RUDIMENTS, pt. 436
(avenel one iota, a real fluke while we flounder)
Logic is sometimes not a
prerequisite for getting things
done, and thank God for that.
One of the more boring things
this life has to offer is 'logical':
In a horse race, logically, one
horse follows the other as they
cross an agreed-upon finish
line. Fortunately, for the artist
or creative thinker, neither the
horse nor the finish line really
exist. They're basically design
exercises in some golden notebook
of apprehension, and scribbled
by a random hand. That's why
that call it a fluke, and it's not for
nothing : random hand, the fluke
and flounder stories are pretty
incredible to me, always have
been. Oh Avenel, it at my
daddy's feet that I learned
all that. Migrating eyes, the
flat-bottomed, left-side fish
that starts out straight and
normal. Nope. It isn't called
a fluke for nothing.
-
In 1957, one starry night,
just about the whole of
Avenel was out, eyes and
necks craning upward. It
was the night of announced
visibility for 'Sputnik', the
orbiting Soviet satellite far
up above our heads. Whatever
meaning the event had, it was
fraught with a ponderous
weight for 'Americans,' as
the media and body-politic
had already announced our
doom if we let 'them' take
the predominance of space
from us. We'd been caught
flat-footed. America, and by
extension, Avenel, was in
big trouble. Everything fought
for and lived for, the very tar
and pebbles of our street, were
in danger. No greater scene
than this had I before seen :
and if the three wise-men
had shown up to walk through
town, I think the stir would
have been no bigger. Inman
Avenue was lined that night,
by friends and families, almost
as Twilight Zone gawkers.
-
I use to walk the streets dazed
over all this, wondering where
I'd go, how to hide, and where,
when the big moment came. In
school, the hideous fear-factor
had been raised and doubled and
raised again. We were told to
hide under our desks when it
happened. Stand clear of the
flying glass. The logic was
impeccable.
-
Probably, the first time I fell
for a girl, at whatever age it was,
7, 8, was a local school-girl
companion from around Fifth
Avenue or Park, or somewhere
(incongruously, one part of
Avenel has the most exalted
sounding names, referencing
high, holy places in the American
esteem; but nothing matches).
Her name was Gail Cashion,
as I recall, and a few months of
gazing-frenzy from afar soon
was over. We never really talked
or worked any of this out, but,
the Walt Disney shows, with their
magic song, 'When You Wish
Upon A Star,' had me for sure.
I'd wished for her, and those
dreams, unlike what the song
said, never did come true.
Conclusion? Even Walt
Disney lies?
-
Parts of me always wanted to
say, 'What's going on?' I often
didn't know. I wasn't born for
this time and place, and I think
my spirit was reiterating to me
that a 'correction' was needed.
Which correction was provided
by the train wreck. Feb '58, I
was halfway through being 8.
I've always considered my life
reborn from that time. People
used to say, 'Funny, you don't
look 30....' or 40, or 50. That's
all because it was off by 8 years.
I'd gotten a new beginning, with
a cosmic correction all built in.
Try telling that shit to anyone
you know - friends, Romans,
countrymen. Nice try with all
that. Half the people in Avenel
thought I was a nutcase before
I even was a nutcase.
-
Anyway, that was my Avenel
days, back when it was fun
and life was simple. You
know what I've found that
has happened, and this can
be verified most specifically
in two particular cases on
the local 'Avenel' page,
where, of late, two very
subservient hoofers, a male
and a female, have taken to
engaging anything which
puts their panties in a bunch,
with a Hrmpph and an attack -
what's going on is 'technology'
has overtaken the brains (or
lack thereof) of the people
who should not be deserving
of the technology itself -
because they're not up to
handling it. You see, you can't
just scratch and claw at things
your entire life, you need a
proper context, some thought,
certainly some intelligence
(which is sorely missing in
these two cases), and a way
of presenting it that offers
it as an alternative not just
a numbing stupidity. You
can be a gregarious as you
like, but when the gale comes,
it's gonna' blow you over,
because there's nothing inside
to hold you in place.
(And that goes for the goons
that manage the site for them
too, logic, as I've stated, not
being a pre-requisite.
-
As you're growing up, I sense
that you end up clutching at
a lot of straws. Things that
stand out pretty well, for a long
time, in your later-reflective life.
They enter your consciousness,
at first, without a context, more
just as an event. Like, in my case,
two items I can recall vividly : the
first one, whatever year it was,
my friend Raymond and I,
leaning on the, or at the, front
bumper of my mother's old
'53 Ford sedan, green, right
out in front of the (my) house.
I was sitting on the hood itself,
with my feet down on the chrome
and pitted front bumper. Raymond
was next to me, leaning on the car.
Actually, I can place the date, May
23, 1960, because it was the same
day the Israelis had captured
Adolph Eichmann, in Argentina
somewhere, I believe it was.
None of us were Jewish, but I
can remember that day's joke,
we kids, to one another : 'You
can rest now, they've captured
Eichmann.' Somehow that was
our big joke. In any case, what
we were doing there was watching
the cars rolling along the street,
going towards Route One, and
making note of which ones had
single headlamps and which (newer
models, two years or newer) had
dual headlights (2 on each side)
as was the new style of cars.
Funny stuff, and completely out
of any real context, but that's
what we were doing. In later
years, that would seem very
important. The old '53, by
the way, seemed very important
to me. One day, I can recall, I
was late 16, it was a Sunday, hot
and nice out, and my parents and
family had gone for the day. I took
the key for that Ford - without a
license or anything legal - and drove
up to Fort Lee, for the day, alone,
just to be there, by myself, with,
essentially, a one-day stolen car.
I was back home by 7, and they
arrived after 8. No one ever
knew the difference.
Rest easy, fella, Eichmann's
been captured....
-
As you're growing up, I sense
that you end up clutching at
a lot of straws. Things that
stand out pretty well, for a long
time, in your later-reflective life.
They enter your consciousness,
at first, without a context, more
just as an event. Like, in my case,
two items I can recall vividly : the
first one, whatever year it was,
my friend Raymond and I,
leaning on the, or at the, front
bumper of my mother's old
'53 Ford sedan, green, right
out in front of the (my) house.
I was sitting on the hood itself,
with my feet down on the chrome
and pitted front bumper. Raymond
was next to me, leaning on the car.
Actually, I can place the date, May
23, 1960, because it was the same
day the Israelis had captured
Adolph Eichmann, in Argentina
somewhere, I believe it was.
None of us were Jewish, but I
can remember that day's joke,
we kids, to one another : 'You
can rest now, they've captured
Eichmann.' Somehow that was
our big joke. In any case, what
we were doing there was watching
the cars rolling along the street,
going towards Route One, and
making note of which ones had
single headlamps and which (newer
models, two years or newer) had
dual headlights (2 on each side)
as was the new style of cars.
Funny stuff, and completely out
of any real context, but that's
what we were doing. In later
years, that would seem very
important. The old '53, by
the way, seemed very important
to me. One day, I can recall, I
was late 16, it was a Sunday, hot
and nice out, and my parents and
family had gone for the day. I took
the key for that Ford - without a
license or anything legal - and drove
up to Fort Lee, for the day, alone,
just to be there, by myself, with,
essentially, a one-day stolen car.
I was back home by 7, and they
arrived after 8. No one ever
knew the difference.
Rest easy, fella, Eichmann's
been captured....
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