July 26, 2011
Dear Mom,
How are you and all getting by lately? Good, hopefully. I continue to struggle against the ever present possibility of another disciplinary report; like I need that...ever! Though, let me not endanger my chances of departure when I'm this close to it. This is only a (hopefully) brief note to let you know a couple of possible things happening here. Feels good to be able to truthfully put those words down for a change.
Firstly, I had what is likely the last counseling session during the time I'll be here...hopefully. That session included topics of all the usual stuff; like sleep, eating, number and intensity of anxiety attacks per week, etc., but the main thing is that I'm getting a possible recommendation from the mental health people! It was a huge relief to find out that my lack of attendance in the groups won't even enter into the decision to detain me longer. A good thing...if my attendance at those groups was required to progress, I think I'd be here until I died.
That, added to the fact the nurse came by and told me she'd put me on the list to see the eye doctor, is the best sort of news I could reasonable expect in the here and now. I have no idea what brought this on...a possibility it's the product of maintaining an unflappable exterior the way I have. Seriously evident except for some behaviors and a few gray hairs. At long last, this nightmare is finally coming to an end.
I don't know how I'll act with the relative freedom of general population, but I'm sure somehow I will adapt. Without tipping my hand too much, I can testify to the fact there are places worse than just being in prison. I was close enough to see them. For now, the only dark cloud on the horizon is one of the last things my counselor said. She said she has never heard of anyone going directly to Tomoka in all the time she's worked here. Hopefully, I'll be the exception.
Gotta start getting my wits about me, as I'm sure something will try to derail me over the time I've got left here. I've mailed some pretty impactful and strongly termed letters to Renelle; hopefully, she received them.
Anyhow, time to bow down and smile. Much love and regards,
James
p.s. J says Hi.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Letter 69
July 21, 2011
Dear Mom,
Hey, a brief note to catch up on some things, for posterity sake if nothing else. First off, I'm unable to describe my happiness (compared to my usual routine of having to do more with less than the day before and get it exactly right or else) at having what is hopefully the last visit you will need to get up so early for in order to arrive here. I'll hopefully be transferred to Tomoka to finish out my sentence. Please knock on some wood for me. If it goes like that, my sentence will be, while unconstitutional in my opinion, not as colossal a waste of time as it could have been.
The drugs I was taking with abandon, in a way suggesting there were no such things as consequences, I take no longer/shorter/more/less. A singular miracle, if ever there was one, is: I've come to some greater maturity in their absence of control. I don't know for sure if I would be similarly disposed if not for this wholly needless period of trial lasting a period of years. I could be better off, but I don't think it would have been as relatively easy for me to turn my back on the way of living I was locked into. Right now, that's all I'm able to generate in my mind positively, for being inmated. It's far easier for me to dwell on and list the negative aspects, so I don't.
As for remaining (illegal) drug-free post release, I don't agree fundamentally with any of the self-help groups. By which, I believe if I was able to have helped myself, I wouldn't have been putting myself in harms way nearly as often as I was to begin with. The other area I disagree with the anonymous groups in is where they claim that a person (singular) gets drunk and the group (plural) recovers. It wasn't that way for me, so rather than go into a lengthy explanation as to how, I just avoid them. Not that I feel they are wrong, just wrong for me.
As a corollary issue, J is/has finally written the much ballyhooed letter (bullyhooed by me at any rate). So, I think as long as I can get through the foreseeable future until it is the present and do so keeping all my insides inside me, all will then be much gooderer for me. You have done so much to help pull me through this time of trial, I can't even begin to list it. My constituency and I alike thank you immensely for everything. Add to this the fact that talking with one another brings J and I closer as well. It's a win-win.
Of course, it would be an example of displaying something other than good or common sense to have anything other than a decent day...with the indifferent way I was treated by the 12-8 shift, but I still nearly managed to do it. Stumbling around without my watch on, I mistook the guy working on the 8-4 shift for a guy on the 12-8 and made an off-hand comment about his questionable parentage. He stopped, asked me to repeat what I said, and I realized the mistake I'd made.
In any event, I'd better close this letter and coach J with the complexities of an unfamiliar language use. Wish me luck.
Much love and regards,
James
Dear Mom,
Hey, a brief note to catch up on some things, for posterity sake if nothing else. First off, I'm unable to describe my happiness (compared to my usual routine of having to do more with less than the day before and get it exactly right or else) at having what is hopefully the last visit you will need to get up so early for in order to arrive here. I'll hopefully be transferred to Tomoka to finish out my sentence. Please knock on some wood for me. If it goes like that, my sentence will be, while unconstitutional in my opinion, not as colossal a waste of time as it could have been.
The drugs I was taking with abandon, in a way suggesting there were no such things as consequences, I take no longer/shorter/more/less. A singular miracle, if ever there was one, is: I've come to some greater maturity in their absence of control. I don't know for sure if I would be similarly disposed if not for this wholly needless period of trial lasting a period of years. I could be better off, but I don't think it would have been as relatively easy for me to turn my back on the way of living I was locked into. Right now, that's all I'm able to generate in my mind positively, for being inmated. It's far easier for me to dwell on and list the negative aspects, so I don't.
As for remaining (illegal) drug-free post release, I don't agree fundamentally with any of the self-help groups. By which, I believe if I was able to have helped myself, I wouldn't have been putting myself in harms way nearly as often as I was to begin with. The other area I disagree with the anonymous groups in is where they claim that a person (singular) gets drunk and the group (plural) recovers. It wasn't that way for me, so rather than go into a lengthy explanation as to how, I just avoid them. Not that I feel they are wrong, just wrong for me.
As a corollary issue, J is/has finally written the much ballyhooed letter (bullyhooed by me at any rate). So, I think as long as I can get through the foreseeable future until it is the present and do so keeping all my insides inside me, all will then be much gooderer for me. You have done so much to help pull me through this time of trial, I can't even begin to list it. My constituency and I alike thank you immensely for everything. Add to this the fact that talking with one another brings J and I closer as well. It's a win-win.
Of course, it would be an example of displaying something other than good or common sense to have anything other than a decent day...with the indifferent way I was treated by the 12-8 shift, but I still nearly managed to do it. Stumbling around without my watch on, I mistook the guy working on the 8-4 shift for a guy on the 12-8 and made an off-hand comment about his questionable parentage. He stopped, asked me to repeat what I said, and I realized the mistake I'd made.
In any event, I'd better close this letter and coach J with the complexities of an unfamiliar language use. Wish me luck.
Much love and regards,
James
Letter 68
Beginning the ides of July, 2011
Dear Mom,
I don't really have anything earth-shattering to convey, aside from the foul blackness engulfing me from the latest policy. As I said I would though, I'm getting back to you to make sure this base is touched by me. So, J is counsel whenever I want to let fly, damn the torpedoes, I'm going to do it my way no matter what, and I reciprocate by the fact I'm here if he ever starts drawing attention to himself in a similar manner. I've got no idea what it is I could do to stop it if it ever came down to it; lucky for us it hasn't, though I'm not out yet.
The one that's got me in such a black and rageful mood is now, since the last remnant of humanity quit rather than employ the pointless rattling of our collective cages, is they've started turning on the brights and waking us, by force if needed, a half hour before we eat breakfast in the morning. They keep the lights on until the end of that shift too! All it does is piss me off and leads to thoughts I'd be wise not to list here. The object I do well to remember is to leave prison behind me by the end of next year.
It is time for our lunch so I may have to stop this letter suddenly. Coming back to the "bright spot" of the day, I'm able to think of no good thing that keeping the lights on does, unless it is somehow meant to make clear that prison is not an experience to be sought after. Otherwise, I'm in an unusually good mood...even with the events of the morning.
I think the underlying mood to be the result of being as close as I am to seeing my daughter at a visit. I'm really enjoying that you had me in mind and sent the pictures of her to me.
The adversity prevalent in copious quantities here is bringing J and I into a new level of friendship instead of having the more common effect of causing arguments and fights. He is having a sleep-deprived moment that I know through hard experience makes one as crazy as any drug can! I don't see how he goes on like he does; the guy hasn't been written up for over two years now. Different strokes I guess.
After 2:00 pm now, and I'm more thoroughly convinced of the need to have my "A-Game" on 24/7 here. This isn't life I'm living as much as a battle for keeping my marble(s) inside my head! Yet another valid reason for cessation of the tranquilizer the doctor has me taking.
I'm including a response to a letter I got yesterday from Dad and would appreciate it being forwarded to him. Something he mentioned in his letter has me confused though; he talks about elections in what I thought was a solid monarchy. Maybe it could be explained to me. I hope I didn't let the cat out of the bag, telling him about Karla passing away.
At any rate, the canteen management finally decided to do their jobs; they don't really expect lunch will be eaten, in other words. It is amazing what one can adapt to when they've got no choice about it. I'm really looking forward to seeing Lori in person and not in pictures or hearing of her.
J is still making sounds I understand he wants to write a brief note of thanks to you for your efforts on his behalf...just not now. With that,I've got no more news to impart to you. Thank God we smurfs get a break from being a lab specimen on the weekends. I don't know that I could take it if not. Let me cut that off before I get on another rant!
Much love and regards,
James
What kind of bird doesn't fly? A jail bird of course!
Dear Mom,
I don't really have anything earth-shattering to convey, aside from the foul blackness engulfing me from the latest policy. As I said I would though, I'm getting back to you to make sure this base is touched by me. So, J is counsel whenever I want to let fly, damn the torpedoes, I'm going to do it my way no matter what, and I reciprocate by the fact I'm here if he ever starts drawing attention to himself in a similar manner. I've got no idea what it is I could do to stop it if it ever came down to it; lucky for us it hasn't, though I'm not out yet.
The one that's got me in such a black and rageful mood is now, since the last remnant of humanity quit rather than employ the pointless rattling of our collective cages, is they've started turning on the brights and waking us, by force if needed, a half hour before we eat breakfast in the morning. They keep the lights on until the end of that shift too! All it does is piss me off and leads to thoughts I'd be wise not to list here. The object I do well to remember is to leave prison behind me by the end of next year.
It is time for our lunch so I may have to stop this letter suddenly. Coming back to the "bright spot" of the day, I'm able to think of no good thing that keeping the lights on does, unless it is somehow meant to make clear that prison is not an experience to be sought after. Otherwise, I'm in an unusually good mood...even with the events of the morning.
I think the underlying mood to be the result of being as close as I am to seeing my daughter at a visit. I'm really enjoying that you had me in mind and sent the pictures of her to me.
The adversity prevalent in copious quantities here is bringing J and I into a new level of friendship instead of having the more common effect of causing arguments and fights. He is having a sleep-deprived moment that I know through hard experience makes one as crazy as any drug can! I don't see how he goes on like he does; the guy hasn't been written up for over two years now. Different strokes I guess.
After 2:00 pm now, and I'm more thoroughly convinced of the need to have my "A-Game" on 24/7 here. This isn't life I'm living as much as a battle for keeping my marble(s) inside my head! Yet another valid reason for cessation of the tranquilizer the doctor has me taking.
I'm including a response to a letter I got yesterday from Dad and would appreciate it being forwarded to him. Something he mentioned in his letter has me confused though; he talks about elections in what I thought was a solid monarchy. Maybe it could be explained to me. I hope I didn't let the cat out of the bag, telling him about Karla passing away.
At any rate, the canteen management finally decided to do their jobs; they don't really expect lunch will be eaten, in other words. It is amazing what one can adapt to when they've got no choice about it. I'm really looking forward to seeing Lori in person and not in pictures or hearing of her.
J is still making sounds I understand he wants to write a brief note of thanks to you for your efforts on his behalf...just not now. With that,I've got no more news to impart to you. Thank God we smurfs get a break from being a lab specimen on the weekends. I don't know that I could take it if not. Let me cut that off before I get on another rant!
Much love and regards,
James
What kind of bird doesn't fly? A jail bird of course!
Letter 67
July 14, 2011
Dear Mom,
Just received your letter of July 10th and wanted to respond while I'm alert enough. Don't know why, but for some reason I blocked out that my daughter was visiting you recently. I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves and that she had fun, or at least went through the motions, at Universal. $118 bucks? That's more than I made for an entire year for crying out loud!
I've been scraped and scrubbed, and so far have been passing the inspection the smurf population here has daily. As soon as possible, I'm going to revert back to my old ways of being a slob for a day or two.
Anyhow, they might have to let me stay for a whole week for $118 worth of fun. I'm glad you had a good time though. I've thought about Lori quite a lot lately, and here the entire time she was only a short ways down the road from me. I really appreciate the pictures of her you sent me. The only thing is, they will likely be torn/lost/damaged much easier than an older type picture would be as they are only paper. J says hi and says he sees a resemblance to me; God, I hope not!
Seems like you have been extra busy lately. Hopefully my letters all made it through, though I suppose that in the larger picture it would not be wise for me to raise a fuss about it if they didn't, this close to getting out of CM like I am. That is a subject I intend to address in detail, but later...after I'm released (mail tampering). Regarding which, I've come to a position now where the wisest course of action is to avoid being even a blip on the radar screen of this administration; all different policies/rules are being implemented/enforced in a rather unyielding way compared to the last visit, even.
Considering I'm due to be moved onward during the middle of August, the 21st of this month is just about the perfect date for a visit. I just hope I don't draw any attention to myself before then.
About Karla...I suppose it is a natural reaction to feel a loss, especially if she was a friend. I'll go into more about that type of perceived loss in another letter as now the guard approaches to collect the mail.
Much love and regards,
James
Dear Mom,
Just received your letter of July 10th and wanted to respond while I'm alert enough. Don't know why, but for some reason I blocked out that my daughter was visiting you recently. I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves and that she had fun, or at least went through the motions, at Universal. $118 bucks? That's more than I made for an entire year for crying out loud!
I've been scraped and scrubbed, and so far have been passing the inspection the smurf population here has daily. As soon as possible, I'm going to revert back to my old ways of being a slob for a day or two.
Anyhow, they might have to let me stay for a whole week for $118 worth of fun. I'm glad you had a good time though. I've thought about Lori quite a lot lately, and here the entire time she was only a short ways down the road from me. I really appreciate the pictures of her you sent me. The only thing is, they will likely be torn/lost/damaged much easier than an older type picture would be as they are only paper. J says hi and says he sees a resemblance to me; God, I hope not!
Seems like you have been extra busy lately. Hopefully my letters all made it through, though I suppose that in the larger picture it would not be wise for me to raise a fuss about it if they didn't, this close to getting out of CM like I am. That is a subject I intend to address in detail, but later...after I'm released (mail tampering). Regarding which, I've come to a position now where the wisest course of action is to avoid being even a blip on the radar screen of this administration; all different policies/rules are being implemented/enforced in a rather unyielding way compared to the last visit, even.
Considering I'm due to be moved onward during the middle of August, the 21st of this month is just about the perfect date for a visit. I just hope I don't draw any attention to myself before then.
About Karla...I suppose it is a natural reaction to feel a loss, especially if she was a friend. I'll go into more about that type of perceived loss in another letter as now the guard approaches to collect the mail.
Much love and regards,
James
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Letter 66
July 8-11, 2011
Dear Renelle,
Dear Phantom Muse,
Please don't sue for custody
for I've changed,
somehow and hopefully
when you're able to see
what a difference could truly
be made by me--you'll return and agree.
Needs a lot of changes, I know, but there are only a limited # of activities I'm able to pursue in the gloomy and cramped cell I have to be in for now. I'm starting to lose my sense of humor, and even repeat myself at times.
With all these crazy policies we have to bear, there's a marked increase in the unexpressed rage at being unable to do anything about it but wear it like an ill-fitting pair of shoes.
Before all this got started about three months back, I'd evicted the last demon of vengeance from myself. Now I don't know if it's come back again, though. I'm able to follow directions, even when I know for a hard fact a better way to get results from the socially-challenged.
I don't like being treated the same way as everyone else. I'm not everyone else. I'm me, and will likely be me for good and bad until I breathe my last on this wretched mudball we've managed to really make worse. If the last sentence comes off bitter, you may just want to throw it out, as I've yet to begin pumping the venom!
[Saturday, July 9]
This morning (Saturday) is one of the days during the week we're able to lay-in, hang out, or whatever--right? Apparently that too is a bygone era. All were awakened at what I mistakenly thought was the usual time, so I got myself upright on my bunk and my watch read 45 minutes earlier than would have been. On inquiring the reason for this, I was told, "The Col. wants it this way."
Everything got turned inside-out this week by an odd combination of facts: not enough workers to cover all the bases, which I understand fully. Now, though, it starts a-stinkin' jes a mite. There was an attempted uprising in the wing next to ours, requiring the assistance of what few actually had shown up here, so we suffered locked-in all three days for something we had no control of. Wait, though, it gets better.
As if that isn't enough confining limitations, the one half-decent guard working that shift (8-4) already put in notice he'll quit for the reason the Col. wants another Guantanamo Bay here, and he refuses to be part of it. So, the policies continue to be more needlessly restrictive. There no longer is any warning when it's going to start being slung willy-nilly (an odd phrase) around up in here.
You'll have to excuse me. My brain just collapsed under the weight of the gratuitous idiocy in this locality, rendering me paralyzed/inactive by the overwhelming desire to "reach out and touch," but who?
I'll give you a play-by-play: First, the library clerk/orderlies dropped off a National Geographic Magazine I've looked at some ten times, claiming that was all they had, "read it or don't, it's up to you"-type fast-talk.
Then, I got my very slim canteen order. This makes the second week I only received 1/2 of what I ordered. I blame the warehouse manager for not keeping adequate items on hand, slimy piece of garbage.
Before that happened, my celly J. and I need time away from each other, as familiarity breeds contempt with me, and he's not that different. We've been looking at each other since we were marched back from the showers Tuesday, and this being Saturday, it was getting a bit rough to be around him in a very high-pressure situation.
According to the latest policy, those going outside (into a cage) for recreation have to be strip-searched inside a shower before and after.
I was just barely awake and I heard something about this prison being run like Gitmo Bay. When I woke up more, enough to fall out of my rack, anyway, I was hit by a rapid burst of Spanglish [rnl's note: his celly J. speaks "Spanglish"]--which I couldn't understand, detailing (I think) what he'd do if he was forced to be inspected like a side of beef. That was my awakening (though nothing like the movie).
It's really been just one damned thing after another, for at least a week here. There has been one area of relative relief, though. With all the needlessly foolish stuff going on here, I haven't had a chance to even know it the T.V. gets the "Springer-vision Moronathon" any longer.
At this moment, it's raining hard and threatening harder outside, and I'm glad I'm inside, though I'm doing the "stormbringer" dance. Rain is good, as long as I don't have to be in it while I'm asleep!
[Sunday, July 10]
Now another day has passed into past without any reportable offense taking place with either of us, though I suspect it was a far easier feat for him than me. Yesterday (Saturday) was the final day we were able to wash away our collective funk. It only followed that they were short at least one guy for that shift. Right. So the Sgt. had to step in and cover, but being unfamiliar with the schedule, he nearly was persuaded by several of the worst cons here into letting a group (which seems to almost get catered to) out to watch the Moronathon, which had been out twice the previous shift.
Better sense prevailed (on checking the schedule), and he let our group out, but set even more strict limits to what he would/would not do, and what we could/could not do.
The policies in place as of yesterday (7/9/11) will ultimately (hopefully) lead to their own undoing, as they're so ridiculous I can't imagine them being permanent. Again, though, I think it's wiser to make the best out of rotten circumstance that to draw even more attention to myself.
[Monday, July 11]
Now it's Monday, with all the realities the day entails.I'd better get fully alert if I'm going to go outside to the recreation yard today.
Your cognitively-damaged friend,
James
The Moronathon is fully operative.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Letter 65
July 5, 2011
Dear Renelle,
Some more junk to be sorted out. Let me know how the visit with your sister went or is going. I received a letter from my mom a day after yours made it, and wrote her an extremely brief note in reply. I was helped in a huge way by my celly J. not being here to listen to the radio. So I was able to turn on the light and bust out a letter, briefly. I had some chaotic thoughts at the time, and don't think I answered all the questions she asked in it.
Anyway, for some unexplained reason, I'm either obsessed or compelled to write. I'd even go as far as saying it's bordering on being an addiction.
It's getting more hazardous to stay off the radar of the newest Col., especially for me taking that damned tranquilizer every day! By the time the loud T.V. goes off at midnight, I get roughly 5-6 hours of quiet, then ZAP! Bright lights come on at 5:45 or so, and stay on until that shift leaves at 8. I, on the other hand, am clearly not, ay-em, motivated. The nonsense we smurfs tolerate is unbelievable! That road leads to chaos increased exponentially. I'll not go down it any further.
This is written over the weekend; one of the difficulties I find most consistently is time allocation. Prioritization even takes second to that, and an observer uneducated as to the variegated idiosyncrasies making me myself likely would think it ridiculous that one in a situation with nothing but time has that concern.
A truer picture of my situation emerges when considering the following, however: even though the day begins pre-dawn, I don't. I may put a pretense of being functional during these hours on, but I'm stuck in quicksand. I continue on until 1-2 in the afternoon, when my brain finally shakes loose from the medicine-induced haze/fog. Then I spend an hour (give or take) washing and getting rid of crustacaens. At that point, I have approximately 1/2 hour until the third and last meal is brought around. So I don't get involved in much other than light reading, as it wouldn't make sense to be deep into a project and have to stop to eat. I'll come back to that in a second. If our schedule isn't changed, after eating, I've taken meds designed with protecting a safari from charging rhinos, and only have two hours, longest, to do whatever I'm going to do. All of this is accomplished on my own while in an extremely bitter/resentful mood. Just when I'm fully coming around, I have to take that medicine again! There has to be another solution, allowing for more clarity of thought/purpose.
It may be needless to point out all this is performed under the duress of constant watchfulness, lest we be surprised by another dorm-inspired/shakedown, as on the 24th! In my opinion, a black mark for security--all they found was one mattress that had a lighter/cigarettes in it the guy didn't even know were there. Constant unrelenting tension can't be conducive to a long and healthy life, but then I don't know all I'm going to, either.
I'm slowly getting over my irascibility now (at 12 noon), and trying to recall what exactly I'm going to get delivered tomorrow from our "Canteen." I've done the sugar rush so often it's killing me. This time I believe I went for the other end of the spectrum from doughy/sweet/fatty. Before I get caught up in my head, J. says hi.
