11,489. RUDIMENTS, pt. 574

RUDIMENTS, pt. 574
(abstracting my solids)
Normally, that kind of talk,

that Gilbert guy, was bar

talk  -  the sort of stuff

you'd get from some old

Irish guy at the end of the

rounded bar in Swift's or

one of those places  -  the 

endless talk and banter to

which you can't really 

respond except with a 

nudge or a nod, because

there'e not anything to

actually respond to except 

the conjecture of the clouds.

That's what bars are for.

This was different, a small

group of self-proclaimed

'new literati' getting corralled

by some already half-famous

but flamed out old guy with

a few notches on his belt.

Sustaining like an underwater

glory long after he cared even

if he was still breathing, let

alone drowned. I guess the

old always do begrudge the

young; or maybe it's just that

the young really are simply 

stupid. Everything's been 

done already, but they keep 

trying to do anew what they

think is new.

-

He said weird stuff too, things

I could never make out: 'When

you get old your brain doesn't

function as well after noon (?)

so I do my work late at night,

and in solitary. I put a lot of

effort in, because it matters

to me. I don't have a mortgage,

I don't write for obligations.

You have to be older to properly

understand any of that.'

-

And then he said: 'Someone

once asked Gandhi what he

thought of Western civilization.

He's supposed to have answered,

'I think that would be a very

good idea.' I think that's right,

but nothing much interests me

any more, so you guys go ahead

and kick the ball around. I'm

going across the street.' There was

a bar there, called Fentanyl's

or something like that.

- 

He had just said that there was

a lot of  'poetry' coming out that

didn't need to be written. Famous

last words, from some old crank.

I wanted to tell him, 'Maybe not

for you, but it starts all over again 

for everyone, when they begin

themselves. It's not like you've

solved every problem there is by

solving it for yourself. Your 

puffy universalism bores me,'

but he was already gone and

I had no bar-money anyhow.

-

 I guess I was feeling my oats

and being ready to tell off some

old swineherder like him who was

painting all of us new guys with 

a big, broad, brush of the nasty.

I could understand all that, but

at the same time, screw him. All

his old versions of honor and

validity and all that, they were

dead and gone too and he just

didn't know it. He only had one

way of seeing, while us new guys

saw everything through a multiple

refraction that took one thing

and broke it  -  each thing  -  into

a hundred other facets. Our world,

our own stupid, 50's  kids world 

was already deeper  and denser 

and than his just because there

was more of it  -  through no 

fault of ours; it was his measly

generation  -  whether he was

claiming it or not  -  who'd done

all this to ruin the original ideas

of America. As far as I was

concerned, he could have it.

-

I once read something somewhere

that Mark Twain had said, and I

thought it was good : 'Start at no

particular time in your life; wander

at your free will all over your life;

talk only about the things that

interest you for the moment.' I

think that's a better way of 

looking at writing.

-

I always wanted to see the future,

and then I got to begin hearing

people, here and there, always

babbling about 'Actualizing' and

forming your own future. It was

kind of a New Age sort of typical

California BS that was going 

around  -  that if you could grab

the reins of your own thoughts,

and 'visualize' what you wanted,

it could come to be. It sounded

more like any psuedo-Malibu

skating the beach in your Speedo

kind of talk than anything else,

probably 'actualized' by potheads

and fey weirdos, but it certainly

wasn't fit for the darker and

dreary, rat-infested, environs of

'Greater (than what?) New York.'

To me it just sounded like they

were saying there could be as

many futures as you wished,

and it would be a different one

for each of us, or all of us, 

whichever 'future' we'd select;

but I'd always been told there

was one future, and it was the

same one, coming at all of us.
In fact, my entire life and all my
upbringing and schooling, all of 
society, the whole shebang, is 
based on the premise that there's 
but ONE future. And we accepted
that,  all down the line, all our entire 
lives. That's what society is. So what 
was this multiple-futures stuff? (I 
later found out lots more about this, 
but that's info here for the future,
(ha?) That was a big divide, and I

could never bridge it. Which

was odd for me, because I was

usually a pretty abstract guy, 

or thinker anyway, but that 

one always threw me. It just

sounded like crap. I was always

more Messianic, I guess : there's

ONE way, one future, and it's

the destruction of this rancid

Devil's kingdom were stuck in

and it's countered by your own

personal salvation, and if you're

not in that you're Hellbound

for ever and ever. Not that that

made much of anymore sense

to me either.

-

Being in art school like I was,

as loose and informal as it may

have been, my mind there was

always embroiled with heavy 

thoughts, about art and writing,

and a synthesis of the two 

which taught me that there 

was no  distinction between 

them. Even though most all 

of the Studio School folks

seemed to only be visual art

people and not much otherwise

concerned with words or any

exposition in that manner. 

That was another curious 

point. All these famous

people  -  rock stars and 

all  -  they suddenly seemed 

everywhere to be painters too  

-  there were 'art' shows by 

the weirdest people  -   Joni 

Mitchell, Bob Dylan, John 

Mellencamp, Paul McCartney,

they and others of the same ilk, 

were all of a sudden 'Painters' 

of a collectible value and some

stature. Monetary stature anyway;

I don't know who actually collects

this stuff as 'Art' other than people

who collect it to buy and sell later

a 'Name' art. Which is different;

no longer Art, just commodity.

In any case, as I viewed that work

I realized that, for the most part,

all they ever panted were 'scenes',

idealized or not, stuff they'd seen

or visualized from seeing  -  lanes

and roads, country cottages, fields

of flowers, city streets, rain scenes,

boats and water, etc. I wondered

why that was; why were they so

'grounded' in that world? All the

other things they'd done, the music

angle, the push was to always

how unique and treasured their

views were. It turned out that

they could only see one way : the

outside 'real 'world as the way and

shape of all things. Why reproduce

all that? I was so far removed and

out of the way with that  -  I found

for myself the need for story in

the abstract, imparting something,

slapping psychologically, leaving

a mark. They were solidifying 

their abstractions. I wanted to be 

abstracting all my solids. My

conclusion was that the sort of

life they were forced into living, 

stardom and travel and all, gave 

them no choice but to grab at 

something solid. They were 

trying to 'actualize a real world, 

one that wasn't a speedy blur 

to them. I was headed out, 

in the'other direction, for sure.