Archive for the ‘Tall Tales’ Category

Heart of Darkness II

Tuesday, September 11th, 2012

f-life mother f-er’s

In twenty-four hours I had been sick and sicker then I have ever been in a long time. The aches, pains and sweating were the easy part compared to the feverish nightmares. It all began with a powerful sneeze in a train station in Seacacus NJ and very slowly advanced into a lost day and a half of tangled sheets and chills. You can almost recognize the power of the brain when you witness what it does when you body is burning up in fever. Your mind is a movie house of horrors. The movie replaying over and over again. As you sit in your seat gripping the armrests with horror, you know it will all end but you think that if it doesn’t you can fully understand why people would commit suicide.
As the cool wind blows and yesterdays news tumbles to your feet, you can wipe your brow for the last time. But the snots are still like a river. It is a human metamorphous to emerge from the sheets one morning. You have survived and hope to never go there again.

My eldest son’s holy trinity: Red Bull, Hot Wings and Heavy Metal.

To the philanthropist: Your tongue is mightier then the sword. You’re killing me.

— Oh Mrs. Mc H —Wherever you go … there you are.

Anthony wasn’t a close friend of mine, as a matter of fact I hardly knew him. The spaces were so far apart in between our meetings that he actually forgot he had already told me his life story and would repeat himself every time we met. Anthony was certainly different then most alcoholics, perhaps there was a more severe bipolar thing going on inside his mind. When somebody takes their own life you can’t help but wonder what was going on inside their head leading up to that moment that they find themselves alone and make such a decision as Anthony did. One night shortly after his huge funeral, I was sitting in a hot tub with some other people that knew him when I was asked, “What’s your take on Anthony?” And I was speechless. I couldn’t put it together yet. It was too early. I was really shocked. Death has always fascinated me, scared me, and captured my thoughts. I finally came to the conclusion that Anthony’s brain had succumbed to damage from his drinking. The last time I saw him he seemed really out of it almost like he was mentally ill. I also think that the period when he told everyone he was sober, he wasn’t. I believe he had a a thing that chronic drinkers get called wet brain syndrome When this happens it is irreversible and that’s pretty much the end of the show. I also don’t think it helped Anthony’s cause that he was rejected and verbally battered for many years by his girlfriends family. That’ll take a toll on even the soberest man in the world. People are people. Some are sicker then others. There is no room for ignorance of this proportion in the world. You don’t hate and reject human beings. You pray for them and try to help them. Too late ignorant people, too late.

The right way to end a story.
After the sunsets and the longest hottest Summer EVER is finally over, the actors and actresses will realize that everyone had already left a long time ago. The writers will smack the sides of their head and realize that their writers block had never ended. This was the Summer of nothing. A dried up ocean of desert sand with no waves and a sun hotter then a preheated oven in hell. A vegetable garden that, to me, produced weird stuff. A drought of happiness that led into a deep depression. I’m still waiting for the day when I will wake up refreshed.

The Blues
Today has been cancelled. I can’t listen to people anymore. My coworkers speak Spanish, struggle in English, dance to latino music while they work. Read my lips when I speak to them from the managerial pedestal. They understand me, but I am slow to learn. At home it’s a different language and I am lost in Polish. English is just not part of my normal day but I love it, it’s an adventure in listening and learning. I’m so confused.
Working on this blog is a unique kind of torture. The only safe place is within.

The Blues have been strangling me lately.

im waking up opposite from you upside down
so far apart and the faint smell of sex in the 6am morning sun
(so it must be summer but what day
? ahhhh, wednesday so i will go to work but even my snoring again
must have flipped you around and I face your feet
CLIMBING over you and knocking over plastic fan again
creaking toward now simmering heat this way too long
summer of moths, the olympics and unending heat
THIS is about when the now negative chemistry
deep blue almost black neon lights at night flickering
with my emotions these empty rooms and old carpets in my head

IT USED TO BE every day was magical but then something happens
the endless grind of living maybe. the never-ending sucking leach (more about this leach in a later episode)
on a part of your unreachable back. a bubbling of bad chemicals in the brain

TRULY A TOTAL LOSS of gratitude, faith, and money Taking restless
naps in the hot car Tossing and turning like empty trees in winter
shaking off the fuck-it-all-blues.

“Happy Horseshit” somewhere in this mixed media day I heard this forgotten expression and it has since become my new battle cry.
The bad thing about Barnes & Noble the bookstore/cafe is that it’s not a library and you can’t “shhhhh” people on the phone or tell them to “shut the hell up, I don’t care about your happy horseshit!”
To all my unlovable political IDIOTS burying my social media world in all your CRAP: Solutions, not signatures and if you think spoon-fed Rommney is gonna do better you have mashed potatoes for brains. Nobody is EVER gonna be a good president of the United States again. It was allot simpler in the 1800’s and up to the turn of the century. There were less people living here and most of them that did, GREW THEIR OWN FOOD and slaughtered their own meat. Life was FRESH and SIMPLE with no fucking preservatives. Why do you think the health care issue is what it it is today (Besides GREED) we have all these diseases, heart disease, cancer etc etc and including autism because man insists on screwing around with nature! Stop putting shit in our food and the cows food you dumb bastards, You are what you eat. Health Care is what it is because even with a successful surgery PEOPLE ARE STILL SUEING! Authorities are still catching people and groups of people stealing from the health care system. MONEY has become god in this stupid country. Everyone has to have a big fancy car because they watch too much blaring TV with commercials that tell you what you have to have. And most dumb asses BELIEVE that happiness comes to us through television and movies. Most dumb asses will steal, kill and go into tremendous debt to obtain that TV- driven message.
When we lived in log cabins that we built with our neighbors and grew food with our VERY OWN mud-caked hands and sat around a fire with our family, it was because THERE WAS NO TV. There were also no mortgages, no crazy insane diseases, and we didn’t need pills for everything. When life was REAL, you fell asleep naturally because you were so damn tired from plowing the field or your wife.
I found out recently that it’s illegal to keep chickens in your yard where I live. What a bunch of HAPPY HORSESHIT !!

Nobody Understands Why I Sit Next To These Churning Rivers Of Ideas
The past has it’s place, I agree. I shouldn’t dwell in it but it’s so freaking cool I just can’t stand it! Beam me up Scotty, there is nothing better then a well made movie about time travel. The latest one for me just happens to be Woodey “the genuis” Allens fantastic film, “Midnite In Paris” ONCE I was in an antique store somewhere in the hills of Pennsylvania with some hip chick wearing a swirly hippy dress and I found a big old wooden box. Not that the box was so damn cool but it was filled with old postcards…not that the postcards were so damn old and cool BUT they were USED. There were handwritten messages, address, stamps and lipstick kisses from the past. I was so enthralled with this, that I spent an hour in front of them. My swirly-girlie-hippy chick had to finally drag me out of that place so that we could dig into so Tai Food at some freaky Indian place on the side of the Hudson river.
Now, over lunch, and the smell of searing tuna, I explained to my colorful friend that I needed to go back and maybe even purchase some of those “neat-O” postcards from the past. As her eyes rolled (a typical expression of ALL my female friends) I heard her say “That’s a bunch of happy horseshit that I’m not going to do. We have a steam boat to ride.”
Hippy Goils are so sweet and yummy on the outside but on the inside they are just plain old females. Sort of like M&M’s they melt in your mouth but you can get sick if you eat too many of them.

Things I Never Regret As A Father:
1. Getting divorced.
2. Getting divorced.
3. Getting divorced.

…as the only patron in Barnes and Noble does the coffee chemist behind the counter have to ask me for my name and write it on the cup?
My problem as a writer and photographer is that I’m always thinking that amazing revelations are to be found in the blandest most boring facts of daily life.
And THAT my friends is a bunch of happy horseshit. Today and hopefully not tomorrow.

We really need to get away. Nature is the deepest relief. Ocean or Forest. I don’t care which. Just show me the way. I’ll drive. I’ll pay the tolls. I’ll fill the tank.

How I Met Your…
One day boy, I tell ya, one day I’ll wake up from this unconscious stroll thru life and I’ll realize that I was a slave to money, yeah, evil moolah. You were waiting for me on the other side of the automatic doors looking fresh and pout. Your ass crack showed when you leaned over to kiss me. Yeah, you think I closed my eyes? I forgot to buy flowers but they would have died in my un-air-conditioned car from the early senventies. A Ford Pinto, a time bomb that could explode on impact. A fiery painful death for sure. The Pinto only had two front doors so you couldn’t get out if you were in the back seat and you were rear-ended. And that was why you would never understand why I never came to meet you. Why I never drove with you. I have always had nightmares of claustrophobia. I think I was suffocated or drowned in my previous life.
But there we were; In the middle of the produce aisle. Soggy broccoli being shoveled into the garbage. Parsnips freshly cut. The smell of onions and your french perfume. Organic cabbage. Small and soft. Cucumbers, like cocks lined up, I was disappointed you didn’t stop to lift them up, and feel them, squeeze them, like you are supposed to do while shopping in the produce aisle. These nuclear vegetables, they just don’t grow things the way they used to. So as they say, we lived happily ever not after, chasing vegetarian dreams and after several years, I caught you sneaking into the meat department.
That was the sunrise of our next ten thousand meals together. Holding hands and taking cracker samples until we couldn’t eat anymore. Wouldn’t you know there was a TV to watch while we checked out. You read People. The coupons saved us a fortune and I wanted to spend the extra cash on a new car with air conditioning. But you said I was too frivolous.

Please, not another post about the end of the world!

Thursday, January 26th, 2012

Yes, I know, I know, move on George! If it comes it comes but last year the end of the world was predicted and it was all over the news if anybody remembers: (from Wikapedia)
The 2011 end times prediction made by American Christian radio host Harold Camping stated that the Rapture and Judgment Day would take place on May 21, 2011,[1][2] and that the end of the world would take place five months later on October 21, 2011.[3] The Rapture, in a specific tradition of premillennial theology, is the taking up into heaven of God’s elect people. Camping, then president of the Family Radio Christian network, claimed the Bible as his source and said May 21 would be the date of the Rapture and the day of judgment “beyond the shadow of a doubt”.[4] Camping suggested that it would occur at 6 p.m. local time, with the rapture sweeping the globe time zone by time zone,[5][6] while some of his supporters claimed that around 200 million people (approximately 3% of the world’s population) would be ‘raptured’.

