Fred Phelps, the infamous founder of the Westboro Baptist Church, is dead.
Enough said.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Mental Health Patients In Prison
I woke this morning bitching about having to shovel snow today.
That was before I saw the headline about an ex-veteran who was reportedly 'baked to death' in a jail cell in New York. It seems Rikers Island, a prison that quarters over 12,000 inmates, has malfunctioning ventilation and heating systems, so this inmate died of probable heat stroke (probable, of course, because the autopsy was inconclusive).
The man who died was a 56-year-old veteran who served in the U.S. Marine Corp. He was homeless and suffered from schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.
While trying to keep warm, he was arrested for trespassing and had an unattainably high bail set -- one he obviously couldn't pay -- so he went to Rikers Island because, according to our justice system, this homeless, mentally ill, former Marine was a criminal who should be thrown in prison.
Didn't this man deserve medical treatment at a hospital?
Didn't this man deserve to be taken care of?
Didn't this man deserve to be treated fairly and humanely?
Didn't this man who served his country -- the most powerful country in the world -- deserve better?
Rikers Island is one of the top ten worst prisons in America, according to Mother Jones. The man who was allowed to die was in a special unit of the massive prison where inmates with mental health problems are 'housed.' No one checked on him and, when he was found dead, his defense attorney was not notified for three days and his family was never notified by the prison, they found out through the media.
As a society, how can we stay silent about billion dollar healthcare industries and broken prison systems that fail any of us who suffer from mental illness? How can budgets continue to be cut when it comes to mental illness, and how can people who should be patients in hospitals continue to be thrown in prison because there is no where else to send them when they've broken the law?
Statistics show that untreated mentally ill people eventually end up facing police officers for crimes their mental illness, homelessness, drug or alcohol addiction or extreme poverty drive them to. According to the U.S. Department of Justice, National Institute of Corrections:
A 2010 report cited in USA Today found that certain states have higher rates of putting mentally ill people in jail than others. Why is that? Would an investigation of these prisons find that privatized prisons -- ones that view inmates as commodities -- have higher than average statistics of incarcerating men and women who need medical treatment rather than punishment? Just asking a question here. I don't know the answer to it.
New York's Acting Department of Corrections Commissioner Mark Cranston assured the public that an investigation is underway. Wow, that puts my mind at ease. In his statement, Cranston labeled Jerome Murdough's death 'unfortunate.' Unfortunate?! Try Appalling. Outrageous. Sickening. Needless. Doesn't a system that accepts the responsibility of holding human beings against their will have a legal duty to make sure those people are not allowed to suffer cruel and unusual punishment or untimely deaths? Maybe 'Criminal' is a better word to describe Jerome's death, Mr. Cranston?
The Justice Department admits that mentally ill prisoners are easy targets for other inmates, are more often preyed upon, and have more trouble with guards for failing to follow rules. Yes, that makes sense, because mentally ill people do not think or act like people who don't suffer from mental illness. That's why they need medical attention. That's why they shouldn't be thrown in prison. That's why people like Jerome Murdough are found dead in their cells.
That was before I saw the headline about an ex-veteran who was reportedly 'baked to death' in a jail cell in New York. It seems Rikers Island, a prison that quarters over 12,000 inmates, has malfunctioning ventilation and heating systems, so this inmate died of probable heat stroke (probable, of course, because the autopsy was inconclusive).
The man who died was a 56-year-old veteran who served in the U.S. Marine Corp. He was homeless and suffered from schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.
While trying to keep warm, he was arrested for trespassing and had an unattainably high bail set -- one he obviously couldn't pay -- so he went to Rikers Island because, according to our justice system, this homeless, mentally ill, former Marine was a criminal who should be thrown in prison.
Didn't this man deserve medical treatment at a hospital?
Didn't this man deserve to be taken care of?
Didn't this man deserve to be treated fairly and humanely?
Didn't this man who served his country -- the most powerful country in the world -- deserve better?
Rikers Island is one of the top ten worst prisons in America, according to Mother Jones. The man who was allowed to die was in a special unit of the massive prison where inmates with mental health problems are 'housed.' No one checked on him and, when he was found dead, his defense attorney was not notified for three days and his family was never notified by the prison, they found out through the media.
As a society, how can we stay silent about billion dollar healthcare industries and broken prison systems that fail any of us who suffer from mental illness? How can budgets continue to be cut when it comes to mental illness, and how can people who should be patients in hospitals continue to be thrown in prison because there is no where else to send them when they've broken the law?
Statistics show that untreated mentally ill people eventually end up facing police officers for crimes their mental illness, homelessness, drug or alcohol addiction or extreme poverty drive them to. According to the U.S. Department of Justice, National Institute of Corrections:
Prison and jail inmates with physical health, mental health, and substance use problems experience more reintegration difficulties upon release, and typically have poorer outcomes with respect to employment, re-offending, and re-incarceration.While I will not suggest that every prison system employee is a callous asshole who has no concern for the inmates they are sworn to care for, I will suggest that prison administrators need to collectively manage the problem and refuse to accept inmates who should be in hospitals and treatment centers, rather than prison.
A 2010 report cited in USA Today found that certain states have higher rates of putting mentally ill people in jail than others. Why is that? Would an investigation of these prisons find that privatized prisons -- ones that view inmates as commodities -- have higher than average statistics of incarcerating men and women who need medical treatment rather than punishment? Just asking a question here. I don't know the answer to it.
New York's Acting Department of Corrections Commissioner Mark Cranston assured the public that an investigation is underway. Wow, that puts my mind at ease. In his statement, Cranston labeled Jerome Murdough's death 'unfortunate.' Unfortunate?! Try Appalling. Outrageous. Sickening. Needless. Doesn't a system that accepts the responsibility of holding human beings against their will have a legal duty to make sure those people are not allowed to suffer cruel and unusual punishment or untimely deaths? Maybe 'Criminal' is a better word to describe Jerome's death, Mr. Cranston?
The Justice Department admits that mentally ill prisoners are easy targets for other inmates, are more often preyed upon, and have more trouble with guards for failing to follow rules. Yes, that makes sense, because mentally ill people do not think or act like people who don't suffer from mental illness. That's why they need medical attention. That's why they shouldn't be thrown in prison. That's why people like Jerome Murdough are found dead in their cells.
For more insight into our problematic criminal justice system, visit ACLU:
Prisoners' Rights.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
H.P. Lovecraft
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the
oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." H.P. Lovecraft
On this very day, 77 years ago, H.P. Lovecraft died in a hospital in Providence, Rhode Island at age 46. His horror stories, more popular now than when he was alive, created dark, rancid, hopeless worlds where humans were stalked and overtaken by evil other-worldly spirits. Lovecraft's fictional entities tortured their victims psychologically rather than physically, making them more cryptic, more terrifying, more thought provoking.
His stories create a sinister, stifling atmosphere where beings lurk in the dark and dwell in the deepest chambers of our brain while they wait for us to let our guard down. He drives imaginations wild and takes readers on a terrifying journey that starts with a sliver of normalcy and ends at the brink of insanity. Lovecraft's stories make people die of fear, yet never let them know what exactly killed them.
Here is an excerpt from one of Lovecraft's scariest short stories called "The Book" courtesy of Dagonbytes.com, a site that offers free online stories that will scare the shit of you. Read it if you dare.
The Book by H.P. Lovecraft (excerpt)
My memories are
very confused. There is even much doubt as to where they begin; for
at times I feel appalling vistas of years stretching behind me, while
at other times it seems as if the present moment were an isolated point
in a grey, formless infinity. I am not even certain how I am communicating
this message. While I know I am speaking, I have a vague impression
that some strange and perhaps terrible mediation will be needed to bear
what I say to the points where I wish to be heard. My identity, too,
is bewilderingly cloudy. I seem to have suffered a great shock- perhaps
from some utterly monstrous outgrowth of my cycles of unique, incredible
experience.
These cycles of experience, of course, all stem from that worm-riddled book. I remember when I found it- in a dimly lighted place near the black, oily river where the mists always swirl. That place was very old, and the ceiling-high shelves full of rotting volumes reached back endlessly through windowless inner rooms and alcoves. There were, besides, great formless heaps of books on the floor and in crude bins; and it was in one of these heaps that I found the thing. I never learned its title, for the early pages were missing; but it fell open toward the end and gave me a glimpse of something which sent my senses reeling.
There was a formula- a sort of list of things to say and do- which I recognized as something black and forbidden; something which I had read of before in furtive paragraphs of mixed abhorrence and fascination penned by those strange ancient delvers into the universe's guarded secrets whose decaying texts I loved to absorb. It was a key- a guide- to certain gateways and transitions of which mystics have dreamed and whispered since the race was young, and which lead to freedoms and discoveries beyond the three dimensions and realms of life and matter that we know. Not for centuries had any man recalled its vital substance or known where to find it, but this book was very old indeed. No printing-press, but the hand of some half-crazed monk, had traced these ominous Latin phrases in uncials of awesome antiquity.
I remember how the old man leered and tittered, and made a curious sign with his hand when I bore it away. He had refused to take pay for it, and only long afterwards did I guess why. As I hurried home through those narrow, winding, mist-cloaked waterfront streets I had a frightful impression of being stealthily followed by softly padding feet. The centuried, tottering houses on both sides seemed alive with a fresh and morbid malignity- as if some hitherto closed channel of evil understanding had abruptly been opened. I felt that those walls and over-hanging gables of mildewed brick and fungoid plaster and timber- with eyelike, diamond-paned windows that leered- could hardly desist from advancing and crushing me . . . yet I had read only the least fragment of that blasphemous rune before closing the book and bringing it away.
More ...
On this very day, 77 years ago, H.P. Lovecraft died in a hospital in Providence, Rhode Island at age 46. His horror stories, more popular now than when he was alive, created dark, rancid, hopeless worlds where humans were stalked and overtaken by evil other-worldly spirits. Lovecraft's fictional entities tortured their victims psychologically rather than physically, making them more cryptic, more terrifying, more thought provoking.
His stories create a sinister, stifling atmosphere where beings lurk in the dark and dwell in the deepest chambers of our brain while they wait for us to let our guard down. He drives imaginations wild and takes readers on a terrifying journey that starts with a sliver of normalcy and ends at the brink of insanity. Lovecraft's stories make people die of fear, yet never let them know what exactly killed them.
Here is an excerpt from one of Lovecraft's scariest short stories called "The Book" courtesy of Dagonbytes.com, a site that offers free online stories that will scare the shit of you. Read it if you dare.
The Book by H.P. Lovecraft (excerpt)
My memories are
very confused. There is even much doubt as to where they begin; for
at times I feel appalling vistas of years stretching behind me, while
at other times it seems as if the present moment were an isolated point
in a grey, formless infinity. I am not even certain how I am communicating
this message. While I know I am speaking, I have a vague impression
that some strange and perhaps terrible mediation will be needed to bear
what I say to the points where I wish to be heard. My identity, too,
is bewilderingly cloudy. I seem to have suffered a great shock- perhaps
from some utterly monstrous outgrowth of my cycles of unique, incredible
experience. These cycles of experience, of course, all stem from that worm-riddled book. I remember when I found it- in a dimly lighted place near the black, oily river where the mists always swirl. That place was very old, and the ceiling-high shelves full of rotting volumes reached back endlessly through windowless inner rooms and alcoves. There were, besides, great formless heaps of books on the floor and in crude bins; and it was in one of these heaps that I found the thing. I never learned its title, for the early pages were missing; but it fell open toward the end and gave me a glimpse of something which sent my senses reeling.
There was a formula- a sort of list of things to say and do- which I recognized as something black and forbidden; something which I had read of before in furtive paragraphs of mixed abhorrence and fascination penned by those strange ancient delvers into the universe's guarded secrets whose decaying texts I loved to absorb. It was a key- a guide- to certain gateways and transitions of which mystics have dreamed and whispered since the race was young, and which lead to freedoms and discoveries beyond the three dimensions and realms of life and matter that we know. Not for centuries had any man recalled its vital substance or known where to find it, but this book was very old indeed. No printing-press, but the hand of some half-crazed monk, had traced these ominous Latin phrases in uncials of awesome antiquity.
I remember how the old man leered and tittered, and made a curious sign with his hand when I bore it away. He had refused to take pay for it, and only long afterwards did I guess why. As I hurried home through those narrow, winding, mist-cloaked waterfront streets I had a frightful impression of being stealthily followed by softly padding feet. The centuried, tottering houses on both sides seemed alive with a fresh and morbid malignity- as if some hitherto closed channel of evil understanding had abruptly been opened. I felt that those walls and over-hanging gables of mildewed brick and fungoid plaster and timber- with eyelike, diamond-paned windows that leered- could hardly desist from advancing and crushing me . . . yet I had read only the least fragment of that blasphemous rune before closing the book and bringing it away.
More ...
Friday, March 14, 2014
Lena Dunham and "Girls"
Despite criticism of it being misogynistic, casting only white people, starring four women who secured their roles through nepotism and airing uncomfortable, gritty scenes that simulate rape, discuss mental illness, show people degraded and flaunt unhealthy relationships, I’m a fan of Lena Dunham’s Girls on HBO.
Dunham’s insatiable need (and extreme courage) to display her imperfect-in-the-eyes-of-society nakedness raises the hackles of critics hell bent on perpetuating the notion that only size zero women have the right to freely display their bodies, and the true message of their critiques is loud and clear: If we (meaning the judgmental dicks of society) consider you beautiful, we want to get off on your nakedness, but if you don’t fulfill our fantasy of what beauty is supposed to look like (a make-up plastered skeleton), we call it offensive and take swipes.
Lena Dunham’s spirited lack of self-consciousness makes her a role model for women, young and old. She’s unafraid of what others think of her and proudly defends her artistic style and her personal choices to be who she chooses to be. She’s shows us her ugly side (on the inside) in Girls and shows – dare I say it – normal human flaws. Ones that all of us possess.
