12,154. RUDIMENTS, pt 825

RUDIMENTS, pt. 825

(loco luna?)

You know how adios really

means 'Go with God,' as in

a'Dios  -  like Deus, as in

God. It's not the sort of thing

you think about when saying

it or hearing it said; but, yes,

is so. Much of all this is just

Tower of Babel stuff, the

flow of tongues and words

which keeps people apart

from each other, or without

any recognition of things

anyhow. When I was working

at that little place next to

the Fillmore East, back

whenever, on Second Ave.,

and that big, hulking Mexican

was next to me, he always

was blurting things out, like

'Madre Mio' and 'Loco

Luna!'or something, which

I just assumed meant 'My

Mama!' (like Mama Mia in

Italian), and 'Crazy Moon!'

these Mexican street phrases.

It was OK, but I soon tired

of all that. The only thing cool

about him was his weird story

of being there, on the lam;

escaping out of Colorado

after killing his wife, he

said, by pushing her out the

car door while driving a

mountain curve at a high

rate of speed. I never got too

deep into that story, but it

never washed for me. Based

first on who he was and how

he operated, he didn't seem

crafty, or cool-blooded. How

did he know she died? Did

she actually go off the cliff?

How did he know that? No

one else was around? None

to witness? And, lastly, how

does one manage all that

while 'driving' swiftly around

a mountain roadway, good

enough to open a far door,

flop a person out, and at

the same time do all that

serious navigating at 70,

and re-close the car door?

Sorry, Carlos, but your BS

didn't work on me. I didn't

tell him that, nor cross his

cover story; but I just knew

it stunk. He probably was

apprehended in Jersey City

for stealing a Christmas Tree.

That seemed more like it, and

they had Mexicans there too.

-

I met all sorts of characters,

and not always because I

wanted to. It just happened,

as people hung around,

someone knew someone,

you'd hear about them

or this or that, and suddenly,

there they were! Usually a

big, nervous bore. That whole

scene was made up of things

and types I'd certainly never

seen before. I had no clue

what these people did with

their lives, but they sure were

always having a go at it. If

it wasn't one thing, it was

another  -  a lot of those

neurotic, Jewish deep-state

things too, which I learned

quick was a whole subset

of a New York type. Pushed

way out into Brooklyn and

across Williamsburg and all

that, seeded from the old

immigrant quarters of the

lower east side Jewish ghetto,

just a bit down below from

where I was, was an entire

'other' culture of ancients.

They were still fighting

Biblical wars! Sects and

sub-sects, conflicting readings

of Talmud, scholars and all

their bizarre interpretations.

This was way before any of

today's cultural overlaps of

Muslims and Africans. The

Muslims and their Kaabah

stuff, and pilgrimages to it

(it simply means 'cube' in

Arabic, and is the very box, 
supposedly wherein some strange 
extra-terrestrial origination
rock is kept for worshippers to
pass by  -  and, no, that story
doesn't wash either) are very much

into alien and extra-terrestrial

originations for their holy

stuff  -  and so were the Jews.

You don't hear much of that,

but the clear interpretations

of their ancient and original

cults was all of extra-terrestrial

origins. It still is, I imagine,

because you can't change that.

But, it's all kept quiet now. As

I was exposed to the deep NYC

part of all this, I learned it

myself, and I'd always shared

those ideas anyway, so it fit

well. For a few years there I

actually wanted to become a

Jew, but it was all too much

trouble and it's not really the

sort of thing you just 'decide'

to be anyway. The Jewish

manner of explanation was

never a real 'explanation'

anyhow; it was more another

layer of questioning. It all

got less and less transparent

and more and more dense as

you went along and by the

end, if you stayed with it,

it all turned too symbolisms

and oddball representations

of a very enigmatic 'presence'

they refused to refer to by

name. The most surprising

and most frank thing I ever

learned, in covering all this

Jewish and Hebraic stuff, was

that after the heavy coatings

of ethics, procedures, ritual,

remonstrances and atonements,

this 'G-d' did not exist, was

found to be without presence.
In all actuality, and when you
came right down to it, they
actually believed that G-d did
not exist. Now how weird
is that? 
-

That was the essential basis 

of all that lower east-side Jewry,

and these people studied this

deeply and worked it into their

every daily moment. At Seward

Square, or Park, which was

surrounded by a few all-night

dairy restaurants and dairy-bars,

(sort of a safe, Jewish diner 

scene), The Jewish Daily 

Forward, The Seward Branch 

Library, and even the hulking 

ruin of that old Jarmolofski's 

Bank building or whatever 

it was. In 1967, you had two

strongly religious things going 

on, Jewish, but in its real

sense of Jewishness, that is

not 'religious' at all, but far

more concerned with ethics 

and the society of mankind.

One was the Jewish-intellectual

congregations of rabid and

doctrinaire Communists. They

would still be reading and 

spouting, and studying, 

their Marxist and socialist-left 

ideologies. Strongly. They

meant it. Much like today,

I found that to be more a

generational thing than 

anything else; kind of a 

quiet revolt. Psychologically

it was all a transference or

a projection  -  they were

fighting to break away from

all that Jewish-engendered

Mother-dedicated control.

It irked them and they let

this 'politics' take them 

over and concentrate their

rebuking; sort of like giving

guilt a purpose and use.

That's all Communism and

crazy socialism was  -  a 

newly found means of 

compensating for 'killing'

Mama. In light of my Mexican

Colorado murderer friend, I

found it all very interesting.
-
The active part of that religion
and ideology was essentially in
taking care of your fellow beings.
An offshoot of that was their very
off penchant for strange forms
of commerce and making money
for the smallest things : One side
of the street, East Broadway, or
Grand Street, would be pickle sellers;
vats of brine, onions, cucumbers
stewing. Endless arrays of 1o cent
pickles. The same went for the
deli guys and the fish mongers, 
shirt vendors, and, even, religious
supply houses and bible tract sellers.
It was all endless in a penny-ante
sort of way  -  but the dedicated
assemblage and their fidelity to 
even the smallest of these works 
was immense. I had a friend at
one of those religious-supply
houses, and it was, surely, 
intense and infinitesimally
amazing. 
-
Let me clarify one special NY
point here : the fact of this G-d
not existing  -  in spite of their
fierce penchant for religiosity 
and fierce dedication to that, was
rooted in a sad, fated, hopelessness 
about the human condition.
Concerning that, there was no
around : The way they'd had it
divulged, they'd dug too hard. A
box canyon. The deeper you dig,
the less you find there. I'd
had it admitted to me, just
like that, and from someone
I did truly respect.