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


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.


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

 


Any Dream – A POEM

June 10, 2012

Any dream left untold is like a dream left unsold

Marketed to the next available reader, listener

Therapist, Psychologist or friend

I never meant to be like this a voice tells me remembering or not

Another voice says cheese taste much better fresh from the deli

It’s a shame you’re allergic to shellfish and not selfish.

Boogity. Boogity. Boo.

The brakes slam. The air bag deploys and everyone flees the scene of my dream except me

All alone to deal with consequences  of constituencies of someone’s actions and I don’t know who.

My oh my what a wonderful day

Plenty of fish coming my way

“Eat up” you tell me “ It might be your last meal”

I am reminded of the days I have left so I count the days I have left behind me. Love is losing. Succeeding is failing. Fame and glory is poverty and anonymity

I know because I count the days I have left behind me.

I pay attention to some things Pigboy so crawls back in your mud

You have lived nothing but pain. I’ve seen beyond the rain. I’ve danced in sunshine and I may not be where anyone wants me to be including me but I have days to count of the past when and where I was happy. It brings a smile and a tear but I was something and I never know what’s down the line to tow.

Give me back my dreams.

Any dream will do.


Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 36

March 13, 2012

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 out 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


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.”


Happiness is a Warm Gunner Hanson

March 3, 2012

Friday nights are my favorite nights and Saturday mornings are my favorite times of the week. Since I left my mom’s aftercare from my Heart attack and surgery in September at her house in Haddonfield (the house I grew up in from 8thgrade to college graduation) and moved back to where I live now in Fairview in Camden (the town I grew up in from age 5 until 5th grade). Both towns have changed through the years and I like the changes in Haddonfield much more.

I lived in Haddonfield from March 2009 to October 2010. The move was a wonderful and heartbreaking experience. I was financially distressed, just broke up with (dumped by actually) a yearlong girlfriend or whatever she was and a comeback from a short relapse to drinking after almost celebrating 17 years of sobriety. I was recovering from these factors and moving on and at the same time my adopted father (the one who raised me since I was 11) was sick with many ailments including the worst -Myasthenia gravis, an autoimmune neuromuscular disease leading to fluctuating muscle weakness and fatigability. It also lowered his immunities lowering his abilities to fight infections.

The three of us decided that it would be a great idea for me to move in to my parents house so I could help my mother with my father’s new needs and be an extra person in the house so she could relax once in a while. I was more of a back up and security than daily help. We thought despite his ailments he was to live many years assuming he continued with current treatments. Despite his surprising death from catching scabies that lead to a facial neuralgia similar to my own, I have happy memories due to the pleasure of getting to know him better than I have in my entire life. He died June 19th 2009. I stayed on with my mom in what I thought was a support to her.

In May 2010 I lost my job and my relationship with her deteriorated slowly until September when I realized I had to move out. Mom didn’t like a reclusive jobless son living on her porch, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes on the computer day in and day out despite the fact that it was one of my most creative periods of my life. As if God presented it Himself I was offered an opportunity I felt I couldn’t refuse. Without my mom throwing me out I went ahead and moved to Camden because my good friend owned the house, it was a bargain, it was furnished and it was cheap. I also had a friend that was in a similar situation that was ready to jump on the bargain. I loved the place when we first looked at it. Our decisions were made. I had the money and my new roommate had the money.

On the day we signed the lease I had a bad feeling as I was driving through the neighborhood. I saw the boarded up houses and drug dealers on the corners. I made the commitment so I went through with it against my last minute objections.

Here it is almost a year and half later and I am full of regret. I’ve since ran out of my savings, and due to my low income of my last job my unemployment barely paid the rent, My various mental and physical disorders got worse, I applies for disability so even if I could get a job I couldn’t, I lost my license due to not affording the NJ surcharges, I gave up my car, I lost my unemployment, I replapsed again and luckily couldn’t afford it and got sober once again, I went on welfare and I even got mugged once.

A lot of time I blame my move to Camden so you can see why Fridays and Saturdays are my favorite days of the week. A twelve to 16 hour vacation from the “home” I dread. I spend the evening mostly alone in the TV room watching cable TV that I don’t have at home and write. My favorite TV show How I Met Your Mother is on 3 channels at 3 different times to keep me happy. I love Neal Patrick Harris and Alyson Hannigan since the Doogie and Willow days. I go to bed early creatively satisfied and entertained.

I wake up nice and early around 6:30 am and pray and meditate, write and watch reruns of a crime show called Female Force on a crime channel. The morning coffee and cigarettes even taste better in my Haddonfield house. I either take a walk to help my uncle with his business for a couple hours if my pain and metal state are in order for the day or try and help mom around the house. Then we do lunch and I go back to “home” only by name and back to my on and off terror of my Camden environment.

I love Friday nights and Saturday mornings. I feel almost normal when I’m here


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