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THE HORSEWIFE IN HISTORYFAMOUS HORSEWIVES
THE HORSEWIFE: A SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT
THE HORSEWIFE: A CRITICAL STUDY
FIRST MOP, 4000 BC
VIEWS OF ST. AUGUSTINE
VIEWS OF THE VENERABLE BEDE
EMERSON ON THE AMERI HORSEWIFE
OXFORD PANION TO THE AMERI HORSEWIFE
INTRODU OF BON AMI, 1892
HORSEWIVES ON HORSEWIFERY
ACCEPT ROLE, PSYCHOLOGIST URGES
THE PLASTIC BAG
THE GARLIC PRESS
BILL has developed a shamble. The sequence, some say, of a lost mind. But that is not true. In the midst of so much that is true, it is refreshing to shamble across something that is not true. He does not want to be touched. But he is entitled to an idiosyncrasy. He has ear by his vigorous leadership in that great enterprise, his life. And in that reat enterprise, our love for Snow White. "This thing is damaging to all of us," Bill noted. "We were all born in National Parks. Clem has his memories of Yosemite, inspiring ges. Kevin remembers the Great Smokies. Henry has his Acadian songs and dances, Dan his burns from Hot Springs. Hubert has climbed the giant Sequoias, and Edward has climbed stately Rainier. And I, I know the Everglades, which everybody knows. These on experiences have yoked us together forever uhe red, white and blue." Then we summoned up all our human uanding, from thions where it arily dwelt. "Love has died here, apparently," Bill said signifitly, "and it is our task to i once again with the he breath of life. With that in mind I have asked Hogo de Bergerae over and advise us on what should be done. He knows the deaths of the heart, Hogo does. And he knows the terror of aloneness, and the rot of propinquity, and the absence of grace. He should be here tomorrow. He will be wearing blueberry flan on his buttohat is how we are to know him. That and his vileness."
HOGO was reading a book of atrocity stories. "God, what filthy beasts we were," he thought, "then. What a thing it must have been to be a Hun! A filthy Boche! And then to turn around and be a Nazi! A gray vermin! And today? We co-exist, we co-exist. Filthy deutschmarks! That so eclipse the very mark aure. . . That so eclipse the very mark and bosom of a man, that vileness herself is vilely oerthrown. That so enfold. . . That so enscrap. . . Bloody deutschmarks! that so en the very aure of a man, that what we cherished in him, vileness, is. . . Dies, his ginger oerthrown. Bald pelf! that so ingurgitates the very wrad mixture of a man, that in him the sweet stings of vileness are, all ginger fled, he. . ." Henry walked home with his suit in a plastic bag. He had been washing the buildings. But something was stirring in him, a wrinkle in the groin. He was carrying his bucket too, and his ropes. But the wrinkle in his groin was monstrous. "Now it is necessary to court her, and win her, and put on this suit, and cut my various nails, and drink something that will kill the millions of germs in my mouth, and say something flattering, aty and bonny, and hale and kinky, and pay her a thousand dollars, all just to ease this wrinkle in the groin. It seems a high price." Henry let his mind stray to his groin. The his mind stray troin. Do girls have groins? The wrinkle was still there. "The remedy en. That is still open to ohat door, at least, has not been shut."
KEVIN was being "uanding." We spend a lot of our time doing that. And even more of our time, now that we have these problems. "Yes thats the way it is Clem," Kevin said to his friend Clem. "Thats the way it is. You tell it like it is Clem baby." Kevin said a lot marbage to Clem. Peacocks walked through the yard in their gold suits. "Sometimes I see signs on walls saying Kill the Rich," Clem said. "And sometimes Kill the Rich has been crossed out and Harm the Rich written underh. A clear gain for civilization I would say. And then the ohat says Jean-Paul Sartre Is a Fartre. Something going on there, you must admit. Dim flicker of something. Oher hand I myself have impulses toward violeneasily cealed. Especially when I look out of the window at the men and women walking there. I see a great many couples, men and women, walking along in the course of a day because I spend so much time, as we all do, looking out of windows to determine what is out there, and what should be done about it. Oh it is killihe way they walk dowreet together, laughing and talking, those men and women. Pushing the pram too, whether the man is doing it, or the woman is doing it. Normal life. And a fiober chill in the air. It is unbearable, this sensus, this damned felicity. When I see a couple fighting I give them a dollar, because fighting is iing. Thank God fhting." "Thats true Roger," Kevin said a huimes. Then he was covered with embarrassment. "No I mean thats true Clem. Excuse me. Roger is somebody else. Youre ner. Youre Clem. Thats true, Clem." More peacocks walked through the yard in their splendid plumage.
WE opened eggs to let the yellow out. Bill was worried about the white part, but we told him not to worry about that. "People do it every day," Edward said. The giant meringue rose to the ceiling. We were all in it. Dan turned off the televisio. "You t cook acc to what that woman says. She never has the proportiht, and I dont think there ought to be abis in this meringue anyhow." "I just dont like your world," Snow White said. "A world in which such things h..appen." We gave her the yellows, but she still wasnt satisfied. Its easy enough to motivate poli if you give them votes and scooters to ride about on, but soldiers are a little more difficult. More soldiers. Cash their checks. Just because they are soldiers is no reason for not cashing their checks. Philippe laid down his M-16, his M-21, his M-2 and his fully automatic M-9. Then he laid down his M-10 and his M-34 with its mouthfed adapter. Then he laid down his M-4 and his M-3. It made a pile, that hardware. "Well I suppose that identifies you," the girl behind the wall said. Then she gave him his money, and gave the other men their mooo. We were amazed that the performance was allowed to tihere were a lot of things against the gover in it. We gave Snow White the yellows in an aluminum tainer. But she still wasnt satisfied. That is the essential point here, that she wasnt satisfied. I dont know what to do .
