Thursday, December 18, 2014

Adventurous George (14)

Materialism has had a silent momentum in the history of humans, it being that the needs of generations and the small discoveries which have made these needs easier to obtain have been greatly viewed as treasured inventions in the hands and minds of souls who relished their significance. Since it is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness and society does not consist of individuals, but expresses the sum of interrelations and the relations within which these individuals stand, so it was that George who had read a little of Marx's writings but with the knock on the noggin and all, mixed and matched phrases in his mind to suit his whims realized that, just as one does not judge an individual by what he thinks about himself, so one cannot judge a period of transformation by its consciousness, but, on the contrary, this consciousness must be explained from the contradictions of material life, from the conflict existing between the social forces of spirituality and the relations to those material things worshipped or at least used to make sanity more comforting.

So with all that being the predominant thought in the back of George's mind, spring finally came and the lake eventually thawed and George used the last of his caulking on the bottom of his boat and loading six full sacks of little hornswoggles with the elder hornswoggle seated on the rear seat he and Mottles departed their island in wake of an east wind which blew them straight to Jump Off Docks in the big city. George found a friendly fisherman with a pickup truck who was willing to trade him a ride home for his boat so they loaded the boat on the back along with all of George's stuff and careened off back through the city to where George's pad immured. The key was still on top of the mantle where he had left it, and other than that the refrigerator would need a good cleaning his place looked ship shape and uninvaded. They unloaded the hornswoggles and the few other possessions which George had deemed worthy of materialistic envy, and bid each other happy returns on their investments.

The caretaker in George's building bid him a smiling “Hello, haven't seen you for a day or two, your rents all paid up as usual, you have a nice day now,” as George settled in. Mottles was not overly impressed with these new digs and would not get off George's back for any money when George made advances out the door, so George took to wearing his backpack open and Mottles settled right in with his head over George's shoulder as they trudged along the concrete city walks. George's bank account had been growing in his absence, and he was calculating that he might have enough to rent a little shop with a flat above were he could spend his time carving and possibly even selling his creations. It would be an excellent way to share some societal bliss with his fellow humans and to give him a materialistic lever by which to turn hornswoggles into capital making sanity more comforting for others as well as himself. So George headed off east along the less used secondary route into the more industrial part of the vast city and when he came to that intriguing intersection with the cross street which had many small and interesting shops he headed north to find a little shop which he could call his own. He didn't even need his compass any more, the directions just seemed innate.

A narrow shop between a shop which sold reread books and another which sold a collection of games and puzzles made for the those with a bent for the obscure had a “For rent” sign on the door and after spending the better part of the day tracking down the owner who George found in a darkened bar several blocks away, George made a deal and using the bank machine in the corner, he paid his deposit and first month's rent and receipt in hand headed back to pack his things which wasn't all that much because even his foam mattress was better than the old saggy bed. It was with an affliction of amusement that George answered the door the next day and there stood his worker rather apologetic for not having the time to drop in more often and George must have been out last time and George sort of played the role of being his old self and showed off his numerous hornswoggles which made the worker chuckle and he thought George had come a long way in the slow flowering of his potentialities. And George who was really getting the hang of this capitalism thing and realizing his worker held the key to more capital asked him if it was possible to have his rent payment transferred to a new flat located on the second floor of a little shop in the more industrial area of the big city. The worker overwhelmed by George's incentive and thinking this was a great step in George's recovery was delighted to take down the new address and said he'd make the arrangements with the owner, not to mention that the cost was less than his present abode.

Hornswoggles may come, and hornswoggles may go, and that's exactly what they did. Spirituality and capitalism walked hand in hand in George's shop with the sign out front “Hornswoggles for sale.” And that youngish women with whom George had shared a peanut butter sandwich with almost a year earlier would stop by for a daily peanut butter sandwich and along with a host of many regulars and many passers by, George's hornswoggle shop became the place to discuss spirituality and capitalism with the goal of making sanity more comforting for everyone. It would seem to be a stretch of the imagination, but it may be told that the youngish women who had been coy with George on a bench that day back when, turned out to be an Eleanor and moved in with George and they made many little hornswoggles which were given a daily offering of peanut butter sandwiches and sanity was extremely comforting. Oh yes, and Mottles took a liking to the little shop and all the customers, and made his home on a pillow on top of the elder hornswoggle and they both greeted everyone who entered the door.

The end.
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