RUDIMENTS, pt. 643
('if the hordes come over the hill')
I guess 'relentless' would be
the word for me; summing
up a character trait. Much like
Herod himself, if I ruled that
land every baby would have
died; no exemptions or misses.
Just because I'd have been
relentless. Boy, how history
would have changed. Gospel of
Matthew, vicinity of Bethlehem.
Man, what a tawdry story that is.
'Slaughter of the Innocents,' indeed.
We've taken that to where no one
is innocent anymore; philosophically
just by living we're all guilty, and
what we're left with is, maybe, just
the wild, the innocent, and the
E-street shuffle.' Thanks, Bruce.
How people lived with that stuff,
those sorts of stories, in their daily
make-up, is beyond me except to
say that the prevailing (subservient)
worldview of all previous times
must have been so very different
as to only now make it all but
unrecognizable. I never got a
handle on the handle that religion
got on the entire world. We somehow
made the leap from very dense
forms of Pagan tribalism and a
mixed-in Naturalism, to full
blown concepts of organizational
and doctrinal dictatorships, slowly
and later diluted into many secular
nationalisms. My own spiritualism
is still mostly 'Naturalistic.'
-
I have often been reclusive and
unseen. When I get out, it's usually
for a specific purpose and I'd prefer
not to 'socialize' or talk the small
talk that keeps people going. (OK,
well, really that's probably not true,
because I do like to talk to you,
and once I get started, I'm a good
'raconteur,' as it's called. So forget
all that). I don't have accumulations
and collections of tradeable, verbal
things - I keep mostly silent until
it just comes out as writing; figuring
what you don't say can't be held
against you. It's just that I'm nuts.
-
It's all easy stuff to say, but in
practice it's difficult. In the old
days, I'd take cover behind others,
like Jim Tomberg (to make mention
of him again). It always seemed that
if you huddled yourself behind, or
as a sidekick to, a unique and always
crazed individual, people concentrated
on him, his light, and not 'you.' It
became maybe a means of squeaking
by; except that it didn't work because
it seemed that, sooner or later, they'd
just say, 'Screw him, he's a cracker.
You always seemed more interesting
anyway.' Which just goes to show,
yes, that the mystery of all endeavors
is in the mystery alone. If you stay
close to the vest, not telling people
'too' much about yourself, their own
ripe imaginings soon take over by the
power of what you 'suggest' to them,
image-wise and by category. They
do all the work and build a character
for you, out of you, from you. You
can become absolutely what you
are not! Like Kramer said a long
time ago, on some old Seinfield,
about having sex with the girl
on top. 'I like it that way. Let
them do all the work!!'
-
Back at home, Inman Avenue, that
whole Avenel thing, I used to take
note of how distant everyone was
from the sort of deep-world stuff
that goes on inside. For instance,
the gate-man at General Dynamics,
before it closed up and all, was a
strange guy named Ben. He said
his last name was one thing, the
name also of a Hollywood star,
and my mother refuted it laughingly,
so I just ignored that whole thing.
Anyway, in his way this guy
represented something I'd liked
to be - or I then thought. He was
a definite loner, lived by himself
across the way, out behind the
Gallo's Barber Shop area, right
up against the railroad. There used
to be a few nice apartment type
lodgings there, with little rear yards
and open areas. He lived there. I
visited a few times, as he'd usually
catch me walking along Avenel
Street, and we'd stand and talk.
He was an 'adult' I took heed of,'
probably because of his sort of
well-articulated oddness. I'd never
noticed it so well in other adults,
and it made me wonder about him.
For all I know, looking back now,
he might have just been a lonely
old gay guy, looking for some
sort of companionship. Others
have told me since, that after my
time, he did the same with others,
and was known, actually, for that
'favoring-boys' quirk. (Maybe it has
something to do with the surface
water of the old General Dynamics
site - for apparently it still goes on,
now under the guise of 'theater')...
Anyway, it never got weird with
me. He began providing me with
'religious' and iconic statues, asking
me if I'd paint them up for him. They
were plaster-white, and he wanted
the usual colored garb, blue robes
and stuff, and, as best I could, 'faces
and skin tones, please'. I did so,
numerous times, and he paid me,
I forget, 6 or 8 dollars a statue. It
was fun for a while, but it got
boring too. I never knew what
he did with them - providing
them to churches and missions,
selling them, whatever. Then
I just quit doing it, and then I
was gone again anyway. Ben
Gazzara, whoever and wherever
you are and were: thanks for then.
-
So, my point was how he seemed
to represent, even through Avenel,
a form of introspective person I'd
not often seen before. Of course,
this is after my seminary time too,
which was filled with a sort of
enforced introspection, but all
in the wrong direction. Ben was
more like a warrior in the wind
or something, standing fast in the
onrush of a world around him that,
for whatever he was, made little
sense. And I think it was for that
that I so respected him; for his
staying rock-steady, even if
it was lame and stupid. It was
a difficult assignment for any
person. Avenel was a weird place;
some people were cantankerous.
Others were really ordinary, and
still others were just plain and
reekingly dumb. Ben was whatever
he was. But I think a part of that
idea always stayed with me. There
was another guy, a few houses away
from my own house. He was a father
to the boys of my side of the generation;
and he had, as well a slightly younger
daughter, and then a younger son too.
Shared my birthday, as I recall; the
young, I'm meaning. Anyway, this
guy had a sort of porch thing built onto
the front of his house, and there'd be
a few chairs on it, they had a dachsund
or two scattering about. It was cool,
and I forget the years, but - he always
had a radio playing, Don McNeil's
Breakfast club, as I recall, a live
daily broadcast from Chicago. It
was pretty cool, and one whole
Summer I can remember it being
on, but not much else - there were
some sorts of urban riots happening,
I remember that. About the same
time too of the Gulf Of Tonkin
deal, and there was also some
nuclear submarine or something
that got blown up or captured in
Korea, maybe it was the Pueblo.
Didn't pay too much attention to
that either, but I picked up a lot just
from that form of alive and alert
living and breathing business; like
it was the deep south. We expected
crazed black over the from over the
top of Route One, I can remember,
to come swarming in from Plainfield
and that area, at any minute. It was
laughable, but serious too. We kids
would be playing real raunchy,
hard-diving football games on the
paved street, one telephone pole or
two, to the other, as end zones, and
at any moment we were ready to
scatter, if the hordes came over the
the hill! (They'd have to get
past Hiram's first)...
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