by Bodwyn Wook
Ghastly City, Ghostly Region
INDIAN-Haunted Old Mankato, Minnesota, brooding under its rotting mansard rooves, was the cock-pit of nineteenth-century North American ethnic war and race-murder and optimistic progress. To-day, in its agricultural-chemical blasted southern-most bend of the Minnesota River Valley, Mankato’s tumbledown once-noble business fronts and ruined centuried dwellings in Old Lincoln Park are the true relicts, of a long-ago and now-entirely-departed prosperity. The dim, few and furtive, all-oddly-deformed figures of to-day, to be made out skulking in the city’s mean streets, whether a-mid the murderous blasts of January storm or beneath the broiling stinking air-inversions of dog-days’ August, lunge at the startled from-out-of-town visitor and give dire credence to the whispered reports of seven generations of upland prairie-farmer wives. The guttural inarticulate offers of every sort of drug and hideous prostitution figure in the horrific tales well-known to anthropologists but otherwise suppressed in the public media of information, of the wide-spread Minnesota Valley population-degeneracy. It is altogether the appalling and hair-raising record of a brutal and relentless decline, which down-fall the best efforts since the early 1960s of three generations now of imported and professionally-credentialled city-managers, all sponsored by lavish subventions of liberal funding for nigh on fifty years, have nevertheless been entirely powerless to stem. To-day, the collapsing city is yet home to a precarious and diseased collegiate and transitory population of drunken and drugged, systematically robbed and debauched and ruined, undergraduates. These are deceived and lured and inveigled whilst yet in highschool far away, to enroll on the basis of expensive loans in the regional state teachers’ college cum ‘university’, here. Their naive and trustful parents at long-distance are completely bamboozled by slick dishonest specimens of the printer’s lying arts and wickedly false ‘web-sites’, run by servers in cis-transylvane Roumania and sly Kirghizistan, and all of these of the most-entirely-false character. Their far-away families thus despicably lulled, young trapped students toiling here grimly just to keep alive from one day to the next and menaced at every turn by drugs over-dosage and police tasering, now pledge away for-ever all hope of any future prosperity whatsoever of their own, all to indebtedness to-day, all in aid of outright lies and lurid false promises, and all to naught save in support of the sham and lunatic pretensions, of a vile and corrupt and vicious, hollow, professorate. As well during their bitter sojourn in the soi-disant ‘Minnesota State University’, the students and co-eds there are shamelessly ordered about at every point of the compass, by a sneering satanic graduate school-full of venal and wicked, salacious, teaching-assistants none-up-to-the-mark, monkey-faced and with the moral character of approximately so many thwarted and crazed, sociopathic, megalomaniacs. So a callow youth are cheated and abused at every turning. Ill-y housed and sometimes burnt to death alive in the miles of ramshackle 150-year-old tenements, the hapless students in this grotesque ‘state university’ (no Latin, and less Greek!) in Old Mankato are gulled at every turn by rapacious landlords, and every night poisoned to with-in an inch of their waning lives by phenolic draughts of industrial cheaply-vended alcohols. These evil poisons are dispensed by as foul and loathsome a gang of bar-keepers as ever infested any city of America or Europe, and the grim and joyless, diurnal, debauch is nightly supervised with electrical prods, imitation gutta-percha clubs and poison sprays, by a satanic sneering police force, simian of aspect and with the approximate capacity for any moral character whatsoever of just so many sociopathic and crazed, thwarted, megalomaniacs. Altogether truly ’tis so, Old Mankato in its reeking eye-burning valley in southern Minnesota, by the curious Englishman or European of to-day rightly is to be deemed the veritable post-contemporary microcosm, and wholly so in its own grim terms of the titanic passing away, utterly and for eternity, of the dying entire Old Atlantic West, plunging now in night and fog, and down to dis-remembered foreverness forgotten, all forgotten.
(Your interest and contributions to revealing in full the secret history of our region, all is most gratefully welcomed; and, your confidentially is entirely assured: we will print any submissions only under the pseudonym[s] of your choice and as provided by you — ed)
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 13 July 2008]