I remember a joke you'll hopefully appreciate. More of a truism, really. Speaks to the prevailing attitude afflicting the one on the street. The difference in major and minor surgeries? Major if it's mine, minor if it's yours.
Though I despise loathingly what passes for T.V. now. There was a time I'd have to be physically removed from the presence of one. Among my favorites was "Monty Python's Flying Circus," an hour's worth of unrelated skits featuring some notable English comedians (John Cleese, Michael Palin, Eric Idle). The exact reason it was a favorite show is that it required the use of my mind to "get" most of the humor in it. Several times during the show, a brief musical interlude would play, and there would be words on the screen announcing "And Now Something Completely Different," followed by a bare foot squashing all of it.
So, And Now. . .I'm afraid I may accidentally have settled into a lifetime niche now. Let me explain, please. Through few conscious choices, I landed in a situation that bred little other than antagonism toward others, blotted out daily by the chemical sledge of medication. By way of reaction to living (?) under coercion and threat of violence constantly, I at first used drugs as a commonly-accepted denominator, negating the medications I was on.
When I finally realized abusing my brain with the yo-yo effect drugs had, I quit the extra-curricular abuse. A brief time later, the place where I dwelled (solely responsible for the medications I was taking), ran out, claiming there was nothing badly wrong with me, and I'd be surely getting re-medicated around 12/1/09. They were wrong. After telling the nurses many times I was unwell, I lost control and beat a man nearly to death for a minor offense.
The cycle of nearly making it someplace I wouldn't be bothered much, but removing all doubt about my ability to thrive at such a place, had set in. Now, looking at my possible choices when released from prison, I fear the same type thing will occur just as I near a break-away point. That's what makes it tough on me to relax sometimes. Thus far, I've only been offered two equally distasteful options to a repetition of losing control: spending the rest of my mobile years blottoed on meds, or playing doctor and self-medicating. That's it. Thay all may have small differences, but come down to either of the two above on closer scrutiny. Please let me know if any other ways come to you.
Reality is tough to accept as a whole, so I put it off in hopes I'd figure another way around my fortune. As concisely-real as I'm able to, these are the two options I'm faced with for a future life: blitzed out of my mind unconscious, or gambling with my freedoms. Those words are what I've been reduced to (?). Both unfortunate and true, my prison is extended until my final rest.
So you see, all is not anywhere close to the rosy-colored picture after release, but I still would just as soon take the lessons I'm learning here back into the society that's still sleeping and try to wake it/them.
On a much-preferred lighter note, I'm 1/2 done with Outliers--what a mind-set he's got! Though it's been slower going, it looks outward, where Blink looked inward. I still think the Orwell book Animal Farm has any contest hands down, though I suspect you've read it, and you know that in spite of the title, the book isn't really about farm animals in the least! Ease back down a couple notches there. I don't want to compound my problems by getting onto a subversive rant. I will state that I'm weary of dumbing myself down so more can understand what I'm about.
By only having read a book and 1/2, I've already got a sense of respect and admiration for Mr. Gladwell, but don't know (relatively) much about what gives him such a unique take on the ways of people. All I really (think) know about him is what is listed under his picture in a few condensed sentences. He's got an extraordinary grasp of ordinary things/people/ways.
Not all is gloom and doom. We did get enough rain to give the firefighters the needed edge to get the fires out here in the big-bend area. I understand the Governor almost declared it a state-of-emergency. I've written myself into, out of, back into, and back out of depression, figure I'll quit while I'm still at least a head. All the available light is leaking out the window, now anyway. Remember, life is for living--see that you do. Why yes, thank you. I'd love a cup of coffee. Right. I need to seek help in keeping my single marble from rolling away.
Your chemically-altered friend,
James
Dear Renelle,
Some more junk to be sorted out. Let me know how the visit with your sister went or is going. I received a letter from my mom a day after yours made it, and wrote her an extremely brief note in reply. I was helped in a huge way by my celly J. not being here to listen to the radio. So I was able to turn on the light and bust out a letter, briefly. I had some chaotic thoughts at the time, and don't think I answered all the questions she asked in it.
Anyway, for some unexplained reason, I'm either obsessed or compelled to write. I'd even go as far as saying it's bordering on being an addiction.
It's getting more hazardous to stay off the radar of the newest Col., especially for me taking that damned tranquilizer every day! By the time the loud T.V. goes off at midnight, I get roughly 5-6 hours of quiet, then ZAP! Bright lights come on at 5:45 or so, and stay on until that shift leaves at 8. I, on the other hand, am clearly not, ay-em, motivated. The nonsense we smurfs tolerate is unbelievable! That road leads to chaos increased exponentially. I'll not go down it any further.
This is written over the weekend; one of the difficulties I find most consistently is time allocation. Prioritization even takes second to that, and an observer uneducated as to the variegated idiosyncrasies making me myself likely would think it ridiculous that one in a situation with nothing but time has that concern.
A truer picture of my situation emerges when considering the following, however: even though the day begins pre-dawn, I don't. I may put a pretense of being functional during these hours on, but I'm stuck in quicksand. I continue on until 1-2 in the afternoon, when my brain finally shakes loose from the medicine-induced haze/fog. Then I spend an hour (give or take) washing and getting rid of crustacaens. At that point, I have approximately 1/2 hour until the third and last meal is brought around. So I don't get involved in much other than light reading, as it wouldn't make sense to be deep into a project and have to stop to eat. I'll come back to that in a second. If our schedule isn't changed, after eating, I've taken meds designed with protecting a safari from charging rhinos, and only have two hours, longest, to do whatever I'm going to do. All of this is accomplished on my own while in an extremely bitter/resentful mood. Just when I'm fully coming around, I have to take that medicine again! There has to be another solution, allowing for more clarity of thought/purpose.
It may be needless to point out all this is performed under the duress of constant watchfulness, lest we be surprised by another dorm-inspired/shakedown, as on the 24th! In my opinion, a black mark for security--all they found was one mattress that had a lighter/cigarettes in it the guy didn't even know were there. Constant unrelenting tension can't be conducive to a long and healthy life, but then I don't know all I'm going to, either.
I'm slowly getting over my irascibility now (at 12 noon), and trying to recall what exactly I'm going to get delivered tomorrow from our "Canteen." I've done the sugar rush so often it's killing me. This time I believe I went for the other end of the spectrum from doughy/sweet/fatty. Before I get caught up in my head, J. says hi.
I remember a joke you'll hopefully appreciate. More of a truism, really. Speaks to the prevailing attitude afflicting the one on the street. The difference in major and minor surgeries? Major if it's mine, minor if it's yours.
Though I despise loathingly what passes for T.V. now. There was a time I'd have to be physically removed from the presence of one. Among my favorites was "Monty Python's Flying Circus," an hour's worth of unrelated skits featuring some notable English comedians (John Cleese, Michael Palin, Eric Idle). The exact reason it was a favorite show is that it required the use of my mind to "get" most of the humor in it. Several times during the show, a brief musical interlude would play, and there would be words on the screen announcing "And Now Something Completely Different," followed by a bare foot squashing all of it.
So, And Now. . .I'm afraid I may accidentally have settled into a lifetime niche now. Let me explain, please. Through few conscious choices, I landed in a situation that bred little other than antagonism toward others, blotted out daily by the chemical sledge of medication. By way of reaction to living (?) under coercion and threat of violence constantly, I at first used drugs as a commonly-accepted denominator, negating the medications I was on.
When I finally realized abusing my brain with the yo-yo effect drugs had, I quit the extra-curricular abuse. A brief time later, the place where I dwelled (solely responsible for the medications I was taking), ran out, claiming there was nothing badly wrong with me, and I'd be surely getting re-medicated around 12/1/09. They were wrong. After telling the nurses many times I was unwell, I lost control and beat a man nearly to death for a minor offense.
The cycle of nearly making it someplace I wouldn't be bothered much, but removing all doubt about my ability to thrive at such a place, had set in. Now, looking at my possible choices when released from prison, I fear the same type thing will occur just as I near a break-away point. That's what makes it tough on me to relax sometimes. Thus far, I've only been offered two equally distasteful options to a repetition of losing control: spending the rest of my mobile years blottoed on meds, or playing doctor and self-medicating. That's it. Thay all may have small differences, but come down to either of the two above on closer scrutiny. Please let me know if any other ways come to you.
Reality is tough to accept as a whole, so I put it off in hopes I'd figure another way around my fortune. As concisely-real as I'm able to, these are the two options I'm faced with for a future life: blitzed out of my mind unconscious, or gambling with my freedoms. Those words are what I've been reduced to (?). Both unfortunate and true, my prison is extended until my final rest.
So you see, all is not anywhere close to the rosy-colored picture after release, but I still would just as soon take the lessons I'm learning here back into the society that's still sleeping and try to wake it/them.
On a much-preferred lighter note, I'm 1/2 done with Outliers--what a mind-set he's got! Though it's been slower going, it looks outward, where Blink looked inward. I still think the Orwell book Animal Farm has any contest hands down, though I suspect you've read it, and you know that in spite of the title, the book isn't really about farm animals in the least! Ease back down a couple notches there. I don't want to compound my problems by getting onto a subversive rant. I will state that I'm weary of dumbing myself down so more can understand what I'm about.
By only having read a book and 1/2, I've already got a sense of respect and admiration for Mr. Gladwell, but don't know (relatively) much about what gives him such a unique take on the ways of people. All I really (think) know about him is what is listed under his picture in a few condensed sentences. He's got an extraordinary grasp of ordinary things/people/ways.
Not all is gloom and doom. We did get enough rain to give the firefighters the needed edge to get the fires out here in the big-bend area. I understand the Governor almost declared it a state-of-emergency. I've written myself into, out of, back into, and back out of depression, figure I'll quit while I'm still at least a head. All the available light is leaking out the window, now anyway. Remember, life is for living--see that you do. Why yes, thank you. I'd love a cup of coffee. Right. I need to seek help in keeping my single marble from rolling away.
Your chemically-altered friend,
James
Letter 61
July 3, 2011
Dear Renelle,
It's Sunday, 7/3 now, and seemingly full ahead stop for the smurf population here. I have a letter detailing much of my internal-external insignificant minutia (possibly needlessly), which awaits the resumption of the mail. Many apologies if my words seem vague. It is early in the day yet for me to gain my usual masterful style of prose. That window won't open for another five hours, at least.
The wheels of justice continue alternately squeezing and stretching us to unheard of limits. By us, I mean all the smurfs in the prisons. By which, I refer to the showers last night. Now, it would only be logical, to my reasoning at least, that as we are kept locked in a cramped cell with someone we may or may not get along with, that the "Second Team" on duty would want to make things we do as easy as possible, right?
No, not, negative, and furthermore, denied. Why? State-secret, comrade. I look forward now (there's been a mass transfer away from here recently) to coming out of the cell into the only other part of the building we call the dayroom, during the too-brief times we're permitted to bathe, relax(!), watch T.V. (hated), etc. Now, or more correctly, last night, they've instituted yet another strictly-enforced policy. We only have a (very) brief time to be trimmed up, and to shower, dry, relax, and get back to our concrete caves. We are searched thoroughly before and after, and watched the entire time we're out of the cell(s), an understandable precaution--only if we had regular access to weapons and were the type disposed with a violent temperament. None of that (fortunately) exists here now, though. The only thing being accomplished by these measures is a growing resentment of authority, which is exactly counter to what would inspire cooperation.
I'm only hoping this presents my views in a pretense of calm not felt. My psyche is taking some major abuse here lately. Next will be some type of thought police. I'm beginning to forget what it was like to just walk and think, for its own sake.
Miss having a life the same way. Being a prisoner has only really added a single inescapable discipline to whatever makes up me. That is, that especially when
it could even be less preferable than a tonsillectomy with no anesthesia, there no choice but compliance. Not strictly true, maybe, but the only choice not involving immediate pain and loss for quiet a while, and whatever it was comes back anyway. Sorry I'm so negative. I need a vacation from this vacation!
If I'd been granted a more permanent protective custody status on an earlier request for it sometime last year when I began running into this gang of problems and adversities, I likely wouldn't have had to suffer a fourth of the abuses I have. There is a quality of learning well-disguised by affliction, though, for me, permanent disfiguration and life-threatening illness aside, pain is a universal motivator. Even fear of pain is usually enough to get me into compliance.
As anyone will freely volunteer, though, these places were never intended to be reliant on a system of honor, especially those having direct and recent experience in one. There's a song by Don Henley (late of Eagles fame) called "Heart of the Matter" that was released a good decade ago as a solo effort, that contains very provocative lyrics. When I run into that song playing anywhere now, though, the line in it where he claims he's "learning to live without you now" means something totally different to me. I think of the "you" in the song as a way of life I led for so long. Makes sense to me, anyway. I'm closing in on the window where I'm clear-headed for about three hours; and now must ready myself for our lunch.
Horrible, though brief, like taking some medications. I've certainly done enough of that during my time(s) in this body! I've been thinking about what I'd do when I'm released from prison. What I've come up with likely won't surprise anyone who knows me. I'd like to visit an "all you care to eat" buffet, and close it down because I'll eat shocking amounts of food.
There was a restaurant next to the M.S.Mall called "Headhunters" for awhile. They didn't offer a buffet, but it was a nice place to visit while at the mall for lunch or whatever. They had a meal--I forget what it was called now--that came with the bargain that if it could be eaten by one person at one sitting, that person's and everyone else's meals at the table were free. They're not open for business anymore, since I found out the terms of the deal. I've never met a pizza I didn't completely destroy, either. I don't believe I would've made a very good royal food-tester, though, as one of my traits is being fairly indiscriminate when I'm hungry. Plus, for some reason, I'm rarely sick.
Don't know how often you get to go to a theater, but there's a movie that stands out from the others Bruce Willis has been in called Unbreakable, I think. In this movie, it begins with him being the lone survivor of a train-wreck that pretty well mashed everyone to paste. He isn't even bruised. As it unfolds, both the viewer and the title character learn some very interesting stuff. He's never been hurt (cut or broken bone), doesn't feel "bad" any physically measurable way, and has never been sick a day in his life! The only time he's vulnerable to anything is when he's in the shower or caught in the rain.
Now, it takes a different spin and switches to being about another man, played by Samuel Jackson. This one is confined to a wheelchair as even the smallest effort represents peril to him. He's always breaking this or that bone, getting sick and what have you, except when he's in a bath or in a rainstorm. The movie jumps from Bruce's life of freedoms to Sam's life of continuously growing fears he'll be injured and killed in the course of an ordinary (for him) day. I forget how the movie ends exactly, but believe Bruce is injured while saving his friend Sam from a fire.
I describe the pertinent points so that it would follow better when I claim that, when I came into the prison system I was more like an unbreakable guy. Now though, having been afflicted in isolation for a time and terrorized by guards for the joy they received from it, I'm more broken in more ways than I realize. None of the isolation/terrorized happened at S_, but it's the kind of accumulation of injuries impossible to bounce back from, considering my age and other handicaps. It speaks to my ability to stay off the radar that I've even survived this long.
A sense of humor has been essential to me at times. There have been times while during the previous stint in hell, I had a choice of either laughing at myself, or becoming even more enraged at my predicament. I don't even like myself when I'm in that state.
I've completely given up my former right to be right, which goes a long way toward avoiding needless mental mish-mash. It's finally sinking in, I can't win or be right in here. As close to being able to explain mental mish-mash as I can, is that it's similar to being another of my euphemisms: a mental splinter, specifically, the more a splinter is dug at. The smaller and still-painful splinters have to be taken out.
Ah, the window is open!
I may have given myself some kind of gastric hemorrhage with the way I've got to eat the kitchen output lately. There are 14 cells on the level we're on. We're the #9 cell--so they get an officer to start at one end going down to give us the trays. As soon as he makes it to the end, they start picking them up. I can generally represent myself fairly in an eating contest, but that's over the top! Surely this perpetuates a convict/criminal mentality, somehow.
At any event, I've been darted and begin to look for a hole in my eyelid. Window shutting rapidly now--must abandon efforts at lettering.
There is an unsubstantiated rumor making the rounds that to further cut operational costs, the laundry is going to only wash our whites one day a week. That is all well and good, if you don't care what others think about walking around with an aura of filth. Difficult enough as it is, since they no longer replace them except if you happen to be very fortunate. I'm down to one to wear, and a spare "T" and a boxer. Socks I've got plenty of, as I seldom wear any. If one is lucky enough to get an actual full-size towel, they'd be wise to guard it constantly, as it's pretty well theirs for the duration of the stay.
For some inexplicable reason, I'm feeling less oppressed and generally happier about things now. I'm sure this is a passing feeling, though. I'm not trying to self-prescribe my meds (Lord knows I've done that enough!), but I keep coming back to the REmeron making me feel really awful and unmotivated compared to the way I was without it. I see no purpose to continue taking it. Doing so adds nothng to my outgoing, positive and gregarious attitude/nature. Of course, do I actually possess that spirit of outgoing friendliness, or has it been chemically manufactured in me? One may not ever know truly the answer to such a question, possibly.
Anyway, hope your 4th was more enjoyable than mine (I feel like I've got a fair chance of that, considering. . . .). It's my understanding that I need to physically grab the order forms out of these ugly idiots' hands, somehow. That truly will be a magic trick to do from the inside of a cell! Ya think?
Your ambulatorily-challenged friend,
James
Dear Renelle,
It's Sunday, 7/3 now, and seemingly full ahead stop for the smurf population here. I have a letter detailing much of my internal-external insignificant minutia (possibly needlessly), which awaits the resumption of the mail. Many apologies if my words seem vague. It is early in the day yet for me to gain my usual masterful style of prose. That window won't open for another five hours, at least.
The wheels of justice continue alternately squeezing and stretching us to unheard of limits. By us, I mean all the smurfs in the prisons. By which, I refer to the showers last night. Now, it would only be logical, to my reasoning at least, that as we are kept locked in a cramped cell with someone we may or may not get along with, that the "Second Team" on duty would want to make things we do as easy as possible, right?
No, not, negative, and furthermore, denied. Why? State-secret, comrade. I look forward now (there's been a mass transfer away from here recently) to coming out of the cell into the only other part of the building we call the dayroom, during the too-brief times we're permitted to bathe, relax(!), watch T.V. (hated), etc. Now, or more correctly, last night, they've instituted yet another strictly-enforced policy. We only have a (very) brief time to be trimmed up, and to shower, dry, relax, and get back to our concrete caves. We are searched thoroughly before and after, and watched the entire time we're out of the cell(s), an understandable precaution--only if we had regular access to weapons and were the type disposed with a violent temperament. None of that (fortunately) exists here now, though. The only thing being accomplished by these measures is a growing resentment of authority, which is exactly counter to what would inspire cooperation.
I'm only hoping this presents my views in a pretense of calm not felt. My psyche is taking some major abuse here lately. Next will be some type of thought police. I'm beginning to forget what it was like to just walk and think, for its own sake.
Miss having a life the same way. Being a prisoner has only really added a single inescapable discipline to whatever makes up me. That is, that especially when
it could even be less preferable than a tonsillectomy with no anesthesia, there no choice but compliance. Not strictly true, maybe, but the only choice not involving immediate pain and loss for quiet a while, and whatever it was comes back anyway. Sorry I'm so negative. I need a vacation from this vacation!
If I'd been granted a more permanent protective custody status on an earlier request for it sometime last year when I began running into this gang of problems and adversities, I likely wouldn't have had to suffer a fourth of the abuses I have. There is a quality of learning well-disguised by affliction, though, for me, permanent disfiguration and life-threatening illness aside, pain is a universal motivator. Even fear of pain is usually enough to get me into compliance.
As anyone will freely volunteer, though, these places were never intended to be reliant on a system of honor, especially those having direct and recent experience in one. There's a song by Don Henley (late of Eagles fame) called "Heart of the Matter" that was released a good decade ago as a solo effort, that contains very provocative lyrics. When I run into that song playing anywhere now, though, the line in it where he claims he's "learning to live without you now" means something totally different to me. I think of the "you" in the song as a way of life I led for so long. Makes sense to me, anyway. I'm closing in on the window where I'm clear-headed for about three hours; and now must ready myself for our lunch.
Horrible, though brief, like taking some medications. I've certainly done enough of that during my time(s) in this body! I've been thinking about what I'd do when I'm released from prison. What I've come up with likely won't surprise anyone who knows me. I'd like to visit an "all you care to eat" buffet, and close it down because I'll eat shocking amounts of food.
There was a restaurant next to the M.S.Mall called "Headhunters" for awhile. They didn't offer a buffet, but it was a nice place to visit while at the mall for lunch or whatever. They had a meal--I forget what it was called now--that came with the bargain that if it could be eaten by one person at one sitting, that person's and everyone else's meals at the table were free. They're not open for business anymore, since I found out the terms of the deal. I've never met a pizza I didn't completely destroy, either. I don't believe I would've made a very good royal food-tester, though, as one of my traits is being fairly indiscriminate when I'm hungry. Plus, for some reason, I'm rarely sick.
Don't know how often you get to go to a theater, but there's a movie that stands out from the others Bruce Willis has been in called Unbreakable, I think. In this movie, it begins with him being the lone survivor of a train-wreck that pretty well mashed everyone to paste. He isn't even bruised. As it unfolds, both the viewer and the title character learn some very interesting stuff. He's never been hurt (cut or broken bone), doesn't feel "bad" any physically measurable way, and has never been sick a day in his life! The only time he's vulnerable to anything is when he's in the shower or caught in the rain.
Now, it takes a different spin and switches to being about another man, played by Samuel Jackson. This one is confined to a wheelchair as even the smallest effort represents peril to him. He's always breaking this or that bone, getting sick and what have you, except when he's in a bath or in a rainstorm. The movie jumps from Bruce's life of freedoms to Sam's life of continuously growing fears he'll be injured and killed in the course of an ordinary (for him) day. I forget how the movie ends exactly, but believe Bruce is injured while saving his friend Sam from a fire.
I describe the pertinent points so that it would follow better when I claim that, when I came into the prison system I was more like an unbreakable guy. Now though, having been afflicted in isolation for a time and terrorized by guards for the joy they received from it, I'm more broken in more ways than I realize. None of the isolation/terrorized happened at S_, but it's the kind of accumulation of injuries impossible to bounce back from, considering my age and other handicaps. It speaks to my ability to stay off the radar that I've even survived this long.
