RUDIMENTS 791.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 791

(not so bad, really)

I had a half-Italian friend

once, Alex, who used to

go around saying mezzo

mezzo. Whenever anyone

would ask, 'How are you?'

he'd say, 'Ah, mezzo mezzo.'

It was pronounced as 'metza,

metza,' sort of, or, then, close

to that. I never really knew

what was up with that. He was

haughty enough about himself

that I always somehow thought

he was saying, 'Mensa, Mensa.'

Which is a society for high

IQ people  -  which , of course,

he would have just loved. What

it does mean is like 'half and

half,' -  the good and the bad.

Not so bad, not so good.

Kind of a 'so so.' 

-

It never bothered me, but I

always found it to be a bit

like striving. My opinion was,

just say how you are and shut

up with the other language

posturing. I never told him

that, so he went on with it.

-

There's only so much you 

can do about other people, 

I found. They're going to be 

what they're going to be, no 

matter what you'll try to do 

about it. Everyone is already 

patterned for themselves.

It's a done deal  -  which 

is probably a better answer 

anyway, to the question of 

'How are you?' a good response, 

yes, 'It's a done deal.' Now, 

how is that said in ancient 

Greek? Imagine going to 

someone's wake, and in the

post-life review they give

everyone now, in the funeral 

parlors, to have, instead of

photos, all information about

the person, achievements,

accolades, etc., posted around,

but everything in another

language.

-

It's funny, but that once 

was what the 'vernacular' 

was  - getting rid of all 

that gibberish, secret 

language, and other 

tongues that no one 

understood. People then

began with their own stuff, 

reading and then writing too.

As if, until that point, life had 

been unclear, and they were 

on the threshold of all sorts 

of vast and new knowledge, 

uncoverings, and experiences. 

Which they were, yes, BUT 

had they not, for the previous

500 years, been at work in

slaughtering, massacring, and

killing en masse millions of

others who saw things in a 

different way from their own.

'They' being so sure of and

filled with certainty about

all the old crud they'd believed

and killed for. Missions?

Discoveries? Crusades? You

know, any and all of that can

happen again, at any time.

So watch out.

-

Back in Elmira  -  this reminds

me  - I used to have some free

time on Sunday mornings, as

my wife and young son had gotten

involved with some Presbyterian

Church Sunday Services thing.

So, I'd be around, at home, with

the dog; it was about 3 blocks 

off, that church, or we'd walk 

over to the college quad where 

I knew that the NYC artist guy, 

Gandy Brodie, in residence at the 

college at that time, would be,

also with his dog. We'd become

friends, and often spent these

idle dog hours together. But, 

anyway, this was all the period

of time (recently written about

a few chapters back) of my

German Lit. report, etc. on

Gutenberg and movable type

and the first glimmerings of

print-reproduction. I was most

intrigued, captivated in fact,

by the idea, once I learned it,

that of all that early and new

work of type and printing, that 

when mechanized type first

became a handicraft, printing

was first used, not to make

new books, but as to read the 

ancient and the medieval. That

astounded me, to think of the

currents of thought which 

would have gone into  that  

-  and then it hit me, and I 

further learned, that it was 

not yet really engrained

in people's minds the idea 

we have of 'creative writing'  -  

of character and situation, plot.

The minds of those folk, instead,

held rigorously to the old 

schemas of thought, dogma, 

and even religiosity. Not seen 

through the eyes of modernity  

-   the 'invention' of literature

was, then, not seen yet with

what we'd now call 'modern'

mind. I don't think they'd yet

realized that THEY too were

now free to create and to

develop their own worlds.

-

So I therefore was living a

quite primitive existence, as 

far as 'things' went, yet roiling

through my mind were all these

notions of intellectual pursuit

not much able to be shared, or

even developed. It was a very

singular means of going at it :

growth was relegated to the

notebooks and papers I carried.

Had this been the computer age,

back then and there, it may all

have been different  -  storage

and links and postings, etc.,

but as it was there was none

of that. I think of it now and

wonder how  -  when it all

first came, about 1997, I'd

guess  -  any of this framework

of Internet and computers came

to be instituted up there. Perhaps

it wasn't at all. For years. I'd have

to figure the school systems, and 

of course the college itself, and

its students, would all have had

to be entered into the 'computer

lottery' early on. But it must

have been interesting. How much

of any of this was grasped by the

1950's and 1960's people-versions

of farm-folk and families that I

saw up there, I could only

speculate.

-

The fellow that eventually did

buy my old farm place, a few 

years after we'd moved (I held

both places for a long time) was,

interestingly enough, a Pakistani

guy, the owner of Elmira Business

Machines  -  which small store

and operation I'd known about 

for years. High-tech for that era

was a Texas Instrument calculator

and some adding and payroll

electronic gizmos, along with

the usual bevy of IBM Selectrics

for typewriters, etc. He himself

was fairly Americanized, yes,

probably about 45 years old,

well-kept, but he had the accent

and the distinguishing characteristics

that would show you his nationality

well and easily. I often wondered

what those folk, after my exit,

must have thought of him. (Life

is so wickedly peculiar now, I

can't for the life of me recall his,

very simple, name). Anyway,

he and his wife may be dead, or

not, but they've invested much

money into the old place, plus

they've expanded and added

another, rear, level  -  plus a long

wheel-chair ramp all along the

front. So, the money must have

been good, and the surrounding 

pleasant. I applaud him for all

that, but I don't favor what he

did, by any means. It has no

longer anything to do with

what I had there.

-

I remember, some time about

1976, he stopped by one day,

there, to talk; just chat about the

deal, look the place over,etc. I

was on the porch, reading, and

he asked what I was reading.

'Present At the Creation,' by

Dean Acheson  -  a sort of world-

political history of the Truman,

1947, post WWII rebuilding of

Europe era, book; he blanched

when I showed him the title.

'Awful heavy as a read, isn't

it?' I smiled, almost calmly,

and said, 'No, not so bad.'