11,504. RUDIMENTS, pt. 581

RUDIMENTS, pt. 581

('you can't do that')

I always had trouble 

with absolutes, the

idea that things can't 

be 'that' way and must 

only be 'this' way; that

there are categories and 

fixed values. I still do. 

Sometimes I believed 

that, and other times not  - 

sometimes it seemed more 

that nothing was fixed, 

and all things were always 

moving, in flux, with 

changeable notions and 

limits and that there 

weren't really any absolute

rights and wrongs. Yet 

then I would stop and 

say  'but there had to be, 

otherwise  the law of the 

jungle would  have taken 

over long before,' and then 

I also stopped and said 'but

yes, hasn't it done that, 

isn't that it?' I guess I 

never knew  -  even people 

with flags most often have 

that flag blowing, changing 

direction, going around 

with whatever wind was 

blowing harshest. That 

made no sense either. 

If they never look up 

to see that, that's not 

my problem. No flag

is made of tiles and 

concrete. So, what then 

to do about anything? 

Get all forceful and 

scary, start throwing 

weight around? Making

sure things are only that 

ONE way  -  that's pretty 

much the way of Society 

and schooling and churches 

and doctrine and catechisms 

and all. But it never made 

any solid sense for me  -  

unless it came from me, 

I didn't much believe 

anything. I'd be walking 

around, in these big walks, 

just to go on thinking of 

things without an interruption. 

Pretty much along the way 

anywhere in NYC, if you're 

out walking and all, wherever 

you're headed or wherever 

you are, no one much 

bothers you. There's a 

certain sort of forced 

anonymity there that 

just drapes itself over 

everything, and that's 

pretty good and valuable

too. It allows you to think; 

the rest of the place might be

a wreck  -  people struggling 

and scraggling over things, 

trying to sell and buy, and 

all that  -  everything that 

just seems so fruitless and 

short-sighted. Some days 

I'd be on the subway, for 

somewhere, and I'd watch 

all these flashy-dressed 

dudes getting on for their 

downtown runs to stocks 

and finance jobs and all. It 

was all confusing to me, in 

that their flash and protocol 

seemed to be all about looking 

good, dazzling with shirt, 

suit, shoes and coats and 

jackets, as if they were NOT 

just going to some telephone 

cubbyhole to be soliciting 

buy or sell orders and day 

and sequencing trades. Any 

one could do that, in pajamas 

if need be. I realized there 

had to be something else 

going on  -  and there was. 

The Narrative.

-

The narrative here was: 

if you do it right, if you 

can project your success, 

it can be yours. These guys 

were like prom dates every 

day, just for some almost 

dim-witted pencil job  -  

papers, clips, clipboard, 

telephones. An order 

board and a stock ticker. 

It was all very primitive  

-  no computers yet, the 

old ticker-tape registers 

were always clacking and 

running, updates of prices 

and featured stocks and 

offerings were kept current 

on posted on long wall 

boards, attended to by 

stock-clerks; runners ran 

with orders and reports 

and envelopes and packets, 

one brokerage house and 

back to another. It was 

mad mayhem, and for 

some reason, other than 

'lunch' when it all turned 

back into that preening 

glamour of all these guys 

and ladies seeing each 

other in neutral places  

-  lunch rooms, bars, 

eateries, restaurants of 

whatever rank and station. 

That's maybe really the 

only time the clothes and 

fashion and look made 

any sense, perhaps. To put

across a sense of station.

Then it was right back 

into the shout and the grind. 

I couldn't figure  -  should 

I get a cool job as a stock-boy 

runner (I could have; they 

were a dime a dozen, got 

paid cheaply, and were 

basically the mules and 

burros of the financial 

district, like I said, 

running orders and 

packets around). It was 

bottom-rung stuff, but 

sometimes it was a leg 

up for far better jobs 

within the market rooms 

themselves. But I denied 

myself the glories of 

having to look like that, 

in those ways and manners 

of dress and comportment. 

I was a bum, and I sensed 

I knew it, from my core 

out. And anyway, if I had 

to do something (which I 

didn't) I'd much rather be 

tossing fruits and vegetables, 

or boxes of whatever, down 

at the docks. Drinking and 

saucing with the old guys, 

hanging around the diner 

there, seeing Tre again, 

watching a good rumble; 

all that.

-

Funny thing about it all 

was that I would keep 

thinking about the rules 

and the absolutes people 

lived by to get to those 

junctures  -  places that 

corral them narrowly 

into something for the 

rest of their days. It all 

comes down to agreeing 

to accept preconceived 

and agreed-upon ideas, 

as I saw it, and they'd 

all willingly accepted 

that, and the flash and 

the clothes and the 

glamour and the 

briefcases and the 

money too, I guess, 

all that came with it. 

A trap, I thought. You 

lose options, you glimmer 

your personal creativity 

and wonderment down 

to nothing. Like a guy 

coming back from Vietnam 

with his bottom jaw blown 

off; a real mess on one's 

hands for the rest of one's

days. It's manageable, 

but damned tough. 

- 

I just always figured that 

universalisms and reason 

sucked. If you're fixing 

a washing machine  -

motor to pulley to water 

tank to agitator spin switch 

and all the rest  - it's perfect; 

the sequence, the logic, 

the precision. Cold and 

secure, A following B 

and the rest. That's good 

for machines and metal 

and plastic switches maybe, 

but not for people and 

hearts and minds. It's at 

that point that everything 

goes wrong, sets out 

wrongly, on the wrong 

spur, and starts speeding. 

No philosopher or thinker 

has ever even agreed on 

things like equality and 

justice, and of these things 

they have no unambiguous 

meanings or answers. What

does? (In fact, look at that 

initial sentence here, 

'If you're 'fixing' a 

washing machine...'

  -  that in itself says 

a lot. To be 'fixed' it 

has to conform to its 

procedure).

-

Things were just always 

too ambiguous for me. 

We may think we have 

a clear idea of things like 

justice and equality, but 

those ideas then depend 

on other ideas, which we 

also have no surety of. 

That's what 'Society' is 

about, and those in charge 

demand that you follow 

their dictated narrative 

so as to understand things 

their way. This we end up, 

sullenly, accepting ONE 

reality and ONE way of 

things, when all of that is 

completely false. 'Meaning 

and truth are always deferred' 

(Jacques Derrida). They are 

never present in the ideas 

that we state. NOW, read 

this carefully (Derrida again) : 

'The signified concept is never 

present in and of itself in a 

sufficient presence that 

would refer only to itself. 

Essentially and lawfully 

every concept is inscribed 

in a chain or a system 

within which it refers 

to the other.'

-

Certainly out the window. 

Our ideas only have meaning 

in relation to other such concepts 

of same, even if they are not 

explicitly thought of. Thus, 

we never have a complete 

grasp of what we are talking 

about, or the ideas we are 

writing or speaking of. 

Because definitive 

understanding is always 

elusive, the project of 

reasoning together to reach 

a shared sense of justice, 

or whatever, that preserves 

the freedom of all parties, 

is doomed. Someone will 

always claim ownership 

of the Narrative; and then 

you/me are sunk, unless 

that is accepted. I refuse 

the acceptance. It's a dog 

eat dog world, and I notice 

that dog is eating steak.
I wonder at whose expense.