12,994. RUDIMENTS. pt. 1,123

RUDIMENTS, pt 1,123

(better yet,  just go on)

There were always a million things,

or so it seemed, rattling against each

other inside my head. It was 'touch

and go, where to turn, what should I

do?' kind of stuff. One time I can

remember hooking up with some

local friend whose Chippewa mother

grew wild rice, out in Minnesota or

maybe Wisconsin, I can't remember.

Her daughter thought then we could

maybe place it for sale in the local

Second Ave. natural foods store,

just off St. Marks. So we go in there

one day and start talking to one of

the owners. The idea was OK, yeah,

but the incidentals killed us. Shows

how naive I was  -  he started to

mention all the things against us -

if he said yes to us  -  getting it here,

first off, and incurring that expense;

packaging, even if it was to be sold

there in bulk in one of his rice barrels

as Minnesota wild rice, we'd first have

to put it in something secure to get

it there; then of course, the cost, and

how to price it, and how could it be

in any way competitive for us 'each'

to share any proceeds, and at what

ratio? Then the inspectors, the darn

government, the freshness data, the

sterility and purity; licensing and a

bunch more stuff that, unfortunately,

while standing there made sense and

hit us like a ton. I looked at her, and

she looked at me, and we knew that

idea was over. So, we said, 'Yeah,

you're right, we'll have to check

all that first,' and we retreated. That

pretty much ended the rice-for-profit

part of my life. But can you imagine?

The bottom end of down and dirty

NYC, purveying 'natural foods,' and

us trying to get in on that harvest.

As if we lived in some condition

of having a huge rice plantation

somewhere out in agri-America.

Really, aren't things sooo mental?

Such projection of ideals,

and dreams too.

-

I have also always found that such

things as 'gimmick food' always have

the names of individuals  -  like the

most obvious example, Ben & Jerry's.

Back in my printing days, there was

this place in Linden, they called

themselves Walden Farms. It was kind

of funny because, at that location, the

only thing that grew was, maybe, the

white lines on Rt. 27; nonetheless

they persisted with their natural and

home-good foodstuffs; I guess it

worked, and they might even still

be there. There have also been

brands like 'Tom's of Maine,' for

toothpastes and things; and

there are lots more. It never

really works, though they do try.

Just ask Gorton, of Gorton's or

the Gloucester Fisherman, or

whoever it was who for so long

made frozen fish and such; and

then, if you can dig him up, go

find Paul Newman too. The point

of crossover is always how the

people in NYC can get pretty

fired up over natural and the 
entire eco sort of things  -  all that

environment and global warming

righteousness stuff, while living,

and blatantly so, in the middle

of a by-degree ecological and

environmental disaster area. I

always figured it to be some over

compensation for living where

they did and in the back of their

minds being fully cognizant of

the anti-Nature hack the place

was. And I mean totally. Why

pretend at the niceties of Mother

Nature when you're living upon

a totally truncated piece of

smashed rock, drained marshes,

torn-apart woodlands, destroyed

water-supplies, streams, eddies,

drainage and swamp lands, each

of which go in to the make-up os

a natural 'island.' If you're going

to get righteous about it, then,

Jeepers, 'fess up first, and maybe

then go on. Better yet, just go on.

Probably the most natural thing

on Manhattan Island is a pretzel

vendor's cart. They at least keep

a real flame going, Winter-wise

anyway; or used to. Maybe they're

all replaced now by heat lamps too.

Everything's so bogus.

-

I used to think it was OK for all that

stuff, inasmuch as people never thought

about it. Characters such as Robert

Moses, as a for instance, just tore

through the place, ripping things

apart, building multi-lane roads

and projects, all regardless of

any people or things in the way. The

motto was that Progress always

wins, and if they're in the way,shove

them out. Endless rows of pathetic

projects, which 80 years later now

either are a wreck, or already torn

down, or have become ghetto-hovels

wherein much of today's problems

fester from. And that's only within

the NYC I then inhabited. It was

the same elsewhere, even without

Robert Moses, since every little urban

fiefdom had their own version of him,

plus the government money to destroy

with. Remember the Pruitt-Igo Homes.

Look it up  if you don't.

-

There's never any way that institutionalized

thinking is going to improve anything.

Any form of numbers-based housing is.

and becomes, a shielded racism that

cannot then speak its name. The

conditions from it decay  -  because of

the quality of the very people 'incarcerated'

(my use of the word) and times, needs, and

wants also change, as the capitalist wagon

simply continues to prod all these people,

in their faces, with the wants and needs

they'll never attain. That then breeds

anger, abuse, fury, and an entire and

defamatory downward trend of violence

and danger. All those courtyards and

open plazas and playgrounds, as I ever

saw, breed competitive breeding grounds

for drugs and drug-pins on the make. The

over-compensation by  angry young

plaza kids turns on itself  -  death and

destruction ensue. The social-service

people, the checklisters and the welfare

cats  -  all those agents and do-good

interview types, they can never realize

this, even as they go about their 'work,'

because their first allegiance is to the

system they work in, not the people

they end up dodging around. Every

problem simply becomes a factoid or

a statistic, and all is lost. It seems to me

that when you attack a systemic problem

with another 'system.' all is lost. In

addition, the adukation and pep-rally

facets of the cheering given to people

such as Robert Moses and his ilk only

promotes the essentially ego-centered

portions of what they see as their own

progress, power, and fiefdom. Disasters

ensue, for which we now still pay.

-

If you wish to become, or remain,

mummified, just continue to ignore

these sorts of developments. They

operate, of course, on a large scale

of time that does one individual's

life-span  -  which is too bad and

which is how a lot of this gets done

and how the perpetrators get away

with it. The story changes, as issue

become diluted, bad gets spun as

good, and meanings and definitions 

change. What doesn't change is how

'we' are left with the rubble.