11,618. RUDIMENTS, pt. 628

RUDIMENTS, pt. 628

(so good they named it twice?)

There was always one weird

thing about the American justice

system that I could never

understand  -  in fact it was

probably the one thing that

most disgusted me, or one of

them anyway. I never understood

how or why a person, in the

throes of, say, violence, caught

at the scene, on camera, all the

situations showing the action and

the perpetration of the crime,

can then be allowed to plead

not guilty. It baffled me. It

also then takes the next three

or four years of long and

drawn-out publicity filled

trials and opinionaters and

talking heads and appeals

and the rest, going through

millions of dollars for the sake

of the person on trial. I used

to wonder, is there no truth

or justice? What's all this crap

about? And why? I guess the

origination of this thought

right now is, back in 1968 or

whatever it was, remembering

that Sirhan Sirhan guy who killed

Robert Kennedy. And that's just

one example  - just the other day

there was a mob-murder thing

in Staten Island; the guy did it,

they nabbed him, etc. and he's

pleading not guilty. Same thing.

In the case of Sirhan Sirhan I can

remember sitting in a little crap

diner and all this was coming over

the radio  - a guy with two names,

first and last, both the same? I

mean, we have Joe-Joe here, but

this was more like Smith-Smith.

Anyway, they got him, and all this

noise ensued : hearings, trials,

detainment, etc.  Obviously, I

know little or nothing of the

Justice system  -  if there's

anything to know  -  but where

is, lets say, the line ever drawn?

When does reality ever set in?

I can never understand how

people facing the guilt of a

grave crime, can plead

innocence. It became merely

one of many of the pillars of

my personal fixation on how

society is screwed up. I can

already hear all the bleeders

out there saying everyone

deserves a hearing and a chance,

but I totally disagree. No one

deserves a thing. It happens in

the same way with the endless

garbage-pleas of politicians and

business-types who get (finally)

caught with their hand up the

wrong ass. I say burn them,

maybe talk later, but only if

you care to  -  because I don't.

-

In NYC there's an entire section

downtown  -  the old Five Points  -

that's now government buildings,

police buildings, massive courts

and courthouses. Family Courts,

Immigration, City Hall, Municipal

Archives, and, of course, the

Municipal Building itself. I

remember back in the Nixon days,

a few of those John Mitchell type

characters, I guess on State charges

in addition to Federal, coming

through these courthouses, with

TV cameras trailing, up and down

those big steps  -  Gabe Pressman

(apt a name as ever was) and all

the other cheesy TV reporters,

swarming around, cameras and

microphones. Everyone had

something to say and no one

had 'done' anything. Even in

Hell, every angel is pure.

-

I used to walk around those streets,

mostly just for the fun of seeing the

old buildings, the hat shops, the

gargoyles and things. In fact, it

was outside the Municipal Archives

Building, late one damp and chilly

night, way after midnight, that I

stumbled on all those old real estate

tax-record photos I have. They were

just all in heaps, boxed at the curb,

I guessed, for the next garbage. I

took as many as I was able to take,

and just mosied along dragging

awkward boxes. Now I wish I'd

gone back and taken them all.

-

Back to my original point about

guilty perpetrators and the massive

defense industry of mostly grubby

lawyers out often just to squeeze 

a fortune and a reputation out of 

things while using the name of'

equal justice and rights for all

as a cover. I find that to be a

perversion of the system as

much as is any business, bank,

or corporate entity rim-jobbing

us left and right. This entire

system has become so encrypted

with foulness that to see it every so

often just pop up to set 'rightness'

back in place for the benefit of a

guilty-deed-doer and in the
'name' of some false category of
 justice, seems incredibly wrong.

-

I used to walk around New York

City wide-eyed and innocent and

thinking all things were perfect and

always taken care of in the best

possible manner. There was a lot

to learn, and I began learning it

quite quickly. First off, I learned

about subterfuge, and about how

the street-character type operators 

of the city  - the real jazzy ones, like

Andy Bonamo who, unfortunately,

I'd cast my lot with, didn't do anything

above board and were, instead, part 

and parcel of a vaster underground

conspiracy of double-dealers and

spies. In fact, in his case, double

agents. Evidently the G-Men forces

on the hippie and lower east side

task forces had planted him just

for the plucking of fools like me.

There were always guys like that

out on the street I guess; it was sort

of the FBI's way of keeping tabs  -

you have to remember the Vietnam

climate of those days, and I'm

not exaggerating. There was a 

period of time when it seemed at 

any moment a real street insurrection 

was about to break out. There were,

as well, all sorts of vile things taking

place on any day  -  one time, I can't

recall when, we had the apartment 

filled with people setting out in cars

and vans to Washington DC for 

some demonstration or another, 

and this one, within its placid,

marijuana-hazed effects, was going

to 'levitate the Pentagon.' Real stuff.

The idea was the amass the peaceful

psychic power of all these 'hundreds

of thousands' of people and, to disarm

the militaries and bring forth only

Goodness from peace, use mind

power to lift the Pentagon off its

base. Maybe even spin it around.

What happened was, when they

arrived there, the entire place had 

been ringed, and barricaded, by 

bumper-to-bumper buses, placed

by the Government and feds, to act

as a protective fencing all around 

these places. No one could near 

the Pentagon, even if they flew in.

So much for intensity. But, I must

say, two days later, when they all

got back, or started coming back in,

no one was dispirited and the party

and food lasted for days. I used

to just scratch my head over all this,

and over my stupid hospitality to

have let all this crap happen around

me, and in a place I'd thought was

going to be my own. That's

pretty much when I said so long to

little batch of Hollywood and holed

up instead in the basement of the

Studio School, where they'd started

letting me live and bunk. Real
happiness never looked better.