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
un-usurpable
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.
Tragi-comedians,
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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