Hey Street Folk!

     It's too damned early to be so rotten cold. Sleeping in a room without heat but an extra Bangladesh child-labor blanket, I'm not feeling this. I vowed not to bitch as we got a legit blissful Spring and Fall this go 'round, with a breezy Summer unlike the Hellscape that was 2024, when May brought a still-aired 95 degrees that stuck until September and then October plunged into that bitter-assed punishing Winter, so I'll drop it. Maybe Mr. Trump will fix the weather after he neatly styles little Greta's hair and makes everything affordable.

      It's beginning to look a lot like I couldn't care less. It's not anger but transcendental apathy, like I can't remember December at all. Might as well be February.

     I've written, revised, and edited for almost four days. It's a piece called "You've Come a Long Way, Bad-Ass: Five Decades With the Super-Heroines", and it's going to Comics

 

 

 

 

 

 

Corner, HOWEVER it's about a lot of things like growing up in the 1970s - '80s, knowing a semi-celebrity, sociopolitical pop cultural perspectives, cultural evolution, virtue signaling, kid's TV, commercialism, and nostalgia. I worked my locked-down behind off on this and I'm extremely pleased with the work. I hope you'll give it your time. I was so focused I forked my tablet over to Hoagie the Hippie for proofing and hopped in the rain-box. When I stripped, I reeked like a Parmesan encrusted fart, and I realized I'd been so involved I had neglected to bathe through the process.

     I finished "Superman and Lois" to great satisfaction last night. A triumph for DC TV, it was my absolute favorite superhero drama. The empathy and dignity it showed all it's characters was topnotch, and elevated the milieu. The finite British style long-mini approach was refreshing, too.

     Lots more upheaval here at the 'Point. SIX people went to the hole in one grab last evening. No one's sure why, but lots of

 

 

 

 

 

 

suspicions. When there are vacancies aplenty there, smart folks know to straighten up and fly right because the goal is to book the joint solid.

     Sometimes I love prison, truly. This week, getting the juices flowing without  distractions and paradigms the world beyond the gates contains makes me feel worse sometimes for you lot than me. Some staff look worse off than I feel, and remembering how trapped I felt and a friend saying "the worst thing is being smart enough to know better, but too dumb to know what to do about it", I wish me now could've sat her down then and told that 28 year old girl what I've learned: loss = liberation.

     I have a personal space comprised of two lockers, a bottom metal bunk with a crap mattress and a somewhat decent blanket somewhat denoting a senior status. I own a TV and hot-pot, which are considered luxury items. I sleep between two Black Muslims, one I trade insight with - he's writing a screenplay and we've had common experience

 

 

 

 

 

 

with Corrections. We're mutually respectful, deeply. The other buys my "hot plates", he calls them, the other day wolfing down a bowl of impromptu nachos I'm posting the recipe for soon. My best friend sleeps in the next room. Yesterday, his golden moment was having someone bring him a homemade hacky-sack he'd sent out brought back expertly tie-dyed. Something most of you out there wouldn't give pause to was the joyful epicenter to a group afternoon, marveling at the perfect bands of color. My response concerning the notorious artist credited for the object? "Why, if I was a 12-year old girl with low self esteem, I'd take him home to meet Mom!", which with everyone privy to the prurient sick details of this guy, high-fives and gut laughs broke out. The tom-cat who makes my day by being in it was there throughout, looking out for me and I have to touch him sometimes to ensure he's real. He lives right up the staircase, too.

     My family is gone. None of them available when I lost Mom, the worst thing in a less

 

 

 

 

 

 

hospitable time here before I figured out it's magic. No one, not even a cousin capable of hitting a Dollar Store for a 50¢ card. This was as much spitting in Mom's face while pretending to care with the hollow gesture of cramming free ham and cheese in their faces after a funeral but not doing what they KNOW she'd have wanted. The upshot? Rejection creates a space, which is the birthplace of opportunity. Rock bottom is the most solid foundation you can get.

     Before my incarceration, I was a secret-keeper and idiot-protector. Family members that cheated on their spouses with other

family I defended to the others only to be tossed under the bus for my inconvenience. I'm free of that shit now. Friends whose partners dumped them for me but I rejected for loyalty to a half-ass so they got taken back as consolation prizes yet no sympathy cards - fuck 'em. Closet junkies who ripped off family and shafted me repeatedly but I was still loyal to without return on

​​​​​​investment, begone. Considering me a threat to

 

 

 

 

 

the kids in the family when the grandparents talked their dad/uncle into publicly narcing on an affiliated felon, putting targets on all their little heads, not to mention teaching the young man to dodge culpability from a scenario that brought me a medication that enhanced my focus allowing me to succeed in college, meet a wealth of friends, grow the fuck up, plus be respected by that dangerous community and do something besides hear a goddamn useless narrative about picking fucking tomatoes nobody under 65 relates to. Oh, and I would NEVER drive a kid around fucked up beyond recognition but I

guarantee one of my naysayers certainly has. One more thing - "I can't believe you thought you'd be considered". Actually they did. I was the first, in fact and the big job - officiating the service. The bride's brother flew in from England so her mom thought he should do it, so I silently stepped aside, unlike the one who bitched and cried his way into the wedding. Their exact approach to me, when he wasn't considered: "We can't think of

 

 

 

 

 

 

anyone we'd both rather have do this than you, Todd". It was a magic moment. Don't worry, I won't call anymore. Anyone too whipped to tell their unfaithful spouse after this long they need the remaining piece of their lost sister back so they can answer my call any time instead of one in twenty I don't need. No one stood up for me, while I've stood up ad nauseum for every clown in that circus. It's done. I got a degree and walked in a graduation for the first time without fanfare of my "family", except the ones this world provided. Priscilla Summers was there in flesh and Joy Weitzel in spirit. I need nothing from you disappointments again. The regrets will be yours some day. I spent so much of my time covering for people as to not make them feel like losers. I guess that wasn't helping.

     The takeaway for that 28 year-old? Stop checking the preview and run the movie. There's no dress rehearsal said Kaya Heartwood to interviewer Kakie Urch a long time ago, and it's true. The piece I'm handing

 

 

 

 

 

you is prune that bush. Get rid of the driftwood, stat. If someone brings stagnation, venom, or serial minus signs into your orbit and you can't reset the paradigm,

move on. That last part is crucial because it's more doable than most think, but YOUR stubborn ass must participate. Kill yourself. Seriously, that cartoon caricature story you generated for X years, destroy that SOB by showing one something different inside you to the crowd, allowing your 2.0 or 6.5, whatever, to Phoenix the hell out. Have a yard sale and DM that motherfucker you never talk to and tell them to show up. Kill yourself. You're the

only thing standing in the way of your truth and happiness.

     Quit worrying what some dumb-ass on Facebook is doing or might think, because you know why? You HATE them. They control you and than on you, Jack. They're not concerned about you, and if so, you're both fucked or you need to fuck, one or the other. Picture that secret you whose only focus is making YOU content, secure, and healthy without concern

 

 

 

 

 

about anyone else's opinion. Look at yourself objectively and be the person you want to spend your time with. That's what I wish I'd done back then.

​​​​​​     That former woods-cat I'm domesticating from last week might be the best pet I've had yet. He's cuddly, sweet, and I'm never not glad to see him. Being the only owner he's had in seven years, he's getting the hang of life as a house pet tremendously well. Loving what I feed him, he follows me around only when I want him to. I hope to keep this one a long time. <3

​​​​​     This wasn't a week for me and music. My new tablet that I got because the old one had sound issues is now ALSO auditorially screwed, so another piece of fine Securus paperweight trash will be brought from IT to replace it, re-download my 1100 songs + games, movies, shows, photos, and documents. This is what we get when the DOC goes with the lowest bidder.

     OK, I need a carpal tunnel break. See you shortly, Kids!  - xoxoxo daBat