Mugged

December 7, 2011

I got mugged. Mugged in my own town just because I ventured out of the house at night in Camden, NJ. Since I haven’t had a car for the last few months I’ve had to walk to the stores. I used to only venture out in the day but things seemed ok at night after a while. As a matter of a fact I’ve been feeling safe in my neighborhood for weeks. It only took me a year.

I was walking to the store in the main square in Fairview village section of Camden and I had a guy start talking to me like he knew me. He mentioned something about quitting drinking and I thought he knew me. It’s a little blurry right now. He followed me talking to me and had my hand in my pocket clutching my money out of habit. He reached in my pocket pulling my hand and the money out. He told me he had a gun so I better give it up. I wouldn’t let go of my money as he pulled it from my hand. We struggled. It was all I had and I tried. I got hit and thrown to the ground and banged my head on the ground and my glasses bounced off and I didn’t even realize it. I still tried to get my money back. He finally got away and wanted me to follow him to give me some money back.  I walked off and realized I lost my glasses. Luckily, I found them intact. Unlike my sense of security in my own neighborhood.

Just when I was getting used to not driving and walking the neighborhood and felt safe after living here over a year. It only took 2 months to get mugged and fear my own street. I’m lucky to be alive. He could have had the gun he threatened me with. I’m lucky I didn’t have a heart attack. I’m lucky I didn’t get hurt besides a cut on my hand.

I’m a lover not a fighter. At this point I’m not either but you get it. I got it. I don’t have it. I’m not a violent person. I fear it. I’m rarely an angry person. I don’t fear it. I have been pissed off since the shock and fear subsided. Anger whenever I think about it. You know how it goes. I replay the event in my head and think I should have done this and could have done that. If only I didn’t go out.

When I moved in my landlord (also my friend and next door neighbor) warned me not to walk the neighborhood at night. He said he doesn’t go anywhere without a car. “Stay on the road. Stay off the moors” like David and Jack were warned in the movie An American Werewolf in London. Instead of a werewolf  it was another type of animal that preys on anyone that looks off guard. I was off guard. I was comfortable in my own neighborhood. It doesn’t sit right that I have to keep my guard up all of the time now. I thought about buying a gun (if I could afford it) but I’ll stick with pepper spray.

Life goes on and I’ll deal with it one day at a time. I’m sure the fear and anger will pass. As long as I try and learn from it and move on. I can take comfort in knowing that the mugger’s life is worse than anything I could wish on him.


Suck My Poem (reprise pt1)

August 1, 2011

Sleepless in New Jersey. Catatonic.

 

Careless. Reckless in my mind. My mind.

 

Count my fingers to pass time.

 

Count sheep at 2 in the afternoon.

 

I’d count my failures but there’s too many.

 

I’m ok.

 

You’re ok.

 

Stuper dooper.

 

Hands wander over my belly into my tight shorts.

 

Quick tug to make sure it’s there.

 

Light a cigarette. Ha. Always light a cigarette.

 

Sleep 10 hours straight then go out then come back and take a 3 hour nap and woke up 5 pm yesterday.

 

No sleep yet. Almost. Sort of. Kind of. Ya know? I know

 

Oh . . . I know.

 

Doze. Wake. No focus. No nothing nada.

 

Try to eat. My stomach is bloated from the water and anti stress tea I drank to make up for the coffee and / / /

 

Ever contemplate death mr Goodpeoples? Not me. Well, not by my own hand.

 

Sex is a foreign country. Relationships are memories so far buried it’s like I’m reading someone else’s story.

 

Not hard to understand myself but I always ask why am I like this? I know why. Sometimes I just won’t tell myself.

 

27 trips to the bathroom. Or was it 30?

 

My best thinking is when I am in the bathroom or on my way to the bathroom or on way back from the bathroom.

 

Pay my rent so I can try and sleep. Waiting. Still waiting. Wabbling.

 

Bullets of words blast through my my my my   . . . .  and hit you softly.

 

A parade of sweat falls everywhere. . . anywhere. I’m burning.

 

Tired.

 

Until.

 

What?


A POEM – Piss Thoughts

July 6, 2011

I just took a piss. Nothing extreme. Nothing impressive.

 

I was just thinking. I think when I piss. I think about what I might do after I piss.

 

Sometimes when I piss and I’m going back to a party or a date or hanging with a friend I think about all of the things I am going to say next.

 

Sometimes I think about how I’m going to get my date to kiss me. Touch me. Fuck me.

 

Sometimes I think about the impressive things I am going to say to people when I am done pissing. Deep and meaningful thoughts while I piss.

 

Sometimes I think about what I am going to write when I get back on my lap top like now.

 

I just took a piss and thought about writing a poem about my piss.

 

Here it is folks. My piss thoughts. Not thoughts of piss.

 

I wonder what you think when you piss. I wonder what you think while I’m pissing.

 

Do you hope I don’t come back?

 

Do you wonder if I am thinking about you? How I can kiss you? Touch you? Fuck you?

 

Do you wonder what stupid thing I am going to say next to be the center of attention? Do you wonder if I am going to come up with something to say to warm you up to me?

 

Do you think when you piss? What do you think?


A POEM: Solutions & Survival

July 4, 2011

Back to the up all night and no sleep routine. It’s an old act I developed in high school or was it college? Not a stand-up comedy routine. Could be at this point because if I don’t laugh I’ll cry.

 

Cry. Soft whimpering cries. Loud screaming cries.

 

No dies. Not yet.

 

Tired wired eyes. I doze off then wake up. I wake up I doze off.

 

I tried to eat my worries last night and I couldn’t keep them down.

 

I’m hungry then I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. What can I do?

 

My body rejects my denial and forces me to think. Think. Think

 

I slept earlier yesterday after a panic attack. Anxiety attack. Anxiety went into cruise control and got into an accident with my insides and outsides. I was inside. Inside.

 

I slept yesterday. It was a dream. Not the sleep. It was dream to sleep. The day before I slept. Slept early. Awoke early.

 

Productive. Creative. Happy. Happy.

 

Today and last night and some other nights the pains in my face drove me to a painkiller. Kill the pain. Kill pain.

 

Kills pain. I can’t sleep. Can’t sleep. I dream of sleep. Dream sleep.

 

Remember the night owl I once was? I wanted to be? Proud to be?

No worries.

 

Worries. Problems. Dilemmas. Solutions.

Solutions.  Think. Think man, think. A Solution. Solutions.

 

Solution? Not there yet. Not sure I’m anywhere yet. Had one or two or three or more. Solutions. Each solution is kicked out of the way by a bigger worry. Bigger problem. Bigger dilemma.

 

I cry. I laugh. I get outraged. I am sensitive. Sensitive artist. Bah.. Starving artist. Bah..

 

I go away for a minute. Two maybe three. Minutes. I am surrounded by love and sex and fantasies I make up as they float through my dreams.

 

I get home to an empty fridge and a coffee table cluttered with reminders of my worries. I scramble for solutions. I do what I can to solve the worries, problems and dilemmas.

 

Productive. Creative. Happy?

 

Not sure. Doubt. Hope. In between.

 

Go forward. Move ahead. Back to the taxi. Whip it.

 

Maybe I will. Whip it. Whip it good.

 

I win even If I lose.

I survive. Survive.

 


Fetishes Part 5- Agalmatophilia: Dolls and Mannequins Fetish

June 28, 2011

 

Fetish. The psychological definition of a fetish is any object or non-genital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.

Paraphilia is a biomedical term used to describe sexual arousal to objects, situations, or individuals that are not part of normative stimulation and that may cause distress or serious problems for the paraphiliac or persons associated with him or her. A paraphilia involves sexual arousal and gratification towards sexual behavior that is atypical and extreme. –Wikipedia

This is part 5 in my weird fetish series. Click here for part 4, here for part 3, here for part 2 and here for part 1. Today it’s about Agalmatophilia.

Agalmatophilia is the sexual attraction to statues, dolls, mannequins and other inanimate objects resembling people. It’s a sexual arousal one gets from these objects. Agalmatophilia includes the actual sex act with a statue, doll, mannequin etc., non sexual encounters pretending they are real and converse with the objects, the fantasy of sexual and non-sexual relations, watching encounters between other people and the objects and between the objects themselves (like having Barbie fuck Ken), and some have the fantasy of the sexual pleasure form the idea of being transformed into the object itself. Agalmatophilia may also include Pygmalion’s (from the myth of Pygmalion), which is a love for one’s actual creation of a such objects mentioned above.

This one word covers a wide territory in this unusual yet semi-popular paraphilia. I think back to when I was an extremely horny teen and I bought a blow up doll named Candy. I wrote a story similar to my experience in my novel, Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan. I tried it out a few times and got bored so I guess I’m not an Agalmatophiliac. I did want to try out a Real Doll. You know the special $6.000 life size and life like women they make per order and how you want her. I don’t think I’d spend the money even if I had it. Maybe.

When I was a kid my biological family was worried that I might be gay (they were quite prejudice)  because I owned “dolls” as they called them. I called them action figures. I bought the Charlie’s Angels action figures and played with them. I was too young to think about actually having sex with them but I did undress them quite a bit. For a while I thought women were crotchless based on my “doll” experience.

I also have owned mannequins and dressed them up in pantyhose and sexy dresses. I had a few fantasies but it wasn’t overwhelming enough to do anything to the “object”. She was cute with no head. I made her one. Or two.

Ok maybe I am part Agalmatophiliac.. How about you?

Next up . . . . . Fetish number 6 . . .Whatever I find as interesting, repulsive or relatable.


Dunn is Dead

June 27, 2011

I wasn’t going to write about him but I saw something the last week that I thought was interesting. Ryan Dunn died last Monday and apparently there are a lot of loyal fans of his and of the Jackass tv show and movies he’s been major part of. I think most people have heard about it by now. At least in my neck of the woods. I even ran into him once at the North Star Bar in Philly at a Hank Williams III show. My girlfriend at the time was creaming her jeans because she had a major crush on him. I’ve been a fan at a distant. I’ve seen all of the CKY videos Bam Margera made previous to Jackass. I’ve seen every episode of Jackass and the movies. I watched most of the Viva La Bam series until it got redundant.

