8480. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW #136

136. CAROUSEL

Electric Circus. Electric

Circus, that's all you

heard. Sometimes I

just got tired of it  -

exploding lights,

Joshua Light Shows,

or whatever that was

called, I don't even

remember  -  waxy

exploding bubbles and

spaced out kids. So

what else was new? Some

kids from Sag Harbor, each

a runaway, tasting NYC

for the first time only

because he or she had

heard of it. Well, yeah,

I guess that was an

adventure. That sort of

stuff happened, in '67.

I'd go in there, The Electric

Circus, sometimes even

with a pass, and never

know what was going on.

Some other days, I'd get

ten bucks to lug equipment

or cabinets and things around.

Some part of it was as if

the inmates had taken

over the asylum, for

sure. There was even

a stage play about that

then   -  the Inmates of

Charenton, or something.

Nothing to be done about it,

culture had turned its own

corner, woven its own fabric,

and this is what you get:

The Velvet Underground on

scream, Nico going on, and

that really subdued girl they

had on drums. Maureen

Tucker, I thought it was  -

like Mo Tucker if you knew

her well. Why put a girl on

drums? Couldn't figure that.

-

I tried to remain both

peaceful and calm. In all

ways. There was no sense

getting caught up in any

of this. I didn't drink,

most others did. I wasn't

using drugs, many others

were. All I did was my

own work, tending

to it and trying to

expand it. One thing

I disliked was  the

language of the drug

people. There's a thing

about that, and it was the

same later, with rock 'n roll

people, that they just

assumed everyone else was

just like them, or in on the

same stuff thy were doing.

A totally dumb  -  and very

annoying  -  assumption.

One you should learn right

off : 'shut up, you're really

annoying.' They would just

stagger around, totally blitzed

and zoned out, haggard in face

and body, lost, skinny souls

completely vapid and looking

somehow for a way back in.

To what, I never knew.

-

In later years, out of NYC,

I spent some time teaching

a nighttime writing course

at a little place called Union

County Community College

800 hundred bucks a semester,

two nights a week, for about

6 weeks each. They let me put

together, and describe, my

own course. I called it 'The

Writer's Eye'. I did it more

for myself than anything, but

ended up enjoying it, the give

and take, and the sort of

plodding regularity of the

whole thing. I found up I

kind of liked the idea of

'teaching,' or whatever that

imparting of information

would be called. I wasn't

really 'teaching' anything,

just more explaining

myself and how I

viewed everything. After

that, funny thing (this was

about 1982, to start  -  they

had come to me, I never

chased such a second job

down, from a poetry reading

person I'd 'impressed')  -

anyway, I began to think

in terms of what I'd like to

'teach'. It wasn't about the

mechanics of writing or any

of that  -  it was called 'The

Writer's Eye', and that's

all it was meant to impart.

A type of 'How To See'

course. Most people miss

everything, let alone take

anything away to write

about from any particular

situation. 'John had a farm'

would about sum it up for

them. Instead of 'In the long

run of things, beneath the

open sky and with two old

trucks both sagging in the

wood-plank weeds near the

dairy shed, with the wall

calendar that had, for some

reason, stopped its life at

'July, '71', John realized

he never did have this farm,

it had always had him.' Stuff

like that, wild and wicked.

-

I'd wanted, among any 

number of others, to teach 

a course built around a 

couple of books I would 

have loved to present

to people. 'Ringolevio: a

Life Lived For Keeps';

by Emmet Grogan; 'Sleeping

Where I Fall', by Peter Coyote,

'The Basketball Diaries', by

Jim Carroll, 'Catcher In the

Rye', by J. D. Salinger, 'Huck

Finn', by Mark Twain, with 

'American Pastoral', by Philip

Roth, also thrown in. That would
have been a good group of

books  -  about how the writers

each and with their presented

character(s), see things and

put things. This singular 

grouping of medium books

could have very nicely pulled

a lot of references together

for me  -  times and places, 

and some events, quite 

colloquial to my being. I

could have encapsulated a 

lot of Americana in those

five or six books. Then

Frank P. Dee retired and

moved to Florida. All 

I'd ever gotten to see was

the framed photograph or

two he kept on his desk, of

his boat and its surroundings

in Florida. I'd look at those 
photos, and they would mean 
nothing to me. He was proud of 

it, and all that came with it.

As I said, he retired, and 

then he went down there,

got himself set up, and died.

Poor guy. Heart attack or 

something got him. That was

the end of it all for me; no

one else had interest in my 

plans. Frank and I had gone

over my ideas, planned out

one or two situations for me

to be upcoming, these sorts

of ideas for courses I had.

End of that story.

-

That all had left out any

factor of the visual, or of

'Art'. The idea of the art 

was all still with me, but 

first I felt I had to show 

people, through writing, 

how to see. Or learn to see. 

Or even care to see. Which

often meant, first, to learn

to read  -  not just the 

words, but what to notice 

while reading, what to see, 

what to realize. Nothing is 

in there for no reason  -  or 

flip that - everything is in 

there for a reason. Everything 

has been placed there by the 

writer. Take it up, then, for

the writer, try to see what 

he or she was doing with 

that inclusion. Just like 

Philosophy 101 : 'Why Is

That There?' 

-

My life has always

been fairly magical like 

that, multi-faceted, with 

each face of that jewel 

throwing back to me a 

different and a vital 

reflection. I've always 

been able to take all of

them up  -  whether by 

writing, painting, drawing, 

or, even, music. I've just

always let it rip, and been
able to just let this carousel 
go 'round and 'round,
and keep on going too.