Rock Accountant

Month: December, 2019

Keith Moon and my Mother

He insisted they had a connection.
It was awkward.
She was beautiful by any standard.
I showed him a picture someone had snapped of her in a flowered smock, the typical shapeless tent of a day dress popularized in the fifties. He was smitten instantly. He wouldn’t let it go, bringing her up out of nowhere, asking about that picture.
The trajectory of my mother’s life and death were much the same as his, inevitable and sad.
From a distance, I saw them both as hapless geese plowing into the propellers of aircraft​ taking​ off from God’s airport. Neither the plane nor their shared psychosis was willing to alter courses. So they had no chance.
Her broken feathers scattered all around me, Moon’s drifted over everyone.
When she died, conveniently between Who tours, he took it in pace. He never mentioned her again, except to annoy me about the task he had set me on. Finding​ a dress like the one in her photo. Of course, in his size.

PUBLISHED: May 23, 2017
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

Even God must make his quarter

As I sit fuming over my daughter’s loss of a second iPhone this month, it occurs to me that Apple’s manufacturing scheme somehow predicts the carelessness of young girls.
When I was still little, my dad taught me that automobiles begin failing at the same time, then at around five years. It was called “planned obsolescence.”
Car salesmen, the most influential people on the planet at that time, used that more predictable schedule to anticipate their inventory.
If you sift through capitalism, everything gets this treatment.
I suspect we grow old and die at precisely the right speed as well. Even God, I guess, has to make his quarter.

PUBLISHED: December 30, 2016
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds


He knew
I wasn’t going to tell.
I wrapped him in brown paper
and went home
and hid him,
after he raped me.
He was pleased.
He climbs on me at night.
We do bug things.
He scares me again
but now in whispers
his voice in mean humming pitches
like warm August night locusts.
I am forgotten.
But safe.
At breakfast,
across the table from me,
he asks, “So what shall we do today?
So casually. I am confused.
My life with him is beginning.
His claw touches my hand,
He is pleased.
My deceit holds no estate in him.
I am vanished into what has hurt me.
Life forbids that I feel nothing at all.
My life might be very long.


PUBLISHED: December 29, 2016
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

Rock star Murdering Chinese

This Chinese meal might be famous, but I am not positive. So much other stuff is.
Out of a large bowl, Keith Moon picked two empty cookies. No fortune on a tiny slip of paper in either one. He refused to take a third. Nobody else had such a result, and he was soon dead. Kind of an Agatha Chang Christie moment I always felt, but we never notified the authorities.
The band, Genesis, had no such unfortunate signature meal. Chinese waiters have slower, hidden punishments for vegetarians. The group, my friends, would tiresomely interrogate about unrevealed ingredients. Of course, the mysterious is the foundation of Chinese cuisine.
Being interrogated by vegans is not something tolerated with much cloaked civility in Mandarin kingdoms. Vegetarians eat a lot of revengeful pee as a result. Urine, of course, is animal-based. Paradox, Asian style.
Lynyrd Skynyrd did not know China existed, let alone that they had restaurants.
In retrospect, this worked out well for those rock star murdering Chinese.
Had I suspected they had take-out on the plane, I would have come after them.


Just me

One of my best friends has died. It hasn’t changed her. Just me.

PUBLISHED: December 22, 2016
FILED UNDER: Unnoticed in Clever Worlds

Little Lifetimes of First love

The little lifetimes of first love
All whirling and crashing
about your heart
like hungry snowflakes,
all different
all the same,
till one does not melt

In Times of Vinyl

There was a time child when we bought vinyl albums expecting every song in them to be great. Radio could play songs longer than three minutes. As striking was that these collections were often written and performed by the same person. I don’t exactly remember the first album of this kind I heard, but I know my instant reaction was to do drugs, grow my hair long, and dress in outfits that resulted in the grateful early onset of my parent’s Alzheimer’s.



I am about to release my new app, “Grievance Dot Com.”
This handy apparatus will locate the origins of what has figured into your life’s lackluster performance and instantly provide you with a historically valid excuse. You will no longer have to rely on the broad swaths of religion, skin color, nationality, and sexual identity.
Now you will have specificity.
To be candid, only an insufficiently disguised baboon would find one percent Hopi Indian blood enough to dazzle their friends. I watch these people on TV feigning seeping joy over the hint of an ancestor that in my day would have been shaming at the very least. Hell, in my neighborhood, we couldn’t marry a girl that wasn’t blond.
But what if you could connect yourself through DNA to unique misfortune, incidents that would precisely account for your being a bum today. What if your great Roman Aunt was a victim at “The Rape of the Sabines”? Now that would leave open mouths at any StarBucks.
I’ll say no more, but please send for my app today.
Remember, nothing is more satisfying than assigning blame.

The Quantum of Morality

Sometimes I think to myself,
“Is morality the best we can do?”


We had Science too

I am more familiar with the last Ice Age than most of you. You are nearer to the Earth’s promised scalding flameout. We are both wedded to our specific alarm.
Advancing glaciers scared the shit out of me as a kid. Our schools and media certified it was only a matter of time.
These transcontinental icebergs would come gnashing relentlessly towards my home. They would overwhelm our 1956 Chevy and mash our too slow to react dimwit of a family dog.
Glacial speed was faster than global simmering to us.
I knew where my hooded fur coat and galoshes ( bet you haven’t heard that word for a while) were at all times, even in the heat of summertime.
Today’s children and village idiots are​ encouraged to fear incineration by slow global baking. But I won’t change​​. I’m betting on ice. We had science too.


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