Underground Poets Society of 2012

June 3, 2012

I haven’t been blogging on here for a bit. 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 for the Underground Modern Poets of 2012 book.

Here’s a few samples

BLOODY TOILS

by Tara Seuss

…. my blood is boiling over and over. yes, it is over. make this nightmare stop. stop fucking asking me please, stop everything. stop you. you make me blue, i want you to be fucking true and i want to kill you. i want to kill these toils, troubles and fucking bubbles you cause, fuck off i’m sorry (audience please applause). burn burn, oh yeah, you’re gonna burn- kid you have no idea how much you have to learn. first lesson, you have to give if you want to earn. correction, put that lesson back on the shelf……your only hope is to be someone else. amen.
  • Comfort
  • By Art Glibfunny
    it was a box
    just a box
    a small
    red
    rectangular
    cardboard box
    with big
    bright
    yellow cages on it
    containing confectionary animals
    from worlds away
    a consumable passport
    to happiness

    it had a string
    to carry it
    and
    it brought joy
    and happiness
    while
    begging great
    questions about
    life at large
    and my place in the
    world
    in the
    young
    comfort
    thank you mom
    days of my
    bologna
    mustard
    and lettuce
    wax paper
    wrapped
    lunch box
    childhood

    even today
    as I cradle
    the red
    cardboard
    box
    and enjoy
    a flat cookie creature
    from the
    flour zoo
    I am
    transported back
    from my jaded
    wake up
    nap time is over
    tired
    adult
    traveled path
    to the buster brown
    saddle shoe
    milk and
    graham cracker
    comfort and
    innocence
    so vital to
    happy longevity
    and the
    human condition

  • SQt 2010
Untitled by Ilan Miller
My heart is a proximity mine, send in the dogs, pull the pin, change the channel, and watch your step.

Don’t come in, the waters not fine, the rats are abandoning ship, your favorite show has been cancelled, and violence prevails.

Life has become a sad 80s montage, only dumbed down. The finish lines been burned, there is no consolation prize.

My personal hell has frozen over, I grab my glass, my icepick and my whiskey and I think of days long gone…

There’s many more and I’ll post some here and there. If I didn’t post yours it’s only because I chose a few random great poems. Like I said-More to come!


Dreams of Stains, Refrains and Delorians on Film

May 4, 2012

Yeah. I haven’t had writer’s block per say. I’ve been busy having my 19th nervous breakdown and drawing to pay rent. I love drawing but I miss writing as much as I normally do.

So, here’s a well something I wrote based on a few dreamses.

It was group therapy. It was forced therapy. It was a family reunion of the family that never was but perhaps should be. Grammar school orgy. Grammer school orgy. It was a film making table reading in a locked room. Forced filmmaking. Script reading. It was confusion. Both of my, well 3 of my (2 are brothers) friends who made make write score create direct films -William Hellfire and the Martin Brothers-Andy and Jim Martin were there as counselors or doctors or caretakers or leaders or patients taking charge. They had their latest cast or character actors who belonged here with me along with Kat Dennings with the personality of her character Max in the non-hit TV show 2 Broke Girls, another friend Cherie, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Andy’s friends Rick and Pat and Hellfire’s latest young hot sultry actresses ready to do anything. Anything. Non of the other girls mattered. I liked Kat. I was really into her this time and not the average young skinny wild ready for anything models (although she was young and not fat-she was older than and heavier than most girls I dream about and the ones in the room).

 

The reading was tedious. Repetition and such. Words. Just words. I kept thinking. The padded walls became more apparent. Was it part of the set or part of the prison? The cell. The reading? The words. There was a window in the corner left right over the top wall. I was padded and bars decorated the outside. I think it a was plastic window. No glass for the loons. This loon.

 

We could hear the heavy storm a coming. Rolling round the bend. A hurricane. An avalanche? The doors were bolted shut and we hung out in the lobby of the built in movie theater we found though a secret compartment and sneaked in and ate popcorn and drank coffee and soda. Mr Hellfire always had a stash of liquor with him to share and some took some and some turned it down. This was our scared straight therapy I proposed in my mind. The party was just beginning and I felt like I just begun as well. I never began. I never stopped or started. No one understood why we were there and most of us didn’t care or cared too much. We fluctuated back and forth. An orgy. An evening of days spread across the calendar of my subconscious or maybe I was part of someone else’s dreams.

The storm subsided eventually and I dreamed my way onward onto a floatation vehicle. A car. A Delorian. A delirium. Ruins of the storm maintain the balance somehow and the roads –Who needs roads?- I see foreign flying vehicles. Ed Woodian saucers like whipped by me on the way to Gary’s house. Flight attendants offer my navigational gal Friday pills for the ride and I steer along seamlessly despite the nausea.

 

“Go ahead and vomit” I tell Gary but Gary never gets sick.

 

We arrive in his underground tavern. Cavern to find his equipment ready to go. We park. Hang out forgetting the therapy of filmmaking and ballet dancing. When he’s ready for me to leave the BitchCave Gary confidently hands me a package. I knew what to do as I climb into a new flight device. Airplane maybe?

Flight of the dead. Dead musicians, friends, loves and my own life obliterated into one pile of ashes from the exhaust flames of a flying saucer. I’m still high from the flames and the guilt.


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


Time Travel is Not My Primary Concern Chief – THE POEM

February 21, 2012

Sickness of my psyche

Rapes my body furiously

Like a grape devouring a sunset

Exhausting my entire vessel

I am vacant and wearied

 

I run in slow motion to

The food truck of love

Careful to avoid every crack along the way

To avoid herniating my dead mother’s discs

 

Hopscotching the bricks of the city with

Carmelita as she flirts and leads me on and over to

Successive numbered city blocks until she has

Vanished permanently from my sight

I move on lost in the darkly lit city

Lost in my contemplations

 

I find my filthy white car and

I try to drive it around as people cheer me on

I leave them behind and fall asleep at the wheel

 

I wake up in my motel room and I try to wake up

And pack a weeks worth of belongings into my

Two suitcases

Panic fills my essence

 

Relief arrives in the form of Carmelita the motel maid

In my room with the manager telling me to take me time

He lifts her skirt to reveal her big pantyhose covered ass

They tell me to help them and I can stay for free

Arousal versus my need to flee

 

The sickness of my psyche


2011

December 31, 2011

 

Found a new way not to launch a few businesses.

Found anxiety and loss of job in 2 days

Found no love.

No sex.

No desire.

Made new friends

Traveled. First time in years

Partied and stopped.

Smoked and stopped and started.

 

Found new ways to pay the rent.

Discovered being poor does not suit me.

Survived it anyway.

Found a new art. Photography. Ugly city photos.

Sexy women photos.

Found out my disabilities are true. The hard way.

I tried everything I could think of.

Found new ways of being depressed. Worst ever.

Found 7 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to get me through.

Found new ways of being happy.

 

Found out what a heart attack is like.

Followed by triple bypass surgery.

Found comfort in my brain-dead state with my adopted mother caring for me.

Found relief, as I felt better.

I found new ways of getting closer to God.

 

Found out about the “system” when a person can not work.

Found about having a car and not being able to drive it

Found taking a bus in Camden sucks.

 

Found my Guardian Angel in my dreams that tries to lead me from danger.

Found out my best friend died and lives with me

Every day.

Found his books I inherited to be nurturing and mind expanding.

 

Found a new way of getting mugged in my own town.

Found out there was a drive by murder the day after Christmas in the center of my town.

 

Found out who my friends are.

Found my family after not talking for years.

Found myself again and again.

Found you.

 

Tomorrow I will find 2012.


Broken

June 6, 2011

Never say, “it can’t get any worse than this.” It always does. Maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it’s self-sabotage. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s a “jinx”. Whatever it is, it can and most of the time gets worse.

I’ve been writing through it. I can’t seem to finish anything to post. I’m afraid to post certain things about my life. I am breaking my entire life’s goal to hold nothing back in my writing. I find myself holding many things back for various reasons. I don’t want certain people to know certain things about me. I am embarrassed and ashamed of my life conditions at times. I am afraid of letting you in.

The more down hill my life seems to go I am les inclined to write and post about it anywhere. Fuck it. I’m going to start letting things out. I am helpless and feel hopeless on and off through this past year. It’s mostly due to my Trigeminal Neuralgia (TN) and Bipolar Disorder and related depressions and anxiety. These conditions led me to my financial condition and create more stress, which is the key activator of my conditions.

At first when I was fired last year I was devastated but I had things under control financially because I was living with my mother and had a lot of money in the bank. I didn’t want to work right away. I wanted the summer off to publish my novel and promote it to minimum prevail and create videos and more books to sell. It was the ideal life of a single artist from my viewpoint. By August and September 2010 I noticed that my mother was increasingly unhappy with me around the house all day with the exception of my AA meeting attendance. I was less and less interested in socializing and I even started getting anxiety when I did socialize followed by depression when it was over. Since I was fired I lost my health insurance and stopped seeing a psychiatrist and therapist. My family doctor kept up my prescriptions.

I started looking for ways to make money and jobs and made a little bit here and there. My savings started dwindling by September 2010. I knew my mom and I wouldn’t get along without my getting a job. At the same time I was talking to my friend from meetings and he mentioned in passing that he was getting a house he owned ready to be rented out. I asked how much and how many bedrooms. The price was cheap and it had 2 bedrooms so I immediately jumped on it mostly to save my relationship with my mother. I didn’t want to move. I had no ego about living with my mother at my age like I would have at one time due to the circumstances. I had a friend in mind to move in with me that I’ve known for years and we’ve talked about living together despite our similarities and differences.

I admit I was excited about the house when my friend told me about it and the first time I took the tour. The day I drove to the house to sign the lease and pay our deposit and rent I got a really bad feeling that it was a bad idea. My blinders were down and I looked around the bad neighborhood I was about to move into. Camden. Camden, NJ has the highest crime rate in the country. My new neighborhood id the nicer part of Camden. I grew up here years ago before it got so bad. My friend now landlord assured me that he has had no problems in the 30 years he lived here. My roommate and I went out to celebrate the house at a big steak house and chowed down and I repressed my feelings pretending to be happy.

I moved in reluctantly October 1st 2010 and I have yet to be entirely comfortable in the house, the neighborhood or with my roommate since. Once in a while I would be ok. At first I couldn’t find my creative inspiration. After living in the house I grew up in with parents that were successful artists supplying me with inspiration on a daily basis it was a huge adjustment.

I was set financially to cover the first couple of months or so. I was collecting little unemployment. My great aunt’s boyfriend who I consider an uncle threw me a little work here and there with his business but not enough. My bills were barely getting paid but there were getting paid. I cashed out my 3 401ks to help pay bills. Each month something would come up to cover my bills. From little jobs here and there to selling my serial killer collectables and my personal artwork online.

In November 2010 another friend said he could get me a job doing phone collections. At first I was hesitant but I eventually got excited. He set me up with an interview in November 2010. I fell in love with the job and I was hired on the spot due to my experience in phone sales. I was given the runaround with a start date. I was told I’d start the middle of December 2010 and didn’t get my start date until the middle of January 2011.

After a 2 year remission my TN came back a week before my training date. I went back on painkillers and increased my anti-seizure meds. I made it to my first day of training and it went well. That night I had a major TN attack and had to take pain meds and was up all night. I woke up at 12 pm and I was supposed to be there at 10am. I blew it. I tried calling. I thought about going in anyway but didn’t want to waste the long drive. I eventually talked to the boss and he fired me. I was devastated. My pain got worse and my depression kicked in. I was in shell shock. This hasn’t happened since I was an active drug user and alcoholic 20 years ago but I was sober.

I was a wreck. I had such high hopes for the job and the money. I had started a social network called Novaboon with my roommate and I was going to out money into that and many other internet projects. I had goals and reams again before I started the job. It all came crashing down in one event as a result of my TN and Bipolar.

I got through the following months selling things and spending less. It was barely enough. I was coming to the conclusion that perhaps I am one of those people that needs to be on Disability. I’ve always viewed people on disability as copping out unless they were seriously and visibly disabled. I was also worried about my mom’s opinion. She always said she would disown me if I were on disability. Maybe not that extreme but she would be unhappy. The day came months ago that even my mom suggested I apply for disability. I did. I am. I used a service that a friend recommended to do the work for me.

I have a friend that has been on SSD for the past 15 years or so and I used to watch him having to jump through hoops and go crazy to meet the requirements to stay on it. I remember thinking that it’s easier just to get a job because it’s less work and aggravation than trying to get SSD. It’s a catch 22. Most people that are disabled whether it be mental or physical have trouble making appointments, filing paperwork, meeting deadlines, following through with things and functioning on any “normal level” therefore it’s a fight for us to get the disability. That’s why I used a service. I still had to follow through with paper work and phone calls. When I get depressed I can become immobilized. I am literally unable to move or do anything. I used to think that I was a lazy person. I’ve come to realize that it’s depression that keeps me from doing things. Most people don’t see the difference.

The last week of May I was committed to traveling to Indianapolis, IN for a true crime convention called The Crime Scene to sell my art, my books and perform my songs about serial killers. One of the guys in charge who I call friend now, took care of my flight and a place to stay. I was taking a big chance buying a bunch of my books to sell there when I barely had enough to pay my rent. My car broke down the week before. I had major bills due as well. The travel was a pain but the event was a nice escape and I sold out of my books and sold some art. My agoraphobia disappeared for the weekend. It was like a fantasy escape. No thoughts of my problems for a few days. I came home and I was worse. More pain. More anxiety. I was short paying the rent.  Owe my cousin money for helping me with the rent. I owe my roommate money for my car because he got it fixed since he was driving it at the time. My registration expired and my insurance payment is over due. I have barely enough money in my pocket to buy food and smokes for the next couple of days.

To top the problems of the month off, my unemployment is being held and reviewed and will not be settled until June 15th 2011 on a phone interview. I was informed it’s because I was fired. I might lose the little unemployment payments I was getting.

I am planning on going to Welfare and apply for food stamps and see about rental assistance. My depression is getting so bad combined with my fear and agoraphobia I am having trouble getting out to the office. I ried calling and the phone system hung up on me several times after 20-30 minutes of waiting.

My roommate suggested I try and get a job yesterday and work the minimum hours allowed when on disability. He went on line to find out the minimum etc. I’m afraid if I get a job I will be rejected on the disability. Not to mention that I might not be able to handle working which is why I applied for disability in the first place. I called the company handling my case and asked them about working. I can work 10-15 hours a week and I can’t make more than $800 a month. I have to call them if I get a job and fill out more paper work. I asked the representative to be honest with me off the record. I asked if I worked on record would it affect my case and are the chances good that I will be turned down if I am working. She said yes it would look bad if I worked.

So here I am. Depressed. Afraid. In pain. No income. I am selling nothing and falling into more debt. I have projects in the works but no motivation to get them going. I’m living in a house and neighborhood I hate with an unpredictable roommate that I like but I am uncomfortable living with him.

Through my life I have always survived. I know I will survive again. I am an artist, writer and a creative mad man. I am a Bipolar, agoraphobic, anxious artist with the worst pain known to man and as hopeless as I feel I know this will pass and I will come out alive.


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



Interview with a Psychopath Video

April 5, 2011


Glen or Mikiko? I was Teenage Asian Girl

February 14, 2011

This is a story I wrote in 2005 and it appears along with other various stories, journals and poetry in my book called Dangers of a Confessional Mind published by LuLu books.

 

Friday, February 04, 2005

 

Glen or Mikiko?

I felt like the dude in Kafka’s Metamorphosis. I awoke this morning on my bed in a different form. I wasn’t a bug or caterpillar or anything like that. I looked down at my tan body and my small frame with shock and terror. As I started my morning ritual of scratching my balls and giving my dick a few quick tugs, I couldn’t find them. I looked down and there was a black mound of hair with a slit between my legs. My chest hair was gone and I had small petite breasts with brownish nipples. I closed my eyes and opened them again. I tried to go back to sleep assuming this was just another nightmare from watching another Katashi Miike movie before I fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep.

 

I sat up on my bed and lit a cigarette with my little thin fingers. I took a few drags and ran to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My face changed too. My eyes were slanted and brown. My lips were full and my nose was wider and flatter. I ran my fingers through my long black hair. I was looking at a beautiful young Asian girl in the mirror and it was me. I remembered that story I read in National Lampoon magazine when I was thirteen about the guy who woke up one morning and he was girl. I remember wishing it was me. I wanted to feel what it was like to be a woman. I wanted to feel my breasts and vagina and look in the mirror. That was when I was thirteen.

 

I thought about my friend Harry telling me last night that he thinks that our friend Robert should live his life as a woman. I thought of the countless times my friend Kevin has said “If I had a clit, I’d never leave the house.” I thought of how jealous I was that my friend Dave looked really good in drag.

 

Here I am. I’m a  hot young Asian girl. How am I going to explain this to everyone at work. I’ll have to call out. What will I do for money? What will I tell my girlfriend, Stacy? I hope she’ll still love me as girl. I hope she likes Asian girls. I hope my cousins (roommates) don’t want to fuck me. I’m going to have to get a new drivers license. I thought about going to a doctor. I don’t have any insurance. Will anyone believe me? I wonder if my parents will still love me. I don’t have any clothes to wear either.

 

When I fantasized about this as a kid, it was a sexual thing. As an adult, reality is overwhelming me. Sex was the last thing on my mind until I decided to just stay in my room all day with a mirror. I called out from work. They said my voice sounded funny. I said I was really sick and tried to speak in the lowest tone available to my new body. I called Harry first because he was the only one who would actually believe what happened.

 

“You should enjoy it first. Then see how you feel tomorrow and maybe see a doctor.” he said.

 

Ok. That’s what I’ll do. I called Stacy next and told her I need to speak with her as soon as possible.

 

“What’s wrong with your voice?” she asked.

 

“I’m still sick. You’ll see when you get here tonight.”

 

I took care of the immediate. I needed cigarettes. I had to sneak out without my cousin’s seeing me. I put on some pants and a hoody. Neither of which fit. My clothes were double my size now. I walked to the corner store and tried not to draw any attention to myself. It was run by Koreans. The small teenage girl at the register said something to me in Korean. I didn’t understand her.

 

“Sorry. I thought you were Korean.” she said.

 

“I am Italian.” I said. She laughed.

 

I actually had no idea what I was. I mean I know what I was not what I am now. The boy in the back of the store was staring at me. When I looked at him he winked at me. I felt scared and I felt kind of good. I got my cigarettes and a cup of coffee and walked home fast. I went up to my room and avoided my cousins. I lay on my bed and prayed. I was calmer. Ready to accept this. For now anyway.

 

I took off my jeans and hoody and examined my self thoroughly. I relaxed some more. I gently touched myself everywhere. My nipples were more sensitive than ever. My stomach was flat. I touched my vagina and it was wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it in my whole life. Just the slightest touch on my new clitoris and my body surged with excitement. I felt like I did the first time I ever masturbated. I looked down at my tiny frame. My small breasts. My skinny legs. I watched my hand rub and stroke. Within minutes I exploded in an orgasm better than any I’d felt before. I collapsed and laid there for about five minutes I was ready for more.

 

Wow. I can orgasm over and over. I did. I finally fell asleep from sexual exhaustion. I slept for the next six hours. I awoke with a knock on my bedroom door. It was Stacy. Fuck. I wasn’t ready to tell her. Show her my new body. I was in a panic. I sat up and felt something against my thigh. I looked and it was my penis hanging under my flabby hairy belly. I was myself again. I sighed in relief and lit a cigarette as Stacy walked in my bedroom.

 

“Hey, what did you want to tell me?” she asked.

 

“You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.”


Day 3 of No Job Training. A Loser or a Sick Person?

January 22, 2011

Well the decision was made or not made. Not sure at this point. Either way I didn’t go into work today. Read my previous blogs to catch up if you haven’t. Maybe I need to over the situation one more time for myself so bear with me..

 

I was at the end of the line with my financial resources. I had just enough in the bank after cashing in my 401ks and the little unemployment I receive to pay a few months rent. I pushed it to the limit and my friend suggested I try doing collections where he worked because they were considering offering employees to work from home. Remote calling I believe it’s called. I liked this because my car is old and not running at it’s best.

 

It took weeks from the suggestion to get the interview back in November 2010. It went well because I have 10 years experience in telephone sales. I discovered that I was going to have to travel there and working from home wouldn’t be a possibility for several months. The manager told me he would call me the next week and I would start work either the last week of December 2010 or the first week of January 2011. I was excited. I thought I was. From what I heard I could make a lot more money than I’ve made in along time. Great.

 

The first week went by and not phone call so I called the manager. He apologized and said it’s real busy and he would call me next week. Next week came and I called him once on Wednesday and left a message and then on Friday and left another message, My friend said that the manager told him he was going to call. To sum it up it was several weeks before I knew anything and that was because my friend bugged the manager and I got the confirmation in a forwarded email. No phone call. So I was finally supposed to start this past Tuesday. I got a phone call from the manager Monday to postpone my start date to Wednesday.

