Skip to main content

RUDIMENTS 1157

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1157
'somnabulance'
The sleepwalker's a pretty good guy:
he wears a mellow yellow, and strikes
the band on high, running between
the ancient aces and figurines on the
bottom of the sea. Sometimes I think
the only person I'm at war with is
myself: juggling anima-diversions,
or wiggling this way or that. Over
along the ittle highway some crazy
guy has a cactus stand. Selling them
potted. Stupid-looking little things
too. Maybe a foot high, for the
less-pricey ones. I used to have
interest in such items, 'succulents'
and jade plants. I grew 40 of them,
over time, and each time they'd
send out the air-roots, a clipping
was in order and I had twice as
many. 'Two became four and then
four became eight.' That's called
'exponential' growth, for those
of who out there who've studied
economics. It's always been the
bane, in population terms, of
people who disliked immigrants.
The hordes coming in, having
eight kids. In 15 years, those
same eight kids have 8 more,
and so on, and the next thing you
know, in 30 years there's 64!
-
Well, on paper anyway. And that's
only assuming one-kid offsprings.
If those original 8 kids, following
parental example, breed up, then
have 5 or 6 each, then it's a high
number, and a real mess. All those
kids then needing housing, assistance,
and all the rest of the lower-class
crud that happens. But, that's
America? Home of the brave and
land of the 'freely taking all they
can get?' Sure. Give me your tired, 
your poor, your huddled masses 
yearning to breathe free; The
wretched refuse of your teeming 
shore.' That Emma Lazarus was
a real wipeout!
-
Yeah, you're probably wondering
how or why I got onto that subject.
It happens. My mind rages. I get
around. I used to think about all
that while walking    in fear for
my life  -  in any of the worst
ghetto areas in the worst of
NYC's nightmare years. 'Oh,
him? Yeah, he got stabbed to
death by a wretched refuse.
What was he doing up here
anyway? He shoulda' stayed
downtown. 
-
I always disliked math, but
the idea of 'exponential' came
the 'exponent' in a fraction.
Right, I know, that tells you a
lot. it never told me anything
either. Like the 'Miracle of
compound interest,' at banks,
I never got that either, but now
they've taken even that away.
Sucker-bums can have some
pennies, to buy candy.
-
You never see a poor person, or
a ghetto urbanite, scurrying
around  -  with their yoga mats
and those yoga pants and things.
They should have, actually,
Yogamats, like there used to be
Automats: you plunk down your
money in the bin, and a little
window opens and you can grab
your main course  -  enlightenment;
or charity; or general well being!
Hey? Wasn't he in the Civil War?
Anyway, the poor have little need
for such tantric tactics; it's rather
the fool's stuff of the texture-culture
of big city or effete sophisticates.
See-through Lulemon leggings
and all that. That's the idle-beam
transparency of stupid minds, if
you ask me. I never got the gist
of all that until I started seeing
all those 6am Princeton lasses
scurrying sround at daybreak,
with teir rolled mats and silly
pants and tightly-earnest and
determined looks. Paradoxically,
all keyed up to go relax. it got to
be a pretty bad joke. The yog
studios had 6am hidden back
doors (the one by D'Angelo's
did anyhow), and in the early
morning what usually looked
like a crummy freight entrance
doorway was a'buzz with young
ladies, mothers, students, and
newly marrieds intent on finding
that inner peace that only a
directed yoga, a freight entrance,
and the ultra-hip and only very
right clothing can bring forth.
-
I wondered the incentive: what
the heck was Princeton about
anyway? Was it a place, one of
normal protocol? No, it most
certainly was not. It bore the
unmistakable imprint of class,
and it's underling class had been
relegated to the old backwater
streets down the bottom of
Witherspoon. You could bet
your culottes there were no
yoga babes prancing in from
there; they were too busy
cleaning tables and getting 
the day set up at Theresa's
or Olive's. Prime-time
eateries, both. I can only
wonder what's going on now,
but I don't really even have
the interest enough to generate
interest in finding out.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

RUDIMENTS 997.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 997 (at the bongo club) I never had much direction, or what direction I had I gave to myself, be it good or bad. On looking back now (seems that's all I do these days) I sense that I was easily swayed and was often quite zig-zag in my ways. (I don't mean zig-zag in the sense of the Zig Zag rolling papers guy, which papers were used for rolling joints, and which name I was often told by a guy I worked for once, that I resembled. Well, the person of that name anyway, shown on the packaging). Fact is, I never smoked much pot. Maybe three or four times. It never interested me, whereas this guy who said it smoked pot like other people ate chocolate. I was around lots of that stuff, and more (pot, not chocolate). First off, pot was for babies. Beginner's stuff. The kind of people I knew then who were potheads were all in a sort of stalled, infantile regression, and their pot-smoking only dragged them deeper into place - they neve...

RUDIMENTS 1055.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,055 (a fugitive from loss) In brief, I'm long-winded. I wonder how that sounds here in the middle of all this. Sounds is probably not the right word. Reads. - When I was a kid, out behind my house, across the tracks and next to the prison farm, there was, and still is, a company named Philadelphia, Quartz, which currently calls itself PQ Corp. Kind of silly, as it now sounds like the mother ship for Dairy Queen. Nor did it have anything to do with Philadelphia, that we ever knew. Years later, I had a very annoying teacher, whose father, I learned, worked there. That was perhaps the only living human I ever knew of at of that place - never saw a day's worth of activity. - Anyway, if we crossed the tracks, at that sort of blind-crossing right there - limited sightline for anything oncoming - we'd be at a small wooded area at the Quartz place fencing. Most of the time, because that crossing there was blind, we'd cr...

1129.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,029 (done by hand) For a while then, after that whole Bobby thing, I just wanted to pack it in. I was pretty disgusted with most everything, and filled with the sort of hurt you don't get rid of easily. It's too hard to live with the idea of having been looking up at a fire-scene and unwittingly witnessing a friend's demise. Yes, I had nothing to do with it, and no, he was nothing to me; not family, not romance, not even a solid connection. Just a cool guy with whom I identified any number of the better things in life; outside of the usual rathole of festering crap we all deal with or assume. My wife said he looked like some dancer or movie guy, to her. I hadn't a clue, and, frankly, for a period of time at first, thought he was gay. But he had a girlfriend, an Alfa Romeo spots car, kept at his house over on Staten Island, and he was good, strong, and tough; no fake about him, whatever he wa...