Small fish in a big pond April 29, 1985

 


Life would be easier for me if I could blame Pauly for everything that goes wrong.

Sometimes, he’s a cold, ruthless and calculating person, or as Garrick frequently points out, more than willing to exploit people.

I can’t pin point any time or place when he did not.

A regular capitalist yet done on such a minor scale that I find it impossible to pass judgement on him for it.

He claims he’s non-materialistic, and true, he owns very little, although doesn’t need to own anything when he has us, me, Garrick, Hank and such to provide him with those things he doesn’t own or believes he needs.

And yet, he owns little and can honestly hold out his hand and ask, “What do I own?”

His professing to be a student of Tao may be an overreach, a wish perhaps for what he can never be, or perhaps it is a cover for what he is not.

Once in one of his weaker moments, he expressed regret for having given up his scholarship to Princeton, for the more glamorous but superficial art school in Manhattan.

Like the rest of us, he has a history of failure dating back to or even before high school, when he managed to get himself tossed out of St. Bon’s high (where his father had gone), forced to attend the lesser Passaic Valley Regional High for his last year.

“I had impressive numbers of my SATs,” he said. “Princeton wanted me.”

Pauly’s life seems to be a series of missteps – with feet firmly set on the path for potential success, he always takes steps in the absolute wrong direction.

Maybe he’s just a rebel, something who refuses to go along with the crowd, or perhaps an elitist, someone who is uncomfortable mingling with common folk -- though he seems to like me, and I’m about as common as folks get.

I always thought him as invincible, a powerful independent sort of person, only to learn now of his Achilles Heel.

He keeps looking back at his brief time at the art school as a waste of time, claiming it didn’t teach him anything he didn’t already know, and little he agreed with when they did.

Hank and I once went looking for him there, only to find him and Rick at the pizza shop across the street, deep in discussions about the theory of art as well as music, bitching about the school. At year later, Pauly dropped out.

Pauly tells me most people are asleep and are not aware of what goes on in the world. He says this often at times when we are high and everything he says – even to me – seems incredibly wise.

Hank (and other of his friends) complain about how hard it really is to get close to him, often abused by him when we try.

As if he’s too smart or clever for us, although I suspect he’s really afraid, a guppy swinging in a fish bowl with piranha, scared to get eaten, keeping his distance for everyone and everything in order to survive.

 

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