Excerpt from My First Novel Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non Don Juan

June 4, 2012

An Excerpt from my 2010 novel Yellow Socks- Confessions of a Non Don Juan

 

Skeleton Woman or Things Like Me Don’t Happen To You

 

Christ it happened again. Another notch in my “girls that want to be my friend” belt. It made sense. We were perfect friends and she was real cute too. I kept thinking that I was ok with it. I’d be happy just being a friend again. I keep turning to God for strength to accept my fate as “Friend to all women” that I’m attracted to. My acceptance level seems to be ok. I go to my happy place. I go to my cave. I say the serenity prayer over and over I am sure that I will be ok with this. Yes I will. (no I won’t)

 

Cut to a scene from Fight Club

 

TYLER

Stop it! This is your pain — this is your burning hand. It’s right here! Look at it.

 

JACK

I’m going to my cave. I’m going to my cave to find my power animal!

 

TYLER

No, don’t deal with this the way those dead people do. Come on

!

JACK

I get the point, ok, please!

 

TYLER

No, what you’re feeling is premature enlightenment.

 

Ok. I get the idea. Feel the pain. Feel the hurt. Feel the rejection saturating my heart until I bleed more than just these words all over the place and finger my open sore of a brain as it wants to dwell on her over and over again. Screaming and roaring her name with anger and grief and sometimes a slight relief that it’s done and I know that she will not reject me again unless I go back for more and more or less or a little bite of her cheeseburger and a sip of her Pepsi to tide me over until the next one comes along with better food and spirits for my, for me for. Four scores of seven years itch as I scratch the weathered tired out mongrel of an ego that was left stray years ago in a pound for wayward hearts and letches that can only love and never be loved.

 

The pain of being a friend. A friend. I’ve heard that “Let’s just be friends” millions of times in my life as I gargle a new mouthwash and toothpaste hoping my breath will be the answer to my problem. My problem is as follows: me, myself and I. We altogether are the problem. We want to be loved so bad that we give off the vibe that scares the shit out of women so they just want to be friends. Friends. Friends. I think to myself that will be fine. Friends is ok. It’ll do. I can accept that. Bullshit! Feel the pain I tell myself. Embrace it. the pain is your friend. To hurt is to be alive. I’ve never been so alive. I’m alive. So alive.

 

“Did you ever hear about the skeleton woman?” Morton asked.

 

“Was that a Glam rock band from the seventies?” I ask.

 

“Ha. Ha. Nah. It’s an ancient Indian story. This guy was fishing in the middle of a lake. He was totally into it. He was relaxed. Not a care in the world except catching the next fish. All of a sudden he feels a tug on his line and he yanks it up. A skeleton appears on his line. He doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line and he gets scared. He starts paddling his boat away from it but it follows him. He still doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line. He gets out of his boat and runs into the village and he is carrying his fishing rod and the skeleton is still right behind him. He jumps into his Tee Pee and it follows him in. He lies down and tries to hide not looking at it for a while. When he finally turns to look at the skeleton it has changed into the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is his. The moral of the story is that he was minding his own business doing something he enjoyed and that’s when the right woman came along. In other words when you are not looking for love is when it will find you. ”

 

“I know that but it’s so fucking hard to stay focused on other things without thinking about how much I want to be loved. Fall in love. Ya know?” I responded.

 

“I know. I know.” Morton said.

 

“We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.” Tyler Durden

 

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Ezra POUNDed My Head

February 9, 2012

Ezra POUNDed my head today

I woke up in the (William) BURROUGHS of my mind

Unable to NEAL like Cassady and pray

I write like I am an ARTHUR (Rimbaud) of many poems but

I am really a HUNTER (S. Thompson) of words

A Patti wordSMITH

 

I am hungry for an Allan GINSBERGer with cheese

Flap JACK Kerouac rhymes touch my soul

I search as (Henry David) THOREOUly as I can for the

Right (Edgar Allan) POEm to come along and

It all seems so (William) BLeAkE like

Tasting rotten (Walt) WHITMAN chocolates

My creativity takes it (Gregory) CORSO

As I ponder on about Emily needing DICKenson

I have to make my MARK like TWAIN

And do as I WILLiam and say FAULKner you

 

I WILLiam SHAKEspeare this feeling

I want to have my (Robert) FROSTed cake

And (William Butler) yEATs it too

Mark my (William) WORDSworth


An Excerpt from my Novel, Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan

January 14, 2012

This is an excerpt from my 2010 novel; Yellow Socks-Confessions of a Non-Don Juan

Barry

One Sunday I went to the Baltimore Museum of Visionary Art and the Baltimore Museum of Art. I went with a girl I work with named Janet, her friend Lenora, and their Museum Education teacher Barry. Although I’ve shared a few rides and a few cigarettes with Janet I was riding for two hours with relative strangers. Janet picked me up in at 8th and Market where the Patco Speedline (Jersey to Philadelphia train) dropped me off. I got in the car and we made our obligatory introductions. “Hi. Good to meet you.”

I sat in the back seat next to Barry. Janet drove with her friend as co pilot. Barry was pretty cute. She had most of my requirements for a fuck fantasy. Cute face, skinny, decent tits, and long legs. But she’s probably an idiot. She was dressed very normal. Trendy jeans and standard shoes and jacket. I started to write everyone off as an idiot when I first met them at that point in my life. I was also willing to change that if I had to.

Janet’s friend, Lenora seemed to be one of those babbling women. She picked up where she left off before I got in the car. Something about her workman’s compensation not covering her tuition and who she wants to sue. She’s already got a few strikes against her for being beastly looking. I don’t want to feel like this but I do.

I especially can’t stand women that incessantly complain.

When the topic finally switched to something else thanks to Janet, I was still bored. Janet brought up seeing the band or performer or whatever it is called some name I can’t remember but sounds like she’s saying Herbal Essence. “They played on David Letterman and it was the greatest thing in the world and I can’t believe Letterman made fun of them. ” “Let’s put on the their cd.” “I think I have it right there.” They put it on and were singing along and I can’t even describe the crap I was hearing.

I came prepared for something to read. Jim Goad’s Shit Magnet was definitely great escape from this ordinary madness I was trapped with. I read for about a half an hour before Barry wanted to look at the book I was reading. I gave her my best watered down version of who Jim Goad is and his influence on me etc. She was surprisingly interested. So the ride perked up a little.

Conversations became more interesting and so did Barry. She was twenty-nine years old. She has an under graduate degree in Art History. She was working towards her Masters degree in Museum studies. I actually like people that are cultured. I wasn’t used to it on my personal life.. She was also down to earth. She wasn’t pretentious but she knew her shit.

I guess I’ve become a bit of an Art History common sore myself. I’ve learned a lot more than I thought I knew working at the Art Museum for a year. Enough to carry an intelligent conversation to a certain degree. I’ve also gained an interest in outsider, folk and self-taught art.

I couldn’t wait to see Rev Howard Finster’s creations live in person at the Museum of Visionary Art. He was best known for his Garden of Eden junkyard installment in his own yard. Sam Doyle was a nice surprise. I discovered him at the American Folk Art Museum in NYC. Real raw paintings of people on pieces of steel. And I found new artists to drool over. Elizabeth Layton, an eighty something year old artist who does these detailed cartoon style drawings that are almost reminiscent of Alice Neel, another old lady self taught artist with national fame. Barry and I bonded a little more and we seemed to end up together separated from Janet and her friend. Either I was following her or she was following me. In my head I still kept my distance

The Baltimore Museum of Art was also fantastic. The Modern contemporary exhibit is so much more extensive and intense than the Philadelphia Museum of Art. There was plenty of Warhol, and Raushenberg,art etc. Barry introduced me to and explained Zoey Leonard. Zoey Leonard takes fruit and sews it back together after eating the fruit inside. It represents death and decay of humans. I enjoy someone explaining some of the art to me and she was a good teacher. When she took off her jacket I thought that she was a great teacher with a nice ass.

We went through the Cone exhibit.

“In the early 20th century, two Baltimore sisters-Claribel and Etta Cone assembled one of the most important art collections in the world. Visiting the Paris studios of Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso, they acquired an exceptional collection of art, which they displayed in their Baltimore apartments. The sisters also collected paintings by Cézanne, Gauguin, van Gogh, and Renoir, and a variety of textiles, jewelry, furniture, and African, Asian, and Near Eastern art. Cone Wing galleries provide an intimate setting in which to view these masterpieces as well as insights into the sisters’ diversity as collectors.” A tour guide said.

It was pretty amazing. They also had this virtual reality touch screen that’s bigger than my TV. You can navigate your way around the collection on screen.

We’re all got pretty hungry by five o’clock since none of us but Barry ate all day. I had a pretzel but that doesn’t count. A fellow patron at the Museum suggested this Italian restaurant that I can’t remember the name of. We hit the gift shop then headed on our final mission together to get something to eat.

We pulled up to this Italian restaurant and it was next to a place called Moe’s Seafood. We thought since we were in Baltimore we should try seafood so Moe’s it was. The second we walked in the nasty stank of bad fish hit us. We looked around and it looked horrible. Dirty tables. Smoke filled room. We left and went back to the Italian restaurant. After all, a Baltimorean recommended it so it must be great. We walked in and it was the opposite of Moe’s. It was fancy and we were under dressed. We waited ten minutes to get seated and another fifteen at the table. We were starving so we left.

We walked the streets for another half of an hour before we ended up on Broadway and there were so many restaurants we panicked. So Barry fixed her eyes on a place called Bertha’s with a big sign that said “Eat Bertha’s Muscles”. It was telling us what to do so Bertha’s it was.

Bertha’s was a just a bar when we walked in. There was nowhere to sit. We were going to give it up but I spotted the sign that said Dining Room. We squeezed our way through the bar to the Dining Room. We were seated immediately. The service was fast. The food was awesome. We shared muscles and the laughs. Great conversations and I felt our bond growing even more as Barry shared personal stories and experiences. At one point she touched my thigh while laughing at some joke. I caught myself thinking about her naked. I caught myself thinking it’d be really different to get with a woman that has her shit together. I immediately dismiss these thoughts because they usually lead to nowhere anyway.

The trip home was comfortable. We all spent an entire day together and still liked one another. We were laughing and joking even more. The flirting and the connections were growing stronger and stronger. I knew better. It would all mean nothing to anyone here after a week or two. I shook her hand goodbye and said “it was nice meeting you.” I got out of the car and left Barry behind me.

I never saw her again and it’s better that way. The attraction. The flirting. The exchange of personal information. The temporary connection. It probably meant nothing to her. Sure she’ll say “Pete was a nice guy or Pete was cute.” but it really doesn’t mean anything. She’ll forget about me. Times like this used to mean something to me. Now it’s just what people do. We share moments. We share blocks of time and whether we bond or connect only mean something for that short time. I still remember these times but I don’t feel them anymore.

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Still a Ghost

August 25, 2011

I am a ghost. I am dead. I died years ago.

 

I walk. I move. I eat. I shit. I haven’t lived in years.

 

That fateful day or was it weeks or months back when I was on top of the world I fell off of it.

 

Lost love. Lost family. Lost friends. Lost my mind. My mind.

 

Everything I accomplished and worked hard to become was lost that day, that month, that year.

 

I can’t remember how fast or slow it happened. I slowly realized that everything I loved and created and accomplished was nothing but a distant memory. Memory.

 

I have been a ghost of Rich Hillen Jr ever since. I am reminded constantly of what I had and who I was and it’s sad.

 

It’s sad but I don’t feel it most of the time. Ghosts don’t feel. Maybe they do but this ghost doesn’t feel most of the time.

 

No regrets. No sentimental memories. No anger. No happiness.

 

Just a ghost of what I once was.

 

I can accept this sometimes.

 

Sometimes it’s unacceptable.

 

I try and live off of my past. My personality. My accomplishments. My loves. I am acting.

 

Who you see is not who I am. What I am.

 

I’ve lost my mind and no one knows. Not even me sometimes. I forget that I am a ghost.

 

Boo.

 

Boo hoo.

 

I watch my new world collapse around me and I complain and I plan and I try to find a solution. Doesn’t work.

 

Neither do I. Work.

 

I look back at who and what I was when I was living and it does bring me comfort to know that I was somebody.

 

If this is true. If I am dead. I know that I will be remembered. I am remembered. Isn’t that the goal? Isn’t that what we all want? To be remembered?

 

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems. I knew that then and I know that now. I can accept it today.

 

I am a ghost and I am remembered.

 

Thank you.



Live Book Reading from Yellow Socks Video

April 29, 2011

Now you can read it yourself. Just click the Yellow Socks cover pic.


