polk county florida


Another Day, Another Fuckery: FTP Edition (9/6/17): As Florida braces for Hurricane Irma, the human shit stain known as Sheriff Grady Judd has warned Polk County residents that if they try to use a shelter and have outstanding warrants, his officers will “gladly escort them to the safe and secure shelter called the Polk County jail.” Judd has claimed to be doing this to protect youth from predators, despite the fact that most warrants are not issued for violent crimes like sexual assault, and instead for minor offenses like missing court dates and not paying fines. Further, he has stated that they will be ID’ing people for entry into shelters, meaning undocumented individuals are at risk of being detained if they do not produce documentation. Ultimately, it will likely deter people in the most desperate need of help to avoid seeking out shelter, for fear of a jail cell. With Central Florida in the path of Irma, how many lives will this wannabe-Joe Arpaio cost us? Tell Grady Judd to focus on protecting lives rather than threatening them during this moment of crisis. 

To my fellow Floridians.

  • I know we use to these storms/hurricanes but If you’re not evacuating and you’re riding out Hurricane Irma get some supplies asap don’t take it for granted like we did Katrina. Be prepared and safe ✌🏽


Oak toads [Anaxyrus quercicus] on the sandy shores of Polk County, Florida. The smallest species of toad in North America, this species often remains less than an inch long and has a diet consisting mostly of ants and other small prey. The sandy white coloring of the individual in the first image is undoubtedly natural selection at work. Like all frogs, some variation between members of the same species is normal, but the toad at the top is still unusually pale for it’s kind. Images by William Hull.

an elder once told me, “whenever your heart gets broken - feel the pain, feel the ache and then get the art out of it.” i was just 18 years old when he was sharing this gift with me. i remember loving the dramatic overtone of the comment more than i thought i understood it. it wasn’t until 20 years later while i was standing in my mother’s hospital room, on father’s day, that i fully understood the gravity of what was told me.

in early june of 2015, i was agonizing over a job offer that required me to move to washington, dc from philadelphia. i was petrified because 1: i had never lived in any city other than philadelphia; 2: i would have had to leave everything i worked so hard for in philly; and 3: i was afraid that i would fail. i must have called everyone under the sun to pick their brain. i had built a strong case as to why i should go and an even stronger case as to why i should stay. i still could not make a decision.

i called an old friend who knows all of the wonderful and not so wonderful things about me. he is also one of the most honest people in my life. i presented him with both of my cases. he didn’t reply as first but after a minute or so, he responded with “you gotta go. you gotta take it. you will be fantastic in dc and even if you fail, all the things you will learn inside of that failure, will be good too.” now it was me that was silent. he must have sensed my fear because he then said, “we won’t turn out like our mothers. that time has passed. the cycles we have been trying to break are broken. know that. you will be ok.” he then added, “and gurl, we already the most successful heauxs in our family so we good.” i laughed, he laughed but i promise you, we were serious.

it was in that conversation that i knew that i would be moving to dc. it was in that conversation that i found a way to let myself off of the hook. i have broken the cycle that has plagued my family. i had just been too busy running from my past, my pain and trauma to really enjoy it. i was ready to embark on this adventure.

a few weeks later,  my younger brother called to tell me that our my mother did not have much time and i needed to come immediately. “she wants to see you,” he said. i booked my flight to polk county, florida and by coincidence, it was father’s day weekend. admittedly, i did not want to make this trip. what gave me the most anxiety was knowing that i would have to be in a room with family that i had yet to completely forgive. my mind, body and heart still remember the abuse and neglect. while i have written poems and stories that have helped to move in a different spot of that pain, it is still there. in fact, i was so anxious that i made my younger brother promise not to “leak” the information that i was coming to florida. i also made him promise that he would not let people make me feel unsafe or try to take photos with me. god bless his heart because that boy did just that.

family did try to take photos with me. i politely declined. i was questioned as to why i was able to take photos of people but no one could take photos of me. i replied “because this request was in my rider. talk to my management about negotiating changes for my next trip here.” they laughed. i laughed but i promise you, i was serious.
sitting in the hospital room watching my mother go in and out of consciousness, i watched her grandchildren play. i watched her children laugh. i watched their wives and girlfriends make small talk about parenting and doing hair. i endured my sister begging me to take a pic. i compromised and gave her my phone number and said that i would text a pic of me that has been already been filtered for posting. she laughed. i laughed but i promise you, i was serious.

back to the hospital room and it’s being full of people. i was harkened back to my childhood. our house was always full of people. it was always full of people the world did not want. in the 80’s, our house was always full drag queens, transgender women and a few of the gay teens from the neighborhood. in the 90’s, our house was full of her friends who did not always have consistent housing. i hated it! there never seemed to be space or silence. while my mother did make sure that i had my own room, in a house with just two rooms, i felt like 6 brothers was enough. i thought “why did we have to have other people stay with us?” i resented it. so much so, that even now my closest friends have only been in my house a handful of times. this is because i have grown so guarded when it comes to my space. but here i was, in a hospital room, full of people that even “woke” spaces do not welcome. this time i didn’t resent it. i was instead filled a humble pride, immense joy and gratitude that my mother, even in her last days, was surrounded by people who were returning the love that she had provided them. “y’all muthafuggas ain’t going home?” they laughed, i laughed but i promise you, i was not serious.

on monday, june 22, 2015, after surviving poverty, crack addiction and the loss of a son, my mother, rosa m. ortiz-fonseca, took her last breath. with no fuckin’ resources, she raised 7 boys on her own. she housed people who had no place to go. she fed the entire block when she cooked and if you fucked with any of her kids, she would beat every ass on the block. my mother was a warrior. she was a giant. this is the spirit that lives in me.

i accepted the job  and moved to dc a few weeks after my mother’s death. i am still learning to get used to my new life  in dc. i am still learning to live in a world without my mother. even two years after my mom’s death, i am still learning to be – period.

an elder once told me, “whenever your heart gets broken - feel the pain, feel the ache and then get the art out of it.” it was the art that kept me present and provided me a foundation to stand on whenever i felt my legs would give way at any moment. the art saved me and i got to share it with my mother – until the end. here, i share these pictures with you.

- louie a. ortiz-fonseca

my mother being provide pain management medication

my two brothers and their two friends

family and friends in my mother’s hospital room

my brother tony. he is the brother mentioned in the story.

my brother alfredo with his son

nurse prepping to medicate my mother

i fed my mother her last meal. it was chicken noodle soup.

note written for my mother by her grand children.

R. Kelly Is Holding Women Against Their Will In An Abusive “Cult,” Parents Told Police
As the R&B legend tours the country this summer, parents have told police that R. Kelly is keeping women against their will in an abusive "cult" that's tearing families apart.
By Jim DeRogatis

Three former members of Kelly’s inner circle — Cheryl Mack, Kitti Jones, and Asante McGee — provided details supporting the parents’ worst fears. They said six women live in properties rented by Kelly in Chicago and the Atlanta suburbs, and he controls every aspect of their lives: dictating what they eat, how they dress, when they bathe, when they sleep, and how they engage in sexual encounters that he records.

The last time J. saw her daughter was Dec. 1, 2016.

“It was as if she was brainwashed. [She] looked like a prisoner — it was horrible,” she said. “I hugged her and hugged her. But she just kept saying she’s in love and [Kelly] is the one who cares for her. I don’t know what to do. I hope that if I get her back, I can get her treatment for victims of cults. They can reprogram her. But I wish I could have stopped it from happening.”

According to Mack, Jones, and McGee, the women living in Kelly’s Duluth, Georgia, “guest house” or his Chicago recording studio last summer included:

  • A 31-year-old “den mother” who “trained” newcomers on how Kelly liked to be pleasured sexually. She had been best friends since high school with the girl in the videotape for which Kelly was tried in 2008. She recently parted ways with Kelly, these sources say.
  • A 25-year-old woman who also has been part of Kelly’s scene for seven years.
  • A recent arrival, a 19-year-old model who has been photographed in public with Kelly and named on music gossip websites — a rarity among the women in his circle.
  • An Atlanta songwriter who began her relationship with Kelly around 2009, when she was 19. (She is now 26.)
  • And an 18-year-old singer from Polk County, Florida. Mack said the Florida singer is Kelly’s “favorite — his number-one girl.”

Mack, Jones, and McGee claim that women who live with Kelly, who he calls his “babies,” are required to call him “Daddy” and must ask his permission to leave the Chicago recording studio or their assigned rooms in the “guest house” Kelly rents near his own rented mansion in suburban Atlanta. A black SUV with a burly driver behind the wheel is almost always parked outside both locations. Kelly confiscates the women’s cell phones, they said, so they cannot contact their friends and family; he gives them new phones that they are only allowed to use to contact him or others with his permission. Kelly films his sexual activities, McGee and Jones said, and shows the videos to men in his circle.

Mack, the star’s former personal assistant, said Kelly almost always tells the women to dress in jogging suits because “he doesn’t want their figures to be exposed; he doesn’t want them to look appealing.” She said when other men are in the same room, Kelly “would make the girls turn around and face the wall in their jogging suits because he doesn’t want them to be looked at by anyone else.”

If the women break any of Kelly’s “rules,” Mack and Jones said, he punishes them physically and verbally. For example, Jones claimed that Kelly held her against a tree and slapped her outside of a Subway sandwich shop in spring 2013 because she had been too friendly with the male cashier there. McGee said she never saw Kelly hit anybody, but also said he was running a “cult” and manipulated her emotionally and sexually.

“R. Kelly is the sweetest person you will ever want to meet,” McGee said. “But Robert is the devil.”


#bbwpears #motionpicturemonday 📽 💯🔥👣🍐 @undeniable96 @undeniable96 @undeniable96 @undeniable96 (at Polk County Florida)

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Need couch - Polk County/Winter Haven, FL

Um, hey.

I’m a 19 year old trans girl named Alyx, pre-everything, and I would like to move out of my grandmother’s house as soon as possible. She is mean, toxic, and constantly belittles my identity issues as a cry for attention. I don’t have many belongings, just my computer and some clothes. I prefer she/her/hers pronouns, but I will give you a break, since most people have trouble picking it up right off the bat.

I also have a small dog, but she doesn’t shed. She is house broken, but has a tendency to howl or bark if left alone for an extended period of time. She also gets along well with other pets and small children, though she gets anxious when going to an unfamiliar place. She will get excited when she meets someone new, and may accidentally pee on the floor. I will clean up any messes she makes.

I currently am attending school and am currently unemployed, but I already have my GED, and I am willing to drop out if necessary and get a job. Alternatively, I don’t mind doing housework either, such as cleaning the floors or cooking dinner. I also am seeing a therapist in hopes of getting hormones, but she is located all the way in Kissimmee. I can try and pay for gas and transportation if required, or take a bus, but I am willing to come up with other solutions. The visits will be covered by my insurance, so that shouldn’t be an issue.

I think that’s all I really have to say. You can get in touch with me through my email, which is hazelnutpancake@gmail.com.