RUDIMENTS, pt. 962
(it's all where you stand)
I've never done things a million
other people have done, but
that's OK because they've never
done what I have. Whatever
I may have done, I've done my
own way anyhow, and the rest
is just situation. A landmark
deviltry. Life isn't what it's
cracked up to be. Pericles
once said (I called him 'I
Hate a Monument Pericles'),
'What you leave behind is
not what is engraved in
stone monuments, but
what is woven into the
lives of others.' My kind
of guy, that Pericles was.
-
I grew up with problems,
and they sort of just stayed
with me. What used to really
annoy me was how parents
and school and all just made
things worse; misunderstanding
the entire fortification of living
and plodding on as if they knew
best how I should, as they'd
already done, misinterpret the
world, and have me love them
back, in return. Man, that was
a loser's bargain for sure. The
whole foundation of family
and schooling is to reinforce
all that crap. I ran off early,
yet they still kept dragging
me down, hanging me back
on their same old stupid
clothesline. Most of what
people say about themselves
is mental mythology anyway;
they're talking to themselves
about something they want
to look like. You could tell
these old people were stupid
just by looking around you :
anything old was left to rot,
ignored, torn up or removed
and built over. In the worst
ticky-tack fashion too. Any,
and I mean any, premise of
beauty or grace or line was
gone, and each replacement
was just a deeper setback from
what had been before. It was
useless. And that was then.
It's worse now, and all the
tendencies to do anything
have been shredded. There's
no design factor now, because
nothing can any longer be
delineated. Whatever was
once tangible is now a soft
dream. Take cash registers,
for example. They no longer
even exist - used to be you
totally knew what you were
doing at any transaction, with
the mechanical clang of metal
and numbers. Displays and
results coming up. There was
no fussing about things; that
was just how people were
and how they thought - one
regulated factoid at a time in
a slower and mechanical mode.
Now? You end up knowing
nothing, not even what you
just did - which was nothing.
You get probably an inane
smiley beep, a note telling you
how many points you've now
got, and maybe a date and a
time? What's all that? That's
other people's information,
not yours. That's corporate
blarny getting their filthy
finger into your pocket. As
a guy, I figure, you wouldn't
let anybody do that to your
daughter or your wife, right?
But here, it's a constant and
no one even cares because it's
all unseen and ephemeral.
That's why there's perversion
everywhere. People are
like walking dead.
-
I won't go on over this, since
it's already an issue I've been
plain and clear about. There can
be no Plan B in this life, you
understand. There's got to be
one central focus, laser-sharp
and direct. Everything, period,
is different now - it seems to
me that the only real growth
industry left is domestic terrorism.
How they've done that is by
re-defining everyday life and
making it normal - when in
reality it's terrorism. Everyone
with a 'syndrome,' needing this
or that pill or help or assistance,
offerings made to have it all
paid for, Government stepping
into personal lives at every
turn - laws pertaining to
nothing put in place by God
knows who and with so many
layers now of Government and
bureaucracy that you can never
find out anyway. State government,
redundant county government,
municipal government, federal
government, border patrol
government, commissions and
standards and inspections
government, legal government
edicts, layers of approval need
for this or that, Park Rangers,
local police, county police, state
police, federal police, Homeland
Security police, airport and dock
police...So sorry, zombie-folks,
this wasn't what it was supposed
to be all about. And you're being
lied to at every turn.
-
I never know what it is people
want. Steak? Or kidney pie?
Aspirin, or an apple? Does
not anyone ever consider
anything? Have you ever
noticed, all food turns to shit?
When you breath out, is that
backward panting? One of the
coolest memories I have was
one time with some old geezer
bouncing along at some junk
bar by the Bowery. The talk
turned to nothing, and someone
asked the old guy what advice
he'd maybe have for young
people now. He turned, to
be thoughtful a second, and
said, 'Wash your ass.' Huh?
He said that was important
and has to be done. 'Make
sure you wash your ass.'
-
I can remember a lot of '52
Chevies around where I lived,
as a kid. '53 and '55 Fords too. It
was that sort of place, I suppose,
and only later did the more
substantial cars begin filtering
in : Dodges and Chryslers. Once
the ghastly-looking 1960 Ford
was around, all that was over;
people began shopping other
brands of auto, moving up. The
guy across the street, he got
a 1958 Buick Special, I think
it was - a monstrous, snorting
convertible. He used it everyday
to get to his job, in Linden, up
along Rt. One, on past the GM
plant and the distillery. He was
the same guy who could whistle,
really loud, through his fingers,
in his mouth. That's how he
used to call his son in, to eat,
at night when we were usually
busy somewhere doing something
else : trees, trains, woods, whatever.
He was a golfer, this big Buick
guy, and the man next to him, in
the house one over was also a
golfer, and also had a Buick,
though not that model. By
1959 and then 1960, by the
way, the Buick design-line
had gone completely crazy.
-
Now it turns out you can't be
called smart, you can't be called
dumb, etc. None of those old
categories work : the pimply
annoying guy you see is probably
and AI expert, or some techno
geek way into probabilities and
factors you'd never think of. The
kid at the end of your street, the
smooth and suave black guy
always dribbling a basketball,
probably has a serious grasp of
issues inconsequential to you
but massive to him. It's all in
the warp of things and it's all to
behold. But it's all momentary
and it's all false too. You go
up north, Dakota territory, you
see Mount Rushmore and the
heads of those four overly-revered
American politico mistakes. It's
considered wondrous and grand.
You go down to Stone Mountain,
Georgia, you see pretty much the
same idea - a rock-side carving
of Confederate Generals being
memorialized. No one bitches that
out; they're too afraid to get their
heads shot off. The world's funny
like that - it's all where you stand.
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