13,096. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,059

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,059

(drowning in a richness : seeking dry shelter)

The meandering explorations of

a 'Me,' for example, took that me

 in many directions. I was, truly,

all over the place, but, like that

bus driver a chapter or two back,

essentially going nowhere at the

same time. Life and language are

sometimes like that: So strange.

-

"Porcupines like to live alone,

but in Winter they sometimes

hole-up in long-snouted little

gangs inside hollow trees and

logs, in cavities made by cracks

in boulders, beneath piles of brush,

or under a front porch, sneaky as

thieves. Inside, in the damp and

ratty dark, fallen-out quills carpet

the floor. In spring, female

porcupines raise their babies in

these dens. A baby porcupine is

called a porcupette. There isn't

a word for a porcupine den, but

I suggest...a quiver.".....

-

"Quivers are, generally, a mess.

Porcupines are rodents, an order

of mammals that are, as a rule,

unkempt. The celebrated insouciance

of the honey badger, a weasel, is

nothing to the equanimity of the

porcupine, which are fully armed,

near blind, and imperturbable. They

leave their scat outside their front

door, piling up. They don't care who

sniffs them out." When I lived out

in Columbia Crossroads, PA, one day

my dog Billy (Super Bill! because he

was always chasing and outrunning

road-cars), came home whimpering,

with about 12 or 15 porcupines quills

stuck in his face, head, snout, etc. It

was truly a sight, and for one such

as me! I went to my neighbor-farmer's

house, for whom I also worked, and

said that day's equivalent of WTF!

(1971 or '72). I learned that, defensively,

under assault, attack, or any perceived

danger, a porcupine, as a defensive

maneuver  -  in the same way a skunk

emits stink  -  will hunch and eject

quills, almost as quill-missiles. Those

are what had gotten into Billy's face

area. Farmers thereabouts were used

to all this; had seen it a hundred times.

I was told to secure the dog in place,

and with good pliers, or vice grips,

pluck each quill, by yanking; a firm

pull, a solid hold. The dog will flinch,

(yes), but take it, realizing what was

going on. Then it was pointed out

the danger was, if left untended,

these same quills could eventually

work their way in, and affect the

brain/skull. Billy was already pretty

crazy anyway, as dogs go, but I

wished to rick nothing. The coolest

thing I remember is how, after each

yank, and removed quill, a little bead

of blood grew out on the dog's face, at

the exit hole. Billy flinched some, but

took it fine. We had an understanding.

-

"Porcupines have few predators,

aside from the sort of dog that's too

dunderheaded to know any better."

(Hey!)..."Porcupines, in their den,

aren't really hiding; they're just

staying snug, in homes they haven't

so much built as come by, like

squatters. Lovers of the Great

Indoors."

-

I had never been an indoorsy guy.

It was usually imperative for me

to be walking, on the way somewhere,

aimless, meandering, or whatever.

Grad school my ass, every smitten

NYU fool I'd see, on their endless 

paths to credentials and further study

made me laugh, They were headed

straight for their own dead ends,

the cul de sac named Oblivion. I

knew that; didn't they? The next

50 years (all gone now!) were ahead

of both of us, and theirs already had

the straitjackets and the cuffs all

readied. Why?

-

Inside people's heads, I think all that

ancient stuff still rings, like a genetic

ghost-image inside of us. Still tribal?

You walk into a doctor's office or some

legal space or office, most anything,

and you're greeted by reproductions, 

photographs, of what? Redwoods, old

woodland scenes, natives and elephants

and savannahs, gorges and waterways,

mountains and valleys, huts and dugouts.

And then, of course, you get the interior

decor of 'great tribal leader' types: elk

heads, deer, beaver, bear, fish, birds, you

name it, all mounted and taxiderm'd

and on display. Oh great King of the

Serengeti, I greet you! Can you feel

my innermost DNA stirring?

-

We make houses and domestications

now filled with the modern, and filled

with the past too. It is hard, this living

with masks  -  not the Covid kind, I

mean rather those tribal totems and

tribal shaman masks mounted, on

yonder wall. Like porcupine and 

rodents, we leave our scat around, 

piled up in every ghetto doorway 

and elite mansion garage and trash 

heap. We drown in our richness, 

seeking dry shelter. 

-
[Two last, interesting thoughts on
this subject: 'The New Urbanists,'
(architects), have been engaged in 'active
design,' trying to encourage, for instance,
the use of stairs, by making stairwells
wider and more brightly lit, and 
piping music into them, while making
elevators slower.' And : 'Over several
millennia, humans have evolved from
an outdoor species into an indoor one.
We evolved in the African savannah's
wide-open expanses, intimate with
nature and seeking protection under
tree canopies. Our genetic hardwiring,
built over millennia, still craves this
connection to nature.'