NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January 2018 and published in May 2020.
Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 87-89
How Jocko and his teamster pal Buck got over the scrap of indigo blow snort gavel, only a real scientist will tell. Examine them closely and you would never know they were table beef survivors. The tracking devices made them look cool and even lowered their temperatures but they were being watched. Every skip and jump over the sand dunes were known by Kaydick Industries.
“Jocko self serving through production of self right bbbbBuck?” Jocko asked with unquestionable certainty.
“Aww knock it off Jocks. We’ve been through this before. These feelings of inadequacy will pass. Drink this.”
Buck passed the chuckle juice to Jocko knowing it would calm him down and in turn calm them both down. Jocko took several swigs and starred into the several sunned blurry sky wishing he were still a civilian and not a runaway ex table beef. The Agency had no use for them but Kaydick Industries followed their moves for the fun of it more than any business matters at hand.
“Feel better now?” Buck asked.
“Yeah. I feel so inspired. Can I piggy back now?”
“You know you’re too heavy but if you need human contact I can ride you. Just remember last time I rode you. You tore a few stitches.”
“It’s ok. Ride me. Ride me.”
The temperature was rising near 1,046 degrees porfeos. Dry heat that humps your glands like a reptile. If you’ve ever been humped by a reptile then you know. They had no choice in a life situation like this but to keep moving. The other side of desert is the town of Gointhaw. They would be safe for a while there. One would think with a population of 456,890 they could get away and not be seen despite the high tech tracking system.
Meanwhile Ralph was helping me with my own problems. The center of my scrotum was unnerved during the last explosion. I needed Ralph’s strong hands to reach inside and “pull the strings” as the motthoppers called it in my day. Not sure of the proper medical procedure’s name. Ralph wasn’t medical. He was physical for sure. He stuck his hands right up in there, you see. And wiggled each finger one at a time until he saw my fantastic grin reaching each ear almost. Chagrin. Ouuuther.
“Thanks. I needed that.” I said.
“Uppers yup. For you I can do fritterpops. Wholesale style. Ya know.” Ralph said.
Now my only agenda was to take photo options for the Agency. They remote wired me for the mission. My brain would freeze as they send a signal telling me when to click the device resembling absolutely nothing like a camera or visual recording device. It was built into my forehead like a third eye yet invisible to the eye. It was under my skin yet the 3 kolopuy length and width lens could actually see from the far away Agency laboratory. The trigger/button was on the side of my nose and only about .006 Kintopuys. It looked like I was scratching my colossal sized honker.
It was a fairly simple routine besides the brain freeze but the Agency was cautious and paranoid so Ralph was by my side in case I ran into any trouble. In some countries and cultures scratching my nose and staring at someone would be considered rude or a primal way of saying “skitter over lipper”. Even an inactive agent like myself could get quite the head banging and artillery action for that. Ralph is there to break up any potential violence like that and multiple other types. He’s a good zoo, ya know, it’s fun to keep him around. He doesn’t need weapons. I told ya what those hands can do with my “problem”.
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.
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
I felt her tongue in my mouth and I was the happiest man on earth. To kiss her was a dream come true. My Guardian Angel kissed me.
It started on some sort of shopping spree and she was taking me to different places buying me things and holding my hand and I was confused because she wasn’t in her guardian angle form. Not that she ever is. I call her my guardian angel because she has lead me away from negative situations and helped me out in previous dreams. She is based on a real girl I know in her mid-late 20s that I rarely talk to and see online once in a while. I named her Carmella the first time I wrote about her in a blog titled Dream Girl is my Guardian Angel but her name is Bailey. She won’t read this and if so . . . well I’ll deal with or not then.
So Bailey is taking me to familiar and unfamiliar places and we are happy. I felt the way I used to feel when I was on vacations with previous girlfriends during the courting or just past the courting stage. In the back of my head I was confused. First of all, she has a boyfriend and it seems they’ve been together since high school. She would rarely give me the time of day in real life. Not to say she was or is a snob. She just never had a reason to talk to me. I’ve admired her from afar. I also didn’t know where were in the dream. It felt like Philadelphia and New York with a touch of San Francisco. Maybe my writing about hanging out with a few girls in San Francisco in my next novel is rubbing off into my dreams.
We ended up kissing on the sidewalk wherever we were. Heavy making out. I felt her tongue hit my tonsils and loved it. I haven’t had a kiss like that in almost 2 years. We hugged and then hurried to our hotel room. In the dream I went with it as if I knew there was a room. I settled in the room and saw her take her clothes off and she came to me again and kissed me wearing her white bra and panties. I was still in shock and thrilled to realize it was a dream. It was more real than being awake. She was dressed again. And I followed her outside to the sidewalk. Her boyfriend was there and she looked at me in a way I knew she was going to give him another goodbye talk. Then she took him into my room at a new house and we were no longer at the hotel.
I let them have their time. I was overall confident that Bailey was mine but still was anxious for him to leave. It reminded me of when I dated a married woman that was separated and the 3 of us hung out. I walked into the living room and it was a combination of a few houses I’ve lived and my aunt and uncle’s house in Michigan. My grandmother was alive and there with aunts and uncles and cousins. My blood relatives and my adopted relatives were all there. I was so distracted by having my fantasy girl, my dream girl after going so long without love I had trouble enjoying my family. Everyone was talking to me. Someone said that I was going to miss my flight home. I thought I was home and Bailey and her boyfriend were in her my bedroom. I felt love in the room but I wanted the love in the bedroom, forgetting Bailey has appeared as my guardian angel in the past.
I thought of her kiss, closed my eyes and smiled. I woke up and it was only 11 pm. I felt happy for some reason even though I never resolved anything in the lucid dream. It will come to me. It always does.
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 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 Bookshttp://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.
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 ghettoneighborhood. 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]
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.
Yay. Rich Hillen Jr is starting a real job. Close enough to a real job for a guy like me. After 7 months or so of unemployment I am going to be working. Not just any job but a job that I can potentially make a lot of money. I’ll be entering the world of collections. Phone collections. Hopefully it will start tomorrow.
To be honest I really don’t want to work. I don’t want to work for someone else that is. My friend suggested the possibility of working with his company as a phone collections agent when I first lost my job the end of May 2010. I had a lot of money stashed away and started getting a little bit from unemployment. I was living with my mom and had no interest in working I wanted to finish and publish my novel among other projects.
This lasted until the end of the summer and my mom was getting a little frustrated having me around the house all of the time. I did manage to get a once week gig working for my uncle cleaning offices. It wasn’t enough.
Then a friend of mine casually mentioned he was renting a house next door to him. When I found out how much it was a month and saw how huge it was I couldn’t resist. I knew my other friend needed a place and could afford it so we moved in October 1st 2010. To be honest, I didn’t want to move. I was happy where I was at but I thought it was best for my mom. I kind of thought it was best for me. You know be independent and all. Grow up etc. I rebelled mentally against the move. I thought it was force me to get a job because my unemployment wasn’t enough. I waited and lived frugally off of my little savings I had left.
I even started a “business” with my roommate. A new unrestricted social network called (join right now folks) http://novaboon.com
We anticipated to make money eventually but not before my savings ran out.
My friend that offered me the phone collections job brought up that they are considering remote calling so I could do the job at home. I’ve been considering getting into collections on and off for years. I have over 10 years experience in telemarketing and collections seems more honorable and potentially more money to be made. My friend told me the possible money I could be making and I was in. I wanted this job. I need money. I can finance my other projects, pay off bills and live like a human again.
My friend set the interview up for me. All I needed was my resume and a suit even though it’s a casual dress code. This was mid November 2010. I showed up early for my interview. My future employer and I hit it off. We barely had to sell each other to the other. We knew it was going to work. There was one glitch. He told me that the remote calling is an idea in the works. It may happen but I have to prove myself for at least 3 months. I guess I can deal with it. He told me he would call me the following week and I would start either the last week of December or the first week of January.
I waited a week and a half and no call. I called him. He said things are really busy and he’d call me the following week. He didn’t. I called again and left a message for him. No return call. I called a few more times the following week and no return call. My friend that got me in said that the boss told him to tell me that he will call.
So he never called me. Instead my friend forced him to set up a date and through email from my friend I was to finally start work today.
I got a phone call from the boss finally yesterday to postpone my start date to tomorrow due to the weather. Put off the excitement, fear and anxiety another day.
The other story of the week relevant to my new job is my physical, mental and anxiety issues. Anyone that knows me or reads this knows about some of my disorders like Bipolar disorder and my frequent anxiety attacks. I just wrote about my physical ailment called trigeminal Neuralgia. Read the post: https://richhillenjr.wordpress.com/2011/01/14/trigeminal-neuralgia-again/
After a 3-year remission I had my first Facial attack this past Thursday. This created anxiety. I went to the Doctor and got my medications. It presented me with a mental problem. What if it acts up at work? The telephone is how this started years ago.
I have the extra pressure of possible anxiety and facial pain in addition to the usual fear and anxiety of a new job are all there. To top it off I’ve had trouble sleeping the past week. I’ve been either getting no sleep or staying up too late and sleeping to late.
We’ll see where my first day of work will lead me.
Life is changing and changing. I heard that if your not changing and growing then you are dying. If you are a creative person and you are not creating then you are dying. The past few months have been different to say the least. The past few years have been unusually different to say the most. Some days I’m so focused on my goals and dreams and other days I’m off the races in my mind and can’t function. I don’t know f I am growing but I am changing.
It seems like I keep waking up and everything that has happened in my life was a dream. Good dream and bad dream. One day I’m living in an apartment I can’t afford even though I had a job and I was whacked out on pain meds, psych meds and life in general the next day I’m clean and sober with less Psych meds living with my parents helping my sick father who eventually died. Then I’m in house with my mother and I lose my job but I have money in the bank and a little unemployment coming my way so it was comfortable.
I published not just one novel but three books within a moth. I felt great creatively and spiritually. I believe those are connected. Life is rolling along one day at a time. Then the pressure starts hitting me to think about a career. A job. Something. My mother and my friends think it’s time I go to work. I secretly disagreed.
What I thought was an epiphany turned out to be a fantasy and an unrealistic reality. I thought that I wanted ot get into Drug and Alcohol counseling. I talked to some people and researched half assedly. I found out I needed two years of recovery to get into the particular places I was looking for. I used it as an excuse not ot look for anything else.
I woke up one day and I am suddenly renting a house from a friend and out of my mom’s house. I still have no job and my savings are dwindling. No muney and more bills. I have a house mate. We started a business venture that may or may not pay off but we at least started it.
I went form no job plenty of money living with mom creating every day to sharing a house with a friend and business partner with no job and no money and less motivation to write and create. My energies are in the business. No income is expected for a while but I refuse to work. Sure I do a little part time work for an uncle but nothing serious.
My anxiety levels and agoraphobia keep me house ridden for days sometimes. I hate socializing. What happened to “good time Charlie” as an old friend once called me?
It seems I went from mr social guy to hermit overnight. It did take years. Some say it’s part of me growing up. Some say it’s my mental problems. Some say “get a job, ya bum”. Some say nothing at all. What can they say?
It’s not easy being human. I was going ot say me but I know everyone has problems. They just don’t wear them on their sleeves or like merit badges on their chest like I do sometimes.
I never thought that I’d be at a place in my life where I refused to look for a job. I’m not sure if it’s stubbornness, fear, my determination to succeed in other areas, or my mental illness and anxiety.
I went from having a job and lots of money living with my mother to no job, no money, paying rent etc. I keep waking up everyday in a different state of mind with a different focus and different awareness. I wonder who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? Then I run away and hide in other thoughts that either thrill me or upset me fro the day.
The only thing I know is that tomorrow is another day. I never know what is around the corner and if I at least try at life I will feel a live. I hope. I always have hope.
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?
I’ve been slacking lately on the writing. When I do write I want to have something to say or talk about and there are no events that have been happening that stand out to talk about. There’s a lot going on in my head but I haven’t felt like writing about it. That’s why I’m writing right now. Sometimes I have to write just for the sake of writing. Clear my head a little bit, ya know? Who knows maybe this will lead somewhere. Maybe what I am writing now will lead to something to write about or maybe it already has. Do you write?
Do you ever get writer’s block as they call it? I think I’ve been getting that lately. Either that or laziness of the mind. The one thing that has always unblocked me as a writer is to just start writing. Hey. That’s what I’m doing now, isn’t it? Are you still reading? Good. Then we have something going between us. I write and you read. A fair deal.
A family friend is an artist. He told me a long time ago that the art isn’t complete until someone sees it and shares the experience. Otherwise its not art to him. I didn’t question him. I believed that. Like what’s going on right now between you and I. This writing isn’t complete unless you read it, right?
Last week my cousin who is also a talented artist was visiting and I decided to share this great wisdom with him. I told him that the art isn’t complete without someone seeing it. Do know what he had the audacity to do. You won’t believe this. He asked why. What nerve? He expected an explanation for my undeniable wisdom that was passed down to me from a more experienced artist then both of us. I couldn’t believe he was questioning me. Do you want to know what really bothered me about his question? I’m assuming you said yes. If not I’m going to tell you anyway. What bothered me the most about his question was that I did not have an answer. My jaw dropped and I tried my hardest to explain to him but my final answer was “I don’t know”. We had a similar discussion about God later but I won’t get into that one.
Here, what I so blindly accepted years ago as the holy word, the truth, solid information, my cousin questioned. He questioned it because he had not heard that before and he is more of a free thinker than I am. He has questions and wants answers as opposed to me accepting things at face value. I guess my faith extends beyond God. I have faith in people and what I hear as truth and simply accept it. This is good and bad for me.
I don’t always fight for things. I accept a no as meaning no. I also hate people that won’t take no for an answer. It annoys me. It could be jealousy or envy but I doubt it. Don’t get me wrong, I fight for something that I feel I deserve or something I believe in but I save my battles for something important. Usually I accept it. You tell me it’s snowing outside in New Jersey in July I might believe you. I’ll have my doubts. I think I’m off track again.
Coincidentally, the night my cousin was over my family’s artist friend came by as well. So I took the opportunity to bring up the question my cousin asked. Why? He explained it and went back and forth with my cousin about what art is. My cousin believes it’s art if you are just doing it for you. We all agreed that we create for ourselves first. My cousin believes the art is art in the process and getting your emotions out not the end result. Earlier, I referred to my art and writing as products. The word product had a negative connotation to him. Product is a word used commercially. To me it means something that I produced. It’s a product. The point of whether art is still art if no one sees it was never made clear that night. I still blindly accept that the art process or my case the writing process is complete when someone or many people are reading it. Are you still reading this. I’m assuming you are. This piece was written for me and I just assume that you will read it. You did. Right?
This piece of writing is complete art now. Now go tell your friends to read this and see if it becomes better writing because more people read it and the process is even more complete.
I knew when I started writing this it would eventually lead somewhere. You are that somewhere. Thank you.
Posted by richhillenjr 
Rich Hillen Jr's Mind Explosions & Implosions 
Excerpt from My First Novel Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non Don Juan
June 4, 2012An 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
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