12,773. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,038

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,038

(that bowdlerized version of me)

People often acted to me

as if I was running things

or in charge, and I wasn't

really at all; in fact most of

my problematic life has been

in subservient roles. On the

one hand, something such

as that used to annoy me to

no end, while, on the other

hand, I was glad it was that

way because all that normal

decision-making matter was

never the clay I wanted to be

touching. Like mad brains in

a mad laboratory. I was never

able to get anything running

in consort, and when things

begin getting away from the

supposed leader, you know

it's a bad scene soon to be.

What I had it down to was

that most of life was about

timing  -  some people have

it much better than others. I

always had really crummy

timing. It's always then a

caution that you have to learn

to live with : You come to a

yield intersection, yep, there

hasn't been another car through

there in four minutes, but as

soon as you make that assumption

and figure to slide through the

yield, without really checking,

wham! there's the other car they

warned you about. Your perfect

equation has changed, big time,

and you've got some other guy's

fender now cradled in your

arms. Bad timing, Boberino.

And not just for driving; it

hits its own sequence in a

hundred other ways. Being

in the bank lobby just when it

blew up; running into that

robbery scene at the local

store, just when the damn

guy robbing the place starts

shooting. Ten minutes, either

way, before or after, and you'd

have been home-free. That's

how the cosmic cards are given;

you spec out your location, find

the problem to be dealt with,

but had you slightly altered

your plans, it all could have

been avoided. What is that?

Good or bad timing? The guy

in front of you, the guy, in fact

whom you let in the door, first,

on your way in, right in front

of you buys the 25,000 dollar

scratch off that would have

otherwise been yours! Same

ticket. 'Jersey Bowlerino

Deep Desert Parkway Camel

Scratch-off.' Somunofabitch.

-

All those years I was back and

forth to Princeton, all I ever

saw were mostly fortunate kids.

Whatever their timing was, they

had very little to do with it, but

smugness carries a large briefcase,

and theirs was full. In the town

itself, there were plenty of the

usual street-slug townies dragging

around, mostly black guys with

loose pants and that cool swagger

kind of walk they use, always

pilling a tug or two back up on

the loose pants that seemed

determined to meet their ankles

any minute. Cigarettes and stories.

All these rat-brat privileged kids,

once they crossed Nassau Street,

it was all theirs; any one of those

sluggos parading before them

ought be aware they'd be scoffed

at, snorted to, and poo-poohed

about. Charity and kindness? Not

a way of that at all. The world-gap

there was already established and

no tangerine-colored slacks scholar

was going to make way for Abner

there. One time, walking against a

lights's don't walk sign, a little group

of these college kiddies walked

across my turning path and,

deciding I was infringing my

plebian auto into their sacred space,

regardless of the light (Witherspoon

and Nassau) the one big guy with

the privileged piece of walkabout

pizza decides to pay me back

on his terms  - squishes and rubs

his pizza slice on my rear-side 

window. Now, I didn't really care,

but when I got out and put the

gun to his head, the poor baby

went screaming. OK, I didn't

do any such thing, instead just

drove off and cleaned it later.

But, at that moment I wanted

to force him to have testicle

topping on that slice. His own.

And, again, had I been in charge,

he'd have been in the sewer in 

an instant. The point I'm making

here is how unpleasant it has

always been for me to have to

interact constantly with such

half-wits, and accept things on

their terms because of who they

claim they are. My own guilt is,

I guess, that I too, by accepting 

that claim and NOT bashing 

the bastard, I allowed all this to
become sort of institutionalized;

as did everyone else erecting 

the budding error of the society

we 'toy' with and work within. 

-

When I got that Princeton job,

for about ten minutes I did think 

I was at the top of the world; but

nothing lasted long. That was OK,

and I mostly stayed with it, for as

long as I could. Uncharacteristically,

for me, I had re-arranged my on

priorities in order to get the job,

heck, in order to even interview

for it, yellow-sweater and all. 8

years later, I finally cashed out,

nicely and with some regrets, 

using the amalgamated pastiche 

of age and 'retirement' to do so.

(Second try at it; the first shot

at 'retirement' they asked me to

stay, and I set different hours and

terms for like another year or so.

Coursebooks, freight, sales,

and returns be damned, I finally

did leave at like 65. Old enough

to at least still be young-walking.

What did I miss the most? The

nearby coffee-shop.

-

Had someone asked, by the end

of my established non-tenure

there, what I was in charge of,

I would, perhaps, have been 

able to say, 'parking in the alley.'

That would have been true, too. 
The thing about life is, it's all
equation. Numbers. A sacred wheel
for each of us, constantly turning.
That 'equation' is actually a bit
of what the nitwit 'horoscope'
people, and even 'fortune tellers'
are edging around with all their
stuff, but they never really get it
or bring it to any sort of fruition.
We are on board our own dream
at any time, and the cloudy
atmosphere of that is always
churning and changing the
shapes and forms of what we are
seeing, or imagining we see. 
That's the eerie 'equation' too
which controls our timing. If
one somehow gets off this
even by half a beat, there are
consequences.  For whatever
reason, it seems, I've been off 
it often, and it's had the
consequences too. But, the
thing about life is, were they
the consequences I deserved,
or did I not, just as much,
 make that happen?