Monday, August 27, 2007


I’m glad others give/gave perspectives of prison. We’ll tie it all together. A Japanese thriller/love story gone wrong.

It’s been over four months since I’ve heard Noah’s voice. My mind is generous enough to remind but I need that freedom. His verse. His laughter. His down shifting. I can stare into the sun, hear his voice and get none of the black spots & then forget I’m here.
Forget that I’m here…here…here. I miss his touch. His stature. Timber. Every day the shore gets closer.

I like manifestos of poetry. To explain. Elaborate. Remove the roast from the oven. Line of breath not of meter. Of now. This. This. Of walking. Berrigan was/is of walking. Meter slinks from shadow. Over the shoulder. When I’d walk to PBS I’d write ditties sometimes. An alright poem. What I realized real fast was never finish that poem. It’s like filling a balloon. Too much & it pops. It’s over. All over. A poem is mysterious. Undressed. Dressing at the same time horizontal – vertical rotating on axis dancing. But when it’s finished with it’s over. You better write it down or forever regret. If no paper, freeze in space. Shut mind off. Finish journey. Find your medium. Method. All shall come back walking like coffee. Awake. Awakes. Waxes & shakes. The deliberate malt.
Found a George Oppen book here. Collected Poems. Quiet poems that allowed to speak, chop. Clean out. Knife to vegetable. Eye to ground. Stare sky. I read late while others sleep. Prepare journey into sleep. Away from sheep. My mind retires. Lets me know John, it’s alright. The Earth’s rotation brings us home. I think Dorothy again.

My anger is tender. Forgettable. Uncertain. Yes, this is the (one of “the”) places of intense frustration. But and I repeat, but the faster I come to & realize breath. The best I’m delivered. Sure enough I freak about the bullshit comments & same day amazing letters of concern & support. I guess/know the bottom line. Keep eye on the horizon. Rotation brings us all hope. Thanks Chuck. Lopez – nice tight poems. All my friends & my family out there – my mantra is Love-Hope-Redemption. You the receivers.
Yeah, you too, Colette.

Colette, a whole amazing chapter.
Friend of my life.

visitor’s list:
saturday morning
3:55 a.m.
for Kelly- Stacy-Julie-Amanda & Noah

look out that window
all i see
barbed wire.
into yr eyes
all i see.


Wednesday, August 22, 2007


Let's lighten the mood -

The Tomato Garden

An old Italian man lived alone in the country. He wanted to dig
his tomato garden but it was very hard work as the ground was hard.
His only son, Vincenzo, who used to help him, was in prison.
The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his

Dear Vincenzo,
I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to
plant my tomato garden this year. I am getting too old to be digging up a
garden plot. If you were here, my troubles would be over. I know you
would dig the garden for me.
Love, Papa

A few days later he received a letter from his son.

Dear Papa,
I'd do anything for you Papa, except dig up that garden. That's
where I buried the bodies.
Love, Vinnie

At 4 am the next morning, FBI and local police arrived and dug
up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old
man and left. The same day the old man received another letter from his

Dear Papa,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do
under the circumstances.

Love, Vinnie

(from an email - kc)

After reading Horne’s blog and your response (published earlier), and your letter explaining who he is & why he is doing this, I am happy to address it.

To our Readers,
I remember an episode of Seinfeld where Jerry’s dentist becomes Jewish and Jerry has a problem with it because he thinks the dentist is doing it for the jokes. Jerry says he isn’t offended by the dentist’s jokes as a Jewish Person, he is offended as a comedian.

I am not offended by Horne’s blog as someone giving an opinion or as some one wanting to report on things. I am offended as someone who deals with facts & data all day.

Please join me as I point out everything that is not quite right about his blog entry – that is if you have enough time.

Horne writes –

Imagine no more. John Tyson, a poet, art collector and the former director of telemarketing for the Channel 10 Friends has been in prison since his April guilty plea to one count of using a “computer to facilitate a child sex act,” Wis. Stats. 948.075(1), a Class D Felony.

Why only mention 1 job of his? He has had several. Trying to give an outstanding organization like MPTV Friends a bad name? John hasn’t worked there in over a year.
All his troubles happened after his employment there.
Good thing Horne linked to the CCAP and the WI Statue sites. At least something in the blog was 100% correct.

In a posting from late July, we read of a rape of a young prisoner drugged into unconsciousness by an older prisoner, and learn that Tyson has autographed copies of his books under the nose of guards, signing them with his identification number, which he feels appropriate for a laureate in his current estate.

Tyson never stated the guilty party was an older person. Read the blog and you will see for yourself.

Tyson never autographed books. They were broadsides. (John already addressed this). The broadsides went through the proper channels at the prison. Do you really think so little of our prison personnel that they know nothing of what is going on under their watch?

He doesn’t talk much about whatever it is that brought him to prison for 30 months confinement, but the offense occurred August 21st, 2006. Apparently it involved a sting operation in which he used a computer to solicit sex from a person he believed to be under the age of 16. He says he thought he was arranging for a burger and a beer with a 26-year old.

In Horne’s original post he says he is trying to find out the sex of the “imaginary child”.
My question is – does it really matter? Interesting that Horne really wants to know. Seems important to him. Wonder why?

He, in his updated version, changed this paragraph to “He says he thought he was arranging for a burger and a beer with a 26-year old.”

Horne, again is confused. This is a totally separate incident. Read the blog yourself.

This incident didn’t occur until February 7th, 2007. (and just a minor correction – it was for chili and a beer, not a burger. Petty I know, but just another example of inaccuracy).

Next he quotes:

“Sometimes we need good friends … & hugs. And inmates almost always associate hugs with homosexuality. I do not have a problem with homosexuality; it’s just that I’m not. And I don’t like being labeled as something I am not.”

Did he even read the blog entry? George wrote it – not Tyson. George signed it. How could that have been missed?

Okay – so in the updated blog entry Horne writes -

[Update -- August 14th, 2007 -- Since this posting I have spoken with three sources who have further information about Tyson. He frequently had young black males hanging out with him at his apartment in Chalet on the River, although a neighbor said they did not seem to be underage. His protestations of not being gay seem almost laughable with considerable evidence to the contrary. Tyson also seemed to get weirder and weirder lately, borrowing money from friends of friends, making bizarre accusations about neighbors, promising to purchase artwork for which he had no money, and skipping out on his rent. (He owes about $9,000.) He may have suffered some strain with the apparent drug overdose death of his son Evan, last year.--Ed.]

Oh my GOD!!!! Is this guy a racist? Who cares if John has friends who are African American? WOW!!
I’ve been to the apartment countless times. So have an endless list of writers, artists, poets, musicians, family and friends – even a well known Milwaukee Magazine contributor. Male, female, young, old, straight, gay, married, divorced. Oh, I am so sorry John has a vast variety of friends. He has friends all over the country for goodness sake.

Why is Horne so interested in John’s sexuality? I don’t know.
Horne seems to be overly obsessed by this. Once again I point out, John did not write this – George did.

He writes about John’s behavior lately – Lately? The man has been incarcerated for the past 6 months…When was the last time “sources” had any contact with him? Why does he care about John’s financial situation? How many Americans are having difficulties right now? How could he pay rent? He has been incarcerated. Duh! Talk about weird behavior – well Horne’s blog speaks for itself about revealing weird behavior. I just say consider the source.

Horne writes -

He may have suffered some strain with the apparent drug overdose death of his son Evan, last year.--Ed.]

Oh my God!
I can only guess this guy does not have any children.

Any parent who has lost a child under any circumstances would take offense to this comment.
May have suffered from some strain? How about having your whole world being turned upside down? WOW! There isn’t enough time to address the insensitivity of this comment.

Obviously Horne has a personal vendetta against John. Why? I do not know. Don’t care really.

For those of us who know John – well, we know the truth. For readers who do not, the blog is for you to get to know us. Read and see what this slice of life is about. It’s all there.

I will say that this blog ended up not being what I thought it was going to be. It is better.
I thought it was a way for John to keep in contact with his friends, family and showcase his poetry and his experiences. It is actually better then what I had in mind. Now, in my opinion, it’s about documenting a journey through a defined period of time. It’s about the journey, experiences, communication, poetry, writers, relationships, feelings, and intimate thoughts from different perspectives– not about personal attacks. The stories are real. Horne is missing the point of the blog (but thanks for the publicity).

We, here at our little blog, understand we may not be popular. But we write of what we know. So I will state this only once –

We will not, after this entry, ever respond to anything Michael Horne writes about us. It is because he is very inaccurate in what he posts. Extremely slanted. An unreliable source with a personal grudge against John. We can only shake our heads in pity for the man and say God Bless.

And yes John, alcoholism is a terrible disease.


While I’m flattered by Mr. Horne’s attention I am disappointed at his lack of any professional muckracking. C’mon – you read the blog, cut & paste your quotes & write your blather. Yep, I worked at Channel 10/36 Friends, but I also delivered newspapers & worked for Citizen’s Action. Our department was eliminated in Feb of ’06 & I was arrested in Aug ’06. The connection? Let’s guess & make wild assertions that Horne hates a success story like the Friends (nice huh?).

Yep – read it all about life behind the bars. But did I say, in regards to the rape, that an old prisoner did it? Or autograph copies of books under the nose of guards? First of all, they were broadsides. Certainly someone such as Horne, who has such high regards for poetry should know the difference between broadsides and a book. Wait – I’m sorry, it’s poetry – not alcohol. Under the noses of guards? - yep – you caught me in my Jedi mind trick. And yes, I talk about “whatever” (“whatever” spoken in Horne’s valley girl dialect), brought me to prison. (Entry dated 7-14-07).

I have been contrite & accepting of all guilt through this time, not to avoid this but because I understand I broke the law & I’m serving time for that crime and getting myself away from my madness and getting the time I need to heal.

Horne wraps up with taking words from George and attaching my name -
(This is the entire quote from George – (7-25-07)

“Sometimes we need good friends… & hugs. And inmates almost always associate hugs with homosexuality. I do not have a problem with homosexuality, it’s just I’m not. And I don’t like being labeled as something I am not. But my point is, even as hard as some inmates try to act…we need contact. Whether it be male or female. That’s why so many, I think, switch sides. They’re open & in touch with their emotions. My friend will walk out of these gates today. I’ll give him a hug on his way out.
Regardless of what people think….I will miss him.”

C’ mon – did you read any of the blog? And frankly, as my friends leave prison I will hug them but right now I’m here for them as my friends and family are here for me.

Mr. Horne, perhaps you should take a long look at yourself. Think about getting stoned in your glass house.


Today is a new day. 2:10 in the morning. My peak hours. I write by a homemade night light. (TV with a towel ¾ of the way over the top).

I just finished watching Masterminds. Good show. Then I wrote 2 letters, now you.

Yesterday, in the morning was pagan group. We split up into 5 groups and wrote separate parts of a ritual (our own). Since we are in the New Moon it’s time for new beginnings…group one wrote the “cleansing” part. 2 wrote the “casting” of the circle. 3 wrote the “calls”. 4 (my group) wrote the “magic”, or actions – basically what we are going to do. 5 wrote the “closing”. We chanted while an old friend (I’ll get to this) drummed. We chanted something we wanted removed from ourselves. Mine…lack of attention. We then replaced the empty space we created with something positive. Mine…strong attention.

Now my old friend is our old high priestess. She came just for the day. Such a happy person. Then I just did really nothing all day but eat. It was my ‘splurge” day so I could cheat on my diet. Tomorrow is back to the old routine.

Well I will go now & leave with a joke…

Q: What do you say to an angry witch?
A: Ribbit!



Man, I tried so hard, but can’t seem to get away from misery.
Man I tried so hard, but always b e a victim of these streets.
It ain’t my fault cause I try to get away but trouble follows me.
And still I try so hard, hopin one day they’ll come and rescue me.
- Bone Thugs N’ Harmony – “I Tried”

Sitting here at 10:45 p.m. with friends, or fiends. We were planning on writing a screenplay but not tonight. Unlike John’s unit, in mine you can stay out in the day room from 8:00 a.m. – 11:45 p.m. Sun-Thurs, 8:00 a.m. – 2:00 a.m. Fri-Sat. People play games, talk, watch one of the two tvs or make “hook ups” – basically home made meals.

My friend is going to find me a lady friend. I do get lonely & a little companionship on an intimate (not sexual) level is nice. I have been locked up for almost 6 years (8-2-07) and I miss the fun in talking to a woman on that level. I like to hear laughter, cries, stories, dreams, ambitions. One day I’ll be able to again.

I started writing poetry again. I’ll put one at the end of this entry. On a sad note – there is an old man. His cellie hit him today & he told the officers. They did nothing! Then another, younger man, is having psychological issues. He talked to the psych & basically they won’t do anything and pretty much told them that they’ll do something when he snaps, which will get him time in the hole. Then visits are over a tv…your in seg, family at visit watching you on tv talking over the phone. Not good. So they want you to think they treat us well in here…most don’t.

I shall close with a poem.

Designs: By George Webb, Jr.

The dog in my brain, plain, deranged, Me?
Please, I’m down on bended knee, promising, that it
ain’t me. Vouch for gas to start my brain. Grains of sand endorse my pain.
Numbing dreams, harass my pillow, willow, my tree, still low, under me,
Giant – like such.
Never drank much, but I do, you know, blue…bed.

- Eredim-

Friday, August 17, 2007


I’m an intolerant person. Waste – stupidity – cowards- snitches – gossips, I abhor. Let’s take the premise “Life is too short” ok? So that implies, at least for me and a few others for sure) Go For It! What’s “it”? Joy - money – sex – power – a family – a mark upon the world.

Joseph Campbell says “Follow your bliss”. Yeah, that’s it.

Today it’s raining light-heavy. Beautiful. A cleansing. A distraction, an irritation. Well I walk & talk. P.K. – a new guy – is walking also. I come up behind, “Good morning”. “Yeah, morning”. I start to shoot the shit. It’s easy. He’s alright. “I heard you’re a skin head” he asks. “That’s bullshit”, I reply. "I walk with everyone though I hate snitches & bullies just like my buddy Slim does”. “Heard he was too”. “Talk to him”, I reply.

Our words follow our path. Oval. Relaxing. Drugs. Suicide. The usual. Well he’s a raver. I think Good Gravy in 2 minutes that god damn techno beat. No, I’m wrong. Though only 23 he’s on top. I mention the first time I did X, “Avenging Disco Godfather”. “Rowland, the bastard” had a few. Crush & snort. He pukes. I, time of my life. He knows of “the bastard”. I’m no longer a skin head. He talks of P.L.U.R. I tell him never let anyone tell you who to walk with. He agrees. He’s alright.

