9716. RUDIMENTS, pt. 6

RUDIMENTS, pt. 6
Making Cars

So let me start again : Do you know

what a drawing book is? It's like a

diary, but of lines. Yes, you say then,

'big deal.' I can understand that, but

it's senseless to think that way. One

of the ways by which this Life wraps

us around its finger is by dulling us.

Draining us of any feeling for the

real things that come from within,

the stuff we think about but never

act on. Like, say, Lois Lane, if she

had a sketchbook of the unconscious,

all she would ever end up doing is

drawing some hero in a cape and

tight shorts, signifying nothing;

certainly not the reality of her

imagining. I'd have liked to have

had Lois Lane on the couch a few

times, (I can't believe you thought

that !! I was referring to psychiatric

counseling), to find out a little about

what made her tick. Even though she

was just a fictional creation, there's so

much there to ask about. For instance,

in her view of reality did she ever consider

that she had conjured up this imaginary

Superman person from the lame load of

characters she was amidst, her shadow-

players in the world around her? And if so

why did she so need both the heroic 'theatrics'

of the cliff-hanging moment and life-death

crises of all these people in peril that 'her'

conjuring was always able to fix and solve;

and, then, if so, why was she always seen as

the dupe, was she really as dumb as all that,

never putting two and two together in her

quest for a one-on-one with Superman. The

entire bunch of them in fact, were equally

stupid. On the surface of things. Dumb.
That's the sort of 'drawing book' thing
that keeps our world going, filled
with images by which we live. And
we often don't even know it.

-

So it means nothing. Beneath it all is the

human animal, and that's what I'm after.

Trying to explain. Working on some of the

the rudiments of  - 'making cars' once more.

What is this human creature who first baked

a brick, fired a kiln, mucked around with some

clay or mud and straw? What urge was that?

One thing was, the nomadic, on the move

tribes, they never did any of that. To bake

bricks and have kilns, you have first to stay

in place. Remain fixed, and by doing that,

learn the seasons and each season's particular

needs of remaining in place. The bricks build

things  -  to mean something, they go 'into'

something. The nomads, all they had was

animal plops, maybe dried dung and some

sticks, then to move on some more. Right

there is a crossroads, one essential difference

between, or within, Mankind itself. That was

the heart of the Cain and Abel story, that

separation between men  -  the farmers vs.

the builders. Guess who won out, even

biblically. If this is the case, where does

God fit in? Which of these formats was the

initial intention, if such was the case? My

Biblical friends  -  Bob and Carl  -  they'd

have the usual pat answers for this  -  the

kind of stuff you can't argue with because

it just gets too wearisome : 'God intended

that difference, so as to give us the choices

ourselves to make.' OK, really then? Then

why was not the first 'choice' given as well,

to eat of the fruit or not, instead of a flat

forbidding? Why have the tree there in place

at all, if there was such a tree? Rather poor

planning, no? What is the reason for any of

this? And then, of course, the wiser folk of

these selfsame religion-people, their 'other

camp; would say 'No, no. Not at all; it isn't

meant literally, it's all allegorical; as Jesus

spoke in parables, so too are these tales

spoken of as riddles and enigmas merely

to stand for things and advance the thinking

process.' And then I have to agree again?

But not before saying, 'Ok then, but before

you go can you help tidy up this field we are

leaving behind, this battleground of 41,000

dead bodies, the ones who did NOT agree

to our version of the 'allegories' you speak

of. Come, come, let us clean up the field,

and then you can go in peace. Or, of course,

I will kill you. It's your choice.

-

Each person has a separate drawing book.
Maybe you can see what I'm getting at : a

person has to get away from all this, leave

it behind, because it's a fool's game  -  as

much so as those anti-macassars which once

were put on the backs of chair-tops to keep

the head from staining the fabric. Huh?

That's what drawing is, or at least the drawing

mind, once it begins steering itself towards

Art in general. Everything begins to dissolve

and the meanings which are left are left with

enough leeway to become redefined. Once

all the crud is scraped away, there's still a lot

of rudiment there. I keep seeing crowds of

people, but single  - like a loaf of bread, say,

all of  one loaf but forty or fifty different 

slices. Each one of these picks something up.

I guess, for themselves, but I'm not even so

sure of that - sometimes I think the minds 

communicate with each other, in spite of.

I don't know but, somewhere, somehow 

along the line, the idea got started to 

'move' things, to find ways to become

mobil, and, bam! that was pretty much the

end of the old ways forever. Thank you,

Henry Ford and Thomas Edison, and the

guys who worked on engineering roadway 

and ridges, surfaces and pavements, fuels

and battery cells. Monuments to something,

along the way, or to nothing. I don't know.

-

I still know a few people who remain quite

rudimentary. It's a great thing to see. They may

be a little rough and well-worn, coarse and

even 'persnickety' (love that word). But damn,

they are good people. Welding, forging, fixing,

eating, drinking heartily, laughing and calling

 in all the rights notes to the tune of the world

they were given. I got over the fussy part of

living a long, long time ago and just now hope

I can slide it in my own manner right to the 

finish line of my own ways and means.

 In the most rudimentary fashion.