carhenge

A Shakespearean Rag
(A Techno-Parable)

by Frank H. W. Edler

Photograph by Diego Meozzi

Hotspur:
Look there, York!
Cast thine eyes upon
the fair Plain of Salis-
bury! It hath always
had great truck with me.

York:
[aside] Methinks he doth
propose a queer sense
of trucking! Sirah, best
get thyself to a
nunnery! [to Hotspur]
My Lord, it doth
present a truckly
aspect.

Hotspur:
Mark the scene well,
York. Some awful
invention haunts
yonder celestial engine.

                                                                                       York:
                                                                     [aside] Truck and more                                                                      truck! When will this                                                                      metaphor end?

Hotspur:
What, ho! How
now! a rat! This be
no Plain of Salis-
bury! And that no
Stonehenge! [rubbing
his eyes] What
mischievous sprite
hath cast a spell on
us? Our emerald isle
is no more!

York:
Nay, nay, my lord!
The heavens are yet
the heavens! Thy
sight hath been
tricked to another
apparition, yet
Stonehenge doth still
stand before us!

Hotspur:
Canst thou cipher
this weird land? O, I
am bereft of dis-
course! My words
are as brittle as
yonder meadow and
will not bundle.They
will have no truck
with this carrioned
place.

York:
[aside] A pox on the
word 'truck'! [to
Hotspur] Say no more,
my lord! Methinks
crusaders have spoken
of the Holy Land as
such a scorched
locality and --

                                                                                            Hotspur:
                                                                         Foreslow thy tongue,
                                                                         York! Stonehenge
                                                                         beckons. Let us go
                                                                         and make our visit.

                                                                                            York:
                                                                         [aside] His saying                                                                          hath a familiar ring,                                                                          but I cannot place it.                                                                          [to Hotspur] Caution,                                                                          my lord, this blasted                                                                          place hath a strange                                                                          intelligence.

                                                          [They proceed cautiously toward "Stonehenge."]

York:
My lord! My lord!
What ho! What
monstrous harpie hath
reshaped these
noble stones? It hath
the outward look of
Stonehenge yet,
within, it hath the air
of hagseed gone
astray. O, my senses
are all impeached!

Hotspur:
What infernal
concatenation of
wagons! If they be
wagons! What
thinkest thou,
York?

York:
My lord, it doth have
the look of a grave-
yard for Phoebus' cars
hurled from above to
form the celestial
aspect of Stone-
henge. The force of
the throw hath
planted some like great
trees imprisoned in the
earth.

Hotspur:
Or for hell-hounds
struck dumb by
God's holy wrath.
Mark the grimace
frozen upon the
countenance of
yonder beast with
teeth yet bared in
unholy defiance!
Seest thou now the
reason for my
non-truck with this
fiendish device,
good York?

York:
[aside] Truck,
schmuck! The man
hath lost his wit in
truck; the air is filthy
with truck! Methinks
it time to launch a
device of mine own.
[to Hotspur] My
lord, thy keen intellect
hath forever marked
this fiendish plot of
ground as a truck-
stop.

Hotspur:
By Jupiter, York, thou
hast hit the mark! Tis
true! All truck stoppeth
here. Ashen are these
wagon-beasts, stony in
their countenance as
though they had gazed
upon the visage of
Medusa herself!

York:
[aside] Tis no use!
Methinks his ear is as
fixed as yon stone beasts.
[to Hotspur] Let us
make haste, my lord! Let
us away, lest we too are
counted among the
un-trucked. By your leave,
my lord, let us truck
forth! [aside] O, I am
trucked to death!