12,493, RUDIMENTS, pt. 941

RUDIMENTS, pt. 941
(another corky gets conked)
Anyone who is ever 'shocked' by

the results of something, seems to

me, wasn't very prepared or hasn't

done their homework, as it goes.

Most things are quite predictable.

Seismic tremors, and the spewing

of volcanoes excepted. What a

normal person needs to do is just

pass along through things, letting

them happen, and that's pretty much

it, the sum total of life itself.

-

I was always a big believer in the

totality of numbers, and their closure.

By that I mean to say, it always 

seemed to me that people already

had, when born, their own natural

numbers to be fulfilled. It's very

difficult here for me to put into

words, but, let's say, if a person

is born with some categorical

signifier that adds up to, oh,

10,349,045 (random number),

then somewhere within the makeup

of their personal activities (unknown

to each of us), the amounts that they

deal with, as well, eventually come

up to some form of match or multiple

of that same number. And 'their

number's up,' as the old saying went.

It sounds like nonsense, but is not.

There's a lot more, mystical, stuff

to it, and I can't delve deeply here

because words actually do fail the 

concept, but the next time you get

some weird fistful of change or

some coincidentally large numbers

come up  -  take heed of them;

check them carefully, and see

what they ally towards. You'd

be surprised.

-

I went from one thing to another

in a swift lot of ways. The years

were simple, 1962, 1963, '4 '5 '6.

Kennedy got killed, Malcom X got

killed, a group of groundmaking

sorts of Broadway musicals and

entertainment things happened.

Half of a normal kid's life, I

missed. No 'Mr. Ed' for me; no

'My Mother the Car'; no 'Car 54,

Where Are You?' I never heard

of the Beatles until some seminary

kid called me out, saying that,

with my fluffy hair, I looked like 

one. I had no clue at all what in

the world he was talking about.

Later on, I'd hear guys getting

all sexed up over which of the

girls was hotter on 'Gilligan's

Island.' Again, a big blank.

Maybe my head really WAS 

always in the clouds.

-

In later years, I'd get an odd

interest going in what was called

'Modern Dance,' which to me

ranged between like Martha Graham

and Yvonne Ranier, whose works

I'd go up to DIA Beacon to see,

It was all a far cry from those

gritty NYC streets of old, but

in some bizarre way it held my

interest  -  I guess the specific

space of DIA had a lot to do with

it, after I'd grown in interest as

well in Robert Irwin, who designed

the place, for art use  -  it had

previously been an industrial site

with a river and rail location, for

the printing of Nabisco bakery 

products. I was as poor as crap,

but I seemed always to be hanging 

out with rich people. There the only 

ones, really, who care about 'dance.'

That was, too, a good example

of the odd juxtapositions that all

of a sudden started happening

once the 1990's hit. The times

before, mostly, people would never

have given a thought to crossovers

and multi-purpose, or re-purposed,

uses of old, industrial buildings.

The heart of the matter  -  which

is always what counts  -  is that

old America was pining for its own

death and mostly getting it, in sorrow

and sadness, as heard through the

remnants of 'race' music, 'coon' music,

old blues, Juba dances and the 

like. There was to be no forestalling

of what was about to happen, but

when it did begin to occur I'd 

find myself standing in some weird

place that had previously been a

leaky wreck  -  anywhere along the

old corridors of NYC, and NJ too.

Piles of junky old bricks, huge, 

broken factory windows, peppered

all with weeds, and squatters. all

of a sudden the trendies began taking

these places over and, instead of

letting them languish, or tearing

them down, they were carefully

re-done, re-purposed for arts or

studio uses. Mind you, it didn't

happen everywhere  -  a place

needed a certain sort of smarts,

and money too, too make it work;

it had to be thought through. Unlike

here, Avenel/Woodbridge, where they

just ripped through everything and tore

it down to replace, simply, with junk.

New junk, but junk. Because there

are no real 'minds' here, the operative

concept is to build and fill  -  drag

in the ghetto folk, subsidize their

new housing, and help clear out the

old ghetto corridors north of here,

for their own rebuilds while dungheaps

like Avenel get filled with new and

bussed-in losers, skanks, and 

end-liners. Bring in the junk, to

buy the junk. Renaissances don't

happen here -  instead we get the

refugees from other places from 

which they must be emptied before 

those other places can begin their 

own renaissances. The troglodytes

running places like Woodbridge and

Avenel don't care; to them it's like

importing free and ignorant votes.

- 

It settled over things, like a slow

fog  -  you can see it in any number

of places. Go out to old Red Hook,

Brooklyn, and you can get a fair

inkling of what it's about  -  old

harbor and freight buildings, old

machine shops and mills, all of a

slow-sudden turning over into

artist-quarters, galleries, studios,

fancy bars and ice cream, eateries, 

artisinal chocolate mills, woodworking

studios, dance and concert halls.

 It's a whole other thing. Quite nice; 

though I'm not saying 8-dollar ice 

cream makes much sense anyway. 

The Brooklyn, and Philadelphia,

Navy yards both have undergone

the same things, but the fussiness

in those places gets annoying. I

kind of hate the blandishments

glassmakers and jewelry geeks,

who kind of pretend at industrial

art but really just want to sell you

junk. No matter, because wherever

I go I am able to make it interesting

for myself, and others, often enough.

That's how I live, b'gosh!

-

I always liked Martha Graham  -  no

real reason. I never 'danced,' just now

and then dug the concept. The Yvonne

Ranier stuff at DIA didn't ALL catch

me, but I did enjoy all those series of

recitals as they occurred, 3 hours or

so each time. Probably 10 Saturdays.

It's a far cry from the crud and crap

you get in  a place like Avenel. Avid

satraps and lingering fey loser-boys.

Here's Martha Graham, words I

surely recognize and always live by:

"Some of you are doom laden. Or

doom eager. I had a burning desire

to be excellent, but no faith that

I could be. There is a vitality. a

life force, an energy, a quickening

that is translated through you into

action. And because there is only

one of you in all of time, this

expression is unique. And if you

block it, it will never exist through

any other medium and it will be lost.

The world will not have it. It is

not your business to determine

how good it is nor how valuable

nor how it compares with other

expressions. It is your business

to keep it yours clearly and

directly, to keep your channel

open. You do not even have to

believe in yourself or your work. 

You have to keep yourself open

and aware to the urges that

motivate you. Keep the channel

open. No artist is pleased. There

is no satisfaction whatever at any 

time. There is only a queer,

divine dissatisfaction, a blessed

unrest that keeps us marching

and makes us more alive than

the others.'
-
The main thing for an individual
to do, to remain righteous and
and strong and singular, is to
keep out of the sleaze. It's
obvious, the hordes are too
dead-on-the-head to know that,
and the keep getting 'shocked'
by their ow conclusion. First,
they wouldn't know a Martha
Graham from a Graham Cracker,
and, second, reaping what they
so, Corky gets, usually, conked.