297. LIFE AS A LIBRARY
I guess that's how
I always figured it.
Expandable walls
too. Things busting
out all over. It's a
bit like when you
reach into your
pocket to pull
something out,
and other things
come tumbling
out too and fall
to the floor, a
dollar or a fiver
or something,
unknown to
you, and
someone else
sees it and
then bends
over and
retrieves it -
and that person
then has your
overflow - to do
with it what he or
she will do. It's
she will do. It's
no longer yours.
Largesse. I
think that's
what they call
it. At that point
it's got no
ownership, no
different than
a landscape
or a sight of
anything for
the taking.
My life was
like that, and
I made sure
it was.
-
In between
places, the
rest of it all
was like a
waking and
then a sleeping
again with
heavy dreams
except I
couldn't
always tell
the difference
or which took
precedence
or which
was rightfully
real or not.
They seemed
to switch places.
They seemed
to leave me,
as well, hanging
sometimes
between the
two. Poles
of opposite,
or whatever.
I ended up
having not
so much faith
in the 'tangible'
aspects of either
- of course one
had no tangible
aspects at all,
or at least this
supposed 'real'
world of water
and ice and
pain and hurt
and happiness
as said. That's
how it presented
itself - like a
fat, brat kid in
some grade
school class
screaming and
farting and
hollering that
he comes first,
takes precedence,
and all, just
because he's
there and because,
that morning,
his mother had
brought in
that tray of
cookies,
remember?
Those kinds
of runts got
all the breaks.
-
One of things
about living,
about learning
to grow up -
or they always
said anyway -
was to know
about your
own limits
and what not
to go past.
Don't get
me wrong,
I wasn't ever
up to like
running off
to marry Queen
Elizabeth's daughter
- if she had one.
I don't think
somehow any
of those royal
people ever
have female
offspring
anymore....
hmmm, on
that one. That
was always
suspicious to
me, that
limitations
stuff. It never
spoke of
anything except
pure rot; just
another reason
for me to not
get involved
with this stupid,
changeable
world around
me. One day this
is up, the next
day it's down,
and something
else runs to the
top. Like a game
of 'Chiggedy-Whats'
or something (I
just made that up).
Life was just a
sideboard of
idiocy, filled
with wants
and needs. I
always wished
to chuck 'em
all and just
walk away.
One of the
weirdest
early-on
memories
I have (this is
a bit weird,
but I'm going
to run with it
anyway) is
of the false
parity that
was presented
to us, as kids,
early on.
Everybody
was supposed
to be the same,
share the same
qualities and
values and all
- and they dump
you, at age 10,
into some Summer's
Boy Scout camp
(Camp Cowaw,
in this case),
where what
you get is about
12 or 15 naked
10 year olds,
all standing
about in an
enforced comraderie,
naked, and all
brushing their
teeth too, under
a group, outdoor,
shower-stall
thing behind
some half-ass
constructed wall.
What it all goes
to show you
essentially is
that there are
different people
doing different
things always.
Nobody apparently
gave two hoots
over the situation,
but it went on
in its own way
- it always
seemed without
reason to me.
No one is equal
to anyone else,
even if the silly
merit badges are all
the same when
distributed around.
Why does everyone
always have to
be within the
company of
others? I was,
in a few years,
much more
comfortable
learning from
Leibniz, about
each man being
a monad, a
singular one,
in a universe
- not of the
many but of
the ones. Much
more comfortable
to me, that was.
Remember Sartre,
it was, who said
'Hell is other people.'
-
I never did the
equations, never
got quite right
the math. And
in the longer
run of things
it didn't matter
- Ithaca, for
example, held
me a few years,
5 maybe 6, and
then it was over
too. All memory.
The place that
I remember
doesn't exist
any more
except in
that memory
- which remains
wide open and
pliable and as
much present
as past. Who
knows the
difference, and
what's the formula
or the equation
for that. 'X = NOW'.
Period . The rest is
bakery dough. I
can close my
eyes and still
see - right where
that old crazy
gas station was,
on the corner, on
the hill going down
- fairly treacherous
turn and descent
there, near to the
main-gates' top
but not. Fifty-seven
cents a gallon. I
can remember it
perfectly - there
was a little glass
globe thing, I think
it was Mobil gas,
and whatever was
inside that globe,
once the gasoline
started flowing
from the pump,
in that amber-color
of gasoline, would
start twirling around,
the swoosh of the
gasoline running
by it. It was
pretty cool -
never knew
why it was there
or how old it was.
but, it always
brought me back.
I always had
marginal cars
and trucks.
Up there, along
those hills of
Cornell, and
Ithaca, you had
to, or I had to,
chock the wheels,
or turn them
strategically
when you parked
so that if the
emergency brake
let go the car
would just roll
itself into the curb
- instead of running
out to the street, and
probably down the
hill too - and be
stopped of its
own momentum
at that curb -
plus always
parking in first
gear or second,
or reverse,
somehow always
having a low
gear engaged;
also to stop the
car if it began
running loose.
You never knew.
I don't remember
any parking-meters
either. Life was a
lot simpler.
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