12,108. RUDIMENTS pt. 809

RUDIMENTS, pt. 809

(the postscript is a dead duck)

I liked to go around saying

I'd seen nothing and knew less,

but in actuality I saw it all and

knew most everything of what

I saw. Little escaped me, and

those things then only turned

out later to be surprises. There

was a certain sort of Elmira

type, bearing all the earmarks

of someone you just knew was on

assistance. They worked at the

porno-shops, mostly. Or did no
work at all. Idled their days. After

everything else good had mostly

left town, abandoned it actually,

they always remained : the

visually, enticingly poor, folks,

and the haggard dumps of what

they called Adult Boutiques,

and the hot dog stores. There

were any number of differing

versions all in one last stand in a

last-standing town. Poverty and

ruination, by 1978, had gotten

most everything else. These

hot dog places, chili-dogs,

and an entire gamut of fries and

shakes and the rest, they went

by the name, in variations, of

'red hots' or 'Texas red hots' or

something along those lines.

Texas Wieners too. I never

knew where that all came from,

but then again I'd never been

to Texas so I figured perhaps

there was one on every corner

maybe. Or could be. Or maybe,

down there, they called them

Elmira Red Hots. Who knew?

I went into these places often,
the hot dog and soda joints,

enough back then. There was

never any activity. The most I

ever saw were 2 or 3 other people,

just eating and staring out. The
trouble was, unlike 42nd Street,
you could stare all day but there
was never anything underway,
not even foot traffic. These

were all dead-end places, and

usually, as well, they were at the

corner or near-next to one of those

adult-boutique dildo-vibrator

VCR porno places. It was all

like a bad 42nd street, but done

even worse than bad. The good

ones had  25 cent peep-booths.

The weird thing was, you could

go in there with a quarter, thinking

just that to spend, but leave there

20 minutes later 50 dollars lighter.

But with a smile on your face,

of sorts : I guess that was the

deal. I never understood any

of that idea, as it went: Peeping?

-

There's something about towns

and cities and the ways they

fall apart. It seems that America

defeated itself, almost all at

once over a 30 or 40 year

period, in that it made its

'corporate' decision to go

automotive, and materialistic.

Ingraciously, all these towns

and places began losing their

bearings, as roadways, highways,

and, later, interstates, etc.,

came zinging through and

by, or  -  in fact  - bypassing

too. Somehow, by that, as

well, the definition changed

into one of 'if you're not

connected to the next

town over, or to the big

roads getting you there,

you're nowhere.' And then

they erect a small town

museum in which to show

Norman Rockwell-esque

artifacts and photos of the

past they just burned up.

They're the ones who did it;

they're the ones who cheered.

And now they pretend at

regrets?

-

So, what are we left with then,

as a nation? Stories. Who makes

up the accepted stories? The

victors  -  which are the same

people who rapaciously gained

from it all, pillaged and took

the money, wrote the deals, and

foisted the contracts, all while

living off the public weal. They

leave us: dead town and cities,

ring-highways, parking lots and

strip malls, endless crap and chain

stores, with exploitative labor

and ludicrous job situations.

Unsightly and untidy roadways.

Vicarious and Godless entertainments

with no recourse or resort to any

knowledge, learning, finesse, or

quality. They can't even come
up with  words of more than two 
syllables to encompass concepts

of any meaningful value. We have

them right around here, and they

won't even convincingly show their

faces except to others of their ilk.

Because they have embarrassment

and failure as their cloak. Can

you yet believe they have to

actually face their own children

and neighbors?

-

All that's ever been done is the

neutralization of town and city

so that all the activity is elsewhere,

for fossil-fuel, oil-company reasons

of auto and gasoline and energy

use  -  parking lots, macadam (an

oil use too). Rows of clumped

together junk-stores offering

nothing real. Ever try and buy

a hammer and nails in a mall

store? You'd be hard-pressed;

probably getting some gay-blade

indeterminate of either, whatever,

'sex' trying to sell you aromatherapy,

socks, imported peanut clusters or

sheets and pillowcases instead.

Watch out kid, they keep it all

hid  -  and thank goodness they

do, because I'd not want to see

their junk.

-

(Shut-up, Gar; get back to Elmira)...

Oh, yeah, so the point was the

seedy things left in a schmuck

town struggling on are but the

usual skank-fests and halls of

pleasure by which desperate people

stay alive. Dollar stores? What isn't.

Banks? For the hell what? Doctors

and medicines are all clumped

together in unified conglomerates

and they won't talk to you anyway

unless you've got the right paperwork

and promises of payment. They

all have parking lots too; 'Sorry,

Bub, you'll need to drive here.

Bullet wound? Tuck your guts back

in and see if you can get yourself

over to here soon. Thanks.'
-
Back in school, remember, they
used to shove a Civics textbook 
at us and go on about our 
responsibilities as a 'citizen. I 
can even remember when they'd 
remind  us, out of Trenton and 
the DMV,  how we should always 
consider  that 'Driving is a Privilege, 
not  a Right.' And how we should be
sure to vote and stay knowledgeable
about the civic process and our
local surroundings and to make sure
our voice is heard and we remain 'up'
on the issues and keep our 'elected'
representatives aware of our 
thoughts and concerns. If they
were serving a soup in these hot
dog joints called 'Crock of Shit,'
they would have probably just
given it away  -  to all the poor
wrecks there. Why you ask?
Because, using Elmira, that wreck
of a jumbled hulk, and now using
Woodbridge too, 40 years later,
as prime examples, not of those
words or intentions or worth the
spittle from a crying's baby's jacket.
They left out the words : subservience,
crime, theft, control, lies, corruption,
and misrepresentation. Take a
look, a good look, around you.
(P.S. The postscript is a dead duck).