I Still Got It. Hahahahaha.

July 17, 2012

On Saturday afternoon I was doing some extra work (cleaning carpets) for my uncle in a law office building I sometimes help clean in Haddonfield, New Jersey. It was an arts fair day so the front of the building and the whole street was closed down and filled with vendor’s tents. My co-worker and I would take breaks outside and catch a smoke.

 

One of those breaks a beautiful Japanese woman came up to me real friendly asking how I was. Since her and her friend were dressed in similar floral print dresses and she was holding what looked like a post card in her hand I assumed she was going to try and sell me something. My co-worker complimented her pretty dress and I nodded in agreement. She kept smiling and making semi-flirtatious small talk and I was still waiting for a sales pitch that never came.

 

She asked me what work I was doing after asking me why I was there. I told her cleaning carpets. She smiled and said that was much better then working at the mall. The whole encounter only lasted about 5 minutes and she said goodbye and it was great to see me again. Again? As she was walking away in the distance it hit me that I knew her. She used to be a customer of mine when I was a server at a restaurant at the mall. A regular customer of mine. I used to know her by name. Damn, she is beautiful.

 

There I was with a beautiful sexy young woman flirting with me and I not only did nothing about it but I didn’t even know what was going on. This has happened many times before especially the not knowing a woman was into me until after the fact usually when someone tells me. I guess my self esteem is low, my memory is bad and I forgot what it’s like to be around women. Things are going to change. I mean to say things are going to change even more or I’m going to miss out on some prime opportunities in life.

To quote the great Ralph Malph from Happy Days “I still got it.”.


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

 

To purchase click here


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.


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


Vanity or Sanity?

February 17, 2012

“I’ll trade your vanity for my sanity.” I said to Marcus in 1995.

We never made the trade.

I’ve had another blah day today. I had to do a “Stress test” at my Cardiologist early this morning. My mom likes to take me there to make sure I am ok etc. I slept at my mom’s last night.

I was instructed not to drink caffeine for 12 hours before and no smoking after midnight last night. Yes, I have a heart condition and I started smoking again. Not even close to half as much as I used to. I don’t drink that much coffee. But that’s not the point. It was rough waking up and staying up then going for a stress test. I was stressed from not having coffee and smoking.

I was there for over 3hours and or was mostly waiting around and 2 photo sessions after putting fluid in me for the machine. The only “test” I took was a 10-15 minute treadmill until my hear rate was up to 150 beats a minute. The Doctor was fun to look at except for her wedding ring. Well, it was a nice wedding ring. You get the idea.

I left there so groggy for some reason. Mom took me food shopping. She took me. I paid. Ha. Then we did lunch and I finally bought a coffee. A “French Toast Latte” actually, with 4 shots of espresso. I drank up and had a smoke finally. Ahh. I drank the whole thing and my ass was still dragging.

I came home with mom. I sleep here some Friday nights so I can help my uncle Saturday mornings. I helped my mom with a few things and cleaned out my broken down car in her driveway. I donated it to Purple Heart and they are picking it up on Monday.

It’s a sad loss. I loved that car but it needs too much work and I can’t afford it right now. I did score a bunch of coins from it. SO I took a walk to the bank to cash them in. TD bank charges 6% on the coin machine if you don’t have an account with them. I’ve and accounts with them for years even when they were Commerce Bank and they never charged. Now I don’t have an account and they charged me over a dollar and I ended up with just under 17 dollars. Oh well, it was still found money.

I took a walk into town to get some smokes and splurge on a Starbucks coffee (half decaf at this point) since I had some extra money. Chatted with the friendly kid at CVS I see every week about cigarettes mostly. My old friend from when I worked at Starbucks was working and we chatted it up a bit. One of the girls I used to see there almost every night a couple years back looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back. I used to think she was cute. She still is. I just don’t always think about these things all of the time. Just at my Doctor today.

“Are you the same guy..?” She asked then paused.

“That used to be her every night? Yes.” I answered.

“You lost a lot of weight. You look great.” She said.

I thanked her and almost told he she looked good too but wasn’t sure if that’s what I’m supposed to say or not anymore. I talked to her while she made my drink.

“You used to drive that big red car right?” She asked.

“Yeah. I’m not driving it now.” I said.

“What are you driving?”

“Nothing.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Fairview.”

“Where’s that?”

“ It’s on the edge of Camden near Collingswood. Where do you live?”

“Bellmawr.”

“Cool. Nice seeing you again.”

“Great to see you. Stop in more.”

I took my drink in a great mood. I gained a little of my weight back in the past month and have been a little self-conscious. I hadn’t shaved in a week and my hair was un-kept today so “looking good” was the last thing on my mind. It felt good to hear it. When I first lost the weight after a month or so recovering from my heart surgery months ago I was so confident. I was able to wear clothes I couldn’t fit into for over 4 years. That faded away fast with other priorities making me forget.

It occurred to me that I didn’t even feel bad about not having a car or even a job because “I looked good” to quote my friend John, even when I was at my worst.

I guess it was a good day. Because other people’s opinion’s of my looks makes me feel better than my accomplishments.

In reality I’d rather have created something like a piece of art, poetry or a novel than look good but I was nice to hear it.

I’ll keep my sanity (the little I have) and you can keep your vanity.


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


Desire Part 2.3

February 2, 2012

 

Desires of riches through

Creative means means means everything to me.

Drawings,

Novels-how novel,

Music paid to play and

Photography.

I want it all.

Desires of riches of the spirit

With God

Through God

My Guardian Angel

Speaks to me

And takes care of me.

Desires of love

Of another person

Mutual, true, deep

And understanding love

That lasts forever

That knows no end.

Desires of happiness

Through satisfaction of self.

Inside and out.


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.


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.

Click Images to preview more, read reviews and purchase


Guardian Angel Protection

December 9, 2011

Oh guardian angel

With long black hair

Big brown eyes

Who only appears in my dreams

I beg of you to help me in real life.

 

Oh guardian angel of mine

I cannot decipher your

Messages in my dreams

I beg of you to explain

Even if it’s not part of

Your job description

 

Oh guardian angel

You save me in dreams

Where are you now?

I know you’re here with me

When I’m awake

So please guide me.

 

Should I stop praying directly to God

And pray to you or both?

Please tell me or show me the way.

I will follow. I promise.

 

Oh guardian angel

Don’t hide your wings

Don’t hide your halo

I know it’s there

I know you’re there.

 

I love you.

Please love me

And show me the way.

 


%d bloggers like this: