May 12, 2011
Dear Mom,
Just read your May 2nd letter and am mired in a bog of conflicting emotions. To explain: This morning, Jesus went to see a doctor and while there found out conclusively that we are costing too much to both feed and house. So, to shorten this by several pages, they plan to reduce our food to only two trays on weekends, starting in October. This is an extremely distressing fact for me/us but one I've known was coming for several months now. I've gotta be sure not to put any lies into this, or I've been told I'll get a write-up for it. Fallout from earlier letter, I guess. I'm learning what it means to be powerless.
The food has, not obviously at least, been crawling or spoiled since "Good Friday." Overall, this has been a powerful learning experience for me. I don't feel I need to go into any more details. I have now reached an understanding: If I'm given my dart too early in the shift, I give the nurse my Jesus' word I'll take it as soon as I finish eating. That is the extent of our understanding, I'm afraid.
In regards to Happy, I'm ambivalent. I feel bad for him and want to help in any way I can but I know that is not possible now. Plus, he intruded into an area that he knew is off limits by telling you he wanted money. If he wanted it that badly, there are plenty of ways to get it while keeping it "in-house." I know how badly I was being extorted the entire time I was at Lake C.I. When I first moved in, Jesus had served enough time to be able to accurately describe to me what would happen in this situation. He was uncannily correct in what he told me. But, we had to find out for ourselves; sorry about withholding that information.
It is such a struggle to keep on an even keel, with the various changes I go through here cooped up like a hamster. News like I received this morning doesn't help any, but I can't worry about that with so many more immediate things happening. I really appreciate your efforts on my behalf...although I feel that all we are doing is moving into first class seats on the Titanic!
It got too dark and too much going on with me to finish this at one sitting, but luckily for me it's the weekend so no mail moves anyway. I may have over-extended my credit...though it's too soon to tell. A guy got written up today and they aren't allowing him to have his lace-up sneakers so I had to move (and speak) fast to get them. The deal, as I understand it, is now I owe the guy $27 worth of food items. I don't think that is an unfair deal for a pair of sneakers (that fit) and are brand-new; especially, when you consider that they cost over $50 bought from the canteen. I may go hungry while he gets paid.
I haven't heard anything at all about Lori except the few bits of news coming through from you. As a result, I don't even know how or even if she is receptive to my letters. All I do, at times, is sit and wonder how a guy like me can make someone as good as her. I'm gripped by an overwhelming and profound sense of loss at missing her growing years and all the "firsts" for her. Something less than admirable going on with the mail though, but I don't know for sure yet what it is. If it is possible, and she is willing, I would love to be able to visit with her.
Unfortunately, that just about exhausts by repertoire of noteworthy information. I'll leave you with the fact that I'm not completely drug-free. I still take my daily darts. Many or most N/A (narcotics anonymous) groups will not let me speak if they know that. Food for thought.
Much love,
James
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Letter 37
May 17, 2011
Dear Mom,
Hopefully you aren't so busy as to allow your body to outrace your mind, as often happens with me. Oddly, I received only the photo of Aunt Chee Chee as a child next to a groundhog in the last letter from you; I wonder if something was removed from the envelope or what? On the photo page, you mention a report. Does it ring any bells? The mail we actually receive here is getting spottier, with the guards delivering it to the wrong places constantly. It almost discourages us from using the mail...almost.
About attempts to stay on top of things so I don't get surprises, it is becoming increasingly tough to manage. I'm back to nearly being paralyzed into inaction by the overwhelming number of things clamoring for me to do something, all during an entire shift! I'm not good at that now and doubt I ever was. I don't know how or if being overwhelmed can be avoided, or if it is going to continue or get worse as time goes by. I flatly refuse to pay $7.00 (the new price) for a mental health sick-call just to be told what I already know. That would be proof positive I need help!
The new Col. has introduced quite a bit more tension into a place that was already far too tense. In my opinion, the policy changes being slowly but surely inroduced are more self-serving than anything else. In future letters, I'll most likely be sleep-deprived, as we are going to be required to stand for every count they do...soon! God, I'll be so happy when I don't have to deal with this crap I don't need/want.
Jesus says "hi," and wants me to ask if you would send some true crime F.B.I. books the next time. I'm almost done with Blink, and can't understand why no one's thought of most of this stuff before now. I'm deeply impressed by his quoting the doctor on discussion of the (damaged in my case) ventro-medial part of the brain, and what its effects are. I recall one experience that points to a damaged part of my brain most clearly.
I was working as a cover man for someone at a semi-sensitive area. While being walked through the routine first by another officer prior to his leaving, a soccer ball was discovered. We were in a parking garage waiting for his ride, where I was having a cigarette and asking questions I didn't get a chance to ask earlier when he was showing me around. The ball came up again in the conversation. In my mind, a soccer ball was incomplete and needed a soccer player with it. As I was explaining this to the guy, he kicked the ball towards me saying, "I'm off the clock now, think fast!" We were playing around and I told him that I bet I could catch it 3 out of 5 times without trapping it or using my hands. So, he threw it at my head. I tracked it into my face and for an hour afterwards I had the word VOIT printed on my face. Never did catch it, though.
Lunch will be here shortly, but I want to thank you for the money you send. I hope that, if something else was in the envelope, it wasn't irreplaceable.
Much love,
James
p.s. Mom, if you could...because I can't seem to get them here because my vision isn't bad enough...would you pick up an inexpensive pair of reading glasses for me? I'd really appreciate it, on the low. Thanks, and bring them during the next visit. Please.
Dear Mom,
Hopefully you aren't so busy as to allow your body to outrace your mind, as often happens with me. Oddly, I received only the photo of Aunt Chee Chee as a child next to a groundhog in the last letter from you; I wonder if something was removed from the envelope or what? On the photo page, you mention a report. Does it ring any bells? The mail we actually receive here is getting spottier, with the guards delivering it to the wrong places constantly. It almost discourages us from using the mail...almost.
About attempts to stay on top of things so I don't get surprises, it is becoming increasingly tough to manage. I'm back to nearly being paralyzed into inaction by the overwhelming number of things clamoring for me to do something, all during an entire shift! I'm not good at that now and doubt I ever was. I don't know how or if being overwhelmed can be avoided, or if it is going to continue or get worse as time goes by. I flatly refuse to pay $7.00 (the new price) for a mental health sick-call just to be told what I already know. That would be proof positive I need help!
The new Col. has introduced quite a bit more tension into a place that was already far too tense. In my opinion, the policy changes being slowly but surely inroduced are more self-serving than anything else. In future letters, I'll most likely be sleep-deprived, as we are going to be required to stand for every count they do...soon! God, I'll be so happy when I don't have to deal with this crap I don't need/want.
Jesus says "hi," and wants me to ask if you would send some true crime F.B.I. books the next time. I'm almost done with Blink, and can't understand why no one's thought of most of this stuff before now. I'm deeply impressed by his quoting the doctor on discussion of the (damaged in my case) ventro-medial part of the brain, and what its effects are. I recall one experience that points to a damaged part of my brain most clearly.
I was working as a cover man for someone at a semi-sensitive area. While being walked through the routine first by another officer prior to his leaving, a soccer ball was discovered. We were in a parking garage waiting for his ride, where I was having a cigarette and asking questions I didn't get a chance to ask earlier when he was showing me around. The ball came up again in the conversation. In my mind, a soccer ball was incomplete and needed a soccer player with it. As I was explaining this to the guy, he kicked the ball towards me saying, "I'm off the clock now, think fast!" We were playing around and I told him that I bet I could catch it 3 out of 5 times without trapping it or using my hands. So, he threw it at my head. I tracked it into my face and for an hour afterwards I had the word VOIT printed on my face. Never did catch it, though.
Lunch will be here shortly, but I want to thank you for the money you send. I hope that, if something else was in the envelope, it wasn't irreplaceable.
Much love,
James
p.s. Mom, if you could...because I can't seem to get them here because my vision isn't bad enough...would you pick up an inexpensive pair of reading glasses for me? I'd really appreciate it, on the low. Thanks, and bring them during the next visit. Please.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Letter 36
May 11, 2011
Dear Mom,
It's been longer than my usual 24 hours since I've written you mainly for two or three reasons. First, I presume you're enjoying your birthday/anniversary. Second, I'm trying to break myself of writing about the minutiae of existence in Close Management, although some detail does emerge from time to time. Third, I've gotten approved by Tallahassee for another G.E.D. exam on the 25th/26th of this month, and have been scrambling to make sure I am ready. From what I was told by the instructor for this wing of the building, the state capitol doesn't normally get involved. Guess I'm special or something.