Yes. We. Are. All. Flawed. Inside. And. Out.
Let’s Focus On Ourselves, Own Our Flaws.
Let us question why sit-coms, over and over again, cast midde-aged, overweight, balding, frumpy men as the proud, mismatched husbands of young, thin, vivacious, sexy women. Why aren’t critics hucking it up over this instead of fretting over a young woman who is comfortable in her own skin?
Girls' main character loves a man who, at times, borderline rapes her yet at other times, shows us how much he, in his own fucked-up way, loves her with all his heart. I think Lena Dunham deserves credit for screenwriting that borders on therapeutic journaling by letting the characters unabashedly share their hopes, dreams and shortcomings without concerning themselves with what anyone will think of them.
Perhaps we would all benefit from a healthy dose of introspection and self-exposure.
Perhaps we would all benefit from a healthy dose of introspection and self-exposure.
Here are a few YouTube clips of Lena Dunham's Girls:
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Maine GOP Rep. Lawrence Lockman: Men Should Be Allowed To Rape Women
“If a woman has (the right to abortion), why shouldn’t a man be free to use his superior strength to force himself on a woman? At least the rapist’s pursuit of sexual freedom doesn’t (in most cases) result in anyone’s death.”
Who would make such vile statements?
Maine Republican lawmaker Lawrence Lockman, that's who.
Here's his Maine House GOP page.
HuffPost reported that the lawmaker apologized for the comment.
Does he really think an apology will make this go away or make us think this is not how he really feels about women and rape? He is currently serving his first term in office. Let's hope Maine voters are perceptive enough to make it his last.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Toilets
 |
| One of the many wonderful toilets of Budapest, Hungary. Photo Credit: Troy K. |
Taking a shit is a satisfying experience.
Too crass? Let me try again ...
Passing excrement from the bowels through the anus is elating.
Hmm ... I'll give it another try.
Discharging waste products from the body through the anal opening is a spiritual experience.
Getting closer ... one last try:
Finding a vacant toilet when you really have to move your bowels is an instant dopamine releaser, and an empty bowel elicits feelings that border on euphoria. (This is the one)
An old Jamaican nurse once asked me, 'Who is King, the bowel or the brain?' then passionately answered: 'Mun, the bowel is King, because the brain cannot think if the bowel is blocked.'
So many people have an aversion to talking about bowel movements, even though it's something all of us do. Even the word toilet, which I think is a great word, is avoided as we "go to the restroom -- take a trip to the ladies room -- take a bathroom break -- go number two or, my personal favorite, powder one's nose." Those of us who are lucky enough to have toilets use them faithfully, but don't pay them the respect they deserve. Maybe if all of us wore a tiny gold-plated toilet on a chain around our necks, we would be less afraid to talk about our bowels. Maybe that would save people's lives and make them unafraid to seek medical attention for bowel-related problems. Maybe that would force society to offer more public toilets, rather than allow businesses to post signs that say 'Restrooms for Patrons Only.' How dare business owners who turn away a person seeking the use of a toilet? The further degradation of a normal, healthy, bodily function.
The World Health Organization estimates that 2.6 billion people don't have access to or the luxury of using and flushing a toilet each day. This includes over 600,000 homeless people in America. Unsanitary conditions lead to a plethora of preventable diseases and early deaths for millions of people who desperately need the toilets that we're so embarrassed to talk about.
The National Institutes of Health estimate that 60 to 70 million Americans suffer from diseases of the digestive tract that range from hemorrhoids to diverticulitis to irritable bowel syndrome to colon cancer. Our inability to discuss our bowels and the lack of public toilets in our society add to the problems of millions of people who suffer bowel-related conditions -- ones they are embarrassed to discuss because of society's need to not talk about something as vile and, at the same time, life sustaining as healthy bowel movements.
Add to this discussion the fact that technology has not advanced the flushing toilet in hundreds of years, and human waste is a prevalent and ongoing burden to our health and environment. Advances in sanitation seems like a no-brainer and should be top priority for genius scientists, since all of us are the glorious creators of human waste (a.k.a. bowel movements) yet we rarely hear everyday discussions of how to rid the world of our own stool.
In all fairness, there are droves of researchers who discuss and work on sanitation issues daily, and I don't wish to discredit their passion or their work. A simple YouTube search offers video after video of people dedicated to improving toilets and waste management.
The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation recently announced the winner of their "Reinvent the Toilet Challenge" that urged researchers at some of the top universities to develop "next-generation” toilets that will deliver safe and sustainable sanitation to the 2.5 billion people worldwide who don’t have it."
Hats off to the honorable winner - California Institute of Technology (Caltech).
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