So it’s raining. Frank works in horticulture assigned to water the tomato plants. Yup. Garbage bag poncho moves the rain into his boots. Yup. Prison.

That kid who got raped - some guys claimed he & his cellie were in fact getting it on. He’s gay so of course he’s meat for the taking. Prison. Try the victim. He’s in the hole.

All these words previous are a prelude to cowards. Cowards like the person who left a comment about this blog. Sure, leave your 2¢ but run like a scared child.

I have never hurt a child. Yes, my relationship with Evan was volatile & Yes he was the victim of my anger. I spent everything – all the energy I had, ‘til the moment he died, letting him know how proud of what an amazing person he became & what an honor it is to call him my son. Noah understands and knows - ‘til the day I die I will do everything within my power to be there for him. Yeah, I fucked up big by ending up here so I know I have a huge hole to climb out of. I read & understand the writing on the wall. But if you think for a fraction that I would hurt a child any way, you have no idea of who I am. Nothing. I grew up under profound oppression. Not just family insanity but the time, the events, the killings, assassinations. I resent & fight authority. I feel as a man that I stand for certain principles.
One, I hate bullies. Anyone who takes advantage of, is.
I’m clear about my crime in here & Hello – do you have any clue who walks, eats, sleeps & shits next to me? If they can understand me at any level & don’t judge me…well, you get the picture. So in continuing with this rant –
Life is too short.
Live mother fucker. Live.


Loneliness is a term most associated with prison. It’s hard to imagine with all the noise, the people. You’d think loneliness wouldn’t exist. Sure you can talk – walk – eat & engage but here social interaction is as difficult as giving a turpentined wildcat a whirl pool bath. Sometimes dressing a horse as a loved one ain’t going to get you into the prom. I like Rick, George & Frankenstein & a few others because they don’t lecture, get hung up on bravado. They know we are criminals. Broken. We’re not monsters. But that need to hold, caress, whisper in an ear – overwhelms & I retreat to silence.
“What’s wrong John” repeated time after time. I get tired. I get worn. I get defeated. I don’t bitch & moan about the man – my girl – the fuckin judge. I seek beauty in an asphalt jungle – in a sow’s ear purse & I crave music – Lucinda Williams, Townes Van Zandt – The Pixies – Sonic Youth - Highlonesome – Velvet Underground. A head to hold. A spine to bend. A mouth to rescue and a world to twist. Prison is an answer to the wrong question. A velvet rain coat. A blind assassin. At the cliff that signifies wit’s end, I teeter. My organs quake, beg relief. Some significance. I apologize. I was wrong. I broke the law. I sit & contemplate Li-Po’s Legend. Wonder why I never made into that suicidal bathtub. Kelly claims I once said that I bought the ticket & I’ll wait to see the end of the movie. Loneliness my muse. An elaborate precaution to a world tipped its end. Wavering. Do I continue to move horizontal or change direction? Do I choose love or silence. My heart or my brain. My fists or my poetry. My kingdom for a horse.

So my loneliness is not one of lacking company. I’m Custer. I’m surrounded. But it’s lack of community, or intimacy. As those words form & fall to page I receive 2 letters. One from an old friend, Julie R. & one from Mr. Lopez. Well I haven’t talked with Julie since the ‘90s and I’m thinking - Holy Fuck – can this world get any smaller – stranger?
She wasn’t looking for me but Stacy, you know Stacy S. So of course here I am hunkered over my bed scrawling the Old Blog - getting this amazing letter & tears waltz down my cheeks. Come on John! This is not behavior fitting a con so to make matters worse, my internal CD cranks up “Sweet Old World” – Lucinda W. Come on universe – where is my Robert DeNiro. The letter is everything you dream of locked in the way we are. Just like Kelly’s saying hello. Not to be indulgent, but rather explanatory, I’d love for Kelly to share with you. Obviously certain information would be withheld. Not just a letter for a prisoner – a letter for a friend. A dear friend you thought lost. I thank you Julie for your thoughts, your humanity & for making my points on loneliness really mute. To make matters worse, Frankenstein just tossed me a cherry tomato fresh from the garden. Who can say we’re not God’s children?

Sometimes I have a set idea. Sometimes like a wet paper bag it just falls out. Imagine the Mall of America but it’s just words, actions, lies & bullshit. But if you let it, you get dragged in. Watch. Listen & learn. I can’t say I’m lucky because I’m in prison but I’m alive & perhaps (a large percentage) that I won’t be considering my behavior – thoughts, poison. This is not home. It’s where I lay my head. One eye open – the other listens.

Sunday is one of contemplation. Kelly came for a visit. She looked great. Clear eyed full of joy. I mean she’s a happy, thoughtful person. Just really looked great. Had the opportunity to listen to the largest (huge piece of shit, literally & figuratively) prick C.O. in the world bitch me out. I moved us to another table & that guy had a huge freak out. Anyway, Kelly got a piece of the garbage here. I need to focus on that sky. We talked & laughed for two hours. Wonderful.

When I got back, Rick was waiting with a great piece on prison thru his eyes. Yesterday in walking with him I realized that as much as ‘they’ control, we make prison our own.
No bullshit. No lies. No fear. Let’s rock this nightmare.

So enjoy & please comment on Rick’s & George’s contributions. This is not a free ride. Give just a little back. Understand?

what comes around goes around

back in high school
father brought home
3 ex-cons, 2 brothers
1 odd ball, bank robbers.
brothers left after a few weeks
odd ball stayed, raped our dog.
we survived.
some 30 yrs later
i’m in the joint
bank robbers. murderers.
some guys in for fuckin road kill.
my father’s



The Bashar Teg (from Frank Herbert’s Dune Series)

- The writing of history is largely a process of diversion. Most historical accounts distract attention from the secret influences behind great events.

Talked to my Uncle today. It’s hard. A lot of my family is unaware of my religion and them being strong upright Christians, it would be sad to hear of my change. I fight my depression through meditation…Which is also hard to do because of all the noise. My cell is flanked by idiots, desk banging, door slamming, radio blasting, loud talking @ 11p.m. Moron5. I don’t mind it during the day but at 11pm?

Anyway I imagine a glowing pea-green colored ball (on the rare occasion of depression) and turn the color to blue then place it in my window or in the ground. My window faces east so I can see the moon & sun. It also faces the rec field. Our windows are about 2 ½ feet by 2 ¾ feet with the luxury of 3 big bars. My cell is about 12 or 13 feet long by about 6 feet. We have 2 bunks on one wall and a desk & 2 lockers on the other. The wall with the bunks has a cork board. Our doors are wooden. We have keys and they only lock from the outside. It also has a window. Each, well, most units, have 3 day rooms on my unit. People on the north can use the north day room & people on the east use the east. Me, in the center, uses the center. All three sides can use the center day room. The center day room doubles as a cafeteria with 24 tables & 96 chairs and the unit has 198 people. Sides of the unit eat somewhat separately. So it does get loud being above the main day room. So the noise…drowned out & Beethoven through my head phones.

My friend has been home for almost two weeks & I know he was a good friend because it messed my schedule up.

Well for now – “Eredim”

The journey never ends.
Roads and paths will
But life goes on
Even after death…

George Webb



A description of prison…well, have you ever heard the expression “Only the strong survive”? It is true in a sense. I say in a sense because it is not true in every circumstance. Although, prison is a place where the weak are prey. In many circumstances it is true. There should be the expression “Prison is where you prey on the weak”. It should be every bit as popular as “Only the strong survive”. No matter what you do or where you go…people make it what it is. It is never the place but its population. It is how people treat you and the way they talk to you. It’s about respect and in prison it is sometimes given, sometimes demanded and sometimes taken. The lack of respect is where there is always a contradiction. I sit here and look around and one thing is for sure – the fact that we all have something in common. It is the way we think. We all think like criminals. Some laid back and others are real live…One thing for sure…prison is stressful. You are taken away from everything you own, know and love. It is a very structured environment. Everything happens like clock work. The rules are clear but it is at the discretion of the correctional officer. If you have a major rule infraction you may go to the hole. The hole is not dark, but it is lonely. There is a serious lack of love in prison. A loving touch is very missed. My first incarceration was the worst. When that door closed and they cut the lights I sat by the windows in the door. There was light coming in from them. It felt a little better but sitting in that cell still eats your heart. It gets easier but it hurts a lot too.
It’s never pleasant but if you have been doing it a lot or for a long time, it’s not so bad.
Things could be worse………………

Prison…well…like I said, prison is where you prey on the weak. The thing is…you must choose your prey wisely. I have been in and out of incarceration for more than a decade. I have fought and I have seen fights, although I have fought a lot more than I have seen. I guess it’s how you choose to live your life. The path I chose was a very violent one. Just recently I saw an inmate get punched in the nose. He did not fight back. I can not imagine getting punched in the face and not sticking up for myself. The guy that was on the receiving end did not have a snowball’s chance in hell. I couldn’t help but to think if I was that helpless and I knew I could not win…I would just have to wait ‘til he went to sleep and put a pen in his throat. I am not sure where this stems from but it’s that kind of thinking that makes prison dangerous at times. There are many others who are equally dangerous. I guess it’s the situation. Fights are usually over petty things. Although there is usually a hatred that builds over time. Tension grows and something petty comes up. It’s just a good reason to get it all over and done with.

Incarceration is good for that. To know that is you have problems you are going to have to man-up and handle your business or get punked-out. Either way you know you are in a situation where you can’t win. You have to live with others that you might not get along with. You also have to live by an unwritten criminal code. In this code snitches are looked down on. We are all criminals but a lot of these fools carry double standards. They talk a lot about child molesters as if they are righteous and have a good set of morals. What they don’t realize is that they are contradicting themselves. You cannot side with the Wisconsin State Statutes and also be this serious criminal. Besides, just is being done and they are doing their time. For some…that just not enough…

Prison…In prison there is pressure. Pressure is everywhere you turn. Sure there is pressure on the streets but there is different pressure here. It can be overwhelming and it can be dangerous. It can be a minor rule violation and it can also be as serious as your choice of who you talk to. I like John because there is no pressure. He accepts everyone He sticks up for the weak. He even hangs out with the oddballs and because he does…so do I. A friend of John is a friend of mine. There are a lot of reasons why someone would pressure you. They might want your dessert that you are not going to eat at a meal. Of course you are not supposed to trade food from table to table. You don’t want to because it is against the rules. One would say to you “Why are you scared? You weren’t scared when you did your crime. Or it can even be one of your friends telling you not to hang out with someone who is suspect for being a snitch or even gay. So there is pressure every where. It is more serious than your first day in high school and you don’t know who you want to sit with. Kids go home sick from school because of the fear/anxiety and pressure. Although there is no comfort of going home, not only are you stripped of everything you love but you are forced to live with us. So throw up if you need to but sooner or later… you have to find some where to sit for lunch…

Prison… There are no words that can describe prison in one sitting. It’s going to be part 56 when I think I have described it all. Even then I believe that only some who read this will understand. Like I said it is structured and hard to adjust at first. Every where you go you will have a place like X Bldg. Here at Oshkosh it is X Bldg. It’s where all the new jacks go until they are classified and know how things go. They are hard on you when you don’t know what you are doing and in time you will learn when you can do what. You will also learn when and who can get away with shit with. There are the correctional officers who wear blue and white shirts who supervise. You don’t want to befriend the police because people talk. This is the D.O.C. – Department of Corrections – and the code is the three-o-three. They have a book of almost laws and you can get tickets and even get arrested and taken to the hole. It’s kind of crazy. I don’t befriend the police but I try to stay in their good graces so to speak. I don’t cause trouble and they don’t fuck with me. If you do end up having problems they will fuck with you and nail you to the wall over petty shit. They fuck up at times but it’s useless to file complaints. It’s useless to even fight the state in court. You have jury duty right? And all you know is the boring script they run on you in court. I mean…12 joe schmos off the streets who know nothing about law. They decide your fate. It really is a hell of a way to run a country. I don’t exactly agree with caning in other countries but c’mon – there has to be a better way.

Prison…well…prison, like I say is all about the people that populate and work there. You can imagine what kinds of people populate this place. A lot of thugs, goons, villains, gangbangers, hustlers, rapists and child molesters. There is also the occasional dead beat dad as well as drunk driver. Then there is the correctional officers who you must deal with according to their own personalities. A lot of them abuse their authority and are just as corrupt, if not worse than the inmates. The thing that gets me is my mentality. Some guys are still young at heart and think this is some kiddie camp where the main mission is to befriend others. I am not here to make friends but I am here to do my time. Granted I may get close to a friend here or there, but not often. A lot of guys do that but yet the feeling is not mutual. To tell you the truth I don’t want to befriend or even see any of these guys ever again – with a few exceptions. The ones I hate are the hustlers. Always trying to get over on you. They might get you for seven cents but they make it painfully obvious that you are getting ripped off. This really pisses me off but I know for one, that they are petty as hell, and for two, they need it a lot worse than I do. So they will be and stay petty but it’s different for me. I hate to get personal on this thing but I guess I already am by giving my perspective on living in prison.

I am on “building confinement” right now because when I came in from the yard I forgot to sign in. This is serious because I am not in the area that they think I am. So they gave me five days to be confined to this building. No library. No yard. No recreation. No commissary and pretty much, no movement, which sucks ass. I think that is a little over doing it but what do you do? ya know? I am not mad and I am not going to whine about it because I am getting a lot of shit done that I would have never gotten done before.

Another thing about prison is that it gets kind of boring at times. I try to stay busy so I don’t think about it as much. The only thing that I am missing is my solitude. I live in a barracks at the moment for intake purposes. Now call me institutionalized, but sometimes I need to be alone. I like my cell.

For a lot of guys attitude is important. No matter what the circumstance…your attitude is important to how you are going to do your time. Support from loved ones on the outside affects your attitude. Another factor is how much time you have left. I like to think I have a pretty good attitude but that’s because I have less that 5 years left of incarceration. I have a close release date so I’m not stressed. For guys that have a lot of time left…it’s a lot different. They are no going to care about shit as much as they would, and they would
definitely not take too much shit from anyone. When you’ve got nothin’ to lose you’ve got nothin’ to lose. It’s really sad to think about it like that but it is what it is. I’m not sure if I’m answering any questions of what prison is like but I’ll see if there are any questions or comments about what I write.

Rick Wasley

Imagination cannot make fools wise, but she can make them happy, to the envy of reason which can only make it’s friends miserable, the one covers them with glory, the other with shame. – Blais Pascal, Philosopher

Imagination. It’s an awesome survival skill. When I was in the hole, I got bored so I invented games…card games, R.P.G’s, dice games (had to make them), and other weird games.

My cellie & I will often joke “let’s go to Subway” or the movies, or whatever. It’s good to keep your mind in shape. We (me & my friends) will make witty comments back & forth. Keeps you on your toes.

The last two nights I’ve been laughing so hard. You can’t be miserable here. I see so many who are filled with evil, hatred, spite, misery. They’ve lost their sense of humor. Makes it real hard.

In 36 days I’ll be 24. There was a lot I wanted to accomplish by the age 24. I did manage to complete some. I’ve graduated. Went to take college training. Had jobs. Become a successful writer. The biggest postponement is a family of my own. I can wait though. I need to get myself straight.

“in the land of dirt & plaster, lies an army of a thousand nowhere kids, losing ground & falling faster into a life that no one should have to live.” – Smile Empty Soul – Nowhere Kids

See ya – George Webb, Jr.

Monday, August 13, 2007


My sister & I were talking about our lives, as we do quite often. We agreed that after all we have seen and have been through nothing really shocks us any more. Perhaps we are desensitized to this world’s events.

Through John and his new cast of characters, I’ve been getting a first hand account of what prison life is like on a day to day basis. I asked for the info. I need it so I can wrap my head around this whole thing. So I can deal. So I can learn. I need to know how things work. By profession I work in IT. I need information.

Does what I’m told shock me? Unfortunately, No. It saddens me. I could write a long piece about it but I think it’s better coming from some one in the know.

Ladies & Gentleman – from a letter sent to me…..I give you Frankenstein…

Entering prison for the first time can be a frightening experience. The noise level is what strikes you and it is unlike any other noise that you have ever heard before. It’s human noise and clamor. That, coupled with the sight of those dreary bars, made me think, “Man, what have I gotten myself into here?!” When you have entered prison, you have entered a world all its own. Each prison is different and what applies to one person certainly will not apply to another. Prisons are classified by security levels. (Maximum, Close, Medium, Minimum). You will have different rules and types of people according to what kind of prison you find yourself in. Although each prison is different, there exists three basic groupings in all prisons. This social strata consists of the administration, guards and the prisoners themselves. Each group operates according to its own set of rules and values, while there exists interplay between the three, none are totally independent of the others.
The administrators of prisoners are usually people with years of devoted service in the penal system. The rules in prison are formulated to either antagonize or placate prisoners, but main purpose is to control. The guards are the people who enforce the rules. They act as middlemen between administrators and prisoners. As prisons and people in them differ, so do guards. Some are real professionals. They respect other human beings. And others are the worst type of people. They deal in contraband and are capable of brutal acts against prisoners. They thrive on having authority. The most difficult part about having contact with prison administrators and guards is that they usually operate from a set of preconceived notions about all prisoners. For them a textbook example of a prisoner is a dump, passively or aggressively homosexual, scheming and manipulative. Their manuals generally describe all prisoners in this way. They tend to lump all prisoners into these categories. Accordingly, it would be safe to lump them into one category as well. Expect them to be indifferent, authoritative, brutal and racist toward you. When you encounter here in prison an administrator or a good guard who is different, consider it a blessing and a rarity.

Hey, I apologize for not introducing myself to you properly in the beginning of the letter, but my name is Favio Paulino,#424548, but people call me Frankenstein because I’m a big Latino guy that likes to be respected at all times - but I’m a nice guy to those who are nice to me - like my guy John. He always has shown me respect and that’s why we have become good friends. He knows he can count on me for anything. I will always be there for him. He has told me so many things about you - like how wonderful of a person you are and he told me that you wanted to know more about prison life – like details and things like that. That’s why I wrote you the way I did so you could have a better idea on how this part of society really is……
Take care of yourself.
Tu Amigo,
Favio, aka, Frankenstein.

Personally, it’s hard for me to believe grown adults are forced to live this way. That grown adults treat each other this way. Something is wrong.

To Frankenstein –

If you take care of things on the inside and I take care of things on the outside….

Vamos a tener mucho exito.

- kc

Give away a bag of apples – one places on lover’s head, shoots & misses. One watches falling thru air, discovers gravity. One studies, sculpts & bronzes. One plants in the ground. One makes a pie, another applesauce.
Death refuses me. Repeatedly ignores requests to let my heart breathe & then I think of others. The ones broken. Ignored. Left behind. I thought my wounds were sealing. Today, listening to Bob Marley & watching Evan walk across the floor to greet me. His brother. A friend or lover. I sobbed. I cry now. I have no concern of what others think. My tears are simply lost right now. They fall without regard. Without thought. Heart so broken it sleeps. & then I think of Noah, Colette, Anna, Amanda, Emily, Tim, Jimmy, Julie, James, Jason, Miggs, Mike, Johnny, Danimal, my Kelly…the list never ends.
The Silence. The Hurt. The incomprehensible. The end. So I sit & pray & write. No pity. It must be like at the beginning of time when the sun set & all thought that was that. It’s all over. I understand death. It’s life that confuses me. “We’ve got to fulfill the Book”.

My money got screwed up. I had to pay for the books to be sent back to Kelly so I’m negative $19. Stacy just sent $25 so between the 25% deduction & screw ups with the mail, I’m going crazy. Anywho, my buddy, Rick, is fronting me enough stamps to cover my debts & then some. It’s hard to complain. Keep your eyes on the ball.

Sometimes you’re gifted with a true moron in here. Own nickname…a story that’s never backed up & an attitude of pure hype. You say a silent prayer. Know it’s only seconds before they hang with the cops. Another snitch. That’s why connects with a solid guy is more important that a box of Little Debbies. So I say a huge thank you for dudes like Frankenstein & Rick. Let time drift. Shadows build like sand. Our voices, symphonies. We are your children – your parents – your brothers – your friends – your lovers.



McCoy goes, “You want to stay out of prison? Avoid women, drugs & alchohol”. McCoy sounds just like Henry Fonda, exactly. So this afternoon I get a letter from Reed. An amazing song writer musician, brother & crazier traveler – “Avoided”. Shocked the hell out of me cuz I’m stranded in Mexico, right?
Well, a supportive letter with solid of brotherhood. Life on an edge. He’s going on tour right after he wrote me. Will be back in a few weeks. What can I say about Reed? Well, he’s fiercely independent as Thoreau. Talks about the man who walks to a different drummer. Reed walks to a different drum & the woman is a gorgeous Earth Mama.
(When) & he does often, address you, it’s with love. There’s no question. A voice that resembles Morrison on a diet of whiskey & crime. The most amazing is that it all flows as if up from the woods. Emerges. The beast named poet. Reed is great. His letter cleansed my mind. Unburdened the trash I drag along.
McCoy, Slim & I walked the yard in a WPA type stroll trying to get to the general store to grab our chew & quart of moonshine. Fuck Hollywood. I walk with the men who got the timber of Henry Fonda & understanding of humanity like John Barrymore.
I’m so out of here.
A big Later…………………………….

Exhausted. A path. Driven. Between rapture & despair.

