Tuesday, April 17, 2007

For One Flame Hour

Man, but I'm uptight tonight. I miss Julie... a lot. A lot. As I once told her, I could sit at her feet for hours just listening to her explain stereo equipment. (That, my friend, is love. Or lerv.)

Blues aside, I just read something neat by Claude McKay:


For one brief golden moment rare like wine,
The gracious city swept across the line;
Oblivious of the color of my skin,
Forgetting that I was an alien guest,
She bent to me, my hostile heart to win,
Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast.
The great, proud city, seized with a strange love,
Bowed down for one flame hour my pride to prove.

And then I read this, by Sara Teasdale:


With the man I love who loves me not,
I walked in the street-lamps' flare;
We watched the world go home that night
In a flood through Union Square.

I leaned to catch the words he said
That were light as a snowflake falling;
Ah well that he never leaned to hear
The words my heart was calling.

And on we walked and on we walked
Past the fiery lights of the picture shows---
Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by
On the errand each man knows.

And on we walked and on we walked,
At the door at last we said good-bye;
I knew by his smile he had not heard
My heart's unuttered cry.

With the man I love who loves me not
I walked in the street-lamps' flare---
But oh, the girls who can ask for love
In the lights of Union Square.

I'm new here, but I do love this city already. Profound beauty and grandeur combined with unpretentiousness... My absolute dream girl.


Beth Austin said...

My goodness, my mere mentioning of "Julie" inspired some intense ridiculosity! Kilroy was jealous; my obsessed roommate was jealous ("If you love her so much, I'll pay for you to GO THERE! No, WAIT, DON'T LEAVE!"----this latter all in an e-mail, though she sleeps in a room 6 feet away from me. Sorry, Roomie---when I moved in, I did promise not to mention you in my blog, but those last 2 e-mails of yours crossed the line. I'll write what I fucking want to write in my own fucking blog. No one tells me what to do.)

For Kilroy's and Roomie's gratification: I'm certain that Julie doesn't want me. That, however, doesn't stop me from appreciating how her mind worked and from missing her communications. I'm quite sure I'm as crude as Kilroy and Roomie---which is why I'm not attracted to those with mentalities similar to my own. Julie was completely original. She doesn't want me, so be it. I miss her, so be it. What fucking business is it of anyone else's who I fucking miss or do not miss?

Anonymous said...

You're fucking tapped bitch. Move back to Texas.

Beth Austin said...

And you, Neil, are fucking generic. If you were straight, you'd be living in Nebraska or Alabama.

I'll be just fine in NYC, thanks! ;p