian- term given to Vikings by Greeks, Slavs, Arabs and Khazars among others.

-Pietá- refers to paintings or sculptures depicting the Virgin Mary cradling the dead body of Jesus (Italian)

-Skræling- word used by Norse settlers of Greenland and the Labrador coast for the Inuit natives- survives in Icelandic word 'Skrælingi' meaning 'barbarian.' (Greenlandic Norse.)

-Kavdlunait- word used to refer to foreigners and Europeans in the age of the Norse settlement of Greenland. (Inuit.)

-'Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria Mori'- phrase included in Horace's Odes, translating to 'It is sweet and fitting to die for the homeland.' (Latin.)

-Subla- 'guy' or 'man,' informal. Outside of traveller community has stronger connotations of 'chav,' 'bogan' etc. (Irish/ Irish Traveller)

-Gowl- slang for 'pussy' Gaelic in origin. Often used in Limerick. (Irish)

-Guerilla- 'Little War', a fighting force acting on it's independent causes. (Spanish)

-Tre(-)- prefix denoting a farm, estate, or perhaps hamlet. (Cornish)

-Mamootie- a kind of South Asian draw-hoe

-Tetragrammaton- the four letters in hebrew used to describe the forbidden name of God- YHWH or JHVH articulated as Yahweh or Jehovah. Learned about this in Jorge Luis Borges' 'Death and the Compass.'

-Gweilo- Cantonese slur for a Westerner. (learnt from The Good Asian- by Pornsak Pichetshote & Alexandre Tefengki)

-Haole- Hawaiian slang for non-native. (learnt from The Good Asian- by Pornsak Pichetshote & Alexandre Tefengki) 

-Carabineros- Carabinier, in its literal form a soldier with a carbine rifle, but in Chile it is the name of the national police force- the Carabineros de Chile. (Learnt from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Clandestine in Chile) (Spanish)

-Poblaciones- In Chile, slums or shanty towns. Possibly not in use any more. (Learnt from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Clandestine in Chile) (Spanish)