The Chapman

An apple. An open swimming pool in Brodhead, WI Tania at Beloit College Maintenance. Hester. Her name at the time (1923) was still Greta Gustafsson (Garbo was Swedish, remember). The still is from her 'breakout' role in 'The Saga of Gosta Berling'. The film was based on a novel from the 1890s, so I assume the film is some sort of historical costume drama.

Nothing yet. A bunch of empty alcohol containers around my computer (these things should come with breathalyzers). Nobody yet. Hester, because of this picture of, believe it or not, Greta Garbo.

^ ME. You guys spend too much time screwing around about your alcohol. >Say what now? V Oh, sorry to interrupt. I'll stand down. NEXT!

Pepperoni pizza Honestly? Nothing I liked. My boss, who needs to get some kind of a life (preferably a Pyrate Lyfe). PW.

^ Responding to both above. >1) Yeah, I got the hook-up. I worry that something will happen with The Girl, and if I miss it... well, if you're a parent, you know the rest. 2) All history. It's all the same. One 'era' leads into another; that 'era' trails backwards into a previous 'era'. It is all inter-related. all of it; disciplines matter not. They don't. Directions of approach don't matter. None of it does. It's all just human behavior. You can argue 'Natural History', but how would it matter if you weren't here? You're human. All the same. Like walking onto an animal track, pointing forward and back. You trail back, and when that fades out, you forge back ahead, only to find the animal is walking ahead of you, at a safe distance, out of sight; and no matter how hard you trail, you will never see the end of that trail, and history will continue without you. V What's the oldest (fossil-fueled) vehicle you've ever driven? (Authentic replicas count)

Toast. A herd of Texas Longhorn cattle (Wisconsin Longhorn Cattle?) A Wisconsin State Trooper at a gas station. Nice guy. Hester, because of this: Hester, you post images of silent film actresses; but really, I wonder if many people know the breadth and internationalism of film prior to the 'Talkies'. Realize, intertitles were easily inserted; film was truly the universal language. I also like older film because, well, the women look like women and not like effing scarecrows you'd cut yourself on. That said, here is a picture of Alice Joyce, who did in fact make it (briefly) into the talkie era, from her heyday in 1917.

Coffee. Lots of coffee. A Bactrian (the two-hump kind. I think it's Bactrian) camel standing in a field. A woman at a dropship who kept saying, "Cool beans" endlessly, even though it was a COD with a problem, which took up more of my time than I care to describe. A part-time dope dealer I met at my previous job, whose inkjet-printed business card had POSTED HOURS on it, which blew me away, and with whom I had a pleasant conversation about the crying lack of professionalism in low-level drug selling. That guy makes me laugh every time I think about him, and I'm laughing now, just thinking about him. Too funny.

An orange. A twelve-foot-tall T. Rex fabricated out of scrap metal mounted on the roadside. An OSHA inspector at a plastic injection plant, who was outside having a smoke Romel Ray, Jr.

LEVIATHAN, Part 2 Well, I guess the other thing about Hobbes that I thought about all those years ago, and have to admit I think a little differently about now, is the flip side of the previously mentioned issue, that of the surrender of certain levels of liberty in exchange for security. There are other aspects to that, more so than the poster I saw today on the road, a quote from Patrick Henry. Hobbes makes a persuasive argument that lack of cohesiveness leads to threats from without; and he has a point. He discusses the concept of ‘all against all’, and gives his solution to it, which is an ordered society in which the common good is paramount over personal liberties, but which situation is acknowledged and supported by its members. And that is the unanswerable question: What is the proper balance of personal liberty vs. common good? I was raised in the more extreme strain of right-wing ‘patriotism’ in the United States, taught that personal freedoms were paramount over all. Later on in life, I was given the opportunity to watch (and for that matter, participate in) the cataclysmic implosion of an entire nation. That episode wrecked my belief in the solidity of social structures of any kind, and led me to believe for quite a while that human beings weren’t much more than a particularly unpredictable, intelligent, and stunningly dangerous form of monkey. This is quite similar in spirit to Hobbes’ argument, that humans are dangerous and unpredictable, and that without strong guidance and control, they will degenerate into chaotic, mutually homicidal packs, tearing at each other to no purpose. Is he right? Tell you the truth, I don’t know. I would rather not believe that. But I’m willing to countenance the idea it may very well be true. And that’s enough of LEVIATHAN.

Billy was now walking alone through the streets in the dark. It brought to mind the grave of his dream, and he wondered how the world appeared from the bottom of the hole. Probably much like this, he thought. Thomasse had left him, claiming a meeting of importance with a Crown man. Billy didn’t care; only he had trepidation regarding whether Thomasse was at all trustworthy. Likely not, but what was to be done about that, hey? What would the man do, how much COULD he do, to them all? What power had he over them, so much to break them? Who knew? Billy felt through the stained linen of his shirt to the comfort of the small pistol he carried. Guns. Never far away, yet so useless, sometimes; and that tavern keeper had been so very, very lucky, or blessed. But his dream had told him pistols were of no use against spirits. It was a good lesson to be learned, and Billy had always been one to take the knowledge of the spirits before things proved themselves, rather than some folk, who insisted on learning after, to their great trouble and detriment. Whatever Thomasse had done, or not, he had entrained them on the path of riches here today. For that Billy, and he was sure the rest, would thank him, in their own way… …perhaps with a round ball; and the dockings came into view, headed down the hill, and he could just make out the boat in the dim glow of encased candles.

Manchester United!

Pilsner Urquell A really, really weird dairy barn mural on Highway 19 outside Marshall, WI, which I think was supposed to be 'cute', but ended up being more of a cartoon advocacy for bestiality... A 19-year-old married girl at a loading dock, with 2 kids, rotting her life away working in an assembly plant for furnace air cleaners... A former cop buddy of mine, with whom I used to have breakfast every day, that I haven't talked to in years.

Potato chips. Medieval Times (outside Chicago) A gas station attendant my old mobster landlord, Nicky

Mmmm... guess the rum'll have to do. Thanks, Red Cat Jenny. Well, I'm off to Memorial Day it up out of town. See you late-arrr...

Rum. A large-diameter smiley face drawn in the middle of Highway 43 with crack sealer, obviously done by a member of the road repair crew. C. My old Mexican neighbors due to a song I heard on Milwaukee radio today I remembered (!) from living in a completely (except for me) Hispanic neighborhood.

Completely off-topic, but I did do a speculative uniform, based on two partial descriptions, of Frederick Ward's Ever Victorious Army of 1862 last night...

McDonald's Big Mac (for lunch). An older guy playing the ukelele outside a laundromat named 'Tex's Fold'em'. The Girl's mother. My parents.

^ Tylenol or Tylenol PMs or offbrand equivalent. > Talk to anybody who ever worked construction for more than ten years and they'll tell you all about painkillers... V Canoe or Johnboat?

On the Samuel, Byrd was bored. The Colonial runaway pot of piss marked for the watch was too drunk to stand; he should have lost his share under articles, but the articles had been quite loosely applied. They were not, truthfully, under way or for that matter, really in harm’s way. Or so they should hope; at any rate, Byrd had taken his watch, and it seemed no harm done. He rested his elbows on the rail and looked out over the bay, which was still active, but not so busy as before. Here and there barges sidled up to ships, winches at the ready, slings rolling. Livestock and horses disgorged; he heard the distant bellow of an affronted cow, and the barking of dogs, large and small. There had been two dogs aboard the Samuel, one some ratter from England which had been Thomasses’ pet, and had eventually killed the ships’ cat along with a variety of vermin. It had disappeared, with no confession from anyone, although there were suspicions. On a ‘regular’ ship there would have been floggings and the like, but the Samuel was no ordinary ship, and those rules did not apply. The second was a brown mongrel from a village in the Colonies, and had been washed overboard in a storm after bolting from the fenced run on deck. Now the only pet animal on the ship was the cook’s ferret. Filthy, nasty, biting, Byrd hated the thing, as did others. Likely the only reason it was still breathing was its nearly supernatural activity towards the rats, and ability to hide from large threats, such as sailors finding their bedclothes shredded. Miserable stinking animals. Byrd disliked farms… A largish coracle, lanthorn hung from an up-hook in the center, neared the Samuel. Byrd reached for the sawn-off musket layed out for him, loaded with buck and ball, and pointed it out. In the dusk, he peered into the bowl of the craft, and as it closed, saw it some overloaded with what looked like clothes. Sudden, a coarse female voice called out: “Hey-O, men there, look ya for lasses for company?” What had looked piles of clothing were the jumbled skirts and outerclothes of enterprising ladies. Byrd laughed. The voice rejoined: “Hey-O! Hey-O! Ya there! Ts’ the lonely sailor-men wanting for the lasses’ company? We’ve four fair and pleasantly maids here, for your entrainment, one French! What say you? Hey-O!” Byrd responded. “Come closer, there, and we’ll have a look at ya fair lasses, you all! How’s that for fairness in the dusk?” The voice responded: “No need to insult there boyo, we’ve plenty of looks …!” At that the rail lined with men, appearing from the various regions of the ship, boisterous and bargaining. It was pointless to try to maintain order. Byrd began laughing, and wandered from the side, to the step ladder leading to the center housing, dragging the musket along with him. He had no real interest in the proceedings, having had the ____ already oncet, but he was no longer bored, at least. …and where in the Hell were Thomasse and Billy? It was almost dark.

