RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,163
(amen, and amen again)
I often walk around now
just praying. I never know
how that came to be. There
was a time I prayed 'for' things,
Now, I seem to just pray 'about'
things - I'm too old for the 'fors,'
and all those 'to be' aspects just
wouldn't be worth it now.
-
The medieval aspects of me are
what are most interesting these
days - In that I've seemed to
have regressed into some strange
monastic singularity within which
the body wraps itself around its
own pain, while taking on the
pain of others as well. All of
this is, of course, an almost
opposite of what I'd ever thought
I'd be ending up as. A seeming
replay : hiding out, separate
from it all, filled with lore and
sea chanties by equivalence.
It's too late to regroup.
-
I somehow grew up in an America
that no longer exists. It can almost
be called now - as our own parents
and grandparents often called their
world - the 'old country.' It's from
where I'm from. I long ago lost
all those connections to Euro
places, or Italy or Germany or
France. Those were the Ellis Island
boat people of their own day. I'm
native born, and bound; talking
fast when needed, developing the
skills of slyness and avoidance,
living with the parameters of the
legal and half-legal, and by my
own interpretation only. That's
the real America. From that
grew my own skin.
-
What they call 'America' today
is a misnomer; a lie, a deceit. It's
as as far afield from origins as to
make a laughing stock of any
History teacher you may meet.
I've recently run across this, in
my own life, here. I saw a piece
written by some Brooklynite
ingrate prattling on about her
gloried stardom, having removed
herself to here once she realized
that, by disease parameters, she
she could now work anywhere.
In her case, the 'work anywhere
and turn in the same drivel as
copy' end result meant she could
camp-for-life somewhere around
here, and parlay her self-same
urbane-to-Brooklyn condescension
in a local newspaper-weekly column.
Any of these folk are yolked to
the process of Government. They
willingly ascribed to Slavery as
their own slave-style, and try to
groom it in others. Besides ruining
'The River Reporter,' she absconds
with all reason and logic and instead
replicates the perfectly-spaced and
falling dominoes effect of an idiot.
-
I am so sorry for this, and it's a
pathetic state of affairs for
someone as myself to have to
read the little words of a fool.
This person proceeds by word
to come out of farther reaches -
places like Brooklyn, where
immigrants and outlanders too
were once sent to populate (her) -
and now lecture others about
where they are, or should be.
Historians beware: she admits
to not knowing what a Grange
is. How very sad indeed. And
quite telling of ignorance too.
-
There was a time, when America
meant something, and when it
was, as well, self-governing.
Individualistic. Interesting.
Not regulated. But not now.
I have grange halls all around
me; a grange hall was once the
farmer's first resource, the place
one went to to solicit advice,
aid, succor, engagement, help,
labor, toil and accounting. Each
grange represented its people.
When the Swedes or the Dutch
settled, they had their own local
grange to assist. Likewise for
other nationalities - barn building,
house-raisings, even the bringing
in of crops and yields, was managed
through and by the participations
and enactments of the nearby grange.
They've dwindled away to nothing,
though here and there the old
buildings survive. Perhaps
neglected, or perhaps put
to other uses.
-
In any case, someone purporting
to lead others onto their own
versions of better rural pastures
ought first to look deeply into a
mirror and see-to-dissolve, first,
the miserable state of their spirit
and education. What is now done
for everyone, by Government, really
was - once - done by everyone,
for everyone else. To not know
this is rather disgusting.
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