A sense of humor has been essential to me at times. There have been times while during the previous stint in hell, I had a choice of either laughing at myself, or becoming even more enraged at my predicament. I don't even like myself when I'm in that state.
I've completely given up my former right to be right, which goes a long way toward avoiding needless mental mish-mash. It's finally sinking in, I can't win or be right in here. As close to being able to explain mental mish-mash as I can, is that it's similar to being another of my euphemisms: a mental splinter, specifically, the more a splinter is dug at. The smaller and still-painful splinters have to be taken out.
Ah, the window is open!
I may have given myself some kind of gastric hemorrhage with the way I've got to eat the kitchen output lately. There are 14 cells on the level we're on. We're the #9 cell--so they get an officer to start at one end going down to give us the trays. As soon as he makes it to the end, they start picking them up. I can generally represent myself fairly in an eating contest, but that's over the top! Surely this perpetuates a convict/criminal mentality, somehow.
At any event, I've been darted and begin to look for a hole in my eyelid. Window shutting rapidly now--must abandon efforts at lettering.
There is an unsubstantiated rumor making the rounds that to further cut operational costs, the laundry is going to only wash our whites one day a week. That is all well and good, if you don't care what others think about walking around with an aura of filth. Difficult enough as it is, since they no longer replace them except if you happen to be very fortunate. I'm down to one to wear, and a spare "T" and a boxer. Socks I've got plenty of, as I seldom wear any. If one is lucky enough to get an actual full-size towel, they'd be wise to guard it constantly, as it's pretty well theirs for the duration of the stay.
For some inexplicable reason, I'm feeling less oppressed and generally happier about things now. I'm sure this is a passing feeling, though. I'm not trying to self-prescribe my meds (Lord knows I've done that enough!), but I keep coming back to the REmeron making me feel really awful and unmotivated compared to the way I was without it. I see no purpose to continue taking it. Doing so adds nothng to my outgoing, positive and gregarious attitude/nature. Of course, do I actually possess that spirit of outgoing friendliness, or has it been chemically manufactured in me? One may not ever know truly the answer to such a question, possibly.
Anyway, hope your 4th was more enjoyable than mine (I feel like I've got a fair chance of that, considering. . . .). It's my understanding that I need to physically grab the order forms out of these ugly idiots' hands, somehow. That truly will be a magic trick to do from the inside of a cell! Ya think?
Your ambulatorily-challenged friend,
James
Letter 64
July 11, 2011
Dear Mom,
How are you? Hopefully well in all respects. Today marks the start of my sixth month on C.M. status. Oh joy is me. I realized how one or more of my letters may have caused you undue concern and even though conditions here are what they are...there is no cause for worry (yet).
J. has a ton of haphazard things on his mind, so although his attitude and behavior seem erratic to me, they are really only a response to pressures I've got no idea about. He has indicated to me on a couple of occasions previously his intention to write you a brief note of thanks.
In any event, I saw the teacher today. I had to remind him of the fact I have already passed the GED exam and likely will need to remind him several more times until it sinks in. He fed me a list of the courses I qualify for now; two of the three allowed I picked were Life Management and Personal Fitness. I'm leaning toward English or Language Arts for the 3rd course but can't decide.
As with everything else, the prices on the food we are permitted have gone up...again. Shockingly, so have other non-associated costs. What I labor to convey is summed up best, I think, by these words: Although I'm not needy yet, I foresee going through my account in a much speedier way. Costs rise, while quality and quantity fall off. Such is life here.
A guy I had a nodding acquaintance with was likely into a great many things I've got no idea about. What is known about the shadier aspects of his dealings is...the most destructive and harmful side...he and a nurse were "caught in the act" and both either let go or transferred very soon after the incident. Even though I maintained doubtfulness as to her level of training/effectiveness, she never tried to give me the wrong meds. What those meds do to me is another story, though.
The other part of this scandal is apparently she was helping get contraband items brought to this guy, which he would then sell at quite a profit. Although I'm no slouch, I knew none of this until after the fact, of course. Now, the same nurse has to cover two buildings instead of the single building she formerly covered. This will go on until they break into their vast resources and hire another untrained soul.
Well, "lunch" is here, meaning the cart is physically inside, but they are still coming back from the Recreation Yard so it may take much longer until we eat. There, I've taken the meds...it was instantly forgettable.
I'm amassing an astounding body of knowledge. I've already nearly read all the books you sent! Much as I appreciate that being done for me, the next time could you include some Thomas Perry please?
Even though there is probably much I've failed to include, I'm confronted squarely with a choice: Either send this out as is or take a chance on it getting damaged while I wrack my addled mind for what I've forgotten. I think I'll fall back and punt. Please let me know how your Sister Karolyn is out in Arizona. I haven't heard from her in quite some time now. Thank you.
Much love and regards,
James
P.S. A late-breaking item: Please include a pair of readers next time I see you. Thanks.
Dear Mom,
How are you? Hopefully well in all respects. Today marks the start of my sixth month on C.M. status. Oh joy is me. I realized how one or more of my letters may have caused you undue concern and even though conditions here are what they are...there is no cause for worry (yet).
J. has a ton of haphazard things on his mind, so although his attitude and behavior seem erratic to me, they are really only a response to pressures I've got no idea about. He has indicated to me on a couple of occasions previously his intention to write you a brief note of thanks.
In any event, I saw the teacher today. I had to remind him of the fact I have already passed the GED exam and likely will need to remind him several more times until it sinks in. He fed me a list of the courses I qualify for now; two of the three allowed I picked were Life Management and Personal Fitness. I'm leaning toward English or Language Arts for the 3rd course but can't decide.
As with everything else, the prices on the food we are permitted have gone up...again. Shockingly, so have other non-associated costs. What I labor to convey is summed up best, I think, by these words: Although I'm not needy yet, I foresee going through my account in a much speedier way. Costs rise, while quality and quantity fall off. Such is life here.
A guy I had a nodding acquaintance with was likely into a great many things I've got no idea about. What is known about the shadier aspects of his dealings is...the most destructive and harmful side...he and a nurse were "caught in the act" and both either let go or transferred very soon after the incident. Even though I maintained doubtfulness as to her level of training/effectiveness, she never tried to give me the wrong meds. What those meds do to me is another story, though.
The other part of this scandal is apparently she was helping get contraband items brought to this guy, which he would then sell at quite a profit. Although I'm no slouch, I knew none of this until after the fact, of course. Now, the same nurse has to cover two buildings instead of the single building she formerly covered. This will go on until they break into their vast resources and hire another untrained soul.
Well, "lunch" is here, meaning the cart is physically inside, but they are still coming back from the Recreation Yard so it may take much longer until we eat. There, I've taken the meds...it was instantly forgettable.
I'm amassing an astounding body of knowledge. I've already nearly read all the books you sent! Much as I appreciate that being done for me, the next time could you include some Thomas Perry please?
Even though there is probably much I've failed to include, I'm confronted squarely with a choice: Either send this out as is or take a chance on it getting damaged while I wrack my addled mind for what I've forgotten. I think I'll fall back and punt. Please let me know how your Sister Karolyn is out in Arizona. I haven't heard from her in quite some time now. Thank you.
Much love and regards,
James
P.S. A late-breaking item: Please include a pair of readers next time I see you. Thanks.
Letter 63
July 8, 2011
Dear Mom,
I was just wallowing in my self-made misery and got the urge to share some of my thoughts on my future after I'm released. As it gets closer, I'm able to see details clearly enough that it isn't quite as rosy as I'd dreamed it to be. Let me back out of this gracefully to inquire how you are getting along lately. After all, it has been since last month that I've written to you. How is everything going? Smooth as a digital watch, hopefully. So far, at least, it is calm here. J. says "hi." Hope you had a good 4th.
Back to my extended period of imprisonment after I leave here. I'm aware of how little sense that makes, from the usual point of view. I don't envision a possible life without being fed tranquilizers daily after I reach the world beyond the gate again. The way I see it, I'll have to stay doped up all the time so that an incident similar to beating the guy almost to death doesn't recur.
As distasteful as that seems to me, the alternative involves me self-medicating, and bitter experience has taught me that isn't even to be considered. Those options (really only one), are what I foresee after release from these cells. Facing these realities is difficult for me and I haven't gone into them before now on the thin hope that a different future would present itself to me.
Oh, I don't know if I included it in my last letter, but I have the books you bought for me and am half way through The Outliers already! What a tremendous mind! I don't even "get" him until I've reread it sometimes. M. Gladwell may just be the best author alive, in my opinion; certainly the best of the ones I've got access to here.
I'm going to do something, as I am able, about my dietary/exercise habits so that I don't get released and die of a heart attack. I don't know what exactly...but the next time you see me my proportions will be different. It is a shame Laura isn't going to visit, but the timing isn't right and I understand.
J. and I had an actual conversation last night regarding the plans I've got when I'm released from C.M. next month sometime. He suggested a faith-based program that is...get this...only as far from you as Daytona! From the way he describes it, it would suit me precisely as an exit strategy. No stranger to faith-based organizations am I. I imagine he has been to most all the prisons in the Florida-Georgia-Alabama region after all the time he's served...so far (30 years!), so I believe him without a doubt; again, E.F. Hutton comes to mind.
On the flip side, the Florida fires were at the point of burning the whole state until the much needed rains during this time of year let the fire fighters get a very slight edge in the battle. Don't know how true this is, but I heard that good old Rick was touring the areas damaged by fire to possibly declare the whole of the bend an emergency zone and that he is planning to chip in with FEMA funds. Guess it was tough for him to give the budget a rest from all the cutting. I've changed my mind and no longer wish to be associated with the government in any way whatsoever. I've got my reasons for this development. To list them in this medium would be tantamount to leading with my chin, in boxing terminology.
During the next visit I receive, I'll discuss some of my plans both pre- and post-release with you and get your input on them while unclouded by tranquilizers. With that,I believe all the bases have been touched on and I'm on the way home (at last!) Clear a path, I'm coming in for a landing...in many ways.
Much love and regards,
James
Dear Mom,
I was just wallowing in my self-made misery and got the urge to share some of my thoughts on my future after I'm released. As it gets closer, I'm able to see details clearly enough that it isn't quite as rosy as I'd dreamed it to be. Let me back out of this gracefully to inquire how you are getting along lately. After all, it has been since last month that I've written to you. How is everything going? Smooth as a digital watch, hopefully. So far, at least, it is calm here. J. says "hi." Hope you had a good 4th.
Back to my extended period of imprisonment after I leave here. I'm aware of how little sense that makes, from the usual point of view. I don't envision a possible life without being fed tranquilizers daily after I reach the world beyond the gate again. The way I see it, I'll have to stay doped up all the time so that an incident similar to beating the guy almost to death doesn't recur.
As distasteful as that seems to me, the alternative involves me self-medicating, and bitter experience has taught me that isn't even to be considered. Those options (really only one), are what I foresee after release from these cells. Facing these realities is difficult for me and I haven't gone into them before now on the thin hope that a different future would present itself to me.
Oh, I don't know if I included it in my last letter, but I have the books you bought for me and am half way through The Outliers already! What a tremendous mind! I don't even "get" him until I've reread it sometimes. M. Gladwell may just be the best author alive, in my opinion; certainly the best of the ones I've got access to here.
