Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Worn Collars - Part Two - "Oh God"

Worn Collars

Part Two

"Oh God"

            My... contact... with Arlington St. John was through... and founded upon... “Rare Books” (his title) and his... persistent ‘piss me off’ hanger-on skill in and about a local tribe of ‘old book buffs’ (my title) who, as males, kept women at bay by... persistent ‘piss me off’... pandering that ‘old title pages’ be ‘of secret’ that... women “do not understand”  This last quote is from a local rare book buff’s definition of the boundary... of ‘Rare Books’.  That definition policy left me with them in ...their... little rooms with their... ‘preferably’... ‘floor to ceiling’ ‘old books’ “shelved”.  I ‘sitted’ opposite them (each) at the ...classical... ‘old rare book buff’s ... bibliomaniac’s... “DESK”.  Even a rotten book collector of a rotten man such as Arlington St. John had, too, ‘a...  rare bookman’s... desk’.  And the requisite ‘chair’ for a ‘visitor’ such as I to ‘sitted’ “in”
            “Oh God.” Does not well denote my feelings but was (and is) used by I constantly to express my ...circumstance ... ‘of this’ (“sitted”).  Do not feel that ANY... ONE... may be ‘of sitted’ “IN” the ... ‘of’.... book collector’s... little rooms.  That room’s door is kept closed to the ‘thee’.  AT a ‘best’ one may... possibly... perhaps... have the door opened and a ‘be allowed’ to ‘look in’ that room for... fifteen to twenty seconds... before that door is ...shut... by the ... ‘old book buff’ whose hoard thee just ...beheld.  That, to explain the ratio of this showing... is the direct one to one same as being shown a little used ‘guest’ ‘bathroom’:  “Remember it is there; that you ‘saw it’ but... please ... do not use it.”

            I am a horrible and rotten man to these reprobate rare books buffs for my punctual poke of the cadavers of their ‘(old) rare book collections’?  Of course I am.  I speak at them as to the rotten state of their collections, their rotten state of being a remedial ‘(old) rare book buff, their rotten ‘(old) rare book room and... that they, themselves, TOO... are... rotten.  But I am a ‘dealer’ of ‘rare books’.  These delineations from ‘such as I’ are considered ‘normal’, a mark of their (the old rare book buff’s) success as... “rare book men” and... therefore... a compliment... from me... to them... too.
            “Oh ‘God.” Does not well denote my feelings about THIS... too.
            Urinating in their guest bathroom is my ‘fickle’ for their ‘knowing ones’*?
            Even their ‘booze’; a rare bookman’s subplot, is cheap.  And rationed.  After being measured.  After the old bottle cautiously being twisted open... and its portal sniffed.  The glasses, too, are tawdry; 1960’s Goldfinger era... and style... with black and gold “PARIS” and “LONDON” decoration.  And they are... dirty.  Ice comes from a long expedition to the kitchen and back.  It is not carried in an ice bucket but comes to the rare book room in an old... soup bowl.

* My ‘play’ on Timothy Dexter’s “PICKLE FOR THE KNOWING ONES”.

            Arlington St. John’s ‘rare book room’ was absurdly neat in comparison with the ‘others’ I ‘visit’.  Behind him was an ‘old’ ‘china cabinet’ full of ‘rare books’... very neatly shelved.  On either side of his seat and desk... and my seat... were, too, old china cabinets against the side walls.  These too were full of ‘rare books’.  Everything, including these books, their shelving and... the desk top... were ‘as neat as a pin’ including ‘dusting’.  This state of physical rare book status... alone... assures the ‘knowing ones’ that... “therefore his (Arlington’s) rare books are rotten”.  It is that easy for a bibliolater**... to denote.  And I here denote that the ‘thee’ would... “THINK” this room and its collection “IS NICE”.  This shows bibliognostes*** “what an idiot” you are... too.
            Do I have to define what one is supposed to find as an ‘old book buff’s’ ‘rare book room’?  Perhaps I best wait a verse or two before... tackling that?  A ‘verse or two’; yes... that is cute isn’t it.
            Arlington would put the ice in the dirty glasses by taking it from the (dirty) old soup bowl with his fingers... one ice cube at a time... very slowly... so that his hot little fingers... with his old and virgin fingernails... would ‘melt’ the ice and droplets of this melt would... ‘fall’... on the desk as he overloaded each glass with ‘ice’.  He’d then pour a ‘smidgen’ of...:
            A ‘smidgen’ is less than a ‘finger’.  “Oh GOD.” Does not well denote my feelings about THIS... .  And I NEVER ‘just knock that one back’.  Oh no... we... ‘sipped’.  Meaning... the... crummy old whiskey... in it’s bottle from the ... BARRY GOLDWATER Presidential ‘RUN’... simply... slightly... ‘touched’ our lips... DURING THE WHOLE AFTERNOON.
            Unless I ‘got out of there’ QUICK.

** :  A worshipper of (old and rare) books
*** : Those ‘knowing’ of title pages, editions, imprints, printers, bindings, ‘states’, ‘points’ and the ‘et al’ of ‘old’... ‘rare’... ‘books’.

            The getting out quick is a commercial perspective that to the “I” a rare book dealer... is... a honed and endeavored ‘skill’.  Simply... I am not a “THERE” on vacation and USUALLLY am nursing the over iced smidgen in a concise effort to ‘sell’ ‘something’.
            “Puke in a bucket?” You say?  And we are not far off of that are we.  I being disturbed, this saga began by a chanced crossing in the outer rare book fringe of ‘out there’ where by foul luck I hand held a ‘good’ “FIND” of some sort of a “LET ME SEE THAT” of a purloined ‘rare book’ that I am at that moment very satisfied with as a ‘money maker’ but... being in the purloin haze of rare bookman’s ship... I held it in the open too long and a:
            “Oh ‘God.” Does not well denote my feelings about THIS... too... spied it and the follow up is that I committed to...:
            “Bringing it by”.
            I gave him (Arlington) the damn number (price) ($1250.00) but he still came on including the asinine “I THINK I may HAVE one of those (a copy of this ...rare book... [pamphlet]).”.  He does not have a copy of “IT”.  NO ONE HAS A COPY OF IT.  That is what a rare book is.  THAT IS WHAT I DO: FIND THOSE.  If he claims to ‘have one’ and rises from his ‘sitted’ to search the china cabinets full of his ROTTEN rare books... I am going to ...beat him to death with the toilet plunger next to the toilet in the guest bathroom.  Arlington rises from his ‘sitted’.
            “I don’t have that.” he says.
            “Of course not.  No one does.”
            “I feel that it is too much money.”
            “I feel that it is too little money.”
            “You quoted me twelve fifty.”
            “I want sixteen fifty.”
            “You quoted me.”
            “And you are not buying it.”
            “I haven’t said no.  Sir.  Yet”.
            “It is painful to your collection to say ‘no’.”
            “I need a minute more.”
            TWO AND A HALF GOD DAMN HOURS LATER... I and the old pamphlet... ‘get back in the car’ and ‘drive away’.

            Nobody knows I ‘have that’ (have found and offer this rare book) except that... rotten man.  BLABBER MOUTH around the trade you say?  NO.  He doesn’t even ‘know what it is’ so cannot ‘utter’.  He can mumble.  But he is always mumbling around the local (old) rare book buffs.  They never listen.  They don’t even notice he is mumbling.  This is because he is a rotten book collector and has a rotten... old... rare... book... ‘collection’.
            His collection... now... ‘lacks’ ‘this’ (the old pamphlet he... did... not... buy).  Too.  Arlington has a large collection of ‘rare books’ he did... not... buy.

            I learned... from these ...it is not an ‘experience’...:  I learned that... when the rich flee... no one notices.  This has nothing to do with rare books?  On the contrary, the rare books... of a ‘the rich’... are the ones that ‘tell’ this tale of ‘flee’.  Old books tattle... tale.  Do not ‘think’ Arlington could conceal his flight from me.  I saw right away... his neatly dusted shelved collection of his
            Flee.  It was very easy to see.
            He had not; he did not buy the books that were in his china cabinets.  Someone else did... a long time ago... after lunch... on Madison Avenue... in New York City.  One by one for maybe as long a fifty years but certainly for forty years... each old book was bought; a ‘rare book’ after lunch... to ‘be shelved’ and never, ever, touched again.  Never taken out of the cabinet.  Never... thumbed through.  The purchaser didn’t even bother to erased the dealer’s penciled price at the front upper corner of the ...front free end paper... or, off times, on the top front ‘fly’ (leaf).  I would always look to see that this pencil price was of the same hand as the last pencil price I ‘looked at’... whenever I ‘looked at’ the
            “Oh God.” Does not well denote my feelings.
            Of the tedium of the last book I was ‘looked at’ while I was ‘sitted’ in the’
            “Oh God.” Does not well denote my feelings.
            “KNOCK THAT BACK and I am OUT OF HERE”.
            Never worked.  I was left with a glass of melting ICE for ‘another hour’
            “Or so”:  “HAVE I EVER SHOWN YOU
            (My collection of worn SHIRT collars?”)
            He’d say.

1 comment:

  1. Mr. St. John did not buy his books. He and many others of the type fit the saying "he/she was born on third base and thinks he/she hit a triple". Note: To be PC I should alternate between using he/she and she/he, but then which one goes first ???