In Washington, Polk was having to deal with his fellow Democrats who were howling for more territory. Trist remained for several months during the summer of 1847 but found Santa Anna “reluctant” to yield up half his country. Once the US captured Mexico City Polk sent Nicholas Trist to negotiate surrender terms from Santa Anna. In the end it was this debate that split the country and brought civil war. The acquision of Mexico was such a big deal because it raised the debate over the balance of power between slave holding South and the North and the spread or limitation of slavery. Polk ran on this platform and it was mostly Southerns who fought for Mexico. Although some hardline Democrats wanted, “54°, 40’ or fight.” Polk, a Democrat, and slave-holder used his one term from 1836?-1840? to acquire more terrritory then any other President, gaining Mexico north of the Rio Grande and settling the US boundry with Canada at 49 deg. These notes are intended not as an original history of the time but simply as notes from a book by another author.Ĭhapter 1: The United States at MidcenturyĪs Ralph Waldo Emerson said, Mexico will posion us. Much of the prose is directly plagerized and I make no claim to the contary. Note: The following are notes that are intended to be readable but not necessarily good writing. Let's just go, okay, okay.Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era by James McPherson You hold her hand as you walk past 7-11 and say, "Okay, okay sorry, so selfish, let's go, okay let's go. All we need are Dos Gusanos this afternoon" and you're fading fast. Take a look around everybody is sad as you. We'll finish off the bottle and the agaves too. She tries one last time, singing the old songs, singing, "Come away with me. Your muscles fade and flesh falls off the bone, drops like fruit gone to rot. You shake your pill bottle and toss it in your jacket pocket. You wear the pants and sweaters and shirts of an old man. You look for something to lead you from the dark. And you read religious text-the Bible, Koran or fictionalized tales of End Times, Thich Nhat Hanh, giddy Buddhist koans, Krishna, book of Mormon, the Torah. Chang gave you, but faking happy every night.
You're fighting it though, eating the pills Dr. She's driving you to go wild, to be good and be crazy. Then comes chill of dawn with light over purple hills to the east and you pull the covers back up your face is a swollen mess. Drink 'til everything goes muffled and warm and good and you sing to yourself and rock happy and alone on the couch. But she's off with the older kids across the club, in the back of the bar, the ones who've figured it out … while you seek the dark spots and rotting, doomed faces destined to grow old and sit in hospital beds connected to tubes and wires, yellow piss bags, sludged shit, coughing a paint can rattle, wondering if it was worth it and whether they could've done better. They buy you drinks because your name is in the magazines they read. "I feel like getting in a car and driving away," she says.ĭon't leave me, don't leave me, you don't leave me, don't you leave me, don't leave.Īt night, at clubs and bars, you drink with friends. "What do you need me for anymore?" she says. "I feel like I've got a demon in my head," you say. "We need to get out of this city," she says.
"You need to go to the doctor," she says. "Nothing I once loved makes me happy anymore," you say. "I feel like a bird in a cage," she says. "I don't know what's wrong with me," you say. "You haven't been happy in months," she says. Shadowed reapers crouch on wheelbarrowed mine tracks or lie lurking in mine cars, phantom great-grandfathers, black-eyed, Slavic, square-faced, gray-haired, beckoning with crook of finger saying, "Have a drink with me, kid. With late winter comes spiders in your synapses skittering down brain tubes to eat at happiness, ideas, sex drive, energy, ambition, passion-youth gone shriveled and frozen like rock gravel crunching beneath your sneakers and you're walking to that mine that killed your great-grandfather, black-lunged Pennsylvania coal mine, its mouth empty and fanged, and its throat runs straight down. The wine bottle is rising from between your legs like a dark-glassed lighthouse and you laugh, your teeth slop red-black of wine and crooked smile.
0 kommentar(er)
