RUDIMENTS, pt. 983
(fixed in place ? or settled)
It didn't really take too long
for me to learn about not
pretending at things and to
do just what was mine and not
pattern all that after someone
else. That went for art like it
went for music like it went for
philosophy. Those three are
all the same really anyway,
so if you can find the voice
you own in any one of those
disciplines, you can have it
in the others too. It's just a
natural thing. None of those
famous people you hear about
ever copied. That was the
reason people disliked them,
until much later, when - after
they were dead too - people
found a treasure in their
authenticity - which, while
they were alive, quite nearly
killed them. That was why
people disliked them; but
later on all sorts of hangers-on
jumped on the bandwagon of
a form or a style suddenly seen
as right. Take William Blake,
for example. He lived from
1757 to 1827, and was one
strange dude for his entire
productive life. People never
took to him. Fuseli and those
guys just stole from him -
styles and formats they'd
pretend to have interest in,
just to use them for their
own work. I think it was
Fuseli or someone who said
something like, 'He's a good
man to steal from.' A person
can spend 30 years of schooling
and learning, supposed, that is,
in order to be the creative person
they claim they want to be,
yet all this while 'protocol' and
manners and procedure is what
they're really after, and wrapped
up in. They can't do anything
real or authentic - because
they've been taught, by that
time, NOT to trust their own
voice, only to be derivative.
No wonder there's so much
crap out there; cultural overflow,
art and writing based on what
one's race and gender and life
experience is as an 'oppressed'
representative of whatever
bullshit that person is crying
about. Have you seen some
of the Internet drivel that's
out now - loves and hurts,
the broken hearts and the
yearning of blacks and yellows,
the tweak of the wrong-body
transgender tycoons, marauding
about on the lily-pads of their
own discontent? Yet, that's
what schools now teach -
the endless lines of weary
high-schoolers pierced up
their ass and tattoo'd too,
telling other about their personal
discontents and problems. No
literary or writerly referents, just
a bunch of stuff that should have
been taken care of first, before
the writing commenced.
-
Miles Davis tells the story of when,
as a kid, his father, a wealthy St.
Louis dentist, had taken him into
the city and gotten him done up
in new clothes - an outfit for
Easter, and a pleated, grey,
double-breasted suit, Thom
McCann boots, and a yellow
striped shirt, with a 'hip,
beanie cap.' And a new leather
changepurse, into which his
father had put 30 pennies. They
get home, his father goes upstairs
and leaves Miles with those 30
pennies burning a whole in
that new change purse. He knows
he's just got to spend that money,
so he goes over to Daut's
Drugstore and tells Mr. Dominic,
the owner, to give him 25 cents
worth of those juicy chocolate
soldiers, which were his favorite
candy at the time. ("You could
get three chocolate candy soldiers
for a penny, so he sells me seventy
five of them. Now I got my big
bag of candy, and I'm standing
out in front of my father's office,
sharp as a tack, and I'm eating
the candy soldiers faster than
nobody's business. I ate so many
of them I got sick and just
started spitting them out. My
sister, Dorothy, sees me and
think I'm spitting up blood, and
runs and tells my father. So he
comes downstairs and says,
'Miles, what are you doing?
This is my place of business.
People come to see me here and
they'll think that I done killed
somebody, think all this chocolate
is dried-up blood, so get upstairs").
-
That's pretty authentic play, and
it's also the sort of thing that they
would discourage if this were in
'writing' school. Why? Because it
reeks of the personal, the foolish,
even the trite and childish. 'No
one in their right mind would
have such an inclusion in a piece
of personal writing. I don't know
why; yet here it is and it worked
just fine. As for myself, all I ever
did was search for the moment,
which is really all the 'authentic'
amounts to. Throw that other
stuff right out the window - don't
learn to 'feel.' Feelings are for
the foolish. Great strides of self
can vault you right past all that
and get the same things done. It's
the difference between a boring
sermon and a tale told on the run.
I know which I'd rather have.
-
I think by the time you get to
make some sense out of life it's
over anyway. I can recall being
in my 30's and 40's and still
studying William Blake - I'd
see he died when he was age 70,
and I'd say: 'Well, he had a good
long life for sure. No one can say
not.' I want to back out of that
statement now, and immediately.
Having already now outlived
him. That's how things change.
Timelines move along the floor
of a life. Let no one tell you
different either. Nothing is
ever fixed in place or settled.
Be true toyourself.
Be true toyourself.
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