The Advocate

(Credit: Kevin "Rashid" Johnson) If you're a fan of Netflix's  Orange is The New Black, then you know exactly what I'm talking about here. With the release of season 4  this sentiment has been brought to the forefront of a show that not only pushes the boundaries of television, but of our entire concept of social justice in a country simultaneously more progressive than ever and yet also more oppressive in sheer numbers than at any other time in history. But for me, the core of what OITNB has shown us over the course of this season is that, regardless of what you've done: y ou are still a person . Maybe you sold crack. Maybe you robbed someone. Maybe you even killed someone. That doesn't mean you are no longer human. That doesn't mean you deserve the kind of treatment we're seeing in America , courtesy of the prison-industrial complex, bigotry, and apathy. As seen through the eyes of prisoners, former prisoners, and investigative journa

( Credit to playwright Ernest Hemmings. ) Whether you're talking 'bout President  Obama is spreading Ebola , Secretary  Hillary deliberately caused Benghazi , or the thought that Earth is, actually, as flat as the ass of pancake , conspiracy theories seem to reproduce like a rabbit-mouse hybrid in heat. I grew up amongst many of them through the 90's and early 2000's. From apples laced with razor blades to HIV-infected needles in the parks and playgrounds of the neighborhood, or on the handles of the local gas station pump. Others were less well-known, such as the Native-American ghosts that haunted our high school campus and killed the science teacher on back-to-school night. Or the mysterious oil-derricks hidden between Huntington Beach and Costa Mesa in a locked-down facility that, purportedly, housed a testing ground for experimental weaponry and post-apocalyptic machinery. Indeed, I've actually tread those very lines myself as a teenager, searching f

I keep dropping knowledge bombs // Quick-like on villages of the bigoted and ignorant // From high-above the Ivory Towers and Golden Parachutes and Brick-Mortar Bunkers I fly // But when the firestorm has passed ashes are all I find // Of cognitive dissonance, of double-speak and lies // Spread across cyberspace like so much trash // Can't even find a single corpse to prove that falsehood was hit // Until the next village I see // Always the next // Crops up on my radar shooting flak at my wax wings // And back to bomb I go again, a toy soldier to the toddler What's the point in having all human knowledge // At your fingertips when you can't even comprehend it? // What's the point in having intelligence // If they never use it?

You are one of the People of the Book, a member of one of the tribes. Maybe of my own. You are a Speaker -- not for, not to, but of. About. Concerning in detail. You may even be a practitioner of the Left-Hand Path. (After all, sufficiently advanced and all that.) Or, should I misjudge you, then victim or usurper. We born from mud and clay are always defined in twofold order: by our blood and by our works. We are. You are and have become more so by your recent endeavours. And yet, you have attempted to penetrate what cannot be because it is not. No end. Transcendental as nonexistent. The flesh interface is a closed loop. Your portals will not take you where you are going. You will return, inevitably, and perhaps even with a brush of The Name on your skin, here again to the mud and the clay. Like the hand that draws the hand. We are the ink and oil bound upon the surface. The canvas encapsulates as it defies being so. Because it is blank. Still, you grasp the Deep Knowledge

This might seem funny to you, but I got so badly spoilereded that I wanted to metaphorically punch this little old lady in the face. It all started when I decided to watch NYPD Blue on Amazon Prime because, hey, y'know, show-hole and all. Of course, this show aired between '93 and '05, so it's dated as I don't know what. But I like it! It's got good stories, funny characters, and great camera work. A couple of weeks later, I was just watching some random news story in the evening and this old lady, probably around my Bubbie's age, that the anchor was talking to about some such tragedy said she's never seen anything so sad since they killed Bobby Simone on NYPD Blue. BOOM. Bolt Upright. And I'm like, "WHAT. THE. FUCK? THEY KILLED BOBBY SIMONE? I'M ONLY ON SEASON 5. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY KILLED HIM? GODDAMNIT LADY." So I go to my Prime watchlist and fast forward through to the episode in question "Heart and Souls"  whic

As you all may know, I consider myself something of a wordsmith and I wrote a book called "Distorted Orange Hidden County" about 8 years ago. (Still available from Wingspan Press, Amazon, and B&N.) Since then, I've been working on a second book titled "Sad Bastard Poetry." Well, after many years of work, cobwebbing, fund-raising, and random changes, my book is finally almost here! Currently it is completing its way through the proofing stages with Dog Ear Publishing. As a teaser, I've included the cover and back cover material for your viewing pleasure. The book will be available in softcover and e-book forms through Amazon, B&N, etc. It should be available for purchase hopefully sometime this Summer! If you're interested in fiction, poetry, or just want to support me in general, please pick up a copy and/or tell your friends when it's released. I'll be posting more about the book as we get closer! Thanks you all!

It has been a minute since my last post. Lots going on, from various family/personal medical issues to work shtuff to simply being effing exhausted by Lyfe. Y'know how it goes fellow cyberweb dwellers. However, in the midst of these circumstances comes along one pretty nifty happenstance. I am now the Guild Master of my World of Warcraft guild Asgard Warriors, Alliance Faction, Ysera server. Our old GM has, unfortunately, been AFKing, BRBing, and otherwise MIAing for some time lately, resulting in my previous Asst GM duties encompassing keeping a guild alive that is so casual we wear pajamas to the pharmacy. Seriously, we don't raid, we don't PvP, we don't roll dungeons together, or even sit in G-chat shooting the ish. We just co-exist in some sort of amorphous blob of gaming and relative ignorance. But not me! I have been making efforts to step up guild participation... with generally craptastic results. Until recently, when I instigated my generally bloodle