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P, Slots and games casino review , ,. Harcourt, Brace and Company. Traditional Cajun Dance Music. Louisiana State University Press. The Limits of Cajun political rhetoric.

A Sensory Tour of Cajun Culture. Junior League of Lafayette. A glossary of Louisiana French figures of speech. Renouveau Publishing First Edition.

The Complete Tales as told by Julius Lester. University of Chicago Press. Moity et al So. Louisiana State bar Association La. Public Affairs Research Council.

Harper Brothers, Publishers, and London: New American Library Penguin. Identity and Authenticity in Cajun Music and Dance.

University of California Press. The Life of an Artist. Exhibits to US Government Printing Office. Case for Conspiracy with the C.

I remind my readers and guests, as I did in the introduction to this essay, that I might violate the genteel rules of grammer so as to convey the similarity between cooking and writing as mutually analogous metaphors.

There are also a few Texas tangents. Now, jambalaya is made from elements at hand much like myths which use the method of bricolage , that is taking elements readily available and assembling them in new ways.

The assemblage is guided by a set of rules. This appetizer you are now reading conveys those rules on how to cook jambalaya. If you understand these rules, the number of kinds of jambalaya you can cook will be limited only by your imagination.

I cook the jambalaya a certain way, but that way is only one of many ways as different cooks composes dishes to suit their readers.

Some other storytellers cook their jambalaya in other ways. You will hear many different versions of the same tale and you might be tempted to argue about which kind of jambalaya is the real one.

Be assured that as along as you follow the rules established in this essay you will tell real stories. If you want to more than just a little taste jambalaya presented below, then read the remainder of the essay: There are two major varieties of Louisiana Jambalaya, kind-a-sort-a-like brothers: Cajun jambalaya from rural Louisiana and the urban New Orleans jambalaya.

The singular supposed difference is the use of tomatoes in New Orleans and its lack in the Prairies. This sounds like a rule meant to inhabit or inhibit your creativity.

Please break this rule and it will lead to surprising results. The five categories of jambalaya ingredients are meat, vegetables, rice, seasonings, and water.

I will give some general advice on the selection of these elements, what kind of pot to use, and then proceed to a simple jambalaya recipe, that I hope everyone can tell.

First off, note that the meat is optional. If animal protein is used, then it is browned on high heat to burn slightly in the pan.

Although the pan is used, think of an open fire burning the meat. The pan will be deglazed during a simmering chapter to turn the white rice to a brown color and add flavor.

You can use seafood, but that food is placed in the pot when simmering begins. In no case should you mix seafood and animal protein.

Fish and pork chops are an abomination. You can avoid this issue by simply putting in no meat or seafood — you can go vegetarian.

There are three essential vegetables: Feel free to add some of other vegetables that range from eggplants to hot peppers to black eye beans to green beans.

Buy local and fresh if you can. And yes, you can add tomatoes even though you are cooking Cajun jambalaya. Just say that it is Creole when you use tomatoes and you will sound like an expert.

Repudiate the New Orleans myth as well as the trinity. Rice is the most important element. Buy the best you can find.

As in the case of vegetables, quality matters. The best rice grown in South Louisiana for jambalaya is a variety called Toro, a long grain.

If you can find it, buy basmati. It the same rice, but it tells slightly a different story with a Texas accent. Some people prefer sticky jambalaya, but I prefer a jambalaya in which the goal is each grain of rice is separated.

You might like sticky. To help you embrace sticky, I will even tell you about distant jambalaya cousins who use short grains.

In any case, you need to buy whole grains, not cracked grains. So tell the whole story, not just a part of it.

When I was a boy, rice that was cracked in half was fit for only chicken feed. Now some of that rice is being sold for human consumption.

Be sure as well that the rice is white without a trace of the brown hull. Jambalaya can be made from brown rice, but that is for a master cook, not for an apprentice as these instruction assume.

Let me tell you where I learned this tale. My father was a cook of some renown. As I write these lines, he would be over years old if he were alive.

In his time, there was no such thing as a caterer. There were men and some women who you could hire for a private party like a political dinner or you could ask to contribute their time for a fund raiser.

Their pay was meager: I still meet people today who remember meals that my father cooked some 40 years ago in his prime. I did not so much learn how to cook from my father; for it was naturally expected that all men cook.

Rather, I learned how to eat from my father. He only used two primary seasonings: He also grew a bay leaf tree and would use those when he remembered.

No black pepper, that too is an abomination. Many cooks today call themselves Cajun by adding extreme amounts of pepper.

This I believe is a marketing strategy to sell more red pepper to the unsuspecting. But when it came to salt, my father knew few limits. Imagine the taste of seawater diluted just enough so that you could taste the hint of vegetables in the pot.

I believe he cooked with a lot of salt as a strategy to make you drink more beer, especially at political suppers where drinking was heavy.

The leftovers he brought back home after cooking for other kinds of dinners was far less salty. My father cooked jambalaya in a five gallon circular black cast iron pot with a cypress paddle.

He heated the pot with butane that was given freely by his oil and gas company to their employees. An old, recycled, water heater burner was used to heat the pot.

It can be played by an apprentice or journeyman, but the finesse is just gone. You can just play a much simpler song with simpler lyrics by using a black cast iron pot that is well seasoned.

The pot need not be large. I learned to cook jambalaya on a 15 inch wide skillet, about three inches deep. It has a heavy lid to keep the steam the rice.

To begin, select your vegetables. For every cup of rice, you should use about one and one-half cup of chopped vegetables. If you are preparing vegetarian jambalaya, then increase that mixture to two to two and a half cups of chopped vegetables to one cup of rice.

If you like a lot of vegetables and are adding meat, then use the vegetarian mix. Here is a tangent about vegetarianism, Cajun cooking, and environmental diversity: Cajun cooking is the cooking of the peasantry.

Peasants always eat a lot of vegetables because by definition a peasant is one who grows his own food and participates sparingly in the moneyed economy.

Meat is used sparingly because it is expensive in that kind of economy. Or so the story goes. Cajuns are somewhat of the exception here.

They were peasants who lived in the land of Louisiana, a bountiful place when it was first settled and continues to be despite the environmental disasters of recent years.

The place has a wide variety of food because so many ecological niches overlapped and border one another. Diversity is the basis of this bountiful place.

This diversity is represented in their ethnicity and their cooking, particularly jambalaya. Some people may say that vegetarian jambalaya is not traditional.

But in Talk About Good But more about this subject latter. The first step is to break some traditional rules. My father never precooked his rice.

He added his rice raw at the end of the preparation. I discovered that you can add about three-fourths of a table spoon of cooking oil to one cup of rice.

Each oil imparts its own flavor and this flavor will be serve as the premise of the story. The oil will allow the individual grains of rice not to stick to other grains of rice.

So cook the rice and oil on high heat stirring constantly until the grains turn white. When that is done, remove the rice from the pot.

The next step is to cook the meat using high heat stirring constantly. As I alluded to above, imagine an open fire and you are trying to salvage it from being burnt or breaking apart and falling into the fire.

You can use what is at hand or go out and hunt and gather. I like to use smoked sausage from the supermarket. It has a lot of flavor in the oil.

If they are available, the best thing to use is traditional Cajun favorites like andouille sausage and tasso. I occasionally add the bones to the jambalaya, but this so ultra that I do it only with close family members.

The general Cajun populace would consider far too country. Cook the meat on high heat, stirring constantly. You want to create a pot that has nearly burnt bits of meat that will be deglazed later on in the cooking process when you add the water.

This will transform white rice to a brown color, if you have not added tomatoes. If you want your jambalaya to have a red color, add some whole fresh tomatoes to you vegetable mix or one tablespoon of tomato paste to the water for each cup of rice.

The acidic tomatoes will remove the seasoning from the cast iron post and ruin it for a while until you cook some more in it.

You can also cook jambalaya out of crawfish, shrimp or redfish. You can even use dried shrimp like Woody does in the book. Each of these foods are tough and so hold up when cooked.

The flesh of catfish or perch is just too soft to hold together when cooked; but you might try and break this rule and find out what works for you.

If you do use seafood, then it is placed uncooked when you add the water later in the preparation process. Remember that if you add a fish with a lot of bones, it will be difficult to separate the fish from the bones and the rice.

So consider using fillets. But you can be ultra and use bones as I have said above. They will add flavor; but you may have to hide them form your guest as any good trickster would do.

In this recipe, use about one pound of meat or seafood. As I said above, you can skip this step if this fit your taste.

Next for the vegetables: Ideally, the onions should be clear when the meat is dark brown. Continue stirring until you swear you are going to burn the pot and then stop.

If you are using raw green beans and black eye peas, these should be precooked a bit. You can use fresh frozen with some success right of out the bag; but you will improve your jambalaya if you precooked these a bit in another pot.

