A Dream I Had- Charlie Sheen, Hooters and My Ex

May 27, 2012

 

I woke up in an episode of Charlie Sheen’s new television show for some reason. I was dumped off or fell into it. I felt beaten up and dirty. I watched how they referenced 2 and a Half Men and even got the characters to appear and wondered how they got the rights to do that. The set looked funny and sparse.

I ended up at the exit of a Hooters restaurant and I was counting my Hooters’ t-shirts someone gave me. I started talking to one of the waitresses about her bad tips because they worked near a casino and there were too many older people at they’re establishment. I watched her collect dollar and coin tips and felt bad. Then a group of teenagers drove by and threw more coins at the waitress walking me outside the restaurant. They were customers being assholes. I asked the girl if there were any bars near by to pick up take out. She pointed out several and I spotted a liquor store and realized it was earlier in the day than I thought it was. I checked my pockets for money as I walked towards thee illuminating lights of the store that sold liquor. I had enough to get drunk and that was ok with me as I tried to figure out where I was and how I got there.

 

On my way to pick up some beer and whiskey I checked my voicemails on my cell phone. It was Rebecca my first true love of my youth. The first one I planned to marry. It was a weird message to me. Apparently we were still a couple or a couple again. She was angry and forgiving for something I had just did which explained my abandonment in this town wherever I was. She wanted to remind me about November. I had no idea what she was talking about but happy she wasn’t mad about whatever I did that day or the day before. I forgot about buying the booze and woke up.

 

Winning.


Time Travel is Not My Primary Concern Chief – THE POEM

February 21, 2012

Sickness of my psyche

Rapes my body furiously

Like a grape devouring a sunset

Exhausting my entire vessel

I am vacant and wearied

 

I run in slow motion to

The food truck of love

Careful to avoid every crack along the way

To avoid herniating my dead mother’s discs

 

Hopscotching the bricks of the city with

Carmelita as she flirts and leads me on and over to

Successive numbered city blocks until she has

Vanished permanently from my sight

I move on lost in the darkly lit city

Lost in my contemplations

 

I find my filthy white car and

I try to drive it around as people cheer me on

I leave them behind and fall asleep at the wheel

 

I wake up in my motel room and I try to wake up

And pack a weeks worth of belongings into my

Two suitcases

Panic fills my essence

 

Relief arrives in the form of Carmelita the motel maid

In my room with the manager telling me to take me time

He lifts her skirt to reveal her big pantyhose covered ass

They tell me to help them and I can stay for free

Arousal versus my need to flee

 

The sickness of my psyche


The Son of the Cockroach Lady

February 1, 2012

Caterpillar stairway leads me to the basement so I can hide from the monsters called reality. Comfort in the dark corner with worn warped plywood Grandpop set up as my office years ago complete with a make shift desk to draw on and read comic books. 1002 Niagara Rd. The invisible dog Grandpop warned me about never came to me. Was he teasing or crazy? I’ll never know. I liked it there hiding from hippies of my dreams that were going to hurt me somehow. My dreams, visions and creativity flourished, as an 8-year-old’s should.

It was much less scary than the House on Haunted Hill, The House by the Cemetery, The House by the park, The Last House on the Left, The Last House on a Dead End Street, The House that Jack Built and my former house on Monitor rd where I lived with my paranoid schizophrenic mother. The House of Cockroaches. The neighbors called her cockroach lady. I was the Son of the Cockroach Lady.

It was (is) a small part of Camden NJ. A village they called it. Fairview Village. Nice enough to my childhood nightmarish recollections. It was a big wonderland filled with talking gray trees, shimmering golden green grass, and dirty shirtless white kids that called my name and eventually called me names.

Daddy gone, mommy in crazy hospital, I moved on Niagara Rd with Grandmom and Grandpop. I got fat and didn’t like school. Too many children. Too many rules. Too many teachers. I made fun of myself after being made fun of for being fat. I wore pants that were labeled Husky. Kids called me Husky. I went to the basement or sat in front of the TV and I would draw and draw and draw.

The neighborhood worsened as I got older. I got worse as the neighborhood got older. I escaped when I was 11-years-old.

Now I am back. I feel more afraid than I did as child. I took a walk yesterday to see the 2 houses I lived in and they were different, smaller, odd. The entire neighborhood shrunk in size, grew in population and crime. I was almost the scared scarred little white boy being stared at and made fun of once again. I wore levis instead of Huskys.

Monitor Road House -in the middle


Dreams Can be Fun and Not

January 28, 2012

My dreams are my only real social life these days. Sometimes the dreams are great. I have jobs, friends, girlfriends and sometimes pure happiness. Tonight or last night or morning depending on when I finish writing this was a doozy of night of bad dreams.

I woke up and had a dream that went bad but it was social. On a vacation or a trip or something with my girlfriend (it was my ex-girlfriend who was now my girlfriend for some reason but I accepted it). We did a lot of hiking and lugging clothes to a remote house or cabin in the woods. I remember suites and dresses on hangers and we made it in the cabin to meet up with families we knew and children running around. I had a bad feeling but my girlfriend was feeling fine. We hung out for a while and then it became a scene out of The Hills Have Eyes, the remake not the original. It was like some kind of horror movie with savages or cannibals suddenly attacking.

I tried to protect my girlfriend and the children but I was so afraid when suddenly these men that looked like huge skeletons. Some had dark black skin and others had albino skin. Every time they came to attack us the children would rat something and they would back off like Frankenstein’s monster from fire. It was a beautiful chant I wish I could remember. Instead of attacking us they stole our belongings. Most of them. I saw some of my suits left trashed along with my girlfriend’s dresses. She clung to my arm and asked if we could leave and I obliged. Her friend came up to us as we were in the clear and near the car. He said we have to leave because of Laura. I had no idea who Laura was. I woke up.

I fell back asleep and ended up in a house with guys I knew in my dream but not in real life. They were drug dealers. Big white bald guys that reminded me of skinheads. I was hanging out with skinhead drug dealers that could kick my ass and I felt very comfortable. I wasn’t doing drugs or anything I was just talking and watching television. A couple of times the police came in and couldn’t find anything. The second time they came in I went up stairs and showed them a small throw rug in my hand and opened it up innocently to show them I wasn’t carrying anything. I accidentally covered for my “friend” who was holding crack, cocaine and heroin. He showed me once we got upstairs. I remember thinking he only sold weed because that’s what I bought from him. He disappeared into another room and I found some cats to play with.

I wandered back downstairs when I heard the police leave. There were several guys hanging out and they were different then the previous guys yet looked the same. I tried walking out and back in different entrances to see if they would change. I finally gave up and walked outside and the sun was out and I was just below the street standing on stairs. I looked up and saw what looked like prostitutes above me. They started pulling fishing lines with baggies of crack up the stairs to sell. There were so many being pulled they were hitting my face and went in  my mouth. I kept a little in my mouth and put the rest in my hand and wandered down the stairs trying to figure out how I was going to smoke the remaining rocks oblivious to my surroundings. I woke up.

I sat and reflected and started to fantasize about doing crack and it wasn’t good. I thought of my heart and the dangerous places I’d have to go to get it. I prayed and went back to sleep.

I had several other dreams through the night that woke me up but can’t remember. I finally woke up at 5 am for the day in a good mood despite the bad dreams and the fact I was awake 2 and half hours before the alarm was set. I felt better than I have for this entire week. Odd. My low energy depressive week passed and I feel up and ready to go. I’ll probably take a nap later.


Row Home Prison

January 10, 2012

I had a dream

Not like Martin Luther King Jr

Probably not

A nightmare

Did Dr King have nightmares?

I do

Not often that I recall

 

Incisive nightmares

I am a prisoner for a crime I never committed

Imprisoned in jails, institutions, and basements

I was a prisoner in a house

The house in Camden I grew up in

Didn’t grow up but lived there

Only access to the house next door where my cat, Betty

Was held prisoner also

 

I knew I would get out

I was innocent yet I felt guilty

Depressed and optimistic

My adopted mother was a prison guard of sorts

Not listening to me

Judging me

She always thought I was guilty

When other mothers said “not my son or daughter”

My mother would say “It was probably my son”

 

I was afraid and confident amongst fellow inmates

I knew from elementary school

From high school

From college

From the internet

And you were in the next cell

Laughing madly

 

I snuck next door in my Camden row home prison to

Visit Betty

She was happy to see me but afraid of getting caught

She gave me a kiss and hid under a bush

I was happy she was alive

My only love in this world had returned

I snuck into the house to find my valuables hidden in the basement

In a crawlspace

Rotted books, records, art and clothes

I held up a t-shirt covered in rusted buttons

For some reason I felt that I was being held against my will

As a result of my books, records, art and t-shirts

Contraband in some minds that lack freethinking

 

I woke up in the prison of my cozy bed

Sweating

Relieved

Until I looked out the window and the view

To the outside was the same

 

NOTE: HOURS OF VISITATION ARE FROM 12 PM TO 8PM WEEKDAYS AND 8 AM TO 10 PM ON WEEKENDS

 

Please drop by and bring cigarettes to trade for food


Trigeminal Neuralgia Again

January 14, 2011

“Trigeminal Neuralgia (TN), tic douloureux (also known as prosopalgia, the Suicide Disease or Fothergill’s disease) is a neuropathic disorder characterized by episodes of intense pain in the face, originating from the trigeminal nerve. One, two, or all three branches of the nerve may be affected. It is, “one of the most painful conditions known to humans, yet remains an enigma to many health professionals.”

 

This pain may be felt in the ear, eye, lips, nose, scalp, forehead, cheeks, teeth, and/or jaw and side of the face; some patients also experience pain in their left index finger. Trigeminal neuralgia (TN) is not easily controlled and there is no cure. It is estimated that 1 in 15,000 people suffer from trigeminal neuralgia, although the actual figure may be significantly higher due to frequent misdiagnosis. In a majority of cases, TN symptoms begin appearing after the age of 50, although there have been cases with patients being as young as three years of age. It is more common in females than males.”  Wikipedia

 

No. This isn’t a journalistic article about Trigeminal Neuralgia (TM). Not that I’m a journalist either. I just wanted to present you with a decent definition and understanding of yet another condition of which I suffer.

 

Those of you that don’t know me or know me well enough I have suffered TM on and off for almost 10 years. I was officially diagnosed 4 years ago. I used to do telemarketing for a living. Not only did I do the world’s most hated job I loved it and was the best. Then the TM hit me in the ear first. I thought it was massive earaches or an ear infection and of course never went to a doctor to confirm it. I eventually quit telemarketing as a result. I thought it was burn out So the pain went away for years.

 

It started to come back in 2005. Every day it got a little worse. The pain was the worst pain known to Rich. The shooting pain through the side of my face was excruciating. I kept popping any pain reliever I could find. I found this powdered aspirin that you put under your tongue and kept eating it. Nothing was taking the pain away. I couldn’t stand still. One night I went out side for a walk in my pajamas to try and walk it off. The police stopped me because I looked like a crazy man in his pajamas pacing the streets.

 

I couldn’t take it anymore and drove off to the emergency room. They took me in pretty fast but it was 4 or 5 am. The Doctor diagnosed me with TM that morning and gave me a prescription for Percocet and told me to see my family doctor. I sped off to the nearest all night pharmacy and waited. I grabbed the prescription and practically ate the pills. They finally kicked in around 6 am. My girlfriend got up at 7 and I told her. She feared for me taking the pain pills and this was the first of many fights about it. I was over 14 years soer at the time I took the pills as directed.

 

My family Doctor prescribed an anti-seizure medication and more pain killers. I took them as directed and spent the next couple of years taking both as directed. The TM came and went then came and went again. It’s unpredictable. Some people suffer every day and sometimes a person can go 10 -20 years or the rest of their lives without pain. Not me.

 

This went on and off until finally the line was unclear as to whether I had relapsed or not in 2008. I was also on meds for my other conditions and I was a walking zombie for a bit. My thinking was screwed up and I made the relapse official in 2008 by drinking. I lost my 16 years sober and came right back. I withdrew from the meds and haven’t had any TM pain to the extreme since October 2008. That is until today.

 

I was hoping that it would never come back. I ran out of my anti-seizure medication the other day and forgot to refill it. I started feeling it this afternoon and I was freaking. When I grabbed the pill bottle I noticed that I had no refills left. So I called my Doctor and asked the nurse to have him call in prescription. She said he would. The pain started getting worse and I was debating calling him back to get pain pills. I was afraid I might end up going to the hospital if I didn’t. I can’t afford that.  I called a bunch of my recovering friends for advice on it and no one was around. I finally got some one to answer and I explained my situation. He said I should get them from the Doctor and take them as prescribed. I went to call for the pain pills and the office was closed. I called the pharmacy to see if my prescription was ready. The doctor never called it in. The pain kept coming and going all afternoon and night. I took. Alieve then went to the drug store and got Excedrin migraine. It kept coming back.

 

I found a pill I had that is for migraines I got as a sample last year when I was having recurring headaches. I took over the counter back pain pills. I’m so loaded up on over the counter medications I’m dizzy and the pain comes and it goes. Just when I get distracted it comes back. I can’t think about anything but the pain then my anxiety flairs up and it makes it worse. Staying completely still seems to work for a bit.

 

Hopefully, I can wait until tomorrow and call the Doctor. I want to avoid the hospital.

 

The irony of it all is that I am supposed to start a new job this coming Tuesday and it’s phone collections. I can use the other ear but it still could be triggered. I’m going to work anyway you look at it. I’m going to deal with the pain one minute at a time. I know people that have I much worse than I do with TM and I admire their perseverance. They fight and try to live life one day and one moment at a time.


A Christmas Carol Story

December 24, 2010

I’ve been uninspired to write a “holiday” blog today so I am posting something I wrote in 2008.

 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL STORY

 

“Bah Humbug.” I mumbled under my breath to a customer at work the other day when she wished me a Merry Christmas.

 

That’s the way I felt. Bah fucking humbug.

 

I just got dumped a little under a week ago by the latest love of my life, Carol. A had high hopes this Christmas with her. I wanted to be the guy that made her happy this year. Fill her floor under her tree with expensive gifts and fill her empty stocking with even more. Share our hopes, and goals and have the best Christmas ever for both of us.

 

Bah Humbug. Fuck Christmas. I’ve had enough miserable ones to know better. This one will be the same. Crying all alone in front of my computer lonely longing and hoping that there is some fellow suffering soul on the internet to comfort me. That’s how I spent last year.

 

I went to bed last night with that gnawing in my stomach, my head filled with conversation I just I had with Carol and disappointment and hurt in my heart. I’m not sure how long it took me to go to sleep but I think I did for a little bit or I was hallucinating.

 

I heard a knock on the door. I thought it was either my pill filled neighbor or a drunk Patrick once again. I was wrong.

 

I opened the door to see a giant fat man with a full brown beard and long brown hair wearing a snug green dress with motor cycle boots. He looked like me with a beard in drag. An older fatter hairier version of me. He had a chain wrapped around his waist that he dragged into my apartment.

 

“I am the Ghost of Girlfriend past.” he said in a low transvestite type voice of a man trying to sound like a woman as he grabbed my hand and took me into my bedroom.

 

My bedroom had changed. For one thing it was clean and organized for the first time since Belle moved out. It looked exactly the same as it once did when Belle and I were happy together. There were two figures in the bed. I was freaked out. What happened to my room and who were these people in my bed? I thought of the scene in Back To The Future 2 when Marty went back in his house and there was a little black girl in his bed. I knew this was a dream. Right?

 

“This is what it was.” he said.

 

I looked at the couple spooning on the bed and realized that it was me and Belle. I was smiling. So was she. We were happy. I vaguely remembered us being happy.

 

“This is what you left.” he said to me.

 

I did. I dumped her for another. I dumped her out of my craziness. I dumped her when we had so much potential.

 

The fat transvestite waved his hand in front of my face and my head went into a fast montage of happy times I had with Belle. It was the way I’ve heard people with near death experiences describe their life flashing in front of their eyes. Trips to art exhibits, movies, dinners, just laying in bed talking. All the things that Belle and I did together. I felt her. I smelled her. I loved her. I smiled then cried. This was just a dream, right?

 

“Follow me.” the Ghost of Girlfriend Past said as he walked into my living room.

 

The living room looked the same maybe even messier with two people on my couch having sex. It was Carol and I on the long couch. The smiles on our faces were huge. I watched us finish and cuddle afterwards. We were happy.

