RUDIMENTS 906.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 906

(ancient stirrings of dread)

You know how it is when

people look back to recall

who they've known and who

others might have been now

that they can hardly remember?

Well, I've become my own

dead man, in so many ways.

In many ways too I've thought

I was quite like a cat, having

so many lives and having

undertaken to do so many

things. I guess the riches were

in the thinking, not the doing,

because none of it at all popped

up or turned out to be anything.

A person - it may be said -

learns how to read and write,

and surmise and reason, make

choices, or choose not to make

them. That all happens quite

naturally, and it seems all a body

has to do is go along to be then

brought to the end-result of any

of that natural stuff. It's been

a mighty long time now, near past

forever, in fact, that I've run

across someone who can't read.

Or can't write. Or can't rightfully

reason things out, one against

the other. I don't know that they

still make them sorts of folks,

around here anyway. Last I

remember was one or two

really bad cases of the dumbs,

up high in the hills of Pennsylvania,

the northeast section, on along

Towanda. I admit to some bad

cases of the dumbs there; but

before that, the only one I can

remember was back in sixth grade,

Mr. Ziccardi's class, we had one

kid there who seriously just

couldn't learn, not the reading

racket, nor the writing one,

and he could hardly plausibly

say anything anyway. We

were told, as kids, that it was

because his family, at home,

only spoke their native language,

which was Albanian, and so he

was just unable to get any foothold

or grasp of what the English was

that we were always spouting on

about. But that was it, and -

yeah - it was pretty sad. His

name was Eddie and - like I

said - he really didn't talk much.

He had a brother, Joey, just a year

younger, with the same problem,

but Joey could talk and cuss a

blue streak to make you blush.

And these were serious cuss-words,

a lot of the 'F' stuff and all the rest.

I used to say, 'Joey, for someone

not good with the English, you

sure curse really well!' He said,

'That's not cussin. That's just

what I learned here. We don't

talk that way at home.'

Pretty f'n funny, I'd say.

-

It's OK for a person to 'spout,'

as I see it - and always have -

but the real gift of any of that

is to be able to spout lyrically.

Nicely. With some aplomb.

No one ever needs just a bunch

of curse-words to make a point.

The idea is to play magically with

the language given - part spoof,

part sideshow, part just plain

invigorating. Make peoples' ears

stand up, but in a good way. From

hearing things put together like

they've never heard before. Catcalls

to bumper-pool, bouncing off the

balls and pegs and rubber cups.

All at once, and thought out too,

separately, but together. They kind

of like to be amazed, or almost

sung too anyway. It was always

a great puzzle to me, all this;

almost a joke. (Try and stay with

me here): It's nice to be able to

talk and read and write, but

without any learning of thinking

behind it it's not worth squid. A

man can take center-square in

any old town plaza and - with

the right permissions - he can

rattle off for days about whatever

it is that's got his attention. It's

just pretty senseless, and the

problems only get worse - a

dumb person talking to a dumber

person (or people) for sure isn't

going to get anywhere; nor is a

smarter or educated person talking

to those same dumb people. So,

dumb to dumb is not going to

happen, nor is dumb to smart;

smart to dumb, same thing. All

that's left is smart to smart - and

mostly they don't talk to one

another either, without disagreeing

or splitting hairs, or without first

knowing already that they agree.

So what's the use of any of that?

The only hope left is for the

language magician to step up

and do tricks in a way to mesmerize

or awe the crowd. That's how it

all happens (Dictators take note!).

-

It's funny too how, back in the

older days, people were always

getting jarred and stirred up by

what was new and shocking and,

yes, jarring - Darwin and

evolution, Freud and the

unconscious, Edison and those

fellows about Electricity, and

the others with their stars and

heavens and science. That all

used to rile people up. No more;

and isn't that funny. Nowadays

all those 'leading lights' and all

those cultural icons and trend

setters and 'representees' of

fashion and entertainment and

all, they only get stirred by

going backwards - primitive

myths and ancient tribalisms

represent to them all now the

high-points of ethics and

living, as 'brutish' as it may

be and have been. The primitive

and mythical and exotic stuff

makes them want to be tribal

again, finding all those 'ancient'

truths in new habits and in

'rich-man' rituals and awarenesses;

making them 'right' all of a sudden

by being what they now call 'woke.'

What the heck? And where the

hell have they been all this time?

In line at McDonald's? Playing

video games? All of a sudden

they're no longer stupid? After

a lifetime of their own uselessness

they're all of a sudden big-shits

about themselves? And everyone

else now has to hear it? As if

no one has already BEEN

advanced before them. Assholes.

There's no worse pooper than

a latecomer to the party they've

come to poop. All of a sudden

they're more pleased with the

ancient stirrings of dread in

their bones than we are?