A Poem is a Naked Person

Behemoth chrysalis jardenia pupa

cajoled cocoon glib metamorphoses

mutating Malachai tisane torrentials

inundated unction annoinkéd flutter

flotilla flotsam jettison jive

overboard plankton 'croscopic plunge

treading tangentials discursive drover

anon etcetera tumbledown wind

insensate shawarma pestilent pench'

Antwerp rotis succulent swank

olfactory ursine novice nostalgia

hickory-dickory button-down bloog

accolade spritzer carbarnacle chive

helios rickenback flouted danube

sunspotty splendiferous ironclad kook

Amelia mai tai finagling flamb

razzmatazz mocha machiatoto

cappuccini olsen cajumelles

avuncular holstein gaseous Kala

composite fulcrum Harry Houdin

vacillate silica pumice chauve

august battalion neutre nostrum

zenith Zimbabba Guinea M'Papa

clicky-lickspittly didgeridoo

quorummagpizance elephantine 

selective Saigon exhaustive willow 

tumaltuous scram idyllic posture

endemic slack slovenly sliver

Hancock humystic tahini trowel 

tartar embarker piña colada 

severance surrogate sobriquet saddle

gallopin' geiser fountainhead frieze 

egad eureka somnolent stench

byzantine biscuit archaic fad

munchie dysfunkty aquikerplunkty

ambient haze Carmichael clan

dubious decla krill kreplaquelustre

vertigo victual enigmastiff

precocious poodle plasmacadabra

'cession digression Brunswick brill

amorphous jiggle jaunty enjambment

quaff kybosh-flossed cellophane frill

Celsius soma crepuscule quad

stuffy sanuffly engulfed traject

oregano Sasha temporal twang 

embellished bloated obtuse drone

electrified trough bellowing blub

enchanted sacrifice cordial balm

aperitif zest theta libation

oaken betokened shilly-shall-shawl

motif elix saccharine cynosure

rosemary 'rugala ovaltine koal'.

Immeasurable

The old school medieval uptight bitter control of melody, disharmoniously governing creative musical composition. 

Tastes and trends congruously alighting lighthearted melodies and ditties and symphonies, the organic maintenance of scriptural censorship as authoritarian as it was unmoving. 

Difficult to consider the imagination objectively locked down through emotional indifference, blues progressions and swingin' rhythms foolishly regarded with absolutist contempt.

No doubt many innovations discriminately fell by the calculating wayside, and many artists bravely struggled against the cold and stubborn regulations. 

It seems unlikely that for millennia no one used classic blues progressions, or the faithful turnaround so often transformed from year to year, decade after decade.

Sweetly flowing enticing transitions eclectically aligned to encourage dance, banished from the soda fountain with routine blase remonstrance. 

What would have happened over yonder if acoustic mesmerizing exhibition . . .

Had been designated "spiritually uplifting" . . .

Thereby transmutating wayward souls?

*You mean music used to be censured and potentially even forbidden?

**For a very long time indeed son, quite some time ago.

*Was dancing also prohibited, along with random flamboyant movements?

**It was like a critical austere embargo on anything thought to be facilitating pleasure. 

*What did people do for fun?

**They tried to find censorship and denial fun in order to destroy dreams that filled them with ecstasy. 

*Isn't that a bit odd?

**Yes, but that's often the way it works, even when open-minded people hold the reins. 

*Is it possible to avoid them?

**Yes, people have been doing that for centuries. 

*I imagine it's easier now than it was back then.

**Unfortunately, as freedoms increase, so do desires to control.  

Web Spring

As far as I know, spiders spend a lot of time building webs.

They're not that concerned with acoustics.

Birds irritated one spider intensely however because they could produce such beautiful songs, and as far as he knew spiders could not, at least not up until that present day. 

But they could make distinct webs consisting of varying degrees of strength, in sundry shapes and manifold sizes, they had an advantage from that point of view.

What to do with all that variety that was the frustrating engaging question, how to create mellifluous sound from the tactile strings composing their webs?

Then one day he was out and about testing web strength with an expert eye, when a sudden downpour caught him off guard and he slipped and fell onto a nearby leaf.

Yet as he slipped one of his legs dynamically plucked a heartfelt string.

And a wondrous sound was breathtakingly heard.

Soon to be accompanied in rhythmic jive. 

It's a bit absurd to think about a spider's web like a versatile guitar string, as if the metallic nature of the pluck could be fibrously reproduced in nature. 

Still, a compelling idea to think about spiders chill and jammin', throughout forests across the land at different speeds and variable tempos.

I liked how little Caleb taught the others how to play, and in their boredom they eventually created unique communal sounds ensemble.

Since different spiders have alternative sizes the resonant sounds of the sprightly webs, make for symphonic amplitudes after tuned to sonorous threads.

50 or 60 spiders playing their web guitars with eight arms apiece, would make for quite the orchestral gathering as it certainly does within the film.

I loved when the birds took part and graciously starting playing the compelling music.

Spider symphonies adaptively enchanting. 

Naturalists through song. 

*It's cool to watch spiders build webs.

**How did they evolve to do that?

Dispatchwork

An aging pop culture enthusiast takes a break from his earnest studies, the consistent immersion in series and shows gradually decreasing as time slowly passes.

With so much to choose from and so little time the consumption of narratives loses its allure, but the habitual excitement at one time manifested still ecstatically dwells in his fatigued consciousness. 

Recommendations are made with animate care and melodious gusto, as several friends mention dozens of shows that have been released in recent years.

The list grows larger and larger an interminable agglomeration, the florid temptation to check things out at times seductive yet still dismissed.

Music slowly fills the void definitively left by the showcased absence, as limitless access to countless albums harmoniously etherealizes newfound grace.

But then one day a special edition is spontaneously ordered on DVD, to continue to build an old collection still awkwardly missing constituent parts.

The edition itself must be inspected at which point curiosity materializes. 

But some of the episodes seem somewhat dull. 

And he worries he's become a snob!

I liked how he finds the emergence of potential snobbery most distressing as it arises, an open-mind key to the random consumption of multivariable media ad infinitum. 

As it dawns on him that he's been overlooking and indeed dismissing shows he once liked, a nerd mid-life crises effectually disturbs his tranquil patient solemn solace.

Indeed the ridiculous must once again be humbly entertained with inclusive vision, the manifold intricate oblivious impeti ludicrously clarifying postmodern life.

Snobs often producing debilitating affects while shortsightedly obliviating upbeat creativity, their minds having lost the childish wonder they coldheartedly critique with bitter indiscretion. 

The rest of the edition is eagerly devoured with reverberating lighthearted august interest. 

Bringing back Bob Cratchit to mind.

While studying classic antiquity.  

The Living Daylights

The Cold War once saw fierce international antagonists, cautious regarding thermonuclear war, but still aggressively advancing opposing ideologies. 

Both sides demanded zealous loyalty from civilians, professionals, and soldiers, and should you even joke about defection grand bureaucratic impositions would immobilize you.

Seeking international fluidity a Soviet informant risks defection in The Living Daylights, the British Government open to emancipatory accommodation should he share with them compelling intel.

An elaborate plan is put into place and the tenacious traitor finds his ticket West, ebulliently awaking in celebratory high spirits in a theoretically safe house in the United Kingdom. 

Yet the Soviets condemn the treachery and swiftly come calling for the disloyal comrade, boldly snatching the foolish hamstring from right under MI6's smug noses.

But was it the Soviets who destructively acquired him or is someone else playing an even riskier game?

Duping intelligence agents around the world.

With the audacious hopes of selling contraband.

I always thought Timothy Dalton was given a raw deal with the James Bond franchise, I rather liked The Living Daylights and find it a thrilling engaging spy film.

It would have been tough to overcome the impression held amongst the public at the transitionary time, that Pierce Brosnan would make a great Bond after his performance in Remington Steele. 

Still, don't let the outcome cause you to overlook The Living Daylights, it's a hidden gem that's easy to dismiss since it obscurely contends between auspicious giants (saw it in Prince Edward Island). 

In a lot of Bond films you quickly discover what the terrorist agents are up to for instance, but The Living Daylights keeps you guessing with fast paced reversals and indelicate election.

In contemporary times, it's been 4 years without a Bond film that's a sacrifice of at least a figurative billion, doesn't the franchise make hundreds of millions every two to three years and if they don't release a film haven't they awkwardly eclipsed themselves?

Ah well, a new film is to be released but not till 2028 states Google. 

Cool to see Denis Villeneuve directing. 

Hopefully he also gets the next Star Wars franchise.

Zeus & Roxanne

A family's adventurous dog boldly sets out to discover the neighbourhood, spending time at the calm peaceful beach and chasing cats should they manifest themselves.

His owners take the arts seriously and spend most of their free time engaged, dad writing songs for commercial media while his son photographs whatever he can.

They're vacationing in a rented house across the laidback street from a marine biologist, who's trying to encourage a domesticated dolphin to cohesively rejoin a wild pod at sea.

The dog mischievously follows her one day and even boards her seafaring vessel, where that very same convalescing dolphin serendipitously takes a shine to his daring.

They become friends and their innocent curiosity freely demonstrates interspecies communication, the marine biologist's related grant proposal hoping to study the compelling phenomenon. 

But will dolphin and dog also lay the foundation for a long-lasting humanoid relationship?

Arts & Science zoologically orchestrating.

The chillaxed romantic life.

Animals clearly have built in recognition and know when they're interacting with other members of the same species, and they do so without mirrors or schools it's fruitfully learned in the forest or valley.

They also largely stick to themselves although you see modest interspecies contact at times, notably when food is abundant and everyone's relaxed and less stressed accordingly. 