Be My Valentine- Excerpt from Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non-Don Juan

February 14, 2011

This is my Valentine’s Day story loosely based on a real life story from my novel Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan. Warning: it’s unrated so parental guidance is suggested.

Be My Valentine?

 

I was finally fucking a hot chick again. Her name was Lena. It was wonderful. She had the best pair of legs. Nice perky tits. Her face was one of the prettiest I ever kissed. The foreplay that night lasted about an hour and a half, which is a miracle for me.

 

Let me back this up a bit.

 

About two and a half years before I was totally obsessively in love with this young girl who I thought liked me named Doris. She worked at the Heritage’s convenience store near where I worked at the time. She was just 18. You know what I mean. The way she looked… The first time I asked her out we made plans to meet up after work and she stood me up. Then she gave me this story of how her brother had to go to the hospital and there were no phones etc. So I blew it off. Whatever.. Yeah right. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. So she calls me and tells me how much she likes me and we should go out again. I made plans again. And this time she stood me up because her brother was in jail. Ok shit happens. Meanwhile, I was going absolutely crazy wanting to be with this girl but I put off making plans again. Somewhere in between the two dates I manage to kiss her and she was very passionate. She seemed like she dug me based on the way she put her tongue in my mouth. So the wacko with no common sense that I am made plans with her for the third time.

 

She did it again!! Fuck!

 

So I blow her off and want nothing to do with her and she doesn’t seem to understand why. She wrote me a note saying she wanted to makeup and all that stuff. So I waited a while and finally talked to her and we made plans for Valentine’s Day, Feb 14, 2002.

 

Over the weekend I ran into Lena, a girl that my friend used to date when she was 18. We were in a band together and he wrote a song about her that I sang. So I hung out with Lena at a Diner that night and really hit it off. We kissed good night passionately. We made plans for early the following week around Feb 11th.

 

I came over and she was all over me. I just stood there and tried not to respond because I had a strange loyalty to Doris and I was going to be with Doris on the 14th, So Lena just keeps rubbing against me trying to get me horny and I was but I still resisted. She took off her shirt and started dancing with her pierced nipples bouncing around. She pealed of her jeans to reveal her blue thong. She stood there the princess of temptation. She was twenty-three now and looked better than when she was eighteen years old.

 

She started playing with her pussy like I have never seen before. Her hand was under her thong just rubbing her clit and moaning and she touched me. I just watched like it was on TV or something wanting to touch her but not wanting to back down on my promise to myself. She finished. We talked a little. She pretended she understood. I left.

 

Valentines Day I got up and was ready for my big date. I had this lingering feeling throughout the day that Doris was going to cancel. I saw her in the afternoon and she said we were still on. I started to see the light. I called Lena and told her I wanted to see her. She was free. So at the last minute before I leave work I went to see Doris. Sure enough she couldn’t make it. I thought to myself “Thank God I didn’t buy her anything.” Off to Lena’s apartment I went.

 

On my way I threw together a poem I thought might make her feel good. I read it to her when I arrived. She loved it. She stripped down to her thong again. It was red for Valentines Day. She helped me with my clothes. We kissed. She tasted like gum and cigarettes. I licked her neck down to her nipples. I love nipple piercings. I bit the rings and pulled them hard with my teeth. She moaned. I felt her nice round ass and squeezed to see what she could take. She said she wanted to do something wild. Wanted me to choke her. I choked her as I dry humped her. I smacked her face hard. She smiled. I pulled her hair and forced my dick into her mouth. She sucked it with all of her breath. She gagged a few times and I pulled out.

 

“Lick my pussy.” She said.

 

I went down and pulled off her thong to reveal a shaven pussy with a clit ring. I licked and pulled on the clit ring. She screamed a good scream. I smacked her ass until it was dark red. She jerked me off for a while. I turned her over and licked her ass. I fucked her feet. After an hour and a half of these various sexual acts It was time to put it in her. She spread. I put on the condom and slipped it in. Just as I started pumping her I started to lose my erection. I tried several ways of getting it up and none worked. She tried to help. After a half hour of attempts, she stood up frustrated and told me to get out.

 

“I can do this.” I said.

 

“This has never happened to me. I can’t handle this” she said.

 

“Really. Just give me a few minutes.”

 

“Out! Now!”

 

“But.”

 

I left to never see her again. It was the last time I got laid in years. I remember every little detail.

 


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