Rock Accountant

Month: September, 2014

Harlem Shadows (1922)

Harlem shadows (1922)
Claude McKay
I hear the halting footsteps of a lass
In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall
Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass
To bend and barter at desire’s call.
Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet
Go prowling through the night from street to street!

Through the long night until the silver break
Of day the little gray feet know no rest;
Through the lone night until the last snow-flake
Has dropped from heaven upon the earth’s white breast,
The dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet
Are trudging, thinly shod, from street to street.

Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched way
Of poverty, dishonor and disgrace,
Has pushed the timid little feet of clay,
The sacred brown feet of my fallen race!
Ah, heart of me, the weary, weary feet
In Harlem wandering from street to street

Smell like a baby forever.

I have always been lured by deep sea fishing from a boat. Throwing a line in and pulling something up from the deep blackness. I have figured out that my mind works this way as well, I run through my mundane waking spaces in search of an originality, day in and day out, until I hook something, haul it out, and put it on a wallpaper of my computer. I came to understand that the words and I were briefly different afterwards , in that short period when the afterbirth of my mind was still shimmering on them. The issue of originality is that we are a species of time and art is a fish pulled from an ocean that can only last so long and we are disappointed by this, like a mother who is disappointed that her child can’t smell like a baby forever.

Room with a Potential View


Room with a Potential View

Pour $100,000 champagne plus a kilo
of honey over the city of Reykjavík.

Call it a yacht, a leak, a cataract of
angel juice gushing and still famished.

We were left in the scarcity terminal
with an aura strictly American.

A real killjoy depleted of Billy the Kid
reduced to cynical art timers of hunger.

Strike thousands of years of living together
you say it was like pouring everything out

in the way that rocks are documentary
Los Angeles oozing quasi-imaginary

epochs of icy blankness blinking
into being the ancestral city rim.

Beauty brain freeze the proper noun
walking barefoot over diamonds

the world rolling in ecstasy at its feet.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes BY EMILY DICKINSON

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

From then on there is only kindness

If life is really about anything it is about learning how to be kind. Life is pain, from the pain comes knowledge, knowledge relaxes us enough to become wise. From then on there is only kindness

“It isn’t for want”

Cid Corman, “It isn’t for want”
It isn’t for want
of something to say–
something to tell you–

something you should know–
but to detain you–
keep you from going–

feeling myself here
as long as you are–
as long as you are.

Thank Heavens for the Rich NFL Players

With palpable relief, rich white and black women have established a base camp sanctuary in the NFL to deal with the problems of child and female abuse. For the time being, dangerous trips into the inner city and the Appalachian mountain range can still be avoided.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant

This is the most feminine poem I have ever read. It is spoken about men but not directly to them. It is timeless in this way. It speaks of children and how women must understand men as children, and to depend on using Circuit lies . As a man, I often suspect I am saved by “Circuit lies.” The Truth is not something outside, it comes from inside women and it dazzles.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind


Dirty Laughter

I want the hole of pain my parting causes to be filled promptly with the dirt of laughter.

George Orwell

Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past. — George Orwell

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