RUDIMENTS, pt. 897
(Driver, there's an arrow in your forehead)
I think the American system,
originally, was built on anarchy;
which is very paradoxical, to
say the least. but it was : Out
and out raucous disorder - in
cities, towns, and countryside.
Reams of lawlessness in the
hinterlands. Over 200 years
it was all successfully replaced
by controls and rigidity, with
not a trace of the original premise
being left. Catcalls, jeers, anger
and defamation have taken the
place of what passes for the
'discourse' of other days. The
past is a dead cat, hung on a
doornail, to dry out and rot.
I don't know about you, but I'm
pretty sick of it. The idea of
'representative' government had
some the way of Mello-Rolls
and modest female underwear.
On thin people, no less.
-
What kind of a way was all that
previously mentioned dodge ball
and square-dancing to socialize,
educate, and bring up kids? It
was horrid. It was the equivalent
of the hour's free time in the
prison exercise yard, yet every
parent acquiesced. There was
no other alternative as enforced
fake-schooling took the place
of common sense and intuitive
living. I still shudder when I
think back. People have dumbed
down a thousand times worse
since then. Here where I live, the
entire idea of local, representative
government has come down to a
half-brained fireman representing
NOT his neighbors and people,
but instead his role in the decrepit
regime of an oily spoilsport set
on dismantling and destroying the
town over which the Mayoral fat
ass sits. There's no depth of field
- which is a photographic term
you're welcome to go look up -
it's sort of about properly arranging
the field of the reality you're seeing.
A little knowledge goes a long
way? At least it helps.
-
Meticulous attention to detail was
never the American way. It was
rather the less-refined, intuitive
meanderings of the crackpots and
their ideas that got us anywhere.
All those Alexander Hamilton
anal-retentive types, with their
banks and centralization and
structured legalities, were always
just a large group of blowhards.
(See reptilian cortex, previous
chapters). It's only in retrospect
that the madcaps have garnered any
respect; all of a sudden the library
top-hat crowd started seeing some
sense in the weird ideas of Thomas
Edison, Robert Fulton, Alexander
Graham Bell, and the rest. Which
means, of course, all those folks'
idea were considered crappy and
off-center, UNTIL the control-crowd
was able to find ways to make money
off them, Then they were all as
good as gold, and the schoolbook
bullshit mentality set in - making
innocent genius-saints out of bastards
like Edison and Fulton, while simply
murdering the likes of Tesla. Literally.
-
The same goes on today. The ribald
kumquat crowd of do-gooders and
Hilarious Hillaryites and that entire
floating-scum crowd sets the terms
of what's right and accepted, and
the blind, idiot minions all follow
suit. Buying everything they're told
to be buying, and then in two years
unloading all of it and buying, over
and again, the next romper-room
seduction thrown their way. It's
a poor man's blind shuffle to an
imagined gold-lined room.
-
One time I was standing on a corner,
midtown Manhattan - something
like Sixth Avenue and maybe 20th,
waiting for the light to change, and
a taxi and a car suddenly collided,
big time, and it all ended up, the
whole mangled heap, about a foot
from where I was. The entire madcap
adventure took less that ten seconds,
and I was gaping and stunned. As
it all ended and cleared, the smells
of rubber, gasoline, and whatever
else there was, permeated the area,
along with the scrams and gasps of
passers-by and witnesses. I realized,
in a moment, that I'd been about
5 inches of (maybe) luck away
from being simply a statistic; a
number in the chronology-listing
of the dead or maimed bystanders
that NYC throws out to sea yearly.
The two fools driving the vehicles
appeared unfazed by the panic
they'd just caused, as they each
eventually exited their cars and
began New York style screaming
at each other - replete with the
usual litany of coarse adjectives
and foul nouns used in these cases,
and - in this instances - supplanted
as well by the roundhouse Arabic
language spit-back of one of the
drivers - the taxi one. I remained
but a few minutes, musing over
my own success and survival rate.
Someone told me to get down
on the ground and play hurt. The
idea there was to get in on the
damages and lawsuit. I demurred,
and just walked off - wondering
about fate, and destiny, and the
coincidences of rambling time.
Was there, is there, really a God
with a hands-on control of these
sorts of things, or is the mad world
just spinning on as it allows the
random sequence of events that
we see, to occur? I really couldn't
tell, other than the fact that the
experiences of my own life could
be well-used to skillfully argue
a case for either side of that
argument.
-
Much like the original American
system, in its original formulation,
Things were occupied with their
own random workings. There were
no systems, and even the stagecoach
schedules, as posted, were a bunch
of dreams. Ideal dreams, with each
little bit of everything working
perfectly. Stuff like that never
happens; but people go on. Here's
the stage now - 'Hey, driver,
why's there an arrow in your
forehead?'
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