Archive for the ‘Gratitude’ Category

Hard to describe in words

Thursday, August 11th, 2016

window
You may find yourself…
One day I woke up here and the sun was spilling into our bed in what seemed to be huge buckets of yellow and orange paint. We had breakfast together and then went outside into the garden.

People come in and out of your life for a reason
I come here immersed with gratitude. I am very lucky blessed and God has been very good to me. As I look back on Gods impeccable track record a glow of thankfulness covers me like a warm blanket in my new home.
In all that was chaos is blessings. I have done some of the footwork for I have no idea where I would be today if I wasn’t sober. Most times my mind goes faster than what I can keep up with but even that is getting better. It seems like so many many years ago I walked thru the doors of a place in Piscataway NJ, fresh out of jail, jobless and confused. It was a big room on the second floor covered with windows by a railroad track. There was always cofee and sweets, there was always clouds of cigarette smoke (yes, that’s how long ago this was.) but most of all there was always meetings. The building was not dedicated to anything else but recovery. Everyday, several times a day. And during holidays it was 24/7. I am very lucky blessed to have found people to talk to and phone numbers (there were no cell phones back then but I knew where every phone booth was)

she died a Hartman

she died a Hartman

I continue to be in awe of life …. and death. If you take for granted the billions of miracles that are going on around you and within you then you can lose touch with this whole amazing thing. You were actually a very sweet person, you just got a little lost. (like we all do) I’ve lost count of how many people have just slipped away from my life just so suddenly. They are up here, swimming and struggling* to stay afloat like the rest of us and then you turn around and
they are gone.

* and some people can just float

One day, a long time ago, I woke up on this farm in Canada too.

One day, a long time ago, I woke up on this farm in Canada too.

So this past June 16 was the 45 anniversary of my fathers death. I remember him telling me about the “7 year locust” next to that funny looking tree that is (still!) in our front yard. Obviously the seven year locust only come out every seven years. The story is that he was working on the rose bushes which he loved to do and one of those huge MF’ers flew into that tree and let out one of his crazy long noise/scream/bug sound. It freaked me out but my father soothed me by saying, “Don’t worry it’s only a seven year locust. He wont hurt you.” And that’s the end of the story pretty much. It’s funny how I can have memories that long ago! Actually if you asked me what my deepest longest memory EVER was, I might think it was the 1964 Words Fair in Flushing NY.

I lost you in the butterfly tent
So basically I have obtained a Flux Capacitor on Ebay and with the help of a friend of mine from New York City, we have created a Time Traveling APP. In a nutshell, when the phone is charging I can transfer through communication lines into different periods of time. My current quest is to travel digitally to a bar in West Carteret (Mikes Bar) and transfer my image onto the TV at that bar. The date I picked is October 10, 1968. A Thursday. My father frequented this bar ofter especially on Mondays and Thursdays when the Westfiels Sewing Center was opened until 9PM>
Since my father has never seen my kids, HIS grandchildren, I plan to show photos and small movies of them projected thru this black and white TV in Mikes Bar. My only hope is that dad sees them.

I haven’t traveled into the future yet. I’m too scared.

IDGAF
Sometimes I wish I never connected this blog to the family website. Sometimes creativity is hard to understand. Many

once a long time ago I woke up on the third floor of this Victorian mansion and had just impregnated my wife at the time with my first son.

once a long time ago I woke up on the third floor of this Victorian mansion and had just impregnated my wife at the time with my first son.

people need pure logic and straight thoughts. Sorry I don’t have much of that nor does this blog feature happy butterfly clipart and borders of flowers. I can view the number of times this blog gets “hit” which is actually pretty high probably only because it’s so public. So I’m sorry I can be so deep and dark and I know my audience isn’t keeping up with me nor caring but it’s this: Writing for me is incredibly therapeutic and the creative energy it creates just knowing I have a little corner in the world to turn to is so very nice. At least there is some family tree stuff and heritage so maybe one day one of our kids or their kids might be interested in that. I seem to be the only one.

Every time I start feeling Sorry For Myself I watch The News
I used to think I knew too much about life to have optimism. I was very wrong. When I was a teenager and into my twenties I wasn’t a very good person. In fact I was a big dick. I was indeed a racist, a sexist, an egomaniac and an irresponsible punk ass hippy. I’m very sorry to all the people I hurt, especially my family.

Everything that makes you happy is going to end at some point. I have gotten over that and have diligently tried to be a better person. I used to think that letting my divorce happen was one of my biggest mistakes. One day I woke up in my car and said “what the fuck have I done?” I should be waking up with my kids and teaching them how to sheetrock a fucking house or something! How to make a living in life. How to cook. How and when to put on underarm deodorant.
Actually I don’t have the first clue of how to sheetrock a house.
And today I don’t regret the sloppy one-sided nightmare divorce one bit. I know in my heart of hearts I did the absolute best that I could…..stressing with WHAT I HAD.

I am extremely blessed with these guys. You can not put a word to parental love.

I am extremely blessed with these guys. You can not put a word to parental love.

I have been calling Uncle Billy and I did that because I had some kind of crazy resentment with him. That he “abandoned” us or something. See, I can still be an idiot. After Carol died we used to think Barb was the last elder left in the family, then we found Jerry Jones but she sadly passed away almost as soon as I found her. Our fathers brother is still here and he such a nice, intelligent man with many many memories. He was so pleasant and patient when I last spoke with him and I had a hundred questions(knowing me yes some of them were strange) He is doing very well and will soon be out of assisted care.

Westfield NJ 1919. The Westfield Sewing Center not yet here (second store from the right) I hope to time travel here some day.

Westfield NJ 1919. The Westfield Sewing Center not yet here (second store from the right) I hope to time travel here some day.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve conquered it all except death. And maybe heavy merges on Rt 46 during rush hour.
When I see people in their twenties freaking out in their car, I laugh to myself. I was like that once too. Climbing the ladder of life. Knocking people down. Building a wall around myself and possessions. Yeah, this materialistic fever fed by American TV and movies. I’m reading a book now that changes all that. After the last France truck terrorism episode… it changed me greatly and I needed to find myself again. I’ll tell you one day soon how I made out.

materialism

Tuesday, November 4th, 2014

Every year i want to make the garden bigger until there is a farm there maybe and mountains instead of the neighbors hoovering houses. Besides the white dog there will suddenly be two big cows and you will teach me how to talk to them in cow language and how to milk them without stressing them out, I will have my first drink of hot foamy milk right out of the bucket. Chickens lay eggs and have to be killed one day to be put on the grill.
So Im never happy, i was told by a hater. im extremely content with a simple humble life and my real goal in life is to fall off the grid.
Maybe like an old friend of mine, (same age, same long ago HS school), i should have two houses, one at the beach, two pick up trucks, exotic antiques, two snowmobiles, a motorcycle, three jet skies, a sloppy sex affair, a son that secretly shoots heroin and a chocolate lab named sparky. ahhh yes. this is the true american life. maybe people will like me then.

Or the guy that abandoned his life in new jersey, googled his sons name twenty years later and got the boys obituary. i always wondered where this dude went. we were so close in our teens and twenties. we dropped acid, laid on our backs in carteret park and watched very low flying 747’s fly by directly overhead to land at newark airport. he comes back from missing after several decades and turns out he was having a fucking blast. the west coast baby. the sunsets. the chicks. the open air concerts. learning and working a new trade. converted a lesbian to have sex with him and getting her pregnant and abandoning them too. never a dime of child support and then another kid- getting some random chick preggo at Burning Man Festival in nevadas black rock dessert and oh yeah the methamphetamine. it brings the best of us down to our knees empty handed holding our dripping soul in our hands. where were you when your kids needed you out having fun going to concerts that i wanted to go to fucking all the chicks that i wanted to get pregnant and all the icy cold northern crabbing jobs that i wanted in alaska and cooking and smoking meth you lucky fuck. damn you. turns out-even if you’re a fucking dick they will have a parade for you when you come home
F_tunnelBLOG
one late night this past summer, there were three of us jetting down lost highways somewhere in upstate new york. just coming back from an exercise in small theater, menopause the musical and there we were. i pulled the car over. there were no houses. no streetlights. no other cars on the road. we were sandwiched by two empty fields. i turned off the headlights. i turned off the car. i rolled down the windows. and there it was: the single most amazing moment of my summer (damn i miss summer) it was just blackness..and blazing stars. the cascade of crickets. and lightening bugs. yes the lightening bugs. hundreds flickering and i wanted to get out of the car. open the door. get out and look around and embrace the moment but i was talked out of it. (SAFETY???) and i understand that. kinda. i should have got out of the car. so now one day i will go back there before i die. whether i am alone or with someone…i will go back there and get out of the car. Only this time I will be driving the Lexus LFA Nurburgring.

truly people, how important is Consumerism and One-upsmanship when spirits of the past constantly whirl around you and moan “it means nothing you foooooool nothing. money shouldnt be your journey to happiness…” these bastards should know. been there done that they say and if you ever stop your Lexus LFA Nurburgring in the middle of nowhere just to listen to the crickets and star gaze then you will understand

in a very recent blog post i wrote of my fascination with my brothers Glenns earthly clean up. he had nothing. he had nothing and he was extremely miserable. so maybe im wrong about all this Buddhist horseshit. LIVE LIFE and go crazy. buy things. big expensive things. surround yourself with materialistic happiness. life is short. go for it. take as many vacations as you can. if you cant afford this, then charge it all on your credit cards. after all my brother Glenn lived this way with drugs. it made him happy and he couldnt charge the drugs so he begged borrowed and stole for forty years.
Actually the third sibling death in our family should have been ME! i am number three. third born first son.
We aren’t dying IN ORDER damn it so be very fucking careful

one day i would hope to come to this blog and type “dear readers…” but not one word of that would ever be true. laughing my ass off.

josh when you graduated high school im sorry couldn’t get you that laptop you wanted as a graduation gift
jonny i wish i could give you tuition to four years rutgers with on campus room books and a six pack (abs not beer)
layla remember the kites at the giant games tailgate windy parking lots. i wish could have done more for you but thank god for Buc. and ill find that canvas one day
ashley such a sweet girl my first daughter. remember that time i made you swim in the ocean?
anna there are times i really feel like your dad but i just want you to know this: if i was in Ikea with you when you were a little girl i would have purchased that play kitchen set you were crying for

mom empty your stinking ashtrays and open up the windows of imagination to your kids. remember when you gave us every shop rite food can in the kitchen, flipped over the wooden toy-box to make a counter so we could play “store”?? And that lasted for hours on that cold rainy day. if you use your imagination you can own anything. i never expected you to turn our back yard into a fake farm on our birthdays but you always made us feel special somehow. we all do the best that we can do with our kids. parental love is indescribable until we remember to be human
there will come that day when they don’t need you anymore. there will come that day when they don’t come home.
so now, so so so now …so now..we sit here with our empty arms out stretched waiting for something to fill them

) maybe grandkids?)

As I was saying, the moon was orange…

Thursday, November 21st, 2013

…thru the pine trees of our camp site. It felt like we were a million miles from New Jersey but there we were right squat in the middle of it. In the middle of what seemed to be nowhere. You couldn’t hear the turnpike screaming here and we weren’t under a direct 747 plane route to Newark. The only sounds we heard here was the crackling of a fire, beers popping open and our dog barking in the wind. These were the days, my friend. I don’t remember who discovered this “hidden” dirt road to Farrington Lake (Stuff or Glenn?) but it was the greatest discovery since rubber-coated baseballs. We drifted here often to get away. To drink, to sleep in tents, to fish and to just basically be crazy kids. I have some great memories (at least what I hazily remember anyway) of coming here on windy Fall days or blazing Summers. Into the cool shade of pines. Swimming in the cold lake. Cooking off the fire. Drinking and laughing into the late hours of darkness. We were men (and dog) living off the land (ha ha) and surviving the wilderness (yeah right)
About this photo: courtesy of Bonnie Ludwig Matthias on Facebook. This is actually a photo of a photo and I loved it the second I saw it. Wish there were more photos of the Farrington Lake era.

Two brothers and their dog.

Two brothers and their dog.

Other notes:
-Perhaps it’s part of our basic nature to drift into believing that we have a handle on life. Perhaps we think we’re all so experienced that we have seen it all, know it all and that nothing that comes our way anymore is shocking. And then someone you love dies.

-My awkwardness is at an Olympic level. I stumble into most rooms looking for a corner to hide. Except at work. I’m a quiet T-Rex that can explode in hunger at any given time.

-Latest discoveries: I’m over-emotionally available, have a strange brain and like it. I enjoy taking part in life for the most part, don’t we all? If you think you have a “miserable” life just stay in touch with the news and if you can’t radiate one OUNCE of gratitude from that then you probably won’t get along with anyone and certainly not me. Children with cancer, especially RARE cancer is seemingly becoming an epidemic. Do you ever really wonder what is in our food and milk after humans and technology get their hands on it? Do you believe that at the turn of the century and the industrial revolution has anything to do with this? Back then it was “OK” to dump millions of tons of toxins in the rivers and oceans and air. Do you think all of that has just gone away? Do you think we have completely stopped dumping on Mother Earth?

BLOGdissappearLikesmokeWith large families being so rare these days, I’m always asked how my mother did it? You have to give her tons of credit but do you mention the drinking, shoplifting and total loss of control? Some people just aren’t cut out to be the disciplinarian. Being part of such a large family means you always have someone to play with, but privacy is scarce. We had more bunk beds then a submarine. It makes me sick of what becomes a reality TV show these days. Anything and everything. While some can be interesting and educational most of them and 90% of TV is just pure trash anyway. If they set up a few cameras in Whitman street during our peak, I’m not sure it would sell. Some of our neighbors were pretty interested in our life. I remember being watched with an odd eye a lot as a kid playing in the yard or cars driving by slow to take a gander at the bizarre Brady bunch after Ed and his kids moved in. There were always haters but there were some that loved us. Some that loved us so much, that they actually became family. We took in anybody. Mom was like that after dad died. Hey we have ten kids but Bevs boyfriend moved in and friends slept over for days upon days turning into weeks.

-It isn’t hard to learn how to breathe more properly Deep breathing can be very relaxing, it reduces stress and is a wonderful way to get in touch with our body and our very self.

-Nothing can make people feel they have a purpose in life, like having children.
I am worried about what I do not know. There is too much of that. I don’t live with my kids. What is really happening? What happened?

Before Halloween became yet ANOTHER American made money making extravaganza there were very limited Oct 31 decorations. This cat is a huge part of my childhood.

Before Halloween became yet ANOTHER American made money making extravaganza there were very limited Oct 31 decorations. This cat is a huge part of my childhood.

Yes, that day of regret has finally arrived like I knew it would. I gave everything I owned and MORE in the trust that it would work out for their benefit.
I knew when they were just so young, and there was never a pet dog and worse thing ever, when I pulled up in front of the house on Oct. 31 to pick them up, there were never any Halloween decorations.
Children without a real home, will always seek a real home. What is a real home? The definition can vary, but when sickness and phobias create an unhealthy environment, then you can be left with no warmth. Warmth in a home can consist of many wonderful things. -Paintings and photos hanging on the wall. -A crowded refrigerator full of food and healthy snacks. -A crowded refrigerator door filled with magnets memories and fun. -A functioning TV. -An internet connection and family computer. -A comfortable positive environment. -Never worrying about losing your home to financial ignorance. -A dog with a wagging tail or a purring cat. -Halloween decorations.

CONCLUSIONS:
1. .Just sit & observe. You’ll learn a lot.
2. Before you get married, spend one year living together first.
3. The best things happen unexpectedly.
4. Never trust coffee that isn’t coffee flavored.
5. Go camping once a year.
6. Take a few deep breaths daily.

things i will never regret:

Thursday, October 24th, 2013

mapFARRING_BLG
Almost dying from osteomyelitis at 2 years old.
Starting to drink at an early age.
Joining a colorful musical cult.
Failing some most math subjects at school.
Hating my mother.
Almost being abandoned in California by my mother.
Doing LSD.
Having nine siblings.
Experimenting with life-crushing poverty.
Almost dying while trying to swim across Farrington Lake.
Going to an all-boys private Catholic HS.
Changing from beer to straight whiskey.
Learning stream-of-consciousness writing method.
Getting arrested and going to jail.
Getting dragged by my hair up a flight of stairs by an ex convict named John Dellaroba.
Working split shifts, night shifts and every minute of overtime ever offered to me.
Marrying an incoherent woman from another universe
Being an alter boy

Things I regret:
…to be continued.

.

Thanks for sharing

Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013

I’ve spent a lot of time in twelve step meetings the past thirty years and some of what I was “taught” has stuck. One of the things was, that, as long as you are drinking, drugging or acting out consistently and compulsively, you fail to grow emotionally. So in theory, if I began my journey to self destruction at age 15, and continued until I was 28, then I had the emotional development of a 15 yo at age 28. Ridiculous isn’t it? I always thought so until I encountered someone close to me with an insatiable thirst for the “poor me’s” Hey, I’d like to feel sorry for you if I could but maybe it’s time to move along. I’ve also learned my tolerance level in dealing with adult’s that have a child’s emotional growth level. ZERO.
So this is my bad. I pray for patience and enlightenment to help get along with every human being that crosses my path. Even my social media circle of robot friends and family.

I’ve also been learning about passive-aggressive behavior. This targets me generally. Why is it that the darkest side of human nature includes wanting bad things to happen to other people? Whether they deserve it or not, who am I to judge? Who am I to hate? This whole monster of human nature in trying to “out-do” our friends and family brings NOTHING but disgrace. No, it’s not easy for me to say. In everyone’s life tears were shed, harsh words were spoken, fear, dread, resentment, jealousy, frustration and rage comes and goes like clouds in the sky.

To be quite honest I stopped going to meetings. It was easy when you had no solid foot on the ground. When there was no real place to hang your hat. Or, that that place kept changing. It is only through the blessings of a good God that I found some real peace in my life. It is only through the generosity, love and kindness of Krysia that I can bury myself in blankets on a cold north east night and dream. It is through these warm

I am zeroing in on capturing John Karst.

I am zeroing in on capturing John Karst.

hazy dreams that I can wake up in a home. In a home you can begin to take care of yourself. Go to a doctor (even if an overnight visit to the emergency room initiated it.) I can rejoin the ymca. I can begin learning and doing transcendental meditation. Joining the quite bizarre (but Catholic church related) Knights of Columbus. I can actually do things for myself that are healthy. Through it all, whenever I encounter a tough situation or a man-child, I find that I always bounce back on the life lessons I have learned in AA. As repetitious as those meetings can be, maybe it’s time to go back. I have absolutely no desire to go back to drinking and drugging yet something pulls me there. The friendship? The horrible coffee? The human tragedy? The repetitious steps and slogans? The service? Helping others? Maybe all of the above or can I even slide it into my scheduling, I don’t know.
Today I will dress in dark cloths and attend the viewing of a 16 year old girl that lost a gallant fight against some rare-crazy-aggressive cancer. I hardly knew this wonderful girl but it was so easy to join in with the entire community and help her. Something I witnessed which I shall never forget as long as I live (and live on in the afterlife) is hearing a young smart girl announce “We should start a fundraiser” and then see it develop, grow and snowball down the side of a mountain like a runaway train. Because of this selfless act I saw that people will bond together for another human. People are not greedy. People sincerely care. If you fall down there is a hand, EVEN many willing hands to help you get back up. My faith tells me the afterlife is real and that it’s not just some dark, void waiting room in the mountains of the universe. I have an advanced case of poets brain. I struggle with heaven and hell but I am overwhelmed with compassion for humanity. I’m redesigning myself at all times. I’m trying to think of others, even that fool that hung up on me. “Poor me. Poor me. Pour me another drink.”

The reason why they repeat so much in AA is because most alcoholics are so DAMN thick-headed, (and this IS and WAS me!) that it is only after something is heard several million times that it begins to sink into a train wreck of a chaotic alcoholic brain. Next step in the city of steps? Tearing off the leaches. Stay tuned!!

low tide

Thursday, August 1st, 2013

A wooden house in eastern Europe. Elm trees. Low hills. My walking stick. “Let me sketch you.” Set yourself free. Charcoal shadows and hollow air. The earth sings goodbye to another day. Brisk and fresh. Steam and mist. There is no script. A car radio bleats the blues….my minds not right….my sideburns are lopsided…my testicles are hanging lower than usual. The moon is a boomerang and at low tide you can smell dead sponge and rotten crab meat. From the bridge we looked down and saw huge fish swimming, a broken dock and the cafe lights where we had lunch. A salad with walnuts and fresh fruit. A glass of bubbled water from another country. Down at the waters edge, the crowds filled the streets and bikers had an excuse to ride in the orange hue dusk. We will grow old. Read books on a porch. Wait for visits from children. And their children. Fade into the colors of the trees. Watch the shadows move across the wood and when the noiseless winds come, I will still hold you and kiss you.
The End.

Cousin Dennis

Wednesday, November 7th, 2012

What Goes Without Saying

Monday, October 22nd, 2012

The ART of Appreciation or
The Appreciation of ART

I enjoy this ____ because ____
I respect this ____ because ____
I admire this ____ because ____
I appreciate this ____ because ____
I think this _____ is worthwhile because ____
I love this ____ because ____

July 2012 New York City
The city. In a nutshell I missed you terribly and yearned for that thundering subway underneath my tattered (I’m in shatters) sneakers. (Sha doo bee) The stench of rotting sewers sweltering above as we wait for the green flashing WALK. My balls tingle as we rise rise rise above the sweltering elevator of un-airconditioned heat. (Sha doo bee, shattered shattered)

Diary of a Sex Addict
scene 32
Greenwich Village. A crowded outdoor Cafe.
CoCo: That’s a nice camera.
Butch: Bigger is better.
CoCo: (signaling for a check) Not always.
Butch: I’m not talking about cameras.
CoCo: (annoyed) Why change the subject?
Butch: Because I’ve been watching you walk around the Guggenheim in that sexy dress all day.
CoCo: (laughing) Oh, lets’s get a room, then!
Butch: How about a secluded back alley off Bleeker street?
CoCo: Cheapskate!
Butch: No. Thrill seeker.
CoCo: Mmmmm, that does sound intriguing. I dare you!
Butch: I dare us!

The Gone-by Days of When I Drove a Forklift on the Nightshift.
or Goggling Your Own Name
Entering a new drag and drop dimension Funny how life works in ebbs and flows. A lot of blogs I read are written through rose-colored glasses. We all have a tendency to sugar-coat our own life – social networking gives us that opportunity every day.
When I woke up, I was 18 and working at a warehouse across the railroad tracks and over the West Carteret bridge. I woke up drunk because bed-time wasn’t but a few hours ago. (spent most of the night driving around with Glenn Haley drinking Bud nips. (7 ozs bottles) I don’t know why we always got those nips. I think because we were driving and if we got pulled over maybe it would be easier to hide.
In the past the Summers are always hotter and easier. There were no cops or confusion. Just drinking and adrenaline laced adventures.
My fork truck was #30 and I named it Wharf Rat. Written on the side in black magic marker forever. One of the faster in a large fleet of fork trucks. I was young, dumb and full of cum. My pony tail curled up into a twisted blonde ball, my beard a wiry mess.. Wharf Rat was my horse and I rode her into the sunrise of the receiving dock hangover in tow. This was my life for too many years and I thought I would die there in the long aisles of warehoused sporting goods.
Back to the closet of another job here in the future. One final kiss before the time travel. Kryha is so into passionate kissing Now to a different warehouse on a rainy night and the smell of fresh cut pine.
You’re face is glowing red in the distant sun of the EXIT sign.
Yes, I have said goodbye to all my friends of the past. Some are even dead now, but I’m going to see them again.
Mc (pronounced “Mick”) Gitts (pronounced “Skeeter”) Bill Brunner (pronounced “Bill), Hoy (part of the original Banana Splits) Stuff, Beds, Dino, Puppet, Nutty, Pokey, Bobby Orr, Bok (pronounced “Baaaaaaaak) God I miss these fucking bastards.

I accidently by all
no fault of mine

traveled via blue sky many years ahead
waking up in twisted wet sheets

a man breathing, walking white halls
pulling around squeaky wheels

his oxygen tank
into pristine whiteness and

florescent dementia and weed cancer
in the retirement home

of ex designers and production printers
spray paint freshness of the train muralist

(pronounced “Graffiti”) crazy old people
mostly men and my sister Bonita visiting me

So I must be in Ohio, she sits on a white surreal plastic chair
flirting with the younger male receptionist

I miss driving most of all and texting
and the rest of my family where ever they have gone

I don’t recognize my hands
and I’m missing a finger

Kryha is in Poland milking cows
with rich Asia on a golden farm with huge bales of hay

you always told me “I’m not going to take care of you”
I appreciate your honesty, emails, and electronic brain photos

of Polish hillsides
and those strange looking trees

you always liked to paint
“I am in love..” you type “…with another…

…bucket of hot foamy milk”
and brown crispy fresh baked bread

the jagged fields of berries
are radioactive red! those damn Ruskies!

the sky is swirling with doubt
I am an old fox in a florescent cage (pronounced

retirement home) waking up alone
with a nurse washing my armpits

All the Arctic animals have melted
everyones warm laptops scream the news

Outside my recycled window the bravest hour
strikes my analog clock

My desire to live will never go away
is what my sister whispers in my ear
(to be continued this post)

Inventing Abstraction
Man of Construction says this: Can you climb that ladder on the hottest day of Summer
carrying tools, strip the three layers of old roof off and install a new roof?
Man of Printing says in return: No. But can you scan a high resolution image, color correct, clean, clone and print?
Man of Construction then says: No. So I guess we are even?
Man of Printing says this: Yes, pretty even I guess, except that I didn’t emasculate you in front of your mate like you did to me.
Moral: “Say it once again now-
Oh I hope you understand-
When it’s done and over
Lord, a man is just a man

The wind whispers yet another rainy Jersey Shore evening
Butch: (looking off into the distance) I want to change the world!
CoCo: Oh yeah? You don’t have any money.
Butch: (shakes his head out of a daydream) Money! Who needs money to change the world?
CoCo: (laughing out loud) You need money for everything dear.
Outside the thunder and pounding rain on the boardwalk invite warmth and love into the warm cozy hotel room.
Butch: I love thunder.
CoCo: Perfect timing too. You are going through another Super Hero stage.
Butch: (after taking a deep breath) You don’t need a super power to change the world. When you wake up to the blessings and gift of another day, you must face it with the willingness to do the best that you can. Be kind to every person you meet. It’s not easy. Neither is judging. When I meet somebody for the first time, in my mind, I have them all figured out within ten seconds. Their aura is sucked into my brain and most times I configure people to be less of a human then me. I am learning to stop this quick judgement of people. If there is a leach on your back, it is probably sucking the life out of you and you don’t even know it. This leach has the capabilities to to suck all the monies, strength, and dreams from your body and soul. The leach is in a place on your back where you can’t reach it. Everybody sees the leach on your back but they can’t pull it off for you. That leach is yours and only yours..or so you think. Until the day comes when you can finally reach around and pull that F-ing thing off your back, you MUST walk tall and act as if it isn’t there.
A leach will never learn to live for itself. It’s whole world depends on sucking from you twenty-four seven. I have the super powers of sobriety, calmness, patience, love and most of all: GRATITUDE. You can fly through the clouds self-doubt. Break through the brick walls of depression. The day the leach falls off your back, curls up and crawls away, you will realize that it was indeed years and years of this leach that has actually made a super hero out of you!
CoCo: I have a craving for cheese perogi.

(the continuation)
I know if anybody knows
the trails and cliffs of time travel

Whose are these doors I open?
where strangers in white shadows swim

If you’re driving down a ONE WAY street
in a refurbished pick-up full of trees

thank you for not turning around
the snow flurries carried me home

Ill miss your Chinese eyes
Ill miss your chicken soup

A robot cleans my room today so
grab a brush and paint your dreams

End
(pronounced “see ya later”)

Heart of Darkness II

Tuesday, September 11th, 2012

f-life mother f-er’s


Fevor
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
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.

WHY?
…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.

A Night at the Circus

Wednesday, July 20th, 2011

Route 76, Somewhere in Pennsylvania, daybreak.


Let’s walk into the dark fields of uncut grass. Into the heart of America, the midwest laughter and red white and blue explosions in the sky. Feeling the immediate sowing of a yellow hook moon in my heart. Another journal into the depths of space. The ending of the pain from my headaches….( a blood pressure concern)
I’m in the wrong century again, damn it! I miss the sepia skies and the angles singing. The black and white streets, crowds of busy people and the gaslights glow.

Dark pub and a lost soul from the future.

This is where I met him many years ago. A disco in the seventies. The drinking age was still eighteen. We were deadheads drinking shots, dressed like slobs and making fun of the music. The women were beautiful with big hair and attitudes. Annoyed at the hippies laughing in the dark corner. I had too much, as usual and it always seemed to hit me earlier then the other guys. I was never meant to be a drinker. I threw up all the time and I had diarrhea. Other guys could just drink, pound them down and play quarters for 24 hours straight and get up and walk a straight line home. (at the moment I am writing this, I am experiencing a severe case of Déjà vu) Now this crazy looking guy from across the bar is staring at me and I feel a vomit coming on so I ease over towards the bathroom and this guy is suddenly waiting there. I ignore him as I feel for the mens room in this dark hallway….I mean really dark….”Hey listen…..hey…hey George.”
So who the fuck is that and how do they know my name. The room is spinning. The music is thumping “Funky Town” by Lipps I think, I could almost taste the vomit…”Hey George” he giggles. He is right next to me. Suddenly I feel better. I feel better than better. I feel great. I am sober, I think. This guy is staring at me in the dark with this big smile.
“Hey George” he half whispers.. “I know you. I’m from the future.”

It's not easy being green

This really happened to me. A disco in 1979. A strange dude that told me about cell phones, 9/11, the Giants winning a Super Bowl in seven years, financial hardships, computers taking over, marriage, divorce, winning the lottery, drugs, drinking, sex, death, miracle cures, war, typhoons, tornados, tsunami’s, torture…
Hey you freak what are you saying. What are you putting in my mind. What the fuck is a cell phone? What kind of crazy pants are you wearing….disco boy….fag….leave me alone. Oh my head hurts from you. Get out of my life. Get out of my mind!!! Now forever making cameo appearances in my freaking dreams. Do you believe me?

409 Downing Street Westfield New Jersey


Dad’s Root beer
Our dads home when he was growing up. His teen age years. Meeting mom. Having dinner with Geraldine his sister and William his brother. His mom and “Pop” sitting in the living room waiting for him to go through that front door again and join the marine’s….or get married….or help Pop out at the store on East Broad street….not too far away. Westfield was a different place then, but it hasn’t changed much since. The biggest disappointment most recently is that they tore down “The Leader Store” They still have real live cops directing traffic during peak hours. The Westfield Sewing Center, our Grandfathers and then our dads place of business is long gone. People don’t sew their own dresses, curtains or make crafts anymore. Everyone is too busy on the cell phone or watching reality TV on the tube. We are all in front of mini-monitors, TV, computer or phone…taking commands and giving them. One of the things my dad passed on to me was growing tomatoes. It is an art to grow them…actually an easy art. Tomatoes are very hardy plants and even a seed from a tomato on a sandwich can fall in the crack of the sidewalk and if you let it grow, YOU WILL harvest a tomato or two. The weather here has been absolutely gorgeous. It has been the Summer of dreams….long days, hot skies, cold oceans, simmering spaghetti sauce, ribs and tomato plants wilting in the endless ninety degree days.
There are few gifts greater than offering your friend your home to stay. The other night we lay by the windowsill telling stories of our days, current and past. The Summer had been so hot, we were worried about the flowers. But as the darkness grew in the fading day a cool breeze had reached on the window sill. A small rumble of thunder. A flash of lightening and finally ……..rain. We listened, watched and talked. I am very grateful for that moment of time. To be protected from the storm but to be so close to it. To be able to listen to someone and have someone listen to me. To be able to smell the rain. To be able to call something “home” is a great gift. To have the blessings to share a meal with the one you love. To sit on the back deck and watch the day slowly turn into night. The candle on the wooden table splashes yellow puddles on your face. These are the moments of that you live for. The quiet unnoticed ones. I wouldn’t have them if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.

A night at the circus


A moment of time forever etched digitally on a blog deep in space. Perhaps not for eternity but it is there only because I thought it was worth digging in my pocket for my camera. We were cutting through some woods towards a wooden roller coaster. The yellow spot lights giving off an eire glow. Party balloons abandoned. My kids way ahead of me because I was keeping company with my stupid camera. Somewhere in south Ohio, July 4, 2011, the United States of America. Earth.