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
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Angels, Bands, Beer, Bipolar Disorder, Blog, Dream, Email, Excerpts from Yellow Socks, Exploitation, Fiction, Friends, Funny, Living the Dream, NJ, Obsession, Pantyhose, Photographs, Self absorbed, Social Networking Sites, Sociology, Spoken word, Ugh!, Work, Writing, Yellow Socks | Tagged: 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, 2010 I started writing blogs in 2003 mostly on a social networking site called MySpace. I act like you’ve never heard of the now dying site. It was the beginnings of it’s popularity back then and, 2010 Juan and Carmen I met Carmen and Juan Ramirez in third grade. They were Puerto Rican twins that I started to hang out with. They were School Safeties and I met them in Safety training. Yes, 2010 Share this: Facebook Twitter Press This Like this: Like Be the first to like this post. 1 Comment | Art, 2010 Stalking Cameron Diaz My cigarette fell out of my left hand into the open cement ash can outside the front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I was facing the city. It was only 3:24 pm. A little, 2010 Well the five of us (models and photographer) spend a few fun filled hours today taking photographs for my upcoming novel, 2011 “When one’s in this world, Alcohol, Alcoholism, and writing in a very personal expression. The room at Philadelphia Museum of Art has a room full of eight to ten foot paintings based on Homer’s Iliad. I heard that when Cameron Diaz was here last, ANGER, anti-social, Anxiety, Anxiety attack, art, Art Museum, article, Atlantic City boardwalk, balloons, Bands, beating onboardwalk, Big eyes, Bipolar, Bipolar disorder, blog, blogs, boardwalk, Bob, book signing, Boy George, callmemr, callmemr wordpress, Cameron Diaz, Cameron Diaz is in the Impressionists Exhibit.” Sam said. “Really?” I asked. “Yeah. She’s over there right now.” “How do you know?” “Larry from Visitor Services told me.” Larry was, Cameron Diaz naked, Cameron Diaz nude, Candy, Cartoons, Chainsaw, Charles Bukowski, Charlie Kaufman. I could name a dozen more movies she was in that I liked but I wasn’t all goo goo eyed for her. Yeah she’s hot but she’s just another decent actress. I didn’t feel star struck, childhood, children playing, chocolate, Comentary, Coming of age, commentary, companions, confessions, Confessions of a Non-Don Juan, Crazy, crazy girls, crazy people, crazy women, Cy Twombly, Dancing, dating, Death, Delusional, depression, 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 t, Digital art, distortion, docotors, documentary, donkey, Drawing, Dream, dreaming, drink, drinking, Drug addiction, drugs, eating, editing a book, editing a novel, Elephant, emotionally disturbed, 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 th, everyone that read it so far doesn’t think so. I finally got all of the requirements down for them and Ill hopefully be sending it out soon. I asked a few of my published friends what they think I s, Excerpts from Yellow Socks, family, Father, father's death, fear, feet, Fetish, Fetish art, fetishes, fiction, finished writing a novel, finishing writing a novel, folks, friends, frightened or not.” Louis- Ferdinand Celine It’s true, funny, gambling, games, Gog, gorgeous women, grammar, green art, Happy, Hate, Henry Miller, High Heels, Holly, holy ghost, Hooters and My Ex Twitter Wow. Holistic is all right. Burned some sage around the house and I feel good. 5 days ago It ain't me 1 week ago Click Here Category Cloud Anti-Social Anxiety Art Article Blo, Hooters legs, hopelessness, Horror, How to meet women, how to pick up chicks, Hunter S Thompson, I confess. I want out. Don’t you? Any escape will do. Movies, I decided on the title at the start. I knew how it was going to begin and decided ho it was going to end. I needed to write the middle. You know the book itself. So, I didn’t talk to her but I saw her. Yippy. I stalked down and saw a real life “celebrity” at work. Don’t you think I am great? Aren’t you impressed with me? Don’t you think I am a lot cool, I need a cover design. I had this vision when I finished the book of what I want the cover to look like. After about a month of trying to get a model to get photographed in Yellow Socks I’ve got a c, I want out, I was School Safety responsible for crossing hundreds of other children from one side of the street to the other. I was good at it. Carmen and Juan were pretty advanced street kids. They lived on the, 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, India, insane, INSANITY, is to go out of it? Whether one’s mad or not, isn’t it, it started as talking about my relationship with my natural parents especially my paranoid schizophrenic mother. The more I wrote this personal stuff I realized that I am going to fictionalize it. Alt, it wasn’t all good. My adopted father was sick and one of the main reasons I moved back in was to help take care of him. Despite his illnesses he was a constant creator of some fabulous art. His art, Japan, Jesus, 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 boardwal, Journals, leg man, legman, legs, loneliness, loony, loony tunes, loss of job, Love, Love addiction, Lust, mad, mad ones, marijuana, masturbation, medication and AA meetings. I started to feel better then the beginning of November 2009 I had a breakdown for a few days. I literally thought I was going ot lose my mind and be institutionalized. I w, meditation, mental illnes, Mental illness, mess, model and other models for the back cover. I still needed a pair of yellow socks. I figured I’d wait until the last minute in typical Rich Hillen Jr style. I did pick up a pair that were the right s, Mother, muggung, music, MySpace, nothing, novaboon.com, novel, Novel reading, Novel. modern art, nude female band, out, pantyhose, Paranoid Schizophrenic mother, patricia araujo, Pervert, Peter McCoy, Philadelphia Museum Art, photo for cover of novel, Photo Shoot, photogragraphy shoot, Photographs | Tagged: blog, Photogrpahy, poetry, porn, prose, psychiatry, publish, read, reading, recite, Relationships, Reviews | Tagged: Atlantic City, Rich Hillen Jr, Rich HillenJr, Romance, Sally, Sam greeted me immediately. “Yo, sarcasm, Schizophrenic Mother, self help, seperation anxiety, Serial Killers, sex, Sex addiction, Sexual encounters, sexuality, sexy zombie girls, shopping, Sleep, sleeping, slug, smoke, Socializing, Sociology | Tagged: a yellow sock hunt, Sociology | Tagged: Alcohol, Sociology | Tagged: Charles Bukowski, sock fetish, socks, solitaire, son, spiritual, spirituality, stalk, stalking, Stalking celebrities, stockings, stories and poetry. It gave me a quick fix. The book was a slow endeavor. It was always in the back of my mind. Year after year I would move up 50 pages or more but I kept putting it on the back burne, SUicide, suit, surely the best thing one can do, surfing the internet, syntax and continuity. It was a slow process that I had to force myself to do. Again my mom bugged me about it. Months went by and I was still editing. “Almost finished. Almost done. Keep going.”, taste, teeth, Television, tits, trauma, trigeminal neuralgia, Vampires, Video | Tagged: Book Reading, Water, we were still stalking the “celebrity”. I pushed forward and got near the Cy Twombly room. I saw the security guard in his place at the entrance to the exhibit. As I walk in I see her. Ccameron Di, weed, White Zombie, wife, Willian S Burroughs, women's socks, Work, Work | Tagged: art, working, Write, writing, writing a book, writing a novel, xrazy men, Yellow Socks, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Another Excerpt from my Novel Yellow Socks- Juan and Carmen September 21, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Damned Yellow Socks: the Biography of a Novel July 10, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Email Subscription You are following this blog (manage). Recent Posts Underground Poets Society of 2012 What a Way to Grieve or How I Spent Memorial Day, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Excerpt from my Novel Yellow Socks – Atlantic City August 26, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Live Reading from my Novel Yellow Socks & a Promo Video December 23, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Photo Shoot July 11, Yellow Socks | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Stalking Cameron Diaz – Excerpt from my novel Yellow Socks October 13, Yellow SOcks. COnfessions of a Non-Don Juan | Permalink Posted by richhillenjr Rich Hillen Jr’s Digital Art February 6, Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan. THis phase is over and next up is the cover design then off to the internet publishing. Due to my lawyer and agent’s advice I am not at liberty to reveal, Zombie girls |
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Posted by richhillenjr
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.”

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Posted by richhillenjr
April 12, 2011
A religious rant? Maybe. Maybe not.
Does it really matter what I think or feel about religion? I rarely talk about it but her goes nothing.
Actually, something happened today that got me thinking. I ask questions on formspring.com and I ask things that I’m curious about in people in general. Sometimes I’m silly, sometimes I’m curious and sometimes I’m serious. I asked about 130 people that I follow whether he/she believes in God or a “higher power”. It was interesting. The most interesting answer I got was confrontational.
“Do you believe in God or some sort of “higher power”?” I asked.
