12,057. RUDIMENTS, pt. 795

RUDIMENTS, pt. 795

(designs for your porch?)

Rather than distance myself

from things, I always felt

there was a message built

into everything; so I dug
in instead.  This put me at

odds, with the 'Pure-God'

crowd, whose view of God

was of a pure and distant

presence, prime mover of

all things, which were

inherent and then made

self-evident by the aloof

'distance' of this far-off

God concept. My viewpoint

was the other way (as it

turned out, a total failure

and a bust, by whatever,

and by whose terms

anyway?)...for I held

faith in the active and

present work of a verb-God,

one whose activities and

consciousness as it were, of

and within all things, kept

this world going and, as

well, stepped in to alter 

and to influence its acts, 

occurrences, and those

agents of these acts too;

namely, US, as Humans.

What happens when one's

premise and base for living

turn out to be only false and

conjectural? Well, just look

at me. I missed the mark.

Aristotle had said 'God' was

pure reason and far too

exalted to descend to the

knowledge of such ignoble,

particular beings as men (all

beings/ Humankind) and its

doings. On the other hand,

the God of revelation was

the active agent, able to

know all things and to be

present and active in the

creative order. The two

instances here diverge, yes,

and greatly. Pure God, and

aloof, contemplating only

itself and not the petty affairs

of men and their cosmos;

set against that Revelation,

acting-force, determinate,

God. I had placed my early

bet on the active, force-bound

agent one, and had, apparently

bet wrongly. (Aristotle also

said, somewhat stupidly, I felt,

relating to that aloof God

of reason, and its 'Creation'

of which he paid no attention,

that 'There are some things

which it is better not to see

than too see.'

-

So, anyway, I almost should

have realized, but the traveling

cross-country girlfriend who 

was with us a complete fan

of, alas, The Flower District,

in NYC  -  and one of her goals

was to see and visit it, at the

5:30 AM start-up and prep

time that it operates by. She

wanted to see the incoming

trucks of flowers, cuttings and

such, witness the distribution

and trimming and cutting, and

display, of the entire gamut of

flower-district activities. Quite

dedicated. In addition, she was

an architect....of porches. Go

figure! I never even knew there

were such things  -  porches and

overhangs, balconies and the like.
Talk about craft specialization!
So, in addition to the flower

district wanderings, our time

took in her sketching and 

drawing, in not artistic, but 

rather architectural renderings, 

of all these things she'd see.

Overhangs. Grandiose entryways,

mid-level dormers and such  -

all of the rich and varied parts

of so many old buildings. It

was a bit tedious, yet I enjoyed

it; fortunately the weather was

good, we were able to eat, etc.

Plenty of dawn activities, and

many places were open to serve

that early crowd. The scurrying

ants of commercial New York

were everywhere.

-

So, no interdiction was due me;

I had failed, had bet wrongly, 

and my definitive enterprises

therefore needed some newer

reconstituting. Which is where

my life - centered around an aloof

yet rampaging creativity - came in,

and was sourced from. Other than

that, I'd lost all meaning; not such

a bad thing, as I learned; because,

to put it frankly I can take, and

I can argue either side of any 

issue. And can do it well. What

that actually makes me, I don't 

know. (But what it does for me

is show me how inconsequential

the fallen world actually is, that

I can argue any point and scoff

at its opposite, from any angle,

and how deadly serious and for

more vital and important the

unchanging and fierce world

of cosmic creativity is by

contrast. You can have your

silly old 'Earth' stuff).

- 

Jamming into NYC from that

last leg of the journey, from

Binghamton east, was a real

blast. Probably punch-drunk

from two long, dumb, days

of incessant travel, dogs, talk,

sights, scenes and sounds, I

felt positively Keruoac-ean.

My head was ablaze, and my

running mind was kept reeling.

Possibilities abounded; each 

and all seen in the light of the

long arc of all I'd ever done

before : books, quotes, learning,

writing, wants, and needs too.

By contrast, I am an old man

now, with a much clearer and

sharpened delineation of

character and selfhood. Many

of the things I was concerned

with or cared about then, I

would no longer spend a penny

on. The long years wasted and

drained my life  -  to the point

where I realize no there are no

meanings or definitions worth

doing anything about. It's all

an ever-changing bowl of soup,

but presented to us somehow

on a sloppy platter, instead of in

a bowl. Keeping it all together

and from dripping all over the

floor is our human task.

-

And too bad for all that!

-

There was a certain strangeness

to these people who were our

traveling companions. I'd never

quite seen it before. It kind of

concerned me, but at the same

time was none of my business.

'She' was the passive partner

here; almost abusively so  -

taking refuge, I found, in these

quirky dedications to sketching

entries, porches, and overhangs.

The guy in this mix was a total,

demand/control figure, wielding

that heavily over her head. It

wasn't often that I could read a

power-dynamic so clearly, but

this one was easy. The same 

weird drive, the same personality

intensity and madness that took 

us in a two day period from

one westerly NY State point,

across to NYC, and then back a

abit to New Jersey too (and also
back to Elmira again!), almost

without ceasing, was the same

sort of push-drive-command

over others he wielded, or

tried to anyway. I noticed he

controlled the style of her

hair; she'd commented she

wished for it to be cut back

some, but he'd allow no

tampering. I wasn't sure what

any of this represented, but I

could feel the chafing in the

air; something there was 

about them that was gong 

on too far forward. It wasn't

computing for me. Fondly, I

found her appreciation for things

for more comforting than his

drive. I'd never been trained

for this sort of situation. They

didn't last. Within the year, after

they'd gone back to California,

the relationship failed, they went

their separate ways, after some

real quarreling. I lost track of

her  -  his fifth relationship in

maybe 10 years  -  and he later

died. It was all as over as that.

If you see any porch designers

named Sherie, it might be her.