12,435. RUDIMENTS, pt. 922

RUDIMENTS, pt. 922

(I was drinking something, and calling it...)

In 1955, the Polish writer

Adam Wizyk, in his 'A Poem

For Adults,' wrote of a 

Poland where students were

'shut off in textbooks without

windows,' and where language

had been 'reduced to thirty

magic formulas.' In his most

famous verse, he wrote : 

"They drink sea water,

crying: 'lemonade!' - returning

home secretly to vomit."

When that was published, I

was six  -  obviously, not

in any way knowledgeable

about it. However, in later

years, and in light of all else

that had been brought my way,

those few words stood out as

reliable beacons to a heart

bent on resolving my own

conflict about what I was

being handed. To believe in

any of it  -  that which 'Society'

was offering, necessitated

the believing of none of it,

for it was all so outlandish

as to be patently ridiculous.

And wrong. No one else, it

seemed, knew this except 

me. In its way, that seems 

right, if only because within 

the course of a life we are 

all involved in our own 

moments of life, as if in a

very personal film working 

towards its own conclusion  

-  of which, really not too 

many others could share. 

When you come right down

to it, that's the way things are.

Singularity and oneness are 

the mean. When you hear 

communards now bleating

their pathetic 'We're all in 

this together! It takes a village!

Be as one now!' you must

know it's all bullshit. We're not

that in any way  -  if we were,

then I would be able to say:

Stop! Stop producing cars

and houses; stop cutting the

local woods and forests and

stop applauding each month

the number of 'New Housing

Starts,' as part of positive goal

instead of a negative, which 

it actually is. I would be able

to say, and be heard, 'Close down

restaurants, and corporate food

havens, and water plants. Stop

producing wanton sheaves, by

the billions, of paper products,

wipes, perfumes and sprays.

Stop paving the land. Cease the

ruination of all things by the

impoverished thinking-edicts

of those in power, enforcing

their lame goals and ends, using

their non-functional brains to

illicit local ends. Stop population

growth; stop harboring fugitives.

End captive, police-car schooling

in locked-down caves of nothing.

If you are in MY village, I will

exile you, right now. Be gone!

-

I never really know where to source

all this stuff from  -  my own earliest

days? The train accident times? The

seminary? NYC? Art Stuff, Studio

School, jazz loft guys? It's all

too much for me to sort, so I just

let it flood its way along, I guess,

my drain. I can break my own life

into a hundred and more tiny

segments  -  like that microscope

reference in the previous chapter,

it's much more viewable that way.

There's never any escaping the

thematics of a life, and they

remain fairy obvious, for good

or bad, along the way. I asked

my friend Andy Bonamo once

why he was doing all this (he was

running a really small-scale drug

supply operation out of my place

at 11th street) and he just shrugged,

saying something like 'Well we've

all got to be doing something. If I'd

ever known I'd be doing this, here,

I'd probably have stayed back in

Alhambra. This is really small

scale shit for a guy like me.' He

had those stars in his eyes, the

kind that movie-makers make

films about. Crime. Overreach.

Death. But, his 'thematic' was

always there, in everything he 

did. He was smooth, and slick, 

and into any situation he was

able to slide and fit. I went

with him once to one of his

big-deal supplier guys. It was

up somewhere in the e60's. It

was about money, the meeting

was  -  no 'merchandise' was

changing hands. Andy and this

guy were swift and tight; right

in place with each other. It

was amazing to watch. The 

place was fearsome, a really

amazing, wealthy high-rise 

and set-up, and this guy was

more like business than crime,

about all of it. He and Andy

were talking terms, splits,

and how-to's. I just sat there

dumb, watching. Never even

knowing why I'd gone. First

off  - and just as well  -  they 

never really payed me any

mind after the most cursory

of introduction. Andy never

talked much of any of these

undertakings, and I didn't much

like any of it, but there I was. It

paid my rent (through Andy).

Silent partner to nothing. That

was me. I saw, from the very

first, that 'something' about him;

whatever he possessed, some

elan, or business acumen, way

beyond me. He was sly, and 

always on the alert. Even the 

way he pounced once he learned

I was looking for a place to stay.

It was all over before it started.
Sometimes maybe there really
is something to the ways that
people get 'enticed' into other
ideologies and practices which
weren't natural to them, and
it's still a lonely feeling to be
out somewhere, all by yourself
and not knowing exactly how
you'd arrived there.

-

The scene then was that there was

no scene. I was drifting. I ended

up in the same place where he and

a few other loser types worked, and

from then A followed B followed C.

It was a dangerous life, for the brief

time it lasted  -  good too, but

dangerous. I was drinking

something, and calling it

lemonade.