Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts with the label Lord Street

The pure products of America / go crazy

Achtung! Lord Street, Sandy Bay. October 2011. Everywhere you look are signs that all around us, danger lurks... To Elsie , William Carlos Williams The pure products of America go crazy— mountain folk from Kentucky or the ribbed north end of Jersey with its isolate lakes and valleys, its deaf-mutes, thieves old names and promiscuity between devil-may-care men who have taken to railroading out of sheer lust of adventure— and young slatterns, bathed in filth from Monday to Saturday to be tricked out that night with gauds from imaginations which have no peasant traditions to give them character but flutter and flaunt sheer rags—succumbing without emotion save numbed terror under some hedge of choke-cherry or viburnum— which they cannot express— Unless it be that marriage perhaps with a dash of Indian blood will throw up a girl so desolate so hemmed round with disease or murder that she'll be rescued by an agent— reared by the state and sent out at fifteen to work in some hard-pressed ...

Do the duty which lies nearest to you, the second duty will then become clearer.

Someone has stolen some bricks. Lord Street, Sandy Bay. September 2011. What should one call a pile of bricks if we thing that 'pile' is too dull a noun? I personally like "an orgy of bricks", but I am open to other suggestions. A snapshot of bricks? A committee of bricks? An emphasis of bricks? A politburo of bricks? A paradigm of bricks? A zeitgeist of bricks? What do you reckon?