RUDIMENTS 727.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 727

('one fell swoop')

'If all men are brothers,

then their natural state is

fratricidal warfare.' That's

pretty sensible and  very

straightforward too  -  it

means one man against

the other, 'til death. I

always fought concepts

and implementations of

things that back that up  -

military; armies; law and

order. Man's real test is

one of 'Harmony,' not

'Distress.' Forget all that

rotten stuff; humans need

to get it together enough

to co-exist and go-it in a

'together' routine. That's

hard, in light of economic

differences, cultural and

housing, and school

differences too. Refusing

to admit those differences

exist is a part of the

problem all on its own.

-

It seems to me  -  general

observation, and I usually

watch for this kind of stuff  -

that the dumber a person is,

the longer it takes them to

get out of their car. That's

harsh, but I'll stand by it.

It works, in the same way,

for getting into the car and

leaving, but I'm not to

discuss that  -  my concern

is in the leaving. I generalize,

here too, but it's a very precise

generalization, paradoxically,

and I'm not just trying to be

funny. One of the higher,

or 'smarter' attributes of life

is efficiency; to make the least

amount of motion do the most

amount of work. It's a concept,

perhaps some ergonomic BS

too, something Accenture would

go on about (that's a management

efficiency company that snoops

into people's business and tells

'corporate' where they can achieve

savings and gains, oftentimes by

adding more to what people must

do, or by getting rid of them

altogether). In about 2005, Barnes

& Noble began that  -  bringing

efficiency people in. They'd stand

around like brute-force know-it-alls,

and stare  -  to watch the staff and

their movements and motions  -

receiving room people, books

handlers, etc. It was galling. Over

time, everyone comes to terms

with what they're doing, or must

be doing, and they find a natural

and 'personally' efficient and

self-rewarding way to do it. What

ensues is self-satisfaction and

joy and happiness in the doing

of the work. What I notice about

these car people the way they

enter the car, as if already ready

to leave, and then find 5 minutes

of other things to do before any

forward motion occurs about

the actual leaving : the phone 

gets checked, the hair reviewed, 

the handbag gets entered, things 

are inspected, brought out, etc., 

and put back, something on that 

phone demand attention, a call 

is sent, lips and face need 

attention in the mirror, the car 

(finally) gets started but further 

activity ensues. Nothing else

happens. 4 or 5 minutes can 

ensue, and I've seen such things

even with another car waiting

for the spot. It simply seems

to boil my sense of smoothness.

(Here's the scoop : Since I don't

usually enter stores, I spend

a lot of time, with my dog, 

waiting myself, but on foot,

observing the things that go

on around me).

-

It's all probably nothing and

in my head alone, unsettling

only to me. But that's how I

am. My father was frenetic,

so maybe I've got engrained

in me some genetic coding for

'get it done' and in a flash. I

have no other means of

reflecting : It's what I am.

Yet, at the same time, it

brings me interesting rewards,

my own small subtext to

living  -  the commentaries 

of my being. It seems I can

do no other thing but bring

this all back, re-filtered, as

it were, through only what 

I am now.

-

I've had some funny moments 

though,  things with my father,

back then. I was always very

foreign territory to him, once

I hit my 'stride'  -  pathetic

though it may have been. That

stride cause a definite divide,

the the chasm that morphed

into an abyss never really closed

up. I've related a few of the old

tales  -  the fake drug buy offer

at 509 e11th, a prank which

my upstairs friend Billy Joe

pulled on my unwitting father.

The ticket at the Studio School

from when he simply parked 

out front and where he chose 

and the devil be damned. The

ticket ensued, and how angry

he became. The abandoned

cars, the blown engines, the

Mexican cops, and more.

Much more. My father was

always at command of his

own peculiar form of anarchy

and pay back  -  taking seeming

offense at most everything, as

if, say, in the case of the parking

ticket, all of NYC had gathered

together to make the violation

and produce the ticket and fine,

just so as to antagonize and call

out HIM. It was a never-ending

response to offense and injury,

most often where nothing of the

sort existed at all. I often tried

thinking back to what it must

have been like as he 'grew up'

through the same sorts of ideas 

and sensations  -  which seemed

fairly general, as well, in others,

but the gulf was too wide, I was 

never able to visualize it, nor

bridge that gap. I don't think

he could ever have been me, nor

me him. Maybe it's like that

everywhere, and anyway, who'd

really want to be like their own

parent, if all truth be told. The

changes and the alterations

overall, seem to be far more

important than any 'alikes'

or similarities.

-

My father used to work at his 

upholstery trade, all day long,

with a mouthful of upholstery

tacks, the little, black kind, and a

magnetic, thin-tipped, specialized

hammer for the upholstery trade.

He'd have 10 or 20 of the tacks

in his mouth, and with a swift

(efficient!!) move he'd swipe

the hammer quickly and perfectly

up to his lips, and the magnetic 

end would always come back with

a tack at the ready, point out, for

the hammering. One swell foop,

as they say, one continuous

motion. Always without fail that

I ever saw, and without ever

swallowing a tack, that I ever

knew about. It all used to amaze

me. That, and the radio always

playing  -  WNEW AM, a sort

of ballroom or crooner music 

of the 1940's and '50's. Julius

LaRosa, Frank Sinatra, Ella

Fitzgerald, Vic Damone, and

more, and on. Music not worth

spit. Hammer-mouth full of

nails, or not.