RUDIMENTS, Pt. 659
(we sacrifice each other)
So many times and in so
many ways I've tried to
figure why I was such a
bust, why this flaccid life
went nowhere, how the
end-sport became a big
bore. I know it was my
own dumb fault; but I'd
like to, just as well, blame
a bad upbringing. Why
not? I've got all the solid
evidence and no one's
around to refute me. I
can blame poverty, no
education in the home,
going to the seminary,
getting whacked by a
train, setting off in a
whisk to just get away
and leave it all behind.
I've done that 20 times
over. I've found that
when people talk about
others, they're talking about
themselves. Every so often
I'd run into someone who
began asking me questions
about myself, and I always
found that to come as a
revelation. It cleared the
air. In kind of a Martin
Buber manner, the I:Thou
versus I:I manner of things
becomes really apparent.
Sometimes (this is another
idea, actually) I'd hear
someone say, about someone,
or about their last moments
or whatever - 'He never knew
what hit him.' Like a mother,
saying to the doctor, 'did my
son go through a lot of pain,
before he died?' And the
doctor says, 'No, he never
knew what hit him.' (That's
confusing, the way I just
put that, but I hope you
get the gist). I developed
this idea; I'd say to people
'Pain necessitates a future.'
-
I want to step back here now,
and go over something - in
all my street time and NYC
Studio School, and all the
rest of it, I spent a lot of
time alone, with just myself.
Walking, doing things, a lot
of it in isolation. I had never,
ever, been a part of anything,
so I had no status. I was an
outsider everywhere, which
suited me fine. I didn't want
any allegiances, and hoped not
to have them. I was working
on going, and being, completely
abstract - or as abstract as I
cold be - in thought and writing,
and painting too. I quit the
'abstract' painting soon enough
and found more of my own style.
Complete abstraction never
suited me. But abstract thought,
and abstract writing and drawing,
jumping to little connections
and things, I stayed with. I found,
one day, something that aptly
fit me - it was an idea about
the Acadians, of Canada. 'Acadie
was the name given to an area
on the north-east coast of North
America by French settlers in
the 1680's. It included Nova
Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince
Edward Island, and parts of
Quebec and Maine.' Expanding
the research a bit (since I felt
something akin here to myself,
wonder of wonders), 'after the
battle between Montcalm and
Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham
in 1759, it was put to the Acadian
people that they had to swear
allegiance to the British or give
up their land. So some of them
went back to France, some went
to the French Islands in the
Caribbean, and some crossed
the border and went down to
Louisiana. The ones who went
to Louisiana had their group
name slurred by locals from
'Acadian' to 'Cajun' - and it
stuck. Known ever-after as
Cajuns. In addition, those who
stayed, made their allegiances
to the British, and remained -
remained as Canada's outcasts.'
I felt like ALL of that represented
me. And I liked it.
-
I guess it's up to each person,
in developing their own character,
to find out things like that. For me,
this wasn't anything really but an
additional, and late, life find. I
kind of forced it and squeezed
it around me to make it fit.
Constructing my own mental
narrative, as it were. That's why
I can't talk too well and don't
much like mingling - my tongue's
of my own invention, and I just
truly do 'talk' through what I
write. The rest be damned. The
spoken word is a surfboard
straight to Hell - and those
who make the livelihood of
talking are riding their own
crest into the wave-foam of
lies, cheating, and foolishness.
You get stuck in muck like
that and you have to find
your own way out.
-
What I meant to say about
'Pain necessitating a future,'
is just that. It was a thought,
one of those idle fancies one
gets while walking around. If
I were to jump off a 60-story
building, I'd have, lets' say,
7 seconds maybe, to get to
the bottom and splatter. That
would be just about it, once
a decision to leap was made.
I'd have no future, so no pain.
If, in turn, I jumped in front
of a train, it would be over in
a moment. No pain, because
there's no future in which to
experience it. It's a curious
concept. Most people draw
out their painful torture, just
by living. Life is so queer like
that. Everything is basically
artificial and conceptual, and
amidst all that we make the
definitions work - if we agree,
communally, for that. The loners
always become the avengers.
Pain has no future.
-
I used to watch the Chinese
people a lot - they were always,
it seemed, way more engrossed
in those particularly ancient and
traditional values - candles burning
and fruit offerings to the Buddha
concept, in bowls, with incense,
family ties, traditional values and
wisdom, etc., and yet, when the
gang stuff and ritual violence and
Tong allegiances and all, they were
feet first right into the fire. Goes
to show. What's the sense of
belonging to something like
that, some grand, old, traditional
culture with photos of ancestors
and nuggets of old wisdom
tacked up everywhere amid
twisting thin trails on incense
smoke and buckets of oranges?
Ancient cultures sacrificed things
which ran the gamut from lambs
to children to animals of all sort,
Christians sacrificed their own
illumanti-God figure, the Chinese
sacrificed, apparently, oranges
and incense sticks, and then they
each went on their merry ways
maiming, killing, slaughtering
and sacrificing each other and all
fellow Mankind? Go figure it out
for yourself. It's your crowd.
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