8 Apr 04


On Saturday evening, I resolved to fast on Sunday. What caused this? A combination of factors including general boredom, sympathy with my atrophying cell mate, being inspired by Gandhi after reading one of his biographies, reading yoga teachings advocating overcoming our desire for food and letting the digestive system rest, and getting to shock my neighbours by offering them my chow.

Over the past two years, I have slimmed thanks to jail food. But bear in mind, I was slim to begin with. Since my arrest, my trips to the toilet have more than halved.

On Sunday, I donated my Ladmo bag to my neighbours.
"Good lookin' out, dawg!" they both said, and fought over the food.
At noon, my stomach roared nonstop. I drank plenty of water, sucked on a few slices of grapefruit, and told Mark I was determined to make it through the day.
"You're not enjoying fasting, are you?" Mark asked.
"Its quality suffering" I said, unable to offer a relaxed smile.
By 6pm, my hunger subsided and I felt better.
The frequency of my urination increased and it became clearer.
I slept fine.

I was satisfied with the books I received from the library. The Prince by Machiavelli, The Trial and Death of Socrates by Plato, and I Ching.

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