NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January 2018 and published in May 2020.
I was in no position to take any of Halloway’s shit after a 5-day binge on cooked Euro-celery root and the headaches. God damned headaches.
First thing he comes on with I should start off with the incision from the carnie side of the cerebral influx not remembering yesterday’s lesson about shape shifting and hemorrhoids from Dr Ghastling. Halloway was a real stinker like my pappy said.
No effects on the vortex even if instantly watching unlimited moving pictures for a quarter had nothing to do with the skunk hangover of the patented patient. Fades faster to pinwheels and the smell of audacious ringmasters.
Holloway’s brother-in-law, Chromebook had no jurisdiction on this side of Camden yet he bullied Frank and his sister incessantly for information just to get an emotional contact high. It’s been known that in some hidden forgotten satanic circles that emotional vampires take authoritative forms such as lawmen so they can put the squeeze on faster and easier.
No one noticed my scalpel shaking in my appendage while rotating the blade diagonally against Dr Halloway’s orders. Shit. The necroband anesthesia was wearing off. I needed a hit before the patient. He was just a meat baby anyway. An adult bodystocking. He signed the papers so it was all on the up and up. The operation was.
“I hate to brag.” I said which is untrue. I love to brag.
“I’ve once had a hunchback on the table break out in rage when he woke up to see his intestinal visceral in my hand.”
Halloway finally shut up and listened as he injected the patient with 1,200 milligrams of Delaudid so I could continue my jackhammer approach differing from anything I did before on a patient.
“The hunchback grabbed his insides our of my fingers and sniffed them mumbling something about malpractice and I was more afraid of the word malpractice than I was of this monster waving his insides out and about.”
Halloway rode my ass a little more while I tried to finish my tale telling me to concentrate on the surgery at hand. It was my hand at hand so I shoved him and he knocked nurse Mia into my Nitro supplies. Instead of freaking I grabbed her and told her to get orders out to clean the mess and fill out proper procedure forms for sexual harassment against Halloway. I’d back her up and say I saw him touch her thighs in protest against the patient’s skullectemy. As she left I tucked mr meat baby’s skeptic under his rear circular lobe.
“No malpractice here Mr Moto. Now sit the fuck back and let’s put you together.’ I had to use the ball peen hammer to knock him out because a needle wouldn’t hit the mainline fast enough. The Nurse at hand did the injection shit and I did my Indian Healing Dance before shoving his yuck yucks back in his body. I had to reach down his throat manually to find a piece of his Duodenum lodged in there. I used a pocket sewing kit my daughter had given me for Saint Patricks Day to get the insiders job inside before closing him up. Sometimes you have to make due with whats available. You ever hear of Seward’s Theory of Skull Unification and Carcass Connection?”
I looked Halloway in the eye and asked again. He hurried off forgetting his final instructions to wind up the wound with scarfree tape. He also left his bottle of vodka.
Sheriff Jejun got wise to ole Chromebook’s iniltration on his turf. If anyone is going to shake Frank and Jane’s beans it’s going to be him. He needed the fix more than his rival Chrombook. Jejun was more of a gentle emotional werewolf draining the families only 3 nights a month and usually while they slept so they were better form now knowing. An after effect of an emotional werewolf is more like a night out one ecstasy the next day. Slight discomfort and spinal shaking. The vampire however drains you until the point of death then releases you. Sometimes the vampire works slowly over the course of several days maybe even a week. It takes weeks to recover.
The battle between Jejun and Chromebook goes back centuries worse than any invisible underground catastrophe imaginable.
I think Halloway is an emotional vampire afraid to show his colors in the office, which explains his pent up anger, and skin corrosion. I guess I’m warning you less subtly then I do my comrade Doctors and nurses. Fuck the doctors. Their mostly hacks and dictator individualists that have no talent just training. Don’t get me started on the nurses and the pandemonium that ensues just looking at one.
As Mr Lloyd Johnson used to say “They are all antidotes for an erection”.
