11,829. RUDIMENTS, pt. 713

RUDIMENTS, pt. 713

(want to buy a bridge?)

I never lost the light, and the

light's what matters. As if in a

cave, one of resounding echoes,

the light keeps shining. In the

cave, the sound does the same

thing and you'd realize right

off that once that echo-sound

ceased, something big-time had

changed. Most all of my life

has had lengthy connections

to the most basic of things :

paper, pencil, pen, notebook

and books. It's all still like that,

but with the now-addition of

keyboard replacing typewriter,

the connection to the ephemeral

aspects of computer, storage,

retrieval editing, re-doing, etc.,

had thrown most things out of

kilter, though I go on, and

manage too. But, all of this

new materialization (less the

phone aspect, which don't

have and don't share, and

don't, as a practicality, even

understand. Who in the heck

would want to be at someone

else's beck and call and then,

in turn, have to take endlessly

on about the most inane and

banal subjects?)...People don't

understand how that crud affects

their lives. All things matter.

And not all are worth it.

-

One other thing here worth

mentioning, in light of the present

day and how it has affected all of

my past, in memory and experience.

I've written steadily of logic and

linear thinking, and how the dry

and the rational so badly dull our

world and remove from it the

graceful growth and wonderment

which grows from creativity and

openness. Instead, we are left

with edicts and strictures, the

commands and the bottlenecks

of governance, stale thinking,

rules and regulations, and the

overstepping of one group of

people endlessly into the business

of others  -  when it is none of their

business at all. Here's my thought:

It's well within the structured

confines of a political type to

come up with the idea that

(using facebook here as an

example, let's  say), every

user would be registered

so that whenever they went

on line or hooked into facebook,

ONLY the references for their

town and location would come

up. Completely 'focused' ads,

as they would put it. That sort
of control would be right up their
proverbial (useless) alley. Now,

first-off, all that would be a

travesty because the idea

of the Internet and all its

commerce is to surpass all

'place.' And, contrary to what

the idiots of local politics

proclaim, there is no such

thing as local, as in all their

numb-skull 'buy local' notes,

and they'd be the first to roll

out the welcome mat for the

next mega-front international

manufacture of anything to

situate in their treasured

Palookaville. They're all

about as local as their belt

buckle is to their rear end,

and that's how they

think anyhow.

-

In any case, psychologically,

the dilemma THEY present to

themselves  -  and it's so blatantly

stupid and ignorant that I don't

understand their blind spot  -  is

that of operating in a perplexing

manner and at cross-purposes

with the longings of their minds.

On the one hand, their inner

workings are entreating them

to find that 'spot' of home and

promote it  -  thus all their stupid

efforts at 'This is a great place,

isn't it wonderful here...'  -  and

at the very same time the dirge-

worthy and dark side of them is

at work destroying the very place

they think they are trying to create.

The spinning fantasy they are

trying to manage will never be

managed. Its main components 

are lies, self-delusion, angst,

misrepresentation, and un-realized 

goals and conflicted inner turmoil. 

The psychological  kind of turmoil

that twists people up, that drives 

them mad, makes them go to 

banquets and toasts, have drinks, 

and even beg (firemen boot
in hand). Go figure.

-

All the times I was somewhere

else, I knew I was there. When 

I was in Camden, from the 

seminary, and Blackwood, at 

the seminary, I knew where I 

was. In New York City, I certainly 

did; and in Elmira, and Ithaca 

too. Each of those places

presented a story line that 

one could walk through. There 

were made of veritable layers 

of wallpaper, each layer with 

its encoded and thematic

historical aesthetic. You 

were able  to sense and feel 

the walk-through, learn where 

you were, see the evidences

of the past all around you  -  

the remnants, the stories and 

trails, the layers I mentioned. 

There's nothing of that here;

outside of, maybe, Rahway, or

Perth Amboy's poor versions, 

nearby, you'd be hard-pressed 

to successfully buy into any of

the story-lines that are presented.

There's something in the TV and

entertainment business called

'suspension of disbelief.' The

script writers and film-makers

depend on it. It's the idea that

the viewer will be able to, by

being engrossed and vapid, set

aside their  critical judgement

and 'accept' what they're being 

told, what's being presented to 

them, whatever concocted BS is

presented; that they'll stop asking

themselves, 'how did that book

get on that table with the gun

that's conveniently in the drawer

right where the reader will be

sitting next scene?' And then

the car pulls up with the rescue

guy in it, at just the right moment

to save the scene  -  they won't

say, 'Hey? How that perfect

timing occur? No traffic? No

lights?' That's what is tried here,

falsely dressed in the doilies of

History. And by the way, don't

go digging for any remnants or

relics beneath the Parker Press

building. It wasn't really there.

Just buy into the story, OK.

-

It turns out, in the long run,

that falsity has its value. It 

makes things heroic  -  like all

that greatest generation stuff,

the Apollo and moon landing

projects and the early Mercury

astronauts. In hindsight it all

gets worked over, fictionalized,

turned heroic  -  propagandized.

People buy it all, and with it

create the rest of the things

needed around it. Only then

does it become important and

need to remain as the bulwark of

that which is built on top of it,

I grant you, the wars and the

goals and projects were all

tough and brutal, nasty and harsh.

But they got done within their

confines of a coordinated work

and effort. Once the tasks were

achieved, and after some time

passed, the certain raw memories

faded and things got embellished.

That's then what we begin living

with. It gets taught, and the words

are disseminated. That's how we

get what we live, and what the 

newly arrived come into and are

given as the real history of the

real truth and the true way things

happened. Even if it's just untrue.