Wednesday, September 16, 2015


(pt. 5)
You know, when growing up, you hear things that never
quite make sense; even though you hear them  -  as a kid
the logic you operate with isn't quite yet up to snuff to
compete with the ways of adults. I guess it's a smidge of
suspicion, mixed with experience  -  like when someone 
would say 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer',
or however that went exactly. I'd hear that, someone would say
it, and it would be enough for me, just sittin' there with the
fireflies and crickets all bouncing around the backyard hedges
to think on it for hours. I couldn't figure out for the life of me  -  
in all that new-cut grass and trees, what people ever were
meaning to say. And if they really did know, why they just
didn't say it. That was in my first life, the first Avenel; then I
got hit by that train over down on Rahway Ave and didn't wake up 
for months after everybody thought I was dead, the boy-in-the-coma
lost and forever. It never worked. It took me the longest of adventures,
and I recall it all well, but I slowly  -  ever so slowly  -  crept back out
of that black-sourced spirit place I'd been and I slowly comported 
myself back to inhabit a body that just months before was all cracked
and jumbled and given up for gone, but I did get on back  -  I made it
through. If I was a car, like in the old days, I'd have a hundred-plus
travel stickers all over the back windows. Yeah, like people used to
do with their cars and station wagons and all  -  take their family to
Yosemite or Pike's Peak or New Hampshire or Pennsylvania or even
just the beach. There'd be some sort of sticker-decal with a colorful
picture of whatever it had been  -  Old Faithful or The Alamo  -  some
color decal to prove and show where you'd been, that could have been 
me coming out of the death world, the Spirit-place I'd traveled. So,
 that was my second life, in Avenel too  -  but not ever again the same. 
Just like when we moved to Inman Ave., the backyards weren't yet 
finished and I'd play alone, crawling all over those mounds of dirt 
and cut and fallen tree-trunks and broken up skunk-piles of bush 
and weed  -  it was an unholy mess. That was just like me  -  the  
second me, a whole entire uncleared jumble-patch of things to
come, new and broken ideas, everything all cluttered up.
School never mattered to me - and heck it was right down the
street  -  but they never taught anything of what I already knew.
My yard, somehow got leveled and cleaned up and cleared, 
and I don't really recall how or when that happened  - I guess 
maybe early on the crews came when I was in Kindergarten or 
First Grade, but it all got cleared  and made nice. The mysteries of 
the alkaline, I called it to myself later on. All the harsh acidic stuff, 
as usual, had been carted away  -  just like they did in school, I
always thought  -  taking from you all the excitement and dreams
and adventures or pure, clear childhood thinking, and trying
instead to turn you into the flat-formed no-good 'individual' you 
have to be to 'succeed', or what they called success anyway. 
Never made sense to me and there's nothing individual about it.
Just more lying going on. It seemed too me  - they removed all 
the bitters and, like the  yard, all you were left with were the
alkaline flats, the easy nothings, the harmless eddies and flows of 
old and tired water. Just like all that, all reflective of the paltry life
they then try to pin you into. I just always wanted to scream, and I
often did, 'It don't fit! It don't fit! Now go, leave me alone!' Fat 
chance of that  -  there was always some busy-body superior 
trying to weasel me back into (their) place. Like my yard, the flat 
and settled place of a million other squats and walks and footprints. 
Rubbish. It was as if they really thought they 'owned' me. And I
really think they believed that too. I used to be able to look up,
from the top of my driveway, northeast-looking, I guess it
was, and see the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper at night. I'd 
stare and dream, and wonder where I'd been, what was up, and 
whatever was the shape of the shape that was 
about to be descending on me.

No comments: