Dreams of Stains, Refrains and Delorians on Film

May 4, 2012

Yeah. I haven’t had writer’s block per say. I’ve been busy having my 19th nervous breakdown and drawing to pay rent. I love drawing but I miss writing as much as I normally do.

So, here’s a well something I wrote based on a few dreamses.

It was group therapy. It was forced therapy. It was a family reunion of the family that never was but perhaps should be. Grammar school orgy. Grammer school orgy. It was a film making table reading in a locked room. Forced filmmaking. Script reading. It was confusion. Both of my, well 3 of my (2 are brothers) friends who made make write score create direct films -William Hellfire and the Martin Brothers-Andy and Jim Martin were there as counselors or doctors or caretakers or leaders or patients taking charge. They had their latest cast or character actors who belonged here with me along with Kat Dennings with the personality of her character Max in the non-hit TV show 2 Broke Girls, another friend Cherie, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Andy’s friends Rick and Pat and Hellfire’s latest young hot sultry actresses ready to do anything. Anything. Non of the other girls mattered. I liked Kat. I was really into her this time and not the average young skinny wild ready for anything models (although she was young and not fat-she was older than and heavier than most girls I dream about and the ones in the room).

 

The reading was tedious. Repetition and such. Words. Just words. I kept thinking. The padded walls became more apparent. Was it part of the set or part of the prison? The cell. The reading? The words. There was a window in the corner left right over the top wall. I was padded and bars decorated the outside. I think it a was plastic window. No glass for the loons. This loon.

 

We could hear the heavy storm a coming. Rolling round the bend. A hurricane. An avalanche? The doors were bolted shut and we hung out in the lobby of the built in movie theater we found though a secret compartment and sneaked in and ate popcorn and drank coffee and soda. Mr Hellfire always had a stash of liquor with him to share and some took some and some turned it down. This was our scared straight therapy I proposed in my mind. The party was just beginning and I felt like I just begun as well. I never began. I never stopped or started. No one understood why we were there and most of us didn’t care or cared too much. We fluctuated back and forth. An orgy. An evening of days spread across the calendar of my subconscious or maybe I was part of someone else’s dreams.

The storm subsided eventually and I dreamed my way onward onto a floatation vehicle. A car. A Delorian. A delirium. Ruins of the storm maintain the balance somehow and the roads –Who needs roads?- I see foreign flying vehicles. Ed Woodian saucers like whipped by me on the way to Gary’s house. Flight attendants offer my navigational gal Friday pills for the ride and I steer along seamlessly despite the nausea.

 

“Go ahead and vomit” I tell Gary but Gary never gets sick.

 

We arrive in his underground tavern. Cavern to find his equipment ready to go. We park. Hang out forgetting the therapy of filmmaking and ballet dancing. When he’s ready for me to leave the BitchCave Gary confidently hands me a package. I knew what to do as I climb into a new flight device. Airplane maybe?

Flight of the dead. Dead musicians, friends, loves and my own life obliterated into one pile of ashes from the exhaust flames of a flying saucer. I’m still high from the flames and the guilt.


NIGHTMARES ON SALE – GET 2 FOR THE PRICE OF 1

April 1, 2012

I TRY TO IGNORE THE WHISPERS LOUDER THAN THE SCREAMS. IN DREAMS I WALK WITH YOU. You Roy.  I AM TRAVELLING. Always traveling. Moving. New apartment. New house. New CCITEE-Y. NEW STATE. STATE OF MIND. Party goers and house warmers and birthday goers and CHRISTmas mass attendees gather. I know some then I know everyone. I am no one. They don’t see me this way. He doesn’t see me this way. She. You.

 

MR SANDMAN BRING ME A DREAM.. I know you. I love you LOVE! I carry buckets of paint to your house and the party has just begun. I GET NO KICK FROM CHAMPAGNE either Frank, baby. Seven sisters of love pies stare at me and glare at ME AND THAT LOOK. THAT LOOK. IT SENDS CHILLLS DOWN MY SCARS- inside and outside that run against my heart. Let’s get this CHORDETTEONIAN PARTY STARTED MR JIMMY!

