Sunday, July 8, 2018

10,959. RUDIMENTS, pt. 370

RUDIMENTS, pt. 370
(avenel approbation)
There have always been glitches, 
and things that go wrong. Right
here, in fact, in one of the houses
at this corner, Datmouth and Cornell,
Avenues and Street respectively,
one of those kids, about 1959, blew
his face off cleaning a gun, or 
looking into his gun, or something.
A couple of others lived there, and 
this one was scarred for life after
that, with grafts and everything
else. I'm told, by someone who
was there, that the most stirring
part of it was how the stench of
blood stayed around for days, and
the house to be be cleansed before
it was gone. Point of fact now is
there's not much activity with guns
anymore, especially in households
like that, but back then they existed.
People are all twisted out now, and
they get mortified by such things.
This new world wears petticoats,
even if no one else does. Well, I
can think of a few, but the Arts 
Center hasn't opened yet. Down
the end of that same street, just 
before Avenel Street, through the
1960's, I can remember the one
guy  -  with a little porch-like
overhang thing off the side of
his house  -  would have, during
hunting season, the carcass of
one or two deer, hanging. And
they didn't die of natural causes
either. He'd get to them  -  gutting 
and rendering the meat into the
sections and cuts he wanted, 
however all of that goes  -  but
it was always cool to see, a true 
connection to a sort of Nature
and a throwback world where 
men did that sort of thing. Yeah,
of course it was un-necessary
and mostly a fiction, (but, hey
fella's so is prancing around in
a tutu, especially on local tax
money) with a supermarket or 
two always within two or three 
miles, but it  was fun, and part
of the those days for these guys.
But until he got to them, those
deer hung there. Somehow we've
lost all that brash sort of 'up
yours' attitude, rolling over 
like weasels. Standing as we
are right now, on the verge of a
sort of class warfare, violent
enough, breakdown, we're most
all un-armed. The only people 
allowed to shoot, for some 
reason, are the cops and the
politicians, who can get away
with all this. They are the ones
who'd be protecting their own
hides anyway when it did break
out. Every other cop I've ever
known, every third anyway, 
has been a rampant, repressed 
criminal madman. They're the 
ones we allow to be armed? 
That's like given the keys to
Heaven to the clergy. Uh Oh?
We've already done that?
-
You see, you can't be both the
one who sets the terms and 
standards, and then also be 
the only one who can enforce 
them. No thanks. The other side
deserves guns too, and I'm glad
they've got them. Nothing makes
any sense anymore and when you
look down any of these streets 
all you see are lawn-people and 
barbecue people, and swimming-
pool people, all gloating in their
own goofiness, and  -  get this  -
ALLOWING the status-quo.
I'd rather blow my face off and
go down fighting.
-
One of my friends from town
here  -  no names mentioned 
but the locus was Minna Ave.  
He got willed 28 firearms from 
another madman friend of mine 
who'd committed  suicide on the 
other side of the country. Also 
an Avenel guy. One of the best 
moments I ever saw was when 
this friend boldly managed,
in his own way, to get all 28 
of those pieces right back to 
here. That fine little arsenel
is elsewhere now, and the friend
has moved off to another state.
But it was as if, on his way 
out, he'd both opened, for 
one moment, and then closed 
again, that wonderful little
door to old Avenel and its
lurking spirit of get-it-done
regardless and laws be 
damned. We've had the
shirt of that bold chest torn
off by Authority, and have
let it willingly be so. It's no
wonder then we're besotted 
with third-tier marginals who
mostly walk now our streets.
-
We've let others do most everything
for us. Make the laws, and then 
ignore the laws when it's right
and convenient for them. We used
to get little civics textbooks, back
n our local school days, and they
were all about citizen involvement
and the upright American logisitics
of cause and power, freedom and
defense. We were supposed to, or
led to, believe all that crud with
our hands across our hearts. I only
later found out why  -  because the
criminals in the town halls and
planning boards and things were
banking on us to remain at stand-by
and dutifully do our stupid 'duty'
while they looted the treasuries
and stole all our futures, and lands,
and waters, from us. And our
rights. Who's got the guns now,
I ask you again.
-
It always seemed to me that there
was no one ever to give a straight
answer about anything. Most people
just hung on their TV's and got their
piddling information from that,
as goonish and stupid as it may have
been. Stuff about all this still really
nags at me. One time a woman I
knew, way back in the 1990's,
came at me and made some crack
about 'How is it to eat a Roget's
Thesaurus for breakfast?' That
really irked me. And then just the
other day, again, someone else
did pretty much the same thing 
with some 'sesquipedalian' crack, 
and which, I'll admit, I had to go 
look up because, frankly, I didn't
know what the hell he was meaning
to say (talk about using big words!).
I kind of dislike it when people
think, maybe because of their 
own surprise or something, that I
go out of my way to do that. 
It's all, rather, just part of the way
I think and write. Sorry. And I
don't have a Roget's. On the
other hand, I still treasure being
called over, at the Maple Tree, 
one night a long time ago, by
this beautiful Biker babe who
said she just wanted to tell me
that  -  her words  -  'You have
a masterful command of the
English language.' I thought
that was way-slick.
-
Anything else, I didn't give the
same importance to. It was all
about words and ideas to me.
Which sure put me at a working
disadvantage to any schoolyard
chums I may have had. Being in
the hospital the time I was, a pretty
good stretch, kind of wrinkled 
me out of all those third-grade 
connections and got me a fresh 
start  -  that was pretty cool
in that I could return and no one
expected me to be like I used
to be; in fact everyone was
more looking for some new
Frankenstein type who had
wrestled with a train and 
survived. If they only know.
I figured it was like Hirsoshima
or Nagasaki  -  skin peeling,
radiation blisters popping, a
real needle-in-the-head feel.
If you walk out of that sort of
nightmare, the world is yours,
all over again. 
-
I began by being non-committal.
The woods, the tracks, the railroad
station, and then the church and 
then school. I had determined that 
no one as going to get any more
out of me than I was willing to
give them. One night, Monarch 
Cabinet Company, just next to
Abbe Lumber  -  one of those two
cabinet business that were there
anyway  -  burned to the ground.
I knew exactly what had taken 
place, and I knew the how and 
the why of the fire; and I knew
the two who's as well. But that
was my information and it was
not leaving my being. We were
all at the curb, watching the
fire and whooping it up, and some
poor Spanish lady near us, crying,
stopped her tears and said, 'You
boys wouldn't be so happy if that
was your own husband or father
who now no longer had a job 
because of this fire.' Gulp. I
guess she was right  -  turned 
out, as she explained it stupidly 
to a few dumb-ass fifth graders, 
that her husband and her, with
the family, in Perth Amboy had
no idea what they were going to 
do. We left it at that, obviously
knowing nothing about whatever
assistance or relief stuff was open
to them. Shut us right down but
good. All of a society is a tender
and a delicate fabric, and it only
takes a little tear to begin a big
rip. I guess it's like that for 
everyone, but it sure seems to 
me now that we've given 
everything away that's been
possible to be given away.
A sort of soft, martial law
has been voluntarily entered 
into : turn in your guns and
arms at the gate; the crooks
and the cheats are in charge,
and don't you say a word.
I don't know about you, but
I know I'm better than that.










No comments: