11,416. RUDIMENTS, pt. 541

RUDIMENTS, pt. 541

(1929, knifed by negro)

I'd have to admit, I've 

managed to keep things 

moving along but I'm

constantly nervous about 

it all and it's been many 

a time I've had to keep 

myself from 'ending' this

whole mess early. Doing 

it myself just seems such 

a chore, and so messy, that 

I end up not having the 

energy to even start. See,

being lazy has its benefits,

I guess. I know a few places 

up in the Catskills, abandoned 

cabins and such deep in the 

woods, where I could do 

anything I wanted to myself 

and probably just remain 

there dead until the next 

Spring arrives. I don't know 

what's around up in those 

parts that could have a

feast on me  -  bear I guess  -

but here's hoping they'd

leave a little something 

identifiable behind for 

the thaw (and the law).

-
It takes energy to fight back.
Way too much psychic energy, 
I figured, to spar and punch like 
a boxer to overcome a simple
case of doubt and darkness, which
always passes. Life has its lights as
well as its darks. I'd figured long
ago to just wait it out, like that
frumpy guy in the bus station,
muttering in his slope-shoulder
coat. We all know one, I'm 
sure. I knew a few people 

over the years who've gone 

that way, off'd themselves. 

It's always sad; and it's

unforgettable too  -  because 

no matter what stupid 'steps' 

they take to leave plans 

and notes behind, it's still 

comes down to a vanity 

on their part, of some

sort : as if to say, 'there 

now, look, I've even been 

so thoughtful as to make 

these preparations FOR you.

Wasn't I nice?' Sure, and 

thanks. One guy I knew,

pretty much a weirded-out 

control freak anyway, 

talked about this  crap for 

years; no one  believed him, 

least of all me. He'd get 

all philosophical about 

the human right to exercise 

control over the ending 

of one's own life, and the

worthlessness of society

anyway, and all that. It 

sort of did irk me to have

to hear someone premise 

his ideas on some lofty 

and high-flying form of

exceptionalism, just to kill

himself 'with reason,' as if

it wasn't already irrational.

-

What sort of grandiosity, I 

wonder, is it, to have your

property wired  - a regular,

suburban size, large yard, 

with alarm and voice 

warnings at the gate, 

which rang out, 'Get out, 

go nor further, the owner 

is armed and will shoot.'

5 or 6 dead cars in the 

yard, and a rear fence 

section made of a few 

hulks of ancient Honda

small-displacement 

motorcycles. Two or 

more dogs, inside the 

house and property - 

Hungarian Kuvasz

dogs, and two Australian 

Shepherds. The guy leaves

the house unlocked (his

girlfriend has left him;

just another quarrel),

leaves out food for the 

dogs, a long and detailed

note  -  about what's been

done, where things are, 

where to look for this 

and that, and leaves the 

house keys on the table,

and then goes to the

message machine and 

changes the message; 

something about 'It's 

a perfect day to die.'

-

He goes out to his car,

well, no, one of those 

dead and long idled cars 

in his yard. In fact, it's

a Renault Le Car, some

quite ridiculous piece of

crap from the early 1980's.

The house doors, rear, have

been left open. Lights on

inside too. Foresight there

as well, dogs to run free in

the yard. food around, lights

on and doors open maybe 

to attract neighbors. Which 

happens, actually, 2 or so

days later as the barking

dogs do finally attract

attention. Oh, should I

mention, he's by this time 

two days dead in that stupid 

car, blood and brain splattered

windows and windshield,

from the inside, sort of

covering up the scene of,

of, a crime? That's what the

police called it, with their 

yellow 'crime-scene' tape.

From the neck up, I'm told,

there wasn't much left.

-
There is a funny part to this
story; if looked at that way.
For funeral purposes, this body
needed to be shipped back,
embalmed and in a coffin, 
I guess), to Avenel, for the
services and burial through 
Costello, Avenel Street. In
what I recall as 2004. He got
the body, called me, and asked
if I wanted an 'open casket!'
Then he said he 'didn't suggest 
it, because there's not much 
there.' I had to laugh. In fact, I
had to keep myself, in honor of his
childhood, to keep from saying,
'Yes. just put a Hopalong Cassidy
mask in its place at the head.'
-

I don't dwell, can't dwell.

Over at the Catholic Church

corral, I think there are, or

were, some strictures against 

suicide. I'm not sure if that's 

the case any longer, but the 

intent is the same  -  Jeez,

man-up and stand against

something, OK? Another 

time, over in the printing

district of old Manhattan,

in the Holland Tunnel area,

another friend one day is

being taken out, by a crane

or something, in a body 

bag, from the upper floor

of the city dwelling he

lived in. He didn't live

there any more. What's 

that call of the wild, I 

always wondered; what's 

the lure of the unknown.

For myself, I never had

that sort of 'curiosity' that

would take me past points

of no return. My life's

been too boring.

-

Another family surprise;

something that only just 

recently jumped out at me.

As a kid, maybe 8, maybe 9,

I met some great uncle or

Grandma's cousin or  something, 

at a visit to my Grandmother's

house in Bayonne. I never got

the story straight, he had been

some half-famous boxing 

champion, light-weight

or middleweight class, or

something. It was a story.

He had 'cauliflower' ears,

or one anyway  -  which is 

what boxers get after being

hit on the side of the head for

so many times  -  just a big,

fat, red ear, all veined and

dark looking. And he had 

like a flattened nose; another

boxing trait. All I remember

mainly is a trick he showed

me, by having his cigar smoke,

seemingly, come out his ears.

I don't know how he did it,

what the trick may have been,

but it was captivating to me.

It was a big joke, cracked the

room right up. I never saw

him again either; he was like

mythological to me. Micky

Ballerino, it was said; my

grandmother's old last name.

I forgot all about it, mostly, 

just another fog of the years.

And then, one day, I'm roaming

around here looking for things,

and I come across this fascinating,

startling, almost earth-shaking to

me, news clipping: (see it below.)

Just goes, I guess, to show you

never can tell; so you might as 

well stick around long enough to

see, and keep the damned dogs

from barking too.