Bump Bang Bye – A Poem

Events cruising like Al Pacino through

Mutated sexual caravans filled with

Like-minded creatures of the day light

Bump Bump Bump

 

Her affordable anguish seems to cost

Her fiancé more than her

Mangle is such a felicitous word

Bang Bang Bang

 

Aortic anvils drop

Falls rapidly in the ruins

It’s delightful to my

Sad eyes

Bye Bye Bye

 

Exotic dumplings

Fancy affair

Dance

Sing

Cry

 

Bump

Bang

Bye

 

Out of the Closet

When I came out it wasn’t a closet. It was a trashcan.

I’ve known for a long time what I am or I should say who I am.

I am an artist. The most precious blessing and the most horrific curse. Forsaken and trampled. Survival is rough. I must persist.

“Resistance is futile” as the Borg say on Star Trek. I cannot assimilate with this world. I am an artist. It’s not a choice. It’s not a lifestyle. It’s the way I was born. I nurture it when I’m not fighting it.

“Get a job” you say.

I have a job, thank you.

I have a job. I must create to live. To feel. Alive.

It’s my job.

Job.

I like my job but the pay sucks so far.

Writing and drawing is my life. Your career or your family is your life and art is mine. Why do you push your life on me? I never tell you to be an artist. Far from it. I say “stay away from it unless you are already wealthy.”

There were times I considered and even convinced myself I wanted to be like you. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be liked, loved and accepted. The older I get and the less I want your life the harder it is to live mine. I have no choice really.

I can’t change my skin color, my sexuality or my need to create. I guess I have to change my acceptance of you.

Women. You Can’t Live With Them and Men Are Assholes

Women. . . You can’t live with them . . . . Men are assholes that fucked women up. The messed them up for guys like me. Maybe guy like you.

 

We are all a result of our personal experiences in life. Most of us stick with what we experience in life early on and it seems we stop changing in at a certain age. Look around. You can usually tell how old someone is by what they wear, their hair styles, how they speak and their interests like music and television. You know the types. You can tell when someone grew up in the 80’s, 90’s etc.

 

Ahh…. The mysteries of the male and female relations. It’s never been solved but I have my theories and opinions.

 

In my dating experience and the older I get I find that I am less and less of a commodity and I gather more and more baggage. The same goes with the women I encounter or date. It’s been a while but I have been paying attention to other people’s relationships. So when I date a woman I am also dating her last boyfriend/husband/fiancé, the one before that and the one before that. Each experience she has changes her in some ways. This seems to go against what I said earlier about people staying in certain mentalities from early life. It’s been my observation that each man they date reaffirms her attitude from early life rather than changing it especially the women that have had traumatic experiences with men in childhood, teen years and early 20s.

 

So, the reason I was thinking about this is because my friend is having guy troubles. She’s been dating a guy that grew up in the same city neighborhood with the same friends and family dating the same type of girls his entire life. My friend grew up in a backwoods environment and transitioned to the center city life and has had different types and tries to let go of her past relationships when entering a new one. They are only a couple of months in and he didn’t realize how many male friends she had. I hung out with her last night and she let him know she was going out with a guy friend. He started to get jealous. She even called him while we were out to assure him it was cool. His jealousy got worse and worse.

 

Today she posted a photo of us on facebook and he freaked out with even more jealousy. She’s not used to this. Even in her wildest times of her youth she never cheated on a boyfriend. Apparently he has or he has experienced girls cheating on him.

 

It got me thinking about the line from when Harry Met Sally (yes I watched it several times and I’m proud) when Harry says “No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.” I found this to be fairly accurate for me personally until I hit my late 20s and early 30s. Sex became less important and friendships become more important.

 

I suspect that my friend’s boyfriend still has that mentality in his mid 40s. My friend is a pretty tough bitch sometimes and she won’t tolerate it. She’s still upset about it.

 

The other code I cracked a while ago that I don’t always follow or live up to is the “women are bitches” and “men are assholes” mentality many people seem to have. It’s pretty simple to me.

 

Women are attracted to confident men. In many cases men that appear to be confident are actually cocky. There’s huge difference between cocky and confident. Cockiness is fake. It’s a way of overcompensating for insecurities. These men are usually assholes and dickheads. Men that are nice and accessible appear to be weaker and unconfident and a lot of them are. A woman gets the cocky guy and he turns out to be an asshole. Then she is either a victim or a bitch.

 

Men are attracted to confident women. The louder and more aggressive women turn out to be bitches because of their insecurities. The nice accessible women appear to be weaker and too easy so he turns to the cocky woman and she turns out to be a bitch. It’s a vicious circle for some of us.

 

Due to my personal struggles and variety of women I’ve dated I have been an asshole, a nice guy and a confident man. I’ve had the most luck being nice and confident.

 

I’m not even going to address my thoughts on love. Let’s say, for now, that I have no opinions on love.

 

Love ya.

Livin’ the Dre .a . . uh . . . Cliche

I sit once again in the comforts of the coffee shop in Collingswood, NJ. I’ve always liked this place. The décor and the music. The owners are great. The workers are great. There’s always an interesting mix of customers. Some I know and most I don’t know. This may become a new hobby of mine: hanging at the Groove Ground in Collingswood. Writing. Drinking coffee.  Living the dream. Living the cliché.

 

I always thought that the people sitting on their computers typing away at a coffee shop were douche bags. Hey look at me. I’m a writer.

 

Yesterday it was slow and casual in here and I had odd conversations with truly weird people. The good kind. The ones that aren’t phony or pretentious just off the wall naturally. I like misfits that are real. In a progressive town like Collingswood it’s hard to separate real people from posers. Down to earth interesting people versus fake pretentious “hipsters”. They do what they think is cool because their little crowd are into it. They are usually the ones that see me reading John Fantte and know who he is. They make comments on my John Waters or William S Burroughs T-shirts. They fool me at first.

 

I assume because they like what I like then they might be cool. Unfortunately I am into a lot the “hipster” culture. I like the things I like because I like it, ya know? I get into a movie or a writer from someone I know that says “Hey Rich. Check out this (fill in the blank) if you like (fill in the blank). I usually end up liking it. I used to dream about hanging out with people with common interests. It was always the hipsters. I tried and saw how annoying and fake these people are. The more I immersed myself in the culture the more I disliked the people and could spot one a mile away.

 

I guess I’m judgmental but who gives a fuck?

So today the Groove Ground was crowded and loud when I walked in and nowhere to sit. I was ok with that because there were seats outside and I could smoke and drink coffee and write at the same time. I bought my drink and found a seat and settled in. The crowd dispersed. As some of then left I noticed their styles were similar to mine. Same glasses. Same hat that I wore yesterday. When I looked at each one I thought “douche!”.  At least I’m not wearing leather sandals like this “douche” “hipster” standing next to me right now.

 

Fuck it. I’m over it already. Just wanted to write about it.

 

My life is still moving along with or without them.

 

I might be living the cliché but I’m also living the dream. My dream, my thoughts, my life. Me.

 

Maybe I’m the cliché douche judgmental pretentious self righteous hipster. Ya know what? Right now I don’t care. It gave me something to write about for the day, right?

EDITOR’S (that’s me) NOTE: I got a better look at the guy with the hat and realized I knew him and he is a pretty cool guy and not a hipster. I guess my Hipstdar isn’t on all of the time. My Gaydar still works for what it’s worth.

Mental Illness, Death & Buffy the Vampire Slayer

It’s been a while since I wrote anything personal or what’s going on in my life and posted it. So many changes and so many things staying the same.

 

I’ve been a shut in. I’ve been anti-social. I’ve been out of my mind with my Bipolar. I’ve had the face pain from the Trigeminal Neuralgia (TN) on and off.  My anxiety Disorder has been acting up. My thoughts and feelings about life in general have fluctuated so much that it’s been rough to focus and complete anything. I have so many writings started and then I get distracted from my ailments. So, I’ve been pretty much working on various novels I’ve been working on forever and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Ha.

 

It might sound funny but that’s what’s been getting me through the past month or so. I’ve been watching the series from season 1 on. Honestly it is a fantastic show. Well, it was a fantastic show. Underneath the goofiness, the vampires and demons etc., there is depth to the characters that I’ve been able to relate to and I’ve been opening up my feelings about life to myself.

 

I’ve been so disconnected for a long time that my emotions and relationships with people have died. I literally stopped caring about anyone or anything. My memories started cooperating. I started losing memories. My entire life experiences became a distant fog.

 

The final blow was when I started training for a job after 6 months of unemployment and I blew it on the second day. My TN acted up and I was up  all night and took my pain meds. I woke up 2 hours after I was supposed to be there. Since I was 14 or 15 I have always had a job. I’ve even had my own businesses. It was a real blow to me that my illnesses might be severe enough to keep me from holding a steady job. I fell deeper into my denial fog.

 

When I started watching Buffy I started to relive personal experiences that I’ve repressed and didn’t want to deal with. Lost loves, lost relatives, lost jobs, etc. It still seems corny that a cult TV series would start bringing me back to life but it did.

 

A few days ago my Aunt died. She was the one that helped me stop drinking and got me into “recovery”. I stopped going and believing in the 12 steps months ago and now that she’s gone it brought up everything. I remembered everyone that I’ve lost. I am questioning my part in life. In other people’s lives. In the 12 step program itself.

 

It’s tough to lose someone again. Someone I love and had such a strong impact on my life. It’s been really painful lately both emotionally and physically. It’s also been a good thing because it makes me feel human again. Although I can give a good appearance most of the time, overall, I have been out of my mind and almost completely numb. I’ve been repressing my fear, doubts, pains, my very existence. I was beyond hopeless in my mind.

 

I finally feel human again. Just by letting go emotionally I came out of hiding. Vicariously living in this TV show I actually woke up from my fog. Memories, feelings and motivation are surging through me now. I feel like I have a chance at life again.

 

I’m going to go finish watching Buffy save the world again and get another recharge. Ha.

Going Out of It: Excerpt from Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non-Don Juan

“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.

Click here to purchase Yellow Socks-
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/yellow-socks-confessions-of-a-non-don-juan/12437981?productTrackingContext=author_spotlight_65502234_

I’m a Controlled Mess

I’m a controlled mess. I’m a bomb about to blow yet I have the combination to diffuse. Controlled mess. I stare at the empty walls of my confused living room and it looks away. I dwell in my creative constipated exploding head and my heart pounds. Aches serge through my face. An electrical current. Powerful yet it’s nothing compared to my damaged emotions. When the lightning strikes all I am left with is a limp tired soul determined to grow up and destined to cure my “self imposed mediocrity”.

 

I’m a controlled mess. I toss and turn on the couch, the floor, the bed and even the toilet in a state of high-wired corrosive depression. My dreams and ideas of conquering the world while my body and mind is melting into the present. I’m infected. I’m a controlled mess.

 

Fighting myself is a losing battle sometimes so I stop fighting and go with it. Go with the pain, anguish, and let go. I’m a controlled mess. It works for a time and I fight again and I almost win then I let go. No winners or losers just a controlled mess. Settling for the best  is the worst I could do. I do.

 

Keep me at arms length as I keep you at bay at a distance of mental crookedness. Don’t love me. Don’t even like me. Not until I do. Not until I understand me and what’s going on. What’s going on? I’m a controlled mess.

 

I know the facts. I’ve examined them and read about them and researched them. I know the feelings as they repeat my truth and my lies. Life changes. People change. You change. I change. Can you spare some change for a tired old man with dreams of  . . . .? Something.  Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. Maybe I told you too much. I’m a controlled mess.

New Job? No Day two! No Job for You!

I wasn’t going to post this but my pains, mistakes, shame and illnesses are an open book for me as far as writing goes. I leave myself vulnerable but I’m strong enough to handle it. Here it goes folks. A lesson on how not succeed at life.

If you read my previous blog I wrote about my new job and the excitement and fears etc. I had high hopes. I went to bed at a decent hour for me. My Trigemingal Neuralgia was acting up so I took my prescribed pain meds and fell asleep. I woke up occasionally but had a good sleep. I woke up at 6 am or so and was going to stay awake. I didn’t. I fell asleep and woke up 12:10 pm. Almost 2 hours after I was supposed to be in wor for my 2nd day of training. I immediately called the boss and left a message on his cell phone. No call back after a half an hour I called again on the business line. I left another message.

I called my friend who got me the job and he said to go in and see what happens. I have never experienced this without a “being fired” or a “come back tomorrow” so I was hesitant. I called another time before I left. The boss answered and told me he “was very disappointed in me. It was an important day for training.” then we were disconnected. I immediately called him back. No answer. I called again. No answer again. I got the message. The tone in his voice was that of a man who was going to fire someone.

I’ll skip the whole denial depression, anxiety, anger, shame, embarrassment etc If you know me or read my blogs you can only imagine.

I didn’t want to tell anyone but I broke down and told told 2 friends. The first suggested I go in tomorrow as scheduled and see what happens. Of course apologize and try to move on. This didn’t sit right with me so I told another friend about the suggestion and he agreed. He said I have nothing to lose except a long ride to Delaware and back. I still question this. My friend who works there(that happens to be on vacation) reacted a little differently. He thought the phone conversation sounded like bad news and said it the idea of me showing up tomorrow “shuld be interesting.” I’m not sure what he meant by that.

I keep telling myself that I am going to go in tomorrow but I have reservations and loads of fear.

I am trying not to dwell on it. I can analyze the shit out if this. Was it the pain or the meds that made me sleep too long? Was it my Bipolar depression? Was it a sub-conscious self sabotage? Is it a self fulfilling prophecy? Do I secretly not want to work there? Work anywhere? I did put a load of energy into my other projects and plans to make money elsewhere all day.

I don’t know the answers and I don’t know what I am going to do tomorrow. What if? What if? I am cursed with the what ifs?

Anyway, if you want to help a starving artist out buy a book or 2 or 3 of mine at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/richhillenjr

and join my new Unrestricted Social Community at http://novaboon.com Join right now. It only takes a minute and it’s free. It’s been growing and we’ve been having fun.

Thanks. Wish me luck tomorrow. I hope my decision is the right one.

New Job. New Day. New Life.

Yay. Rich Hillen Jr is starting a real job. Close enough to a real job for a guy like me. After 7 months or so of unemployment I am going to be working. Not just any job but a job that I can potentially make a lot of money. I’ll be entering the world of collections. Phone collections. Hopefully it will start tomorrow.

To be honest I really don’t want to work. I don’t want to work for someone else that is. My friend suggested the possibility of working with his company as a phone collections agent when I first lost my job the end of May 2010. I had a lot of money stashed away and started getting a little bit from unemployment. I was living with my mom and had no interest in working I wanted to finish and publish my novel among other projects.

This lasted until the end of the summer and my mom was getting a little frustrated having me around the house all of the time. I did manage to get a once week gig working for my uncle cleaning offices. It wasn’t enough.

Then a friend of mine casually mentioned he was renting a house next door to him. When I found out how much it was a month and saw how huge it was I couldn’t resist. I knew my other friend needed a place and could afford it so we moved in October 1^st 2010. To be honest, I didn’t want to move. I was happy where I was at but I thought it was best for my mom. I kind of thought it was best for me. You know be independent and all. Grow up etc. I rebelled mentally against the move. I thought it was force me to get a job because my unemployment wasn’t enough. I waited and lived frugally off of my little savings I had left.

I even started a “business” with my roommate. A new unrestricted social network called  (join right now folks) http://novaboon.com

We anticipated to make money eventually but not before my savings ran out.

My friend that offered me the phone collections job brought up that they are considering remote calling so I could do the job at home. I’ve been considering getting into collections on and off for years. I have over 10 years experience in telemarketing and collections seems more honorable and potentially more money to be made. My friend told me the possible money I could be making and I was in. I wanted this job. I need money. I can finance my other projects, pay off bills and live like a human again.

My friend set the interview up for me. All I needed was my resume and a suit even though it’s a casual dress code. This was mid November 2010. I showed up early for my interview. My future employer and I hit it off. We barely had to sell each other to the other. We knew it was going to work. There was one glitch. He told me that the remote calling is an idea in the works. It may happen but I have to prove myself for at least 3 months. I guess I can deal with it. He told me he would call me the following week and I would start either the last week of December or the first week of January.

I waited a week and a half and no call. I called him. He said things are really busy and he’d call me the following week. He didn’t. I called again and left a message for him. No return call. I called a few more times the following week and no return call. My friend that got me in said that the boss told him to tell me that he will call.

So he never called me. Instead my friend forced him to set up a date and through email from my friend I was to finally start work today.

I got a phone call from the boss finally yesterday to postpone my start date to tomorrow due to the weather. Put off the excitement, fear and anxiety another day.

The other story of the week relevant to my new job is my physical, mental and anxiety issues. Anyone that knows me or reads this knows about some of my disorders like Bipolar disorder and my frequent anxiety attacks. I just wrote about my physical ailment called trigeminal Neuralgia. Read the post: http://richhillenjr.wordpress.com/2011/01/14/trigeminal-neuralgia-again/

After a 3-year remission I had my first Facial attack this past Thursday. This created anxiety. I went to the Doctor and got my medications. It presented me with a mental problem. What if it  acts up at work? The telephone is how this started years ago.

I have the extra pressure of possible anxiety and facial pain in addition to the usual fear and anxiety of a new job are all there. To top it off I’ve had trouble sleeping the past week. I’ve been either getting no sleep or staying up too late and sleeping to late.

We’ll see where my first day of work will lead me.

Stalking Cameron Diaz – Excerpt from my novel Yellow Socks

Stalking Cameron Diaz

 

My cigarette fell out of my left hand into the open cement ash can outside the front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I was facing the city. It was only 3:24 pm. A little over an hour and a half till I was finished working. I stopped in the special exhibition store for the Manet exhibit to say a quick hello to Sam and Linda. As I walked in the store on the first floor, Sam greeted me immediately.

 

“Yo, Cameron Diaz is in the Impressionists Exhibit.” Sam said.

 

“Really?” I asked.

 

“Yeah. She’s over there right now.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Larry from Visitor Services told me.”

 

Larry was usually well informed of the celebrities that show up at the Art Museum. He once gave John Landis a sample copy of one of his short films. He led me to Landis then and now it’s Cameron Diaz. It wasn’t hard to believe because she was in the museum this past summer when Justin Timberlake was in town performing or whatever he does. I don’t watch sports. Cameron was there filming scenes for an upcoming movie called “In Her Shoes” at the Museum the week before. I knew she was in town.

 

“Should I go over there?” I asked.

 

“Yeah go stalk her.” Sam said.

 

A stalking I went. As I walked into the hall of the impressionists another employee was on his way out.

 

“She’s in the Cy Twombly room.” He said.

 

“Cool. Thanks.” I said.

 

I headed toward Cy Twombly. Cy Twombly is an American abstract expressionist. Twombly‘s painting combines elements of gestural abstraction, drawing, and writing in a very personal expression. The room at Philadelphia Museum of Art has a room full of eight to ten foot paintings based on Homer’s Iliad. I heard that when Cameron Diaz was here last time she bought a book about Cy Twombly. I was impressed with her taste in the semi-obscure.

 

I made a pit stop to compose myself and take a piss in the men’s room. I felt really stupid. What was the point of this mission? I’m not a big fan of hers. She was in There’s Something About Mary which I rate as one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen. She was in Being John Malkovich which was written by one of my favorite screenwriters, Charlie Kaufman. I could name a dozen more movies she was in that I liked but I wasn’t all goo goo eyed for her. Yeah she’s hot but she’s just another decent actress. I didn’t feel star struck. I was just curious. I was curious to see a big movie star in person. Wow. I have nothing to say to her. I don’t care about her autograph or anything. Oh well. I had nothing better to do except maybe work.

 

I walked out of the bathroom and back to the path to meet the “celebrity”. I see more and more Museum employees wandering around. I turned the corner and I hear laughter. Carrie and Ken were standing near the elevator pointing and laughing at me. They knew I was up to the same thing that every other employees in the modern art hall were up to. Stalking Cameron Diaz. Any way we justify it, we were still stalking the “celebrity”.

 

I pushed forward and got near the Cy Twombly room. I saw the security guard in his place at the entrance to the exhibit. As I walk in I see her. Ccameron Diaz in person. In the flesh. Right up close. She was tall. She was probably five foot ten inches or so. Skinny. She’s looked good. She wasn’t just another hot chick that I’ve seen in the Museum. She’s even prettier than on screen. I was expecting her to be shorter and less attractive.

 

I look at her briefly and then walk into the room filled with these giant paint splashed scribbles that I’ve heard many say “My two year old could paint that.” about. They didn’t though. I am the only one in this room besides her. I was momentarily convinced that she doesn’t suspect that I am stalking her. I thought I was pretty smooth for about ten seconds. I knew she knew I was in there to gaze at the celebrity like one gazes at an accident on the side of the highway with morbid curiosity. I could feel her look at me and then look at the painting that I am looking at. I try to focus on the art and not let her know that I am focusing on her. Why was I doing this? It was stupid. I felt so dumb. I had no desire to talk to her or meet her. I felt like all of the other stalkers. I was like all the other stalkers. I imagined that she didn’t want to be bothered while she was looking at art. I wondered what it felt like to be that recognizable and have people following you around. Nobody talked to her from what I heard. She must have known. Is it worse to acknowledge you know her or better to pretend when you know she knows? She walked out without a word or a smile between us.

 

I waited a few minutes and then left. I didn’t want to have to get caught behind her so I went into the Duchamp section to avoid her. She was there with a couple of friends. I looked at a couple of my favorite pieces and left.

 

I was embarrassed. I felt stupid. Wow. I saw Cameron Diaz. I can’t wait to tell my friends about it. Isn’t it great? Aren’t you impressed? What’s that? No, I didn’t talk to her but I saw her. Yippy. I stalked down and saw a real life “celebrity” at work. Don’t you think I am great? Aren’t you impressed with me? Don’t you think I am a lot cooler now?

 

I was actually more impressed with Cy Twombly.

 

Read more stories like this and click here to buy Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan.