12,366. RUDIMENTS pt. 894

RUDIMENTS, pt. 884

(hold high the dagger) pt. 2 

I've never been able to

explain myself very well,

to or for others. Yes, I'm

continually trying, in my

varied ways : here, with

this Rudiments thing, and

with all the 'poetry' and

other formats I work at.

Why I do any of this is

another question entire,

and I'm already tired of

that one. Maybe I just do

it to validify myself; that

I was here. It's been a long

expanse of time for me,

and as much as I realize

it's winding down I sure

do hate to see it go. So I

look at all this as my

explanatory matter, or,

let's call it, my 'Devil's

Footnotes.' I won't

presume anything more

than that : grasp firmly,

shake vigorously, open

at top after contents

have settled. Be advised -

contents under pressure,

and if not opened slowly

may blow up in face.

-

I've found often that life

is like a lawn, and most

people can't leave well

enough alone. Seems as

if everyday I step outside

it's something different

going on : More Mexicans

in trees and their chainsaws

wailing; some fence guys

ripping out shrubs so the

paver guys can come and

lay stone and a walkway

made of tar (that no one

ever uses). There's a

tendency for such

immoderation that I

wish to scream. I see

Saturday men come out,

free from work, to toil

on their lawns  -  fertilize

and force for growth, a

perfect carpet of green.

Promoting all the growth,

killing weeds, and spraying

their death. And then, as the

grass heartily grows, doing

exactly what they've sought,

they get out the mowers and

trim it to nothing. And their

stupid-ass cycle begins all

over again. All Summer and

Autumn long. So, you tell

me  -  is that extra pocket in

pants now meant to store

extra brains in?

-

Another thing I've noticed

is how much money everybody

has. Oh. they'll deny it, for sure,

and say they're poor and still

want more. But look around;

every pauper-case has their own

fat, corn-fed, over-stuffed butt

and belly, and their telephone

of course. And their cable TV

big-screen bullshit with 1,451

channels, and 5 more during

World Cup every fourth year.

Ever figure why that is so? I'll

tell you  -  all again part of the

American lie. The 'fiction' that

any of this is real. It's not. Any

twerp, for any reason, can get

all the money they want these

days; just sign here. Want that

Lexus SUV? (Why the hell

would these 'luxury' car folks

build SUV's? It kills the brand

fellas). It's all illusionary, and

this 'money' doesn't even exist.

The stupid-ass Government just

throws it around, to keep the

illusions it rules over going.

'Here, take this, go and just

buy with it, anything; keep

these crazy wheels turning,

don't stop.' Didn't you ever

wonder why they call it the

GROSS national product?

Yep, that's pretty much what's

going on now. You want to

go die for that, Corporal

Wainscoting?

-

I often like to flush others

out, from where I know they're

hiding, or lurking. It's easy;

all I've got to do is touch on

a subject of which they think

they are the leading whiz-bang

of, make a few remarks on it

- with even sometimes dropping

a piece of wrong information.

That usually brings them right

out from their hiding game and

they have a go at me. It's like

jousting. Mostly fun...until the

lance maybe actually pierces.

You see, life is a flat luxury, one

with plenty of extra space and

room for us each to construct

our own, sensitized, little

fiefdoms  -  our charge, our

control. That's just the way it

is. It's when they bang up

against each other, the ones

constructed by others, when 

the sometimes-trouble begins.

-

My own version of things, for

instance, involves those two

Rolls Royce guys as outsiders,

peripheral  objects of distinction.

They have stayed in my pictured

framework lo these many years

later. My 'version' of things, as

built around them, includes them,

and I willingly absorb them into

my 'play' of that place and time.

The same goes for my own

world-version of the death and

destruction of old Sewaren, NJ.

Vivid stuff. I think it's like that

for everyone; but it's not at all

shared. Which is a difficult point

about this life. Community and

communal, cooperative things

are all the rage, but they just

cannot work. There's too much

singularity to weave it all

together, and you end up with 

the mist disingenuous of people

taking that supposed 'communality'

over, for control and for their

benefit. It's all 'Community,'

sure, but only if they're

running it.

-

Danger always lurks, and we've

all known kids like that, all the

way through school years and

neighborhood-dump years.

It's just a personality type.

Hold high the dagger, but not

when the bridge is low. It will

get knocked right out of'

your hand. Much again like
that Mark Twain patter, and
the Brahms episode too, there
are ways of presenting alternate
versions of the bland reality most
people are content to live with:
reptilian stuff  -  accolades, 
ranks, status, etc. The
reptilian cortex of the triune
brain is the most primitive and
base part of the brain, buried
deep beneath the anterior matter
which has grown over and atop
all that. The worst people you
can think of, the Control-freaks,
the scowlers the maniacs and
the Authoritarians, they are all
represented by living with little
else except their reptilian cortex 
patterns. As I stated, concerned
with the instinctual  -  tribal,
survival, rank and status,
pecking order, rule by force,
reaction, caste, and the like.
Horrid stuff that the very
many periods of Humanity's
slow and gradual growth of 
'discerning' mind and 'creative'
mind  - in the most advanced of'
us  -  have done away with.
For instance, the 'reaction' states
of, say, Lee Harvey Oswald and
Jack Ruby, predominating,
pulled the triggers; they didn't.
Stalin, Sirhan, Idi Amin, the
list could go on  -  and I'm leaving
out the current-day Americans.
That was all reptilian stuff,
those men were primitive reverts
back to some early-human form
of reactionary behavior. All
over nothing at all  -  everything
is an imagined environment, 
with someone always clawing 
to 'reach' their imagined top, in
thrall some weird, imagined, end.