forgotten or unacknowledged

(tomatoes, potatoes)

A poem.


television permits us its
unassailable truths
as escapism:

generic hygienic,
purposeless youth
earn first-meets and whole Fridays with
ten-star heartbreaks in waiting –
despite the real world red flags that
demoing all your breakfast doth bring –


and they look into their eyes as the whales coo

and a fight ensues,
because each assumes what side of the tracks
the other derives,
as often occurs at the end of act two


and he’s home
middle-aging
with the before-bed Pringles in his hand contemplating,
“when was the last time that ever happened to me?”

the good parts, he means,
forgetting or not acknowledging what’s already been.


400 Words on: Crime 101 (2026)

or, “Putting Ray-Bans on a Turd
and Calling it Potato Head”:
A spoiler-free mini movie review.


1.5 out of 5

“Crime 101” eluded first impressions, due to my needing a movie for Papa that wasn’t animated, subtitled, or sexy. Otherwise, its poster – with the cast’s faces on it, like a direct-to-video DVD cover from the late 2000s – should’ve been a sign.

Then, I was marked by its totally agreeable first hour: propulsive, and well acted & shot. Despite narrative formulaicity, there was novelty in some tightly-directed transitions of one character walking by another before they’d met in the story – like the ensemble drama “Magnolia”. I trusted the film was going somewhere.

But then I took inventory: maybe it was that the characters didn’t develop beyond their scripted function; maybe it was the forced romantic subplot; or maybe it was its dreary “Inside Man” style denouement.

Regardless, my film school side took over and I couldn’t bear it anymore. “Crime 101” is here for the long con.

[cont’d]

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broadband

A poem.


i don’t want to get out of bed
and face the cold, foreboding wild
of this sunny spring day.
a walk to a pleasant lake
is just two blocks away
but i need to be sure i look ok.
to be down is to be alone
with nowhere to go but home.

so i waste away behind barred blinds,
my head buried in sand.
i check my email frequently
to see if i still exist,
if only in a broadband.


Original photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com.

400 Words on: Shelter (2026)

or, “Without Breaking a Sweat”:
A spoiler-free mini movie review.


3 out of 5

I don’t usually gush (I’ve consigned two 5-star ratings in two years with the system), but I’m a Jason Statham fan.

Regardless of the actual quality of the movies themselves he’s headlined, Statham himself is effortlessly appealing & ‘unfuckable with’. I wouldn’t want him to kick me full-force in the breastbone.

Curious, then, that Statham’s “Shelter” character Mason spends most of the first act drunk, with his feet up by the fire. Yes, Mason is supposed to be a self-exiled recluse, but it’s rare to see Statham – at this stage in his career – chillaxin’ on-screen without exterior pressure.

[cont’d]

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400 Words on: Primate (2026)

or, “Johannes and the Terrible, No Good,
Very Bad Monkey Movie”:
A spoiler-free mini movie review.


1 out of 5

‘Pacing’ is certainly a thing: attributed to no one, it’s an essential part of any entertainment. Audiences won’t notice the spacetime something occupies in their lives unless they’re bored, or they totally disagree with what they’re experiencing.

As an example, halfway through Michael Haneke’s 1997 art-horror “Funny Games”, there’s a long, unbroken take assumed as decompression for its characters. That part is so slow that the first time I watched, I fast-forwarded through it.

But skipping “FG’s” depiction of grief also meant reinforcing its themes of desensitization. Once it clicked, it’s a rare movie scene where something simple blossoms within a spacial indiscipline.

On the other hand, skipping scenes in Johannes Roberts’ “Primate” won’t reveal the dark side of its audience, but it will get you to the credits faster.

[cont’d]

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