new star forming
the lie he tells the masses --
slice of chorizo

Deagel's forecast
the plan they have for us
depopulation

exposing truth
alexa explains
what chemtrails are

open prison
the masses getting hooked on
SMART technologies

Cycling for the First Time

When I first cycled due to my bipolar disorder, my brain concocted an elaborate story about what was happening to me. At the time, I was practicing multiple nights a week on a play, Sense and Sensibility by Kate Hamill, a lively interpretation where each character except the two leads played multiple parts. 

My brain convinced me that this play was an experiment to get me pregnant. While I worked on something I loved (the play), I would be filling my brain and body with the joy of working in theater, thus reducing my stress levels. I believed that the contract I signed when I accepted my role in the play was actually a contract for this experiment. In my mind, the directors of the play were working with my doctors and workplace so that I could go on leave as soon as I was ready to deliver. So when I was placed on leave from work, I thought that part of the experiment was being fulfilled. I frequently rubbed my belly, imagining new life growing within as I dreamed of twins. 

It wasn’t until after I stabilized and saw the incoherent text messages and emails did I understand why I was dismissed from the play and put on leave from work. With my new diagnosis of bipolar, my dreams of a joyful pregnancy were also dashed. I couldn’t imagine living with the disorder and experiencing something as challenging as pregnancy and postpartum. 

Cox’s Bazar

Cox’s Bazar is one of the biggest sea beaches.
This is a tourist place of Bangladesh.
We can see many types of birds,
In the beach.
That is a natural beauty of the beach.
In the morning,
The sun rays fall on the water of the sea.
Then the water shine like treasure.
When the sun rises and sets in the beach,
The entire beach makes yellowish.
There have many different types of stones,
That look like diamonds.
There has coral island,
That contains many colorful fishes.
This is the best place for tourist,
We can go there any time.
So, many foreign tourists come here,
To see its beauty.
The name Cox’s Bazar has been taken,
From the name of Hiram Cox.
Who was an officer,

Of British East India Company.
This is the longest sea beach of the world.
So, it is a great gift from the God.


Don Bormon is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

under amber skies
 

saddled by the sadness

 

a long cool breeze

as the sun dies in

the evening

 

under amber skies

 

the poet laughs at

the mere thought

of anguish

 

discomfort

 

a longing that is

fond among these

parts

 

the whores are too

expensive and the

poet is too broken

to enjoy it anymore

 

a quiet death

on the western

front

 

the right hand

reaching for

a gun instead

of a towel
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
burned for kindling
 

random moments of genius

scribbled down in a notebook

 

you figure they will be studied

or burned for kindling

 

each will bring the desired

effect

 

never lived the life of luxury

or pleasure or being wanted

 

i was always the break glass

in case of emergency at least

he knows how to use his tongue

in all the holes necessary

 

not exactly a glorious life

 

but plenty of stories that

become little poems of

experience

 

that goes a long way

in the right situation
---------------------------------------------------------------------
in some mystical place
 

atomic dog

on the radio

 

your soft

brown skin

running

through

my mind

 

thinking of

the way you

taste

 

and all the

years that

have

escaped

us

 

i still have

the occasional

dream we bump

into each other

in some mystical

place and we make

up for lost time

 

or maybe i'll be

smart enough to

just say i'm sorry

and not expect

anything good

to come after

that
----------------------------------------------------------
covered in snow
 

a lonely tree at the bottom

of a mountain covered

in snow

 

this is where the guilty

go to die

 

something bob ross would

teach you how to paint

 

a lonesome cabin

 

ghosts galore

 

bob never did tell you

those details

 

tread lightly my friend
-------------------------------------------------------
visible for miles away
 

the skies aren't quite purple

but this haze is certainly

visible for miles away

 

like some sci-fi movie meant

to scare the living shit out

of you

 

old people scared to venture

out, especially with all the

other diseases still fresh

in their minds

 

prayers for rain or whatever

else aren't quite working

 

imagine that

 

i suppose this is revenge

from canada for all these

years of not winning

the stanley cup

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where all the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Cajun Mutt Press and Misfit Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

STOPPING ON ONE’S WAY

WAY

Murdered Man in Uniform

Crawling Man

NOTE: The composite imagery used to conjure an impression of the stage is intended only as a suggestion of what each play should look like during a performance.  Not all of the details described in the stage notes are precisely or realistically reproduced by the images accompanying the plays.  These images are meant to provide a visual blueprint or shorthand for the stage and the action. 

Stopping On One’s Ways—Stage Image

STOPPING ON ONE’S WAY

              While curtain is closed, there is very loud machine gun fire together with a man’s screams.

            The machine gun noise and the screaming should last approximately thirty-seconds.  They should both be uncomfortably loud.

            Immediately after the screaming stops, the curtain opens to reveal the man’s corpse.  It is positioned at the left wing, as close as possible to the edge of the stage (an ideal stage for this piece would be one where wings/curtain edge and end of stage are close together).  The head is concealed behind the curtain, remaining offstage.  The man is dressed in some kind of obscure official or military uniform; nothing that can be easily recognized.

            A painted backdrop, depicting an expanse of desert, fills the back of the stage.  At the center of this scene is a passenger car in flames.  A curved and clearly paved road leads from the car (which should occupy the mid-ground of the backdrop) to the stage floor (i.e., the foreground or bottom of the backdrop).  The stage is also dressed as a desert scene but there is no physical or visual connection between the road extending through the backdrop scene and the on-stage desert set.  It must be clear that this “road” is terminated by the bottom of the backdrop and remains pictorially disconnected from the stage.

            The backdrop is flooded by harsh white spotlights.  The front of the stage, the entire line of vision begun by the corpse, is kept in relief: not total shadow but enough dimness to compare distinctly with the rest of the stage.  A soft white spotlight (haze as opposed to harshness), in a beam no larger than a silver dollar, blinks on and off (in intervals of five seconds), illuminating the feet of the body.  The spotlight begins blinking only after the curtain is fully parted.

            Fifteen seconds after the blinking of the light (i.e., after it has blinked four times), a man enters from the upper right wing.  He is on his hands and knees, crawling very slowly and moaning softly as he moves.  His clothing is burnt and scorched, hanging from his body in shreds.  After advancing several feet in this fashion, his moans become louder and more agonized, and he speaks the following words (his head remains lowered, thus he speaks facing the ground, so it must be clear that he is speaking to himself):

                                         CRAWLING MAN

                     My wife!  My children and my wife!  My wife and my

                        children are dead!  Are cut up!  Are dead and cut up! 

                        O this grief!  My grief and my body and their bodies! 

                        I know!  I know their bodies and this grief! They are

                        gone!  The flesh is ripped!  Gone!  Ripped! Grief!

                        No Wife!  Suzy dead!  Yes!  Johnny dead!  Yes!  Dead!

                        Yes!  Dead!  Yes!

          He stops speaking and resumes moaning, softly, as before.  Fifteen seconds after the moaning begins, he painfully and slowly raises his head, in great surprise notices the corpse, stops moaning, and with unexpected exhilaration and agility, hurriedly crawls towards the body, stopping just in front of the feet.

                                         CRAWLING MAN

                     Sir!  O Sir!  I am assured that you will listen! I can

                        assure myself that you will listen to my grief!  I am

                        assured that I finally can express my grief!  O Sir! 

                        Sir!  I will tell my story!  You must listen!  All of

                        us: myself, my wife, and my children, we were

                        going on vacation, we were going to be happy, on

                        our vacation, on our vacation in the mountains,

                        we were going to enjoy ourselves!  We placed our

                        bodies in the car, as we had done hundreds of times!

                     There was nothing unusual about that!  The car

                        brought us to so many beautiful places, so many

                        miles, so much beauty!  O Sir, you should have

                        seen the beauty!  I drove continuously for two straight

                        days when it started to rain and the wind blew

                        and the road became indistinct but I continued to

                        drive because we had placed our bodies in the

                        car as always in order to travel many miles

                        and see beauty and enjoy ourselves on vacation

                        in the mountains!  On the third night, a bus came

                        racing towards us!  It collided with the car!  Sir!

                        I could not avert the catastrophe!  That you must

                        understand!  I could not avert the catastrophe!

                        You must understand that!  The car was swept

                        off the highway and rolled down the entire length

                        of a very steep hill!  But I was thrown through

                        the door and watched as the car rolled down the hill!  And I

                     was dazed as I watched the flames!  The flames! 

                        The flames!  My wife!  My children!  Their bodies

                        were in the car and consumed by flames!  In the

                        car and ripped by the shattered glass!  In the

                        car and endlessly bleeding as if their bodies were

                        hundreds of slowly squeezed tomatoes!  Yes! 

                        Yes!  I watched and my lips quivered and my

                        face contorted into a harlequin’s mad wild smile! 

                        Yes!  Yes!  My face!  My face!  I saw!  I saw! 

                        All the ripped burning flesh!  All the ripped burning flesh!

          He stops speaking but does not resume moaning, remaining silent instead, and continuing after fifteen seconds.

                                         CRAWLING MAN

                     I have seen no one for years.  I have been gone.

                        Away.  Crawling.  Away.  All concerned parties assumed

                         I was incinerated along with my family because the

                        mass of charred flesh could not be identified.

                        But I was not.  I have been crawling.  I have been

                        away.  I have been gone.  I have had a terrible

                        experience, don’t you think?  Yes, it was terrible for

                        me…for them…for me…for them…for me…for them…

                        for me…for them…

          He continues repeating these phrases, less and less intelligibly, until they become a murmur that slowly evolves into the soft moaning, as before.  Now moaning, he turns around and slowly crawls towards the upper right wing.  His movements are slower and more labored than during his entrance.  He reaches the wing and exits, although the moaning, now faint, is still audible.  Fifteen seconds after the CRAWLING MAN leaves the stage, the spotlight stops blinking, with the moaning still just barely audible.

            Curtain (with moaning at faintest level).

Starting Out

To begin, begin, beginning, beginnings

A nice word, a nice concept

Something we all have experienced

Something we all know.

We start out, we can even start again

Begin, begin again.

It’s the first step, the first mile

First move, first chapter

It’s sunrise, the beginning bell.

We step into it, things are fresh, new

Untested, untried

And yet

We know what comes next

Have lived it in so many forms.

There’s the middle where beginnings

Get to play out, drag on

Can go a number of ways, not just well

As the beginnings might have suggested

Maybe not badly.

Life has taught us that both can happen

And eventually

The sequence fills in, unravels.

There’s that beginning

Then the middle

And, of course, there is inevitably

Like right now

The end.




       And Then Some

“Some” is an indefinite word

That is a pleasure to use. Say

I want some of that, and no one

Really knows how much, a sip,

A cup, a pint. They say, take

Some with you and run the risk

Of you taking more that they

Meant. “Some” also works well

In its compound forms. Say, I’ll

Be there sometime, and they will/

Might be waiting, sometime after

Five, sometime after that. It gives

Us such leeway. When I say, I left

It somewhere or someplace, they

Get to know how easily things get

Lost, the somewhere where things

Collect and remain caught in that

Indefinite world that our words can

Create. Somewhere over the rainbow,

The great somewhere, the greater

Somewhen where and when we will

Gather our indefinite, vague selves

And become something more than

The nebulous words we so often use

To cover the ambiguous lives we lead.




                   Forgettable

To forget, he forgets, I forget the forgotten.

It’s a matter of where it all goes.

The name of the star of that movie. It was

My favorite, but then it’s gone – a name

A whole frame of mind. My watch, my

Wallet – somewhere, distant, close up.

The forgotten are like that, away, gone to

Me. Now that you ask. You ask the author

The king, the kid who carried the story we

All loved, but I don’t remember who or even



When or where. The world we know now is

On its way into that other place, the land of

The forgotten, just slipped my mind. It’s a shuffle

Of the deck, a distraction, a slippery slope, a skip

A drop, a fumble on the five-yard line, a miss,

A mile, a search, an empty minute. Who was it?

Where did they go? When did I do that? What

Was that – the one that should have played out

So easily? Hell, they all/it is the infinitive of that

Guilty party – to forget. The he – who exactly –

Forgets, stumbles a bit, then asks. But, of course

I forget, I forgot. Then there they are, out there

Waiting there for us – all our forgotten.