GR translation: will it still go on emanating its hooded cold

[David Morris]

Very nice exposition on the hooded cold.  The sinister, occult aspects
especially, because only surmised, imagined in the rear view mirror of
memory and imagination.

BTW, the image of a fiery blockade of sea invasion reminds me of the Game
of Thrones episode where the same happened, but not via pipes.

On Sunday, November 18, 2012, Monte Davis wrote:

> Primary: as if the cold itself were dressed for winter. Secondary: hoods
> are associated with monks, Black Riders, mysterious and sinister people who
> don’t want to be identified – like the denizens of the White Visitation.**
> **
>
> ** **
>
> By the way, this use of “hypergolic” always struck me as odd: it describes
> chemicals that ignite spontaneously when combined, needing no spark or
> flame to start the reaction. There were tests of hypergolic propellants at
> Peenemunde, but (1) the A4/V-2 didn’t use them, and (2) the “set the water
> on fire” defense scheme against German invasion wasn’t hypergolic: once the
> oil coated the water, it would have needed a flare or other ignition source
> to burn.****
>
> ** **
>
> Maybe he just liked the sound of the word.       ****
>
> ** **
>
> *From:* owner-pynchon-l at waste.org <javascript:_e({}, 'cvml',
> 'owner-pynchon-l at waste.org');> [mailto:owner-pynchon-l at waste.org<javascript:_e({}, 'cvml', 'owner-pynchon-l at waste.org');>]
> *On Behalf Of *Mike Jing
> *Sent:* Sunday, November 18, 2012 1:35 AM
> *To:* Pynchon Mailing List
> *Subject:* GR translation: will it still go on emanating its hooded cold**
> **
>
> ** **
>
> P240.4-25   At “The White Visitation,” days along the chalk piece of
> seacoast now are fine and clear. The office girls are bundling into fewer
> sweaters, and breasts peaking through into visibility again. March has come
> in like a lamb. Lloyd George is dying. Stray visitors are observed now
> along the still-forbidden beach, sitting among obsolescent networks of
> steel rod and cable, trousers rolled to the knee or hair unsnooded, chilly
> gray toes stirring the shingle. Just offshore, underwater, run miles of
> secret piping, oil ready at a valve-twist to be released and roast German
> invaders who belong back in dreams already old . . . fuel waiting
> hypergolic ignition that will not come unless now as some
> junior-bureaucratic rag or May uprising of the spirit, to Bavarian
> tunesmith Carl Orff’s lively
>                  O, O, O,
>                  To-tus flore-o!
>                  lam amore virginali
>                  Totus ardeo . . .
> all this fortress coast alight, Portsmouth to Dungeness, blazing for the
> love of spring. Plots to this effect hatch daily among the livelier heads
> at “The White Visitation”—the winter of dogs, of black snowfalls of
> issueless words, is ending. Soon it will be behind us. But once there,
> behind us—will it still go on emanating its hooded cold, however the fires
> burn at sea?
>
> Why is the cold "hooded"?****
>
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