12,653. RUDIMENTS, pt. 998

RUDIMENTS, pt. 998

(I wondered what we were drinking)

I always liked the idea of

bright eyes, but it always

seemed to entail a toil too.

I never wanted the toil, and

boy did I grow tired of that.

Like in the bible, those Jewish

captives in Egypt, making by

forced labor a million bricks,

and then complaining about

it, and being told, in return,

that their limit was being

increased and, in addition,

no longer was their straw for

the brick-mix going to be

supplied them; they'd have to

make or get their own straw.

So says Pharaoh. It's hardly

worth the price to complain.

-

I always liked the word lacuna.

It sort of means like a 'dead spot.'

It stayed with me, as some certain

words always did. Halcyon was

another, except I always got it

wrong, or most often, by thinking

it was halycon. It's supposed to

mean like 'happiness' or great

success. In the same vein as

bright eyes. None of that ever

worked for me. But for lacuna,

here's an example  - in the

seminary, once, maybe twice, in

all that time,. I can remember

being sick. Fever, maybe a

minor flu, etc. All it entailed

was letting the Monitor know,

maybe getting checked out, and

then you never left your bed the

whole day. A sick day, but for

sure. In the dorm. In your bed;

(We had like metal, military,

cots, all in a row). But here's

where my lacuna kicks in, or

takes itself  -  I can't remember

anything about those instances.

I guess I slept; got aspirins?

Did someone bring meals, on

a tray? Did I get up, allowed to

use the bathroom areas, a long

hallway-walk away? I cannot

recall a thing. Dead-spot.

-

It's just stuff that like that made

me stand out, or even stand-offish.

Much like the soil in the seminary

areas. We used to walk a lot, just

traipsing around through the old

piney woods out back of the place.

Nothing was paved, any homes

along the way were cinder-block

shanties, more or less, with cars

left around, things everywhere, and

occasional piney kids in the yards.

Maybe. The town  of Blackwood

or Runnemede, or whatever it was,

they used it also, out there, the area,

for their town garage and town dump,

and some sewage stuff too. There

were a number of funny towns in

the area that sort of converged in

these deep pine woods, so I'm not

sure what was where  - Berlin,

Runnemede, Blackwood, Clementon,

Hickstown, Grenloch. I really can't

hardly recall. It was all walkable,

and with a few miles, and, back 

then, all raw and rural and you

wouldn't believe it now if you saw

it. On a map now, our old place is

simply labeled 'Camden Community

College,' which is what use it has

today, amidst a million condos and

parking lot and dumb-ass franchise

and chain stores. Everything of

my day has been torn down and

replaced with modern college-style

communist-looking buildings

and grounds. Nothing was paved.

Nothing, then. What I meant to say,

about the soil, was that I'd never

been in a place before where there

was none. Soil. Everything was sand,

and the fir trees there grew on it.

Pitch pines, dwarf pines, whatever.

There weren't any, or not many

things I was used to, like oaks and

elms. It was a wonderment, and I

never exactly liked it or got used to

it. Like I said, we did a lot of walking,

so I got to see lots of it, plus, on the

'track team' stuff, I used to be able

to run two or three miles out, and

then back, on any of the sandy,

woody, pine-forested trails. It was

really cool. I loved the air, and the

light, and the sound. I got to know

where the oddball houses were,

who lived in them, what they'd

probably be doing, etc. And I have

to admit, I also knew which ones

had girls in them, the kind my age or

a bit older. I was always infatuated.

So sue me.

-

Cinder-block houses I could never

quite figure out. I guess it meant no

basements, for they seemed to have

just been built where the blocks were

piled. On the sandy soil, not in it. They

never sagged or anything, but they

were pretty ugly  -  usually in these

horrid shades of blue or yellow,

added to here and there with weird

wooden additions or lean-to's attached,

with cars or workshops in them and

lots of junk all over. It was the early

1960's, so I don't know what the 

town enforcement or the zonings 

were like. Maybe there was none.

Occasionally there'd be large trucks,

dump-trucks or garbage-rigs, slowly

rolling along. I think they dropped

stuff off in the far-back areas. And

there was a bulldozer or a grader

or something, sometimes there just

rolling over the hills of trash, leveling

things out. The locals had this odd

tradition too of hanging their girlfriend's

panties, after conquest, from a tree limb.

Yeah. weird. I won't go into it right

now, but it was maddening too. My

friend Leo Benjamin knew all about 

it, and clued me in. (I don't wish 

frustrated teen boyhood on anyone).

-

Unawares to me, and I only learned 

of it later, we had a gun club or 

marksmanship team going on too.

I ran across their target-shooting

range one day in the seeming

middle of nowhere. But I never

saw or heard them in action, though

the place and the targets seemed

pretty shot up. It always baffled 

me, because I never heard about 

it or saw it announced or listed

anywhere. That was pretty odd;

I did know of an archery thing, 

and once or twice took part in it.

That's what was weird about the

seminary too  -  all these sports

things, which you not right off

think about in  a place like that. It

seemed they did everything they

could to keep teen-boy minds

and hands busy and occupied. I

figure it was all in a plan-book

somewhere, carefully delineated.

None of it ever bothered me. I

was always fascinated : Sandy

soil, sandy flats, water in little

streams that often ran copper-red,

denoting some bizarre iron content

in the water. They used to make

bog iron there, in the colonial days.

The water was running red because

of that once-valued iron content.

I wondered what we were drinking.
-
There's always a sense to things
of 'History' being all around you.
There was there here too but the
area was, in most respects, so
otherwise barren that you'd
wonder how anything could ever
have happened. It was quiet,
always quiet; everything was
in place, but never was there
any activity. I never really
saw family stuff, or the cars 
moving along, or people at
the task of moving things, 
groceries or whatever. Out
in the far-back, the worked
environment was simply one
of living in sandy isolation. 
I'm certain no one cared about
home furnishings, curtains, 
or decoration or any of that.
Such a world, then, was so
completely different from what
one sees today as to be poles
apart. I had never lived like
that before: sand, sandy roads,
isolation, rules, timed and
programmed days. It was all
new stuff to me. Wondering
why was no help at all.