 

He waved his plump hairy hand in front of my face and another montage flashed before my eyes. Watching movies. Not watching movies. Dinners. Carol and I having long talks on her couch and my couch about life and our future together. Sex on her couch, my couch, our beds. The cuddling. The affection. The look in her eyes when she looked at me and the way it made me feel. Those beautiful eyes. Ahh. Carol. She felt like my first love. As if no other existed. I felt everything all over again at that moment.

 

“Would you like a quicky big guy?” the Ghost of Girlfriend Past broke the spell.

 

I woke up back in my messy room with the covers half on and half off like I always do. I sat up and lit a cigarette and took a piss. I didn’t want to go back to bed after that nightmare.

 

Tap. Tap. Tap. I heard a tapping on the bathroom window that is above the bathtub. It scared the shit out of me. I tried to ignore it and go back to bed. It kept getting louder and more intense. I pulled the covers over my head.

 

I thought of Edgar Allan Poe for some reason.

 

As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my bathroom window. “Tis some visitor,”I muttered “tapping at my bathroom window- Only this, and nothing more.”

 

I got up and went towards the bathroom. The tapping kept coming. I had no idea what to expect. A murderer perhaps? A robber? A bird? I stood in the bathtub and opened the window and it was a small Asian girl on her tippy toes smiling.

 

“Come outside.” she whispered .

 

“What? Who are you?” I asked.

 

“I am Ghost of Girlfriend present. Come outside.”

 

This had to be a dream so I had no problem meeting her outside. She was so small and wore a dress that seemed to best fit a hooker. Tight fitting sequin short dress. She stood there bare foot holding a tiny torch with her tiny left hand.

 

“Look upon me” she said as she grabbed my left hand with her right and we took off into the dark sky. This is what it’s like to fly, I thought. She pointed the torch in each direction we moved.

 

I watched as we flew towards the town of my ex-girlfriend, Jesse in New Jersey. We flew towards her house and landed outside the window.

 

“What am I doing here Ghost? Why have you lead me here?” I asked

 

“Just look inside”

 

I peeked inside her window the way I did when we used to play “peeping Tom” way back when except this time I kept my pants on and she didn’t know that I was looking. Jesse appeared at the window and looked right through me her eyes filled with tears. I was invisible to her. I saw and felt her pain. I wanted to reach out and touch her. Comfort her in some way.

 

“She has been rejected once again just like when you rejected her.” the ghost said to me.

 

I looked at her large greenish brown eyes and started to cry feeling her pain and my own guilt for leaving her.

 

The ghost took me to Pennsylvania next to check up on Belle. As we got close to her house I started to get anxious. I’d never seen her place before. It was a shitty looking apartment in a broken down house. I hyperventilated as we walked right through the door without even opening it to find Belle on her couch painting a landscape in front of the Television. I wasn’t phased that I could walk through doors especially after we were flying. Her place was decorated similarly to the way my apartment was when we lived together except she had more photographs of me of everywhere. Everywhere. Tears filled her wide brown eyes as she took a break from her painting to reflect. It was just as sad of a sigh as seeing Jesse.

 

“Why here?” I asked.

 

“Another heart you broke. She still can’t get over you.” the ghost of girlfriend present said.

 

*poof*

 

We vanished from Belle’s and reappeared in Carol’s house. She was on the phone.

 

“I still really love him. He just wasn’t what I was looking for. He’s a great guy but he wouldn’t have been able to take care of me. He couldn’t fill my needs. I’m tired of settling for guys that won’t be able to take care of my needs and I’m tired of losing incredible friendships because the relationship ends. I want so bad to be his friend and keep the good stuff that we had but I’m afraid he will always want more or not want to be friends with me. ” Carol said on the phone. Her eyes teared slightly.

 

“He makes me happy.” she continued. “I don’t want to get emotionally tangled up with someone that I know I don’t have a future with again. Too bad we can’t still have sex. Ha ha ha” she laughed.

 

“This is your girlfriend present. Or your ex-girlfriend present. This is how she feels and what she wants.” the ghost said.

 

Somehow, hearing her say that she loves me took away the hurt I was feeling. Knowing that she wants me makes me feel better. Hmmm.

 

“You want a happy ending now, Joe?” the hot Asian Ghost of Girlfriend Present asked.

 

“Uh. Well. . . ”

 

I awoke again in my bed. My snoring woke me up this time. I thought about how my snoring really bothered Carol. I looked at the clock and it was 4 am. Am I ever going to get to sleep for the rest of the night? I went to the kitchen and put on the hot water to make some Sleepy Time Tea. Yes, I drink the stuff. It actually works on occasion. I lit another cigarette and sat on the couch. I heard coughing in the dark.

 

I turned on the light and the gagging voice got louder.

 

“Turn off the light. Ah heh. .” the voice cleared her throat. And coughed again

 

I was onto it now. I was onto the tricks of these reappearing ghosts. I turned off the light.

 

“You must be the ghost of Christmas Future. Hi, I’m Rich Hillen Jr.” I said sarcastically.

 

“I know who you are.” said the ghost.

 

I looked close in the darkness and tried to see what she looked like. My eyes were still adjusting but I could swear she looked like Joanna Angel the porn star of such classics as XXXorcist and Re-Penetrator from Burning Angel Video. She was dressed in only black panties and a black bra with black heels. Now I know this is a dream. Right?

 

“Are you . . .?”

 

“Joanna Angel? Yes. This is my part time gig. When I’m not doing anal on film or making appearances at local porno shops I am the Ghost of Girlfriend Future.” she said.

 

This ghost thing is pretty cool. I thought to myself. Yeah, I was real confused as to what message I was getting out of all of this but I got to hang out with a Fat hairy transvestite, an Asian prostitute and a porn star.

 

“Where to now?” I asked.

 

Follow me. We walked outside to a black Lincoln Town car stretch Limousine. I climbed in the back seat with her.

 

“Driver. Take us to the Future of what might have been.” she ordered the driver.

 

The limousine speed off into the night and I got nauseous as we screeched to a halt in front of a mansion. The Mail box read “Hillen Family”.

 

“This is what might have been if you stayed with Carol.”

 

I followed my hot ghost trying not to stare at her firm ass and long legs into the mansion. Her heels clicked the way.

 

There I was. A seventy year old Rich in a wheelchair on a respirator reading comic books when a 58 year old Carol came in screaming. I was bald and wrinkled and over weight. She was still beautiful from the plastic surgery and hair dye but she was really fat.

 

“You just couldn’t accept the break up 30 years ago, could you? You had to guilt me into staying with you having the stupid performance art wedding and having kids that turned out to be fat depressed losers. I wish I never met you, Rich Hillen Jr. I wish you were dead! ” the future Carol screamed.

 

“This is what would have happened if you and Carol had a future together. You thought by making millions of dollars you could make Carol happy. She stayed with you out of guilt after you were crippled in a car accident when you were showing off how fast your completely restored 1982 Delorean could go not long after your first child was born. Your kids grow up with no ambition. No personality. No artistic interest or political interest which disappointed both you and Carol. ” The Ghost of Girlfriend Future said.

 

“Damn. That’s fucked up. Is there more?” I asked.

 

“Just one more thing.” the Ghost of Girlfriend Future porno star kissed me deep with tongue. “Do you want some . . .?”

 

My alarm went off and woke me up. I was exhausted. I could barely get out of bed. Did that really happen? The dreams seemed so real. I’ve never had dreams that picked up where the other one left off before. I made coffee and smoked a bunch of cigarettes while I tired to shake the dreams out of my head. It was just a dream? Right? Either way, what am I supposed to learn from all of this?

 

Well, I have gratitude for what I’ve had. I’ve had some great relationships with some great memories. I’m lucky to have loved and lost than .blah blah blah . . .you know the rest. Although, I’ve caused sadness to some of my ex-girlfriends I managed to leave Carol with some good memories and mutual respect. My visits to the past present and future helped me see this.

 

Through all the pain I feel about Carol dumping me, she was right and we wouldn’t have worked out. I now know that she loves me and loved what we had. That makes me feel good despite the feeling of loss. Loss. I didn’t lose. I gained a friend. Maybe we should still get together for Christmas. Merry Christmas Carol.

 

But I sure do wish I remembered if I did anything sexual with the transvestite, the Asian hooker and the porno star. Maybe they’ll come back as Ghosts of Employers tomorrow night.

 


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