12,231. RUDIMENTS, pt. 850

RUDIMENTS, pt 850

(catch as catch can)

I used to think I had it made;

and then it went away. I

haven't felt that way in 45

years, I'd bet. Now I never

approach things in that light.

I just figure that, even as

bad as it all gets, if I just

keep screwing people to

the ground, eventually the

screws become permanent

and hit into something that

holds it there. Pay dirt. Solid

meat. That 'got it, there,' feel.

For myself, I accelerated a

lot of things  -  got sex out

of the way early, while other

kids were still struggling

over all that. The same with

romancing, having a kid,

buying a house. I was done

early on. It sounds stupid

now, but it got me to able

to move along with other

things. Getting scrunched

by a train at age 8 really

moves things along, I guess.

My fortitude was splendid,

in face of all the other bum

things that transpired.

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I saw some real misery 'round:

in the country, Pennsylvania,

Elmira, and then the streets of

NYC too; it took exposure to

that to get me to decide what

NOT to do, what to steer clear

of anyway. I kept seeing adults

falling backwards instead of

progressing. When I was a kid,

Halloween say, was one day of

a sort of half BS happening :

You'd get a mask and maybe a

pillow case, and go tromping

around for five or six hours

door to door; soaping windows,

taking air out of people's tires;

abusing them verbally if you

didn't like the stuff they gave

out. We weren't cool. Wrecking

mailbox posts, putting dogshit

in a paper bag and leaving it on

people's porches (concrete),

lighting it aflame, ringing the

bell, and taking off. The deal

was they'd come out, see the

flaming bag, stomp it out, and

get dogshit all over. Har. Har.

Halloween.

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It was all the low-grade comedy,

class B holiday you'd quickly

forget about. Now it's not. Now

it seems adults never leave it

behind  -  there are 'stores' for

Halloween up and down the

highways. Child-like adults

now take this crap seriously,

and carry baby-Halloween

stuff well into their 40's. Beats

me why they just don't let

that go and forget about the

whole stupid thing. It seems

indicative to me of a lessening

of the degree of intensity that

people give towards their lives.

You can't just do baby-talk

stuff all your life. In fact,

churchgoers and Bible touters,

1 Corinthians 13, I think it is,

says "When I was a child, I

spoke as a child, I understood

as a child, but when I became a

man I put away childish things."

Now really, that has to mean

something in the greater run

of things. There's a basic

understanding there that

cannot be ignored. I'm

going to say it's important.

I don't like when I see adults

acting as kids. When I worked

at Barnes & Noble, Halloween

kids in their late and mid 20's

were holding to the form  - 

big time masks and costumes,

role players, masquerades and

promenades too. Right up

there (down there?) but a

little older, than the same kids

who endlessly drank their

Harry Potter poison from

their sippy-cups. It was crazy,

and between that and tattoos  -

on mostly the same people  - 

I was kept sadly distracted

from any form of standard

human behavior. It was as if

everyone was Justin Trudeau

(back then). No understanding.

Tattoos are the pits, if looked

at in this light  -  crayola-fabric

living. Tattoo people can never,

it seems, cover up their quality

tattoos  -  thus shorts and

sleeveless tees and things in

20 degree weather. The fair

equivalent of baby clothes;

so you can be constantly

aware of their tedious

self-graffiti.

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I once took a group of

motorcycle people, about 10

bikes, to a tattoo 'Art' show,

in an art gallery downtown.

It was at the urging of some

'girl' who ended up being a

total pain, pesky and picky.

That's 3 P's, as in Penelope

Paige Piranha. She was

infatuated with the 'idea' 

of the tattoo being gentrified,

meaning not on the stinky

arm of some Popeye sailor,

nor spelling out some crafty

filth or profanity across a

chest (man or woman). No, 

these were 'vintage' tattoo

designs, framed and hanging

as gallery art, maybe 16x20

inches each. It takes a certain

sort of faux-art-gentility, I

felt, to appreciate dainty roses,

dragons, volcanoes, and the like

in wonderful, vivid reds and

purples, blues and yellows.

Tattoo colors (before middle-age

fade). It was a bust, and the trip

was sure a mistake. But let me

proceed some more : 'She rode

her own bike, a Virago or

something (there could be a

pun there too), all fussy and

strict. Never cracking a

smile about anything (she was

from Nutley, which is funny),

and abided by every rule, even

ones not thought up yet. She

had one or two frumpy guys

from there too, on their bikes.

We, on the hand, ran like 

animals, socially lubricated

ourselves with a few beers

before setting out, and infracted

some speed and passing laws 

too. By the time we speedily

got to the gallery (they were

always lagging behind, but NYC

traffic makes that inconsequential),

she was furious. We'd parked on

the sidewalk, wherever we pleased.

(NYC bikes used to do that). She

was all futzy about spots and

meters and the rest. We all went

inside, I honored her request

and lingered with her and her

guys, interested in all this, while

my little contingent went outside

within a 'What the fuck are we

doing here?' attitude, and a 

quickening need for a bar. She,

and they, finally stepped out,

and saw deeply ominous black

clouds, and new winds approaching.

Nasty t'storms were due in, about

4pm. So the Nutley contingent

freaked, and made a bee-line out,

 one especially immediate after we

announced the Sidewalk Cafe as

our next stop (bar/bikes. e6th 

street). They took off, the rains

came, and wind, by which time

we were at Hogs 'n Heifers saloon,

another nasty, booze-filled, biker

pit stop, where we watched the

ferocious winds for some two 

hours, ripping through the streets 

along Washington and 12th, 

tearing down metal signs, and 

flipping over sidewalk display 

things (the winds did, not us).
I found that there's nothing
ever to be experienced as wickedly
cool as a major windstorm in the
midst of a fabled, then crumbly,
westside NYC section of already
half-shot ruins. It's not like that
anymore, because the development
goons have caught up to it all and
ripped to shreds anything that once
was old and miraculous, leftover and
interesting. Mystery and squalor has
mostly been replaced by glass and
swagger.  By 7 o'clock, all was well 

again. I forgot to mention also, it

was Bastille Day, a July, French

holiday  -  which had been the

Nutley's girl's who reason to

want to have a 'celebration.'

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I said 'catch as catch can' 

remember, and now I need 

to  ask, and realize, how 

and if this behavior, on our 

part, was probably was no 

less childish than adult 

Halloween, but at least

we were making it up as 

we went along, and having 

some fun too. They should

do that in Nutley more often.
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