The psychology of Snow White: What does she hope for? "Someday my prince will e." By this Snow White means that she lives her own being as inplete, pending the arrival of one who will "plete" her. That is, she lives her own being as "not-with" (even though she is in some sense "with" the seven men, Bill, Kevin, Clem, Hubert, Henry, Edward and Dan). But the "not-with" is experienced as stronger, more real, at this particular instant in time, than the "being-with." The inpleteness is an ache capable of subduing all other data presented by sciousness. I dont go along with those theories of historiecessity, which suggest that her as are dictated by "forces" outside of the individual. That doesnt sound reasonable, in this case. Irruption of the magical in the life of Snow White: Snow White knows a singing bohe singing bone has told her various stories which have left her troubled and fused: of a bear transformed into a kings son, of an immereasure at the bottom of a brook, of a crystal casket in which there is a cap that makes the wearer invisible. This must not tihe behavior of the bone is uable. The bone must be persuaded to fiself to events and ef<q></q>fects susceptible of firmation by the instrumentarium of the physical sces. Someone must reason with the bone.
"I AM being followed by a nun in a black station wagon." Bill wiped his hands on the seat covers. "I ot fall apart now. Not yet. I must hold the whole thing together. Everything depends on me. I must ceal my wounds, trive to ap99ｌib?pear unwouhey must not know. The bloody handkerchief stuffed uhe shirt. Now she signals a right turn. Now I will make a left turn. That way I shall escape her. But she makes a left turn too. There it is. That does it. She is following me. Following the spiritual spoor of my invisible wounds. Is she the great black horse for which I have waited all my days, since I was twelve years old? The great dev black horse? Of course not. Dont be ridiculous, Bill. You are behaving like a fool. She is nothing like a black horse. She is simply a woman in a black dress, in a black station wagon. That she signals for a right turn and then makes a left turn means nothing at all. Dont think about it. Think about leadership. No, dont think about leadership. If you hang a right at this er. . . No, she hung a right too. Dont think about it. Dont think. Turn on the radio. Think about what the radio is telling you. Think about the various messages to be found there."
Im not her cup of tea Im afraid
Ah ah ah ah ah
Ill find a way somehow in my lonely room
Ah ah ah ah ah
Emily Dison, why have you left me and gone
Ah ah ah ah ah
Emily Dison, dont you know what we could have meant
Ah ah ah ah ah
"HELLO Hogo." "Hello chaps." "The floor is yours Hogo." "Well chaps first Id like to say a few vile things more or less at random, not only because it is expected of me but also because I enjoy it. One of them is that this t youve got here, although Ive never seen her with my own eyes, is probably not worth w about. Now excuse me if Im treading on your toes in this matter. God knows I love a female gesture as much as any man, as when, for instance, sitting in the fro of a car in their bikini, they kind of shrug themselves into a street shift befetting out, or while the car door is open but they havent gotten out yet; and if you happen to be looking out of a window of a house he curb, or if you move your window he curb, you sometimes see oting in her absolute underwear, i weather, and then going through that shrugging business, and sort of hitg the shift up over her hips, and then shaking her head to get the hair to fall the right way, and all that. And all this is the best that has been thought and said, in my opinion, or ever will be thought and said, for the only thing worth a rap in the whole world is the beauty of women, and maybe certain foods, and possibly music of al?9９lib?l kinds, especially cheap music such as that fur parades by for instahe St. Pulaski Tatterdemalion Band e, New Jersey, which reduce you to tears, in the right light, by speaking to you from the heart about your land, and what a fine land it is, and that it is your land really, and my land, this land of ours -- that particular insight chill you, rendered by a marg unit. But I wahe main thing I wao point out is that the world is full of ts, that they grow like clams in all quarters of the earth, ts as multitudinous as cherrystones and littlenecks burrowing into the mud in all the bays of the world. The point is that the loss of any particular one is not to be taken seriously. She stays with you as long as she put up with your shit and you stay with her as long as you put up with her shit. Thats the way it is behind the veil of flummery that usually veils these matters. Now think, I ask you, of all those women who are beyond the moment of splendor. They are depressed. The minister es to call and reends to them the things of the spirit, and tells them how the things of the spirit are more durable thahings of the flesh and all that. Well he is entirely correct, they are more durable, but durable is not what we wahe terrible poignance of this predit is not vitiated by the fact that everybody knows it, in the backs of their minds. Ruin of the physical envelope is reat theme here, and if we keep ging girls every four or five years, it is because of this ruin, which I will never agree to, to my dying day. And that is why I keep looking out of the window, and why we all keep looking out of the window, to see what is passing, what has been cast up on the beach of our existence. Because something is always being cast up on that beach, as new classes of girls mature, and you always get a new one, if you are willing to overlook certain weaknesses in the departments of thought and feeling. But if it is thought and feeling you want, you always read a book, or see a film, or have an interior monologue. But of course with the spread of literacy you now tend to get girls who have thought and feeling too, in some measure, and some of them will probably belong bbr>?</abbr>to the Royal Philological Society or something, or in any case have their own thing, which must be respected, and catered to, and nattered about, just as if you gave a shit about all this blague. But of course we may be different, perhaps you do care about it. Its not unheard of. But my main point is that you should bear in mind multiplicity, and fet about uniqueness. The earth is broad, and flat, and deep, and high. And remember what Freud said."
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