Raised Fist

Apparently, people enjoy it when I violently express my opinion via the written word, so feel free to skip if you don’t want to read that stuff. I will tag it #rawrz, so it is abundantly clear that is what is going on in the post, no tomfoolery here, no sir. Nope. Nuh-uh.

That hashtag, #rawrz, that was for this post here as well, for the record.

Ninety-nine percent of my life, I have been able to stay in my very comfortable, not disenfranchised, privileged, white lane. I say ninety-nine, not because of a sudden shift in my status. I mean it because, like all of us in a position of privilege in our lives, we need to take a step back and realize that is indeed the case. We need to see what we can do to help humanity. Not just reap the benefits of being born looking the right way, in the correct country, or whatever privilege schema applies to you.

I can whine and bitch like the “All Lives Matter,” “Not All Men,” and whatever anti-truth protestor slogan is the popular word choice. I can say stupid things like, “I’ve been to jail, I get the struggle.”

That’s what I am going to talk about today.

Yes, I have been to jail, or more correctly, prison. I was federally convicted on multiple felony counts. I was sentenced to a massive amount of time before I decided, with no shame, to turn states-evidence and give them everything I had on everyone. A rat? A snitch? Snitches and stitches? Yes, I have heard all of them and have scars that I can’t show you unless you know me really well.

Instead of the nearly two decades I was sentenced to, and I served seventeen months in isolated and protected custody at a federal prison of some reputation in New York. 

Now, boo hoo for me. I was taken into the system and changed, and I was disenfranchised or broken

No, man, no. I went to prison, yes. Things happened there that I still don’t talk about sober, yes. However, look at the paragraphs above. I got seventeen years where people who are, and let’s be honest, more melanated than myself, have received life without parole. Forever. In Hell. I was there for a year and a half. Some of the people I saw in there are not only still in there 25 years later, but they had been there since before I was born, for things that seem so very minor.

So that is how I checked my privilege, the way I took a step back, and realized I am indeed in a position that so many are not. I would never have met my wife, had my children, loved the people I have loved since then. All because I am a white dude in a country that favors you being a white dude.

I am not going to preach the rest of the word, that is not my place. I will direct you to where you can hear that word being taught by people struggling every day of their lives.

Please, educate yourself. Here’s a jumping-off point.

In a Society that has Abolished Every Kind of Adventure, the Only Adventure is to Abolish the Society.


I suppose, in the end, it is all a Machiavellian exercise more than anything else. If indeed the ends justify the means, then anything done to achieve them is perfectly acceptable legal and fair in the field of play. If Machiavelli was a pompous twat, however, then there may be a storm brewing that there is an ass-kicking coming that may not be a particularly grand and marvelous thing to participate in from either side of the line.

On the other hand, if you want to take a moral high-ground and then come out and play dirty pool, is it my fault if you get your ass explosively handed to you by the aggrieved party? If you dirty box from the clinch, then you deserve to have your fucking instep destroyed like a scurrying waterbug across a kitchen floor during an open house.

There is a war of words coming, Gentle Readers. It is a war that will pit the Good against Evil. I do not say that as a metaphor, I say that as Truth. If you stand with a man who reeks of the putrescence that he has surrounded himself with since he crawled from the womb, then you are a bad guy, and you get what you fucking deserve when you get kicked to the floor and motherfucking curb-stomped.

You want to be on the right side of history for this. When your children’s children look back and ask you why you stood with Madness instead of the hand of Liberty and Love, you need to look them in the eye and say…? What? “Lock her up?” “Mexico Will pay For It?” “No Collusion?” Are you indeed so well and genuinely mindfucked that you think any of that has ever been crucial to the Dumpster Fuck In Chief?

You need to take a breath and realize that you are supporting a man who wishes pedophiles well. He stood with Nazis and endorsed violence. He called Mexican immigrants rapists, derided women and people of color. He has Stasi-like kidnappings happening in America, even as I am writing this. Most importantly, he has been stealing tens of millions since the first second of his abortive presidency.

You look at the eyes of those future generations and tell me that the sacrifice of Democracy was worth it because you are uncomfortable watching people who look different than you having a cookout, that you are okay with people getting their doors kicked in and murdered. That “All Lives Matter,” as long as they are the ones you get to carefully fucking curate.

Anger is expected, encouraged, and commended.

The revolution WILL BE TELEVISED.

Pseudo-Intellectual, Post-Traumatic, Quarantined-Instilled, Ramblings


I will mention, but not complain, about the power going off twice yesterday. It is not like I was the only one affected by this and perhaps a little perspective on the situation would do me some good, no?

No, today I am going to talk about healing, a thing I am incredibly bad at, which, in my own little twisted logic loop, makes me the best person I know of to talk about it.

Physical healing is one thing, but maybe talking about the healing of other things is more pertinent to the discussion. We all have the physical scars from the time life has kicked us while we were down, but those scars remind us that we are, in fact, healed from those physical ills.

It is the deeper hurts, the hurts of the mind and the heart, that take the longest to heal if they can ever be healed at all that is. I am a firm believer in redemption, but there are things that can be done to you that can not be, should not be, forgiven. perhaps re-categorized as something other than what they are. I suppose it is the Viking in me that wants to make sure the grudges are never forgotten and that all markers are called in at the end of the day.

I will not retell the life story, I think that is counter-productive at this point. I will never forgive for some of the things that were done to me and, obviously as I am talking about them thirty-five years later, I can not forget them.

It is this, this memory wound, that I need to heal from.

…..This is not going the way it was supposed to go, so, in the nature of the Seeker learning from the Universe, let us follow this tangential thread as it winds its way to where it is supposed to go…..

Closing my eyes on the bad nights is as bad as being there all over again. Even as I write this, the sun in the sky and the Goddess above, I can feel the whisper of the tar-black darkness of it creeping along my psyche.

The dreams are not nearly as bad as they used to be. They are more images than actual remembrances and even those things that are clear as crystal are obviously behind the safety glass and my consciousness is well aware that they can no longer hurt me despite the vitriol still contained therein.

Safety glass. I have never looked at it like that. Like it is an exhibit at the zoo and I am safely behind that which will keep me safe and away from those things that would remove my face purely for the sake of having a thing to occupy their time as their brutal captors watch with a mere scientific interest in the phenomenon.


Am I the one trying to rip the face off of the innocent? I am the one struggling to break free of the cage I have been put in/put myself in so that three can be some semblance of a return to what that part of me would call order? I am guessing being controlled by the Id is probably not the most optimal situation on the best of the days.

Now that I have your full confusion and attention, maybe I can try to get back to the point of what I wanted to say, which was sometimes we have to look outside of the normal zones of comfort to see where we can find that which will heal us from the hurts that we are so inflicted with. From the medicines of countries that are not ours to things a little farther afield than that.

Food for thought.

So, remember this, all of you.

Epstein didn’t kill Himself, Science will always top Fear, Black Lives Matter, Pride is more beautiful than Hate, Wash your Hands, Socially Distance, and wear your fucking masks.

Until next time, as always my beloved Gentle Readers, as always, I bid you peace.

Lessons From A Quarantined Bear Who Is Tired Of Buffonery.


Let’s go ahead and mark yesterday off as a bad day and go ahead and start fresh, m’kay?


As much as I would love to go into a political tirade this morning, I simply, truly, do not have the energy. So, instead I will stay a little more in my lane and talk about the stupidity of those who seem to think that they know things that others don’t, that they are better than experts because they saw a thing on Facebook, and of course those who received their doctorates and degrees from the divine and all-knowing Google University.

I am a mere human. I know that I am wrong. I know there are people even within my own peer group, yeah, I’m talking about you two, that are a thousandfold smarter than I can ever hope to become. Not because I am stupid, I am not by any means, I just know where the end of my knowledge lays and where the expertise of others is better to listen to than the three minutes of Google-Fu I may have engaged in previous to knowing that I should stop and talk to people who know things. I have made errors, oh so many, but I tend to leave things like science, space, money, and math to people who got out of 9th-grade math and weren’t banned from taking Chemistry to do their extra-curricular proclivities.

So, in the day and age of COVID-19, when the President of the United States gets to be the example of the way not to do things, I go ahead and I listen REALLY close to the scientists in my life. When, and ONLY WHEN, they tell me that the odds of me getting myself, Terry, my babies or anyone else killed is at least reduced to pre-COVID levels, y’all can go ahead and shove your in-person invites up your ass and I will proselytize the good word that is Quarantine.

No, it is not a time to “use your personal judgment” when it comes to attending anything larger than dinner at your table at home. Why? Well, the fact that you had to ask is a problem in and of itself, but if I need to explain, which I apparently do, there is no such thing as “YOU” in the sense you are thinking of when it comes to a pandemic. I am all for bodily autonomy in all things, but fuck you if your “choice” ends up giving me and mine a potentially deadly disease to which there is no current reliable treatment or vaccine.

Is you going to a bar worth the lives of someone, of someone’s children, their parents? Where do you draw the line? How many people need to die before you see it as a bad thing?

Next. Apparently I have some energy.

For the next person who tells me that I am letting down my family and friends with my migraines and I need to get over myself, I want to share, graphically, which I did last night at three in the morning.

Skip this is if you know what a migraine is.

It didn’t feel right as it was, but when I stood up I knew I had about ten seconds to get to where I needed to be before I was going to do it anyway. Gratefully, my bedroom door is a single Bear-Step away from the bathroom and as I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, with tears of pain streaming down my face, all I wanted to do was reach behind me onto the sink and find a way to make my left eye collapse so it would feel less like it was pushing out of my skull. This thought was interrupted by my nose bleeding into the vomit, what a pretty sight that was.

Resume reading if you know what a migraine is.

I don’t care if you believe me or not, I am far past thinking you may or may not think I am faking it, I am past caring if you have the desire or even the ability to empathize with another human being in unspeakable pain.

You don’t get to tell me I am failing my family. No, no you get to do nothing even remotely close to that and if you do it again, I am will tell everyone EXACTLY how you failed yours, David.


Do not get me wrong, if I was not feeling substantially better I would not be writing this. I can sit up, keep my eyes open, think, caffeinated, all without thus far getting nauseous or wanting to kill myself.

I like to call that a “morning”.

To end on a better note than what I apparently have been writing on I wanted to tell you all something.

See, for months and months now we have all been trapped to some degree or another in situations we do not want to be in. Kids home from school, loss of work, even just being unable to leave the house. However, I need to tell you that this is so far away from over. We need to be diligent and do what doctors say, not what a reality television show host who is addicted to Adderall says.

Now, wear your masks, socially distance, wash your hands and, as always, until next time, I bid you peace.

Groundhog Day


Groundhog Day.

That’s all this is, see. Eventually, some fucking assclown will think to himself that the leading epidemiologists, virologists, and scientists of all stripes are not part of a global cabal dedicated to denying Karen’s haircuts, Chad’s fucking bar time or, believe it or not, little Johnny’s ability to go and be mean to everyone in the neighborhood like a boorish jackanapes.

They will see that racism and xenophobia are precisely the opposite of the American way and that yeah, Jefferson really did say the line about the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants, and that they are standing shoulder to shoulder with the ones who should be bled.

They will see that there is a logic in waiting, there is truth in distancing, there is power in unity.

Who am I kidding though?

These hateful and fearful things we must call our fellow man will do nothing other than what serves there best interest in that particular second. They will sell out the elderly because they already lived a better life. They will sell out the people of color because all they have to do is pull themselves up by their bootstraps and all lives matter. They will sell out the brothers, sisters, and non-binary loves of the LGBTQ+ community because apparently it is icky to love someone they don’t think you should love.

So as I sit here at a quarter to ten on a Wednesday morning that happens to be the first of July, I want to send a message to people who know me who may want to think that I am a sheep that follows the leader of the moment. They will call me some combination of liberal and the word retard. They will tell me I want to take their guns, or their religious freedoms, or that I want to have some apocalyptic catastrophe occur.


Shut your fucking mouth. I will not listen to your bullshit.

I don’t want your guns. I like guns. I love to shoot. I am even a decent enough shot if I don’t have to use my left shoulder to stabilize. I will leave you to pray in your churches if you leave me to pray in my bedroom. You can speak in tongues and I will speak in Gaelic. I will not dignify the last with a retort as it is a matter of pure ignorance.

So, from now on, I am not going to unfollow you. No, I am going to actively attack you if you actively attack me. I believe in things like #BlackLivesMatter and #Pride and so many other wonderful and beautiful things that you seem to think are an abhorrent thing to the progress of America you are under the impression I live in.

So bring it. If there is anythign in this world I am good at, it is arguing.

For the rest of you, wear your masks, wash your fucking hands, and as always, until next time, I bid you peace.