The FIne Arts and Photography

July 7, 2012

Cover for Punk Band Compilation

Digital Art (photo-manipulation) titled Heat Memoirs

Photograph Lori Ellen at the Cupboard

Samples of my art and photography found at http://hillenart.wordpress.com Everything is for sale and I do commission work. Just email me at choppingmall@yahoo.com


Blink

June 15, 2012

 

Angela was over again and we were happy for the minute. My parents were there from the dead and from the life. I haven’t seen my dead father since the last time I dreamed he was alive. He had never died in the last one. This time I knew he died and came back over and over. Sometimes I acknowledged he was back from the dead. Like this one. They were mad at me and they kept riding my ass. Angela was there and I didn’t want to say or do anything stupid so of course I did. I started screaming at my parents about all and nothing. When my father started back on me I yelled back.

 

“Yeah, well you’re the one that keeps coming back from the dead!” I screamed.

 

Angela was crying. Everything stopped. I felt so bad.

 

“You know I hate when you yell at your parents. You know I have problems with that.” She said.

 

Angela walked to my porch as if she was leaving. I kept apologizing to her and turned my head to apologize to my parents.  I felt so bad my knees cracked with tears. My bones trembled with fear of loss of what I might have had if only I was a tolerant kinder person. She. She was breaking up with me and I was helpless like in those dreams when I find my self naked in the middle of a department store.

 

Blink.

 

Angela and I are at an old movie theater and all is swell. Swollen you can say. I said. No kinks in the love. All smiles whilst holding hands like professional lovers that have been at this game longer than each of us has lived. I catch her catching me catching her looking at me and we laugh until we smell smoke. Someone burnt popcorn I thought. Flames came up through the floors I carried her down the charred rippled weak stairway to uncertainty. She held me tight with a magical look of “if we go down at least it’s together.” We made it just in time as the Fire People squirted. Squirted the last flame out.

 

Out of nowhere a white man dressed as Jimi Hendrix appears in the lobby as Angela and I are trying to leave the burnt building. It turns out to be my friend Tony and he is with Rolland and Jesse. I didn’t question why he was dressed in his garb or colored face. I accept too many things at face value (no pun intended) too much. Too many times. Like why was I with this beautiful girl as my eternal lover out of the blue pink and red?

 

“I wonder if I can buy the posters and movie star cut outs in the movie theater?” Rolland asked with no greetings or concern of our health or the fire.

 

Jesse was silent and patted us on the back with a “it’s going to be ok” vibe.

 

It was ok. I still had a friend and I had Angela.

 

I’m so grateful in my dreams.


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


Women. You Can’t Live With Them and Men Are Assholes

June 23, 2011

Women. . . You can’t live with them . . . . Men are assholes that fucked women up. The messed them up for guys like me. Maybe guy like you.

 

We are all a result of our personal experiences in life. Most of us stick with what we experience in life early on and it seems we stop changing in at a certain age. Look around. You can usually tell how old someone is by what they wear, their hair styles, how they speak and their interests like music and television. You know the types. You can tell when someone grew up in the 80’s, 90’s etc.

 

Ahh…. The mysteries of the male and female relations. It’s never been solved but I have my theories and opinions.

 

In my dating experience and the older I get I find that I am less and less of a commodity and I gather more and more baggage. The same goes with the women I encounter or date. It’s been a while but I have been paying attention to other people’s relationships. So when I date a woman I am also dating her last boyfriend/husband/fiancé, the one before that and the one before that. Each experience she has changes her in some ways. This seems to go against what I said earlier about people staying in certain mentalities from early life. It’s been my observation that each man they date reaffirms her attitude from early life rather than changing it especially the women that have had traumatic experiences with men in childhood, teen years and early 20s.

 

So, the reason I was thinking about this is because my friend is having guy troubles. She’s been dating a guy that grew up in the same city neighborhood with the same friends and family dating the same type of girls his entire life. My friend grew up in a backwoods environment and transitioned to the center city life and has had different types and tries to let go of her past relationships when entering a new one. They are only a couple of months in and he didn’t realize how many male friends she had. I hung out with her last night and she let him know she was going out with a guy friend. He started to get jealous. She even called him while we were out to assure him it was cool. His jealousy got worse and worse.

 

Today she posted a photo of us on facebook and he freaked out with even more jealousy. She’s not used to this. Even in her wildest times of her youth she never cheated on a boyfriend. Apparently he has or he has experienced girls cheating on him.

 

It got me thinking about the line from when Harry Met Sally (yes I watched it several times and I’m proud) when Harry says “No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.” I found this to be fairly accurate for me personally until I hit my late 20s and early 30s. Sex became less important and friendships become more important.

 

I suspect that my friend’s boyfriend still has that mentality in his mid 40s. My friend is a pretty tough bitch sometimes and she won’t tolerate it. She’s still upset about it.

 

The other code I cracked a while ago that I don’t always follow or live up to is the “women are bitches” and “men are assholes” mentality many people seem to have. It’s pretty simple to me.

 

Women are attracted to confident men. In many cases men that appear to be confident are actually cocky. There’s huge difference between cocky and confident. Cockiness is fake. It’s a way of overcompensating for insecurities. These men are usually assholes and dickheads. Men that are nice and accessible appear to be weaker and unconfident and a lot of them are. A woman gets the cocky guy and he turns out to be an asshole. Then she is either a victim or a bitch.

 

Men are attracted to confident women. The louder and more aggressive women turn out to be bitches because of their insecurities. The nice accessible women appear to be weaker and too easy so he turns to the cocky woman and she turns out to be a bitch. It’s a vicious circle for some of us.

 

Due to my personal struggles and variety of women I’ve dated I have been an asshole, a nice guy and a confident man. I’ve had the most luck being nice and confident.

 

I’m not even going to address my thoughts on love. Let’s say, for now, that I have no opinions on love.

 

Love ya.


I Lost a Day

February 3, 2011

I lost a day. An entire day went by and I missed it. I slept 24 hour straight. I don’t remember the last time I did this if ever. It makes sense because the past few weeks I’ve been having days and nights of no sleep at all. My body is changing and changing. My mind is sharp at times and then dull as a board as they say. Whoever they are. I went to bed Tuesday night. Actually it was Wednesday morning at 4:30 am, which used to be the average time to go to bed. I woke up 3 time between then and 4:30 am today, Thursday. Each time I woke up I couldn’t stay awake. I feel ok now. I am not going to fret over missing a day of life but I acknowledge that it happened.

I’m adjusting to life in my new mental and physical condition. Sometimes I am able to fight it and other times I have to surrender to it. I never know when the depression, mania, anxiety or my face pain from the Trigeminal Neuralgia (TN) is going to act up. It seems I’ve been suffering from one or another every single day for months. Some of my conditions worsen with age and I am getting older. Nothing I have has a cure. All I can do is band-aid it and try to move on. I move on.

There are some things I should be doing and hopefully I’ll get to them. I know should quit smoking, cut my caffeine, exercise and eat better. I need to see the doctor more often. In time I’m sure these things are going to happen for health or financial reasons.

I’m over the fact that I missed a day but it kind of blew my mind at first. The concept of losing a day is baffling. I’m a short term Rip Van Winkle. My beard and hair is growing and I am a little unbalanced about what day it is sometimes. I’ll get over it or used to it. Maybe it will go away.

I have to wake up, whatever time that is, and accept what I am for the day whether that is. What I mean is accept the downs and the ups and the pain or whatever the above-mentioned disorders I have for the day. So far I’m doing an ok job accepting myself as is and changing what I can for the day. For today.


Going Out of It: Excerpt from Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non-Don Juan

February 1, 2011

“When one’s in this world, surely the best thing one can do, isn’t it, is to go out of it? Whether one’s mad or not, frightened or not.” Louis- Ferdinand Celine

It’s true, I confess. I want out. Don’t you? Any escape will do. Movies, television, solitaire, drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, gambling, eating, dreaming, drawing, reading, writing, music, dancing, games, working, relationships, sleeping, socializing, surfing the internet, etc.

I’ve personally experienced the joy and escapism of all of the above. Everything I do is a distraction from someone or something else that bothers me. To be trapped alone with my thoughts is the worst thing possible. That is my world. My thoughts. My ideas. My unfulfilled dreams and fantasies. Unrealistic goals that I will never meet. I run tapes in my head of every failure and every success. Wishing to avoid one and get more of the other.

Did I ever tell you about my dancing Grandmother? She has no legs. What has two legs and bleeds a lot? Half a dog. What do you get if you cross a cow with a camel? A lumpy milkshake. What’s Mary short for? She’s got no legs.

See? I’d rather do anything else except write about how I feel inside. Terrible. Thanks for asking. Insanity is the only route I haven’t taken besides Jail and Suicide. I’m too chicken for that. I’ve experienced some forms of insanity like depression and anxiety but not the full-blown Psychotic or Schizophrenic. Not yet. I’m working on it.

There is a fine line between denial and acceptance. I’ve crossed it. I am in denial. Well maybe not now that I’m aware of the denial but I was. Denying all of my pain. The recovery of  failed marriages and relationships. The mourning of a thriving business I once had. The loss of  jobs. The thrill of new experiences of my life like sexual fantasies coming to life. The lack of obsessions because I am obsessed with too much. My heart’s been broken several times in the past years and I didn’t even know it. The pressure of not knowing how I am going to pay my rent yet alone eat in the next month. The bills and debt of the last year or two that I was depressed beyond repair. It’s piling up and it’s all coming out at once.

Add this up with the goddamned heat and the miserable people around me and you get – me- a walking talking time bomb. I repress all of my problems. No closure on them as they say in therapy. I can usually maintain my composure like a tough guy but I haven’t been able to shed a tear for my self in along time. I’m either angry or I have that fake happiness that I even fool myself with.

A rush of fear, anxiety, loneliness, hopelessness, anger, depression and heartache at the same time wearing me down like a sleepless night of pills and vodka while running a two hour marathon that has no winner only destitute losers that beg for someone to take care of them. Take care of me. Hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be all right. I won’t believe you but it’s a start. Maybe then I can at least plant one good foot on the ground and be part of the world instead of hiding from it.

Click here to purchase Yellow Socks-
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/yellow-socks-confessions-of-a-non-don-juan/12437981?productTrackingContext=author_spotlight_65502234_


An Old Year but a Good Year

December 31, 2010

Every year on December 31st people all over make their new years resolutions. Everyone sets their goals and make promises to themselves and others about what they are going to change next year. I tried it years ago. I find it better to make plans and goals everyday. I was taught along time ago to take inventory on a daily basis.

 

The year has ended and I like to look back and review the year. Especially this year. I also have always loved top 10 lists thanks to growing up watching David Letterman. I am going to list the top 10 positive things that happened this past year. Despite a lot of hardships, insanity and even deaths I am going to focus on the positive.

 

Top 10 of 2010 for Rich Hillen Jr

 

1.   Finally published my first novel: Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non-Don Juan

2.   Re-published my Serial Killer Coloring Book in a collected version

3.   Made over 6o videos on YouTube of music, rants, spoken word etc.

4.   Almost fell in love and lost with a smile.

5.   Maintained and increased readership on a few blog sites through writing.

6.   Moved into a new house with a friend. No more living at home.

7.   I’ve been there for the people I care about for the most part and they’ve been there for me.

8.   I had an article published about me promoting a book reading.

9.   I started a new social network that is moving along called NovaBoon.

10.   I finally found a job after 6 months of unemployment that has a lot of potential.

 

Man. I have a lot more to add. Most of the list is kind of superficial but I am so grateful for everything. I am also grateful for my friends and family that put up with my down times and helped me through it. I am grateful for learning to accept myself for what I am. I thank God every day for keeping me sober.

 

And quick shout out to you. Thank you for reading.


Want What I Have?

September 29, 2010

“I had a person say to me “I don’t want what you have” so I said “How do you think I feel?”” this guy shared at a meeting once. It was funny yet it made so much sense to me. Sometimes I don’t even want what I have. Ya know? Do you? I think most of us live in between happiness and unhappiness. It’s as if everyone has a little bipolar disorder in them. Not literally but everyone has ups and downs in life. Some if us have it in extremes.

If you ask me how I feel right now I’d tell you that I am a fucking mess. I’d list my problems that I’ve mentioned in previous blogs. Well, depending who you are. If you’re the mailman, next door neighbor or the guy that works at 7-11 I’d tell you everything is fine. Actually once I’m in public I feel ok but then I feel bad when I am alone again. I’m also sick of talking about it with most of my friends because I haven’t been good for a while. You might even be sick of reading about it as well. Are you?

Overall, I am usually a positive spiritual person with a deviant warped sense of humor and odd interests. It is a struggle lately to balance my spirituality with my mental breakdowns and anxiety. I start every day with prayer, meditation and medications. The first hour or 2 start off find and I feel fairly spiritually fit. Then reality kicks in and I panic. I choke. I find it hard to function on a daily basis. Every day is a slow progression to a freak out. I get a few things done towards moving. 2 days left before I have to clear the house. As the day goes on I feel more anxiety until I can’t take it anymore. The next day is a little worse.

The part I hate about everything right now is that I feel all alone. I try to talk to people about it and they either pretend that they understand or change the subject. The other thing is a lot of my friends offered to help me and then when push comes to shove they don’t. I had 3 different people offer to help me move heavy furniture out to the trash yesterday and they all bailed. No one wants to help me move or pack and I can’t blame them. They’ve helped a lot in the past. I did it myself. Today I moved all of the heavy furniture to be moved downstairs from my 3rd floor bedroom so when and if my one friend comes on Friday it’ll be easier. It also cleared the floor so I can finish packing. I know this isn’t a big deal in real life but in my head it’s overwhelming. Ugh.

Seems like I can write all I want about it and the feelings don’t change. Usually writing helps but it’s just a momentary distraction like everything I do.

My point is that I have no point. Ha. Actually, I’m trying to say that I don’t want what I have right now so it’s tough to talk or communicate with people and function at all. I know in my heart that it will all pass. This too shall pass. I have to go through with the feelings and move on through it. I know there’s a spirit of some kind with me at all times but I’m just not feeling him right now.

Tune in next time when the writer says “Life is grand. I’m happy joyous and free.”


AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

September 27, 2010

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! That’s how I fucking feel right now. Panic. Stress. Anxiety. My un comfortable comfort zone. My thoughts race far beyond my own comprehension. Trouble thinking yet alone typing. Writing. Blogging. Shitting or whatever this precious intimate open hearted garbage is that I’m puking all over you the reader. The black letters on the white word docment page on the shiny screen. Mind going. Going. Gon . .nope. Not gone but cracked a bit. I feel it buzz down my spine as I try to get some of these thoughts out …

It started last Friday. No it started 2 weeks ago today I think. A Sunday definitively. I called Brian about the meeting we got to Sundays in Phila. H e said he couldn’t go. He couldn’t. Well he chose not to . Ya see he said he was busy. He said he was busy ficing the house he owned next door to him. His tenant moved out and he was getting it ready to rent. I asked. I had to ask. So I did it. I asked. Yes I did. I asked Brian. I asked Brian “ how much are you renting it for?” He told me a price I couldn’t. No wait it was I price I wouldn’t refuse. “how many bedrooms?” I asked I did. 2. 2? Yes 2. I told him I want it and I have aroomamate in mind already.  I did. I knew Seth was looking ot get out too. I wasn’t looking ot get out but I knew that living with my mother at my age with my habits was wearing on her and she was going ot be moving on and out and something. Biscuit? Pancakes.

Whew… Breathing is easier when I do it I did.

So. So Seth said yes let’s do it. Move in together. Wednesday we checked it out and told Brian yes we wanted it. We will take it. He was happy Seth was happy. My mom was happy. Everyone’s happy except for me. I like where I am at in life believe it or not. Change is a stressful thing for me. I have been nothing but productive since I lost my job the end of May. I finished my novel and published it along with the Best of  the Serial Killer Coloring book that I was thinking of doing for over 5 years. I write every day even if it’s trash or ramblings like this one or not.  I don’t know

Oh yeah. SO I am happy living with my mom. She’s a great roommate or house mate except she wants me to work. She understood me wanting ot get my book finished and out because she is a writer too. Now it’s time to move on. I decided that before I was pushed out. She’s leaving anyway in the next year or t2. Did I say that already. I can’t keep track. I’m even to wired and lazy at the same time to spell check or proof read. Can barely move. Except to the bathroom and tha’ts another problem I ha’ve been getting the shits almost every day or every other day for a 3 weeks .

Stress? Maybe I don’t know.

Yeha, My Dad died last year in July, <My adopted dad. Mu adopted Grandmom died in January this year. Death… Family. It brought me closer to my mom and the rest of the family but it fucked me in the head so I repressed it. I do that. I’m good at that repressing

SO I am totally unmotivated and paralyzed with fear, anxiety, depression, and  motivated with diarrhea. That’s it. I’ve barely packed. 4 fuckign days I have to be out of her eand in the new place by Pctoer 1st and I have to hace to to/ to clean thehouse and clear my dead dad’s stuff ourt of one of the rooms I live in. 10 bookshelves worth of giant books, cds some records and whatever else… Get that shit done my shit done. I’m throwing out my bed tomorrow so I sleep on a couch for a few days. Who cares ?   I’ve done that beforooore.

OFund out the other night my friend died. My old employer. Jana banana. I jope toget my head toghteher enough to write somethingnice about her eventually. She was great. I am also good friends wit her brother. We haven’t talked for years and we did finally the other night. I went to the wake. It was fun. She was the owner of the Singing Banana Telegram company . tha’ts why we called her Jana Banana. They had a singing banana come out and sing to the dead Jana. It was more like a comedy roast than a viewing or wake or wahtaever. I don’t evenknwo the difference.

My ex-wife showed up. Weird… I called her and invited her but didn’t expect her to show up. I went years hating her and we’ve been pretty civil that past few years and she was friends with Dave the brother and we were at Jana’a last wedding and Jana was at ours. It was weird to see that she looked good. I neverthought I would think or feel that about her ever again. She had plastic surgery before I left her and I hated it. I talked to her and we had a good time at the viewing. Weird. Wird for me and .

ok. My head won’t stop. Whish there was a button I could push on my forehead to stop my thoughts.

I also remembered an old friend of Jana’s that no one got in touch with. I remembered that she goes to a coffe eshop on Sunday nights for a sewing or knitting circle thingy . I called her after the viewing and mademy friend and future house mate Seth waiting bored in my car while I told Jana’s friend and my old friend that Jana died over the coffee shop phone. We talked and caught up. Now we’re re-connected.

All of these reconnections are overwhelming me with the pressures and anxieties I already had and I was am are is. . .  confused about it all. Dave. Myex-wife Cindy, My old friend Cindy, …Jana. RIP

Then I came home to the wonder ful facebook and was friend requested by some guy I didn’t know and I haven’t been that picky so I accepted him and immediately received a facebook invite to my High School reunion. Then he came back to me and and. . I sort o remembered him. My 3 yeaars on facebook I was only requested by one person I knew from high school. Now more memories… good and bad. I started looking at his friend list and saw all of these people I sort of remembered but not quite. Weired weird … freaky weird. Shut up. Ok yeah then I saw someone that has always hated me but was friends with one of my old friends and we used to tolerate each other. I got upset and thrown off by that too. He spread the rumor that I was gay years after high school because my friends and I messed with his homophobia. I hate homophics. Most of them. Not you. Or you. But him. Yeah

Then I started this paranoic rampage of the mind about me going to the high school reunion and having people come p to me and I don’t remember who they are. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve seen or heard these people. It’s not til November so fuck it. I guess. But it was just one more thing..

Oh yeah then one of my facebook “friends” that I don’t even know left a comment that my friend that died is going ot hell. That was just another thing to add to my overwhelming anxiety and racing speeeding thoughts and stress and blah blah blah. . . etc ya know…

He followed it with a “you’re going to hell” directed at me. So I deleted, blocked and reported him as a fake profile because he had not info and only cartoon pics of himself.

Today facebook took me off and signed me out and said my account was suspended for suspicious activity and to prove it was really me I had to identify my “friends” pictures. Luckily most were people I know personally. They have a real hang up about it being a friends and family site but what if I want to make new friends? Fuck it. Least of my worries.. Just one more thing to make my head throb and speed.

I’m also talking to a girl who I know is fake because she has one picture of herself and 34 pictures of her friends and I recognize some of them as porn stars. Not that I look at pron or anything.. haha. Ok . you know already..vShe doesn’t bother me I just go along wither talk about liking me etc.. Any female attentio is good right? Even it’s a fake girl. Probably a dude or one of my friends. Haha.

I think that sums me up . my mind up.. my anxiety stress etc blah bluck poo faa haa gaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sirll there . Here. Might not stop butIknow it will eventuallllyy Next weekI’ll be crying over something different. Maybe tomorrow, who knows? All I know is that I will survivie. Isn’t that right Gloria Gaynor?


Excerpt from my Novel Yellow Socks – Atlantic City

August 26, 2010

“Everything dies baby that’s a fact

But maybe everything that dies someday comes back

Put your makeup on fix your hair up pretty and meet me tonight in Atlantic City” -Bruce Springsteen

Mom was really going off the deep end. She started reading the Bible day and night reciting passages mostly to my Dad. She was telling him he was a sinner. Her personality was getting meaner towards him. She snapped at him on many occasions and threatened to kill him. The next day she would cry and apologize and beg him not to tell her parents. When she wasn’t mean to him she was too nice. She had conversations with people that weren’t there. She was convinced at one point that Dad was Jesus Christ.. He was the son of Joseph. He was the Son of God. He was the Son of Man. He was born on December 25th, Jesus’s birthday. He dismissed it. He thought she was just over worked with raising me. All we needed was a vacation. We went to Atlantic City for the weekend.

One of the nights we ate at a boardwalk restaurant called Captain Stan’s. We left the restaurant and took a family walk on the boardwalk. It was really dark. Not many people around. We watched another couple standing near a rail looking at the ocean. They were interrupted by a group of three black men and were beaten near death. I watched through my wide child eyes as this couple was beaten with pipes and a chains. They robbed them and ran off. My Dad called the police. Mom and I went to see how they were. The woman was a blonde. Her eye was swollen shut. Her entire face was covered in blood and she couldn’t move her arm. The man was tall and had dark hair. His head was covered in blood. They were hysterical. The police and ambulance arrived shortly. We were questioned while the couple was taken away in the ambulance. I have never seen so much blood in my life since except the horror movies I later grew up with. Mom told the police her theories.

“It was Jesus Christ’s will for the black man to kill them. The black man is the devil’s tool to take down the white man. The couple were racists and deserved it.” She told the police.

“Sorry officer. She is in shock right now. She is taking nerve medication.” My Dad told the police.

Luckily, I wasn’t paying attention to my Mom. I missed all of her off color comments and insane rants. I usually blocked her out when she was acting strange.

My Dad left when I was six years old. He took me to a movie before he left and explained to me that Mommy was sick and he couldn’t take care of her anymore. He said that Grandma and Grandpa would take care of us. He told me he loved me and would never forget about me. I don’t remember this. I didn’t see him again until I was twenty-two years old. Mom told me he wasn’t home from work yet. She told me this everyday for the next year. It took me even longer to realize what really happened. He left me with a crazy woman.

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