Post by Anna Rocks \m/ on Oct 19, 2005 13:35:16 GMT -5
We find ourselves amongst the wreckage of the infamous Hurricane Katrina. All signs of plant life have browned with the smothering of the polluted waters. The air holds a stench of rotten food and life. The streets suggest that this town has been deserted for hundreds of years. It is New Orleans, once a vibrant city of culture and history, now a desolate blemish upon Louisiana’s great southern attraction. The streets of the Garden District of New Orleans very only slightly from that of the lower Ninth ward or even Lakeview. The houses and lawns are still in decent livable shape. The rich colors of the vegetation still create a picturesque scene for all visitors, although the colors are fading with seasonal change. Amongst the still standing homes on rue de Jardin is that of the greatest in magnitude form. However, it seems that Katrina’s wrath has done more than rip a few shingles from the roof. She has inspired. The camera angles in towards a large white Greek Revival Plantation home at the end of the rue de Jardin. It is as if this home is the “center” of the community. The porch stretches from end to end of the home. Debris is scattered here and there. Atop the second story, is a balcony. On this balcony we find the inspired.
Camera focuses in on the lady standing against the cast iron railing of her second story balcony. She carries the persona of the typical wealthy Creole or Cajun. She is dawned in a flowy white sundress. Although it is the month of October, the weather is still unnaturally warm in Louisiana.
Msytery Woman: Isn’t it beautiful? I can see past the ironclad gates and into the streets of uptown New Orleans. I used to sit here as a child and just stare into the night. Distantly I could here the sad songs of the jazz musicians speaking to my heart. And now, even though the city is nothing anymore but a burden for the national government….the beauty still shines.
Slight tears form in her eyes.
Mystery Woman:The transcendentalists of the early nineteenth century believed in a philosophy called the doctrine of correspondence. This doctrine said that everything in nature corresponds with the human world. For instance, She points to a distant view of the Mississippi delta the mighty Mississippi that still flows through this state and into the gulf, despite the wreckage and the cries for help, corresponds with those who fled this parish and others. They still live on although some have nothing to come home to. A hurricane so powerful and unstoppable comes without any reason or motive…it is simply natures way…and it destroys a beautiful old city with such history and such a rich culture. It strands hundreds of thousands without food, water, and power…it does its destruction and moves on. Never once looking back. Never once feeling sorry for those it has hurt. What does this correspond to?
She turns around to face the camera head on. Her dark auburn eyes seem to dance wildly with the fascination upon her face.
Mystery woman: I’m sure the transcendentalists would have said something clever like, this corresponds to the human nature of no remorse. How we go about our lives doing what we must to be what me strive to be. Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest, n’est pas? We as humans lower ourselves to certain levels or extremes to get our point across. If we strive for glory we will do all it takes…even fight our own brothers and sons to stand up for what we believe in. If we want wealth, we will bust our asses at dead beat jobs, work long hours for an uptight rich man who has never worked a hard day in his life, all for a minimum pay.
She walks inside the French doors and into a vibrant study filled with many French antiques. She places her hand onto a marble sculpture of the Greek Goddes Athena.
Mystery woman: If we desire the love of a beautiful woman, we woo her with flowers and poems. We furnish her with words of love and desire all to make her heart flutter with uncanny thoughts of a happy fairytale life. If we are stricken with hunger we hunt for food like animals preying in the wild. We stop at nothing until we have proven ourselves fit. Such is the human nature, always in a constant battle to prove ourselves are we not? We want to be the best; we want to have all the power in the world in the palm of our hands.
She pushes the marble bust onto the hardwood flooring shattering it into a thousand white dusty pieces. She smirks and moves from that room into the large hallway where many portraits of past relatives are hanging. She stops beneath a portrait dating back to 1865.
Woman: My great-great-great grandfather Viktor de Dumonde. He built this house in which I stand before you today. Viktor was a wealthy mulatto man. One of a few in his day. He happened by chance upon a natural gas pool and hence forth became the founder of my family’s wealth.
She continues to a next portrait dating to the late 1800s and early 1900s.
Woman: My great-great grandfather Frederick de Dumonde. He spent his entire life doing nothing more than riding upon the tailcoats of the empire his father had began. He worked no long hours and never once broke a sweat from anything more than dancing for too long with the “cheres dans la ville.” What every man dreams of. This next painting is my great-grandfather Henri de Dumonde. He was hanged for treason.
