RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,142
(shirley beancake)
One of my problems was always
that I didn't know what people
were talking about. One time
some guy got started with all
that 'The road to Hell is
paved with good intentions'
stuff, all of which I'd heard
before. And grasped well
enough. But then he upped
it and said to me, 'Let me tell
you more; 'the approach to
Heaven is through the roads
to Hell; which you have to
take to get there.' Now,
that was a little different,
because I'd known about the
aphorisms of William Blake,
though I'm not sure that guy
did. One of them was, 'The
road of excess leads to the
palace of Wisdom.' And
another one was, 'Those who
restrain their desires do so
because theirs are weak
enough to be restrained.'
He had plenty more of
them too, often in that same
vein. I simply thought of
them as saying pretty much
the same thing as he was
meaning. Blake was about
1800. This guy was 1970.
Big difference, but much of
an overlap too. Blake's
point most often was of the
idea of 'Don't hold back;
repressing something only
makes it all worse, but sating
your urges by doing them,
instead of limiting and
controlling them, will
bring you to happiness and
a great decrease of anguish
and hatred, of self.' Now in
many respects that's complete
foolishness. If you have an
urge, you just don't go grab
a gun and kill 14 people,
(Yes, though it's been done).
That' solving nothing and is
complete bunkum. I'm not
entirely sure, other than just
being a contrarian, what
William Blake was up to in
those aphorisms - compiled,
together, and printed by him
as the 'Proverbs of Hell.'
Just that title might mean
that he kind of knew they
were a bit off.
-
I studied William Blake
quite a bit. He lived from
1757 to 1827, and was a
weird dude. There are great
books and studies about him,
in depth. He's a real, dense
research favorite, and probably
has been the subject of many
thousands of thesis, treatise,
monograph and in-depth
analysis work. The guy was
a unique nut-case, in his
execution of detailed and
obsessive work - poems,
art, drawings, copperplate
engravings and more. He was,
besides all his 'words,' way
into color, musculature (his
human figures are almost
sometimes excessively
bulky). His examiners range,
among the heavies, from
Northrup Frye to Kathleen
Raine. 'Fearful Symmetry,' by
Frye, is a landmark book on
the subject of Blake. There's
literally a hundred, right off
the bat, covering every aspect:
His words, sources, meanings,
textual analysis, prophetic books,
poetical sketches, poetry, and
it just goes on and on. The man
was amazing.
-
I don't really know why, except
for dedication to his own work
(he was a loner, reclusive, and
very caught up in what he did,
and a difficult person besides),
he missed the American Revolution.
Although he wrote of it, entitled
a book or two with references to
it (as a 'New Jerusalem'), and was
an intellectual compatriot of Thom
Paine. Basically he just never
much left his home(s), which
over time ranged from London to
Felpham Manor and on his
deathbed (at age 70. Gulp!),
he died, singing. That's a weird
little touch they always add. They
mean to say that he was a blissful
guy, composed and self generated.
His wife was named Catherine, at
first a real know-nothing gal. He
taught her to read and write, but she
always retained her unschooled
ways. A true companion and a
regular Soho authentic. Another
cool note: One time when someone
was visiting, they asked why there
was no soap. She answered, 'Mr.
Blake's skin don't dirt.' Think
Eliza Doolittle.
-
Anyhow, excess was never my
forte, no matter what Blake said,
and it always left me conflicted
to try and understand what he was
trying to say or do with all the
'Freedom and Liberty' of the self
stuff. He hated repressions and
he hated withheld feelings. His
point was, 'If you're angry with
a friend over something, blurt
it out and says so. Withholding
such information, festering with
it inside, will come to no good.'
I guess nowadays it would be said
he was all in favor of 'keeping the
channels flowing.'
-
No matter. Everyone's life ebbs
and flows. You can fairly well do
what you like but at some point,
later, I guess, more than sooner,
you pay the piper, you meet the
owner, the dues come due, the
famed chickens seek home to
roost. No avoiding that; yet,
along the way you don't wish
to lose control, betray decorum,
transgress certain protocols and
strictures. So, in some way, I
never really knew what either of
those guys were talking about -
William Blake, or the 1970's guy.
-
How do you explain that? I once
knew, and still do, a Chinese girl,
in Chinatown, named Shirley. I
won't give out her name, since
she's still around and working hard
at a small-bit acting career. But
she was one of the excess type of
people. Purely Chinese, but so
totally Americanized and wild'd
up that you'd never know it. Excess
on the road to Heaven, even if a
Chinese heaven. Her last name was
oddly enough (I don't really know
if 'Shirley' or the last name are
true), a long Polish name, with
the 'ski' at the end and a number
of consonants. She, in her excess
of glory, would send the latest
TV show reference she got; always
bit parts, here and there, 'On Banner
Street, look for me in the kitchen
scene, I'm the lady with the mixing
bowl...' Stuff like that, any number
of them. (I never did see them). She
send me the newest Chinese sandwich
shop or restaurant as it came up, 'Go
to Andrews, great takeaway Ming
How Bean-Bread Pork Sandwiches.
(I never did get to any). Yet, it was
always sheer bliss to realize her
energy, verve, and...yes...excess.
(To which this road to Heaven
still leads us?)......
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