Release saw me heading in my cobalt blue scrubs matching my eyes purrrrrrfectly and comfy as a Lay-Z-Boy - damn I wish we'd rock those full-time instead of our tired khakis. I landed in 6 upper left,

 

 

 

 

and the best piece of real estate besides a two-man - the furthest spot in the ten man against the wall. Only neighboring one rack astride said wall on the alternate side, a camera-eye "blind spot" on my rack plus a phenomenally good bunky, "Kontry" * (dandy phonetic spelling aside, the third most overused yard name beneath "Red" and "Shorty" - my kingdom for a copy of The Big Book of Nicknames to greet newcomers with at the gate. Given the politically incorrect essence of Corrupti... I mean uh, Corrections, the comeback of names like "Four Eyes", "Butter-face", and "Fat-Ass" better amplify its "middle school 2.0" herd mentality real nice). Surprise feature of my new digs? Two racks down sleeps "Batmama's Northpoint Notes" fixture Michael Myers, broom-up-the-butt kitchen legend whose ta(IL)le unfolded with #6! If you remember, read, or rescan the saga you'll recall I cut him an unsavory figure conspiring to frame-up an innocent youth for having a weapon, and harassed an ex- o' mine for our carryings-on in the boudoir (toilet really - toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe). Turns out MM is a quiet, kindhearted, and generous type victimized in a misnomer and a flat-out lie. The latter's actually not shocking a stitch as that dip-shit's immaturity,

 

 

 

 

 

a loose relationship with the truth for instance, was the reason I pink-slipped him early on a Christmas morning (That and I really wanted to kiss every cell of a musclebound dreadlocked import under the mistletoe who'd arrived two nights earlier. Was I supposed to cheat? What kinda meanie do you take me for??) The big guy deserved no slander, and that's what I get for running my noodle-nook without substance.

     Too, there's the Library lady once summed up being "the most charming woman since Aileen Wuornos (Which went down in 'Kingdom Comeback' under category Pop!)" then firebombed in my Christmas Blog entry for being so damned hateful and un-supportive of her inmate guests. Often-name-dropped homie Hoagie, the Oakland Hippie and I were at the Bibliotheca Tuesday and Battleaxe was on the warpath to excess. Pacing the aisle menacing all comers threatening eviction for talking, so bent on isolating a victim she manned a post and ogled the room like a starved vulture between schoolmarm bellows becoming an on-the-nose caricature of a prison librarian, experiencing fission with crap fiction on her dusty shelves. I was a pica away from "blooping" as the parlance would have it and going back to my concrete locker.

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     Hoagie and I both had missions to donate books to the sadly under-stocked collections him Tom Wolfes "Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline" and myself a trade paperback of DC's "Inferior Five" by Keith Giffen and JM DeMatteis which BLEW. Wasted energy reading 2/3 of a project where tired art pulled the plug on a negligible story. Even the nostal-giac in me wasn't magnetized to any panels, and when something cool (Starro, Peacemaker) went down I was exhausted/apathetic already. Loving both of these creators this indictment isn't me hailing ambulances to old folk's homes, more like this was the track on the collab record I skip avoiding buzz-kill.

     Walking from the Legal Library side of the outfit with 'Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS' to her desk on the ass-end of the joint we ran upon a young'n from my wing you'd NEVER guess already locked down for two years, behaving nonstop like a fish green-behind-the-gills. In his clutches were headphones - serious no-no in our bookenhausen. Ol' girl tossed her summoning hand out asking the perp "Why do you have these?" and the doughy-eyed man-child began stammering gibberish amounting to "I just got these" leaving

 

 

 

 

 

 

the lady of the house visibly unimpressed - I knew his property was en route to 45 day hold, a holding-tank for naughty property caught hanging out where it's not supposed to. Luckily, I am fluent in dipshit so I translated "What he's saying is he picked these up from a property order at canteen and came straight here to catch library movement. He didn't bring them from his dorm, Ma'am. A look of recognition was shot from her to me. She told him to do his business and collect his crap on exit. Turning to me, she smiled and said "He wasnt explaining himself very well, was he?" and all I thought was that's because that ponytail-wearing slob's terrified of you because of all that bellowing like a banshee at everybody in khaki, figuring he was headed to the hole.

      On our junket to the boss' power-seat my associate and I were about three feet behind the woman we'd both carried contempt for lo these many months together. I'll admit to being so corrupt I rehearsed the following in advance and made myself laugh like a hyena privately. Never mentioning before this woman to be the victim of a train accident, she has a prosthetic leg and a pronounced gait. As we followed her, I turned to Hoagie and offered "She said to walk this way", then

 

 

 

 

 

like a severe piece of crap imitated her walk perfectly making my poor friend about fall on the floor, me too, trying to control our volume like when you regrettably make eye contact with somebody of equivalent madness at church, a wedding or funeral.

     At the desk I took advantage of her sudden good-nature and asked if she had any jobs open (my great runner gig blown to hell by that hole trip), her responding no and I'd maybe not see her again because she's retiring. Trying not to cheer "FUCK YEAH" and high-five Hoagie I went with "Are you gonna be one of those who doesnt know what to do with themselves and ends up working somewhere?" "Oh no, I've got a hundred-mile list. I'm a crafty person. Plus, we want to travel while we still can" she countered. Branson Missouri ice-cream saloons with her in a shiny Western shirt boot-scootin' as well as can be expected ran through my head. Nope, Australia and Croatia for starters she informed Hoagie and me, a soft smile molding an unrecognizable face of some interesting lady I could've spent the whole afternoon rapping with. Talking about meeting locals that showed her the realities of the lands she'd explored, I related with Ruel a Dutch

 

 

 

 

 

 

coworker whose wife, a cabbie, took me all over Amsterdam giving me the scoop. By convo's close I learned she'd worked since she was 12, when I was probably in first grade. Poor gal's had it, hell I was there decades before this so I can imagine. Sad thing is she took a hard road I dont believe necessary.

     For the first several years I didnt know how to act having a hard time because I wasnt inmate stock plus being anesthetized on Rispradol. People assumed I was a sex criminal because I clearly wasn't career material. Eventually the community started having my back, looking me up and hearing my side of the story. Walking on the right instead of left side of that tunnel the day the yard got split I was vindicated and some that slandered me got found out. Not long after, my otherness had opportunists scapegoating me as a rat - worse than the first mis-belief, once leaving me lying in a pool of my blood outside the pill window on our hub with a concussion. While I was in Danville's hospital getting my brain checked everything but my state-issued clothes were stolen - my books, TV, t-shirts, shorts, notebooks, and anything of any monetary or personal value. I wound up moved to the sex-crimes side after a month in the hole

 

 

 

 

 

unaware of anything that happened beyond the attack, perpetrated by a guy I barely knew with astronomical gambling debts to pay who tried putting a fake rape charge on me that failed in investigation as the impetus for his assault. It would take a process of me using my mind, moxie, and talents in a sharing, loving, and honest capacity that turned the tide. I approach as a friend, even when I'm pissed through the roof. I reassess, re-approach, and attempt peace, and people know my word, credit, and information is sound. My alien status now is gift and go-to with people often following my lead. Being defensive got me nowhere. Same for this frustrated librarian who I firmly believe never realized these men needed the outlier maternal figure I met to be the good cop yin to her bad side yang they'd avoid because they loved and respected the former so much. Too, I could've used her and not as a means but having a kindred element in my orbit. Prohibiting cursing her demeanor elicited a visceral profanity-barrage from me too bad for HBO I dammed every day instead. The reserved and lovely conversationalist I spoke with would have me subdue my French. The same thing I say all the time: be authentic, nobody respects a poser.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm glad she can go out there and let that person she was holding hostage free.

     Back on the Yard's the dude I bashed with the pretty hair who caused my man to go to the hole with his weird behavior. Another one I'm in the same wing with, and guess what? Total Hondo material here and not that guy I described. As the camera and mic closed in I discovered a robust sense of humor and un-pretentiousness. His absent gayness is burdensome because he's surrounded by "straight" guys clearly sexually obsessed with him. The jealousy when he talks or hangs with anybody - particularly me - is palpable with interruptions for fractional reasons every time we pace the floor having genuine conversations which is a prison rarity were both capable of.

     We're all beautiful monsters and I need to submerge in that lesson until it sticks, being far old enough to know better than shit-talking. It's instilled and hard to give up, but I smoked almost two packs a day for decades and haven't wielded a cancer stick since the morning of July 5, 2015. Maybe some day Ill say that about badmouthing and March 13, 2026 being the day I stopped forever. Amen.

     So my no-good son-of-a-bitch boyfriend finally wrote today after radio silence for purt' near a month. Im happy tho', as I for the first time love somebody holistically. I adore the ass OF him as I do the ass ON the clown. Warts and all, him 100%. I can't wait to see him again and I WILL. Facts, True Believers. Watch this space for more.

 Batmama and Throbbin!

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     Heres whats new on my tablet:

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"I Might Be" - Wiz Khalifa feat LaRussell/Mike G Beatz/Michael Prince: New off "Kush + Orange Juice 2", Wiz follows up the obsess-able "Multiverse" with a platter piled high with "the kind" integrity as a rap artist - a term I reserve for a rare breed - undiminished a lick. Creative, upbeat, stimulating, fiery, and always a cut above like Ive come to expect from this seasoned master. This track bears an easygoing electronic '70's vibe right up a certain superheros alley.

     "Why You Wanna" - T.I.: Off 2006's "King" this gets royal treatment mention unlike scads of throwbacks I snag weekly because I'm currently wearing 'dis bitch out. So infectiously groovy, funny, funky, and sexy, its a vibe and a throwdown

 

 

 

 

 

 

you need on your mixtape, Angel. When working out with a cooler full of ice as my free weight, this jam is on repeat nowadays...

     

Finishing the farewell season of "DCs Legends of Tomorrow" and the community critics were correct - it got silly and self-indulgent as hell. I cant believe this is the same show with bad-assed Hawkgirl, Firestorm, The Atom, Rip Hunter, and all that comic goodness once. Closure is all I'm sticking around for, and I don't even care two farts about Constantine at this point. Zari's Isis-ness was subtracted completely - her totem lost all resemblance, and as for that brother I care less about him than that pointless sibling of Tabitha's, Adam, on "Bewitched". I'm glad their time's about up.

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Finishing "Three Jokers" by Geoff Johns and OMG I'll be discussing that in Pop! believe-you-me, Jack, for good reasons. Im fourth-way into Tom King's "Supergirl, The Woman of Tomorrow" and beyond having me maniacal for this Summer's flick, so far the text-thick comic is celebrational and Bilquis Evelys art is breathtaking. This was the prize in my vendor pack all day long. More to add soon on

 

 

 

 

 

both plus "Spider-Woman: Gang War" and "The Batman Who Laughs" by Scott Snyder.

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I ordered a slew of new stuff this week (to the isolated, anyway):

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Captain America: Home Of the Brave

Jessica Jones: Uncaged (Toldja I been down a WHILE)

Agatha Harkness: Saga of the Salem Witch Joker War Saga

Batman/Catwoman

Captain Marvel: The Saga of Carol Danvers Marvel Encyclopedia

Knight Terrors

Jane Foster: Saga of the Valkyrie (An ass-hat got shipped with my first copy and I ain't being in the Land of the Living without it!)

She-Hulk Omnibus (Gotta have that monumental Dan Slott joint)

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     OK, guards coming to tell us visits done. Lets step into the red box - gimme a hug and a quick kiss, then I'll strip for this clown and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

show him my choc'lit starfish so I can hit the yard. Drive safe! When you get back check out the new essays I dropped this week or the remix of "They Got It Twisted" in Pop! - Love, New Battitude

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*Kontry, as I was preparing this blog-post awoke and got whisked away to SAP (the Substance Abuse Program), a six-month live-in class located in an island dorm. My spectacularly harmonious living situation is shot to pieces, but this increases his chance of parole by year's end to experience his six kids who comprise his existential epicenter. Can't begrudge the loss with them hanging in the balance. His replacement Jacobi seems OK, but I don't see us in a bromantic comedy next Summer!

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