An Emergency Report to the Rhodes Trust
The Most Executive Secretary of the Rhodes Trust of the United States of America
Sir Henry Elsworth D'Ascoygne, O.B.E.
I admit to certain feeling of apprehension when I first learned of my post here, and the transition from Matabeleland was not without it's difficulties - but, why, after all, it's delightful to reside in Louisiana! In
reality, it is simply trading one priest infested backwater with another, and I did so tire of eating goat sausage and corn mush. Ah! This mission is such a delightful calling in life! I regret to say despite the immense success of the Trust here - we have got two scholars elected to the very highest of political office - we have neglected Louisiana of late. No more! From this point forward the Colossus of Rhodes will bestride the Mississippi with them always; in the future they shall have an endless parade of diaper clad Senators and exorcist eight armed Governors. They will no longer be neglected as I continue the legacy of Cecil Rhodes in scouting for a cadre of philosopher kings to rule our great shared Empire - for I intend to retire here, the reasons for which I am stating below.
So, upon taking my post I decided, in an act of heartfelt generosity, to set upon myself the task of learning the culture, an enterprise which I'd launched in secret, subscribing to a week-end package tour of Uptown mansions. As the appalling living conditions of the upper classes afflicted my senses and the vast theatre of mental poverty unfolded before my tearful eyes, I came to the sudden realization that my duties here were only beginning. I continually had to ask the inhabitants to repeat themselves, for what passes for English wafting from the maws of this populace is hardly distinguishable from the hissing of sulphuric fumes from beneath the wreckage of a rail catastrophe in the Louisiana countryside! I am speaking of the upper classes here. A city, such as New Orleans, where one may wander for hours without meeting the slightest hint that there are foetid swamps populated by the most grotesque fauna surrounding it within reach, is a strange thing - but it also mirrors the fauna within the city, that is to say its ruler-ship. The upper class here is hardly different than the submarine, prehistoric reptiles that rule the local swamps.
As one wanders about uptown one notices the most alarming things. Let me speak frankly of the uptown woman. The uptown lady will lounge about in cafés decked in the most peculiar fashion, walking their own dogs - some do not even require proper servants - and having tea or coffee while wearing spandex attire designed for a woman far younger, and certainly not anyone making public appearances save for the sake of sport; and furthermore to which their frames are clearly not made. One can venture an attempt at the pleasure of a brief respite in any number of cafés or shops and so be forced to suffer the imbecilic conversations of these spandex decked queens, a task to which they seem endlessly engaged; it is as a fountain of Louisiana creosote at the birthing stages of an industrial accident sprays pitch upon the upturned faces of it's willing victims, so the putrid bile escapes the maw of these latex clad chirping harpies: at times all of them seemingly participating in an immense chorus of unified idiocy, as if a single beast with a thousand tongues were speaking the language of Lucifer himself! I remain ever soiled by my expeditions to the local cafés.
The uptown gentleman is no better, having an equally absurd fashion and poor taste, in the most extreme cases this even venturing into bow ties. I cannot count, even in my short visit here, on how many occasions I have seen a blue blazer and red tie, found in the neighbourhood liquor stores after hours, sporting tumours on their reddened faces born of excess drink and clearly taking after the lower orders, even stooping to converse gibberish with them as they rub elbows in their pursuit of drunken lecherousness. Absolutely none of this should be made public. Revolting!
It is no wonder to me the lower class have the habit of wearing shower caps, dressing in rags, screaming at utility poles and pushing grocery baskets down the street when the upper classes outfit themselves in this manner. If the rich are suited this way, why cannot an adult man ride a tricycle down the street in his undergarments? All of this proceeds in the most shameful fashion. It is perhaps that nearly everyone is suffering from a surfeit of methedrine.
