Windmill Pulp: 1624, Part 3

The tape reeled on, clicking at intervals, clacking irregularly, nothing but analogue dust on the screen. I flipped channels, landing on a commercial about dish rags, high quality absorbent cleansing power. The woman had three of them in different colours, green, red and white, making up the Italian flag. Her husband was beside her helping, he was handsome and very happy. They were cleaning up after making several pots of some kind of tomato sauce. Not as special as my digital rag collection you fuckers. I switched back to channel 3, the channel that was supposed to output the video cassette signal. The number 3 glowed in neon green in the top right corner. Oh god this aesthetic takes me back I thought to myself. Panasonic, Toshiba, Sharp, Hitachi, my old media appliances were scattered around the old attic hangout room at my parents. I fiddled with the VCR plugs behind the tv, my face was sweating a bit from the humming of electric heat from all the indecipherable motors and tubes. 

Something clicked in with the plugs and the tv made a promising sound. I went back in front of the tv. Distorted vertical lines were pacing back and forth across the screen, shifting and blinking. The lines grouped into clusters and formed a pattern. They seemed to be representations of some kind of electronic data within the signals, a chart in some abstracted form. I had no way of knowing what data they could be communicating to me. The lines become vertical bars flowing across the screen up and down in waves. Unmistakably, it appeared to be a primitive candlestick price chart with a classical macro formation, a slow grind up with periodic pullbacks and one big final crash at the very right hand side of the screen. But what asset was it tracking and what's the price? I was likely random and meaningless, and I was forced to assume it was a projection from something within me. There was no other visible image, that is, one intended to be projected by the video cassette ribbon. Shit, I think. Oh well. 

I ejected the tape and held it in my hand. My fingers slid across the brittle black plastic shell. I looked at the wound up tape ribbon through the clear part, shiny and cool looking. I stuck my fingers into the white plastic gears and twisted them a bit, nothing happened. Then I twiddled my finger into the exposed portion of the ribbon on the side and it kinda pulled out loosely. One VHS tape in a stack of many. There was no case around this one and it had no label on it. Its contents were unknown to me. Oh well. I put it back on the shelf. I was alone and the attic room was silent. Even the blowing wind and waves outside were somehow silenced by the thin old window panes. Nostalgic bliss of childhood shivering rolled through my body.

What a pretty good feeling I thought. One of those feelings. Quite good. Not spectacular but just right. Could I want anything more? So much dissatisfaction in all the grinding and hustling of life, but here, right now, was a moment where it could all just end and I’d be happy about everything. I kept looking at my tapes, there must have been five thousand of them. Spanning all across the wall on a custom shelf my father had built me. Out here we always stayed one or two steps behind technology. I don't know why, just the way it was, and we were proud of our ability to be content with the older formats. Even looking down on those who could not be satisfied without the new thing. When everyone else was playing N64 and Playstation I was playing Nintendo and Super Nintendo. When everyone switched over to DVDs I used the plummeting prices of VHS to massively build up my collection. They were almost giving them away. And then they literally were. So many cool titles right here in front of me. I kind of went cross-eyed as I scanned over them, dumbing myself a bit. I wanted to let my imagination wander, maybe get subliminally influenced by the graphical titles on the spines of the cases, and conjure up a mood of the sort of movie I wanted to watch. The one I would select to enjoy right there in the attic on that spiritual machinery, somehow feeling more magical then the present technology, like my pixelated NFTs were real, normal reality, but this was some sort of ancient Egyptian steam engine deep inside the pyramids kind of stuff.

The plastic gears continued clicking in my mind, the ribbon rolling across my eyes. I was not trying to select a particular film quite yet, just following the settings and zones my imagination would settle into. I felt I could pause as long as I wanted. No one was watching me. I mention that to emphasise it was the exact opposite feeling one has when they feel, feel that they know someone is watching them. Just me. And outside the home, as I could see through the old windows, strewn with old insects and their traces, I was surrounded by endless water on three sides, except for some windmills in the distance, and seemingly endless forest on the other side. Truly alone. The sky was bright blue and the sun poured through the southwest window. I could see the dust in the air and the spines of the cassette cases were mostly illuminated. The only ones in proper darkness were the mis-shelved ones, shoved on top of the others deep into the back of the shelf, often without a case. I would ignore these ones, if  I could, I had already tried one and it failed me.

Mountain town life, ski hill drama, the snow and ice––a couple titles triggered this feeling, Ski School, Alive!. Not quite right, I continued drifting. I had the seismic pulse in my blood. I was ready to give in to video cassette indulgence. I could feel the world pumping through my blood. I just needed to figure out where I wanted to go. I wasn’t concerned whether it was comedy, action, thriller or drama. It was all about the setting, the landscape and time period. If it was the middle ages that was burning within me, I thought to myself, analysing myself and my selection process from an outside perspective, then it didn’t matter much if it was Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Passion of Joan of Arc or Andrei Rublev, at least as primary selection criteria. After I had selected these three candidates as mediaeval films, then I could narrow it down to one based on the particular merits suiting my mood. But it wasn’t the middle ages I wanted. It was too mythologized and spiritualized. It is necessary that reality be enchanted, but it all felt a little too played out for me in recent cultural days. Enchantment can only go so far, logistical interaction can build upon enchantment, use enchantment as its safety zone, but branch out and take us even further. Besides, there are other areas of history, and other cultures than European, other continents.  

I spotted some African looking graphics and font in the top left corner of the vast shelf, The Gods Must Be Crazy. Were we getting somewhere with this? I decided to roll along with it and kept looking. The African Queen caught my eye in the middle of the shelf almost immediately. Could be good for some relaxed indulgence, a nice river journey, an old steamer, the scenography of the continent. But a little too much on the romance, too direct and predictable, overtaking the African river which should itself be the central focus. Cobra Verda, could this be it? Taking me back to my youth, revelling in the badassery of Klaus Kinsky. But I could not pretend it was African, only partially taking place there. And then I came across a few titles from the Jungle Jim series. 1950’s children adventures in Africa kinda stuff, tigers filmed in the Florida swamp and bad actresses with big breasts. Nostalgic only if you could imagine yourself having been a child in the 50’s, maybe good for a viewing in a spur of the moment, wasting an hour of time kinda thing. Not worth it right now.

I noticed some National Geographic tapes and the first season of Planet Earth in the bottom right corner. Meh, I thought, a nature documentary, maybe if I was stoned. I hadn’t brought any weed with me. Then I wondered if there was some old stuff stashed around here somewhere. There probably was, knowing how I used to be, but I didn’t feel like looking. The Planet Earth sighting prompted me to give up and search online for some newer stuff to watch. But it was all so ideologically driven. Maybe the internet did kill cinema. Probably not, I concluded. I just wasn’t in the mood for anything anymore. I sat down on the dusty old sofa. Nothing to watch, nothing to think about. Even with all that cool equipment and access to anything I wanted, all the movies in the world, painstakingly created by a million cameras and teams and still, it was not enough. The tv was still on displaying its unique brand of a dead signal. But there's always a chart to watch, I thought. Like with my dad, there's always a sporting event to watch and doze off to. I pulled out my phone and started flipping through different charts on my watch list. Not trading anything. Just looking at them, resizing them, changing time frames, looking for any interesting set ups. But it didn’t really matter. The market was already pumping after a two month long draw down. I was already all-in, but mostly in bitcoin, I had missed most of the more profitable altcoin pumps. It sucked, but at least on the island I could be relaxed about it. It was august of 2021. I continued for a couple hours, suppressing my fomo and trying to content myself with my positions until my mom called up to me for dinner. I had forgotten she was even there. Blackened cajun walleye I had told her I wanted, my favourite. I was flying back to Europe the next day. The walleye wasn’t fresh, it was frozen. I had caught it a couple weeks ago, but it would still be delicious, coated in heavy amounts of spice and seared in butter in the cast iron. I could already detect the caramelising cayenne powder in the air from the slight irritation in my eyes.

***

From a bird’s eye view we see Joffrey’s trading compound sprawled out on the top of a foothill leading up to a much larger volcanic mountain. Below his hill the sugarcane fields and other crops tended by Chinese farmers begin and lead all the way up to the poorer neighbourhoods of Batavia just outside the city walls. His hill is not too steep and consists of variable terrain. Some areas are rocky with thin soil and support sparse shrub-like vegetation, while other more fertile areas are crowded with large trees. 

The most striking feature noticeable from above is the network of trails carved through the bush and trodden onto the rocky and grassy areas. They extend up and down the hill and diagonal and perpendicular in the pattern of some sort of demented spiderweb. They disappear down into the forest and fields and several go all the way up to the compound which appears to be the nucleus of the web with one section of trail leading tightly around the outer wall of the compound.

Although the trails are utilised by all sorts of animals from small mammals and rodents up to leopards and large tigers, who might not walk the trails directly, but creep through the bush and use them as ambush points, and also by Joffrey and his clan, the trails were predominantly created over many years by the large population of javan rhinoceroses who dominate the foothills.

The rhinos functioned as a sort of patrolling security unit for the compound. Their sharp dangerous horns and large heavy bodies were in constant circulation throughout the trail network and especially on the trail directly around the compound wall. Their presence helped ward off any would-be intruders from the city or countryside, especially the European settlers who had never seen such animals. Even armed men approaching through the trails felt they would not have the chance to defend themselves from a charging rhino in the dense bush who could easily surprise them. This is not to say they were in particular danger of being intruded upon, as they had permission from the VOC council to settle there and were on good terms with the native tribes and Chinese farmers, but it did provide some assurance of safety, including against the leopards and tigers who were afraid of the rhinos. But Joffrey and his household have never had any problems with the rhinos, leading many people to think they had some sort of special domestic relation, and when leaving their compound, they will often wait for a group of rhinos to take the path ahead of them, leading their way down like reconnaissance soldiers.

However, the rhinos were not consciously, or whatever conscience a rhino has, trying to protect them. Their obsessive territorial behaviour and almost religious dedication to this foothill and the area around the compound on top was not truly understood by anyone and was thus fascinating. It had been going on for as long as anyone knew and their trampling in a circle around the top had even created the sort of elevated plateau that made building the compound there so convenient. 

We can even see several rhinos circulating the trails right now and one with a large horn just outside the wall where, just on the other side, Joffrey is submerged in the cauldron bathtub, bathing away, as small as an ant from up here. Across the lawn and through some trees the main winged building stands out of the ground with walls of dutch brick and a straw roof with wooden beams. Inside, Claranti is waiting for Joffrey to get out of the tub and come inside. A Chinese courier has just delivered (for a danger fee) a letter addressed to Joffrey. She is holding the sealed envelope in her hand and ponderously pacing across the main room of their home. The room is furnished like something between a hunter’s lodge and a captain's room on a boat. Tiger and leopard pelts as well as lesser prized furs hang on the walls and carpet parts of the floor. Various animal horns, antlers, skulls and bones sit on shelves and wall mounts. Other animal parts such as eyes and organs are suspended on preserving liquids in glass vessels. And all about vellum and parchment charts and maps are scattered haphazardly. They seem to be mainly navigational in nature, but also include information plotted on an x and y axis with trend lines and mathematical calculations. Additionally, one can see navigational tools such as quadrants, sextants, astrolabs, cross-staffs and telescopes on and around the charts.

Claranti’s pacing through the rubble is not nervous and erratic, but cool and steady with a determined rhythm. Her eyes are sunken back in shadow and her nose penetrates from her face, catching the dim light with her shining hair. He doesn’t even seem to care, she mutters to herself as the tension rises. Her hands gear into motion and her finger slips into the fold of the envelope. The skin of her finger is smooth and wrinkles in the joints as it peels open the envelope. She unravels the letter, displaying its power. It’s from Joffrey’s wife, Lenora, her mistress. Her composer falters as she reads the name and she pauses as if she’s not sure her heart is still beating, but the rush of blood pumping visibly through her neck to her head sets her back into motion.

Her eyes twitching
ink running off the page
all the lettering dissolves into black blotches
the ink blotches cloud her mind
the blotches fill in the blank spaces
her forehead is filled with blank space
filling up with ink.

Her temples throb
she reads through it again and again
okay, it's not so bad
Lenora and the children are safe
but it could have been different.

Joffrey is safe in the tub
almost innocent, unaware of reality
innocent, if he wasn’t always so guilty
the scoundrel.

And she, Claranti is safe in their home
but there’s a pulsing in the earth
there's a pulsing in her ear
the acoustical skin
filled with blood
fuzzed with hair
receiving the echo of sound
on the vibrating hairs of her ear drum
savage drums beating a savage beat
in the Batavian rainforest.

A vail folds over in her mind
revealing a new space of thought
she and Joffrey were supposed to be there
on that ship with Lenora and the children
sailing away from this island forever
a dotted line on a faded map
their route set for Amsterdam
but Joffrey changed course at the last minute:

“The assassins failed to kill me at the port
I can’t give up now
just a few more trades
a few more deals
and my bags will be packed.
All my life's work, struggle
everything we’ve done here
will be worth nothing 
if we all go now.”

Lenora was the pale Dutch woman
on top of a jungle mountain
rejected by the land
not at home.

A european-markets girl
can’t use asian medicine
read the asian stars
she was afraid of the Chinese
afraid of colonial society.
The only white women who could stand it
were locked up in their manors
surrounded by slaves and riches
that would be unheard of back home.

Lenora didn’t want that
she needed that euro life
“I have to go back with the children
we won’t have many more chances 
it has to be now.”

Joffrey understood
it was as simple as making a trade
Lenora was doing what the chart told her
listen to the chart!

“And what about Claranti” she continued
“it won't be easy to get her the documents again.”
“Let me worry about the documents” he said
there's always a way to register.

Claranti recalled the feeling of be tossed around
dizzy
but there was a sense of relief
Joffrey needed her here
he couldn’t trade without her.

She was their connection to the land
brought up in the colonial empire
She’d been to Malacca, Taiwan, Ceylon and Borneo
knew the customs of Javan kingdoms
had adapted to all the ethic districts of Batavia
half Indian-Portuguese and half Javan
Most of all she had strong ties with the Chinese
a strong connection to the regional environment
and the southern stars. 

I’m the witch of the east indies, she thought
I would be lost in Europe
would my little European blood mean anything?
She swore she could feel that blood
its distinctive consistency in the pulse of her throat
she gulped
it was just a throat
just flesh.

She felt the blood ringing in her ear
her eardrum vibrates with a whisper
it was Lenora
pressing her self close to her
her breasts extra buoyant and stiffening into her
before she left
whispering close in her ear
“Claranti, the children
our children”
her eyes wet and cheeks glowing.
She had never referred to them as “our children” before
our children, meaning Lenora’s and her’s 
two mothers together.

She recalled their orgiastic rituals
there in the compound
sexual entanglements
making up the rites and motions as they went along
as sexual inclination and instinct dictated
From their deeply formed ideas
Of what rituals should be
Like children playing house
but acting as if they were set it stone
like rituals of a thousands year old religion.

Their own personal religion
body parts touching body parts
bodies opening up and taking in
mouths, nipples, genitals
contortions of limbs and appendages
a rhino skull soaked in oil
placed on a head
its two horn inserted
One long, one short
clouded in smoke
of burning herbs
of various asian origins.

Joffrey would impregnate Claranti
And through all the ritual
Lenora would become the mother.
Her and Joffrey’s children
two of them
a boy and a girl
and Claranti, a sort of midwife.

But the reality is always different from the plan
and self deception has a mind of its own
it wasn’t so deceptive or abnormal
but the three of them grew together
Claranti and Lenora cared for the children
and all were happy together

There was no denying the asian character of the children
a feverish colonial asian character
in there manners, their view and experience of life
there was no question of a lineage to this realm
and Claranti was the mother of this realm
this could mean nothing
but it meant something.

In their forced denial that it meant anything
It meant something
in the unshaken belief that their rituals were like baptism
It meant something.
and maybe they did work
but not in the way they thought.

“Our children”
Lenora had said to her
with full womanly charm
and now Claranti understood
her glow
infertile Lenora
was now pregnant
with her own child.

How could this be, she thought
was it the milk of her breast on Lenora’s lips
so to speak
a psycho-physical effect of their ritual?
She could not see magic welling up in Joffrey
in the state he’s been in
crushed by the falling market
exhausted, distracted and lifeless
in the impotence of bear market struggle.
Or was it something within Lenora herself?

As her trail of thought ended
Claranti realised all that mattered
was that she was an artefact 
carved of ivory and yellow mahogany
and put behind glass
for the curator’s privilege
branded, exposed
for Joffrey and Lenora to view
as she attended their parties.

She stood there empty before nothing
and realised she belonged
they were the confused ones
she was the glue
pulled at at torn
but reapplied.

She had the magic hand
slipping secretly between bodies
and stimulating growth
less power
but more control 
and now, joyously
their family would be complete.

Her train of thought ended again
confronting her reservations
about what would happen
and what was to be
and all that was sure
was the trampling rhinos
carving trails around their nucleus.