Sunday, October 16, 2016


Awake, missing again a thought
or two  -  things I thought I'd
remember and thought could
have worked. That used to
happen when I was a kid too.
I'd make up these long talks
and things, sure that I'd
never forget the words and
the approach, but sure enough
before long I'd not remember
a thing. Then I'd tried to turn
it 'visual', thinking that would
help to key in the words; but,
no. I soon grew out of all that,
as much as I could, and began
writing things down, keeping
notebooks, etc.; but even now,
things get lost.
Avenel : I realize now I live
in a children's encampment.
This place is nothing more
than that. Everything is sort
of infantilized, and the people
within it, except for a few
glorious exceptions  -  who
make it livable. It's like asking
someone what a Scirocco is:
if they answer, Huh? A VW
model? You know they're gone.
If, on the other hand, they say,
'Oh, that. A wind; hot, dry North
African air that blows northward
into the southern Mediterranean,'
then you know you're onto
someone who could count. It's
kind of all a question of
investigation and interest and
inquisitiveness. Some have it,
some don't. In this town; not
much. When I was a kid, I
wasn't that aware of it, that
distinction. I guess it was
always like that, and I'd
bet, too, that was the reason,
early on, that a few families
moved out just as fast as
they'd moved in. Once you get
the feeling that 'this ain't the
place for me,' it's nearly and
quickly impossible to stay.
Avenel is that grating. When
you hear of things, on an
otherwise quiet morning,
such as some microphoned
and amplified park idiot
somewhere near, broadcasting
and announcing some fool kids'
football league game, amplified,
name and number introductions,
blow by blow plays, etc., it's
a harsh body-slam to a lively
and needed temporal lobe.
I understand. It's all children's
stuff, of no matter at all, to
validate adult life, (also of no
matter). The subtext of what's
going on is a basic idiocy, being
itemized and explained. The
comfort-food of  being a child
again. Manchild anyway. There's
nothing to it at all, and it's quite
saddening. I only wish these guys
who do this wouldn't then burden
everyone else with their own
predilictions, but that's what I'm
stuck with. Their giddiness is not
catching. Actually, I wish as well
that these guys could interview
themselves first, so as to come
to grips or terms with what they
are doing  -  undertakings of
grand nothings  -  they pile up,
and that's how these grand
falsehood get propagated and
spread around. And then
become a society. OK, that's
cool; BUT that was never the
Society we were put here to
build. We were supposed to
aspire and achieve, seek source
and seek Godhead. That's how
I see it anyway.
A stem-winder never stops
stem-winding, but, you have
to, sometimes, in order to
hear yourself.
A lot of times I awake with a
wordplay or a leading idea in
my mind  -  the 'talk' of a sleep,
and then it's gone. Like the
proud Hail Mary that is my
life, I have to say it. I need
to speak it all. Yes, no answer,
having found nothing here, I
have to live it. I live in memory,
often in enough  -  all those things
I've scrawled and 'divot'd away,
wild pieces of blasted-out turf.
Actually, everything is bad for
me, and always so. I enjoy my
time alone, but, really that's it.
The last grand design I saw has
had already killed himself and
left no instructions behind
When questions arose, there
were no answers. (You know,
when I was 12, seminary 12, I
often asked myself  -  in prayer,
and fearfully  -  why wasn't Jesus
considered a suicide?). There are
no answers, and no one to answer;
so don't turn away, it can all
be gone that quickly. This is the
sort of abstract, free-association
I get running through my head
having to sit here listening to
the crud in the air.
I think every man (person) has
every station in life that he or
she must live. Live first, in order
to be complete. It prevents
ridicule and provides all the
understandings needed to 'feel'
for others. I know I tried it, all
my youth, and after. Obviously,
it's all impossible (to live them
all), yes, but one should experience
as many as possible, and see the
world with those eyes. It's all
there and it's all available, but
people don't take the time, and
most people are too haughty to
'look downward.' I think that's
what religion really is  -  the
understanding of, and the taking
of, other stations in life. Not
forever, obviously, but for brief
time, even if only the moment of
seeing itself. Once your spiritual
center has realized that you have
reached that moment of 'seeing
itself,' that's what 'Grace' is. That's
where all the 'saintliness' crap
comes in. The moment of identity.
Here's a mini-lecture I wrote of
myself one day in time : Sitting
at home, beneath a tree  -  like
Buddha and his apple tree (OK,
'rose-apple')  -   wonder, is that
the same strange, Edenic and
archetypal connection to the
entire evil and the apple thing
too? Our stories seem to constantly
shift, like the dog who, sleeping,
keeps changing its curl and
position, circling its pose and
place. As I was growing up, one
thing never brought up to me,
or explained, was the idea, an
idea, of quietude and silence
and reflection. It never happens;
well, it happened, but it was never
explained. That's why kids have
rooms of their own, I guess. Quiet
places, but it's never explained, It's
all rather just kept as symbol.
Unmentioned. At least not in
poor homes  -  which is what
this place was and is. There's
always bustle and noise. I think
here of the great poverty scenes
available in reading, say, 'Ragged
Dick,' by Horatio Alger; or, better
yet, Stephen Crane's 'Maggie, a
Girl of the Streets.' And if you've
ever read 'Ringolevio', by Emmet
Grogan, you'd have a feel for it too.
I was always attracted, in studying
English lore, (a little bit studying),
by 'The Green Man'  -  actually in
the usual stupidity of American iconic
advertising (for peas) he became
'The Jolly Green Giant,' but that's
another story for a really bad day.
The Green Man, a very old, English,
iconic representation of 'Nature,' 
fertility, and the spirit of the land,
and his representation/face soon
became a commonplace gargoyle
figure on English churches and such.
A complete betrayal, of course, of
the free and natural impulse being
represented. But, that's stupidity;
something like an Avenel stupidity.
He became self-defining, a gargoyle
regular  -  representing the forests
and mists and hills, an almost
Druidic native impulse. Despite
have nothing to do with the 
professed 'Christian' impulse, he
was everywhere. They had thusly
co-opted a native symbol. Which 
is the base, anyway, of the word
'Catholic'  -  a little bit of this, a
little bit of that. The dark side of
all this, which we don't talk about
except as it was later transferred 
here and condemned in the self-
righteousness of the so-called
Salem Witch trials, is the assortment
of the varied, wild sex cults of
medieval England. All that, today,
goes pretty much unmentioned; like 
a porno-channel of the dark, greasy
underworld back then, but put into
the service of  the 'good.' What do 
we get now in its stead? Screaming
Nature Dads shouting into football
microphones announcing their kids'
dumb games on flat, mowed fields.
That's fertility today. And today, by
contrast, and no matter what we
say, that past is all gone. Today we
are at war with Nature, constantly,
and we live that way, live that war
(comfortably, I guess). We ingest
anti-Nature, we manufacture and
gleefully purchase anti-Nature, and
most people make livelihoods and
and careers out of anti-Nature. In
fact, claims are made that we 'cure'
by anti-Nature : drugs and 
pharmeceuticals. Cures for the
cuticles, as it were. Medicine and
manufacture all turned on its head
and now used against us. The Green
Man indeed! No one seems to mind.
We haven't died en masse yet. So,
anyway, the weird travesty of all
that is the religion we live by.
Throughout the 1950's and '60's,
and 70's too, none of this was in
the forefront. Our lives and our
growing up were attuned to 
living in that manner  -  
groping forward with more 
and more. Called 'prosperity.'
Then, at whatever cost to Nature,
it was 'Nature be damned!' 
Chemicals. Plastics. Wonder
drugs. The eases and comforts 
of all that supposed advancement.
We didn't know, and no one ever
taught us. Yes, yes, the whole
world was dreaming. 

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