Friday, September 27, 2019

12,142. RUDIMENTS, pt. 821

RUDIMENTS, pt. 821
(I'm ok now; it's all over)
My setting always seemed 
to be at 'Catch-all' and that's 
the way it went   -  I roved 
and picked everywhere. In
the time I spent growing,
it was often a pointed 
decision for me to strictly
stay on course. The last 
thing I ever needed was 
a 'country,' and I'd not 
select this one  -  if I had
to opt for a place. In any 
case I chose my battles 
and struck back as needed.
One thing I found out was
that you can't 'sift' for
truth; it either is or isn't,
and, if it is, then it's so
apparent that no searching
is in order, or needed. At
about this time, up at
Broadway and 19th or 
18th street, the very first
concept/working version of
a Barnes & Noble 'Superstore'
was in place. I didn't exactly
know it at the time  -  to me
it was just a cool deal; a new
idea. A monstrous, organized,
well-priced, and bargain-racked,
store with multiple cash-registers,
record albums, and tons of
books. It was a sort of Heaven.
Putting aside all the corporate
babble that came later, (over
750 stores), the idea in its
raw form was to be, at base,
a walk-through, informal
format, open-space, wide
warehousing of books, and
arranged by categories too.
That was a new idea for me.
I'd gotten used to the hit
and miss format of book
buying  -  in those 4th Ave.,
Book Row places that lent
themselves to nothing as much
as solitary stealth in the pick
through piles and piles of 'old'
style books. There wasn't
that much help given. This
store introduced the idea
of categories  - which to me
was a new and infinitely
interesting view  -  Philosophy,
and its sub-categories; The
idea of criticism, as in 'literary'
criticism, ('LitCrit), to which
I'd always beforehand referred 
to as 'Books About Books'
was there in big numbers -
all those studies of author and
titles, the amassed work of the
varied writers and critics sort
of deconstructing each other,
tearing asunder arguments
and concepts. The books 
themselves all seemed fresh
and modern, some even
colorful...unlike the Biblo &
Tannen representative book
dens that otherwise lined the
lower areas by Fourth Ave.
and Bowery. It was an 
eventful moment.
-
Later on, right across the
street, on Broadway, they
opened a textbook outlet,
which was even greater  - 
a person could specifically 
course himself through the
working title-lists for any
course  -  which of course,
(Jeez, all these accidental 
puns), meant free rein to
go at it. I had little interest in
80 per cent of the categories
I'd see  -  math and sciences,
outside of Lewis Thomas
anyway  -  but was able to
stay with all else that I
wanted. I drowned myself
in Moby Dick's bath-water,
as it were; rehab with Ahab!
(I called anything that drained
Avenel out of me rehab).
-
Knocking my head against walls
was not something I cared to
do. I was determined to make
all that the past for me. Inside
the Studio School, it was
pretty apparent to me that
others were better educated,
already, than I'd ever been;
they were more worldly, and
had so much less of the poor
and half-baked, 'sentimental'
religious aspect which my own
upbringing had been battering
me with for years; in and out
of seminary school. All those
exposures, in fact, had made me
quite 'medieval' by contrast to
their far bolder secularism. What
a dumb spot to be in. A light
went on in my head that then
immediately led me to one of
the stronger convictions I'd
ever had  -  that millions of
lives are wasted by subservience.
Subservience was the primary
gauge of success for Authority
to use in order to show results.
They wanted you to be a 
medieval drone, tripping and 
bowing, doing nothing on 
your own but looking for new
orders and systems to follow!
For them, that's an answered 
prayer! Back at home, as a
kid, all that going to church
folderol, catechism, communion, 
confirmation, rites and recitations
and rituals, Father this and
Monsignor that, it was all on 
the order of those old vassal
states and church fortress 
villages once dotting their 
'Europe,' building nation-states;
holding everyone in place so 
that the newly-allied combo
power of 'Church' and 'State'
could establish its steamroller
over people  -  Holy Roman
Empire, Papal Viceroys, and
the requisite oppression and
'martyrdom' by the usual ruling
class could smite the peon into
that needed subservience.
Divine Rite of Kings? Or
Divine Right of Kings. Mix
it up with hidden church riches
and the gobbledy-gook of
other rituals and languages,
and before you know it you've
got yourself a country. And,
as I said in the opening, I
wanted no country.
-
All those dark, dour and
stretched old men  -  estranged,
solitary, serious, creased  -  poring
and craning over old books along
Book Row : With their canes and
magnifying glasses and bag lunches
and slow steps, often were in
their old suits and clothes from
what seemed like 20 years back;
in turn it being an older and
more serious time. Life like
that was odd, as if it were a 
long rubber-band stretching 
and closing, drawing things 
back and forth with it. These
men were one step away
from the same sorts of men 
along  the Bowery, a mere 10 
blocks down the way  -  those
who had fallen, tumbled, failed. 
The rubber band had let them 
go, and booze took over from
books. in fact, it seemed to 
me, that if you lifted the island
itself up, on edge, these book
men who slowly start their
slide down, easily merging
into those booze-men all
staggering along the old
Bowery hotel-streets
-
As it then turned out, in the
varied places I ended up after
those days, I eventually became
my own producer, editor, writer,
composer, and study-hall guide,
pretty much just as I'd envisioned
it. I never needed any hangers-on
and I guess I never sought the
applause or I would have gone 
after it. A part of me deep inside
wishes I had, but I always kept
this dumb notion that as long as
I was working steadily to amass 
the work, at some point someone
would find me. Well, that never
happened, but I've always
remained a 'free man in Paris,'
and I always wanted to be ready
if lighting struck. But I guess
my rod was always too good
and the current was carried
off. Least I know, it never
hit me. But I'm OK now too;
it's all over.



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