Monday Morning Musings:
“We have grown to trust blindly in our senses of balance and reason, and I can see where the mind might fight wildly to preserve its own familiar stable patterns against all evidence that it was leaning sideways.”
–Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House
The weather has been erratic. Storms followed by sunshine, but always hot, only the level of humidity changes. The volatile, vacillating moods are echoed in the movie we see about a woman with an abusive husband and their custody battle. Neither child wants to see the father, but the daughter, who is almost eighteen, doesn’t have to. It’s the ten-year-old son, Julian, who must submit to visiting his father in this movie that becomes an intense thriller, rather than a legal drama. After the movie, we walk through Old City, where ghosts still walk, flitting through gates to hover over flowers, and drift over the cobblestone streets.
Sun-chased charcoal clouds
tumble through the evening sky
bright blooms smile hello
We sip wine another night as the sky changes once again—blue turning grey. But we stay.
Wine glasses turn red,
echoes of the summer blooms
coloring the gloom
We travel to the New Jersey Fringe Festival in Hammonton, NJ—“Blueberry Capital of the World.” We see three short plays, funny, touching, strange. (It is fringe after all.)
walk through human emotion,
taste laughter and tears
We see a play about two fantasy worlds colliding,
the man who lives in a porno world
meets a woman
into her action hero world.
We thought the script could be tightened,
some excised, some enlightened,
but it was silly fun—and we’d only just begun
when off to the next one
about a man with two cartoon character names
and a most awkward life,
not so much filled with strife,
rather loneliness and seeking to connect
(even when his house is wrecked)
it’s whimsical, with ukulele and narration
and women who give him quite an education
in their multiple roles in his life, unlucky as it is
somehow, we see some hope at the end in his.
We pause to shop and eat gelato
walk through the flow, and then go
onto the next play
stay there in the small, hot basement room
listen to the man, the actor, speak,
we jump at every creak
we’ve seen him before
(someone opens the door
to cool the room a bit,
and still we sit).
Last year he performed here
serial murderer Jeffery Dahmer,
he is compelling, in this telling
of the ghosts and demons he has seen.
All the evidence leaning sideways,
Try to make sense of what we see and fear
With theater we sway a bit—wonder what is real
What did he see? What did he feel?
Is it all a metaphor for inner trauma,
Packaged as paranormal drama?
And does it matter if it is?
We take what he gives
entertainment and thoughtful reflection
we walk and talk in the direction
of our car. Then off to dinner, a day well spent
in this summer event.
The clouds fly by—
perhaps it’s my fantasy
to see ghosts and shadow figures in the sky.
I decided to play with form a bit today–Haibun and rhyme.
We ate dinner at Mera Khana in Berlin, NJ, where I finally got my vegetable samosas. (Everything they make is delicious.)