Rico Elias Films

CHECK out these paranormal video clips.

Rico Elias Films

check out these paranormal video clips.

Rico Elias Films

check out these paranormal video clips.

Cry like a baby

     I spent years building up armour. To appear strong. Hour after hour working on defense and countering. 

     When all I was doing was stuffing it all further and further down. 

     Then I started to find the freedom you get from meditation. I started to break the chains of emotional bondage from years of abuse. One day I find out accidental that I have malignant cancer . Hodgkin's Disease. I was fully into my Go state of mind. I was gonna meet this head on. I had love, I had friends, I had all the beautiful support to beat this and keep going. 

     Then my mother shows up with her Tupperware dill with food. Look she cooked for me. Well you can be sure that she hit me up for money before she left. 

     Well, she found a foothold and snuck back into my life. And since I had some money she wasn't leaving.

     Long story short. Cancer, major surgeries, radiation treatment and then a major break up. Add my train wreck of a mother and her manipulation and I wanted to crawl right back into the womb! There were 2 real adult loves and they had both failed. So I grabbed onto a girl that seemed nice enough. I was physically broken down, I was emotionally crippled and the vultures on the periphery of my life moved in. First it was with the cocaine. And you know what ? It fucking worked! I didn't feel weak and vulnerable anymore. It gave me a boost of energy. Then, I began to further associate with the vermin from my past. Juan Pablo! Saco Papa. "Sack of potatoes!" By then he was a full fledged crack head. And smoking that shit intensified the rush 5 times. I was hooked and couldn't stop. Between the drugs and vermin from my past. I say vermin cause Juan Pablo was never really a part of my story. He was malicious, caniving,and a thieving lier. Was pretty much my opposite. But like my mother, he got a foothold. It's incredible how similar they are. 

     With my head and heart all fucked I couldn't see clearly enough to resolve this problem. I didn't want to. I really wanted to die. Then as everything in that life falls apart, I bail. I go live at my moms . I move back into the nightmare.

     Hindsight is 20/20. Yes it is. Within a short period of time I was homeless and on the streets. Shelters, drop inn centers and the new one. I start using the psychiatric wards as a hotel. My loving mom wasn't about helping me. It was about getting me out. I had no money and I was of no use to her. I'm not gonna feed into tagging her with the mountain of foul shit that she's done. That she turned everyone against everyone. There was no love, nothing!

   After ten years of this merry-go-round, I wanted to get off. The shelters , programs hospitals. Her with her mind and emotion dibilitating control games. Using the courts and cops as her lap dogs. Enough, the last time I stayed there she had bed bugs everywhere. And they had bitten me and given me some blood infection that had lodged in my knee. You gotta love it. She even blamed me for her bedbugs. 

     My knee is swollen, I can barely walk. She calls the cops and serves me with an order of protection and throws me into the street. I cant walk and now I'm in the street. I went down to E.30st. The Belevue men's shelter. I was lucky to get a bed in Bedford-Atlantic shelter and in the morning had to go to court. I actually made it to the Bronx but I went to Lincoln Hospital's ER. My knee had blown up. And the pain so bad I couldn't go to court.

     Two surgeries in one week and 12 weeks of intro venous antibiotics. Through all of this mess at the hospital I needed to get physical rehab for my knee. Couldn't do it at home, so I was placed in a nursing home for physical rehab. That's how I met my good friend Bobby Q.  (End of Part 1)

Princely hands

     As I often say " You never know whose gonna get in your backseat!" And on a warm spring day two men hail me down on the W.50's on 11th ave. it was the Rolls Royce repair shop. The guy in his late 30's stayed silent. It was the older gentleman with his very distinguished mustache that did all the conversing. He took a shine to me and asked me a lot of questions. He explained how his Rolls needed to be serviced as we drove the very short distance to Park Ave South. He also mentioned in passing how he was the Prince of the Neatherlands. In passing?! So the old man hands me his card and tells me to ring him. I handed him one of my postcards. Hey, it had my number!

     A few days had passed and I got a message on my machine. Figured what the heck? So I returned his call. I gotta tell ya', it was a true pleasure to converse with this man. He was cultured, had a way of treating you like you were special. He invited me over on that following Sunday. He and his wife the Princes would be entertaining A New York Times Best Selling Author.

     When I say "Park Ave to the park bench", I mean it. But I've never been around a real Prince.

     I showed up with a a dozen pink Carnations. I know, cornball. But that's me. I entered and was announced and take up to the apt. In the lift. I was presented to the Princess and kissed her hand. Now I'm feeling really cornball. She was a lovely older women. The author was a women with her husband and we sat and were served champagne and orderves. We talked about this B movie that I had a featured role in called "Waitress." And my under fives in the soaps. The authors book and then we were shown around. As I sat the Prince placed a statue in my hands. He asked if I knew what I held? I answered no. He said "That my good fellow is The Maltese Falcon." I was speechless then but there was much more to follow. His city dwelling was a virtual muse am. He had a Picasso on one wall and a Rembrandt on another. The names of the other artist are a blurr. I touched the frame of some of then. That these treasures were out in the open made me feel as if I were in a private museum. 

     At the end of our tour he pulled me aside and showed me the blueprints to a mansion he was building his son in Connecticut. After all this I was overwhelmed. I finally had to call it a night and thanked everyone for a lovely evening. 

     There really was so much more that I was shown that there can be more pages here. But just with what I've mentioned imagine how my head was spinning.

     I guess that was the Princes intent because our next phone call was him propositioning me. How I could be his driver and the things he could give me. Yeah, all that wealth and beauty. And none of it meant crap to me. I don't and will never sleep with anyone unless it's sex that I want. And besides, I don't do men. Not for any money. 

     So, I thanked him and told him that I enjoyed his company and that perhaps we may be friends, but that's it! To which we ended our call and the Prince never called or returned any of my 2 messages left. I can live with me, and sleep well at night.

I can't blame him

     People like Hoffman, and others who've slipped and/or od'd aren't weak. It takes great courage to get out of bed when ur an addict or alcoholic. Don't make a difference in what the name of the substance is. It's the disease. 

     There's a saying "That once ur a pickle u can't go back to being a cucumber." Even after a year or two, at one time I hadn't done dope in over ten years. It only takes that first one. And off to the races. 

     Look life gets better. There's no way in hell that anyone's gonna spend years white knuckling it!

     Even driving a yellow cab in NYC, I get drug tested. And truthfully, it don't bother me. I don't like being tested but I feel a small sense of pride knowing that I'm clean.

     You try to find pleasure and joy in the small things! And with some work and support you build from that. 

     For some it's 12 step programs. For others it religion, and then for hard cases like me it's life. It took a real discipline. The only time I'd ever achieved any long period of clean time was with my martial arts training. 

     Intelligence isn't enough. If that were the case addicts would all be blue collar high school drop outs. In fact most addicts are incredible problem solvers. With skills comparible to any super spy. Living double lives for long periods of time. Keeping that secret, guarding that secret to within an inch of death. And many will die keeping that secret. 

     If you notice, many people don't die in squaller, they're not financially destitute. In fact a great many die when they're on the upswing or even on top of the game. 

     One thing I couldn't stress enough is that addiction runs the gamut. From hard working people to the squzziest, sleaziest low life's in existence. 

     The flip side of the coin is that just because someone has long periods of clean, sober time doesn't mean that they're right in the head. My own sponser at the time who had 20+ yrs without a drink told me that I had said to him that I molested a child. That shit really blew my mind. To make the jump that I'd go from being a child whose been molested to that I'd do some sick shit to any child had me wanting to hurt him really bad. Actually, it hurt me so much that couldn't look at him anymore. In my book that is the lowest you can go. I've never been able to figure that one out. What I do know is that whatever his motives, all I could really do is live my life as I've been doing it. I haven't come this far in life to wind up with a felony jacket over some piss in his pants drunk. 

    I'm constantly asking myself "Is this worth it?" Is it worth destroying what I've started building upon?

Rampage runnin wild

     It wasn't but a matter of weeks with my father being escorted out by the cops that my mother had the apartment full of young drug addicts, hippy type people from all over Bushwick Brooklyn. It was like smoke signals went up and her party began. It was an open door policy at our apartment. There were the half decent people that would bring something in hand, even if it was a quart of milk or some penny candies. But most were straight up junkies, potheads, you name it. The line was drawn at the glue sniffers. Mental burnouts  tripping on that shit or carbona. Aside from that they usually stunk from not bathing in weeks. It's not like we had much but they'd even steel our toys if they thought they could get .50 cents!

     Truth is that the girls were all nice to me. I guess they could tell that I was attracted to them. I really liked when they'd kiss and hug me. Shorty and Jasmine were amoungst my favorites. They always smelled of perfume and Jasmine would lift me and squeeze me tight against her tits. Ohh man. Even now it excites me. 

     One day after they had smoked some pot they decided to take naps and Shorty got into my bed. All I can remember is that I got my thingy hard and I started rubbing her breast and behind. I got real brave and started kissing her neck, cheeks and finally her lips. A kissed her neck and gave her a hickey. 

     I was all of 7-8 yrs old. When she awoke she flipped out. Jasmine was laughing and called me a horney little boy. She wasn't really angry with me, she was more upset with what her boyfriend would think.

     All I could figure was to go talk to her boyfriend one on one. I had $3. Saved so I went out and found him on Knickerbocker and Halsey. I pulled him aside from his friends. The guy was like twenty but I didn't want her to get hurt. I told him that I didn't know she had a boyfriend and I made a mistake. That my mom was already gonna kill me, but for him not to blame her . I gave him the three bucks to squash it. I said I'm sorry and had to get home to get my ass beat. And that was that. 

     What I remember was them all laughing saying that my mom don't have to worry about me being gay!