She continues on through the corridor until she stops amongst three more current portraits. One of a charming Cajun woman that could very well pass as her double, a young man with striking features and a bold Creole face, and a portrait of a younger version of our mystery lady.
Woman: Grandmother Hart, the first only daughter of the de Dumonde family. She took over the male dominated wealth my great-great-great grandfather happened by chance into and turned it into an empire by starting Hart’s Natural Gas Incorporated, Louisiana’s dominating gas supplier. My father Richard Hart, current owner and shot caller of this business. Taking everything my grandmother built and expanding it. And “C’est moi…” Alora Renee Hart, the second only daughter born to the de Dumonde and Hart family. I am the heir to an industry that was for decades just money in the bank. I am the heir to a world that was created by indestructible nature…found by man….shaped by woman…and exploited by man. I am the heir to everything we as humans strive to have or strive to be one day. The top of the food chain. The fittest of them all. The wealthy man with power that leers over the rest in the wild…
She continues out of the hallway and down the stairs into a wrecked entrance way. The entire bottom level of the plantation is filled with standing sewage water and destroyed relics. The front walls of the living area are crumbling. The furniture and fancy rugs are ruined with the polluted water. The air reeks of mildew and rotten life. Alora Hart stops at the bottom stair and looks upon her lower level of her home.
Alora Hart:…And yet, I want more. I was born into my destiny, but the thought of it sickens me. Why should I do as those before me and dwell in my inherited money? Is it wrong to want more when you have all this?
She playfully smiles and extends her hand out to show the wreckage of the lower level of the home.
Alora Hart: Valor, I introduce to you She begins as she makes her way sloshing carefully through the water and towards the oak door. Alora Hart. Louisiana debutante by birth, rebellious beauty by choice. For my entire 23 years of life, I have been the social butterfly; I have had the wealth and power that men spend years working for. For 23 years I have loathed it all. The question keeps arising, why Havok? What could this beauty possibly want with that beast? She is everything he is not. The answer is simple, for too long this world has been filled with the hatred of man. It is only now that a woman’s touch will ease the destruction caused by men.
Alora walks onto the lawn and down the pathway to the gate. She steps over fallen limbs and other debris as she leaves her plantation home life behind both metaphorically and physically.
Alora Hart: He may not be price charming, but he has heart. That is the best quality any man could have. And so, I align myself beside him. Because before every great woman stands a great man.
She straightens her face from the sinisterly playful to a firm and focused look as she exits her family’s land and begins her walk down the rue de Jardin. She stops and turns back to the home as it sits the “center” of the community. She takes in the last looks of her life and lowers her head. She smiles to herself and then continues back on her way.
Camera focuses in on the lady standing against the cast iron railing of her second story balcony. She carries the persona of the typical wealthy Creole or Cajun. She is dawned in a flowy white sundress. Although it is the month of October, the weather is still unnaturally warm in Louisiana.
Msytery Woman: Isn’t it beautiful? I can see past the ironclad gates and into the streets of uptown New Orleans. I used to sit here as a child and just stare into the night. Distantly I could here the sad songs of the jazz musicians speaking to my heart. And now, even though the city is nothing anymore but a burden for the national government….the beauty still shines.
Slight tears form in her eyes.
Mystery Woman:The transcendentalists of the early nineteenth century believed in a philosophy called the doctrine of correspondence. This doctrine said that everything in nature corresponds with the human world. For instance, She points to a distant view of the Mississippi delta the mighty Mississippi that still flows through this state and into the gulf, despite the wreckage and the cries for help, corresponds with those who fled this parish and others. They still live on although some have nothing to come home to. A hurricane so powerful and unstoppable comes without any reason or motive…it is simply natures way…and it destroys a beautiful old city with such history and such a rich culture. It strands hundreds of thousands without food, water, and power…it does its destruction and moves on. Never once looking back. Never once feeling sorry for those it has hurt. What does this correspond to?
She turns around to face the camera head on. Her dark auburn eyes seem to dance wildly with the fascination upon her face.
