August 24th, 2026 At my Aunt Onetia's funeral was this in-law off her granddaughter Maley, the other grandma, and tenant of a cardboard box in the woods. Rough as a cob like they used to say, but she rocked a black patent leather minidress with a matching velvety trench and complimentary leather boots. Hair the same shade as the ensemble, with makeup somewhere on the spectrum between punk and country. Probably she'd dig '80's "cow-punk" I'd play for her were we not both

August 14th, 2026 Once I knew this punk who like lots was not a good listener. He heard well enough, picking mouths to listen from is where he went bad. This in the pervert's prison is problematic when you're young with anything left to lose. RJ, a towering Jew at around 6'5 sported his Yarmulke proudly on the yard, rocked a sash-belt plus a Hebraic scroll plastered on his locker like some movie-poster. Not getting funds from outside I figured was likely shame not their

August 12th, 2026 This week I'm interviewing a maybe Robber, cracking up behind-the-site-scenester Ms. A suffering through the last big one (RIP and rot you piece'a trash I says to "Throbbin'") eating her inbox into a noisy text-breakup. Regarding his replacement part, "somebody's gotta fetch the ice and cut them onions". Similar, he's young as Monday, and myself Methuselah (thanks to Prison® preservative, in-person I look a healthy 45 according to some without skin in t

August 8th, 2026 We interrupt this inappropriate and raunchy sometimes site for a moment of Zen and spirit fulfillment. Prison's premiere (far as I know) sassified gonzo journalist is kicking it New Age now? Not so much, but like those onions I put in popcorn pouches to re-nuke with sugar and peppers over in Recipes, I got layers, Cousins. Already told y'all about me studying at the Healing Arts Academy. Spirit is important to me. Being a deep thinker of the critical per

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 17th, 2026 Over five decades occupying two continents, five cities, and two prisons I was paving my pop-nerd highway by third grade. Summer 1976, seeing "King Kong" Dino De Laurentis' first full color version six times, twice wasn't on account of fresh obsessions with 10-story beasts, gorgeous young Aryans Jessica Lange and Jeff Bridges, nor an epic fight where our Ape King busted my nightmare fuel - a snake colossus - in half. Less terrifying for its proportions, i

July 13th, 2026 Wanting to watch cartoons without dying babies being shoved in my mug is a scenario where I'm NOT the incorrect party here, right? Since getting Cartoon Network and Boomerang last weekend, I can't watch "Rick and Morty" nor "My Adventures With Superman" minus St. Jude showing me a baby dying of some croup being coached off-camera to say "I love you" sandwiched between bawling parents. I live in the house malformations built, thanks. I watch animation

July 12, 2026 Bombastic describes my week. Last night diving into 10 solid hours of sleep to the ocean floor I woke fresh and excited. In prison. After a crap breakup. This I holler at anybody queer, str8, Black, Me-Hican, Mahican, or Amish. An object in motion remains that way, a physical phenomenon. Stationery = cessation. Why my excitement? After a workweek giving my all, multiple endowments to this page here, finals turnt in, meals lovingly made, and workouts do

July 11th, 2026 Mixtape-material shopping is my A#1 prisoner retail therapy. Blowing bags of booty keeping mine moving through workouts, psyche escapes, and breakdowns the soundtrack is critical to my survival along with blogging (hi!) and comic books. Transportation is key to living here. Perusing the stacks with my fingertips I find the damnedest things, like last week's Screamin' Jay Hawkins anthem "Same Damn Thing" for instance I'd have never snatched off :20 sam

July 10th, 2026 Dad killed himself Easter of 1982 and a war on fat women ended with its Hitler. Gary Wayne made preemptive strikes, multiple moratoriums on mammoth maids and maidens. Ornery Black ones on TV outlawed like Nell Carter on "Gimme A Break" which he called "Fat's Happening" riffing on also banned "What's Happening" with house-huge Mabel "Mama" King and crown jewel of the sapphires Shirley Hemphill, who told Fred Barry's character famously "Rerun, you ARE a Fat

January 9th, 2026 Welcome back! We lost a homie at Northpoint this week, and shamefully I'm lost for a name. They were found beyond help at home apparently after not showing up for work. First stationed in Dorm 2 daily satisfying the archetype of a movie prison matron, hair piled on her head in a bun-topped PhD (Pentecostal Hair-do), ubiquitously snarling, yelling, and kvetching, this person excelled at spreading soreness. A stretch back she abandoned cop life, moving to

December 31st, 2025 Scrappy New Queer, Visitors! I was having an hellacious time getting motivated the last day plus change, thrusting through this heap-big doozy of an essay when I ran outta steam and joi de vivre all around. Flattened by a wave of ennui, feeling unappreciated in numerous corners which also causes me to wonder if I'm a whiny bitch but we experience what we do sometimes. It passed thankfully, then a million dollar topical gift plopped onto my doorstep h

December 25, 2025 I was gonna skip out on my week's affairs over tone, coz' this is a holiday letter to my visitors and the subject it boils down to is harsher than jailhouse "shit tickets" (toilet paper, for the back row), now I realize this is apropos as 20 Winter trips to Big Lots. Big picture, anyway. I've metaphor-ized about this "woods-cat" I'm domesticating. Fact is, I'm crazy about this wicked smart dumb-fuck. He makes me smile like a moron half the time an

I was on my way back from St. Louis around 2009 with an ex named Kevin I stayed with about four years longer than I should've. We were together four years. This was a long weekend venture we'd finger-landed on for a reasonably close road-trip from Lexington arriving somewhat blind. The best time we plundered was City Museum - not really what the moniker expressed but an adult playground with insane slides and climbing apparatuses plus a thrift store within, wild dinosaur stat