Everything continues to go according to plan. Dad and sis coming to finish moving the rest of the big stuff today, and Drew coming over after to paint the apartment. Get rid of these old, stained walls. Or cover them up, at least. Boxes everywhere, a state of disarray, but it is oddly comforting to me. I am restless by nature, and a feeling of transition calms me. It is when I completely settle that I start having problems. But that is another idea, for another time.
Today I will continue going through the journals. Forget Oz. Forget Orange is the new Black. Forget Escape from Alcatraz. Prison is mostly boring. Excitement happens, but it comes in spurts, followed by days and days of monotony.
Wednesday. 7/10/2013. 4:30 am. After breakfast. It is finally hot. Sweaty and sticky. Coffee is almost unbearable, but necessary. Left my radio on all night and killed the battery. I don't know what I will do when I get out of here. I don't want to go back to Bloomington. I don't know if I will be ale to get a job. It is scary. It gets worse every time I get out.
I will try to have a story done and ready to send to PEN contest by Monday. I will probably not be satisfied, but I need to just send one of them and stop screwing around.
Monday. 7/15/2013. He had a wild, gray/black/white thunder cloud of hair. It wasn't long, but he could never keep it together. I don't think he cared. He would wear his boots or his shower shoes to the bathroom, and then come back to his bunk and lay on top of his blanket with them still on. His footwear would have collected dirt, cock hairs, boogers, blood, semen, etc. He would rub his feet together and you could imagine everything from the bathroom floor being deposited onto his blanket. After a while, he would reverse his position and lay his head where his feet just were. He talked to himself, and drew pictures of people being killed. He had one where there was a line of people waiting to get into this huge dryer. The dryer had flames coming out of it. The caption read, "Dryer Rides!". I woke up this morning and his bunk was stripped clean. There were five pairs of indigent shower shoes, the cheap flip flops they give you when you get here, under his bunk.
Tuesday. 7/16/2013. Stressful dreams. Searching for dope. I woke up stressed out and didn't want to get up or go to breakfast. Crazy how that shit still affects me, even when I am not using it. Crazy that I go back to it. What the hell is wrong with me? Going to brush my teeth and go back to work.
Wednesday. 7/17/2013. Afternoon, in class. Hot and sticky in my brown, one piece jumpsuit. In the day room, sweating. Can't hear the video for the Spiritual Literacy class, because the fans are too loud. About twenty-five of us in a semicircle. A hemisphere. Coffee stains, food crumbs, and cock hairs litter the blue-green linoleum floor. Anthony Bourdain on the television behind the television I am supposed to be watching. Meth-heads and crackheads. Heroin junkies like me. Black boys with braids and cornrows. White boys with rubber bands in their beards. Bad tattoos. Everyone trying to get what the video is telling us to get.
Wednesday. 7/24/2013. The fan doesn't hit me and it is hot. People can't hear the video, and they sit around and complain. They installed some new machines in the day room.The machine were actually installed a few months ago,but now they are turned on. Sort of. All you can do is register your name. Supposedly you will be able to send and receive emails (45 cents a pop), and there will even be picture sharing and video conferencing. I wonder how much the half hour video visits will be? Another way to get money out of inmates and their families. Restitution comes in many forms, with many hands held out. I wonder who will be the first to get escorted out in handcuffs for waving their wiener at the screen?
Wednesday. 7/31/2013. There wasn't any soap in the bathroom. Four or five shiny, porcelain sinks. It was clean, someone had just done their civic duty and cleaned. But there was no soap. The blue and white tiles of the floor were beat up, chipped, but clean. There were names and profanities scratched into the paint, but the walls were clean. It smelt clean. Antiseptic. But there was no soap to wash your hands with. The light from the fluorescent lights bounced off the sleek, shiny, mostly white surfaces.The bulbs were bare, exposed, no covers. The light was harsh. I squinted. I wanted to wash my hands with soap, but there was no soap. I had just taken a shit. I felt like I should have soap available to wash my hands in situations like this. I rinsed my hands, and stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway. The hallway was brighter than the bathroom. One of the counselors was in the hallway. Black lady, light skinned. Beautiful. I yelled to her that there was no soap. I yelled that there were people in here with diseases and they couldn't even wash their hands. She held her hand up. "Okay," she said. "Calm down." She turned and walked down the shiny hallway and into her office.