These three clans form what anthropologist calls a moiety. The word, moiety , is French for half. Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?

It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing'd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.

The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law.

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. I am enamour'd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.

The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, the purchaser higgling about the odd cent; The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly, The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips, The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other, Miserable!

I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you; The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change, The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar, In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers; Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather'd, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, what salutes of cannon and small arms!

I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?

I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

Vivas to those who have fail'd! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!

And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? Do I astonish more than they? This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

What is a man anyhow? All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.

Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.

Why should I pray? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.

I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.

I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest?

It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Press close bare-bosom'd night--press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds--night of the large few stars!

Still nodding night--mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt!

Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!

Far-swooping elbow'd earth--rich apple-blossom'd earth! Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love!

O unspeakable passionate love. I resign myself to you also--I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.

Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.

Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.

I am he attesting sympathy, Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them? I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.

What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.

Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified?

I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.

This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.

And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.

It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.

Hurrah for positive science! Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.

This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.

Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire.

Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God!

I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.

Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.

I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.

I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.

If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!

Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you! Firm masculine colter it shall be you! Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!

You my rich blood! Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!

Root of wash'd sweet-flag! Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!

Sun so generous it shall be you! Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!

Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!

Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again.

That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.

Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.

The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!

We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.

Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?

Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded? Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.

My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you.

Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.

I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.

I hear the violoncello, 'tis the young man's heart's complaint, I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.

I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.

I hear the train'd soprano what work with hers is this? The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being.

Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither, If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.

Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.

I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.

The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me.

I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.

Did it make you ache so, leaving me? Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.

Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Vivas to those who have fail'd! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!

And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!

And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? Do I astonish more than they? This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

What is a man anyhow? All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.

Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.

Why should I pray? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.

I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest?

It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Press close bare-bosom'd night--press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds--night of the large few stars!

Still nodding night--mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!

Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!

Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbow'd earth--rich apple-blossom'd earth!

Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love! O unspeakable passionate love. I resign myself to you also--I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.

Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.

Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.

I am he attesting sympathy, Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them? I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.

What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.

Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.

This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.

And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.

It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.

Hurrah for positive science! Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.

This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always!

Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire.

Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God!

I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.

Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.

I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.

I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.

If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!

Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you! Firm masculine colter it shall be you! Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!

You my rich blood! Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!

Root of wash'd sweet-flag! Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!

Sun so generous it shall be you! Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!

Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.

I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again.

That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. To behold the day-break!

The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.

Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!

We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.

Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?

Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded? Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.

My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you.

Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.

I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.

I hear the violoncello, 'tis the young man's heart's complaint, I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.

I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.

I hear the train'd soprano what work with hers is this? The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being.

Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither, If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.

Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.

I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.

The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me.

I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.

Did it make you ache so, leaving me? Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.

Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so.

A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them.

I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it.

In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.

So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?

Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.

A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.

His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.

I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.

My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.

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Each part is different, but I sought ot meld the topics into a whole so that each component would flavor the other.

It's not just a collection of odds and ends randomly placed; but rather the assemblage was created with a bricolage in mind.

Next Section Top of Page This section is not complete. Jambalaya characters, also known a mere vegetables in the hands of the hacks, but in the hands of a good story teller, these can produce a great plate of words.

The book is peopled by real and imaginary people. These real people are all deceased, public figures, but they speak in imagined dialogs with imaginary characters.

Some characters reflect in part group stereotypes, but all are modified by individual characteristics usually taken from more than one real person to create a composite character.

Any similarity to a single person is entirely by chance as I have mixed this jambalaya together. A stiff word of warning should also be added to my local contemporaries: It also destroys the privacy that I have sought to preserve.

So I ask that you leave the jambalaya as it was created to be eaten, but not to be deconstructed.

Rice is the main ingredient of a Jambalaya. Get the best character you can find and then add him or her to the pot.

Moity is a large part of this jambalaya and main ingredient in the characterization of Woody. To those people, the premise that Puggy would have discovered the plot to assassinate JFK cannot help to bring a smile.

But it is a dark smile and simile upon closer examination. He was also a kind of detective, part lawyer, part flim-flam man, part political candidate for hire.

Both he and Woody were personalities in the then new medium of television. Although he was a clown in the popular imagination, he was a real life man who seemed to have stepped out of a film noir for many of the people that I spoke to about his life.

I collected many informal stories about Puggy, but these were not collected in any disciplined manner and so the results do not reflect a balanced attempt at scholarship nor reportage.