I don't know if it is truer colors starting to show, me and my medicated perception of what is, or if actually other forces are at work here in what I am seeing. Whatever it is they might be, I'm just happy I'm not involved. I content myself with writing (and eating) while others grow enraged at various injustices they aren't able to correct, and at the end of the day I've got at least some peace about me while they are tearing their own property apart. I must have missed that part in school. I missed an awful lot of school, though I don't miss school at all. That was a very dark time for me. I already knew all I ever needed to by completion of my 8th grade year; the rest was only obligatory filling in of time.
So far, I've begun letters to Dad and Renelle as well, and they grow more voluminous and difficult to keep together daily until I get some envelopes to put them in. A letter just got here from an M. R. in Texas for Jesus, and he is thrilled! He passes on his gratitude and good wishes to you for your effort on behalf of him. That puts the petty ways we might conflict with each other in a whole new light.
Lesson learned: I need to finish writing quickly before it gets too dark (see other letter). On that note,
Much love to you,
James
Dear Mom,
It's been longer than my usual 24 hours since I've written you mainly for two or three reasons. First, I presume you're enjoying your birthday/anniversary. Second, I'm trying to break myself of writing about the minutiae of existence in Close Management, although some detail does emerge from time to time. Third, I've gotten approved by Tallahassee for another G.E.D. exam on the 25th/26th of this month, and have been scrambling to make sure I am ready. From what I was told by the instructor for this wing of the building, the state capitol doesn't normally get involved. Guess I'm special or something.
I don't know if it is truer colors starting to show, me and my medicated perception of what is, or if actually other forces are at work here in what I am seeing. Whatever it is they might be, I'm just happy I'm not involved. I content myself with writing (and eating) while others grow enraged at various injustices they aren't able to correct, and at the end of the day I've got at least some peace about me while they are tearing their own property apart. I must have missed that part in school. I missed an awful lot of school, though I don't miss school at all. That was a very dark time for me. I already knew all I ever needed to by completion of my 8th grade year; the rest was only obligatory filling in of time.
So far, I've begun letters to Dad and Renelle as well, and they grow more voluminous and difficult to keep together daily until I get some envelopes to put them in. A letter just got here from an M. R. in Texas for Jesus, and he is thrilled! He passes on his gratitude and good wishes to you for your effort on behalf of him. That puts the petty ways we might conflict with each other in a whole new light.
Lesson learned: I need to finish writing quickly before it gets too dark (see other letter). On that note,
Much love to you,
James
Letter 35
May 9, 2011,
Dear Renelle,
Don't know if you're a mother--but happy belated anyway. I find myself in the midst of another dilemma: is Mother's Day a holiday to be solely celebrated by women, or, if it's a moveable holiday (like Easter), are guys eligible as well? I know that there's some gender confusion here, though less than found at other prisons based on the "newness" of this one; yet, I don't think we smurfs were significantly impacted by the holiday's passing. Now, when Father's Day rolls around, I think there'll be mass confusion/chaos here. Besides which, I feel that three holidays were invented by companies like Hallmark: Valentine's Day, Mother/Father's Days. I could be wrong, though, and am open to dispute.
I'm taking on a monumentally difficult task; I'm going to attempt to not go into my own world for a 24-hour period. That amounts to quite a feat, considering the ease that retreating is done, among other ways doing this has become habitual. You may have picked up on why I need to see if it can be done, already; as it is so easy for me (it's natural), one of the many functions is going to my happy place to escape the chaos surrounding me. As it's so naturally easy to just slip away, it must be wrong some way or other for me to do. So, this will be an attempt to figure out the nuts and bolts of this maneuver. Actually, I'm trying to figure reasons not to try this, which makes me all the more determined to do it. My doctor says it's a passing phase, and I'll be okay in a week or so.
I'm not one, as you'll realize, to do something just because someone else says it's a good idea (i.e., or else, this tastes really awful--try it), you get my point. I've always been more of a wild-hearted one, though I share enough in common with others to have the more refined ideals firmly implanted to be able to pass many (if not all) of my best efforts at writing come from time I spend in my own bizarre world, so I may suffer a bit--temporarily, of course.
The part of me which insists on being heard is busy telling me that if I know it's just a momentary thing, why shouldn't I? See how deeply ingrained this is in my personality? I'm bucking against an entire crowd of voices, and I haven't even done anything yet!
As proof-positive of market economy's existence in this country, I submit Jerry Springer (along with all the Springer-vision shows gracing our airwaves). Personally, I agree that this type f show has its place for sure, as a "what NOT to air" example. It's too bad I don't have resurrecting powers, as I'd cause his demise repeatedly. I can't believe there are actually guys here that choose to watch that brand of video-garbage! That's just an example of how easy it is to build a mouse trap. Pfah!
As I write, I've been approved (by Tallahassee, no less) for a big step in my educational efforts. I'm scheduled to take the Good Enough Degree on the 25th-26th of this month. The only part I'm likely to have any trouble with is the math, and only the part dealing with geometry. When that's out of my way, I'll move on to a course about writing, and maybe pick up something I don't already know. I don't want to be condescending, but from what I've seen, the educational opportunities are a bit limited here.
On the whole (which as an expression is odd--nothing is on the whole), or more correctly--taken all together, I'm learning that only fools are open, in a place like this. Now I know the type of lumps those fools have to wear, and I'm fortunate that I wasn't duped into taking that elevator all the way down to where it ends in a dusty/bloody mishmash of body parts. I'd be even more graphic, but I need to keep this PG, but--you get the message. More than once, I've experienced the agony of the feet.
Now I've almost got it done! It wasn't even involving the cast-iron control of self-discipline nearly as much as I'd thought it would, either. Bear with me--I do have a point buried under here someplace. When the amount of time figured into it that I spend sleeping, I only have a short time left to go!
All my "witty comments" put aside for a moment, I'm disturbed by the ease I apparently am able to dispose of my friends regardless of the cause. You may know I grew closer to a guy calling himself Happy than to just about anyone else since I've been in prison. We were cellies in "the box" at [previous prison]. Forced to live in a phone booth with someone else that way, you get to know them pretty well in a short time. I'm thinking I may have thrown the good out with the bad. In my needlessly long time at [previous prison], one thing we (I thought) agreed on was that if I let him know my mom's address, he would not be bothering her by asking for all sorts of things he could get far easier if he kept asking "in house." Guess you could safely say I'm divided about this. If there were some way to lessen what likely seems a needlessly harsh and abrupt a slap to him, I'd surely take it up without delay. As it stands, though, he is far away from my even being able to contact directly--all the more reason to withdraw from him. In the final analysis, I sure pick tough ones to be friends with. I'm probably being over-conscientious about this, but what if, like half the other guys in prison, I'm the only one he writes to? That line of thought is unprofitable. I've decided not to wallow in what might have been any more than needed. Does that seem to be calloused?
Time for "facts not for squeamish."Did you know that most house dust comes off people? I'm sitting down after a vigorous cell clean-out, where piles of hairy dust had gathered behind the bunks! The foulest thing around has to be handling that stuff without gloves! I might have to get my hands removed! It was almost as repulsive as whatever it was they tried to feed us for lunch today. I'm going to be unafraid to eat literally anything by the time the alleged (and much ballyhooed) End of Time rolls around. I get a little fired up when I think about the garbage we smurfs are practically forced to eat. Only two things keep me from staging a formal protest (well, three now that I really consider it): (1) it would change nothing; (2) some (my celly for example) are in the same fix I'm in and really don't have anyone to complain to, and (3) the response common to all formal protests is likely to be one I couldn't have dreamed up, it's so saddistic.
So I'll just sit a-writing the nonsense rattling around in my head while I listen to the static on my radio. It's truly a sad state I've come to if this is one of my day's highlights--I mean, right now I don't even have a stamp/envelope to put this into! Here I'm getting all bent and twisted about how great a wrong has been done to me, and a couple feet away from me is a guy in this fix since I was enjoying my adventures! I don't find this stuff amusing anymore (Paul Simon's album Graceland--"Your Bodyguard" song).
It's one of those days I wish I'd slept through, you know? I've got another (imagine that) crisis going on now. A guard came by to ask if I wanted to see a counselor from mental health. I forgot what day it is, and naturally assumed it was my group counselor. I don't do groups any longer, and signed a paper to that effect. As I was trying to flag down a guard I caught sight of my case manager who I need to see, but was too late to rescind the paper. Nuclear heat had nothing on me! The next time she sees me might be in cuffs and shackles chained to a rack. I need conversation with a stable personality!
To top it all off, [celly] got a couple of P/B "squeezes" from someone; gave one to me to eat, and I dropped it on our toilet! Definitely not amusing!
Oddly, I signed a refusal to be part of the "mental health group" just now because nothing even remotely connected with the purpose for the group occurs. It's more a session for inspection of the female counselor. I'm viewed as being difficult, because I want to cooperate and focus on issues, not primp, pose, and brag like the rest of the sad guys do. I made what I guess was an executive choice, for the less harmful of the two options. I'm not really worried about the state classification people who have the ultimate say as to if I remain here for added time, as that's still a ways in the future, and I've got plenty of time to get with the program yet.
Anyway, that's about what it looks like from here.
Yer friend,
James
Letter 34
April 27, 2011
Dear Renelle,
Hey, me again to (further) illustrate why I made a choice to "break it off" with one of the two or three guys from [previous prison] that didn't put me into a corner when we were cellies. First, though, how are you? As easy and unstressed as life permits, hopefully. I haven't had many troubling thoughts yet today--but it's just after our first meal of the day and I'm unable to "think" at all. Such is my state.
Anyway, I want to let you know the article on Mr. Gladwell you sent provokes deeper thinking on more subjects by far than I was "about" before. I'll do my best to expound on them as I go along. The main one clamoring in my head now is on the nature of freedom (who'd have thought, right?) As I noted, I'll do my best.
Many in a "free society" of one of the world's most powerful nations are really not free at all. After the meaningless or extraneous data get removed, groups and individuals are actually very predictable, which is an immediate precursor to and cousin of a marked lack of freedom. The way I arrived at this conclusion isn't nearly as important as what it means to us as people, if those freedoms are valued in any small way. What it represents, at least to my interpretation, is that if a leader of people were to direct the ones following him to do something ultimately destructive to them, but leave out the part about being destroyed, he or she likely would get a fair number of followers.
I admit to not being a social guru or being in touch with "the latest," but from what I know of people's behavior this alarming trend demands immediate attention from people far more learned than I! As for us, I'm aware this is the only time something remotely similar even has been pointed out; making it easier still to have been fooled. It might be less poplular to be a non-conformist, but, now particularly, I believe it's a safer perspective. That's my story; I'm sticking to it!
When you write me, let me know what you think about my little rants (however serious they might be). Oh, right, explain more about the way I chose to cut out a guy from my life. The abridged version is that, based on what I know of him, we're just too different. He wants to come get me when I'm released, to celebrate with strange women and drugs. That's just something I got a bad feeling about, attractive as it is to me. Aside from that (as if there needed to be), he knowingly crossed the boundaries I'd thought clearly understood months ago while I was still at [previous prison]. There are other reasons as well, but they would be too difficult to make any rational sense out of; I won't go into them.
When it gets to where it gets dirty, I don't like a great many things. Less so if I didn't actively choose to make them an experience of mine! True about the country music the guard listens to for lack of anyone to boss around; (how many times can I hear someone crying about losing all they had?); also very true about the nine thugs that are in the mental health group I'm in.
The very first thing before the counselor even came in, I was forced to sit around spilled food. Ants were all over me by the time it was over. I was ignored, picked at, made light of, misunderstood, and openly challenged by turns. So, what I had on my mind to say was completely lost in the resulting chaos. That explained, if I had to repeat it every week, is enough to cause me to start picking out rifles and rooftops. I can't stand it. If they're ignorant, they should also be silent! Calling it like I see it. I'd go on the edge to note I hate a good number of things, in fact.
This place doesn't care what you know or what you've done; no one cares about that stuff here. You only represent a burden on society. That's it. Nothing more than a load for others to carry. Got some news for them though, and I know they don't want to know this--particularly as it comes from me. In my past I've shifted my various loads onto others to carry for me without remorse or hesitation. Now, though, I've had a bit more experience with having others' burdens unfairly shouldered onto my back, and feel able to say unequivocally, not only is it morally wrong (and in some cases illegal), but is a fast-breeder of a wholesale life of crime!
Excuse me, I get writing and that sort of thing seems to just happen. Anyway, my point is I've experienced both ends of the spectrum (and quite a bit in between as well!) and feel over-qualified to state the following: The "life" one is left to with that type of "reasoning" in place is a dead end! #1, if you find this describes you--cease all action now! If you're still reading, it means you're at least willing to make a try to change, which is a good thing.
If you're anything close to being as despicable as I was, you realize how futile it will likely be. Without seeing where I was headed to, and the strongest desire not to go there, I wouldn't be who/what I now am (becoming). I had to die to my old ways of "thinking," in whatever capacity that was. I needed to be broken to the point the only way of fixing me was not through bodily change or any outwardly change. At the point where there were simply no more hidden ideas, I had the insight to declare I want to live!
Not that there weren't any good times, at first. I couldn't shake the empty feeling I got when I knew I should've felt differently (or not at all). It grew so large, my friends (those that I still had) would make obvious choices not to be around me. It finally overpowered me one day and I went to the Other Side. That experience has been gone over so many times by so many (many not with my best interest in mind), that I don't see a reason to expound on it again. In brevity is the essence of truth, if feel, so--it was shockingly horrific what I've been through but--I'm not a whiner. I'm just glad it's over with!
All I can do is hopefully to tell you what I was like, what happened, and what it's like for me now. That's all anyone can ever hope for anyhow. The rest depends largely on so many variables I can't list them and your persistent desire to be more than you are. Mark your mark. Go ahead. When you get tired is where/when the true character shows. It's not easy and your choices will be many, but you'll be part of life and not just filling time until your existence is over. I recommend it as the only worthwhile decision I've ever made. You've got more in your gas tank than you think, and you're stronger than you think, too!
Having administered such a rousing dose of "pep" to myself, think I'll do some physical exercise for awhile. Using the "move a muscle to change a thought" method, maybe I'll even break out of this funk I've slid into. Hope this effort speaks well of my alleged (and self-proclaimed) skills. I'm going to put Isaac Newton's laws of motion to a test.
Good news for all my supporters--I still maintain an undisputed record of non-physical exercise at the prison! One thing led to another when I laid my pen aside, and before I knew it, we smurfs were in the last "count" of the shift. Now it's time for me to become less cluttered and get this out to you. Write me when you can. Hopefully my celly gets a letter he hasn't written to himself soon, too.
Your simple friend,
James
Friday, May 20, 2011
Letter 33
May 13-15, 2011
Dear Mom,
Hope you and Ray are well. I'm doing fantastic...if you believe some days invite ill. Stevie Wonder song, Superstition's Not The Way. I'm finished with the book by the guy who spent 44 years in Angola; what a realistic eye-opener that is. I earnestly recommend it be read to truly get a mental picture of what it's like on this side of the gate.
By this time tomorrow, I'll once again have some food on hand as our canteen orders arrive tomorrow. If I'm to continue as I have been, I'll need to fine-tune my control. I need to block out the efforts (aplenty) to get a reaction, as that would be catastrophic for me. Along with that, I plan a kind of salvage operation requiring my undivided attention and calm. I'm going to draft a detailed request to my classification officer for my case number, so that I'll be able to obtain the documents pertaining to my sentencing, thereby proving conclusively how it was handled illegally. I also need the address of the courthouse, and I'm really reaching here, the name of the judge for me.
When I get all that together, it will then be up to the postal system and a matter of a (hopefully) short time until the information makes it back here from there; although, I'm afraid it won't do me any good. My thinking is that, if I can make a big enough stink, someone will be investigated by the state and I'll get another shot at the whole thing. What do you think? I value your input. Although you've never had similar experiences...well, you've not had the same things happen to you either.
(5/14) The chaotic sugar rush to the brains of the captives here is slowly subsiding. I think some kind of connection to the weather exists here as well; it poured like mad for about half an hour, then quit just like that. Gave me pause to think. Jesus says hello and again expresses gratitude for putting him in touch with your friend.
I meant to say, before I derailed my train of thought (happens a lot now, and more so given the chaos of my current environment), that my old celly Happy tried to contact me directly on May 12th but the letter was intercepted by the mail room here. I got a notice of it, and was told of an additional reason for the denial: apparently, he got access to a camera and took a nude photo of himself effectively depicting how he feels now. Shows to go ya that everyone can't be gracious all the time about everything.
Regarding my efforts to redraw attention to the illegality of my sentence, I'm unsure of how quickly anyone, who has the authority to act favorably to me and see my position, will act as I am a Close Management inmate. All I can do is continue to try, though. I consistently persist in fending off/avoiding being put in a position in which my warlike nature would emerge. It is getting tougher as time goes by. Situations that test me seem to pop up unbidden more often lately.
(5/15) I'm ready to see which of us is able to play the dirtier game. My frustration at not being heard (among other things) has finally crested...at a near meltdown level of heat. Let me let you in on what's going on. Jesus sitting on the toilet at about 10:00 a.m. this morning usually wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Today though, he had to get me to try to get an officer's attention to turn the water back on. A half hour passed with Jesus and I in a "dry" cell before a Sgt, only here on the weekend, comes in and hears everyone yelling for water by now. The Sgt. proceeded to inflame an already heated situation by saying he couldn't understand us, all yelling something different, and so he walked off. By now, an overpowering, unpleasant bouquet has filled our cell; Jesus is cursing rapidly in Spanish, and I'm none too pleased by the Sgt.'s apparent attitude. It took the arrival of lunch to get the water on again, but I point to the attitude of the Sgt. when I declare war. I will attempt the impossible: To get a Department of Corrections employee to admit he was wrong. That will satisfy me. Of course, it is likely to only be an idle fantasy of mine, yet I do grow increasingly frustrated by events. A guy in a neighboring cell was moved into Confinement because of it, though.
I was reading Blink yesterday, while it was light enough, and realized why you sent me that particular book. Now I'm on page 59, and he begins describing the exact type of brain dysfunction I have! He even compared its effects to an addiction. As I put it away, I wondered why this guy isn't a Ph.D. or something, and then it occurred to me that is not the important thing. What is important, at least to me, is that the information pertinent to my case is all documented and part of case studies. Tempos fugit! Time got away from me and now I need to get this in the mail. I'm writing a piece I call The Entity, based on what I've seen in here so far.
Much love,
James
Dear Mom,
Hope you and Ray are well. I'm doing fantastic...if you believe some days invite ill. Stevie Wonder song, Superstition's Not The Way. I'm finished with the book by the guy who spent 44 years in Angola; what a realistic eye-opener that is. I earnestly recommend it be read to truly get a mental picture of what it's like on this side of the gate.
By this time tomorrow, I'll once again have some food on hand as our canteen orders arrive tomorrow. If I'm to continue as I have been, I'll need to fine-tune my control. I need to block out the efforts (aplenty) to get a reaction, as that would be catastrophic for me. Along with that, I plan a kind of salvage operation requiring my undivided attention and calm. I'm going to draft a detailed request to my classification officer for my case number, so that I'll be able to obtain the documents pertaining to my sentencing, thereby proving conclusively how it was handled illegally. I also need the address of the courthouse, and I'm really reaching here, the name of the judge for me.
When I get all that together, it will then be up to the postal system and a matter of a (hopefully) short time until the information makes it back here from there; although, I'm afraid it won't do me any good. My thinking is that, if I can make a big enough stink, someone will be investigated by the state and I'll get another shot at the whole thing. What do you think? I value your input. Although you've never had similar experiences...well, you've not had the same things happen to you either.
(5/14) The chaotic sugar rush to the brains of the captives here is slowly subsiding. I think some kind of connection to the weather exists here as well; it poured like mad for about half an hour, then quit just like that. Gave me pause to think. Jesus says hello and again expresses gratitude for putting him in touch with your friend.
I meant to say, before I derailed my train of thought (happens a lot now, and more so given the chaos of my current environment), that my old celly Happy tried to contact me directly on May 12th but the letter was intercepted by the mail room here. I got a notice of it, and was told of an additional reason for the denial: apparently, he got access to a camera and took a nude photo of himself effectively depicting how he feels now. Shows to go ya that everyone can't be gracious all the time about everything.
Regarding my efforts to redraw attention to the illegality of my sentence, I'm unsure of how quickly anyone, who has the authority to act favorably to me and see my position, will act as I am a Close Management inmate. All I can do is continue to try, though. I consistently persist in fending off/avoiding being put in a position in which my warlike nature would emerge. It is getting tougher as time goes by. Situations that test me seem to pop up unbidden more often lately.
(5/15) I'm ready to see which of us is able to play the dirtier game. My frustration at not being heard (among other things) has finally crested...at a near meltdown level of heat. Let me let you in on what's going on. Jesus sitting on the toilet at about 10:00 a.m. this morning usually wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Today though, he had to get me to try to get an officer's attention to turn the water back on. A half hour passed with Jesus and I in a "dry" cell before a Sgt, only here on the weekend, comes in and hears everyone yelling for water by now. The Sgt. proceeded to inflame an already heated situation by saying he couldn't understand us, all yelling something different, and so he walked off. By now, an overpowering, unpleasant bouquet has filled our cell; Jesus is cursing rapidly in Spanish, and I'm none too pleased by the Sgt.'s apparent attitude. It took the arrival of lunch to get the water on again, but I point to the attitude of the Sgt. when I declare war. I will attempt the impossible: To get a Department of Corrections employee to admit he was wrong. That will satisfy me. Of course, it is likely to only be an idle fantasy of mine, yet I do grow increasingly frustrated by events. A guy in a neighboring cell was moved into Confinement because of it, though.
I was reading Blink yesterday, while it was light enough, and realized why you sent me that particular book. Now I'm on page 59, and he begins describing the exact type of brain dysfunction I have! He even compared its effects to an addiction. As I put it away, I wondered why this guy isn't a Ph.D. or something, and then it occurred to me that is not the important thing. What is important, at least to me, is that the information pertinent to my case is all documented and part of case studies. Tempos fugit! Time got away from me and now I need to get this in the mail. I'm writing a piece I call The Entity, based on what I've seen in here so far.
Much love,
James
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Letter 32
May 3, 2011
Dear Mom,
How are you? Not too beleaguered, I hope. The latest on my end is that I likely threw my blanket away this morning. It was still dark, an idiot was playing with the cell lights (giving Jesus and I stroboscopic lighting!) He talks little anyway and not at all in the morning and was busy getting our cell ready for being "white gloved" for the new Colonel. Once a month, the laundry is supposed to wash our blankets as well. Today happened to be that day. The orderlies have to collect our trays and laundry bags along with anything else we don't want to keep in the cell, and do it in two seconds while the flaps are unlocked. Jesus and I don't even try to talk at that hour, so it was all I could do to stuff all of our things through the slot before I realized my mistake. No one does anything unless they are forced to here, so my blanket was effectively turned in.
I'm getting too good at my weight going up/down like a yo-yo, too. I no longer have any reserves (prudent or otherwise) to draw from in my account. That's a hint, by the way.
Jesus is full of good news this morning. Five minutes ago he told me how unlined paper (i.e., typing/printer paper) is used by all the prisons he's been to before strictly for interdepartmental memos and is prohibited for correspondence use. After he saw the paper I used to write my Dad on, he told me this. I can't win, at least not today. What I'll do, maybe, is lay down until it isn't the third anymore and see if anything changes. Something needs to break my way.
Anyhow, I'd appreciate it if you would forward my letter on to its destination. Thank you. I need to see what I can do to get my blanket back, as it gets sort of chilly without one here.
Much love,
James
Dear Mom,
How are you? Not too beleaguered, I hope. The latest on my end is that I likely threw my blanket away this morning. It was still dark, an idiot was playing with the cell lights (giving Jesus and I stroboscopic lighting!) He talks little anyway and not at all in the morning and was busy getting our cell ready for being "white gloved" for the new Colonel. Once a month, the laundry is supposed to wash our blankets as well. Today happened to be that day. The orderlies have to collect our trays and laundry bags along with anything else we don't want to keep in the cell, and do it in two seconds while the flaps are unlocked. Jesus and I don't even try to talk at that hour, so it was all I could do to stuff all of our things through the slot before I realized my mistake. No one does anything unless they are forced to here, so my blanket was effectively turned in.
I'm getting too good at my weight going up/down like a yo-yo, too. I no longer have any reserves (prudent or otherwise) to draw from in my account. That's a hint, by the way.
Jesus is full of good news this morning. Five minutes ago he told me how unlined paper (i.e., typing/printer paper) is used by all the prisons he's been to before strictly for interdepartmental memos and is prohibited for correspondence use. After he saw the paper I used to write my Dad on, he told me this. I can't win, at least not today. What I'll do, maybe, is lay down until it isn't the third anymore and see if anything changes. Something needs to break my way.
Anyhow, I'd appreciate it if you would forward my letter on to its destination. Thank you. I need to see what I can do to get my blanket back, as it gets sort of chilly without one here.
Much love,
James
Letter 31
May 2, 2011
Dear Mom,
Yet another dark anniversary is past (marking the day I first arrived at Lake C.I.). I literally throw myself on your mercy, asking your forgiveness for my forgetting until too late, your birthday, anniversary, and Mother's Day. I offer no pat excuse for it; as noted, all I'm able to do is ask forgiveness of you and Ray. Hopefully, I won't need to do this for your next birthday.
It's all downhill from here, in at least a couple of ways. Most importantly, I'm now past the half-way point in my prison sentence. Too bad it doesn't call for wider recognition than just me. Also, for the day, as Jesus and I just forced down the most rotten meal here (in my opinion). The brand new plasma T.V. is showing a basketball game or something.
This used to be my favorite time of year; football going into pre-season soon, all the draft picks/trades getting done, no prima-donna posturing going on, etc., etc. Now though, all that is behind me. Gambling feverishly has completely ruined what otherwise would be an easy kind of laid-back season for me. I don't gamble. I don't have anything against those who do...let me stop before I write that bold-faced lie! I wish nothing but endless torment on those gambling here. I never was interested in any sport enough to put a bet on the outcome of a game. I always remember that it's why they call it "gambling" and not "winning." I can't wait for the noise to end, which should be in approximately 45 minutes after taking my medicines. That Remeron is potent enough to stop a rhino!
I'm half-way done with the book by the guy that wrote from Angola. Man, that guy has seen some hard times! Don't know if you've read it, but he did 44 years, mostly at that one prison and much of it in Confinement, from 1961 to 2005. He is just now getting into the early 70's and already he's made it up to the top as an uncensored writer. Gives me a lot of hope. As much as the prison system has changed, I'm still wrong even if I'm right.
Ignorance, anger (or rage), and closed minds are still in positions of authority...and while I don't see myself "tilting at any windmills" I'm occasionally placed in a position forcing my hand. Nuff said about that. I know how I get. Oh, that reminds me, I know you can't make it happen, but Jesus wonders if he will ever hear from anyone?
Meanwhile, I'd better rest soon, slave-driver that I am. I'll be on a physical exercise regiment tomorrow. Always tomorrow!
Happy birthday, Mother's Day, and anniversary.
Much love,
James
Dear Mom,
Yet another dark anniversary is past (marking the day I first arrived at Lake C.I.). I literally throw myself on your mercy, asking your forgiveness for my forgetting until too late, your birthday, anniversary, and Mother's Day. I offer no pat excuse for it; as noted, all I'm able to do is ask forgiveness of you and Ray. Hopefully, I won't need to do this for your next birthday.
It's all downhill from here, in at least a couple of ways. Most importantly, I'm now past the half-way point in my prison sentence. Too bad it doesn't call for wider recognition than just me. Also, for the day, as Jesus and I just forced down the most rotten meal here (in my opinion). The brand new plasma T.V. is showing a basketball game or something.
This used to be my favorite time of year; football going into pre-season soon, all the draft picks/trades getting done, no prima-donna posturing going on, etc., etc. Now though, all that is behind me. Gambling feverishly has completely ruined what otherwise would be an easy kind of laid-back season for me. I don't gamble. I don't have anything against those who do...let me stop before I write that bold-faced lie! I wish nothing but endless torment on those gambling here. I never was interested in any sport enough to put a bet on the outcome of a game. I always remember that it's why they call it "gambling" and not "winning." I can't wait for the noise to end, which should be in approximately 45 minutes after taking my medicines. That Remeron is potent enough to stop a rhino!
I'm half-way done with the book by the guy that wrote from Angola. Man, that guy has seen some hard times! Don't know if you've read it, but he did 44 years, mostly at that one prison and much of it in Confinement, from 1961 to 2005. He is just now getting into the early 70's and already he's made it up to the top as an uncensored writer. Gives me a lot of hope. As much as the prison system has changed, I'm still wrong even if I'm right.
Ignorance, anger (or rage), and closed minds are still in positions of authority...and while I don't see myself "tilting at any windmills" I'm occasionally placed in a position forcing my hand. Nuff said about that. I know how I get. Oh, that reminds me, I know you can't make it happen, but Jesus wonders if he will ever hear from anyone?
Meanwhile, I'd better rest soon, slave-driver that I am. I'll be on a physical exercise regiment tomorrow. Always tomorrow!
Happy birthday, Mother's Day, and anniversary.
Much love,
James
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Letter 30
May 5, 2011
Though I do all I'm able not to, it seems to me that I continue to lead a life of adventure (though in this case it's been sealed down a bit). To wit: the latest episode involved the remanding of all sheets, blankets to be washed (allegedly) on a once-monthly bases. Due to my impaired-ness (as I am still quite hammered by my meds at 4 a.m.), I made an assumption that may prove to be a chilly one. What the assumption I naturally made (being as my blanket had seen better times), was that the laundry people would wash and return my blanket to me. Now I no longer have a blanket, and the laundry denies receiving mine--so I'm out of gas with that issue!
Though I do all I'm able not to, it seems to me that I continue to lead a life of adventure (though in this case it's been sealed down a bit). To wit: the latest episode involved the remanding of all sheets, blankets to be washed (allegedly) on a once-monthly bases. Due to my impaired-ness (as I am still quite hammered by my meds at 4 a.m.), I made an assumption that may prove to be a chilly one. What the assumption I naturally made (being as my blanket had seen better times), was that the laundry people would wash and return my blanket to me. Now I no longer have a blanket, and the laundry denies receiving mine--so I'm out of gas with that issue!
I mistakenly spoke out against it the other day. I presented it to be the breach of peace it is, and further that it would rule the life of each of the afflicted instantly, completely, and finally. What I actually succeeded in was turning away a great number of potentially beneficial relationships and generating a great deal of animosity against me for any number of things. I'd forgotten the foremost rule which had guided my interactions here: I have to live here, too! That decision may make it interesting to be me for awhile.
Yet, I promised myself I'd write nothing that could be misunderstood as negative, so--continuing on, back to my adventurous life. . . .
I'm unsure if it's properly called a talent, knack, skill, or what have you--all I know is that it's getting awfully worn through with me as the one always left holding the collective bag! It's not that it's always unpleasant, I just wasn't put together for the kind of stresses adventuring involves at my age. I've done just about all a body can do--and somehow my "glue" has held up--and now it's time for me to start to settle down, so I can catch my breath at least.
The increasing and relentless pace of my "life" surely is driving me into ruination and possibly even insanity. I can easily picture myself as the unintended product of a Dracula-esque blood-letting who finds himself with a taste for carnality but lacks the courage to kill--and so is condemned for eternity to control those populations of what are viewed as lesser creatures (insects, rodents, other vermin).
All of which reminds me that I've got an unaccountably tremendous appetite. We (behind the gate) rarely get to eat anything that may promote our sense of well-being, so even with that condition applying, I've got a seemingly endless capacity and hunger for food. I tire of the endless ways we are "played" as meat-puppets here.
According to the current policies in effect now, we are to be offered at least an opportunity to get shaved 2X weekly. Beginning a week and a half ago, no such could be had here. At first, it was great! Being unshaven like we all were was almost like telling the officers working here we weren't going to go by their rules. The week passed with no barbers in evidence. Some of us are orderlies and liable to work anywhere in the building had to get shaved/shorn. The rest of us still haven't seen a razor yet; tonight makes two weeks and I'm hoping/praying for one to appear while it's still possible to cut my beard back/tame my wild growth!
This will have to serve until I catch up on my massive backlog of writing.
Despairingly resigned to fate, your Renfield-esque friend,
James
Monday, May 9, 2011
Letter 29
Mailed May 6, 2011
Dear Renelle,
How are you getting along? Happily, hopefully. I once again am a dominant figure in my world, which likely leaves you with an odd expression on your face and thinking that the cheese has permanently fallen from my cracker. This statement calls for, no--it demands an explanation! O.K.
Once in awhile, I find myself taking on a great number of roles for everyone and consequently resulting in a lesser amount of time to devote to my own personal economy, if you will. Time passes with me placing others' values (needs and wants) above my own. I'll generally shock people when I tell them (and myself) an unequivocal no--I just can't anymore. The well is dry. Tapped out. Not going to happen. You get the point I'm making, right?
This morning I considered all the problems, usually self-imposed, that I've solved or otherwise mitigated since coming here--and decided I needed some time to devote to me. So now, for the foreseeable future--anyone asks, I can feel them--but can't reach them. Hope that satisfies for an explanation, as I don't have but the one me and can't divide myself up to be able to attend to others here. I'm reaffirming that I'm indivisible, in other words. Finally, I've got my true potential to explore--I just don't have any/enough stamps to mail my explorations for anyone else to see. Oh well, they aren't those who truly benefit from them, even though they may experience a by-product of such as happiness.
The one small cloud on the horizon I see, is that my radio seems to be breaking down. For some reason, it inexplicably doesn't provide me with the former full range of sound any longer. Bound to happen with the built-in breakdowns inherent in these cheaply made radios. Next time, I won't low-ball my budget.
Music used to be a central fact of my existence, and I placed a high value on my recordings. Slowly, yet surely, life got me into a choke-hold, and I lost my sense of definement that my collection provided for me. It got to be awfully tough to keep it all together, as at its largest, it would've filled an average-sized room. I'm a little embarrassed by the way I finally let it go, too.
I knew my discharge papers were finally coming through at a psychiatric hospital in Tarpon Springs (that no longer exists), so I was clearing the dining room (175 tables) as part of my "job." I'd already spoken for the last time with my doctor and was due to leave anytime I chose.
Anyhow, I was drinking a cup of coffee with a guy about 19 or 20 years old, when I had a win-win idea. I told this guy if he could eat the centerpiece floral arrangements--all of them--I'd give him my album collection. Bedipped, he actually did it!
What's the win-win part? If he couldn't have done it, that would've allowed me to not only witness him likely doing the technicolor yawn, but I would give at least most of my collection away, so as to make it more portable. Though, he did do it, and true to my word, I gave my collection to him so I wouldn't need to carry it around with me in an uncertain future.