Silence, elixir of the God’s. Alone within ones thoughts. The great escape. Remember closing your eyes, spinning in a circle as you count to ten? Wide eyes & running uphill, tripping over distortions. Welcome. Fasten your seat belts. It’s 9:15 pm & all I remember is the speed of light. Fragments of visions rolling over conversations, stepping around confrontations. Realizations, Dorothy. Home Sweet Home. Panic gives you multitudes of abstractions ‘til you realize your face is peeling again. Another 90 degree day. Another fraction of reality. Another another.

Met a great guy, Rick. Ease – he loves to walk. Compassionate as hell. Heart as big as John Wayne’s booming voice. Enough piss & vinegar to propel our ship called brotherhood. Stand up.

My sister & hubby will be sending cash to Kelly – hurray! A radio soon, perhaps Levi’s. I’m so grateful. Stacy has sent a few books, Pasolini (genius poet, director, visionary), poetry & sketches. The cops refused Cantos, I wanted to ask – Still pissed about Mussolini? Who knows? Hopefully I’ll get it.

I thank you all for your support.
It’s like hearing the voices from the top of the well “Hello, are you down there?”
I think walking is a huge political act. Forward the legs pushing, pumping. We will not back down. Watching from the sidelines here, I’m impressed.

Starting writing a larger poem (h)orizon. As you stare off into space thru the fences back to reality. I’m assaulted. Realizations freak me out. So staring at a blank screen, I organize.

Looking for poems for the first issue of Flagrant. Got a few already, need more. Received a confirmation letter from Monk today - he is doing the first cover. He’s in Prairie du Chien trying to get art supplies – so we’re still on. So get on it. Monk is an amazing tattoo artist – old school in every way – great flash - great ink - his stories freak.
Gene from Luckystar has some of his work & I remember hearing stories about tattooing his dog. We live in a small world.
Love your neighbor. Love yourself. Drink a Pabst for us!

Many of us in here still need a booster seat, pacifier, and a bib. If you missed that, a majority of the population is either young, complainers, and a lot are slobs. When I first got incarcerated I was a messy, slobby, cryin’ kid. I reacted on impulse rather that rationality. I didn’t take care of myself. My cell was always a mess and I was still 19. Most of my cellies were a lot older. In fact, my cellie now is 41 & I’ve learned more from him than any of my other cellies. My cellies have taught me how to jail – slang for survival skills. I’ve learned how to improvise cooking, diet, work out, react and even release plans. I now have two business plans prepared for when I get out. One I am still taking a lot of notes on.

My faith, I get a lot of flack for. My family is opposed. But that is their opinion. I love my family. Sometimes I wonder if they care for me as much as I do them. I know they care a lot, but don’t judge me. I was once a Christian. And if they were 100% concerned wouldn’t they want to pray and talk rather than oppose? Any feed back would be nice.

Plato – Menno

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

Thanks to an opinion from an honest friend, my mask will come down & I shall reveal the ins.

‘til next entry..



Tuesday, August 7, 2007


Questions I have been getting often:
How’s John?
How’s your friend doing?
What’s it like at the big house?
What did you guys talk about?
Going again?
Did you find a man there? Hahahaha…….

My answers:

He’s good, thank you.
It’s fine.
None of your business.

How is John? All things considered - I think he is good. I’m relieved. Seeing him was so good for me. It eased my mind. He is skinny. Brown. Has more freckles on his nose than I do.

I guess I really needed to hear his voice. I was used to talking to him almost every day. We worked together for 8-9 years. After we both left that employment – hung out sometimes. Checked in with each other often. Lots of good dinners. Beer & whiskey. Books, music & movies. Lots of conversation. Tons of laughter.
For the past six months – separation anxiety for me.

Yesterday, he talked a lot. I could tell he was happy that friends/family can and do visit now. Have real contact. For me, it felt like we were just hanging out again. Simple. Perfect.

I will relate 2 stories from my visit that were funny/charming to me –

Funny – John told me that he tries not to open mail from me in front of anyone. They are very interested in what he gets in one of my manila envelopes. They ask him if immediately if they can have one of those things – what ever the “thing” may be – a picture, an image, an article. He gets asked often if he has received one of “those” packets recently.
This is really funny to me. The Kelly myth grows.

This story I find charming….

Earlier this week I had received in my packet from John a couple of things from George. He wrote me a letter thanking me for this blog. (you are most very welcome). Mind you, I don’t know this kid from anything. I thought it was very sweet so I responded with a letter back to him. I mailed it before John’s next package.

Saturday, when I was talking to John, I told him I wrote George a letter. He said he already knew. He said – I saw I didn’t get any thing from you today and was a little disappointed about that and then I saw George coming towards me with a big smile on his face. I said to him – You got a letter from Kelly didn’t you? George was happy. Said he couldn’t read my writing – that’s okay. John deciphered it.

I urge all of you to contact your friends & family often – no matter what their circumstances are.. . A phone call, an email – letter – a hand written letter (wow). It doesn’t cost you much. Just let the ones you love know that you are thinking of them.

I have a huge family. We are in constant contact- brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, all my cousins. We are always in communication no matter what state we live in. If I don’t hear from some one in my family every day I know something is wrong. Maybe we are the exception to the rule but we all know how much we all love each other.

A very short message – Hey, I was thinking about you. Just wanted to say hi. – is perfect.

You may not get a response but you just may have made someone’s day.


6:59 pm

The sun ridiculous. George & Rick exchange songs. All seemly exhausted.
Ejaculation means outburst. Watching men & cops nothing is surprising.

Fozzy bear brings out music of death in a dainty red binder. The anger drips from his eyes. The sun is so bright. I think God put too high a watted bulb in. We smell a city pool. Beer does not seem impossible. Highly unlikely. Prison in a bikini. A wax job. I thought about classic cars. Can it be described/understood. The loneliness of 2000 bad men. Some not so bad. Some way confused. All need. The touch of saints make some remorseful. They sing and clap to get away from these regrets. The table behind us so blind, they squell sonar and still fly into the trees. Birds are reduced to a colony of seagulls. George attempts a dance. We watch in terror. Tremble, I wish. There are no trees with this yard – only voices, the racket of multitudes. Not for the squeamish.
Uneasiness subsides when you watch attempts at softball. Then in horror, a man’s pants attempts to moon us as he jumps and jacks. Seagull’s laughs are echoes in our vast bio
dome. None are out, but a couple. Dump duck. To wake @ 2 am to remember this is prison not Real World. Oh well, another day another sneeze another twig breaks in Tibet becomes a monkey’s uncle in Baltimore. Pity from the heavens – may rain when we’re on our last leg. Not soon enough to wash out the yells of sorrow. Happy to be out at this time with friends. Alas, my butter bean naught where never hitches up her blue jeans, till there. Till now. The moments over. I stand beside you, besides you there is him, her tomorrow. My pen bleeds it’s sorrow and happiness, in Ink of joy and this battered and drowned paper to say out thoughts and convey our feelings.
Missed the meaning in this blog? I think we may have too. So read & reread. Differences everytime.

Thank you patient readers.

“What is like to visit there?” I asked him in a letter.
“Have you ever visited anyone in a mental institution?” he wrote back.
“Wrong thing to tell me. You know I have. Nothing but horrible memories for me”.
“It’s more like a nursing home. Don’t worry. Everything will be just fine.”

John will do what ever he can to ease my anxiety about visiting him in prison.

I had no problem visiting him at the House of Corrections. Been there – done that before.
Besides, the HOC is close – a quick drive after work. Nothing to it. But prison?
Heard terrible stories about there being no windows, just bars. Huge metal gates slamming behind you. Cold. Concrete. I made a commitment. “Yes, I will visit you on the 28th”.

Didn’t sleep well the night before. Kept dreaming about the blank, white envelopes we are using for my nephew’s wedding invitations. The dream – there were no addresses on the envelopes. Well, there is not supposed to be any addresses on the envelopes. They are being hand addressed. .. but they are still blank…they are supposed to be blank…but they are still blank……My mind sometimes….
Perhaps I was being told to go to Oshkosh with an open mind.

Left the house at 6:30 am. Had a lot of anxiety on the drive. Heart beating a mile a minute. Too many thoughts. Calmed down about half way there. I arrived at 7:50 am. Perfect timing. I am the first person there. I was expecting a line. I sign in and I wait. So far prison staff is nice.

As I wait, I think to myself – what door is he going to come thru? There’s so many of them- I have to remember to tell him this & that & that & this – am I going to cry like a baby? Wow, this room is nice. Reminds me of the old union at UWM. Man, this place is really nice – maybe too nice. Nice & clean. Sunny. Nice music playing. Vending machines.

I see a guard get up and open a door. That’s when I see my friend. I see him for the first time since sentencing. I could not stop smiling! I know I got a little teary eyed but I didn’t bawl. He takes me outside where we have the whole garden area to ourselves. And I mean a beautiful garden area. Weather was perfect. Of course I forget to talk about this & that & that & this.

He asks if I’m okay being there. I explain about my morning anxiety and how it has disappeared. Visiting there is so much nicer & easier than the HOC. HOC is nasty.
Had to shower every time I got home from there. Here there is no glass separating you.
No nasty telephone you have to talk thru. Here more than 1 person can visit at time.
Here you get to visit for 2 hours.

My 2 hours go by very quickly.

“Are you going to come again?” he asks.
“Oh God, Yea! This is nothing. I feel comfortable here”

I love you.
I love you too.

I get home and there is a letter from John waiting for me.
I grab something to eat & from my kitchen I can hear an Irish band practicing in the parking lot of the church behind my house. Bagpipes. I’m a sucker for good bagpipes. I’m a sucker for all things Irish.
I put on the Brewers game on the tv, sit on my couch & begin my reply to his letter.

Dear John,

I know I just left you but I forgot to tell you…this & that & that & this…………….


6:45 am, another morning, another week, another month ends. Same for you out there – though your distractions are non-existent in here. No bother. It’s hard to admit the certain hurt. Bellyful of ache. Not just because the letters don’t come. Not for the aggression or the torment that reads billboard in here. It’s as if we don’t exist. I understand from my one friend’s dismissal that she’s uncomfortable. Can I spend time guessing, wondering why? No, I know her, like all of us, has her issues but I’d need a shovel to find that vein. All I ask is for honesty. All I ask is for some sense of history of who we were /are/ will be tomorrow. Don’t scream ten minutes after I stepped on your foot. Yell now or forever hold your peace.

A young man was raped a few weeks back. He takes trazadone. Well his celly makes a hook-up (convict stew) & drugs him with seraquill. (Both these meds are for depression, sleep, etc. – heavy duty) & proceeds to rape him as he’s passed out. Well he wakes, wanders down to the day room – passes out. An investigation. The kid will be moved back here. The perp will spend forever here or shipped to Max. Needless to say it’s hard to stomach. Needless to say – I won’t. Needless to say, please say a few prayers.

Sadness served fever pitched.

Just got called to property. Cantos, from Stacy, had to send to Kelly ‘cause the book distributor didn’t enclose an invoice. Sad seeing Pound sitting on that table along knowing I’m the only one within a distance that adores. In my way I got the cop to open the book. Hear the pages turn. A fall morning. Thank you Stacy. All I have is time-humor & an ability to digest without getting sick. Jonathan Hayes’ Window Pane Press broadside of mine arrived for me to sign. Of course they wanted to refuse but I acted confused & claimed artwork. They told me I had to sign a.s.a.p. Thankfully count was around the corner. I took all back to my building – signed & had a quiet moment of success. They look great. I added my prison ID# – figured while I’m here it’s cool to use. They could have busted me for enterprising.
Poetry & prison can exist. Thank you Jonathan!

Sometimes I think I’m too positive. My glass is full – but it’s cracked.
No shower today. It’s over 90 degrees. A personal poem.

Leto II (the tyrant) from the book Chapterhouse Dune, by Frank Herbert.

“time does not count itself. You have only to look at a circle and this is apparent”.

Part 1 - 72307

The solitude of slumber is shattered by the count bell. My weary head moves my weary feet to the dreadful floor…cold…Slowly I recover from my 8 hour coma. My shoes hurt, these weary feet. Abominations from the God’s, we only them for balance because it is the way we’re made. At work I’m actually asked to do labor, so I give birth to a 7 oz healthy sweat, after an hour and a half struggle. Man, wanted me to shovel sand which blew on to the parking lot…and why? Wasn’t the sand here way before the institution?
Planes fly overhead in a ‘V’ formation…what are we…geese? These scattered clouds today were mocking me. I just wanted a nice day, instead they grab the hot air and torment me.
(mid-day) my friend comes over before he leaves to go home, walking out to the horizon.

Part 2 - 72507

Is seems like a dream to me, when people we care about in here go home. In our world it seems like it could never happen, then as it approaches, it seems just too good to be true. I know I’ll see my friend again, but is just feels like he’s gonna be gone: and I know he won’t be. He’ll stay in touch.

Sometimes we need good friends… & hugs. And inmates almost always associate hugs with homosexuality. I do not have a problem with homosexuality, it’s just I’m not. And I don’t like being labeled as something I am not. But my point is, even as hard as some inmates try to act…we need contact. Whether it be male or female. That’s why so many, I think, switch sides. They’re open & in touch with their emotions. My friend will walk out of these gates today. I’ll give him a hug on his way out.
Regardless of what people think….I will miss him.

Tleilaxu Thu-zen (Dune series)

“corruption wears infinite disguises”

George Webb

Friday, August 3, 2007


Last night at dinner some dude yelled at my buddy Tony – “That’s fucked up!.... you said dude was an internet pervert” & Tony being the stand up piece of shit that he is, replies, “no, I meant him”, his finger pointed in my face. So there I am standing with a fresh bite of sloppy joe in my face. & then the questions. Now what happened next……well, I answered a few questions. Finished my meal. Mind understands I am surrounded by criminals – those who have hurt, raped & tormented & a few drug cases. Needless to say I am waiting for the other shoe to fall.

What did happen is, Tony was chastised for being an ass. Someone who would talk shit about some one he hung with. A number of guys approached Tony directly. Frank & Mike being the most direct. The bottom line, where I was seeking & needing an example of brotherhood, I found it. & I am grateful.

Today in the mail a note from a friend – “Do not write me again, please; it makes me uncomfortable”. So my question is – who or what system defines prison? To me it’s that fence & sometimes when I write I get no reply. But truly my prison is simply the pain in my loved ones eyes. Their hearts. The past is the past. It’s the mirror over our left shoulder. Great for romance. For memories. For tears. For life – well perhaps life’s lessons. Go forward & watch those feet. My God – turn off the fuckin tv & walk along the river. Listen as the water glides over the rocks. Reflect. The clouds around your head. Surrender.


Thursday, August 2, 2007


I rebuke the idea. Practice. Concept. Guilty by association. Neither judge nor jury am I.
I walk the yard whether I’m alone or with company. A simple act. As I said in the past, we talk. Walking is a great introduction. So we talk of the weather, our health, our family, our friends, of prison. I have no need to know of their crime. Two reasons – first it’s the past & second, usually the crime is pretty bad, painful & frankly, upsetting. But if they want to discuss their crime so be it. You understand? It’s a combination of common sense & the teachings of Christ. “let he who is without sin, cast the first stone”.

Anyhow, my philosophy has me judged & cast into the group in which is judged.
Fuck em. I talked with my buddy who also is involved with this bullshit. Understands my point. Understands me. A man of character. I’m not loosing any sleep. Prison presents a number of challenges – to trust or not to. To engage or ignore. The concept is simple. We come in here alone. We leave alone. I believe that. But I also believe in train relationships. That which we travel is simply only so much time, so much distance, how well we engage. How close? I’ve met a few I want to know forever, George, B., Mark, Gary & Josh. Sure I hold dear anyone I call friend, but remember this island is sinking. Solidarity, honesty, trust? Brotherhood? Good luck. Sure it exists. Find that needle. Walk upon that water. I’m not soft. I fight my anger – bitterness, sadness. Not quite Jedi but I’ve exited enough forests to see them thru the trees. What I’m saying, I walk palms open. My fist a simple reflex. My words my gift. My anger my albatross.

Reading Franny & Zooey – I adore Salinger. Truly a remarkable writer & started reading Angels Dance & AngelsDie. I love Jim Morrison. Everything I read smashes into a thought or dream or something I need to resolve. I’m grateful for books. Good books.

A number of friends have asked what do I need – shall we post a wish list? Kelly can coordinate. I’m not too needy and I won’t be a burden. If this request is tacky I understand & have no intention of offending. I’m unable to get a job here due to my medical condition. My needs are almost non-existent – boots & misc clothes. With that I leave you with a thanks. Thanks for listening….for being here.
For now,
I remain, The Old Man.


Leto II, the God Emperor (from Dune Series) – Frank Herbert

When I set out to lead humanity along my golden path I promised a lesson their bones would remember. I know a profound pattern. Humans deny with words even while their actions affirm it. They say they seek security and quiet, conditions they call peace. Even as they speak, they create seeds of turmoil and violence.

Everywhere I look…I’m sad to see we can’t get along…in here inmates need to stand together, not in violence but in mind…on the streets or, out side of prison…neighbors, family & friends need to stand strong. Too many people lash out these days on those they love…..and to what affect? Is a delicate tower, when one part is damage, the lot of the whole is affected. I know we will never have a world united in a like mind of peace, but the more people we get….the better it would be.

It has just dawned on me that I don’t talk much about my life in here. My average day consists of work – 8:00 – 8:30 am (only to pick up garbage) Mon-Thurs. Friday’s chapel (pagan services @ 8:00 – 9:30 am) then 12:45 work again til 1:30 – M-F. That’s always the same………..Sometimes I go to the library, gym, & other places. Mostly in the yard. I played volleyball today…don’t know who won. Don’t care.

Saw my mom for the first time since Christmas. She still hurts from her back surgery. My stepdad also came….these are two important and special people to me. September 5th we plan on having a birthday party for me & my Grandma. She’ll be 69. I’ll be 24 & it’ll be the first birthday party for me since ’02.

I’ll leave it at that….here is yet another quote from Plato.

Plato (Lyses)

Arguments, like men, are often pretenders.

Stacy arrives today amongst 6 months till the day since I’ve arrived.
I walked the yard today. Urgency of a run - direct as a knife. My long song mantra….
“like a bird on a wire…like a drunk in a midnight choir…I have tried, in my way, to be free”. Walk turns to pushups. Pushups move piston. Piston cranks my thighs & morning parts her thighs. “I walked with a zombie. I walked with the zombie, last night”. My fist pounds thigh. Anger burns- not campfire style rather, candle. Delicate slinks down wick. I pour wax into my mouth. Cancer covered anger spits out my mouth. No hole in which to rot. “Like a bird on a wire………………….”

before 8am, he said
for Frank

you find.
found yr
self. in
a room
too many corners
not enough shadow.
his first wife dead.
discovered in the bathroom.
later tat reads
“find peace”
upon belly.
every morning

In William Wantling’s The Source, Len Fulton’s forward proclaims “Bill Wantling is the first to admit that finally and practically a man blows his own chances. He hasn’t had many and he’s blown some. But Aristotle observed that a man who never made a mistake never made anything…..and America today is full of people with no documented flaws.”
I add Amen.

“I have tried in my way to be free”. Cohen leaves me speechless & universal nod.

“Like a worm on a hook, like a knight from some old fashioned book I have saved all my ribbons for thee”.

It’s closing in on 10am.

There are many words for prison – the most fitting…bittersweet. Just got back from property. Gina Myers, God bless her soul, sent me 3 books. Well without a receipt everything gets returned. So I mailed to Kelly & will get them later. This is the story – everything besides letters & photos must go thru – 1730 W. Snell Road, Oshkosh, WI, 54901. Everything must have a receipt. The best way for me to get books is thru Amazon, if you get my drift.

Anyway, thank you Gina for the gifts & wonderful letter. Please send me/Kelly your address. Ok?
& thanks again for the intro to Richard Lopez.

Stacy just left. Walk back to my dorm air is cooler. My dinner is waiting as are a few friends. Talking with Stacy brings me back outside. Our tears comfortable in the sun. Sitting on the same side of our picnic bench. What can be said. What is said. Time waits. Give us time to breathe. I have such good friends. We have no fear. Stacy has been by my side forever. I remind her “you were with me when I was dying”. I reach at straws. Our sadness refuses to leave. She suggests a common idiot we joke about to take my place. I fall in love with her all over again. I explain I just got Ceravold’s Fits of Dawn. She knew it was circulating the internet. We talk of other books I might need. I will call Stacy in August. Such a dear, beautiful friend. She makes me happy & proud. I miss Stacy.
Back in the yard more tension. I’m tired of this bullshit drama. The contrast between here & there makes my heart sink. Exhausted, I read Fits . Thankful.

Sunday morning – just received Joel Dailey’s “Fellswoop”. Always a great read. He just did a fantastic Ted Berrigan issue. If you haven’t seen - look for it. Try here –
Fellswoop, 3003 Ponce de Leon St., New Orleans, LA, 70119. Joel is a fantastic poet/publisher – wonderful friend & from our words, a great dad. Met years ago & have passed our work back & forth. A huge (like myself) Berrigan fan. We live & breathe Berrigan Humidity. Again, Joel, “thumbs up!”

Today will be quiet – thoughtful- Kerouac under evergreen tree. I will bring you up to date on current exploits & will fill you in on some issues that would/could have landed me in the hole. I needed to sit back & grasp that behavior to understand. I leave you with this – United we stand Divided we fall. It’s sad to waste our words – actions-love-even anger. Live as an arrow soaring thru space. I learned to throw horse shoes last night.
5 ringers when I stopped thinking.