Age 13 and the death of my grandmother.

To continue to speak about the intervention of children and youth services you will have to understand the kind of time it was. If you reported abuse to a cop they would laugh in your face. Corporal punishment meant just about anything but a broken bone or beaten to death. It was all legal to a point. All the service was supposed to do at the time was assess if removal was necessary or counseling implemented, things like that. They had to determine if the abuse was continuing, and if it was excessive. I don’t know if my stepfather was told to quit using a belt or he figured out he didn’t need it anymore because the marks are what got him in trouble. But he quit using the belt and quit dragging me to whip spots. Maybe he thought I was no longer responding and need something stronger to satiate his desire.

The case worker would come by once a month, then once every 3, then she was gone. Every time she would crowd us all into the living room and ask me if my stepfather hit me and I would lie. It scared me more to be taken away to be honest. My stepfather and my mother would tell me all the horrible places a child like me of my age would end up. It might also have been my desire for a home and the sick need to have their acceptance. I am sure fear still factored into this to some degree. So the belt went away and out came the fists. The instinctive reaction is to drop straight to the ground you see. The combination of stun, surprise and shock is extremely effective. Couple into that the fear of not knowing when it’s coming and it’s quite a cocktail. You just had to make it a point of never walking anywhere near him as best you could, but again. He would come find you.

You also had to go deaf but yet not be deaf. I used to do this as a tactic to pretend to be deaf as a post. Parents call it selective hearing. I knew every time he yelled for me it was something bad. So I would just pretend not to hear him. Sometimes he’d come for me sometimes he wouldn’t but it cut down the abuse some.

The caseworker had me and my stepfather go to a counselor for joint sessions. What a fucking joke. He tells him to do things like throw a football with me or give me an allowance. My stepfather quickly convinces the counselor that I am a pathological liar. So everything was great every session. Just swell. What in the

fuck could I say in front of him that I wouldn’t get paid for later? My silence was bought with blood.

At this point, I stopped wondering why or how I could do something to stop all this with him. I just accepted I was never going to get around it.

6th grade was in Pottstown junior high school. All the elementary schools in the area merged into this building. It was well within walking distance. The benefit of this was a whole slew of new people. Even some family. I lost Mr. Kaccando as a counselor and received no replacement at the time. I believe it was because of being swallowed up by the massive amount of kids in this school.

Gym class was odd, I’d get mauled by just about any activity but the odder was showering naked with all the guys afterward. It didn’t really bother me till I noticed all the kids whenever they get next to me would stare up my pecker. I mean what the fuck was the interest right? So I started freaking out about homosexuals I heard about in the anatomy and puberty classes we had last year. You didn’t know who was gay and who wasn’t. I just went in washed and left, people would talk to me or something I’d ignore them.

Cliques formed quickly so again I tried to group up. I ended up with the walkers from my neighborhood. The poor white trash. They introduced me to my first cigarette. We used to smoke in this giant galvanized culvert while on the way to school and bullshit. I never inhaled or anything, was just trying to fit in.

Out of this group I spent most of my time with jimmy. I used to play up at his house after school and I really quit giving a fuck about being home on time. Fuck the half block shit. Fuck the curfews, fuck the homework, fuck the chores. First and foremost priority was to stay the fuck away from that man. I would lie, I mean why not? detention, helping after school, got lost going home, whatever. I was learning fast how to take a shot and bullshit. Sometimes I would win, sometimes I would lose. What mattered now is sometimes, just sometimes, I was getting away.

At this point I will inject my cousin bob. He was going to junior high this year and we were best friends from kids we were born 3 months apart. He had his own group of people and seemed to fit in well with his friends. Girls liked him and he was a bit of a prick but I guess out of blood he toted me along here and there. He ended up moving close to where I lived as well. This would prove extremely useful later. So with what lemons I had I made lemonade.

Out of this transition also came the death of me going to the Pottstown youth center for quite a while, rarely to never. So I began to go to something I heard

about at school going on at the YMCA once a week, Saturday. They have a movie, a dance and then they have a small amount of rec at the basketball court. I used to show up early and help the guy who ran it set up chairs and whatever. I liked him, I think he liked me too. Probably the first male role model that didn’t beat me up. My first movie was “john carpenters’ The Thing” with the god of all actors, Kurt Russel. It was this place and this movie that would totally change me up. Movies especially horror became an awesome escape for me, we finally got cable tv, and HBO. So my ass would sneak downstairs in the night and start watching anything. Lucky for me the parents were sound sleepers, especially in the summer they had no ac in the house except for their bedroom and the fucking thing was loud. I got to watch tales from the crypt once a week, I caught alien 2, so many others. GIRLS!!! Naked girls! Holy shit naked girls. The more I saw them the more I wanted them. I saw how they’d act in movies, how hard they’d fall in love with a man, breakups and murders and heartache. She truly was the most dangerous plaything. But now partnerships were making sense. They’d make pain disappear, they’d never leave you, they’d always come back for the happy ever after. People were happy with them. Happy? really? well someone’s writing about it it’s got to be true right? Even then it all seemed rare, but if there was one thing to acquire , it would have to be this. I became a movie junkie ever since.

There was one movie however, that would be a major turn of events in my life. The abyss. The movie was so amazing, all the water the characters the story. The characters Bud and Coffee and the relationship Bud had with Lindsey I just fell in so deep with. Especially the scene where she drowns. I was literally fighting with Bud. Amazing what they became. I only wish.

But it wasn’t just Bud and Lindsey, It was Coffee. Coffee gets some kind of depth sickness and starts to lose his mind. As he does he begins cutting his arms. For some reason it seemed to level him out for a time. I started to as well after every beating. Every cut was a moment of strain. Not only could I remember when it happened when I cut because it all hazed together somehow, it could be locked away like the better part of me. As I watched it heal, the pain of the event would go away. I hated myself, so weak, fucking pussy. Couldn’t just stand up to him. Couldn’t just tell that fucker to finish his fucking business and kill my ass. Ugly, wimpy, pathetic crying little faggot. Why couldn’t you take control of your own fucking life? Love is a fucking joke anyway who the fuck would love you? There is nothing in your life but pain, and me. I am all you have, all you will ever have. My response to Vincent’s usual bating was the slash. I used to do it in the dish sink while washing, the water would stop the blood and i could always steal a paper towel for a bandage till it scabbed. Stepfather was always on the couch, always watching TV. Fucking oblivious until he wanted something.

and music….

Oh my god. I heard music. Over the years you heard something of this and that but I had a real catapult here and started going through phases. I discovered MTV (believe it or not they played music once). I listened to Motown and rockabilly swing from the 50’s and 6o’s, around now. The parents didn’t mind even bought me a stereo for my room on a birthday present. I used to do the tape cassettes, used to steal them out of parents religious collection and put a little scotch tape over the punch out and presto, a blank tape. Best part was when the parents looked through my collection, well hey I love Jesus.

Also tried decorating my room, pages of art from comic books, books, even once a while a game or 2 had a poster I could steal. The parents got a Nintendo 8 bit by now for the boys for Xmas. Hell everyone had one. I used to go over to this kid Joe’s house and play contra with him in the basement for hours. My brother Joe was addicted to bubble bobble. My brother Mic by this time was officially one weird fucking kid. The boys had their own room as I did but they would have the door locked at night so they couldn’t roam around. Well my brother mic wasn’t having it I guess he start beating the back of his head against the wall until one of my parents let him out. He’d get so loud he’d shake the house and break the plaster off the walls. God he was so fucking irritating. From birth. I liked Joe way better. But yah anything that was put up, was promptly ripped down and torn to pieces. I tried one more time, same thing, so that was that.

The stepfather had begun to work double shifts at the prison from time to time. This was the greatest thing ever. I would literally cheer when this shit happened. He wouldn’t be home till 10:30 and I was long in bed. It really was a gift. So from time to time I could get my cousin bob over even my cousin gar rarely and we would play in the house all day while my little brothers were killing each other, breaking things and trashing the house. All I had to do was get it square and the kids fed and my chores all done by the time he got home. The days he was bob helped me out with them so we could go outside and play. He gave up on the half block idea finally and then extended my curfew to I had to come home when the street lights were on. I guess without me there he started to realize how much calmer it was? Kids would be laid down for a nap and I never gave a shit about coming home for dinner. I scavenged at friends houses anything. Funny my stepfather was like if vou are not home in time for dinner you don’t eat. WHO FUCKING CARES?!

Was an amazing thing to start roaming the streets of town. Me and bob would go exploring. We’d look for cool hideouts, trouble, anything. Especially the woods though, we loved the woods. The memorial park, the creek. The rivers. I got to know everywhere, every underside of a bridge. We just went everywhere.

The double shift home parties with my cousins had gotten a little out of control. Through my exploring of the house and the garage (especially the garage) I began to discover what kind of a man this guy really was. On top of the garage like up towards the ceiling there were these 2 doors. Like old doors someone removed and just laid up on the rafters for the hell of it. Well, I noticed the dust had been disturbed on the glass by a hand, a human hand. Definitely peaked my what the fuck so i got a stepladder off the wall and had a peak. A smith and Wesson 38 special in the box and a smith and Wesson .357 magnum chrome with an 8 inch barrel. Just gorgeous. No fucking bullets. I trashed the garage for them, couldn’t find any. So it became an obsession to keep my eye out for ammo. Dreams changed to add in me blowing that fuckers head off, and staying alive long enough to piss on his grave. I was so full of hate. Hate was the air I breathed now. What I didn’t know then was Vincent was slowly having his way, taking hold of everything in me. I was always in control. I was never beyond choice. But boy he was awfully convincing. Hate felt so good. Feelings became nil, everything was logical and calculated. Manipulation was sharpened. I got good, really good. Everything was a chess game, them against me. But now I had help. I was surviving again. Maybe one day one these bastards up on this door would help me survive. I didn’t even touch them. If he found out I even used his ladder I was a dead man. Plus the best attack is a surprise attack.

I remember the day my cousin bob and gar showed up and we were playing around, most of the time wrestling I was extremely addicted to wwf, we would watch the pay per views together at a friend’s house and I would never miss Saturday cartoons, even the after school ones when I had to be home. Thanks for brothers, Saturday mornings were quiet. He’d sleep in and I would be up at 6 am waiting for them to come down, feed them breakfast and go watch TV. But that day we ended up in the garage. Usually we watched whatever movie my stepfather rented on his million dollar entertainment center. I guess he didn’t rent anything this week. Well bob starts going through the drawers and low and behold, a pouch of top tobacco and a pornographic vhs tape of something titled, “female athletes.” Well I wasn’t for sure it was porn I didn’t dream he’d be that fucked up but bob said “I know what this is let’s watch it” so he runs in the house and gar is like no let’s not this is bad. Again, Gar was the cousin everyone was told to be like, raised to God and blah blah whatever. So bob puts this in and for 5 second of awe and shock I am watching some gal getting railed on a table by some guy.. I stopped it and bob flips out and goes wait put it on. Gar leaves and runs home, bob continues to watch I just wander off. topless and romantic was exciting, but this was sex. Just raw pornographic rough sex. It had to settle in, and when it did I went out a week or so later to finish watching it but it was gone.

That certainly didn’t stop me from attempting to bust his balls. At the dinner table on Sunday’s my mother would rattle how bad her job was, he’d yack about his job over a beer or two and somewhere it come around to me and how I was doing like they fucking cared. So i began to tell stories of gym class and girls lacrosse teams I’d watch after school and was incredibly amazed by the “female athletes” and how skilled they were. He never looked up from the table or his

plate. Even after the 5th reference. I had his ass, for once in my life I had his ass.

If he beat me, what the fuck was it for right? I’m sure mom would have loved to know she married a pervert. I won that day, that day. Fuck you, you fake piece of shit.

It was this curiosity that convinced me to have sex, that and all the kids who seemed to brag about having it but me. Laughed for being a virgin. Well fuck it lets fix that right? Well up to now I was masturbating on the regular every evening in bed and I think I just started getting erections. Puberty clubbed me like a meteor. Zits, voice changes, hair, the whole fucking thing hit me all the fuck at once. I used to get the world largest zits on the tip of my nose, I’d use the stepfathers shaving razor to slice them off. Still ugly. But hey, that didn’t stop me. I started climaxing fairly soon after I started couple of weeks. I remember the first one I had I jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. For all I knew blood shot out. Slept like a rock that night too. So that was that. It became quite a ritual, mixed in with trance stories, imagination, anything. But I was always somewhere far away in my mind, usually with heather. I was still madly in love with this girl. Through my imagination she kept me alive, took care of me, made me happy.

So anyway I made a few passes and promptly got laughed out of their face. The girlfriend thing was my cousin bob’s department. I never had much luck. So I devised a plan with Vincent on how to get this done. I knew a girl, she kind of liked me, but god was she nothing to brag about. The only real thing I had going for me was she was an incredible liar. Bullshit would drop out of her mouth like a river. Everyone knew she had that reputation, everyone knew she was a slut. So I convince bob to help get this girl to my house. Her name was Sta, and fucking god I could not stand her, but I was more in it to lose my virginity than anything. So we had something that might have resembled sex. I didn’t even have an orgasm.

It wasn’t nothing like a movie, nothing like anything. It was awkward and silly. Lousy is what it was. So now I’m like what is the big fucking deal here right? Fuck this shit. The nice part about her was if she ran her mouth I could deny it all, not like I was anything to brag about either way.

Well out of all the days, on this day my mother’s mother decides to show up and check on me and the house. No idea why, I figure a neighbor made a phone call or just the worlds weirdest coincidence. I never seen her much at this point, but she always wrote me holiday cards and kept my school pictures. Yah I was in trouble.

I don’t think she told my stepfather, she hated him to. But she found sta and promptly made her leave, she found my cousin bob in the closet on the second floor. She smacked me for lying, no big deal but she slapped up bob pretty good. He went home and that ended that day.

My brother Joe, He always followed us around, He was always wanting to do anything with us and never wanted to play with mic, I guess it was because they

fought a lot. The problem with those kids was I took the weight for all they did wrong. Some relevant moments were joe running out in the yard playing naked as usual and him going to explore the neighborhood. I found him up the street and promptly got my ass beat. But in all the shit they did, I tried to repay it whenever I could.

I remember when my brother would get in the habit of going to piss in the middle of the night and not flush the toilet. Now usually when my stepfather came home his ritual was his 2 hour visit to the toilet. He’d read his paper and do whatever the fuck, but lord he was the world’s longest shit. Well things would irk him in there I guess. My toothbrush would have a wet spot under it on the towel because I didn’t tap the water off correctly. Combs and brashes wouldn’t be in proper order, the toilet paper roll would be empty. So sometimes I would get drug out of bed and have my face jammed in my mistake and receive a beating for it.

The brother thing though, after I was drug out of bed in a sound sleep and had my face drowned in a toilet full of piss I about had enough. So I would sneak in my brothers room for the next 2 weeks with cups of warm water to try and get him to piss the bed. (this doesn’t work by the way) so instead I just poured it slow on his sheets and my mom though he was wetting the bed. Cruel, yes. But I suppose it was better than choking in a toilet full of piss.

I remember pranks too, me and bob bet him he couldn’t drink a bottle of mustard. One dollar. To a little kid that was gold I guess.. Poor kid still can’t have mustard without getting sick. He puked for days.

Didn’t stop at my brother either. I used to regularly shake the shit out of my stepfathers fucking diet 7ups he made me run to the corner store for.I think after the 3rd one he soaked himself with he got smart and started tapping the cans and slowly opening them. I’d lay off for a while, and then I’d try it again. Sometimes a win, sometimes not but it’s the game you know, you play to win.

This was also the year I decided to start dressing a little better. After the allowance thing went kaput (well I think it was 50 cents a week for like a month than it quit) I needed to work. I was already the indentured servant in the summers because he would trim the hedges and mow the grass. I have to rak all that shit up. Our whole corner house was surrounded by these fucking hedges and holy shit I hated them. But of course it didn’t stop there, he do the neighbors all over the block for money and I wasn’t paid shit. But hey I got to clean those up too.

My stepfather worked the local newspaper on nights and would also moonlight and clean my uncles store once in a while. Some occasion I’d help my cousins stock the store shelves but that never panned out I ate more candy then I made

money, so by the end of my 8 hour shift I owed him money. Boy did that suck. So my stepdad lies about my age and gets me a paper route. So now I’m getting up 4am on top of all this shit to deliver fucking newspapers. But my first few checks were pretty sweet, and it was all my money. I bought clothes and My first PC, a commodore 64. Wasn’t much you could do with a computer back then, had a few games like pitfall and pole position. But, I also started my first journal. My parents I guess never caught on but I would write for hours into the night. Everything that happened that day. I really wish I still had that disk but it’s been long lost over time. Maybe it should be.

130 papers, every morning. Man what a job, even bought a wagon and had a push cart to go with my shoulder bags. Sundays were heavy as fuck and the black Friday Xmas ones were the worst. But every morning 4 am I was folding paper and stuffing inserts for delivery at the neighborhood drop. Some days you would freeze to death on the fucking porch let me tell you. But eventually I got used to the weather, even used my bike on light days. I could deliver papers in 20 below in shorts. Collection were once a month, and so was payday. We’d even go out with other kids and recruit customers some evenings. Every subscriber got us a bonus. Wasn’t a bad gig.

Now to top all of this off, this was the year I found my dad. He used to do drugs with a guy named corky, his house was on the way home from school. He also used to sling with the neighbors son, tony I think his name was. The look on my face, DAD! SON! it was like all my cries were answered, he wasn’t there to see me or anything but I didn’t care. I used to run in the house when it was empty and make him a sandwich and we’d talk a while. He’d ask how mom was and how’d I like my new dad and I’d just say I didn’t. He told me my stepfather did drugs, and I said yes I know he used to, but he said something else. He still does he buys from my friends all the time. Years later I would figure cocaine had a big part in his anger and abuse. It was also why he never did it when my mother was around. The things you learn. Fucking phony. I saw Dad maybe 3 or 4 times, then just like that he was gone again. I walked by the 2 spots I ran into him every day, never saw him. I carried a sandwich in my pocket every day on the way home from school for 2 years to come. I cried every time I walked in the door. Rejection again. Just a pile of garbage.

Fucking Bible camp was again to be this summer. Again it was a horrible piece of shit. Bored bored bored. Tired of all the Jesus will save you bullshit. I just didn’t give a fuck and did my own thing. It was this time my family started to notice me developing a pessimistic sarcastic negative cynical attitude that would be like a second skin to me for the rest of my years. My mother nicknamed me Eeyore and that would stick to me like glue for many, many years.

Coming back from this camp bred a new hatred, A hated for Christianity. Every

phony 2 faced mother fucker in it. I had enough. I began to will myself to the supernatural, and the occult. Wicca and Pagan were too tame, The eastern religions were just too stupid. No way I was going Muslim, Satanism was promising, but it was way too early for me to worship Satan. Man I was pissed but I wasn’t that pissed. It was in all my library books I’d gank I finally found something in Aleister Crowley. He denounced the Plymouth Brethren, what his parents forced him to be and rejected fundamentalist Christian practice. I will post some additional information on both sects, if anyone would care to read.

What I did after was of the Arcane. I prayed to new deities, I summoned horrible creatures. I rejected all that was good in me. I had no control over me anymore. I became Vincent, and he buried me. My barter for this was what I ultimately sought out all along. My freedom. This was the beginning of how it all happened.

In October of this year Another prison in Pennsylvania rioted. It was the worst riot the state ever seen. Prisoners after the prison was retaken were sent to other prisons all over the state. Gratorford was one of them. The following is what I could extract from a newspaper article in 1993:

My stepfather was one of the 7 guards. Right up his alley I would imagine the act appealed to everything he craved. At this point in time though, nobody would dream of what would happen down the line. But this was the start of his fall. The retribution I was promised. The price for walking away from my faith, and serving a darker purpose. Now they would suffer, They would all fucking pay. The whole fucking world was going to burn, and I would burn it. One person at a time.

About this time or soon after was when we had a conversation about the family dog, Gizmo. Cleaning his shit up for years was just the most exciting thing in the whole world because I so wanted this piece of shit dog in the first place. We had a second dog daisy, but she dug holes in my stepfathers prized yard so she was quickly gotten rid of. So among our many conversations he would always have to remind to clean up after gizmo. Another thing I would conveniently forget on a regular basis. I groaned and he said something I forget what but I just got fed up and told him “all that dog does is eat shit and sleep” Well I was promptly picked up by the back of my neck into the air and informed that the family dog is the protector of this house and don’t you forget it. My face from mid air suddenly began chewing on the wood cross beam on top of the easy chair. My bottom teeth went through my bottom lip. Whoops. So I had a car ride to my family doctor. I suddenly became his buddy again. Hey buddy, I’m sorry buddy. But you know you deserved it too. It won’t happen again buddy if you don’t say anything. 4 Stitches on the inside of my lip later and the doctor asking me who did this. I said I fell on the chair. As I said it my eyes rolled to the floor, Guess who was hanging out in the room with great interest. So I got sent outside and the doctor had a

fairly long talk with my stepfather I can guess what about.

My grandmother went rather fast, first I heard she was sick. I would visit with my mother once in a while but she lay there, dying in the apartment above my aunt and uncles, the place I knew her to live her whole life. She loved birds, had a lot of parakeets. But the bible studies from when I was a child were long since over. The second to the last visit she said to me “you were always my favorite grandson.” I never forgot that. I also never forgot her reading me Dr. Suess or The tale of peter rabbit. All the trips to Mcdonalds for breakfast, the pride I felt walking with her. In her last years she left the church everyone was convinced to go to by my uncle gar and started attending another one. In retrospect I think she finally caught on to the bullshit in that church. Mainly the inferiority of women I think. I never really knew. The last time I saw her alive, she tried to sit up and she couldn’t as I turned to walk away she said, her last words to me “Take the straight road”. Maybe she saw something coming, I don’t know.

She passed tonight on this date. I was driven down and the whole family was there waiting for the doctor. I saw her dead in her bed in the bedroom her eyes half open her mouth open and still. My first death right in front of me. You would have thought I would broken down and cried to death. Nothing. In fact I walked out. I went to a girls house and we spent the night making out. I suppose she felt sorry for me. But there was something she said I will never forget. She said my eyes, my eyes were glowing red. This is where it dawned on me I was lost.