Joan or Arc, Joan Baez and You!

December 30, 2011

Joan of Arc

Joan Baez

And you

 

So young an beautiful in my mind as

You once were

 

Joan Hillen

Joan Marie Siani Hillen

Mother

 

Great mission                         from God

And country

Joan died                 for it all

So young

Brave

Young

 

“Love is a

Four letter word” Joan sang

Protested war

Civil rights

Entertained thousands

 

Joan brought me into this

World I am still figuring out

You spent years

In wards of hospitals

I never understood

They never understood                      YOU

 

Oh MOTHER. I understand now.

I love you now

Now that it’s too late.

 

Joan of Arc

Joan Baez and

YOU


Excerpt From the Novel Yellow Socks- Elvis, Hazel & Me

November 2, 2010

Click the pic to buy the novel or click here.

Elvis, Hazel and Me

 

The sign out front said Therapy. Therapy. Yeah. That’s exactly what I needed. I had to ring a bell at the second door. It was locked. I heard the woman’s broken English say ” Hode on, hunee.”. There was a peephole so she could see me. As the door opened my heart was racing. You never know what’s on the other side of the door. Especially at a place like this. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on here. Now I was ready to find out. Even if I wasn’t ready I was about to find out.

 

The door opened and this cute little Korean girl with glasses stood there smiling. She had a slim but round face and the glasses magnified her pretty skewed charcoal eyes. She was about five foot two inches or so and wore tan shorts and a loose fitting top. Nothing real sexy or revealing. She grabbed me by my arm. I only knew she was Korean because I was told later. I have trouble differentiating some Asians based on looks. I can tell a Japanese or Chinese usually but not always. A Vietnamese girl I once worked with told me that it’s hard for Asians to tell each other because a lot of them are mixed. The girl with the glasses made me follow her down a long hallway and to a room. The room was dimly lit and had a twin bed with a blue and pink floral design on the comforter. There was a nightstand next to it with a lamp, body lotion and a radio. The walls were empty except for a giant mirror next to the bed. No paintings or anything. There were three hooks on the wall to hang a coat.

 

“Take offa you close. Sum one be back.” she said and left me there alone.

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and took off my shirt first. I hung it up on the hook. It was my favorite Misfits tee shirt. Next I took off my pants. Hung them up. I stuffed my socks in my sneakers and left them on the floor under the hooks. I looked at my fat belly in the mirror then I shifted focus onto my new tattoo. It was a picture of Elvis and it said “The King” underneath of it. It was on my right arm just above my 4″ scar that wraps around my bicep.

 

I was hoping that the girl with the glasses would be coming back. I was still a little nervous. I’d been to one of these places once before. I was drinking back then so I didn’t remember anything except that I was there. The alcohol took the edge off of me back then.

 

The door opened. I was startled. It wasn’t the girl with the glasses. It was an older Korean woman in her mid forties. She stood a little taller than the other girl. Her face wasn’t the prettiest I’ve ever seen but she wasn’t ugly. Her somber eyes were possessed with sadness despite the forced smile she wore more out of habit then sincerity. Her cheeks were round and her eyes were wrinkled. Long black hair found its way to the middle of her back. Her tits looked healthy through her tacky Fredericks of Hollywood sheer lace camisole that went down to cover her pudgy belly just touching her matching black lace panties. Her legs were chubby but still nice to look at. She wore black heels that she could barely walk on. Well, she was better looking than any Therapist I’ve ever seen.

 

“What you name? My name is Hee- Jung. You call me Hazel.” she said.

 

“My name is Pete.”

 

“Pete?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You been heel befo? ”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay. You give $60.00 for masharge and showerr. Pay now. Then we go.”

 

I gave her the money. She left the room. I waited again staring at myself in the mirror. I always look at myself in the mirror. If I am in a good mood I like looking in the mirror. If I am in a bad mood I tear myself apart looking for everything wrong with my body and face. I was in a good mood. Hazel, huh?

 

She came back and handed me a white towel to wear. It smelled fresh and clean. I wrapped it around my waist and followed her into another room. It was a huge shower. The floor was covered in white tiles with a drain in the middle of the floor. There was a table that looked like the one at my doctor’s office but without the incline option. It was flat and had a vinyl cover. There was a large container filled with water. It had a hose inside it to fill it up like a little kids swimming pool. Hazel took the towel off of me and motioned for me to lie down on my stomach. She placed a small soft plastic pillow under my head. I positioned my head towards her so I could see what she was doing and also to check her out.

 

Hazel took a plastic bowel and scooped out some of the water in the large vat like container and poured hot water on my body. My body stiffened to shock of the heat.

 

“Too hot?” she asked.

 

“It’s ok.” I said.