On the African savannah wildebeest, zebras, water buffalo and gazelles, broadly mingle and affably interact as the seasons change and the migration flows for instance.

I firmly believe interspecies communication is possible under the right accommodating conditions, if the animals are brought up together as babies in a loving environment with lots of food.

Even cats and dogs perhaps seals and penguins can learn to trust one another under such circumstances, as my pet bunny and his friend the guinea pig learned to do so many years ago.

This strategy will likely work more effectively when less testosterone is worked into the mix.

Wild bulls so likely to struggle and fight.

Like the rabbit my dad threw over the fence when I was a child (he was a really mean bunny). 

Soleil Ô

It's important to play an active role, to take part, to add your voice, racial discrimination is an unsettling reality that consistently frustrates able bodied workers.

It's wonderful to see when citizens engage and write books or direct films to help struggling minorities, a lot of genuine sympathy and sincere care diligently goes into their compassionate construction.

Soleil Ô follows the plight of African migrants who move to France in the post-colonial period, but it wasn't made by concerned French citizens, it was created by Africans themselves.

According to the colonialist dogma they had been brought up with, they were equal citizens in France, and were surprised to find a lack and housing and employment after they picked up one day and moved there.

The film experiments with narrative techniques as it explores various aspects of racist tensions, which still pop up with alarming regularity there's still so much work to be critically done.

Back in Africa for instance, the abundance of languages is thoughtfully presented, before the colonized citizens have to fight one another in English and French with crosses turned into swords.

A grouchy bigot cantankerously complains about immigration in a relaxed restaurant, before a black singer inspires the patrons and he suddenly changes his stubborn mind.

A mixed-race individual who looks white has to suddenly walk away, from an angry man who just can't help his instinctual hatred and knee-jerk prejudice.

As a white woman and a black man playfully flirt with one another on the street, passers by look on in shock and offer multiple awkward different takes.

Even though black people possess requisite skills they're still forced to work in specific sectors, many of which demand no education and involve industrial cleaning.

I would argue that Soleil Ô's multiple exploratory scenarios, present pioneering mockumentary techniques decades before they became conventional (they may have also been popular at the time but were referred to by a different term).

The comedy is instructive without being violent and there is one character who keeps showing up, the events loosely tailored around his experience as he tries to make coherent sense of things.

It effectively uses humour and logic to rationally comment on distressing realities, hopefully convincing hard-hearted peeps that there are less drastic solutions to economic problems (people shouldn't be assigned specific jobs solely based on the colour of their skin for instance).

First rate experimental cinema perhaps decades ahead of its time, courageously created by the actual citizens whom the racist attitudes affected, Soleil Ô is worth checking out by concerned multicultural citizens, especially because the same attitudes still persist, and need to be fought by the next generation. 

Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World)

Fluidly transmitting interactive hybrid tender phenomena, Bis ans Ende der Welt (Until the End of the World) randomly travels around the world.

I can't imagine what it must have been like to exotically film in so many countries, at an accelerated intricate pace kinetically connected universally lithe.

I couldn't watch the entire film in one extended sitting so I divided it into 3 parts, the first two hours, the second two hours, and the last 47 odd minutes.

While I was watching I admired its freedom as it temperamentally trotted the globe, while casually presenting endemic technologies along with brief interrogative artifacts. 

The 4 hour and 47 minute film leaves the viewer full of lighthearted enriching anticipation, comfortably rewarded for investing their time while convivially considering the mischievous details.

Part 1 as accidentally compartmentalized offers a chase as previously mentioned around the world, as a romantic artful passionate soul sets out in search of a would-be lover.

He's stolen some money from her which she borrowed from thieves who stole it from Nice, and as she keeps finding him and he keeps escaping dynamic love blossoms with fugacious flurries.

The second act is much more settled as the lively couple finds rest in Australia, several characters who came along for the ride jocosely joining them then forming a band.

The destruction of a nuclear satellite has knocked out communications around the world, with practically no machines in working order it's time to jam sit back and enjoy life.

The last act sees the principal characters become addicted to an ingenious device (global power restored), which records your dreams and plays them back for you to freely watch throughout your day.

Unfortunately, the dreams become reality and those taking part refuse to do anything else but watch them.

Drifting into cerebral psychosis. 

Like turtles all the way down. 🐢

If searching for an offbeat romance that celebrates active unorthodox lives, improvisationally following their own distinct paths, Bis ans Ende der Welt is worth seeing for sure.

My favourite scenario was the chillaxed jam where music reimagines being and nothingness.

Reminded me of old times in the countryside.

Laidback livin'.

Kitchen jams.

Ragtime

Sigh.

Ragtime's ambitious no doubt indubitably it proceeds with grandiose lofty intentions, most likely seeking academy award nominations with the sets and the period and the subject matter.

It's one of those films that examines freedom from a despondent viewpoint however, and a sympathetic character resorts to violence to achieve just dividends.

What he's asking for isn't outrageous he just wants his car cleaned, fixed, and an apology, from the scandalous band of misfits who themselves behaved outrageously.

He had done nothing to them his only fault was to have been successful, and then to have lived as other successful people do, even though his skin was black.

What does it matter, why do such petty jealousies motivate so many people, do your best, apply yourself vigorously, have a laugh, what else can you do?

Coalhouse could have just taken his car and cleaned up the mess and eventually forgot about it, extremely frustrating to have to do that but a better outcome than what happened in the long run.

He would have returned to his successful life and left the goons behind to rot, he certainly complained to everyone he could and naturally became more angry when they couldn't help him.

Now, they recked his car and abusively humiliated him there's no question he deserved satisfaction, but turning to acts of terror goes far beyond the initial crime and riles up collective prejudicial misgivings.

And he doesn't get satisfaction in the end, rather the police wind up shooting him after he threatens to blow up a museum, they gun him down when he eventually gives up even though he's unarmed and helpless.

Depressing is the word for such a film it's extremely depressing and sad and hopeless, it makes you feel ill and sick after it's over and by no means encourages another viewing.

I know this is what is recommended by many searching to expand minds and cultivate consciousness, but the revolting way you feel when the film finally ends also makes its shelf-life and influence less long-lasting.

Take a film like Dances with Wolves which tells a tragic tale of honour and friendship on the other hand.

The statistics presented at the end are grim.

But the fight against racism isn't tragically lurid.

Grace of My Heart

After winning a local singing competition, a young woman heads to New York, running into paradigmatic dilemmas afterwards, since at that specific time female vocalists weren't selling.

Distraught and frustrated she still soldiers on until one day a producer takes note, he doesn't ask her to sing her own songs however, but rather hopes that she'll write them for other people.

She's initially dismissive and critical but eventually sees that it's a great opportunity, and even though singing her own songs was no doubt preferable, writing them for other people still equals = career. 

She's quite talented too she comes up with several catchy wide-reaching hit singles, others noting her compositional brilliance as she boldly fights to freely express herself.

Marriage and family don't wholesomely spoil things she keeps writing songs in the conjugal aftermath, although the strain on her time is rather cumbersome she's a total gamer and goes with the flow.

Not that she doesn't have limits she won't put up with the brazen uninspiring cheating.

Falling for quite the eclective of men.

Never losing sight of her talent.

That was what really struck me about the film, Edna/Denise keeps creating no matter what, even when her less talented husband is bringing her down, even after she has to bring her baby to work.

She has an understanding producer who cares and looks out for her like an adoring sibling, and he usually has compelling advice professionally attuned to advancement and progress.

She uses her life's controversies to continuously write new appealing songs, otherwise I would have recommended avoiding relationships altogether and ubiquitously focusing on nothing but music.

That would be an interesting study: do artists who co-habitate with others and have families produce more consistent results than those who go it alone, does the constant emergence of unexpected relational events outweigh the creative freedom of idyllic independence?

Always seemed like experimenting forever and ever with meaning and relevance and sport and nonsense, would perhaps one day lead to Borg perfection, and devise sustainable omega molecules. 

But if you want to write irresistible pop songs constant experiment may lead to issues.

It certainly doesn't for Edna/Denise however.

She never stops givin' 'er.

Keeps writing hit songs.

*Based on Carole King so the online sources say.

Family Switch

The title's misleading. 

The rebellious self-obsessed years during which curiosity is severely criticized, and traditional wholesome old school activities condescendingly dismissed with haughty verisimilitude. 

The resultant antithetical shockwaves producing unsettling bland confusion, as festive recourse to playful jocosity sincerely struggles amidst the pretension. 

It's the Holiday Season in High School and the Walker Family is bitterly composed, having lost the communicative cohesion that once underscored their familial unity.

Mom's (Jennifer Garner) got a big presentation and daughter CC (Emma Myers) might make the national soccer team, Wyatt's (Brady Noon) hoping to get into Yale and his father's (Ed Helms) band has a unique opportunity.

Usually, the power of Christmas would unflinchingly aid their courageous misadventures, and by harnessing the spirit of the season they would proceed confident and emboldened. 

The unextinguished light fails to constructively guide them however.

Until they stop by a local observatory.

Where corporeal mischief interpersonally accrues.

Given the flamboyant opportunity to craft ebullient effervescent dreams, Family Switch's yuletide extravagance lucidly facilitates transmutation.

It's more like Die Hard nevertheless, more like a movie that takes place at Christmas, the Holiday Season popping up from time to time but by no means the predominant focus.

The otherworldly transformations seemed a bit too studio as well, as if an eccentric mystical expert wasn't consulted when shooting the scenes.

A missed opportunity: when the neighbourhood wives show up and start grilling CC and Wyatt, who are stuck in their mom and dad's bodies, individual criticisms are shared. But without accompanying close ups (think the end of Crocodile Dundee). The focus thus remains on CC and Wyatt. If each individual criticism had been announced with its own striking close up, the collegial balance between supporting and principal actors would have been more universally sustained. 

Part of the narrative directly celebrates teamwork so the point is eventually made. There's actually a lot of cool in this film. They put a lot of time and effort into it (try and find like 6 Christmas films or films that take place at Christmas to watch, some of them don't attempt to excel that much).  

I thought the acting improved a lot after the body switches and the actors starting pretending to play someone else 😜, I don't know if that was intentional, but the secondary characteristic investments paid imaginative dividends. 

I also thought it made a lot of clever points about family, and was thoughtfully designed to bring disgruntled folks back together during the holidays without being too preachy or overbearing.

Director McG should score points for ensuring the cast and crew took things really seriously.

The cast and crew should score multiplie points for creating a year round Christmas film. 

Even without the mind-blowing mysticism. 

Christmas in California.

Worth checkin' out. 

Sing

I always marvel at how tolerant my parents were regarding my singing when I was younger.

Before I learned to just take it easy and productively chill out when performing, I used to take on elevated subject matter, and my poor father had to listen as I bellowed Life on Mars? on the family piano, yet he still never let loose his irate criticisms, and let things take their natural course.

Sing gathers the harmonically gifted from a modest lively urban centre, and fortuitously unites them in passionate song, the reputed prize worth $100,000.

Unfortunately, the prize was a typo that greatly exaggerated the MC's income, but the lofty sum still motivated many, and a solid crew was melodiously assembled.

It must be the case the far reaching talent obliviously chillin' in so many towns, just waiting for similar opportunities to feverishly break out with elaborate invention.

Obsessions with being the best or not simply as good as a friend or relative, prevent so many from pragmatically proceeding as if there ever was an artistic superlative.

If you don't think you're the greatest singer or you needlessly worry how your words will sound, note that the most consistent songwriter in legendary memory won the Nobel Prize and he couldn't even sing.

American Idol is no doubt well-known for giving a shot to inspired local talent, and creating a vast incredible network of aspiring singers across the land.

But are local garage bands still seeking to frenetically emerge ultra summa cum laude, or just exist in the embryonic ether everlastingly invigorating rhythmic liaison?

Dylan, Bowie, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones seemed to me like they worked like it was their job to write song after song, and didn't just lounge about on the old trust fund seeking performative disruptive accolades. 

You get that rush outside of your comfort zone that effortlessly produces irresistible novelty, and as you constructively/bitterly/imaginatively/proactively/distractedly/vituperatively react there's no all-encompassing parallel for what you come up with.

Liked Sing's city of animals and the collective beasties intuitively enthralling.

Dreams effervescently accruing. 

Multivariable shapeshifting cascades.  

A Beautiful Life

A resilient fisherman makes a day-to-day living helping some friends down at the nearby docks, living on a sweet boat that his parents left him after they wound up in a tragic accident.

One of his mates likes to play music and he assists at his gigs around town, one night impressing a legendary widow with his exceptional singing and practical songwriting. 

She likes him so much that she invites him to patiently record at her in-house studio, with her daughter producing the songs, it's an incredible opportunity.

But he isn't ready at first the temperamental transition playing with his head, he still doubts his homegrown talent and trepidatiously remains hyper-critically unsure.

His songs are solid however and as he records them enthusiasm blossoms, and after the first release is met with applause self-assured belief tantalizingly manifests.

Moving from the wharf to superstardom in a couple of months still takes quite the heavy toll.

With newfound relationship responsibilities. 

Tantamount tension.

Consummate joy.

I suppose a lot of people are shy and it's difficult to prepare for mass observation, the overwhelming scrutiny of every micromovement generating controversy, buzz, and takeaway. 

I see the most ridiculous stuff in the For You news section on my cell (can someone hook me up with better articles?), it's like Malibu Stacy getting a new hat, I'm really just not that into it.

Nonetheless, I recognize that people are and that mundane trivialities build community, or through the relationships and fashionable choices of famous stars conversations matriculate.

I worry that fame can alter an otherwise innocent unique trajectory, that it's easy to filter out distractions when you aren't being meticulously criticized. 

If you can harness that tumultuous energy and use it to fuel your celebrated progression, I imagine that things would work out and that your outputs would consistently diversify. 

That's what the Beatles did anyways, they took that worldwide hysteria and responded impeccably. 

It's mind-boggling what they achieved from 1965 to 1970.

So many bands would deal with Satan for the albums Help! and Let it Be.

And for The Beatles, those aren't even the good ones.

Insanely good band.

Cool film too.

*Seriously, between 1965 and 1969 The Beatles released Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Magical Mystery Tour, The White Album (a crazy good double), and Abbey Road. With Yellow Submarine thrown in the mix too. Plus a bunch of hit singles that weren't on the LPs. It baffles the mind how anyone could have ever produced so much amazing pop in such a short period of time. I can't find anyone to compare them with. Plus their sound consistently changed throughout. How did they pull that off? They did stop touring early on. That may have played an instrumental role. 

When We Were Kings

It's tough to determine the varying degrees through which codes classify sensations, but the boxing legend introduced in When We Were Kings as Muhammad Ali is like the bona fide quintessential genuine.

I've never seen an athlete so at ease while rapidly sharing points of view, with pinpoint provocative picturesque poignancy, I have to admit, I was a bit overwhelmed.

Without rehearsing he sincerely presents multiple compelling thoughts and observations, without worrying how they'll be interpreted, or what people might shockingly think.

It's pure ironclad honest discourse which doesn't hesitate or pause, and also has cool things to say, what an incredible entertainer.

With idyllic public relations, Ali expertly holds the crowd, with carefree innocent freeform inspiration, like he truly was touched by God.

Perhaps brought about by character gained by his refusal to fight in Vietnam, the essential prominent humanistic integrity righteously disseminating goodwill and purpose.

With the advent of social media and the extra layer of thoughtful scrutiny, media sensations face quite the struggle when suddenly engaging the critical public.

And even though you would think remarkable variability would generally spread with unconcerned expression, the age old mass marketed commercial prejudice still seems to be manifesting one-dimensional stereotypes.

It seemed like within an open-minded spectrum composed with respect and multilateral dignity, alternative ideas would resoundingly flourish in what's oft referred to as friendly conversation.

Not in terms of the monstrous dissonance chaotically cultivated by the resurgent far right, nor the exceedingly suffocating rules prudishly administered by the far left.

But a less lucrative and spellbinding continuum bound to sell far fewer newspapers, wherein which less sarcastic and vitriolic peeps fluently inquire and delve and reckon.

Nevertheless, I imagine that even within the quasi-totalitarian discourse, Muhammad Ali's imaginative voice still would have wondrously shone through.

With ethical poise and cultural understanding, literally like no other mass media sensation, it's like smoothly flowing poetic jazz music freely offered with upstanding nerve.

I wholeheartedly recommend When We Were Kings to anyone who deals with media.

A crash course in vital fluidity.

Presented in verdant balm.

Elvis

It's surprising more films haven't been made about Elvis (Austin Butler), and that it took so long for this one to come out, but I suppose rock bioflicks aren't really that common, or that I don't recall one having been made about the Beatles or Rolling Stones.

A big one anyways.

You'd think there'd be a huge market for stylistic glimpses into chaotic yesteryear, but perhaps said fans no longer care much for movies, and multigenerational appeal remains too risky (The Doors was cool in my youth).

Elvis's influence was waning when I was younger but he was still widely regarded as The King, and no other musical performer ever rivalled his incredible American popularity, there were certainly dozens of potential candidates, but no one else commensurately captured that sensational spotlight so smoothly.

So pervasively.

I liked many of his songs and even enjoyed playing them on the piano, but I wasn't that interested in the phenomenon, I was way more into Brit pop.

He had kind of been identified with the more straight and narrow path, and I often associated his music with study, which made it less appealing.

Baz Luhrmann is no doubt aware of this crisp commercial characterization, his film focusing on controversies from Elvis's life, where he spoke out against the grain.

Like a passionate devoted fan, he chronicles the less wholesome aspects of the King, and serializes his sultry swagger in contumacious cordial conflict.

Although I really don't know how seriously a non-traditional Christmas special challenged Woodstock, but it seemed to work according to the film, and helped him regain the centre stage, I wholeheartedly feel no shame for my love of Christmas specials.

The film focuses much of its attention on Elvis's relationship with his manager (Tom Hanks as Colonel Tom Parker), who took advantage of the singer's naivety to earn an astronomical income.

Everything starts off well but things become tricky when it comes to international travel, since the Colonel has no legal identity and can't leave America, he consistently tricks Elvis into remaining stateside.

Such a shame the managerial aspects the real-world greed that complicates art.

Elvis still never stopped givin' 'er.

Even when he was forced to do so practically every night.

Some of his songs seem truly timeless and I'll still stop and listen like that guy on Seinfeld. 

Staple tradition. Consistent change. 

Shouldn't lyrics have been used in the title?

Border Radio

A rock journalist and a musician engage in staple domestic tomfoolery, perhaps committed to sustaining the vital should meticulous mayhem materialize. 

In the meantime, for the husband, it's off down south after an act of theft, where he celebrates his unabashed freedom with expert chillin' and self-absorbed calm.

His wife's none too impressed but still must admit she wants to find him, steadily sleuthing viaduct volatility with mutual friends intuitive scorn.

Assistance is readily provided although outcome perusal remains rather suspect, socializing having-something-to-do spontaneously lithe indelible induction.

