9th Sept 04
Latest on Sheriff Joe
Yesterday, Sheriff Joe Arpaio won in the primary. So now we have to concentrate on defeating him in the general election in November. His opponent is a Democrat, which will make things difficult, as most registered voters in Arizona are Republicans. Arpaio has a lock on the votes of the senior citizens of Arizona, and there are thousands of them in Sun City and Greater Phoenix. They won’t hear a bad word said about Joe. The fact that crime stats show that Phoenix has a higher than the national average rate for practically all offences (Phoenix Crime Statistics and Crime Data (Phoenix, AZ) cuts no ice with the gated community dwellers and all those folks who are too far removed from life to care.
Dan Saban did give him a good run for his money, though, with a much stronger showing than any other candidate against Arpaio so far. He will try again, he says, in two years.
Not quite fine dining
Since the veggie diet started coming the prison keeps serving me delicious rice and bean dishes that I’ve never seen before. The veggie chili reminds me of Indian food. After starvation under Sheriff Joe’s regime, I feel so full now, all day long. It’s not quite fine dining, but, bloody hell, this is prison. I imagine I’ll be back to 170 lbs in no time. I hope I don’t get fat. Also, I am now officially Hindu.
2nd Sept 04
The Passion of The Christ
Fifty-seven-year old Blue, a member of the original Aryan Brotherhood in Arizona, was released from SMU earlier this year, after spending half of his life in prison. Towards the end of his sentence he had become a born-again Christian. One of his goals for when he got out was to go and see the movie, The Passion of The Christ. Blue realised that goal during the first week of his release.
The Jesus movie affected Blue profoundly. He wept as he watched it, and his violent past weighed heavily on his mind. Whilst watching the movie, Blue made a decision that would change the rest of his life.
After viewing The Passion, Blue turned himself in to the authorities and confessed to a crime he had committed in 1979. Whilst incarcerated at Central Unit, Blue had struck another inmate 15 times in the head with a hammer. The bludgeoning had killed the victim. Blue was recently convicted of this murder upon the evidence of his own testimony. For his atonement he was given a 25-year-to-life sentence , but at least he was spared the death penalty. Blue is now back home at SMU.
The Passion of The Christ
Fifty-seven-year old Blue, a member of the original Aryan Brotherhood in Arizona, was released from SMU earlier this year, after spending half of his life in prison. Towards the end of his sentence he had become a born-again Christian. One of his goals for when he got out was to go and see the movie, The Passion of The Christ. Blue realised that goal during the first week of his release.
The Jesus movie affected Blue profoundly. He wept as he watched it, and his violent past weighed heavily on his mind. Whilst watching the movie, Blue made a decision that would change the rest of his life.
After viewing The Passion, Blue turned himself in to the authorities and confessed to a crime he had committed in 1979. Whilst incarcerated at Central Unit, Blue had struck another inmate 15 times in the head with a hammer. The bludgeoning had killed the victim. Blue was recently convicted of this murder upon the evidence of his own testimony. For his atonement he was given a 25-year-to-life sentence , but at least he was spared the death penalty. Blue is now back home at SMU.
30th Aug 04
Who are the people in your neighbourhood?
The quietest inmate in our housing area is my next-door neighbour, Daniel. He does not speak to anyone except for his old-timer cellmate, Timmy the Wood. I sometimes overhear Daniel talking in a soft and timid voice.
When inmates pass our cell on the way to the shower, they usually give a friendly nod or a greeting, but not Daniel. Sometimes I smile and look expectantly at him as he walks by, but his eyes are always looking either straight ahead or down at the floor. After observing his eyes a few times, I began to feel that something was amiss. A permanent haunted look resides in those eyes. They bulge unnaturally: too much eyeball seems to be exposed. There's chaos in those eyes. I’ve seen plenty of inmates looking agitated and anguished due to the conditions; however, Daniel’s eyes express a state of constant trauma. If eyes are windows to the soul, it appears as if he has a tempest lurking within him.
Apart from Daniel’s eyes, there is nothing unusual about his appearance. He is short and stout and looks to be around thirty-years old. His thin, reddish hair is neatly cut; a boyish fringe covers his forehead. He is the mildest-mannered inmate in the pod.
When Daniel went to the Medical Unit yesterday, my other neighbour, Barbarian, questioned Timmy the Wood about Daniel’s past. Timmy revealed that Daniel’s prison score was a 5-5, which is the highest level of classification; that he was sentenced to 350 years, and he would be eligible for parole in 175 years. Apparently, his lengthy sentence was proportionate to the number of his victims. Timmy told us that Daniel is a serial killer.
Despite Daniel’s seemingly gentle disposition, he is probably the most dangerous inmate I have been housed with thus far.
Who are the people in your neighbourhood?
The quietest inmate in our housing area is my next-door neighbour, Daniel. He does not speak to anyone except for his old-timer cellmate, Timmy the Wood. I sometimes overhear Daniel talking in a soft and timid voice.
When inmates pass our cell on the way to the shower, they usually give a friendly nod or a greeting, but not Daniel. Sometimes I smile and look expectantly at him as he walks by, but his eyes are always looking either straight ahead or down at the floor. After observing his eyes a few times, I began to feel that something was amiss. A permanent haunted look resides in those eyes. They bulge unnaturally: too much eyeball seems to be exposed. There's chaos in those eyes. I’ve seen plenty of inmates looking agitated and anguished due to the conditions; however, Daniel’s eyes express a state of constant trauma. If eyes are windows to the soul, it appears as if he has a tempest lurking within him.
Apart from Daniel’s eyes, there is nothing unusual about his appearance. He is short and stout and looks to be around thirty-years old. His thin, reddish hair is neatly cut; a boyish fringe covers his forehead. He is the mildest-mannered inmate in the pod.
When Daniel went to the Medical Unit yesterday, my other neighbour, Barbarian, questioned Timmy the Wood about Daniel’s past. Timmy revealed that Daniel’s prison score was a 5-5, which is the highest level of classification; that he was sentenced to 350 years, and he would be eligible for parole in 175 years. Apparently, his lengthy sentence was proportionate to the number of his victims. Timmy told us that Daniel is a serial killer.
Despite Daniel’s seemingly gentle disposition, he is probably the most dangerous inmate I have been housed with thus far.
26th Aug 04
Vegetarian Diet
I started to receive the vegetarian diet today. The veggie burger tonight was delicious. It came with potatoes, garbanzo beans, kidney beans and green beans. In order to receive the diet I had to change my religion to Hindu on the Diet Request Form. This a natural progression after studying yoga for several years. I am now keen to learn more about the Hindu religion. My favourite cuisine has always been Indian.
Thanks for your kind offers of veggie-food parcels. Unfortunately I can not receive food in the mail.
Vegetarian Diet
I started to receive the vegetarian diet today. The veggie burger tonight was delicious. It came with potatoes, garbanzo beans, kidney beans and green beans. In order to receive the diet I had to change my religion to Hindu on the Diet Request Form. This a natural progression after studying yoga for several years. I am now keen to learn more about the Hindu religion. My favourite cuisine has always been Indian.
Thanks for your kind offers of veggie-food parcels. Unfortunately I can not receive food in the mail.
15th Sept 04
Open letter to the Guardian from Jon
Thank you for having the courage to highlight the plight of the downtrodden inmates in Joe Arpaio's jail. Before the publication of the blog in your newspaper, I felt as if I were a lonely stone, sunk at the bottom of a muddy pond. The Guardian readership has raised that stone to a bright surface. Hopefully, the increased scrutiny will cause an improvement in the conditions. What is occurring in that jail is disgraceful. Plato wrote that democracy is the path to tyranny. It is up to the press and the public to expose and suppress tyranny when and where it occurs. Thank you tremendously for championing a worthy cause. I am overcome with joy because you published my scrawl. Appreciatively and humbly yours, Jon.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/g2/story/0,,1299259,00.html
Open letter to the Guardian from Jon
Thank you for having the courage to highlight the plight of the downtrodden inmates in Joe Arpaio's jail. Before the publication of the blog in your newspaper, I felt as if I were a lonely stone, sunk at the bottom of a muddy pond. The Guardian readership has raised that stone to a bright surface. Hopefully, the increased scrutiny will cause an improvement in the conditions. What is occurring in that jail is disgraceful. Plato wrote that democracy is the path to tyranny. It is up to the press and the public to expose and suppress tyranny when and where it occurs. Thank you tremendously for championing a worthy cause. I am overcome with joy because you published my scrawl. Appreciatively and humbly yours, Jon.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/g2/story/0,,1299259,00.html
20th Aug 04
SMU2
SMU2
I’m temporarily at a super-maximum facility. The most dangerous criminals in Arizona are housed in neighbouring "runs" (corridors) and lots of them are "lifers" (serving natural life sentences, or hundreds of years).
Our run consists of ten two-man cells, five upstairs and five down. There is a sixth cell on each floor containing a shower. I am not allowed out of my cell except to shower, or go to the Medical Unit.
7.00am: The guards open the trap on the cell door. Waking up, I raise myself from the bottom bunk and grab a breakfast tray. Breakfasts have included hash browns, French toast, oatmeal, eggs, pancakes, waffles and meat. A great improvement on Sheriff Joe’s green bologna!
7.15am: I am back on my bunk.
7.30am: The guards open the trap and demand the return of the plastic breakfast trays.
8.00am: I return to slumber.
9.00am: The guard offers us showers (three days per week). “Shower! Shower!” he yells. I awake, get dressed and grab my bar of soap and a towel. I am handcuffed through the trap. The door is opened and I walk to a cell containing a shower. On entering the shower I am unhandcuffed through the trap. Showering takes ten minutes but I am left waiting for up to an hour before I am handcuffed and escorted back to my cell.
10.00am: Lunch sacks are served through the trap. They contain four pieces of wheat bread, two pieces of cheese, bright-orange crackers, sandwich meat (still no veggie diet) and sometimes peanut butter.
10.30am: I commence reading, writing and studying.
2.00pm: A guard offers to dispose of my trash through the trap.
3.00pm: I am offered cleaning supplies. These consist of liquid soap, a toilet scrubber and a broom on a shortened handle; after usage, I return these supplies through the trap.
4.00pm: Dinner trays are served through the trap. Dinner is usually meat, mashed potatoes, wheat bread and a vegetable.
5.00pm: The trays are collected through the trap.
6.00pm: Mail is delivered. This is the highlight of the day for most inmates. Some inmates boast about how many items of mail they have received, and they taunt the inmates who have received none.
7.00pm: "Kites" are offered. Kites are forms we can use to communicate with the various staff members. Issues concerning classification, operations, inmate grievances, inmate store, laundry/linen, legal, library, programs, accounts, property, religion, security, warehouse and visitation may be addressed using kites. Staff response times vary from one day to up to thirty days.
10.00pm: Lights out. I place my outgoing mail and kites in the trap. The graveyard shift collects inmate correspondence. I commence a lengthy yoga session. Three or four inmates known as "cell warriors" yell obscenities at each other until 1.00am or 2.00am, preventing the less vocal inmates from sleeping.
2.00am: When the hurly-burly ceases, I quit yoga. Using pieces of wet toilet roll as earplugs (a precaution in case the banter resumes) I curl my blanket around me and attempt to go to sleep, which sometimes takes a long time.
11th Sept 04 Good lookin’ out dawgs!
After Jon’s arrest in May 02, we (Jon’s parents) were allowed a 10 minute phone call each week via the British Embassy in Los Angeles. The calls were stopped by the jail last year on a technicality. Last night we picked up the phone and it was Jon’s excited voice. The Embassy had magically reinstated his calls. The timing could not have been better.
He was in receipt of a letter from his sister saying that an article about the blog may be going in The Guardian this week, and he was anxious to know if it went ahead. He was quite amazed and deeply touched when we told him the reaction his journal had caused. We have printed off and posted to him all your emails and comments.
Jon said, “It’s tremendous! I can’t believe this is happening! Hope I don’t get writer’s block! Thank you people everywhere. I’m doing fine. There are 3 more blogs in the post right now, and I will write a response to the New Times article immediately.”
Good lookin’ out dawgs!
After Jon’s arrest in May 02, we (Jon’s parents) were allowed a 10 minute phone call each week via the British Embassy in Los Angeles. The calls were stopped by the jail last year on a technicality. Last night we picked up the phone and it was Jon’s excited voice. The Embassy had magically reinstated his calls. The timing could not have been better.
He was in receipt of a letter from his sister saying that an article about the blog may be going in The Guardian this week, and he was anxious to know if it went ahead. He was quite amazed and deeply touched when we told him the reaction his journal had caused. We have printed off and posted to him all your emails and comments.
Jon said, “It’s tremendous! I can’t believe this is happening! Hope I don’t get writer’s block! Thank you people everywhere. I’m doing fine. There are 3 more blogs in the post right now, and I will write a response to the New Times article immediately.”
Good lookin’ out dawgs!
8th Sept 04 Jon’s parents wrote
Thank you to everybody at The Guardian for the brilliant article in the G2 today highlighting Jon’s blog and enabling people from across the globe to visit this site. It was very well done and we’re sure when Jon sees it he’ll be delighted that someone has given him a conduit for his writings. (It takes about a week for mail to get to him) Non-Guardian readers, the link for this article is below:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/g2/story/0,3604,1299259,00.html
Since the article, we have received hundreds of emails and comments in support of Jon. People have reached out to him for all sorts of reasons and we are deeply humbled by the numbers of people across the globe who have felt the need to respond.
As you are aware, he has no access to computers, and he writes the blogs with a short pencil (a long pencil could be considered a weapon) until his hand aches too much to continue. We will send copies of all your comments and emails to Jon, who we know will be overcome by your responses. He will reply but it may take a few weeks due to the volume of support. Jon has said that the highlight of the day is receiving mail. Thank you supporters keep the correspondence coming.
If you want your comments to be seen in the blog, click on ‘comments’ at the end of each blog, then ‘post comments’ link. If you don’t want the world to see your comment email Jon on writeinside@hotmail.com Below are a few extracts from the many emails we have received:
"... ...I am a crime journalist working for BBC News Online in London, with a long-time interest in US jails . I just read the article about you in today's Guardian and I sympathise with your predicament, particularly the barbaric conditions I have read about on your weblog."
"... ...I am very interested about how an ordinary white-collar Brit ends up in such a place. It must be quite a tale."
"... ...Keep your chin up Jon (is that a yoga position?) I hope you're sent to Arizona (better still that your sentence is cut - maybe GW will pull a few strings). Your diary is in the Guardian so you'll be getting a lot of support from Guardian readers. Anyway, best wishes from Hebden Bridge."
"I read your story Jon in this evenings Liverpool Echo ... ..."
"... ...I wish you all the very best, if there is anything I can do to help, even if its just adding my voice, don't hesitate to get in touch ... ..."
"All the very best mate : HeF"
"I just read the extracts of your blog published in The Guardian today. I imagine you get a lot of people saying 'I don't know what to say', so I'm sorry to add to their number. No sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that your writing made me laugh, despite the loathing generated by your descriptions of the conditions. But it did. Don't let the bastards get you down, pet." Anna
"... ...Hi Jon,
Are conditions any better in the penitentiary? I certainly hope so as your Jail diary was a nauseating account of the dark side of Americans who appear to be able to go to church and sing of heaven while actively encouraging hell on earth."
John Williams
"... ...More power to you. You really made me laugh/cry today when I read your weblog in the Guardian and then went to look at the whole thing on the net. It's fabulous. I once got arrested in the States and I am now eternally grateful that I didn't end up where you are. I always wondered what vegetarians do in prison (being one) although from what myfriends in the military have said the vegetarian food there is pretty much the same. Cockroaches don't like tea tree oil, but I reckon your mates back in the jail have v little chance of getting any of that delivered. No doubt it would be classed as a weapon.
So, just wanted to say hi, tell you persons around the world are reading you and to say nice one."
"Take care"
Lorna, Kuala Lumpur
"Your diary in today's Guardian is the best thing I've read in ages. And now I'm reading your web-site. I'm curious to know if you're going to be inundated by your fellow Brits all offering their support and commiserations at your plight. The Guardian must have countless worthy types, willing to have a good hand-wring with you about the barabarism of the US penal system??
I however, am evil and right-wing and have merely had a day off from the Daily Mail. [nah - just have to read all the papers every day for my job. But not the Sport. Or the Star. There is not much knowledge to be gleaned from t*ts and a photo of Jordan's g-string disappearing completely up her backside... ..."
"... ...I have a phobia of cockroaches so you can imagine.... One of the little critters crawled over me in a really smart London restaurant, and l damn near screamed the place down. The other diners thought it was a terrorist attack until I careered, in true comedy fashion, into the desert trolley."
"What the f*ck did you do to get nine years inside??? something financial I know, but nine years??? Jesus Christ, you poor bastard."
"... ...anyway, The Guardian gave its readers a happy ending (lest it put them off their morning muesli and soya milk) saying that you've moved somewhere better. Even I, Daily Mail reader, really hope that's the case. If I can send any toothpaste to any of your mates left in that hellhole, let me know."
"... ...great diary anyway."
"Take care"
Katie x
Thank you to everybody at The Guardian for the brilliant article in the G2 today highlighting Jon’s blog and enabling people from across the globe to visit this site. It was very well done and we’re sure when Jon sees it he’ll be delighted that someone has given him a conduit for his writings. (It takes about a week for mail to get to him) Non-Guardian readers, the link for this article is below:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/g2/story/0,3604,1299259,00.html
Since the article, we have received hundreds of emails and comments in support of Jon. People have reached out to him for all sorts of reasons and we are deeply humbled by the numbers of people across the globe who have felt the need to respond.
As you are aware, he has no access to computers, and he writes the blogs with a short pencil (a long pencil could be considered a weapon) until his hand aches too much to continue. We will send copies of all your comments and emails to Jon, who we know will be overcome by your responses. He will reply but it may take a few weeks due to the volume of support. Jon has said that the highlight of the day is receiving mail. Thank you supporters keep the correspondence coming.
If you want your comments to be seen in the blog, click on ‘comments’ at the end of each blog, then ‘post comments’ link. If you don’t want the world to see your comment email Jon on writeinside@hotmail.com Below are a few extracts from the many emails we have received:
"... ...I am a crime journalist working for BBC News Online in London, with a long-time interest in US jails . I just read the article about you in today's Guardian and I sympathise with your predicament, particularly the barbaric conditions I have read about on your weblog."
"... ...I am very interested about how an ordinary white-collar Brit ends up in such a place. It must be quite a tale."
"... ...Keep your chin up Jon (is that a yoga position?) I hope you're sent to Arizona (better still that your sentence is cut - maybe GW will pull a few strings). Your diary is in the Guardian so you'll be getting a lot of support from Guardian readers. Anyway, best wishes from Hebden Bridge."
"I read your story Jon in this evenings Liverpool Echo ... ..."
"... ...I wish you all the very best, if there is anything I can do to help, even if its just adding my voice, don't hesitate to get in touch ... ..."
"All the very best mate : HeF"
"I just read the extracts of your blog published in The Guardian today. I imagine you get a lot of people saying 'I don't know what to say', so I'm sorry to add to their number. No sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that your writing made me laugh, despite the loathing generated by your descriptions of the conditions. But it did. Don't let the bastards get you down, pet." Anna
"... ...Hi Jon,
Are conditions any better in the penitentiary? I certainly hope so as your Jail diary was a nauseating account of the dark side of Americans who appear to be able to go to church and sing of heaven while actively encouraging hell on earth."
John Williams
"... ...More power to you. You really made me laugh/cry today when I read your weblog in the Guardian and then went to look at the whole thing on the net. It's fabulous. I once got arrested in the States and I am now eternally grateful that I didn't end up where you are. I always wondered what vegetarians do in prison (being one) although from what myfriends in the military have said the vegetarian food there is pretty much the same. Cockroaches don't like tea tree oil, but I reckon your mates back in the jail have v little chance of getting any of that delivered. No doubt it would be classed as a weapon.
So, just wanted to say hi, tell you persons around the world are reading you and to say nice one."
"Take care"
Lorna, Kuala Lumpur
"Your diary in today's Guardian is the best thing I've read in ages. And now I'm reading your web-site. I'm curious to know if you're going to be inundated by your fellow Brits all offering their support and commiserations at your plight. The Guardian must have countless worthy types, willing to have a good hand-wring with you about the barabarism of the US penal system??
I however, am evil and right-wing and have merely had a day off from the Daily Mail. [nah - just have to read all the papers every day for my job. But not the Sport. Or the Star. There is not much knowledge to be gleaned from t*ts and a photo of Jordan's g-string disappearing completely up her backside... ..."
"... ...I have a phobia of cockroaches so you can imagine.... One of the little critters crawled over me in a really smart London restaurant, and l damn near screamed the place down. The other diners thought it was a terrorist attack until I careered, in true comedy fashion, into the desert trolley."
"What the f*ck did you do to get nine years inside??? something financial I know, but nine years??? Jesus Christ, you poor bastard."
"... ...anyway, The Guardian gave its readers a happy ending (lest it put them off their morning muesli and soya milk) saying that you've moved somewhere better. Even I, Daily Mail reader, really hope that's the case. If I can send any toothpaste to any of your mates left in that hellhole, let me know."
"... ...great diary anyway."
"Take care"
Katie x
12th August 04 Thinner and thinner
The decision over my final destination (which state penitentiary I’ll be permanently housed at) has still not been taken. I was told I could be sent out of Arizona because of the media attention to my case including the Phoenix New Times article that linked me and my codefendants to the Gravano crew. This would be a disaster. Half of my family and friends live in Arizona (and the other half live in England). I’d get no visitors at all!
My request for a veggie diet was rejected because I wrote "yoga" in the religious-preference box on the request form. I’ll have to convert to Hinduism! I’m rapidly losing weight, and I'm living on peanut butter and crackers bought from the store. The peanut butter limit is silly. I could eat five times as much as I’m allowed to buy. I feel oddly vulnerable at 154 pounds.
I’m doing two to three hours of yoga every night. There’s no point in trying to sleep early. My noisy neighbours make it impossible. I’m doing four different warrior-type lunge postures and five different headstands. The muscles in my thighs ripple, but that's probably because they're becoming skinnier. I’ve tried to turn the night-noise situation into a positive. I’m ready to move onto more advanced yoga postures (if Dad will send a book). The guards see me contorted and are bewildered:
"What’s he doin'?"
"What the fuck!"
"He’s lost his mind!" - are just some of their comments.
The decision over my final destination (which state penitentiary I’ll be permanently housed at) has still not been taken. I was told I could be sent out of Arizona because of the media attention to my case including the Phoenix New Times article that linked me and my codefendants to the Gravano crew. This would be a disaster. Half of my family and friends live in Arizona (and the other half live in England). I’d get no visitors at all!
My request for a veggie diet was rejected because I wrote "yoga" in the religious-preference box on the request form. I’ll have to convert to Hinduism! I’m rapidly losing weight, and I'm living on peanut butter and crackers bought from the store. The peanut butter limit is silly. I could eat five times as much as I’m allowed to buy. I feel oddly vulnerable at 154 pounds.
I’m doing two to three hours of yoga every night. There’s no point in trying to sleep early. My noisy neighbours make it impossible. I’m doing four different warrior-type lunge postures and five different headstands. The muscles in my thighs ripple, but that's probably because they're becoming skinnier. I’ve tried to turn the night-noise situation into a positive. I’m ready to move onto more advanced yoga postures (if Dad will send a book). The guards see me contorted and are bewildered:
"What’s he doin'?"
"What the fuck!"
"He’s lost his mind!" - are just some of their comments.
5th August 04 David and the Grim Reaper
David's fluoxetine prescription commenced on Tuesday. David divulged some things about his life that may have contributed to his mental instability.
When David was thirteen one of his friends put a bullet into a drinking straw and threw it into the air. When it landed it exploded. David watched his friend die as the bullet entered his chin and exited through the back of his head.
At age 17 David woke up to find his fiancée of four years dead. He was arrested and interrogated about her murder for two weeks. An autopsy revealed that she had died from toxic shock syndrome caused by a tampon.
David’s father was murdered – shot dead by a biker gang in Sunnyslope – when David was in his mid-twenties. Last year, his wife, the mother of his five children suffered a rollover car accident. Her spinal chord snapped and she died. His thirty-four-year-old brother is looking after his five children, while David serves a two-year sentence after being caught with a ten-dollar bag of speed.
This week David received a disciplinary ticket, which may cause his stay at SMU2 to be extended. The cover of his decrepit mattress was peeling, so, for comfort purposes, David removed the rest of it. Our cell floor became littered with pieces of what looked like blue confetti. The mess attracted a young Chicano guard. A cell search followed.
The guard instructed me to strip naked and to show him my hands, teeth, armpits and feet. I was ordered to raise my scrotum. Finally, I had to bend over, spread my cheeks and cough. David was instructed to do the same. We were handcuffed through the trap in the door, and moved from the cell in our boxer shorts to a small recreation pen where we played handball.
Upon our return, David was ticketed for destroying state property. He may be charged up to $150 restitution to replace the mattress. Several tickets can jeopardize an inmate’s eligibility for early release. David has pleaded not guilty and he has a hearing next week.
An inmate directly above us tried to commit suicide. The method was not disclosed. He was escorted to a suicide watch room, where, according to David, he will be bound by leather handcuffs and have his legs chained down. One arm will be unbound during meals so that he can scoop the food into his mouth. David has been to suicide watch rooms on two occasions. He once tried to kill himself at the county jail by drinking bleach.
I received the peanut butter I ordered. I’m only allowed twelve ounces per week. The Diet Request Form finally arrived so my vegetarian diet should be up and running soon. David got so hungry that he traded his library allowance (one book per two weeks) to me, for half of a twelve-ounce bag of Granny Goose Dip Chips (more commonly known in England as "plain crisps").
I have many insect bites on my head, legs and arms but they are not too uncomfortable – only mild suffering. I’m not sure if the black earwig that I found in my bedding caused them. The variety of insects here is far more enjoyable to look at than the cockroaches at the jail. Some of the louder inmates have moved on so things have quietened down a little at nighttimes. I expect that I’ll be here for at least two more months.
David's fluoxetine prescription commenced on Tuesday. David divulged some things about his life that may have contributed to his mental instability.
When David was thirteen one of his friends put a bullet into a drinking straw and threw it into the air. When it landed it exploded. David watched his friend die as the bullet entered his chin and exited through the back of his head.
At age 17 David woke up to find his fiancée of four years dead. He was arrested and interrogated about her murder for two weeks. An autopsy revealed that she had died from toxic shock syndrome caused by a tampon.
David’s father was murdered – shot dead by a biker gang in Sunnyslope – when David was in his mid-twenties. Last year, his wife, the mother of his five children suffered a rollover car accident. Her spinal chord snapped and she died. His thirty-four-year-old brother is looking after his five children, while David serves a two-year sentence after being caught with a ten-dollar bag of speed.
This week David received a disciplinary ticket, which may cause his stay at SMU2 to be extended. The cover of his decrepit mattress was peeling, so, for comfort purposes, David removed the rest of it. Our cell floor became littered with pieces of what looked like blue confetti. The mess attracted a young Chicano guard. A cell search followed.
The guard instructed me to strip naked and to show him my hands, teeth, armpits and feet. I was ordered to raise my scrotum. Finally, I had to bend over, spread my cheeks and cough. David was instructed to do the same. We were handcuffed through the trap in the door, and moved from the cell in our boxer shorts to a small recreation pen where we played handball.
Upon our return, David was ticketed for destroying state property. He may be charged up to $150 restitution to replace the mattress. Several tickets can jeopardize an inmate’s eligibility for early release. David has pleaded not guilty and he has a hearing next week.
An inmate directly above us tried to commit suicide. The method was not disclosed. He was escorted to a suicide watch room, where, according to David, he will be bound by leather handcuffs and have his legs chained down. One arm will be unbound during meals so that he can scoop the food into his mouth. David has been to suicide watch rooms on two occasions. He once tried to kill himself at the county jail by drinking bleach.
I received the peanut butter I ordered. I’m only allowed twelve ounces per week. The Diet Request Form finally arrived so my vegetarian diet should be up and running soon. David got so hungry that he traded his library allowance (one book per two weeks) to me, for half of a twelve-ounce bag of Granny Goose Dip Chips (more commonly known in England as "plain crisps").
I have many insect bites on my head, legs and arms but they are not too uncomfortable – only mild suffering. I’m not sure if the black earwig that I found in my bedding caused them. The variety of insects here is far more enjoyable to look at than the cockroaches at the jail. Some of the louder inmates have moved on so things have quietened down a little at nighttimes. I expect that I’ll be here for at least two more months.
29th July 04 Super Maximum Unit
A group of us were moved to a super-maximum unit (SMU2) in Florence, Arizona. The journey from Alhambra to SMU2 took approximately one hour, during which I admired the desert and mountain landscapes. Arizona's most dangerous prisoners are housed at SMU1 and SMU2. These include some of the leaders of the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican Mafia. The guards here all wear shank-proof vests and protective glasses. Wearing such garb has earned them the name "ninja turtles". All inmates are strip-searched and handcuffed before leaving their cells.
My first cellmate was a satanic priest called Lucifer who had a pentagram tattooed on his forehead. But within one hour of my arrival he was rolled up back to the county jail to face additional charges. Lucifer generously gave me a 335-page Leonardo da Vinci biography. As I was completely bookless, the gesture was appreciated. His institutional score was the highest, 5-5, and my neighbours explained he was in for murder, part of a cult that was drinking blood and eating human body parts.
After Lucifer departed, David, the suicidal inmate from Alhambra, appeared smiling at my cell door. He is now my cellmate. Because of his depression, he sleeps for approximately 20 hours each day, so our cell is quiet. Unfortunately, the neighbours create all kinds of noise into the small hours, which has made getting to sleep have its difficulties. They heckle, joke and converse about bizarre things. Last night they had a debate about who had the biggest "booty size" out of Catherine-Zeta Jones, J-Lo and Selina.
The only insect houseguests thus far have been a cricket, a beetle (an unusual-looking specimen) and a few tiny white flies that look like specs of dust. The beetle was bulbous and chestnut coloured. It crawled around slowly on six furry legs. I watched with great interest as it patrolled the room.
My request for a vegetarian diet has not yet been approved. I am dizzy with hunger. David is the lucky beneficiary of double meat rations. I’ve ordered twelve ounces of peanut butter from the store list, which I’m hoping to receive next week.
I’ve adjusted my yoga routine to nighttimes so that I’m doing something constructive when my neighbours are causing the most noise. I'm finding that standing on my head has a soothing effect on my brain. I read and write in the daytime. Fortunately, Lonely left behind a blank Library Book Request Form, which I submitted immediately. I received Plato 1 the next day. Plato 1 is a 478-page book from the Oxford Readings in Philosophy series. It is as if by providence that I am supplied an educational book just when I need it the most.
A group of us were moved to a super-maximum unit (SMU2) in Florence, Arizona. The journey from Alhambra to SMU2 took approximately one hour, during which I admired the desert and mountain landscapes. Arizona's most dangerous prisoners are housed at SMU1 and SMU2. These include some of the leaders of the Aryan Brotherhood and the Mexican Mafia. The guards here all wear shank-proof vests and protective glasses. Wearing such garb has earned them the name "ninja turtles". All inmates are strip-searched and handcuffed before leaving their cells.
My first cellmate was a satanic priest called Lucifer who had a pentagram tattooed on his forehead. But within one hour of my arrival he was rolled up back to the county jail to face additional charges. Lucifer generously gave me a 335-page Leonardo da Vinci biography. As I was completely bookless, the gesture was appreciated. His institutional score was the highest, 5-5, and my neighbours explained he was in for murder, part of a cult that was drinking blood and eating human body parts.
After Lucifer departed, David, the suicidal inmate from Alhambra, appeared smiling at my cell door. He is now my cellmate. Because of his depression, he sleeps for approximately 20 hours each day, so our cell is quiet. Unfortunately, the neighbours create all kinds of noise into the small hours, which has made getting to sleep have its difficulties. They heckle, joke and converse about bizarre things. Last night they had a debate about who had the biggest "booty size" out of Catherine-Zeta Jones, J-Lo and Selina.
The only insect houseguests thus far have been a cricket, a beetle (an unusual-looking specimen) and a few tiny white flies that look like specs of dust. The beetle was bulbous and chestnut coloured. It crawled around slowly on six furry legs. I watched with great interest as it patrolled the room.
My request for a vegetarian diet has not yet been approved. I am dizzy with hunger. David is the lucky beneficiary of double meat rations. I’ve ordered twelve ounces of peanut butter from the store list, which I’m hoping to receive next week.
I’ve adjusted my yoga routine to nighttimes so that I’m doing something constructive when my neighbours are causing the most noise. I'm finding that standing on my head has a soothing effect on my brain. I read and write in the daytime. Fortunately, Lonely left behind a blank Library Book Request Form, which I submitted immediately. I received Plato 1 the next day. Plato 1 is a 478-page book from the Oxford Readings in Philosophy series. It is as if by providence that I am supplied an educational book just when I need it the most.
22nd July 04 Deadly diseases
My cellmate, David, responded to his hepatitis C result by popping a cocktail of pharmaceutical pills. Shortly after, he had a seizure. His contorted trembling body was carted away, but he survived.
The jail staff did not teach inmates about how diseases are spread. Diseased inmates are housed with healthy inmates. They share nail clippers (1 per 100 plus inmates), hair clippers, tattoo guns, syringes and other personal effects. I witnesses inmates with diseases serving chow. David would probably not have contracted this disease – which may shorten his lifespan – if some simple preventative measures had been in place. David is coming to terms with possibly having to die before his time.
The small amount of money that it would take to put preventative measures in place is surely worth less than David’s life. The average taxpayer may complain about paying for the upkeep of the jails, but the medical bills incurred by David and many other inmates in his situation will add far more to the taxpayers’ burden in the long run. It sickens me that this is being allowed to happen.
Today, I watched an inmate refuse to give a DNA sample. He was surrounded and strapped into a chair. The sample was taken.
My cellmate, David, responded to his hepatitis C result by popping a cocktail of pharmaceutical pills. Shortly after, he had a seizure. His contorted trembling body was carted away, but he survived.
The jail staff did not teach inmates about how diseases are spread. Diseased inmates are housed with healthy inmates. They share nail clippers (1 per 100 plus inmates), hair clippers, tattoo guns, syringes and other personal effects. I witnesses inmates with diseases serving chow. David would probably not have contracted this disease – which may shorten his lifespan – if some simple preventative measures had been in place. David is coming to terms with possibly having to die before his time.
The small amount of money that it would take to put preventative measures in place is surely worth less than David’s life. The average taxpayer may complain about paying for the upkeep of the jails, but the medical bills incurred by David and many other inmates in his situation will add far more to the taxpayers’ burden in the long run. It sickens me that this is being allowed to happen.
Today, I watched an inmate refuse to give a DNA sample. He was surrounded and strapped into a chair. The sample was taken.
18th July 04 Reception Centre
I am a "fish" – someone new to the prison system. Here at Alhambra Unit, I’ve been strip-searched, blood tested, TB tested, questioned, photographed, and ordered to give a DNA sample from the inside of my left cheek. I am temporarily housed in a four-man cell that, unlike my jail cell, actually receives cool air. When I see cockroaches, I know they are imaginary ones. Now that the cockroach torture is over, I am sleeping better.
I have two Hispanic and one white cellmates. They sing a lot. Two of them have hepatitis C. One of them just found out yesterday. He thinks he contracted it during his one-year stay at Durango (one of Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jails). The other contracted it by sharing a needle. He is detoxing from heroin use. They sing their blues away. I joined in with some Beatle songs. A fellow in the cell next door slit his wrist this morning. He was discovered and taken to the Medical Unit.
Everyone here is astounded that I was locked up in the jail’s harshest quarters for so long. They are perplexed as to why I am finding things here so comfortable. I feel sorry for the inmates I left behind. I hope to see some of them – including Frankie – come through here soon. After enduring the jail, those inmates can make it anywhere.
*********************
31st Aug 04 Thanks Ste
Thanks Ste Wilkinson (computer whiz kid and family friend) for renovating my blog, inserting my mum’s favourite photo of me from my stockbroking days, and for adding links to Mothers Against Arpaio and a site about Sheriff Joe’s misdemeanours. Ste has also put a comments link into the blog, making it easy for you to give feedback.
I haven’t got access to a computer or the Internet. With a pen refill (we're not allowed a pen as it could be weaponized) I scribble away until my hand hurts. The pen refill is a step up from the jail's golf pencil. I send the blog entries to my parents for typing up and posting. They will forward any emails or comments back to me. It may take a little time for my reply, but I will write back and appreciate hearing from you.
Thanks again Ste, Good lookin’ out, dawg!
I am a "fish" – someone new to the prison system. Here at Alhambra Unit, I’ve been strip-searched, blood tested, TB tested, questioned, photographed, and ordered to give a DNA sample from the inside of my left cheek. I am temporarily housed in a four-man cell that, unlike my jail cell, actually receives cool air. When I see cockroaches, I know they are imaginary ones. Now that the cockroach torture is over, I am sleeping better.
I have two Hispanic and one white cellmates. They sing a lot. Two of them have hepatitis C. One of them just found out yesterday. He thinks he contracted it during his one-year stay at Durango (one of Sheriff Joe Arpaio's jails). The other contracted it by sharing a needle. He is detoxing from heroin use. They sing their blues away. I joined in with some Beatle songs. A fellow in the cell next door slit his wrist this morning. He was discovered and taken to the Medical Unit.
Everyone here is astounded that I was locked up in the jail’s harshest quarters for so long. They are perplexed as to why I am finding things here so comfortable. I feel sorry for the inmates I left behind. I hope to see some of them – including Frankie – come through here soon. After enduring the jail, those inmates can make it anywhere.
*********************
31st Aug 04 Thanks Ste
Thanks Ste Wilkinson (computer whiz kid and family friend) for renovating my blog, inserting my mum’s favourite photo of me from my stockbroking days, and for adding links to Mothers Against Arpaio and a site about Sheriff Joe’s misdemeanours. Ste has also put a comments link into the blog, making it easy for you to give feedback.
I haven’t got access to a computer or the Internet. With a pen refill (we're not allowed a pen as it could be weaponized) I scribble away until my hand hurts. The pen refill is a step up from the jail's golf pencil. I send the blog entries to my parents for typing up and posting. They will forward any emails or comments back to me. It may take a little time for my reply, but I will write back and appreciate hearing from you.
Thanks again Ste, Good lookin’ out, dawg!
13 Jul 04
Sweat, suicide and death
I am still at the jail. A sudden spate of tragedies has compelled me to write this entry.
At the weekend, two inmates on my floor attempted to commit suicide. One threw himself off the balcony and survived. The other was discovered trying to hang himself.
Sadder still, an inmate housed in a medium-security pod was found dead in the shower. Inmates are often "smashed" in the shower area because it is out of view of the cameras. The jail has refused to release the cause of his death.
The temperature outside is 114 degrees. The trickle of air into our cells feels like hot air blowing from a hair dryer. We are soaked in sweat all day and night. It is difficult to write on this sweat-moistened paper. The majority now have skin infections and rashes, which persistently itch. My skin is so soggy from perspiration that when I scratch it the skin detaches and I end up with clumps of it under my fingernails. Between the sweat trickling down my body and the cockroaches tickling my limbs, it is impossible to sleep properly. Last night, while sleeping on my side, my ear filled up with sweat, and when I moved my head, the sweat spilled onto my face. I woke up, startled. It felt like someone was touching my cheek.
I once asked a guard how the jail’s administration gets away with this and his response was, "The world has no idea what really goes on in here."
When I was a small child, I imagined hell consisted of caves in which the damned were trapped, tortured and burnt. I imagined serpents and indescribable creepy crawlies tormenting the captives. I never imagined man's nature could be so hateful as to recreate these conditions on earth.
Sweat, suicide and death
I am still at the jail. A sudden spate of tragedies has compelled me to write this entry.
At the weekend, two inmates on my floor attempted to commit suicide. One threw himself off the balcony and survived. The other was discovered trying to hang himself.
Sadder still, an inmate housed in a medium-security pod was found dead in the shower. Inmates are often "smashed" in the shower area because it is out of view of the cameras. The jail has refused to release the cause of his death.
The temperature outside is 114 degrees. The trickle of air into our cells feels like hot air blowing from a hair dryer. We are soaked in sweat all day and night. It is difficult to write on this sweat-moistened paper. The majority now have skin infections and rashes, which persistently itch. My skin is so soggy from perspiration that when I scratch it the skin detaches and I end up with clumps of it under my fingernails. Between the sweat trickling down my body and the cockroaches tickling my limbs, it is impossible to sleep properly. Last night, while sleeping on my side, my ear filled up with sweat, and when I moved my head, the sweat spilled onto my face. I woke up, startled. It felt like someone was touching my cheek.
I once asked a guard how the jail’s administration gets away with this and his response was, "The world has no idea what really goes on in here."
When I was a small child, I imagined hell consisted of caves in which the damned were trapped, tortured and burnt. I imagined serpents and indescribable creepy crawlies tormenting the captives. I never imagined man's nature could be so hateful as to recreate these conditions on earth.
2 Jul 04
Final Entry from the Madison Street Jail.
Periplaneta Americana, more commonly known as the American cockroach, has an average lifespan of 440 days. As of today, I have been a resident of this crowbar motel for almost two cockroach lifespans. I have endured enough. It is time for me to move on, so I have signed myself over to the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Shortly, I will be shipped to Alhambra Unit, an intake facility, where they will decide which prison in Arizona I am to be housed at.
Parents of inmates, horrified by the conditions in the jail, have directed this blog to local groups who are working to get changes made.
Winston Churchill – once a POW in South Africa – stated, "The treatment of prisoners is a good indicator of how civilized a society is.”
Although I shall soon be gone from here, I hope that changes are made so that other unsentenced inmates – who are supposed to be presumed innocent until proven guilty – do not have to be warehoused like animals in such subhuman conditions. When a society treats its prisoners like animals they will behave like animals when they return to society.
During my stay, I have experienced medium security, maximum security, general population and lockdown housing. Outside of lockdown, inmates are warehoused like battery hens. Intravenous drug use is rife (see blog entry 03.06.04 ‘Wedded to Dope’). Hepatitis C, TB, and MRSA proliferate due to inmates being packed together, the high levels of violence, the sharing of needles and tattoo instruments, the unsanitary conditions, and the lack of medical treatment. A racist thugocracy that controls the drug trade regularly holds kangaroo courts; inmates are "smashed" on a daily basis by goons known as "torpedoes."
Temperatures reach over 100 degrees in the summer months, but the air conditioning is rarely active. Throughout the jail labyrinth inmates are deprived of air. Presently, it is hard to stay conscious because the swamp cooler is barely blowing. Inmates are getting sick and being taken for emergency medical treatment. A fellow pod member collapsed earlier today. Here, filth, squalor and disease are the norm. Utilities that are permanently broken, magically work for a few days when the county health inspectors do a "walk through."
Protests were recently held outside of the Madison Street jail because of the conditions. The local news stations countered with some pro-Arpaio propaganda and specifically reported how good the food is. They displayed some carefully-staged fresh and appetising chow. In reality, for the past three weeks, our one lukewarm daily meal has consisted of rotten potato pieces and potato peel (see food blog entry 06.04.04 ‘April Fools Day’ and the incident of the rat’s head, which I saw). I survive by eating nuts that I purchase from the jail, thanks to the generosity of my family and friends who put "money on my books" every week. Most inmates are indigent and have no support from the outside. They exist in a constant state of starvation and are willing to fight over scraps of food.
I have tried to write a frank, first hand account of what I have experienced. Whilst doing so I have also tried to remain upbeat and humorous, and I hope I have not detracted from the suffering here. I would rather cut off my little finger than go through this again.
Suicidal thoughts seem normal for most inmates, including me. But with the support of my family and friends, I have managed to keep such thoughts in the realm of fantasy. Many in here are not so fortunate. They are the lost and forgotten souls you never hear about. Some do take their lives and their voices remain forever unheard of.
Epicurus:
"Pain is neither intolerable nor continuing, provided you remember its limits and do not let your imagination add to it."
Marcus Aurelius:
"Delve within; within is the fountain of good, and it is always ready to bubble up, if you always delve."
Bye for now! When I am resituated in prison, I will resume blogging. Thank you for all of the kind letters of support from all over the world and the visits to the jail I have received. I would like to thank my Aunt Ann for transmitting the blog entries on a weekly basis to my mum who edits and types them out – good lookin' out, Mum! - and my dad, who posts them in as timely a fashion as possible.
Final Entry from the Madison Street Jail.
Periplaneta Americana, more commonly known as the American cockroach, has an average lifespan of 440 days. As of today, I have been a resident of this crowbar motel for almost two cockroach lifespans. I have endured enough. It is time for me to move on, so I have signed myself over to the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Shortly, I will be shipped to Alhambra Unit, an intake facility, where they will decide which prison in Arizona I am to be housed at.
Parents of inmates, horrified by the conditions in the jail, have directed this blog to local groups who are working to get changes made.
Winston Churchill – once a POW in South Africa – stated, "The treatment of prisoners is a good indicator of how civilized a society is.”
Although I shall soon be gone from here, I hope that changes are made so that other unsentenced inmates – who are supposed to be presumed innocent until proven guilty – do not have to be warehoused like animals in such subhuman conditions. When a society treats its prisoners like animals they will behave like animals when they return to society.
During my stay, I have experienced medium security, maximum security, general population and lockdown housing. Outside of lockdown, inmates are warehoused like battery hens. Intravenous drug use is rife (see blog entry 03.06.04 ‘Wedded to Dope’). Hepatitis C, TB, and MRSA proliferate due to inmates being packed together, the high levels of violence, the sharing of needles and tattoo instruments, the unsanitary conditions, and the lack of medical treatment. A racist thugocracy that controls the drug trade regularly holds kangaroo courts; inmates are "smashed" on a daily basis by goons known as "torpedoes."
Temperatures reach over 100 degrees in the summer months, but the air conditioning is rarely active. Throughout the jail labyrinth inmates are deprived of air. Presently, it is hard to stay conscious because the swamp cooler is barely blowing. Inmates are getting sick and being taken for emergency medical treatment. A fellow pod member collapsed earlier today. Here, filth, squalor and disease are the norm. Utilities that are permanently broken, magically work for a few days when the county health inspectors do a "walk through."
Protests were recently held outside of the Madison Street jail because of the conditions. The local news stations countered with some pro-Arpaio propaganda and specifically reported how good the food is. They displayed some carefully-staged fresh and appetising chow. In reality, for the past three weeks, our one lukewarm daily meal has consisted of rotten potato pieces and potato peel (see food blog entry 06.04.04 ‘April Fools Day’ and the incident of the rat’s head, which I saw). I survive by eating nuts that I purchase from the jail, thanks to the generosity of my family and friends who put "money on my books" every week. Most inmates are indigent and have no support from the outside. They exist in a constant state of starvation and are willing to fight over scraps of food.
I have tried to write a frank, first hand account of what I have experienced. Whilst doing so I have also tried to remain upbeat and humorous, and I hope I have not detracted from the suffering here. I would rather cut off my little finger than go through this again.
Suicidal thoughts seem normal for most inmates, including me. But with the support of my family and friends, I have managed to keep such thoughts in the realm of fantasy. Many in here are not so fortunate. They are the lost and forgotten souls you never hear about. Some do take their lives and their voices remain forever unheard of.
Epicurus:
"Pain is neither intolerable nor continuing, provided you remember its limits and do not let your imagination add to it."
Marcus Aurelius:
"Delve within; within is the fountain of good, and it is always ready to bubble up, if you always delve."
Bye for now! When I am resituated in prison, I will resume blogging. Thank you for all of the kind letters of support from all over the world and the visits to the jail I have received. I would like to thank my Aunt Ann for transmitting the blog entries on a weekly basis to my mum who edits and types them out – good lookin' out, Mum! - and my dad, who posts them in as timely a fashion as possible.
24 Jun 04
AK’s Karma
Frustration with AK climaxed on Monday morning. No one could sleep thanks to our resident cantante singing musica romantica for hours on end, interspersed with gunshot sound effects and feminine shrieks of "Sinaloa!" Enough was enough.
At the behest of the majority, Frankie implemented a plan to oust AK from our pod.
He had Cupcake borrow AK’s most valuable possession: a new radio. When Cupcake refused to return it, a dispute ensued. Frankie and Cupcake cackled at AK’s invective, and AK exploded. Pounding on his cell door, he yowled at the two unsympathetic guards, “They stole my fuckin’ radio!”
“Why’d you lend it to 'em?” enquired Officer Bloch.
“I thought they’d give it back,” AK said, emphasising each word.
“Lending your stereo to other inmates is against the Inmate Rules and Regulations!”
“Roll yer stuff up! You’re being moved!” Officer Perez ordered.
Walking toward the pod door, AK suddenly dropped his mattress. Before the guards could stop him, he dashed to Cupcake’s cell and yelled, "Gimme my fuckin' stereo back, you scheming fuckas!”
The guards restrained him. As they briskly steered AK out of the pod, applause from the cells rose to the ceiling of the day room.
My right shin looks like I spilled battery acid on it. A cluster of thirty or so red sores emerged last week when we were denied showers for four days. Some are bleeding, but I’m reluctant to make an appointment with the penis-grabbing Filipino doctor.
Half of the shower area is refusing to drain. Hair matted with semen has clogged it up. To shower, I had to step into the puddle of scum. This disturbed the multitude of tiny black flies ensconced on the white clumps and they formed a cloud around my head. Fortunately, they bolted when the shower was turned on and migrated to the dried fruit peel in the trashcan. When the water was turned off, they abandoned the fruit peel and returned to the shower. The flies prefer the semen.
AK’s Karma
Frustration with AK climaxed on Monday morning. No one could sleep thanks to our resident cantante singing musica romantica for hours on end, interspersed with gunshot sound effects and feminine shrieks of "Sinaloa!" Enough was enough.
At the behest of the majority, Frankie implemented a plan to oust AK from our pod.
He had Cupcake borrow AK’s most valuable possession: a new radio. When Cupcake refused to return it, a dispute ensued. Frankie and Cupcake cackled at AK’s invective, and AK exploded. Pounding on his cell door, he yowled at the two unsympathetic guards, “They stole my fuckin’ radio!”
“Why’d you lend it to 'em?” enquired Officer Bloch.
“I thought they’d give it back,” AK said, emphasising each word.
“Lending your stereo to other inmates is against the Inmate Rules and Regulations!”
“Roll yer stuff up! You’re being moved!” Officer Perez ordered.
Walking toward the pod door, AK suddenly dropped his mattress. Before the guards could stop him, he dashed to Cupcake’s cell and yelled, "Gimme my fuckin' stereo back, you scheming fuckas!”
The guards restrained him. As they briskly steered AK out of the pod, applause from the cells rose to the ceiling of the day room.
My right shin looks like I spilled battery acid on it. A cluster of thirty or so red sores emerged last week when we were denied showers for four days. Some are bleeding, but I’m reluctant to make an appointment with the penis-grabbing Filipino doctor.
Half of the shower area is refusing to drain. Hair matted with semen has clogged it up. To shower, I had to step into the puddle of scum. This disturbed the multitude of tiny black flies ensconced on the white clumps and they formed a cloud around my head. Fortunately, they bolted when the shower was turned on and migrated to the dried fruit peel in the trashcan. When the water was turned off, they abandoned the fruit peel and returned to the shower. The flies prefer the semen.
17 Jun 04
Frankie’s Proposal
On Friday morning, the guards thwarted an escape attempt by two inmates, and the jail administration decided to punish everyone. We were placed on security override for four days, confined to our cells, unable to shower, make phone calls, dispose of our trash and dinner trays. Soaring temperatures and a purposefully low trickle of swamp-cooled air quickly caused us to reek like wet dogs. Our cell soon stunk like a cheap restaurant's dumpster on a hot day. The filthy conditions were received enthusiastically by las cucarachas. They launched their most aggressive offensive yet. Around the clock, they plundered the red death Mark had left. At night, they crunched under my shower sandles when I visited the toilet.
The lockdown and AK’s bop-bop-bopping undoubtedly contributed to the nervous breakdown of Eric (AK’s fifty-year-old cellmate).
Early Monday morning, Eric yelled, “Get me outta here!" repeatedly for fifteen minutes. His voice inflection ranged from that of a demonically-possessed man - worse than something from The Exorcist - to that of a sobbing child. The guards removed Eric from AK's cell, and after undergoing a psychiatric evaluation, he was moved in with Blueberry.
On Wednesday morning, I was summoned to the Medical Unit. I had entered a Correctional Health Services Inmate Medical Request on the 1st of June:
“Blisters have formed on the bedsore on my left buttock. Requesting cream.”
Due to the amount of bedsores I've had while jailed, the medical staff regularly inspect my behind. But Wednesday morning's encounter with the new Filipino doctor was somewhat disturbing. After dropping my pants, the doctor perused my foresty posterior and stated, “You have scaling on both left and right sides.”
I thought the exam was over, but the doctor said, “How about the front?”
”The front?” I asked.
“Yes, the front. Just turn around,” he said, his eyes animating.
Wondering, Who am I to question a professional? I turned around. I was expecting a positive comment on the health of my reproductives, but he suddenly lunged forward as if to grab my them. I automatically jerked backwards. To fend him off, I grabbed and raised my scrotum. Shaking it at him, I yelled, “Look! The front's fine!”
”Yes. They look quite OK to me,” he replied, softening his voice.
I emerged from the doctor's with Clotrimazole Anti-Fungal Cream.
After seeing the doctor, the next patient returned to the Medical Unit holding cell and blurted out, “That doctor just grabbed my dick without any gloves on!"
”He tried to do the same to me,” I said.
The rest of the inmates either sniggered or exchanged nervous looks as the prospect of receiving the same treatment dawned on them.
On Wednesday night, Frankie peeped through my cell window when I was rubbing the anti-fungal cream on my left buttock. His eyes smouldered with desire. I received a love letter from him the next morning: "...looking forward to our upcoming gay marriage in San Francisco, and shampooing your hairy ass on our honeymoon.”
Frankie was delighted that the solitary witness in his double-homicide case was recently deemed "mentally incompetent" causing his proposed sentencing range to drop from twenty-five years to life, to six to ten years.
Frankie’s Proposal
On Friday morning, the guards thwarted an escape attempt by two inmates, and the jail administration decided to punish everyone. We were placed on security override for four days, confined to our cells, unable to shower, make phone calls, dispose of our trash and dinner trays. Soaring temperatures and a purposefully low trickle of swamp-cooled air quickly caused us to reek like wet dogs. Our cell soon stunk like a cheap restaurant's dumpster on a hot day. The filthy conditions were received enthusiastically by las cucarachas. They launched their most aggressive offensive yet. Around the clock, they plundered the red death Mark had left. At night, they crunched under my shower sandles when I visited the toilet.
The lockdown and AK’s bop-bop-bopping undoubtedly contributed to the nervous breakdown of Eric (AK’s fifty-year-old cellmate).
Early Monday morning, Eric yelled, “Get me outta here!" repeatedly for fifteen minutes. His voice inflection ranged from that of a demonically-possessed man - worse than something from The Exorcist - to that of a sobbing child. The guards removed Eric from AK's cell, and after undergoing a psychiatric evaluation, he was moved in with Blueberry.
On Wednesday morning, I was summoned to the Medical Unit. I had entered a Correctional Health Services Inmate Medical Request on the 1st of June:
“Blisters have formed on the bedsore on my left buttock. Requesting cream.”
Due to the amount of bedsores I've had while jailed, the medical staff regularly inspect my behind. But Wednesday morning's encounter with the new Filipino doctor was somewhat disturbing. After dropping my pants, the doctor perused my foresty posterior and stated, “You have scaling on both left and right sides.”
I thought the exam was over, but the doctor said, “How about the front?”
”The front?” I asked.
“Yes, the front. Just turn around,” he said, his eyes animating.
Wondering, Who am I to question a professional? I turned around. I was expecting a positive comment on the health of my reproductives, but he suddenly lunged forward as if to grab my them. I automatically jerked backwards. To fend him off, I grabbed and raised my scrotum. Shaking it at him, I yelled, “Look! The front's fine!”
”Yes. They look quite OK to me,” he replied, softening his voice.
I emerged from the doctor's with Clotrimazole Anti-Fungal Cream.
After seeing the doctor, the next patient returned to the Medical Unit holding cell and blurted out, “That doctor just grabbed my dick without any gloves on!"
”He tried to do the same to me,” I said.
The rest of the inmates either sniggered or exchanged nervous looks as the prospect of receiving the same treatment dawned on them.
On Wednesday night, Frankie peeped through my cell window when I was rubbing the anti-fungal cream on my left buttock. His eyes smouldered with desire. I received a love letter from him the next morning: "...looking forward to our upcoming gay marriage in San Francisco, and shampooing your hairy ass on our honeymoon.”
Frankie was delighted that the solitary witness in his double-homicide case was recently deemed "mentally incompetent" causing his proposed sentencing range to drop from twenty-five years to life, to six to ten years.
10 Jun 04
AK and Blueberry
Young AK was arrested after pointing an AK-47 at his stepfather. He is now my noisy neighbour. From Sinaloa, Mexico, he fancies himself as a troubadour. In Spanish, he is constantly singing romantic songs, but he ends each verse with:
Bop! Bop! Bop!
Gimme liberty or gimme death!
Bop! Bop! Bop! Bop!
His bop-bop-bopping has annoyed everyone. And usually, when everyone gets annoyed, someone gets hurt. I suspect he will be getting bopped soon.
On Saturday morning, the jail was placed on "security override," and all of our cells were searched. We later found out that a drug ring was arrested here at the Madison Street jail. It included one guard, one nurse and ten inmates. Supposedly a Mexican Mafia operation. The Mexican Mafia is one of the most powerful prison gangs in Arizona.
On Tuesday morning, Frankie hollered into the vent,"Got any jelly, cell 15?"
"I do not,” I said.
"Does your celly?" Frankie asked.
"I do," Mark said.
"He does," I yelled.
"Slide it under your door and I'll send Blueberry up to get it," Frankie said.
"OK," I said.
Blueberry climbed the stairs to get the jelly.
"Thanks, cell 15," Frankie shouted.
"You're welcome,” I said.
"Look out of yer window. Someone else wants to thank you," Frankie said.
Through the window, I saw young Blueberry bent over with his pants pulled down, his hands spreading his buttocks as wide as they'd go.
“Do you like it?" Frankie asked.
Silence.
“Do you like it?" Blueberry said, imitating a woman's voice.
“No me gusta,” I responded in Spanish to Frankie, so as not to dampen Blueberry's spirit.
Frankie cackled impishly.
AK and Blueberry
Young AK was arrested after pointing an AK-47 at his stepfather. He is now my noisy neighbour. From Sinaloa, Mexico, he fancies himself as a troubadour. In Spanish, he is constantly singing romantic songs, but he ends each verse with:
Bop! Bop! Bop!
Gimme liberty or gimme death!
Bop! Bop! Bop! Bop!
His bop-bop-bopping has annoyed everyone. And usually, when everyone gets annoyed, someone gets hurt. I suspect he will be getting bopped soon.
On Saturday morning, the jail was placed on "security override," and all of our cells were searched. We later found out that a drug ring was arrested here at the Madison Street jail. It included one guard, one nurse and ten inmates. Supposedly a Mexican Mafia operation. The Mexican Mafia is one of the most powerful prison gangs in Arizona.
On Tuesday morning, Frankie hollered into the vent,"Got any jelly, cell 15?"
"I do not,” I said.
"Does your celly?" Frankie asked.
"I do," Mark said.
"He does," I yelled.
"Slide it under your door and I'll send Blueberry up to get it," Frankie said.
"OK," I said.
Blueberry climbed the stairs to get the jelly.
"Thanks, cell 15," Frankie shouted.
"You're welcome,” I said.
"Look out of yer window. Someone else wants to thank you," Frankie said.
Through the window, I saw young Blueberry bent over with his pants pulled down, his hands spreading his buttocks as wide as they'd go.
“Do you like it?" Frankie asked.
Silence.
“Do you like it?" Blueberry said, imitating a woman's voice.
“No me gusta,” I responded in Spanish to Frankie, so as not to dampen Blueberry's spirit.
Frankie cackled impishly.
3 Jun 04
Wedded to Dope
In this Hades, the hobby of the majority is injecting drugs. Dozens of men eagerly share one syringe. Diseases, especially hepatitis C, are commonly transferred. They store ("keyster") their drugs, mostly heroin and crystal meth, in Saran Wrap, balloons or condoms shoved in their behinds.
The illegal drug use is only half of the story. Three times a day, a crotchety nurse goes from door to door dispensing "meds." Up to one third of the inmates are recipients of these pills. The most common are Wellbutrin, Klonapin, Prozac, Cojetin, Loxieen, Paxil, Haldol, Elovil and Seroquil.
The inmates snigger at how easy it is to obtain these free drugs. They simply tell the "psych doctor" they are hearing voices or are unable to sleep. Inmates use the pills to vary their highs, or trade for food and illegal drugs. Sheriff Joe Arpaio regularly appears on TV boasting that it costs the taxpayer a pittance to feed us society’s refuse, but he never mentions the millions of dollars being spent on expensive medications, which the drug companies are profiting handsomely from. I wonder whether these companies make political contributions to Arpaio.
It's been an infernally normal week. Outdoor temperatures are approaching 110 degrees. At night, I watch las cucarachas scurrying to and fro, convinced they are waiting for me to go to sleep to get at my earwax. Mark and I now catch one another chasing imaginary cockroaches.
The dirty potato peelings are back in the evening chow. Dry citrus fruit are the new additions to breakfast. The stench of filth and sweat pervades the air. The bedsore on my left buttock cheek is blistered and bleeding. My mouth and tongue are ulcerated. These conditions were designed to break the human spirit. As the periodic suicides indicate, death is a more attractive place for some inmates.
"What is important in life is life and not a result of life."
Goethe (1749-1832)
Wedded to Dope
In this Hades, the hobby of the majority is injecting drugs. Dozens of men eagerly share one syringe. Diseases, especially hepatitis C, are commonly transferred. They store ("keyster") their drugs, mostly heroin and crystal meth, in Saran Wrap, balloons or condoms shoved in their behinds.
The illegal drug use is only half of the story. Three times a day, a crotchety nurse goes from door to door dispensing "meds." Up to one third of the inmates are recipients of these pills. The most common are Wellbutrin, Klonapin, Prozac, Cojetin, Loxieen, Paxil, Haldol, Elovil and Seroquil.
The inmates snigger at how easy it is to obtain these free drugs. They simply tell the "psych doctor" they are hearing voices or are unable to sleep. Inmates use the pills to vary their highs, or trade for food and illegal drugs. Sheriff Joe Arpaio regularly appears on TV boasting that it costs the taxpayer a pittance to feed us society’s refuse, but he never mentions the millions of dollars being spent on expensive medications, which the drug companies are profiting handsomely from. I wonder whether these companies make political contributions to Arpaio.
It's been an infernally normal week. Outdoor temperatures are approaching 110 degrees. At night, I watch las cucarachas scurrying to and fro, convinced they are waiting for me to go to sleep to get at my earwax. Mark and I now catch one another chasing imaginary cockroaches.
The dirty potato peelings are back in the evening chow. Dry citrus fruit are the new additions to breakfast. The stench of filth and sweat pervades the air. The bedsore on my left buttock cheek is blistered and bleeding. My mouth and tongue are ulcerated. These conditions were designed to break the human spirit. As the periodic suicides indicate, death is a more attractive place for some inmates.
"What is important in life is life and not a result of life."
Goethe (1749-1832)
27 May 04
On Sunday morning, I awoke to find two cockroach corpses crushed on my mattress. I must have rolled on top of them in my sleep.
Two more inmates collapsed and were stretchered to the Medical Unit. Including Jose from cell 1, who, during a shootout over drugs with fellow Mexican Nationals, had received seventeen bullet wounds. The stitches holding his stomach in had loosened, and it appeared his internal organs were about to spill out.
Rumour has it the diabetic who entered a coma last week died, and the jail is under investigation.
We have been told for the past three months that the swamp cooler is "broken" and that a "work order" has been entered, but when the County Health Department inspected the jail on Tuesday and Wednesday, the air was blowing at gale force and the water in the shower was running hot enough to redden my skin. After the inspectors left the building someone immediately switched the air back to the broken setting. And it didn’t take long for the inmates to replace the semen that had been cleaned up from the shower floor.
Frankie is always in a high state of sexual arousal. He has solicited most members of our pod, including me, to be "boned down" and "turned out." His boldness has increased due to his followers egging him on. I am convinced that if all of our cell doors were simultaneously opened, half of the inmates would form an orgy.
Frankie now proclaims, "I'm takin' us back to the fuckin' Roman days! Call me Caeser the booty teaser!” One of Frankie’s new tricks is to have a neighbour throw him a "fishing line" (a long piece of string which inmates use to pass contraband from cell to cell with) so that he can tie it to his penis while his neighbour pulls on the string.
I received a large photograph in the mail. It exceeded the 4 x 6 inches allowed by the jail, so I was pleasantly surprised that it was not rejected by the mail officer. It was a picture of a bespectacled President Bush signing some documents. In the lower margin was a personalized message with my name on it: "Thank you for your support of the Republican National Committee. Grassroots leaders like you are the key to building a better, stronger, more secure future for our nation and all Americans... Best Wishes, George. W. Bush."
Now that the president has discerned my true nature, I am hopeful for a pardon!
On Sunday morning, I awoke to find two cockroach corpses crushed on my mattress. I must have rolled on top of them in my sleep.
Two more inmates collapsed and were stretchered to the Medical Unit. Including Jose from cell 1, who, during a shootout over drugs with fellow Mexican Nationals, had received seventeen bullet wounds. The stitches holding his stomach in had loosened, and it appeared his internal organs were about to spill out.
Rumour has it the diabetic who entered a coma last week died, and the jail is under investigation.
We have been told for the past three months that the swamp cooler is "broken" and that a "work order" has been entered, but when the County Health Department inspected the jail on Tuesday and Wednesday, the air was blowing at gale force and the water in the shower was running hot enough to redden my skin. After the inspectors left the building someone immediately switched the air back to the broken setting. And it didn’t take long for the inmates to replace the semen that had been cleaned up from the shower floor.
Frankie is always in a high state of sexual arousal. He has solicited most members of our pod, including me, to be "boned down" and "turned out." His boldness has increased due to his followers egging him on. I am convinced that if all of our cell doors were simultaneously opened, half of the inmates would form an orgy.
Frankie now proclaims, "I'm takin' us back to the fuckin' Roman days! Call me Caeser the booty teaser!” One of Frankie’s new tricks is to have a neighbour throw him a "fishing line" (a long piece of string which inmates use to pass contraband from cell to cell with) so that he can tie it to his penis while his neighbour pulls on the string.
I received a large photograph in the mail. It exceeded the 4 x 6 inches allowed by the jail, so I was pleasantly surprised that it was not rejected by the mail officer. It was a picture of a bespectacled President Bush signing some documents. In the lower margin was a personalized message with my name on it: "Thank you for your support of the Republican National Committee. Grassroots leaders like you are the key to building a better, stronger, more secure future for our nation and all Americans... Best Wishes, George. W. Bush."
Now that the president has discerned my true nature, I am hopeful for a pardon!
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