August 6th, 2025 Wonder Woman can be difficult to love because like a lot of amazing things she's gotta be shared with people. Feminists and sex-starved wolves wrestle to control Princess Diana da First. Wild enough her builders were both. Billy Marston was our early century "Dr. Fill". Totally a vintage pop-psychologist, S+M horn-dog, polygraph innovator, plus creator of child's material aimed at little girls. Cramming bondage into as much panel-age as he and artist H.G

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 15th, 2026 Yo, Homies and Homettes! Finals finished, and this is from my Family and Childhood class for Sociology at Simmons straight outta Louisville. Hoping you'll give a gander to garner what prison's like from the perspective of an observant person training in a field about objective science. Don't worry it's not dry and I strayed from Snoozeville to top capacity. Dig: Family often is not what our body enters this world with. Adoption and adaptation occur i

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

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 need vent time. Emotions ran high this week at the 'Point on all the levels. Metric fuck-tons of bad actors were booted ("shipped" in the nomenclature) to other quality dumps. Two guys I was fond of, casting large shadows on my yard boarded the bus for Lee County. Controversial they could be, but I was treated swell. Deuce said I was "the coldest cook on the yard", and honestly I loved making anything for that boy to see the ecstasy on his gorgeous shit-kicker country mug.