RUDIMENTS, pt. 421
(avenel - something to nothing?)
In my own way. I've always
loved liars. Really, you've
got to hand it to them. I've
always thought that there
are so many dark secrets
locked within the potential
of each of us - we either get
them put of the way, ignore
them, deal with them, or
crash-land. Much of it remains
as taboos; one way or another,
things we cannot do. Face it.
We're totally constrained. It's
good to let loose now and then,
especially for going on as if
an expert on local theater, or
municipal garbage. Hey, wait?
Aren't they the same thing?
-
If you're going to steer
something - I mean good,
and steady, steer - you
can't just jump and sing.
You have to know what
you're doing. With all
hands on each lever,
and while manipulating,
but not just at top, not as
only the figurehead; you
can't be leaving the more
supple maneuvers to the
'stupid guy' to get done
either. That's a recipe for
disaster. I think that, in
one way, that was what
was shattered by Mark
Eneret when he burst
through the shield around
Ed Siegel - the realization
of which essentially just,
on the spot, at the moment,
destroyed him. So, OK,
now we can argue all
day over this, but, truth
be told, no matter. You
cannot deny any of this,
or, anyway, I won't
let you.
-
When I left Avenel
for the seminary, it was
a distant drop south.
I wasn't even sure where
I was going, geographically;
it was just way down the
Turnpike, a bunch, and
long past that big, visible,
cobalt-blue chemical lake
and also past that huge
radar-globe installation for
tracking missiles. Astounding!
There were farms, barns,
and space. One of the total
weirdnesses of this world
is that, when you're young,
space is somehow 'movable'
because nothing has yet taken
root. I probably could have
successfully gone anywhere.
I had another friend, same
situation, who went north.
I go there often now, and
see all his places, and
notice the differences -
Garrison to Beacon anyway.
I think he made a better
choice : seemingly he went
TO a place, one recognizable
and with historic holdings.
I went 'away' from anyplace;
to sand and pines.
-
At the complete opposite
extreme you can pretty
much get away with
anything if you use the
right words and formulas.
It's all too easy. All you
need do is act like a
wild-west medicine
show patent-medicine
guy working out of a
covered wagon to make
the ladies swoon - I say.
They wind up loving
all that stuff. And the
elixirs you can sell 'em
too. Stupid women.
Nowhere in Avenel
had there ever been any
high vocabulary - that
I ever heard anyway.
People talked direct, in
an almost guttural manner,
and punchy too. No ideas
of mis-matched modifiers
or dangling participles ever
passed anyone's mind. If
there was something to be
said, they just said it, and
if that included any form
of foul oath, they said
that as well. I remember
a friend, about 10 maybe,
when I was perhaps 12,
every fifth word out of
his mouth was shit or
fuck, as a base modifier
with whatever ending it
needed. And this was a
10 or 11 year old kid. I was
floored; even moreso when
I learned he and his brother
(who was in my grade and
could hardly read) were
raised in a home where
only Albanian was being
spoken. That spooked me!
Facility with the English
language indeed! This guy
was good and on his own.
I'd heard a little of speaking
in tongues, but this kid was
as if tongues were speaking
through him - and we were
standing right there, outside
of schools 4&5, right where the
buildings met, and he couldn't
have cared less. Albanian word
for decorum? Maybe not.
-
Then you get the even deeper
aberrations - the 'voices'
and the God-talk leading
people on, pushing to do
this or that, ascribing by
fire the right ways of the
world. I wanted no part
of that, and every zany
story I read of the past,
all those saints and sufferers,
just made me laugh. Theresa
of Lascaux, Junipera Serra,
popes and saints and misfits,
every from Joan of Arc to
Mother Theresa and
Augustine of Hippo, every
one of them as flawed as a
mis-struck dime is flawed.
Valued, obviously, but only
because of the flaw. It's all
really just too much for a
regular mind, a regular
person to handle, and no
one needs to anyway.
That's the objective
basis of 'Freedom' and
'Choice'. Choosing not to.
I never wanted to live
in a world run by
superstition and fear.
But, it seems I do and I
must - power levers
are in the hands of
'others.' Frightful and
unseen others, just like
that 'God' who rumbles
thunder from behind
the jealous bush. The
only thing I've found
myself able to say back
to all this is : nothing.
-
I thrashed around in
the middle of all that
for some time. Leaving
home when I did was
like going to a foreign
land. Blackwood, NJ.
It always sounded
British to me, but
it wasn't of that
substance in any way.
It wasn't anything,
and - in so many other
ways - I'm still like that
myself today. I came from
nowhere, went nowhere,
and amounted to nothing.
Does all this make me a
nihilist? Is that something?
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