RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,090
(chains or a straitjacket)
Two chapters back I ended with
the word 'Ithaca.' By itself that
doesn't mean anything. In Greek
mythology, Homer and all the
rest, it meant a lot; still disputable,
but so is everything. In New York
State, however, it is a definite
place; the location of Cornell
University, and the place where
Thorstein Veblen blew in (which
is a cool story). However, that
older Ithaca, the 1972 version
anyway, is long gone now. The
place as I knew it was a two-level
town, with the higher level streets
being the University and all the
houses, rooming houses and
sloppily skimming themselves
down a few jagged and rough
hills and gorges. It was, in some
spots a tedious and difficult walk.
Paths and worn grooves between
lackluster streets wholly interesting
in spite of that. Or maybe because
of that. There were people I'd not
seen much of, in working class
Elmira, some 20 miles south and
where I dwelt. Elmira always
remained in its dreary season of
sad and gray, as if garlanded in
doubt; were it a tree. Ithaca, on
the other hand, seemed always
light and busy with some odd sort
of intellectual investigation. If
it was just the time - 1972 - or
the atmosphere of that time. Here
and there was still a smoldering
point of flame, an ember of 3
years previous when the entire
locations had been subsumed
in anger, controversy, riot, and
takeover. it was over, yes, but
something seemed to linger. I
always wanted to live out of
context, rather then in it. Living
in context meant, to me, staying
within the ordinary rules and
regulations of everyday, accepted
commerce. I never wanted that.
I guess - and this was one of
my problems - I was always
in revolt, quietly and all, but in
revolt nonetheless. The only
real outlet I had was in writing.
At this point in my life, even
Art had fallen by my wayside,
getting put aside as it had been
for those 10 or 12 years. When
it was introduced back into
my system, everything had
changed from the previous. I
had new eyes, I saw differently,
and I knew that when I did
get 'back' into it it would all
have to be different. And I
made sure it was.
-
Being glib and pleasant was
often a problem for me; having
little to say, verbally anyway.
I noticed how people went on
about their own lives and concerns;
business guys walking the streets
while talking deals or fishing;
it was that wide a disparity. I was
unable to really figure out if the
average centerpiece of a life was
pleasure or money, family or
self-interest, or all that. I never
knew what sort of fornicators the
average Joe New York guys were,
but that idea of sex's presence
seemed always in the air, like an
underlying current and flow. It
was a dance of something - all
along the way; construction guys,
'dames' and babes, in 1960's
parlance, hoots and catcalls,
and the ever-present wolf whistle,
something I'd never heard of
before. Not that I even cared; it
was just more of the stupidity
of the world.
-
I felt as if I'd been stoned and
broken. There was little left of
my earlier days from which I
could represent my own past
to anyone else; so, thus adrift
and aimless, I only began to
drift and wander some more,
as if a body, alone, seeking a
solace of my own. The worse
it got, the less I could function
that a curious sensation, knowing
that more deprivation would
bring more unwillingness to
do things. It was like the bass
line to any stupid rock n' roll
song, that same dumb and steady
bleating of a dark under-roll. I
found myself, weirdly enough,
detersting the bass-line of any
song heard; detesting the idea of
a bass-line; detestng bass-players;
I couldn't understand the thinking
of any supposed musician who
would stand in on place and
plink away at the roll-progression
of 5 or 6 notes ONLY to keep
the rigidity and strength of a
frame-referenced music so that
'others' could play all the rest.
Even a drummer, in the drummer's
own way, had more freedom and
opportunity within the same frame
to do more with material. To break
out of the freeze that so badly held
the bass-line in check. it all seemed
like a parody of life, with the bass
taking the most subservient role,
and willingly. Like joining the
Army, but for life, twice, and
while in chains or a straitjacket.
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