11,288. RUDIMENTS, pt. 490

RUDIMENTS,  pt. 490

(slap-down)

There have always been

things I never understood.

None of it ever really

mattered, except for the

few times it almost caused

me trouble  -  for calling

out the truth of what I saw.

Maybe that's all prideful BS,

but whatever, and it's not.

I grew up knowing what I

wanted and how to articulate

it too. I guess the worst of

it was, running for Mayor

of Metuchen once (for about

2 days), I spoke my mind

about, finally, something

real, and was thrown off

the ticket within 2 days.

It was quick, surgical,

and ugly. But I learned

from it. (Problem was, I

had just cut off all my hair,

and my beard, for those

1998 dweebs, and they

left me high and dry and

looking like a fawn. No

thanks were ever sent).

I learned that when you

play the game of party

politics, you're already

in jail, your reasoning

is stripped from you at

the door like a new bride's

pajamas in a fancy hotel.

They no longer want you

to think; only their way,

take their orders, ride

with their team. It's all

quite masturbatory, but

it's their hand on the

'controls' so to speak.

The Onanism Party, like

we have here in Avenel.

The drunk Mayor's face

in the background of

every 'McCormac Team'

poster, and the monsterettes

chosen all smiling in the

foreground, lapping at

themselves for your

vote. And we have a

Mayor here who thinks

that 'Better Education'

consists of more parking,

improved lots, fluffy theater,

and probably a few extra

vocational courses offered,

like 'Brewery Science,'

or 'Mixology.'  On that,

along with gray money,

you build a tax-funded

career and livelihood.

Think of all that the

next time you vote, all

you dutiful, backyard,

Woodbridge Americans.

-
It wasn't that 'Royalty' or
whatever that's called in 
America, held me in thrall, 
but I was fascinated by old
New York, that list of the 100
most elite families, etc., the 
Social Register types, those who
got all the right invitations and the
proper social connections which
opened doors for them. It was
both disgusting and fascinating
to think of such people. I recall
reading of that 'certain type' of
New Yorker who, whenever a
new book about this or that of
New York society would be
published, bought one and went
right to the index in the rear pages
to see if their names or any of
their family names, were in it.
The sort of growing up I had,
such a thought would never even 
cross my mind  -  we were often
enough humiliated by the Sunday
church bulletin which  -  also
disgustingly  -  played on pride
(one of the Seven Deadly Sins,
I'd thought) by printing, each
Sunday, for all to see, the list of
parishioners from the previous 
week, and how much they had
given in their collection envelopes.
It was broken down, first, into 
the dollar groupings ($50, $40, 
$25, etc.) right down to like 10
cents (kids, one hoped), and the
family names in that category
were listed alphabetically. I
always thought that to be the
cheapest, most foul trick.
We were usually in the 
dollar aisle there too.
-
When I was a kid watching

all that politics stuff, the

word was never let out

that JFK was banging

every Mary Jane, Linda,

and Betty that he could.

The weird  thing about

America has always

been that the subtext of

everything has always

been sex. The fashion

industry, entertainment,

even advertising and

automobile and airline

industry stuff pushed

sexuality, innuendo,

illicit contact, and the

proverbial wink about

every other adjunct

of same. That's where
the cheesy big money
was. They mix it, and

everything else, up now

too  -  most of those

people rounded up

and fired and put away,

Harvey Weinstein et al,

are Jewish, as are their

industries. It's OK to bag

them now for what they

(operating under the

prevailing national

zeitgeist of the time)

have done  -  that same

zeitgeist has turned  -

but, at the same time,

if you make one verbal

move in that other

direction, you're

immediately called out

as anti-Semitic. No

matter what, as my

friend Alex used to

say, 'Call a spade a

spade, except in

Harlem.' Fun stuff,

huh. Speaking of

odd phrases, there

was this teacher in

one of the schools

I went to who, when

he meant to get serious,

always said, 'OK now,

let's talk turkey.'

-

When you're a kid, all

these things come across

as mysterious  -  like

when the adults move

off into another room

to talk about sex or

trade dirty jokes. It's

lingo and an insider's

language and know-how

that you're not yet privy

to. 'Forget the birds and

the bees, Dad, (I can get

that stuff on my phone);

why don't you tell me

what's really going on.'

-

It' a far cry from fairness

to have to grow up this 

way; even today, WITH 

the products of our local

education systems shaming

us at each step of the way

('by their fruits ye shall

know them') you have to 

ask why we're wasting 

so much and getting back

so little. Just look. Any

adult (and we supposedly 

have plenty of them on the

payroll) who only think in

physical and materialistic

ways is already dead; why

then should such an 'adult'

be given oversight and rule

over our children? I ask.

I also ask why here is

absolutely NO quality

in anything of greater 

Woodbridge? Is the 

answer not perhaps in 

the twelve years plus of 

having idiots and drunks

at the helm? In 1959 or

whatever it was exactly,

when Mr. Cigatura retired

from being the custodian

and general grandfather

at Schools 4&5, the kids

were able to present him,

(really, it was touching)

a near-year's collection

of pennies that they'd 

amassed for him. There

used to be an incinerator, 

of brick, at the rear of

the school, near the old

cut-through path from 

Inman Avenue, and 

 everyone assembled 

out there, for the day's

presentation. He must

have received ten thousand

pennies. It was amazing :

now kids can't even step

outside, the gravel and the

incinerator are long gone,

the school has a cop car

posted there daily, and the

lids are locked in. At the

end of the day's session,

cars, and others, and out 

of work fathers, pick up 

their kids as if the outside

air was toxic and lethal

and dangerous  -  and

God forbid a kid should

be outside, to walk home

and see something of the

real world. That's what

today's patty-cake world

gives us  -  and we're

supposed to applaud it.

The little-boy adults who 

act as council-people go 

about 'serving' their

constituents : Eight-year

olds; because these are 

the only ones who any 

longer who will believe 

(or is that 'fall for?') their

rank drivel as they continue

to set about destroying

the place they live.

-

I forget when I stopped

believing in Santa Claus,

but I know it wasn't 

yesterday. Yet, if I met old 

Santa tomorrow, and

was asked what I wanted

for Christmas, I'd have a 

ready answer: 'I want to be 

able to give these people a 

slap-down,  and a damned 

good one at that.'