Forgotten Films of 2024: Good, Better, Best

 In no specific order: 

 WICKED LITTLE LETTERS

 THE DEAD DON’T HURT

 ONE LIFE

 BOB MARLEY: ONE LOVE

 MEAN GIRLS

 THE PROMISED LAND 

 HERE

New Poem: LOS ANGELES FIRES FOUND POEM

 choppers coming through one after another

 the relentless attack from the sky makes a difference 

 we wish more sky support happened Tuesday 

 >

 the 405 remains open

 heed the evacuation orders

 people are prepared for this moment

 we are in an unprecedented time

 (above crafted from KCAL and Spectrum 1 newscasts)

New Poem: THE BURNING OF LOS ANGELES

 immunocompromised me

 staying indoors

 running air purifiers 

 watching TV news coverage

 the reporters wearing antismoke masks 

 the reporters choosing not to

 so they can visibly emote 

 and perhaps display true empathy

 >

 future health be damned

 

First-time Classic Film Viewing in 2024: Good, Better, Best

 In no specific order: 

 MAN’S CASTLE

 DESERT FURY

 SPLIT SECOND (1953)

 PRIVATE PROPERTY (1960)

 THE EX-MRS. BRADFORD 

 THE LOCKET

 EVERYTHING GOES WRONG

 TAKE AIM AT THE POLICE VAN

 DEADLINE AT DAWN

 PLATINUM BLONDE

Movies of 2024: Good, Better, Best (First Draft)

 In no particular order:

 DUNE PART TWO

 THE BIKERIDERS

 THE FIRST OMEN

 NOSFERATU 2024

 A COMPLETE UNKNOWN 

 FURIOSA

 INSIDE OUT 2

 HORIZON CHAPTER 1

 LONGLEGS

 CUCKOO

 CONCLAVE

 HERETIC

 GLADIATOR II

 WICKED PART ONE

 JUROR #2

 THE APPRENTICE 

New Poem: LET’S CAPITULATE

 fall down now

 now—not a minute from now

 grovel grovel grovel grovel 

 please please don’t hurt me

 don’t shun me for a mere technicality 

 tell me what to say so I’ll know when to say 

 that weave of words saving me $16 million 

 >

 which anchor you want to throw softballs—

 nay, let’s just call them gentle grounders—

 please please please don’t hurt me

 I’ll make sure ABC treats you like Reagan 2.0

 put the whip back in the box

 reinsert the gun in its holster

 you’ll have no further reason to sue

New Poem: TRYING TO AVOID THE FIRE

 for the time being,

 they will take comfort in believing 

 he won’t come for them—

 instead it will be criminals.

 pregnant women daring to defy men,

 so-called deviants trapped in misgendered bodies

 >

 they hold themselves tight

 saying we break no laws

 we mind our business 

 no need to break in our houses

 enter our workplaces

 pull us over on freeways

 >

 the government who doesn’t care

 will close their eyes 

 and make their arrests

 no matter your situation 

 no matter your circumstances 

 no matter what you believe

 to be innocence

I remember Victor Infante all too well.

 He’s back!  He has a new book he’s reading from tonight at a venue in Westchester (West L.A. suburb near LAX) with wife and chosen colleague friends.  And if you’re an emerging poet who tries to gain his favor, perhaps he’ll take a genuine interest in you and your work.

Or, if you try to gain his favor by giving him your chapbook for feedback and hear nothing and call him on it (a general no-no in the literary aspirant community), you might get a reply like this one: 

First off, I'm sorry I called you a jerk. I was out of line, and for that, I genuinely apologize. On the other hand, I'm not going to apologize for not paying more attention to you, and it's glaringly obvious that's what this little tantrum has been about. [prominent poet, now MIA from the scene] didn't pay attention to you. I didn't pay attention to you. Wah, wah, wah.Grow up, Terry. If you've got problems with the poetry scene, do something about it. Start your own readings, start a festival. Publish a journal or Web zine. Whatever, but stop acting like a baby because you don't get the attention you deserve and others do. You're right, it's not a level playing field, and you don't get points for just being there. You've actually got to do something well. Writing well would be a start. I DO remember your chapbook. I still have it, in the piles of several hundred that I dutifully carried with me cross-country when I moved. Terry, it was dull. Very dull. Not bad, but there was little of interest going on there. I don't recall if I had read it yet when I saw you in Redondo, but even if I had, I doubt I would have said much. What was I supposed to say? "Sorry, it bored me to tears." But as I recall, it took me awhile to get around to it, because, even now, I get a ton of chapbooks very month. I've not thrown one away, and I try to read them all, but no, I can't review them, and I really had nothing consequential to say about it, for good or bad. As to my "wisdom would be something of value," Whatever. I don't recall volunteering to be your mentor, and while I've taught poetry in high schools and colleges, I don't recall you being in any of my classes. The sad fact is, Terry, I thought you were a nice guy,and always tried to be friendly to you, but no, I didn't care much for your writing. Would you have preferred that I said that? I can't see what good that would have done. It's not like I walked out of the room when you were on the microphone. Maybe you've gotten better, I don't know.You can have whatever opinions you want, Terry, and you can have whatever opinions you want about me, but the fact is, you're not the one out there doing the work, and if you've made any serious effort to BE the one out there doing the work, I'm sorry, but I don't recall it.