Don’t hide or run. Stay put and all will be as it can under the knife
Scraggly I call him. Or her. Not sure. Doesn’t matter. Sex is irrelevant. He annoys me and adores me. I like him and talk to him. He has long messed up hair and looks well fed and clean despite his messy hair. He approaches me every day in the alley. I’m never sure if he wants something besides attention. Kind of like me. I don’t want to touch him because I don’t know where he’s been. He usually keeps his distance but tonight he went way over the edge.
I was on the back porch smoking with a cup of decaf coffee and trying to read when I hear that voice. I made the mistake of talking to him. The next thing you know he’s on the back steps next to me trying to get me to touch him. He even tried to drink my coffee and it seemed he wanted to read my book if he even knows how to read. Ignoring him didn’t work so I caved in and touched him. Of course he wanted more. I gave a little more attention and talked to him.
I finished my cigarette and grabbed my book and cup and said goodbye.
It mad me realize that I’m having enough problems sharing a house with someone. If I’m not ready for a casual relationship with a neighborhood cat then I’m not ready to have a cat or a pet. If I’m not ready to have a relationship with a cat then a human is out of the question.
“I’ll trade your vanity for my sanity.” I said to Marcus in 1995.
We never made the trade.
I’ve had another blah day today. I had to do a “Stress test” at my Cardiologist early this morning. My mom likes to take me there to make sure I am ok etc. I slept at my mom’s last night.
I was instructed not to drink caffeine for 12 hours before and no smoking after midnight last night. Yes, I have a heart condition and I started smoking again. Not even close to half as much as I used to. I don’t drink that much coffee. But that’s not the point. It was rough waking up and staying up then going for a stress test. I was stressed from not having coffee and smoking.
I was there for over 3hours and or was mostly waiting around and 2 photo sessions after putting fluid in me for the machine. The only “test” I took was a 10-15 minute treadmill until my hear rate was up to 150 beats a minute. The Doctor was fun to look at except for her wedding ring. Well, it was a nice wedding ring. You get the idea.
I left there so groggy for some reason. Mom took me food shopping. She took me. I paid. Ha. Then we did lunch and I finally bought a coffee. A “French Toast Latte” actually, with 4 shots of espresso. I drank up and had a smoke finally. Ahh. I drank the whole thing and my ass was still dragging.
I came home with mom. I sleep here some Friday nights so I can help my uncle Saturday mornings. I helped my mom with a few things and cleaned out my broken down car in her driveway. I donated it to Purple Heart and they are picking it up on Monday.
It’s a sad loss. I loved that car but it needs too much work and I can’t afford it right now. I did score a bunch of coins from it. SO I took a walk to the bank to cash them in. TD bank charges 6% on the coin machine if you don’t have an account with them. I’ve and accounts with them for years even when they were Commerce Bank and they never charged. Now I don’t have an account and they charged me over a dollar and I ended up with just under 17 dollars. Oh well, it was still found money.
I took a walk into town to get some smokes and splurge on a Starbucks coffee (half decaf at this point) since I had some extra money. Chatted with the friendly kid at CVS I see every week about cigarettes mostly. My old friend from when I worked at Starbucks was working and we chatted it up a bit. One of the girls I used to see there almost every night a couple years back looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back. I used to think she was cute. She still is. I just don’t always think about these things all of the time. Just at my Doctor today.
“Are you the same guy..?” She asked then paused.
“That used to be her every night? Yes.” I answered.
“You lost a lot of weight. You look great.” She said.
I thanked her and almost told he she looked good too but wasn’t sure if that’s what I’m supposed to say or not anymore. I talked to her while she made my drink.
“You used to drive that big red car right?” She asked.
“Yeah. I’m not driving it now.” I said.
“What are you driving?”
“Nothing.”
“Where do you live now?”
“Fairview.”
“Where’s that?”
“ It’s on the edge of Camden near Collingswood. Where do you live?”
“Bellmawr.”
“Cool. Nice seeing you again.”
“Great to see you. Stop in more.”
I took my drink in a great mood. I gained a little of my weight back in the past month and have been a little self-conscious. I hadn’t shaved in a week and my hair was un-kept today so “looking good” was the last thing on my mind. It felt good to hear it. When I first lost the weight after a month or so recovering from my heart surgery months ago I was so confident. I was able to wear clothes I couldn’t fit into for over 4 years. That faded away fast with other priorities making me forget.
It occurred to me that I didn’t even feel bad about not having a car or even a job because “I looked good” to quote my friend John, even when I was at my worst.
I guess it was a good day. Because other people’s opinion’s of my looks makes me feel better than my accomplishments.
In reality I’d rather have created something like a piece of art, poetry or a novel than look good but I was nice to hear it.
I’ll keep my sanity (the little I have) and you can keep your vanity.
Writing. I write even when I’m not writing. I have so many stories, ideas, blogs and books written in my head and a small portion of them are half or a quarter written on paper. Not paper. In Word documents. Unfinished thoughts, ideas, blogs, stories and novels. A writer writes all of the time. I used t write the way I thought and spoke. Now I speak and think the way I write. Sometimes my actual thoughts and spoken words use correct grammar and syntax more so than when I write.
Not everyone is a writer but everyone has a story worth writing. Everyone could be a writer. I believe everyone should write. Don’t be afraid. It’s just putting words in front of each other. Write what is on your mind. Write what happened. There are no rules. Some say that there are rules and a proper way to write. Blah.. Fuck grammar, syntax, spelling, punctuation and big words. If you can’t be creative then don’t. Just say it.
We all have live a rich life. Not always happy. Not always miserable but something worth writing about. Some of us struggle with day to day living and survival and it’s worth writing about. Some of us are happy and enjoy life with occasional struggles worth writing about. Right?
A lot of my friend send me poetry and prose that the usually keep to themselves and sometimes even hide away. These pieces of writings are some of the best I’ve ever read. I’ve published a few on my wordpress site and they even got more readers than I get. So much
Of all of the arts I’ve tried and even excelled at, writing is my favorite. Something about seeing what’s in my mind on paper or on a document or blog makes me happy and fulfilled no matter how bad I feel or what the topic is. I have this innate desire to share my thoughts and feelings as often as possible online and I enjoy positive and negative feedback. I am self-absorbed and like to be in charge. Writing is perfect for my ego. It satisfies my need for instant gratification. It’s one thing I can do without depending on other people. Complete control.
Whenever I get involved with projects whether it’s art, music or business partnerships I am the only one that has my heart in it and the others tend to fade out. They have their own dreams and lives to live. I can’t expect people to blindly follow my dreams and goals. So I write. I write. I write.
I may never be a best selling novelist or celebrated poet but I have people that read what I write. People like you. You must want to red what I have to say of you wouldn’t be reading this now. I guess there’s the partnership. There is also the completion of my writing. Once you read it my writing becomes more than just self indulgent self absorbed ramblings It is a complete work of art.
I thank you for that. I thank you for making me who I am today; A writer.
The three of them approached me months ago about performing along with my former partner, Ethan Urban (formerly known as the Julian Barrett), in the World Famous Crawlspace Brothers, a band that did acoustic songs about serial killers. It was a tough decision for me because I don’t have much of a steady income due to the little unemployment and my mental and physical disorders. Ethan needed to get off from job and couldn’t do it. They still wanted me.
I’ve been changing a lot through the years and I’ve become a recluse and slightly agoraphobic. My social outings and traveling have been limited for years now. I also was loosing interest in the serial killer thing as well. It was re-sparked when I re published my infamous Serial Killer Coloring Bookshttp://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/best-of-the-serial-killer-coloring-book/15707709 in one volume then I was interviewed by John Borowski for a film he was making about the serial killer culture.
Despite my renewed interest in the true crime subject I have sold most of my collectables in the past few months to survive. I lost any emotional attachments to the items anyway. It’s been a one day at a time living leading up to this weekend. May 28th, 2011. The Crime Scene.
Thanks to Matthew Aaron supporting my artistic efforts I am drawing fairly consistently for the first time in 10 years. We even worked together on a few drawings I did and I used one for the cover of my updated best of the Serial Killer Coloring Book.
Meanwhile, as the days go by, I am stressed and nervous about the travel and the event. I’m not worried about the performing. Never have been. It’s the surrounding events like flying, waiting, socializing and leaving the comforts of my home. The financial pressures have increased as well. I’m committed. I like the people I will be with for the event. I know there will be a lot of fun despite my fears, phobias, etc.
Now I am selling my art, my writings, my collectables and anything else I can do to raise money for all of the bills rushing on me after the weekend of killer fun.
Here’s some things I am selling. Buy. Make me a happy starving artist. Ha..
Email me at choppingmall@yahoo.com to make arrangements or with any questions.
Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer (May 21, 1960 – November 28, 1994) was an American serial killer and sex offender. Dahmer murdered 17 men and boys – many of whom were of African or Asian descent – between 1978 and 1991, with the majority of the murders occurring between 1987 and 1991. His murders were particularly gruesome, involving rape, torture, dismemberment, necrophilia and cannibalism. On November 28, 1994, he was beaten to death by an inmate at the Columbia Correctional Institution, where he had been incarcerated.
RARE OTTIS TOOLE HAND WRITTEN LETTER INCLUDING HIS INFAMOUS BBQ SAUCE RECIPE HE CLAIMED TO USE IN EATING VICTIMS $85
Ottis Elwood Toole (March 5, 1947 – September 15, 1996) was an American serial killer and arsonist. He was an accomplice of convicted serial killer Henry Lee Lucas. Toole admitted to multiple counts of murder, rape, and cannibalism, and was the suspect in several unsolved murders. He recanted and restated a number of confessions. Toole was convicted of three counts of murder, and confessed to four more murder charges before dying in prison.
HARRISON GRAHAM ART $30
A mentally-retarded drug abuser, Harrison Graham was well-known in his Philadelphia ghettoneighborhood. Sometimes, he would amuse the local children with his “Cookie Monster” puppet; other times they found him digging graves — for dogs, he said — in nearby vacant lots. Apparently, no one suspected that his simple mind might hide a darker urge, compelling him toward homicide.
In early August 1987, Graham quarreled with his landlord’s nephew, afterward evacuating his apartment, nailing the door shut out of spite. Police were summoned on the afternoon of August 9, when neighbors filed complaints of a pervasive stench that emanated from the room. Inside, patrolmen found two strangled women’s bodies, three more skeletons beneath a mound of garbage on the floor, another tied up in the closet.
Graham had been living in the squalid hole since 1983, and he had not been idle. Officers began to search the neighborhood for Graham, house by house, while newsmen noted that the suspect’s dwelling stood a mere three miles from Gary Heidnik’s “house of horrors,” where another ghoulish scene had been discovered five months earlier. The roof of Graham’s building yielded skeletal remains of victim number seven, but initial warrants simply charged the missing suspect with abuse of corpses. Murder was not proven until August 11, when a medical examiner reported that the freshest victims had been strangled some time in the past ten days.
On August 14, another skull and partial skeleton were excavated from the dirt floor of a row house three doors down from Graham’s building. He surrendered two days later and confessed to seven murders since the winter months of 1986. According to his statement, Graham picked up female addicts on the street, enticing them with offers of a fix, and brought them home where they were murdered after sex. On August 26, psychiatrists declared that he was competent for trial.
In April 1988, dispensing with his right to trial by jury, Graham laid his case before a solitary judge. Convicted on seven counts of first-degree murder and seven counts of abusing a corpse, he was sentenced to life imprisonment, followed by six electrocutions. The unusual sentence — hailed by Graham’s lawyer as “compassionate and brilliant” — theoretically assures that he will never be paroled.
WILLIAM HEIRENS THE LIPSTICK KILLER SIGNED REJECTION LETTER $35
William George Heirens (born November 15, 1928[1]) is a convicted American serial killer who confessed to three murders in 1946. Heirens has been called The Lipstick Killer due to a notorious message scrawled in lipstick at a crime scene. He is reputedly the world’s longest serving prisoner, having thus far spent 64 years in prison.[2]
He is currently incarcerated at the Dixon Correctional Center medium security prison in Dixon, Illinois (Inmate No. C-06103). Though he remains imprisoned, Heirens has recanted his confession, and claimed to be a victim of coercive interrogation and police brutality.[3]
Rollings later confessed to raping several of his victims, committing an additional 1989 triple homicide in Shreveport, Louisiana, and attempting to murder his father in May 1990. In total, Rolling confessed to killing eight people.[1] He was executed by lethal injection in 2006.