The goal was to collect illustrative examples and extrapolate from those examples into story elements. Little of this file is used because much of the file dealt with impersonation of a federal officer charges upon which Puggy was found not guilty.

In public, Puggy enjoyed being the butt of many jokes; for he was indeed a butt. But to others in private I am told, his humor was a cloak for a dark sense of threatening humor.

To others, he was no joke at all, but a very real character who stepped out of a film noir. Puggy was a litigious man, who represented himself in court; but who was not a member of the bar.

So I researched state and federal court records for information, the most important cases being cited by its online source, lexis. The US Supreme Court agreed with Puggy and Woody that you can indeed libel someone in a court proceeding, but yet it is not libel.

The other cited cases in the bibliography are used as background information that was not used directly. I collected oral histories that were readily at hand about his deceased contemporaries, especially Iberia Parish Sheriff G.

Jerry Wattigny his arch nemesis , Sheriff D. There are many scholarly works on grit of Louisiana politics that were useful: Gold ; Kurtz , Kurtz and Peoples , Liebling , Maginnis , and Williams as well as well researched fiction: Collins who deals with the assassination of Huey Long.

As far as I could readily determine, Puggy served honorably as a kind of clerk during the war and was not a hero like Woody.

But in what theater he served or his rank remains a mystery to me today as I write these lines. That was too private a bridge to cross. Another main ingredient in that jambalaya is trickster tales told around the world.

Moreover, Texas plays a role as a place of escape from Louisiana. It is place that looms over the events in the book. Puggy has little to do with Texas as far as I know.

As is discussed below, Woody is in part based trickster characters in European, African and Native American myths. Thus, Woody is a complex character who bears only a surface resemblance to Puggy.

The JFK Assassination is the red pepper of the dish. It is a small element, but it gives character to the entire dish.

I use it sparingly. I hope it suits your taste. The literature on the Kennedy assassination is immense so I cite only those essential works that have guided the writing of the tale.

At the beginning, I selected two key elements: From these two suppositions, the entire tale evolves. I have found these works to be particularly insightful: Additionally, Weberman also creates an Internet site at ajweberman.

The site is vast and is worthy of study by anyone who wishes to read the original source material.

Nodule 13 discusses Richard M. Both nodules deal with Oswald in New Orleans and Louisiana. Another primary and secondary source web sites consulted are mcadams.

This site is also vast, but it has much more commentary along with citations of related primary and secondary sources. A similar website, jfklancer.

These are invaluable in seeking to hear Marcello speak before writing dialogue. I am especially indebted to Debra J. Conway for providing that information in hard copy.

Louisiana has a lot of onions in its character. When you chop Louisiana characters getting them ready for the book, they invariably bring tears to your eyes.

If you breath through your nose, the fumes will make you cry. You have to breath through your mouth to reduce the tears and temptation to add your tears to the manuscript.

But in the end, those tears find their way into the jambalaya anyway. This place of onions can be really sad.

But like the cook books say "I'm laughin' just to keep from cryin'. Embrace its sadness and within that sadness find joy. The people of Louisiana have always triumphed in the end.

They are truly heroic, especially those who were forced to migrate there from Arcadia in the Greek Peninsula, kidnapped from the kingdoms of the Ashanti, and the descendants of the peoples who once knew a man called Pontiac.

Unity of time and place takes precedence over characterization and plotting. I have tried to convey to you the distances, the places, the travel times, and above all, my reverence for this place I have call my home, a place called Louisiana, a place sacred to all Cajuns, the place where our ancestors found succor from the storms of history and created an entire culture, a language, a cuisine, an architecture, and a way life, that we love so much.

It is a place filled with dense symbols of time and place so like a human character, this character called Louisiana.

But as does the other characters in this tale, this real place plays tricks upon the reader and other times, it is as true to itself as Cajun sunrise.

Cajun culture is the salt of the novel. It brings out the inherent flavor the characterization, the setting, and the time.

A Cajun dish is always well seasoned. Next Section Top of Page Here's a trick: Once you've chopped the words up, add olive oil and then mix them well so that each chopped word comes in contact with each other word.

The flavor of each individual word transmits its essence through the oil. It is a secret that I learned from a master writer. This technique will enhance the flavor of the jambalaya in the same manner in which I have subtly enhanced this photo.

Click the photo to see the enhanced short words combined into what I think are sentences with graphic beauty. I created the illustrations used in this book, as posted in Words Sketched.

