Homo Scan

In April of 2009 Johnny Zombie from Palm Beach sent me to Russia to speak with his customers about their non-payment for merchandise. My friends in New York thought that these Russki 'businessmen' would kill me, but I had a band member from Aquarium for my companion. Everyone loved that band.

Seve dropped at the airport and I gave him $100 for his efforts.

"Hope to see you soon."

The cellist was good people.

After passing through immigration I approached the security check and was surprised to see a large machine for screening my body.

HOMO SCAN

Russia was notoriously homophobic and I had many gay friends. Some of them had to rub off on me, however I passed the examination without a hitch.

A customs officer later said that HOMO SCAN detected bombs.

I had none of those.

Only a slight lisp whenever I had a few drinks. It goes nicely with my stutter and Boston accent.

And the beer at the Petersburg Aeroport was dirt cheap.

"One more beer, pleasssse."

I could lisp all I wanted.

I had passed the HOMO SCAN.

In the eyes of Russia I was straight.

Heading To Virginia

Last Thursday I headed south to Virginia.

I was marrying Paige and Stephen.

In Richmond.

The bus ran at 70 through New Jersey.

It was a boring ride.

I hate Bruce.

I hate THE SOPRANOS.

I hate the Jersey Shore.

I fell asleep.

I woke up at the Delaware River.

I went back to sleep on the southern bank.

I-95 existed for ten miles in Delaware.

I skipped the rest stop.

The shitty pizza was $6.99

The Susquehanna sourced to the north.

It was the longest river on the East Coast.

The Latter-Day Saints performed their first rituals in its waters.

According to family legend I was related to Joseph Smith.

I never saw the resemblance.

Others including Mormons disagreed.

We were both New England born, but now I was entering the south.

Baltimore.

Home of Divine.

She was a slut.

We miss her so.

The Salt alps of Baltimore.

More sleep.

I rose from the dead in the South.

In Peterburg, VA.

In front of a rim shop.

I said nothing. There was no one to say anything to near midnight.

Only more rims.

The Battle of the Crater

On July 30, 1864 Union miners lit a massive bomb underneath Confederate lines defending the transportation center, Petersburg. The mine of 320 kegs of gunpowder comprised of 8,000 pounds and were buried twenty feet below the trenches. The explosion killed several hundred Southern troops and wounded many more, however the Union attack was delayed, giving the survivors of the blast time to rally their forces and throughout the morning the Rebels shoot pointblank down into the crater at the heaving mass of Federal soldiers, black and white. The attack was called off, but not before Mars had reaped his crop of death.

So much slaughter over such a small piece of ground.

170 feet (52 m) long, 100 to 120 feet (30 to 37 m) wide, and at least 30 feet (9 m) deep.

Over 5000 casualties, mostly Northern.

Grant wrote to Chief of Staff Henry W. Halleck, "It was the saddest affair I have witnessed in this war."

The killing ground is now covered by grass.

And the dead are at rest.