Lessons from a Fleabag Hotel. Fight the Yellow Sticky.

Richard Rosso:

We all have a place where stains originate. Time fades the imprints others leave, but the stain remains.

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

The smell of urine, semen and god knows what else (like there’s anything worse) filled my nose 3 stations before the train stopped at ground zero.

I could taste sour things way before.  The foulness overtook me. Absorbed in my clothes. I was paranoid about an air-born disease festerering in my liver.

The hollow of a play land called Coney Island-long deteriorated, burned out, rusted, ignored, graffiti ridden, was home to the Terminal Hotel.

Coney Island. Also home to the background for apocalyptic movies.

Only “The Warriors,” are not afraid of hanging around Coney Island.

The Terminal – It thrived, heaved in and out like an Amityville horror house but not as pretty. It was an evil presence that swallowed you whole. A landmark, a beacon, to the hopeless built right across from the elevated train line. There were no ghosts. Ghosts were too smart to linger.

The scary residents long or short…

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When Organs Go Wrong – 5 Ways to Get Them Right Again.

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

I stare at red life fluid in the toilet these days. Not a comforting condition.

The act of urination is a vice grip on what remains of a right kidney.

As I contemplate how I got here – One day you’re healthy, the next you’re compromised,  I begin to understand how the deepest fears, sorrows, insecurities can manifest themselves until a part inside your body breaks. An organ goes wrong.

I hold a new respect for the power of the mind to target internals for disposal.

For me  the mental triggers were (are) a relentless former employer attempting to break me financially, a broken friendship, and a breaking new business venture all hitting at once.

Lots of breaking. Broken.

An e-mail arrived.

In the early morning. The day of my surgery.

The Metaphysical Functionality of the Kidneys.

How timely.

Several eye-openers for me. Was it a coincidence that I received…

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What Are Your Shackles? Understand the Ties that Bind.

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

1974: Coney Island Hospital, Brooklyn New York. 1AM.

Your father wants to see you, he’s really hurting,” the man in the white coat said.

“He’s not my father. He tried to kill me tonight.”

“Now, there’s no reason to be ashamed, he has a problem.”

“Yes, he’s an addict who has bad aim with big kitchen knives.” Bob just missed my sleeping face and there was a pillow at home with a chef’s knife still sticking out of it to prove it.  I craved to stick it in a doctor that night.

“Your mother even says you’re the son.”

“My mother is nuts, too.”

I never witnessed anyone in real life in a straitjacket before. I didn’t believe there were such things as real padded rooms either, except for what I saw on on Looney Tunes cartoons. I loved what happened on my tiny black and white TV screen because it…

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The Colors, The Times, of Your Life – Will You Remember?

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

We were free. Moving quick in a white hot breeze. 1977. When the world flew by in lime green.

Slit through a black bowel of public housing. Deep in the middle of the aged carnival colors of blueviolet, aquamarine and bisque. Coney Island. A narrow way forged between the metropolis, slick brown with rot. The summer New York heat penetrated, bounced from dead, white alley cats forming a yellow haze floating neon pungent sluggish slow in still heat. Bright orange, with a burst of unhealthy steel-gray around the edges, like a healthy pink hue that hesitantly abandoned its soul, was there too. Cats and garbage rotted just that way in July. In 1977. In Coney Island. I remember.

The odor scorched the outer part of our pink nostrils until they flared red. But we didn’t care because this moment was designed to be fleeting. The clear blue of escape from…

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The Tolle of the Governor: 6 Steps to Rebirth.

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

“Been on the road a couple of months.”

“By yourself?”

“Yea.”

“Where did you live before that?”

“I was in a town.”

“Were the monsters there?”

“No.”

“It was safe. Full of good people.”

“What happened?”

“He just – lost it.”

“Who?”

“Man in charge.”

“I barely made it out alive.”

Brian Heriot aka “The Governor – Philip Blake.”

governor beard

As you rip from the past, forge a path to the present, there’s a good chance the man in charge will unravel.

Actually, it’s guaranteed.

There will be.

A tumble, a spiral down, to discover who you really are inside.

And burn out what’s haunting your sleep.

Because fire cleanses.

Extinguished fires leave imprints.

Black stains scar foundations.

governor burn three

I’ve learned to fear and respect fire of the mind. 

You won’t notice change; at the surface you’ve built high fences. However, underneath, today’s thoughts are directing steps to a place you must…

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Have Kids? 4 Ways to Save Money: 4 Ways Dave Ramsey gets it Wrong.

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

“Money is more than money, sometimes it’s memory.”

I’ll never forget the March day in 1973 when the birthday gift from my parents – a new lime-green Schwinn 10-speed with a prism-like banana seat (complete with black double-stripe down the middle) was stolen from outside the Brooklyn neighborhood toy store – Cheap Charlie’s.

green schwinn

I believed I did all the right things to ensure my prized possession was secured tightly to a small tree.  It was in my line of sight; no matter where I was, even checking out stacks of Hasbro Colorforms’ boxes at the back of my favorite five and dime, I could glance out the large plate glass windows and observe some part of the bike’s beautiful, clean lines.

Padlock checked twice. Pulled on the lock again, just to be sure I wasn’t fooling myself that the bike was secure.

It wasn’t enough to keep this new birthday…

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The Life In The Mirror. 3 Ways to Save It.

Richard Rosso:

I bolted. Ran out the door. Down three flights of stairs. 3am. Screaming. For a Brooklyn street it was eerie quiet. Dark. Street lights out. A desperate sprint. In pajamas. To the only pay phone close by. Would it be working? It had to be the most vandalized pay phone in the city. Odds weren’t good.

Directly across the avenue from Harold’s Pharmacy.

Originally posted on Random Thoughts of a Money Muse:

I bolted. Ran out the door. Down three flights of stairs. 3am. Screaming. For a Brooklyn street it was eerie quiet. Dark. Street lights out. A desperate sprint. In pajamas. To the only pay phone close by. Would it be working? It had to be the most vandalized pay phone in the city.Odds weren’t good.

Directly across the avenue from Harold’s Pharmacy.

Neon beacon in the night. Still around.

It was a shabby three-room apartment in a pre-WWII three-story walk up.  But it was shelter. That’s all I cared about. It was my world for a time and to me it felt big when things were good and amazingly small and cloying when things were bad.

Lately it felt as if I was living on a pin and the head was about to run out of room.   For an old building, the steam heat worked amazingly well. New York cold was occasionally harsh, so I was grateful. Turn the valve for…

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