The endemic lack of literacy as well, which is not so injurious in the suburbs, where population is more robotic - and which is the upper classes unfortunate second nature here - becomes terrifying and gravely dangerous through its concentration here in the great city. The Uptown illiterate deposits all manner of garbage and filth in his bookshelves and collections, mostly never read anyway, and owing to an excess of credit accumulates endlessly the vampire novels, collections of poetry by John Updike, essay collections of Thomas Friedman and the like, which disfigure the soul and poison the very air if ventured to be read aloud. He builds a pig-sty in this manner against every wall of the manse, littering the space between second rate artworks and the occasional nice clock or mantle. This new and unnatural condition of complete upper class illiteracy in post-colonial backwaters is wholly of New Orleanian origin. The Uptown gentleman or lady loves their thriller novels, school girl poetry and incomprehensible essayists as the Irishman loves a pig or the Arab his horse. One never sees this in Mumbai, Kingston or Manila, where they know precisely how to run things invisibly as we assist in choosing the ruler-ship from the lower classes with the gift of an Oxford pedigree.
Allow me to state the essence of the uptown problem: rampant Papism. I have witnessed this in the Manila as well, but not anywhere to this degree. Papism is for the lower class, to give them a veneer of functional literacy while maintaining obedience and to impart a direct willingness to suffer. What use, I ask, does the upper class have for Papism? Upper class Papism has been the downfall of all greatness throughout history. As the inimitable Mr. Rhodes once said, "We must find new lands from which we can easily obtain raw materials and at the same time exploit the cheap slave labour that is available from the natives of the colonies. The colonies would also provide a dumping ground for the surplus goods produced in our factories." Now, I wonder, how exactly do they suppose these affairs will continue on smoothly if their habits of consumption, which extend even to religion, are the same rubbish consumed as beasts? We great nations are all in this together, and uptown eyes simply must be opened.
Moved to an irrational state of charitable feeling owing to witness of this shocking state of affairs, I had a large share of funds converted to pennies to be showered by myself upon these poor wretches during my daily strolls.
But what is to be done - really? As an emergency remedy I petition the Trust to finance two objectives. First, a basic literacy campaign which will be conducted by stealth. The Packaged Mansion Tours will provide our agents the opportunity to leave rudimentary phonics kit, good but basic literature and music on coffee tables and bookshelves to be discovered later. I will also attempt to socialize with them on a more frequent basis. Second, a "World Tour" so to speak, guided by myself, will be offered once a year, where they will have the opportunity to travel to places such as Harare, Kingston, Mexico City, Mumbai, etc. so that they may see how things should be properly administered.
I conclude with a new 'fight song,' to which I will put to music according to all the jingles of the local papist academies, so that they may learn it and never forget it. It is the famous verse of our poet Kipling, the first Secretary of the Rhodes Trust himself:
Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child!
Warm Regards and Utmost Discretion,
Sir Henry Elsworth D'Ascoygne, O.B.E.
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con himself was perhaps even more fascinating than his paintings...or at very least he was an amazing presence and a great raconteur. He gets progressively more drunk as the principal interview proceeds; a man who was already brutally honest reaches inspired levels of candor befitting the very finest of Irish alcoholics. This is interpolated with many deftly executed segments of a more purely art critical nature. Highly recommended to anyone wanting more of Bacon and his art.
4 year old daughter during the final moments before they are evicted from the dilapidated Manhattan studio where Mingus had hoped to build a music school. Yes, Charles is upset, he is drinking, and has a gun. Best quote: "I hope the commies blow all ya'll people up, you dig? 'Cause that's where I'm at."
con himself was perhaps even more fascinating than his paintings...or at very least he was an amazing presence and a great raconteur. He gets progressively more drunk as the principal interview proceeds; a man who was already brutally honest reaches inspired levels of candor befitting the very finest of Irish alcoholics. This is interpolated with many deftly executed segments of a more purely art critical nature. Highly recommended to anyone wanting more of Bacon and his art.
4 year old daughter during the final moments before they are evicted from the dilapidated Manhattan studio where Mingus had hoped to build a music school. Yes, Charles is upset, he is drinking, and has a gun. Best quote: "I hope the commies blow all ya'll people up, you dig? 'Cause that's where I'm at."
