12,956. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,108

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,108
(no one even got hurt)
All that school stuff and the

portables and 6th grade and 

the rest....I can remember 

spending half my Springs

and Summers of youth playing

scratch-team baseball on gravel.

The gravel was out the back of

those portables  -  it was little,

gray, pebbles. A thin layer.

That was pretty much our

infield, and though it didn't

really 'slow' a grounder down,

it did, over time, really bust

up a baseball; all that scuffing

and scraping. Once you got past

the bases, the dirt and grass

returned, for there was a little

woodsy section there. There

was also a cinder block 

incinerator, and anything out 

past that way we just called

a home run, on its merit, for 

getting out there. That old

incinerator was gone not so

long after we were; they had

it dismantled. Anyway, out in

that tree'd section, there were

other problems not having to

do with gravel  -  like guys

running straight out into

trees. Knocking themselves,

a few times, flat out cold. It

happened. A guy watching

the fly ball's trajectory, up 

above his head, while running

full tilt to reach position to 

catch it, slamming right into

a tree along the way. No one

ever broke a nose, that I knew

off. But a few guys got knocked

out. No one cared; it was a hoot.

Nowadays, with all the trauma 

and football and head injuries

crap they're always talking about

they probably wouldn't let a

kid play dice or checkers out

there, but we had a wonderful 

time. Always. Especially, like, 

when we'd use some old 

geography book for a base, 

because they were usually

pretty large, and flat. It was 

like payback! Now the whole

place is fenced off, and they've

got all these little weenie signs

everywhere about off-limits,

no trespassing, etc. School

used to be school, and over 

time now they're turned it 

into a concentration camp, 

filled with delicate little 

babies. You think it's bad 

now with the kinds of fools

running about with protective

do-as-you're-told-masks on

and all that fear that they have

now? That's last year's news.

Wait until those of today's kids

who reach their majority start

bouncing around with ther

opinions and attitudes. Jeez,

the world's really doomed.

-

The best thing about it now 

is that, finally, not too many

people are having any of those 

c'mon-over kinds of gatherings 

and barbecues and things like 

they used to. There's a lot to

be said for viral warfare

-

When in New York, in those

fine, old, days, everything was

different. People hung and talked

and drank and yapped anywhere

and anyhow they damn well 

pleased. Rules, if any, were like 

taut strings, just awaiting the 

break. 1968, if you really think 

about it, as I must, very often, 

was still like a primitive world 

from some other format. You 

can start at most any point and 

delineate the differences; the

small, oddball, things that

comprised the 'then' against 

the 'today.' It starts, and goes 

anywhere, places that today's 

Jiminy Crickets wouldn't know: 

can openers not snap-top cans; 

no remotes; no wireless stuff 

at all; cars had keys, and that

was it  -  no fobs, no alarms.

It looks like nothing, and it's

only a real small part of what

such a list could be  -  like

three days worth of material  -

but really it all gets into your

head and makes up a life. I

would never just think to follow

what others tell me to do, buy

into all their crap, alerts and

safety measures and all the

rest. Now? People just beg

for controls and to be directed

and told the what and how to 

do's. It's by such that they get

their personal satisfaction. And

it's insidious too  -  though you

all may laugh at it, Authority

has you by the balls; for those

who've got 'em. The rest of you

ladies, go figure. Everything gets

subliminal, and gets done. Like 

just the phrase that's bandied about

now, 'herd immunity.' All that does

is secretly drive into your head

the idea of 'herd'; that you're just

some dumb-ass cipher, worth

nothing, unless you're part of
a group, only, and doing

what you're told. Suddenly, it

seems, you're part of a 'herd.'

In the same way as that 'It takes

a village' BS from some twenty

years or so back. I'm not a member

of any herd, nor village, thanks.

Take all that and shove it; stuff

it right up into your herd 

immunity packet as if you're

a kangaroo or a possum.

I fly solo.

-

People have grown so coarse

and ugly, I can hardly bear to

look. I guess all that's generational

now; probably racial too. I don't

welcome anything any longer.

My crystal ball (which, by the

way, unfortunately is right on

the table by my exit door) tells

me race war and dissolution is

right around the bend. I'll be

gone by then, I figure, but, if

not, I'll gladly go out fighting

ripping some slime-dog's head

from their shoulders over one of

those deceitful little non-issues

they throw up and carp about.

One time I was in Newark,

at some motorcycle party, in

some sidebar auto warehouse

place where the Biker clubhouse

was upstairs. A block or two in 

from McArter Hiighay (Rt. 21),

along by Broad. It was way

late and night. Biker junk was

brewing, and there was some

racial crap in the area too. The

Biker scene kept all that racial

garbage under control, but the

problems always arose, instead,

between Biker clubs themselves.

Real stupid, but whatever. A van

and a car came pulling up, (we

were outside, in the near alley,

and could see what was coming)

windows down, and suddenly

there's a huge volley, continual,

as they just started blasting away 

at the front of the building. And

sped off. It took 15 seconds;

the cinder blocks and all got

peppered and chipped up, etc.,

but nothing penetrated and no 

one even got hurt. No cops came

either. I don't think they would

have. I learned later that the

weapons used were called

'streetsweepers.' Never had

heard of that before; it was like

Al Capone days or something,

with Tommy Guns. I guess these

were small-caliber, automatic

weapons of some sort. That was

1990. Nowadays they'd probably

just bomb the place, and count

the bodies later. (Well actually,

that happened too, in Bayonne.

But it was an empty, Eastsiders'

clubhouse. It went down, but

no one got hurt). Insurrection?

You ready for that?