RUDIMENTS 1162.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,162

('head down...don't look up')

Well. Here I am, seemingly now

relegated to a back-bench burner.

My dog is dead. I'm in the process

of a long, tedious uproot; boxes

and carting. My mind and spirit

tells me I can get through this,

nicely, with compunction, and

with a positive, creative field

of endeavor. I work for light

like that.

-

Pulling - no, tugging - from

the other direction is all the local

eastcoast, NJ, semi-ghetto way

of living that I have to jam against.

It's a startling fact, realizing that

upon returning here each time,

after 4 or 5 days away, this place

appears decrepit, beleaguered,

under assault, poor, morose,

and wasted - with little quality

anywhere. I trace my eyes, while

driving, internally, as they leave

the hills and mountains, the

solitary singleness of the small

roads, the twists and turns, all

between gravel and dirt, rut and

redstone. It's a different world,

entire. And the two no longer

mesh. I take my leave.

-

It's a very strange feeling, this

tug between places. Yet, it's a

good feeling, because I can sense

the destructive tendencies now

apparent and coming to fruition, in

places like Avenel and Woodbridge.

Things I've been yelling about for

5 years now. To no avail. Every

turn I make, there's a new leveling,

a planned new strip of housing and

crowded building - trees and nature

by the cartload being destroyed,

ambient local temperatures rising

because there's nothing left but

pavement, macadam, concrete,

masonry, glass, crowded roads,

and parking lots (lest I forget,

dead shopping strips and malls).

That doesn't even include most

of the implanted people. There's

something nice to be said (well?

Is there?) about loud, big-butt,

obnoxious people? About the

walks and caterwauls of treacherous

folk talking over every nook and

cranny? Bags of fast-food and

high-caloric intake crap addicts

storming through a supermarket

tidying up the aisles by gorging?

Loud noise? Beefsteak-steady

feed-lines? Concert-music all night?

Nope, nothing here for me. What's

behind all this is the local political

gumption of duplicitous fast-buck

artists acting as officials, mayor,

council, agency, inspectors, and

suppliers, bleeding into one another

and handshaking-down this town.

Shady Acres turned into Shakedown

Street. 'You wanna' build here? I

get cut in, on macadam and paving,

on the brick contracts and the trucking

in and out.' Early-deal real-estate

contracts get done in the dead of

night, with a rotating-door Business

Administrator's Office hiring slugs

and contract-thugs. At every turn,

a hand is out.

-

The end result is chaos, and a paucity

of quality, good taste, wisdom, and

any sense at all. The operative factor

is Corruption, with a capital C.

Getting into this decrepit hell-hole

of a place is the easy part; any

subsidized pig-wallow farmer can

steer you to the right agency for the

likes of Station Village, Bunns Lane,

or any of twenty new projects just

underway. Getting out is what's

difficult - unless you're a finally

caught political dweeb, getting

hosted out in handcuffs, FINALLY,

and chucked into the back of a

lawman's car, with your head

down and making no eye contact

whatsoever with those you've lied

to, stole from, and corrupted.