Banging Eesha

August 8, 2013

 

Banging Eesha Khare was just the beginning of Hermo’s erotica accomplishments

like his ability to cook a badass vegan quiche that knocked the panties off of many a youngin’. He’s tasted the sweat inside the sour and the sweet off the hog. Heroic whoremonger and all round lady’s man until she came along.

 

He’s experienced everything from the powerful and almighty golden shower power hour to the screeching bandages of stiff loves and rubbery limp limbs.

Her string cheese hair and incensed lips stopped Hermo Condara’s eyes from blinking the first time she smiled a hello.

 

After finishing a Kama Sutra lesson with Jodi Arias with and without KY and no k9, our hero ventured into the Holo Venute room to relax with a pseudo pint of lager and 3 Asian girls to perform a pedicure and nasal spray, Hermo spotted her across the nitro-room.

Quiandra Pamacharatih was a work of art in the nitro-room. She looked, moved and spoke like she belonged hanging in the middle of the most colorful of fine art exhibits. Her Mayan Princess features stood strong on along her entire face. Hermo’s pale gaze fell down her body lightly covered in a tan gauze dress right down to her dark sculpted toes stretching the rubber on her golden sandals as she stood up.

 

Hermo stared at Quiandra as he pulled his hands out of his armpits to give a quick sniff check followed by a short breath check. He extended his stinky fingers to shake her hand as he introduced himself. She could smell him on her fingers and she smiled her sparkling pearls under her thick Mayan lips. He smiled back at her with his twelve yellow tooth smile.

 

As Hermo launched Quiandra into the air and carried her off in the sunset. He could hear his ancestors cheer. Of all of the erotica accomplishments, cooking abilities and hogtying bare naked green cheerleaders of Southern Kitchen Inc, dusting Quiandra’s aftershock into the wind. Our hero smiles as you fade to black.

 

Art_GirlUglyFashion

 

END

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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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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.”.


We are Merely Players

July 10, 2012

Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut! Stop there. Ok Rich. You got the part all wrong. You’re supposed to be the guy with positive energy surviving on his art and good looks. Where’s this depressive attitude coming from. You’re not supposed to be dragging through the day barely getting anything done. You lost a good part of yesterday this way and almost all of Sunday. I don’t want to hear that Bipolar starving artist routine. I’m not buying it. I don’t care how late in the day it is. Start over now. The films rolling and we’re not on a huge budget ya know. Deal with your “mommy issues” on your own time. I’m sick of doing re-writes just for you. You know how this should play out.

“Hero has a rough life. Hero goes through struggle after struggle. Hero finds true happiness. Hero loses it to his own self destructiveness. Hero admits complete defeat, seeks help and changes his beliefs and attitudes and lives happily ever after one day at a time.”

So let’s start this day over from where you do something productive and finish your laundry.


Bagel and Cream Cheese

June 18, 2012

 

Bagels and cream cheese at the end of my street

Comical caravans drive by my feet

Stick it to man and I get stabbed in the back

Ain’t no lovin for me just quite yet

 

The edge of the park is a nice place to rest

Light a mouthful of grass- the fresh picked best

Share it with the children and get poked with a stick

Ain’t no lovin for me quite just yet

 

Light three candles at the corner Catholic Church

For the three that I love who never got the hearst

My Sunday best clothes melt a holy water scam

Ain’t no lovin for me quietly quite yet

 

Oh driver oh driver do drive me away

Far from this level of the story I am stuck

Where the joke has no punch line

And I don’t give a skunk

 

Ain’t no love for me until I am ready you

Not just quite yet


Father’s Day

June 17, 2012

Father’s Day has been an odd day for me through the years as I’m sure that there are many others who could say the same. I was fortunate to have 2 fathers. I didn’t get to share this love until later in life but there were only a few brief years I didn’t have a “father” with me and even then I lived with my grandfather who played the father figure role.

When I was adopted at the age of 11 I had no contact with my biological father for around 5 years or so at this point but I wanted to keep my birth name for some reason. I was proud to be a Junior of a man I had yet to know. I heard good and bad stories from family and even fictional stories from my mentally ill biological mother through the years.

After a year or so of settling in with my new parents I celebrated Father’s Day with my new dad I called by his first name Bill. He raised me trying to be the best father he could and did a decent job despite my already wacky ways. He wasn’t the type to celebrate holidays much Father’s Day wasn’t a big deal. We’d have a more formal meal or go out to eat and I’d get him something but as I got older all it came and went.

In my 20s my biological father came back into my life. It took a couple years to drop our baggage and become friends and it was worth it. Then I had 2 dads. Some years I divided my time and other years I neglected my real father. I give him a lot of credit for hanging in there with me. I haven’t been the best son to him but he tried to be the best father. We’ve been building since. We started slowly but eventually started getting together once a week and did lunch and we kept with it until we both were broke and changed it to once a month and we still get together.

Meanwhile my adopted father was getting sick on and off from 2006 or 7 to 2009 when he finally died. I moved in with my adopted mother and him early 2009 and he died June 19th 2009. I became closer to him than ever before he died and take comfort knowing him better.

I still hung out with my biological father and every year I begin to appreciate him as a father. This past May he took me to Atlantic City for my birthday because it was the closest town with a Hooters. We used to go to Hooters every Monday for luck for over 2 years. Maybe 2. We walked the boardwalk and even the beach that day and I had a lot of fun. We were both relaxed and enjoyed ourselves. I realized later that I was subconsciously reliving my early childhood bonding with my dad at one of the beaches he actually took me too as a kid.

I realized I don’t give him enough credit as a father and all he has done for me through the years since reconnected.

We’re getting together on Tuesday June 19 for lunch to celebrate father’s Day. I realized later that it was the 3-year anniversary of my adopted dad Bill’s death. I think it’s appropriate. They were both great Fathers. Rich Hillen Sr is the underrated one and it’s time to give back whatever I can and be a son.

Happy Father’s Day.


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

 


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