Rock Accountant

Month: May, 2018

Always the question. Short story, Novel, or Limerick.

The part of God I brought back with me from pretty much dying over the weekend is sitting in the corner of my yard arguing with my dog. I had told the surgeons that to keep me going was mostly a mistake.

Wisdom and Beyond

No wisdom has yet to achieve the thrust required to escape the drag of the human atmosphere.

Fully Aware

Thinking you are informed by the media is like thinking you are inflated by a mosquito bite.

A Pox on Both Your Houses

It’s a tossup which or who disgusts me more. The Republicans who can barely see human agony or the Democrats who can only see the advantage in other’s pain.

Brother, can you spare a Rhyme?

Poems
are
literature’s
breadline.

PUBLISHED: May 26, 2017
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

How I get my News

I search through pictures of people giving TED talks and watch only the topics delivered by attractive women. Doing this serves as an informative companion to how I get my news on FOX.

God Grows Up

My God has changed over the years.
Growing up just like me.
We needed each other more when I was little.
There were things for him to help me with.
I needed his praise and the safety of his mystery.
He seemed to like it too.
As I grew, we both got busy with other things.
I learned that terrible things happen.
Things he would not change.
It hurt him that I could not figure out why.
Sometimes people without answers hate God.
And the people who believed in him.
They resented me if I mentioned him.
It wasn’t hard to resent this.
I was learning how He feels.
Old now, I conclude He grows up inside us.
Like just another new child,
each time.
But this is hard to explain.
Because God is such a big word
To live in such a small space as me.

Keith Moon and my Mother were in love

Keith insisted the two of them had a connection.
It was awkward. The woman was my mother.
She was beautiful by any standard.
Moon started to sexualize her soon after I showed him a photograph snapped of my mother in a flowered smock, the ordinary, shapeless, tent of a day dress popularized in the fifties. It was my second North American tour with the Who. I had settled in.
It did not seem to matter to him that she was now eighty-five. Of course, that says something easily predictable about him.
Ridiculously, this did not counterbalance my discomfort. I am not anybody’s definition of a prude. I have done and seen too much, but this was my mother he was wanting.
He was smitten with her in that shy British way. He would talk to the photo like he would to prostitutes. As if he might be successful provided he played his cards just right.
He would bring mother up to me out of nowhere, regularly wanting to see the picture. The trajectory of my mother’s life and death were, looking back on it now, much the same as his, inevitable and sad. She wasn’t much nailed down either.
I saw them as hapless geese plowing deliberately into the propellers of an aircraft​ taking​ off from God’s airport. Neither the plane nor their shared psychosis was willing to alter course. They had no chance.
I loved them both. My mother more. Their broken feathers scattered all around me. Moon’s drifted over everyone.
She died conveniently between tours.
He did not often mention her after that, except to question whether I was any closer to locating a dress like the one in the photo.
Of course, in his size.

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Be Careful how you Die

It can be praiseworthy to go to your death at the hands of an enemy that you have forgiven, but it is forever unforgivable to have not recognized that he was your enemy beforehand.

Rock Stars and their math

Much of my time with The Who was spent reviewing each artist on their multiplication tables.11052438_10204162708969841_8922369639914759075_n

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