Wednesday, November 27, 2019

12,331. RUDIMENTS, pt.881

RUDIMENTS, pt. 881
(oppressive regimentation)
Every so often I get to thinking
that the biggest problem with
religion  -  well, I don't even
know of it's religion : a sort
universalized version of it
maybe  -  Christian versions
of it anyway  -  is that the idea
that everyone on Earth is
being watched over by 'God'
really just doesn't seem to
wash. And I apologize for
that, and for stating the
obvious, but on the evidences,
all levels of evidence, it seems
not to be, or, if it is, it's a
bad and bogus bargain. ('He
said, while stepping over the
bones of the dead').
-
While I was in New York City,
I never heard any of that stuff.
It seemed about the most
irreligious crowd I'd ever been
with  -  lots of things go one
there, but I'm not so sure they
include 'Providence' in any
of it  -  unless of course, if it's
maybe a trip to Rhode Island.
Don't mistake me, there are
plenty of churches and pit-
stop religious edifices into
which people dip and kneel,
and, of course, there are the
world-famous showplaces of
religion too  -  St. Patrick's,
the Cathedral of St. John,
Riverside Church, and myriad
other interdenominational
churches. What's funny is
how they are usually made
use of by either the very wealthy,
the tourists, the travelers, and
the immigrants or the recently
arrived. Those people still
take their religion seriously,
except for the wealthy, who
do it because the society pages
and their tax-deductible very
public donations and acts call
for it. Otherwise, to be truthful,
the churches don't much want
you around, people in need, I
mean. They are generally kept
locked. The 'solace and sanctuary'
aspect of them is removed (though
they still keep their tax-exemption),
and their elders and Reverends and
Bishops and Cardinals and Pastors
and all the rest hob-nob and kiss
ass with the best of them. They
attempt to become their own
sorts of 'Society' doyens; I guess
for the good of God and their
church. It's all poppycock. I
won't go so far as to say there's
nothing good anywhere;
but there's not.
-
Here and there, as at St. Francis
of Assisi, as a for instance; a
westside church someplace over
by 17th, there'd be a soup kitchen
or a free food dispensation daily.
Homeless and the needy would
be lined up for an hour or two
sometimes, awaiting the opening
and the entry  -  food was given,
some prayers and things pronounced,
but it was simple enough. There are
others too  -  I don't know how much
longer that nucleus of assistance
will go on, these small churches,
and larger also, are struggling. The
people in need just seem meaner
now and more alienated, but, over
that, they also seem to inhabit a
different place, one much more
formless and without rules and
sequenced latitudes about their
own beings. It can't be called,
exactly a sense of 'entitlement,'
but it seems like that. In reverse
maybe. What does a person, in
any case, owe to their fellows?
The world has certainly changed
and fallen apart.
-
We let other devices come in, and
they've never left. Troubadours,
like messengers, are never much
welcomed in. Here's a point: Just
looking around you  -  a revised
form of fascism stares back at you.
Even on the streets of New York,
which is slowly turning into a
large, giddy, shopping mall
anyway.  A police superstructure
atop society props it up as a
wooden beam supports a rotting
structure. People can no longer
spell, as they cannot listen. There
is now something that permeates
society, everywhere, and I don't
quite know what it is, though
it represents nothing to me.
Ignazio Silone has it thusly :
'There is a sadness, a subtle
sadness that's not to be mistaken
for the more ordinary kind that
is the result of remorse,
disillusionment or suffering;
there is am intimate sadness
which comes to chosen souls
simply from their consciousness
of man's fate.' To avoid it, people
feign an exaggerated gaiety, an
awkwardness, the passions of
entertainment, vice, or games,
or women. Or, even, a false,
brutal, politics. Food. Country.
All without meaning, or need.
They become, as chance may
have it, policemen, hip-monks,
terrorists, clerks, or war heroes.
The gay/happy, false mask of
something amidst a truer desolation
and desperation. Like putting up
Christmas lights on November 15.
Like cooking shows at every turn,
with weird people doing weird
things, and eating them while
they talk. As it goes now, thrift
and personal industriousness are
considered injurious to society;
the soldier's heroism is either
forgotten, or unwanted. Morality,
in any case, has no longer any
solidity or certainty. Nations
have made huge mistakes, and
truth no longer exists. Everyone
has allowed their lives to now be
ruled by the powers and decisions
of distant and unknown  men and
women. Nebulous qualities
of the unreal and the fake. They
can make us rich, or poor, these
imaginings;  have us live, or die,
in our beds or along the road.
Incinerated in an instant, or
wiped from all consciousness
by a stupidity unknown. There
is no longer any self-defense,
because there is no longer any
'self' and any means of 'defense'
have been taken from us.
Tyranny and injustice are
very difficult to defeat.
-
Jerry Ottinger was some guy I
knew. He used to say he was a
Playboy Philosopher, by which
he meant to say that he could
understand a woman just by
looking at her. 'Reading her,'
he'd say, 'is as easy as pie.'
I'll admit, I never much knew
what he was talking about or
what his task really was. Maybe 
he had one, maybe it was just
talk. A lot of time he hung out
at this fancy-sort bar called
El Quixote. It was connected
to the Chelsea Hotel lobby,
if you used that way in, or
knew of it; so of course it got
all their notables, eventually.
But it also had a regular, glassed,
street entryway and a big sign.
People with their special corner
and tables, and secret bevies of
idolizers and hangers-on. Like
a Studio 54 maybe, of a rotted
mind. Trenchant weirdos, and
flamboyant strange characters;
dishevelled, lumpen-proletariat
intellectuals too. Cowboy rangers
let off the rodeo range, still
with their lariats and spurs,
and often chaps as well.
-
Every so often I'd go in there
just to sit. The big deal drink
of the place was, supposedly,
their Bloody Mary, probably
because most people in  there
were still nursing hangovers
from the previous night (or day).
I'd get, sometimes, a beer or
two, and once or twice I also
did order a Bloody Mary  -  
just to see what  the myth
was about. I wasn't impressed:
let's call it tomato juice, with
pepper and vodka, and maybe
something else, who knew?
Nothing was cheap, and it was
a painful place. But this Jerry
guy always acted like a big deal,
and I liked to watch him. He
was big on Tarot Cards, and
shiny, black clothing. Beats
me. He had this little routine
he did, with laying the cards, 
or some part of the cards or 
whatever, out on the table, 
enticing someone for a reading
at like 15 bucks, and he'd go 
on some stupid spiel. They
usually fell for it, all mystic
and full of information. And
sometimes there were guys
involved  -  maybe suspicious
guys along with one of these
females he was 'reading,' or
single, lone, men  -  always
very sad and sorrowful too  -
wanting him alone to read them,
only. I think he treated everyone
the same no matter. It was all
subjective stuff  -  some of the
females would go crazy wide-eyed
to him, like he was seeing their
soul or, as he liked to put it,
'seeing them naked.' Yeah, well.
-
I always thought the Tarot Cards
were ancient, ancient things and
had some real magic. Well, they
weren't and they didn't. They first
popped up like around 1500. The
year. Called 'Tarocchi,' they
were just another pack of cards
in the card-crazes that were then
sweeping Europe (I guess people
has discovered leisure time,
since all the ogres and demons
were finally dead? Except in
Transylvania?)...By the way,
'Tarrochi, in Italian, meant
'foolish.' When soothsaying
took hold, sort of as a reaction
as well against the organizing
of churches and approved states
and all that, cards among the
little people of the villages,
burbs, and oddball hamlets
splattered in every nook and
cranny of what we now call
'Europe,' (I think, and Bore-us
Johnson notwithstanding). In
those places, besides the diseases
and pestilence, there were a lot
of really dark characters, some
who never saw the light of day.
Had fangs? Slept in coffins? 
The new fascination with all
things Egyptian, as well,
brought out the 'occult' and the
'ancient.' Stories were made up
about the influence of the cards
and the ancient, spiritual meanings
behind everything. Even today's
regular playing cards, the kind
gamblers and strip-poker types
use, back then had been given
mystical and mysterious qualities.
Along the Rhine River, before
it was straightened and channeled
and all, there were villages hidden
along the banks, filled with what
became known as 'fortune-tellers'
who, so they claimed could read
back to you, before it happened,
your life! Based on the simplest
of cards, numbers, suits and sets.
Everything meant something. By
the late 18th century, people such
as (2 names, random), pastor
Antoine Court de Gebelin, and 
Jean Baptiste Alliette, (both
French, evidently, by today's
standards), popularized the
'mystery' qualities of 'les
Tareaux' to establish contact
with the past and future. 
-
Gebelin, in 1773, wrote a book,
entitled, 'le Monde Primitif' in
which he stated that the cards
were created by the Egyptian God
'Toth,' to share ancient wisdom.
And, by ten years later, Alliette,
using the inverted name Etteilla,
became a major 'fortune teller.'
That's all she wrote, as the saying
goes  -  from that point readers
claimed to be able to use the
images of kings and beggars,
heirophants and fools, angels
and devils, to build narratives
(for money) suggesting 
outcomes. And here we are, 
speaking, (I think), of outcomes  -  
oppressively regimented, and
sorely lacking. ('Better flip me
another card, Jerry,before I
toss this lady down. You
rogue you').




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