“When one’s in this world, surely the best thing one can do, isn’t it, is to go out of it? Whether one’s mad or not, frightened or not.” Louis- Ferdinand Celine
It’s true, I confess. I want out. Don’t you? Any escape will do. Movies, television, solitaire, drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, gambling, eating, dreaming, drawing, reading, writing, music, dancing, games, working, relationships, sleeping, socializing, surfing the internet, etc.
I’ve personally experienced the joy and escapism of all of the above. Everything I do is a distraction from someone or something else that bothers me. To be trapped alone with my thoughts is the worst thing possible. That is my world. My thoughts. My ideas. My unfulfilled dreams and fantasies. Unrealistic goals that I will never meet. I run tapes in my head of every failure and every success. Wishing to avoid one and get more of the other.
Did I ever tell you about my dancing Grandmother? She has no legs. What has two legs and bleeds a lot? Half a dog. What do you get if you cross a cow with a camel? A lumpy milkshake. What’s Mary short for? She’s got no legs.
See? I’d rather do anything else except write about how I feel inside. Terrible. Thanks for asking. Insanity is the only route I haven’t taken besides Jail and Suicide. I’m too chicken for that. I’ve experienced some forms of insanity like depression and anxiety but not the full-blown Psychotic or Schizophrenic. Not yet. I’m working on it.
There is a fine line between denial and acceptance. I’ve crossed it. I am in denial. Well maybe not now that I’m aware of the denial but I was. Denying all of my pain. The recovery of failed marriages and relationships. The mourning of a thriving business I once had. The loss of jobs. The thrill of new experiences of my life like sexual fantasies coming to life. The lack of obsessions because I am obsessed with too much. My heart’s been broken several times in the past years and I didn’t even know it. The pressure of not knowing how I am going to pay my rent yet alone eat in the next month. The bills and debt of the last year or two that I was depressed beyond repair. It’s piling up and it’s all coming out at once.
Add this up with the goddamned heat and the miserable people around me and you get – me- a walking talking time bomb. I repress all of my problems. No closure on them as they say in therapy. I can usually maintain my composure like a tough guy but I haven’t been able to shed a tear for my self in along time. I’m either angry or I have that fake happiness that I even fool myself with.
A rush of fear, anxiety, loneliness, hopelessness, anger, depression and heartache at the same time wearing me down like a sleepless night of pills and vodka while running a two hour marathon that has no winner only destitute losers that beg for someone to take care of them. Take care of me. Hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be all right. I won’t believe you but it’s a start. Maybe then I can at least plant one good foot on the ground and be part of the world instead of hiding from it.
I’m at wit’s end right now. I’m at wit’s about everything but I’m not going to talk about right now. Not the personal stuff. Maybe some of it will slip. Ok a lot of it will because it’s all connected. I’m thinking out loud so to speak. Or should I say I’m thinking on paper or ..well “I’m thinking on a word document so to write.”
I am frustrated about money, creativity and various projects. I have a lot going on at the same time and between my ADHD and being Bipolar my focus and follow through is all over the place. Top it off with the Trigeminal Neuralgia popping up now and then and it’s difficult to even finish writing a blog sometimes.
Ok. Hopefully you’ve been reading my blogs so I don’t have to repeat myself. I probably will anyway.
I am desperately trying to figure out a way to make money on the internet and or through my art specifically. I have books published for sale, art for sale, T-shirts for sale; I have affiliate programs with dozens of web sites and my own social network. I have made a little money here and there and don’t know what to do next. I keep doing what I’ve been doing. I promote on all of the social networks I belong to. I promote on my blog sites as you know and I’ll get to that at the end of the blog.
I have other options for the books. The publisher has several marketing packages that cost money. That option is out. I sent several press releases about my books and no write-ups except by my friend at the Philadelphia City Paper. Maybe I need to send more. I did one book signing and little success. I can also send the book out to more publishers because my publisher doesn’t have the rights to it. I do. Everything takes time and money. I have the time but not the money. Yet.
It’s weird how I post links to my novel, Yellow Socks and the Best of the Serial Killer Coloring Book several times a week. I think I am spamming sometimes or over kill it. I get responses that people like the post then they don’t buy it. I also get people that say how bad they want to purchase my book but they haven’t gotten around to it yet. They don’t. Then there are the people that ask me where they can purchase the books when the links are posted all over my profiles and blogs. I tell them politely and then they don’t buy anything. It’s the same with my t-shirt site. I lower my expectations but keep my hopes high. I end up with constant repressed frustration. People are people and I do the same thing sometimes.
I knew starting a new social network at the same time that the almighty king of social network’s prime. My social network, Novaboon, was created out of pure anger and rebellion from my own personal “persecution” from facebook. I kept falling victim to censorship and constant regulations on my profile. Facebook can be pretty controlling almost fascist like. There is a limit to how many friends you can request or have then hypocritically constantly post profiles suggesting you add them. There is a limit to how many messages you can send in given time. They remove images that they claim to violate their “terms” yet don’t say which one.
I don’t want to get into details about but I have a lot of complaints about them and was angered and decided to create my own social network. I didn’t expect to in anyway compete with facebook or even the dying MySpace. I wanted to create an alternative for those as frustrated as I am. I wanted an unrestricted social network with great customer service. I grabbed the best person I knew to partner up with me to do the back end. The technical computer knowledge to help me make this happen. He was into the idea and we wrote up a business plan and set our goals. Novaboon was born in October 2010 and was launched in November 2010. My duties are the promotional, system tester/user, creative and marketing end.
I started it to fill a void I suspected existed and to give people similar to me an alternative site to post what they want. We set out to make it the best we could. We also decided we want to make money through obtaining advertisers eventually.
The Novaboon promotion took off immediately and we grew pretty fast in the fist few weeks to a month. I promoted mostly on other social networks especially facebook. This of course got me into more censorship issues with facebook. Sending too many messages especially. I actually personally messaged 100s of people announcing our new site. I used groups, my blog sites and any other internet means I could promote through for free. It was frustrating on and off and still is.
The same things were happening like they did when I was promoting my books. People asked me questions about it then not signing up. Some people signed up then didn’t come back to the site. I overkill the posts about it and people still ask me what it called. I keep on pressing on. I have a vision and I secretly expect everyone to understand it and join me. They won’t. People are people.
I’ve come to understand that most people if not all people on facebook are either satisfied or addicted to facebook because that’s where their friends are. That’s what they are comfortable with. Hell, I still go on there as much as my own site. I also use it as a vehicle to continue to promote Novaboon. Novaboon has shifted from not only an alternative but a fun unrestricted supplement. We don’t expect anyone to abandon king facebook.
My partner and my enthusiasm have shifted up and down for the past few months but we’ve come to realize that Novaboon is actually doing pretty good. We are growing at a steady pace. I’m beginning to understand that slow and steady is better than too much too fast and too slow. I just keep getting stuck and frustrated.
Where do I go from here? Are we ready to get advertising? How do I get more people to join and use the site? These are typical and reasonable questions at this point. I’m frustrated mostly because of my need for money.
When I first published my Serial Killer Coloring Book I went through similar things. I built a huge underground following, distributed it internationally, sold thousands of comics and in the end I never made a living off of it. I made a lot of money spread over 3 or 4 years and if it was my only income I would have been screwed.
I am an artist first. I have never been into it for the money but sometimes I wish that I were. If you asked me a few month or so ago, in the height of my frustration, what was more important the art or the money I would have said the money. I love the fact that I have published and sold my first novel. I enjoy the praise but I would really love to have the money.
Most of my life I have had jobs, not careers, that required little work hours and I made a lot of money in the few hours. I never wanted to commit to a full time career oriented job. Sometimes I couldn’t figure out why. It was because deep inside I know that I am an artist. Whether I am writing, drawing, playing in a band or creating new websites and social networks. I am an artist and I want to one-day make the money that I deserve not as a person but as an artist.
Life is changing and changing. I heard that if your not changing and growing then you are dying. If you are a creative person and you are not creating then you are dying. The past few months have been different to say the least. The past few years have been unusually different to say the most. Some days I’m so focused on my goals and dreams and other days I’m off the races in my mind and can’t function. I don’t know f I am growing but I am changing.
It seems like I keep waking up and everything that has happened in my life was a dream. Good dream and bad dream. One day I’m living in an apartment I can’t afford even though I had a job and I was whacked out on pain meds, psych meds and life in general the next day I’m clean and sober with less Psych meds living with my parents helping my sick father who eventually died. Then I’m in house with my mother and I lose my job but I have money in the bank and a little unemployment coming my way so it was comfortable.
I published not just one novel but three books within a moth. I felt great creatively and spiritually. I believe those are connected. Life is rolling along one day at a time. Then the pressure starts hitting me to think about a career. A job. Something. My mother and my friends think it’s time I go to work. I secretly disagreed.
What I thought was an epiphany turned out to be a fantasy and an unrealistic reality. I thought that I wanted ot get into Drug and Alcohol counseling. I talked to some people and researched half assedly. I found out I needed two years of recovery to get into the particular places I was looking for. I used it as an excuse not ot look for anything else.
I woke up one day and I am suddenly renting a house from a friend and out of my mom’s house. I still have no job and my savings are dwindling. No muney and more bills. I have a house mate. We started a business venture that may or may not pay off but we at least started it.
I went form no job plenty of money living with mom creating every day to sharing a house with a friend and business partner with no job and no money and less motivation to write and create. My energies are in the business. No income is expected for a while but I refuse to work. Sure I do a little part time work for an uncle but nothing serious.
My anxiety levels and agoraphobia keep me house ridden for days sometimes. I hate socializing. What happened to “good time Charlie” as an old friend once called me?
It seems I went from mr social guy to hermit overnight. It did take years. Some say it’s part of me growing up. Some say it’s my mental problems. Some say “get a job, ya bum”. Some say nothing at all. What can they say?
It’s not easy being human. I was going ot say me but I know everyone has problems. They just don’t wear them on their sleeves or like merit badges on their chest like I do sometimes.
I never thought that I’d be at a place in my life where I refused to look for a job. I’m not sure if it’s stubbornness, fear, my determination to succeed in other areas, or my mental illness and anxiety.
I went from having a job and lots of money living with my mother to no job, no money, paying rent etc. I keep waking up everyday in a different state of mind with a different focus and different awareness. I wonder who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? Then I run away and hide in other thoughts that either thrill me or upset me fro the day.
The only thing I know is that tomorrow is another day. I never know what is around the corner and if I at least try at life I will feel a live. I hope. I always have hope.
Posted by richhillenjr 
Scraggly I Call Him
February 20, 2012Scraggly I call him. Or her. Not sure. Doesn’t matter. Sex is irrelevant. He annoys me and adores me. I like him and talk to him. He has long messed up hair and looks well fed and clean despite his messy hair. He approaches me every day in the alley. I’m never sure if he wants something besides attention. Kind of like me. I don’t want to touch him because I don’t know where he’s been. He usually keeps his distance but tonight he went way over the edge.
I was on the back porch smoking with a cup of decaf coffee and trying to read when I hear that voice. I made the mistake of talking to him. The next thing you know he’s on the back steps next to me trying to get me to touch him. He even tried to drink my coffee and it seemed he wanted to read my book if he even knows how to read. Ignoring him didn’t work so I caved in and touched him. Of course he wanted more. I gave a little more attention and talked to him.
I finished my cigarette and grabbed my book and cup and said goodbye.
It mad me realize that I’m having enough problems sharing a house with someone. If I’m not ready for a casual relationship with a neighborhood cat then I’m not ready to have a cat or a pet. If I’m not ready to have a relationship with a cat then a human is out of the question.
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