another sign of getting older
here comes a
sexy woman
in glasses
my knees
just got
weak
is it love
or fucking
arthritis
-----------------------------------------------------------
on the lonely nights
i still remember you
standing in front of
me in only a towel
you kissed me and
dropped the towel
on the floor
on the lonely nights
i think of you and
your family out
west
all the years of
what could have
been
the towel was
maroon
and i still remember
your sweet taste
--------------------------------------------------------------
slowly creeping along
as much as people
warned me that time
flies when i was
younger
i'm stuck in the days
of it slowly creeping
along
i like to believe i can
bend time and slip in
and out of the creases
of existence
sadly
they don't make those
drugs anymore
-------------------------------------------------------------
welcome to this ugly world
if beauty is in
the eye of the
beholder
i imagine we
all need to have
our eyes checked
again
----------------------------------------------------------
waiting room chairs
they don't make
waiting room
chairs for
someone with
a bad back
damn good thing
i enjoy the pain
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Black Shamrock, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review and Yellow Mama. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Court-métrage
The Rōshi enters the meditation room. All is silence.
He claps his hands. "How can you tell when a persimmon is angry?" he puts to the room.
The silence deepens.
Circumstantial
Every human being needs to feel that they are important,
valued. Now is the time to move from rhetoric into action.
The path to sustainable development must ensure that people
living in poverty are included. Communication styles can help.
Music can inspire. Its manifestations permit the possibility of
a chance encounter between trans Americans & the current Pope.
À la campagne
School. Public
phone box. Un-
used hall. Over-
grown racetrack.
A gravel road
lies ahead.
DoNuts T.®ump looks to swallow up The Holy See
I can change my cookie settings
at any time, but can't change
the cookie cutter paradigm. Which
means that if I don't get in & get a
share of the Vatican action before
those oligarchs arrive & buy up all the
available building land, it’ll have to be
the Sistine Chapel that gets pulled
down to make way for the new
Trump Vatican International Hotel.
The conspiracy fairy left me a silver dollar for my tooth
Jerry Fletcher is a man in love with a woman he observes from afar. Whoopi Goldberg questioned the Moon Landing on "The View." Jesse Ventura & his team of experts examine some of the most frightening & mysterious conspiracy allegations of contrails, which consist of ice crystals or water vapor condensed behind aircraft. Any gap in official information on such violent events is filled by online theorists proffering a "big explanation." Hoaxes go viral because the public rarely makes the distinction between conspiracy and misinformation in the aftermath of tragedy.
Secret schemes that shaped the world around us are hiding in the footnotes of our history books—you just need to know where to look. Urbandictionary.com is being used for governmental purposes. The government is finding out ways to control us, through an event or set of circumstances created as the result of a usually secret plot by powerful conspirators. Secretary Wolf calls these rumors "full of misstatements & misapprehensions."
The ads in this column are not endorsed by the author.
Rebirth of Love
See the heart of the world
It is not imagined by lovers so called
The sun rises everyday in eyes
Everywhere the dream independently flies
Mountains travel beautiful places
The tree talks to its branches
With sweet voice fountain sings
Beauty flies on the air's wings
The sky sleeps on the flying cloud
Raindrops play like brotherhood
Love deserves loneliness
Relation builds on avoiding ugliness
Birds adore first night
Nature refreshes morning sight.
Rebirth reproduces generation's wheel
Though the world will be a shelter of nil.
Ill-Fated
I am scholarly
detached,
uncertain,
a teardrop between
uncomfortable
and not belonging.
Like a neglected wound
I am scarred
and imply,
what I don't say.
I have no illusions about distractions.
I remain
a wanderer
waiting for storms to uproot
what I find grounding.
I cannot remember a journey
without doubt
or a romance
without glossy wings,
beautiful as a rainbow
but always
ill-fated.
For
wind and time
become
errors in an abyss
refusing to concede.
As I contemplate
the unsettling darkness
of characters I've played
self-deception
curls about me.
I sought the exceptional,
but found
the visceral.
I have trapped words and used them as lures.
Outlined with silver garlands
they shimmered
giving me an advantage.
But I
distrusted precautions
and when
the stakes were the highest
I walked away
alone.
Bells That Toll
Did you hear the bells?
Bells that toll
must have a purpose
like love
or death.
The bells rang boldly
when I was a child.
I heard the bells
they captured my attention
like America,
like life.
I heard the bells
near a playground,
near a station,
on a back road.
Those bells sounded
and they
beckoned.
My mother heard the bells,
in the distance,
in the future,
she felt the motion inside her
as she wept
putting fresh flowers on my sister's grave
and my brother's.
Bells sound,
like needs
like intentions
like loneliness.
The bells sound.
They call.
They chime after a tragedy,
after a wedding,
after a war.
Bells,
bells
clang and bang
but
the silence
between rings
booms.
I see the Face of my own Ghost
The night is no friend.
It is a heavy black overcoat
hiding away
the moonlight and stars.
Alone on a cliff,
aware of my misgivings,
I ask for clarity.
I search to
uncorrupt the darkness
but the cold sea gusts
and heavy mist
ascend from
the angry waters below
to drench me
in tears.
I fall to my knees
aware
of my fright.
In the dark nothingness
I see the face of my own ghost.
I am,
an unwelcomed guest
an insignificant wisp
woven into the night's
indifference.
I Slept with Lady Macbeth
I slept with Lady Macbeth
before the witches spoke.
Her breasts were large-
milky-white kissed with pale pink.
Nude and mellifluous, our bodies met
heat and passion, exploring all desires.
How it pleased her to be touched.
Our intimacy was beyond fault,
lips everywhere without blushing.
We loved more than all the stories to be,
from time undone to moments to come.
When an author recognized her beauty,
we ran swiftly into tomorrow's distance.
To chivalry, to Arthur, to Robin Hood.
Guinevere offered us a bed, and Marion wept.
Soon a pen found paper, and we could not remain.
Binding ourselves together, we tangled-
on damp earth and shattered glass, our obsession roared.
I slept between her soft legs, her scent intoxicating.
Finally, the moon's blueness became the bookmark.
Fate is never timely, and Shakespeare had no choice.
I was erased from her thoughts, and she
became a tragic heroine searching for reality.
A Loss, Nonetheless
I trip, I fall,
I used to be sure-footed,
now
I am sure of very little.
I turn off the news,
I turn off the noise.
I turn away from what is irrelevant,
all those loud, noisy voices out there.
What I thought was background,
is now forefront,
birds chirping,
ducks gliding, squirrels scurrying,
and
rabbits on the run.
I sit and listen
to what is anchorless
to what is subject without a predicate.
Those sounds of life living
and not caring about the lies
we use for language.
I abandon all those worries
that I wove into myself
and that lightness
brings me to this lawn chair.
To a daily view of simpleness.
The sweetness of belief
beyond pretense.
The life I was living,
living, what an ambiguous word,
was just waiting
for the promise of Spring.
But I never recognized the change when it arrived
only the silhouette
in the moonlight as it sailed away.
The ducks scold each other
yet they stay together.
A solitary Egyptian Goose has a broken wing.
She will never fly again
every day I feed her.
She comes closer than the others
but we never touch
and
I realize a loss can be a win
but a loss,
nonetheless.
Philip received his Masters’s Degree in Psychology from Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada. He has published four books of poetry, Mirror Images and Shards of Glass, Dark Images at Sea, I Never Finished Loving You, and Falls from Grace, Favor and High Places. His fifth, Forever Was Never On My Mind, will be out Summer of 2023. Two novels, Caught Between (Which is also a 24 episodes Radio Drama Podcast https://wprnpublicradio.com/caught-between-teaser/) and Art and Mystery: The Missing Poe Manuscript. His next novel, an erotic thriller, Far From Here, will be out Fall of 2023. One play, The Apparition. Philip also has a column in the quarterly magazine Per Niente. He enjoys all things artistic.
Frost
It was a 100 years ago
when Stopping by Woods
on a Snowy Evening
first appeared in print.
Staring out at the white
mountains on a snowy
morning, I wonder how
much of that beauty is
killing people or wildlife.
I think I know some of
those roads, though I
cannot see the houses.
I would not want to live
there. The snow and cold
would be too much. It
looks beautiful in films,
the frozen lake, the farm-
house, and starlit evening.
I shake just feeling that
cold when by mistake I
leave a window open only
just a bit. The cold wind
fills my bones. The lovely
mountains filled with snow
I see are miles away. I see
them before I go to sleep.
*
Isn’t It Nice?
Whipped cream clouds,
white out stars and moon,
yes, I know, do you?
Calm waves all day,
the red fish bleeds.
Turn up the volume
Mother Earth sings.
Isn’t it nice
that fresh air is free
when you can get it?
Bread is money
and dove is a pacifist,
chocolate, and soap.
*
Hungry Dogs Eating Flowers
Never set your eyes on the sun
as you lay in the grass facing
the sky. All around you, can you
see and hear the trees suffering?
It keeps me awake most nights.
How much pain can they take?
I keep my eyes on the draperies
that keep out night’s moonlight.
There are things going on in the
fabric, hungry dogs eating flowers.
It takes the weight off my mind.
There are men, women, and children
dressed as doves and hawks. I
worry about the flowers being eaten.
Prickly Pear
weighing dark matter…
when black one thing out
begs question, what else?
alley leaf
circling my feet…
rats!
possession
is nine tenths of the law
know takers taking
slow unthawing of May
way boomers
talk about theys
house of
corrections
and misprints
Bunny Ears
flowers log-jam
in the rock bed
edge of waterfall
still can’t drink from tap
thankfully, may purchase
for a song
s w e e t n o t h i n g s ~ crockpot simmering
scorpion analogy
chopper hanger-on
gets sudden urge
s p a c e i n v a d e r l e n g u a t a c o s
Golden Barrel
gas station fountain… pits and bits, holes and soles
no points on scoreboard
no lights on scoreboard
why is it even there
hang up the phone
and quietness sets in
this is being alone
last naan standoff —
sits untouched
cools
those who stay
and learn to live with it
Toxicity
terracotta head pot
subtracted brain-pan
in place of neurocranium
green electricity
issuing forth evokes Pallas
and the dark mother
their parthenogenesis
eukaryotic organisms
foreheads’ fertile wombs
skull cakes
there is something of the game warden
to the sheriff – and doctor – still,
who staunchly preserves in the short term
with every intention of their masters’ future slaughter,
field dress, and apportioning of each
swaggering thrush and caribou
Jerome Berglund has many haiku, senryu and tanka exhibited and forthcoming online and in print, most recently in the Asahi Shimbun, Bear Creek Haiku, Bamboo Hut, Black and White Haiga, Blōō Outlier Journal, Bones, Bottle Rockets, Cold Moon Journal, Contemporary Haibun Online, Daily Haiga, Failed Haiku, Frogpond, Haiku Dialogue, Haiku Seed, Ink Pantry, Japan Society, Modern Haiku, Poetry Pea, Ribbons, Scarlet Dragonfly, Seashores, Synchronized Chaos, Time Haiku, Triya, Tsuri-dōrō, Under the Basho, Wales Haiku Journal, and the Zen Space.
AppleTV+ Shrinking is the kind of show people stream to throw the burdens of the day behind. It’s funny, quirky, well-written, and showcases some of the best talents on TV. Imagine a series starring Harrison Ford, Jason Segel, and a fresh-faced Jessica Williams. The result is a breath of fresh air on the streaming service platform and a story to hook up TV series buffs and those looking for a night watch, before-going-to-bed quickie.
Shrinking tackles mental health from an interesting angle. It questions the limitations of grieving and coping with tragedies without losing a sense of wonder or resorting to rhetoric vapidity. It uses its galvanizing cast to the utmost benefit. Ford is a veteran superstar whose charisma is imprinted in the hearts and minds of millions growing up whether to worship his mega star Indiana Jones/Star Wars fame or his gritty roles in The Fugitive, Air Force One, and Blade Runner. Heshines in a role that plays comedy through a low-key, grounded performance.
I had the pleasure of speaking with Jim Frohna, series cinematographer of the award-winning Amazon series Transparent and Season 2 of HBO’s lauded series Big Little Lies fame. His work centers around TV series that are not afraid to show how humans struggle to figure themselves out and figure out the world around them. He wants to feel multiple things as a participant and collaborator in creating the art, so he lets his gut guide him toward the show where he feels he can retain that artistic input.
The conversation flowed smoothly, with minor interruptions from Frohna’s pets. Frohna explained that the core of Shrinking was the Laird family whom he and James Ponsoldt -pilot director and one of the producers- loved and cared for. This gave the series its authentic shift from slapstick comedy to intense emotional drama at times. The pace didn’t feel forced or constricting due to the masterful storytelling and Frohna’s swift camerawork, from close-ups to lighting work which framed the characters masterfully, setting the mood for lighter or darker scenes.
“We cared about this family. They meant a lot to us. The show itself goes from slapstick comedy to some dry humor, then into real grief and real pain. So we talked about how we could visually bring this world to life in a way that can be a container for all the range of what happens in the show. What struck me instinctually was to have it very grounded and feel like a real place and to light it very naturalistically and to let the space be real where both the silly stuff and the serious, heartfelt stuff exist in that.”
Jim merges with the details, he becomes the story that he is capturing with his camera. His style is grounded in subtlety and realism with some swagger, directing audiences to what matters in the scene. Shrinking is the kind of show that demands attention with every frame. It’s a tight-knit group of people, families, coworkers, friends, and a main character who doesn’t have a clue as much as his patients do. The concept of a drama that creates an endearing ode to struggling with mental health without lightly handling the heavy subject matter is a lure into an intimate world that feels -but doesn’t feel- very familiar.
Frohna is as open as he is tactical, focused on telling the story and answering the questions with as many possibilities. Having a conversation with him was both fun and informative,
“Cinematography is not an exact science, it’s almost like the camera bears witness to the emotions in the room and what the characters are going through. So, kind of separate from how we frame it or the lens choice that we make, it’s more of a spiritual or emotional place for the [camera] operator to be in the room. We talk a lot -as the person behind the camera- about being open and receiving whatever is happening and the feeling in the room. It doesn’t come from the head but from the heart.”
Talking to Frohna reminded me of my earliest memories of watching movies, and how it was hard and mystique understanding what a camera operator might feel while approaching an actor’s face with an extreme close-up, or how lighting plays into introducing a character within a specific tone,
“As far as Jimmy Laird -main protagonist played by Jason Segel- goes, we talked that he’s in this very dark place. We meet him doing drugs and staying up all night. Two things came to my mind; first, he spends a lot of time in the shadow, and second that when he’s in the light it’s a harsh light. In the pilot, in the morning after he’s been up all night, he says goodbye to the women, then he goes into the kitchen and he’s confronted with reality with his daughter and the fact that it’s a school day and a workday. We purposely lit into the kitchen with this hard light so that Jimmy and sitting and has to shield himself from the harsh light. Those to me are the subtle or creative ways that you can say a lot about where the character is at and how he’s feeling.”
From extreme close-ups to uncomfortable scenes where two characters beat each other up, I asked Frohna which was harder to shoot an intense fight sequence or a love scene,
“Different scenes have different challenges. I’m much more used to giving all my years on [TV shows] like Transparent where there were a lot of intimate scenes both emotional and physical. So I don’t find those challenging. I think the biggest challenge on [Shrinking] was that most of our spaces are sets so how to keep those feeling real? There are a lot of scenes in the employee break room, so we’re not trying to do the same thing each time. It was more of a mundane challenge. The three characters are back in the break room, two are sitting and one is standing, so what can we do with the camera and lighting-wise? We had to keep it fresh subtly as the season progressed.”
It didn’t take long before my favorite topic – casting Harrison Ford as Paul, a senior therapist with Parkinson’s disease- showed up.
“Like many people I grew up going to the movies and seeing this amazing, funny, dashing, charming, and charismatic heroic figure on the huge screen. The first ten days that Harrison was around everybody was like That’s Indiana Jones or Han Solo and sort of unable to get over it. We still did our jobs but were all starstruck. And then what was amazing was that he’s just a human being. Not only that but he’s a very kind guy, and he loves being on a set. He loves the crew, talking to the grips, or hanging out with the makeup people. Because he spent the last fifty-something years on a movie set and he doesn’t have to work anymore because he doesn’t need the money he just loves being with this group of oddballs and weirdos on the film set. He’s just a down-to-earth guy so the strangest part is how ordinary it became.”
Catch the first season of Shrinking on AppleTV+ and prepare for a watching experience surpassing anything on the current streaming platform.