10,669. RUDIMENTS, pt 268

RUDIMENTS, pt. 268

Maple Tree, pt. 7

When you study the old art

of mosaics, you learn how they

ancients used to arrange their

cut tiles or stones, or colored

cubes. They first had to discover

the various useful means of

putting the dye and the color

into the mix, what to make the

tiles from, how to glaze, etc.

Then they had to get to work

on the best means of mortar;

adhesion, longevity, etc.

Most things faced the elements,

exposures to wind and rain,

airborne grime and abrasives.

Small industries, organized in
the most primitive manner, arose

for all these workings  -  the earliest

means of organizational work.

Hours, personnel, etc. In the

same way as the Romans,

making later all those roads

and ways and Via this and

Appian Ways that, got everything

ordered and organized and made

remarkably good roads, lasting

into today, so the early efforts 

of Mankind too prospered.

The skill moved from 'Artist',

working sole and solitary, and

became craft and industry, early

and primitive as it may have

been. How does Mankind order

all these things? Make sense,

and make Ideas? There's a sort

of engrained magic always at

work, in the same, genetic, way

by which we all learn to speak

and talk and have 'languages.'

It's all that 'communal' stuff again.

The specialists here, in mosaics,

even were able to figure out the

'art-sublime' of scale and distance.

If you've ever made a poster, you'll

know the surprise that comes from

failing because the end product has

items upon it, letters, etc., not done

large enough to be seen from any

decent distance. In mosaics too

they had to learn scale and clarity.

If not, all that work was down the

drain  -  or whatever they had back

then. Too close, you can't really

'see' the picture. Too far, same thing.

You have to find the ultimate right

spot to view from.

-

It was like that for me too  -  Maple

Tree, riding, any and all of that

motorcycle stuff. And now too, in

re-telling some of it, or trying to.

I never much worry, when I write,

about all the rules and regulations

about syntax and all that. I just

write for what comes out. The rest,

all that nitpicky stuff, I leave for

others to detect. I'm still busy, in

my everyday life, just trying to

find the right distance to write

from, for 'view.' Find what you will;

I don't care. If that's all that makes

you happy  -  good. All this stuff

is just like tile-mosaics. If it's too

close and vivid, it may look good

but only as you read it  -  meaning

I got the distance and the perspective

right. Too far off, or out, my re-telling

goes nowhere because I have the

picture all off. Bad mosaic. I've

got to get it all just right.

-

One night there was a shooting at

the Maple Tree. Every so often you

hear of things like that  -  but it's

usually in some crummy, old,

trailer-park location, in Tennessee.

Malik shoots Sahira. Malik runs

off, and then shoots himself after

the trailer's been torched.  NJ had its

own ways. Another time, some guy

got his face slashed, in the back

room, before he too fled. I didn't

know either f the people involved

in these cases anyway. The face-

slash one I knew of better, because

it was one of my friends who did it

and another of my friends, with him,

who was implicated too  -  testifying

and all that at the ensuing trial. The

problem was, as usual, that we'd get

these new, young people coming in,

just starting to hang around, practicing,

in a way, to be better losers for later

life. They didn't know, or understand,

the Biker ethos, the knotted, gnarly

principles sometimes involved. They'd

start with the mouth-off shit, then it

would slowly escalate and they'd

get their head handed to them. Once

again, brought to you by Alcohol, ('and

now, a word from our sponsors...').

The guy getting the face slash got

sliced up pretty bad, the bar and

Hazel were in trouble, as were my

two friends. Frankly, it had been

an off-night, wasn't an ABATE

thing at all, and in my own way

I was off-the-hook. The entire

ABATE scene with insurance

was another expensive nightmare

anyway  -  each of these stupid

events needed coverage. From

one perspective we were always

getting feted by lawyers because

to them we were a great customer

base,  but at the same time, they

made their living off of personal

injury claims, and every time

someone stubbed their toe we'd

hear about it. Insurance rates kept

climbing, upwards of 800 dollars by

the end  -  for maybe an 8 hour

event coverage. Multiple hundreds

of Bikers, food out in the open,

alcohol abounding, drunks, clubs,

speedfests, and love-mobiles too.

From every angle there was a chance

of danger and accidents. Once or

twice we ran (illegally) without any

insurance at all. Or we'd bluff. Hazel

would 'say' her coverage covered this,

and we'd 'say' our coverage covered

that. neither one of us had anything.

