11,257. RUDIMENTS, pt 478

RUDIMENTS, pt 478

(cruellers)

Fire was always a funny

thing to me  -  we seek it,

to keep warm, yet we fear

it as well. Up in the country

it was always a threat  -

there were always open

burnings of this or that

going on. People's barns

would self-combust, flames

licking through everything.

(Poorly-placed stacks of hay,

in the upper haymows of

barns, if not aired properly

and thus correctly stacked,

could build up heat pockets,

and, yes, self-ignite). If and

when that happened, I never

knew. Warren's 150-year-old

barn burned down because

his young son was playing

with matches. There was

always something  -  and

the idea of a 'fire department'

was pretty non-existent. In

the country, people (myself

included) simply often burned

their trash and garbage, as

burnable, on their front lawns,

or side or back areas, and

you'd always see the remnant

ash and debris from the fire

areas in some sort of circle.

(Once again it always interested

me to see how Nature tended

to circular, natural, forms.

There are no right angles in

Nature).

-

That's like describing reason

and logic. It used to be common

precept that A followed B and

in some sort of logical straight

line. That's how we got the

Rationalist centuries, the

'Enlightenment' and all that,

even the American founding.

But it all turned out false, or

worse than that, it turned out

that there WAS NO false, or true,

and that all of consciousness

was a wavering vapor upon

which we pin tags and sort of

agree upon them, for the sake

of utility and 'getting things

done.' That's why we have

erroneous, stupid, baldy-ass

stuff like business and politics.

Those are forums for the likes

of these people to play in :

Caged, muddy grounds of

their own sick imaginings.

-

Not much of that existed in

the country  -  everything was

instead personified by fairly

twisted people. When I tell

you this, I'm leaving it as a

positive. The most boring

people up there were the

women. Enticing, sometimes,

yes, but boring as hell. It

was the men who were

off the wall, busy and

crazy at the same time.

I could never quite figure

it all out. I know for sure

the teen sons were crazy,

isolated and rural, but crazy

nonetheless. Yet, in other

aspects, they were all quite

conservative. No bomb-throwing

revolutionaries there to be

found. Orderly housekeeping,

proper record-keeping, respect

for authority, rank, and place;

all those primitive, reptilian

qualities were prevalent.

Of course, I don't know what

really went on, inside their

brains or in their little groups,

but the evidences I saw showed

me the tendencies I noted. The

women, way more than the

men, were judgmental, fairly

simple (most always), even

girlish in their tastes and

predilections. Everything was

a bit confusing. Sometimes

I'd think sexuality was rampant,

other times not. One time, at

some sort of local 'social' all

hell broke out among the ladies,

because at a donut table or

something one of the ladies,

looking at the cruellers, said

to the effect of 'Hmm, long

and hard, just like I like 'em.'

A few of the other hard-pressed

Christian ladies took mortal

offense  -  after that night there

were a few women who never

spoke to each other ever again.

-

That happened shortly after

I had arrived. I didn't really

know any of the people,

except for the Guthrie guy

(dead now, see grave) who

helped my fix my car, the

very first night I arrived.

It was the middle of January,

deep-deep freeze, about zero,

and I'd driven up alone, to

begin a job, on the 17th,

(two mornings off) that I'd

arranged for with a guy who

had hired me (printing shop,

Floyd White and Margaret Hall,

Whitehall Printing, thus) almost

remotely. We'd met once back in
October, and he said if anything

opened up he'd let me know.

So we went about our business,

and he calls me in Woodbridge

and says he's got a spot for me

but I had to start Monday. (6

days away, then). So, I quit

Appellate (my Woodbridge job)

and set out alone to go live in

this house I knew nothing

about. Zero was about the

normal temperature for that

month. I quickly learned the

house had serious heating

issues, and I slept on a

makeshift old couch thing,

in my clothes and in my coat

too. My wife and new child

were to be coming up later,

when things settled out a bit.

That never really happened,

the settling out, and they

showed up for the end of

the month, by which time

I was already a veteran.

Pity for them.)...

They weren't.

-

But, the day I arrived, when

I was just about there, my car

took a fit. I knew what the 

problem was, pulled over,

and frozen-handedly tinkered

with it and it got me where 

I was going. It was a cheap

repair and I knew it wouldn't 

last. From the few dealings

I'd had up there over the 

previous few months I'd

had the house, though not

living in it, I knew this guy

on the corner along the way,

had a little shop and worked

on cars. But that was all, I

didn't know him, he didn't

know me. I just knew his

last name was Guthrie. How

I got the nerve, I'll never know

except that it was by necessity

which makes strange bedfellows

or is the mother of invention,

or whatever that all is. He 

came to the door, I rattled 

off my plight, said who I

was (or night be), and where.

He knew it all already (these

country folk did talk about

newcomers and outsiders like

bar-guys talk about women).

He said bring it on in here, 

let's see. Amazing. We did 

everything, got it all set, 

he wanted nothing but

happiness from me, and 

wouldn't take a dime. His

wife came down, with

coffee, and we sat a while

and talked abut what I 

thought I'd be doing. 

Which was pretty much

what I ended up doing, 

though I didn't know the

half of it then. Turned out,

not so long later, she was

the one who liked them

long and hard. Cruellers.
-
When I got the whole story and
then realized who she was, the lady
I'd already met at the car-repair
scene, I was almost gleeful. A bit
embarrassed too  -  not that I'd had
anything to do with it  -  but rather
feeling to be in on a secret I should
not have known about. The men
all joked about it, and, I mean,
it went on for two weeks, like it 
had just happened, or recurred in
some weird, cosmic eternal replay.
(Like out of Nietzsche, but they
wouldn't have known that. He's got
a Theory of Eternal Recurrence
that would have fit nicely). It
was all so funny. Over the next
few years I did see how this entire
'Guthrie' group of people were 
always off a bit, out of the old,
ordinary mainstream of what
people did and who they were.
It eventually all made perfect
sense, and I was glad for it.