27 March 05
Question Time
Q.Paula in the UK asked if I ever hear from any of my previous cellies.
A. Mark, my final cellmate at the Madison Street jail, who is now on house arrest, recently sent a letter. He wrote: “ Sorry I haven’t written sooner but I have been so busy working so I can pay my stupid lawyer fees, so he can sit around and do nothing.”
Q.Dave & Edna asked if, in my opinion, gays or straights have it tougher inside.
A. My gay friend Jim said that if an inmate can get into a stable relationship and the potential for separation can be overcome then an emotional return can be obtained. Jim also identified negative effects such as younger inmates being taken advantage of by older ones, and some ultimately becoming cheetos.
I asked Xena the same question and Xena’s short answer was:
“It’s worse for heteros because they can get raped!”
I haven’t been raped but I have had my arse pinched a few times, and upon one occasion George took advantage of my focus on a book and licked my foot before I could pull it away from him.
email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
or post them below.
20 March 05
Odds & Ends
My former cellmate, Jerry, has returned and is now housed in Building 1.
Long Island has stopped earning tickets and has commenced a marketing correspondence course. He has turned out to be a good cellmate. He is respectful and easy going, but also someone who stands up for himself if anyone tries to push him around. Long Island gets released later this year, so I will have to shop around for a new cellmate shortly before he leaves, as I don’t want to end up playing what's called the "celly lottery": waiting for a random assignment, which can be good or bad. The key to happiness here is good cellmate chemistry.
I have a workout partner, Popcorn, who claims to be seven-eighths Chicano and one-eighth Pima Indian. Together we do my yoga routine and his jogging routine. Popcorn can walk on his hands and he has helped me half master the scorpion pose – I can hold the pose for up to thirty seconds but my feet do not touch my head. We jog up to five miles every couple of days and with Popcorn’s motivation I’ve been attending the twice-weekly 5:00am breakfasts in order to go to the 6:30am rec sessions. In order to rise so early, I now go to sleep between 9:00pm and 10:pm.
I’ve been trying to start a correspondence course with Rio Salado Community College but it’s a slow process.
In the chow hall, I sit at a table with String Bean and Fish. String Bean is the skinniest man in the unit – and probably the entire complex – standing six-feet tall and weighing
one-hundred-and-twenty-two pounds. He is so thin that the Medical Unit has authorised him to receive extra chow. Fish is an occultist intellectual with a British sense of humour, who, tragically, is HIV positive. Fish is due to be released shortly, and String Bean gets out in one year’s time.
Thank you for your support. I hope that your letters, emails, comments and questions keep coming because reading them makes my day.
Cheers! Jon
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Or post a comment below
Odds & Ends
My former cellmate, Jerry, has returned and is now housed in Building 1.
Long Island has stopped earning tickets and has commenced a marketing correspondence course. He has turned out to be a good cellmate. He is respectful and easy going, but also someone who stands up for himself if anyone tries to push him around. Long Island gets released later this year, so I will have to shop around for a new cellmate shortly before he leaves, as I don’t want to end up playing what's called the "celly lottery": waiting for a random assignment, which can be good or bad. The key to happiness here is good cellmate chemistry.
I have a workout partner, Popcorn, who claims to be seven-eighths Chicano and one-eighth Pima Indian. Together we do my yoga routine and his jogging routine. Popcorn can walk on his hands and he has helped me half master the scorpion pose – I can hold the pose for up to thirty seconds but my feet do not touch my head. We jog up to five miles every couple of days and with Popcorn’s motivation I’ve been attending the twice-weekly 5:00am breakfasts in order to go to the 6:30am rec sessions. In order to rise so early, I now go to sleep between 9:00pm and 10:pm.
I’ve been trying to start a correspondence course with Rio Salado Community College but it’s a slow process.
In the chow hall, I sit at a table with String Bean and Fish. String Bean is the skinniest man in the unit – and probably the entire complex – standing six-feet tall and weighing
one-hundred-and-twenty-two pounds. He is so thin that the Medical Unit has authorised him to receive extra chow. Fish is an occultist intellectual with a British sense of humour, who, tragically, is HIV positive. Fish is due to be released shortly, and String Bean gets out in one year’s time.
Thank you for your support. I hope that your letters, emails, comments and questions keep coming because reading them makes my day.
Cheers! Jon
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Or post a comment below
Are we being moved?
The inmates are speculating that our entire unit is about to be moved. Probably to Tucson.
I spoke to a member of staff today who confirmed that the entire unit is being moved – destination unknown – within the next few months. He stated that this unit is being converted into a high-medium yard and that ninety inmates from Pima County are waiting to be moved here.
For up to date info on inmate movements see here http://www.azceg.org/
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Or post your comment below
The inmates are speculating that our entire unit is about to be moved. Probably to Tucson.
I spoke to a member of staff today who confirmed that the entire unit is being moved – destination unknown – within the next few months. He stated that this unit is being converted into a high-medium yard and that ninety inmates from Pima County are waiting to be moved here.
For up to date info on inmate movements see here http://www.azceg.org/
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Or post your comment below
10 March 05
Anal Virginity Threats: Adam's Fetish
(Threat level: medium)
My behind is dodging a triple threat. Frankie and George have been joined by Adam. The fact that I just want to be left alone seems to have impassioned them further.
Adam introduced himself a few weeks ago:
“Wassup! I hear you’re from England?”
“Yeah.”
“I fuckin' dig English dudes. You wanna know why?”
“Why?
“I had a porno movie collection and there was somethin’ different about the English dudes that I just fuckin’ love.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Can you guess what I’m talkin’ about?”
“Probably.”
“The English guys were all uncut. I just love to see that. Are all English guys uncut?”
“As far as I know, only America and countries like Israel do it.”
“Yep, they butcher us at birth and charge us for it. It’s a scam. Uncircumcised men are a rarity around here They just drive me wild.”
“Well, I’m straight, so I’m not going to be able to help you in that department.”
“Alright then, but if you change your mind.”
More recently:
“I heard that you were into S & M on the streets?”
“A little. Why?”
“And I know that you’re into yoga, so you must be real flexible.”
“I’m flexible.”
“I love flexible guys. I’ve got somethin’ I wanna tell you about.”
“What is it?”
“You’re open minded right?” You wouldn’t take offence if I told you somethin’?”
“I doubt it. But it's still no if you’re looking to shag me!”
“Well, there’s somethin’ that I’m really into.”
“Yeah. Spit it out then.”
“OK, I’ll give you the rundown on how this came about. I had a boyfriend in here right, about a year ago.”
“Yeah.”
“We used to fuck around all the time. Anyway, this one day, he was positioned doggy style and I was lickin’ his ass.”
“Oh dear.”
“Just wait. Its about to get much better. So I was lickin’ his ass right and out of nowhere he accidentally – well, actually, it might have been on purpose – he farted in my mouth.”
“How terrible!”
“Yeah and he made it seem like it was an accident but he was fuckin’ laughin’ at the time.”
“It didn’t bother you?”
“It amused me. For a second, it was like an egg in the face, but I was in the moment, so I resumed what I was doin’.”
“Licking his arse?”
“Yes, goin’ to town on his ass.”
“Did he fart on you again?”
“No. Not on the same evening.”
“But it did happen again?”
“Well, yeah, actually, it grew to the point that it was highly entertaining, so I encouraged it.”
“Didn’t it put a weird taste in your mouth?”
“That’s what was so cool about it, his farts didn’t smell. If there was an offensive odour, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“So, did you start demanding that he would fart in your mouth?”
“Kinda. Later on. What I did was make bets with him.”
“Like what?”
“Silly little bets. If I lost he would have to fart ten times in my face bare-assed.”
“I assume that you lost quite a bit?”
“Oh yeah. I picked things to ensure that I would lose.”
“You loaded the dice so that you would end up being farted on?”
“Naturally.”
“And this man could perform ten back-to-back farts after you intentionally lost these bets?”
“Well, as many as he could do at one time. I would count them and carry the balance over until the next session.”
“So what started out as an accidental fart on the face turned into a sexual thrill?”
“Most certainly. I have this thing about – I dunno – I like to lick ass, and the fact that the farts didn’t stink, it wasn’t offensive, added some spice to the ass lickin’.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. I would lick his ass, he would fart in my mouth, I would fuck him, and he wouldn’t even need lotion or lubrication because he was so turned on by farting in my mouth, which turned me on all the more.”
“That good eh?”
“Yeah. The farts were like foreplay.”
“He was a talented man, if he could fart repeatedly at will and they never smelled too bad.”
“Yeah. When he owed me enough farts, he’d put me on standby until he was ready and when it was all good, I’d depants him and go to town.”
“And now you see farts in a whole new light?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Thanks for sharing that with me. Your tendency is unusual – I only ever read about it once in a Marquis de Sade book. I'd like to write about it. Would you mind?”
“If you think it’s interesting enough, I don’t give a shit, just don’t let anyone know who I am.”
“OK. I’ll change your name.”
“I like the name Adam.”
“Adam will work.”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
or post a comment yourself below.
Anal Virginity Threats: Adam's Fetish
(Threat level: medium)
My behind is dodging a triple threat. Frankie and George have been joined by Adam. The fact that I just want to be left alone seems to have impassioned them further.
Adam introduced himself a few weeks ago:
“Wassup! I hear you’re from England?”
“Yeah.”
“I fuckin' dig English dudes. You wanna know why?”
“Why?
“I had a porno movie collection and there was somethin’ different about the English dudes that I just fuckin’ love.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Can you guess what I’m talkin’ about?”
“Probably.”
“The English guys were all uncut. I just love to see that. Are all English guys uncut?”
“As far as I know, only America and countries like Israel do it.”
“Yep, they butcher us at birth and charge us for it. It’s a scam. Uncircumcised men are a rarity around here They just drive me wild.”
“Well, I’m straight, so I’m not going to be able to help you in that department.”
“Alright then, but if you change your mind.”
More recently:
“I heard that you were into S & M on the streets?”
“A little. Why?”
“And I know that you’re into yoga, so you must be real flexible.”
“I’m flexible.”
“I love flexible guys. I’ve got somethin’ I wanna tell you about.”
“What is it?”
“You’re open minded right?” You wouldn’t take offence if I told you somethin’?”
“I doubt it. But it's still no if you’re looking to shag me!”
“Well, there’s somethin’ that I’m really into.”
“Yeah. Spit it out then.”
“OK, I’ll give you the rundown on how this came about. I had a boyfriend in here right, about a year ago.”
“Yeah.”
“We used to fuck around all the time. Anyway, this one day, he was positioned doggy style and I was lickin’ his ass.”
“Oh dear.”
“Just wait. Its about to get much better. So I was lickin’ his ass right and out of nowhere he accidentally – well, actually, it might have been on purpose – he farted in my mouth.”
“How terrible!”
“Yeah and he made it seem like it was an accident but he was fuckin’ laughin’ at the time.”
“It didn’t bother you?”
“It amused me. For a second, it was like an egg in the face, but I was in the moment, so I resumed what I was doin’.”
“Licking his arse?”
“Yes, goin’ to town on his ass.”
“Did he fart on you again?”
“No. Not on the same evening.”
“But it did happen again?”
“Well, yeah, actually, it grew to the point that it was highly entertaining, so I encouraged it.”
“Didn’t it put a weird taste in your mouth?”
“That’s what was so cool about it, his farts didn’t smell. If there was an offensive odour, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“So, did you start demanding that he would fart in your mouth?”
“Kinda. Later on. What I did was make bets with him.”
“Like what?”
“Silly little bets. If I lost he would have to fart ten times in my face bare-assed.”
“I assume that you lost quite a bit?”
“Oh yeah. I picked things to ensure that I would lose.”
“You loaded the dice so that you would end up being farted on?”
“Naturally.”
“And this man could perform ten back-to-back farts after you intentionally lost these bets?”
“Well, as many as he could do at one time. I would count them and carry the balance over until the next session.”
“So what started out as an accidental fart on the face turned into a sexual thrill?”
“Most certainly. I have this thing about – I dunno – I like to lick ass, and the fact that the farts didn’t stink, it wasn’t offensive, added some spice to the ass lickin’.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. I would lick his ass, he would fart in my mouth, I would fuck him, and he wouldn’t even need lotion or lubrication because he was so turned on by farting in my mouth, which turned me on all the more.”
“That good eh?”
“Yeah. The farts were like foreplay.”
“He was a talented man, if he could fart repeatedly at will and they never smelled too bad.”
“Yeah. When he owed me enough farts, he’d put me on standby until he was ready and when it was all good, I’d depants him and go to town.”
“And now you see farts in a whole new light?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Thanks for sharing that with me. Your tendency is unusual – I only ever read about it once in a Marquis de Sade book. I'd like to write about it. Would you mind?”
“If you think it’s interesting enough, I don’t give a shit, just don’t let anyone know who I am.”
“OK. I’ll change your name.”
“I like the name Adam.”
“Adam will work.”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
or post a comment yourself below.
6 March 05
Loneliness
It is 11:40am and I am miserable. Claudia - the young lady who I was living with and engaged to at the time of my arrest - had promised that she would visit today but she hasn’t shown up. Visitation hours range from 8.00am until 3.00pm, and the afternoon is near. I was up bright and early, showered and shaved, beaming in anticipation of her company, but every passing hour has increased my tension. I am so sad my appetite has vanished.
This state of mind is not Claudia’s fault - it is my own. I am forever in her debt for everything she did for me. It would be wrong to expect her to put her life on hold for me. If I love her then shouldn't I want her to be happy? It's difficult. Losing her is one of the worst things that's happened to me. But what can I do? Kick and scream? Feel sorry for myself? Or try to be like Mr. Spock? There's a difficulty with trying to be like Mr. Spock: I am human, emotional, and fallible. And fragile on days like these.
Loneliness
It is 11:40am and I am miserable. Claudia - the young lady who I was living with and engaged to at the time of my arrest - had promised that she would visit today but she hasn’t shown up. Visitation hours range from 8.00am until 3.00pm, and the afternoon is near. I was up bright and early, showered and shaved, beaming in anticipation of her company, but every passing hour has increased my tension. I am so sad my appetite has vanished.
This state of mind is not Claudia’s fault - it is my own. I am forever in her debt for everything she did for me. It would be wrong to expect her to put her life on hold for me. If I love her then shouldn't I want her to be happy? It's difficult. Losing her is one of the worst things that's happened to me. But what can I do? Kick and scream? Feel sorry for myself? Or try to be like Mr. Spock? There's a difficulty with trying to be like Mr. Spock: I am human, emotional, and fallible. And fragile on days like these.
5 March 05
Good Suffering at Tent City
Link to New Times article about Leslie and other victims in the gulag.
Good Suffering at Tent City
Link to New Times article about Leslie and other victims in the gulag.
4 March 05
Observations from the Rec Field
It’s 5pm and I’m sat at a picnic table on the rec field.
“We gotta lotta shit to do.”
“What shit we gotta do?”
“Wide pushups, pullups, dips.”
Nearby, two stocky Chicanos are working out. One of them, Mooga, will be released later this year. The other, Horns, is serving a life sentence. They look like mini-Arnold Schwarzeneggers, but with beer bellies. They are topless, clad in knee-length orange sports shorts, toting Sony cassette players on their hips. Their Blues Brothers-style sunglasses make them appear comical and dangerous. They are taking turns suspending themselves by their toes from a picnic table and performing downward-sloping pushups. As their muscles ripple the turquoise tattoos on their coffee-coloured skin come to life.
“One more set.”
“How many are we doin’?”
“Five.”
“We’ve already done five!”
“Then let’s do another five.”
“Ah, fuck no!”
They are departing, strutting their pumped-up physiques with arms akimbo. They resemble gunslingers ready to draw their Walkmans. Shrinking in size as they swagger into the distance, they now look like little birds stretching their wings.
Being outdoors is soothing - if you don't pay attention to the architecture of oppression: the endless razor wire, and battleship-grey buildings.
Lamps, on steel poles, seem to be hovering in the sky. They look like the UFOs described by H.G. Wells in War of the Worlds.
Practising a variety of basketball shots, is Speedy, a youngster. Speedy falls. “Damn!”
Stretching his lower limbs he assessess the damage.
Mooga and Horns are approaching, their bickering is growing louder.
“Before we do da dips, lets do dat one over dere.”
“You’re fuckin’ gay, man!”
“You talk alotta shit every day, man. Lets go”
“You go homes!”
“I already did my set, man”
“Okay. Here I go”
“Dis man, Mooga, can work out, talk a lotta shit, and smoke at the same time.”
“Tu tambien.” (You also.)
In a voice like Johnny Rotten’s, Mooga is singing, “Insane in the membrane! Insane in the brain! You’re insane, got no brain!”
By placing his knees over one dip bar, Horns is suspended upside down, he is using the other dip bar to do pullups.
Wheelo, a thinner Chicano joins them.
“Don’t fuck with Wheelo. That’s the Godfather right there,” Mooga says and helps himself to one of Wheelo’s cigarettes.
Horns shoulderbarges Wheelo.
“What’d I tell you! Don’t fuck wiv Wheelo!”
The Chicanos are getting smaller again as they head for the outdoor urinal.
The sun is trying to hide behind the Administration Building. Its rays are causing Speedy’s sweaty chest to glisten.
The Chicanos are back.
Looking directly at me Mooga yells,“You, come here!”
“You come here,” I say.
“No you come here!”
“Estoy ocupado ahorita.” (I’m busy right now.)
“Don’t gimme that shit. I want to show you somethin’.”
Undoubtably, Mooga wants to show me something I don't want to see, so I change the subject.
“How would you describe yourself, Mooga?”
“Vindictive, out of control, wild.”
The Chicanos are on the move again. Mooga is yelling obscenities and throwing gravel at Wheelo.
The sun is almost out of sight. The rain clouds have wandered west and a pink tinge is making them look more cheerful. The wind is carrying the smell of manure.
“Rec is terminated! Rec is terminated!”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Observations from the Rec Field
It’s 5pm and I’m sat at a picnic table on the rec field.
“We gotta lotta shit to do.”
“What shit we gotta do?”
“Wide pushups, pullups, dips.”
Nearby, two stocky Chicanos are working out. One of them, Mooga, will be released later this year. The other, Horns, is serving a life sentence. They look like mini-Arnold Schwarzeneggers, but with beer bellies. They are topless, clad in knee-length orange sports shorts, toting Sony cassette players on their hips. Their Blues Brothers-style sunglasses make them appear comical and dangerous. They are taking turns suspending themselves by their toes from a picnic table and performing downward-sloping pushups. As their muscles ripple the turquoise tattoos on their coffee-coloured skin come to life.
“One more set.”
“How many are we doin’?”
“Five.”
“We’ve already done five!”
“Then let’s do another five.”
“Ah, fuck no!”
They are departing, strutting their pumped-up physiques with arms akimbo. They resemble gunslingers ready to draw their Walkmans. Shrinking in size as they swagger into the distance, they now look like little birds stretching their wings.
Being outdoors is soothing - if you don't pay attention to the architecture of oppression: the endless razor wire, and battleship-grey buildings.
Lamps, on steel poles, seem to be hovering in the sky. They look like the UFOs described by H.G. Wells in War of the Worlds.
Practising a variety of basketball shots, is Speedy, a youngster. Speedy falls. “Damn!”
Stretching his lower limbs he assessess the damage.
Mooga and Horns are approaching, their bickering is growing louder.
“Before we do da dips, lets do dat one over dere.”
“You’re fuckin’ gay, man!”
“You talk alotta shit every day, man. Lets go”
“You go homes!”
“I already did my set, man”
“Okay. Here I go”
“Dis man, Mooga, can work out, talk a lotta shit, and smoke at the same time.”
“Tu tambien.” (You also.)
In a voice like Johnny Rotten’s, Mooga is singing, “Insane in the membrane! Insane in the brain! You’re insane, got no brain!”
By placing his knees over one dip bar, Horns is suspended upside down, he is using the other dip bar to do pullups.
Wheelo, a thinner Chicano joins them.
“Don’t fuck with Wheelo. That’s the Godfather right there,” Mooga says and helps himself to one of Wheelo’s cigarettes.
Horns shoulderbarges Wheelo.
“What’d I tell you! Don’t fuck wiv Wheelo!”
The Chicanos are getting smaller again as they head for the outdoor urinal.
The sun is trying to hide behind the Administration Building. Its rays are causing Speedy’s sweaty chest to glisten.
The Chicanos are back.
Looking directly at me Mooga yells,“You, come here!”
“You come here,” I say.
“No you come here!”
“Estoy ocupado ahorita.” (I’m busy right now.)
“Don’t gimme that shit. I want to show you somethin’.”
Undoubtably, Mooga wants to show me something I don't want to see, so I change the subject.
“How would you describe yourself, Mooga?”
“Vindictive, out of control, wild.”
The Chicanos are on the move again. Mooga is yelling obscenities and throwing gravel at Wheelo.
The sun is almost out of sight. The rain clouds have wandered west and a pink tinge is making them look more cheerful. The wind is carrying the smell of manure.
“Rec is terminated! Rec is terminated!”
Email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Channel 4 Documentary
British television station exposes abuse
Sheriff Joe featured in ‘Torture: America’s Brutal Prisons’
Produced and Directed by Nick London
Article written by Linda Bentley - Sonoran News - March 2 - March 9, 2005
LONDON, U.K. – In late January, British Channel Four Television Reporter Deborah Davies was in Arizona interviewing Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio and the women involved with Mothers Against Arpaio (MAA). The program titled, “Torture: America’s Brutal Prisons,” airs tonight across the sea. The program opens with stills depicting Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison in Baghdad being humiliated and tortured by American guards. Cutting to the next scene, American guards are marching to cells, screaming obscenities at naked prisoners, this time they’re in Texas. And then, cutting to the Fourth Avenue Jail, the narrator says: “Get arrested in Phoenix, Arizona – and you’ll end up here; a county jail run by the sheriff’s department. … Just as we arrive, two prisoners start fighting. The inmates are quickly buried under a mountain of officers.“This jail is run by the man who revels in the title ‘America’s Toughest Sheriff.”
Arpaio says, “… I’m not going to have my officers assaulted. When these inmates try to assault my officers, we use as much force as necessary.”
Channel Four asks, “But more than a dozen officers to pull a man out of a cell, fling him on the floor, jump on top of him … why?”
Arpaio said, “What difference, whether you use one or ten. It doesn’t make any difference. We’re going to restrain that person.” That seemed to be the perfect segway into use of the restraint chair.
Dan Corcoran of AEDEC International, manufacturer of the “Prostraint Violent Prisoner Chair,” told Channel Four, “What this does is protect the prisoner. And, it was made to protect the prisoner. It keeps the airway clear. Think about how many deaths it’s eliminating. Plus look at how humane it is …”
However, reality speaks to 20 prisoners who died after being placed in restraint chairs. The Medieval-looking device is still in use in Arizona, even though two of those deaths occurred in Arpaio’s jail.
As Arpaio provides a tour of Madison Street Jail, the commentator continues, “It’s almost a choreographed routine … stressing the tough conditions, the convict uniforms, the terrible food.” Arpaio says, “… They’re criminals, they’re murderers. I’m sorry they’re alleged murderers. They haven’t been convicted yet.”
The commentator goes on, “But strip away the showmanship of Sheriff Arpaio and you hit a far more brutal allegation … inside his jails prisoners are beaten, tortured, even killed.”
The program cuts to photographs of Charles Agster, mentally handicapped and a drug user. “He weighed only nine stone,” the commentator states, the equivalent of 126 pounds. After Agster was arrested for refusing to leave a convenience store, his parents assumed he would be held in jail overnight.
His mother Carol Agster relives the story, “The telephone rang and it’s the emergency room. They said, ‘Well, your son is here … we don’t know if he’s going to live through the night."
The commentator says: “The horror of Charles Agster’s last hours is captured by cameras inside Madison Street Jail.”
A video of Agster being dragged into the jail is shown as his mother says, “He was dragged in like a suitcase. He was hogtied … a policeman was kicking him. … nine jail staff forced him into a restraint chair – still handcuffed. One kneels on his stomach. They bend him forward to undo the handcuffs and re-strap him into the chair.”A nurse notices Agster is unconscious. She pinches his face, puts ammonia under his nose, yet no one removes the spit mask or frees him from the chair.
Training documents from the sheriff’s own department clearly warn inmates must be uncuffed before being placed in the chair, to avoid what’s known as positional asphyxia. Arpaio tells Davies, “You can see all the videos you want. Videos … don’t always tell the truth.”
Davies asks, “But you’re not denying that he’s put in the chair with his hands handcuffed behind his back?”
Arpaio responds, “I’m not familiar with all that as far as the handcuffs. But I’m telling you right now, we did nothing wrong … when you run a jail system … you’re bound to have some deaths that occur.”
The sheriff apparently learned nothing since Scott Norburg died in a restraint chair. Norberg’s family was awarded over $8 million in a lawsuit.
Brian Crenshaw, a blind man, was serving six months for shoplifting. His mother Linda Evans learned he had been in some sort of scuffle with officers at Tent City before he was transferred and placed in solitary confinement at Madison Street Jail. Six days later Crenshaw was taken to the hospital after being found unconscious in his cell. However, Crenshaw had already told a prison doctor he’d been beaten by officers. He died one month later and the family is suing.
Evans says, “They murdered my son. Mr. Arpaio is responsible. He is the head of the sheriff’s department and yet he seems to thrive on this cruelty and this mentality that these men are nothing.”
The sheriff insists Crenshaw fell off a bunk. Even though medical evidence indicates otherwise, it’s Arpaio’s story and he’s sticking to it. Arpaio said, “Well, a lot of people in jail say certain comments that are not true. So, if you want to believe a few of these inmates … so be it.”
Channel Four joined MAA at the home of co-founder Pearl Wilson, whose son Phillip Wilson died after being beat into a coma by other inmates. Wilson is also suing the sheriff. She says Arpaio’s staff allows fights to happen.
Arpaio said, “I feel very comfortable with myself. I go to sleep every night. It’s a tough job that I have. … if this sheriff … did anything wrong … it would be well publicized. I’m sure action would have been taken.”
If action translates to lawsuits, Arpaio is named as a defendant in approximately 1,500.
Jon spent over two years in Arpaio’s jail system, he was in Madison St. jail until he was sentenced. It was while he was there that Jon decided to write about the conditions. Revisit the beginning of the blog to understand why it all came about.
British television station exposes abuse
Sheriff Joe featured in ‘Torture: America’s Brutal Prisons’
Produced and Directed by Nick London
Article written by Linda Bentley - Sonoran News - March 2 - March 9, 2005
LONDON, U.K. – In late January, British Channel Four Television Reporter Deborah Davies was in Arizona interviewing Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio and the women involved with Mothers Against Arpaio (MAA). The program titled, “Torture: America’s Brutal Prisons,” airs tonight across the sea. The program opens with stills depicting Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison in Baghdad being humiliated and tortured by American guards. Cutting to the next scene, American guards are marching to cells, screaming obscenities at naked prisoners, this time they’re in Texas. And then, cutting to the Fourth Avenue Jail, the narrator says: “Get arrested in Phoenix, Arizona – and you’ll end up here; a county jail run by the sheriff’s department. … Just as we arrive, two prisoners start fighting. The inmates are quickly buried under a mountain of officers.“This jail is run by the man who revels in the title ‘America’s Toughest Sheriff.”
Arpaio says, “… I’m not going to have my officers assaulted. When these inmates try to assault my officers, we use as much force as necessary.”
Channel Four asks, “But more than a dozen officers to pull a man out of a cell, fling him on the floor, jump on top of him … why?”
Arpaio said, “What difference, whether you use one or ten. It doesn’t make any difference. We’re going to restrain that person.” That seemed to be the perfect segway into use of the restraint chair.
Dan Corcoran of AEDEC International, manufacturer of the “Prostraint Violent Prisoner Chair,” told Channel Four, “What this does is protect the prisoner. And, it was made to protect the prisoner. It keeps the airway clear. Think about how many deaths it’s eliminating. Plus look at how humane it is …”
However, reality speaks to 20 prisoners who died after being placed in restraint chairs. The Medieval-looking device is still in use in Arizona, even though two of those deaths occurred in Arpaio’s jail.
As Arpaio provides a tour of Madison Street Jail, the commentator continues, “It’s almost a choreographed routine … stressing the tough conditions, the convict uniforms, the terrible food.” Arpaio says, “… They’re criminals, they’re murderers. I’m sorry they’re alleged murderers. They haven’t been convicted yet.”
The commentator goes on, “But strip away the showmanship of Sheriff Arpaio and you hit a far more brutal allegation … inside his jails prisoners are beaten, tortured, even killed.”
The program cuts to photographs of Charles Agster, mentally handicapped and a drug user. “He weighed only nine stone,” the commentator states, the equivalent of 126 pounds. After Agster was arrested for refusing to leave a convenience store, his parents assumed he would be held in jail overnight.
His mother Carol Agster relives the story, “The telephone rang and it’s the emergency room. They said, ‘Well, your son is here … we don’t know if he’s going to live through the night."
The commentator says: “The horror of Charles Agster’s last hours is captured by cameras inside Madison Street Jail.”
A video of Agster being dragged into the jail is shown as his mother says, “He was dragged in like a suitcase. He was hogtied … a policeman was kicking him. … nine jail staff forced him into a restraint chair – still handcuffed. One kneels on his stomach. They bend him forward to undo the handcuffs and re-strap him into the chair.”A nurse notices Agster is unconscious. She pinches his face, puts ammonia under his nose, yet no one removes the spit mask or frees him from the chair.
Training documents from the sheriff’s own department clearly warn inmates must be uncuffed before being placed in the chair, to avoid what’s known as positional asphyxia. Arpaio tells Davies, “You can see all the videos you want. Videos … don’t always tell the truth.”
Davies asks, “But you’re not denying that he’s put in the chair with his hands handcuffed behind his back?”
Arpaio responds, “I’m not familiar with all that as far as the handcuffs. But I’m telling you right now, we did nothing wrong … when you run a jail system … you’re bound to have some deaths that occur.”
The sheriff apparently learned nothing since Scott Norburg died in a restraint chair. Norberg’s family was awarded over $8 million in a lawsuit.
Brian Crenshaw, a blind man, was serving six months for shoplifting. His mother Linda Evans learned he had been in some sort of scuffle with officers at Tent City before he was transferred and placed in solitary confinement at Madison Street Jail. Six days later Crenshaw was taken to the hospital after being found unconscious in his cell. However, Crenshaw had already told a prison doctor he’d been beaten by officers. He died one month later and the family is suing.
Evans says, “They murdered my son. Mr. Arpaio is responsible. He is the head of the sheriff’s department and yet he seems to thrive on this cruelty and this mentality that these men are nothing.”
The sheriff insists Crenshaw fell off a bunk. Even though medical evidence indicates otherwise, it’s Arpaio’s story and he’s sticking to it. Arpaio said, “Well, a lot of people in jail say certain comments that are not true. So, if you want to believe a few of these inmates … so be it.”
Channel Four joined MAA at the home of co-founder Pearl Wilson, whose son Phillip Wilson died after being beat into a coma by other inmates. Wilson is also suing the sheriff. She says Arpaio’s staff allows fights to happen.
Arpaio said, “I feel very comfortable with myself. I go to sleep every night. It’s a tough job that I have. … if this sheriff … did anything wrong … it would be well publicized. I’m sure action would have been taken.”
If action translates to lawsuits, Arpaio is named as a defendant in approximately 1,500.
Jon spent over two years in Arpaio’s jail system, he was in Madison St. jail until he was sentenced. It was while he was there that Jon decided to write about the conditions. Revisit the beginning of the blog to understand why it all came about.
3 March 05
Anal Virginity Threats: George Reads Frankie’s Love Letter
(Threat level: medium and rising)
I told George about Frankie's letter. George demanded to see it.
“Uh…he calls you Englandman, eh?,"George said,"I don’t know, Englandman, if he managed to get a letter into here, into your sandwich, without a trace, I’d say he’s pretty serious buddy. He’s hunting for bear.”
“Hunting for bear, George?”
“And a little British bear, I believe.”
“I’m not worried. He might not even be sent here.”
“This is pretty serious stuff. What on earth did you say to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Perhaps you were practising your Spanish on him and it didn’t turn out very well.”
“I hope not.”
“Perhaps you said pass the choriso [sausage] and that flipped his switch.”
I laughed.
“As one gay man judging another I believe that if he ends up on this yard, you may need some protection.”
“Protection! For what?”
“Because he might want to ride your Hershey Highway.”
“My Hershey Highway! What the bloody hell is a Hersey Highway, George?"
“Your gluteus maximus.”
“Not anus maximus?
“Anus is not maximus unless you have sphincter problems.”
"I’m lost, am I detecting a bit of jealousy over Frankie, Jeeves?”
“Hell yeah! I don’t ever get to see Mr. Willy and he gets to ride the Hershey Highway. I don’t think so!”
“Well, its not like I wanna give it up to him.”
“I hope not. Wouldn’t you rather have someone lick the willy instead of cramming his dick in your ass.”
“Neither!”
“But you’re gonna end up with one or the other playing with people’s emotions like you do.”
“I haven’t promised anyone anything.”
“Evidently you have. Getting a message in your sandwich from someone who’s in another prison is pretty serious…we’re talkin’ pretty fucking serious! This guy knows what he’s doing and he must have plenty of help.”
“He may be kidding?”
“No this is beyond kidding, its…its…its…love!”
“Ha ha!”
“You may be laughing now but when his dick is in your ass you’re gonna be singing a different tune.”
“So how do I get out of this?”
“As soon as you see him you need to tell him, ‘I’ve found somebody else. You’re too late'.”
“I’ve found someone else! Are you bananas? What if he doesn’t accept that.”
“You may want to phone the British Embassy and tell them to mail you some prophylactics in a diplomatic pouch.”
“George, surely there are other ways to handle this situation?”
“As serious as he is, I doubt it. You need rubbers so that when his dick is in your ass you don’t get any diseases or become pregnant. Accept your fate.”
“Accept my fate! That’s not very helpful advice, Jeeves.”
“Accept your fate and don’t encourage him anymore.”
“Is that the best you can come up with?”
“Yes, and I’m off to clean up now, so tallyho, Englandman.”
“Toodle-oo, Jeeves.”
Anal Virginity Threats: George Reads Frankie’s Love Letter
(Threat level: medium and rising)
I told George about Frankie's letter. George demanded to see it.
“Uh…he calls you Englandman, eh?,"George said,"I don’t know, Englandman, if he managed to get a letter into here, into your sandwich, without a trace, I’d say he’s pretty serious buddy. He’s hunting for bear.”
“Hunting for bear, George?”
“And a little British bear, I believe.”
“I’m not worried. He might not even be sent here.”
“This is pretty serious stuff. What on earth did you say to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Perhaps you were practising your Spanish on him and it didn’t turn out very well.”
“I hope not.”
“Perhaps you said pass the choriso [sausage] and that flipped his switch.”
I laughed.
“As one gay man judging another I believe that if he ends up on this yard, you may need some protection.”
“Protection! For what?”
“Because he might want to ride your Hershey Highway.”
“My Hershey Highway! What the bloody hell is a Hersey Highway, George?"
“Your gluteus maximus.”
“Not anus maximus?
“Anus is not maximus unless you have sphincter problems.”
"I’m lost, am I detecting a bit of jealousy over Frankie, Jeeves?”
“Hell yeah! I don’t ever get to see Mr. Willy and he gets to ride the Hershey Highway. I don’t think so!”
“Well, its not like I wanna give it up to him.”
“I hope not. Wouldn’t you rather have someone lick the willy instead of cramming his dick in your ass.”
“Neither!”
“But you’re gonna end up with one or the other playing with people’s emotions like you do.”
“I haven’t promised anyone anything.”
