…presents ‘Today’s Movie Review’:

 

Perhaps, like yours truly, you had never heard of the sequel to the Peter Sellers classic film, ‘Being There’ (based on the novel of the same name by Jerzy Kosinski). Maybe you, too, would have been caught as gleefully unaware as I was when I nearly stumbled over that very gem lying amid a misplaced pile of VHS tapes for sale right in the middle of the sidewalk in Chinatown!

It’s called ‘Being Here’ and is even more eerily prescient than the original. In that one, of course, Sellers played a simpleton named Chauncey Gardiner, or ‘Chance’, who is inadvertently drawn into a world of increasing political power – all the way to President – without ever actually having a clue about anything. This time around our hero is, hilariously, severely mentally ill. His name is Ronald D Clump, or ‘Clumpy’. The character, although purely fictional (so much so as to stretch our willingness to buy into the absurdity of the story far beyond any typical suspension of disbelief) nevertheless feels oddly familiar. Perhaps we should thank the sheer brilliance of the late Mr. Sellers for that. It’s worth watching for his performance alone.

Without giving too much away, I will tell you that our man ‘Clumpy’ blindly yet enthusiastically leads our country through a hair-raising series of mis adventures, including everything from plagues to burning infernos and devastating superstorms and tornados, to sexually groping to boundless, tumbling escapades with porn stars, from staggering incompetence to over-the-top corruption and authoritarian takeovers and crack downs… and more! Sure, many of the giggle-inspiring cheap cracks and gratuitous insults would never make it into a movie in today’s Hollywood – who would have thought racism and physical threats could ever be so funny? But all that is just the tip of the melting iceberg. Like with Clumpy himself, it may look like I’m giving it all away, but I’m not. Why, many of those seeing this wondrously preposterous flick won’t even realize they’re paying for it!

Unfortunately, the sound quality is a bit ‘off’ and the voices out of synch, not to mention that the musical score is more than a tad tiny. A bad copy? Perhaps… It’s a small price to pay compared to the exorbitant but totally fair amount I had to shell out to that poor gentleman there on the sidewalk. He didn’t seem to speak English and most likely didn’t realize how much this rare treasure is actually worth! Heck, the gold foil wrapping alone is bound to cost you!

Which is neither here nor there. That’s not what this rare masterpiece is all about, which, my good friends is (as the title says): Being Here!

Two thumbs up the old wazoo for this one!!!

Fall-Room Dancing

[seen through 2020 vision]

 

Dancing was an easy thing

until I fell face-first

and all the judges sneered and laughed

declaring me the worst

 

‘Aha!” I thought, ‘and there it is,

it’s a blessing, not a curse!

I can be a fool and fail

and still end up in first!’

 

As my nose, it bled, my throbbing head

exploded into verse:

‘There’s no need to think or care,

to ponder or rehearse!’

 

‘It’s just a waste of energy

to in logic get immersed,

you see, it’s what you want to see,

be it backward or reversed!’

 

Before I rose up off the floor

I’d declared myself alert,

my face, it smarted, but not my brain!

the truth no longer hurt

 

Call me a fool, it’s just a name,

but there’s no need to call a nurse,

especially not a mental one,

they’re judgmental and too terse

 

Then I stood up to proudly stand

there in my bloody shirt,

perhaps I cannot dance at all,

but talent’s just a curse

 

I say I won, and there you go!

your presumptions have been burst,

you can scream and wail and curse and all,

but reality’s been reversed!

White Swan

As I pull my way onto the bridge

a swan flies across and over it

something I have seen before

once, somewhere in a scattered past

Now she’s back

her neck craned

and huge wings

beating hard

She seems as if she’s soaring

relative to my misdirected path

making a mockery

of my transition

Colors are ceded to youth,

nests, to their season,

while pathways

are borrowed from the sky

They pierce the fringes

of the soul

and then

depart.

Empty Spoons

The driver sat down by the edge of the water,

spoon in hand, pondering what flavors life

had left to offer

Bored with blue, the fool stood up and waved his spoon,

unaware of his own melancholy. “Declarations,”

he declared, “Declarations will be made as to what

it takes to suit me!”

The water snake could not hear him from where

it slithered along through the shallows – a turtle slipped

off of its rock only to take a swim

While fish chortled about in schools of leisurely thought,

oblivious to one of theirs which floated, catatonically,

to the surface, as if in tribute

And, off across the way, a fiddler tugged a

sloppy bow across a row of gleaming strings –

“Damn Hippie!” the driver scowled,

“Damn fool!”

Some play their songs with empty spoons,

others stand there, famished,

while the water turns bloody red.

Mending

Pollen wafting flakes in daylight green

clarinet scaling the second floor

bellies torn and stitched

calico cat guarding my feet

Poppies, paper, pink and orange

Percocet doing its best

“You look like a man on vacation,” she said

discomfort rests

Better days have been wasted

isn’t that what we’re here for?

a butterfly beats it into the wind

shorts unsnapped beneath my shirt

Sleep enchants – a luster to the breeze

so much is going on

sitting here, motionless

waiting for the time to heal

So much has come and gone

an old dog barks

“Ah, a hero,” she said

ah, a hero.

The Statue

Here, within the softness

of the snowfall,

its allure may find me,

catch hold of me,

and gradually freeze my soul

into stone

There is innocence in the eyes,

my hunger almost mistakes it

for snowflakes

as white as the page

that begs to be

despoiled with a pen

I long to let go of

all cause for concern

and allow such hypnotic beauty

to consume me

so that I might soar

past the constrictions

of all things wasted

And land

within a smile,

a dusted white

bone-hard statue,

its thoughts

unknown.