RUDIMENTS

RUDIMENTS, pt. 949 (no Paradise involved) Every so often I about just give it up. Like now. Going back to Elmira where it seems, at least, like a more sensible place and I don't need to keep up with the sub-par Joneses, as it goes. Mad dukes and all those Ferdinands. There's a place there, calling me. - Now, I mentioned to tell you how nothing exists, and I intend to do so. If I was a cigar-smoking man, about now I'd light up one of those long-burning, expensive ones, to tide me over for the onslaught. All the days I poked around in NYC, I spent a lot of lost moments looking for things like answers. Some of them were church kinds of things. Funniest item in the world is how, in most parts of the center sections of the city, and Philadelphia too, now to mention it, there are churches and church edifices every 1500 feet, it seems  -  along the broad avenues, clustered and regal, high, soaring, impressive. Even Elmir

RUDIMENTS, pt. 948 (coming down easy, lord god almighty) You know how someone always wants you to level with them? I quit caring at about 7:15. There are always too many variables, and no way of ever knowing for sure that you've got your point across. It's just, after that point, a deep, chancy, hole. That was most often the kind of gray area I always lived in, even when little (young). Some say 'Libra' - you're all like that; others say, 'You're too sensitive.' Who knows what about any of that? - My eyesight has always been different - I can see all those burn marks and nicks and things that others miss. It's not always fun. This morning I was standing under a line of fir trees, which were slightly blowing in the wind. At one level, the usual swooshy noise that fir trees make was going on, and then, at another level, with the wind, there were groans and creaks and almost song-line music sounds also emanating.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 947 (those guys were like nails) You know, people talk a lot about nostalgia, and all those dear old days they remember. All that's good, as it goes, but there has to be more substance to memories too. Just alone, a memory really isn't worth much. It's only when a memory gets ingrained, within the psyche, that it too begins producing its own force-field, a sort-of playback into the present time and space. Usually, the predictable dullards will step to the fore and say that anything will leave a memory, and kids today will just have a 'different' memory of things. Yeah, I guess….and it works like that if you're an idiot. Of course they'll say that, because they're making money off the changes, now. - One interesting thing I ran across, in a book by someone else, ('Body Leaping Backward - Memoir of a Delinquent Girlhood') - and used as the opening dedication-quote, is by Bruce Springsteen, of all peopl