Mystery woman: I’m sure the transcendentalists would have said something clever like, this corresponds to the human nature of no remorse. How we go about our lives doing what we must to be what me strive to be. Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest, n’est pas? We as humans lower ourselves to certain levels or extremes to get our point across. If we strive for glory we will do all it takes…even fight our own brothers and sons to stand up for what we believe in. If we want wealth, we will bust our asses at dead beat jobs, work long hours for an uptight rich man who has never worked a hard day in his life, all for a minimum pay.
She walks inside the French doors and into a vibrant study filled with many French antiques. She places her hand onto a marble sculpture of the Greek Goddes Athena.
Mystery woman: If we desire the love of a beautiful woman, we woo her with flowers and poems. We furnish her with words of love and desire all to make her heart flutter with uncanny thoughts of a happy fairytale life. If we are stricken with hunger we hunt for food like animals preying in the wild. We stop at nothing until we have proven ourselves fit. Such is the human nature, always in a constant battle to prove ourselves are we not? We want to be the best; we want to have all the power in the world in the palm of our hands.
She pushes the marble bust onto the hardwood flooring shattering it into a thousand white dusty pieces. She smirks and moves from that room into the large hallway where many portraits of past relatives are hanging. She stops beneath a portrait dating back to 1865.
Woman: My great-great-great grandfather Viktor de Dumonde. He built this house in which I stand before you today. Viktor was a wealthy mulatto man. One of a few in his day. He happened by chance upon a natural gas pool and hence forth became the founder of my family’s wealth.
She continues to a next portrait dating to the late 1800s and early 1900s.
Woman: My great-great grandfather Frederick de Dumonde. He spent his entire life doing nothing more than riding upon the tailcoats of the empire his father had began. He worked no long hours and never once broke a sweat from anything more than dancing for too long with the “cheres dans la ville.” What every man dreams of. This next painting is my great-grandfather Henri de Dumonde. He was hanged for treason.
She continues on through the corridor until she stops amongst three more current portraits. One of a charming Cajun woman that could very well pass as her double, a young man with striking features and a bold Creole face, and a portrait of a younger version of our mystery lady.
Woman: Grandmother Hart, the first only daughter of the de Dumonde family. She took over the male dominated wealth my great-great-great grandfather happened by chance into and turned it into an empire by starting Hart’s Natural Gas Incorporated, Louisiana’s dominating gas supplier. My father Richard Hart, current owner and shot caller of this business. Taking everything my grandmother built and expanding it. And “C’est moi…” Alora Renee Hart, the second only daughter born to the de Dumonde and Hart family. I am the heir to an industry that was for decades just money in the bank. I am the heir to a world that was created by indestructible nature…found by man….shaped by woman…and exploited by man. I am the heir to everything we as humans strive to have or strive to be one day. The top of the food chain. The fittest of them all. The wealthy man with power that leers over the rest in the wild…
She continues out of the hallway and down the stairs into a wrecked entrance way. The entire bottom level of the plantation is filled with standing sewage water and destroyed relics. The front walls of the living area are crumbling. The furniture and fancy rugs are ruined with the polluted water. The air reeks of mildew and rotten life. Alora Hart stops at the bottom stair and looks upon her lower level of her home.
Alora Hart:…And yet, I want more. I was born into my destiny, but the thought of it sickens me. Why should I do as those before me and dwell in my inherited money? Is it wrong to want more when you have all this?
She playfully smiles and extends her hand out to show the wreckage of the lower level of the home.
Alora Hart: Valor, I introduce to you She begins as she makes her way sloshing carefully through the water and towards the oak door. Alora Hart. Louisiana debutante by birth, rebellious beauty by choice. For my entire 23 years of life, I have been the social butterfly; I have had the wealth and power that men spend years working for. For 23 years I have loathed it all. The question keeps arising, why Havok? What could this beauty possibly want with that beast? She is everything he is not. The answer is simple, for too long this world has been filled with the hatred of man. It is only now that a woman’s touch will ease the destruction caused by men.
Alora walks onto the lawn and down the pathway to the gate. She steps over fallen limbs and other debris as she leaves her plantation home life behind both metaphorically and physically.
Alora Hart: He may not be price charming, but he has heart. That is the best quality any man could have. And so, I align myself beside him. Because before every great woman stands a great man.
She straightens her face from the sinisterly playful to a firm and focused look as she exits her family’s land and begins her walk down the rue de Jardin. She stops and turns back to the home as it sits the “center” of the community. She takes in the last looks of her life and lowers her head. She smiles to herself and then continues back on her way.
