Good Night, Sweet Prince – Part 1.

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Music, True Stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

Many years ago I somehow got this brilliant idea to take pictures of people sleeping and dead animals and coming up with a smart ass comment to post on social media.  A lot of those people caught sleeping are homeless.  The rest are either random strangers or friends.  The latter hate me for it and the former have yet to catch me. Admittedly, it is a dick move. One which I still constantly pull.



This was probably the first of what would become many.  I found this guy sleeping in The West Village in that little triangle where Christopher St. And 6th Ave. meet.  It was early spring and still a little cool out. I thought it was hilarious that this person had decided that this was a place to get cozy.  I believe the hood of the jacket being pulled tight to block out the sun was the icing on the cake.  Part of me admired this person’s sense of liberty.


Then there is this guy.  I found this guy outside of an Oi! gig in Brooklyn.  This kid was a train wreck.  He was probably the only one to ever catch me taking a photo of them.  I was promptly invited to a punch up, which I impolitely declined.  The kid, although sizable, could barely stand and he had piss stains on his pants upon closer inspection.  I laughed it off and walked away.  Over time I would revisit this picture and think of how many times, in my youth and adulthood, had I been found like that or in similar states.  It’s not really a pleasant thought and a harsher reality.  But that’s life when you grow up fast.  That’s life when you let something eat at you.  And, that’s life when you’re not ready to accept life.



One very cold winter in Bushwick, BK I found this guy.  I was on my way to the bodega on the corner to grab my usual two tall boys of Red Stripe.  It was a very bad time in my life.  Probably the beginning of some of the darkest days I will ever know.  I drank a lot then.  Way too much, if I may be honest.  Something about this rat that froze to death in the cold kind of hit a nerve.  “His fate could very well be my fate if I didn’t shape up”, I had said to myself.  I didn’t quite get the message when I had that epiphany.  I instead bought a one way ticket to Puerto Rico and swore I wouldn’t die in the cold shortly after this picture was taken.  I put this up on social media and titled it “Good Night, Sweet Prince.”  It tickled a well respected colleague’s fancy and a tagline was born.  I tag him on a lot of these, which is also probably a dick move.  His family and friends must often wonder who the asshole is that keeps tagging him on pictures of bums and dead animals.



I took this beauty in the months before I set sail to PR.  Something about this caught my eye.  The roll of toilet paper only added to the reality of it all.  There were some tourists on the train yelling at some cops who were also stationed on the train about her.  The police did nothing.  That’s life in NYC.  It’s like that Fear song “I Love Livin’ In The City” where it talks about how the junkie is king and the air smells shitty.  Well, here’s one of the 5 Borough’s many queens.  We treat poverty and drug addiction like crimes and we will only help you by offering you one placebo after another.  Like everything else in this town, it’s a hustle.


Do you see this guy?  I mean look at this guy!!!  Pimpin’s hard and sometimes you’ve got to take a break from that long-shoe game.  He’s sleeping well because his third string hoes are probably pulling a profit and he can probably give his baddest bitches the night off.  Or at least that might have been the case once.  This is a unicorn of an image and I love it.  I found him when I was crashing with some friends before I set sail.  My flight was two weeks after my rent agreement had finished and a very kind couple offered their couch to me.  I was on my way back from work.  I somehow managed to get lost, just like this time traveler.  I took the picture because I thought I could relate at the time.


I was coming back from a trip to the Bronx.  My grandfather and I decided to catch dinner and make amends over some bad blood.  I was actually touched by his actions and it made me kind of forgive him for some of the mistakes he made.  I had done some wandering about after I had left his place.  It was a very bitter winter that year.  That night was particularly cold and crisp.  I found this mummy on the ride back to Brooklyn.  It kind of got me thinking about how I was technically homeless and about to embark on a massive journey.  I wasn’t sure if I prepared or had packed appropriately.  Which, later, I realized I hadn’t.  I had to wonder if in all of this person’s problems, were they really as prepared as they thought they were given their current state.


Less than 48 hours from the time of this photo I had been in NYC waiting for my one way flight to PR.  NYC could kiss my ass for all I could care.  It could take its miserable 9 degrees and stick it right up its rat infested ass.  So here I was in Puerto Rico taking my one man act of nihilism and over indulgence to new levels.  It seemed so hot here upon my arrival.  Hot and humid in the most unforgiving ways.  I’d later grow to get used to it.  But I can, within an instant, recall with great detail how that sun would singe my skin instantly and how sticky everything felt.  My second night on the island my friends and I ventured to a club in Carolina, if I am not mistaken.  I was given the driving duties to get there.  I had no license what so ever.  Also, driving gives me anxiety.  I drove singing “Uptight” by Stevie Wonder to keep me calm as my passengers drank and snorted coke.  We saw one of Mimi and Sergio’s many talented bands.  I forget the name of this one.  They sounded like X and The Gun Club.  I proceeded to get banged out.  Man could these people party!  Someone else who was neither the owner of the car nor had a driver’s license was behind the wheel now.  We went to a bar in Rio Piedras.  The streets were filled with a nightlife like I had never seen before.  The Caribbean was such a beautiful place at night.  The music, the women, the rum and the way the ocean breeze would give you such a gentle relief at night; all so very intoxicating.  I was feeling like such an alien.  I was in over my head with a lot of things here.  I felt very lonely.  I was shuffling off to the bathroom to have a piss, a panic attack and a bump of coke.  All in that order, too.  Somewhere on that mission I found this guy.  Suddenly, things weren’t so bad.


By the time I snapped this one, I’d been living in Old San Juan for a while.  I was listening to The Marked Men a lot around this time if memory serves me propper.   I had just stopped off at a dive bar to have a beer to wash down the pizza I was eating that also happened to have an 8th of psychedelic mushrooms on it when I found this guy.  I loved tripping out on the fort wall of El Morro, sprawled out on the bricks much like this guy.  It had a huge clearing that sort of helped reduce light interference that made the night time sky absolutely amazing to look at.  It was much like being in a planetarium.  Very serene, with the ocasional shooting star.  The point that I liked to set up camp also provided an excellent view of the shoreline.  You could see the cemetery, the battered homes in La Perla and it’s empty streets to San Crystobal.  Past that you could see that little beach up by Puerto De Tierra and all the way up to the Condado shoreline.  I usually surrendered my camp when I realized that ants were eating me alive and teenagers had also set up camp and were fucking all around me.  I stopped off at a local bar, El Farolito, and had a whiskey and coconut water while trying to keep some composure.  The bar, tiny as it was, was packed to the gills.  None of them were faces I knew, save for the bartender.  I paid my tab, which was somewhat difficult at the moment and marched on into the night.  This gentlemen still slept peacefully in the same place I had found him as I embarked on the long route home.  I made a point to also check out the Princess Walk which was also one of my favorite views, on drugs or otherwise.  The churro stand was still open and I maintained to up the ante on my level of delinquency and got one churro with dulce de leche and another stuffed with warm nutella.  Awkwardly, I marched my tripping ass to my small one bedroom whilst trying to eat my churros in the neatest of ways possible.  I must’ve been a sight to behold in the most disgraceful of ways.  Later I laid in bed, listening to music and looking at the internet through my phone, as I didn’t have internet in my house.  I uploaded the picture of this sleeping prince on the web.  I admitted, only to myself, in that dark room, how that man had most certainly been more at ease with himself.  I smoked a bunch of pot and drifted off into the night.




Posted in Deep Thoughts, Music, True Stories with tags on November 1, 2014 by dissectingthefetalpig

I like listening to music. It’s absolutely my most favorite thing to do, second only to ejaculation. And sometimes I try to figure out ways to combine the two. God I love that.

My favorite way to listen to music is when I am alone. I eat it and absorb it with as little disturbance as possible. I’ve mulled over things a little and hands down, my favorite way to listen music is when I am on the subway. If I am a little stoned and have a cup of coffee in hand I am probably on the verge of sheer bliss. I actually get a little bummed out when I have to travel with company because it means I can’t listen to music.