Monday. 8/12/2013. The van stunk. It smelt of body odor, old food, and cigarette smoke. The carpet was gray, matted down from years of abuse. Crumpled McDonald's french fry wrappers and a few fries crispy with age. Two bench seats and eight passengers. Four more passengers on another bench seat behind the front seats. Everything separated by cages. The smell of rotting people and rusting metal and desperate smells made by desperate people. Uncertainty. A nineteen year old Mexican picked up in Charlotte, NC, heading back to Texas to face a double murder charge for a drive-by shooting in Houston. They have the death penalty in Texas, and they aren't afraid to use it. It was super hot in the van and super stinky. Two uniformed drivers and twelve passengers. Chains and handcuffs. Leg shackles. We ate McDonald's three times a day, seven days a week. The good drivers would pass out cigarettes after meals. Park at the back of the parking lot and pass cigarettes through the cage. One cigarette for every two smokers. Share and be nice or no more. What do the families going to their meals think? Towns in the middle of nowhere, but they have a McDonald's off the highway exit. I hope I never smell that shitty van again.
Monday. 8/19/2013. I stop to think about all the wrongs I have done, but I usually don't dwell too long. Sometimes, and it kills me. I know they are serious misdoings, but I feel that if I were to dwell on them would go insane. There is n way to repay all I have done, so the only thing I can do is try to live right from now on.
Tuesday. 8/27/2013. They are poisoning people in Syria. There are babies on the news, naked and crying. They want to kill each other, and now the US will send warships. We will get involved and kill people so we can teach them that killing is wrong. We will force our civilized ways on them using uncivilized brute force.
Tuesday. 9/3/2013. Sometimes I go pee for no reason other than boredom. I tell myself that I really don't have to go, and then I get up and walk to the bathroom, stand in front of the urinal, and dribble a little out.I end up dripping more down my leg, because I strain so hard that when I walk away it will keep coming. Slowly. I piss at least once an hour, maybe more. I should find something else to do with my time, but a routine is a routine, and it is easy to fall into a pattern here, which makes me ask myself this- If it is so easy to fall into a routine doing the things I do to avoid the things I should be doing, how come it isn't as easy to all into a routine of doing the things I should be doing? I devote as much energy, or more, avoiding things than I would expend doing them.
Monday. 9/23/2013. "She was the kind of girlfriend God gives you when young, so you'll know loss the rest of your life." Junot Diaz. From the book, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.
7/3/2012. "A man is a reasonable being and is continually in pursuit of happiness, which he hopes to find in the gratification of some passion or affection, he seldom acts or speaks or thinks without a purpose or intention. He still has some object in view; and however improper the means may sometimes be which he chooses for attainment of hie end, he never loses view of an end, nor will he so much as throw away his thoughts or reflections where he hopes not to reap any satisfaction from them." David Hume
The trick I guess, is to focus thoughts, actions, and speech in the right directions. For the right satisfactions.
Monday, January 12, 2015
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Been A While
So........ it has been a while. I have completed the torture of the Interstate Compact Process, and am now in my cozy, little apartment in North Tonawanda, New York. The moving has gone slow and comfortable. My father is coming with his truck on Sunday morning to complete the moving of the larger items from my sister's garage. I am finally comfortable. I am ready to resume my writing.
I have been reading through my prison journals, and thought I would pick a few excerpts to share. Of course, I will post them as originally written. No editing. Raw, insider's view, cutting edge journalism. Or something like that.
Here we go.
Monday. 4/15/2013. A bomb exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, and right away I am thinking religious wacko. Probably a Muslim. Is the reason I think this-- the second after finding out about the bomb --because religious people (Muslims in particular) are more likely to blow things up? Or is it because the media picks these things to sensationalize and force down our throats? Or is it because I have a prejudice against religious people? That would be tied in with the first question, because my prejudice against religious people stems from the fact that I really think many of them like to be hateful and kill shit and use their faith as an excuse. I guess I have my answer. But is my prejudice founded on anything or the result of an overzealous media? Don't know. More later.
Tuesday. 4/16/213. Forgot to sign the recreation sheet, and I think I made the officer's day. He is new to this dorm, though I have seen him around the compound. He s a dick. He yelled, "Four twelve, no rec. Forgot to sign up." There was a detectable amount of happiness in his voice, even when trying to play the "Just Doin' My Job" consummate professional. I don't fall for these things.
Still no word on the Marathon Bomber. I am placing my bets on a Conservative Christian, NRA wacko. It was Patriot's Day.
The Marathon Bombers has now replaced Theater Massacre as least tasteful band name.
Wednesday. 5/1/2013. Caryn's birthday was yesterday. I assume she is hungover right now, probably she has taken the day off work in advance. She was always a good planner for these things, whatever her other faults may be. Not that she has too many. She likes to have fun. I hope she had a good birthday. I hope her head is not giving her too much trouble this morning. Maybe she will have a Bloody Mary.
Monday. 5/27/2013. Memorial Day.
"The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them." Albert Einstein.
I am going to try and implement some better time divisions. I sit around and don't do anything. I need to have time for work, recreation, reading, and writing. I am setting a goal of 500 words a day.
Wednesday. 5/29/2013. The guy who slept diagonal from me, above my neighbor, is gone. Normal release days are Monday and Thursday, so maybe he had court or something. I thought he had a little time left. Maybe he went to the hole? Maybe his big mouth finally got him in trouble? Maybe he was abducted by aliens? Anyways, I won't miss him. He was pretty obnoxious, and had some annoying little friends who would crowd around to talk to him, invade my area, disturb my peace. I never knew his name, but goodbye. Bon Voyage.
Saturday. 6/1/013. Filled my commissary order form out. I ordered a peanut butter, a box of oatmeal, a bag of rice, four packages of black beans, two packages re-fried beans, a bag of coffee, a bar of soap, and a tube of toothpaste. A grand total of $18.87. So far, the highlight of my day.
The Dungeons and Dragons boys are at their table and the game is in full swing. A guard is walking around shaking people down. People are still sleeping or lying in their bunks watching Rawhide. 11:30 am is not terribly exciting.
I am going to try and get some writing done after lunch. I need to get something done before the September 1st deadline for the PEN contest.
Tuesday. 6/11/2013. America's Got Talent is on and I don't care about any of the acts. I just stare at Heidi Klum. I am a pervert now. Four years of living with men, and I can't look at a television show or commercial or magazine without perving out on the women. I am forty-one and I feel like I am sixteen. I have to talk myself out of masturbation twenty times a day. You would think it would get easier, but it only gets worse. If only I could focus on my writing as much as I do on lusting.
Thursday. 6/13/203. New class starts today. "Developing a Winning Attitude!" The doctor told me my blood pressure was up, and I needed to lose some weight. I have never been in the position of someone who has to lose weight. This is new.
Sunday. 6/16/2013. Some people who work here really seem to hate the people who reside here. They seem to believe they are better, and treat everyone equally shitty. Even the people not in custody uniforms, the laundry workers, the food service staff, they all act like this. It is especially weird coming from the Aramark workers in the kitchen, since it appears none of them have ever had a job or could pass a GED. They still hold their noses in the air.
GOTHIKA is on and Halle Berry has an incredible body.
Monday. 7/1/2013. First day of the pallet shop switching to two shifts. Up at 3:30 am. I think this will be a good thing for me, once the initial shock wears off. Time to read a little, drink coffee, write in the journal, and get ready for work. Work will be from 5:00 am to 11:00 am from now on, but for the first week a few of us are working some overtime. So exciting at $0.90 an hour.
The pallet shop has been good to me, though it is slave labor. I have been in a position of some authority, and I try to stay responsible. If anything, I act like a dick, then go back out of my way for people who don't appreciate it anyways. But it is good to have something like a real job in here to keep you from falling into the despair that has so many of my fellow inmates in its grip. Nothing to do all day but get in trouble, tattoo, argue with the cops or other inmates, sit around and complain. It is really a terrible life if you let it get to you. I am trying to keep myself focused, dividing my day into sections for all the things I want to accomplish, and give all my attention to the task at hand,
Tuesday. 7/2/2013. Good morning. put the laundry out. I wonder if I will ever be able to stop letting insignificant things bother me. Something will happen, usually something someone else does, completely meaningless, and I will dwell on it. I will tell myself that it is stupid to sit there and brood over this minor thing, then a week later this same thing will pop back into my head and I will dwell on it some more. I wish I could have the strength of mind to be a Stoic or a Buddhist, but it is so difficult. Especially in here. There is no way to get away from people in here. I live in a small area with 250 other people. When I get out of here I would like to go somewhere and sit by myself for a couple of days. Maybe get drunk and smoke some cigarettes.
Friday. 7/5/2013. Wednesday we had no work because our dorm was quarantined for treatment against the scabies epidemic that is sweeping the prison. They claim it is under control.
Yesterday was the Fourth of July, but there were no parties or BBQs or fireworks. Pretty boring, actually. Worked out, ate, slept a lot. got three stories ready to retype today at work.
The old man next to me is loud. He is sixty something and hangs around with a bunch of twenty year olds. He acts worse than they do. He tells the same stupid jokes over and over, and acts like an idiot all day long. He has the most fucked up toes I have ever seen. His big toe is huge and curls up over the tops of his other toes. I wonder how he can stand, but I guess it doesn't bother him. He had to cut the sides of his boots to fit his toes in. It doesn't stop talking about methamphetamine and having sex with sixteen year old girls. He can do that all day long.
Tomorrow is Christmas in July. The church people come in, preach for a few minutes, and give us a bag of food. The Amish sing Jesus songs. It is the one day out of the year that I don't mind religion.
Monday. 7/8/2013. The morning drive calls for sixty-eight to seventy-two degrees. Perfect. Eighty-nine degrees later. It's 4:30 am, and no breakfast yet because they forgot to put the potatoes in. Fake potatoes. A shooting investigation in Evansville. A plane crash in San Francisco. There are worse things than forgetting to put the fake potatoes in the oven.
I wonder what Laura is up to? Still in Cali or back in Jersey? We had some fun, and then I could only concern myself with the drugs and getting high. Sorry, Laura. I didn't mean it. But that sounds cheap. If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have done it.
When you become overwhelmed with the vastness of the universe and the smallness of yourself, it is easy to feel insignificant, easy to feel that there is nothing special, and it doesn't matter if you are here or not, and you are here so it is special. The paradox of trying to be existential. It is a tough job being absurd.
I have been reading through my prison journals, and thought I would pick a few excerpts to share. Of course, I will post them as originally written. No editing. Raw, insider's view, cutting edge journalism. Or something like that.
Here we go.
Monday. 4/15/2013. A bomb exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, and right away I am thinking religious wacko. Probably a Muslim. Is the reason I think this-- the second after finding out about the bomb --because religious people (Muslims in particular) are more likely to blow things up? Or is it because the media picks these things to sensationalize and force down our throats? Or is it because I have a prejudice against religious people? That would be tied in with the first question, because my prejudice against religious people stems from the fact that I really think many of them like to be hateful and kill shit and use their faith as an excuse. I guess I have my answer. But is my prejudice founded on anything or the result of an overzealous media? Don't know. More later.
Tuesday. 4/16/213. Forgot to sign the recreation sheet, and I think I made the officer's day. He is new to this dorm, though I have seen him around the compound. He s a dick. He yelled, "Four twelve, no rec. Forgot to sign up." There was a detectable amount of happiness in his voice, even when trying to play the "Just Doin' My Job" consummate professional. I don't fall for these things.
Still no word on the Marathon Bomber. I am placing my bets on a Conservative Christian, NRA wacko. It was Patriot's Day.
The Marathon Bombers has now replaced Theater Massacre as least tasteful band name.
Wednesday. 5/1/2013. Caryn's birthday was yesterday. I assume she is hungover right now, probably she has taken the day off work in advance. She was always a good planner for these things, whatever her other faults may be. Not that she has too many. She likes to have fun. I hope she had a good birthday. I hope her head is not giving her too much trouble this morning. Maybe she will have a Bloody Mary.
Monday. 5/27/2013. Memorial Day.
"The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them." Albert Einstein.
I am going to try and implement some better time divisions. I sit around and don't do anything. I need to have time for work, recreation, reading, and writing. I am setting a goal of 500 words a day.
Wednesday. 5/29/2013. The guy who slept diagonal from me, above my neighbor, is gone. Normal release days are Monday and Thursday, so maybe he had court or something. I thought he had a little time left. Maybe he went to the hole? Maybe his big mouth finally got him in trouble? Maybe he was abducted by aliens? Anyways, I won't miss him. He was pretty obnoxious, and had some annoying little friends who would crowd around to talk to him, invade my area, disturb my peace. I never knew his name, but goodbye. Bon Voyage.
Saturday. 6/1/013. Filled my commissary order form out. I ordered a peanut butter, a box of oatmeal, a bag of rice, four packages of black beans, two packages re-fried beans, a bag of coffee, a bar of soap, and a tube of toothpaste. A grand total of $18.87. So far, the highlight of my day.
The Dungeons and Dragons boys are at their table and the game is in full swing. A guard is walking around shaking people down. People are still sleeping or lying in their bunks watching Rawhide. 11:30 am is not terribly exciting.
