10,123. RUDIMENTS, pt. 122

RUDIMENTS, pt. 122

Making Cars

No one ever gets ulcers anymore, or

or at least I never hear of them. Back

in the 1960's that the was malady

to have  - quite stylish. The man 

with 'ulcers' was seen as smart,

savvy, active and dedicated. Taking

the office home with him  -  problems

and issues. Driven and focused, and

this was before any of today's sorts

of communication   -  24hr access, 

online, phones, remote-meetings, etc. 

The resources and the surroundings

were entirely different and  -  in fact  -

work itself meant something quite

different. To be stricken with an

'ulcer'  -  whether it was anything

real or not  -  brought one the

satisfaction of 'good trouble.' The

trouble of verve. Men would grimace,

holding their stomachs, to be seen

making the 'big' decisions. Nowadays

it's really a cliched joke what people 

used to put themselves through for

corporate dedication  -  some 12th

floor corner office designating power.

A marked parking spot. A full sexual 

relationship with someone down the 

hall, kept in silence and secrecy. Or

thought to be, anyway. The real guys

would welcome the chance to keel 

over, heart-attack city, right there 

on the office carpet. They'd probably 

get a bonus for that. I don't know

where any of that's gone, but it all

seems dispersed  - the chatter of

distraction and 'I don't care, this 

isn't me'. It's all pretty funny now -

as I worked at Barnes & Noble that

sort of stuff was always going on  -  

the Store Manager guy was boinking 

the Asst. Store Manager girl, who 

wasn't that when they started. It

was all hush-hush, chuckle-chuckle;

nobody knows, OK. The wife gets

chucked, the divorce started. Funniest

thing was what previously had been

his nice head of hair turned out to have

been a wig all that time and the new

girlfriend, seeking authenticity, once

she got him, put an end to all the wig 

stuff and the guy walks in one day

bald. The truth outs. By that time the

illicit-love gig was up anyway and 

no one had really cared anyway. It was

all very confusing and all that was 

missing was the massive doses of 

Mylanta, and the Rolaids. But they 

weathered it well, and I don't know 

what ever came of it. Or them.

-

But, it had that outlandish charm of 1950's

office romance chic. The girl was pretty cool,

let's call her Kelly, and had recently come out 

of the Navy, and the guy, let's call him Jeff,

was a rabid Yankee fan and not much else.

It was all quite suspicious   -  all these 

differing life habits falling away to the

newer habits of office lust. Had it been

some ad agency or detective firm, it could

have been a perfect scenario, and I'd

probably be writing about it. Oops, just did!

I've been told that in New York City everyone

has already slept with everyone else, at least

once, and that sort of thing is considered of

no consequence at all  -  it's how finances 

move and campaigns move along : soap,

watches, music, ads, cars, condos and

publishing all run on penis. In fact, like

the old 'Penis envy' trope, ('I envy what

you have, and I want it'), that worked for

people too. Trade-offs and juggling. 

The Big Apple Circus!

-

But I guess it all somehow diluted everything

down so that the common denominator now 

is so common that no one cares and ulcers 

are unheard of. What do you think did it?

Recreational drugs? Pornography? Irony?

The old intensity I used to see along the

street  -  hordes of people, each looking 

serious and already in their 60's even if only

35, dressed in dark clothes, intrepidly

gazing downward as they walked, in 

earnest, carrying the weight of their world

on those narrow-back shoulders, male or

female. It's all gone now  -  everyone's a

happy-go-lucky street-freak : backpacks, 

sneakers, crazy colors, not caring what they

look like, coffees in hand, phones, screens.

Scampering, in a complete familiarity with

everything and everyone. What a different 

world, and it's the worst world ever, by 

contrast. At least or myself, I don't see

anything good ever coming out of it, but

I'm done and over, so it's of no consequence

All I ever see is slavery, and lies. People

in chains without even knowing it, and

lying too, the same lies they've unwittingly

accepted after being fed them. If that doesn't

cause a resurgence in the world 'ulcer', nothing 

will  -  even if they go calling it something else,

better paid for and covered, by the State.

'I've been diagnosed with 'TSS' (twisting

stomach syndrome), and can I get this

prescription filled before I spit up

blood again?'

-

My time there, people were straight and stern.

You knew a man by the cut of his clothes and

the way he managed his presence. It all began

breaking down in that finger-snapping period,

I guess, of the mid/late 50's. I'm not so sure, and

I only got the echoes and old tales I'd hear, but

that seemed about right and any number of the

people I dealt with came out of that era and still

had their nose in that wind, so to speak. Most

people (this is all only what I surmise of my

own presence there), at heart seemed to be

looking for reassurance and transfiguration. 

Not the artists and writers and cool cats and 

boppers I'd see, but I mean the ordinary 

schlubbs daily trudging and lining up for 

their trains and buses. Do you know how, 

when you're uncomfortable somewhere, 

or with a new bunch of people you're not

sure of, going to the bathroom becomes

an embarrassing chore you don't want to

undertake. I don't mean just peeing, I mean

the big movement. You just try not to get

to that point, but your eyes cloud over, you

know your complexion is failing, your eyes

squint too much, the face gets puffy, and 

you're just like longing to moan or get up

and break away? That's kind of what the

entire society was like about then. Everyone

needed reassurance, and a way to relax. 

Eventually I think they all got it through 

sex. The girls and ladies, they got the 

transfiguration they needed, from that, 

too. Once that stupid sex-dam opened 
up everyone seemed wilder and crazier, 
looser, yes, and happier too. Anyway, that 
was about the last I ever heard of 'ulcer.' 
Go figure it.

-
Interestingly, I read somewhere once 
that 'the history of the world is a history 
of censorship.' What this was meaning 
to say, which I understood fully, was
that people were 'visually hungry,' and I
understood that. (They sure aren't now).
Except for the artworld, a 'naked' human
body, this gut was saying, was 'such a rare
and striking thing that the sight of it was
more than enough to start juices flowing.
People were still visually hungry; there
was no sense of deja vu as there is now.
As a nation, we hadn't lost our naivete.'
This was all just a thought, about the
disappearance   -  as I said  -  of all that
angst and anxiety by which ulcers were
a craze. I don't know what to make of it, 
but here's a real clue, from real life:
Just a few hours ago, in the waning daylight.
I came across two kids, maybe 10 or 11 years
old, near the street entrance to the park,
on their little scooter things. Walking my
dog nearby, I stayed within earshot as
the dog lingered and the kids went on.
What I heard, surprising as it may have been,
by these kids, was a blow-by-blow account,
one telling the other anyway, of what had
transpired on a phone-screen evidently 
portraying a quite vivid sexual encounter.
The one kid had NOT missed a detail,
believe you me, and the other kid just kept 
blurting out, 'Eeew!' -   just like kids do with
cooties or whatever it is like that.
Future ulcers indeed!