12,500. RUDIMENTS, pt. 943

RUDIMENTS, pt. 943

(nothing but attitude, nothing but air)

I didn't know anything about

basketball, ever. In the seminary,

the senior guys, seeming so much

larger and wiser than me, would

often sit in the bleachers, talking

basketball  -  of course, in the

basketball gym. I only knew

most of these fellows by name

or reputation. In the usual private

school format among boys, there

were certain kids who would

rise up to positions of predominance

over others. Whether they really

were or not, is another case. It's

all chancy, because, for example,

John Banko died in prison, years

later, as priest-pervert. Go figure

what any of that's about. The

dominant basketball person,

professionally, was Bill Bradley.

He was or had been a standout

at Princeton. They were slavishly

dedicated to him  -  this was long

before there were black faces or

funny names in basketball. As

lily-white, it was, as Lily White

herself. (I met Bradley a few times

later, when he was a Senator for

the famed hellhole called New

Jersey. Not impressed a bit).

Anyway, to these seminary

guys he was another passing God;

I never cared for that, either Deity

or basketball. Never liked the

sweaty smells, hated the dribbling

and running back and forth, and

detested that noise the sneakers

made as they skid or pivoted on

the glossy, wood floor. It never

made any sense to me, but then

what did? In fact, I didn't even

like males. Naked shower males

especially; the blowhard basketball

kind you get in a seminary.

-

There are certain comportments

to the various games humans play.

The ancient Peruvians used to

play a form of soccer, with human

skulls, and the skulls had to be

placed or kicked (by leather-bound

feet) into niches on a stone wall

in order to become points. At the

end of the game, by the way, the

losers were executed. Maybe they

called it 'sacrificed,' like it makes

a damned bit of difference to

that same unlistening God, of

whatever generated nature. At

least, I'd suppose, basketball was

nicer than that. But, still, indoors

was a big drawback. It was really

boring and the venues always

reeked. The noises reverberated

too much, and the seats were

hideous. Anyway, whoever

wants to play sweaty sports

while indoors?

-

This entire Bill Bradley,

white-boy Superman thing

was fairly typical, back then,

of both the nation itself, at

large, and the seminary.

Anything who did anything

for us  -  kitchen help, food

servers, etc.  -  was black.

And in those days 'Black'

didn't mean, as it mostly

does now, newly arrived

African tribal folk, already

somewhat global and

urbanized, from places

like Kenya, Ghana, Nigeria,

etc. No, these were the

offspring by a generation or

three, maybe, of the slaves

and displaced southern blacks

who fled Reconstruction and

went north for manufacturing

and mill jobs; the industry folk of

old Highway 61 north. Right up

the middle of the country, that

was. The same sorts who later

got stalled, flat-footed, as the jobs

ran out too, in those places like

Camden, Philadelphia, Chester, 

etc., here along the east-coast.

They were southern, they were

rural, they were semi-literate

throwbacks. I loved seeing that.

It had the modern world way-beat.

They had that broad-featured

look, the quizzical, lovely faces,

and the unique shuffle as they

walked which shuffle I have

not much seen ever since.

-

Another thing with these

seminary guys  -  they'd

stand around talking about

college, as if they each were

already intent on going there

and leaving out this entire

priesthood charade, which

this 'seminary' place was

supposed to have been all

about. They would sit there,

debating a course to take, and

the conclusions mostly always

ended up at 'Liberal Arts' -

because it was broad and

allowed one to not need to

make a decision right off,

on career choice or major.

I was never sure the idea

there, but have certainly

since learned it. The Liberal

Arts were a 1960's sham, a

way of flattening out an

education and glossing all

sorts of things over. In fact,

what it was actually was the

start of 'Education' as an

industry, a neater form of

social conditioning, by

which all of the 1960's

folderol about peace and

love and Great Society crap

began. What did it ever give

us? Bob Dylan? Neil Young?

Jimi Hendrix? The Milagro

Beanfield War? Nixon, and

more Vietnam? Daniel Ellsburg

and Daniel Berrigan? Well

nice going Donald Duck...

The same 12 or 15 books, as

a mainstay, an approach and

outlook that was more taught

as propaganda then as education,

a 'no one is wrong' worldview,

as if that helped. If adults no

longer know what they believe,

how in the world can they

suppose that they are teaching

'values' to kids, who only see

what they see  -  which is these

same adults ripping ethics and

morals and human consciousness

to shreds to suck on the end of a

dollar bill. It's all changeable

bullshit too, because those

passing 'values' will always

be changing as time moves

along. Maybe I too will get the

Nobel Prize for that one. Without

the poetry of the imagination

(which is NEVER taught), or

of the imagination's activity,

their souls are like mirrors, not

of Nature, but of what is around.

Which amounts to little Corky

guys, without any knowledge,

lying to their families, lapdogging

authority, and pretending. The

fucking guy's a menace to

everything around him. Go

to church, Corky, go to church;

have me to laugh some more.

These fire and first aid guys,

on tax dollars they run from,

lap-dancing to lap-dogging.

-

There weren't too many other

categories, after realizing all that,

for me to scoff at. Everything was

compromised. A few of these

seminary guys  -  I've mentioned

before  -  had fathers who were 

bigwigs in NJ State Government

and agencies. Hyland, for example,

Commissioner of Public Utilities,

which just  -  yeah, back then too,

was graft and corruption, payoffs

and deals for licensing, permits and

operating OK's. It was all a scam

and these guys mainly just sent

their sons there because it was

strict and safe and they'd maybe

learn something  -  outside of the

crud their own State was passing

off as public schooling. Sports,

you could always tell, was the

mainstay of the slackers like that.

Just biding their time, instead of

doing real work; they had it all

already  -  privilege and entitlement,

so why break a dry-sweat when you

could do that with sports instead.

-

The trouble the seminary had, I

could tell immediately, was in

being constrained. What I mean

by that is that you really can't

expand an 'Education'  -  of the

Enlightenment and Logic and

Reason and all that  -  if you are

yet constrained by the medieval

fantasies of church doctrine. That's

why most everyone eventually

dropped out, by 1967. There was

nothing left, and , in fact, they

closed the joint, and today it stands,

all rebuilt and slandered worse,

as Camden County Community

College. Specializing in? Yep,

Criminal Justice, and Medical

Coding  -  like all those swanky

tax-gobbling, free-booting

Community and County Colleges

do. The whole world's a scam.

Even the Fire Academies.
-
Here's Henry Miller, as an
afterthought, from 1945, on
disembarking from his transalantic
ship-voyage, to the American shores
as they were coming in from Greece,
after having landed and now re-board:
"Returning to the boat, we passed
bridges, railroad tracks, warehouses,
factories, wharves and what not. It was
like following in the wake of a demented
giant who had sown the earth with
crazy dreams. If I could only have seen
a horse or a cow, or just a cantankerous
old goat chewing tin cans, it would
have been a tremendous relief. But
there was nothing of the animal,
vegetable or human kingdom in
sight. It was a vast, jumbled waste
created by pre-human or sub-human
monsters in a delirium of greed. It was
something negative, some not-ness
of one kind or other. It was a bad
dream and towards the end I
broke into a trot, what with disgust
and nausea, what with the howling
gale which was whipping everything
in sight into a frozen pie crust. When
I got back to the boat I was praying
that by some miracle the captain
would decide to alter his course
and return to Piraeus."