Waffles with butter and wild honey A Morris Minor A coffee shop clerk, with whom I discussed what the effects of drinking a brew called 'Blue Heeler' might have... Red Cat Jenny, because I like women in Army jackets, and thought Linda Cardellini's character in Freaks And Geeks was hot.

^ Serbian Jelen beer (pivo). > Every time I drink a beer I think of a Jelen (it's a little like Pilsner Urquell but much better). You cannot get it in the US that I'm aware of, and I've tried. V Passing along, what's your alcoholic unobtainium?

Leftover pasta A beat-up truck with a hand-lettered sign for a landscape company, announcing himself as 'The Sod Boy'. Three unhappy warehouse managers V.G.

^ I can't think of any articles of clothing I've ever bought due to 'current fashion', if that's what is meant. I dress for practicality. > One time, in an inner-city environment where I lived, I looked around in the Post Office, and noticed that every male in the place (I think eight or so), including myself, was wearing a used or surplus US Army jacket. Now that's fashion! V I'll pass that along.

They were now walking in the dimming light, Thomasse and Billy, the lanthorns and candles beaming but still not breaking through the dusk. The sky was afire to the West, flaming down into the sea, the oblong ball of flame extinguishing itself. The last of the light hit the tops of trees along the hillside, giving it the appearance of paper burning from the edges in. That wouldn’t last forever, Thomasse thought, the plantationers hadn’t yet got to the ridges to butcher down the last of the greenery to plant who knows what? The crop of the moment, pushing the soil down into rivulets, into the swallowing ocean in gouts of mud and filth. Leaseholder in cities was so much better, and distinguished, than being some dirty slave-beater married to a former whore. Thomasse hated the islands. Billy walked along, quietly, and Thomasse noted him casually holding, at waist height, a small cartridge-apostle, loading the small piece he carried on the sash around his neck. ‘Die a wealthy man?’ Foolishness, insanity. Impossible. He’d die, all right. Wealthy, unlikely… What was his answer to this conundrum? Finding his way out without swinging? He could sell the materiele in the ships, yes… well, it wasn’t technically his, but hang the riffraff. And that may be the answer. Hang them all and take his share and bribe his way back into graces, with heavily lined pockets. He caught himself short, and glanced quickly at Billy, suddenly aware of the ramifications of his thoughts. Who knew but what that damn African could read minds?

HOBBES’ LEVIATHAN Huh. The thing that strikes me the most about this work is its justification of what I would normally consider a frightening form of ‘groupthink’. I hadn’t read through it for a long time, and I kind of remember why; the last time I read it I found it disturbing. The concept of humans deliberately surrendering liberty in exchange for security has not long roots, and I do believe that the method of looking at this phenomenon by Hobbes was new. Previous beliefs had been that of uppers and lowers, with strictly observed social structures, dictated by higher powers or God; Hobbes came up with a social structure in which all understood and committed to the common ‘good’ by the surrendering of some liberties in exchange for physical safety. The bit about how obedience in social structure leads to entry into Heaven is interesting; and I think people forget that about half of this book deals with religion and its relationship with social structure. Believing in a voluntary dedication to a social impulse could (and does) lead to powerful behavior, fueled by confidence in identity and total belief in rightness. The attraction of Hobbesian logic to Englandmen fanning out over the world is obvious; it gave an ability to maintain a strict and discrete identity or soul no matter the geography; and eliminates any problems of identity. It has the power to gift endless confidence in the Self as part of a greater, powerful Entity, in which the representative of Leviathan is not a single figurehead, but ALL members of it, no matter where they happen to be, and regardless of whether they are alone or in groups. Fascinating. Be that as it may, I find the urge to not only explicate this idea, but actually to take the trouble to CODIFY it, frightening. A voluntary slave is a slave still.