 

I got used to it. Hazel took a soapy sponge and washed me down like you would give a dog a bath or like a nurse when you are in the hospital. She was very stiff and methodic at first. She scrubbed my back. My arms. My legs. Then she spread my legs and washed my legs and balls. I’ve never had my asshole washed before. I’ve felt nothing in my life to compare it to. I think I liked it. I got a little excited so I must have.

 

“Turn over.” She told me.

 

I lay on my back and she was less clinical with her approach. Her touch felt good even though it was with a sponge. As she washed my arm she noticed my tattoo.

 

“That Ervis Plesrey?”

 

“Yes. The King.”

 

“You Rook Rike Ervis.”

 

“Thang you. Thang you very mudge” I did my best Elvis impersonation.

 

She grabbed my dick and washed it. It was getting a hard on.

“You Rung rike Ervis Too.” she said.

 

She finished up washing my feet and it tickled. I cringed and laughed.

 

“You tickrish?”

 

I nodded and she told me to stand up. As she dried me off she started talking a little more.

 

“You got wife?”

 

“No. I just got divorced.”

 

A melancholy look took over her face when she heard me say this.

 

“Me too. I just get divolced. He no good. He reft me.”

 

“I’m sorry.” I said.

 

Hazel led me into another room. It was the steam room. It was wall-to-wall oak in this little room. There was a wooden table about three feet wide and maybe six feet long long. I barely fit on it. She left me alone for about seven minutes. There were magazines to read. Mostly porno and chick magazines like Cosmo and Vogue. I looked through an issue of Vogue and a copy of Jugs. It put me in the mood for a massage. I thought about jerking off right there but decided it best if I didn’t.

 

Hazel popped her head in and grabbed my hand to pull me out of the steam room. She held my arm like I was her man as we headed back to the room I started in. I wondered if she went through my wallet or stole my money. She took the towel off of me when we got to the room. She put more towels down on the bed and told me to lie down on my stomach. I did. I always do what women tell me especially the ones who are about to give me a massage.

 

“You want dlink befole I stalt?” she asked.

 

“Uhh. No thanks.”

 

“It ok if I dlink a rittle bit?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She reached under the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam and poured herself a glass. She took a big gulp and put the glass down. She turned on the radio. It played some mellow shit I recognized but didn’t know who it was.

 

“You leady?” she asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

She started a regular back massage. She started at my neck and worked every muscle down to my toes. I never knew how good a foot massage could be. I’ve given so many foot massages but rarely received them.

 

“You want me tly a new massage I just reln?” Hazel aked me.

 

“Sure. Yes I do.”

 

She stood on my back and walked up and down cracking my bones. I thought of Lucy Lui in the Charlie’s Angels movie walking on the bad guy Tim Curry. I thought about how sexy Lucy Lui’s feet were. Especially compared to Hazel’s chubby toes. It was painful and relaxing at the same time. I didn’t know whether to scream or moan. I moaned.

 

“Ok. Tuln over. I do the flont now. ” she told me.

 

Luckily she just massaged my front with her hands. Her touch was comforting and relaxing. I wanted her to massage everything. Everything. But good things come to those who wait, right? I waited. She took a few breaks to drink some more whiskey. My body felt like it was going to sink into the bed I was so relaxed.

 

“Ok. Arr done.” she said.

 

Finished? What do you mean finished? I didn’t get my happy ending. I was uncomfortable about asking but I did anyway.

 

“You forgot to massage my ..” I said and pointed to my dick.

 

“Ohh. That extra. ” she smiled.

 

“Fine. Whatever.”

 

She reached over to the night stand and pulled out some lotion. She pumped the lotion in her hand and then took a firm hold of me. This was the happy ending I’ve heard so much about. I must say I was happy. Then she stopped and got more lotion. She put more than enough and worked it around her finger. What was she up to? Oh fuck.

 

“OWW!!” I screamed as she poked her finger up my ass deep. Too deep at first.

 

“You no Rike?”

 

“No.”

 

“Give it a minute.”

 

She was right. After about a minute it wasn’t so bad. It was good. I was happy again. All’s well that ends well. I finished. Hazel poured another drink.

 

“Can I ray down with you?”

 

She turned the radio off and cuddled up next to me.

 

“I so ronery.” she said.

 

She started singing I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.

 

“You sing with me, Ervis, ok?”

 

We sang together. We cried together. I looked into her wet brown eyes as she sang to me.

 

“… only furs lush in. I can’t herp farring in rove with you.”

 

Loneliness brought me to her. Loneliness brought her to this job. Loneliness kept us bonded as we lay there together crying from our lost loves.

 

After another half hour Hazel helped me get dressed. As she was finishing tying my sneakers she looked up at me like she was really sad for me to go.

 

“Do you want to get married?” I asked her with semi sincerity.

 

“No, I wan you to reave and nevel come back.” she said as she opened the front door.

 

She stood on her toes to kiss me. I gave her my lips.

 

“I Rove you. Don’t come back.”

 

I walked out of there feeling so much better and so much worse.

 


More Excerpts from my Novel: Yellow Socks

September 10, 2010

My publisher, LuLu, is having a September sales contest and I am trying to win it so I get featured and promoted. It’s been tough promoting this by myself  tryng not to get on everyone’s nerves. Please spread the word and and help me win this contest. Hell, you might even enjoy the book. Oh yeah. They are offering an incentive by giving you 10% off your purchase if you enter the code ‘ AUTUMN ‘ at check out. Thanks.

Order Books Here.

Here’s an excerpt from Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan:

Mom

I drifted in and out of contact with my natural Mother my whole life. My Mother had disappeared for years and eventually turned up living in Germantown PA. Outside of Philadelphia living with a black couple named Sam and Sondra.

As it turned out, during her last disappearance she was living on the streets of Williamstown, NJ. She was homeless. Sam found her while he was running the Williamstown Community Center. He helped get her cleaned up, medicated and put her up in a motel. He was a friend with everyone in the community including the Mayor and a motel owner so Mom was taken care of. He even put her to work in the Community Center cleaning.

After months of getting to know my Mom, Sam took a strong liking to her. He thought it’d be better for her to move in with him and his wife so in she moved. Germantown, PA. Sam was also responsible for getting Mom back in touch with the family,

Every so often I’d visit her. The first time was with Rebecca, my Aunt and Uncle and Cousin for a Christmas dinner. Sam and Sondra were there and so were their daughter and grandson and Tonya’s brother. The family was delightful. The food was delicious. It was the first time I ever tasted soul food. They served catfish, collard greens, lima beans (which I normally hate) and black-eyed peas. It was much easier to deal with Mom with the people and food as a distraction.

Some of my visits were by bus. Some by cab. Sometimes I would bring a friend or girlfriend. I usually arrived hours later than I promised and stayed as little as possible. As I’ve said before, when I don’t want to deal with something or a conversation I get very tired almost to the point of narcolepsy. I would make an excuse to leave as quickly as possible when this would happen.

After I stopped drinking the end of 1991 I started visiting my real mother every Christmas. Easter was at my “adopted” parents. Thanksgiving was at my real Dad’s house. I visited her every Christmas from 1991 until She died in 2000.

I spent time with her on every Christmas day for almost ten years. I was definitely no the ideal son but then again she wasn’t the ideal Mother. Every year I would get very ill. There was always some kind of cold or virus going around. I’m sure my subconscious desires to avoid my mother entirely helped my sickness deepen.

So every Christmas eve I kept myself busy and usually stayed up all night. I would wake up late on Christmas day and put off the visit as long as I could. She became a family member to Sam and Sondra and I always felt welcome at their house. They loved her like a sister. Sam and Sondra treated me like family as well. An outsider would wonder why I get so reluctant and stressed out over the visit when everyone is so nice. My mother has been a certifiable nut since I was eight years old so I didn’t want to deal with the guilt, the anger, the sadness, and the hatred.


I Want my Mommy

August 24, 2010

After 7 long years of talking about this novel I am writing (everyone talks about the novel or screenplay that they are writing and never finish), I finished writing it in November 2009. I was overjoyed that I finally followed through on something that I have been talking about and working little on since 2003. I did it. Then I realized I needed an editor. They were expensive. A friend of mine did a perfect job editing it but it was footnoted and I had to have 2 copies open at the same time and couldn’t figure out how to use her notes so I put it aside for a bit. I’d jump in and edit here and here and my mother would always ask about it. She’s a published author herself.

I lost my job the end of May and it fueled me to finish. I finished editing it 2 days after I got fired. Again I was thrilled. I had a specific cover I had in mind and needed a “socks” model. After finding one it took almost another month to get a day set with my photographer friend and the model. Whew. Then I waited another month or so for my friend who offered to design the book cover. She did a great design for the front cover right away an d her busy schedule kept her away from the project so I figured out how to work with what she had. Meanwhile, I decided on self publishing online based on advice from friends who were published authors. Last Thursday night I finished everything and had ot published and available on the publisher’s web site.

Fear kicked in. I was afraid to finally publicize it because I was afraid it wasn’t going to sell or someone might not like it. So, I distracted myself with other things like digital art projects, writing stories, and on a woman. I’ve been cranky and agitated and full of anxiety. I forced myself to announce the publication this morning and I don’t feel excited. I’m still agitated.

“What’s really going on?” my friend Joe used to ask me when I would go on my little rants about this or that. It always shit me up and made me think about what’s really going on inside me.

I want my mommy! No, I don’t. Not right now. I want to avoid her as much as possible. I love my mom. I even like her. She’s been one of the best people to live with in years. Although, I’ve had a lot of great roommates in the past she tops the list. Lately, it hasn’t been fun.

She’s not my biological mother but she’s raised me since I was 11. When I was first introduced to this new life I was in total shock with my new reality. Consistent tough love by 2 schoolteachers that were cultured intellectuals. I came from a poor neighborhood and was living in luxury it seemed as a child. Unfortunately for them I was already set in my ways. I was destined to be an alcoholic and had an undiagnosed mental illness myself that went untreated for over 30 years.

She has never been the type to sympathize despite her spirituality. She only has sympathy for those that want to help themselves or are in great physical pain. She has a uptight teacher’s persona. She was not a nurturing type. She’d listen to my problems and then tell me the solution. Just once I’d have liked to hear her say “It’s ok.” “It’s going ot be ok.” I’d still love to hear that from her.

She has a lot of rules and outlooks that I agree with and disagree with but every one of them is stuck in my head even now. She had such a strong influence on me through my life. I respect her and have always wanted her approval despite my alcoholic mentally ill actions through the years. I would do the opposite of anything she could possibly approve of and felt like total shit because I couldn’t live up to her standard.

When I was a kid and the other parents would say “not my son” my mom would say “probably was my son”.

I’ve seen my other friend’s parents spoil them and let them do whatever they want. Then again I’ve met a lot people that grew up with unsupportive and abusive parents.

Her and my father were always fair. They just expected me to work for everything I wanted. I wanted this really nice e $200 bike when I was a kid and I had to get a job and save for it. I got it. They taught me the value of working. I have a strong work ethic because of them. They always supported my arts whether it was their taste or not.

My mother had some simple rules of what she expected of me. She didn’t care what kind of job I had as long as it was legal and I worked. She never cared how I dressed or how I wore my hair etc as long as I was clean and so were my clothes They both expected me to pay my own way and only come to them in emergencies I’ve only been to them a couple of times in over 20 years for money.

In general, I have always had a job since I was 13 with the exceptions of the end of my major fight with addiction in 1991 and I collected unemployment once in 1995 but still paid my way.

Since the first time I got sober in 1991 we have slowly grown to respect each other. Yes. I earned her respect. They approved over all of my life for a change. This lasted to this day. Well, maybe the last month or so. I moved in with her and my father Feb/ March 2009 to help take care of my father who was sick and apparently dying (I didn’t know this when I moved in). He died in June 2009. I was happy I helped and got to know him. My mother and I had great relationship until recently.

When I first lost my job she was tolerant for the first month knowing that I was wrapping up my novel etc. The second month she grew tired of having me around all of the time and not looking for a full time job, part time job or seeing about unemployment paying for an education. I made the mistake of declaring that I wanted to be a drug and alcohol counselor. Not just to her but to myself and the rest of the world. I regret it. I found a rehab that will hire you if you are 2 years sober and they will train you and put you through school to get your certification needed to be a counselor. I called about the job but I won’t have 2 years sober until October.

Ha. Everyone told me that I should have lied. Even my righteous mother who would never lie herself. In her opinion my 16 previous years of sobriety should count toward it. It doesn’t work like that. If anything it tells the employer that I am capable of relapse at anytime.

It’s not that I don’t want to work or go to school. I am just extremely involved in my creative productions. I am taking advantage of having money in the bank and the little amount of money I get from unemployment. I am following my dream but my mother keeps pulling me into reality on a daily basis. I guess it’s good but it makes me feel horrible about myself.

I don’t want to go back to waiting tables. I hated it. I was in telemarketing before that for 10 years. I hated it. I have a college degree without experience at the age of 43. I am an artist. A writer. I just published my first official novel and I’m not excited because my mommy doesn’t care. She wants me to get a job or go to school for my certification. I want to ride this out and make money at writing. I guess being a counselor is something I want to do as a fall back giving me the means to pay my bill while I pursue my dreams. I will never stop pursuing my dreams.

Mom understands this but she is acting too much like a mother and not the kind I need right now. I am anxious and irritated just being around her. I don’t like feeling like a directionless little kid with his mommy telling him what to do. I am a man. I know what I want and I strive for it on a daily basis. I am an artist. I don’t want to wait until I’m in my late 60’s or 70’s to like my parents did to flourish at my art. My time is now and I can do this.

Is it right to go through the motions just to shut my mother up? I wonder if I should confront her. If I get a job I know we will live more peacefully. I am going through the motions for now.

I need to take care of me and not worry about what mommy thinks. Like I said, I am a big boy now and I feel I am making some great decisions. Some bad ones too but I am involved in creating and promoting. One day, it will all comet through if I keep on pushing.

Even mothers with the most common sense, intelligence and good intentions can be wrong sometimes. I have to drop her off of her pedestal and let her know here I am at.


%d bloggers like this: