Suck My Fuck

February 6, 2012

Suck my fuck

I’m out of luck

The Sandman took

My very last buck

 

I want to live

I want to give

I want to love

I want to forgive

 

From God I’m forsaken

I feel he has taken

Unless I’m mistaken

I cannot awaken

 

I’m sick in the head

Stuck in this bed

Moving I dread

I feel so dead

 

All I want is love

Without a kid glove

Yet pure as a dove

I’ve been so void of

 

Cursed

Blessed

Thirst

The rest

 

Fuck a suck

Eat a duck

Mind is muck

No more Luck


Polaroid Snapshot Memory

January 30, 2012

Polaroid snapshot memory caresses me from the inside out. Transcending candles light my way to the past and the joy and freedom I was unaware of at the time. Bizarre incantations of what life is and could be. Pass by and die. Pass by and let the fate of the Deities decide or roll the dice or not.

 

Freedom’s just another word for everything ahead. Wasted youth having a great time. Love. Sex, drugs and rock n roll baby. I lived it and didn’t know I was living. Love was everywhere. Free love was dead but I re-animated it. Acid trips and connections to worlds I wish I could have stayed in. Money was nothing to me and I thought it was everything. Carry the plight of darkness on my shoulder with a wicked smile.

 

Aging. Losing. Gaining. Winning. At the same time in my mind. I created it and I had no control of the inevitable events that lead me to me and back around the block. A haircut and a shave and a shower cures the common ME. Cut snip CUT. Parties over and starts again. Imobile as I travel and dream of travel and you.

 

Bulbous characters running in and out of my entire life. I call it life today. Tomorrow? Fuck tomorrow. I’ve always hated tomorrow. Diseased decaying tomorrow. Yesterday is where it’s at. Live today like it was yesterday and I feel fine. Crimes committed without my knowledge and I weep for you. For me.

 

Granite accelerator in the fastest carpool lane of a Lynchian progression. Up down. Freeze.

 

Tag.

 

You’re fucking IT.


How Are You?

January 4, 2012

How are you?

I think I know

Know

No, no.

Dreams are imperatively most important

As I grow older

Dreams are my only connection

With you among many

But you since we

We

Parted ways.

 

You are always doing well

In dreams.

My dreams

Lucididity.

Love.

Life.

Landing once again in the seats

Where we belong.

 

Fate taunts me sometimes

In my dreams

Reminding me what

Was supposed to be

Or not.

 

See you soon.

My dream.


Miss You (A Poem)

December 20, 2011

NOTE- I wrote this over a month ago when a special someone in my life seemed to have disappeared. It’s much better now but this poem is based on how I felt at the time. You know who you are.

 

Miss you

I do

Seriously

I keep thinking it’s something I did

Or didn’t do

 

I thought we were mates

Of the soul

Unconditional love

Now you’re gone

 

I understand you have a life

You have problems too

I’ve been too self-centered

To notice

 

I notice

I do

Seriously

Are you gone forever

Or just for a little while

 

Unreturned text messages

Phone calls

Over and over again

Not even a “I’m going through something”

Or a

“I can’t talk now.”

 

Maybe it’s a hint that

You don’t want me

Like me

Love me

Or miss me


Chasing Angel’s Wings (for Marcus RIP)

November 10, 2011

 

Visions I could never comprehend spill from his head

Inconceivable trauma most could not endure.

A mystic. A Shaman. A muse. A showman. A pure genius.

Lost soul. Strong soul. Sensitive soul.

Mind so open it hurts.

Christ like at times.

Judas other times.

Power untamed and loose.

Touches the wings of angels we can only dream of.

Sees and hears things out of reach for us laymen.

Superstar. Rock Star.

Once in a while I caught a glimpse of the man deep inside.

He was me. I- Him.

He called me the Jolly Joker and learned to laugh with me through our adventures in life. Our adventures beyond.

I showed him that he is everyone, that he is he and he showed me I am no one, that I am me.

Self centered yet so generous and giving until it hurt him at times.

Screams for help and no one hears him. Not really.

Self-medication and sedation from the evil that followed him.

For a moment he feels normal. As normal as a visionary can feel.

He chases the Angel’s wings and the demons abandon his soul


Wicked Smile

August 16, 2011

The gray wired stem cell recedes as your infected fingers touch it.

Look at the first thing you hear and find the weak spot and torch it with your flame broiled tongue.

Lick it.

Tease me with your green-clouded carcass and my tight gray eyes loosen slightly enough to absorb your fantasy.

My fantasy.

A crowd gathers and gathers watching. Looking. Gazing.

At us. At you.

At me.

Your over qualified charms releases it’s grasp and backs off.

A clear candied sludge covers my smile. Your smile widens and you laugh wickedly. Wicked.

It’s my face. Whispering sweet nonsense. Mumbling my monstrous innocence. Crying for something I think you have.

I want.

Come here before you go. Sit on my jellyfish clammy lap and try not to fall off and run away.

From me.

Go now, dear lethargic lethal lover.

Go.


Another Day

August 7, 2011

I figured I’d post this old comic strip I did that still sums things up sometimes.


The Artsy Girl – an Excerpt from my novel Yellow Socks

July 11, 2011

The Artsy Girl (as it originally appeared in Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan)

 

Living with Terry and Morton was a blast. They were both in their early thirties and I was in my late twenties. We are all artists in one way or another and we were all on the prowl for the ladies as we clumsily tried to pick them up at coffee shops, AA meetings, bars, art shows and anywhere else we thought that we could find our type.

 

Our types varied. Terry was obsessed with finding a “Vampire chick” or a “Goth Chick’. Ironically he dressed kind of standard 1988 in 1995. He had that bob cut hair. It was kind of long on the sides and real short in the back. Morton was after the “Rocker Chick Slut” or the “New Age Hippie chick.” He usually dressed the part either wearing his new age outfit or his Rock star clothes. He had long black died hair. As for me, I stood by with my usual requirements: any good-looking girl that actually liked me. We rarely found what we were looking for after obsessing day and night about these fantasy girls we would never have. We had fun in our bonding of failures with the ladies.

 

We all lived in a house that Terry owned in a town on the outskirts of Camden, NJ. It was a poor neighborhood and was becoming racially mixed. It was mostly poor minorities and white trash. The chances of ever seeing hot chicks that fit our tastes were next to impossible.

 

Then she appeared. A young girl of maybe seventeen walked by our house every day around 5:30 pm. She dressed a little on the “alternative” side. It was around the end of the grunge years and that’s when the poor neighborhoods usually take over a style is when the middle class is done with it. Always a step behind. Kind of like us. So Terry nicknamed her the “Artsy Girl” because he says she dresses artsy. It was a style that was once artsy but not now. The three of us became obsessed with her. Everyday at 5:30 one of us would call to the others “Artsy Girl!” and we’d all come running to the kitchen window to see her.

 

“Artsy Girl!” I said.

 

“Where?” Terry said.

 

“I don’t see her. Did I miss her?” Morton said.

 

“Stop fucking with us, man. This is the highlight of our day. We don’t need to be teased.” Terry said.

 

“Sorry. I just think that it’s funny that we all start salivating the minute someone rings the Artsy Girl bell.” I said.

 

She was cute in her little flowered dresses and her Doc Martins. She had medium length reddish brown hair and pretty brown eyes.

 

One day I was walking home from the train and I ended up walking home with her. She didn’t acknowledge ever seeing me before. Thank God. She didn’t know what a letch I was. Her name was Megan. She just got out of High School. She was going to start working at the local convenience store. I was going to hit on her then I realized that she was just a regular little girl. That’s ok but not for me. When we got to my house I felt sadness in her eyes that I was going home without hitting on her or asking her for her phone number. After getting to know her the thrill of the “Artsy Girl” vanished. I realized that I am not the letch I thought. She was too young and too inexperienced in life.

 

I still fucked with the roommates though. I still gave them the mating call of the Artsy Girl. They still kept a running. I never felt the same again.

Purchase your copy of Yellow Socks; Confessions of a Non-Don Juan here.


Nightmares and Dreams Video Experiment

July 9, 2011

Home.

Bed

Dream.

Smile. Dream.

Nightmare.

Fear.

Sexual delight

Frustration

Proactive


The Crime Scene Jitters & Buy my Collectibles & Art

May 24, 2011

This is a big week for me. This coming weekend is a big deal. I’ll be participating in what could be an amazing event called the Crime Scene. http://www.thecrimescene.info/index.html

It’s put together by famous macabre artist and curator of the Last Dime Museum, Matthew Aaron, independent filmmaker of such classic documentaries as HH Holmes, Albert Fish and upcoming Carl Panzram and the internet true crime expert, John Borowski and owner of the greatest most popular serial killer website SERIAL KILLER CENTRAL  http://skcentral.com, Joe Hiles.

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 Books http://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.

LAWRENCE BITTAKER HAND MADE POP UP CARD ART-$75

Lawrence Sigmund Bittaker and Roy Lewis Norris are two American serial killers who together kidnapped, tortured, raped, and murdered five young women over a period of five months in California in 1979.

JEFFREY DAHMER 13 PAGE COURT PROCEEDINGS COPY $6

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 ghetto neighborhood. 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]

Fritz Lang directed his film While the City Sleeps based on the novel The Bloody Spur by Charles Einstein which depicts the story of Heirens.

RICHARD RAMIREZ SIGNED ENVELOPE $20 ASK ME ABOUT BUYING ACTUAL LETTERS

Richard Ramírez, also known as The Night Stalker (born as Ricardo Leyva Muñoz Ramírez; on February 28/29 1960[3][4]) is an American serial killer awaiting execution on California‘s death row at San Quentin State Prison. Prior to his arrest, the media dubbed the unknown serial killer active in Los Angeles, California, the “Night Stalker”. Following his arrest, sensationalist reporting of his apparent interest in the occult and Satanism was common.

DANNY ROLLING SIGNED ENVELOPE $25 ASK ME ABOUT BUYING FULL LETTERS

Daniel Harold Rolling (May 26, 1954 – October 25, 2006), also known as The Gainesville Ripper, was an American serial killer who murdered five students in Gainesville, Florida.

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.

RICH HILLEN JR ART FOR SALE

COLOR NUDE $25

EXPLODE IMPLODE $25

WOMAN DISTORTED $25

PANTYHOSE WOMAN $20

FEET AND ASS $20

STRIPPER 666 $35

STRIPPER COLLAGE $10

STRIPPER AND AUDIENCE -FRAMED -$35 UNFRAMED $25

CHECK OUT MORE ART FOR SALE ON MY FACEBOOK ART FOR SALE ALBUM

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150150441306048.282408.739831047

I ALSO DO COMMISSION WORK. CHECK OUT MY FACEBOOK COMMISSION ART ALBUM

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150181412341048.301601.739831047

I WORK CHEAP. HA..

FINALLY DON’T FORGET ABOUT MY NOVEL, YELLOW SOCKS AND BEST OF THE SERIAL KILLER COLORING BOOK ON LULU.

DRAWING BY RICH HILLEN JR AND COLORED AND FINISHED BY MATTHEW AARON



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