“Evidently you have. Getting a message in your sandwich from someone who’s in another prison is pretty serious…we’re talkin’ pretty fucking serious! This guy knows what he’s doing and he must have plenty of help.”
“He may be kidding?”
“No this is beyond kidding, its…its…its…love!”
“Ha ha!”
“You may be laughing now but when his dick is in your ass you’re gonna be singing a different tune.”
“So how do I get out of this?”
“As soon as you see him you need to tell him, ‘I’ve found somebody else. You’re too late'.”
“I’ve found someone else! Are you bananas? What if he doesn’t accept that.”
“You may want to phone the British Embassy and tell them to mail you some prophylactics in a diplomatic pouch.”
“George, surely there are other ways to handle this situation?”
“As serious as he is, I doubt it. You need rubbers so that when his dick is in your ass you don’t get any diseases or become pregnant. Accept your fate.”
“Accept my fate! That’s not very helpful advice, Jeeves.”
“Accept your fate and don’t encourage him anymore.”
“Is that the best you can come up with?”
“Yes, and I’m off to clean up now, so tallyho, Englandman.”
“Toodle-oo, Jeeves.”
1 March 05
Anal Virginity Threats: Frankie’s Love Letter
(Threat level: medium and rising)
This evening in the chow hall, I looked inside my sandwich bread and discovered it contained some carefully-folded paper. Upon examining the paper I recognised Frankie’s handwriting.
Frankie is still at SMU2 in Florence. I wondered how he was able to circumvent the mail system and cause a letter to pop up in a sandwich?
For readers unfamiliar with Frankie, Frankie is a Mexican Mafia hitman who I met at the Madison Street jail (see blog Chess Moves 13/05/04) where he was fighting a double-homicide case, which he subsequently won. I used to play chess with Frankie and he made it clear that he would try to make me his prison bride if we were ever housed together.
Here are Frankie’s own words as discovered in my sandwich:
“Anyway, as you know you’re engaged to me so don’t be cheating on me because I’m a jealous guy. I’ve met a couple of cheetos here but all they do is flash their white asses through doors and that an’t no fun cause I can’t get none, I want someone I can make love to.”
Frankie believes that he will be at Buckeye soon:
“I’m more than sure that I’ll go there.”
He ended the letter with a smiley face, winking and pulling tongues.
I’ve a feeling that Frankie will be here soon.
Anal Virginity Threats: Frankie’s Love Letter
(Threat level: medium and rising)
This evening in the chow hall, I looked inside my sandwich bread and discovered it contained some carefully-folded paper. Upon examining the paper I recognised Frankie’s handwriting.
Frankie is still at SMU2 in Florence. I wondered how he was able to circumvent the mail system and cause a letter to pop up in a sandwich?
For readers unfamiliar with Frankie, Frankie is a Mexican Mafia hitman who I met at the Madison Street jail (see blog Chess Moves 13/05/04) where he was fighting a double-homicide case, which he subsequently won. I used to play chess with Frankie and he made it clear that he would try to make me his prison bride if we were ever housed together.
Here are Frankie’s own words as discovered in my sandwich:
“Anyway, as you know you’re engaged to me so don’t be cheating on me because I’m a jealous guy. I’ve met a couple of cheetos here but all they do is flash their white asses through doors and that an’t no fun cause I can’t get none, I want someone I can make love to.”
Frankie believes that he will be at Buckeye soon:
“I’m more than sure that I’ll go there.”
He ended the letter with a smiley face, winking and pulling tongues.
I’ve a feeling that Frankie will be here soon.
Question Time & Biblio Files
Angie asked me for my favourite author:
Miguel de Cervantes Don Quixote is my favourite work of fiction. The book is a witty portrayal of a mentally-ill man who has read too many books about knights and chivalry, and thinks he is a knight-errant. With his sidekick, Sancho Panza, Don Quixote embarks upon a series of adventures, most of which result in physical injury to himself and cause him to become known as the Knight of the Ill-favoured Face. Despite suffering violence, Don Quixote struggles on, undeterred, in the false belief that he is wooing an imaginary damsel in distress whom he is destined to rescue and whose kingdom he shall inherit.
Arnold J. Toynbee’s A Study of History is my favourite work of nonfiction. Upon reading this book I was able to view present events in the context of thousands of years of progressions and declines of civilisations. This is one of the most important books that I have ever read.
So, to answer your question Angie: for fun, Miguel de Cervantes is my favourite author; for study and knowledge content, Toynbee takes the top spot. Prior to discovering Cervantes, George Orwell was my favourite author.
Many blog readers have asked me to describe the books I have most recently enjoyed. I checked out Great Russian Short Stories from the prison library because I saw that it included Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Grand Inquisitor. This story contained powerful prose but I obtained more pleasure from Nicholas Gogol’s The Cloak, which made me laugh a lot.
In another library book The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces (sixth edition, volume two) I discovered an author who I admire both for his ability and his political philosophy. I’m referring to one of the geniuses from the Enlightenment era: Francois-Marie Arouet de Voltaire. I read Candide,or Optimism, a comedy about human nature in which the characters are raped, cut to pieces, hanged, stabbed, mutilated and seemingly murdered, only to resurface at more opportune moments. Voltaire ridicules certain philosophical beliefs by juxtaposing them with historical reality.
The Norton Anthology also contains Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis, which I enjoyed. . Kafka’s story starts with Gregor who wakes up one day at his family's home and discovers that he has become a beetle who can listen to his family but not make himself understood. I was fascinated by Kafka’s dreamy style. Gregor’s sister, at first, feeds and cares for him. His father chases Gregor back into his bedroom for being an eyesore. At the end, Gregor’s death is warmly wished for by the entire family. I was moved when he died.
My fifth and sixth fiction selections both come from the same author: George Orwell, Animal Farm and 1984. I’ll come back to George shortly.
A book that I consider almost as important as Toynbee’s is Edward Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
I enjoyed reading William Steinhoff’s George Orwell and the Origins of 1984, which contained this Orwellian quote:
"Political thought is a sort of masturbation fantasy in which the world of facts hardly matters.”
In accordance with one of my New Year’s resolutions, I have recently read four books about criminal justice.
I was moved by two disturbing books written by Jewish political prisoners. Jacobo Timberman’s Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number describes his stay in an Argentinian prison where he was subjected to electro-shock torture amongst other things. Primo Levi’s book Survival in Auschwitz reeks of death. Mr. Levi somehow survived the torture, slave labour, prolonged nudity, diseases, and managed not to be selected for the gas chamber where the majority of his fellow prisoners ended up. Timberman’s book, describes events occurring in Argentina decades after World War II. He points out that some of the Argentinian right wing extremists idolised Hitler, and that such forces are always fermenting below the surface waiting for opportune moments to rise up.
Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation explores the creative works of Western society from the fall of the Roman Empire to the twentieth century. The book covers works of genius in architecture, sculpture and painting, philosophy, music and literature. I expected Ken’s style to be stuffy, but a keen sense of humour shines through his prose. The book expanded my knowledge of arts about which I know little
I recently wrote about Proust and F. Scott Fitzgerald (see Literary Growing Pains) and perhaps my phraseology led some readers to believe that I am seeking to emulate their styles. I didn’t mean to mislead people. I can only ever dream of aspiring to such skill levels.
Regarding my New Year’s resolutions (see blog), I have thus far lopsided my reading in 2005 in the area of criminal justice. I will now try and focus on the other areas to achieve a better balance. I appreciate all of the books that readers have generously sent to the prison. On my shelf currently sit books written by Goethe, J.S.Mill, Freud, Brzezinski, Apuleius, and one called Suicide Girls.
Appreciatively yours, Jon.
Angie asked me for my favourite author:
Miguel de Cervantes Don Quixote is my favourite work of fiction. The book is a witty portrayal of a mentally-ill man who has read too many books about knights and chivalry, and thinks he is a knight-errant. With his sidekick, Sancho Panza, Don Quixote embarks upon a series of adventures, most of which result in physical injury to himself and cause him to become known as the Knight of the Ill-favoured Face. Despite suffering violence, Don Quixote struggles on, undeterred, in the false belief that he is wooing an imaginary damsel in distress whom he is destined to rescue and whose kingdom he shall inherit.
Arnold J. Toynbee’s A Study of History is my favourite work of nonfiction. Upon reading this book I was able to view present events in the context of thousands of years of progressions and declines of civilisations. This is one of the most important books that I have ever read.
So, to answer your question Angie: for fun, Miguel de Cervantes is my favourite author; for study and knowledge content, Toynbee takes the top spot. Prior to discovering Cervantes, George Orwell was my favourite author.
Many blog readers have asked me to describe the books I have most recently enjoyed. I checked out Great Russian Short Stories from the prison library because I saw that it included Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Grand Inquisitor. This story contained powerful prose but I obtained more pleasure from Nicholas Gogol’s The Cloak, which made me laugh a lot.
In another library book The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces (sixth edition, volume two) I discovered an author who I admire both for his ability and his political philosophy. I’m referring to one of the geniuses from the Enlightenment era: Francois-Marie Arouet de Voltaire. I read Candide,or Optimism, a comedy about human nature in which the characters are raped, cut to pieces, hanged, stabbed, mutilated and seemingly murdered, only to resurface at more opportune moments. Voltaire ridicules certain philosophical beliefs by juxtaposing them with historical reality.
The Norton Anthology also contains Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis, which I enjoyed. . Kafka’s story starts with Gregor who wakes up one day at his family's home and discovers that he has become a beetle who can listen to his family but not make himself understood. I was fascinated by Kafka’s dreamy style. Gregor’s sister, at first, feeds and cares for him. His father chases Gregor back into his bedroom for being an eyesore. At the end, Gregor’s death is warmly wished for by the entire family. I was moved when he died.
My fifth and sixth fiction selections both come from the same author: George Orwell, Animal Farm and 1984. I’ll come back to George shortly.
A book that I consider almost as important as Toynbee’s is Edward Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
I enjoyed reading William Steinhoff’s George Orwell and the Origins of 1984, which contained this Orwellian quote:
"Political thought is a sort of masturbation fantasy in which the world of facts hardly matters.”
In accordance with one of my New Year’s resolutions, I have recently read four books about criminal justice.
I was moved by two disturbing books written by Jewish political prisoners. Jacobo Timberman’s Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number describes his stay in an Argentinian prison where he was subjected to electro-shock torture amongst other things. Primo Levi’s book Survival in Auschwitz reeks of death. Mr. Levi somehow survived the torture, slave labour, prolonged nudity, diseases, and managed not to be selected for the gas chamber where the majority of his fellow prisoners ended up. Timberman’s book, describes events occurring in Argentina decades after World War II. He points out that some of the Argentinian right wing extremists idolised Hitler, and that such forces are always fermenting below the surface waiting for opportune moments to rise up.
Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation explores the creative works of Western society from the fall of the Roman Empire to the twentieth century. The book covers works of genius in architecture, sculpture and painting, philosophy, music and literature. I expected Ken’s style to be stuffy, but a keen sense of humour shines through his prose. The book expanded my knowledge of arts about which I know little
I recently wrote about Proust and F. Scott Fitzgerald (see Literary Growing Pains) and perhaps my phraseology led some readers to believe that I am seeking to emulate their styles. I didn’t mean to mislead people. I can only ever dream of aspiring to such skill levels.
Regarding my New Year’s resolutions (see blog), I have thus far lopsided my reading in 2005 in the area of criminal justice. I will now try and focus on the other areas to achieve a better balance. I appreciate all of the books that readers have generously sent to the prison. On my shelf currently sit books written by Goethe, J.S.Mill, Freud, Brzezinski, Apuleius, and one called Suicide Girls.
Appreciatively yours, Jon.
24 Feb 05
Fasting
I decided to give my digestive system a rest by fasting. I haven’t eaten for fourteen hours. I'm hungry and there’s a strange taste in my mouth.
My fast was long overdue. I haven’t fasted since I was a guest at the Madison Street Jail (see blog entry 08/04/04). I only have ten more hours to go to make a day and then I will shovel peanut butter into my mouth.
Fasting
I decided to give my digestive system a rest by fasting. I haven’t eaten for fourteen hours. I'm hungry and there’s a strange taste in my mouth.
My fast was long overdue. I haven’t fasted since I was a guest at the Madison Street Jail (see blog entry 08/04/04). I only have ten more hours to go to make a day and then I will shovel peanut butter into my mouth.
17th Feb 05
Pecker Pucker
Strip searches sometimes cause an inmate’s penis to dwindle in size. This withered willy condition is jokingly referred to as "shrinkage" by the inmates. Xena, my lanky shemale friend, talked about shrinkage after we were both recently strip-searched.
“ It was so cold in there, I had shrinkage. And what sucks is that I was thinkin’ of all kinds of sex acts goin’ into the strip-search room hopin’ that my penis would be bigger when I showed it to them. But they kept us waitin’ for so long in that cold-ass room that it had shrunk back down to nothin’ by the time that I had dropped my pants.”
There are at least two factors that seem to cause teeny-weener: the room temperature and strip-search-anticipation anxiety. Over the Christmas holidays, due to the visits with my parents and my kitchen job, I was getting strip-searched three times a day. I noticed that my organ was its regular size during the brisk going-into-the-visitation-room one-on-one strip-search, whereas, later on, it suffered diminution during the coming-out-of-the-visitation-room strip-search, which involved a long wait, a cold room, and a naked can-can performance in front of four guards alongside three other inmates.
Much later on, after seven hours of sweaty kitchen work, I was subjected to another brisk search conducted by one guard in a warm restroom, and my organ made his manliest appearance of the day. Outspoken inmates jest about succumbing to willy-shrivel, especially during the cold winter months when shrinkage is most common. Male readers: imagine standing starkers with your hands in the air while a guard or two gazes at your mouth, armpits, and reproductives. How would your organ react under such pressure?
Pecker Pucker
Strip searches sometimes cause an inmate’s penis to dwindle in size. This withered willy condition is jokingly referred to as "shrinkage" by the inmates. Xena, my lanky shemale friend, talked about shrinkage after we were both recently strip-searched.
“ It was so cold in there, I had shrinkage. And what sucks is that I was thinkin’ of all kinds of sex acts goin’ into the strip-search room hopin’ that my penis would be bigger when I showed it to them. But they kept us waitin’ for so long in that cold-ass room that it had shrunk back down to nothin’ by the time that I had dropped my pants.”
There are at least two factors that seem to cause teeny-weener: the room temperature and strip-search-anticipation anxiety. Over the Christmas holidays, due to the visits with my parents and my kitchen job, I was getting strip-searched three times a day. I noticed that my organ was its regular size during the brisk going-into-the-visitation-room one-on-one strip-search, whereas, later on, it suffered diminution during the coming-out-of-the-visitation-room strip-search, which involved a long wait, a cold room, and a naked can-can performance in front of four guards alongside three other inmates.
Much later on, after seven hours of sweaty kitchen work, I was subjected to another brisk search conducted by one guard in a warm restroom, and my organ made his manliest appearance of the day. Outspoken inmates jest about succumbing to willy-shrivel, especially during the cold winter months when shrinkage is most common. Male readers: imagine standing starkers with your hands in the air while a guard or two gazes at your mouth, armpits, and reproductives. How would your organ react under such pressure?
14th Feb 05
Question Time
Liz asked about the practicality of implementing the Japanese community justice approach in the United States. (see blog 15th Oct 04)
I believe that reintegrative shaming, which has been successful in Japan, could be used in America. Statistics indicate that there are less than 100,000 prisoners in Japan versus over 1 million in the US (figures released by the US Dept of Justice 31/12/03, 1,470,045 total prison population) so taking a small fraction of the US prison population out and into community guidance programs would benefit the economy and reduce the taxpayers' burden. Those prisoners could be making a positive contribution to society.
America will continue to suffer rising crime and prison overcrowding until the politicians and legislators decide to address the root causes of crime.(see blog ‘Crime & Punishment) Unfortunately the profiteers continue to successfully lobby for the status quo, and as a result, a justice system designed to protect and benefit the public has been converted into a profit- making scheme.
Question Time
Liz asked about the practicality of implementing the Japanese community justice approach in the United States. (see blog 15th Oct 04)
I believe that reintegrative shaming, which has been successful in Japan, could be used in America. Statistics indicate that there are less than 100,000 prisoners in Japan versus over 1 million in the US (figures released by the US Dept of Justice 31/12/03, 1,470,045 total prison population) so taking a small fraction of the US prison population out and into community guidance programs would benefit the economy and reduce the taxpayers' burden. Those prisoners could be making a positive contribution to society.
America will continue to suffer rising crime and prison overcrowding until the politicians and legislators decide to address the root causes of crime.(see blog ‘Crime & Punishment) Unfortunately the profiteers continue to successfully lobby for the status quo, and as a result, a justice system designed to protect and benefit the public has been converted into a profit- making scheme.
Lost in Post – Penguin’s Scars
The following blog has just arrived although Jon sent it in October. It refers to Penguin (See blog 25/09) who was Jon’s cellmate at Florence. .
Penguin has been miserable ever since his birthday. He’s written to his mum several times, but he hasn’t received a reply. Every night, with hope in his eyes, Penguin looks at the mail officer.
“Is that all the mail there is?” he constantly asks.
“What I’ve handed out is all I’ve got. I tell you this every night!”
Penguin is hoping for a belated birthday card from his mum.
The guards and inmates have been teasing Penguin about the pentagram tattoo on his forehead. Penguin got the pentagram at the behest of a tattoo artist in Sunnyslope.
Penguin asked the tattoo artist to place the pentagram on his chest. The price agreed upon was $120. The man offered to do the tattoo for free if he could put it on any part of Penguins body. Penguin agreed and the forehead was designated. Penguin insists he is not a Satanist and that the tattoo is his family’s ancestral symbol. He claims that he is a Nazarene descended from the Hebrew line of the Israelites. The inmates laugh at this.
When Penguin was topless I noticed a large, thick scar stretching from his upper abdomen down to his public mound. I also noticed another scar that goes around the side of his belly. I asked Penguin how he had come to get such scars on his torso. Another tragic tale emerged.
