RUDIMENTS 330.

RUDIMENTS, pt.330

Making Cars

I guess I was always an

absurdist at heart. Not one

in a prolific, obvious sense,

just in a more subtle manner.

Nothing ever really made

sense or added up for me,

and I simply made that

my raw material. Why fuss

otherwise. It was all around

me, every chance I saw was

for an absurd statement of

reality. Absurdity is a quite

difficult thing to categorize

and explain, and that's half

its charm. A reader can feel

it, and not get the rhythm

at all of what's running

through them. This entire

series of, for instance, bar

things, can run along the

borderline of the absurd, for

that is what they are. Each

barroom I ever entered was

like a theater of the absurd

playlet in action  -  characters,

dialogue, scenes, and fade-outs

too. The absurdity of Puffy's

for instance was as an

orphanage of a tavern: the

industrial basis that once had

been all around it, and the men

who worked therein, was all

gone. The machine shops,

blacksmith and wagon shops,

hardware and mill supplies,

they'd all closed up  -  all their

yards and trucks and wagons

and carriages. Way earlier on

too, all their horses had been

removed, carriages and wagons

for that too. The initial street

layouts, the cobblestones and

alleys, stables and dead ends,

they all once had served a

purpose that was no more. I

used to sit and try to think about

that transitional era of New York

City, something about the time

between horses and cars, one

set coming (as they died off,

I guess) and the other just

rolling in (mechanical vehicles).

What a changeover all that must

have been. No wonder men drank.

Did one have to take sides?

Were there some stalwart

diehards who resisted? Who

refused to give up Old Paint,

the horse, the horse team and

wagons? Did they stay and just

get in the way? How many horses

died from that? What was it like

to witness that scene? How did

gasoline filling stations and car

shops first get situated? Who

decided what was in the way

and what had to go?

-

How absurd was it then to be

sitting in a downtown bar, as a

fixtured wanderer, in a place

beyond usefulness and living

on, barely, within its textured

past  -  but only for and to those

who knew about it. Most of the

pinheads who came in  -  in

both of these bars  -  knew

nothing of this. The goofball

stocks-and securities-guys with

their two-toned shoes and

hundred-eighty dollar shirts

had no clue at all. They'd just

gotten out of bloomer school

in fact, and were probably fancy

entry-level order entry guys

hoping for Goldman-Sachs

or Morgan-Stanley to ask for

them as soon as they got sober

and un-handed that 22-year old

lassie they were manhandling.

There were some guys to whom

all this sex was brand-new and

just arriving, and then there were

the muddled schoolteachers I

mentioned -  always on prowl,

completely knowledgeable about

it, and probably with kids of their

own, but wanting whatever they

could get if it came their way.

Apparently, they would try to

remain polite within their pact

of telling nothing about anything

later on. Divorced unhappiness,

and estranged unhappiness, is the

same as any other unhappiness.

What happened in Puffy's 
stayed in Puffy's.

-

I was always driven by something 

else, determined to make what I 

saw as reality actually be my reality. 

It never worked, just as it was never 

easy. I was mostly unbalanced, 

But anybody near thought I was 

all right, perfectly on point and 

running my own game. Still  -  

questions got asked of me, and

still do, about things I don't 

really know anything about. 

Prophet? What do I know? 

Farming and animal slaughter 

and husbandry? Politics? 

Education? It's was like a 

wonderland fantasy in a folded 

hand of cards. All these things.

People expected much of me,

but I was just me. Sometimes 

I was just wishing people 

could just accept that. 

Mechanical stuff? Tools?

Motorcycles? Racing? Love 

and Life? Huh? It was all 

mixed up. All the stuff I did, 

I just did what came to me, or

through me. It wasn't any special

wisdom, I had no secrets to impart,

no special knowledge. It was mostly 
dedication, and hard work.

-

Each of these bars had peanut 

machines  -  it was a thing back 

then. Like gumballs. You put a 

quarter, twist the nob, and you'd 

get a big handful of cashews or 

peanuts, or whatever the selection 

was. It was good stuff, and it kept 

people busy and yapping, and, 

of course, just made the person's 

mouth thirsty, for more beer. Yeah,

all that was figured out ahead of 

time. Like life itself, but on the 

perpendicular, and we were 

never let in on the real angle, 

or the joke, or the big, miserable 

mistake either. I couldn't always 

handle that, nor cope. Some 

people kill themselves. Some 

kill others. Some make life 

miserable for everyone around 

them Some run far off and hide. 

I kind of did all four in one 

fell swoop. And it all just 

kept me thirsty for more.

-

One day I walked into

Puffy's, I guess it was after

a few days, and something 

horrible had happened a 

night or two before. No 

one was much talking, it 

had to do with money, the 

basement, the owner, one 

of his crazy jags, off in a 

bad mood and all that, and

Nancy, that 40-something  

bar lady I'd told you about 

who'd worked there forever. 

Never seen or heard from 

again, though I knew she 

lived pretty much right around 

there and I'd been told where. 

There are some people, in 

these situations, you just 

never follow up on, nor ever

care to. Different lives; things

converge for a moment and

then they don't. Anyway, she
was the last thing I wanted
in my life.

-

The way I figure it, like 

New York and its past, 

anything that ever walked 

those streets right there, any 

old drinking workingman 

still proud of his rough clothes, 

any old tumbler headed west 

to the Hudson River, anytime 

and anyplace  -  they may have 

crawled, walked in, or sat here 

for hours  -  they're all long dead. 

The past lives on always; it's 

just  the present that dies. And 

the  future, I don't know nothing 

about, but it only lasts for a minute

anyway, and then it's the now.