Like a lovelorn lullaby relapse cervezatude cut economic nausea, an uncertain arrhythmic frequency effervescently tempers said grizzly innocence. 

Pervasive contemporary impenitent prognosis picturesquely pioneering meaningless mercy, a sense of indisposed primordial justice lacking formal judicial concern.

Prevalent protruding prolonged distractions sporadically instigate tranquil harmonies, like you're young with nothing to do and it's the summer and warm outside.

Disjointed realities then suddenly reasserted with a dutiful sense of improvised propriety, as if they're finally gettin' 'round to it as the lickspittle lackadaisically loiters.

With instances of distressed imposition diversifying resonant mischievous solace, at times the discontinuous gravity hauntingly strives to riff somnambulized. 

But holistic freedom's afoot, the cast permitted to add waylaid surety, a randomized reclusive carnivalesque germination engendering manifest familiar disarray. 

From 1987, an early progenitor of the mockumentary style more profuse in later years, still a wonderful way to tell a story, I'll certainly never grow tired of it.

Border Radio doesn't pose any questions anyone's been meaning to ask.

To develop an authentic visceral perspective.

Extemporaneously its own. 

Neptune Frost

Immersive soundscape luscious lounging technoconscious enviroactivism, resolute awareness communally composed distinct improvised incisive revelation. 

I was watching Superman (1978) the other day and taking note of Kryptonian crystal, how they used crystalline technologies to perform so many hydroelectric functions. 

I'm not sure why, but seeing the crystals made me think of the rays of the sun, and how they're transmitted across our solar system with luminescent solar levity.

I had been thinking about the Venus flytrap and how it evolved to mimic its surroundings, and was wondering how that could ever be possible without external spiritual light.

Or thought.

Isn't it like plants that have evolved to mimic their surroundings, or animals who have developed specific evolutionary adaptations to aid their survival, consciously thought such adaptations would be beneficial, and psychologically sought them for millennia?

Barring the appearance of a game changing divinity, who simply utilized his or her miraculous omniscience to suddenly spark change around the world, perhaps God rather lives in the sun and orchestrates evolution based upon its quality of light.

Perhaps there's much more to the light we generally halfheartedly consider, and a being capable of manipulating its energy creatively does so to simultaneously spearhead manifold change?

Thus, the porcupine seeks a potent defence to prevent the other forest and jungle and savannah animals from attacking it, and silently prays for quills for millennia, the deity constantly bombarded with myriad thoughts which he or she slowly sifts through till the end of time.

The God then responsible for generating life on Earth through the development of his or her munificent sun, then adjusts the quality of light his or her star shares, which facilitates evolutionary change (and quills for porcupines). 

Without thought, without the desire to slowly suddenly adapt to natural surroundings, how does "inanimate" life suddenly adapt to its surroundings?

Doesn't it make more sense that life in general spiritually communicates, and transmits thought at imperceptible levels which we have yet to comprehensively detect (like how different animals can see, hear, or smell things we can't)?

Perhaps life is a computer program but isn't that a dangerous idea, that encourages the mechanical misperception of fluent goodwill and prosperous life?

Neptune Frost is brilliant and it encourages growth and change. The kind of growth and change that shouldn't take millennia. Through the historical ebb and flow.

Many of its ideas were indeed mainstream in my youth. 

It's never too late to bring them back.

They sought peace and general prosperity.

Sound of Metal

Freely travellin' 'cross the country fluidly movin' from gig to gig, the wild thrilling sustained adrenaline boldly yielding extensive showcase.

Then suddenly the swift withdrawal of an essential sense shocking consternation, distressing requisite adjustments cold uncertainty latent flux.

Fortunately, communities exist to gently facilitate bold transitions, people aware and wholeheartedly concerned with helpful practical communal bulwarks.

A vast undertaking expansive and dear warmly connecting and nurturing individuals, from which new lives energetically emerge compelling unique artistic wonders.

After Ruben Stone (Riz Ahmed) loses his hearing he finds a supportive chill community, which patiently teaches him to adapt in a warm instructive active atmosphere.

He gradually learns sign language while teaching drumming and making friends, the resonant intricate inclusivity producing value added information. 

He's still interested in a procedure which may restore his hearing, however, even if it costs around $40,000 and he doesn't want to sell his ride.

A more robust healthcare system may have easily absorbed the cost, the collective flow of meaningful capital generating universal levity.

Isn't health something to be taken care of regardless of wealth or race or creed, shouldn't everyone have access to the same medicinal opportunities?

Doesn't a healthy population work more effectively on the job, and don't such salubrious dividends lead to systematized prosperity?

Healthy people earning higher incomes have more money to spend, thereby expanding robust economies with various recreational facilities.

I don't know what it's like in the U.S but having access to healthcare in Canada and Québec is great, taxes are somewhat higher, but so far I've never had to worry (there are disturbing stories out there).

Life's different when you don't have to worry about health or prohibitive educational costs. You can spend more time engaged with life and study without having to worry all the time.

Although it looks like the economic shocks of the pandemic are trying to bankrupt the middle-class, there was a chance that debts may have been paid off someday, it even seemed like a working possibility.

Healthy communities. Productive workplaces. Worry free studies. Reliable debt management.

Just takes some higher taxes.

Holistic fair play.

Rhizome ripples.  

Coda

A determined family diligent and vigorous emphatically fishes the unforgiving seas, overflowing with versatile camaraderie they make ends meet with vast productivity. 

But they grow weary of the paltry sums they regularly receive for their agile catch, and worry that perhaps they're being underpaid, as do most of their fellow fisherpeople.

The mother (Marlee Matlin as Jackie Rossi), father (Troy Kotsur as Frank), and son (Daniel Durant as Leo) can't hear, so daughter Ruby (Emilia Jones) takes care of most of the business, which often irritates feisty Leo, who feels he should be playing a senior role.

Governmental oversight suddenly demands they entertain an official intent on monitoring, but Ruby isn't onboard that day, and her family can't hear the coast guard when they come calling.

A hefty fine is administered along with distressing familial reckoning, should Ruby help out her family, first and foremost, or pursue singing at Berklee College of Music?

As the family goes it alone and tries to make more money by selling their own fish, Ruby struggles with her identity, and whether or not she'll always play that role. 

Without her they stand to lose everything.

And they don't have an alternative trade.

I probably wouldn't have left them. Ruby is essential to the business. She was irreplaceable and they can't afford to hire someone. And without her the result is possibly life on disability.

I'm lucky to have attended some good schools and to have received a solid education, but I wonder at times if I would have progressed just as well had I never attended school at all.

Probably not, with education came travel and a wide variety of experiences. Experience broadened my horizons and gave me more to think about.

Plus school challenges you in a way the real world rarely does. It's a unique rush you'll find nowhere else. And the assignments at times are incredible compared to the real world.

But my family wasn't relying on me.

And none of them have a serious disability.

But things work out in the movies (I moved back when I was needed at home during COVID) and there are lots of prominent artists who never went to school, if you can sing well you can sing well, a school can help you progress, but you can also do so on your own.

Coda is hopeful and feel good even at times as it despairs, but I still have to admit I felt bad for her family when she left, as if the film was portraying them like an encumbrance.

Ah well, that's just me, clearly many more people thought otherwise. 

Change is a wonderful thing.

Especially if it works in long held cherished traditions.  

Running on Empty

A family nurtured on the run from the law, as two aging radicals domestically innovate.

They were both once somewhat younger but not much less idealistic, and they engaged in destructive violence, by blowing up the lab responsible for making Napalm, no was supposed to be there, but an innocent janitor was blinded.

Their network was vast and organized and managed to keep them on the move, to help them avoid incarceration for enough time to raise a family.

Their family's tight and genuinely loving full of creative exploration, the imaginative alternative means cultivated by clandestine life.

It's all the children have ever known and they've matured and adapted well, at least inasmuch as they love each other and are correspondingly respectful.

Mom (Christine Lahti) and dad (Judd Hirsch) feel somewhat guilty but there's little time to wallow, yet when their eldest son (River Phoenix as _______) reaches his late teens he starts to think about University.

He has a musical gift and is earnestly supported by his teacher (Ed Crowley), he even falls for his feisty daughter (Martha Plimpton) and dares to share his courageous plan.

His competing responsibilities are rather solemnly negotiated, as he deals with teenage impulse and unanticipated affection.

It's a bizarro shout out to active engagement generally presented with caring sympathy, I tend to think no one would make a similar contemporary film (in North America), but I'm likely mistaken, you never know what's out there.

I fully support the critique of the manufacture of destructive weapons like Napalm, and the war machine in general, a peaceful world praises productivity, contemplative virtues beyond the utilitarian.

But I can't get behind using violence to putting an end to violence, unless you're forced to do so, as in the case of Ukraine. There are just so many innocent victims. So many people who may have been keen carpenters, teachers, actors, even accountants, if they hadn't got caught up in an ideological conflict. I'd prefer to see concerned citizens capture violent leaders from different sides and force them to fight it out like gladiators on TV. When the people see the hopeless position the gaunt promoters of warlike violence find themselves within, it would no doubt produce a comic effect, which may generate a sustained resonance.

I don't claim to know a universal path forward, there's so much contradiction in an active thoughtful life, so many unforeseen intricate complications that mass cultural endeavour seems foolhardy.

A disposable income seems to help, however, keeping people away from poverty. If they aren't stressed about food and shelter they're more at ease with things in general. 

And businesses flourish and there's less of a need for credit and people can relax and have fun after a busy day's work.

With friends or with their families. 

Disposable incomes.

A huge win win.