I am going to try and get some writing done after lunch. I need to get something done before the September 1st deadline for the PEN contest.
Tuesday. 6/11/2013. America's Got Talent is on and I don't care about any of the acts. I just stare at Heidi Klum. I am a pervert now. Four years of living with men, and I can't look at a television show or commercial or magazine without perving out on the women. I am forty-one and I feel like I am sixteen. I have to talk myself out of masturbation twenty times a day. You would think it would get easier, but it only gets worse. If only I could focus on my writing as much as I do on lusting.
Thursday. 6/13/203. New class starts today. "Developing a Winning Attitude!" The doctor told me my blood pressure was up, and I needed to lose some weight. I have never been in the position of someone who has to lose weight. This is new.
Sunday. 6/16/2013. Some people who work here really seem to hate the people who reside here. They seem to believe they are better, and treat everyone equally shitty. Even the people not in custody uniforms, the laundry workers, the food service staff, they all act like this. It is especially weird coming from the Aramark workers in the kitchen, since it appears none of them have ever had a job or could pass a GED. They still hold their noses in the air.
GOTHIKA is on and Halle Berry has an incredible body.
Monday. 7/1/2013. First day of the pallet shop switching to two shifts. Up at 3:30 am. I think this will be a good thing for me, once the initial shock wears off. Time to read a little, drink coffee, write in the journal, and get ready for work. Work will be from 5:00 am to 11:00 am from now on, but for the first week a few of us are working some overtime. So exciting at $0.90 an hour.
The pallet shop has been good to me, though it is slave labor. I have been in a position of some authority, and I try to stay responsible. If anything, I act like a dick, then go back out of my way for people who don't appreciate it anyways. But it is good to have something like a real job in here to keep you from falling into the despair that has so many of my fellow inmates in its grip. Nothing to do all day but get in trouble, tattoo, argue with the cops or other inmates, sit around and complain. It is really a terrible life if you let it get to you. I am trying to keep myself focused, dividing my day into sections for all the things I want to accomplish, and give all my attention to the task at hand,
Tuesday. 7/2/2013. Good morning. put the laundry out. I wonder if I will ever be able to stop letting insignificant things bother me. Something will happen, usually something someone else does, completely meaningless, and I will dwell on it. I will tell myself that it is stupid to sit there and brood over this minor thing, then a week later this same thing will pop back into my head and I will dwell on it some more. I wish I could have the strength of mind to be a Stoic or a Buddhist, but it is so difficult. Especially in here. There is no way to get away from people in here. I live in a small area with 250 other people. When I get out of here I would like to go somewhere and sit by myself for a couple of days. Maybe get drunk and smoke some cigarettes.
Friday. 7/5/2013. Wednesday we had no work because our dorm was quarantined for treatment against the scabies epidemic that is sweeping the prison. They claim it is under control.
Yesterday was the Fourth of July, but there were no parties or BBQs or fireworks. Pretty boring, actually. Worked out, ate, slept a lot. got three stories ready to retype today at work.
The old man next to me is loud. He is sixty something and hangs around with a bunch of twenty year olds. He acts worse than they do. He tells the same stupid jokes over and over, and acts like an idiot all day long. He has the most fucked up toes I have ever seen. His big toe is huge and curls up over the tops of his other toes. I wonder how he can stand, but I guess it doesn't bother him. He had to cut the sides of his boots to fit his toes in. It doesn't stop talking about methamphetamine and having sex with sixteen year old girls. He can do that all day long.
Tomorrow is Christmas in July. The church people come in, preach for a few minutes, and give us a bag of food. The Amish sing Jesus songs. It is the one day out of the year that I don't mind religion.
Monday. 7/8/2013. The morning drive calls for sixty-eight to seventy-two degrees. Perfect. Eighty-nine degrees later. It's 4:30 am, and no breakfast yet because they forgot to put the potatoes in. Fake potatoes. A shooting investigation in Evansville. A plane crash in San Francisco. There are worse things than forgetting to put the fake potatoes in the oven.
I wonder what Laura is up to? Still in Cali or back in Jersey? We had some fun, and then I could only concern myself with the drugs and getting high. Sorry, Laura. I didn't mean it. But that sounds cheap. If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have done it.
When you become overwhelmed with the vastness of the universe and the smallness of yourself, it is easy to feel insignificant, easy to feel that there is nothing special, and it doesn't matter if you are here or not, and you are here so it is special. The paradox of trying to be existential. It is a tough job being absurd.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)