KAMDEN HILLIARD
American Cinema (1)
after Advance of Kansas Volunteers at Caloocan (1899)
i.
fresh out of Filipinos, Edison and his crew paid (poorly) for
african americans. which is why they march lack luster says
white film teacher.
can anyone white film teacher asks tell me
what might be revolutionary?
i like says the white girl in the first row how the rebels seem to be firing
into the audience like we are also in war. white film teacher agrees.
expounds. opens again any other thoughts? she asks.
our (only) black girl says the frame aligns us with the american
fighters. how? white film teacher asks. how?
ii.
rebels stuff
their guns
step and fire smoke fills the screen
rebels stuff
their guns
step and fire smoke smoke smoke
rebels stuff
their guns
smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke
rebels stuff
their smoke
and fall back like smoke sweating itself out
rebels stuff ed
with smoke
by the good ol boys
rebels stuff
the good ol boy waving a flag
with smoke he downs like smoke stroked with sun
rebels stuff
themselves back toward the trees
back toward the trees with blood heavy smoke
rebels stuff
is fucked up
the good ol boys have a new waving the flag new smoke
rebels stuff ed
into the edge of frame
poisoned pin pricks no smoke nothing left to burn.
iii.
From the thick underbrush where the Filipinos are massed comes volley after volley. They are making one of those determined stands that marks Caloocan as the bloodiest battle of the Filipino rebellion. Suddenly, with impetuous rush, Funston's men appear. They pause but for a moment, to fire, reload and fire. The color bearer falls, but the standard is caught up by brave Sergeant Squires and waves undaunted in the smoke and din of the receding battle. This is one of the best battle pictures ever made. The first firing is done directly toward the front of the picture, and the advance of the U.S. troops apparently through the screen is very exciting; the gradual disappearance of the fighters sustaining the interest to the end. 65 feet. $9.75.
--Thomas Edison
iv.
who doesnt love a good war? well perhaps
those getting shot. but then--who doesnt
love a good warflick? an opportunity to get
choked out then choked up. eyes water.
eyes always water. nickelodeons, some of
the first American theaters, could not show
certain films for fear of riot. and aint
that love? hold me back homie hold me
back ‘fore i dust this fucker. he dont even
know he aint even know.
v.
the Philippine-American war waged from 1899-1902
says wikipedia. an armed conflict between Philippine
“rebels” (yeah, those are air quotes) and the United
States. the war wound out as the United States employed
scorched earth tactics, as Corporal Sam Gillis notes:
We make everyone get into his house by seven p.m., and we only tell a man once. If he refuses we shoot him. We killed over 300 natives the first night. They tried to set the town on fire. If they fire a shot from the house we burn the house down and every house near it, and shoot the natives, so they are pretty quiet in town now.
vi.
Reflection: Last lecture we screened Advance of Kansas Volunteers at Caloocan (Edison, 1899). Please compose some thoughts on the techniques, visual elements, and symbolism at work. (open ended, 250-500 words)
two small details:
(a) Sergeant Squires is v super important
flagella of our shiny nationalism
but the negroes for hire have one too!
national gooey feeling even a flag waver!
(b) after the Americans shipwreck up on the screen
and take their first shot
the rebels vanish
we may attribute this shit
to a forgetful Edison
or smoke in through the wrong hole
vii.
Kansas did get p bloody. Kansas did get
p free. no slaves ever ever in this plane
old state. hot&preggers with grain. agro-
giant. Kansas volunteers as tribute. and
NO screams the mothers. no kill someone
else’s baby they think. america war machine
go dink dink dink. go these Filipinos want
a revolution, hm? during the Phil-American
war more civilians died than soldiers. oops.
troop morale is caustic and bored. genocide
i believe is a word. well so is winner-winner-
chicken-dinner-history-book-maker. not a word
but you feel me. the film reels is reeling me.
cause now the pictures move / shift in their
seats with melodrama.
notes from the port, anthropological thots: catalogue in 11
coming to a city near me that tofu stink again / hot pepper
and rot to ghost my nose awash in silent waves--
as delillo might describe them-- the language of radiation
how the dead speak to the living where we wait together
our carts stocked
with brightly colored goods
and it's not racist coworker
says under the street market’s bloody light it's not racist
to call it stinky tofu cause it's stinky which i might actually fuck
with because it's all coming back now not just what to read
but also how
how with the metro/tube/transport machines and how with the laws
never quite opaque enough how with the racisms how nigger nigger in our
strange theater? what context can decode my rage? and of all
these aberrations how is racist? how is for sure racist?
definitely the eyes like ginsberg’s Moloch whose eyes are a thousand
blind windows! whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets
like endless Jehovahs!
and fine not quite New York not quite
but this is Hong Kong and the eyes scritching my velcro folds
got me loud as fuck feeling pretty kill the master and marry his wife
i'm rife with desires: mcdonalds the boy back home a form of general
anonymity
~~~XXX~~~
but whatevz i'm here now i'm clearing now sawing through air
with body cause wood scrap makes good shrapnel
cause useful Hong Kong makes me
passing out of another study on young black queer male suicides
i'm cadaver-less and clearly less capitalistic under this thick limbed sun
because dead don't travel well and living makes these unravelling conditions sound so swell and someday way back home is waiting flashbacked
flush with the flame of rememory
and rolling up all at once it feels all like::
ma and i are about the last minute shopping and it's about the dessert
though it's not about the apple pie cause the apple pie is about
baseball which somehow makes my throat feel a bit noose-y
loosey goosey i am in hong kong not quite cut with homesick quease
but a lack of familiar tension though surprisingly well sourced today
it's the locals who giggle at me in the market: staring down
packaging like a very hungry spaghetti western hands holstered in flustration
wondering about the bruised apples the dehydrated cheese puffs
what delillo would notice through the misspelled american branding
~~~XXX~~~
an isotonic rehydration sport drink launched in Hong Kong in 2011.…specially formulated for those who enjoy a healthy and active lifestyle, suitable for…hot weather or sweating occasions.
—Coca-Cola corp.
faster than a speeding bullet my gullet poached with steam
Aquarius here to ply my wet dream. nine hunnit and twenty
milliliters of hydraulic lubrication and coca cola product to rock
my western ass to sleep crampless campless the woes
of my white whine and deedless hands like mrs. bishop knows:
travel is a needy needy boy but there's always you aquarius
kissing on my ethnic booboos my vegetarian barracuda
my constant reminder of capitalism like cigarette smoke
caught in cotton hong kong we poppin bottles of aquarius
ticking through the streets we bombed out hilarious the point
is product and ain't you one sharp ass star, aqua love?
quick prick in the dry mouth of sky 11 pins popping
the tumbler under my tongue all blue tasting thank you thank
you thou art a minor-love god all hydrating and completely recyclable
~~~XXX~~~
my tinder loves Hong Kong my tinder swipes right and takes
a quick rinse in adoration my tinder is bad for my ego my tinder
would not leggo this eggo-tistical situation for anyone [not even the
white woman who claims i have yellow fever which is def
racist]
always a form of variation always a boy always
something to look at throw a feeling and see if it lands anywhere
that might earn some trouble
so we go out we get fucked up we get up an alleyway and suddenly
it's gorgeous outside and filled with three scottish dudes and drinks
(double vodka with soda which should not be a thing but is and oh
are we thankful for the free drunk) until hes not that cute anymore
because now he wanna know if my dick is one a dem big organic
black dicks and my dumb drunk ears hear clear as a hart crane still
ringing a bell and my dumb drunk tongue snorts i'd rather be the kind
of person that has yellow fever than the kind that answers you with want
revision: i made out with him and the other two scots don't tell mama
or my friends also my coworkers aren't really that racist but i have points
to make baskets to weave tight and they deserve it anyway
some way walking around with that skin that club-invite-in
always giggling thick and shiny as ivy getting me weeded
got my whole spot fucked up and poorly seeded
~~~XXX~~~
the first time a person takes my picture in Hong Kong [without
my permission] i remember mrs alexander's poem about
her Boston year about living somewhere that isn't hers (as if
anywhere could be) how whenever she saw other colored people
in bookshops, or museums, or cafeterias, she'd gasp,
smile shyly, but they’d disappear before she spoke.
What would she have said to them? Come with me? Take me
home? Are you my mother? No.
