Monday, July 30, 2007


Back to you George:

Plato (from Enthymemes)
At last we somehow contrived to agree in a general conclusion, that he who had wisdom had no longer need of fortune.

In here….it’s hard to be magical…you have good things going for you & in comes their (inmate’s) negativity…People who are bad or dangerous to me & my circle of friends are moved to other units….My cell hasn’t been searched in almost 3 months…it’s supposed to be a monthly thing…I healed myself with minor things…brought money, property, friends to my life….it’s true…what Plato says…(above quote)….I need no fortune…I make my own with the knowledge I’ve learned…When I find my soul mate…she will learn what I’ve learned…I seek what I consider….the finer things in life…knowledge, fun, love & art…. I will introduce you to some of my poetry…although it doesn’t reflect my ideologies….it is, however, part of my past….so enjoy the following…it’s a segment from “Intro”.

Conscientious to the simple little things that remind me of what I thought could mean death, but none seem as sweet as this suicide’s breath, it’s sensually warm, intoxicating, even. It hurts so good….my lungs they is seizin’, abstract is the room, tantamount to gloom, spinning twisting. Jesters laugh at my every move, the blood so hypnotic, the bug so mythodic to touch my dreams with golden, chaotic, trance form my life, or death from the best. You all won’t miss me when I’m down like the rest. Cold, alone staring up at the dirt, eye sockets filling up with rhetorical hurt. Bugs don’t bug me. They are now my friend and this now the subtle Intro’s end. ….

Yeah, …I’m a little off…Today my friend was hurt…he found out his wife died…the effects he must be going through I can only imagine…My good friend & secret crush died on 12/24/04 @ 11:45pm along with her & her fiancĂ©’s 1 year old daughter, Isabelle, and her 63 year old grandmother in a house fire…I shall miss you Jenny, Isabelle
(though I never met you) & Gramma K…I’ve lost a lot of friends & family since I’ve been down.
It’s not all fun in here…People die, argue, disown you, lie, steal, destroy & all kinds of miseries happen. I’ve learned to accept things & now it goes a little easier…You got to learn to accept things the way they come otherwise you crack…I didn’t get to visit with John much today…Maybe tomorrow…I can’t think of much…I guess I’ll go to bed….it’s 1:20 a.m. …..good night…

Plato (Apology)

That showed my in an instant that not by wisdom do poets write poetry, but buy a sort of genius & inspiration…

George Webb. Jr.

Been thinking a lot about Bobby Sands – his life – his fight. I think you should too. Evan turned me on to his diary (written in prison while he was on a hunger strike for political prisoner’s rights and where he died) and I keep a copy in here.

Days pass so quickly here. Thoughts run thru me, around me, like a mini hurricane. Just tremendous. Where the days move quickly, the prison takes forever to see the doctor ( a huge complaint), dentist, to be moved to a cell. So grab your distraction & ride like a bat out of hell.

Been going to the library this past week. The books are ok but the amazing thing is, you get to listen to a CD for 20 minutes. I know that sounds pathetic – Hurray – I can listen to part of a CD – but as you know by now – it’s better than nothing & if you have any idea of how I jump into things – I’ve already listened to Waylon Jennings Monday, The Doors Tuesday & today U2’s Joshua Tree. Well, I adore headphones & I don’t embarrass & I have a large degree of anger-hurt-loneliness & insanity bursting from my seams. So with the volume all the way up & press those headphones all the way into my ears & I was 16 again in detention in the Breakfast Club. I know – how so bizarre – but- what the hell.
I escaped the prison library fun for those 20 minutes. Came back to Earth with more than I left with. You learn to live “Fuck It”. Earlier in the yard going over and over last blog, George was updating on his week, life & joy because Kelly sent music lyrics he requested. So there we were – 9am-ish, heat rising hard & he begins “Stan” by Eminem. Such a bittersweet tale & there we are so content. It was so easy – so divine.

This blog keeps focus. Keeps a path. No idea why, where, how or because but it’s like talking when you’re terrified or when a moment slides around with such grace that you begin to think it only exists if you narrate it. Sometimes it’s easy here, other times it’s waiting for a dog to lay any egg & you fuck yourself side-ways until you’re tomorrow.

Here are some photos Stacy S. took. 1 of us in my old bathroom – another - my favorite typewriter that Jacob N. gave me. Yes. That’s an Ettore Sottsass, & my table with cookies from Stacy’s mom, Ginger, who I think is really cool.

Well, as we go forward I’ll leave you with this prison nightmare –
There’s a guard I believe, in the Q building & if you piss him off real bad he’ll find a really large filthy pair of underwear & leave them on your door overnight so as you sleep your whole cell smells of shit. Got to love the D.O.C.


Plato (Menno)

….For virtue is relative to the actions and ages of each of us in all that we do.

The wind today was so strong a whisper seemed like a yell 10 miles downwind…the pain of being here weighs my head down so that even when I look up…the sky falls away from me.

Made my cold fruit soup today…consisting of milk, rice, peaches & sugar…(much better with brown sugar & cinnamon). A bird was tangled up in this plastic mesh today & my other friend named Jason got him out…..he just sat in his hands... I imagine trying to thank him.

My friend John & I walked today. Good to see him. He talked to me about labels people try to pin on others in here…& you know…if you take a rock & call it a seed…it still will not grow into a tree…likewise…just by putting a person into a prison does not make him evil. People can be so quick to jump on that bandwagon just so they themselves don’t get labeled…. what a creature

…my Gramps ain’t doin too well…he keeps falling…my dad has hep c and won’t quit drinking & my mom threw out her back. I myself am in rough shape from skateboarding and not taking care of myself…but it was fun.
& no one should regret having fun.

I guess I will leave you with these words from the band Smile Empty Soul:

and what did you expect …a perfect child raised by tv sets…abandoned every mile…
we never get respect…never a fair trial….no one gives a shit… long as we smile.


Thursday, July 26, 2007


Tomorrow will be 1 week since 2 teeth were pulled. Went in for another treatment to cure dry socket. Last night a fever rose & tormented. I woke wet with sweat & unbearable pain. Got to see the dentist 6 hours later. “Yeah, it looks bad”. I try to tell him open heart surgery was a walk in the park. Where the right side of my mouth was pulled & torn open for initial extraction has bubbled up with canker sores. Impossible to eat or talk. A trick to drink. So we agreed to cauterize it. Explains to his assistant “This is why people hate going to the dentist”. All I wanted was a pain killer that worked, something I didn’t have to carry around in my underwear. I’ll keep you posted.

Rain covers the landscape forcing me to bed to read, sleep & write. Half way thru A Confederacy of Dunces. I think for perspective & balance I need some Beckett. Will read Schuyler’s Collected Poems. The only beauty within. At least in the afternoon – early evening the sky usually entertains with its complete Broadway cast. In the day room I remove my glasses & pretend I’m in a nursing home – prematurely.

Proofed “Hellbender” for Jonathan Hayes, kick ass poet. I was introduced to him by Richard Lopez. Jonathan is printing a broadside of that poem. I had forgotten it existed.
( I wrote it). I was so fuckin happy to get Jonathan’s letter & the proof. There is never a moment in here that I’m not ecstatic that poetry is my lover again. So blessed with my friends & family. Believe me, to remain positive is to win every battle keeping the war in the shadows.

Here are a few poems I constructed this past weekend. Noah’s birthday is Wednesday & I know Stacy’s is right there – but I have misplaced my mind.

Got amazing mail today – two photocopied William Wantling books & lovely letter from Richard Lopez – amazing letter of support & courage from Richard Hell - two Belladonna chap books & fantastic photos from Stacy Szymaszek & Erica Kaufman – and from my dear Kelly, a letter of updates, love & meditation. It’s hard not to sigh as the sun rises. The world in which I exist.

I thank you all.

Special thanks to Richard Lopez & Gina Meyers for their support of this blog on their blogs. Thanks, Cats.

Well the day is ending. My dentist had upped my meds to Tylenol with codeine.

A few convicts are shipped out tomorrow & more shipped in.

in my quiet way
for Noah 7-15-07

within a few
Noah’s birthday
moment of joy
history and of

i can’t swim
yet have agreed
to swim the english
i begin later on a full stomach.
get my drift?

everything has meaning
though nothing matters
his hand upon mine
& i reciprocate.

an embrace shall be the only distance
he and
will ever expect.
this fist shaped heart.


feet dangle from bunk
unconstructed labor, high
upon useless painkillers
i became billie joe macallister
of the tallahatchie bridge.

prison another method workshop.

flip to waterfront
black watch cap aggressive trundle
rain never enemy another sleepy constant
a newly wed bride.
my ship about to sink.

i love at a distance though never too large to deny.


it was said, he never fucked just made love.

communique, comrade
for Stacy

how many years did we live
alongside the great lakes
& how many coffees
beer bad poetry
chicken fried steak
did we consume
& force isabelle
to walk off
another plank?

no bars gates or rifles
will cease my naughty
naughty behavior.

when i said i was friends
with kings
didn’t mean drag
meant latin.


Good night & few words from George.

& now, George….

-Plato (from CRITO)

Tell me, then, whether you agree with and assent to my first principle, that neither injury nor retaliation nor warding off evil by evil is ever right…..

Judgment by God is a grace…judgment by man…is irrelevant….God doesn’t elect these judges… men do…& man is corrupt…so in other words, their judgment is evil…so by locking a man in a closet for stealing, just to feed his family, is not right. People make mistakes & those who tally the most are government officials… You hear about justice, state, government & correctional officials in the news being bogus everyday…And how many go to jail? or even get in trouble? Why not? They’re making mistakes, bad ones, like us, too… Since when are we, by law, exempt from punishment based on profession?
When did this happen? If you want criminals off the street, change your officials… Sit back & listen or watch your officials….pay attention… Just because a person thinks different is no reason to abey their life…
It’s the burning times all over again!’s hearsay & you’re gone-20-30-Life?, I just don’t know…….

So anyways, prison is one of those things that makes you or breaks you….If you’re weak minded you’ll become weaker. I haven’t had a visit or mail in almost 4 months. When I first got locked up….I got letters, visits and all at least every week…now it has slowed down. Out of sight out of mind…You really learn to fend for yourself in this environment. I’ve learned my occult practices…they help…meditation…& just happiness…ever since I’ve treaded this path…I’ve become so much happier…I used to have a cat…I wish for one here…there’s 3 cats & 4 rabbits that sneak in under the fence…they’re so docile…you can pet & feed them!

Well I shall leave you with a few words..

PLATO (from The Republic)

Listen, then, he said; I proclaim that justice is nothing else than the interest of the stronger.

Sunday, July 22, 2007


FUCK! Dry socket. I got dry socket. Imagine my life story – DrySocket: Life in Prison. Years ago when I discovered I had gonorrhea, a dear friend came over, assessed the situation, said “Yes, we’ll go to the emergency room tomorrow. Tonight we get fucked up.” & we did. Before open heart surgery got an ¼ of nugs - picked out 3 of my favorite songs & laid in bed getting stoned, listening to music while Colette, Evan, Noah & Jacob would pop in and ask me what I needed & ran to get it. It was perfect. Prepared for the worst but ready for the best. On Father’s Day back in ’05 my left elbow swelled up huge. Evan said, “You got to get some antibiotics”, I said “No, just a big needle to drain this pus”. “Are you crazy?” Sat the day in a cool tub to drop my temperature & took Evan’s antibiotics. Went to the emergency room the next morning. “You’re lucky to be alive.” Evan had saved my life. Either I am lucky or blessed. I tend to think blessed – but without friends & family I’m a goner.

Fred & Tony warned me Thursday, “John, you probably got dry socket.” When I saw the dentist Friday, “Boy, you’re lucky. You would have been stuck the whole weekend untreated”. I guess I’m a blessed idiot. & for those who have pointed me in the right direction whether to save my life, soul or to find a reasonable drug, lover, friend or adventure – I thank you with all my heart.

Reading Hank bio of Bukowski, not a bad book. When I was younger I read every thing I could get by him & yes he was an influence. Though Henry Miller was my man. Bukowski seemed a bit much. I can’t nor will I pose/live my life ready to fight. I was born a lover & choose to die as such & when Bukowski says, “Creeley doesn’t fuck, he makes love” not as a compliment but as a complaint, well, I go yeah, that’s why I adore Creeley. I rarely fuck but always make love - does that take from my substance? I doubt it. Just underlines my honesty.

Morning count was just called & I’m standing there thinking so many of these men standing next to me refer to their “women” ( and by that I mean relationships not property) as bitches & hos. I gotta think dude, relax, it’s all about love. It’s all about respect. It’s all about being honest to yourself & to the ones who matter in your life.

I was married in the late 70’s, left and divorced in the 2000’s. I remind Colette ‘I’m sorry I will love & adore you til the day I die”. A stranger when we met, she became my friend, sister, sparring partner, mother of Evan & Noah, gazer of art & the universe. The one traveled from childhood to adult, my magical Merlin. How/why would I want to forget?

Count is cleared. I will go out & walk a few miles, take a shower & return to you with coffee & write while the yard wakes up. -Later.

There’s a guy here who can see his backyard from this yard. Is that fucked or what? Another cross to bear. So much attitude here. Some substance. On the outside a punk is a rebel, punk rocker, you know, punk. Here he’s a bitch. A plaything. I have the copyright symbol on my upper right arm. Some dude from CA thought it was some offshoot of the A.B. (Arian Brotherhood). Between that & my hands tatted, dudes think I’m some kind of racist. This prison is like an after school movie on the Boys of Detention. Whisper orange ten minutes later a riot erupts. Teeth quake with every gust of wind.

My crime is simple. The charge – use of the internet to facilitate a child sex crime. In a fit of despair & self destruction I chatted with a cop posing as a 14 year old. Would have gotten work release but I used the computer (my lawyer knew I had friends & family checking my email) to find Sasha (you might remember him from a poem) & the cops contacted me pretending to be a 26-28 year old. We chatted of life & beer. Decided to meet for beer & chili. I was arrested at one of my favorite bars for violating my probation – bail jumping. The minimum mandatory sentence was 5 years. I got 2 ½. Thru the complete investigation with cops, shrinks, friends & family not an inkling was suggested that I was, in fact, a pedophile.
I did have a minor stroke 3 hours after being released from county jail. Timing. It’s all about timing. So ask your questions, perhaps I can answer but don’t just ask me. Ask those who truly know me. What I am. What I’m capable of. My dreams & desire. See again it’s about honesty. About truth. Not judgment or pointing fingers. I take full responsibility for all my action. For my complete life. Both good & evil. Talk with me & perhaps we might understand.

I miss music as if I could miss breath. I sit outside in total pain to hear traffic, wind, the basketballs on asphalt & voices. The scrambled words, vowels crashing & hollers rejoicing. Tomorrow brings Sunday. The rest for the previous week. A new week crouches in the corner ready to bound, to love, to disappoint, to devote & hopefully to let us live to see another morning.

Just borrowed a radio from Frank. Always have to sneak everything past the guards –success. As soon as I turn it on. Layla. When the piano begins Evan & Noah are children again. Eyes well with tears & my bed becomes an instrument of conjure. Just bought a sheet of 800 mg Ibuprofen for 10 stamps. Sometimes you got to be criminal.


gravity’s shadow

the state can
convict me
but that doesn’t make me guilty.
the Lord can
take him
but that doesn’t mean he’s dead.
a saint,
i wear his bones around my neck
his breath cools my heart.
known a man from bosnia
name, Sasha
sat on a roof watched
sun rise
“you know john, “ he exclaimed
the day moves
quicker than you think.”
than we know
care to know.


Thursday morning back in the yard. Cool sun light air eliminates all clouds in the sky. Last few days a clear blur. 2 teeth pulled Tuesday. One on the left, one on the right. A perfect presidential election. Dentist numbs then injects novocain. As needle digs gum he asks me “Is that St. Michael?” touching my forearm. “Yes” I acknowledge my tattoo – “Are you familiar with his prayer?” he asks. “No” I replied adding, “did you know he was the first to speak to Joan?” “Yes” & he proceeds to recite the prayer injecting Novocain at the same time. Needless to say my eyes well up. Look past the ceiling & realize, yes, the journey continues. After an hour or so of digging out the teeth he returns with the prayer, “So you may have it.”

I’m getting canteen today and thanks to Kelly I will be writing letters & getting them out. We are very restricted in every avenue. Stamps & laundry tokens are our method of exchange – 6-7 stamps will buy you a cigarette, a girlie mag. You can trade for anything with stamps. It’s like a testing of will. We will not be defeated. We will continue to walk upright although narcs & snitches are everywhere. I have no use for them on the outside or in here. Somewhere, somehow we must rise.

I’ve been watching the sky, something I haven’t done since I was a child, or reading outside. Remember your first campouts? Sleeping in your backyard? First kiss against a tree, crashing to the ground. Here I don’t want to be inside. I’m the crabby bear that refuses to go into that stinky box at the zoo. Fuck that noise. Nature is the true comfort. The perfect bosom in which to sleep, to think, to love, to grow – not some cement box with corrugated galvanized roof & 4 cops wondering why your scratching your ass. Fuck that noise.

Let’s go back to that fourteen year old lass hearing St. Michael & heeding his word. Listen to those voices & do good upon this world for the one thing perfectly clean.
Hear how how fast this old world spins. One minute in that perfect lover’s arms – the other struggling to walk with leg irons. Holding your baby to accomplish first steps - to burying him within your chest. What is to be learnt? To gain? Survival? Wealth? Ego? I think it’s far more simple. Look & smell the ground we walk on & follow how it disappears under concrete buildings & malls. What do we truly need to exist & thrive? Stand naked before ourselves. It’s written in all our eyes

My bunky is a terrific guy. Welcomed me to Oshkosh with no questions asked. Made sure I got whatever I needed. A solid guy. Drop him a line. He loves dogs:

Name: Jon Renauras L. Franks
Age: 27
Music: All Kinds
Interests: Reading, working out & basketball
My personality: Kind, easy going very friendly
Looks: Well, judge for yourself
What I’m looking for: A woman who’s kind & is as friendly as I & doesn’t mind being friends with an inmate


& last but not least

– Fred Brand #116528. A great guy – a walker of sorts & talented rummy player, 6ft ish, 40ish young male looking for friends, fun long-term companionship. Free in 4 months. Need to settle down! Stays positive and always has a smile. Lonely for now. Seek and ye shall find!

St. Michael, the Archangel, defend us in the day of battle. Be our safe guard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him. We humbly pray. And, do, O Prince of the Heavenly Hosts, by the power of God, cast into hell satan and all of the other evil spirits who prowl the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.


a few words from George………

….having both simple needs and little conflict between these needs, by the time they are full grown (Apes) they have learned almost all they need to know (so they rarely play).
Humans driven by complex psychological needs that are always in some conflict, must learn all their lives and therefore continue to play and look for fun well into old age.
In fact, losing interest in looking for fun may be a sign of mental deterioration in older people.
- William Glasser M.D.

Now… I suppose I must’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I am not really as goofy as I may’ve been in my first letter. I do play, though…. It is …to me…necessary for a vital life.

Today was hot…but not I walked the track, blacktopped & all…I stared @ my feet…Almost felt as if I was home, I used to walk tremendously on the “streets”…That’s a term prisoners use for “home”. As I walked I noticed a seagull caught in the concertina wire…I felt sympathetic and pained. It is late right now…..2347 @ night…
Since my last note I lost a friend to the “hole” (more prison lingo meaning segregation). Some place I don’t want to go to …again. I spent 20 months in DOC’s Double Max @ Portage, WI. Why does not matter…I now get to listen to my radio…Ah! Music…something I couldn’t do in seg,…Right now I am listening…my cellie is in his bunk watchin Alias….tomorrow I work… I just walk around and pick up garbage around this joint…thinking time…I like to think…though others may think I don’t….partly because I’m goofy…Also tomorrow I must go talk to some plants…I don’t know if I’ve stated my religion but I’m an Occultist… I study magic… & talking to plants is..well..interesting… I form a triangle with my hands and focus through my 5th eye on the plant…and get ‘frequencies” or symbols… Yeah, I’m strange…I do still, however, consider myself a witch. I will be going though and leaving you with some words..


….for if while in the company with the body the soul cannot have pure knowledge. One of two things seem to follow – either knowledge is not to be attained at all, or if at all, after death.


Tuesday, July 17, 2007


It’s been a year since I/you/us lost Evan. To measure a year in seconds minutes days weeks months; a lie. This past year measured in words, grasping of friends, lovers, family. Inviting the sky back in. The ground hard, unyielding, uncompromising unless followed by rain by tears. The understanding of horizon. Setting of the son.

God I love the spring

God I love the spring

The sun on my fat Face

It’s 69 degrees and, I am in Bay View
Eating Burger King

“Money Pit”
under the stars


Evan Tyson


damp &
travels piggy back a live wire
today brings the comfort
that there will no comfort
dilettantes of honesty
i try to learn something new
every day &
sometimes that something is the same
though every day is different
where the sky is blue, right now i believe yesterday
expanded the color spectrum to include his voice
he is back
remain alert


suicide watch #1

in this time of darkness
in my time of greed
day drags puppets on a string
you gave me knowledge
laughed that i had no common sense
sparred as brothers
shared all
morning's crack to last call
i'm sorry
so sorry
hold my shoulders pull me back
never want to disengage these talks
my blood yrs
yr eyes mine
our dreams realize
nightmare launches midnight attack
yr reinforcements back me up
in this hour of greed
never can
watch the simpsons again



into black whiteness
you have taken me
to the edge
you have walked me
to the end
you have left me
into day i move as rob zombie
take this hurt from these shoulders
and burn
this love together
burn our love together
burn our love
into white blackness you have taken me
to the edge you have walked me
to the end you have found me
burn &
& burn


farmer’s almanac

he started out
few lines of oxy
couple hard ciders
then 25¢ beers @ club?
same cocktail killed his brother.
we moved to a farm before i was 13
quickly learned crop rotation
you vary yr crop from year to year or at least every other
not to deplete soil’s nutrients
some farmers did it
some ignored, no one starved.
my father let our fields grow wild.
i’d mow from spring to fall
8-10 hours.
in those hours
i understood.
35 years later
rarely walk the same streets
lovers too full of potassium
so never stand behind me
unless you want a face full of salt.
i moved.
my planet was soon lit by 2 suns.
eventually crop rotation fails
identity comes with purpose
& purpose breath.
i depend on concrete of language
what i read i believe
what i see i deny.
i wear his brother’s wallet
cowboy boots
move from farm to farm teaching children crop rotation
what we bring to
what’s left in our path.



2 down to go right? i guess it always goes as such…
irony is about to run repent, call your local zoo, police, call ridge and rumsfeld
they might have something to say,
“I killed your baby today and it doesn’t matter to me as long as it’s dead”
life imitates art
on screen suicide
off screen self inflicted homicide
edwin starr was never in big star, I am sure bill dempsey and alex chilton had a moment of sorrow
let’s wait with popcorn in hand to see who completes this hat trick
i wanna watch the war like a movie, sedate myself
you won a pulitzer prize
see you later, who cares about art, there’s a war goin’ on
an iranian makes number 3
i am sad to be alive
i won’t live in a country that lets it’s heroes die


Evan Tyson


the villagers can never
launch all their ships
at the same time
they must leave
one at a time
pray for each other's safe passage
& once again reunite within
this vast green sea
i walk in my sleep
sound of water crashes
against teeth
i understand violence
i understand love
don't understand how light moves
or robert anton wilson
but when ezra pound reads
everything around bangs
all sound confuses though cranks as machine
that i get
like fried eggs
a simple meal
but eating unborn
isn't a gentle repast
something Evan could see
stand & say yes or no
i live near the river
they find everything from coke bottles to children in it
& we live in a time that everyone understands the word slaughter
i watch boats go into deep water
i sigh
it seems to be nature
the villagers can never
launch all their ships
at the same time
they must leave
one at a time &
pray for each other's safe passage
& once again reunite within
this vast green sea
we are never so blessed except in each other's arms
nor can we exhale & sink
without that
that kiss
that good night that
sweet prince.


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas

Monday, July 16, 2007


“Is life so dear & peace so sweet that it can be purchased for the price of chains & slavery? Forbide it not almighty God, as for me, give me liberty or give me death”
- Patrick Henry

“A new social order based on liberty unrestricted by man made law”
- Emma Goldman, a definition of anarchy.

Happy belated Independence Day. I hum Vic Chestnut (truly a profound American). I sit baking in the sun. 9:30am ish in the Oshkosh yard. George is next to me working on his entry. He is without a doubt a super sidekick & perfect tour guide. Hold on to your hats.

I figure prison-liberty-the concepts of love, death, marriage & insanity shall be my guidelines. Milestones. Stumbling blocks. Walked 2.5 miles barefoot. My blisters have left me so now I enjoy grass, sand, mud, stones & warnings of diseases in the ground.
3 pelicans are soaring above & a shit-ton of seagulls nag for food. Since the yard is shaped as an odd oval, on your back watching the clouds come in after 6pm, a dome affect happens. Rather beautiful-comforting. Last night a huge rainbow, distractions to our lives, our questions. Mine of liberty – what defines liberty? Freedom?
Were all trapped – does it matter by whom? A lover – a friend – a criminal – the state.
My regrets are simple. I let down my son in the worst time of his life & broken the hearts of friends & (good – terrific, the best of) family. Though I’m ok & you, too, it’s the distance, the barriers, the time. The never never going back. Forward. The grinding beginning. I won’t back down but I approach humble & with love. Yes, even in prison, my words can be my only offerings to you - my freedom – my liberty; the shoes I walk in. In prison they say you have 100 decisions. On the outside, 1000. Here, unless we work, we don’t cook, wash dishes, laundry, etc. Whether to sleep or read, write or walk – those are major decisions. So our major decisions should be in our behavior- our words – our actions. Some choose to. Some not. What I can say is I’m writing to you & your reading & we’re together. Though perhaps we’ll never hear each other’s voices & I hurt you do to – whether together or separated The point is there is a major election coming up. Don’t just vote but participate. Democracy is a living animal. It needs to be fed & trained, watered & allowed to roam. Remember our words are to love, protect. Create a perfect world. As Evan wrote to me once in one of his 3am e-mails – “I won’t live in a country that lets its heroes die”.


“For he than I, may longer live
he longer must, than I
for I have but the power to kill
without the power to die”
- Emily Dickinson


Your new friend here. I met John when the moon was not full… @ a jam session out in the yard of some 60’s rock on a Git-tar. He befriended me. This is several days prior to this blog though & although I think nothing interesting ever happens to me, John thinks otherwise. I guess one thing interesting is this old dude fell asleep last night standing up! People laughed… and so did the old man. Well, for now, is all. I leave you with this peaceful thought from me…

the soul would have no rainbows
if the eyes would have no tears

George E. Webb, Jr. #368337

Oh, I guess John wants me to write more….
I consider myself slightly humorous – more anne-Oying, is closer.
I know this guy in here… he doesn’t just drop the soap… he throws it on the ground! And it doesn’t bother me how people think of me---cus my brain doesn’t pick up idiot waves. Just low level hums.

I got a friend…yeah, just one…we do stuff in here like play volleyball & this one time I was playing naked..ok, just half naked & I was sun burned & my “one friend” Jason, said “You look like a Christmas ham!” & it stuck. Now that’s my name. Life in a Wisconsin DOC isn’t so bad. It could be worse. The main problem is they’re taking our stuff away slowly. I used to have tons of pictures, a keyboard & a bunch of other stuff. I guess it can’t be too homey. By the by.

A seagull woke me up @ 4:30am – “for the love of cheese – shud-dup!”…. I won’t lie. I have a lot of people I’d like to call friends. John is one… my good friend goes home soon. I’ll miss him. Actually 3 are leaving & speaking of leaving I guess I’ll do that. So I’ll close with another quip from knuckledome –

no one
should try to sing
like Axle Rose

George Webb, Jr. aka “Eredim” (air-a-dim)

Sunday, July 15, 2007


There is no mistake, I’m in prison. But three good meals a day & not a dish to wash –
hot showers, an alright bed – solid neighbors – and a huge yard where every form of conversation is held. Circles of guitars & an answer for every question. Yes, the gate is locked, & sharpshooters patrol towers and fences that go on forever. We wear collective clothing & that man there, God knows how he got here.

Well, here are three friends & yes, please write to them.

Michael Conley #342368. S/W/M age 28. A fit, outdoors, recreational person. Enjoys the various walks of life from adventure to plain old leisure time; to traveling. Listens to music from Skynard to the Reel B; Phish to Punk & the Blues. Authors such as Norman Mailer to Robert Frost. Will read or listen to just about anything he can get his hands on. Michael is a great guy. Reminds me of a young, though mellow, Henry Rollins.

Gary Smith #172763 - I used his “words” in my first blog entry. Gary is a great guy. We walk & talk – no subject off limit – I feel blessed to know him.

George Webb, Jr. #368337, aka Eredim (Air-a-dim) 24 this September & is looking for someone to write & become a pen pal. A female around 22-30 years old. Prefers pagans or witches. George is himself a pagan/witch since 2003. An artist; draws, writes, sings, plays piano, loves animals, people, extreme sports – used to skateboard. Loves to climb. A lover, likes to listen, talk – “God, do I love to talk”. Love to get visits, mail, outside communication, and of course, Pagan books. George is a great guy. Hit if off from our first words. He has an amazing sense of humor. Loves seagulls.

These are a few of my guys. The ones I trust. Who have depth, humor- good positive will. True brothers. Today we got our rain. We were able to wander the yard & get our blessings from heaven. Barely does time pass & thoughts, words, sighs go to all of you.
I understand the point of prison, but I fear it’s simply society’s reaction to her broken children. Yes, we are surrounded by monsters – such is life. This is a world that can only be experienced. I will do my best to communicate. Tomorrow our ? today our future.

Please keep us in your thoughts. We do you.

sugar my teeth

belly full
convict stew
marty robbins
on borrowed radio.
skin gone from pale white
to proud american.

neighbor “tijuana”
promise tour of home
“donkey show any thing you want to drink”
when he’s out in ’10.

you won’t wanna
suck my cock
fuck dawn
i’m out

Wednesday, July 11, 2007


“We live to die” a new buddy Gary says to me last night while I was walking the yard alone.
We spend our hours walking, talking. Our pain as evident as the blue sky. Our strength the ground we walk on.
This morning, after failed attempts at this blog, I’ve sat myself down in the yard at a picnic table to welcome you into my world. This world of prison, poetry & every distraction possible.
Evan & Noah, my 2 sons, nicknamed me ‘The Old Man” years ago. Their friends followed & I figure since I am & hell, what a great moniker. Evan died last year in July. He had turned 25 in June. His brother, Noah, turns 24 this July & he & Amanda (dear friend & Noah’s girlfriend) will be delivering their amazing package – gift of love within the biggest picture this October.

Kelly Conway, devoted friend, amazing human, terrific in every way, has supported me before, during trial, thru sentencing and now prison. Without her, not only would so many of my friends not know of my disappearance, my resources would be almost non-existent. Thank you Kelly.

Richard Lopez, father, poet & great guy, suggested a blog to me a while ago. I declined for the reason, simply, what’s the point? Well, incarcerated, frankly, is an amazing perspective. Richard, as Kelly, has been so supportive of my life as well as poetry.
Thank you, Richard. (

Stacy Szymaszek, buddy, fellow poet & grounder of reality has traveled this odd vacation along with Kelly & Richard. Never judging me though questioned my sanity. You will hear of Stacy often as this list of characters grows. (

If you know thru your life, friends or family, a person imprisoned, please write to them. Frankly thru everything within the fence, the key to survival & sanity is contact with the outside world. If you need suggestions, please write to me directly in prison,
John Tyson, #511885, Oshkosh Correctional Institution, P O Box 3310, Oshkosh, WI, 54903-3310, or thru this blog. But I will say this only once – THIS IS NOT A DATING SERVICE. This is a serious service for my brothers within.

A print magazine is being organized as I write. The name – FLAGRANT (the incarcerated bastard kin of Accurate Key).
First of all, thanks to Erica Kaufman for the nudge nudge for the title. She had sent me a terrific poem using flagrant and Accurate Key is a broadside magazine of sorts in which I did 2 issues of & life’s distractions side swiped me. I will continue the Key when I am out. The need for FLAGRANT is now.

Simple challenge: Spend the day with me. Meet my friends and go listen to “Everybody Hurts” by REM. Watch the sun set in the yard. Walk with us as the moon rises in the distance.

I began with words from Gary’s mouth & I will end with some – “man drinks drink, drink drinks drink, drink drinks man.”


8 am May of 07

another saturday
in prison
no hangover
nor naked stranger
flopped out juxtaposed
read shirley jackson
escape the horror
become the horror.
oh, the promises i make

another day another mirage
for Richard Lopez

read kerouac wilde
nabokov in prison
toast & absinthe
acid on my sugar cube

living like a refugee

Noah to Hank III
Evan, heaven
me? i’m stuck
the bag

alchemist 2:25 am 62607
for B

madness rarely delivers
bread becomes toast
matter of seconds.
cord of
elm, hickory, scrub
pine, to be

animal fat