Sell, Sell, Sell

If anyone out there bought the stocks I recommended in the past year, when I recommended them, you made a pretty penny. But as they say, all good things must come to an end. While I don`t think the long-term bull market is at an end, it’s in the final mile, and I predict a stock market correction this summer. So, my recommendation today is to lock in your profits, or at least start selling your shares and moving to a cash position. Sell now, lock in profits, and wait for the downturn this summer. When the market drops 5% to 10% from its recent peak, buy back in again. Predicting tops and bottoms of market turns is impossible, but close watches of the market can come close, and I follow the market closely.

Here’s the logic behind my summer-correction prediction: there is an old adage of “Sell in May and go away”, because historically, market returns during the May to October months is lower and more often negative in relation to the other months. That’s one factor. Another factor is that when emerging markets and weaker economies are disrupted by hyperinflation and geopolitical vicissitudes, there tends to be a domino effect leading to economic and stock market turmoil globally. In 1997 it was the Asian currency crisis, in the past decade it’s been the European countries, and this year we have Venezuela and Argentina causing major disruption in South America while Russia struggles under sanctions and European countries have massive debt loads and sluggish economic growth. Combine that with rising oil prices and the looming specter of inflation, and you have the perfect recipe for stock market volatility and a correction.

Tech is currently overvalued, so that whole sector is a sell, but oil is a hold as global politics will keep oil prices elevated and rising. Especially if there’s a sudden drop in the value of the dollar due to the unsustainable debt load and spending by the current Republican-controlled Congress and White House.

Those are my current predictions, but they are subject to change, so stay tuned for updates. In the meantime, I hope all of you keep making that money, money, money.

Lockdowns (aka The Law of Diminishing Returns)

During my post about work, I completely forgot to include one of my paystubs. During a two-week period (i.e. a typical pay period), I usually get six boxes done. Though the pay is nominal, if you work fast enough, you can make a few dollars. The money made in a month isn`t enough to live well off of, but it can buy you some coffee and a few snacks. We were recently locked down for at least part of a day every day for almost a week straight. During that week, the lockdowns occurred during work for two of our four workdays. That cut my usual productivity in half.

The judge in my civil case finally screened my complaint, so I had to start going to the law library again to research for both an early mediation conference with the defendants’ representative (the Attorney General’s office) and to research for my response to the judge’s order. Law library happens to fall on Monday and Wednesday afternoons, during work. So I ended up missing half a day for two days that week. Then the lockdowns preventing me from working were on Tuesday and Thursday. So instead of six boxes in a two-week period, I completed only three boxes. Oh well. C’est la vie.

This is just a short post to add some paystubs so you guys can see both my earnings and some of the different casinos whose cards I’ve sorted. So if you see some of those cards for sale in a Dollar Store or similar venue, they just might be the cards I sorted and decked. Oh, in case you’re wondering about the “savings full” and “savings not full” columns, those are referring to the prison trust account savings. When you first come to prison, 10% of every deposit to your inmate trust is deducted and put into a savings account until your savings account reaches $400. Having been down (prison slang for “incarcerated”) for over twenty years, my savings is full. That savings sits there until your release. If you’re LWOP like me, it just sits there until you die in prison and the state gets to claim it as their own.

Other deductions also apply. If you owe any court fees for, say, a civil rights lawsuit in federal court ($350 filing fee), or an appeal to the 9th circuit ($505 filing fee), 20% is deducted from every deposit to your “books” (prison slang for “inmate trust account”) until the filing fee is paid off. Any copy work at the law library, legal postage, doctor’s visit, or medication are also deducted from deposits. There are quite a few guys working who don`t see any of their paychecks from work. They’re really working like slaves.

Alright, that’s all for now. I think in my next posts I`ll be getting back to posting my inventions from days gone by. Until next time, then, enjoy the warmth of Summer fast approaching.

Grumpy Old Granny

“Buddy, I don`t really care what your problem is. Just don`t make it mine.” -Pixie by Ani DiFranco

There once was a grumpy old granny

She lived far away from the woods

Out in the desert so sunny

That’s where she peddled her goods

She peddled her hate

and spread her misery

Any person would rate

as far as she could see

A bitter old hag

with a curdled old heart

So ugly a bag

Over her head’s a good start

She claimed to be pure

Yet poison was all she did spread

She wasn’t quite sure

Why her family wished she was dead

Grumpy old granny had no friends

She never did learn the lesson

That hatred just ends

With nothing but dying alone

So, that’s a limerick I wrote for some spiteful, ugly-souled bitch who felt compelled to troll my wife online and tell my wife she was evil for being married to me, for loving me. As far as I can tell, this granny out of the South West–no doubt a big Joe Arpaio fan–is one of those hypocritical right-wing Republican Christians I utterly despise. Someone who claims to be Christian but ignores Christ’s teachings in order to cast aspersions at people without any basis. Like the Ani Difranco song, “Pixie”, I`m very much “live and let live, and when they’re out for blood, I always give.” I was convicted of a horrendous crime, so I never hold any animosity toward anyone who wants to talk shit about me because of that conviction. However, when someone decides to talk shit to anyone I love, merely for the fact that they love me and support me, I`m not so forgiving. I`ll turn the other cheek when the attacks on me, but not when it’s on my family or friends.

I`m actually a really mellow guy whose excitement and passion comes out for the positive in life, when I have something positive to share, or I’ve got an idea I think can change the world for the better, or something is making people happy. However, I can’t stand anyone or anything that would hurt my loved one’s feelings, so my passion and excitement can be turned against people who espouse hate and try to hurt other people for no reason. My patience for ignorant people like Granny is usually damn near infinite, but my patience quickly runs thin when those like Grumpy Granny want to talk shit to my loved ones.

So, here’s some lessons for you, Granny. Judge not lest ye be judged. Love the sinner, hate the sin. Forgive your fellow human seventy times seven times. Take the beam out of your own eye before you worry about the mote in your neighbor’s eye. If you don`t have anything nice to say, don`t say anything at all.

Yeah, I know: I`m not heeding my own lessons by posting this little rant against Grumpy Granny, but people talking out of their asses for nothing but harming others pisses me off. My wife is a wonderful, kind, caring, sensitive, good human being who gave me a chance, looked beyond my past to see the man I actually am. Anyone who takes the time to get to know me knows that I am not evil, I`m not some heartless monster. I`m actually someone who cares about the world and the people in it. I`m a man who wants to change the world for the better, protect the downtrodden if I can, spread a message of love, peace, and tolerance. But just like Jesus with the moneychangers in the temple, I get upset when I see hateful behavior like Granny’s.

Of course, some people talked shit after my hearing, which is to be expected. One of those shit-talkers is good ol’ ex-detective Ramos, a worthless fame-whore who likes spouting off nonsense if it means he can get his crusty old mug on t.v. or his name in the paper. You should move to Hollywood, Ramos, ya washed up has-been. So, Ramos wanted to give his worthless opinion that I`m a “cold-blooded killer.” Here’s the thing, Ramos: you don`t know me. You didn`t know me back then, and you sure as hell don`t know me now. So your statement about me being a cold-blooded killer is completely baseless. For the record, I am not a cold-blooded killer. While I may convicted of murder, that was not a premeditated murder. I was blacked out, not in control of my actions, and I would never consciously choose to ever take a human life.  I will never again put myself in any situation where I would lose control of my mind (through drugs and/or alcohol), and I would actually gladly sacrifice myself to preserve life and protect others from harm if given the chance. I do all I can from in here, using my words to help others find peace and happiness in their lives. And what do you do? Chase fleeting fame and spread hate and discontent, profiteering off of other people’s misery.

Hey, Ramos, why don`t you tell the public why you made sure to let Dave Cash go free without a single day spent in jail even though in every other case like this one, where two people are at a crime scene and leave the crime scene together, both people always get charged with crimes? Why don`t you tell the public about zero physical evidence at the crime scene connecting me to the crime scene? And why don`t you tell everyone about the false confession you took from me that the Long Beach cops coerced me into using discredited and disavowed interrogation techniques, and how that false confession didn`t match the forensics? It seems to me that the man that would try so hard to put a kid on death row and let a psychopath go free because the dumb kid trusted in the system was the easier target…well it seems to me that such a man trying to kill a boy and let a psychopath go free is the true cold-blooded killer, especially when that man did it for a shot at fame.

Alright, that concludes my rant. Yes, I`m human. Yes, I can be affected by the slings and arrows of misfortune. I can get angry, but thankfully I don`t lose my temper and self-destruct like I did when I was a kid. These days if I get angry, I channel that anger into creative, positive, or self-improving pursuits. Angry at Grump Granny? Write a limerick about her. Angry at Ramos? Point out the truths he would rather remain hidden. For anyone out there who feels misjudged, wrong maligned or invisible to a world that is blind to your pain: if you feel anger inside of you, use that anger for good. Let it be the energy that drives you to push yourself to improve both yourself and the world around you. If they say you’re evil, show them you’re good. If they say you don`t deserve anything but pain and suffering, strive to bring joy and happiness to the world because that is the true curative.

I do want to clarify my comment about despising hypocritical right-wing Republican Christians. The operative word, and the true subject of my contempt, is “hypocritical.” Jesus taught love, forgiveness, and not judging your neighbors. So those who espouse hate, judgement, negativity, and retribution just for retribution’s sake, those are the people I hold in the lowest regard, especially when they simultaneously claim to be Christian. However, I have a great admiration for true Christians who espouse Christ’s teachings of love and forgiveness. So, if you’re a Christian who is reading this, and you feel hate in your heart toward me or anyone else, you need to re-examine the core of your belief system. Hate is toxic and destructive: it does nothing positive for anyone. Yes, hold strong in your convictions, but don`t inflict pain–emotional, mental, or physical–on anyone just for the sake of inflicting pain.

As for right-wing conservative Republicans, I share some of their beliefs about smaller government, free markets, and balanced budgets (though that last one seems to have fallen out of favor among the Republicans). I would define myself as Democratic libertarian. Socially, I don`t agree with right-wing conservative Republicans at all. I think a lot of them are misogynistic and racist, both of which I oppose. I`m pro-choice, anti-death penalty, and wholeheartedly believe in equal treatment for all people regardless of sex, race, sexual identity, religion, or beliefs. Regardless of my opposition to the ring-wing conservative Republican ideology, I don`t assume that someone with those beliefs is “evil” or fits any stereotype. Every human being is complex, with often-times conflicting beliefs, and everyone deserves to be known individually.

For me, the guiding principle in life is positivity, helping people to improve themselves and the world around them. I usually handle negativity and personal attacks with stoicism or an attempt to understand where that person is coming from with their negativity so I can help them find peace and happiness in their lives. Sometimes, though, there are people you can’t reason with, people who will spit in your face no matter what you say or do. And sometimes you have to speak out against those people, not only to defend yourself, your loved ones, and your beliefs, but to let those people know that kindness is not weakness. Those people whose ignorance and hate can’t be swayed with logic or kindness: fuck you. Everyone else: don`t be afraid to look past the headlines and seek the truth in any given situation. I know it’s hard to question your own initial assumptions, it can cause a cognitive dissonance, but you must think for yourselves and not be led blindly down a path people in power want you to walk down for their own benefit. And in your constant quest for truth and self-improvement, don`t ever let hate take the reins of your heart.

I write this for my wife, the love of my life whom I idolize, who is the kindest person I’ve ever met in my life, whom I love more than anything or anyone else in the world. Those who would grab their tiki-torches and pitchforks to sling mud at my wife or anything else who loves me or supports me, realize that my wife and the people on my side are the ones who would be the first to offer you a helping hand in your time of need. And the people who would inflame your passions against me are the same people who would turn the mob against you, too, if it would profit them in the least. Just don`t blindly swallow the pablum without at least questioning the source of the pablum itself.

Until next time, then, be vigilant against those who would use and manipulate you for their own means and ends. Question authority as no institution is infallible, and you the people are the only ones who can keep the media and government officials honest.

Surreal Trip to Court

It’s been an interesting week, to say the least. A few days ago, I had an evidentiary hearing in Las Vegas to determine if my prison sentence of life without the possibility of parole is cruel and unusual punishment since I was a teenager at the time of the crime. My hearing was at 9 a.m. on Thursday, so a guard told me–on Wednesday night at 9:30–to be ready for court at 3 a.m. the next morning. One of my favorite shows–The Expanse–was on until ten, so I didn`t actually shut everything off to sleep until ten. Then I ended up laying awake for about another hour before falling asleep. I woke up around two, went back to sleep, then got up at 2:30.

Usually when you go to court from HDSP, you have to roll up all your property, then put it on a cart and drag it about a mile uphill to be stored while you’re gone. After over twenty years of incarceration, I have a shitload of property. So rolling everything up is a major pain in the ass. Fortunately for me, the guards that night weren’t tripping on me leaving all my stuff in the cell. So I had enough time to brush my teeth, wash my face, make my bed, and drink some coffee before they opened my door at 2:55 a.m.

I haven’t been outside at night in years, so that was the first surreal moment of the day–the first of many. I stood outside for about fifteen minutes, watching clouds flit by across the almost-full moon, a beautiful sight. Breathing in the warm night air and just enjoying the inherent sense of freedom in being outside without any other inmates (save for one other guy who was on his way to the same spot I was, but for his job of cleaning that area) or guards around. The “S&E” (“Search and Escort”) guard showed up and escorted us across the prison to the intake and transport building.

Once up there, I was placed in a holding cell with an overweight, black transsexual on hormones but still sporting a beard, named Angel. Angel was going to court for a battery on an officer charge. Another inmate got put in the holding cell with us a few minutes later. I forgot his name, but he was getting released that morning, placed on parole with a stay at Siegel Suites being paid for by indigent funding. He had done about six months in prison before being granted his parole, and all he could talk about was getting a cigarette and going down to Boulder highway to find a female to have sex with. Guaranteed he’ll be violating parole and back in here again with 45 days. He’ll be doing dope with a Boulder highway hooker within the first week, and the dope will lead to any crime to finance the next sack. Getting a job and becoming a productive member of society were the furthest things from that dude’s mind.

I don`t know how long I sat in that little room without a toilet or sink, but I watched the sun come up. Breakfast was four slices of bread, four slices of cheese, two mustard packs, and an apple. We had to take off our prison blues and put them in storage bins (except for the guy getting released–he stayed in his state-issued blues). When it was time to go, we got stripped out and put on orange clothes. Some guys got jumpsuits, some guys got pants & shirts (I was part of the latter group).We got put in belly chains and leg shackles, then about a dozen of us got packed into a white van like sardines. There was a metal & plexiglass partition between the guards in the driver & passenger seats and the inmates piled in the back, so if shit jumps off with the inmates, there’s nothing the guards can do to stop it. So a motherfucker has to be prepared at all times.

When we finally got on the road, the acceleration was initially discomfiting, seeing as how I hadn’t been in a van like that in quite some time. Once we were on the highway, I alternated between keeping an eye on the inmates around me and soaking in the sights of everything outside of the window. At first it was nothing but cars and desert landscapes, but it wasn’t long before buildings, homes, and billboards started popping up. Another surreal moment was when I was looking at all the cars and every one of them seemed brand new, not to mention the strangeness of how many of those SUV crossovers there were (you know, the ones that look like souped-up, futuristic station wagons). It seemed like half the cars on the road were crossovers.

I saw my first Starbucks, Panera Bread, and smartphones in person, as well as my first digital billboards. The world definitely looks hella different than it did when I was last out there. It’s a trip to be so far removed from reality for so long. So much can change in twenty years, and everyone living out there in the world doesn’t even notice the changes. I’ve stayed on top of everything as much as possible, especially technology, but seeing things on tv and in magazines is no substitute for seeing them in person.

Though I’d been in court and jail in Vegas before, I hadn’t been down there since, I believe, 2000. As far as I can tell, it’s a completely new courthouse building, and it’s definitely a new underground holding area for everyone waiting to go to court. It’s a byzantine maze of hallways, holding cells, and elevators. Being in the holding area with hundreds of county jail inmates was so completely different than the usual prison surroundings; I found myself wondering about each of the people going to court that day. I could see in their faces, and their slow, shuffling walks, that these were people living lives of quiet desperation. How different is that from any of us at any given time? I think about all the guys in here, and each day is a life of quiet desperation in prison. Is it different in the free world?

The Clark County Detention Center uniforms are still the exact same as when I was last there. Blue v-neck shirts and blue pajama-like pants. Metro uniforms are the same, too. Waiting in a small hallway with a plexiglass door, my eyes roved over all the people, cops and inmates alike, trying to calm my mind of the anxiety induced by the pending hearing, a hearing that will literally determine my life.

As I stood there, a county jail inmate in a holding cell across the central room waved me down. I ignored him because I don`t know anyone in county jail. He kept waving, though, so I looked closer and realized it actually was someone I knew–a friend from prison who had been paroled about six months earlier, been violated (i.e. found to have violated the terms of his parole and had his parole revoked as a result), then had his parole reinstated a month earlier. On the one hand, seeing Casey in jail made me sad, but on the other hand, seeing a familiar face was comforting. He signed me about his travails, using prison sign language, a rudimentary form of sign language. Then he got placed right in front of my plexiglass door so we spent some time talking. He had been violated again, and caught new charges (fraud and burglary), and had been in county for about a month. So I`ll be seeing him again soon. He was really sucked up, so I know the meth was the cause of his problems. It sucks because I see it happen so much, and no matter what I say to guys like Casey about staying away from the dope and leading better lives, there are no addiction and drug-prevention programs down here to help. Though I have been able to help some guys over the years, my counseling can’t overcome the addition these guys suffer from. At least I’ve helped a few, and that’s better than nothing.

It wasn’t long after they took Casey away for his date with destiny that the transport guards came and got me, leading me to another elevator and then a holding cell behind the courtroom. The toilet in there worked, but the sink didn`t, so as thirsty as I was, there was nothing to drink. The cell was filthy, smelling like piss and funk, so I just paced back and forth while waiting an indeterminate amount of time. Usually the transport guards from the prison just drop you off and let the jail personnel and court bailiffs oversee your custody and supervision, but my transport officers were the ones to escort me to the courtroom, and they ended up staying in there for my while hearing.  You would think maybe it was because I`m life without and they felt extra precautions were necessary. Nope. They just wanted to be there because of the notoriety attached to the proceedings. Notoriety feels like being a rare animal in a zoo, with everybody elbowing and positioning to get a look, not even caring or considering that the person they are ogling is a human being with actual feelings.

I was anxious about the hearing, being in a courtroom again, having my fate decided by a judge who doesn’t even know me. When the guard got me out of the holding cell, he walked in front of me to open the door to the courtroom, and I followed him in. I didn`t even cross the threshold before the sound of the camera hit me. Click-click-click-click-click. A hundred pictures taken in ten seconds by a high-powered camera with a telephoto lens from less than thirty feet away. As soon as I heard that sound, my stomach clenched, and my mind tensed. I fucking hate that sound. Let me tell you why since most of you have not had the misfortune to be the object of negative media obsession (yes, I say obsession, because the LVRJ coverage of me has been obsessive).

When I was first going to court decades ago, there would be a bunch of cameras and reporters in the courtroom every time I was set to appear- both still cameras and video cameras. The relentless click and whir of cameras would begin as soon as they saw me coming. They would take upwards of a thousand pictures of me, waiting for any change in my facial features to snap a couple dozen pics in a few seconds, hoping to catch one shot where I looked menacing, scary, or glaring, even though it was a trick of the light and the angle.

After combing through all those pics, the photographer or editor would choose the worst picture they could find, a picture to fit their narrative of making me the personification of evil. The next day I would see the picture, or pictures, in the paper and shake my head in disbelief at how they curated those pics. I would ignore the cameras when I was in court, and they would invariably catch me in one frame where I was in the middle of responding to something someone had said, and it would look like a sneer or smirk. The total manipulation of perception was a point of extreme frustration for me during those months.

So, when I heard that old sound greeting me at the door, I focused on keeping my face relaxed so it wouldn`t show my utter contempt for the camera and  the inevitable negative spin from the RJ. I clenched my asshole instead of clenching my jaw, thus keeping my countenance impassive. From what I’ve heard from friends and family–and a couple of guards, as well–the photographer wasn’t able to capture any “evil”-looking pics. I have no doubt that if they had captured any, they would have published them. I`m surprised they didn`t doctor them to make me appear sinister. I`m grateful that they didn`t. They were able to capture me giving a wave & nod of reassurance to my wife and family, which I tried to be discreet about.

Despite my consternation of the camera’s presence, I kept my focus on the proceedings, taking notes as the expert witness gave his testimony. The whole hearing lasted about an hour-and-a-half, and the witness, Dr. Steinberg, explained that the brain of the 18-year-old is just as underdeveloped as the brain of the 17-year-old. This is an important distinction, as it shows that the science in both neurological and psychological development of teenagers does not support the arbitrary numerical cutoff of 18 for legal protection for teenagers. This has far-reaching implications, not only in the field of criminal justice and sentencing teenagers, but also in the political arena of gun sales to teenagers, smoking, etc. For too long, the true adults of America have failed their youth, taking advantage of them and using them for their own means and ends, to the detriment of those youth. We, as a country, need to take the science into account when shaping laws, in every part of society. I`ll have Des post Dr. Steinberg’s Declaration here, and once we get it from the court, a copy of the transcript of his testimony at my hearing.

After the hearing, I was escorted back into the holding cell downstairs, during which my transport officers joked about the hearing. One asked the other, “What do you think the decision will be?” to which the other responded, “You tell me: you were sitting closer to the judge,” and then they both laughed. They spoke to each other as if I wasn’t even there, which is actually pretty typical of guard and inmate interactions. I don`t know if  there was any ill-will underlying their conviviality with one another, but they were always courteous and respectful when speaking to me, so I presume no ill-will. Another downside of infamy is that you can’t always tell what people’s intentions toward you are, and you have to temper paranoia while still remaining realistic.

Instead of being placed back in the holding area with the plexiglass door, I was taken to a room with a row of smell steel cages and placed in one. The energy drained from me as I sat on a steel stool and laid my head down on a steel countertop, my hands still cuffed to the belly chain, and my feet still shackled. I don`t know how long I rested like that before they brought my tranny buddy, Angel, to sit in the cage next to me. He/she had taken a plea bargain for a gross misdemeanor, with a ninety-day sentence he/she would serve at the same time as the current prison term he/she was serving (which was like 12 to 36 months). Strange to think of sentences of days and months instead of years and decades. Such strange stuff is surreality made of where time is elastic and indefinite, yet simultaneously finite, where one man’s reality is another’s unreality.

We spent a few more minutes down there until the guards pulled us out, rejoined us with the other eight or so prisoners, shuffled us through the endless corridors of human fallibility, and put us all in a van with a new set of transport officers. As we pulled out of the darkness of the garage and into the bright sunlight of a Vegas day, I tried to memorize every visual, knowing that this may very well be the last time I am in a city in my lifetime, the last time I ever set eyes on anything outside of prison. Cars, people, stores, casinos, freeways, billboards, and stoplights. I imagined myself standing on the same corner as the pedestrians I was looking at, what it would be like to actually be free and do something as simple as cross the street.

The ride back seemed to go a lot faster than the ride to Vegas and before I knew it I was back in prison, back in my blues. I got stuck waiting in a holding cell for about an hour before I was finally able to walk back. I went straight to work, got about an hour of work in, then went back to my cell and sat in bed, processing the day’s events. I was emotionally hung over the next day, just drained from everything, but I recovered fairly quickly. Luckily, I have the love and support of my wifey, my family and my friends. Now it’s the waiting game to see what the judge decides, followed by appeals to higher courts. Hope springs eternal.