RUDIMENTS

RUDIMENTS, pt. 575 (call me when you're done) There's always been a  cartoonish aspect to my   life and some of things I've done. Not by design, but more just in the manner by which things have occurred.  I've always called it 'timing,' in the sense of 'bad' timing. There are certain 'lucky' people, I think, who are blessed with good timing  - in the room at  just the moment when Joe Blow strolls in and they start talking and it results in a job or a  contract or just a connection; or on the train he or she sits next to someone and they start talking and it's the cousin of someone whose uncle is running a start-up and seeking someone for just that qualification you've just explained. Things like that. The move you've wanted, the thing you've just been thinking of. For me it's always almost been the opposite : I'll find some great old place, a perfect and picturesque

RUDIMENTS, pt. 574 (abstracting my solids) Normally, that kind of talk, that Gilbert guy, was bar talk  -  the sort of stuff you'd get from some old Irish guy at the end of the rounded bar in Swift's or one of those places  -  the  endless talk and banter to which you can't really  respond except with a  nudge or a nod, because there'e not anything to actually respond to except  the conjecture of the clouds. That's what bars are for. This was different, a small group of self-proclaimed 'new literati' getting corralled by some already half-famous but flamed out old guy with a few notches on his belt. Sustaining like an underwater glory long after he cared even if he was still breathing, let alone drowned. I guess the old always do begrudge the young; or maybe it's just that the young really are simply  stupid. Everything's been  done already, but they keep  trying to do anew what they thin

RUDIMENTS, pt. 573 (something like john gilbert) Sometimes people would go to the docks along the west side here, what I've been talking about, but not that many. It took a certain sort of grit to understand what this was all about.When a regular person thinks of New York, or back then anyway, this wasn't any part of what they'd think of as 'New York.' That was always pretty obvious - then they'd get down here and there'd be some weird looks and wild moments. Once or twice I remember, my father would drive in  -  back then he was driving a 1960 Chevrolet, a full station wagon, sky blue. He'd have one of my little sisters with him, usually. I guess it was time off or something, and he'd come maybe just to make sure I was still alive. Once or twice he did actually locate me, and we drove over to there because he wanted to see the river stuff and what went on. We pulled up there, and g