RUDIMENTS, pt. 254
Making Cars
'You know, outside of us, what
else is there?' That's the sort of
question teachers in school or
church put forth to show us
humans as the pinnacle of some
sort of creation. What sort that
may be, I never found out. It's
a way of saying that we are the
highest level of creatures. Boy,
that's a tough one to consider,
while stepping over all the dead
bodies on the fields of Antietam,
in the 1860's, or Ypres, in WWI,
or Omaha Beach, in WWII.
And let's not, please, forget
Danang and Pleiku and Hue.
Or Serbia, or, heck, any of the
rest. I'm too tired to list any more.
It just hurts. We all had to slog
through our own trench warfare
of misery as kids, getting dragged
around by tongues and ears to
be made to listen to teachers; in
reality nothing more than half-
housewives with kids and families
of their own. Who was anyone
kidding? You can't stretch time
that thin.
-
All that ever did to me was
make me grow quite tired, of
saying hello to misery, and
hello to discontent. Or, as
Leonard Cohen would put it,
later, 'a pile of dogshit in a
bagful of gold.' Well, heck,
he didn't really. But he could
have and I'd have believed
him. That crack about the
light getting in was
bad enough.
-
As I went through school, one thing
always stuck in my mind. Well, I'll
get to it later, but also, I saw a sign
today admonishing me to be sure, in
addition to the concerns of everyday
living, that I find assistance (at a
church, of course) for properly
completing my 'spiritual journey'
as well. Wow, that threw me. I'm
an old man now, by the relative
merits of things - meaning fashions,
clothing, gadgets, diet, hemlines
and all the rest of that civilian crap.
I'd like to know who was behind
that one; some tendentious minister,
probably, with one eye always on
the collection plate. How in the
world, or by what magic, does one
of these people have the solicitude
to think they can separate Life and
Living, from 'Spiritual' life and
living, and call it a separate journey?
What are they thinking? This whole
deal is one big enchilada, and if
a person cannot or does not take
care of it all together, as one, then
it's pretty damned useless. The
presumption of 'claiming' a take
on your better part only, the
'spiritual part,' is pretty vile.
That's the wedge that political
creeps and business sinners
always use to sneak by with
their profiteering and
mis-representation, and
then show up in church
on Sunday with family and
wife, pretending all of a
sudden to care about the poor
and the homeless. What's all
that called? Crocodile tears
or something. That lousy
approach to living is all fakery,
and it comes from pride.
(Which by the way is one of
the Seven Deadly Sins).
-
Now, the thing that always
stuck in my mind was the odd
little parallel that was always
given about the great explorers
of the past, and there were many
of them. Vasco DeGama, Magellan,
Columbus, and all those guys,
plus all the biblical ones, Abraham
and all that. Even the moon guys,
Armstrong and Aldrin, they could
be considered explorers in their
way too. One thing I always
thought about was how they were
unassuming. It was always 'others'
making the big stink about them.
They themselves knew the grit
and hustle it took to do any of
that. Glory is like a drug : a
little of it, and it just makes
you start wanting more. It's a
'gateway' thing. A starter-upper.
And it never really exists.
Most of these guys just ended
up dying with a groan and not
a big fusillade of happiness
and fame. At some point
everything hurts, and if one
is going to go around strutting
about as the 'pinnacle' of
civilization, you had better
damn-well be. None of those
guys said 'let me find this
new continent, and then I'll
go to church about it.' It never
worked that way. The search
and the discovery was always
caught up with God and Service
as one, all together. These cheesy
religious guys, who think they
can take credit for your 'spiritual'
side while all the rest goes to
Hell, are wrong. Life is a Oneness,
and there's no separatism about it.
-
Once I got to New York City, I
realized I too was an explorer;
just like any of those other guys.
My scale was way different, and
my beginning point too. But
everyone begins at their own
personal zero, and runs the
scale out from there. And I
discovered new things at every
turn and - just as if I was
having to re-align my world
from some idiot fantasy of
an Earth-centered universe
to the terra icognitos and
mare-furiosos of the flat-Earth
crowd. That whole uneager,
medieval scene of old, it was
all around me. Everything I did,
all I ran across, was part of my
one journey, both material, for
sure, and spiritual, for more
sure, at one time. You can't
compartmentalize Reality.
My pithy attitude from being
point zero-zero dead certain
about nothing in particular,
from Avenel's loyal and very
local sandbox, had to be
turned out very quickly and
replaced - the sand - with
a rich, deep peat moss in
which things would thrive.
Out the window with all that
old stuff. School windows
and local timetables, gone!
Strange new things took over.
Like the corner of First and
1st, it could wreck my mind -
(the spot where First Avenue
intersects with 1st street). I
made that like my point of
origin and my new date of
creation. There was a guy there,
Ken Knauer, with an urban
junkyard, right out along the
street, inside the bowels of
this big old hulk of a building
on E. Houston - stuff falling
out all over the sidewalk -
old bar signs, light-up horses
and neon camels, lanterns,
ladders, statues, and most
anything else. Beds and dressers,
chiffarobes and cornices,
drainpipes and barstools.
everything archaeologically
weird from a very old New
York. He sold it all shamelessly.
He had a few helpers; dirty,
dishevelled guys who would
lift and haul, or drag and push
this heavy old crap. He sold a
million things, and made money
too. It was massive - and it
only got taken away about
maybe 8 years ago too. The
site is still there, and some of
the old junk yet lays around,
but the mad sweep of
development, restoration,
and gentrification now has
that whole scene in its pocket
too. It's a sad world, to be
separated, I guess, from
the other, not-so-sad world.
If you can do that. That Ken
guy was pretty much a rude
crankcase of a guy, a demon.
Real New York type - he'd
take no shit, and he'd snap
your head off if you'd mistakenly
asked the wrong question or got
sounding too stupid. I think he
had some connections too
with the local Hell's Angels
over on 3rd, or maybe it was
their joint, for all I knew.
One or two of them was
always somewhere lurking,
and a bike or two was usually
around. It was only a little
suspicious and odd - the
dark underbelly of New
York commerce. I didn't
know much, but, you see,
this is what explorers stumble
into : The natives; unwittingly.
Some times they take you in,
other times they boil you
in a big pot, and feast upon
your body and your soul.
No comments:
Post a Comment