The street patterns were derived by studying period maps and aerial photographs in Lafayette and Abbeville, Louisiana. The Evangeline and Jung Hotels are sketched from period postcards as well as site visits.

The sketches of vehicles are based on period advertisements, and my own photographs of vehicles similar to the ones describes in the book.

The Fenwick Sanitarium flyer is an advertisement in the medical journal, The Medical Brief, as cited in the bibliography. John the Evangelist, circa The prayer found at the end of Chapter 7 is taken from the reverse side of the card.

The hand gun superimposed on the flyer is sketched from replica advertisement of a M US government issue military pistol. Although Woody utilizes a Lietz 35mm film camera, many of the photographs were taken with a digital Canon G-3 camera modified to capture infra-red images.

The photographs are taken over a period of 31 years from to Film noir is a genre of American and French cinema that deeply influences the taste of the story elements of Twisted Bayou.

These films were shot in black and white with many shadows. Here is another trick: I cooked the words for the jambalaya in olive oil and then I removed them from the pot to let them sit and transmit their flavors to one another.

Like film noir , the words hid in the shadows and their flavors melded. When I read them, I edited them with a new eye to create a new taste.

Film and the written word come together in an influential book by Daniel Mainwaring, written under the pseudonym of Geoffrey Homes, who publishes Build my Gallows High in The movie is released on DVD with a commentary by James Ursini , in which he outlines those elements essential for film noir.

Additionally, he co-writes one of the most complete books on this subject, Film Noir Encyclopedia Silver, Ward, Ursini, Profirio.

Elements from these 18 films noirs are essential to the jambalaya: I used these vegetables to make my jambalaya. The second pepper showed up for the photo shoot.

It really didn't appear in the jambalaya. You know how bell peppers are, all those curves for the eye and no real bite when it comes to pepper flavor.

They're just so mild and sweet that I had to let the pepper make its appearance. Elevator to the Gallows French: Chinatown directed by Roman Polanski and starring Jack Nicholson;.

Following directed by Christopher Nolan and starring Jeremy Theobald;. Memento directed by Christopher Nolan and starring Guy Pearce;.

Wages of Fear French: Additional direct references are made to the following five movies: Fourth and fifth, Woody sees two movies on the double screen of a drive-in theater: Music is like a jambalaya.

Each instrument adds a certain flavor. The carrots are very subtle. They add a bit of sweetness to the mix, but not sweet so as to hinder the other instruments from playing.

I tried to capture the era with music. To do so,I typically used real songs and then transcribed them with my imagination to create my own music and lyrics.

You can get a taste of the jambalaya, hear the songs that served as my inspiration, and you can read some of my imagined lyrics on the web page from this site at Word Sung.

Give the carrots a hand: If you cut the carrots up to different sizes, they will impart varying degrees of flavors.

You don't want a uniform carrot slice. It will lead to each bite tasting the same. I am particularly in debt to the Jubilee Singers for two songs.

I have also used traditional gospel songs as my inspiration. Jesus Met the Woman at the Well is based from the traditional song by that same name, and is taken from John 4: Like the mythic Odysseus, the Tomato has traveled the world.

Entire national and ethnic cuisines have brought the tale of the tomato into their national consciousnesses.

Which is to say, the tale of Odysseus finds its way into many diverse jambalayas. The tale of Woody is based on the myth of Theseus, the Greek hero who defeats the Minotaur and travels to Athens to discover his real fathers.

Traditionally, a group of actors assemble as the Greek classic chorus to address the audience in a sort of monologue.

Although he is only one character and he does not speak in a monologue to the reader, he nevertheless tries to make Woody answer questions which are in the minds of the readers.

He is not always successful. If you read carefully, you will certainly find others. The use of Greek mythic structures as a vehicle for modern story telling was pioneered by James Joyce in Ulysses The entire novel occurs on June 16, in Dublin while Twisted Bayou ends on the same date.

Both novels utilize the stream of consciousness technique. Molly Bloom is said to symbolize, among other things, the land of Ireland Tymoczko The tomato never travels without its sword.

It's not afraid to shed its red essence, its veritable blood as all true heroes do in mythic tales. Woody and Deputy Hargrave trade insults in an Afro-American game called the dozens using sayings taken mostly from Hearn , except one doctor from Daigle The trickster tales are found all over the world.

The trickster in Native American stories is Coyote. Like Woody, Coyote plays tricks upon the unsuspecting; sometimes he is a buffon; occasionally he is evil; he is humorous when he wants to be; he is always clever.

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