-

In retrospect, I'd say the MOST

annoying thing was vendors. And now

this may sound impolite, or even inept,

but I'm the guy with the experience here,

so I'm the guy to bitch at should you
take offense or not like it. A vendor

was basically an annoying leech to

any of the planned events. Tables, 

strewn with things for sale, biker stuff,

knives, shorts, hats, riding gloves,

trinkets, stupid junk, parts  -  though

usually not good parts. They were 

usually (here's the trouble) cranky

Jewish guys trying to make a buck;

their constant sideline was selling

junk, for pennies, and accumulating.

One guy I'll use as a for instance,

since he was a constant pain, was

Eliot somebody, of E&E Leathers.

An annoying guy to begin with,

straight-laced looking, worried about

everything and ALWAYS complaining:

table position, sunlight, not enough

room to spread out, no one comes

to the table, it's noisy, I want free

food, that guy stole a knife, I'm not

making any money. The two rules I

had to establish with vendors was:

No guarantees; this is your gig, 

and it's your chancy problem. And

FULL payment (usually 75 bucks,

mostly anyway) up front, on the way in,

or no spot. If that wasn't established,

they would (all just like this Eliot guy)

balk at paying full because they'd

had a crummy day, no business, a 

bunch of drunks, foul environment,

too near the bathrooms, it stunk.

You name it, these guys knew every

gimmick in the book. It was pretty 

useless. I had a friend there named

Joey who, with his good, clean,

enthusiasm for everything, I'd send

out as the vendor-chief. His optimism

was catchy, and he most always came

back with the payment. Good stuff.

Vendors always wanted to take more 

space too, than what they'd contracted 

for, and that would sometimes even

cause vendor-to-vendor conflict, OR 

people selling the same crap, next to 

each other or too close to one another. 

Gimbels and Macy's bullshit, for sure. 

Not my problem, you guys. tell it to 

the rabbi. Funniest thing was, one 

time way down in South Jersey  -  

not the Maple Tree  -  a bunch of 

us attended a two-day campover 

event, mostly Pagan's run. Tents 

and stuff, or not, on the sandy, 

pine barrens  grounds. It was crazy, 

went on forever, was about 110 

degrees out for both days, all through 

the night, food, booze, and raucous 

behavior. There was a vendor there

with a complete, walk-through

trailer, installation, plus tables and

stuff on the ground and on blankets.

A complete porno-shop set up :

dildos of all sorts and sizes, golf-ball

sized to dinosaur-dick, oils and 

lotions, VCR tapes and magazines, 

clothing, or not, ticklers, and all 

the rest of the usual sex-play 

paraphernalia. The guy was 

making out big time (no pun). I

kept picturing that trailer installation

in place at a Maple Tree event, and

sending Joey out to collect. Ha!
-
Sloppiness went with the territory
all through this, and at the Maple Tree
most definitely. The whole place
was rickety and apt to fall over at a
minute's notice. We all kept our ears
out for the last, fatal creak, the snap
of a main support beam or something.
Even though you couldn't hear a thing
anyway. In the Summer, it was about
18 degrees in there, and in the Winter
it always seemed like 100. Bodies, talk,
tempers, everything added to the heat.
It was good for the girl-set though.
Keeping them warm and scarcely
toga'd. I never found anything out
about what the rest of Avenel thought 
about the Maple Tree, or what we were
doing, or what went on. Every so often the
local cops would get a hard-on over
something and start cracking down  -
which was always a problem for us
motorcycle guys; cars too I guess.
Nobody left there sober. Least of all
the two-wheel crowd. Occasionally, and
only occasionally, there'd be a cop set up
down past Premier Die Casting, a small
machine shop factory on Rahway Ave.
to pull people over. If I was ever told
to recite alphabet, backwards or not,
and standing on one leg or not, after
walking backwards in a straight line,
it would be the alphabet of some weird,
alien universe out past Alpha-Centauri.
When that stuff was up, everyone just
went home the other way, making a left
and heading to Rahway, and Route One.
Even me.  Nowadays, they announce
well beforehand, the pullover and the
sobriety stops a month before-hand.
You can pre-plan, and set up your social
calendar over where NOT to be. How 
did get started? I think it's just more
normal corruption, by the bar owners, 
complaining of losing business. They pay
off whoever needs paying off, they get
advance notice of the pullover sites, and
they can tell their very best customers, as
drunks, where NOT to drive home, 
which route to avoid. Nice deal. They
say money talks. In this case, it drives.