I've just come back to my cell after being a (lonely) bather/shaved/finger-toenails trimmed. Let me state to all readers, that it's a very unwise thing to have someone else cut your nails! Universal ouch! Anyway, I got your letter (5/1) and was impressed by the candor you tackle subjects with. Seems like life isn't treating me like a rented mule after all. I actually have "it" better than most in here, but try to keep that quiet.
Dang! That smarts! I just got popped in the eye by a rubber band springing from my pen. That will teach me, though what it will, I have no idea. I like the new approach I've adopted to facing life situations. I feel much freer than yesterday--I felt like I was carrying another person tied to me at hands and feet. The one tied to me had a mind of their own and was always pulling against me!
Anyway (lest I sidetrack myself before completing this thought!), I want to thank you for the glimpse into your past you included in your letter. It helps to know I'm not the only one awaiting the Mother Ship's return! I seriously need to interact with some more (normal?) everyday people before I get pulled so far into my world of imagination that I can't get out! Even Jesus is talking about leaving me! He wants a more "beneficial celly," or something. Kay, uh-huh.
Curioser and curioser, but-I'm distracting from my purpose of finishing that particular thought again. I used to have a recurring dream theme where I would be the only mind among a galaxy of plant-life. No one else, and I looked hard for another one like me, but had to, finally, just live with the fact that another me just doesn't exist. Know what, here I am! These dreams come true once in a while.
I never was attracted to I.V. drugs, but not because of just the fact needles scare me. I had a moment of clarity the first time I had an opportunity to inject: I realized that I wouldn't always be in as "safe" an environment as I was in then; I would likely combine the drugs I used prior to popping myself--and didn't know what the combined effect would be to me; if I got good at it, the chance I'd get a "hot-shot" got greater with each use, etc., which was enough to turn me off the I.V. method--plus the guy that offered it to me was 23 years old, had no teeth, and I could count all his bones. Had the skull-grin death's head happening. This was on my move to Orlando with my dad. Freaked my mind out. 'Nuff written.
I was wondering if you would do me (another) favor? I just caught the very tail-end of a radio broadcast mentioning that the information presented was found on www.theendofamerica#66. If you could look it up for me and "tell" me what it has on it, I'd be grateful.
I don't do much, don't go outdoors (no shoes I can wear like I have to), and even the time I have to watch our new plasma (!) TV set is ruined by someone's stupidity (I know). There are only so many ways (without getting written up) to distract/amuse myself here. Though I have much to learn about time, I do all it's possible to do, to disappear completely from the radar scopes of the ones running this prison and to present only a minimal image to the others here. I start picking out rifles/rooftops and I know my monster is on the loose again. Time to rediscipline myself; I'm just glad that hasn't happened since Turkey Day '09.
Well, guess I should try to put a stop to this before it becomes self-aware. I'm writing some more plainly true history of myself that I'll send out when I reach a stopping point. Hey, I nearly forgot my rhino-dart still needs to get taken. Better days (soon, I hope!)
Your quizzical friend,
James
Friday, May 6, 2011
Letter 28
May 2, 2011
Dear Renelle,
How are you faring these days? Well as can be expected, I hope. I've included a sort of half-hearted attempt at a kind of descriptive treatment, in a way; in a vacuous sort of way greatly in need of the discipline and steel so common here. At the moment, I'm growing--physically. I got weighed at 148 lbs. An ideal weight for me, were not a fair amount of it on the useless fat side! Oh well, can't have it all--I'd likely figure a way to crash it if I did anyway.
I'm 1/4 way done with the book written by a guy who was in "Angola" (in Louisianna) named Wilbert Rideau; and to me, it's a record of the day to day events in the prison system. So far, the "series of stunning revelations" is fairly tepid stuff. I suppose, though, that if the limits on Rideau's writing skills and his ability to write (two separate factors, as I can attest to) are considered, the book takes on larger proportions. At any rate, it's a good read. I'm pausing here to eat. With that safely done, I'll again(!) likely need to pause, as this is (shockingly) shower night.
I find Rideau's style not as I'd imagined it to be--a very long, plodding and dry narrative as exciting as a laundry list to read. Instead, it's offered a glimpse at the issues the nation was involved with at the times, and those it has yet to resolve fully even today. If you haven't read it, I would if I were you. It presents a picture of the "life" we have in prison realistically, not as someone that never had any experience with confinement would have you believe.
About unbelief, how is the weather lately? Glad I don't go outdoors. I'll stay in where it's dry, thank you. Nearly 350 people died as a direct result of the weather last month! Ordinarily, I'd expect death to snatch a few people a month during storm season, but numbers like the ones reported are hitting close and hard!
I'm actually worried about being effectively cut off from humanity, the way we smurfs would be if a power failure/surge renders the doors inoperative. Regarding "cut off," after I'd written that very word, we (Jesus and I) were hustled out to the shower and back. There's a great deal of "leeway" for that activity, by the way.
"Supercop" is doing showers today, and so far he's let 1/2 dozen cells out to the shower and written 8 people up for different items in their cells! I don't condone having stuff like that (tobacco, phone, lighter) in the cells, but I don't feel it's right to be penalized for getting what amounts for some, a much-needed shower (as I'm told), either. I'm glad this isn't a deeper-rooted issue. I may have to "air my feelings" about it if it were.
Though it's possible, I don't believe the good/bad that may come out of each instance of contraband could be weighed individually; but I fail to grasp that it promotes any change, the way they're all grouped together the way they are. This is only my likely-insignificant opinion, but I feel the larger issue is one of enforcement: it's like a best friend writing you a ticket, as they're also a cop. What are your thoughts?
I don't mean to confuse you with my writing like I probably do, it's only that I've got so much to write that it wouldn't be prudent to in this forum, that I get to crunching words like they'd be as a result of a high-speed collision!
In any event, I put aside one day every week that I do nothing (or as close to it as possible here); no one is to bother me for anything. I rest confident of my forthcoming victory in much the same way as O.J. Simpson's legal defense team was. (The glove?) With that written, I collapse into a coma-like state prior to eating. I need to rest my brain after making a series of decisions.
Your prejudicially adjudicated friend,
James
The way I'm "doing time," likely is with a tremendous amount of needless--uhm, excitability; that fits for me. On the other side, there are times when you could detonate a bomb in my bed and only barely get a reaction. Though I'm at a loss as to explain the two polar-opposite random (seemingly) reactions, as they are, after all, apparently random.
There are no precursory behaviors significant enough to merit a further look at my over and under reactions. Not being a learned person (I'm just me), I don't have any letters after my name--so this fact of my existence stands as a singular inexplicability. This is unacceptably perplexing, yet with no more data than is possible to be gathered observationally, I'm left to deduce simply that I'm coming unglued.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Letter 27
April 26, 2011
Dear Mom,
Just got your letters and will try to write what I can before our (badly needed) showers. I'm doing okay I guess, for not getting the fresh air and exercise needed to help us fight illness. To be succinct, I haven't set about plotting anyone's demise today. Worrying about someone is understandable, but I'd be better served if those worries were creating actions on my behalf as well. I'm convinced the kitchen manager here is actually a Nazi war-criminal, and I don't mingle well.
Actually, my days here aren't all that awful, when I stop to consider I've got a better life in prison than many who are free. I'm doing some shining on the duller parts of my personality. I've hit on a basic core of my personality which is helping me deal with the garbage I have to go through here, though I'm not sure how this will actually be accomplished. I'm a non-conformist. Somehow, putting a name to it makes it easier to be me.
My school work has come up short in the area of rapidly calculating different formulas to assign to complex geometric designs. I never was good at being able to tell at a glance how much space an object occupied. Maybe it's correct to write "occupies," I don't know. It's hard to see how being able to tell by looking at something how much it would hold is going to make me a success.
I'm requesting that from now on, when you get a letter to me from Happy, you take it back to the post office unopened. Send it back to him as he is violating the boundaries I thought were clearly established when I was still at Lake C.I. This will seem a harsh response, though I'm a bit heated thinking about it. To make sure no future letters arrive from him, you could contact the warden of the prison he is in to request that no letters from him are addressed to you.
Not much else is happening here now, except for me racing to get this letter written so it will be included with tomorrow's mail. The last shipment of books I received were two by Millman and a couple I read without pause. I'm about half way through Twist, I barely started Blink, and the two Millman books haven't been cracked yet. So, I'm not hurting for reading material yet. You could send a word seek book to me, although I'm not sure how it works for me to get literature directly from you. They tend to regard that dimly.
That's about all the time I've got. I should serve water with my letters! Anyhow,
Much love and best regards,
James
Dear Mom,
Just got your letters and will try to write what I can before our (badly needed) showers. I'm doing okay I guess, for not getting the fresh air and exercise needed to help us fight illness. To be succinct, I haven't set about plotting anyone's demise today. Worrying about someone is understandable, but I'd be better served if those worries were creating actions on my behalf as well. I'm convinced the kitchen manager here is actually a Nazi war-criminal, and I don't mingle well.
Actually, my days here aren't all that awful, when I stop to consider I've got a better life in prison than many who are free. I'm doing some shining on the duller parts of my personality. I've hit on a basic core of my personality which is helping me deal with the garbage I have to go through here, though I'm not sure how this will actually be accomplished. I'm a non-conformist. Somehow, putting a name to it makes it easier to be me.
My school work has come up short in the area of rapidly calculating different formulas to assign to complex geometric designs. I never was good at being able to tell at a glance how much space an object occupied. Maybe it's correct to write "occupies," I don't know. It's hard to see how being able to tell by looking at something how much it would hold is going to make me a success.
I'm requesting that from now on, when you get a letter to me from Happy, you take it back to the post office unopened. Send it back to him as he is violating the boundaries I thought were clearly established when I was still at Lake C.I. This will seem a harsh response, though I'm a bit heated thinking about it. To make sure no future letters arrive from him, you could contact the warden of the prison he is in to request that no letters from him are addressed to you.
Not much else is happening here now, except for me racing to get this letter written so it will be included with tomorrow's mail. The last shipment of books I received were two by Millman and a couple I read without pause. I'm about half way through Twist, I barely started Blink, and the two Millman books haven't been cracked yet. So, I'm not hurting for reading material yet. You could send a word seek book to me, although I'm not sure how it works for me to get literature directly from you. They tend to regard that dimly.
That's about all the time I've got. I should serve water with my letters! Anyhow,
Much love and best regards,
James
Letter 26
April 25, 2011
Dear Mom,
I'm determined to render another of these ridiculous pens to where it no longer writes. Unfortunately, that's really the extent of what can be seen of my accomplishments today. I'm sitting here listening to all the loud and ignorant yelling by inmates from their cells about what they want to do because it is impossible not to hear them. All it amounts to is them asking to be sprayed.
I hope I can cut back on what I spend here as already my balance is down to the wire.
I had a real-ization the other day. I found that I was steadily growing angrier without being able to let it out. I'd like to leave here sometime! Easter marks the day for me. I was ranting incoherently, being worked into a state of agitation when it came to me that, in almost this same state, I was taken into custody for badly hurting a guy during Thanksgiving 2009.
I used this moment of clarity to determine that I won't let myself get that way ever again. Nothing in the world is worth feeling as helpless to control myself as I'd become that night. I honestly could not stop myself. I calmed down quick when I put together what the consequences of my actions might be.
It would be a lie for me to write that I don't get angry now. I still do, just not to the extent that I did before, over something I have no control over, i.e., the food. It may not mean much in telling this to others, but this realization was a huge thing to me. I still won't give up being a frustrated artist, though.
I suppose it's an unreachable dream of mine, from here at least, to write myself free of the special people so prevalent in an environment like this. It leads me back to the question I posed most while still doing time in Egypt: Are they simple and incarcerated, or simple because of incarceration? Makes little difference to me either way, as I'm here and it's now.
I just got mail from Chee2, Dad and Renelle; it doesn't rain, but it pours. I got a letter out to Renelle (x2!) I don't have much to say in the way of news to tell anyone. I think it is remarkable how little changes in a place like this.
Yes, I do have some news, too. Due to an uncivil unrest amongst the ones waiting out their C.M. (Close Management) time here, and most likely because of the rotten food we have shoved at us, there was fighting today as soon as the doors were rolled open to take us to the recreation yard. The guards are well aware of the cause, but they don't intervene unless someone gets hurt bad enough to require medical attention. I feel like this is their way of saying it's okay to express yourself by a laying on of hands. That's my theory, anyway. Recreation time lasted just long enough for all the guys to get beaten and worn out. There is more reason than I let on for not being part of that fiasco.
While on the subject, although I haven't read much of Blink yet, an article about the new Gladwell book, The Outliers, sheds a bit of a different perspective on him than I had before. Among the views that Gladwell expresses in the article are some concerning the different ways success is created. Like me, he espouses that native intellect and desire are needed, but not nearly as important to success as doing something that you believe is challenging daily, and sticking it out when it looks like a dead-end. Perseverance.
Major life support had to be accomplished just now; the pen I used on the revision of this page died a violent death and I had to wash off anything that might have gotten ink on it from its passing. As I've got an on-going battle to be seen by an eye doctor here, and my balance is less than $5, please send me a little money. This will forestall my being in the red again, as the cost of a medical nurse consult has risen...again, and I need to cover any unforeseen expenses.
Out of room to write and out of time, all at the same time.
Much love,
James
Dear Mom,
I'm determined to render another of these ridiculous pens to where it no longer writes. Unfortunately, that's really the extent of what can be seen of my accomplishments today. I'm sitting here listening to all the loud and ignorant yelling by inmates from their cells about what they want to do because it is impossible not to hear them. All it amounts to is them asking to be sprayed.
I hope I can cut back on what I spend here as already my balance is down to the wire.
I had a real-ization the other day. I found that I was steadily growing angrier without being able to let it out. I'd like to leave here sometime! Easter marks the day for me. I was ranting incoherently, being worked into a state of agitation when it came to me that, in almost this same state, I was taken into custody for badly hurting a guy during Thanksgiving 2009.
I used this moment of clarity to determine that I won't let myself get that way ever again. Nothing in the world is worth feeling as helpless to control myself as I'd become that night. I honestly could not stop myself. I calmed down quick when I put together what the consequences of my actions might be.
It would be a lie for me to write that I don't get angry now. I still do, just not to the extent that I did before, over something I have no control over, i.e., the food. It may not mean much in telling this to others, but this realization was a huge thing to me. I still won't give up being a frustrated artist, though.
I suppose it's an unreachable dream of mine, from here at least, to write myself free of the special people so prevalent in an environment like this. It leads me back to the question I posed most while still doing time in Egypt: Are they simple and incarcerated, or simple because of incarceration? Makes little difference to me either way, as I'm here and it's now.
I just got mail from Chee2, Dad and Renelle; it doesn't rain, but it pours. I got a letter out to Renelle (x2!) I don't have much to say in the way of news to tell anyone. I think it is remarkable how little changes in a place like this.
Yes, I do have some news, too. Due to an uncivil unrest amongst the ones waiting out their C.M. (Close Management) time here, and most likely because of the rotten food we have shoved at us, there was fighting today as soon as the doors were rolled open to take us to the recreation yard. The guards are well aware of the cause, but they don't intervene unless someone gets hurt bad enough to require medical attention. I feel like this is their way of saying it's okay to express yourself by a laying on of hands. That's my theory, anyway. Recreation time lasted just long enough for all the guys to get beaten and worn out. There is more reason than I let on for not being part of that fiasco.
While on the subject, although I haven't read much of Blink yet, an article about the new Gladwell book, The Outliers, sheds a bit of a different perspective on him than I had before. Among the views that Gladwell expresses in the article are some concerning the different ways success is created. Like me, he espouses that native intellect and desire are needed, but not nearly as important to success as doing something that you believe is challenging daily, and sticking it out when it looks like a dead-end. Perseverance.
Major life support had to be accomplished just now; the pen I used on the revision of this page died a violent death and I had to wash off anything that might have gotten ink on it from its passing. As I've got an on-going battle to be seen by an eye doctor here, and my balance is less than $5, please send me a little money. This will forestall my being in the red again, as the cost of a medical nurse consult has risen...again, and I need to cover any unforeseen expenses.
Out of room to write and out of time, all at the same time.
Much love,
James
Letter 25
April 25, 2011 (included with letters 22 and 23 to Renelle)
I don't know exactly how, but I've got an undeniable need to create, and writing is how I roll. Sitting on my bunk (an uncomfortable experience at the best of times), I'm reminded of one of the many outstanding characters I've met. This is definitely not to be construed to mean he had an outstanding character, or any discernible character at all, for that matter.
At any rate, in those days I was in a state of drunkedness at all times, as it helped ease the pain the world inflicted on me.
I met the man I'm reminded of when I first chose the building to live it (I thought he worked there). So, being as I'm receiving SSI/SSD checks at the beginning of each month, I chose to part with some of it by drinking it up in a strip club nearby.
When we left (or were escorted off the premises), we weren't even close to being as impaired as I was determined to be yet, so after buying liquor at a store, we decided to drink on the nearby beach and sort through our plans in the process. On the way to the beach, there's an entire line of hotels for miles in both directions, which, unknown to me, was the eventual cause of my friend's--uhm, well--incarceration.
We decided to roam from pool to pool instead, drinking as we went. At one of them, when I was beginning to feel "untouchable," I was busy trying to keep my drink from being washed away by the activity in the pool--and he was busily running a pedophilic "game" on some very young girls. I was entirely occupied with trying not to get pool water in my drink, hand it to God, when I got out to freshen my drink and ran into him making for the open beach with the aforementioned girls in tow.
He actually told me he was about to make a woman out of at least one of the girls, so I asked about their ages. When they told me, I made a judgement call then and there: these girls weren't even 12 years old, but I needed to stay with them until I could do what needed to be done.
As we went away from the lighted walkways, he was trying to get one of them close enough to him where he could grab them, but I knew it, and got between them every time, pushing them behind me. Nothing occurred to me for a way to deal with him when he did get a hold on one of them, but this would preserve their innocence for a moment or two longer than if I hadn't been there.
My desperation seized onto a measure which would cost a friend, but hopefully not more than that. At the time this happened, I was in my late 20's (not old and slow as I am now); so, taking one hand of each of the girls, I stopped. I'd no idea what I'd do if he was intent on pressing them to his will, though hopefully it wouldn't go that far. Thinking quickly, I further refined my lack of a plan by saying something about the ghost crabs being out, which had the effect of causing the girls to be rethinking their decision to venture onto a deserted beach at night with two older men who were drinking. Ghost crabs are a type of fiddler crab, but pale-colored and with their eyes on stalks, not spectral crabs.
Soon, we were walking them back to their hotel, unsuspecting of what nearly nearly happened.
(Included as an afterthought, as much as I'm after any thoughts!)
Letter 24
April 25, 2011 (later)
Dear Renelle,
Just want to let you know a few things from this end, one of them being a plan to switch to another pen if this gets much more faint. That's better--easier on both of us, I suspect. Anyhow, I'm writing like a man possessed, as I don't know for sure when my letters will be taken up and dropped into the outgoing bag.
What I think will help most (aside from a pastoral place to write in) is the article you included in your letter about the author of Blink. I've long thought that one's native intelligence wasn't the sole or dominant determiner of successful people. I'll re-include writings about that subject in a letter either to my mom or you soon.
Right now, there's a vast amount of hard feelings and imagined offense with almost everyone here; I guess the quality of the food has to do with it nearly exclusively.
Glad to see that someone else sees how life's challenges often breed talents. As I write more, I'll send it along. Your faith in me has pulled me out of some truly distressing situations. Thank you for believing in me! I'd better end now before I go and start you thinking I've actually got a human side to me.
Your hope-filled friend,
James
Letter 23
April 20, 2011
Dear Mom,
Happy Easter to you, too! I have the Easter card you sent me posted prominently in the doorway. I think it is hilarious. It is an example of the kind of "funny" I didn't need to think about, I just laughed immediately when I saw it. Where did you get it? It's the type of humor that transcends this time of year. It might be a salvageable holiday for me after all, though I wish I could see an egg coloring kit and eat some chocolate to celebrate the occasion.
I actually do have a point for writing you this time. I'm now officially a student here. After many failing attempts, I finally met with some reasonable success. I have to start at the bottom level and work myself to the top; hopefully, after they get my TABE scores figured out. I don't think they will hit me with anything too challenging. I mean, I think I am a fairly smart guy. I'm probably nervous as it's been awhile since I've been in a classroom environment. I guess I have reason to be nervous.
My celly and I were in our cells this morning (where else?) and I had just started to get my day straight when three guards came in looking for something with handwriting on it. The reason being, as I later found out, some guy keeps writing notes to the Lt.'s and Captain without including a name. This prompted me to say something ridiculously foolish that I could not unsay to one of them. Too late. I can't remember exactly what I said, but my point is I didn't get my filter turned on before I shot my mouth off to a guy with the power to make my time here unbearable if he chose to do that. Fortunately, the guard I spoke to had bigger things to contend with than the mouse that roared.
It is Wednesday evening, and not a shower night. So, it shows to go that I don't do all my letter writing on shower nights. Unfortunately, this just about exhausts my repertoire. Please know that I would much rather have Easter with family than with thugs and predators like I have to do. At least I'm not back in "Egypt" (Lake C.I.) still. In any case, I'll close this for now.
Much love and best wishes,
James
Dear Mom,
Happy Easter to you, too! I have the Easter card you sent me posted prominently in the doorway. I think it is hilarious. It is an example of the kind of "funny" I didn't need to think about, I just laughed immediately when I saw it. Where did you get it? It's the type of humor that transcends this time of year. It might be a salvageable holiday for me after all, though I wish I could see an egg coloring kit and eat some chocolate to celebrate the occasion.
I actually do have a point for writing you this time. I'm now officially a student here. After many failing attempts, I finally met with some reasonable success. I have to start at the bottom level and work myself to the top; hopefully, after they get my TABE scores figured out. I don't think they will hit me with anything too challenging. I mean, I think I am a fairly smart guy. I'm probably nervous as it's been awhile since I've been in a classroom environment. I guess I have reason to be nervous.
My celly and I were in our cells this morning (where else?) and I had just started to get my day straight when three guards came in looking for something with handwriting on it. The reason being, as I later found out, some guy keeps writing notes to the Lt.'s and Captain without including a name. This prompted me to say something ridiculously foolish that I could not unsay to one of them. Too late. I can't remember exactly what I said, but my point is I didn't get my filter turned on before I shot my mouth off to a guy with the power to make my time here unbearable if he chose to do that. Fortunately, the guard I spoke to had bigger things to contend with than the mouse that roared.
It is Wednesday evening, and not a shower night. So, it shows to go that I don't do all my letter writing on shower nights. Unfortunately, this just about exhausts my repertoire. Please know that I would much rather have Easter with family than with thugs and predators like I have to do. At least I'm not back in "Egypt" (Lake C.I.) still. In any case, I'll close this for now.
Much love and best wishes,
James
Letter 22
April 25, 2011
Dear Renelle,
Incarcerated due to circumstances I failed to maintain a grip on, I've become a modern-day cave dweller, one might argue with accuracy. Were I given my druthers, I'd be sharing my life with only a handful of people: my daughter at the top of the list (if she would have it), and it wouldn't cause any unnatural behaviors/thoughts. Additionally (stated here for posterity), as permanent an arrangement as is possible. Keeping in mind my propensity for attracting all types of drama without realizing it, this decision would not be entered into lightly. Due consideration of any impropriety likely to be sensed must be weighed against what at this point is a purely one-sided beneficial set-up. In plain language, we would have to weigh cautiously what others might think before committing ourselves, and we'd have to think about the long as well as short term goals and hinderances.
Now it's Monday, April 25th, and again I feel I make time tougher to get through than need be by far. I became enraged impotently this morning when I heard the guy that collects our grievances daily walking out the door. He wasn't heard to announce himself, so I flashed on what my lack of impulse control would lead to, but I was already too far gone.
This is important to me, as it was the same type of reaction, on a minimized scale, that led to my arrest back on Thanksgiving, 2009. By fits and starts, haltingly I became aware of my predicament: I was halfway to safety, across a river frozen over and thawing, over a sure death by drowning! Either I was going to live, or die--no in between.
I need to reduce my situation to terms that are more analogous in order to make my choice (being as I've got such an intense pull toward pushing the envelope that keeps life in my body), in order to make a wise choice. So here it is four hours after, and I'm already writing "calmly"--a fairly revealing account of myself, I'd say.
I finished Thomas Perry's sequel to The Butcher's Boy, Sleeping Dogs, yesterday and was left with a distinctly different afterthought than intended by the author, I believe. You'd need to read at least the second book to really understand what I mean, but the guy leaves his books so open to interpretation at the end of them, I found myself thinking one of the men on the "good guys" team was actually a "bad guy"-sleeper, who wakes up to who he is really when the book ended.
What with school, writing, and the devastatingly interesting way it goes here, I'm only 1/2 done with "Twist." I don't think I'll redo it, as Dickens' particular way of writing is what I'd change, and that's what makes him the great author that he is. Besides, with all the other trivial clutter that makes up my existence here, I don't have the time to devote to it now.
Regarding school work, I've taken it as far as I'm going to, until I speak with a teacher about it. What I don't get is how advanced trig or scientific notation comes easily to me, but simple geometry doesn't. I mean, I used to be a passable pool player--which I understand uses the principles of that discipline almost exclusively--but as far as recalling the different proofs and theorems, I'm lost, in the dark while being hunted. It's just not good.
As a footnote, I don't want to come off like I'm an ordinary man who just happened to walk into this situation, because most truly, I'm not! There's almost nothing ordinary about me, and fewer than usual ordinary things about the situation here. I did overhear a guard say something that may go toward explaining some stuff going on here lately. He mentioned a "new" warden and col. coming around. I don't care about that so much, but I do vehemently wish the one running the kitchen would find himself unemployed ASAP! He did it again Easter Sunday!
I'm at the limit of another letter. I'm not nice, friendly, or much of a "people person," but wry, sardonic, and agitated.
Your witty friend,
James
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