RUDIMENTS 664.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 664

('it hurts me too')

It never took much to 

deflate me. That's a big 

problem, since once you 

lose momentum it's often

difficult to get it back. That

being so, I always tried to

do most of my work at

night, but of course to 

work a day-world job

one is pretty much then

squashed on that account.

Reveille comes too soon.

I used to - mostly just for

the sake of the quiet time

afforded - take a 5:07am

train to Princeton for

what was essentially an

8:30 job. The two friendly

lady conductors would

never take my ticket, which

afforded me as well free

travel too. Every so often I'd

buy them some day-old

Entenmann's and they'd

be very thankful. The

supposed 'crash' of 2008,

(financial, not train), had

many of the other people

I'd cross each day in their

own little panics - bankers

and such, a few right through

to Philadelphia. I cruised

right through that era, not

even caring to listen to the 

woes they were always 

blabbing about. The Devil's

got his own Kingdom, and

these folk were, obviously,

deep into it. And getting what

they deserved, I thought. It

always pains me deeply to be

told here that my taking off

after local political types, 

when I (sometimes) do it,

bothers them. That deflates 

me, and that then throws 

me off. I cannot understand 

why anyone would accept the

'No Accountability' premise 

- these people never have to 

answer to a thing. I recently 

had a short run-in with one 

of the female local-emerita 

political gatherers who 

herself squirmed out of 

taking responsibility for

anything, and my answer to

her too was, quite succinctly, 

'why doesn't anyone in this 

town take responsibility for 

anything?' She simply

retreated.

-

Ok then, so you'd say I'm wrong.

On the other hand, I say they are, 

and to Hell with them too. One

of the modern day's problems is

a total lack of accountability.

-

Cooper Union, in New York City, 

by St. Marks, was supposed to

be free. I used to stand there, just

looking. I never wanted to go,

free or not, because the basis 

of its curricula, engineering for

the most part, didn't interest

me. Lincoln had addressed

the throng there, before he was

President, as I recall reading,

not AS President. People laughed

at candidate Lincoln, right there.

He was considered ugly, and had

a high voice that people made

fun of. He was a ruffian, a 

rail-splitter, and was hardly

'Presidential' material. Whenever

I stood there I tried imagining

that day. At the rear of Cooper

Union is Cooper Square, a big

crossing and a plaza. It's not

really the 'front' of Cooper Union,

though it looks like it in a way and,

if you go to the front, the room for

a 'throng' is much less. So I ended

up never sure of which way Lincoln

was even facing at that point. Astor

Place is also nearby, and the old

theater section of the Colonnades

and all that, where, at about the

same time, era, years, a great riot

broke out - massive and deadly,

over some British actor who was

acting a Shakespeare role there

instead of an American actor; 

the Nativists around went wild, 

and it all got connected up with 

other matters of race and class 

and the rest. The streets were

bloodied with rioting, much 

like the Draft Riots, much of 

which were also situated here 

and then greatly spread uptown, 

where the draft lotteries were 

being pulled. I walked right

into the clamor and the mass of

people and torches and all that.

It was all I lived for, and I go

back there now - though it's

all tended to far better now 

and some of it is rebuilt and

repopulated too - and I just

sit, and stare, and think, and

dissolve away. So many old 

memories from my day, and 

from way before, and it's all as

vivid and real now as a squall.

Resistance and push-back have

always been part of the American

soul and spirit and ethos. We

resisted everything. That idea

of resistance died a long time 

back; people now just acquiesce,

nod, go along. Which is where

I differ, I guess. For me, the

originals are all that matter.

-

My friend lived on the Bowery.

He was also an actor in a

production or two at the 

Colonnades, when it was the

Astor Place theater, or whatever

name it had. Across from it are

still a few beautiful old large

buildings; one is the Public

Theater, which went through 

a massive growth surge in the

days of Joe Papp. Near to it

was and is still a building 

which once housed a massive,

early-morning newspaper and

truck distribution terminal;

in the dark, or at dawn, there'd

be box-trucks, filled with papers,

strapped and bundled, for that

day's distribution all through the

city : the drivers would drive and,

at each stop, newsstand, small

store, corner grocer, whatever,

the requisite bundle or two would

come heaving out the open side

of the truck - guys inside with

the route map, as the driver had

too, wending trough all the streets

and making all these deliveries.

It was anything but spontaneous,

yet, that's always exactly what it

seemed to be - a moment's

breakout of some bizarre anarchy

of mad men heaving papers out

of trucks, leaving them where

they landed, curbside or storefront

bundles of already-dead news.

Sports. Finance. Society. Deaths.

And all the rest of the crud that

went into a city-day. Resistance,

and opposition to things, creeping

in at every crack and fissure of the

sidewalk, right into the paper itself,

to get the inside dope on what had

occurred, and what had to be fought

over and bested, before anyone

else got it, before dawn, before the

sunlight, before the manipulators

took the floor again. In Princeton,

at that hour, you'd be able to hear

a pin drop or see food trucks

loading up the fancy restaurants

with a day's industrial vittles.

In New York City, all you'd

hear, by contrast, were the

riotous factions, in already

heady conflict, armed, and 

ready to have a go.

-

Somewhere, as a people,

we've lost, both our hearts

and our souls.