Sunday, December 11, 2016


The problem I have,
that whole 'in the
world, but not of it'
thing of Paul (the
Apostle), is that
the world never
did me any good,
so why bother in
any fashion? There's
a point past which
steaming through
the jungle no longer
makes much sense
-  the river is clogged
and swollen, things
in that current turn
and twist back on
themselves, the
natives are restless
and angry, besides
which they aren't
really too happy to
see you cutting
through their lands.
They stand at the
shore, anxiously
peering out with
 their spears and
rocks. It could be
dangerous anywhere.
The question becomes
one of language too
 -  what are you
saying, what are
they (for goodness
sake) saying, and
how do the two
colliding languages
work together, if
they do at all? If
you have a roomful
of building blocks
-  just scattered and
lying all about  -
only a certain sort
of person can count
that, in and of itself,
as riches; while the
'other' sort of person
demands first that
all those blocks be
put together as
something, have a
form, use, shape,
at least, before any
'value' is given to
them. Raw material?
Ore? As opposed to
the gem or the mineral
valued within it. I was
confused often with
that one.  Also, in
the seminary, I'd
sit around trying to
figure out what a
thing was about.
My intentions for
that, as I've mentioned,
were for deepest Africa,
dispensing all that
love and goodness
crap to the interior
natives. What was
that all about? Was I
to be the dominant
one, astoundingly
claiming that they
were living in a
muddled room
filled with useless
building blocks
which were without
value until I showed
them the construction
of logic, reason, and
'correct' religion by
which to make
something of it all?
What was that about?
Why wasn't that Pride
and Offensiveness,
to be sure? What
sort of self-righteous
creep would do that?
To whom, (ahem)
was I supposed
to answer for any
of that? What was
right? And what
was wrong?
That was all the
wicked dichotomy
of the world
before me. A
person, no matter
what, can't just
assume a right
and a wrong as
even existing.
Everything is
fluid, strange,
overlapping. One
hundred years ago,
then fifty years ago,
and then NOW,
every concept
you can imagine
has been flipped
and made different.
Sorry to say. Genders,
for sure. Authority
and organizational
stuff. Roles. There's
nothing that has
remained the same
within the normal
everyday flowing
of the idea of place,
being and concept.
If you were to stop
anyone on the street,
and relate to them
some tale of injustice
or horror, they'd say
'That's so wrong!'
It's a basic, human
thing. BUT, is that
'wrong' then but not a 
shifting scale? One hundred 
years ago, would a
different sort of
'news' have brought 
the same response? ---
"That man just took 
that car and drove 
right across that field, 
hitting and killing two 
squirrels and a deer." 
 -  that could have been 
a hundred years ago....
See what I mean? Now 
we have roads through 
every field that ever 
was. Life is very 
wearisome. There 
are four-wheeling
 stores, and huge 
manufactures of 
trail-riding and 
off-road four-wheeling 
devices, and they 
are sold by the 
thousands, constantly. 
No one thinks twice.
When I was in New 
York City. all that twisting 
turmoil was underway in 
my head. It never stopped. 
No real 'conclusions'
were arrived at  -  at 
least not the sort that 
would rule and define 
the life I was leading. 
I watched. I just more 
rather'd to drift away.
 I had my dark, basement 
spots, that library 
upstairs, a few 
acquaintances, friends  
-  a whole other sort 
of people I'd never 
known before. I was 
both scared and
swept away  -  all 
the newness was 
killing me, in the
 good sense. 
Sweeping me up. 
Outside, there 
were people with 
leather shoes and 
umbrellas  -  real 
serious sorts  -  going 
about their daily tasks 
and businesses. It 
amazed me. I had 
my brilliant, light 
spots too. Things 
I loved about the 
things I did : the 
sidewalks, Eighth 
Street, those oddball 
stalls and little shops, 
the amazingly anarchic 
and wild group that hung 
about the Orange Julius 
store there, all those 
crazy rock and rollers.
I could never figure 
them out, for sure, 
but they represented 
real NYC  -  whether 
it was a drug-crowd, 
always high, smoking 
weed, whatever it 
was that drew them 
to the small-food 
and drink kind of 
munchie-junk there, 
it was always a 
clutch of not-just 
hippies but even a
more hardcore and 
dangerous bunch 
too. You didn't want
to cross them. As I 
saw it anyway. I knew 
this guy who had a 
sandal shop, on 
Bleecker. It was 
already famous 
then  too, but for 
the new crowd 
rolling in it became 
like a mecca. It 
seemed everyone 
wanted sandals  -  
he'd hand make 
them, real workshop 
stuff, and the 
nature of the new 
business was 
affecting him 
greatly. Hard to 
keep up, how to 
expand, who to 
teach the leather 
craft, and, of 
course 'should
 I even bother 
to expand and 
perhaps 'ruin' 
my entire premise 
of the business 
by doing so?'

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