Archive Page 2


One life to Open the Game


Well they did it, folks, they raised the bar on citizen reaction in modern politics by giving us a kill. James Alex Fields Jr. has been charged with second degree murder in Charlottesville, VA, for smashing his car into a crowd of protesters, killing a thirty two year old woman. He injured a reported 19 other people as well with the car crash, so now the cherry has been popped on a new generation’s social/political  behavior. Rules have been broken and I now have to believe there’s a small, darkened room full of politicians somewhere in Washington D.C., old white relics in stuffed suits, wringing their hands with evil glee. Their formula has worked and they appear to have control over Trump followers, enough so to have them commit murder. The Crimson King has served his purpose and lowered the level of tolerance many of his more extreme supporters harbor. The hatred from those who oppose ‘fake media’ and “Hillary Supporters” (the woman appears to pull more power from not being elected, than if she were) will now be backed by the strength of legendary urban tales created from Field’s action. They can no longer be considered political activist virgins, they are killers.

The protest is said to have started over a proposed removal of the Robert E. Lee statue which resides in the city of Charlottesville. The semantics of the statue being allowed to stand, or being taken down, both are huge topics of discussion, but I won’t waste time writing on that debate. The people who live in their region have more a dog in the fight than me, because it’s their home turf. I will, however, qualify myself to look at and characterize the insane actions of one brainwashed individual that was driven to the point of taking a life and injuring others, all over his opinion. An opinion that was fed by the political agendas of a two Party system which can’t manage to get along on anything. A neighborhood and network of relatives and associates who classified Fields as a quiet person who kept to himself enabled him…we keep hearing about the loose cannons, the psychopaths that finally do snap, and I feel that number may grow. Certainly the potential for growth in numbers of loose cannons out there may be spurred by a critical lack of medical support for those who rely on meds to keep them together.

Our nation continues to crumble under the present Amerikan leadership, and we experience rot from within our neighborhoods. Neighbor battles neighbor as our nation’s infrastructure decays; and all this rang in a new level of bloodshed, Saturday, while I prepared to tour an historic old Coca-Cola bottling plant in downtown Indianapolis.

This tour was the nation’s largest Coca-Cola bottling facility (in it’s prime), now defunct and preparing to be scrapped after sitting years in abandonment. The eight acre lot is an architectural splendor to investigate, a showcase of Art Deco design from an era now past. They have made plans to tear down the Coca-Cola building(s) and surrounding ground to renovate into a new business area along Massachusetts Avenue. New facades, new growth for the area, a new era of development and progression. Now as much as I don’t have a dog in your fight, Charlotte, I will at least say that life goes on and sometime the old must make way for the new. Old factories die out, sometimes statues must be relocated; change takes place for different reasons, but is a statue really worth engaging a psychopath to take to the streets and kill someone? You can argue all you want about the ‘real’ issue being deeper than that, but after all the talk, it still boils down to someone being shot over a conflict that started from a statue. I have to imagine that the most pleasant memories Charlotte’s citizens hold dear to heart from growing up there, the history of their town, the citizens, all have little to do (directly) with the statue itself…certainly not such a reverence as to hypnotize someone into running over people with a car…not unless the person was Jared Lee Lougher, or James Cunningham crazy.

Here comes the bottom line, Alt Right enthusiasts: This time, you took out one of their people and want to justify and weigh that action on your core principles. Next time, they might take out one of yours. Is this how our nation should go down? Should the true enemy of America end up being our own citizens? A mutation took place once we allowed an ex-reality show tv host to be leader of the country and shit’s starting to happen real fast. We will have bigger battles ahead and haven’t even made it through Year One of this Administration.Which ever side caves in now will lose. The ante has been put in the pot; one human life. Who ups the bet?


Conversing With an Ex-Stripper pt fini


My conversation with Hunny continued and we refilled the pipe, me scrawling down notes as fast as she could recall the details of that time in her life. Working at different clubs gave her knowledge on how to bump up the dance/performance income with a small amount of marketing tweaks. She made sure to tip her support people within the club. Hunny said it was a necessity to tip the DJ playing tunes (some joints only had coin operated jukeboxes, but in a way, feeding a jukebox is like tipping it). DJs kept the songs on for your set and good music is an important asset to keeping an act alluring. She also tipped bartenders, waitstaff and security. This close knit group of people working in the club kept a dancer going; those who got her food between sets, made sure the liquor flowed when she needed it and protected her from any of the strangeness that may exist out there in the den of onlookers. Some DJs could be paid to keep a select song so no other dancer snatched it up that evening/shift. A girl wouldn’t want to be all prepared to go onstage and dance to Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On“, and find out someone just did a routine with it. That would be like re-singing a song at a talent competition.

Songs and moves, catchy costumes and a certain, simple visual appeal or fetish, may be the thing to put extra money in the pocket on any given night. Hunny kept a back-up costume to change into, just in case a select, high tipping client walked in the door that preferred a certain look to his eye candy sessions at the club. Her normal attire was a funky, heavy metal looking outfit, but she kept a softer costume on-hand that sported a garter with her name emblazoned on it. Success in getting a good bank that night might depend on reading the crowd and knowing how to adjust your performance, how to dress for the occasion.

I asked her what her most unusual, most outstanding thing she did on stage was, and Hunny told me she had a routine where she would take a dollar bill and roll it it up tight, like making a coke straw out of it-but tighter. Her nipples are pierced so she would slip the rolled up dollar through her nipple, wind it up like an airplane propeller and let it go. Now I really wanted to see this because it sounded like one of those sights to behold-but I couldn’t lose focus. I was here for the interview, not for a show…although I might have to call her up on that one later, because it sounds too eye insanely cool. Next I wanted to know about the most unusual show stopper she saw being performed. Without hesitation she told me of a girl who would open her legs and place a length-wise folded dollar bill on her crotch, and puff the thing into the air. The appearance was that the strength of a queef was blowing it in the air, but Hunny informed me it was a trick and the girl actually puffed air from her mouth down along her belly to her vagina and that would generate enough push to put the dollar in the air…made it look like it was being airborne from a pussy fart.

I eventually learned the thing thing which caused her to go into stripping was the thing that drew her out of it; anxiety. Like a lot of us (myself included), Hunny suffers from anxiety and depression and worked through a period of searching out a better tomorrow for herself. We are all prone to looking and trying different things, and certain paths actually do work out for people for short periods at various points in their life. Stripping was just what she needed at that moment to get through a rough patch of coping in the world, and she moved on and now is in a different world, a different environment. Yet to know who this person is in the flesh and blood world out there, some might pre-judge Hunny and use it against her.

We all get on with our lives and leave a hundred personas behind, a variety of things we were once involved in. I will end this sermon and interview, folks, noting that we all walk down myriad paths throughout our lives, and we should savor the variety. For those who’ve never been in a strip club, they are like everything else which is unknown to you. We all fear the unknown and hate stems from fear-go face the foe once and see what you think…don’t pass judgement on everyone working at a club until you’ve experienced it yourself. You might find it vile, you might find it more harmless that you had thought…but at least, you will have sought the truth in person. You will judge on what you see, rather than what you are being told, which is becoming alarmingly more important now days.

..and when you do go into a club, be prudent with your money.


Conversing With an Ex-Stripper pt. 2


The ‘lot closer’ reference Hunny made left no doubt she was talking about full on penetration from a club patron. I’ve been to clubs and bachelor parties where this went on, but didn’t think it was governed under some rule of law, so much as an individual’s own ethics. Some will take the jump, others won’t. Again, judgement on letting a guy finger bang you in the dark part of the bar, or screw you in a small little room where they pay top dollar to get back there, is meant for some other blog post…probably from some other blogger.

Hunny didn’t go for the ‘lot closer’ scene; she only wanted to make enough cash to go out after work drinking with her friends. She wasn’t an ‘all about the hustle’ girl either, so she never really worked too hard at making club money. Just enough to party and pay some bills. All girls will set their limit based on how much they want to work, how much money they need to take home. If you’re a party girl, you’ll make your set bank and leave, if you can. If you can make enough cash to go out and have a good time, then that’s what you’ll do. Party girls are just one type who work in clubs. We paired it down to a nomenclature of five different groups of girls at any club she worked in: party girls, desperate single moms, girls who are all about the hustle, pole girls and junkies. Hunny was a party girl, which I’ve been describing. Desperate single moms is a pretty self explanatory moniker. Pole girls are those gymnast types who would rather be in Cirque Du Soleil, but do strip clubs as a compromise. Pole girls usually just want to perfect their craft in a club long enough to get over some financial hump, or perfect some routine, then they will move on.

My personal opinion is, the most dangerous girls in a bar fall into those last two categories; all about the hustle girls and junkies. Either of these two will give the nastiest, most x-rated performances, but make you pay the most-in more ways than one. AATH girls (all about the hustle) will seduce the money right out of a man’s wallet who isn’t careful, like some sexual siren. These type are more apt to pull a cutthroat stunt on the other girls at a club, like walking in on a regular customer to wedge a lap dance out of him first, or the worst, undercutting another girl’s price for a dance. Undercutting is unforgivable and if turned in to management, usually gets a dancer tossed out of a job. A successful AATH girl will not have to go to that extreme, because they have honed their skill to be a grifting succubus who can seduce you with luring words…and eyes…and tits. They can make a factory worker feel like he’s king of the world, until the money train runs dry, or a bigger tipper comes along. They play their audiences for top dollar and have a much higher bar of financial demands than the other type performers.

Last comes the junkie, who seems most similar to an AATH girl, but has her bar of financial expectation set to the price of her high. Like junkies of any sort, money needs are set pretty basic as far as clothing, food, shelter, etc., in comparison to the finances they’ll have on hand for drugs…drugs and liquor, usually, because they go so well together. Who wouldn’t drink in a place where they serve alcohol and solicit naked bodies shows? The temptation would be next to impossible to escape.

Now Hunny was certainly up to making quick money, if she saw an opportunity where she didn’t have to work that hard. Clubs next to airports and industrial areas seemed to be good cash cows for her. She’d be at a good locale and eventually, some new girl would come in and give a job lead on a ‘better’ deal; some club down the road where guys were throwing it away, or a good place for establishing regulars. Regulars are a boon for dancers. Hunny could always have a good tip night when a bunch of drunk frat boys came in to whoop it up, or a gaggle of men on a bachelor party hit the strip joints, but frat boys and bachelor parties aren’t always happening. They weren’t like a regular, who was there time and time again to throw out money. Establishing regulars meant a more stable income to rely on. Plus, from the different little stories she told me, her regulars were more apt to give her little gifts, bring her food or take her out on a platonic date. Regulars were there for something more than just the sex aspect. They were there for an ear to bend, for someone to listen to them. A cheap psychiatrist who would spread their legs and let you look.


Conversing With an Ex-Stripper – pt. 1


There are three types of people I just can’t enjoy engaging in conversation; extremists, racists and Juggalos. Everyone else is pretty much fair game to start up dialogue with.

One rule I learned from writing this blog going on six years now, is that whenever possible, it’s beneficial to get your information straight from a source directly associated with what you’re writing about. This isn’t always possible, but if given the opportunity, jump on it, because it will be very beneficial. Different preconceived ideas you might have about a group of people…various social class tribes bundled out there in the Great Amerika; some times, I expose my ideas as superstitions I held onto, or bad influence from the words of others that harbored hate and prejudice. Meeting with someone educates me and helps me discern between what I’m being told and what I’m seeing. These two things don’t always correlate.

I’ve been wanting to sit down and pick the brain of a woman who was a stripper for some time now. Outside of going inside a club, my chances of running into a dancer were slim to none, so, when I did run across someone who was articulate enough, and had been a stripper, I was beaming. This was perfect timing; this would break me away from the nightmare we are living in, away for a bit, from listening and watching images of the Crimson King as he broods around his emptying palace. I needed therapeutic human conversation to remind me that there is more to life than the drool they post online which covers us all in paranoia.

I know that a lot of individuals have their own experiences with being in that profession, or know someone who is, or once dated someone who did, and every one of us will have our own perception on the type of individual(s) a stripper is. This journal of my conversation with a girl I will call Hunny documents the questions that were on my mind, and her perception of the (as she puts it) surreal world of strip clubs. She has a pretty savvy mind, so I knew she would be able to convey certain aspects of the strip club business that typically can go unnoticed. Hunny had worked in dozens of clubs so that would seem to give her a broad analysis of the club scene…and why did she work in so many clubs in such a short amount of time? That could be another question I add to my list, but first, we both needed to get sufficiently baked and I had to break out my old school note taking gear. I prefer to write my notes on a pad of paper rather than using recordings for reference. By writing my notes as it happens, I can put in annotations to help convey what I’m learning. It also gives me something to do when I am sufficiently baked. One last detail was to get placed in an environment where I could sit and listen and not be distracted by outside influence. I had tried before to talk to girls in a club, but they’re in a club to make money, not to talk to some inquisitive ass, like me. Hunny had me come to her house and we sat down and got high and talked.

