Ode to My Hometown

May 3, 2013

 

Fairview Village. Inside of Camden, New Jersey, one of the most crime ridden cities in the country. My hometown. I lived here as a child. I live here once again as an adult child. I cursed the Gods for my own decisions that as if they had something to do with everything that has led me here in a couple of years of indecisive despair. Camden, New Jersey.

 

Fairview. Oh how you lured me back into your grips.  Oh Fairview, I am back and you have changed more than I have. You were once a beautiful Village in a fancy town. As Camden fell, you Fairview, kept your cool and were certainly a town with pride. A Village Square with candy stores, restaurants and a grocery store. Now the stores meet covered in graffiti, trash and a violent dirty smell in the air. A Hispanic grocery next to an old barbershop with a cracked striped pole.

 

Your boarded up houses try to keep smiling as the drug dealers hide in your shadows. Unknown and well-known murders, rapes and muggings try and hide but some of us can smell it through our tired ripped screen windows. I used to hide. Over two years of hiding I finally feel free.

 

Suddenly the County of Camden has sent hundreds of black uniformed storm troopers to “sweep” the town clean as they told me. Dozens standing on every block, friendly yet stern. Confident yet uneasy. To an outsider it may look like a Police State or even a Fascist takeover. To me it looks like freedom to step foot in my own neighborhood with out the fear of being hassled or even mugged. Oh Fairview, I feel something new from you. I feel hope. I see courage. I am not afraid, not because of “protection” but because someone cares about you once again. People are making the difference. The proud hardworking families can be proud once again to live in a community.

 

I hear echoes in your dark alleys and streets whispering complaints and curses directed at the County and the Guardians. The dark lords are in hiding and some are running or locked up. I know in my heart that you, Farview, you are beginning to see the future and it doesn’t hurt. We don’t have to hurt anymore.

 

RHJPFAIRVIEWniagara

Where I lived until 5th grade

0myhousse

Where I live now


Lolita Manuela – A Poem

August 15, 2012

Loneliness

Desolation

Desperation

Confusion as to my favorite mind crime and dirty thoughts of her

Dreams, visions, sexual obsessions convoluted into one smear of a love lust

That haunts me, thrills me, chills me and makes me feel unworthy of her

Fantasies night after night and I wake up in sweats and frustrated that she will never be

Next to me in my bed or hers or anywhere with me

Oh Latina Lolita I worship you secretly

Your eyes, your hair, your body- oh your perfect body I can just stare at you from afar for hours and the fact I can never touch you is alright with me as long as I know you are in the same world as me

You live your life and I’ll try to live mine with my secret love and lust for you

I will keep smiling as I whisper your name

Oh Manuela . . .

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FareWell My Friendlies

July 6, 2012

 

And while you’re at it why don’t you kill the Jews? Kill the mentally ill? Kill the blacks? Kill the poor?

 

Since this new health plan has gone into effect that Obama finally got passed I’ve been reading post after post on facebook about it. I’m not real educated as far as the health plan goes but I understand the general gist of it. I think. Not sure everyone else understands it. I think. All I do know is I’ve been reading a lot of posts criticizing welfare. It makes me feel like I’m being attacked and I also feel shame. I never thought that I’d be on welfare, collecting food stamps etc.

 

I’ve read things like people on welfare shouldn’t have any luxuries. What if I had these luxuries before I needed welfare? Like my laptop that’s several years outdated anyway. I’ve sold most things I own of value and kept the things that wouldn’t sell. I did eventually lose my car due to my finances. I have disabilities that make it difficult if not impossible to hold a job. People may look at me and see me like someone that could hold a full time job but that’s on the outside. I am considered a high functioning disabled person mentally. I also have a physical disorder nicknamed the suicide disease due to the unpredictable pain intensity. I am waiting out disability and they are playing the waiting game to see how long I go before I break down and get a job.

 

I’m working on getting better, seeing therapists, groups and doctors. I feel better but I don’t know if I could handle work yet. Maybe I will get well enough to work but right now I don’t know. I don’t know what I would do without the little amount of government assistance, food stamps and Medicaid. The Medicaid  alone covers over $600 a month in medications that I could never afford even if I had a full time job. If I went back to work it would take months to qualify for healthcare even under the new healthcare laws.

There’s some good things too. I’ve learned how to live and eat like a poor man. Some of the food isn’t good for me but it’s cheaper than healthier food but I manage to eat that too. I’m cooking more and never prepared food. I was a microwave and eat out kind of person. Not anymore. I budget what little money I get and I manage to pay my important bills like rent, phone and internet. Rent first for obvious reasons. Phone second because I need the phone to communicate with family, friends, doctors, lawyers etc. The internet third so I can try and keep selling things like my art and such.

 

I grew up thinking that welfare was for single mothers, the handicapped and people that are stealing from the system. I learned not to judge now that I need the assistance whether it’s temporary or permanent. Why do I feel such anger and shame when people have the same attitudes I once had? I didn’t want to be here.I don’t want to be here.  I am. Deal with it. Things will change and I won’t judge.


Feeling Wrong

July 3, 2012

I had such a great few weeks. I notice that I tend to blog more when I’m in pain or to vent but not as much when I’m having good days or weeks. I was hoping to post a blog about how good I’m doing in life in general but I didn’t get to it. Maybe not materialistically but spiritually and mentally. I’ve been praying more, exercising more, eating right, taking care of my physical and mental “disorders” by seeing professionals and feeling great about it.

 

I still feel pretty good over all but the past couple of days I just haven’t felt right. I’ve been lethargic, eating too much (makes me more lethargic), tired and creatively stumped. In reality I did a lot today but since I didn’t “finish” any creative projects and I took a nap I’m back to dwelling on the negative. Not as much but enough to make me write about it. It’s also been over 90 degrees, close to 100 degrees some days and I hear that can drain you even if I don’t go out in it much. Whatever is going on I’m sure it will pass.

 

I also started reading a book called the Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It is basically a self help book designed to bring out your inner creativity. Although I am actively creative every day for the most part I decided to read it and begin the exercises because someone I know wanted to start a workshop based on the book and I happen to have a copy that an ex-girlfriend gave me years ago. One of the exercises is to write what she calls morning pages. It’s basically writing 3 pages of stream of consciousness. I’ve sort of been doing that anyway but not everyday in an un organized fashion like the author suggests. I’ve been doing it for 4 days so far. She warned that a person might be digging up deep-rooted issues and might go through a type of withdrawal emotionally and that might explain feeling off. I don’t look at anything I write when I am finished. If I’m not feeling good from these exercises I’m sure this will pass too.

 

I  hate going to bed at night without at least one creative project under my belt. I was working on a major project for weeks that tied me up and now that I’m free I was hoping to do something everyday. Write and finish a piece or draw and finish a piece. I want that quick fix. My art in all forms have to be done in one day. That’s why it took me 7 years to finish my first novel Yellow Socks but I blogged every day. I also have 3 websites to maintain. I try to post every day on there. I don’t.

 

I’m sure everyone reading this can relate to not living up to their own expectations especially if you have any “disabilities”. I guess I just needed to get that out and post this for any readers that are keeping up with me. That’s what’s going on with Rich today.


Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream pages 87-89

June 22, 2012

NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January  2018 and published in May 2020.

Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 87-89

How Jocko and his teamster pal Buck got over the scrap of indigo blow snort gavel, only a real scientist will tell. Examine them closely and you would never know they were table beef survivors. The tracking devices made them look cool and even lowered their temperatures but they were being watched. Every skip and jump over the sand dunes were known by Kaydick Industries.

“Jocko self serving through production of self right bbbbBuck?” Jocko asked with unquestionable certainty.

“Aww knock it off Jocks. We’ve been through this before. These feelings of inadequacy will pass. Drink this.”

Buck passed the chuckle juice to Jocko knowing it would calm him down and in turn calm them both down. Jocko took several swigs and starred into the several sunned blurry sky wishing he were still a civilian and not a runaway ex table beef. The Agency had no use for them but Kaydick Industries followed their moves for the fun of it more than any business matters at hand.

“Feel better now?” Buck asked.

“Yeah. I feel so inspired. Can I piggy back now?”

“You know you’re too heavy but if you need human contact I can ride you. Just remember last time I rode you. You tore a few stitches.”

“It’s ok. Ride me. Ride me.”

The temperature was rising near 1,046 degrees porfeos. Dry heat that humps your glands like a reptile. If you’ve ever been humped by a reptile then you know. They had no choice in a life situation like this but to keep moving. The other side of desert is the town of Gointhaw. They would be safe for a while there. One would think with a population of 456,890 they could get away and not be seen despite the high tech tracking system.

 

Meanwhile Ralph was helping me with my own problems. The center of my scrotum was unnerved during the last explosion. I needed Ralph’s strong hands to reach inside and “pull the strings” as the motthoppers called it in my day. Not sure of the proper medical procedure’s name. Ralph wasn’t medical. He was physical for sure. He stuck his hands right up in there, you see. And wiggled each finger one at a time until he saw my fantastic grin reaching each ear almost. Chagrin. Ouuuther.

“Thanks. I needed that.” I said.

“Uppers yup. For you I can do fritterpops. Wholesale style. Ya know.” Ralph said.

Now my only agenda was to take photo options for the Agency. They remote wired me for the mission. My brain would freeze as they send a signal telling me when to click the device resembling absolutely nothing like a camera or visual recording device. It was built into my forehead like a third eye yet invisible to the eye. It was under my skin yet the 3 kolopuy length and width lens could actually see from the far away Agency laboratory. The trigger/button was on the side of my nose and only about .006 Kintopuys. It looked like I was scratching my colossal sized honker.

It was a fairly simple routine besides the brain freeze but the Agency was cautious and paranoid so Ralph was by my side in case I ran into any trouble. In some countries and cultures scratching my nose and staring at someone would be considered rude or a primal way of saying “skitter over lipper”. Even an inactive agent like myself could get quite the head banging and artillery action for that. Ralph is there to break up any potential violence like that and multiple other types. He’s a good zoo, ya know, it’s fun to keep him around. He doesn’t need weapons. I told ya what those hands can do with my “problem”.


Underground Poet’s Society 2012 -More Samples

June 16, 2012

I’ve been writing a lot of poetry lately and posting it on a poetry page on Facebook. I’ll be publishing a poetry collection by October or so called  Underground Modern Poets of 2012 collecting various poetry from many diverse people.

Here’s a few samples

Healing — part V
by Art Glib

i am resigned
and
there will always be a place
on the path of
my lifeline
that leads to
the spiral grip of true and
undeniable love
clinching at my heartstrings this day

i reconcile
to denounce sadness
bitterness or hate
seeing them as the impish thieves they are
they are like the anchor on the Edmund Fitzgerald

i have the power to do this-we all do

it was what it was
and we are who we are
i feel the joy on my
face as i
raise your praise to the sky
i feel the heat of
life giving sun
it’s like the way i feel
when i think of the best of us
a place of pristine truth
two souls in a corporation of flesh
a place where i wish you
peace of mind
love
happiness
and an
abundance of good things

bless us
and let no sweeping thoughts
of disdain
corrupt the pure remnants of your smile and laughter
i will not let anger steal those from me
i am not going to risk losing the locket of your memory
that i hold to my breast when you are in my thoughts
good bye
good luck
Godspeed
i love you

sQt 2008

 

Untitled
by Anthony Gray
When everything’s lost
and life seems surreal
When everything crashes
and nothing is real
When sorrow seeps in
and all that you feel
is confusion and madness
How do you deal?

Where will you go?
Where will you go?
When no one is sorry
for nothing they’ve done
Where will you go now?
Where will you run?

Everything dies
and the time will come
when the days grow too short
to mourn every one
When life’s vicious cycle
throws you ‘neath the wheels
and there’s no one to turn to
How do you deal?

Where will you go?
Where will you go?
When no one is sorry
for nothing they’ve done
Where will you go now?
Where will you run?

When it’s all said and done
it’s hard to regret
knowing full well the sun
is determined to set
When smoke in your eyes
can no longer conceal
You just let it mask you
and that’s how you deal.

Where will you go?
Where will you go?
When no one is sorry
for nothing they’ve done
Where will you go now?
Where will you run?

When you’re all alone
and the passion is gone
Can you keep your own head up?
Or where will you run?

OmnImpotence
by KrackPipe Ken

through the gloom
a dreary moon
lay soundless on the sod

a haunting tune
from dead leaves strewn
engirdled brooding god

“if I am naught,”
aghast he thought,
“but smoke and grim façade

“from womb to tomb…
…then only doom…
the deadless treadless trod.”

Little Boy Little Toy
by Jo Hewitt
Men and my pen always a dangerous combination, I’ve gone there before I’ll never be anyone’s whore I feel they never see me as real well you better duck and cover for I’m about to tell you about your own private hell mamma’s boy using women as your toy you’re invited to have a say but not have things your own way 41yrs of age you have a fit a real child’s rage in your childhood room you cause doom and gloom action figures a twin bed what a man you can barely tie your own shoes it’s no wonder it’s not you I choose grow up don’t blow up nonsense lies you spout a never ending fount try again a slave to the children you crave whine away for you I will not pine child in a mans body

 


Drag Drag Drag and on

June 13, 2012

Drag drag drag myself out of the warm covers in the freezing bedroom on a hot muggy day that I don’t don’t don’t want to face just yet. Groggy from all of the action my mind had while I was sleeping. Sleeping can be so tiring sometimes. The memories of my activities fade with each move I make out of the bed and towards the bathroom to release a night full of liquid. Groggy I stumble back in my room to try and pray to my God not yours although they may have met at some Deity convention we don’t know about. I smoke and wonder what would Jesus do if he had these habits of smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. My muzzled pounding thoughts expire to endless words spewing and I have no control. It makes no sense to be this tired and unmotivated and think so fast and too much. Even my God cannot quiet my insides.


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