In 1990, when Penguin was eighteen, he was roaming around Sunnyslope with his friend Jimmy, who was in possession of a 16-inch knife that belonged to Penguin. A car went by slowly, and Penguin, thinking that he recognised the occupants, waved at them and urged them to stop. Penguin approached the driver’s side of the vehicle and realised that he had made a mistake. Penguin promptly apologised but the driver punched him in the face. Penguin retreated but one of the passengers in the vehicle jumped out and accosted Jimmy, who pulled out the blade. The passenger pulled a handgun. Jimmy dropped the knife and bolted. Penguin was running away at a slower pace when the passenger tackled him and stabbed him in the stomach. Before fleeing, the passenger started to slice the knife through Penguin’s flesh in what almost resulted in a disembowelment.
It took Penguin a few minutes before he realised he had been stabbed. He was looking for Jimmy when he noticed blood soaking his clothing. It took Penguin 30 minutes to walk half a block to reach a pay phone. He was losing consciousness when the paramedics arrived.
The doctor, fearing that Penguin’s internal organs had been damaged, decided to cut Penguin open to examine his entrails. They cut a large incision down his torso and during a
twelve-and-a-half-hour operation the doctors examined Penguin’s intestine inch by inch. They informed his family that 90% of the victims of such stab wounds die.
The damage to Penguin’s internal organs was not life threatening, but Penguin entered a coma and remained in it for two-and-a-half weeks. Penguin claimed that he saw a bright light when he was comatose and that he heard God’s voice saying: “Do not fear my precious child, for I am with you.” Penguin survived but ever since the incident he has suffered from irritable bowel syndrome and acid reflux disease.
Penguin wrote a poem this week:
Misery Is Living (by Penguin)
Misery is living for me right now,
And God won’t let me go.
I am trapped in my loneliness and pain.
To woe my soul and to know,
Is all I have to look forward to?
And still I cry for death’s cold grip
To end my pain of endless loneliness,
And lonely nights of my weeping soul
19th October 04
The following blog has just arrived although Jon sent it in October. It refers to Penguin (See blog 25/09) who was Jon’s cellmate at Florence. .
Penguin has been miserable ever since his birthday. He’s written to his mum several times, but he hasn’t received a reply. Every night, with hope in his eyes, Penguin looks at the mail officer.
“Is that all the mail there is?” he constantly asks.
“What I’ve handed out is all I’ve got. I tell you this every night!”
Penguin is hoping for a belated birthday card from his mum.
The guards and inmates have been teasing Penguin about the pentagram tattoo on his forehead. Penguin got the pentagram at the behest of a tattoo artist in Sunnyslope.
Penguin asked the tattoo artist to place the pentagram on his chest. The price agreed upon was $120. The man offered to do the tattoo for free if he could put it on any part of Penguins body. Penguin agreed and the forehead was designated. Penguin insists he is not a Satanist and that the tattoo is his family’s ancestral symbol. He claims that he is a Nazarene descended from the Hebrew line of the Israelites. The inmates laugh at this.
When Penguin was topless I noticed a large, thick scar stretching from his upper abdomen down to his public mound. I also noticed another scar that goes around the side of his belly. I asked Penguin how he had come to get such scars on his torso. Another tragic tale emerged.
In 1990, when Penguin was eighteen, he was roaming around Sunnyslope with his friend Jimmy, who was in possession of a 16-inch knife that belonged to Penguin. A car went by slowly, and Penguin, thinking that he recognised the occupants, waved at them and urged them to stop. Penguin approached the driver’s side of the vehicle and realised that he had made a mistake. Penguin promptly apologised but the driver punched him in the face. Penguin retreated but one of the passengers in the vehicle jumped out and accosted Jimmy, who pulled out the blade. The passenger pulled a handgun. Jimmy dropped the knife and bolted. Penguin was running away at a slower pace when the passenger tackled him and stabbed him in the stomach. Before fleeing, the passenger started to slice the knife through Penguin’s flesh in what almost resulted in a disembowelment.
It took Penguin a few minutes before he realised he had been stabbed. He was looking for Jimmy when he noticed blood soaking his clothing. It took Penguin 30 minutes to walk half a block to reach a pay phone. He was losing consciousness when the paramedics arrived.
The doctor, fearing that Penguin’s internal organs had been damaged, decided to cut Penguin open to examine his entrails. They cut a large incision down his torso and during a
twelve-and-a-half-hour operation the doctors examined Penguin’s intestine inch by inch. They informed his family that 90% of the victims of such stab wounds die.
The damage to Penguin’s internal organs was not life threatening, but Penguin entered a coma and remained in it for two-and-a-half weeks. Penguin claimed that he saw a bright light when he was comatose and that he heard God’s voice saying: “Do not fear my precious child, for I am with you.” Penguin survived but ever since the incident he has suffered from irritable bowel syndrome and acid reflux disease.
Penguin wrote a poem this week:
Misery Is Living (by Penguin)
Misery is living for me right now,
And God won’t let me go.
I am trapped in my loneliness and pain.
To woe my soul and to know,
Is all I have to look forward to?
And still I cry for death’s cold grip
To end my pain of endless loneliness,
And lonely nights of my weeping soul
19th October 04
6 Feb 05
Anal Virginity Threats: Glory Hole
(Threat level: moderate) Warning: Sexually Explicit
This week George came on strong. Picture him - stout, soft-spoken, silver-haired, and in his late forties. Out of nowhere, in a voice reminiscent of Monty Python member impersonating a woman, George said, "Jon's too shy to get oral sex. Jon's too inhibited to get his willy played with by another man. Oh, no! What if the Queen of England were to find out that a man had been fiddling with Jon's Prince William."
"Inhibited? Shy? I'm too heterosexual, is what you mean?"
George's voice returned to normal, "You're too homophobic."
"Nonsense, I have loads of gay friends."
"Then you're confused. There's nobody that's one-hundred-percent heterosexual or homosexual. There's only varying degrees of the whole range of sexuality."
"Oh yes, how do you know that?"
"Humans are curious about sex."
"All of them, about all kinds of sex?"
"Everyone of 'em. If you took away people's inhibitions there'd be a lot of bisexuals."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Look at the Sixties, free love. One minute you're going down on a vagina and the next minute there's a penis in your face and you're just going to town on it."
"If you're going down on a vagina how can you be performing fellatio at the same time?"
"Because its an orgy. You're just rollin' around from person to person without a care in the world."
"Maybe at your house!"
"Why do you think that voyeurism is so popular?"
"You tell me."
"Because the people being watched are uninhibited."
"You just want more bisexuals to feast upon!"
"I want people to be less inhibited."
"So they'll have sex with you?"
"Surely you've been near a penis at some point of your life?"
"Nope."
"Not even peeing contests or circle jerks?" (Communal adolescent masturbation sessions.)
"I helped put a fire out one night by peeing on it."
"See, you have had a penis near you!"
"Putting a fire out is not a sexual act."
"Peeing on fires jointly is, okay, Jon. It's male bonding, camaraderie."
"But it wasn't sexual!"
"So you've never cruised for love?"
"No!"
"Don't you think that if it didn't have social stigma you would do anything that feels good?'
"Such as letting you suck my dick? Is that where this is heading?"
"I say if it feels good, let it happen."
"Ha, ha! You are a fiend."
"Let me ask you this then: if you stick your dick into a glory hole [a hole through which fellatio is performed anonymously] and you didn't know if it was a man or a woman sucking on it, what difference would receiving the pleasure make?"
"I've never used a glory hole."
"You wouldn't know then, but in my opinion, a man would do a better job."
"No, I wouldn't know."
"But you agree that they'd both feel good right?"
"That's a tie down. You're asking me a question to solicit a yes answer?"
"You know that they would both feel good," he said, smiling slyly.
"No I don't."
"You need to toss out of the window your preconceived notions of right and wrong. Lose your inhibitions."
"It seems you've beaten me with semantics. I'll grant you that."
"Yah! I won. Now you have to drop your knickers and close your eyes."
"Not likely!"
"Think about my question again then: if you put your penis in a glory hole and you didn't know if it was a male or a female giving you satisfaction, wouldn't it be equally pleasurable?"
Refusing to answer his question directly, I replied, "I'll write about this conversation and see what my blog readers think. Then I'll find out if you're a madman or not. Perhaps there are people out there acquainted with glory holes, or maybe not."
"I'll leave it at that for now then, shall I?" he asked, looking me up and down.
"Most definitely!"
"Okay. Goodbye," he said and left.
"Ta ta," I shouted after him.
I would appreciate your comments on handling George. Does his argument make sense or not?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Anal Virginity Threats: Glory Hole
(Threat level: moderate) Warning: Sexually Explicit
This week George came on strong. Picture him - stout, soft-spoken, silver-haired, and in his late forties. Out of nowhere, in a voice reminiscent of Monty Python member impersonating a woman, George said, "Jon's too shy to get oral sex. Jon's too inhibited to get his willy played with by another man. Oh, no! What if the Queen of England were to find out that a man had been fiddling with Jon's Prince William."
"Inhibited? Shy? I'm too heterosexual, is what you mean?"
George's voice returned to normal, "You're too homophobic."
"Nonsense, I have loads of gay friends."
"Then you're confused. There's nobody that's one-hundred-percent heterosexual or homosexual. There's only varying degrees of the whole range of sexuality."
"Oh yes, how do you know that?"
"Humans are curious about sex."
"All of them, about all kinds of sex?"
"Everyone of 'em. If you took away people's inhibitions there'd be a lot of bisexuals."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Look at the Sixties, free love. One minute you're going down on a vagina and the next minute there's a penis in your face and you're just going to town on it."
"If you're going down on a vagina how can you be performing fellatio at the same time?"
"Because its an orgy. You're just rollin' around from person to person without a care in the world."
"Maybe at your house!"
"Why do you think that voyeurism is so popular?"
"You tell me."
"Because the people being watched are uninhibited."
"You just want more bisexuals to feast upon!"
"I want people to be less inhibited."
"So they'll have sex with you?"
"Surely you've been near a penis at some point of your life?"
"Nope."
"Not even peeing contests or circle jerks?" (Communal adolescent masturbation sessions.)
"I helped put a fire out one night by peeing on it."
"See, you have had a penis near you!"
"Putting a fire out is not a sexual act."
"Peeing on fires jointly is, okay, Jon. It's male bonding, camaraderie."
"But it wasn't sexual!"
"So you've never cruised for love?"
"No!"
"Don't you think that if it didn't have social stigma you would do anything that feels good?'
"Such as letting you suck my dick? Is that where this is heading?"
"I say if it feels good, let it happen."
"Ha, ha! You are a fiend."
"Let me ask you this then: if you stick your dick into a glory hole [a hole through which fellatio is performed anonymously] and you didn't know if it was a man or a woman sucking on it, what difference would receiving the pleasure make?"
"I've never used a glory hole."
"You wouldn't know then, but in my opinion, a man would do a better job."
"No, I wouldn't know."
"But you agree that they'd both feel good right?"
"That's a tie down. You're asking me a question to solicit a yes answer?"
"You know that they would both feel good," he said, smiling slyly.
"No I don't."
"You need to toss out of the window your preconceived notions of right and wrong. Lose your inhibitions."
"It seems you've beaten me with semantics. I'll grant you that."
"Yah! I won. Now you have to drop your knickers and close your eyes."
"Not likely!"
"Think about my question again then: if you put your penis in a glory hole and you didn't know if it was a male or a female giving you satisfaction, wouldn't it be equally pleasurable?"
Refusing to answer his question directly, I replied, "I'll write about this conversation and see what my blog readers think. Then I'll find out if you're a madman or not. Perhaps there are people out there acquainted with glory holes, or maybe not."
"I'll leave it at that for now then, shall I?" he asked, looking me up and down.
"Most definitely!"
"Okay. Goodbye," he said and left.
"Ta ta," I shouted after him.
I would appreciate your comments on handling George. Does his argument make sense or not?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
27 Jan 05
Psychotherapy and Music
I have been scheduled to see the prison psychotherapist, Dr. B. I have also obtained a textbook, Theory and Practice of Counselling and Psychotherapy, which I hope will give me a better understanding of psychotherapy. Thus far, I have found the chapter on Cognitive Behaviour Therapy the most helpful, especially an approach called REBT (Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy).
The gist of REBT is that our negative interpretations of events, and not actual events themselves, cause us problems. The remedy is to break the pattern of negative thoughts, replacing them with positive ones. In short, changing our reactions to situations.
REBT seems to be a modern adaptation of certain schools of ancient philosophy. I practice Sidda Yoga meditation, which helps me let go of negative thoughts. The Stoics also had advice in this area. Epictetus taught, “People are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of them."
Cognitive Behaviour Therapy is a holistic approach, which includes relaxation, humour, conversation and techniques such as yoga, meditation and listening to music.
Regarding music, I have been unable to listen to electronica since my arrest. At the Towers Jail in 2002, I listened to some radio broadcasts from a nightclub in Tempe, but I became sad. Too many memories were released all at once. I remembered the fun I had with my friends.
In order to relax I have begun to listen to music again. Most of the radio stations in Arizona are abysmal. They push the same play lists. But I did discover an excellent classical music radio station, NPR (National Public Radio). I tuned into NPR and listened to Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in C minor. Lying down on my bunk, I closed my eyes, and Beethoven’s concerto managed to make the hair on my arms rise.
As I was listening to Beethoven, Greg, an Aryan Brotherhood member, came to my door, and seeing my headphones and a smile on my face, asked if I was feeling alright. I assured him that I was and I explained that I was listening to Beethoven. He left with a grin on his face, returned a few minutes later, and flung two cassette tapes at me.
“I’ve got a fuckin’ anger problem, so my doctor tells me that when I feel like hitting someone, I’ve gotta listen to these.”
I am now enjoying Greg’s tapes: Mozart for Meditation and Bach’s Greatest Hits Volume 2. I especially like Bach’s Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-flat. I hope that Greg doesn’t smash someone while his tapes are absent.
I am going to ask my parents to coordinate the delivery of some tapes. Enya or Enigma would be good. Perhaps I am ready to listen to some Sasha or Paul Van Dyk
John at http://www.tofuhut.blogspot.com/ asked if there was any music that I liked that I considered underrepresented. Two of my DJ friends, Keoki and Sandra Collins were massive in the States before my arrest, but I am not sure about their popularity in Europe. They are both talented and perhaps they have made it big in Europe by now.
Psychotherapy and Music
I have been scheduled to see the prison psychotherapist, Dr. B. I have also obtained a textbook, Theory and Practice of Counselling and Psychotherapy, which I hope will give me a better understanding of psychotherapy. Thus far, I have found the chapter on Cognitive Behaviour Therapy the most helpful, especially an approach called REBT (Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy).
The gist of REBT is that our negative interpretations of events, and not actual events themselves, cause us problems. The remedy is to break the pattern of negative thoughts, replacing them with positive ones. In short, changing our reactions to situations.
REBT seems to be a modern adaptation of certain schools of ancient philosophy. I practice Sidda Yoga meditation, which helps me let go of negative thoughts. The Stoics also had advice in this area. Epictetus taught, “People are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of them."
Cognitive Behaviour Therapy is a holistic approach, which includes relaxation, humour, conversation and techniques such as yoga, meditation and listening to music.
Regarding music, I have been unable to listen to electronica since my arrest. At the Towers Jail in 2002, I listened to some radio broadcasts from a nightclub in Tempe, but I became sad. Too many memories were released all at once. I remembered the fun I had with my friends.
In order to relax I have begun to listen to music again. Most of the radio stations in Arizona are abysmal. They push the same play lists. But I did discover an excellent classical music radio station, NPR (National Public Radio). I tuned into NPR and listened to Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in C minor. Lying down on my bunk, I closed my eyes, and Beethoven’s concerto managed to make the hair on my arms rise.
As I was listening to Beethoven, Greg, an Aryan Brotherhood member, came to my door, and seeing my headphones and a smile on my face, asked if I was feeling alright. I assured him that I was and I explained that I was listening to Beethoven. He left with a grin on his face, returned a few minutes later, and flung two cassette tapes at me.
“I’ve got a fuckin’ anger problem, so my doctor tells me that when I feel like hitting someone, I’ve gotta listen to these.”
I am now enjoying Greg’s tapes: Mozart for Meditation and Bach’s Greatest Hits Volume 2. I especially like Bach’s Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-flat. I hope that Greg doesn’t smash someone while his tapes are absent.
I am going to ask my parents to coordinate the delivery of some tapes. Enya or Enigma would be good. Perhaps I am ready to listen to some Sasha or Paul Van Dyk
John at http://www.tofuhut.blogspot.com/ asked if there was any music that I liked that I considered underrepresented. Two of my DJ friends, Keoki and Sandra Collins were massive in the States before my arrest, but I am not sure about their popularity in Europe. They are both talented and perhaps they have made it big in Europe by now.
Inmate Resources
‘The only way in which a human being can make some approach to knowing the whole of a subject, is by hearing what can be said about it by persons of every variety of opinion, and studying all modes in which it can be looked at by every character of mind. No wise man ever acquired his wisdom in any mode but this.’
John Stuart Mill, ‘On Liberty’
Inmates need stuff to read. The following organisations may be of use.
MIM DISTRIBUTORS
P.O. BOX 29670,
LOS ANGELES, CA 90029-0670
www.etext.org/Politics/MIM
MIM provides free books and newsletters to US prisoners nationwide. They publish a monthly theoretical journal espousing the theories of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin and Mao. They welcome written contributions from inmates.
FAULT LINES
2940 16th STREET ste. 216
SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94104
http://www.indymedia.org/
Fault Lines is a newspaper reporting alternative global news that is suppressed by the mainstream propaganda machine. They rely on donations, and welcome written work from prisoners.
NEWS & LETTERS
36 SOUTH WABASH, Room 1440
Chicago, IL 60603
http://www.newsandletters.org/
News and Letters is a newspaper also reporting alternative global news. They try to present all voices struggling for freedom including prisoners'.
EDWARD R. HAMILTON (bookseller)
FALLS VILLAGE CT 06031-5000
http://www.edwardrhamilton.com/
This bookstore has the cheapest prices I have ever seen. They offer a wide range of books. Their book catalogue is a must for prisoners who like to read. They make http://www.overstock.com/ seem expensive in comparison.
AK PRESS DISTRIBUTION
674-a 23rd STREET
OAKLAND, CA 94612
http://www.akpress.org/
They offer a 40% inmate discount and provide books that you will not find in your average bookstore, including some shocking titles in the sex section.
‘The only way in which a human being can make some approach to knowing the whole of a subject, is by hearing what can be said about it by persons of every variety of opinion, and studying all modes in which it can be looked at by every character of mind. No wise man ever acquired his wisdom in any mode but this.’
John Stuart Mill, ‘On Liberty’
Inmates need stuff to read. The following organisations may be of use.
MIM DISTRIBUTORS
P.O. BOX 29670,
LOS ANGELES, CA 90029-0670
www.etext.org/Politics/MIM
MIM provides free books and newsletters to US prisoners nationwide. They publish a monthly theoretical journal espousing the theories of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin and Mao. They welcome written contributions from inmates.
FAULT LINES
2940 16th STREET ste. 216
SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94104
http://www.indymedia.org/
Fault Lines is a newspaper reporting alternative global news that is suppressed by the mainstream propaganda machine. They rely on donations, and welcome written work from prisoners.
NEWS & LETTERS
36 SOUTH WABASH, Room 1440
Chicago, IL 60603
http://www.newsandletters.org/
News and Letters is a newspaper also reporting alternative global news. They try to present all voices struggling for freedom including prisoners'.
EDWARD R. HAMILTON (bookseller)
FALLS VILLAGE CT 06031-5000
http://www.edwardrhamilton.com/
This bookstore has the cheapest prices I have ever seen. They offer a wide range of books. Their book catalogue is a must for prisoners who like to read. They make http://www.overstock.com/ seem expensive in comparison.
AK PRESS DISTRIBUTION
674-a 23rd STREET
OAKLAND, CA 94612
http://www.akpress.org/
They offer a 40% inmate discount and provide books that you will not find in your average bookstore, including some shocking titles in the sex section.
26 Jan 05
Long Island’s Disciplinary Tickets
Inmates who receive disciplinary tickets lose privileges (known as LOP), have their scores raised, and ultimately may be moved to a higher-security prison. My new cellmate, Long Island, worked his way up from medium security in 2003 to supermaximum security in 2004 by earning lots of tickets. He has only been back in medium security for two weeks and he has already earned three tickets. If he receives one more major ticket he will be sent to a higher-custody yard. The law of averages is not in his favour.
Long Island’s most recent ticket occurred after the officer whose duty it is to monitor our outgoing mail discovered that he was "piggy-backing" a letter to an inmate at SMU1. Long Island was charged with "BO8: Disobeying a verbal or written order, including Departmental and Institutional rules, policies, procedures, memoranda or other directives." The officer found a reference to me in Long Island’s letter, “I’ve found Jon” and was concerned that Long Island was a "sleeper" - someone contracted to kill me. The officer quizzed Long Island and mentioned that he reads my blog.
I asked Long Island to show me some of his other tickets (Inmate Disciplinary Reports) and he obliged. On 21st September, 2003, Long Island decided to stand on some rocks in an area where inmates are prohibited from going. The officer wrote: “(He) was given several direct orders by myself…to get off the rocks… and go home. (He) refused all orders given.” For standing on the rocks Long Island was sentenced to 30 days LOP – confiscation of appliances including the TV and cancellation of store purchases (except for hygiene and postage).
In November, Long Island was charged with "B11: Give/Receive Tattoo or Paraphernalia" because "during a cell search a tattoo gun and ink were found in the light fixture." Tattoo guns are made by extracting the motor from a stereo, using a guitar string as a needle, and inserting the string into an empty Bic pen. Ink is obtained by collecting soot caused by burning hair grease. The sentence was yet another thirty days L.O.P and a stay at the hole.
While in the hole, Long Island, who was suffering from nicotine-withdrawal symptoms, formed a plan to obtain some smokes. He mailed another inmate "instructions on how to introduce tobacco into CDU (Complex Detention Unit)." For doing this he was charged once more with B26. The lieutenant told Long Island, “You’re on LOP "till the cows come home." Instead of doling out more LOP, Long Island was sent to SMU1 where he resided until being moved back here.
email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
Long Island’s Disciplinary Tickets
Inmates who receive disciplinary tickets lose privileges (known as LOP), have their scores raised, and ultimately may be moved to a higher-security prison. My new cellmate, Long Island, worked his way up from medium security in 2003 to supermaximum security in 2004 by earning lots of tickets. He has only been back in medium security for two weeks and he has already earned three tickets. If he receives one more major ticket he will be sent to a higher-custody yard. The law of averages is not in his favour.
Long Island’s most recent ticket occurred after the officer whose duty it is to monitor our outgoing mail discovered that he was "piggy-backing" a letter to an inmate at SMU1. Long Island was charged with "BO8: Disobeying a verbal or written order, including Departmental and Institutional rules, policies, procedures, memoranda or other directives." The officer found a reference to me in Long Island’s letter, “I’ve found Jon” and was concerned that Long Island was a "sleeper" - someone contracted to kill me. The officer quizzed Long Island and mentioned that he reads my blog.
I asked Long Island to show me some of his other tickets (Inmate Disciplinary Reports) and he obliged. On 21st September, 2003, Long Island decided to stand on some rocks in an area where inmates are prohibited from going. The officer wrote: “(He) was given several direct orders by myself…to get off the rocks… and go home. (He) refused all orders given.” For standing on the rocks Long Island was sentenced to 30 days LOP – confiscation of appliances including the TV and cancellation of store purchases (except for hygiene and postage).
In November, Long Island was charged with "B11: Give/Receive Tattoo or Paraphernalia" because "during a cell search a tattoo gun and ink were found in the light fixture." Tattoo guns are made by extracting the motor from a stereo, using a guitar string as a needle, and inserting the string into an empty Bic pen. Ink is obtained by collecting soot caused by burning hair grease. The sentence was yet another thirty days L.O.P and a stay at the hole.
While in the hole, Long Island, who was suffering from nicotine-withdrawal symptoms, formed a plan to obtain some smokes. He mailed another inmate "instructions on how to introduce tobacco into CDU (Complex Detention Unit)." For doing this he was charged once more with B26. The lieutenant told Long Island, “You’re on LOP "till the cows come home." Instead of doling out more LOP, Long Island was sent to SMU1 where he resided until being moved back here.
email Jon at writeinside@hotmail.com
25 Jan 05
Hello Long Island
My new cellmate is a twenty-six year old called Long Island who brought some interesting books with him. He gave me F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night.
After being locked down for over a year, Long Island is understandably boisterous. He managed to get two disciplinary tickets his second day here. The guard cited him for wearing shower shoes in the day room (ticket one) and Long Island responded by calling the guard “a bitch”
(ticket two).
BHF was in the habit of pelting my cell with batteries, so Long Island went and asked BHF to stop.
Hello Long Island
My new cellmate is a twenty-six year old called Long Island who brought some interesting books with him. He gave me F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night.
After being locked down for over a year, Long Island is understandably boisterous. He managed to get two disciplinary tickets his second day here. The guard cited him for wearing shower shoes in the day room (ticket one) and Long Island responded by calling the guard “a bitch”
(ticket two).
BHF was in the habit of pelting my cell with batteries, so Long Island went and asked BHF to stop.
24 Jan 05
Lithium and Prozac
As I'm diagnosed with anxiety and bipolar disorders, they've put me on lithium and Prozac.
At hourly increments I jotted down how the lithium made me feel.
1 hour after swallowing the pill:
I can feel my heart pounding. My anxiety has increased – I am trembling and uneasy. My mind is clouded. Breathing feels difficult – slow and heavy. I feel dizzy. There is a strange taste in my mouth. My eyes are heavy.
2 hours later:
I have urinated twice – long, clear jets. My eyes are aching and squinting, the book I am reading is going in and out of focus. I have a headache. My heartbeat feels odd and the left side of my chest feels tight.
3 hours later:
I have urinated two more times – more clear pee. I threw up a small amount of vomit – it looked as if blood was in it, but it may have been the tomatoes I ate at lunchtime. My hands are trembling. My head is pulsating. My skin feels strange to touch. I am experiencing sudden flatulence. I have completely lost my appetite. I am feeling occasional stabbing pains in the right side of my brain.
I felt so sick that I skipped the evenings chow.
The next day I refused the meds. I signed a refusal form upon which I described the side effects. Instead of taking these pills, I’ll stick to yoga from now on. A five-minute headstand is the best kind of medicine. Maybe a century from now the medical profession will be scoffing at lithium, as we look back and mock electro-shock therapy. In the meantime the pharmaceutical-industrial complex will make a fortune.
Lithium and Prozac
As I'm diagnosed with anxiety and bipolar disorders, they've put me on lithium and Prozac.
At hourly increments I jotted down how the lithium made me feel.
1 hour after swallowing the pill:
I can feel my heart pounding. My anxiety has increased – I am trembling and uneasy. My mind is clouded. Breathing feels difficult – slow and heavy. I feel dizzy. There is a strange taste in my mouth. My eyes are heavy.
2 hours later:
I have urinated twice – long, clear jets. My eyes are aching and squinting, the book I am reading is going in and out of focus. I have a headache. My heartbeat feels odd and the left side of my chest feels tight.
3 hours later:
I have urinated two more times – more clear pee. I threw up a small amount of vomit – it looked as if blood was in it, but it may have been the tomatoes I ate at lunchtime. My hands are trembling. My head is pulsating. My skin feels strange to touch. I am experiencing sudden flatulence. I have completely lost my appetite. I am feeling occasional stabbing pains in the right side of my brain.
I felt so sick that I skipped the evenings chow.
The next day I refused the meds. I signed a refusal form upon which I described the side effects. Instead of taking these pills, I’ll stick to yoga from now on. A five-minute headstand is the best kind of medicine. Maybe a century from now the medical profession will be scoffing at lithium, as we look back and mock electro-shock therapy. In the meantime the pharmaceutical-industrial complex will make a fortune.
21 Jan 05
Literary Growing Pains
‘There is no satisfactory explanation of style, no infallible guide to good writing, no assurance that a person who thinks clearly will be able to write clearly, no key that unlocks the door, no inflexible rule by which the young writer may shape his course. He will often find himself steering by stars that are disturbingly in motion’ (Source: E.B. White, The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr & E.B. White, Chpt. 5)
I recently received some books that caused me to think about my writing. Maybe I should have added studying English literature and language to my New Year’s Resolutions, as there seems to be plenty of room for improvement.
This self-assessment began when I started to read Remembrance of Things Past (3294 pages) by Marcel Proust. The three-volume set was thoughtfully sent as a Christmas gift by one of my sister’s colleagues, Jill Shiel. My first impression of Volume 1 was negative, the pace seemed to be too slow. I wondered why Jill had chosen Proust, but after reading over 100 pages I began to suspect that Jill wanted me to read a style of writing par excellence.
Despite my initial doubts I quickly began to enjoy the genius of Marcel Proust. I found myself in awe of his figurative language and I began to reread the sentences that mesmerised me the most. Here are some descriptions I enjoyed.
"…the heat of the day was falling and settling, as though in a vase along the sides of which the transparent, dusky jelly of the air seemed of such consistency that a tall rose-tree, fastened against the dim wall which it veined with pink, looked like the arborescence that one sees at the heart of an onyx."
"…the churches of Criquebec which, in the distance, surrounded by water on every side because you saw them without seeing the town, in a powdery haze of sunlight and crumbling waves, seemed to be emerging from the waters, blown in alabaster or in sea-foam, and, enclosed in the band a variegated rainbow, to form an ethereal, mystical tableau."
After reading Volume 1 of Remembrance of Things Past, I started F. Scott Fitzgerald’s, Tender is the Night.
I am envious of the talents of Proust and Fitzgerald. I have now set about improving my
English.
Unlike my sister, Karen, who has studied English her entire adult life, I have not studied English since high school.
Despite my shortcomings, I am endeavouring to use all of the resources at my disposal to improve my abilities. My father kindly sent me The Oxford American Writer’s Thesaurus for Christmas and I am seeking approval from the prison’s education department to do some correspondence courses with www.riosalado.edu/ci who provide non-Internet courses for prisoners.
ENG213: Introduction to the Study of Language, would be beneficial. It is described as the Study of language as code: phonetics, phonology, morphology, syntax, semantics, language acquisition; historical and socio-linguistics.
ENH275: Modern Fiction, also interest me. It is described as including "novels and short stories for modern writers which reflect significant themes of our time."
Literary Growing Pains
‘There is no satisfactory explanation of style, no infallible guide to good writing, no assurance that a person who thinks clearly will be able to write clearly, no key that unlocks the door, no inflexible rule by which the young writer may shape his course. He will often find himself steering by stars that are disturbingly in motion’ (Source: E.B. White, The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr & E.B. White, Chpt. 5)
I recently received some books that caused me to think about my writing. Maybe I should have added studying English literature and language to my New Year’s Resolutions, as there seems to be plenty of room for improvement.
This self-assessment began when I started to read Remembrance of Things Past (3294 pages) by Marcel Proust. The three-volume set was thoughtfully sent as a Christmas gift by one of my sister’s colleagues, Jill Shiel. My first impression of Volume 1 was negative, the pace seemed to be too slow. I wondered why Jill had chosen Proust, but after reading over 100 pages I began to suspect that Jill wanted me to read a style of writing par excellence.
Despite my initial doubts I quickly began to enjoy the genius of Marcel Proust. I found myself in awe of his figurative language and I began to reread the sentences that mesmerised me the most. Here are some descriptions I enjoyed.
"…the heat of the day was falling and settling, as though in a vase along the sides of which the transparent, dusky jelly of the air seemed of such consistency that a tall rose-tree, fastened against the dim wall which it veined with pink, looked like the arborescence that one sees at the heart of an onyx."
"…the churches of Criquebec which, in the distance, surrounded by water on every side because you saw them without seeing the town, in a powdery haze of sunlight and crumbling waves, seemed to be emerging from the waters, blown in alabaster or in sea-foam, and, enclosed in the band a variegated rainbow, to form an ethereal, mystical tableau."
After reading Volume 1 of Remembrance of Things Past, I started F. Scott Fitzgerald’s, Tender is the Night.
I am envious of the talents of Proust and Fitzgerald. I have now set about improving my
English.
Unlike my sister, Karen, who has studied English her entire adult life, I have not studied English since high school.
Despite my shortcomings, I am endeavouring to use all of the resources at my disposal to improve my abilities. My father kindly sent me The Oxford American Writer’s Thesaurus for Christmas and I am seeking approval from the prison’s education department to do some correspondence courses with www.riosalado.edu/ci who provide non-Internet courses for prisoners.
ENG213: Introduction to the Study of Language, would be beneficial. It is described as the Study of language as code: phonetics, phonology, morphology, syntax, semantics, language acquisition; historical and socio-linguistics.
ENH275: Modern Fiction, also interest me. It is described as including "novels and short stories for modern writers which reflect significant themes of our time."
20 Jan 05
Under Pressure To Pee
The following conversation took place between thirteen inmates in a small holding cell at Medical. Six of us sat cramped on a concrete ledge on one side of the room, facing another six on the opposite ledge. A thirteenth inmate was in a wheelchair in the middle of the cell. A dozen of us had seen the doctor and we were ready to leave. The only inmate waiting to be seen was a baby-faced Chicano who stood less than five-and-a-half-feet tall. He had a plastic urinalysis container, but he was unable to pee. The inmates thought that none of us would be transported back to our units until the Chicano had performed.
“Can you pee yet?” asked the African American guard stood in the hallway.
“Nah.”
“Tsk-tsk. I must o’ asked you ten times by now. Alright, let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take you to the restroom.”
“Why do they want your pee?” asked an inmate.
"'Cause my backs been hurtin’. They think it's my kidneys.”
“You’d better take a whiz soon 'cause you're holdin’ us up. We won’t get a transportation bus until you’re done.”
“Yeah, hurry up and pee.”
“I can’t!”
“If you don’t take a leak soon, they’ll strap you down and shove a catheter into your prick and then you’ll wish you had peed earlier."
“Yeah, they did that to me at Florence and it fuckin’ hurt like hell. It was sore for seven days. I ain’t ever lettin’ 'em pull that shit again. They shoved it in and worked it right up to my kidneys. It’ll bring the pee right out of you.”
“It ain’t that bad now. They’ve got a pump – it’s a bag they squeeze. They shove in the catheter and squeeze the bag, and your penis spits the pee right out. Still, you’d better pee before they strap you down.”
“I’ll try right now,” the Chicano said, nervously shoving the plastic cup down his orange pants.
“The catheter wouldn’t hurt so bad if the goddam end of the tube that they stick in ya wasn’t made so wide, like the flat end on one of those slurpee straws.”
“You can’t pee in here! What’re you doin'! The guard'll think that one of us peed for you and he’ll make you start all over again.”
“Don’t pee in here, dawg!”
“If he can’t pee, then he needs to drink some water.”
“They ain’t gonna let him go back to his house either.”
“That’s right. They’re gonna strap him down and catheter his shit.”
“I had a catheter once. I was hopin’ that it would make my dick bigger, but all it did was make it sore – real sore.”
“I’ll make you pee real quick. Let me hold yer dick and I’ll aim it at your neighbour, Boxer, right there.”
“You ain’t goin' nowhere near my dick! I’m never gonna pee!”
“When they put the catheter in, they make you hold yer dick. It wouldn’t be so bad if they held it for you.”
“We’ve all seen the doctor apart from you. You’re holdin’ us up. The sooner you pee, the sooner we’ll be goin’ back to our houses.”
The cell door slid open. “Whoever’s seen the doctor, lets go!” the guard said.
We all departed except for the Chicano. I am still wondering about his fate.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Under Pressure To Pee
The following conversation took place between thirteen inmates in a small holding cell at Medical. Six of us sat cramped on a concrete ledge on one side of the room, facing another six on the opposite ledge. A thirteenth inmate was in a wheelchair in the middle of the cell. A dozen of us had seen the doctor and we were ready to leave. The only inmate waiting to be seen was a baby-faced Chicano who stood less than five-and-a-half-feet tall. He had a plastic urinalysis container, but he was unable to pee. The inmates thought that none of us would be transported back to our units until the Chicano had performed.
“Can you pee yet?” asked the African American guard stood in the hallway.
“Nah.”
“Tsk-tsk. I must o’ asked you ten times by now. Alright, let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take you to the restroom.”
“Why do they want your pee?” asked an inmate.
"'Cause my backs been hurtin’. They think it's my kidneys.”
“You’d better take a whiz soon 'cause you're holdin’ us up. We won’t get a transportation bus until you’re done.”
“Yeah, hurry up and pee.”
“I can’t!”
“If you don’t take a leak soon, they’ll strap you down and shove a catheter into your prick and then you’ll wish you had peed earlier."
“Yeah, they did that to me at Florence and it fuckin’ hurt like hell. It was sore for seven days. I ain’t ever lettin’ 'em pull that shit again. They shoved it in and worked it right up to my kidneys. It’ll bring the pee right out of you.”
“It ain’t that bad now. They’ve got a pump – it’s a bag they squeeze. They shove in the catheter and squeeze the bag, and your penis spits the pee right out. Still, you’d better pee before they strap you down.”
“I’ll try right now,” the Chicano said, nervously shoving the plastic cup down his orange pants.
“The catheter wouldn’t hurt so bad if the goddam end of the tube that they stick in ya wasn’t made so wide, like the flat end on one of those slurpee straws.”
“You can’t pee in here! What’re you doin'! The guard'll think that one of us peed for you and he’ll make you start all over again.”
“Don’t pee in here, dawg!”
“If he can’t pee, then he needs to drink some water.”
“They ain’t gonna let him go back to his house either.”
“That’s right. They’re gonna strap him down and catheter his shit.”
“I had a catheter once. I was hopin’ that it would make my dick bigger, but all it did was make it sore – real sore.”
“I’ll make you pee real quick. Let me hold yer dick and I’ll aim it at your neighbour, Boxer, right there.”
“You ain’t goin' nowhere near my dick! I’m never gonna pee!”
“When they put the catheter in, they make you hold yer dick. It wouldn’t be so bad if they held it for you.”
“We’ve all seen the doctor apart from you. You’re holdin’ us up. The sooner you pee, the sooner we’ll be goin’ back to our houses.”
The cell door slid open. “Whoever’s seen the doctor, lets go!” the guard said.
We all departed except for the Chicano. I am still wondering about his fate.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
16 Jan 05
The impact of Blogs
Matthew, who is doing a dissertation "on the impact of blogs on wider society" asked for my view of what I am doing and how I feel about blogging.
I will answer with a recap. Jon's Jail Journal came about as a method of disseminating information about life inside the Madison Street jail to my family and friends, who were
increasingly interested in what was going on. As I had limited access to stationary and postage, by blogging, I was able to conserve resources whilst getting the message out.
It was after I was sentenced and moved from the jail system that the Guardian newspaper published some of my blogs and interest in the blog increased further. Since then, I have received encouragement from various readers of my blog, so, I am happy about what I am doing and I feel that blogging is worthwhile. The feedback is helping me better deal with my punishment, and I now feel as if I have an obligation to write about things that otherwise would remain untold. I have been contacted by some prisoners'-rights organisations who urged me to continue blogging in the hope that the public will become more aware of prison conditions. In general, thanks to blogging and the Internet, some people who would have remained oblivious to prisoner issues are now more aware of what is going on.
Prisoners' voices are seldom heard but the Internet has challenged the mechanisms that control information flows. I am taking advantage of this opportunity and I hope that the Internet continues to be a forum where alternative viewpoints and discussions freely occur.
I am out of touch with how blogging has progressed since my arrest. I used to read a blog authored by a female friend of mine named Susan prior to May 2002, and whilst incarcerated I read Salam Pax’s blog about living through the war in Iraq, which has been published as a book.
When I am released I will scour the Internet for interesting blogs, but in the meantime, I have no Internet access. I send the hand-written blogs to my parents in the UK and they type them up and post them. The prison allows me to receive computer printouts, so, if any readers who write blogs want to take the trouble of mailing me their own or any other blog entries, I would be glad to read them.
I hope that my answer addressed your question, Matthew.
Cheers! Jon
The impact of Blogs
Matthew, who is doing a dissertation "on the impact of blogs on wider society" asked for my view of what I am doing and how I feel about blogging.
I will answer with a recap. Jon's Jail Journal came about as a method of disseminating information about life inside the Madison Street jail to my family and friends, who were
increasingly interested in what was going on. As I had limited access to stationary and postage, by blogging, I was able to conserve resources whilst getting the message out.
It was after I was sentenced and moved from the jail system that the Guardian newspaper published some of my blogs and interest in the blog increased further. Since then, I have received encouragement from various readers of my blog, so, I am happy about what I am doing and I feel that blogging is worthwhile. The feedback is helping me better deal with my punishment, and I now feel as if I have an obligation to write about things that otherwise would remain untold. I have been contacted by some prisoners'-rights organisations who urged me to continue blogging in the hope that the public will become more aware of prison conditions. In general, thanks to blogging and the Internet, some people who would have remained oblivious to prisoner issues are now more aware of what is going on.
Prisoners' voices are seldom heard but the Internet has challenged the mechanisms that control information flows. I am taking advantage of this opportunity and I hope that the Internet continues to be a forum where alternative viewpoints and discussions freely occur.
I am out of touch with how blogging has progressed since my arrest. I used to read a blog authored by a female friend of mine named Susan prior to May 2002, and whilst incarcerated I read Salam Pax’s blog about living through the war in Iraq, which has been published as a book.
When I am released I will scour the Internet for interesting blogs, but in the meantime, I have no Internet access. I send the hand-written blogs to my parents in the UK and they type them up and post them. The prison allows me to receive computer printouts, so, if any readers who write blogs want to take the trouble of mailing me their own or any other blog entries, I would be glad to read them.
I hope that my answer addressed your question, Matthew.
Cheers! Jon
15 Jan 05
Prison Book Program
Today, I received a letter from Pam, a Prison Book Program volunteer. Her organisation has been sending donated books to US inmates for over 30 years. More information is available at:
http://www.prisonbookprogram.org/
Inmates can write to them directly at:
Prison Book Program,
C/o Lucy Parsons Bookstore,
1306 Hancock Street, Suite 100,
Quincy, MA 02169.
They also provide a National Prisoner Resource List which contains numerous contact addresses for free-book programs, educational and legal publications, prisoners'-rights organisations, prisoner-support groups, prisoner family and friend support groups, pen-pal services and religious organisations.
Inmates can request books twice per year. Requests should include any prison-imposed book restrictions.
Keep up the good work, Pam!
Appreciatively yours, Jon
Prison Book Program
Today, I received a letter from Pam, a Prison Book Program volunteer. Her organisation has been sending donated books to US inmates for over 30 years. More information is available at:
http://www.prisonbookprogram.org/
Inmates can write to them directly at:
Prison Book Program,
C/o Lucy Parsons Bookstore,
1306 Hancock Street, Suite 100,
Quincy, MA 02169.
They also provide a National Prisoner Resource List which contains numerous contact addresses for free-book programs, educational and legal publications, prisoners'-rights organisations, prisoner-support groups, prisoner family and friend support groups, pen-pal services and religious organisations.
Inmates can request books twice per year. Requests should include any prison-imposed book restrictions.
Keep up the good work, Pam!
Appreciatively yours, Jon
11 Jan 05
Question Time
A lot of readers have asked about chow. Deanna asked if being a vegetarian was sufficient grounds to receive veggie chow. There are two methods of obtaining special diets that I am aware of: the first is for religious reasons, and must be approved by the chaplain; the second is for medical reasons, and must be approved by the Health Unit. Vegetarianism itself does not qualify an inmate for a special diet. My advice to anyone who becomes detained is to provide a vegetarian religious preference when you are initially booked. This will avoid problems getting your diet later on. The inmates say the best diet is the Jewish one. There have been lots of conversions. You even have Aryan Brotherhood Jews, Mexican Mafia Jews, and Italian Mafia Jews such as Junior Bull.
Tolstoy wrote: "A vegetarian diet is the acid test of humanitarianism."
Another question about chow was posed by Jonathan: how much does the diet affect the health, outlook and behaviour of my fellow inmates and myself? Tying in with Jonathan’s question, an anonymous e-mailer asked whether I thought veggie diets would dampen aggression and reduce smashings. (see ‘Sweat, suicide and death’ 13/0704) Hunger does cause fights. At the Madison Street jail men scavenged and fought over mouldy bread and rotten fruit (see blog ‘April Fools Day’ 04/04/04) their behaviour was the result of the lack of food provided. Some inmates would gang up on other inmates possessing store, and extort them into giving up some food. Fights were sometimes orchestrated under false pretences, so that inmates could steal a target person’s store items.
I am not sure if serving all veggie meals would dampen aggression. Perhaps Scott Clouder at the Vegetarian Society could help answer that. I can only speak about my own experience, that yoga and vegetarianism have changed my outlook on life.
Mr. Greg asked if I would be so kind as to arrange a bare-knuckle fight between him and Barbarian. Gladly, Mr. Greg, I was thinking of a Las Vegas venue – MGM Grand perhaps? I can offer you a package deal, fighting Barbarian, and also Frankie. Frankie wanted me to tell you that he is not only a chess champion, but also a boxing champion. You may want to bring a shank with you, because Frankie, referring to his sexual organ as his weapon of choice, wants a "sword" fight. He’s demanding the usual prize: taking you from behind.
Some of you have been complimentary about my writing, but I also want you to know that I am open to receiving guidance and constructive criticism. Writing is new to me and I am sure that I am inadvertently making plenty of mistakes.
Some of you have asked about what I am reading. Recently read: Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes, The Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Maxims and Reflections by Francois Duc de La RocheFoucauld, and George Orwell and the Origins of 1984 by William Steinhoff. On the lighter side, I read Homer’s Iliad and have just finished Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, which is the most enjoyable work of fiction that I have ever read. It displaces Orwell’s Animal Farm as my favourite fiction book. I am half way through Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of things Past and am in awe of his literary skills. Last month I read Gustav Herling’s A World Apart. His account of life as a political prisoner in Russia during World War II makes my stay here seem like a holiday. All of the aforementioned books are well worth a read. I’d like to thank all of you who have sent books. Cheers! Jon.
Jon’s address:
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160,
ASPC-Lewis, Morey 2-D-2,
P.O. Box 3300, Buckeye,
AZ 85326, USA
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Question Time
A lot of readers have asked about chow. Deanna asked if being a vegetarian was sufficient grounds to receive veggie chow. There are two methods of obtaining special diets that I am aware of: the first is for religious reasons, and must be approved by the chaplain; the second is for medical reasons, and must be approved by the Health Unit. Vegetarianism itself does not qualify an inmate for a special diet. My advice to anyone who becomes detained is to provide a vegetarian religious preference when you are initially booked. This will avoid problems getting your diet later on. The inmates say the best diet is the Jewish one. There have been lots of conversions. You even have Aryan Brotherhood Jews, Mexican Mafia Jews, and Italian Mafia Jews such as Junior Bull.
Tolstoy wrote: "A vegetarian diet is the acid test of humanitarianism."
Another question about chow was posed by Jonathan: how much does the diet affect the health, outlook and behaviour of my fellow inmates and myself? Tying in with Jonathan’s question, an anonymous e-mailer asked whether I thought veggie diets would dampen aggression and reduce smashings. (see ‘Sweat, suicide and death’ 13/0704) Hunger does cause fights. At the Madison Street jail men scavenged and fought over mouldy bread and rotten fruit (see blog ‘April Fools Day’ 04/04/04) their behaviour was the result of the lack of food provided. Some inmates would gang up on other inmates possessing store, and extort them into giving up some food. Fights were sometimes orchestrated under false pretences, so that inmates could steal a target person’s store items.
I am not sure if serving all veggie meals would dampen aggression. Perhaps Scott Clouder at the Vegetarian Society could help answer that. I can only speak about my own experience, that yoga and vegetarianism have changed my outlook on life.
Mr. Greg asked if I would be so kind as to arrange a bare-knuckle fight between him and Barbarian. Gladly, Mr. Greg, I was thinking of a Las Vegas venue – MGM Grand perhaps? I can offer you a package deal, fighting Barbarian, and also Frankie. Frankie wanted me to tell you that he is not only a chess champion, but also a boxing champion. You may want to bring a shank with you, because Frankie, referring to his sexual organ as his weapon of choice, wants a "sword" fight. He’s demanding the usual prize: taking you from behind.
Some of you have been complimentary about my writing, but I also want you to know that I am open to receiving guidance and constructive criticism. Writing is new to me and I am sure that I am inadvertently making plenty of mistakes.
Some of you have asked about what I am reading. Recently read: Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes, The Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Maxims and Reflections by Francois Duc de La RocheFoucauld, and George Orwell and the Origins of 1984 by William Steinhoff. On the lighter side, I read Homer’s Iliad and have just finished Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, which is the most enjoyable work of fiction that I have ever read. It displaces Orwell’s Animal Farm as my favourite fiction book. I am half way through Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of things Past and am in awe of his literary skills. Last month I read Gustav Herling’s A World Apart. His account of life as a political prisoner in Russia during World War II makes my stay here seem like a holiday. All of the aforementioned books are well worth a read. I’d like to thank all of you who have sent books. Cheers! Jon.
Jon’s address:
Shaun Attwood ADC#187160,
ASPC-Lewis, Morey 2-D-2,
P.O. Box 3300, Buckeye,
AZ 85326, USA
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
9 Jan 05
Odds & Ends
George is the homosexual who requested I read him some Harry Potter. For a couple of dollars a week he does house cleaning. Gravano and a couple of others recommended him, so I've hired him. He now calls me "governor" and sings "Rule Brittania" to me. He scrubs the toilet, sink and floor. He washes and folds laundry. He’s chuffed with me for giving him my Christmas dinner. George is also a masseur but I have been warned to sit on a stool and to watch his wandering hands if I get a back massage off him.
Duke (see Duke 29/04/04) resides across the day room in cell 12. He remembered me from his sentencing hearing. He was shot in the head during the Vietnam War and he has been in touch with a veterans organisation who are helping him seek a sentence reduction.
My stint in the kitchen was short lived. Because my anxiety went up, the psychotherapist took me off the job. Now, I may have to take meds.
Thank you for all of the Christmas cards, which I am still receiving. Inmate banking erroneously double billed my account $66.05, wiping out my balance, so, I have been without postage stamps for the past two weeks. My parents deposited some funds, so I now have stamps and everyone that mailed Christmas cards should soon receive thank you's.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Jon's mailing address is: Shaun Attwood ADC#187160
ASPC-Lewis,Morey 2-D-2, P.O. Box 3300, Buckeye, AZ 85326, USA
Odds & Ends
George is the homosexual who requested I read him some Harry Potter. For a couple of dollars a week he does house cleaning. Gravano and a couple of others recommended him, so I've hired him. He now calls me "governor" and sings "Rule Brittania" to me. He scrubs the toilet, sink and floor. He washes and folds laundry. He’s chuffed with me for giving him my Christmas dinner. George is also a masseur but I have been warned to sit on a stool and to watch his wandering hands if I get a back massage off him.
Duke (see Duke 29/04/04) resides across the day room in cell 12. He remembered me from his sentencing hearing. He was shot in the head during the Vietnam War and he has been in touch with a veterans organisation who are helping him seek a sentence reduction.
My stint in the kitchen was short lived. Because my anxiety went up, the psychotherapist took me off the job. Now, I may have to take meds.
Thank you for all of the Christmas cards, which I am still receiving. Inmate banking erroneously double billed my account $66.05, wiping out my balance, so, I have been without postage stamps for the past two weeks. My parents deposited some funds, so I now have stamps and everyone that mailed Christmas cards should soon receive thank you's.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Jon's mailing address is: Shaun Attwood ADC#187160
ASPC-Lewis,Morey 2-D-2, P.O. Box 3300, Buckeye, AZ 85326, USA
3 Jan 05
Recreation – headstand nearly banned
I get two hours of recreation each day. The rec schedule runs for two weeks and starts over again. Here are the starting times:
Week 1 Week 2
Sunday 4.30 pm 8.45 am
Monday 6.30 am 4.30 pm
Tuesday 1.00 pm 6.30 am
Wednesday 8.15 am 1.00 pm
Thursday 4.30 pm 8.45 am
Friday 1.00 pm 6.30 am
Saturday 6.30 am 1.00 pm
One-hundred inmates are allowed to go to the rec field together – in our case Building 2, pods C and D – but out of the one hundred, only about one third of them actually attend, and that fraction is much smaller for the 6.30 am rec. I’ve been going to rec two or three times a week, usually when it is offered in the afternoon or the late morning.
The rec area consists of a large field surrounded by a running track. Chain-link fencing and razor wire protect the perimeter. Overlooking the rec field is the gun tower – it was recently featured on the news after two inmates seized control and held a male and female guard hostage. The female was repeatedly raped. Looking at the tower you can usually see a guard toting an AR15 assault rifle or a pump-action shotgun. The rec field contains two basketball courts, a volleyball court, workout stations for isometric exercises, and six picnic tables. Three of the picnic tables have covers that enable inmates to chat or play chess in the shade. There are also eight charge-per-call telephones, a urinal and a drinking fountain. I am told that the average price of a fifteen-minute collect call to Phoenix is three dollars.
Most of the inmates at rec participate in team sports or mob around the picnic tables. I usually find a secluded area of grass where I can perform yoga.
During the last rec session, I had my first run-in with a guard. While doing a headstand, I heard a female voice yell from the gun tower, “Stop doing headstands!” I was wondering whether she was serious or not, when she repeated, “Stop doing headstands or else I’ll throw you off the field!” The inmates bacame upset and one shouted, “Are you gonna ban push-ups next?”
At the opposite end of the rec field stood the Assistant Deputy Warden, known as the ADW. She is second in command of this unit. My Buddhist friend Gizmo told the ADW that the guard who had stopped my headstand had violated my freedom of religious expression. A guard, Officer Noah, verified that my religious preference was Hinduism and the ADW gave me permission to keep doing headstands. The female guard was instructed not to stop me again.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Recreation – headstand nearly banned
I get two hours of recreation each day. The rec schedule runs for two weeks and starts over again. Here are the starting times:
Week 1 Week 2
Sunday 4.30 pm 8.45 am
Monday 6.30 am 4.30 pm
Tuesday 1.00 pm 6.30 am
Wednesday 8.15 am 1.00 pm
Thursday 4.30 pm 8.45 am
Friday 1.00 pm 6.30 am
Saturday 6.30 am 1.00 pm
One-hundred inmates are allowed to go to the rec field together – in our case Building 2, pods C and D – but out of the one hundred, only about one third of them actually attend, and that fraction is much smaller for the 6.30 am rec. I’ve been going to rec two or three times a week, usually when it is offered in the afternoon or the late morning.
The rec area consists of a large field surrounded by a running track. Chain-link fencing and razor wire protect the perimeter. Overlooking the rec field is the gun tower – it was recently featured on the news after two inmates seized control and held a male and female guard hostage. The female was repeatedly raped. Looking at the tower you can usually see a guard toting an AR15 assault rifle or a pump-action shotgun. The rec field contains two basketball courts, a volleyball court, workout stations for isometric exercises, and six picnic tables. Three of the picnic tables have covers that enable inmates to chat or play chess in the shade. There are also eight charge-per-call telephones, a urinal and a drinking fountain. I am told that the average price of a fifteen-minute collect call to Phoenix is three dollars.
Most of the inmates at rec participate in team sports or mob around the picnic tables. I usually find a secluded area of grass where I can perform yoga.
During the last rec session, I had my first run-in with a guard. While doing a headstand, I heard a female voice yell from the gun tower, “Stop doing headstands!” I was wondering whether she was serious or not, when she repeated, “Stop doing headstands or else I’ll throw you off the field!” The inmates bacame upset and one shouted, “Are you gonna ban push-ups next?”
At the opposite end of the rec field stood the Assistant Deputy Warden, known as the ADW. She is second in command of this unit. My Buddhist friend Gizmo told the ADW that the guard who had stopped my headstand had violated my freedom of religious expression. A guard, Officer Noah, verified that my religious preference was Hinduism and the ADW gave me permission to keep doing headstands. The female guard was instructed not to stop me again.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
WakeUp - Inmate Newsletter sent the following:
Thank you for sending Jon's most recent blog to us. I will include the “Farewell Mum and Dad” article in our next WakeUp newsletter. I expect it will touch the hearts of many inmates and assist them in turning around their lives as Jon will do. We thought we had enough money to publish the newsletter in mid February but didn’t expect having to pay about $600 in taxes. A lot of money for a non profit organization that is always low on funds wouldn’t you say. Now we have to raise that money again. Do you know of any person or organization who may be interested in contributing? We will publish as soon as we have the funds after mid February.
I appreciate Jon’s talents and am grateful for your sharing his writings with us.
Carill Ina Nicoll
AzCEG Executive Director, Arizona Coalition for Effective Government, VM - 602.234.9004
www.azceg.org
Thank you for sending Jon's most recent blog to us. I will include the “Farewell Mum and Dad” article in our next WakeUp newsletter. I expect it will touch the hearts of many inmates and assist them in turning around their lives as Jon will do. We thought we had enough money to publish the newsletter in mid February but didn’t expect having to pay about $600 in taxes. A lot of money for a non profit organization that is always low on funds wouldn’t you say. Now we have to raise that money again. Do you know of any person or organization who may be interested in contributing? We will publish as soon as we have the funds after mid February.
I appreciate Jon’s talents and am grateful for your sharing his writings with us.
Carill Ina Nicoll
AzCEG Executive Director, Arizona Coalition for Effective Government, VM - 602.234.9004
www.azceg.org
2 Jan 05
Farewell Mum & Dad
It is 3.09 pm, fifteen minutes after the final visit with my parents. My angst began when I gave them goodbye hugs. During the final minutes with my parents, I felt miserable for breaking their hearts by putting myself behind bars; I felt guilty seeing my mother weep as she departed the visitation room; I felt ashamed for failing those who raised me and stood by me no matter what I have done: I considered myself blessed for having their support when so many of my neighbours receive no help from beyond the prison walls.I was most conscience-stricken by my mother’s tearful eyes; an unproud image now permanently carved into my subconscious. My father put on a brave face by bantering and jesting, but his body language betrayed his vocal masquerade; his smile was surrounded by quivering facial expressions, and those windows of truth, his eyes, shone with unconcealable sadness.It is stomach-turning to realise that my parents, my pillars of strength and support, are victims of my wrongdoing. If I could have shielded them from this hurt I would have moved mountains to do so.This year I shall try harder to make amends and to outdo all of my previous accomplishments. By channelling my passion and energy relentlessly from my cell, I hope to repel the lingering tempest troubling my heart. Years of bondage cannot contain the enormity of my love-inspired drive that knows no fetters or chains. I am hopeful that my achievements thus far are a mere fraction of what’s in store, and that my parents will be proud of their prodigal son’s turnaround.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Farewell Mum & Dad
It is 3.09 pm, fifteen minutes after the final visit with my parents. My angst began when I gave them goodbye hugs. During the final minutes with my parents, I felt miserable for breaking their hearts by putting myself behind bars; I felt guilty seeing my mother weep as she departed the visitation room; I felt ashamed for failing those who raised me and stood by me no matter what I have done: I considered myself blessed for having their support when so many of my neighbours receive no help from beyond the prison walls.I was most conscience-stricken by my mother’s tearful eyes; an unproud image now permanently carved into my subconscious. My father put on a brave face by bantering and jesting, but his body language betrayed his vocal masquerade; his smile was surrounded by quivering facial expressions, and those windows of truth, his eyes, shone with unconcealable sadness.It is stomach-turning to realise that my parents, my pillars of strength and support, are victims of my wrongdoing. If I could have shielded them from this hurt I would have moved mountains to do so.This year I shall try harder to make amends and to outdo all of my previous accomplishments. By channelling my passion and energy relentlessly from my cell, I hope to repel the lingering tempest troubling my heart. Years of bondage cannot contain the enormity of my love-inspired drive that knows no fetters or chains. I am hopeful that my achievements thus far are a mere fraction of what’s in store, and that my parents will be proud of their prodigal son’s turnaround.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
New Years Day
Interview with a Murderer
It’s New Years Day and the world is hung over. Today seems like a good day to interview an inmate convicted of murder.
J How old are you Brian?
B Thirty-four
J How old were you when you were arrested?
B Nineteen. I can remember bein' on the bus goin' to prison. I was cryin' and some old-timer told me not to worry because I’d be lookin’ back on this day and thinkin’ it was all just a bad dream.
J You killed someone?
B Yeah.
J How?
B I shot him.
J Why?
B He was gonna stab my friend.
J Can you explain what happened?
B We were at a club called , and my friend – a big Mexican dude – got into an argument with a guy who he’d bought an ounce of crystal from. My friend was showin’ off in front of a bunch of women, and he hit the dude. The dude acted all cool at first, he backed off and said that everything was okay. Then he returned with a huge, buck knife and went for my friend, so I shot him.
J Were you drunk or on drugs?
B I was buzzed from drinkin’ a fifth of Jack Daniels. I wasn’t on drugs.
J What happened next?
B It was like...a…lucky shot. I used a .357 Magnum. A .357 Magnum makes a hole the size of a grapefruit if it hits someone. (Brian makes a fist.)
J What did you think when you looked at him and saw him dead with a massive head wound?
B I told myself that I had really fucked up. I regretted it immediately.
J How does it feel to kill a man?
B I had nightmares for months.
J In your dreams could you see him, his dead body, the hole in his head?
B As well as the nightmares, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for months. I replayed it over and over again.
J Are you still having nightmares?
B No.
J So you shot him in the club?
B Yeah.
J In front of how many witnesses?
B Maybe forty.
J You killed someone in front of forty witnesses, in the State of Arizona and you didn’t get the death penalty, how come?
B I come from a good family. I was in college. I played football. The victim was a biker – a member of the Hell's Angels. He was a known drug dealer and always in trouble. He even had a one-hundred-thousand-dollar contract out on him. The police didn’t care too much about his death.
J How’d you know about the contract?
B My attorney told me. The prosecutor wanted to know if I’d killed him to collect the contract money.
J How much time did you get?
B Fifteen years.
J When do you get out?
B January.
J What’s the first thing that you want to do when you get out?
B Go to church.
J What else?
B Put flowers on the victim’s grave.
J Most inmates, when asked that question, say they want to get laid. Is sex a priority?
B No. I’ve been gettin' laid.
J In here?
B Yeah.
J With men or women?
B Women. Whiteshirts.
J What’s a whiteshirt?
B Kitchen workers who are contracted from outside.
J How many whiteshirts have you had sex with?
B Three.
J You had sex with them in the kitchen?
B In the freezer actually.
(We laugh)
J What does serving fifteen years feel like?
B Like a rollercoaster. Ups and downs. Its hardest around Christmas time and other holidays because that’s when I miss my family the most.
J Are you in a relationship with a woman?
B Nah. I learnt that relationships make your time harder on you. It’s best to be friends.
J Does killing a man make you view yourself differently?
B Yeah. I feel guilty because of what I did.
J I see. Can you describe what it feels like to be known as a convicted killer?
B Imagine the worst crime or thing that you ever done to a person in your entire life. How does that make you feel? Now imagine if everyone knew what you’d done. How would that make you feel? That’s what I have to live with every day of my life.
J What are you plans for when you get out?
B I’m gonna attend a culinary course.
J And then what?
B I’d like to get a job as a chef…ideally on a cruise ship or for a hotel company. I want to see the world, especially Greece, France and England. Some of the best chefs in the world are French.
J That’s a good plan. No more sex in freezers though!
(We laugh)
J Thanks for the interview. Good luck out there.
B I’ll be alright.
(We shake hands)
Send comments to writeinside@hotmailcom
Interview with a Murderer
It’s New Years Day and the world is hung over. Today seems like a good day to interview an inmate convicted of murder.
J How old are you Brian?
B Thirty-four
J How old were you when you were arrested?
B Nineteen. I can remember bein' on the bus goin' to prison. I was cryin' and some old-timer told me not to worry because I’d be lookin’ back on this day and thinkin’ it was all just a bad dream.
J You killed someone?
B Yeah.
J How?
B I shot him.
J Why?
B He was gonna stab my friend.
J Can you explain what happened?
B We were at a club called , and my friend – a big Mexican dude – got into an argument with a guy who he’d bought an ounce of crystal from. My friend was showin’ off in front of a bunch of women, and he hit the dude. The dude acted all cool at first, he backed off and said that everything was okay. Then he returned with a huge, buck knife and went for my friend, so I shot him.
J Were you drunk or on drugs?
B I was buzzed from drinkin’ a fifth of Jack Daniels. I wasn’t on drugs.
J What happened next?
B It was like...a…lucky shot. I used a .357 Magnum. A .357 Magnum makes a hole the size of a grapefruit if it hits someone. (Brian makes a fist.)
J What did you think when you looked at him and saw him dead with a massive head wound?
B I told myself that I had really fucked up. I regretted it immediately.
J How does it feel to kill a man?
B I had nightmares for months.
J In your dreams could you see him, his dead body, the hole in his head?
B As well as the nightmares, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for months. I replayed it over and over again.
J Are you still having nightmares?
B No.
J So you shot him in the club?
B Yeah.
J In front of how many witnesses?
B Maybe forty.
J You killed someone in front of forty witnesses, in the State of Arizona and you didn’t get the death penalty, how come?
B I come from a good family. I was in college. I played football. The victim was a biker – a member of the Hell's Angels. He was a known drug dealer and always in trouble. He even had a one-hundred-thousand-dollar contract out on him. The police didn’t care too much about his death.
J How’d you know about the contract?
B My attorney told me. The prosecutor wanted to know if I’d killed him to collect the contract money.
J How much time did you get?
B Fifteen years.
J When do you get out?
B January.
J What’s the first thing that you want to do when you get out?
B Go to church.
J What else?
B Put flowers on the victim’s grave.
J Most inmates, when asked that question, say they want to get laid. Is sex a priority?
B No. I’ve been gettin' laid.
J In here?
B Yeah.
J With men or women?
B Women. Whiteshirts.
J What’s a whiteshirt?
B Kitchen workers who are contracted from outside.
J How many whiteshirts have you had sex with?
B Three.
J You had sex with them in the kitchen?
B In the freezer actually.
(We laugh)
J What does serving fifteen years feel like?
B Like a rollercoaster. Ups and downs. Its hardest around Christmas time and other holidays because that’s when I miss my family the most.
J Are you in a relationship with a woman?
B Nah. I learnt that relationships make your time harder on you. It’s best to be friends.
J Does killing a man make you view yourself differently?
B Yeah. I feel guilty because of what I did.
J I see. Can you describe what it feels like to be known as a convicted killer?
B Imagine the worst crime or thing that you ever done to a person in your entire life. How does that make you feel? Now imagine if everyone knew what you’d done. How would that make you feel? That’s what I have to live with every day of my life.
J What are you plans for when you get out?
B I’m gonna attend a culinary course.
J And then what?
B I’d like to get a job as a chef…ideally on a cruise ship or for a hotel company. I want to see the world, especially Greece, France and England. Some of the best chefs in the world are French.
J That’s a good plan. No more sex in freezers though!
(We laugh)
J Thanks for the interview. Good luck out there.
B I’ll be alright.
(We shake hands)
Send comments to writeinside@hotmailcom
31 Dec 04
New Year’s Resolutions
I have two New Year’s resolutions: firstly, I will try my best not to harbour ill-will towards people, no matter what they say or do; secondly, I will intensify my reading and studying. I hope to read 1000 books by the time I get out.
The first resolution necessitates I gain better control over my emotions. Yoga and meditation have made me a calmer person. I pay less attention to the drama here. I forgive those who have hurt me in the past, especially the people involved in my case.
From time to time I read something maddening – especially instances of injustice – and I feel compelled to write something scathing; however, by the next day, I've calmed back down, and if I’ve written something not lacking in emotional content I’ll tear it up. That’s one of the advantages writers have over public speakers.
For my second resolution, I intend to study six new subject areas: ethics, international business law, justice, military science, behavioural finance and commodity price behaviour. I concocted this list after looking at last year’s bibliography and categorising the hours spent on each subject. It became evident that my study program has been lopsided towards the stock market, history, philosophy, biographies and Spanish.
To where my fanatical studies are leading I do not know. I relate to how Jean-Jacques Rousseau claimed he felt in his youth when he had not yet solidified his opinions:
"…by collecting a store of ideas, true or false but all of them clear, until my mind is sufficiently equipped to be able to compare them, and choose between them."
My feelings about injustice grew stronger in 2004. This blog is a platform I will continue to use to highlight injustice. To end injustice we all need to speak out.
‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’Edmund Burke
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
New Year’s Resolutions
I have two New Year’s resolutions: firstly, I will try my best not to harbour ill-will towards people, no matter what they say or do; secondly, I will intensify my reading and studying. I hope to read 1000 books by the time I get out.
The first resolution necessitates I gain better control over my emotions. Yoga and meditation have made me a calmer person. I pay less attention to the drama here. I forgive those who have hurt me in the past, especially the people involved in my case.
From time to time I read something maddening – especially instances of injustice – and I feel compelled to write something scathing; however, by the next day, I've calmed back down, and if I’ve written something not lacking in emotional content I’ll tear it up. That’s one of the advantages writers have over public speakers.
For my second resolution, I intend to study six new subject areas: ethics, international business law, justice, military science, behavioural finance and commodity price behaviour. I concocted this list after looking at last year’s bibliography and categorising the hours spent on each subject. It became evident that my study program has been lopsided towards the stock market, history, philosophy, biographies and Spanish.
To where my fanatical studies are leading I do not know. I relate to how Jean-Jacques Rousseau claimed he felt in his youth when he had not yet solidified his opinions:
"…by collecting a store of ideas, true or false but all of them clear, until my mind is sufficiently equipped to be able to compare them, and choose between them."
My feelings about injustice grew stronger in 2004. This blog is a platform I will continue to use to highlight injustice. To end injustice we all need to speak out.
‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’Edmund Burke
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Poem about Jon by Prophet
Creative Isolation
These four walls surround my soul
but yet they've set my spirit free
with each passing moment inside this cube
another spark ignites inside me
burning a fuse that leads to a ballpoint
I explode on to the paper
all my sentiment
emotions not to be exposed
not while in this modern day dungeon
but I must have release
and these writings like the air I breathe provide me with survival
my hand sore from clasping pen innards
the only ventilation for my words to escape this musty chamber
once trapped in life now imprisoned in a cell
I transcend these walls through my written word
I rise above the wire fence to touch you with my intellect
for my arms may not grasp beyond this cage,
but my thoughts have traveled father than mortal limbs could ever reach
my mind-set entered homes I may never see
this so called 'correction' is nothing but my own creative isolation
and as long as there is creation there is life...
and I will,
live on
I'm a friend and faithful reader of Jon's Jail Blog. I recently wrote the above poem on a poetry forum I belong to based on your son's circumstance. I wanted to share it with you as well. I wanted to draw more attention to his ordeal so I added links to his webpages. I hope you enjoy and please tell Jon Happy New Year and that I pray for his safe return to you his family.
sincerely,
Prophet
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Creative Isolation
These four walls surround my soul
but yet they've set my spirit free
with each passing moment inside this cube
another spark ignites inside me
burning a fuse that leads to a ballpoint
I explode on to the paper
all my sentiment
emotions not to be exposed
not while in this modern day dungeon
but I must have release
and these writings like the air I breathe provide me with survival
my hand sore from clasping pen innards
the only ventilation for my words to escape this musty chamber
once trapped in life now imprisoned in a cell
I transcend these walls through my written word
I rise above the wire fence to touch you with my intellect
for my arms may not grasp beyond this cage,
but my thoughts have traveled father than mortal limbs could ever reach
my mind-set entered homes I may never see
this so called 'correction' is nothing but my own creative isolation
and as long as there is creation there is life...
and I will,
live on
I'm a friend and faithful reader of Jon's Jail Blog. I recently wrote the above poem on a poetry forum I belong to based on your son's circumstance. I wanted to share it with you as well. I wanted to draw more attention to his ordeal so I added links to his webpages. I hope you enjoy and please tell Jon Happy New Year and that I pray for his safe return to you his family.
sincerely,
Prophet
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
27 Dec 04
Escape
On the 8th of December, Maniac Mack was charged with Offence 009 – Attempted Escape from the Madison Street Jail. I obtained a copy of his Disciplinary Action Report, which contains the following Formal Statement of Charge(s):
While conducting a perimeter walk on 12.8.04 at approximately 0050 hours with Officer ------------, we noticed a Stream of Debris leading from-------[Maniac Mack’s cell]. Upon further investigation we located a hole leading through the wall to the outside. The hole appeared to have been on the exterior of the jail, apparently to facilitate an escape. Refer to IR #04-217500. These inmates were placed on the loaf program*** for the destruction of County property. [Sic]
Maniac Mack is housed on the fifth floor, and each floor consists of two stories, so his cell is ten stories above the surrounding streets. How was he going to escape from so high up? Perhaps the author of the Disciplinary Action Report had recently watched the Spiderman movie or maybe Maniac Mack had studied up on aeronautical engineering and had constructed a jet pack from his scant belongings. And let’s not dismiss the beanstalk theory: at visitation Mack met Jack and keystered beanstalk seeds.
Mack suspects that his outspoken nature – particularly his recent comments about the jail’s conditions – caused the queer charge. Mack wrote, “The gathering dark-side of this place rallied and attacked yours truly enmasse. Now I’ve got an additional and notorious charge: Attempted Escape, for which I could face up to 7 years if convicted!” The stresses and strains seem to be getting to Mack who ended his letter with, “Man is born to die. To wait around, in lines, for transportation to arrive, in welfare and unemployment offices, for toilet paper and chow, waiting, waiting for the mouse to sing….”
It is clear what they want you to do Mack: hand over the beanstalk seeds and the jet pack, confess your sins, yell your guilt from the roof tops, sign a double-digit plea bargain, and join Jon in the land of the throwaway people.
My former cellmate Mark signed a plea bargain and was put on house arrest. He now wears a device on his ankles that emits radio signals. He is allowed to travel to work and back, and to attend church on Sundays. He is due to be sentenced early in 2005 and he hopes to get probation. I hope he does. But in Arizona's legal system anything could happen between now and then.
*** The loaf program
Inmates on the loaf program are housed in two-man cells, which remain locked for twenty-three hours a day. They are served the loaf twice daily.
One morning, a young Chicano who had not been fed was offered the loaf.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
This occurred during my hour out. Sensing an opportunity to taste the loaf, I said to the Chicano, “Break bread, dawg. Gimme a little piece of the loaf.”
And he did.
The loaf's outer surface resembled burnt bread. It smelled like shoe polish. I snapped the hard crust and observed a mush with what looked like carrots and bean skins protruding from it.
“It’s yesterdays left-over food mixed into bread,” shouted one of the chow servers. It looked foul, but I was compelled to taste it so that I could describe the experience. The taste was bad, like eating burnt food. The taste overwhelmed my mouth, as if I had eaten a poisonous chemical. I swallowed a small amount and spat the remainder out.
Send comments to Writeinside@hotmail.com
Escape
On the 8th of December, Maniac Mack was charged with Offence 009 – Attempted Escape from the Madison Street Jail. I obtained a copy of his Disciplinary Action Report, which contains the following Formal Statement of Charge(s):
While conducting a perimeter walk on 12.8.04 at approximately 0050 hours with Officer ------------, we noticed a Stream of Debris leading from-------[Maniac Mack’s cell]. Upon further investigation we located a hole leading through the wall to the outside. The hole appeared to have been on the exterior of the jail, apparently to facilitate an escape. Refer to IR #04-217500. These inmates were placed on the loaf program*** for the destruction of County property. [Sic]
Maniac Mack is housed on the fifth floor, and each floor consists of two stories, so his cell is ten stories above the surrounding streets. How was he going to escape from so high up? Perhaps the author of the Disciplinary Action Report had recently watched the Spiderman movie or maybe Maniac Mack had studied up on aeronautical engineering and had constructed a jet pack from his scant belongings. And let’s not dismiss the beanstalk theory: at visitation Mack met Jack and keystered beanstalk seeds.
Mack suspects that his outspoken nature – particularly his recent comments about the jail’s conditions – caused the queer charge. Mack wrote, “The gathering dark-side of this place rallied and attacked yours truly enmasse. Now I’ve got an additional and notorious charge: Attempted Escape, for which I could face up to 7 years if convicted!” The stresses and strains seem to be getting to Mack who ended his letter with, “Man is born to die. To wait around, in lines, for transportation to arrive, in welfare and unemployment offices, for toilet paper and chow, waiting, waiting for the mouse to sing….”
It is clear what they want you to do Mack: hand over the beanstalk seeds and the jet pack, confess your sins, yell your guilt from the roof tops, sign a double-digit plea bargain, and join Jon in the land of the throwaway people.
My former cellmate Mark signed a plea bargain and was put on house arrest. He now wears a device on his ankles that emits radio signals. He is allowed to travel to work and back, and to attend church on Sundays. He is due to be sentenced early in 2005 and he hopes to get probation. I hope he does. But in Arizona's legal system anything could happen between now and then.
*** The loaf program
Inmates on the loaf program are housed in two-man cells, which remain locked for twenty-three hours a day. They are served the loaf twice daily.
One morning, a young Chicano who had not been fed was offered the loaf.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
This occurred during my hour out. Sensing an opportunity to taste the loaf, I said to the Chicano, “Break bread, dawg. Gimme a little piece of the loaf.”
And he did.
The loaf's outer surface resembled burnt bread. It smelled like shoe polish. I snapped the hard crust and observed a mush with what looked like carrots and bean skins protruding from it.
“It’s yesterdays left-over food mixed into bread,” shouted one of the chow servers. It looked foul, but I was compelled to taste it so that I could describe the experience. The taste was bad, like eating burnt food. The taste overwhelmed my mouth, as if I had eaten a poisonous chemical. I swallowed a small amount and spat the remainder out.
Send comments to Writeinside@hotmail.com
26 Dec 04
Kitchen Slave
After today’s special visit, I was sent to work as a dishwasher in the kitchen that serves chow to the whole unit. For 20 cents an hour I emptied hundreds of trays containing left over food into trashcans, and then drenched them with a hose. After being locked down for so long, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen raised my anxiety.
Please Note Jon has changed cells and is now in 2D2 and not 2D22
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Kitchen Slave
After today’s special visit, I was sent to work as a dishwasher in the kitchen that serves chow to the whole unit. For 20 cents an hour I emptied hundreds of trays containing left over food into trashcans, and then drenched them with a hose. After being locked down for so long, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen raised my anxiety.
Please Note Jon has changed cells and is now in 2D2 and not 2D22
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
Boxing Day Punch
My honeymoon period seems to be over. Today, I discovered that one overgrown thug can cause serious problems. This morning, immediately before my visit with my parents, one of BHF’s cronies – who I’ll call Ogre to keep his identity secret – said he would spare my life if I gave him my Walkman. I declined his offer and later on he snuck up behind me and attacked me, smashing me in the back and knocking me down. I couldn't tell my parents what happened even though they could see I was injured.
The inmate who told me about his experience with a transsexual in Texas advised me that BHF had put Ogre up to this. There's also some inmates thinking I have a lot of money because the detectives told the media that I have hidden millions in offshore accounts, making me a target for extortion.
My honeymoon period seems to be over. Today, I discovered that one overgrown thug can cause serious problems. This morning, immediately before my visit with my parents, one of BHF’s cronies – who I’ll call Ogre to keep his identity secret – said he would spare my life if I gave him my Walkman. I declined his offer and later on he snuck up behind me and attacked me, smashing me in the back and knocking me down. I couldn't tell my parents what happened even though they could see I was injured.
The inmate who told me about his experience with a transsexual in Texas advised me that BHF had put Ogre up to this. There's also some inmates thinking I have a lot of money because the detectives told the media that I have hidden millions in offshore accounts, making me a target for extortion.
Cell Move
Yesterday I was moved from cell 22 to cell 2. BHF and I weren't getting along. BHF's robbery and torture anecdotes made excellent story material, but we had differences in other areas. On one occasion, I was returning to the cell after having a shower, and Greg (an Aryan Brother from California who murdered a child molester) blocked my entry and said, "You can't go in your cell right now 'cause the fellas are shooting up in there." I was also getting sick of pricking my feet on the needles BHF would leave out and the cell being full of smoke. And he was getting sick of waking up with my chest hair in his mouth. I was relocated to cell 2, which is downstairs in the same pod.
Yesterday I was moved from cell 22 to cell 2. BHF and I weren't getting along. BHF's robbery and torture anecdotes made excellent story material, but we had differences in other areas. On one occasion, I was returning to the cell after having a shower, and Greg (an Aryan Brother from California who murdered a child molester) blocked my entry and said, "You can't go in your cell right now 'cause the fellas are shooting up in there." I was also getting sick of pricking my feet on the needles BHF would leave out and the cell being full of smoke. And he was getting sick of waking up with my chest hair in his mouth. I was relocated to cell 2, which is downstairs in the same pod.
19 Dec 05
The First Visit: Two accounts by Jon’s parents …..
Driving south on Highway 85, Lewis Prison lies in the foothills of the Buckeye Mountains, a picturesque setting for a State incarceration facility.
Our first journey to the complex was enlivened by the sight of the rising sun to our left. The sky above the line of the Estrella Mountains became blood- red before the emergence of the Phoenix sun.
Along this stretch of highway are instructions to keep headlights on ‘day and night’, as the length of the road and its straightness makes it look as if distant cars are invisible without headlights on. As we passed the notorious road sign ‘State Prison – DO NOT STOP FOR HITCHHIKERS’, we knew that we were getting close to our son’s new home.
Arrival at the facility brought the first of many ID checks and searches. A swinging barrier stopped all cars as a guard with a clipboard stooped to check our passports and driving licence. We were waved on to the visitor car park, where we deposited our valuables into the boot of the car, only being allowed to take in 1 watch, 1 ring, 1 car key with remote, prescriptions glasses only, and $20 per person in quarters (to purchase food and drink from vending machines). The quarters have to be in a clear bag for the guards to check that no other items are being smuggled in. We had no quarters and no plastic bag. Fortunately other visitors seeing our plight kindly offered change for dollars and gave us a plastic food bag to put them in.
At the next check point we filled in the paper work; queued to hand it in at the office with our ID and joined the numerous visitors to await our name call.
When the guard shouted, ‘Attwood’, we were asked to remove our jackets; empty our pockets; take off belts; and our belonging were sent through an X ray machine, as we walked through the scanner.
In spite of the bright sun, at this time of the year it is very cold early in the morning and with our jackets off we started to shiver. Visitors with high boots which could conceal a weapon, had to walk through the scanner bare foot.
With our items returned, we were moved on through a fenced passage where a guard with a large, sniffer dog shouted, “Backs to the fence and hands by your sides”. We followed his instructions, lining up against the chain mail fence while the enthusiastic Alsatian jumped up and down behind us.
Given the 'all clear', we filed through a turnstile whose melancholic sound resembled that made by the squeaking windmill in the opening sequence to Sergio Leone’s masterpiece ‘Once Upon a Time in the West”.
The turnstile led to a bus stop. A trustie driving an old yellow school bus around the complex picking up and delivering the visitors to the various units, gave us a friendly, "Hello". A short ride brought us to a vast iron gate with a buzzer which signalled to the guard that visitors have arrived. The gate clanked open and we walked passed the grassy visitation compound surrounded with razor wire.
Inside the unit our paperwork and IDs were checked once again and the guard picked up the phone and asked that our son be brought to the visitation area. We went through another scanner, and after setting the alarm off with my belt buckle and shoes, I was ‘wanded’ by the guard, who gave us back the paperwork. We went through 2 more electronic doors which slid back to reveal the visitation room.
Once again the paperwork was checked and the guard assigned us a white, plastic table. We sat down, looked at each other and waited for our son to come through a door.
..........Passing the desert scenery that Jon had described so well in his blog, I became him, looking out from the transportation van, longing to be free.
Scanning the horizon the desert stretched for miles, skirted by the Estrella Mountain range: there were no signs of the prison, as we sped further into the arid landscape.
I thought my eyes were deceiving me, as, in the far distance I spied what looked like rows of silver pods suspended against the dark hills. Blinking hard, I tried to focus my distance vision, and as we drew closer I realised that the pods were flood lights: luminous eyes surveying the scence.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as the low sprawling mass of Lewis prison gradually revealed itself, and I wondered what part of the complex held my son captive…. …. …
… … …Chatting to Jon across the plastic table, we could have been in any café, in any country, smiling, talking, exchanging views on crime and justice, life and death, sorrow and joy. I stared at his animated face and time stopped. Glancing away, the walls of razor wire glistening in the bright Arizona sunshine remind me sharply of where I was.
Jon's parents would like to thank the prison authorities for granting us extra visits. After travelling 5200 miles this was greatly appreciated, as was the kindness and courtesy we received from all of the visitation staff.
Jon's impressions of our first visit have been held up in the Christmas mail and will be posted asap. He is doing well and sends everyone his regards.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
The First Visit: Two accounts by Jon’s parents …..
Driving south on Highway 85, Lewis Prison lies in the foothills of the Buckeye Mountains, a picturesque setting for a State incarceration facility.
Our first journey to the complex was enlivened by the sight of the rising sun to our left. The sky above the line of the Estrella Mountains became blood- red before the emergence of the Phoenix sun.
Along this stretch of highway are instructions to keep headlights on ‘day and night’, as the length of the road and its straightness makes it look as if distant cars are invisible without headlights on. As we passed the notorious road sign ‘State Prison – DO NOT STOP FOR HITCHHIKERS’, we knew that we were getting close to our son’s new home.
Arrival at the facility brought the first of many ID checks and searches. A swinging barrier stopped all cars as a guard with a clipboard stooped to check our passports and driving licence. We were waved on to the visitor car park, where we deposited our valuables into the boot of the car, only being allowed to take in 1 watch, 1 ring, 1 car key with remote, prescriptions glasses only, and $20 per person in quarters (to purchase food and drink from vending machines). The quarters have to be in a clear bag for the guards to check that no other items are being smuggled in. We had no quarters and no plastic bag. Fortunately other visitors seeing our plight kindly offered change for dollars and gave us a plastic food bag to put them in.
At the next check point we filled in the paper work; queued to hand it in at the office with our ID and joined the numerous visitors to await our name call.
When the guard shouted, ‘Attwood’, we were asked to remove our jackets; empty our pockets; take off belts; and our belonging were sent through an X ray machine, as we walked through the scanner.
In spite of the bright sun, at this time of the year it is very cold early in the morning and with our jackets off we started to shiver. Visitors with high boots which could conceal a weapon, had to walk through the scanner bare foot.
With our items returned, we were moved on through a fenced passage where a guard with a large, sniffer dog shouted, “Backs to the fence and hands by your sides”. We followed his instructions, lining up against the chain mail fence while the enthusiastic Alsatian jumped up and down behind us.
Given the 'all clear', we filed through a turnstile whose melancholic sound resembled that made by the squeaking windmill in the opening sequence to Sergio Leone’s masterpiece ‘Once Upon a Time in the West”.
The turnstile led to a bus stop. A trustie driving an old yellow school bus around the complex picking up and delivering the visitors to the various units, gave us a friendly, "Hello". A short ride brought us to a vast iron gate with a buzzer which signalled to the guard that visitors have arrived. The gate clanked open and we walked passed the grassy visitation compound surrounded with razor wire.
Inside the unit our paperwork and IDs were checked once again and the guard picked up the phone and asked that our son be brought to the visitation area. We went through another scanner, and after setting the alarm off with my belt buckle and shoes, I was ‘wanded’ by the guard, who gave us back the paperwork. We went through 2 more electronic doors which slid back to reveal the visitation room.
Once again the paperwork was checked and the guard assigned us a white, plastic table. We sat down, looked at each other and waited for our son to come through a door.
..........Passing the desert scenery that Jon had described so well in his blog, I became him, looking out from the transportation van, longing to be free.
Scanning the horizon the desert stretched for miles, skirted by the Estrella Mountain range: there were no signs of the prison, as we sped further into the arid landscape.
I thought my eyes were deceiving me, as, in the far distance I spied what looked like rows of silver pods suspended against the dark hills. Blinking hard, I tried to focus my distance vision, and as we drew closer I realised that the pods were flood lights: luminous eyes surveying the scence.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as the low sprawling mass of Lewis prison gradually revealed itself, and I wondered what part of the complex held my son captive…. …. …
… … …Chatting to Jon across the plastic table, we could have been in any café, in any country, smiling, talking, exchanging views on crime and justice, life and death, sorrow and joy. I stared at his animated face and time stopped. Glancing away, the walls of razor wire glistening in the bright Arizona sunshine remind me sharply of where I was.
Jon's parents would like to thank the prison authorities for granting us extra visits. After travelling 5200 miles this was greatly appreciated, as was the kindness and courtesy we received from all of the visitation staff.
Jon's impressions of our first visit have been held up in the Christmas mail and will be posted asap. He is doing well and sends everyone his regards.
Send comments to writeinside@hotmail.com
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