10,947. RUDIMENTS, pt. 366

RUDIMENTS, pt. 366

(avenel's 'hidden' secrets and motives)

A lot of years have gone by

now, and I'm back here again.

It's pretty fruitless to try and

figure why, or at least I think

it is. Some people fly allover

the world doing whatever it is

they choose and landing

wherever it is they wish. To

live or stay or just visit. Money

and happiness seem to follow

them, or even get there first.

Pilot licenses, cruise-ships,

15-nation tours. When I was

a kid, I always said all I wanted

out of this life was a cave, a

place to stay to get my work

done and be left alone. I sort

of, at least, achieved that, but

it was tricky. You know how

maybe one part of you thinks

you're going to get it right,

become rich and famous,

revered and spoken off, and

then that other part of you  -

a much larger part  -  just

starts laughing, and it's AT

you, not WITH you, as that

told routine goes. That how

it was with me. A complete

flame-out, one staggering

crash-land, with debris all

around me. BUT! Only on

that count, the count of

achievement and physical

stuff. Other than that, I've

got it made and I'm a

millionaire.  I'm drowning

in words and ideas;  in fact

my boat can't handle all

I throw in it. Below the

water-line, everything

swarms, everything schools.

I'm late for the party now,

so it no longer much matters,

which allows me the form

of switch-blade courage of

which I take such advantage.

I no longer have to care what

anyone thinks of what I say,

by writing. One thing about

writing  -  it's all yours.

-

Referring back to that bakery

for a minute, I used to walk

there most every day for the

job. Early morning, like

6:30 or something. Walking

Avenel Street had its certain

charm; not much, but some.

The little pointed row-houses,

some duplex and some single,

that line the lower portion of

the roadway, are built very

close, and all alike. In certain

morning lights it was an

almost-stunning sight, seeing

all those gabled, close-together

and foreshortened points and

peaks. At that time, I was

heavy into Bosch and Bruegel,

Flemish and Dutch painters

of singular character each.

These jammed-in row houses

somehow always gave me that

feel, as if I was somewhere else,

walking some bizarre Dutch

landscape  -  it was like tripping,

but I'd had no drugs at all. I'd

expect Icarus to be falling out

of the sky, landing nearby me;

weird flame-headed creatures

and distorted animals to be

scrounging along the ground,

things with no eyes, maimed

critters and broken people.

-

I couldn't make any of this

work. Between NYCity and

my presence in Avenel, when

it was  - and as back and forth

as it was  -  I ended up getting

nothing from either place,

really. So I just quit the one

-  the Avenel one. It was

like when you're on a

battlefield, and there are

wounded and dead all

around you and the medics

go by performing their triage;

color-coding or marking up

the immediate needs of those

with life/death situations,

or the less-serious wounded,

or the dead, or those who will

die anyway. They mark up

the sequence of who gets what

care, if any. That's how it went

for me, and I color-coded Avenel

as dead; no urgency required.

But beyond that, it had become

so grueling and confining that

I could no longer understand

how anyone could stay there.

I never saw anyone  -  or if I

did I never communicated  -

but I had old kid-chums and

school-friends who were just

around, busy with their stuff.

Some few went away, to college.

(Others faked it, just claiming

they did). And others just

truncated everything, and began

installing aluminum siding, or

workers as plumbers of clerks.

That kind of happiness hadn't

happened for me. I had to go.

-

I learned years later, in Elmira,

when my wife began working

there (too) with retarded kids,

low-grade schooling and such,

that there was such a thing as

(what was called in the 'retard'

industry) 'patterning.' All it 

meant was that once the kids 

fit certain qualifications, they're 

admittedly so bad-off that they 

are basically unteachable; so 

instead of trying to 'teach' things

to them  -  which would all be to

no avail  -  you find them tasks,

and impart to them ways of

doing a procedure ('patterning')

that they'd do all day long, 

without blinking. As an 

example : say Goodwill 

Industries makes a deal locally 

with the special-school. 'We'll 

supply you three crates of used

shoes a week, (say, 1000 pairs 

of shoes), and your people will

unlace each, and replace with 

new laces.' So, the school gets

the  contract, and the shoes 

and laces start rolling in.

All these 'patterned' kids 

set to work, increasingly, 

replacing a billion shoes, with

the occasional break for staring

endlessly at the trucks as they

enter or leave, or babbling

in place, about this or that.

Everything is considered

wonderful, no matter what 

it is. I realized that was, in

essence, exactly like Avenel

and exactly how the people

all around it, almost everywhere, 

lived. It was the kind of place

where status did not exist, and

everyone instead kept heads-down,

mouth-running rhythms of

non-critical living going at all

times. And most of it had

about the same sort of essential

usefulness as changing all

those shoe-laces had in its

reference to the shoe-world.

If patterning had not existed.

someone here would have 

invented it.

-

Clearly, one last point should

be made. Reasonable people 

would say I was right in not 

wishing to use that militant cop's

name in the previous chapter.

I agree. Lest there be a 

disagreement, part of the

military and marine bearing

that becomes one's makeup,

is always present, and I know 

that. Little can be done to change

the ways cops often use the 'Law'

to undertake their own personality

traits and glitches, in this case

a real hatred of free-spirits. Yes.

-

Hey! I just realized a key here :

The first letter of each word in

those above sentences seem like

they will give out a name. Hmmm?
I bear the fine man, of course, no 
ill-will, and I always wish his  
children good things and for
all times. It's just a memory, and 
just a place that once was.