I'm going to do something, as I am able, about my dietary/exercise habits so that I don't get released and die of a heart attack. I don't know what exactly...but the next time you see me my proportions will be different. It is a shame Laura isn't going to visit, but the timing isn't right and I understand.
J. and I had an actual conversation last night regarding the plans I've got when I'm released from C.M. next month sometime. He suggested a faith-based program that is...get this...only as far from you as Daytona! From the way he describes it, it would suit me precisely as an exit strategy. No stranger to faith-based organizations am I. I imagine he has been to most all the prisons in the Florida-Georgia-Alabama region after all the time he's served...so far (30 years!), so I believe him without a doubt; again, E.F. Hutton comes to mind.
On the flip side, the Florida fires were at the point of burning the whole state until the much needed rains during this time of year let the fire fighters get a very slight edge in the battle. Don't know how true this is, but I heard that good old Rick was touring the areas damaged by fire to possibly declare the whole of the bend an emergency zone and that he is planning to chip in with FEMA funds. Guess it was tough for him to give the budget a rest from all the cutting. I've changed my mind and no longer wish to be associated with the government in any way whatsoever. I've got my reasons for this development. To list them in this medium would be tantamount to leading with my chin, in boxing terminology.
During the next visit I receive, I'll discuss some of my plans both pre- and post-release with you and get your input on them while unclouded by tranquilizers. With that,I believe all the bases have been touched on and I'm on the way home (at last!) Clear a path, I'm coming in for a landing...in many ways.
Much love and regards,
James
Letter 62
July 8, 2011
Dear Mom,
Hope you are well. I continue to be slowly broken down by confinement. Even J. is taken aback by the bold silliness apparently motivating some of the latest policies enforced. One example of this is the seemingly endless shakedowns/strip searches in an environment where nothing at all can possibly ever be found, as the smurfs have exactly zero access to anything beyond the relatively small amount of food we get from the canteen. That aspect of the enforcement is purely futile.
I'd ask to be advocated for, but have no idea who the appeal would be addressed to. Its source, I feel, is from the "old-boy network" still in place at many of the prisons statewide. They have only a vague idea of how to get us to line up and bow down, so they import an authority figure from the verge of retirement to kick heads in until their goal is met. Either way it pans out, they are the undisputed winners. If some difficulties emerge unforeseen, the ones actually getting mixed in with all the dirt are sacrificed up to the one responsible (at last) with nothing to lose as he is about to retire.
I know I'm not one to cause disturbance for no reason anymore, and I don't believe J. is either as he is looking at being kept here for the balance of his lifetime. He realizes age no longer will forgive a lapse of reason that would accomplish being any closer to his goal of returning to Cuba. The officers I've spoken with all agree that these policies are needlessly strict, but they have to follow them to keep their jobs. When pressed, they further tell me they can't do these dehumanizing acts for the next five years until they are in a position of authority and will either quit or work at another prison to continue to provide for their families.
Now I get to the point of this distressing letter: The only thing I see and foresee happening from these new policies being enforced (with a gun pointed at the officers) is a very negative reaction on the part of the officers themselves. They are forced into a no-win position by those they never see, such as those in the capitol. Then, it's unwise to torment the deranged, as not all are here for a lengthy sentence. One day, they will be forced to release us and then we are free to report these abuses to the real authorities.
In the meantime, I wait for a lunch that will likely be late, cold, flavorless, and repulsive. Small too, but then it wouldn't hurt me to lose a little of the fat on me. I'm tired from no R.E.M. sleep due to the medications I take daily now, so I'm always in danger of stalling out. I exist in a very unpleasant state between waking and sleeping, not fully either. I'm pushing the limit as to what the censor will put up with in these letters as it is, and therefore unable to stress the words I need to make the points clearer.
Being as I'm unable to sufficiently explain myself by reason of being hampered in stressing parts and pertinent words due to censorial scrutiny, I'm at a loss. The most expedient way I foresee to get out of my current situation is to control my impulses leading to independent thought/actions. Sorry if this causes you any further anxieties, I truly am. I'm sure you are at a point in your life when you need to enjoy and not worry.
If I get through the rest of the day without doing anything foolish to set me back, I'm strong enough to take what can be ladled onto me for the rest of my sentence. Although the wrongs continue to mount up, I'm fully confident I will be able to be moved on and never return. J. says "hi."
Much love and regards,
James
Dear Mom,
Hope you are well. I continue to be slowly broken down by confinement. Even J. is taken aback by the bold silliness apparently motivating some of the latest policies enforced. One example of this is the seemingly endless shakedowns/strip searches in an environment where nothing at all can possibly ever be found, as the smurfs have exactly zero access to anything beyond the relatively small amount of food we get from the canteen. That aspect of the enforcement is purely futile.
I'd ask to be advocated for, but have no idea who the appeal would be addressed to. Its source, I feel, is from the "old-boy network" still in place at many of the prisons statewide. They have only a vague idea of how to get us to line up and bow down, so they import an authority figure from the verge of retirement to kick heads in until their goal is met. Either way it pans out, they are the undisputed winners. If some difficulties emerge unforeseen, the ones actually getting mixed in with all the dirt are sacrificed up to the one responsible (at last) with nothing to lose as he is about to retire.
I know I'm not one to cause disturbance for no reason anymore, and I don't believe J. is either as he is looking at being kept here for the balance of his lifetime. He realizes age no longer will forgive a lapse of reason that would accomplish being any closer to his goal of returning to Cuba. The officers I've spoken with all agree that these policies are needlessly strict, but they have to follow them to keep their jobs. When pressed, they further tell me they can't do these dehumanizing acts for the next five years until they are in a position of authority and will either quit or work at another prison to continue to provide for their families.
Now I get to the point of this distressing letter: The only thing I see and foresee happening from these new policies being enforced (with a gun pointed at the officers) is a very negative reaction on the part of the officers themselves. They are forced into a no-win position by those they never see, such as those in the capitol. Then, it's unwise to torment the deranged, as not all are here for a lengthy sentence. One day, they will be forced to release us and then we are free to report these abuses to the real authorities.
In the meantime, I wait for a lunch that will likely be late, cold, flavorless, and repulsive. Small too, but then it wouldn't hurt me to lose a little of the fat on me. I'm tired from no R.E.M. sleep due to the medications I take daily now, so I'm always in danger of stalling out. I exist in a very unpleasant state between waking and sleeping, not fully either. I'm pushing the limit as to what the censor will put up with in these letters as it is, and therefore unable to stress the words I need to make the points clearer.
Being as I'm unable to sufficiently explain myself by reason of being hampered in stressing parts and pertinent words due to censorial scrutiny, I'm at a loss. The most expedient way I foresee to get out of my current situation is to control my impulses leading to independent thought/actions. Sorry if this causes you any further anxieties, I truly am. I'm sure you are at a point in your life when you need to enjoy and not worry.
If I get through the rest of the day without doing anything foolish to set me back, I'm strong enough to take what can be ladled onto me for the rest of my sentence. Although the wrongs continue to mount up, I'm fully confident I will be able to be moved on and never return. J. says "hi."
Much love and regards,
James
Letter 60
June 28-29, 2011
Dear Renelle,
All I have to say in the wake of your 6/22 letter is WOW! So that has kept you busy, or at least busier, lately. I'm glad you didn't come to a horrible demise out adventuring somehow. Several issues I want to broach as topics. I'll have to write quickly. The shower time nears!
Say "hi" to sis for me, please. If my comments cause embarrassment or outright pain, feel free to treat this as you would any junk mail. Your sister seems to loom ominously large within the frame of your life. I know you're saying the "she's my sister, of course!", but I didn't mean to imply an offense. Better let that tiger run off into the hills, lest it attack.
O.K. (pausing in my assault) Today my celly went outside to recreation and returned with the latest from inmate.com. The day of release from prison, all were receiving a check for $100. No longer. He came back in to tell me what an authoritative source was heard to say--that money had dropped to $50, soon to be $0.
Gotta tell my response to it, then assess the validity of it. I don't care if they keep all the money I supposedly have due to me! All they need to do is point me at the door and turn away. It will be a wrap. Now, about the truthfulness of that rumour. It came from inmate.com, need I elaborate?
From the letter, you indicate you were bitten (?) by your Gray--was that recent? It's a bit hard to figure between the repeating of it and my limited and skewed understanding. That must've been horrible! I used to get dived on by different birds because they are territorial and I was invading from their point of view, I guess. When I'd passed about a residential lot away, they stopped, being as I no longer was a "threat."
Anyway (before I go chasing rabbits) I'd better take my tranquilizer. In for the ride now. Mr. Toad's go nothing on this! Now I need to stay with my points before it kicks me to sleep.
You mentioned also that you feel I clearly articulated a bipolar state. I just call it my usual state of being conflicted about most things I see, feel, touch, and taste. It's an enormous effort just to wake up at times. The meds I take put me under so deeply that by the time I can shake off their affects, it's time to take more! I guess I ought to be aware that one of these times I won't have the luck to come back around, but that's part of the thrill involved.
I have a similar trade-off to the one you described. Greater mental acuity when not taking them. I take them primarily now because the doctor has the ability to make life extremely intense and difficult for me if I don't. I also could walk through this time asleep, so--what's to stop me?
Much reading is in my future now! I received the first shipment of books my mom had Amazon send me--a feast/famine endeavor certainly! It's not surprising to me the Board of Education in LA didn't have a record of any kind of schooling taking place--I'd never gone to school there! Unless you count the psychotic kiddie-care classes I took when I was at DePaul Hospital for the mentally unwell. I could fill an entire library writing about that place. Good times--bad times.
I feel myself getting slower now, so it won't be long before the tranquilizer I took kicks my brain flat. I don't think I"ll pursue any further eduction at this point here, but I've got time to spare. Well, the light are going out, so good night.
Your vocally-challenged friend,
James
P.S. J. says hi.
This is a continuation of notationally-meanderations and such scrawls for your consideration (I didn't finish in time for this to be mailed). The radio reception is very poor now (due to what I have no idea), but on rising for a more permanent time today at the crack of noon and catching the last part of a news item, I heard that "houses were being consumed by fires raging out of control." Because that is all I heard of it, I don't know where it is they are talking about. Compounding that, I haven't heard from my aunt (who lives in Arizona!) for at least 2-3 weeks now. I worry about her house being burnt down. That's the way my day started.
I know I shouldn't. She is after all, a wise enough woman to realize a fire big enough to involve three states now is immune to reason. Also, surely there's insurance to factor in as well. Money just won't replace life, or memories for that matter. Her husband and she likely are far away from the danger of the fire, in any case. So I'm not so much concerned with her dying by fire as I am the loss of the house and all that's in it.
The following represents none of my personal views and reflects no thought I've had in any way. One would be hard-pressed to think of a more thorough disclaimer than the above, I believe. I'm addicted. Yes, verily verily I say unto thee. I suppose there are more harmful (things/ways?) to be pinioned by (boiling it down); yet--during my final moments, I submit to beforehand that any addiction amounts to being equally as harmful as any other.
Even though there is trouble at the moment between J. and me, I feel it's the sort of storm that has swept away all of the weak structures we base the relationship on, leaving behind the sturdier columns to renew it on. This type of storm has a tremendous value, in that it clears the way for a much more secure and mutually beneficial partnership.