 

I put my arm around Grandmom to say I love you. People STARING. People caring. Empty people fill the crowded party. Acting hearty. Listing their character defects. Last chance. MY DEAD GRANDMOM TURNS HER HEAD AND SAYS “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!”

 

 

I wake up smoking and drift back along the sea of asphalt, scraping my fat ass and ripping my favorite dream jeans still wondering what I did. WHAT DID I DO THAT GRANDMOM KNOWS I DID? Was it last summer Jennifer Love?

 

I am alone. ALONE. MY NEWEST OF THE NEW HOUSES. Sir Raleigh comes with news. I thought he said PRESIDENT REAGAN HAD DIED OF INDECENT IMPLOSURE. I didn’t care until I realized he wasn’t just dreaming about my Dream girl locked in his dungeon TIED UP WITH VINES and THE SISTERS OF REJECTION.

GIVE HIM TWO LIPS OF HATRED AND VIOLENCE. RESTRAINING ORDERS, BRIGHT LIGHTS AND SIRENS.

 

“SHE’S A COKE HEAD” HE SAYS.

“SHE USED TO GIVE BLOW JOBS TO HERMAPHRODITES.” HE SAYS.

 

My throat fills with vomit and joy. IN DREAMS I DO COKE WITH YOU.

 

Stolen emotions and borrowed gifts are shared at the airport and train stations and parking lots and I’M STILL NOT SURE WHICH IS WHICH. IN DREAMS I TALK TO YOU. Us is back and you is cornered and still slip away. Reptilian monkeys bred become bread for the children of Elizabethan peasants but I grab two of them and hand them to the girl with ruby slippers and she vanishes like the Dark Knight into the dark night when she hears Bruno approach.

 

“I’ll whip you now my pretty and your LITTLE MAN too! Hahahahaha” Bruno yells but not enough to find her. I find her in her Old Kentucky home with three wooden porch steps away and I go into seizures. Jules Vern hides Tu-Tu Hundred Feet Under The Sea Under The Porch. I pass out. DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM –DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM. MR SANDMAN WAKES ME. The ape lizards have grown by the time I reach the inside. The Dark Huntress awaits me wearing a smile and a bra. I am excited to see her but worry about poor Mr Vern. Guilt reddens my pink face knowing that I shouldn’t be THERE. The Queen would be quite jealous and take away my deconstructed addictive Kingdom. SHE IS THERE AND SHE IS THERE. IT WAS A DUBIOUS PLAN OF THE HUNTRESS OF DARK TO HAVE Mr Vern under the porch and watch my web of lies unfold. The evil one IS not Bruno and I NOW KNOW WHAT GRANDMOM KNOWS I DID. I JUST DIDN’T DO IT YET WHEN SHE TOLD ME.

 

Caught in the trap admiring the salamander gorilla’s ability to change in size determined by the cage they are in. I imagine if they were let loose if they could grow bigger than the entire world. My Darling Queen and my Miss Huntress dance and change clothes despite the height and come out laughing at me and yet forgiving me and I feel a calm as MY DEAD GRANDMOM SAYS “ I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”


Pornography, Grandpop and Me

March 20, 2012

 

I was 8 or 9 years old when I was first exposed to pornography. Sort of. I didn’t know I was exposed. I lived with Grandmom and Grandpop at the time the real deal Grandparents that copulated a few times- at least 3 times to produce my uncle, my aunt and my paranoid schizophrenic mother. I won the genetic lottery with the mental illness, heart problems, trigeminal neuralgia and my addictive persona. Who knew back then? They were barely treating my mother correctly. How could anyone know I was to become the crazy man boy I am today, maybe tomorrow and certainly yesterday? Too many yesterdays if you ask me or if you don’t ask me. Luckily, I have a disassociate disorder or the good fortune to file them away until needed or they leak out into my other problems depending what’s going on. This has nothing and probably everything to do with my natural consumption and once obsessive passion of pornography.

 

Grandpop took me on errands a lot from what I remember. We’d stop at a bar and I’d wait in the car while he had a few drinks. I didn’t notice what kind of bars at the time but they were what they used to call Go Go Bars. I just remember seeing the words dancers and go go. Sometimes Gramps would take me into regular bars and we’d sit on the stools and I drank soda pop and he drank beer. I didn’t like the smell and the taste was even worse the few times he let me try it at home. Grandpop didn’t exhibit the signs of an alcoholic the way I’ve learned what one was by becoming one and then stopping and hanging out with ex-problem drinkers as some but not all call themselves and sometimes others. Mostly, they/we speak in the first person when sharing experiences, strengths and hopes at gatherings of ex-drinkers. I remember Grandpop seemed to drink beer everyday but he loved it as much as he loved mixed nuts, sharp cheddar cheese and Grandmom’s chicken dumplings. Who doesn’t love Grandmom’s chicken dumplings? I didn’t like sharp cheddar cheese, mixed nuts or beer as a kid. I loved her chicken dumplings. What’s this got to do with porn? I’m not sure but I’ll get back to it.

 

Sometimes I waited in the car no matter where we went except the grocery store where he showed me how to switch price tags and sample anything in the store. He’d open a bag of candy in the candy isle and try some. He’d open a box of cereal and eat some. Anything he wanted to try he did but he was always generous and shared it with me. So grocery stores and regular bars I was allowed to go with him but not these other buildings I later figured out were Go Go bars and porn shops. Flashbacks of the signs on the mostly white painted buildings. Words like “live girls’, “sex”, “peep shows” and the most unforgettable simple letters “xxx”. I just stayed in the car and read comic books and waited what seemed like forever sometimes and went by fast other times. The trips seemed to lessen as grew older. I had never seen him look at pornography at the house or found any magazines at the time or anything. I forget.

 

As he got older he had heart problems like I inherited. He had all kinds of heart surgery so the other memories lessoned. He didn’t stop at the buildings that I had to wait for him in the car. He no longer ate high salt products and drank less beer. He’s sneak sharp cheese, nuts and an extra beer when he could but Grandmom had a close watch on it. Now Grandmom I was told years later had the real drinking problem. She was always drinking mixed drinks and cocktails so I never paid attention since it was in a glass. She was getting drunk right under my nose.

 

I left them when I was 11 years old to become a ward under the legal guardianship of my fourth and fifth grade teacher and her husband. My second or is it third parents (?) were taking on an 11-year-old addict; mental case and none of us had any idea yet. It was agreed that it was best for me to go under their care because they could provide the stability and financial support I needed or at least provide a little more than my Grandparents were capable of at the time.. Even my “crazy” mother gave her consent. I had no idea what was to come and neither did they.

 

I kept in touch with my genetic family. of course, except dad who took off after mom started to go nuts. As an unstable adult I understand. Wouldn’t you? As I approached my teen years Grandpop opened up more and exposed himself to me. Not his penis but his dirty sexual side. He told me dirty jokes and taught me new words referring to women’s body parts. My uncle told me some of the comments he made with him browsing through porno magazines on occasion like “Her clit so big I could drive a truck through it.” Looking back it actually made no sense. I guess Gramps didn’t know what the clitoris was except it was on a woman and rhymed with Dolores.

 

At least I know where my perverted side came from. I got a lot of great things from the G-parents too. I don’t mean to sound like they were horrible people or anything. They loved me and I got my corny sense of humor, charm and social skills from Grandpop and my sense of good manners and when and how to be polite from Grandmom. They also exercised unconditional love in between the guilt trips. That’s not the point. Grandpop and uncles and other people I attracted were perverts like I was becoming. Well, not perverts but I was exposed to the elements that create an objectification of women and exploitive nature concerning sex in general at an early age and carried, developed and refined it into adulthood.

 

I found books of sex stories and a couple magazines of my new dad’s when I hit the age of “discovering yourself as a man” I call it. The stories were graphic but the magazines weren’t too graphic. I was sick and took off from school one day with my new mom and we went to the doctor then stopped at a 7-11 afterwards to get a Slurpee or something. As I threw away some trash I peeked in the trash can and saw a magazine. It was a thick magazine with photographs of real people having real sex. I wanted that magazine so I took it. My new mom decided to let me have it and gave me my first sex talk. Her 2 rule theory that applied to having porn and having sex. – 1. Be discreet and 2. Protect yourself. It’s tough to be discreet as a teenager and it was tough as an adult for me to be discreet but I always protected myself. So I was on my road to sexual exploration. I slowly built my own collection and developed my tastes in what I like and that became a lot.

 

When I was 15 or so I decided to buy my Grandpop birthday gifts he would really love and use- A 6 pack of Budweiser bottles and the latest issue of Hustler magazine. I actually got my new parents to buy the beer and I think I bought the Hustler. I looked older for a teen because I was tall and had facial hair. I was getting served alcohol when I was 16 and 17 years old and cigarettes since I started smoking at 14. I also bought my Grandpop a funny card about getting old. Grandmom was in shock when she saw him pull the Hustler out of the wrapping. Grandpop was embarrassed to see it. I think they thought that their 15-year-old Grandson buying beer for him was bad enough but a porn mag as a birthday gift from your 15-year-old Grandson was much worse. My mind didn’t learn the difference in that rule of discretion my 2nd Mother instilled in me yet. I didn’t master it until I was well into my 30s. Luckily, I “protected myself” as 2nd Mom advised.

 

I never bought or brought up pornography to my Grandpop again. I did increase my collection of magazines and my porn addiction was on it’s way until the videos replaced the magazines then the internet and dvds until finally my world was overwhelmed with so many sexual interests and fantasies (I could write book after book about) that one day they all went away. Maybe other reasons too like getting older, having more important things to do and maybe medications.


Angel Train and a Cup of Joe

March 16, 2012

Sometimes I think she’s the prettiest girl alive. She might be. She certainly is to her boyfriend (I hope). Long black hair. Big brown eyes. Petite and well proportioned. I’ve never had a real life conversation with her. I haven’t even physically seen her in a couple of years. I rarely see her post on facebook. I rarely think about her. This has little to do with my story except it’s about her. Carmella or Bailey. The 2 names I’ve assigned to her for anonymity sake. She is still my guardian angel. I only have interactions in my dreams and they are not always significant either. She’s in my life and subconscious for a reason.

 

Her face was the last one I saw before my alarm went off at 7 am this morning. I woke up with a smile. The thought of her always gives me a smile. My dreams of her always give me a smile. Maybe I should think of her more so I smile more.

 

The dream wasn’t anything out there or cosmic. It was a dream of hanging out with a bunch of friends after an unrelated dream. Half of the friends I knew and half I didn’t. Only Joe, Brian and Seth were actual real friends from real life. The rest were acquaintances and people I’ve seen before like Bailey who I choose to call my guardian angel. We were all riding a train going ot an event of some kind. A concert, a parade, a convention. It was some event I normally wouldn’t go to and ride a train to. I was hanging mostly with Joe. He was out of character. Not at first.

 

Joe was his usual self drinking a coffee and letting me talk when I spotted Bailey. I wanted to point her out to him because I’ve talked to him more than anyone about her. He seemed too distracted by the people and the good time and tuned me out. This wasn’t the unusual part. Just as I was trying to tell him about my guardian angel personified he chugged a 5 hour energy drink and as we got off the train Joe ran off into the distance forcing me back in the crowd next to Bailey and a girlfriend of hers that I have spoken to but didn’t know real well. I was forced by the crowd to exit the train next to Bailey. I told her what Joe had just done.

 

“He drank all of that coffee and a 5 hour energy drink on an empty stomach? That’s crazy. No wonder he’s running off with all of that temporary energy.” Bailey spoke to me for the first time in what I perceived as real life in my dream.

 

How did she know all of the details when I didn’t know them all? I was just overjoyed that she spoke to me and said something back to her to make her smile. She has the brightest happiest smile that made me smile more. The damned alarm went off before  could talk to her more. That’s all I wanted.

 

But still, I woke up with a smile and felt compelled to write about it. About her.

 

Is it possible to be in love with someone I don’t know? Or am I just in love with the Bailey that appears in my dreams? I’m not even sure what love is. This dream and my thoughts of her will fade within the day and it’ll probably be months before I think or dream of her again but I know she’ll be back. I wonder what this means. Then again I wonder a lot of things.


Chronic Chronicler Disorder

March 9, 2012

Dr Arkmahlk said I was “a chronic chronicler”

Deciphering my voice tones and transcribing my scribblings with determined fury seeking the cure or at least a treatment to

Coherently present me in a way I could pass for human.

 

I’ve tried the walk –right foot first at a 45-degree angle followed by the left foot at a 27-degree angle outward.

 

I’ve tried the talk- “I was reading in GQ today that  . . .” “I going to get my drink on tonight.”, “How about them Eagles?”

 

I’ve tried the career- top advertising executive in the firm making over 100 grand a year

 

I’ve tried the house- a beautiful townhouse in the best neighborhood

 

I’ve tried the car- classic 1969 black Mustang fully restored and my blue BMW

 

I’ve tried the wife- beautiful, charming trophy

 

 

THE LOOK-

 

I’ve tried the clothes- tan or black John Varvatos khakis and Brooks Brothers Chinos, Gucci horsefit loafers, argyle socks, colorfully striped Fred Perry Polo shirts or eModa plain, plaid and “revival” button up shirts, and Barney’s vintage leather jackets.

 

I’ve tired the haircut- closely cropped on the sides and the slightly longer messed spiked hair on top with Enpir brand moisturizing hair gel.

 

I’ve tried the shave – I shaved every other day to keep the slight 5 o’clock shadow look with short trimmed sideburns.

 

I’ve tried the teeth- professionally whitened by the best dentists

 

I’VE TRIED

 

“Look Doc. I can’t pull this off. I’m an alien to this world and I’ll always be this way. I am not human.” I said.

 

I sat there with my long unrushed knotted hair, long gray beard, rotting yellow teeth, wearing 2nd hand clothes- t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, unemployed, divorced, no car, no friends and no connection to the human race.

 

“If this is true you realize that despite Doctor patient confidentiality, I have to report you to the authorities and they will revoke your citizenship to the human race. You will be sent away to an Alienation National Hospital for the Socially Challenged. There, depending on how bad your condition has become, you will be subjected to the constant hammering of your creative instincts and eventually create your own new world or unfortunately, become a casualty like 86.45 % of the patients there to the final escape- non-conformist rejection and Alien alienation to the point where there is nothing or no one left to chronicle. Not even you. You’ll be a shell of instinctual fortitude existing only in your own actions.” Dr Arkmahlk said.

 

“Any advice then Doc?” I asked my last question to anyone ever.

 

“Yes. Take 2 of these and you won’t call me in the morning.” He said handing me the cyanide pills.

 

The last thing I thought was what my grand father used to say to me at bedtime “Good night Irene you jelly bean.”


Time Travel is Not My Primary Concern Chief – THE POEM

February 21, 2012

Sickness of my psyche

Rapes my body furiously

Like a grape devouring a sunset

Exhausting my entire vessel

I am vacant and wearied

 

I run in slow motion to

The food truck of love

Careful to avoid every crack along the way

To avoid herniating my dead mother’s discs

 

Hopscotching the bricks of the city with

Carmelita as she flirts and leads me on and over to

Successive numbered city blocks until she has

Vanished permanently from my sight

I move on lost in the darkly lit city

Lost in my contemplations

 

I find my filthy white car and

I try to drive it around as people cheer me on

I leave them behind and fall asleep at the wheel

 

I wake up in my motel room and I try to wake up

And pack a weeks worth of belongings into my

Two suitcases

Panic fills my essence

 

Relief arrives in the form of Carmelita the motel maid

In my room with the manager telling me to take me time

He lifts her skirt to reveal her big pantyhose covered ass

They tell me to help them and I can stay for free

Arousal versus my need to flee

 

The sickness of my psyche


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