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