If I'm wrong, it's not a life or death matter, and if I'm right, it proves my ability to make a sound choice based on very little information. So.
Back to the supposition that all addictions are equally--inherently--harmful. I retract that, to be able to "say" most addicitions are equally--inherently--harmful that I'm aware of. Of course, some lead ever downward toward that great point of equalization, mysterious because few know what lies beyond it (death)--but I do. I dare tell of wickedness, betrayal, and disloyalty eventually culminating in what I can only describe as an act of self-destructiveness all but guaranteed to end life as I knew it.
It's very possible I'm wrong in most of my assertions; but I ask you to consider the corollary evidence before deciding if I'm wrong, just wrong for you, or not fit for public. I have (still) flashes of ideas so brilliant and inspired as to defy even a healthy imagination; but before I'm able to record them, they evaporate entirely, leaving no residue. Furthermore, I cannot describe what it's like to "behave," as I've never been the least model of acceptable behavior myself.
We've got a Col. who is a strict, stern disciplinarian, from available accounts, making up rules/policies hourly, so when touring the different buildings, is unhesitant in use of force to those arbitrarily chosen to have violated a code. This, in turn, causes widespread panic and confusion at/on an institutional level.
Now awaiting a delivery of what they call lunch. It's an even more uncertain situation with J. and myself. What took place pre-dawn isn't being pushed forth by either of us. I don't feel there is a medium solution allowing both happiness; my opinion only.
So now that I've illustrated at least one of the many obstacles we face (individually and collectively) in leaving on time and unharmed in most ways--I feel freer to go over some of the other things that pass for my thoughts. Regarding artificial friends (partners, relationships, etc.), I feel I know of this, having been the pawn in many a game, sacrificed with no evident type of ritual, even. Over the past roughly two years, it's been by reason of sensitive information being broadcast without regard to consequence, also without my consent, resulting in being branded as a perpetually easy victim for the entirety of my stay there.
In forcing my entire load of "baggage" into a disciplined, responsible, obedient mold, most of what makes up my personality was sacrificed. This system of enforced compliance may work well enough in the short term, but what of the day of release? It's very possible, even likely, that these obedient D.O.C. slaves that are manufactured by threats will revert to their baseline ways in the time of release, in the weeks preceding release, possibly.
Excuse me, please. I'm getting updated on how much further the last camp I was in has fallen from being the sweetest/easiest/most desirable camp to be sent, by my new neighbor. I honestly don't mean to ignore or slight the venerated process of penning a letter--sometimes it just happens that I'm unable to divide my attention between the two.
For those like myself who have the "three strikes of death" on them (1. smaller than average, 2. unable to tolerate being struck in the head, 3. relatively short time to go in prison), some of the wisest advice I've received came from my celly at a room with a view of hell. I was told that, all being considered, it would be in the interest of my survival if I requested protective custody, pointing out the main ones after me, and got myself transferred to a different prison.
Doing so turned out to be nothing but the single most trying feat I've run into for the last 25 years! Replete with abuse of power (up to being TASED even) and sprayed with any of the three types in use at that time. Now, with the knowledge that the world didn't stop just because I'm no longer able to participate in it on my mind, I'm trying to leave this tour in my past. Besides, they likely wouldn't hesitate to write me up and spray me down now, given a reason.
There's some stuff in use now that takes the oxygen out of a cell, and I think I'll take the word of the ones who've experienced it, that it's evil, wicked, nasty, and bad--thank you.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Letter 59
June 26, 2011
Dear Renelle,
A letter to you hasn't even been mailed out yet, and I'm already at another one. Time stretches on eternally, it seems. If I'm wrong, please write me right, right? The way I see it--my position is pretty much nearly diametrically opposed to yours these days. I've got too much time on my hands, while you have too many hands on your time. There needs to be a method for balancing these conditions out.
Anyway, it was bound to happen--just a matter of when. J. is fighting either food poisoning or a virus, unknown; and because there isn't competent medical diagnosis available, he's toughing it out. Sleeping now, but I'm sure he sends his regards along.
On the other hand, I continue to be physically fairly healthy--thank God. Though fettered and starved for healthy food, I'm getting by reasonably unhindered. It's hard to stay real (after getting real) in here where I can't just leave whenever the urge takes hold. I feel this place breeds a culture unique to the prison environment, particularly in the long-term/lifer sections.
Easily mistaken as taciturn, the above group simply has lost the taste for frivolity, at one point held so dear by me. There isn't a lot of laughter ringing through here, unless it's at a guy's expense. Where there isn't a big demand for exercise, there is little available inside a cell, so most just slowly turn fatty with the available food being what it is. Mentally, we've got the guards out-matched, yet, due to the dehumanizing policies in place/enforced, we are many individuals and not able to come together as we should.
That's mainly why none of us is able to make the needed difference when things get more difficult to endure. A prime example is the food from the kitchen--daily the quality/amount goes down. Does anyone complain! To the ones who have a shot at correcting it! I feel, on just thinking of it, that 999/1000 of the guys in this situation either never had anyone like that, or drove them away by their actions/attitudes. I feel extremely fortunate to have both a mom and you on my side.
Pausing a moment on the "issues" of thinking--I know when I was sentenced to prison, the world breathed easier, as I wasn't fit for public. At the same time, though, those I care about and was close to are in a type of prison, too. Unsure how exactly to describe what I mean, but my point is the judge didn't only send me to prison, he sent all my family and those I care for too. As I've heard, though--that dog just won't hunt.
As is said in many of the self-help programs I no longer believe in, it makes no difference how we arrived here, the point is to be able to move toward a uniform health from here. We all know how to make poor choices, on and on without end, beating the same issue further into the ground. That, and--if I could've helped myself, do you really think I'd be here? These are my two most substantial contentions with self-help groups.
At any rate, I'm looking forward to being able to look back and smile on these times. As it's impossible to pick up on the point I labored so to make yesterday (6/26/11) this letter is going to be resigned to that unseen powerful hand of fate, called destiny, to only let my mind get a brief respite from the mind-shattering sameness of this place. Don't feel that needs any more elaboration. Though, I will go more in depth about a possible link between muscle memory and what the kitchen puts out for us here.
It may only be my flawed interpretation of my observations, but I think it's possible to predict what the kitchen is serving on a given day by only observing the behavior of most of us that are here for the duration. Further complicating the interpretive measures are what the individual may have on his mind; but once a baseline personality parameter has been established, it's my belief that what we will eat can be predicted with some degree of accuracy by our individual behaviors. I've self-diagnosed that I definitely need something useful to do here. Please dispose of this any way you see fit.
Your increasingly accountable friend,
James
Letter 58
June 24, 2011
Dear Renelle,
Dear Renelle,
It may seem that I'm prolific at this, and if true, for a very sound couple of reasons. At least. First, letters keep what grip I've got on reality strong. Second, I consider you one of the few that have the ability to make it safely through my "mental mine-field."
So, how are you? I feel, not being ill with anything more than a case of terminal height-deficiency, that we are as happy generally as we make our minds up to be When a situation starts to bind on me too much, I do what I need to get it resolved--or take it off like I would a coat that no longer fit me.
Don't know if you can truly understand the significance of those words--I can't emphasize without drawing the attention of a censor--but, yes! You're able to understand without any flowery additional adjectives. Please forgive my forays into/out of the world within. I had a rough day so far. I don't feel it's right to unload on you--the kind of situation where the least I'm reminded of it, the sooner it will recede from me.
For some reason, I'm reminded of a time when I chose homelessness (home-a-phobic) around the Bradenton area. The people I was around were an interesting lot, too, the most vocal of them being a self-proclaimed ex-boxer (that gegularly delivered K.O. punches to himself), but I stayed with the more peaceable ones, even though there was a language barrier firmly in place.
If I came into a large enough (over $10) amount of money, I divided it between the three of us. Odd jobs, etc., provided for this lifestyle. One evening I was deciding what would be fair to divide the $20 bill I had in my pocket between three. It was getting dark, and if the police saw anyone holding a sign for money, they'd roust them and take the money they'd collected. I was crossing a major road that ran between two highways, so I had to wait for the light to change. Across from me was a guy everyone called Dammit-man, though I've no idea why.
Screeching tires snapped me out of my reverie and in time to see Dammit-man's lifeless body hit the pavement. The car struck him so hard, it knocked both of his boots off! The driver stated he was driving along normally when the guy stepped out in front of him. It's hard for me to be sure, as I was so shocked by what I'd just witnessed, about whether the guy was in full control and it was unavoidable, or if he got distracted, or what--but none of that mattered much to Dammit-man. Being as it was a sports car that hit him (Fiat XI-9), it clipped him at mid-shin height first, taking him out of his boots--then somehow moving the impact to his entire body before stopping--the car, I mean. His broken body was flung some 75 feet through the air.
Shocked by the horror of it, I stepped into traffic myself, nearly being hit in the bargain. It would be relatively easy to understand if either the driver or the victim were drunk, or obviously influenced by some other drug. It's kind of stuck in my throat like a bone that refuses to go down (into acceptance) or be coughed up. I'm still unsurewhat being coughed up would represent. One thing is for certain, though, he won't be putting his two cents in anymore.
Why I'm recalling that especially is beyond my ken. Nothing good came of it. The experience was horrifying to all the witnesses, because of mainly being so violence-intensive and time-compressed, as well as being inconvenient to thousands who didn't see anything, but were re-routed to let police onto the scene. Maybe it's because of the way it happened, without any obvious explanation, that I continue to struggle with accepting it, I don't know.
Please forgive my using this letter as a staging-table during lunch; it's the cleanest thing within easy reach. J. says hi. I'll let the sugar-rush take me away for the (hopefully) rest of today. Sorry for this letter being on a gloomy and dismal note. Occasionally I run into a difficult spot to process. Anyhow,
Your realistic friend,
James
Letter 57
June 22-23, 2011
Dear Renelle,
Though I'm physically healthy enough not to need exercise beyond daily activity for about 5 more years, I grow concerned regarding the other two major areas requiring upkeep. Mentally, which I consider my strong suit, I'm either in a period of stagnation or suspended-animation, depending on your point of view. Seen from the point many of my keepers have, I'm in a kind of suspension much like that of one cryogenically frozen, while still subject to all the differing stresses and aging. In the views of myself and the few known to have similar outlooks, though, I'm being stagnated--to death, I fear at times.
There's an expression that goes, I'm a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed bull Dookie. More truth is expressed in that rather blunt saying than could be expressed in a half page of written words, I think. Yet, in order to be clear, some definition must be established before proceeding. (1) mushrooms are fungi, proliferating mainly in environments where nutrients are plentiful, temperature is right, traffic minimal, and, let's not forget, it needs the dark to thrive. This leaves out water, an essential basis for all know life--but I don't feel water is that critical of a building block for a 'shroom crop.
Now having established/made clearer some of my, at times, inscrutable terminology, I feel more at ease in forging ahead as planned. Or not. So much depends on one's point of view. Words fail, yet I'll take a shot at it anyway. As an example easy to relate to: from the fly's view, its world is made up entirely of either food or non-food. I don't imagine its life to be ruled by agendas or schedules, but considering that a fly's life is only a very small fraction the length of ours, it must somehow find time to reproduce its species. So, it spends the entirety of its life eating or reproducing itself. That's it. Unless/until the fly's abbreviated life span is ended suddenly by a poison or other means, it may survive as long as 2 weeks.
At the top of the list of propagators, we humans have a general intolerance for what "we" consider inferior. I don't claim exemption form these attitudes, but I'm working to correct them as much as it's possible to do so. I'll sit and retreat into a fantasy where all goes well for me and I don't harm any living organism. Realistically, though it's far different from that ideal, I'm making strides in the direction of that ideal by not intentionally doing harm to others. Mainly I keep a solitary life for now, outside of the civil and expected greetings others are (regrettably) due, I get by reading, snail-mailing with people in the free society, listening to the radio, playing solitaire, and the like.
I know through bitter experience not to put myself into a position where the most likely outcome is anger/hard feelings. Many other stressors, combined with not being medicated at all for nearly 2 weeks, came together to cause me to club another man senseless and continue until he had nearly died! For that, and other less-easily explained reasons, I don't mind the occasional bout of boredom.
This could all be discussed quite rationally by me in another setting, so I very much want to express my gratitude for your efforts in retaining these letters for me to look back on after I'm released. I'm guessing here that the reason I've go no guile (other than my ultra dry wits) towards you is that you've come to practically adopt me and you share an aspect of my "history" at least.
At any rate (rapidly being preferred), I think what made my vision deteriorate so rapidly recently is the absence of visible light for large parts of the times I read/write. Of course, that's only a theory I've got, but it's at least plausible. Have you noticed that the last couple of letters don't really have a clearly-defined starting or ending point? I just begin with a kind of stream of thought, sort of like a closed-loop film and let it seek its own direction. Admittedly, my work needs work.
Oh, nearly lost my original point in superfluous--even needless--detail. The third area I've come to be aware of could be far and away the most important. Spiritually, I'm in stagnation/enforced stasis. At this point I rely on the shots in darkness mothod almost exclusively to grow maturely. Unfortunately, this doesn't allow much for the process of faith becoming tangible, but not an area that needs much of my attention, so it works out well that way. This is an area I don't feel a mentor would be practical or beneficial in, as it would prove something I've long held to be true: familiarity breeds contempt. I'm contemptuous enough as it is.
I ask my celly, when he's talking, about certain aspects in regards to man's capacity to either build or destroy, but feel his answer could be somewhat biased by his chosen reading material. At the moment he's into a book on the holocaust et. al., called "How was it Humanly Possible?" A bit of an odd one, he--even if I do think it.
Even though it's impossible normally to occur, nothing about either myself or this situation approaches normalcy, and time constraints need to be considered as well; so I'm going to get this put in the mail now, hopefully. Write me when you feel up to it. I enjoy your views very much as they are more original and open than any others I've happened on.
Your socially retarded friend,
James
Dear Renelle,
Though I'm physically healthy enough not to need exercise beyond daily activity for about 5 more years, I grow concerned regarding the other two major areas requiring upkeep. Mentally, which I consider my strong suit, I'm either in a period of stagnation or suspended-animation, depending on your point of view. Seen from the point many of my keepers have, I'm in a kind of suspension much like that of one cryogenically frozen, while still subject to all the differing stresses and aging. In the views of myself and the few known to have similar outlooks, though, I'm being stagnated--to death, I fear at times.
There's an expression that goes, I'm a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed bull Dookie. More truth is expressed in that rather blunt saying than could be expressed in a half page of written words, I think. Yet, in order to be clear, some definition must be established before proceeding. (1) mushrooms are fungi, proliferating mainly in environments where nutrients are plentiful, temperature is right, traffic minimal, and, let's not forget, it needs the dark to thrive. This leaves out water, an essential basis for all know life--but I don't feel water is that critical of a building block for a 'shroom crop.
Now having established/made clearer some of my, at times, inscrutable terminology, I feel more at ease in forging ahead as planned. Or not. So much depends on one's point of view. Words fail, yet I'll take a shot at it anyway. As an example easy to relate to: from the fly's view, its world is made up entirely of either food or non-food. I don't imagine its life to be ruled by agendas or schedules, but considering that a fly's life is only a very small fraction the length of ours, it must somehow find time to reproduce its species. So, it spends the entirety of its life eating or reproducing itself. That's it. Unless/until the fly's abbreviated life span is ended suddenly by a poison or other means, it may survive as long as 2 weeks.
At the top of the list of propagators, we humans have a general intolerance for what "we" consider inferior. I don't claim exemption form these attitudes, but I'm working to correct them as much as it's possible to do so. I'll sit and retreat into a fantasy where all goes well for me and I don't harm any living organism. Realistically, though it's far different from that ideal, I'm making strides in the direction of that ideal by not intentionally doing harm to others. Mainly I keep a solitary life for now, outside of the civil and expected greetings others are (regrettably) due, I get by reading, snail-mailing with people in the free society, listening to the radio, playing solitaire, and the like.
I know through bitter experience not to put myself into a position where the most likely outcome is anger/hard feelings. Many other stressors, combined with not being medicated at all for nearly 2 weeks, came together to cause me to club another man senseless and continue until he had nearly died! For that, and other less-easily explained reasons, I don't mind the occasional bout of boredom.
This could all be discussed quite rationally by me in another setting, so I very much want to express my gratitude for your efforts in retaining these letters for me to look back on after I'm released. I'm guessing here that the reason I've go no guile (other than my ultra dry wits) towards you is that you've come to practically adopt me and you share an aspect of my "history" at least.
At any rate (rapidly being preferred), I think what made my vision deteriorate so rapidly recently is the absence of visible light for large parts of the times I read/write. Of course, that's only a theory I've got, but it's at least plausible. Have you noticed that the last couple of letters don't really have a clearly-defined starting or ending point? I just begin with a kind of stream of thought, sort of like a closed-loop film and let it seek its own direction. Admittedly, my work needs work.
Oh, nearly lost my original point in superfluous--even needless--detail. The third area I've come to be aware of could be far and away the most important. Spiritually, I'm in stagnation/enforced stasis. At this point I rely on the shots in darkness mothod almost exclusively to grow maturely. Unfortunately, this doesn't allow much for the process of faith becoming tangible, but not an area that needs much of my attention, so it works out well that way. This is an area I don't feel a mentor would be practical or beneficial in, as it would prove something I've long held to be true: familiarity breeds contempt. I'm contemptuous enough as it is.
I ask my celly, when he's talking, about certain aspects in regards to man's capacity to either build or destroy, but feel his answer could be somewhat biased by his chosen reading material. At the moment he's into a book on the holocaust et. al., called "How was it Humanly Possible?" A bit of an odd one, he--even if I do think it.
Even though it's impossible normally to occur, nothing about either myself or this situation approaches normalcy, and time constraints need to be considered as well; so I'm going to get this put in the mail now, hopefully. Write me when you feel up to it. I enjoy your views very much as they are more original and open than any others I've happened on.
Your socially retarded friend,
James
Letter 56
June 21, 2011
(Rnl's note: no salutation on this letter, and page number "III" at the top of the page. The first double-sided page of writing was either lost or possibly removed by prison officials, as they read all or most letters before allowing them to be mailed.)
Pressure is reduced to insignificant levels. I've got time, ink, paper, all needed items for putting out letters; and I"m alert (whatever a-"lert" is) and at peace. Hope you appreciate my former efforts, as much was occurring the time they were inked into existence (Rnl's note: likely refers to the missing pages), mostly regarding the balance of my various meds and dietary needs, enough! I won't bring that part of my activities into this.
I 'm happier about things lately. My #1 priority right now is bringing my close management (CM) time to a close and quietly moving on--if possible.
So how are you these days? If you feel overburdened, or ever at your wits-end, I ask you to please keep one thing uppermost in your thoughts for me: it's long-established scientific fact that energy cannot be destroyed. When all the window dressings are removed, what we really are is a form of energy. We all have relatives by blood/marriage, surely, but are really only nothing but an animated water-balloon when it comes down to it.
I'm in an especially good mood as, per my post-visit efforts, I have a working radio now--that cost only $2.20 to get repaired! It even works better, now, for only the cost of 5 stamps; can't beat that.
I'm also looking forward very eagerly to being able to finally (!) have a face-to-face with my daughter. My reasons are ultimately selfish for anticipating it like I am, but when the frothy emotional appeals are take away, she's my daughter, and I've missed out on far too much of her life already! There is one reality to consider, thought, if she were to see me while I'm still on CM, the visit would be dramatically shortened timewise. That's the only thing I'd change, but can't. Oh well. "Can't sing, ain't pretty, and my legs are thin." (kudos to the Fleetwood Mac song) (Rnl's note: his daughter won't likely be persuaded to visit him for some time to come.)
J. says hi and wonders why such a long wait for mail from M. I'm going to get back on a bronc that keeps throwing me, to work out with J. in a couple of minutes. Hey, I just realized--I've got everything I needed to say copied down already. How about that!
On many occasions since incarceration became an unfortunate fact of my life, all I've had is my word--alone. I am nothing apart from it/them. Above all, it's paramount to be E-Z at all times, I'm finding.
Your odoriferously offending friend,
James
(Rnl's note: no salutation on this letter, and page number "III" at the top of the page. The first double-sided page of writing was either lost or possibly removed by prison officials, as they read all or most letters before allowing them to be mailed.)
Pressure is reduced to insignificant levels. I've got time, ink, paper, all needed items for putting out letters; and I"m alert (whatever a-"lert" is) and at peace. Hope you appreciate my former efforts, as much was occurring the time they were inked into existence (Rnl's note: likely refers to the missing pages), mostly regarding the balance of my various meds and dietary needs, enough! I won't bring that part of my activities into this.
I 'm happier about things lately. My #1 priority right now is bringing my close management (CM) time to a close and quietly moving on--if possible.
So how are you these days? If you feel overburdened, or ever at your wits-end, I ask you to please keep one thing uppermost in your thoughts for me: it's long-established scientific fact that energy cannot be destroyed. When all the window dressings are removed, what we really are is a form of energy. We all have relatives by blood/marriage, surely, but are really only nothing but an animated water-balloon when it comes down to it.
I'm in an especially good mood as, per my post-visit efforts, I have a working radio now--that cost only $2.20 to get repaired! It even works better, now, for only the cost of 5 stamps; can't beat that.
I'm also looking forward very eagerly to being able to finally (!) have a face-to-face with my daughter. My reasons are ultimately selfish for anticipating it like I am, but when the frothy emotional appeals are take away, she's my daughter, and I've missed out on far too much of her life already! There is one reality to consider, thought, if she were to see me while I'm still on CM, the visit would be dramatically shortened timewise. That's the only thing I'd change, but can't. Oh well. "Can't sing, ain't pretty, and my legs are thin." (kudos to the Fleetwood Mac song) (Rnl's note: his daughter won't likely be persuaded to visit him for some time to come.)
J. says hi and wonders why such a long wait for mail from M. I'm going to get back on a bronc that keeps throwing me, to work out with J. in a couple of minutes. Hey, I just realized--I've got everything I needed to say copied down already. How about that!
On many occasions since incarceration became an unfortunate fact of my life, all I've had is my word--alone. I am nothing apart from it/them. Above all, it's paramount to be E-Z at all times, I'm finding.
Your odoriferously offending friend,
James
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