Tuesday October 9th 2012
I am certain that mention of De Quincey or
Grasmere produces anguish and yawning in more than a few. I
am also aware that perhaps only to my mind does the turn of the
Eighteenth Century into the Nineteenth Century better reflect the
conundrum facing the current generations. As well, I realize how
incredibly incoherent I can begin to sound while contained within the
rhapsody of words. This is no "Host of Daffodil." And for certain
I am not "lonely as a cloud." And "Kubla Khan" in his "Xanadu" can kiss
my arse. Consider it a familiar ailment, if you wish to, but
surely it's possible to take some joy from De Quincey's expression
"stomach and its attachments." It makes me look downward and think
of the creature that dominates the rest of me. A moment or two that
turns me tedious, and thank goodness I have one external origin I can
point to. And no need for me to invent this demon's most recent
name because it's shining like the wind from Troy "that cast Ulysses...
upon the coast of the Cicons," and it's called, "Direct Deposit."
The idea of it produces this question from me
for De Quincey and Grasmere in general, "In your day did factory workers get
paid at the end of their work in cash money or did they have to go through
the ordeal of filling out a form so that an invisible coin might be
transferred into an invisible vault." I'd reckon, De Quincey at
least, would enter a note or two on the origin of coin as a means of
exchange, and see "direct deposit" as an aspect of progress, and by so
doing he'd further dismiss the exchange of mere labor as deserving of any
intimacy, or comradeship, or brotherhood or any such emotional "attachment"
no matter the stomach's location, which in my case is somewhere in Seattle,
or was, but which might just as well be on the other side of the moon.
As well De Quincey was a man who believed in the authority of a ruling
class, so his instinct would be to think "what business is it of yours to
decide how your betters reward you." Which makes a person wonder
where Xanadu might be, and which is why the leap year of 1812 is
increasingly a better reflection of the leap year of 2012.