Saturday, December 3, 2016


256. WORDS 
(sword of damocles)
A lot of titles ran by me,
back then, funny clumps
of words that stuck in
my mind. 'Second Hand
Rose'; The Haunting of
Hill House.' Things like
that. I just found myself
with a penchant or words,
no matter the use or the
position. I still find myself
picking up phrases, things
people say, and the words
they use. It's not much a
facility for really doing
anything, but it's fun just
the same. No one ever
teaches you that you
can't use 'useless' things
in everyday life. It just
makes you a loser.
'Consolidated Associates
Inc.' That was a sign I
saw, on an out-of-business
storefront office. It
immediately rang in
my head. How stupid
of a company name
could there be? No
wonder they were gone.
Some people, it seems,
just set themselves up for
failure. Words become so
vital at a certain point;
especially, in such a
context, from a 'business
use' standpoint. As a
creative writer, involved
at a complete other level
of words than this bland,
utilitarian use, this would
not normally have concerned
me. But here it did. Because
it encapsulated failure.
What, I wondered, was
this person trying to say?
Was there a message here
that he really thought
someone would take
away from that company
name? It said nothing.
Bland, evasive, as if he
was avoiding trying to
commit. No dynamism.
No thematic. Certainly,
no animated usage or
expectation. I always
ended up thinking that,
for creative writing, for
real work, there should
be an entire other and
different language for
writers to use  -  leave
these bland and
inconsolate, passive
words. to others to
work with. Dreary.
It's no wonder they
went out of business.
Language needs fire,
sparkle, fame, and fury.
It's funny that I even
make such mention,
Yet I guess it's quite
in line with my way
of thinking. In 1963,
Jean Paul Sartre's
autobiography was
published; entitled
'The Words,' (in French,
of course, as 'Les Mots').
You'd wonder, I'm
sure, what some dumb
schmuck kid from
Avenel would be
doing reading that,
or even caring. Well,
actually I was in the
seminary and no
longer 'from' Avenel
in that other sense, but
my origins were there.
This was about origins.
It knocked me over.
Yes, even though I
really didn't at that
time know why
or how. Things
change your life; 
you find your stream 
and you paddle your 
boat, If you're lucky. 
There is, at some 
level, a point where
 everyone is alike  -  
of course that's what
 all those society 
scientists like to 
push. All that 'family 
of man, we are one' 
crap. That's the 
easiest, laziest way 
out. Mind-control 
in the guise of 
Goodness. A 
million tattoo'd 
kids with pierced 
noses and tongues 
holding hands while 
they walk into the 
fiery ocean, singing 
songs. It's a nightmare. 
That's from where all 
those Popes and the 
people who stole 
Jesus came from. 
If it's any sort of 
unity, it's a bogus 
unity. The place 
where things really 
count is in the 
uniqueness of 
each Life and each
Experience. You've 
got to FIND your
own biography 
and live it; the 
rest be damned. 
That was how I 
felt anyway, 
and lived.
I probably ran away 
from home three 
hundred times, each
 time maybe returning 
with a different idea, 
a new rejoinder, or a 
better experience in 
my head.  Once having 
attained NYCity, for 
myself, I was King, 
again for myself. No 
one else needed to 
understand, and 
screw them. I got 
into the Studio School 
pretty much on bullshit  
-  a concocted story-line, 
a mis-appropriated 
education in arts and 
philosophy. I talked it 
big, but I was really 
from nowhere. 
Wounded and still 
bleeding, from 
seminary and from 
high school, combined. 
wielding both knives 
and sabers. Now I just 
had to prove it and 
make it work  -  how 
in the world do you 
do that when nothing 
of it was really true? 
Sword of Damocles 
to be sure, hanging 
by a thread and 
right over 
my head. 

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