So yeah a bunch of garbage right? The world is still spinning round and round but was anyone paying attention at 6PM on May 21, 2011? You see, a fool like me was. I was driving through Plainfield NJ on my way to my postal box in Scotch Plains NJ and I was fully aware that it was after 6PM and it was May 21, 2011. Down this main street of what many would consider the inner-city of a typical New Jersey city.
What I first saw was the day laborers standing in lines on the sides of the streets, a typical sight actually until they all at once began looking up at the sky and some of them pointing.
Before I could turn my car around or stop to see what they were looking at, a HUGE gust of wind came out of no where and was blowing garbage and dust across the street!
Suddenly it got real dark and the wind increased to an almost gale! At this point I looked in my rear view mirror and really couldn’t believe what I saw, it was almost total darkness. Yeah, the weather is unpredictable in May and for the most part it was a pretty Spring day. I remember that because I will never ever forget this day!
I stopped my car and got out and as the wind and dirt whipped my face, I went to my backpack and pulled out my point and shoot camera that I always have on me.
What I saw will never be fully captured digitally as once again as it always is in real life: You Just HAD to be THERE! It was a huge black mass of clouds traveling at a ridicules speed. I really just couldn’t believe what I was witnessing and the knot in my stomach being totally unable to swallow was something that I will never ever forget.

Saturday May 21, 2011 6:35 PM Plainfield NJ

I guess my first thoughts were like “wow, that bastard was right” and I looked around at all the Spanish people that were witnessing the end of the world with me and they were smiling and still pointing. Maybe they were think “wow that bastard was right”, too.

If you pull up the Information on this photo, here is proof of the time (my camera was mistakenly set on AM) and date that it was taken along with the model of my camera.

– What happened after this is pretty obvious. The world didn’t end. The day laborers went home to eat and the big sweeping “rapture cloud” went away. I think that maybe I was a little disappointed, went back in my car and drove away in slight dismay. When I opened this photo, I was very disappointed and that maybe I should have taken a movie. It surely would have been more dramatic with the sound of the wind and maybe some baffled Spanish faces looking up at the sky. The next day I tried to tell a few people but just got a few rolling eyes. The photo got lost in my endless layers of digital mayhem but I had to dig it out for this.
SOMETHING did happen that day and it was more then a freak rainstorm. I searched all the local news for anything saying ANYTHING about the 8 minuets or so that me and 10 Spanish men witnessed that day. Nothing. So this event just got lost in my memory until now. Nobody would listen and nobody cared.Because I do believe in magic, the afterlife, angels, God and maybe even a little bit of rapture. Amen!

In heaven, men can smoke cigars and watch football.

Friday, November 18th, 2011

Once a long time ago in the 1960’s when things were different. Friendships and families were etched in real life, and not “on-line”. Face to face with booze, cards, cigars, cheap bars, real talk, real people and you couldn’t hide behind a monitor and a mouse. The TV broke down all the time because it had picture tubes in it. Men watched the NFL because it was a great game and not a big business nursing over-paid egos. There were REAL heros on the REAL grass playing half back for half ass salaries. There were heros circling the earth in tin cans and The Daily News had “all the news that’s fit to print” Those were the days. Lucky Filter commercials on the tube while sipping Schaffer beer…..and me and my cousins were around to remember this. To witness the love and togetherness of two families.
Since my reunion with Jaybird my memories have broken open and the things that I thought I remembered were only the tip of the iceburg. That as a very little boy I went around the living room while Jay and George drank beer from cans (that you had to open with a can opener) and I was “allowed” to take sips. And I loved it, cause it made me feel all warm and fuzzy and it had nothing to do with Y.A. Tittle throwing touchdowns against the Cleveland Browns on a mud field covered in straw.
Jay was a very tall man with a pom pom and a military uniform. His laugh was contagious and his smile endless. He loved my father and my father loved him. They journeyed into the Bronx New York together to watch The New York Football Giants play in a baseball stadium. They drank beer and laughed and celebrated life like two happily married men with children should. The economy was good, The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan and the Worlds Fair (the most famous EVER) was alive and well and only a stones throw from NJ. Gas was cheap and driving to and fro even on school and work nights was easy.
Brother-in-laws that cared for and took time to see each other whenever they could. They created a pact whether they knew it or not. That life is way too short to fight or cry or ignore. Life was good. But then like everything that is supposed to last forever……it changed. The endless happy visits to military bases suddenly cut short because fate had other plans.

Jaybird and Butch. Las Vegas November 2011. George Sr. and Jay Sr are smiling from the eerie glow of the night sky.

Turns out George Sr. died rather mysteriously and quickly and Jay followed right behind him about a year later. They left a legacy of fourteen children and two totally confused and frightened wives.
They missed everything that life had to offer after that. The cousins fell between three thousand miles and over thirty years of weddings, funerals, grandchildren, Super Bowls, vacations, sunsets, new cars, sickness, disappointment, happiness, technology, and all the extreme highs and lows that life can bring.
And one windy Fall night on the roof of a Parking lot, in the depths of Sin City’s neon glow, “The pact” was renewed. And whether they knew it or not…it all came together again….survivors, dreamers and lovers. The first time he grabbed me and hugged me…it actually shocked me(it wasn’t in front of a pool)….and when I asked him about that hug he said, “It’s just the type of person I am.”

lost weekend

Thursday, July 7th, 2011

I owe you another kiss....

After the twisted storm had passed, the tornadoes papers flying out of the grasps of the harmless clouds. The banners hanging black unswayed and unnoticed … and very alone. “We tried…” someone whispered from the bricks. It was true. Effort wasn’t the villain, sweat flew with it’s hero cape across the expansive lobby. The smiles from the purpose were beaming halfway across the dark gray sky above the swamp.
I opened the skyline (Manhattan) with a crooked can-opener on a dreary Monday morning…driving faster….faster….beyond all signs of rescue.
We owe you another kiss on the fields of the great unknowns. You were unromantic yet sexy, in your black dress with yellow trim. We followed you off a cliff of paper money. Under dark chandeliers in theaters. That small space between the curtain where you peek out. It is clear you, and everyone in the audience can not stay here, but yet, I love you.

waiting for Big Moon

Saturday, April 23rd, 2011

It was BIG alright!

When I woke up Kryha said “Those poor Japanese people” and here it was eight or so days later and we are still captivated by the news. But when it is the first thing you say when you wake up then you know it was such an intense, earth moving event that you become consumed by it….well at least I was. It is the opposite – “does – G(g)od – really – exist” – thought. What I mean by that is this: “Why them?” Aren’t the Japs supposed to humble, quiet and clean? Free of crime? Spiritual?” If G(g)od really does exist then why would he wallop them with the triple-header? Tonight was the biggest moon in eighteen years. I thought of Richard and Clara. How close their dead bodies were. How I wanted to be by them. I imagined laying down on the grass spread out. Reaching for their bones. Reaching for the life that they lived. The Trolly cars, the horse shit on main street. Chicken dinner with the Hartmann’s The woman with the beautiful big brown eyes, mother of fifteen children. Burying two little infants (I will find them one day too!) and what about all the heartache, that they experienced? It all means nothing now. They had the world on their shoulders and now they are buried in it. This hustling-bustling time bomb of a planet. I would see Joshua and Jonathan tomorrow, BUT today, a day before the Big Moon, I would visit Richard and Clara. Swiftly through the sky blue windy day. (one day before Big Moon. In German dreams and tongue, I travel through time on slow moving elephants. Into the sands of time, the hourglass of past memories, into the streets of Jersey City.
Only In America can you come home from such a busy day and pop some popcorn in the microwave oven, sit down and watch a war, live on television, and then they cut over to a nuclear disaster (they are finding trace amounts of radiation in Seattle Washington) There are people over there that have been buried underneath the rubble for a week and they are uncovering them alive. If you want to know what it is like to get swept away by a tsunami, then you should watch the first ten minuets of Clint Eastwoods (directed by) movie, The Hereafter Although, it is nothing like the first ten minuets of “Saving Private Ryan” it has the same effect. It blows your mind!

In March 2011’s photo’s I only now just noted that there is one thing similar to all the photos for that month. I took every single photo. Do you think I will ever run out of photos that make you think? Maybe when all the photos are grabbed off my laptop it may mean only three things: 1. I have run out of photos and I am desperate. 2. I am just a lazy bastard and didn’t have time to scan, clean and color correct. OR 3. I am still waiting for help from the family in the form of emails and/or snail mail scans.
In Feb 2011 photos that make you think there is a photo of one of the scariest moments in my life. In the Summer of 1975 I was sent to California to visit the Jones’. The Jones’ were our nephews and niece from our fathers side of the family. Our father had a sister named Geraldine. She married Robert “Jay” Jones. They had three children: Robert, (Jaybird) Diane and Dennis. We used to be very close with them as children (for those very few of us who can remember) Jay Jones was a professional soilder and “worked” as a soilder in south Jersey. Dad used to take us down there alot. His sister Geraldine, was a shrieking manic-depressant that yelled and cried a lot. She was a very good woman, though. She also had another child, much older than the others named David, I think out of wedlock that eventually became some kind of manager for Dads fabric store in Westfield.

"Jaybird" Jones poses with me pool-side July 1975. He reeked of reefer and mistrust.

In my Summer trip to California I met all the Jones’ for what would probably be the last time in my life. My aunt Geraldine loved to take photos but she was lousy at it.
I hated being there in California that Summer. I was told it would only be “a week or two” but it turned into the whole Summer. I wil never forget that lie. Mom drove me to Newark airport very drunk and late. The plane ride was my first and it was amazing to me. To look down at the clouds, toy cars and toy cities it is only then that you realize just how bug The United States of America is!! (2,825 miles)
I wanted to be home. Summers were magical back then. The side-street gang may have been fading, Bill Brunner may have moved away for all eternity but there was no school, no work and long hot days. Mc, Gitts, Beds, and the others were all playing baseball, football and hunting for unexploded fireworks on the streets July 5th.
In this photo Jaybird had me! His arm around my neck. Aunt Gerry ready to snap a photo and I just knew he was gonna throw me in the pool and the sound of “cheese”.
I was a very awkward fifteen year old boy. I was as skinny as a stick. I had a uncontrollable mop of yellow hair, pimples all over, I had two huge front teeth that were chipped (I didn’t smile for 18 years until I had them fixed myself) I was lost without my father, my mother was always drunk, I had zero self-confidence, I had just completed my freshman year in an all-boys Catholic High School that was an absolute nightmare, I didn’t know what was going on inside my body or outside my body. My penis had become an uncontrollable monster connected to me like an evil twin. I was confused, very lonely, young, dumb and full of ……
Jaybird never threw me in the pool but now thirty-six years later I am looking for him. On Facebook. In people searches, obituaries, web browses… I have been trying to find this part of our family for as long as the internet has been around. The biggest obstacle that I have faced is their last name: JONES. (this is the third most common name in the United States behind Brown and Williams)
The “TAG” words in this blog, I have discovered are VERY powerful. They are openly exposed (and very quickly I might add) to search engines all over. I have randomly added our cousins the Jones’ to many of the blog posts in the hopes that maybe one day they may “google” themselves and find us. So far nothing. No sign of any Jones’ anywhere. Come out, come out, where ever you are!
Why America is so Damn Fat getting fatter.
It all began about eight or nine years ago when fast food establishments ended their CASH ONLY policy and started accepting credit cards. WORSE THAN THAT, they suddenly started their “We are open LATE” routine. Not just until midnight but two or three o’clock in the morning. Have you ever driven past the drive thru of a McDonalds at ONE AM in the morning and seen seven or eight cars waiting for deep fried fat and hamburger meat on a sesame seed bun?? Is it dinner time? NO! It’s let’s have ANOTHER fat drenched meal before bedtime!!!
WHY do we CARRY ON like nothing happened?
Am I the only one that still feels a sense of dread and doom over the loss of 15,000 human beings and counting in Japan?? That there is STILL a NUCLEAR TIME BOMB on the edge of the ocean some where in the world. Life still goes on. We work. We go to school. We play. We turn on the news and Japan isn’t the headlines anymore, sometimes not even the second page. Mothers are still driving their cars, loaded with their young innocent children into lakes. People are still getting blown-up beyond recognition in third world countries, the economy is still sinking like a Western sunset into the sea…people are still killing people, with guns, their cars, bats, knives and poison. Life goes on.
Father Doesn’t Leave Family
Women Completes Rehab rejoins family to tears and hugs
Family Buys A Home
Man Donates HALF his Savings to Charity
Woman Opens Door For Crippled Woman at WalMart

How I never met Madonna

Sunday, March 6th, 2011

This is it. It has been ALMOST ten years since our wonderful mother has passed. Seems like yesterday right? As I write this it is almost exactly ten years ago that she happened upon a paper and pen and wrote what is now the very front (index) page of the family web site.Also this week it has been two years since they took me in the office in New York at Apple Digital Graphics and told me “It was nice, but it’s over.” The most I remember of that was the very blurry and surreal ten block walk to the early (at least today it was) long bus ride home. “So…here I am again. Looking for work.” and I always think of those lucky bastards that always have a way to not punch the clock, yet they make it through life. Or the other lucky bastards that put in an application for ONE job. Get it. Then work it for twenty-thirty years and retire and go home. They never have any clue of what it is like to be standing in the cold begging for a job.

A very somber photo of a woman who had a tough life.

So in those two years since my NYC layoff I’m thinking-I don’t miss that art community at all-nor do I have any faith or love for any art community for that matter. They are all self-centered selfish jerks that are so totally absorbed in their own crap and are constantly fishing for compliments. Once I went into a Barnes and Noble Book store with an “artist” (many years ago” and I was excited to look at art magazines with this person to get ideas, inspiration etc etc. But this person, you see, refused. “I don’t look at other peoples art, I’m too involved with my own.” (buzzer sound) Guess what “artist”??? wrong fucking selfish answer!! I don’t know why I am constantly measuring time. And I measure time by years. And a year is alot. Ten years since my mother died. Ten years since I got fired at Lucent Technologies, two years since the Apple Digital Graphics layoff. Almost ten years since 9/11 terrorist attack. Ten years since my divorce. In the last two years all the disastrous dates, fumbled relationships, sleeping in my car, collecting unemployment, living in the woods in upstate NY somewhere, the interviews, the “under-the-table” weedwhacking job in the ninety degree Summer days. The bouts of severe depression, staying sober through it, feeling a million years from my children. Then the art teacher and another art community and her layoff . Throwing on a dress shirt in the parking lot of the Parsippany Hilton for yet ANOTHER job interview. By now, well versed and confident (I have been in this hot seat of questions way too many times to not be nervous anymore. The English guy called me the next day (while I was working at a sign design shop in New City New York, sleeping in my car) and told me that I got the job but I already knew that by the way he was eyeing me in the interview. I’m not afraid anymore after these two years. I’ve been through so much shit that I have become a very wise man. When I met Cat, I was Dog. I was still sunburned from cutting the lawns and weedwhacking in Central New Jersey. I was late for the first date. I was sleeping in my office. I was living one day at a time. A little while after that, the British guy told me to meet him at Ruths Chris Steak House for dinner and as I was chewing on a $50 dollar steak, my boss from New York called and wanted me back. I made a fool outta myself, the phone slipping out of my hands from the garlic butter and I couldn’t turn the ring tone off. The British guy gave me a 10 grand raise and a year later after that a $5,000 dollar after Christmas bonus. For what? For becoming a total extension of this new job. For living, eating and sleeping graphics. For pretty much performing miracles of 60-70 hour work weeks. In this time I met Mike who was married to Joanna who was my girlfriends sister. She quit a nice salaried job to go back to school at the Visual Arts in NYC by special invite. Mike is an extremely talented puppet creator who sides as a Saturday Nightmares convention maker. He ran into a little trouble making puppets on ebay with some sesame street copyright infringement bullshit but now has a way around it. Joanna was handed a brand new guitar on the first day of a second semester class (with 18 others) and was told to pretty much create something from it. Based on a musician and her/his charity. So I guess most famous people with alot of money have charity’s sincere or not-basically to make them feel less guilty for being richer than God and it always works nice as a TAX WRITE-OFF. So my girlfriends EX has a job where he builds floats for parades. I never knew that could be a real job, let alone a year-round full time job. I thought the puppet making job was pretty cool but building parade floats is right up there. Meanwhile down in Florida the property that is in my name is slowly deteriorating but my very talented wood-working brothers, Grant and Gary are going to fix it up and rent it out. I have fallen behind on the taxes and the property insurance has expired. The only neighbor that lives there, Tim (the same first name as my British boss) told my crafty brothers that he caught a man with a pick-up truck trying to steal my refrigerator from the property. This is a disturbing thing, when something 2,000 miles away from you is being taken. Talk about feeling helpless. I wasn’t even sure how old the refrigerator is so I asked my brothers and they said “pretty new” so now that pissed me off. If it was really old, maybe I wouldn’t care if he took it, the fucking thieving bastard. My girlfriend creates many different kinds of art

Seven chakra jewelry

and recently sold something to someone in Belgium. Now THAT is how powerful the WEB has become. I used to love my job but now, I don’t know. It has sucked all my creative energy into a ball and thrown it away. I have been on my hands and kness looking for it. Egypt is so far away, I don’t care. Since Tim has become my boss, slowly but surely, all my crazy bills have gotten paid off. I can buy books and magazines for myself again. I go out to eat in strange nice places. I have lived in the THREE New Jerseys in my life. South. Central and now this wild jungle called North Jersey. There are alot of nice neighborhoods up here. Here, in the shadows of New York. I have found myself in strongly -knit Poish communities, waiting in line for pork and bread. Listening for hours to Polocks speaking Polish. Thinking that maybe old school Communism is gonna be ok.

Garfield, little Poland as seen from Botany Villiage

Here in Botany Village the melting pot of the north Jersey. Here in the depths of the year 2011, on a rainy cold night in the beginnig of March. In between Winter and Spring, Easter and rolling black clouds. I miss my family, I miss dancing with my brothers in my bedroom to the Grateful Dead, I miss being alone, I miss someone “liking” what I took a photo of. I miss being heard, I’m a little tired of listening, to all my employees, to my two boys, to my close friends and all their new endeavors and the exciting things going on. If I keep listening long enough I will learn another language. I could weed whack the McMansions of the rich people using no hands. If that butterfly guitar that opens from Africa ever gets into the view of Madonna, there would be a slight chance that I could meet her. We could smoke cigarettes together and sip long glasses of brandy. Joanna the designer, Merick the contractor, Mke the puppet and convention creator, Halina the nurse and Jack the float builder, Krystina the art teacher, Charles the guitar player, Anna the singer, Josh and Jonathan, my long lost dad, my mother would all be there. My mom would be writing letters, half in the bag, scribbling memories of her short life, spent one third of it pregnant, watching John Wayne movies….and sleeping in the room downstairs that used to be our garage. You will walk through life and meet all kinds of people. We all do this….and enjoy your life, with Gods help we can all be together again. (great advice mom)
_The effects of the moon-

February's full moon-2011

The House with the Knife in the Window

Wednesday, December 8th, 2010

fear is a childs greatest passion

The House with the Knife in the Window was every childs worse nightmare because once upon a forever my brother Glenn came home one day (running through the backyard one day) all excited about what he had seen (one day) We were all so very young so very innocent, so very hot in the yellow Summer sun. Glenns eyes were wider then the lies he was always known to tell as he got up on the stage (the redwood table where we hung out)on those hot Summer worthless days. We were lost in pure boredom, waiting for the fifth of July (when we walked the streets collecting unexploded fireworks) It was these unexploded fireworks that we slowly unrolled into a bowl, the sparkling gun powder, never wasting a grain. It was a preteens gold. Glenn said:
“There is a house with a knife in the window” he told us with those wide brown puppy dog eyes.
Yeah so? But it wasn’t just ANY knife. It apparently was one of those knifes that you only see in a horror movie. (a dagger) “Let’s go!” And it was time for an adventure.
This was no ordinary run down the street and go see thing, this was an ADVENTURE. Pack the wagon with essentials ( rocks, tape, sticks, chlorine tablets from the pool binoculars and a fake gas can) kinda journey.
When you are small, like we were then, three child steps equals one adult step. THEREFORE we were traveling 3x further than we really wanted to go so one mile to the house with the knife in the window was really three. Harrison avenue was a very long road in the hot sunny days of the early 1970’s.
So like the Little Rascals camping trip, the gang, our gang, the sidestreet gang trudged toward mystery, fear and perhaps …….death.
What was it about the house with the knife in the window that made us stand there and stare.
Wow. ooooohhh. Ahhhhhh. Oh my God, that surely is a big knife.
The best of my memory says that the sidestreet gang made many pilgrimages to stand and stare at that knife in the window. We wondered why it was there. We imagined the murders it had committed but most of all we looked for signs of life inside the house.
Then it happened. One day the old woman that lived there came outside in fascination at our staring at her home. We all ran. When we came back days later the knife was gone and the window was down, because after all, that was all the knife was used for; holding up an old wooden window in the hottest days of Summer.

There were many things that came flooding back to my depleted memory.

In November 2010, Photos That Make You Think, cousin James Gill came back to me like a blurry forgotten dream. It might have been the very first of many Summer visits….but now I remember the dog tags and boots, the smell of his fathers popcorn in big brown bags. Dads rosebushes were still in full (first) bloom but the weeds around them needed pulling.
You only reminded me of Sandra Bullock ten years after you gave me your last gift, a tree. The tree died in a terrible drought on my deck in the house I bought to raise a family.
And while watching Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood I finally realized all that my mother had been through. Giving painful birth ten times, cleaning up vomit and shit, the never-ending yelling and screaming. The sweat and tears. The endless cleaning and cooking. Did I think it just happened? This was your life Joan Dorothy Gill, unselfish and hard…..full of temptation, lust and heartache. Almost everyone died before you, your mother, father, husband, second daughter, two more husbands, your friends and most of your inlaws ABANDONED you when became a widow. A widow with ten children, a business, a manager with a thirst for embezzling, and you carried a yearning to escape ……. any which way that you could.
In my daily early morning Frankenstein walk to the bathroom, the creaking old wood floors, my popping prostrate, the furnaces hissing my name, I realize the beauty of another day. The shortened frozen mornings of my fiftieth Winter, all I want to do is crawl back under the blankets and stretch my legs. All I want to do is escape from the deadlines and death of working to death. This is supposed to be a magical month. When Gregory, Glenn, Gary, Grant and I were younger forty years ago (in pajamas with feet) we counted the days and then hours until Christmas. We lay in bed and sang, crazy made-up songs and Christmas Carols. From the Sears Toy Catalog “wishbook” we picked out one “big thing” and “two small things” and this was UNnegotiable.
In my chipped front teeth childhood, I dreamed of adult Christmas’ ; of sleeping late in blanket-covered beds by frosty windows. I am still afraid of change. It still happens all the time. So fast sometimes. So damn ruthless.

The death of Lima Beans

Friday, May 14th, 2010

Some upcoming New Jersey Road Trips:
Brooke will be in NJ June-18th thru 21st.
Becca will be in NJ August -14th – 21st

My sponsor called me up
“Where the fuck have you been asshole?”
“I love you too”
“No really, this ain’t no fucking game!”
“I never said it was…I just…I’ve been busy.”

Gil Mercado, 25, Paterson New Jersey comes home

The war rages on and do we really notice? Unless we have somebody over there, what does it matter? Did we win or did we lose? President Obama cleared away an old Bush law saying photos of coffins from the war were banned. So welcome home Gil Mercado! Paterson is probably one of the toughest places to live in New Jersey. It is a war zone of drugs, guns, corruption slums and sleaze. Gil was probably thinking, “Hey, what do I have to lose. I’ll join the Marines to get the hell out of this God-forsaken hell hole of a New Jersey city life. 25 is too young, my God to die for any cause.

If I lived in my car, I would be home by now.

NORTH JERSEY: My new existence? It’s pretty new to me anyway. I was born and raised in central NJ, married and had kids in south NJ (Da Shore) and somehow came back to central NJ then migrated to north NJ. New Jersey has always been broken up into three parts. They are all extremely different from each other. My experience in north NJ has been so far incredible. It is truly the melting pot OF THE WORLD Never have I seen so many different ethnic communities blended together so finely. Northern New Jersey was the site of some of the earliest European settlements in what would become the United States of America. The Industrial Revolution in America started by the founding of the northern New Jersey town of Paterson. PATERSON NJ is an amazing city. Driving through main street on any Saturday afternoon is an open-air market experience that rivals only Disney World on it’s best day. If you speak about Paterson NJ to most people they cringe at the homicide and car theft rate and will tell you that they wouldn’t be caught DEAD there! This past week marked the EIGHT YEAR anniversary of moms death. May 1st. Her mothers name was May. Has it really been that long already? Beverly will be gone TEN YEARS this August. Brenda two years. Is it official yet? Do you think that Becca has any memories of her mother at all? To me that is a tragedy that I can never comprehend. But at least she had some time with her and Brenda had known her for a short while anyway. It was only 100 years ago that it was a crap shot that the mother, child or both survived the birth process. Giving birth was just a risky medical procedure and it truly was a miracle if everything went smooth. Not everyone may know it but mom had a miscarriage in between Beverly and me.

Annual death rate per 1000 total births from maternal mortality in America (1850-1970)

In New York City there is a bar with sawdust on the floor and everything is large and made of oak.

(212) 473-9148 - 15 E 7th St, New York, NY

They serve salami sliced on a cutting board, mustard, ham sandwiches and beer. Nothing else. It is a famous bar with tons of history and bursting at the seams with character. I never cried at moms funeral. I don’t know why. I really thought I should have been balling my eyes out but I didn’t. This isn’t hard for me to say and the past is the past. Besides trying to get me back into an even keel of fellowship and meetings, my sponsor told me to get my head out of the past. (or maybe he said to get my head out of my ass, I’m not sure).

DEATH is a very hard thing to figure out. Throughout the world, death and the rituals that surround it are steeped in taboos. Death is celebrated, embraced and feared. It is the only thing that scientist here on earth or any other planet will ever NEVER totally figure out. It is that great mystery that creates such grief and or wonder. What is our connection with the other side? The third dimension of puffy white clouds, serenity and potatoe chips on the couch. Nobody could imagine heaven or hell, although allot of people claim that we are living hell here on earth. What could possibly suck the life out of something so young, so small, so cute? All the tears and grief for this little doggy and I have filled seven suitcases with guilt that I never cried at my mothers funeral (or my dads) yet, when I experienced the loss of a friend that I had known for a short time, I cried for months……and the loss wasn’t even death!!! It was just a goodbye. So what does this say about me as a human? Do I remember Mom? Of course I do. I was just thinking the other day, how she loved to cook Lima beans as a vegetable. They were almost like eating wax. So I mixed them all up in my mashed potatoes and smooshed them and guzzled them down with my grape Hawaiian Punch and yet today I miss them. Nobody cooks lima beans anymore. No restaurants. No place. No where. No body. They shouldn’t even grow them anymore. I miss lima beans (Phaseolus lunatus) but I don’t miss mom.

Everybody is always “going”:
Where are you “going”? How is it “going?” I’m “going…” Let’s get “going”
In the news: The sole survivor of a plane crash is a 9 year old Dutch boy. 103 people died including his mother, father and older brother. Thankfully, he doesn’t remember the crash. He hasn’t been told yet that he lost his family. He only said this:
“I don’t know how I got here. I just want to get going…”

There was an episode of the Little Rascals when the gang built a “fire engine” out of wood and raced it down a very steep street. Stymie was driving the back and Spanky was driving the front. The fire engine was so long that as they were going down the steep hill, the “fire engine” bent in half. Eventually the back of the “fire engine” caught up with the front of the engine. At this point Spanky the front driver yelled over to Stymie the back driver:
“Hey Stymie, where ya going????”
and Stymie replied,
“I don’t know, but I’m on MY WAY !”
That pretty much sums up life for me.

WHERE DO DOGS GO when they die? Damn it, I wish I knew! Actually, where does everything, everybody, every animal goes when they die?? It is that they just GO, that HURTS u so much. It is so final….so “never again” that the tragedy of it sometimes takes months or even NEVER to heal.

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, you found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
“It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the milk
You were thinking of the many times your hands reached down to me.
I was with you at my grave today, you tend it with such care.
I want to re-assure you, that I’m not lying there.
I walked with you towards the house as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said, “It’s me.”
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair
I tried so hard to let you know that I was standing there.
“”It’s possible for me to be so near you every day
To say to you with certainty, “I never went away.””
You sat there very quietly, then smiled; I think you knew…
In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.
The day is over… I smile and watch you yawning
And say “good-night, God bless, I’ll see you in the morning.”
And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I’ll rush across to greet you and we’ll stand, side by side.
I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out… then come home to be with me.
~Author Unknown~

Goodnight. Sleep tight.

“Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell”?

I’ll have a number 18 please

Friday, January 22nd, 2010
happy family ??

happy family ??

From the Brady Bunch and Partridge family, the Cleavers, Cunninghams and Crosbys. Are we a happy family? Are you a happy family? Is your neighbor a happy family? This Gill family photo from the side porch of Austin Street in Westfield. Aunt Carol is just a little baby, and she was the sole survivor in this Happy Family until she passed away now, almost two years ago already. My keen questions about the Happy Family to her were abruptly ended by her death.
Who Wrote Happy Family on this Photo?
Was it the Grandmother we never knew? May Gill. (it looks like a womens handwriting) Maybe it was Grandpa Fred, the Westfield police sargent and decorated hero? Naaaa. I did know him and what I knew of him was that he was a very moody, crabby man. Stern would not be the word to describe his harsh treatment of The Mighty Ten. He worked the Westfield police shift in a era of accepted police corruption, “benefits” extreme prejudice and “missing” evidence. His relationship with May was said by Carol to be very stormy. He was accused of several affairs even with a wife and three kids at home.
What Really Happened To Grandma?
She got sick. Died very suddenly at home. She was buried very quickly under Sargent Fred Gills orders without an autopsy. One week later he was with another woman and soon after that they were married.
The rumor spelled out is that he killed his wife and covered it up using his hero power to sweep it very quickly under the rug.
Rumor Number Two
Fred Gill and his daughter Carol were very close. Maybe too close and I will leave it at that.
When I talked to Carol about Austin Street and Gill family, she admitted her close ties with her dad but I never got a feeling of incest. Maybe because it was just too strange to even cross my mind.
Fred Gill was NOT laid to rest next to the mother of his only three children. Would you want to be buried next to the woman you murdered? This is why her son, our Uncle “Brother” Fred Gill is buried there.

I have to try Happy Family sometime

I have to try Happy Family sometime

October 6, 2034

Wednesday, October 7th, 2009

It seemed like every ordinary day in New Jersey. I was guiding my “car” (some phrases or words never change with time) past the empty telephone poles. I remembered the old days and laughed. I was so excited the first time I used a navigator in my car, “Wow, big technology !!”
Now twenty years after the last Beetle died in a plane crash, I press a button and the car not only navigates but steers and accelerates for me too.
Meanwhile, I’m talking to Wolfgang, my third grandchild on a chip embedded in my skull.

“Fucking Bastards!” I yell as I pull into the Sun Stop. Just because we had a week of rain they raise the price of solar energy 13 cents!

They finally abolished the “Can’t pump your own “gas” in New Jersey law” last year. So I get out of my Toyota Sun Spot 630 G and scan my fingerprint to clear my credit and begin charging my car.
There are solar panels fucking everywhere you look and I look at my reflection in the stainless steel solar pump. “Not bad for 74 years old.” While most people decided to get face lifts and hair transplants, I thought I’d grow old gracefully like any normal hippie would!

I gave my grandson, Wolfie and his girlfriend, tickets to last Sundays NY Giants vs London Fog home game and he drank too much and got into a brawl with a Brit during a late fourth quarter drive. Security grabbed him, his girlfriend and MY season ticket scan card and now I may lose the season tickets that my father and I have held since 1962. I will be begging for compassion again.
With Forty-five years sobriety, I have lost patience with my son Joshuas kids DRAMA. First Kirk wrecks the car, now this! “What the fuck?” Has anybody in this family learned anything about drinking and driving, let alone drinking???? First of all, how do you wreck a car that you don’t even really drive???

My car glides out of the Sun Stop and it quickly accelerates to 95 mph. I point my finger at the TV and start watching the news. It’s funny, I didn’t have to take a pee when I stopped, that artificial prostate fucking rocks. (Damn that expression is SO 2000 ! ) A voice in the car reminds me that I have an artery cleaning tomorrow and a teeth cleaning on Friday. Shit never ends!

I drive into a another spectacular sunset. A neondusk! Ever since that nuclear meltdown in the Middle East five years ago, the sunsets have been spectacular.