 

Meanwhile, after a 2 year remission of a chronic facial disorder I have came back. It’s called Trigeminal Neuralgia(TM). Refer to my previous blogs about it or look it up. It’s known as the worst pain known t man. It was the reason I quit telephone sales over 8 years ago. I had to go back on pain medications again. My sleep pattern has been screwed up since last Thursday because of the pain and the meds. I also suffer the usual anxiety that seems to creep up on me for no reason a lot of times.

 

I made it to my first day of training barely on time with a decent sleep under my belt. It went decent. I still had anxiety and face pain. I went home and was excited or I thought I was excited to get through the training and start making money. I couldn’t get to sleep until 2 am Thursday morning. I didn’t have to be in work until 10:30 am and it seemed like no problem except I was still in pain and on my meds as directed I might add. I kept waking up through the night. I got up around 5 or 6 am and stayed up for an hour then went back to sleep. I woke up at 12:10 pm in panic. I called the manager immediately and left a message on his cell phone to see if I should bother coming in. I called again on his business line 30 minutes later. I called my friend that worked there who happened to be on vacation. He told me to just go in. I would be 3 hours late. It made no sense. I called 2 more times before I made the trip. He answered and said he was disappointed and how I missed the most important part of the training. Then the phone was disconnected. I heard the “firing” tone in his voice. I called him back 2 or 3 times with no answer. I am convinced he hung up on me.

 

So I went through every possible emotion yesterday and then talked to a friend about it. I really didn’t want to tell anyone. He told me I should just go in on time on Friday to see what would happen. I was convinced I was done. I called another friend that agreed that I should go in. All I had to lose was a long drive. I was going back and forth on it all night. My face got worse. My anxiety got worse. I was determined to go to sleep early and get up early and make the decision then. Yes. I am still awake and still in pain. I didn’t go. My face pain and anxiety made the decision for me. I’m 99% sure I was already fired anyway,

 

I spent the past 2 months fantasizing, planning and setting goals based on the potential money I would have made there. I wanted to invest it in my other projects, pay off bills and save money. Now I’m back to square 1 wondering if I can keep any job between my anxiety, my TM, my Bipolar disorder and apparently a sleeping problem.

 

I really have changed. I admit that I have always judged people that didn’t work for a living. I couldn’t understand people that were unemployed, collecting social security, disability or on welfare. I didn’t understand people that had anxiety disorders, mental illnesses, social problems and even in some cases chronic pain disorders that I can’t see. I understood physical handicaps like blindness, in wheelchairs, etc. Now I’ve become one of the people I used to judge and didn’t understand. I have a day-to-day struggle trying to understand myself. I don’t. I don’t understand my illnesses both physical and mental.

 

I’m not writing this and telling you this for sympathy or to get attention. I write what’s on my mind and post it out of a compulsion. It’s the way I think out loud sometimes. Times like this I hesitate posting it knowing that you may judge me the way I judged others in my position.

 

I was raised with a work ethic believe it or not. I still exercise it everyday by writing and creating and consistently promoting and managing my websites etc. That’s my problem with identifying and relating to my current conditions. My adopted parents raised me to get to work on time and do my job to the best of my abilities. I hear m mother’s voice telling me to work. She has said judgmental things like “I don’t want you to be one of those people that doesn’t work and lives off of the system.” The problem is I agree with her and I think I am fine and then I am not fine. I am not fucking fine.

 

I am in a long process of learning and trying to understand myself and what’s wrong with me and what’s right with me. What are my limitations? What can I work through. I get all kinds of advice bout my diet, my cigarette smoking, lack of exercise, etc. That’s fine. I’m sure all that would help but there is much more going on.

 

I’m not miserable. I have a lot of happy moments. It’s just a struggle in my head and my body at times that I have to deal with.

 

My main concern right now is whether I will be able to handle working a real job or not. This TM can go into remission for 10 years to the rest of my life or it can continue forever. I have a friend that has had over 6 surgeries to treat her TM. My mental problems can be controlled to a point with medication and awareness of it.

 

I have full confidence that my immediate bills will be paid and I can figure out a way to make money on my own without a “job”. I’m just not there yet and I have to keep on keeping on and deal with my issues. That’s it for now I guess. Thanks for reading.


%d bloggers like this: