Monday, December 5, 2016


Unpleasant categories, and
steamy scenes ; that's about
all a kid my age, back then,
was after. The equivalent
would be, in a recording
studio, some guy searching
around for the switch after
what he felt was a great
take, and a voice coming
overhead, saying 'Uh, take
two, Leroy. The mic was
off.' That's what my life
was feeling like  -  all 
mis-steps and poorly-timed 
shots. I just wanted to 
walk away. I had already
gotten tired of the same 
old take, over and over. 
My father used to say he 
wanted  -  when in school  
- to be an engineer. This 
was before he quit at age 
16 to join the Navy, having 
somehow lied about his 
wartime age and gotten
in. The teacher, who had 
asked  -  in a typical
q/a session  -  was very
 pleased, and began saying 
all the wonderful things 
engineers do  -  designing 
bridges, buildings, and 
the rest. My father
 interrupted  -  'No, no, 
not that. A train engineer.' 
That was the feeling my 
own life had. Fact is, I 
never really wanted to 
'be' anything, and never 
could figure that out. I 
already 'was', wasn't I. 
And then, wasn't that 
good enough, this me 
who was just 'me?' I 
couldn't figure any of
 that stuff out. Why 
should I throw my life 
away 'being' something 
which, apparently, 
amounted to play-acting 
daily for a few dollars? 
I had no cause, I didn't 
even have, really, an 
'interest' in anything 
worldly. Boy, was I 
sunk. When you're sunk 
at eleven years old, 
trouble looms. I sent 
a few letters out; to 
the FBI, in fact. 
Deciding I'd like 
to be that., an FBI 
man. Cool white socks, 
dark suits, chasing 
secretly, crooks and 
spies. I kept getting 
a bunch of weird stuff 
back for a while, all 
signed (fake, I'm sure) 
by old J. Edger himself 
(J. Edger Hoover was, 
at that time, the Director
 of the FBI  -  revered, 
portly, stern, figure. 
It was only years 
later it was brought 
out that he was also 
America's finest 
pervert, who dressed 
in women's clothing 
on the sly, probably 
at last half gay (the 
bottom half, I guess) 
and constantly on 
slanderous personal 
missions to ruin and/or 
discredit ANY perceived 
'enemy' of America, real 
or not. He probably 
killed a number of 
people too). Probably
even killed JFK later
on. He kept inviting me,
in these notes,  to stay 
with my 'studies' and 
maintain my interest 
in their program so that, 
in a few years I could 
begin the application 
and interview process, 
'rigorous' as it was, along 
with the standard FBI 
training, after which 
I would also be asked 
to thoughtfully 'select' 
a specialty for my 
enforcement  - whether
counterfeiting, smuggling, 
borders, kidnapping; 
stuff like that (assassin?). 
I thought about just lying
about my age and things,
as my father had, but 
figured they'd catch me  -  
mainly because I hadn't 
yet started shaving. Then, 
I got interested in Coast 
Guard and Merchant 
Marine stuff  -  wanting 
to stowaway on a 
freighter and get to 
maybe Antwerp or 
Hamburg or and never 
be heard from again. 
They never answered.
 The French Foreign 
Legion, I liked them 
too, but just couldn't 
stand wrapping my 
tongue around that 
French language. 
All those words you 
had to mess with your 
tongue to pronounce. 
It was no wonder, I 
figured, they'd 
invented 'French' 
Kissing  -  always 
with the tongue, 
all that stuff. None 
of that really left 
me anywhere  -  
except then I came 
up with this 
priest stuff, bringing 
Christ to the Zulus and
 Ubangis, as it were. 
So, eventually, that's 
what I went with, and 
how I ended up at that 
seminary. It was an 
easy in, and they liked 
me too, well-enough 
anyway. They were so
hard up that they'd pay
all the tuition and stuff
and just set me up. It was 
far enough from home, 
and cloistered too, that 
I could just forget the 
world and hope it 
forgot me. I just didn't 
fit  -  all those 'Iselin 
Junior High School' 
things, for that one, 
7th grade year, whew! 
what a scary disaster. 
The girls, like that 
Laura Bizewsky, already 
growing sweater-breasts 
and knocking me dead. 
She was just one; there 
were like 200 more. 
Everyday. Then the 
cat-swamp thugs 
who claimed to be 
boys, tromping around 
the gym shower room. 
All those differing and 
varied 'states of 
'maturement,' schlongs. 
Not for me, thanks. 
Nothing to it at all. 
Get out! What is it 
with stupid boys 
anyway, let 
alone girls.
I needed a respite, 
and I'd not even begun
puffing. All I ever did 
was read and dream, 
scribble stuff and waste 
time. I tried to be right 
and be what people 
wanted. No good at it, 
apparently. Mic was 
off. The church crap 
didn't help. One year 
I had to make my 
Confirmation, some 
weird rite they put 
you through, sort of 
equivalent to a Bar 
Mitzvah, coming of 
age, thing. Tribal, 
too. Except you 
don't have to go 
out and kill 
something or 
fight a bear or 
live in the wild 
for a week. You 
don't even need to 
really study scripture, 
or chant or learn things
 or even recite. They 
just give it all to you  
-  which is only right,
 because you're going 
to be 12 whether they 
approve or not; so, 
screw them, really, 
in the end. But no 
one ever goes on 
like that or makes 
mention, everybody 
just lines up and 
does the junk  - 
Bishop's blessing 
(he makes a personal 
appearance  -  in the 
flesh, I mean, not like 
a vision or anything), 
prayers, line-ups. 
I forget what they 
do with girls at that age  
-  I guess they have 
their own program, 
but I forget. It was 
best to keep them 
away from us anyway. 
Especially with those 
funny sweaters. The 
thing about the catholic 
church is, they make 
it all painless. They 
just give it all to you  
-  you don't have to do 
a thing, no ritual-training, 
no deep-scripture study,
not even any real 
'philosophical' stuff 
about religion. It's all 
bogus : 'Here, take this, 
it's grand, you're saved.' 
You never get any choice 
about anything either. 
I guess that's why they 
baptize kids at like 5 days 
old, and throw a cheesy 
party too! 'Get 'em before 
they can think' - or 
however that goes in 
church Latin. They 
stuff you right into 
their bags full of crap 
before you know it  -  
parents, respect, holidays, 
all that stupid and 
trivial crap, and 
then  -  bam!  -  they 
chuck you into school 
and just start yelling 
'Follow the rules!'
Another annoying thing 
 -  using 'Iselin Junior 
High School, 1960' as 
a guide, was how stupid 
it seemed to be grouped, 
in these sorts of new, 
George Jetson, schools 
 -  gyms with domes 
and translucent, 
space-age walls, and 
all that. If you go 
back to look at that 
same school now, 
it looks like a 
dreadful piece of 
used toilet paper  -  
nothing has held up, 
the design looks like 
a painful cavity in 
the mouth. Everything 
seems discolored; those 
old tints and the shades 
of brick used  -  someone 
should have been seriously 
slapped for that. Infectious 
bad-taste. To make it 
worse, they stuffed 
us in yellow school 
buses, enforcing the 
mixing of sexes and 
sorts of people  -  
idiots, thugs, fags in 
the making, mama's 
boys, sports-dudes, 
the entire gamut. 
And that was just 
boys  -  fighting in 
the aisles, preening
 and posturing, 
pretending at 
superiority over 
others even though 
everyone was maybe 
12 at most, except for 
the real jerks who were 
like 23 and still in 7th 
grade. They should have
just been shot. The 
girls were another 
case entire. There 
were some already 
'in the know', and all 
they did was make 
sure everyone knew 
it. Half the time just
 sitting there with 
their legs apart, 
daring you, just 
daring you. There 
were always pretty 
girls, and dogs too. 
Just like the boys, 
what can I say? Like 
a birthday party in 
your house basement, 
with everybody on 
the block invited.

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