Monday, March 14, 2016

7921. BELOW THE WATER LINE (pt. 192)

(pt. 192)
-[beware, a confusion dwells here]-
Another thing about this issue  -  we
never called it anything but 'Security
Steel.' As far as I ever knew they made
metal filing cabinets with locking
systems and automatic latches and
such. The sort of thing you'd find in
rows in any big office or large corporate
setting. Before computers I guess, and
all the modern ways of storing, archiving,
and filing information now. Shows how
much the world has changed from my
shadowy and half-dark Avenel Netherlands
time. How outmoded is the very idea of a
physical, hard-goods presence in an office,
a place for filing cabinets. What's that?
Most of it's gone anyway  -  there always
remains a certain percentage of need for
the 'proof' of existence. Lawyer's offices
still show deeds and contracts, multi-paged,
sign and attested to, etc., on white sheets of
paper, as but one example, and I guess the
originals and the copies too still need to be
kept and filed. When the point arrives of
needing nothing physical, someone let me
know. It will sure present a new conundrum
for me. I've lived my entire life  -  read this
carefully, because it's factual and it's also
startling  -  under the impression that my
own reality was not physical at all. Will the
world catch up, then, to me? Is that the way
it will be? The dogged determination of my
life has mostly been in the accumulation of
'information' - stuff kept in my head, sorted or
unsorted (not sordid, just sorted), things read
and then 'kept.' My personal inventory of non-
physical things. Knowledge. Information. The
stories and references of others. Memory. All
the sorts of things there are (are?) which are
non-physical  -  so non-physical that I even
hesitate to use the word 'are'. Do you see?
In the context of 'Security' Steel, what is
anything anyway? We never called that old
factory anything but, and then, one day, all
of a sudden, people began saying 'General
Dynamics.' And then 'General Dynamics,
Electric Boat Division,' and then that they
made (made? Do you really 'make' these
sorts of things?) tracking objects and
info-panels, and electronics, etc., for nuclear
subs, for the main factory which was in
Groton, Connecticut. How'd all this ever
get started? Then they said the ground
contaminations precluded any further use
of the property, but they only said that
AFTER the factory complex itself had
long been shut down and left to fall apart.
That was probably for twenty years. They
let the bullshit clear, the people leave, and
they let anyone sick and dying from the
factory days go to their deaths, and only
then made the deals needed to have the place
'built' on. Get this! Housing! And that's where
we are now  -  with the heart and guts ripped
out of some chem-soil cheap-shit town with
nothing left to itself but roadways and trash,
and the powers that be running circles around
themselves trying to fast-talk the double-deals
done so as to get construction started on 60
acres of trashland. Who even owns this shit?
What kind of country is this when companies
can simply buy and sell their filthied-up,
exhausted properties, for gain, at the ghastly
expense of the cancer-wards around them?
And then go ahead and cut down every living
factotum of tree, shrub or bush, while lying
and stealing, and dissembling over what to
name the fucking place and whether or not
it's to be an 'arts community' or a welfare
row of coat-hook slum dormers. Like they
even know the difference. Maybe
someday. You tell ME, OK?
Slam me shut, then, with a fist. The only
security, I guess, about Security Steel was
in the insecurity of the 'dynamics' that
replaced it. We somehow went from Mike's
subs to nuclear subs, without a care.
So, one day it began being General Dynamics,
and that was that. Long ago, right smack dab
in the middle of 'town', what they called it,
next to the train station and on the little 'main'
road that took you to and through the place,
they built a strange-enough looking pile of brick
and glass. Truck bays and storage units, brick'd
rear-sections and a garage and a power-house,
a campus of something like 70+ acres overall.
There was also, central to it all, some strangely
proportioned tower rising up from the main,
office building. It seemed to have no use, really 
-  there were a few windows, and what looked
like a staircase, but to what, no one knew.
Square-topped, flat, it just ended. Like so
much else  -  an ending without a story. I
watched it come down, even took  few photos.
Lots of people treated it as a momentous,
end-of-era, thing. It wasn't nothing like that
at all; double-negative intended, so as to
underscore the real paucity of what happened.
The world had left this place a long time ago,
and it no longer mattered at all what happened to
it. Places have vibrational frequencies, the vortex
of their energies, from which people thrive, take
strength, revive themselves, maybe. This had none
of that, it was all long gone. Vacant and drained
of anything, it deserved its own death. They should
make it a cemetery. Avenel never has had one.
If I had my way  -  if I was Governor or President
or something, I'd have made a monastic, university
complex there. A real one, no the kind of crap that
gets called 'University' today  -  crumble-heaped
Kean College type places warehousing marginal
people, churning out shit-bonus degrees for fat
nobodies eating cheeseburgers and fries and being
corn-fed their socialistic reasoning skills. I mean
a real place of learning  -  deep and silent and
serious; wherein the fabric of Reality is studied,
changed, gone over. Wherein 'Philosophy' has a
meaning again, and people work on it. Wherein
writing is once again a skill that delves, and from
where people never leave. But they never want to
either. It would not need a parking lot, and
it would not have an exit gate.
Actually, it would be more than that.
Avenel could be made to need it, would
become one of those legendary places from
it. Selected scholars, allowed in, with no way
out. The only way out being the hoped-for
discovered inter-dimensional portal into which
too you could only enter, but never return. To
other dimensions of space and place and time.
Where the varied and many possible 'Futures'
would be running, or, if the 'Past' was your venue,
where the fields of Runnymede and the gates
of ancient Assyria or Egypt Babylon or Atlantis  -
or just the open fields of King John's Runnymede 
would be yours. All time and all being, known and
yet unknown, through this inter-dimensional portal,
somewhere between maybe Yale or Harvard Avenue
and Avenel Street, or the spaces over by the train
tracks, or the end of Dartmouth Ave. Wherever that
unsettled portal was landed at that moment   -   it
would of course change slightly within its own
parameters by density and spin. Slightly different 
each time; to be found. And then, of course,
each time an individual was lost through the
portal, one after another, over time, the physical
space of the 'University' would be lessened by an
amount in accordance with the psychic and
intellectual presence of the person just lost  - 
growing smaller each time, UNTIL, at long
last ! POOF ! Nothing left! Nothing.
No University, no 'General Dynamics' site.
Maybe just a negative space-hole in the middle
of Avenel, one where not even memory dwells.
Or, just maybe, NOTHING at all.
Nothing, in all its ramifications.
There were mysterious and disappearing islands 
in the Irish Sea, a long time back : when powerful 
and spiritual types still roamed the Earth. I've 
studied power-matrix grids, high-intensity energy 
locations and all that  -  in my early years and 
now too  -  and I know that I could situate the 
foundational effort needed . In Avenel, in light of 
the spiritual and intellectual life I lead, I KNOW 
it could be done. And I know you will scoff. That's 
what Avenel's about. Nothing good comes from 
Nazareth, and all that crud. However, take it from 
me, prophecy spins a powerful web. In 1325, west 
of Ireland, was the island Hy-Brasil, or Hy-Breasal. 
You can look all this up yourself, I won't belabor  
the point. It disappeared gradually. No, not by
sinking, but by gradually, and with all its 
accumulated powers and logics, but by 
de-materializing itself, until there was no trace.
Like Lindisfarne, and Hy-Breasal, 
powerful energy-vortices contain the 
sensitivity-warps necessary
 to change all things.

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