Archive for Dreams

Cloud Forest


The one reason why I thought it was NOT a dream was because I distinctly remember being so excited at this situation that I just had to put my arm around my father. While the photo was being taken, I swirled my head in total ecstasy as to who I was with. I remember turning my head. That wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t deja vu either. It happened.

I’ve kept a watchful eye on my sugar intake. There are some very serious diabetes in our family, I want you all to should really check your glucose level when you can. One of the major culprits in our sister Beverly’s death was diabetes. Our great grandfather had his left leg amputated due to diabetes. Our grandfather also had his left leg amputated and he passed away from diabetes and gangrene triggered by peripheral neuropathy.

Since we all reluctantly visit death in our imagination, we sometimes wonder how we will go. In the movie Big Fish, several children visit a haunted house where a witch with a glass eye lives. and she offers a view into her eye so that you can see how you will die. If you were offered a glance into that glass eye would you be brave enough to look?

It was on the bottom of a box. The box was underneath a pile of other boxes. Like twenty boxes. They were all filled with stuff from Whitman street. Most of it was old toys from Christmas’ long ago. A lot of papers and old letters. What I was looking and hoping for were photos. I don’t even know how I got here. It’s feeling like a dream. Maybe it is and I’ll wake up. Because Whitman street seems dead. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t even live anywhere close to this god-forsaken town. Up these crazy stairs. Doesn’t look like our old house. I don’t get it. Here is the room filled with boxes. The first bedroom on the right. By the upstairs bathroom.

Do you remember this Whitman bathroom? Once our dad spent all day assembling beautiful glass sliding doors on the bathtub so that we could take showers in a sort of luxurious way. He was pretty handy with a drill and hammer. I remember we hounded him all day as he worked on these sliding doors. Mom was excited because they were really nice looking. So when he is finally done, we all take a step back and look at this magnificent work of art. It has probably doubled the worth of our home, I’m thinking. We were the first family on our block with color TV and now we own the richest looking bathroom in Carteret. So we check it out, open and close the glass doors slowly. Yeah, everything works fine. Beautiful. Then someone, I don’t remember who, (probably Glenn did it) slammed the brand new door shut and the room exploded with a million pieces of glass.
What I remember most about that tragedy was my father who typically has a very short fuse, just shook his head, mumbled “It just wasn’t meant to be” and began cleaning the mess. Nobody got yelled at. Nobody got punished. The glass was removed but the frames that he spent hours putting into the wall remained. They were there for years. And for many years after he died. I always looked at them and felt them whenever I took a bath or shower. Touched the screws inside the track holding them to the wall and I thought of my father and his patience. His eerie silence cleaning up afterwards.

Einstein showed that mass and energy are the same thing. Based on this theory, time travel seems possible. If not now, then in the future. Parallel universes, or alternative universes or mirror universes have had a long run of popularity in science fiction and science fantasy, in both print and visual formats. One need only look at an “Alice in Wonderland” or look no further than the “Star Trek” universe (our Universe in less than obvious disguise) to view the near endless plot variations that such parallel / alternative / mirror universes provide our heroes and heroines. While there are some serious reasons to suspect that parallel universes do exist. Time travel is the name of the game!

stairsSo, in this dream, (which I thought was a dream) I went up the Whitman street stairs, opened a door to the first bedroom and found a bunch of boxes and began digging into them. In one window I could hear birds chirping and the sun was blasting through. When I opened the curtains and looked down it was the side of our house. When I looked up at the Summer sky, it was a cloud forest. There were a few of us playing whiffel ball and Toker was aimlessly walking around. I could hear Schnauzer barking in the backyard. Schnauzer was never allowed to wander around aimlessly. The window on the other side of the room was gray and I could hear the wind whistling through the cracks. I pushed the curtain aside and it was a blizzard outside. I could see Gitters house across the street and it was buried. Mr. Gitter was desperately shoveling the walk leading up to the door and Peanuts was barking like crazy behind him. So here I am in a room from the past split into two different seasons.
Downstairs I heard our whole family screaming. People were yelling Glenn’s name and I went to the door and opened it. At that exact moment Danny Braza was racing down the stairs to save Glenn’s life. A chicken bone stuck in his throat. This was the first use of our brother Glenn’s 16 lives.
I shut the door and realized I was way back in time. It seemed like I knew what I was looking for. Went back to the boxes and there on the bottom of a box filled with receipts and papers from Westfield Sewing Center was this photo. |Click HERE for a better view|

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“i was the monster”

tHis was a fairly simple dream but with complex themes wE had just moved into a new living space and there were boxes everywhere oNe on top of the other i could hear kryhas voice but i couldn’t see her tHe people that helped us move were all in the backyard sitting on our back porch laughing and eating hotdogs and hamburgers i could see them thru a window from the kitchen iT jolted me to see that the man outside barbecuing and telling obscene jokes was ME! i actually felt my heart stop and a electric tingling went down my back tHe man barbecuing suddenly looked at me staring out the back window nOw my dream had became a nightmare and i wasn’t in a deep enough sleep to realize it oH hell, this is just a bad dream I thought, and proceeded to create a monster with my imagination eVery nightmare needs a monster iT was a small two headed thing in the garden and it was growling and tearing up kryhas flowers and my vegetable plants nOw i knew it was a dream because we just moved and we had no time to plant anything aT this point i thought it would be a good time to walk outside and confront all the people and monster in my dream i pointed to my myself, who was standing behind the Weber® grill and said ‘what the living hell do you think you’re doing?!’ eVeryone stood up and screamed because apparently i was the weird one here. i didnt belong here i was the monster tHe thing in the garden jumped out to protect the barbecue guy (me) from me tHis is where the dream went out of control because i didn’t arrange this scene like this wHy am i the outcast? tHe two-headed dog jumped up and grabbed my arm! it was growling and hanging from my forearm aS much as i shook it, it wouldn’t let go aNd my arm starting hurting and tingling eVeryone in the backyard circled me and the monster tHey were smiling and still eating their hotdogs tHe pain in my arm became unbearable and i suddenly woke up i was sleeping under my arm again and it had fallen asleep now the tingling in my numb arm was intense and i was a happy that i woke up bEcause when i thought i had the dream under control —- it wasn’t even close.

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From the dark tunnels of dreams

In this dream I was laying on a bed on a Sunday morning in August. I was pretty reflective because I was born exactly 53 years ago. Outside flowers and tomatoes were growing and the grass smelled nice. Remember because this was a dream, I wasn’t upset when I got out of bed and my skin seemed liquid and my hair grew back.
I walked through a dark tunnel for several hours that was really a terrible migraine headache. Sometimes I think I have a daughter (I have a great friend)now that writes fiction in rhymes. I can only see her if she wears purple. She is sitting in front of an old school typewriter from the 1980’s tapping away like crazy.
My other children have left me and are orbiting the earth at a very low altitude. My phone beeps a strange warning tone when they are close by and I go outside and wave frantically at their slow-motion-rocket ship. I think I can see them from a round window on the side of the ship but they look like they are in a fishbowl.
When I finally emerge from the migraine tunnel, it is like I am reborn. I am so happy the pain is over that I sign on FaceBook and “like” everything I see. (even though yesterday, I hated it!)
In my fresh new layers of skin I walk into a bubbly room and find boxes and boxes stacked up filled with photos. This makes me very happy but my smile needs support braces. My hair is so long I have to make a ponytail with a rubber band.foreveryoung
Many of the photos are black and white’s of the mighty ten. I scan a couple of them in and try to “fix” them in Photoshop but I can’t. Whatever I try to do digitally is met by an error message. This I don’t understand and becomes a nightmare in the dream. It is like running in slow motion from a very fast monster.
There are no photos of our family all together at once. Zero. I notice there is a total family shot from 1912 of our great grandfathers family all together. There is nothing of our mom and dad and all ten children at the same time. I search through every box and…..nothing. We missed that opportunity somewhere along the way. We were all so very busy and dad was always working that we never found time to get all together and take a photo. Maybe later, in heaven.

The Hartmann's. Jersey City NJ.

The Hartmann’s. Jersey City NJ.

I wish we weren’t adults anymore. We should be in pajamas sitting around the gold couch on the gold shag carpet goofing off. Nobody is arguing about anything. Nobody is hanging up on anybody. Money doesn’t matter. Nobody is addicted. Nobody is sick. Nobody is dead. “Gilligans Island” is on TV. Chocolate milk Boscoe and Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches. Laughing. And everyone is there. Everyone. Aunt Gerry suddenly walks in and she is holding a Kodak Instamatic She smiles and says ; “Let me take a photo of this lovely family”



Only from the heart can you touch the sky.  ~Rumi

Only from the heart can you touch the sky. ~Rumi


Heart of Darkness II

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.


Mixed Greens

In this dream I am painting a huge steel bridge by myself. There is a date etched in one of the concrete supports that says; “1960” It is very hard work with scaffolds and ladders in all kinds of weather. Sometimes I feel as if the heavy winds are gonna knock me into the raging river underneath.
It takes thirty-seven months and almost sixteen days to complete the job. By the time I am finished, the paint is beginning to peel on the other side and I have to start all over again.

In my unending quest for (to) manhood, I have tried everything.: Carrying a hammer around with me at all times. Talking deeper. Walking heavier. Checking out woman’s butts whenever possible. Measuring my penis. Driving irregular and fast. Hanging up landlines loudly. Cursing. Watching controllrd violence on TV. The final signature to being a man is to be human. It may take a long time or you may have the capacity to get it almost right away: Just BE YOURSELF. Don’t ever give a crap what anybody else says. Take your time. Have fun. And ride a roller coaster whenever you can.


To write is to leave this world

The ocean is always moving, adjusting. rearranging. Never silent. The seahawks scream and the whales hold echoey conversations. The ocean goes on deeper then any scientist has ever imagined. Even in the deepest darkest corner, something lives.

My mind, like lazy honey, spills onto the pillows and sheets. I think of another day gone by, like I do every other night. In the last moments of near consciousness I rediscover last nights dreams. They come back in swift flashes of images, sound and smell. Then, when I fall asleep, they are forgotten forever.

I sleep in a front room that might actually have been a porch at one time. I sleep against the wall half buried in a blue comforter. I sleep now with a woman that is not from this country but from over the seas and the high castles of eastern Europe. Sometimes she is still lost for her homeland. In her dreams she runs across the hills chasing clouds and hangs her artwork on trees.

I am back at the ocean. In the Winter I come here to avoid the crowds. Pudding is best served cold.The sand is like snow between my toes as I watch the twinkling lights along the long coastline.

The place where we sleep: The wall in front of us is all windows. Every orange sunset and every yellow sunrise melts like ice cream. Even when our eyes are closed in sleep.

In this dream my father was a medieval giant living in the endless lush forest. My mother is a cow grazing in a green fields that is in front of the forest. The ten children are baby cubs playing around the cow. Every once in a while the ground and trees rumble and sway and we can see our father peeking at us from over the tops of the trees.


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

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!

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Day 9 -The End of the World

December 2011:
If I was in a coma, I’m all better now. Through out all the blackness of the dream there was no hope and no escape. I knew I would emerge and Christmas would be waiting. When you are buried alive in work and you can’t escape, it is worse then a windowless jail cell.
She is very good at hiding her love.
Why I’m a bad fan:
I gave up on this team a long time ago. Even after their miracle of 2007/08 and even after knowing football for over forty years. So much can happen…quickly. The philosophy of a football season is totally unpredictable , even more then life itself. I gave up on this team so many times and never give them hope. I am a bad fan. (I think it is all because I don’t want to get hurt)
Getting Hurt
Fear and I have been walking hand in hand along the beach my whole life. It is so romantic and sexy. I just never want to let go.
When I see people at the Giants games, so drunk, so stupid, that they probably won’t remember anything, I say to myself; “That should be me. By the grace of God, there I go.”
I don’t miss drinking, I don’t crave it. I don’t hate people that drink, I have no desire to drink. The dreams, (like that work coma) have gone away a very long time ago. Once I was sitting/standing in a bar with Kryha in Hoboken, New Jersey. She had one beer. She had so so much fun and I envied her a little. Everyone else was having fun and drinking. A great fear (my beach walking friend) came over me for about two seconds that I was missing out on living life and that I was gonna die soon. Then I realized that if I didn’t stop drinking 8,089 days ago…..I would already be dead. I can guarantee that.
A place where Fear never goes. (he is on the beach) I feel safe there.
The end of the world
If (when) Iran gets a nuclear weapon, it will be the start. When the globe begins to get micro-waved, I pray that I am in church when it happens. They say the world is supposed to end this year. I don’t think it will. It is supposed to come like e thief in the night….so maybe next year.

My son Jonathan and I at the first playoff game at the new stadium. The crowd was crazy. Sometimes I feel so far away from Johnny. I love him so much. This was a great day. A day to always remember.


In heaven, men can smoke cigars and watch football.

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.”


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