Chapter Two September 1st, 2026 Mom's death didn't get sympathy cards. While they hugged, cried, and ate ham sandwiches on her sofa, not one of my her family members reached out to her only child. One aunt lied and told her she'd stick by me as Mom died. That while she consumed her pain-pills by fistfuls, and needed her, as a respected "caregiver" read: junkie. Her racket for many years has been assisting the sick while herself and a close friend liquidate med cabinets.

Chapter One August 31st, 2026 Three years back Mom died with me behind this prisoner's fence. Thus marking the cruelest moment of my life not only accounting to me robbing myself of being beside the foremost figure of my life's topography I rented a body off of, during an event making me aware grief prior was practice and their expressions melodrama. This brought on sadness returning childhood's tears with sobs like accompanying being in the meat department, daydrea

August 4th, 2026 Department of Corrections Commissioner Crews: Hello! This is inmate Hiett #283308 at Northpoint greeting and wishing you a great day. Clearly if I'm taking time after 11 flat to approach you, I have concerns. Knowing you are a busy person I appreciate your momentary focus. This pertains to matters on the ground for all demographics, the tether connecting I realize you tire of hearing about: sexuality. Something I wouldn't address but it's problematic for

Chapter Three August 3rd, 2026 This group I spoke of is the Gender Dysphoria Support group. Because I qualified for hormones right as the political landscape wiped the "endo-pack" out, I still get invites to club meetings. Yipee. Transgender being the closest to Gender Fluid on the "Who Am I?" survey in our files, I get sent a reminder monthly that looks verbatim like my vitally important psych visit. That's what tricked me into going this time. Months ago I vowed to s

Chapter Two August 2nd, 2026 One recurring problem was the fake-tranny (no PC in this place, we're convicts who say fuck da werd po-lice) population and guys who, as the vernacular would have it, were "fucked up about me". But you see, I look like a guy. Makeup don't help. Male pattern baldness at 17 with my hair doing Kamikazes by the fistfuls. Twice dudes broke my heart over lady-boys with sex cases, girly-locks, and lady-names. Once I saw Shawn beget Red become Diesel

Chapter One August 1st, 2026 To Ms. Timpf: I'm in this prison in Central Kentucky reading I Used To Like You Until... and it's crazy because should you look around my charming little dump here you see we are SO on the same page! Nonpartisan, libertarian, libertine, and trapped in a prison with a high concentration of sex offenders (I'm not) about to graduate with a Bachelor's in Sociology from an Historically Black College. Plus I'm a gay fella, out 40+ years in fly

July 22nd, 2026 Nobody who was one ever called themselves out loud a gangster. Before escaping high school I heard that applied to hippies too. These days I crash beside/beneath a guy who answers to the second title and damned if hes really not despite looking spot-on a patchouli-stinking bean-sucker (I'm SO being a poser - that Kiss My Face Patchouli Shave Cream is DOPE, Bitches). He would never cop to the first but is more one than the majority of lame wannabes cloggin

July 13th, 2026 Back to the States after my year in da Nederlands I had the mama of all breakdowns. Amsterdam split with sister Rotterdam, the country known for lacking judgy-ness, a quote heard by friend of a friend Dusty, a Chicago attorney last I knew "The only thing we won't tolerate is INTOLERANCE" from a Dutch citizen. Hettie, the cabbie wife of Ruel, my English-deprived coworker took me all over the City of Sin. She witnessed my captivation at "Homomonument", a me