“Better question: Why is it that in our culture it is completely acceptable for a total stranger to ask some one the details of their spirituality? Why is it that we do not treat that information like the intimate thing that it is? People often structure their personal morality on their religion or lack there of, so it stands to reason that it should be a much more in depth conversation than “so do you believe in God?”. Honestly I think it is vulgar to toss out that question as simply as you might ask some one about the weather. Short answer: That’s not something I discuss with some just any one.” She answered.
I wasn’t trying to be deep or intrusive. It was pretty much a yes or now answer type of question. I was really curious as to why it seemed personal to her. I’ve asked way more personal questions like “What is the first thing you do after sex?” and there were polite answers from people that did think it too personal. I don’t feel attacked by the god answer but it threw me off.
Personally, I never cared much about the existence of God until I was introduced to the 12 steps where I “had” to find a “higher power” to help me recover. I kept it simple and call Him God but my interpretation or beliefs are flexible. I know that God could be anything. He could be Jesus, Buddha, Allah, nature etc. I’m open enough to believe that it could just be something in my own head that I “pray” to. It worked for 20 years. To a certain degree my non-descript God is still working. Like any human I lose faith. I also gain it. I keep on truckin’ despite my persona;. Emotional and physical problems and I still depend on a “higher power”. It’s just changed. I know that I am in control of some things and I have no control on others.
I just heard a great comparison to Bipolar disorder to the weather. It’s a daily thing. I rarely check the weather reports. I open the door and check the weather and then I know how to prepare for the weather. My mind is like that. I wake up depressed and I know the things that I have to do to prepare for the day.
This is how I explain my belief in God. It varies day to day. I don’t expect things to change. I just want to be prepared for what’s ahead of me and the ability to accept and change it. That’s my belief. I don’t think everyone should have the same view.
I used to bash various religions especially the one’s that seemed pushy. I hated religions that had the “holier than thou” attitude or “believe what I believe or you are going to Hell”. I could go on about all of the wars in the name of God and tear apart the hypocrisies of the members and clergies but that doesn’t help me. My personal beliefs help me. I don’t know if any religion is right or wrong. I do know it’s wrong to judge someone just because they do not believe what I believe. That is my only problem with religions. Every religion, atheist, agnostic, organization or group has it’s good points and bad points. They all have members that set a good example for the above-mentioned groups.
I don’t have any answers. I am open minded to believe that any belief could be the right one. There may not be a God. There might not be a heaven or hell. I may be my own God.
I never overanalyzed it like many people I know but I was pretty judgmental. I was lucky that religion was never pushed on me. I
was raised Catholic. My first natural family weren’t real consistent with it so I found church boring and uninteresting. I was “adopted” at 11 and my new mom was (is) an ex-Catholic nun and my new father was and Agnostic Jew (ex-Jew). They raised me with my options open and I chose not to choose. I did what any self centered teenager might do. I lived for the moment. Instant gratification was my middle name. (still is sometimes). In college I wrote a paper about God for a philosophy course. That was the last time I really gave God or spirituality a thought. I received an A on the paper but was failing life.
As I mentioned already I was encouraged to find a “higher power” when I stopped drinking at age 24 by 12-step meetings. It changes as I do. He or She changes as I change.
One point I took a brief interest in studying Anton LaVey’s Satanism. It preached more peace than I expected. I was curious because LaVey seemed such a charismatic character. He was witty, intelligent and convincing. Then I realized that his distaste for the Catholic Church made his “religion” pretty much the same as any other. I don’t judge it or any religion at this point.
The individuals of various religions and the Atheists are the ones that get to me. The “haters” from each organization religious or otherwise are the ones to give what they claim to represent a bad name. If you are that convinced that your way is right for you then the need to recruit and convince others your way is the only way then you should live your beliefs not preach hate.
I am not committed to or hold anything against any religion or belief system unless it involves hatred and violence.
I think I had a point with all this. If not oh well. I haven’t written a blog for a while so here it is.

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Anti-Social, Anxiety, Article, Blog, Comentary, Depression, Disorder, Dream, fear, Love, Psychiatry, Relationships, Religion, Satan, Self help, Sociology, Spirituality, Writing | Tagged: Church, Devil, God, Holy, Jesus, Muslum, Personal question, Rich Hillen Jr, Satan, self righteousness, spirit, spirituality |
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Posted by richhillenjr
October 1, 2010

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Posted by richhillenjr
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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Posted by richhillenjr
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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