She was somewhere around twenty-three to twenty-five years old when she decided to start working at a club as a stripper. A friend of hers had suggested it to her a few times and with her feeling that she wasn’t cutting it in the nine to five world, Hunny thought this might work out for her. She told me at that age, she was a party girl (as youth persuades so many of us into being, at that period of our lives) and club money seemed like a great way to support going out and still having money to keep a roof. Some girls can make the jump and some girls will, some girls won’t. Hunny made the jump and started dancing in clubs-dancing and doing ‘sets’. That was one of the first things she made sure I mention; There is a distinction between a ‘dance’ and a ‘set’. A set can include a couple three minute minimum songs, or one three minute song and a long playing song, like Paradise by the Dashboard Light, that old Meat Loaf classic…Meat Loaf……she told me that one and I about spit up laughing, trying to picture how detailed a routine a girl would have to dream up to last out that tune. The highs and the lows…now that, would be showmanship. A ‘dance’ was a lap dance, a one on one performance, a close up and personal thing.

I remember Hunny telling me she stuck to working at clubs where the six inch law was in place. The six inch law means girls can be totally nude, but patrons have to stay a distance of at least six inches away from a performer. Other clubs were governed by laws which said the girls had to wear a long gown or some kind of material rather than being totally nude, but men could get closer than six inches…a lot closer.



Over the Line Show #81 Black Market Fidget Spinners

This is now one of my go-to podcasts…great background noise while I work on my projects.

The Over The Line Show / Podcast 42


On Today’s Show:

Weather Man Advice App, Jerk Geese, The War On Fidget Spinners, Bernie Sanders vs Megadeth, Catfish Day, Deer Road Kill Rules, Popcorn Wars: John Cusack, Al Capone Auction, Ugly Uniforms For Columbus Clippers, Italian Food And Roller Coasters, Norwegian Penis Rock, Jim Neighbor’s Han Solo, 100,000 Good Will Donation, Bands Banned At The Pentagon

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A Rising Surge of Zealotards – pt. fini


The Dragons.

He continued to smile and handed me a business card with a picture of the proverbial ‘red pill’ on it, a visual reference made popular by the Matrix films. In the movies, those who take the red pill are shown the true nature of things, the true reality that hides behind the alleged facade we live in. Using a red pill graphic is like saying ‘we know the truth others won’t tell you’.

I stared at the card. The blonde man went on babbling stats and information about his organization; His ‘Dragon’s are a group known as Identity Evropa (also known as Identity Europa). I looked at the front of the card again before turning it over, nodding politely as he continued to chat over the background voice of the main speaker on that crackling microphone. Some Trump supporter couldn’t hold his tongue and started bellowing out threats to the group of Trump protestors standing behind the speaker. That brought about a response from the opposition that wore black jackets and scarves across their faces and I just tried to focus over their jeers and the guy on the speaker to hear my Dragon man better. This back and forth verbal battle goes on a lot at rallies and as numb as you can get to it, it is still distracting. I was trying to listen to  this guy dole out more info about his organization, then noticed the back of his business card which had eight other alt-right groups listed, along with their website addresses. Screw it; I could look up the Dragons online mission statement later if I missed out some on what he was saying to me. This list on the card would save me a lot of online footwork. I now had a list of active right wing organizations in support of one another, a good reference sheet for future investigation.

Not all those sites listed on the card had people representing there Saturday, but I was able to confirm ACT of America and Identity Evropa were present. The opposing faction had the Hoosier Anti-Racist group and various onlookers. strays pulled in by the barking voice of the ACT spokesman on the microphone. Police stood around the group but looked more bored than anything, or pissed that they got assigned this job for the morning. Local law are smart to watch for the potential threat of a crowd-especially one supported by individuals who come out on the streets sporting paramilitary garb and toting firearms-but even the cops gave off a vibe like this probably wouldn’t erupt into anything too severe.

Gay Pride was going on just a few blocks away and I asked the man if the Dragons planned to show up for that, wanting to see if they had any antagonism set for that celebration. He assured me that they had no intention of going over there during Pride. That was a relief to me because in spite my fascination watching cute little demonstrations, I did not want to see one that would disrupt such a feel-good, wonderful celebration as Gay Pride. Pride brings happiness to town, political demonstrations typically bring anger and hostility. Let those who play with fire fight one another and leave the rest out of it.

The two groups continued to snap at one another while the microphone crackled on. The speaker brought up a new voice, a rather large lady in a chador who was there to relay her story about being a victim of female genital mutilation and abuse. Later I would remember seeing her chain smoking, sitting among the Trump protestors. I still don’t understand whose side she was on. The lines were getting blurry on that story and whoever she was there to support, she was not as effective as they would have wanted her to be. I can’t recall if it was before or after Mike and I broke away from the crowd for our traditional breather (coffee, evaluate our latest images taken, edit notes) that I heard this new female voice get on the loud speaker and yell out to the crowd:
“They rape the women….they rape the goats!”
That one gave me such a goosebump rush…they rape the goats. Damn, lady, that was brilliant. Her saying that was so monumental, in that moment, that I had to stop and make sure to put that in my notes-verbatim. Play that on the news feed…play that on MSNBC.

