10,071. RUDIMENTS, pt. 109

RUDIMENTS, pt. 109

Making Cars

Most of those old, early motorcycle

club guys had been WWII flyers :

attack planes and Spitfires and stuff,

running fast and low in the skies.

Their plane-fuselages were often

coyly decorated in some version

of a babe or girlfriend of some sort,

maybe with a name or a slogan

thrown in. It would be cool to learn

how many of them went down, with

their girlfriends or dream-girls on

the fuselage. Dreams die hard, so

maybe it was only a few. Anyway,

once they all were mustered out,

back into the civilian population,

after the war, they were mostly

aimless, and filled with dark

thoughts. Some of the things they'd

seen had been the stuff of nightmares.

Lots of guys were able to handle it

all OK, get jobs, lots of them in the

then-new airline industry, wrenching,

a plane mechanics or tuners, or fleet

guys. Others just drifted off; some

into that dread and bleakness of drift,

beats, wanderers, dark souls. Some,

finding a skill in writing, took their

thoughts and ideas to paper and lived

that way. Greenwich Village cats, New

York dudes. A real and early version

of the 1950's free-minded hero, to me

anyway  -  finger-snaps, black boots,

Devil-my-care stuff. Poetry and coffee.

As on their plane-paintings of those

girls, you couldn't really 'show' much,

but you could suggest a lot.

-

Some of those guys took up motorcycling.

Saying the hell with the rest of life and

its concerns, they chopped and hopped

up their rides, cutting things down to the

barest minimum of true and functional

black-diamond hot-riding. No limits. And

then thy formed clubs, riding clubs, brazen

groups in a shack or a shed, taking sides

and pushing their names. It became a public

bit-form, as well, of 'show' and terrorism.

Beer-brawling, running at stop-lights.

On the old planes, if you didn't keep the

revs up, along the ground, at no speed,

the plane's engine would die. It really

kept no idle. Motorcycles did, but these

guys still revved their bikes at lights, and

at shifting too. We've all heard some terror

rider revving a crack just before the shift,

catch the bumped-up revs with a smooth

gear-change. It's unnecessary, but it's cool.

If you're going to 'profile,' you've got to

be cool. That's how old things live on.

-

Right next to 509 e11th, where I was

living, was this 'legendary' place called

'Paradise Alley.' It had been a Beatnik

haunt, hang-out, club, and set of apartments

for any number of post-war slackers and

cultural bottom-feeders. That was, of

course. all over and done by the time,

in Aug. '67, I got there. When I arrived

it already was a motorcycle patch  -  early

NYC Hell's Angels and others got their

club start there. I'd see their bikes parked

in the courtyard, st curbside, and on the

sidewalk, there would be people hanging

about, club guys watching the parked

motorcycles and that street corner  - 

11th street and Ave. A. There'd be

really neat girls, in rolled up flannel

shirts, jeans, (quite distinctive at that

time and, certainly, not a 'fashion item'

or staple, as now). Guys and girls leaning

on the old brick buildings within the

courtyard  -  which had a brick arch

at the entryway  -  would be snuggling

or kissing, in that leftover, almost

world-weary, and weird, 1950's way.

It was pretty dreamy, and a real 
site to behold.

-

I'll admit, readily, to not much knowing

what anything meant, or was supposed

to mean. I'll never know what I missed;

how many serendipitous meetings or

encounters that may have occurred passed

right by me because of my own insipid

vacuity. What did I know? My life at that

time was nothing at all  -  brought up with

a scream, aware of not much beyond maybe

Howdy Doodie, Buffalo Bob, and Milton

Berle thrown in for good measure. My

yardstick had always been a small-town

one, not even a town, just a place. Having

it all of a sudden at play in the largest city

of is day was certainly a shocker. I used to 

walk around, thinking. (Yes, imagine that).

I used to think about living without money,

how society could be arranged to have that

done away with  -  it was a sort of advanced-

consciousness thing I toyed with. I had a

friend or two with whom I'd banter over

the idea of barter (to 'banter' over 'barter' 

sure looks like some sort of crackpot joke 

here now), how it could work, how goods

and services could be exchanged, in place

of money  -  but that idea never worked.

How many pairs of shoes could a person 

need, and paying for groceries by making

the farmer yet more shoes certainly seemed

like a dead end. However, amidst my NY

musings, I came up with this other idea;

also not implementable, but mine. If we

could meet our needs without the exchange

of money, I had it this way: first off, everything

would have to slow down; there are way too 

many people, so as attrition took care of

natural death, others, yes, would need to

be selectively eliminated (that part wasn't

so pretty), and voluntary 'enlightened'

viewpoints would need to come to the fore

to limit and decrease the population. Beauty

and nature would be allowed to flourish, 

instead of being squashed. That too would 

take 'enlightened,' advanced people. I

figured there would always be a large

segment of technical-heads, those people

who insist on things   -  rules, means,

procedures and processes. They could be

left alone, to build all their automated

things  - clothing, transportation, foodstuffs,

all that. Once everything had slowed down, 

the 'right' people could be left to remain ever

watchful and vigilant for meaningful

encounters, to advance Humankind, and

the force of enlightening and evolving the 

race. Without needs, yes, but also without

wants, kind of a high Marxist idea of 'to each

according to need, to each according to ability.'

Bridgemakers-in-mind could build their

bridges, etc. Once a sort of critical mass was

met, Humankind would become meditative,

and quiet. Introspection would take over;

a vast religious 'present' or 'now.' People

would began getting intuitions of being in

the wrong jobs, or wrong places, and simply

make the changes needed for harmony, AND  - 

this is where it got so important  -  people

would give us money for the insights we 

provide. People's 'gifts'  -  a new form of

tithing, would go to people who have given

them spiritual truth. As people (and this,

through psychic harmony, would begin 

happening) began coming into the lives

of others at 'just the right time' to give

spiritual truths, they'd be paid for that.

Thus, slowly, a 'spiritual' economy could

push us over, into the next realm, into a

form of enlightened living. 

-

Oh well; so often, walking the streets, 

I felt really good about stuff like that.