,
and i feel it feel her (i wish)
here the bakeries are everywhere the whole world powered
by carbohydrate and carbon my spindly limbs melt
through the heat and camera lenses my body a disruption
and oddity here be the modern american negro come
see what fantastic work this ocean can bring
~~~XXX~~~
and always the ocean still the ocean not still the ocean
split by the Central ferry and the ocean split by Hawaii (read home
sweetened home) chinamans hat pushing the ocean elsewhere
and google will tell you with a quickness: more than 2,000 miles
from the nearest continental land mass, the Hawaiian Archipelago
is the most geographically isolated group of islands on Earth.
and i guess in this sense i'm acclimated the humidity always pressing
my buttons down and the anonymity always pressing me down
Hong Kong is half island and a familiar place to love a familiar place
to work that word around
until yeah the coworkers are a little tiny accidentally super fucking
racist until i'm tired and sad and [apparently] in need of a white woman
to save me and she just wants me to know [over blueberry yogurt]
that you should totes come to vacation with us you can stay for free
no one has to know anything don't even worry about money
and nah i get it that's a sweet offer why yes i would love to eat dinner
at the table with the rest of you
~~~XXX~~~
Hong Kong might be the world's best locale to stress shop or buy
yourself back like t hayes says you can tell what's important
to a culture by the size of its buildings and moloch aint got shit
on the malls i'm tellin ya shoe stores sock stores store stores
once my blister became sore in the doors of a Hong Kong mall
and i started crying but that could have been either my stiff throbbing
respect for HK capital or because this shit hurt a lot and mom
mom would know what to do where to be what to buy
~~~XXX~~~
and here's the heart of the nasty little wart the mole the poor sport
i'm drunk and drunkenly asked if i know that the guy buying me drinks
is a Mainlander and no i didn't / don't and am complicated in my understanding
of the question
until urban dictionary is all like: ahem excuse me lemme tell you
something
Mainlander (n): People from China. They are usually FOBs (fresh off the boat). They usually have shit loads of money to blow but has very little manners. Talks hella loud in public and talks Mandarine with a Bei Jing accent. They often wear terrible knock offs clothings like Nikke, Reboot, and Addadas without noticing it.
Those damn mainlander....piss off or crash your BMW and die!
i conclude my navel gazing and turn to the asker / Hong Kong nationalist /
racist / political theorist / random lady at the bar extraordinaire tell her
i know what it's like outside of the thing everyone else is under and
not to be vague but it is much more polite dontcha think?
because who wants to be that dude? crystal ball gazer of national origin
bathing still in memories of milk powder and sweat
this lovely urbane sleet
~~~XXX~~~
you don't know Hong Kong rain until the only thing you want
is an umbrella until you're willing to drop fifty usd on an umbrella
until you're willing to truck-stick a child from their makeshift shelter
in the states we call this CLOSE THE SCHOOL JESUS in Hong Kong
its called black rain in Hong Kong it's black all disruption and the government wants
to protect you therefore People having no safe place
to go may take temporary refuge in any of the special temporary shelters
opened by the Home Affairs Department.
my first flight to Hong Kong was rocked with rain as i stumbled to the
vacuum sealed bathroom
and instead of soap or lotion there was
a variant of skin lightening cream there was black rain pounding through
the airspaces
XXX
...meanwhile somewhere in Taiwan a fire arrived late
to the warehouse-turn up How rude and shameful
dude! I bet if the attendees knew they'd a finally done it:
bought the tassled orange tube top asked the guy
from the gym if he's busy this friday? cause there's this
cool color party thing at a warehouse ya know with
the powder and stuff it might be your thing it might not
just had to ask...
BUT NO YOU HAD TO GO FUCK THIS UP
with your oceans of chance what are my odds homie? char-
master? flip a coin for my continued function? i'm not mad just
DISAPPOINTED and yeah
i know i'm being irrational with my hot breath heaving
i'm all sweaty and thumbs i'm all waiting for it: my final destination /
rube goldberg machine hitting the outfield like someone who
already knows he's walking the long way home heady
with the sleep of a new parent (even in repose) waiting
for the impending scream in the plasticine night light
~~~XXX~~~
its always there
if carefully examined
another poor preposition / tense modifier
with the quick cliffhung
ma home from work eyes large and hungry
for error
of course yall forgot
the laundry / what if i forgot
the light bill?
and yeah she's right (again) it's always
something the loose thread
the sunset speckled with smog
it's gorgeous Hong Kong with so many
dogs unchained my shiny American fears
rattled as always just for me clearly
yes i am so interesting so blindingly staggeringly interesting
the dog must surely want my throat
my mother for a fur coat
but still HK buying everyone another round lookin
cute and shit
eclipsing my small personal concerns
anonymity like gum in the deconstruction machine
i couldn't dream of this many air conditioners
this many egg crate apartments holding whatever
this city allows the knowledge to walk
ex-ployment
about ☐ of the time
[yeezus knows of the other
two]
its not just leaving the hometown or piledriver
and assorted positions
but a true closure
the elbows firetruck fading out
to a scar
first Africans
then cargo
and eventually smoke and College Dropouts
the gatekeepers [in their assorted capacities]
were not fired but wandered off
when the openings calcified
my drinking started to mother when the factory
learned fingerhuman magic when the system
updated me homebound
all conscious negroes in America
must choose: remain near the gate of departure at all times
flights of terror are subject to change
or
sorry
were you saying something?
bright hawaiian christmas day
here im confused by social cues bluesy under a winter colder
than kanye’s [NOT summer in San Francisco mr twain] but december
trimmed in the hawaiian way to say merry christmas to youuuuuu
which is ironic
the whole hawaiian way to say steeltoe and sugarcane but no matter
i have these sand fleas / fruitcakes syncopated with a depressive binge
or twelve through the days
though i still love it
home of course pocked with assorted hapa boys
urban dictionary describes them: of mixed racial heritage
with partial roots in Asian and/or Pacific Islander ancestry
also defined as: generally part caucasian
cause anywhere with christmas trees is also somewhere
overrun with white folk the writer of mele kalikimaka and i
attended the same volcanic preparatory proving ground
whose school song limps to the tune of O Christmas
Tree, O Christmas Tree
tbqh its a bit odd for me to celebrate a white chocolate baby’s religion
when its the spray bottle to my cat like reflexes theres nothing
quite like christianity in hawaiian to make me feel
like nigger jim music has this way of plucking the heartstring
by the collar
as education requires a degree of acquiescence mele kalikimaka
required concession required creativity and creation
the hawaiian alphabet has no sound for the english /s/
and as such we bite the bullet and speak it easy
we get as close as we can manage just under the upward limit
of erasure
we have these words and sounds because they each mean
something something we need to mean i say sugar
because im trying to be sweet about this but also because
its white (usually) and no one likes talking about how /x/
had to be invented in hawaii along with the word annexation
Punahou alum Robert Alexander Anderson isnt wrong
Here we do know that Christmas will be green and bright the sun
to shine by day and all the stars at night but arent the rest
of the days gorgeous too? manoa’s valley squinting up toward sky
so blue it begs for creation for sound like so many others
like men who arrive on a shore and begin dispatching words for
mine for yours for isnt this fun? dont you love this song?
blues clues
for P.
why you anyway? why massa of ceremonies? is your
name blue? show them blues sing me a sad song
Steve thought so you just maybe ought not with
the flashing lights and educational slight of hand
children arent dumb though we’d like them to be
they just dont understand sorrow or possibility: what can
be swept under the rug versus what should be versus
what it means to feel sweepable my mother
does not tolerate namecalling especially dog because ‘Merica
so when the current boy [lush with barsweat] asks if
im hung like a horse im both scared of the white sheets
and three to the wind solve that Steve ask the toaster
perhaps the rug ill crawl from under in the morning
whose fault is that Steve? look! right now! out
the window! past the mail and always greener grass
theres me peeping uncle tom always outside the box /
tv show / textbook because dogs are bad shedding
shitting on the floor again we were the kind of black
that went from blue's clues to fresh prince a school
of blind queues and poorly hidden evidence of crime
ohhhhh Blue! growled cyan with shame
the dog has in common with the brown body an American
necessity of name of ownership and housebreaking
even Blue maintains a fetching vocabulary of barks
12
my silly coats constant with the switch swishing from Drake
to Derrida to Drake bell and bell hooks so yeah fuck you Steve
with these conspicuous clues how you think folk look
beside crazy? these elephants and room? who hasnt felt
horse hung and buyable under strobe? oh just me
and the other former products? my bad perhaps
we have all slipped out of the barnes and noble bathroom
trailing toilet paper or been asked if you guys have
any more copies of Beloved? i need it for class tomorrow
k thx and lets look for a clue! does my all brown everything
jeans / converse / skin / boyfriend give it away? any ideas
bookshelf? no? what about you
Steve? oblivious ass book buyer?
Kamden Hilliard goes by Kam and has received fellowships from The Davidson Institute and Callaloo. His chapbook, DISTRESS TOLERANCE, is forthcoming in early 2016 from Magic Helicopter Press. He is the recipient of the 2015 Stanley and Evelyn Lipkin Poetry Prize and wants you to take him seriously. Kam is a co-editor at JELLYFISH MAGAZINE and his work has appeared in (or will drift into) Juked, The Sakura Review, The Atlas Review, and other lovely places. He has no chill and wonders if you’ve got some to spare. He tweets sporadically @KamdenHilliard.