Criminal Intent: A Day's Different Vibe

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 persuasion that's vital, agreed? Right now Im at a seminary college, Simmons, and that requirement sometimes fulfills me and other times wish could be devoted to bookish concepts. This term I'm in Religious Studies, learning Church history, interesting on its face. Happens I've an interesting history with the Church.3

Subject I rarely speak to is 2012, the year I broke. That was my first cuffed car-trip by backseat. This episode involved God, the Bible, and everything. Hearing the Word first time since childhood, I went very off the rails. Multidirectionally, things were going haywire then. Not an excuses believer I offer explanations. Months passing I slimmed way down to a bleary-eyed wretch missing a smile nobody noticed, overworking without endgames and running low on lifesavers. What could have been my turning point became blasphemy. Publicly and pronouncedly in a desperate mental state I carried out a cruel act of violence on someone dear to me. Others got affected proximally. Turning to a friend of mine come to check on me I knew subdued unwell folks for a living before, I offered up my fears of further harm in a veiled confrontation. That night I exited Lexington public life. Rumors rampaged regarding the ruckus. Sexier exaggerations like those in this middle school here having me a multimillionaire beyond barbwire featured me falsely (seriously) stalking my victims, and being misquoted by morons I'd never uttered peeps to. Raised with my average suburban celebrity dreams, this was leagues off-course.

Without drilling deeper into crust I have covered in this column before, I'll skip this record's needle to a bouncier beat. Priscilla, my amazing bestie, keeper of the keys to my kingdom (all them millions, yup), and star of "One Set, Stapled and Collated" on this blog righ'chere has been metamorphosing many months now. This hasn't been an easy year for my dear friend. What's kept her moving literally is a journey of beliefs and awakenings.

Explorations from stardust becoming all us beautiful babies to the secrets held by the floating angels it fell from, she's captivated by the Universe, it's offerings, and sharing it with anyone brave or bright enough to hear her.

Where the twain meets is via the Lion's Gate, an astrophysical phenomenon, and topic of this from this life-leader in my mosaic's message: https://tinyurl.com/bdkjvsr9 Being behind the Ultimate Firewall, I can't follow her SubStack life. Thinking of me, my shortening sentence, and struggles she knows microscopically, she sent the body of text for this activity coinciding with my approaching 57th Leo birthday plus me lately realizing my personal damage from '12 did not take God's grace from my life so I shouldn't stop moving toward Him.

 Does this mean were becoming a holy blog? Not today. Next year, five, I don't know all tomorrows, but I'm going to know my creator better and daily express my gratitude for grace and love of Who gave me everything I have. Me so lucky to live, see, hear, and taste (smell's a toughie in prison) and shouldn't forget it.

Another revelation I've had herein is my failings to integrate spirit growth into my Self without shame. My rowdy humor, foul mouth, love of sugary pork (with a balanced exercise regime and varied veggie-friendly diet, sho'), punk rock roots, and generally rambunctious qualities I buried when I came into the Healing world. That suicide was not healthy. Killing those qualities satisfied nobody. Had I added without subtraction, I've visualized a career I coulda had. Posers lose, period.

What impressed on me most from Priscilla's work here, an explanation homeboy Cleveland called "dope" and "hard", the goal of any Astrophysical spirit posting, expressing a tingling as he read her words while commenting on his need for them that moment, the piece about being ready to receive the object(s) of our intentions. Vastly important, it's something I wrestled in 1.0 and 1.5 incarnations. Stacking my life recently to mimic mainstream reality better has been deliberate to dodge pratfalls. Being clearer with myself about goals, outcomes, and vivid vistas in my psychesphere of a life I crave. Plus, feeling worthy to receive it after I broke up with the world.

Disregarding different dogmatic dailies, Priss's email was on-point for 8-7. Encouragement is sacrament here, I mentor young guppies daily and Cleves gonna arrange his list like P. + me too. Even if you don't follow its astral phenom impetus, this is a stellar writing exercise for anybody. Clear those cobwebs in your consciousness and pave your pathway to personal growth and hopefully harmonic management of your microcosmos.

My intentions revolve reentry. Wrapping up 15 years at 85%, my mind is hopping those fences more by the minute. These are my personal intentions for August 8 meditation:

Meaningful Incarnation is my major mantra. I'm imbuing the Sociological Imagination with a new and exciting movement. From a learned lifestyle, I will help rebuild men and women cruising the concrete chrysalis with an overdue how-to guide on the art of living locked down. Teaching time as a tool for mastering, not serving. Nobody needs being a victim. Were strong survivors getting potent pedigree by academic establishments telling us different.

I'll be teaching thirsty convicts. Backgrounds of a half-century-plus learning philosophy, psychology, healing, history, ethics, science, language, culture, art, and gaining a Master's in journalism next, I swallow any other discipline I can wedge into my day. I want to revolutionize the knowledge industry of prisons everywhere. Passionately training minds to maneuver the landscape of logic, seek solutions, and tell tales to captivate awaiting audiences. This is my career icing on a multi-layered cake decades in the baking.

I'm 2.0. After 12 years without the most basic luxuries, I've managed to carve a self-loving lifestyle with artful features. Our world's going to meet a man who never set foot past prison pavement and dig this buried treasure. I'm bringing brand new acumen from stretching most out of least in all situations, discovering deprivation's sharpening edge. Average anxieties wont touch me when I'm not concerned daily about basics like physical safety. I'm so psyched to move with reckless abandon in the free world. That's what's happening in 11 months.

I'm abandoning the loathing imprinted on that kid I tried to smash the best part of my grownup life. I've nurtured him proper, realized him, and sewn unremovable gifts into his psyche and body. Becoming this human divining rod give me a reject and I'll deliver them to purpose. Shutting that doubt down they slurped up until it became a crippling crutch, I move the lost toward their best themselves.

Time served is a debt served too. All apologies delivered, I'm not living one. Missing my mom's final days with zero blood kin left, over a decade removed from reality, abandonment by a vast majority of lifelong supporters and structures - this isn't me complaining or crying victim because only my victim gets to do that. Point I'm making is, those are prices plus-plenty paid for my misdeeds. It's over. I won't be self-flagellating nor groveling. Humble, yes, whipping boy, not a bit. Only lowering to God, people. I'm shamelessly pursuing personal eudaimonia like all us common slobs.

I'm not the person from '12 or '15. That individual was messed up with thorns in his paw he couldn't identify or isolate. Hiding in dark spaces and couldn't trust himself, he'd break every other year. Going away and living education, therapy, immersed in rapport around the clock, finding genuine purposes, and becoming a solvent being not a fragmented mess is a success story. Living in halls of violence with as some say "the worst people alive without laying gloves on any of them, I'm confident in my recovery like professionals treating me.

This guy is grateful for all God's grace gives after my lessons in loss. Post-deprivation I'm savoring every morsel, delighting in every gentle exchange, soaking up all the sights, listening and moving to all the notes and beats of life's rhythms, remembering how lucky I am for their brilliant luxuries even I'm 200.

7 is a potent number. Those are where/who/how/what I want to present and receive. Always I know I'm where I need to be, and moving in the direction God, this world, and I need me to.

Hopefully you visitors are thinking on intentions. Whether its 8.8 or 999, manifesting is qualitatively and quantitatively wise. What this isn't is shooting star stuff. Setting the pace of your life towards dreams is more than speaking something into reality. Grit and growth processes are preferred for success.

What works in life that's worthwhile while not worth working for?

 Last item before class is dismissed: showing how this sweet sausage gets made, I have to copy/paste content from an Office doc of strange Securus software only a cheap-ass Department of Corrections contract can conjure. App incompatibilities delete half the punctuation marks of size-limited chunks we get charged per msg for. Individually, I have to remove and replace all those ", (, etc before sending, then scan carefully the sent copy for babies who not across the border. Plus, Internal Affairs has to proof material in case I hide dope under my pronouns. Sending a blog Saturday guarantees publication on Monday, I'm saying. Still, this info's right on time whenever...

See you stars soon! xoxoxo Batmama