RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,012
(oh nurse, I'd like a chilled Chablis)
I've been through a lot
of stupid crap, probably
most of it I did to myself.
One of my mainstays has
always been to keep working,
no matter what else was
happening, because if that
lightning ever did strike it
was going to be incumbent
upon me to be ready. A
person can't say, 'Oh, I've
got 8,000 pages of writing.
I'm glad you're here. Now
first let me write it.' No, no
you see, if it strikes you'd
better be ready. You can't just
be bragging on about nothing
and you better damn well
have it when they call. And
be bragging on about nothing
and you better damn well
have it when they call. And
I always was, though no
lightning ever struck - but
by the same token I've never
done or had any outreach.
As I always saw it, that's
'business,' and I don't do the
business end of things. That's
just the way it all went. I've
known people who kill just to
get fifteen lines of something,
after a thousand submissions,
into some little flip-flop
publication called anything
like 'The Overshoe Sewanee
Pan-Rhythmic Review,' and
be rooster-peacock proud over
it. Never much interested
me, that stuff.
-
You know what I've decided?
I've decided, about this plague,
that alcohol kills it. Ain't no
virus that withstands a steady
belt of, say, Maker's Mark, or
my hillbilly friend's moonshine.
The street's are empty and
everyone's now frantic. But
the real cure is fire-water.
-
Whenever I think I have a
free moment, some cockamamie
idea sprouts again in my head
and I'm right back here, either
at the keyboard (type) or the
keyboard (piano), [Jeez! Isn't
there any escape?], or at the
drawing table or some messy
paint area. I never get to go
out and pass my germs along.
I'm tethered like some sailor
to the mast, and way out at sea.
-
One thing, again, about that
hospital stay back in 1958 :
It was pretty strange, and long
and slow and I had no essence
of the time I was sending. in
fact, time didn't exist. It kind
of goes away when you're
withering, close to death, or
returning from it. No two
ways about it - I don't even
think humbers exist, during
those periods. All that stuff
just closes up and goes away.
'For the duration,' (ha). Now
it may all exist for others, but
that doesn't mean anything.
The nurses, with their crazy
'juice cart,' would come around,
I recall, a little bit before lights
out. They knew when it was
8pm, what their scheduled
rounds were, etc. But for me,
they were just chimerical
beings who appeared, peddling
this freaky apple juice or any
other juice they had. Everyone
had to have a juice - it was
just a little class. In a glass;
none of that sippy-sack childish
drink stuff they peddle today,
with straws attached and soft-
packed. There wasn't even any
water. Everyone now walks
around with their water bottles
and such, but in 1958 water
was unheard of as a side dish.
Whatever it should be called,
and I don't care. 'Oh, nurse,
I'd like a chilled Chablis.'
-
I also remember, and this is
real weird because at the time
it meant little to me, being told
by nurses and others, when I had
that free reign with the wheel
chair and all, to keep away from
one guy. I admit he was lecherous,
though I didn't know what all that
was then. He was downright creepy,
always leering and getting close.
He must have been a long-termer,
or a lifer (did they have those?),
because he just walked around,
in pajamas and a robe, slippers,
and his constant, weird expression.
But, can you imagine something
of that nature being tolerated?
Now? The guy would have
probably been gassed, were it
today. I never new what came
of that whole scene.
-
Another thing that rattled me,
and this was right at the time
I was waking slowly back up
into real life : I looked up once
conscious, and there, right there,
two beds over, at the corner, was
a kid named John Hoffman, a
kid I nearly detested, and this
was, what, only third grade!
He was in for 3 or 4 days, to
recover from having his appendix
removed. And there he was, right
next to me in my most vulnerable
moments! His family too! They
visited often, and stood around.
As I recall there was another
brother, and a sister too. And
the parents. I knew them all
a bit from church stuff, but John
used to make me venomous.
Thankfully, in a few days
they were gone. I can't recall
anything more about him. If
I ever saw them again, or if,
when I went back to school
he was still around. That's
pretty weird.
-
I guess it's all in what you
remember, how time goes. if
you can't remember anything,
time wasn't there. Maybe.
Another time, and this is later,
when I was pretty cured and
it was getting close to leave,
for me - my mother had
somehow made the arrangement
for this TV guy who had a
kid show, I think, called The
Merry Mailman. His name
was Ray Heatherton, and I
guess I used to watch the show
at home or something; but in
any case it was my mother's
idea of a hospital treat. He
came strolling in one day,
about mid-morning, with a
bug to-do, singing his silly
song, handing out some stuff,
and eventually stopping over
to my bed for his little routine.
The whole place was 'agog'
with excitement, other mobile
kids crowding around. It was
cool; he handled the ward
pretty well, and everyone liked
him. I forget of my Mother was
present, or not. But anyway,
it was a big hit, and all the
other kids thought I had some
big-deal extra connections to
get the Merry Mailman to
come make a visit.
-
You know what was really weird,
years later? He had some daughter,
named Joey Heatherton, and she
was a late 1960's sexpot; magazine
and show-business stuff. I ended
up detesting her, and her big, stupid,
sex appeal shtick. She'd hooked up
with Bob Hope and all his USO
'entertain the troops' crap, and they
were always touring Vietnam
to do their sexy, titillating shows
of music and dance in front of
all the assembled, horny soldiers
at the various bases and camps.
Titillating; isn't that a funny
word to use for her? Or I guess
I am the merry male man?
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