10,735. RUDIMENTS, pt. 287

RUDIMENTS, pt. 287

Making Cars

Remember how previously I

said that nothing of note, worthy

or startling ever came out of

Avenel. Here are two things I

thought up but never have

implemented. Unlike Thomas

Edison, nearby say, in what is

now Menlo Park : He used to

take, in a rocking chair at his

workspace, what he called

'power naps'  -  at any time.

He claimed they empowered

him to finish or conclude a

thought or an idea that had

struck him, or  - as he put it  -

which the spirits had sent

but not finished. Hence the

power nap, for the inspiration

to finish coming through. He

called them 'bucket-trick naps.'

He would fall asleep with a

pail on the floor, below the

 spot where his arm was. He'd

nod off holding a stone. Once

he'd gotten into that short, light

mode of sleep, that 'zone' of odd
ideas, dreamlike, he did not

want to sleep deeper or longer.

As his body relaxed, the stone

would fall, straight down, into

the noisy, empty bucket, and

awaken him. Presto! He had it!
The solution was at hand!

-

For myself, I want to institue

interactive gravestones. The

cemeteries right now are filled

with mute slabs, nothing going

on after reading the, mostly lame,

inscriptions. On my 'new' ones,

interactive, a scan or whatever, would

allow the visitor, or the cemetery

stroller, to hear the last life-message

of the deceased. Known or unknown,

it doesn't matter  -  it would be a rich

heritage to tap. Each person's view

and concluded wrap-up of their life.

History in a million ways. I'm

in graveyards often  -  gypsy,

artist and writer, etc.  -  and would

love to be able to tap into that.

Hundreds of different, personal,

time capsule memories of a life

lived and gone by. People would

stroll cemeteries for knowledge

and learning: "I really used to love

taking my little Toyota down to

Woolworth's when it was still there;

we used to buy fabric by the yard;

I always wanted to see England,

and in 1971 finally got the chance.

It was wonderful. The Queen then

was not yet to her Jubilee year; we

visited the palace and saw the guards."

Or, "I got out of the Army in '46,

with a lame leg. It took shrapnel at

Okinowa, and pretty much ruined

the hopes I had for baseball. I had

been pretty good; The wife and I

moved to Rahway in 1952, to a

small house we got for 2100 bucks.

I worked at Merck for a long time.

My two sons went to college in the

early 60's, and then I took sick. But

I gave my boat -  which I'd loved  -

to both of them, if they promised

to share it equally." Or writer-people

reading something they'd done or

wanted memorialized; oddball

personal confessions or observations;

family stories, or whatever. With

resource rooms, writing and study

tables, listening posts, etc. It could

be a cool thing.

-

Another one is  -  my wife always

likes cooking and preparing. I hate

all that and don't even much care

about food; finding it mostly

unnecessary and repulsive and

over-rated too. She makes some

quality stuff, but it's all wasted

on me. I wanted to open a sort

of restaurant, called  'Kenton's

Edge' (no reason, I just dreamed

a name up), a small, informal

place, open all and any of the

times she wants it to be  -  cooking,

preparing, serving, etc. The stuff

she really likes doing. Maybe

friends in to play live music a bit,

with or readings, small events. But

the thing would be, at the entrance,

a posted sign, changing each

week or month, whatever, saying

'This week/month cost us, so far,

$1700.' Then a list of supplies

gone through, stuff  bought, and

a list of money that came in from

meals and sales. All above-board

and out in the open. Anybody

who wished to 'buy in' to whatever

reported 'profit' (or 'loss) that is

reached every six months, after

maybe 12 or 15% for her as buyer,

owner/proprietor, would be able

to do so, adding whatever buy-in

amount is determined, and every

six months a distribution of 6 or 7

percent goes out, as a dividend,

to those people. It's a totally

idealistic idea, covering only

some stupid Utopian thinking,

but it's a cool idea and I would

have liked undertaking it. Sure

beats some of the crap I

see around here.

-

I always figured that without

knowledge, without an ideology,

things get pretty stupid. Like the

Golden Age of the Greeks or

something, a small society

premised on ideals and goals,

with points of science and learning,

wisdom, literacy, and ideals, takes

on a 'higher' level, immediately.

Using as a for instance, I can

parallel 'Avenel'  -  or any other

crap-town  -  Woodbridge, Perth

Amboy, Carteret, anything right

around here, as total negative holes

in the advancement of Mankind.

These are just 'places', no better

much than holding pens for dogs.

Use any little sham town, it doesn't

have to be these. Paterson or

Poughkeepsie will do. They aren't

run with any sort of enlightened

configuration, just instead by

assholes and crooks, low-level,

mid-managers who probably

have trouble with pencils and

sentences. (Not that they

themselves shouldn't have a

'sentence.') - it's just that

their blind and unending

stupidity sucks the light

right out of the very places

themselves. There's no getting

to them because, as the

unenlightened dumb-shits

that they are, they talk only to

each other, with total fantasy

lines. At least I talk to myself;

I don't think they can ever

face themselves.

-

That's only one ample vestige

of the sorts of differences that

arise between places that have

'Life' and the other dead,

ship-bottoms where people

with no resources live. Kids

leave these places, for colleges

or whatever, if they do, and

return in a few years simply

realizing there's no communication.

No meshing. So they leave again

and take up a residence in a

more reasoned atmosphere

better 'fitting their new level.

That's how it all stagnates.

That's how you get endless

lines of lumber yards, roads,

sub-divisions, and warehouses.

It's all based on the lies that are

promulgated by the people so

willing to lie as they live and

breath. Without an inherent

philosophy, life is nothing.

-

At the Studio School I was

able to go back any number

of years that I chose, and there 

was always something there : 

the vast, working, and treasured

archive that was New York City

itself : I had every step along the

way of art and literary history

from which to feed myself. Pfaff's,

where I could sit below ground 

and talk and mingle with Walt 

Whitman at Broadway and 

Bleecker; I had the Golden 

Swan, and the playhouse

nearby  -  O'Neil and all 

those marvelous people.

Chumley's; Poe; both Hart

and Stephen Crane! At all

times! That's a world of

difference, and to me it

meant the world.