 

I always admired the east coast and west coast crew of Jackass. They were doing what I couldn’t do. I wouldn’t do. I wanted to do. There was also a total trust and friendship that I admired. I never had that with friends growing up. Sure I did some mischief and drank way too much but it wasn’t the same.

 

Ryan Dunn stood out from the rest with his commitment to do anything for entertainment and his laid back personality. He’s been hurt many times. I’m sure he’s been near death many times in his 34 years of life.

 

I made the comment yesterday that it was too bad they didn’t get it on film. I meant no disrespect. If I was Ryan and well known for my wild stunts, partying and fast driving I wish it was on film if I died a tragic death while speeding possibly drunk and crashing my Porsche. Just seems right.

 

Roger Ebert was jumped on for saying “friends don’t let jackasses drive drunk.” He pissed off a lot of people and apologized the next day but wouldn’t retract the statement. He stood by it. It was meant to be serious and funny. I think he is right. How many distasteful jokes have we all made including the Jackass crew through the years.

 

I’ve been to many funerals in my life and I’ve joked and heard jokes about the deceased. We laughed because it’s part of therapy for some of us. It’s also the style of our humor. I joked about flushing my grandpop’s ashes down the toilet because that’s what he would have told us to do.  Would imagine that Ryan’s friends would make jokes too. Ryan was known for his sense of humor, dangerous stunts and partying. Roger Ebert is a bit of a jackass in my opinion but he said what he said and its just words.

 

The other thing I heard about were the number of people visiting the scene of the accident. There are a lot of people scavenging the scene taking parts of Ryan’s car to sell on Ebay. It was presented like it was a big deal and no one has done it before. It has been done before.

 

For years crime scenes and related items of famous and infamous people have been gathered, bought and sold. I personally have owned a piece of serial killer Ed Gein’s house, dirt from his grave and a piece of his grave stone. There used to be a lot of things like this sold on Ebay and I was just as guilty. I wonder who is sicker the one who makes a profit for it or the one that buys it. I’ve done both and don’t feel bad about it. I might not like it if it was my family that died that people are collecting and selling but it has become part of our culture and has been for years.

 

I figured I’d mention my thoughts on Ryan Dunn, Jackass, Ebert, stealing, buying and selling crime scene memorabilia etc.

 

I still throw out a big RIP for Ryan Dunn and prayers go out to his friends and family.


Livin’ the Dre .a . . uh . . . Cliche

June 21, 2011

I sit once again in the comforts of the coffee shop in Collingswood, NJ. I’ve always liked this place. The décor and the music. The owners are great. The workers are great. There’s always an interesting mix of customers. Some I know and most I don’t know. This may become a new hobby of mine: hanging at the Groove Ground in Collingswood. Writing. Drinking coffee.  Living the dream. Living the cliché.

 

I always thought that the people sitting on their computers typing away at a coffee shop were douche bags. Hey look at me. I’m a writer.

 

Yesterday it was slow and casual in here and I had odd conversations with truly weird people. The good kind. The ones that aren’t phony or pretentious just off the wall naturally. I like misfits that are real. In a progressive town like Collingswood it’s hard to separate real people from posers. Down to earth interesting people versus fake pretentious “hipsters”. They do what they think is cool because their little crowd are into it. They are usually the ones that see me reading John Fantte and know who he is. They make comments on my John Waters or William S Burroughs T-shirts. They fool me at first.

 

I assume because they like what I like then they might be cool. Unfortunately I am into a lot the “hipster” culture. I like the things I like because I like it, ya know? I get into a movie or a writer from someone I know that says “Hey Rich. Check out this (fill in the blank) if you like (fill in the blank). I usually end up liking it. I used to dream about hanging out with people with common interests. It was always the hipsters. I tried and saw how annoying and fake these people are. The more I immersed myself in the culture the more I disliked the people and could spot one a mile away.

 

I guess I’m judgmental but who gives a fuck?

So today the Groove Ground was crowded and loud when I walked in and nowhere to sit. I was ok with that because there were seats outside and I could smoke and drink coffee and write at the same time. I bought my drink and found a seat and settled in. The crowd dispersed. As some of then left I noticed their styles were similar to mine. Same glasses. Same hat that I wore yesterday. When I looked at each one I thought “douche!”.  At least I’m not wearing leather sandals like this “douche” “hipster” standing next to me right now.

 

Fuck it. I’m over it already. Just wanted to write about it.

 

My life is still moving along with or without them.

 

I might be living the cliché but I’m also living the dream. My dream, my thoughts, my life. Me.

 

Maybe I’m the cliché douche judgmental pretentious self righteous hipster. Ya know what? Right now I don’t care. It gave me something to write about for the day, right?

EDITOR’S (that’s me) NOTE: I got a better look at the guy with the hat and realized I knew him and he is a pretty cool guy and not a hipster. I guess my Hipstdar isn’t on all of the time. My Gaydar still works for what it’s worth.


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