But even then, that’s ok, because I also like to watch. I can’t stay focused on the train because I am always looking at or for weird things. I love weird things. I love noticing the flaws,odd characteristics, nervous ticks, and everything in-between.  Got a weird mole?  I want to see it. You blink 5 times every few seconds?  I think that’s cool.  You’re a hot girl who has an extremely fuzzy upper lip?  Amazing!  Creepy old man?  I love you.  Full on homeless lunatic who is actually reading Nietzsche?  I even love you too.  I have a terrible curiosity and I am also very observant.

Sure, I like other things a lot too. I have a strong appreciation for art and can be artistic. I like food and have knack for cooking as well. Cinema and video games eat up a lot of my time and I obviously enjoy literature as well, but my meat and potatoes is music. God damn if I don’t love a good song!  And I can be severely judgmental about other people’s taste in music. It’s a major character flaw.

Prior to rocking out on the subway I used to like listening to music in bed. It helps me fall asleep. It’s a bad habit that always leaves me in fear of strangling myself to death. I’ve damaged many a good pair of headphones doing this and I am pretty sure it has driven every woman I have ever had a serious relationship with batshit crazy. I’m sorry about that but I can’t help it either.

I started listening to music at night with my headphones on when I was a real little kid. My Pop had bought me a little boom-box when I was about 5 or so. I was stoked about it. It was my favorite thing in the entire world. I still think about it all the time. It was a silver two speaker and one cassette AM/FM Panasonic boom box. I would tape the shit out of songs on the radio. I tuned in to all sorts of radio shows and developed a wide appreciation for music almost instantly.

Money was tight with my folks back then so I would sometimes have to figure out what songs I could tape over and what tapes would have to get erased and then reused. I remember i found a case of self help cassettes and felt like I won the lottery as it meant I had more cassettes to tape over. I had even gotten good at repairing cassettes and I could even re-splice the tape if need be. I would make these bomb ass mix tapes when I finally got a double deck. I still make mixes to this day. It’s a terrible hobby and I become a perfectionist about it sometimes which can make small projects into a 3 Cd affair. I tend to make mixes to motivate me in some way or to help me sleep. When I was a kid my parents would fight a lot and I would want to drown it all out. My old man had a hell of a temper back then. I figured rather than getting worked up over some dark outcome with all the commotion I could just put up a wall of sound and let go. I could just tune out reality completely. I didn’t like reality then. I generally don’t like reality now and have a very difficult time dealing with it. This has oftentimes lead me down some very dark roads. Listening to music has become a way for me to keep grounded. It’s very important to me.

I have my father to thank for getting me into music. He also had an appreciation for music. His favorite music ritual was to drive as fast as humanly possible while blaring Deep Purple. He had a thing for “My Woman From Tokyo” and “Mississippi Queen” if I remember correctly. He schooled me on lot of really cool shit in those rides. Black Sabbath, The Doors, Blue Cheer, Rolling Stones, Genesis when Peter Gabriel sang for them, The Police, Amon Duul, Yes, Soft Machine, Edgar Winter, Alvin Lee & Ten Years After, Mountain, King Crimson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, ZZ Top and even motherfuckin’ Barry White where some of the gems my Pop’s was holding. He also had a thing for lecturing me on those rides. It felt like he was always down my throat for some shit. Never happy. Never satisfied. So I’d say “fuck it” and tune him out. It would drive him ape when he realized I wasn’t paying attention and he’d turn off the radio. Then it was only a matter if time before he’d cave in and turn it back on and then it became the game of exchanging daggers with glances. We never did see much eye to eye. He also hated that I fell asleep with headphones on. I think he may have even planted that seed of fear that I have about strangling myself someday if I continue with my reckless ways.

It’s kind of funny how something so beautiful, much like a flower, can have it’s roots so deeply embedded in shit, isn’t it?

Stare Down

Posted in Deep Thoughts, True Stories, Uncategorized on September 15, 2014 by dissectingthefetalpig

buttmirror-1024x581 I once had a staring contest with myself.  I wanted nothing more than to look into the eyes of the one person I hated most and bear deep down into his soul and see what he was made of.  Would I be looking into the eyes of a real motherfucker or would I be staring down some chicken-shit nancy boy?  I wasn’t entirely sure either, but what I did know is shit was going down and it was going to go down now.

So there I stood in front of the mirror.  This was it, this was the showdown.  At first I coolly looked myself dead in the eyes.  I immediately noticed how stubborn I was. Why was I doing this? Regardless,I refused to break eye contact.  I started to notice the details of my eyes.  The almond shape, how judgmental they appear at first glance and the overall darkness were the first few moments focus.  I started to notice the wrinkles I had accumulated over the years.  Then I started to look deeper.  How wild eyed I must appear at times?  The irides both big and brown with a light hazel ring around the very edges.  A dark rich brown much like a dark chocolate or a healthy shit.  I could make out the stroma and I noticed how much it reminded me of a sea urchin the way it expanded and contracted.  My cold stare was now focused on what could be considered a warm embrace at times.  A look that could possibly warm a lover’s heart.  Could I be caving in?

What seemed like minutes had passed.  My eyes were watering, tearing, as I held my gaze.  I was not about to give in.  I was too far invested to cash out now.  There was a slow searing feeling as my eyes began to sting from the tears.  I wanted to blink desperately.  This was crunch time. Time to see who is who.  I focused on the blackness of my pupils.  The emptiness.  The void within.  Hollow.  I fixated on this and began to wonder how many people do this?  How many people can?  It’s no easy task to look oneself in the eye, to be able too look into the windows of your own soul and see all your features.  Your cracks and crevice reveal your moments of selfishness, weakness, strengths and beauty within.  We take so much time studying others that we forget to study ourselves.

I swam in the black pools of my eyes for what seemed like eons.  I had finally felt the calm.  I had let go.  And with that I blinked.  I snapped back into reality only to realize that only fools have staring contests with themselves.  This endeavor was no-win situation at best.

Perhaps, I had lost… Perhaps, I had won.

The God Of All Endings

Posted in Deep Thoughts on September 9, 2014 by dissectingthefetalpig

My god is the god of all endings. A god neither to be loved or feared. Without discrimination my lord will dole out expiration in manners deemed just and unjust. Fairness and equality do not matter, nor have they ever. Man follies over these concepts. And that, perhaps, is one of man’s biggest sins. These things are vanities at best, and nothing more than an illusion. Illusions are lies. Man is the only animal that lies to itself and pretends that it is not an animal. We are probably the only species that can teach itself to deny it’s own natural instincts. Nature is pandemonium, to be put simply. And, if god makes man in his own image, then my god is the god nihilism and uncertainty, my god is the something born out of nothing. A deity whom most ignore but is the highest ruling of all. My god is Chaos and it knows only one equal and rival and that rival is Time.  The two cannot exist without each other.

Life is chaos. To live, or even love is chaos. A 50/50 chance at best, even when there are no odds. There is only one way to cope with it. Only one way to deal with it, and that is to remember where you are, the here and now, and just roll with the changes. You are your own god. You sail your own ship. Don’t fight it. Accept that we as humans must constantly adapt in order to survive. That we must constantly evolve in order to continue our journey to nowhere. Onwards into oblivion, the only true Heaven, because we do not know our true limits. Nor shall we ever.

And that is also why Time and Chaos cannot exist without the other. All things end and all things begin. The Big Bang. It is uncertain how long we will exist, yet we will exist and are certain to expire.

The true trinity is not of the Father,Son and Holy Ghost; it is Chaos, Adaptation and Time. To squander time is a sin for we never know how much we have because there is no such thing as certainty. Our only certainty is our mere presence and nothing more.

I have to remember, as do we all, that I am here, and now, and that, and all it contains, is what truly matters and that it should be rejoiced and not reviled and abused. We must appreciate what is now and what it is worth and we must carry on.

This is my reality.

Better Luck Next Time

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Rants with tags , , , , on November 10, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

They say “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” as an uplifting statement when you’ve had a brush with death or when you’ve had an accident. Maybe even when you’ve just gone through a raw ordeal. It makes perfect sense. The more incidents that occur, the keener you get (hopefully) and you try not to repeat any mistakes.

I, on the other hand, say “Better luck next time”. I figure the Grim Reaper is getting pretty fed up with my wily antics and last minute get-a-ways, so I encourage him to try a little harder. I’d hate for him to get mad at me and take it personal. When I take shit personally I have a tendency to hurt the other person more. It’s a normal human reaction. So it makes perfect sense to show some encouragement and hope that your retirement package is something lavish and glorious rather than something slow and painful.

It’s simple math really:

Dying in bed banging a beautiful woman >; Dying from dysentery in the middle of a desert.


Having a mediocre life, heavy in debt due to lack of insurance, the wife stopped loving you years ago and your kids want to cash in on insurance as cancer ravages your body and you pray for death to come quickly <; Going down in a hail of bullets after a heroic battle that changed the course of history because, although you are about to die, you somehow managed to save the world and people are going to name their babies after your amazing ass.

What would be even worse is if death got frustrated and gave up on you. You outfox him and live forever. That would seem ideal at first. But you get to watch everything and everyone you love die. Your body may betray you or you sustain a serious injury that you may have to live with for an eternity. Imagine being in an accident that cuts you in half and you have to spend forever with no legs. Or the world blows up and you float in space forever like a lost meteor. These are terrible scenarios I never want to experience. Which is more reason to encourage death to practice and put me in a first class coffin.

Little White Lies

Posted in Deep Thoughts on October 11, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Every once in a while I find myself sitting at the bar of this quaint little French restaurant.  I usually order a soup or salad and proceed to shoot the shit with the girl on the other side of the bar.  It’s a weekly ritual.  Conversations are usually laced with what seems a juvenile adoration.  It’s cute and I find it refreshing.

Over the course of time, as with anything if you are smart, you pick up a thing or two about the other person.  She’s a good kid; A good balance of sarcasm and friendliness.  It seems as though she has a bit of a dark side or some secret shame that she struggles with.  I don’t ask questions, we all have pasts.  No need to make anyone uncomfortable unintentionally.  One conversation that sticks out in my head is when I was telling her about some darker period in my life and that eventually you learn how not to be a monster.  Her eyes got big and saucer like.  She believed me.  I believed me.  But that was a little white lie.

Let me explain.

Later on that evening and a few beers in, I noticed she was having a hard time with a package.  I reached down at my hip and procured a knife, more specifically, a larger knife with an assisted opening.  She looked down at it and asked why I would carry that thing.  I explained that it was a tool.  I use it everyday for a million things.  I’ve always had a knife.  Ever since I was a little boy.  All of which is true.  What I didn’t explain is that I also have it as a “just in case” for whatever bad situations might come my way.  I may have stopped acting a monster, but that doesn’t mean I really stopped being one.  He’s still in me, somewhere not too far under the surface and if I need him, I can ask him to come out and play.  That knife is a tool, but it’s also the monster’s claw.  It’s there in plain sight and just a snap away if I need it.

That’s my little white lie.  That’s the truth.  Once you’ve lived that way it never really stops, you just learn how to control it.  You can still tap into it and you can always feel it breathing down the back of your neck.  You just learn to tune it out.


Posted in Rants on May 9, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Walls are specifically designed to keep unwanted elements from coming in or out of an area.  Much like a cage at the zoo, it keeps people from harassing whatever wildlife that is being kept and it keeps said wildlife from attacking the families at the zoo.  It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Which is why it always would amaze me when people would give me shit for putting a wall up between my emotions and them.  Obviously people who put up emotional barriers don’t like being hurt and so they throw this wall up as a way to protect them…. Sometimes that invisible wall is put up to prevent hurting anyone too.  No one ever gets that.  Life is funny that way.


%d bloggers like this: