12,360. RUDIMENTS, pt. 892

RUDIMENTS, pt. 892

(don't call me, I'll call you...)

The way I have found it

is that all things can be

taken apart, broken down

to their smallest components,

inspected carefully, and

then reconstructed, more

clearly. Within such an

intense and detailed look,

every item, of course, then

appears absurd, as small things

and taken-apart things, do. A

part of our human make-up,

built into it, is that we are

able not to focus on that  -

we breath and blink without

being aware of it, as we, in

addition, process and digest

without any awareness. We

are 'made for other things,'

and the body carries past

all that  -  thankfully  -  as

we go about our other tasks.

I think that's what we get

judged for (those 'other'

things), and how are lives

are balanced at the point of

Death  -  was over the centuries

called a hundred different

things : Was I moral? Was

I kind and generous? Did I

present meaning to others?

Did I harm others? Have I

been useful? Etc., etc. The

religion books are full of

this stuff   -  the philosophies

of morality or sentimentality

or indoctrination or fate.

We do NOT, on the other

hand, get judged by how

well we processed food, or

sweated, or exercised, or

breathed. That's all done

for us, automatically, so that

we can go on and, supposedly,

do those other 'good' and right

things, by which we will stand

or fall....for the future? Then

there must be one? A full,

after-time future for us? Or

for what anyway? If it just

ended here could it at all

have been worth it? Oddly

enough, just by looking

around you  -  cemeteries

everywhere   -  we live with

the dead too, without noticing

that fact. I guess that's a good

thing as well. You have to

think, really, that's pretty

weird. I bet if you or I were

designing the world we'd never

have given a consideration of

having the living walking and

picking everywhere over the

marble stumps of the dead.

-

I used to wonder why was I

so 'afraid' of slavery, as I'd put

it. I wasn't actually, and it had

never really been in issue, in

fact the entire concept was

absurd, but it became nonetheless

a mental exercise. I never even

knew which form of 'slavery' I

was thinking about. There were

so many to choose from. All

those different ways of personal

enslavement, whether by

weddings (as seen from all

the 'parents' I knew), allegiances,

groups, corporations, etc. None

of it was, in reality, 'Slave'

quality material. God should

forbid my innocent soul at that

point even getting involved

in such hideous adventure. It

wasn't until many years later,

and long after this tape-recorder

unveiling scene in my uncles

Jap-war military den, that I'd

begin realizing the traffic on

Route One in Linden, all those

shift-change cars pouring out

in industrial-wage-slavery

pretty represented the only

form of 'slavery' we'd ever see.

And all those GM guys seemed

pretty happy  -  they had their

cars, families, houses. Vacation

stickers on many of the rear

windows attested to the fact

that 'See the USA in your

Chevrolet' worked as a tactic.

It was only a matter of American

time before there was a 'Get n' Go'

Market on every other corner.

-

Arundhati Roy wrote a book,

some decade or three back,

called 'The God of Small

Things.' I always figured

that to be one of the best

titles ever. The book itself

is at best 'tedious'  -  one of

those old-style narratives

dense with family, and

connections and all those

overlapping relationships

with meaning and lessons

thrown in. The sort of

saga and story that can only

really have importance to

someone still enmeshed

within traditional culture

and old-style rankings and

caste. Mentally anyway. 

That's a slavery too, coming

now to think of it. I was long

past all that and always have

found those sorts of explanatory

expositions with their 'new'

light and solutions for old and

archaic stupidities not to my

interest. For some, however,

it's a bright light and a key for

the way out. (Note to self:

There is no way out).

-

When I lived in NYC, the best

way around things was to slouch,

and hunker. In my case anyway.

I felt I was in it for the long haul,

in the highly-pressurized midst

some real pincers that I had to

be sure kept missing me. It

was a form of noir living after

a while : Shadows and lines

around every corner. I had

to determine what was moving

and what was not, and if it was

moving was it headed my way?

I was determined, in whichever

way I could, to remain outside

of the mainstream of common

things. In retrospect, perhaps,

it all now comes across as wan

stupidity, but back then I was

hot about things; not cool in any

way. Those were big words back
then  -  mid or late 60's. Now it
doesn't much matter, but in the
time I'm wrting off the simple
street distinction was vital.
There's a  difference

there  - commitment wise,

reaction-wise, and activity and

attention wise too. Because

of it all, what might have

ever come my way, if anything,

sailed right past me, because

I was 'preoccupied.' Now I'm so

'cool,' I'm dead, and everything

has just moved on by : Don't

call me, I'll call you....