10,167. RUDIMENTS, pt. 133

RUDIMENTS, pt. 133

Making Cars

A lot of things in this life

I loved, a lot I didn't. But the

one thing I found out was that

they were both the same and

it didn't matter. I spent plenty

of my time thinking about...

well, time. And time passed.

Some guy was telling me a story

one night, long-winded, blowhard

stuff. A real man of no means

(I always liked that line in Roger

William's song about 'King of the

Road,' where he says 'Man of means

by no means King of the Road.' It's

about a bum or a pauper along his

way on the begging road, and that

little phrase hits twice. Totally

efficient use of words, once you

get into the song : 'Man of means

by no means,' meaning 'I'm poor,'

and, at the same time, 'By no means

King of the Road.' Meaning also,

'I'm poor.' Oh well, it always struck

me as good stuff; fine writing), and he

began, this guy, saying, "Before I 
reached the years of maturity, I fell
in love with a woman of the most

amazing pulchritude,' (oh, that means

'beauty'  -  he was talking like a

blowhard, I already mentioned) -

'I brought her home one night for

dinner' (now my joke here would

 have been 'I ate her'  -  but so much

for humor. More on that in a minute).

"My mother was renowned for her

perfection in the culinary art. We

had a splendid meal, and later my

mother said to me, 'Joseph, that is

a most beautiful young woman. She

is so lovely that she cannot be meant

for you. She must have been meant

for some millionaire.' From that

moment I determined that I, too,

would be a millionaire." The

sexual incentive to be rich, he

said, was therefore always very

powerful with him. And then he

began going on about how he was

not the type for physical labor, wasn't

oriented to 'work,' etc, so that he

became, after consultation with some

spiritual zen-type guy, a psychologist.

I almost felt as if I was being put on

here, or used  -  after all, who in the

world ever says 'the sexual incentive

to be rich was strong?' What sort of

thinking was that. (And, a psychologist

to boot?). The Chinese guy, he said,

had told him, "People see themselves

in you." He said that was all he needed

to make the decision  -  he began to

"enter the lives of my dupes," as he

put it. 'The man who lives by an idea

enjoys a great superiority over those

who live by none. To make money is

not an idea; that doesn't count. I mean

a real idea. It was very simple. My

purpose was invisible. When they

looked at me they saw themselves.

I only showed them their own purpose."

Then he said such con men like that

are now a thing of the past (oh, really,

I thought to myself). "The great mass

of mankind now breeds obedient types.

They express their protests in acts of

violence, not ingeniously. Moreover,

your best or most talented con-men

are attracted to politics. Why be a

robber, a fugitive, when you can get

society to give you the key to the

vaults where the greatest stuff lies?

The United States Government runs

the greatest giveaway program in

history."

-

You don't come by these sorts of

conversations just anywhere; it's a

very New York sort of thing, or was

then. Certain places had their own

sorts of 'clientele.' Now everything's

a sports bar or a chowder-pot for

fishhead types.  These were different  -

dark, murky places where dark, murky

characters lurked. Society's been ruined

and winnowed by kids -  frivolous,

date-night types  -  who've now

matured into the usual sort of

flakes seeking gentrified foods and

places, paying exorbitant amounts of

money to look at one or other pathetic

versions of themselves, and wait in

carousel lines of patter and froth to

do so. Moronic. Zombies. The world

should stop in its orbit just to dump

them off.

-

Previously I made mention of how I

studied my own varied curriculum

at my own set and pace. Literary

classics, Shakspeare, and all that. To

become a writer, all of that is necessary;

you can't just glide in, as they most often

do now, going to a few open mic-nights,

spouting some broken-heart venom or

curlicue-pretty word stuff, bragging

about how your heart does the writing

for you and your spirit is the guide.

'Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera,' as that

fake Mickey Rooney Chinese character

guy says in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Mr.

Yunioshi, or something. It caused a

furor, and was referred to as racist, as

a vamp of the cliched Chinaman/Jew,

and even got its little nomenclature as 

'Chinese Giu' for reference. Mostly

you cannot find it now, or it's been

cut from the versions of the film 

you do see... Anyway, you really

need to study and become one with

the literate references all around :

books, authors, characters, situations.

It's a whole other version of history,

and it's there. The stuff that used to

go on, a lot of it anyway, was truly

amazing  -  around the bend, in ways

we can't do today. Shakespeare,

especially. Just take 'The Tempest,'

for instance; his final play. All you

need are the first 3 pages of that to be

taken to a whole other place. Entirely

away from here. It is light. It is Life. 

It takes the viewer (reader) totally

away from here. In 1610, it sort of

represented a culmination of the

whole 'Nature' versus 'Art' dilemma. 

Sexual union with Nature's fruitfulness

is seen as a gentle, and as irkingly 

choreographed, dance. Certainly nothing

of that 'sexual incentive to be rich,'

here. This is love/lust for pure romance

and fancy. Nature is celebrated as a

dance to the principle of order  -  

represented by Art, and Civilization 

too. No real personal anarchy here;

Prospero telling Ferdinand not

to 'break Miranda's virgin knot'

before marriage. These are, perhaps,

now tedious things, but then too they

were quite meaningful, as they helped

put 'Civilization' together. And in the

most ribald way too. For instance,

now for a few instances in those first
three or four pages. Shakespeare

most wonderfully 'images' this - the 

opening scene is of the travail and 

turmoil on board the ship in the 

midst of the howling damaging 

storm which will run them in. 

Deckhands fly with oaths, and 

the three 'superiors' -  Gonzalo, 

Antonio, and Sebastian, who've 

come down to check on things and 

harangue the crew, are beset with 

curses and oaths thrown back at 

them, as in 'get lost, let us do our

work,' etc.  Referencing the King  - 

Alonso, who is on board  -  Gonzalo 

says in effect, 'Be careful here, remember 

who is on board this ship to save.' And 

one of the fierce deckhands says, 'No 

one I value more than myself! You're 

a big deal, see what you can do then, 

command the elements to stop, you 

jerk!, and be out of our way.' The 

language runs the gamut, and it's real. 

Then Antonio swears that the deckhand 

will die by drowning, he just knows it, 

because he's such a waste. And then 

Gonzolo says the opposite, having 

seen the deckhand's work and 

his dedication to staying alive 

(beautiful, this): 'That man will never 

drown, even if this craft were no 

stronger than a nutshell, and as 

leaky as an unstanched wench!' 

And, of course, by footnote, it is

 explained, 'a leaking unstanched 

wench' means 'a wide-open, and 

dripping prostitute.' Amazing stuff.

Or it was to me anyway, then.
More just for the way it was simply
'thrown in' the mix way back then, with
no real cautionary forethought. The
people just sat there, and took it all in,
and laughed it through. I guess all things
were just different : cows, mud, farm
animals, people in shelter together. A 
different, less varnished, rawness, and
fewer sensibilities to offend in the
wide-open world. When comedy seemed
to sneer and drip from everything.