Once we broke away and came back, we could pretty well tell how the rest of this demonstration would go. it would be just like the other string of protests we have seen down here recently-very little bark, no bite. My synopsis on this particular event could be summed up by what I saw during the latter part of the day. The Alt-Right supporters stood there shouting “Donald Trump!”, as the opposing side stood there and yelled “Fuck you!”. They did that back and forth for a minute or so and that’s about what our entire country is doing right now, just standing there, facing one another, while one side shouts Donald Trump and the other side yells fuck you.
This is what our world has become.

Welcome to the Church.


A Rising Surge of Zealotards – pt. 2


Driving to the rally gave Mike and I time for psychological motivation. Our interest in attending these dramas is to witness the great human clash, the artform society unfolds at these events, whether gripped with emotion, or banality. Mike has been doing photography around the U.S. and abroad, won awards for his work and can’t stop this addiction of his. I get to witness his dance when he passes through crowds for that one certain moment to capture, some little…something, that goes by in a blink.

My preparation typically includes getting notebook and camera ready, pens and additional pens and usually medicating myself with something before leaving. As avid a fan as I am covering events like these, crowds put me on edge. I’ve attended too many horror show rock concerts throughout my life that got out of hand; I’ll never forget a particular nasty two day concert in Sedalia, Missouri, where the crowd baked in the sun and bad acid made it’s round through thousands attending. We both know how ugly crowds can get, and how quick it can go down, so part of that prep Mike and I have is to make sure and have our sixth sense set to read the mood of any situation. You don’t want some asshole, jacked up on emotion and Red Bull, running up and smashing your camera, or to be swept up into a mob fistfight-should one break out.

We closed in on a parking spot and walked a few blocks to the event. The rally was to start at ten and by the time we got there it had been going for about twenty minutes. I could see a group of close to a hundred, if I tallied all sides represented at the Capitol building. The closer we got, the more clear an audio blast from a cheap hand held microphone became. It was being fed through a small amplifier with a cracked speaker; the speaker blistered on about the evils of Sharia law. The speaker faced one political group that held ground on the sidewalk at the corner of Washington and Capitol Ave., supporters of Donald Trump, while behind him stood those who would oppose the Crimson King, standing in defiance on the front lawn of the Capitol building. The Trump camp had people carrying flags; an American flag, a yellow flag with the ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ snake and a couple flags with symbols I was unfamiliar with. The opposing crowd held no type flags or signs that were too memorable to me. Typical protesty things, but nothing gripping. They did harbor a few anti-protestors garbed in black, quasi-anarchist jackets and wearing scarfs to hide their faces, aiming for that Sandinista freedom fighter look. I went up and asked one of them the name of the group they represented (i.e. those in the black/scarfed outfits) and he became too evasive with an answer. He wasn’t going to commit to saying he was a part of any affiliated group that might wear black, blah blah. Mi hermano asked another black dressed face attendee and they said they just came dressed like this because it looked radical, or something equally as mundane. Mike gathered shots of the masked crowd but I became drawn to the group with folks wearing American flag bandanas over their head and decked out in military camo uniforms toting semi-automatic weapons. I wanted to find out about the two flags with unfamiliar icons on them. The icon was shaped like a triangle with lines leading into the middle from the points of the outside. One flag was white symbol on a blue back background and the other was blue symbol on a white background. I even asked Mike about it and he was unfamiliar with it as well.
“Why don’t you go over and ask them?” he suggested, and I did.
I went to the closest foreign symbol flag holder, a young man dressed like a potential Aryn Nation type or White Supremacist; black short sleeved shirt, Levis, shit stomping boots and a pair of dark shades. His hair was blonde and cropped short, his skin was pretty alabaster and I bet if those glasses came off, his eyes would be blue. Now, stereotyping is one thing and I don’t like to judge a book by it’s cover, but some times, a stereotype look on an individual helps prepare you for a situation. This guy definitely looked like the perfect male model for a White racist organization. I wanted to give him an opportunity to speak, regardless of how extreme he or his affiliated group might be. There were enough dicks there that morning trying to start fights, that wasn’t my purpose. I came to be educated.

I walked up, smiling, and asked about the symbol on his flag and who it represented. His stoic face turned to me and grinned. That grin was cold, hard steel…made me think the eyes behind those glasses might not be blue; maybe they were ebony black, like the eyes of a Great White shark.
“We’re the Dragons” he said.

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