RUDIMENTS

RUDIMENTS, pt. 419 (avenel tour-guide) There were old buildings,  things marked with cornerstones  of 1904, 1912, and 1914. There  was a grave marker for dead  and washed up, forgotten, revolutionary-era British  soldiers who'd washed up,  tried to survive, on the sand and dunes, and whose dead  and hidden bodies were only  found later, and rightfully  buried no matter the cause  or the side. That particular marker is still there, in the  middle of a neglected field.  These are things we live with,  and mostly today all that is  unknown; and no one really  cares anyway. Too bad.  What can a person do? It's  all like living in a ghost town  where no information is  passed unless money first  changes hands  -  someone  is paid to tell you about it  all but only in the most  approved fashion  -  bad...

RUDIMENTS, pt. 418 (avenel high-wire) For a non-descript little hustler from Avenel, in the big bad city, I made out OK. A good part of it, as I see now, was because of the upbringing I'd given myself, in spite of the odds and in spite of the  opposition of most everyone  else. Avenel was a senseless place out of which to grow;  the possibilities were hemmed in by atrocious assault at every turn. I knew I held the key only to myself, and no one else did and I held no key to anyone else, and didn't want to, ever. My solution was straight-line: I never became an adult.  I think that may have been  one thing in my favor. A  physical adult anyway. I  was always a 'mental' adult.  Physical adults have lawns  and driveways, care about  paint schemes and decorations  and design. Worry about their  foods and keep lists of  restaurants where they've  eaten. They have...