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


Satanic Voodoo Atheist TV Party Tonight

June 12, 2012

Now I don’t have it. I had it for a minute there but I lost it. It’ll come back it usually does.

I traveled to a city. New York City. We were visiting a famous Satanist’s home that took up at least four floors of a corner building. There were to be ceremonies and orgies. I was up for anything. I wasn’t there to worship Satan. I was doubtful many of the characters I met were there to worship Satan. We were there for the experiences. A girl came up to me and asked if I was ready for sex with her. I agreed neither excited by her or turned off. She was cute and chubby. Under normal circumstances I would have jumped at the chance to be with her. Some of the people there wore masks and costumes. Goat masks and black robes were the most popular but some wore superhero masks and high class feathered masquerade masks with no clothes or dressed in high society garb. The girl kept disappearing and coming back to me telling me to wait and sit and stand and lay on her bed and her sexual ceremony will start soon. It did. She was pleasant. We snuck about again while she got dressed for a ceremy. We missed the full blown orgy but the stage finale was about to begin and I pulled down my light weight mask to watch.

I lost it again. I know if I look I won’t find it. I’ll just have to relax and see if I get it back. It usually comes back.

Another City. San Francisco. Another building with floor after floor after floor. Another party and more friends I never met came with me for the ride and their kicks. They got ‘em we all did somehow. I kept getting fascinated with the ornaments hanging everywhere. They looked like Voodoo related ornaments. There were pretty young women approaching me left and right telling me about the ornaments and inviting me to the next show and I was worried that I didn’t have enough money and they kept telling me that their shows were of no cost that I have to worry about. One friend wants to leave this party and I show him that I can’t go yet because my shoes are wrong. I was wearing Docksiders with the bottoms ripped apart for some reason. I haven’t worn them in over 20 years. I didn’t want to leave anyway even though there were no orgies here. I wanted to stay and learn. Watch more shows. Meet more pretty girls showing me new ornaments. I felt alive in that building. I felt, dare I say, happy.

It slipped me again. I try fighting this time to get it back. It’s not coming. I remind myself it will. It always does. Then I feel panic that it might not come back this time. Maybe?


Any Dream – A POEM

June 10, 2012

Any dream left untold is like a dream left unsold

Marketed to the next available reader, listener

Therapist, Psychologist or friend

I never meant to be like this a voice tells me remembering or not

Another voice says cheese taste much better fresh from the deli

It’s a shame you’re allergic to shellfish and not selfish.

Boogity. Boogity. Boo.

The brakes slam. The air bag deploys and everyone flees the scene of my dream except me

All alone to deal with consequences  of constituencies of someone’s actions and I don’t know who.

My oh my what a wonderful day

Plenty of fish coming my way

“Eat up” you tell me “ It might be your last meal”

I am reminded of the days I have left so I count the days I have left behind me. Love is losing. Succeeding is failing. Fame and glory is poverty and anonymity

I know because I count the days I have left behind me.

I pay attention to some things Pigboy so crawls back in your mud

You have lived nothing but pain. I’ve seen beyond the rain. I’ve danced in sunshine and I may not be where anyone wants me to be including me but I have days to count of the past when and where I was happy. It brings a smile and a tear but I was something and I never know what’s down the line to tow.

Give me back my dreams.

Any dream will do.


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.


NIGHTMARES ON SALE – GET 2 FOR THE PRICE OF 1

April 1, 2012

I TRY TO IGNORE THE WHISPERS LOUDER THAN THE SCREAMS. IN DREAMS I WALK WITH YOU. You Roy.  I AM TRAVELLING. Always traveling. Moving. New apartment. New house. New CCITEE-Y. NEW STATE. STATE OF MIND. Party goers and house warmers and birthday goers and CHRISTmas mass attendees gather. I know some then I know everyone. I am no one. They don’t see me this way. He doesn’t see me this way. She. You.

 

MR SANDMAN BRING ME A DREAM.. I know you. I love you LOVE! I carry buckets of paint to your house and the party has just begun. I GET NO KICK FROM CHAMPAGNE either Frank, baby. Seven sisters of love pies stare at me and glare at ME AND THAT LOOK. THAT LOOK. IT SENDS CHILLLS DOWN MY SCARS- inside and outside that run against my heart. Let’s get this CHORDETTEONIAN PARTY STARTED MR JIMMY!

 

I put my arm around Grandmom to say I love you. People STARING. People caring. Empty people fill the crowded party. Acting hearty. Listing their character defects. Last chance. MY DEAD GRANDMOM TURNS HER HEAD AND SAYS “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!”

 

 

I wake up smoking and drift back along the sea of asphalt, scraping my fat ass and ripping my favorite dream jeans still wondering what I did. WHAT DID I DO THAT GRANDMOM KNOWS I DID? Was it last summer Jennifer Love?

 

I am alone. ALONE. MY NEWEST OF THE NEW HOUSES. Sir Raleigh comes with news. I thought he said PRESIDENT REAGAN HAD DIED OF INDECENT IMPLOSURE. I didn’t care until I realized he wasn’t just dreaming about my Dream girl locked in his dungeon TIED UP WITH VINES and THE SISTERS OF REJECTION.

GIVE HIM TWO LIPS OF HATRED AND VIOLENCE. RESTRAINING ORDERS, BRIGHT LIGHTS AND SIRENS.

 

“SHE’S A COKE HEAD” HE SAYS.

“SHE USED TO GIVE BLOW JOBS TO HERMAPHRODITES.” HE SAYS.

 

My throat fills with vomit and joy. IN DREAMS I DO COKE WITH YOU.

 

Stolen emotions and borrowed gifts are shared at the airport and train stations and parking lots and I’M STILL NOT SURE WHICH IS WHICH. IN DREAMS I TALK TO YOU. Us is back and you is cornered and still slip away. Reptilian monkeys bred become bread for the children of Elizabethan peasants but I grab two of them and hand them to the girl with ruby slippers and she vanishes like the Dark Knight into the dark night when she hears Bruno approach.

 

“I’ll whip you now my pretty and your LITTLE MAN too! Hahahahaha” Bruno yells but not enough to find her. I find her in her Old Kentucky home with three wooden porch steps away and I go into seizures. Jules Vern hides Tu-Tu Hundred Feet Under The Sea Under The Porch. I pass out. DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM –DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM. MR SANDMAN WAKES ME. The ape lizards have grown by the time I reach the inside. The Dark Huntress awaits me wearing a smile and a bra. I am excited to see her but worry about poor Mr Vern. Guilt reddens my pink face knowing that I shouldn’t be THERE. The Queen would be quite jealous and take away my deconstructed addictive Kingdom. SHE IS THERE AND SHE IS THERE. IT WAS A DUBIOUS PLAN OF THE HUNTRESS OF DARK TO HAVE Mr Vern under the porch and watch my web of lies unfold. The evil one IS not Bruno and I NOW KNOW WHAT GRANDMOM KNOWS I DID. I JUST DIDN’T DO IT YET WHEN SHE TOLD ME.

 

Caught in the trap admiring the salamander gorilla’s ability to change in size determined by the cage they are in. I imagine if they were let loose if they could grow bigger than the entire world. My Darling Queen and my Miss Huntress dance and change clothes despite the height and come out laughing at me and yet forgiving me and I feel a calm as MY DEAD GRANDMOM SAYS “ I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”


Hillen Prison Blues – I Feel the Fluids Rushing

March 29, 2012

I feel the fluids rushing

Up and down

And back

Up and down

My back

Spine

Light headed

Heavy hearted

Ears fuzzy disoriented

Vertigo

Bones crack every time

I move

Elbows

Knees

Hands

Feet

Fingers

Toes

FACE

My facial affliction

Nerves explode

Fireworks of the nerves

Side of my face

I seek relief

Scream in agonizing

Torture and terror

I chose

Sleep to

Escape

Forget

Awake

Remember

Impairment

Then depression

Sleep

Forget

I want to forget

I don’t want to sleep

I want to sleep

I love my sleep

But not much

My dreams are pleasant

And my reality is a

Nightmare

But

I’d rather have the bad dreams and the good life

“Sleep. Those little slices of Death. How I loathe them.” Edgar Allen Poe said.

 

“Sleep. Those little slices of pleasure. How I adore them.” Rich Hillen Jr said


Angel Train and a Cup of Joe

March 16, 2012

Sometimes I think she’s the prettiest girl alive. She might be. She certainly is to her boyfriend (I hope). Long black hair. Big brown eyes. Petite and well proportioned. I’ve never had a real life conversation with her. I haven’t even physically seen her in a couple of years. I rarely see her post on facebook. I rarely think about her. This has little to do with my story except it’s about her. Carmella or Bailey. The 2 names I’ve assigned to her for anonymity sake. She is still my guardian angel. I only have interactions in my dreams and they are not always significant either. She’s in my life and subconscious for a reason.

 

Her face was the last one I saw before my alarm went off at 7 am this morning. I woke up with a smile. The thought of her always gives me a smile. My dreams of her always give me a smile. Maybe I should think of her more so I smile more.

 

The dream wasn’t anything out there or cosmic. It was a dream of hanging out with a bunch of friends after an unrelated dream. Half of the friends I knew and half I didn’t. Only Joe, Brian and Seth were actual real friends from real life. The rest were acquaintances and people I’ve seen before like Bailey who I choose to call my guardian angel. We were all riding a train going ot an event of some kind. A concert, a parade, a convention. It was some event I normally wouldn’t go to and ride a train to. I was hanging mostly with Joe. He was out of character. Not at first.

 

Joe was his usual self drinking a coffee and letting me talk when I spotted Bailey. I wanted to point her out to him because I’ve talked to him more than anyone about her. He seemed too distracted by the people and the good time and tuned me out. This wasn’t the unusual part. Just as I was trying to tell him about my guardian angel personified he chugged a 5 hour energy drink and as we got off the train Joe ran off into the distance forcing me back in the crowd next to Bailey and a girlfriend of hers that I have spoken to but didn’t know real well. I was forced by the crowd to exit the train next to Bailey. I told her what Joe had just done.

 

“He drank all of that coffee and a 5 hour energy drink on an empty stomach? That’s crazy. No wonder he’s running off with all of that temporary energy.” Bailey spoke to me for the first time in what I perceived as real life in my dream.

 

How did she know all of the details when I didn’t know them all? I was just overjoyed that she spoke to me and said something back to her to make her smile. She has the brightest happiest smile that made me smile more. The damned alarm went off before  could talk to her more. That’s all I wanted.

 

But still, I woke up with a smile and felt compelled to write about it. About her.

 

Is it possible to be in love with someone I don’t know? Or am I just in love with the Bailey that appears in my dreams? I’m not even sure what love is. This dream and my thoughts of her will fade within the day and it’ll probably be months before I think or dream of her again but I know she’ll be back. I wonder what this means. Then again I wonder a lot of things.


%d bloggers like this: