RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,369
(from totem to sputnik)
Being tired of the normal, and
the paranormal too, I grow weary,
at times, of even you. It was a long
time back, truth be told, when
anything mattered to me. I was
at NO Nukes, some shit-schtick
anti-nuclear rally in NYC, back
when the best they could offer
was Jackson Brown. Now there's
a struggling heartbeat : Jackson
Brown, Graham Nash, Bonnie
Raitt, and Darryl Hall, organizers.
That was enough to peak the shine
of one's loafers, and send a scarf
to New Delhi. (I think maybe that's
a reference to something of the time
about Ghandhi, a movie or two ago).
-
I'm old and I'm powerful, but I'm
as young as I am weak. I measure
time now in decades, though every
one matters less. I think back on a
gold-chest of memories, though now
I can't open it up.
-
When I was a kid, one of the most
startling concepts to me (one which
is almost unheard of now), was a
'totem' pole - a tribal thing, carved
with the tribe's totemic animal, or
bird head, or whatever in a vertical
manner, repeated, and often strangely
colored It was primitive and strange
to me. We, in the USA, had none of
that, unless you counted a dollar sign
or a 1950's television, as a totem. Or
even a Cadillac. Out in the Texas
flatlands somewhere, I think it was,
there was a place called 'Cadillac
Ranch' - probably the USA's most
near equivalent, where they had
some 30 or more Cadillacs, stuck
or buried, face front, in the desert
sands, in a row.
-
Anyway, all that's gone. It was
replaced, for my own Twilight Zone
wonder and awe, about 1957, by
Sputnik, the first, Russian, orbiting
satellite. Not a Plymouth satellite
either; a real spacecraft. The first.
I can well remember just about
every family on my block one
night, whenever it was, at some
allotted time when this blinking
Sputnik would be crawling high
over the night sky right over our
heads had all come out, craning
their heads skyward to watch.
Fathers. Mothers. and kids, as
in some idealized version of a
new and space-age America just
bubbling up. What was it all to be?
Totems to Sputniks. What to me?
-
I think back now. At that moment,
where was Elvis, Chuck Berry,
Gerry Lee Lewis, Beatles and
Stones, and, yes, Jackson Brown?
Were they in on this new 'borning?'
Did they know and sense what was
underway? (I actually like Jackson
Brown, and, I guess, use him as my
'stand-in for the whole (avatar) on
a whim and because I opened with
him and the No Nukes rally).
I'm a pretender?
-
There's a point past which we outlive
something and just become cranks.
I'm not sure where that point is, but
it always occurs. It's not as bad as it
may seem, because the world reeks
of stupidity, and it really does become
painful to witness it. But what happens
is the removal of 'presence' that sets in
as one ages, removes the dross and only
leaves the essential qualities of what
passes for life. Mostly just a cracker
barrel full of crappy stuff. I can see it
clearly.
-
It's the same point at which the things
of the world lose their luster and begin
to fade. It's no wonder Christ died at 33.
It's no wonder all the rock n' roll idiots
died at 27. It's no wonder, by age 26, the
Beatles were burned out enough to begin
singing about food and groupies : 'Savoy
Truffle;, 'Piggies', and even Apple Scruff,
which I used to think was about some
apple-crispy dessert concoction, but
which turns out to have been about the
groupies which always hung about the
doorways of Apple Studios, to catch a
Beatle entering or leaving, and which
they referred to as Apple Scruff, and
George wrote a tune about. Damn it
all. life can become a bore, Honey Pie.
-
Things like this, once, always crossed
my mind, got lodged in, and often just
stayed there. 'Christ Stopped at Eboli'
was a book I read once, and now I
always only refer to it as 'Christ Died
at Ebola.' Modern diseases too have a
way of sticking. In fact, lots of times
I just sit back and wonder. What's it
mean when my mind throws a line at
me like 'You have a mind that makes
bumps like Braille.' ?? I mean, it's a
part of a thought, and I can sort of
understand where it's headed, and
pushing me, but where in the hell
did it come from, and what am I
supposed to do with it? The answer
is, 'Build around it. Make it work.'
So, I do, or try anyway.
-
I get socked around all day with
things like this, and can hardly
rest for a moment without some
new scuttlebutt of a sentence or
a thought slamming me to the
ground and saying Use this!
I think in the ancient days, I'd
by this be considered a mystic in
his monastic cell, getting messages
from God. But we've outgrown all
that rubbish now, right? We know
miracles don't happen, and God
doesn't talk to us, right? But, you
know what? God's always been
with us, in some form or the other,
even if just self-identifying with
some bluster, from the most ancient
of totems to Sputnik and beyond.
Right?
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