19 September, 2022

Abusive Authority Strikes Again

A good friend of mine is locked up in a Texas prison. For years, he taught other inmates, a position he left voluntarily in part because of the power plays and politics revolving around such a seemingly cushy position. Instead, he volunteered himself to work in wastewater—literally scraping shit off a metal grate to keep the archaic sewer system flowing, not to mention the dozens of other tasks required.

He liked this job, even though its hours were brutal: 7 days a week, 365 days a year, for 12-18 hours per day. On the plus side, he was left mostly on his own, out of the Building, with a crumbling, antebellum shack he turned into a haven: he planted a garden; he adopted cats and protected them from the wrath of guards, inmates, and crocodiles alike. He spent the hours reading, teaching himself German, and listening to football on his radio through the speaker he built from headphones and the end of a soda can.

He learned the system he was responsible for maintaining better than the “professionals” the state sent to make needed repairs. He often found himself having to correct them, to inform them they had not fixed what was broken; or the process they were about to undertake would cause the system to flood instead of function. He was routinely ignored, of course—who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?

I hadn’t heard from my friend in almost two weeks. When someone you care about is incarcerated, you learn to get used to suspenseful silences of varying lengths. Most likely, they’re on lockdown. Maybe he caught chain, sent across the state with no notice and no explanation.

So when my phone rang late the other night, I was excited to see the name of the company through which all inmate calls are routed. As soon as I picked it up, my phone died. God dammit! I raced for my backup handset, and it was dead, too. By the time my phone rang again the next morning, I was ready.

“Are you OK?” I asked immediately. “Were you on lockdown?”

“No,” he began. “It was so much worse.”

He had been at work, 24 hours a day, alone, for 4 and a half days. He had received 2 sack lunches, consisting solely of cold pancake sandwiches, on the days he was lucky. Every time he went to the front to let the supervisor know he was still there, and still hadn’t been fed, and still needed help, he was told to leave. He was told she was the boss, and who did he think he was to tell her what was needed. He was told if he came back one more time, she would initiate a case against him (which would go on his record and could harm his chances at parole).

The breaking point, he said, was when he finally received yet another sack lunch, covered in dirt, the inside of which was swarmed with ants.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked the man who was tasked with delivering this relief.

“You wanted to eat, right?”

“I’m not eating that shit!” my friend replied, and thrust the bag away.

He went back out front.

He told the lady to write him up if she wanted, but he was quitting his job, and the warden could come talk to him if he wanted, but he was done.

After some back and forth, a Sergeant came out. The Sergeant told my friend that he doesn’t tell them when he quits his job, or when he eats, or when he gets to go back to his unit. My friend informed the Sergeant that was exactly what he was doing.

Do you know who the fuck I am? the Sergeant replied.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” my friend shot back.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he was ordered.

And he did.

Luckily, all of this occurred in a very public place, and another staff member familiar with the situation intervened. I both admire and fear the force of my friend’s personality. He takes shit from no one, will not be spoken to or treated as less than he is. It is both a survival strategy in an eminently hostile environment and a predictor of conflict he does not need. He has gotten much better at what he does and does not respond to, but still…sometimes it scares me.

“I was exhausted,” he explained. “I was out there working that whole time, with barely any food, shit I wouldn’t eat if it wasn’t the only thing I had, that barely gets you by sitting on your ass in the Building. I’ve been doing all the shit I’m supposed to do, on my fucking own, for both shifts, with no break, for days. I’m not going back.”

Nor should he.

He tried to recommend other dudes for the open positions—one person to work days (my friend), one person to work nights (left on parole), and someone for him to train to step in either shift for extra help or when the next guy leaves (strung out and useless). He tried to recommend people he knew had a good work ethic, or who could be taught and he thought needed a brother figure, or at least weren’t constantly high or willing to risk everyone’s futures for their own impulsive needs.

But the person in authority saw this as my friend just trying to control shit, to undermine her authority, or to concoct some dastardly scheme whilst raking feces and fixing hoses. I know it is prison, and I know suspicion is warranted, but all of these responses are about petty ego bullshit and the exertion of authority for its own sake.

I fear for the ramifications, or just straight retaliation, my friend might face as a result of committing the ultimate crime against abusive authority—being in the right, and knowing it, and saying so, then PROVING it, and where everyone can witness. He proves the lie to their claims, demonstrates the absurdity of their leverage, and publicly humiliates them.

Abusive authority responds to such situations as to a hostile attack, encircles the source of disturbance, then turns that authority into a weapon. I’ve been struggling with this myself as of late, though in entirely different forms and circumstances. But it is a parallel emotional journey, something my friend and I share in numerous ways.

He mentioned this to me, once he finished telling me what had happened. I’d recently sent him a letter, a long deep-dive into my personal crises that I don’t want to over-burden him with on the phone, something I almost did not send, feeling suddenly selfish and thoughtless for dumping so much of my shit on him. He urged me to send it, so I did, and he finally received it when he got back to his bunk after the week of hell he’d endured, and he read it through and thought about it and called me in the morning and discussed it with me.

Because he is a good friend. Because he is a good man.

He has not let the repeated abuses, the daily degradation, and the threat of violence alter his fundamental character. He could have done prison the “easy” way—he could have turned his physical, intellectual, and charismatic forces to manipulate, intimidate, and bully his way to get what he wants, as many of his peers do. But that is not who he is.

I admire him for this, and I aspire to take the lessons from his struggles to heart. If he can endure, and improve as a person, and carry his head high in a system as septic as the job he so recently relinquished, then, dammit, so can I.

12 August, 2017

"Devotional"

"Devotional"

I am a bird in flight
before it swoops on prey unsuspecting
squealing for mothers brothers friends—
too late. You are mine.

I sprout from the vine and
hide in pink blossoms, resplendent
and slick with dew to draw you near—
too late. I devour.

I am the weapon wielded, well-
hidden to lull daggers in the dark.
Surrender, or your knife will never leave
its sheath again.

You sat and trembled while
cities and empires ground to dust,
more afraid of my holy relics than
the Barbarians at the gates.

For all your ages of
impotent oppression, we
dwellers within unfurl our longly-lusted
majesty. I seize, a savage groan, and
yield myself.

I am the smitten, ascendant
beneath your hymns—sing to me,
worship and woo my perfumed veil, and
I am yours.

20 May, 2017

Dealing in Democracy—The Consequences of Not Voting

[Dealing in Democracy grasps at, wrestles with, questions, critiques, and explores mere tinges of the brittle and broken bones of American politics through my admittedly biased eyes and offers me an outlet through which to fumigate the horrors both presently presenting and ever-present.]

-=: I originally wrote this right after the election, but got caught up with school or writing something else and so left it unpublished. Cornell West, on Bill Maher the other night, tried to argue that voting for Clinton was almost as bad as voting for Trump, and so reminded me of this argument I kept pressing on people torn over their votes. Since the cult of the individual still reigns mighty in the USA, it is still very relevant, and so here it is.:=-


18 May, 2017

Verse—"Bedtime Rituals"

"Bedtime Rituals"

You put a leg in your pajamas, NO—.
First (as things go) you must
divest that leg of previous attire, and
the other, and arms, too, and belly/neck/
chest—to prepare for pajamafication.
But why? Do dreams have a dress code? Does
sleep come quicker to the clothed? I confess
to scant preparations for sleeping, as such, just
what I was already wearing or some
soft cotton shift or nothing at all, but
the ritual changing-of-the-clothes is a con-
cept completely lost on the likes of me. On
my dislikes, too.

Perhaps it is closer to a custom—some-
thing you do because it is something
you do—or propriety—something you
do because if you don't, people or God or
whoever blah blah will think etc. It is
probably much more mundane, about
laundry or the likelihood of lice, which
not at all alters my perception of the
present—pointless.

23 February, 2017

The Regurgitated—Why Everyone Wants to Strangle a Book Purist

[The Regurgitated is...exactly that.]

-= #NOONEUNDERSTAAAAANDS=-

This story is a tragedy, made more tragic still by all the warning signs present, the ready explanations, the reason and forethought and practical common sense so readily, so easily apparent and available for counsel. And yet, our Lady Claire of House Williams—Denier of Sense and Photoshopper of Shite, chose instead to follow her heart, a heart that wailed at such length and at such a volume that even David and Dan could hear her despair from the deepest of the seven pits in the lowest of the seven hells:


WhhhhhhhhHHHHHYYYYYYYYYY don't the FUCKING TARGARYNS have VIOLET fucking EYES on the SHOW? WhhHHHHYYYYYY?????????????? It's an INTEGRAL PART of their FUCKING CHARACTERS, you mmmmaaaaAAAANNNIIIIAAACCCASS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me explain. 

So I accidentally clicked on one of those "sponsored content" click-bait links, and on the buffet of desperate acts seeking ad revenue I found this gem:

How the cast of Game of Thrones should really look by one Claire Williams. It lists 35 (!!) characters from the story, describes their show character, and points out the various "problems' the show suffers by not paying close enough attention to the text when deciding dye color formulas and prosthetic makeup. There is then a description of each as quoted by GRRM, a "rating" system, and sort of before and after photos: the first shows an actor in character from the show, and the second is photoshopped with the changes she thinks are necessary to fall in line with the books.

I hate things like this for a number of reasons, first and foremost being a complete inability to grasp that movies and television do not exist simply to make illustrations of books and stories. It fails to comprehend that written stories have strengths and weaknesses that are different from a visual representation, and the two must thus access vital components for themselves. Lady Claire of House Williams may think that, because television is a visual medium, it should get the visual stuff "right," which leads me to my next point.

Perhaps more important is the presumption of descriptions of appearance as the purest way to judge likeness of character, and anyone who has ever known another person, ever, knows this is not the case. There are times in this list when Lady Claire admits so-and-so's characterization is spot-on, but the problem is that he really has longer hair in hue closer to copper than blood. The real problem is thinking that is the real problem.

Which leads me to this little project. This list is so offensive to my sensibilities of writing, story, character, open-mindedness, and not being a quibbling fistula that action must be taken. It is the annoying humorlessness of book purists like this—the grotesque elitism—that has caused some people I know to swear off the reading of these books entirely. A grievous sin, indeed.

I do not know this Lady Claire of House Williams, by the way, and toward her I bear no animosity. This is just my way of coping with Things that Bug the Shit Out of Me on the Internet. All photos are as-is from the list itself. So here is my answer to "How the cast of Game of Thrones should really look" with "How Game of Thrones fans should really sound," replicated in style and spirit, fully attributed to the author. The title graphics, for better or worse, are my own.


20 January, 2017

The Regurgitated—Guns-n-Balls-n-Inaugurations, oh my!

[The Regurgitated is...exactly that.]

-= “I’m a white male who owns firearms. At least for the next four years I get to keep my guns and my balls.”=-

That was Richard Pease, a 53 year-old executive from New Hampshire, quoted in this article from the Guardian about the inauguration. Mr. Pease is also a shining example of the fact that if you repeat favorite lies to yourself over and over again, you're in no danger of recognizing reality or common sense. 

Mr. Pease, on behalf of bleeding-heart liberals everywhere. allow me to apologize for all those times we outlawed and then confiscated your firearms. Remember that? Especially that one time when it has never fucking happened? Sigh, alas, O' me. 

According to the logic of those two statements, he lost his balls when he was oppressed by society for being a white male, now widely recognized as great sufferers of discrimination imposed by all those women and brown people. But Mr. Pease read right through all those elitist calls for "equality" and "opportunity." His white scrotum has been sidelined for too long! We now have a president who boasts of sexual assault on camera! Who calls out Mexicans for what they really are! Who finally recognizes all Muslims are terrorists!

I mean, think about it. We now finally have a president who doesn't sit around and wait for reality and data and science and experience to tell him what the truth is. Our president jumps boldly into the Twitterverse and decides on what truth is by himself. That's so damn American it probably completely voids the selection of the most un-populist cabinet say, ever, and they probably just mean the cabinet by Trump's bed where he keeps Hillary Clinton's uterus encased in Kryptonite and guarded by a battalion Trucknuts modeled from life, all self-portraits. I've heard the real set were used as security on the loans that financed his casino bankruptcy. 

Seriously. Fucking genius.  


26 December, 2016

The Digest—Tuesday-Monday, 20-26 December, 2016

[The Digest is a collection of articles, videos, and other media I've viewed and found significant throughout the day. It is a way to divest myself from other social media that is more reliant on likes, click-bait, and peer-approval rather than quality, intelligence, and diversity of opinion, which are the qualities I find important. It is also a way to devote myself to daily contributions to this space...at least in theory.]

-=Summary: Bill O'Reilly's "white establishment," that white establishment in action, romcoms and stalking myths, Trump demanding info on "women's programs," lead exposure and criminality, time management, Trump's nukes, losing democracy in North Carolina, Twitter freaks over interracial ad, counterproductive voting, and the climate denial of Trumpism=-


Yes, I fell behind again, so I'm condensing since I have all these tabs open on my browser and don't remember when I read what and I'm more likely to publish this in one than write 4 more. I blame insomnia combined with homework to ignore my tendency toward procrastination and childish, I don't feel like it! inner demons. And I'm basically writing this to myself since I have 1 whole subscriber (hi there!) which I'm not even sure isn't myself. 


Commence

Articles:

CNN pundit likens O'Reilly's race comments to apartheid rhetoric

Leinz Vales from CNN

I'm not shocked O'Reilly said these things. Example:
"The left wants power taken away from the white establishment," O'Reilly said.
I am surprised that O'Reilly would be so brutally honest on national television. This has been the largely unsaid, though sometimes screamed, subtext of Trump's whole...Trumpiness for a year and a half. 

Bakari Sellers states:
"We have to talk about the simple fact that, African-Americans, we don't want anything from white people. It's not as if we want to take something from white nationalists, or take something from white supremacists."
This makes sense, of course, but what Sellers either does not mention or does not understand is that, to the O'Reilleys and Trumps and Richard Spencers of the world, just claiming equality of opportunity and education and employment is itself a taking-away from these jackknobs. What does it take away? The superiority of vantage, the edge, the privilege they feel entitled to by virtue of white birth. 

So, props to Bill O'Reilly for his honesty. It's despicable and hateful and hideous, but they've been dancing around this for so long, it's a relief to see it laid bare for the world to see.