12,513. RUDIMENTS, pt. 947

RUDIMENTS, pt. 947

(those guys were like nails)

You know, people talk a lot

about nostalgia, and all those

dear old days they remember.

All that's good, as it goes, but

there has to be more substance

to memories too. Just alone,

a memory really isn't worth

much. It's only when a memory

gets ingrained, within the psyche,

that it too begins producing its

own force-field, a sort-of playback

into the present time and space.

Usually, the predictable dullards

will step to the fore and say that

anything will leave a memory,

and kids today will just have a

'different' memory of things.

Yeah, I guess….and it works

like that if you're an idiot. Of

course they'll say that, because

they're making money off

the changes, now.

-

One interesting thing I ran across,

in a book by someone else, ('Body

Leaping Backward - Memoir of a

Delinquent Girlhood') - and used 

as the opening dedication-quote,

is by Bruce Springsteen, of all

people. It's not the most clear

image, nor said in the best way,

but maybe it bears some thought:

"The first eighteen years really

shape you forever. It's like a

glass of water filled with mud.

You can pour clear water in it

until it appears clear, but there's

still mud there." So, I guess it

carries something, but the thing

that baffles me, often enough,

and here now too in the town I

live in  (major-domo hell-hole) is:

They're to be in the process of

removing from the 'town' center,

(which isn't really that any more at

all, since everything is dead and

abandoned and moved out to the

sameness of the highways  -  motel
truckers living right next door to 
welfare loafers, next to a CVS tucked 
inside a Walgreens tucked inside 
a liquor store, next to a TD Bank 
tucked inside a Chase bank), the

two schoolhouses that have been

in place forever. Moving them for

the usual bogus and crap reasons,

but anyway. They're being moved 

out to the lower swamps, next to 

the prison and a state facility; real

crappy area, Authority pouncing

everywhere, sex-offenders, 

behavioral modification centers,

etc. and in the flat-ass middle of

nothing good at all. And let's
not forget the 83 million dollars
needed (bond issue) after the tax
giveaways and come-ons extended
to the sleaze-projects in the first 
place as 30-year tax exemptions. 
Something stinks in Denmark, and 
it isn't Hamlet the Dane.

-

In any case, whenever anyone talks

about their growing-years' memories

of Avenel, it eventually usually does

always come back to those 2 school 

structures and the small wall that 

fronted them at the street. Now they're

even taking that away and the kids are 

going to have absolutely no sense of 

place and being. They're going to be 

schooled in a concentration camp, 

locked and closed up, environment.

All they're going to  remember

is that their parents threw them to

the dogs, in the middle of nowhere.

Cop cars and prison vans. That's the 

stupidest sort of 'Adult' thought I ever 

heard of. But at least it's near to an

'Adult' correctional facility. Most all

else around there is gone or broken

up, to the extent that the new people

gagging around are clueless about

even where they are. In addition,

they couldn't care less. The same

authorities however, who lug their

big butts around bragging over

legacy and lineage and history,

and local stuff  -  intent as they are

on thievery and not preservation  -  

will go about squandering still

more and unaccountable tax dollars

to erect a 'Museum' for all this

echoing and long-ago-lost crud.

And the locals lap it up like Maypo

in the morning. If idiots ran races

here, we'd be having a brass-band

double-marathon. We stupidly
celebrate the past while offering
them crap for their future; not even
noticing the difference, tell them
we're the adults here.

-

Funny how, in ancient Greece, the

word idiot meant 'One who does

not partake of public life/events.'

No it means just the opposite.

It's Greek to me.

-

It's funny about memories anyway;

they come from all over the place,

if you know how to catch them, and

they are the most human of things.

They hang by a hair, and in dying

give birth to a dandruff  -  it's that

dandruff that gets us. Names running

back to sources. Reverberating like

spun harps. Tears that fall on warm

fruit, and make waterfalls far away.

Another of the problems around here

and one that's way overlooked, is 

that there really never was anything 

here to begin with. The great houses

and knowledge, they all followed

the great crops : tobacco, cotton,

sugar, apples. Nothing here, Charley

Brown. Nothing at all except fast

food, doctor's offices, car shops, 

drive-ins and drive-outs and that

sweet smell of excess, everywhere.

-

I walked through lots of trees in

my day, and every tree'd lane was

filled, as well, with memories. When

I was in my seminary days there was

a tree'd walkway for the Stations of

the Cross, outdoors, a sort of circular

path for the pious to walk; it never

made much sense to me, and I

never saw anyone walking it anyhow,

but it was suffused  - and I knew it  -  

with the sweat and labor of slaves.

Before all this religious stuff, the

place had been a south Jersey

plantation, and there was no denying

that. The tar-paper-shacks of those

who used to work the fields, they

still stood, dilapidated and sad,

out that long dirt road running 

rearward. There wasn't anything

there then, in my day, but a retreat

house and the garbage dump the

local town had made for their

trucks to drop stuff. That's what

people think of their own damn 

places. Pretty disgusting. The

retreat house was another anomaly

in the midst of a sandy wilderness  -

all these suburban NJ church types

would come down in buses, and stay

5 or 6 days, on their parish 'retreats.'

To sort of get right with themselves

and their God-concept, before they

went back to the usual pillage, and

plunder, and abusive tactics for

another year. Like a Day of 

Atonement, but a week's worth.

-

That's the kind of genial nastiness

(there's a paradox for you) that's

now everywhere. I noticed, as I

went long and as politics progressed, 

starting with the NYC draft creeps

pulling me off the street, that once

Authority wises up they realize that

they can do the same sorts of control

tactics that dictators and communists

and all those others they were always

warning us about and fighting off do

but if it's done softly and smartly, the

captive folks don't even notice and,

in fact, they welcome and enjoy.

That was real apparent to me, just

the way it was being done  -  the

entertainment and pastime goons,

the Legion Halls and veterans clubs,

the sorts of boosterism places running

strong, they all brought the people

together in 'cause.' Mouthing crap

and all thinking the same stuff. It

wasn't any different than East 

Germany, the Soviet Union, or 

even China today, in the present.

It's a massive fraud. I knew a guy

once, a prison guy, there, and he

said to me to 'watch out for the

softness. When the hard edges

are gone and only the soft 

approaches are left, that's when 

you know they've got you.' He

told me to stay harsh and swift,

never slow. Old-timer already,

and armed, he sat there, free, in

the waterside shack telling me

shit I'd never heard. Prison stuff.

Sex. He was drinking black

coffee that he'd made, and

sharing it right there, with his

dog. He said, too, a prisoner

has no sex, he is God's own 

private eunuch. No one's ever

going to throw open the door 

and serve you a naked woman

on a platter. Then he winked,

and said 'whatever you do,

always keep that in mind.'

That was down at the west 

docks, right by where there 

used to be a boat, or a floating 

classroom set-up for something 

that used to be called the 

'Maritime High School,' right 

there. I, myself, had just recently,

in 1967, gotten done with what

I considered the most miserable

high school experience ever, and

by contrast this thing looked like

a dream, but I never got the gist

of it, never saw much activity,

and never learned how you get

in. Going to school to be a sailor

or deckhand or whatever it was,

that seemed like the coolest thing

in the world. Those guy were

all like nails. Ah, but's that a
history, of another day.