Tuesday, November 27, 2007


Sorry “prison poet” people…

It’s not a secret any more. I am addicted to court tv shows. Judge Judy, People’s Court, Judge Joe Brown, Judge Gregg Mathis, Law & Order, COPS, The Shield. Could there have been a better show than Homicide: Life on the Streets? Now I am hooked on this new show called Jail (by the guys who do COPS).

I like rules. I think there is chaos without them. I believe that at the core our justice system does work. For every action there is a reaction. You break the law and you go to jail and get sentenced according to the law. How the laws & sentencing are interpreted is another story… I am fascinated by this show Jail. It works for me on so many levels. It shows society at its worse and in some ways at its best at the same time. It shows how people react to each other under stressful and unpredictable situations. It shows respect, restraint, great psychology at work. It teaches the viewer about how this part of the justice system works. It shows how people can hit rock bottom & what desperation is. You see every type of person on this show. It shows the training & the professionalism of the prison staff.

Some of the drunks, prostitutes etc are very amusing. Some defy, some accept, some are terrified, some cry and some take it all in stride or as “a matter of fact-ly”. I love hearing the comments of the guards about the prison population. What they have seen. The conversations and interactions between staff & inmates are always very interesting. Everything in jail is so unpredictable. Everything can be running smoothly and then the next second the whole place is under lockdown. Everyone in that place has to be able to react in a second’s notice. Stress, stress, stress. A lot happens in this half hour show.

A story that sticks in my head is about this kid – probably 20-21. He was in the holding cell just waiting for his release paperwork. He was there for just a few hours. Something happened. Some one provoked him Next minute blood everywhere. He went off and attacked someone – or he was defending himself – who knows? Now he is being sentenced for a felony and may get 10-15 years. The guard said the kid was probably about 20 minutes from walking out the door and going home. WOW!!

So much of what John describes in his entries and letters is played out right before my eyes. It is amazing. Not that I need a show to remind me where John is. Believe me I know. I know he doesn’t tell us everything that happens and I am sure we don’t really want to know. I used to joke to him about how he is on vacation in there. Living an easy life. I don’t anymore. I call it our social experiment. He is doing the undercover work.


Wednesday, November 21, 2007


I did get to visit John on November 3. It was my first visit since Labor Day. It was great.
I was an hour late but no matter. He looks good. Has a beard now. New glasses. A job.
Was in great spirits. Lots of smiles and laughter as usual.
Very nice. As always the time goes by too fast. When it was time to leave he said come back when you can. I said I will come on Thanksgiving Day.

Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday. (I know being Catholic that Easter should be my top holiday but honestly Easter is way too emotional for me – it challenges my faith, beliefs, brings back beautiful memories). Thanksgiving. The forgotten holiday or rather, the most over looked holiday. I love Thanksgiving because it is a day of just being together and being thankful that we know & love each other. There is no 2 month build up. No pressure of buying gifts. No big cartoon turkey popping out of the oven to bring gifts to children. No mythical creatures. No religious affiliation. It’s not a candy day. It’s good food, good company.

Last year I had two Thanksgiving dinners. One with John & his coworkers and the other I cooked for John & me the next day at my house. I invited him but then his boss invited both us over so on the day we spent it with new friends. It was fun. A mixed crowd.
All new people to me. There was a great family there with 2 high school aged boys who seemed so bored. I have nieces & nephews ranging in age from 29 to 2. I know how to talk to teenagers. I still know what’s cool with the kids these days (don’t I?) I engaged them in conversation. We were all laughing. Then add John and his special brand of humor – well it was hilarious. I think those kids thought I was on drugs because I was crying I was laughing so hard and at things they would never understand. (never told you this JT )On the way home it was so foggy I took the long, cautious way home. Once again John had me laughing so hard - while I was driving- totally sober mind you- I don’t know what he said or did but I couldn’t stop laughing that I actually peed my pants.
(JT -That’s the real reason I didn’t go into the house where Noah was and just waited in the car!) Day after I cooked. John mashed the potatoes with a fork. I was amazed at his culinary skills. I think we ate, drank and watched Mind of Mencia.

Every year I get several dinner invitations. I tend to stay home and do whatever I feel like that day. A couple of times it was just pizza & wine writing out Christmas cards while watching Holiday Inn. This year I am making a pumpkin tiramisu to take to my sister’s when I get home from Oshkosh. I will skip the big dinner. I think I will make myself a most delicious meatloaf and big bowl of mashed potatoes and green beans.
It will be a perfect day.
I wish a perfect holiday to all of you.


My celly is pissed I’ve flushed orange peel down toilet. He freaks out at any disorder. He talks to walls but in truth he’s talking to me. Really odd. I told him he’s crazy. Ah Sunday. Laying here waiting for count. Listening to the classical station. Decide to change. Hear some older Dylan. Turns out to be a tribute. Shelter from the Storm narrated by Patti Smith. Holy fuck can it get any better? Patti Smith the rock goddess. My fuckin idol. God I love here. When “Horses” came out I was working/living at the Desoto Hotel in Galena. Great historic town/hotel. Well listening to “Horses” on my close and play in this tiny room in a very small town. I realized what could be on that horizon. Then she introduced me to Arthur Rimbaud. I was already writing to & reading Ginsberg so I knew of the beats. This album. This Patti Smith knocked my on my ass. She played in Chicago in the late 70’s at the Aragon Ballroom. I went with some friends. Tripping & way drunk decided wander back stage. I was thrown out. Called home. We lived in Waukegan. Called Colette & our friend Cathy was over. “I got thrown out” “Where are you?” “At a Jewel.” “O.K. Stay there, we’ll be there Asap.” So I asked Cathy to call information & get the Aragon’s #. I say I need to talk to Patti Smith.
“Who are you?”
“I’m William Burroughs”
“okay, wait”
“Patti Smith?”
“no you’re not”
“yes I am”
Somehow I hang up the phone. Remember I am drunk/tripping. Call Cathy back. “What’s that #?”
I call back.
“This is Hunter Thompson. I want to talk wish Patti good luck. Hello Patti, yes, well it’s me again. I’m neither Burroughs nor Thompson”
“I know”
“Well I just got thrown out and was beat up by the bouncers.” (which was true. They knocked me around and literally threw me in the street. My hat was run over. A perfect tread mark across it. I’m an idiot). So she’s very concerned. Believe it or not I hang up again. Call Cathy again. Call box office. I’m Burroughs again. Patti gets on again. I explain as if she didn’t know I’m messed up. She tells me about her performing at the Rock Against Racism show. She tells me to meet her there. Colette & friend pick me up. Not too pissed. Tell about calls. Now she’s irritated The truth is between hang ups I explained to Cathy the jist of the calls so the next day we went back but no Patti. Lenny Kaye announced an apology to the person who was to meet Patti. God’s truth. Fuck up thing they got their sound equipment ripped off that night. Only Cathy confirmed that night & that little thing from Lenny Kaye. So if you know Patti see if she remembers or am I truly insane? Anyway I didn’t bring up Bob Dylan to tell that story. But Patti Smith is so totally without question the quintessential poet musician god I spaz at mention of her name. Ask Stacy about her reaction to her presence. Anyhow, the show was great. Got to hear One More Cup of Coffee from the album Desire. Fantastic song & Dylan is truly the master. Now I switched over to the college radio station. Punk & surf rock. Dick Dale, Link Wray. Great station. Always something fantastic. Playing music from Twin Peaks right now. I truly realize take my freedom away – not my music.
Thanks for reading. Go outside and kiss someone on the way out. Snow is coming. & there’s no one here I can kiss & life is too grand & short. P.S. – thanks for the hugs & kisses Kelly. They keep me alive. You all be good. Love.


The weekend. No work. Hurray! (just kidding)
Quiet 2 days & Kelly is coming for a visit. Anticipation.
Yep, she arrived & tremendous visit. She’s got her stories I got mine. So cool. So sweet. Mellow & sincere. She should give workshops on positive prison visits. Some make it way too heavy. Got back lunch of polish sausage & oatmeal cookies. Buddies asked, “How’s visit?” “Great.” Smiles color. It’s all good. If only every moment so perfect. But then no contrast. No battle. No glory. Then mail. Hip hip hooray! Jonathan, Julie R. Chrisanne & Matt (fantastic artists, dear, dear friends). God, so blissful. Great letters. Long soak in the bath. I don’t want to forget I’m in h ere but when you can write a letter that lessens this blow, you’re all right. You’re amazing. Thanks all. & no, Chrisanne, no swimming, some yoga my own. & pilates. But good old cell workout. & Kelly, I adore you. I look like hell. Lost so much weight in my face. So gaunt. Kind of like I got the hiv. Scary. After visit I had to take a piss. Saw myself in a mirror. We don’t have mirrors. We have polished steel. I freaked myself out. I lost a lot of weight but I feel great. So that’s the payoff. But I do love these letters my loves. Thanks. Running out of ribbon but after all today’s joy I can handle that.

Tomorrow EH is 1 month old. & how shall yr/mine/our November be. 1 of concern for sure. Forget global warming already? or the Bush that the Bush created? or the wonderful mis-use of yr tax dollars? Well we got each other a holiday of excess Paris Hilton & some more American Idiots. Ah, joy. Seriously it’s beautiful outside. I pick up litter, my post the parcel of land that contains the American flag. Ah, revolution. America. Remember (not literally) when our example led to change? Those were the days. My buddy overheard a guard “why does a white guy have a black panther on his hand?” referring to my right hand. Well 2 days ago he’s asking me who did my work and of course I say the genius called Heather Shin. Of course he has no clue. But never does he ask why I have “that” cat. First of all it’s the Black Cat from fireworks, (Evan & I were pyrotechnicians with Bartolotta’s years ago) plus I love the image and with Ed Hardy’s black panther soon to be tearing up the arm, it’s a nice homage, well in my mind. The Black Panthers are/were incredible. They without question stood their ground in a time that that ground was truly vanishing, i.e. MLK, Malcolm X, Bobby Kennedy, Medgar Evers. I was living in a tiny hamlet outside Chicago then, about 10, seeing Maywood burning & the footage on the news was galvanizing. Sure the Panthers were off on some issues but feeding, educating children, the sheer idea of arming black men then was to me, at 10, so profound. Thank God someone acting. Not to say that others weren’t but in addition to, hence the Chicago 8 then 7. Bobby Seale was kicked out. Check out that history of Chicago’s gross past & the stank of Dailey. My grandfather was at the Democratic Convention & my mother said hi to King. As tiny as that was, it was my 1 degree of separation. Much more positive than huddling around a transistor radio listening to the eventual death of Bobby Kennedy on our grade school playground. I digress. & I will probably get a black panther some day.

Richard Hell can really shake my world. Kelly sent a short interview from May 2006. In it Hell claims, “When I say poetry, I mean the values of poetry –wanting every moment of life to somehow be extreme and extremely…felt.” That and a black panther should be tattooed on everyone’s breath.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


Merle Haggard wrote that 2% of 2% of convicts don’t go back to prison & that you don’t need to experience something to write about it. I agree with both. Obviously the first causes me some concern. I don’t ever want to come back here but to be honest it’s easier than you think. & I believe I truly need to experience much to write about it. I would never imagine prison to be like this or divorce or the death of a child. The birth of a grandson. There are some writers who can write about things that they haven’t experienced. Richard Hell & homosexuality in Godlike or Stacy Szymaszek with Emptied of all Ships. Stacy ain’t no sailor. Both tremendous writers. I think you get my drift. There are tons of examples. Prison is very odd. You’d think there would be the idea, concept, action, “this is prison, this is how one should be/act”. Nope. I’m shocked. The behavior. Last night some guy comes up behind me with a guard right there. He throws his arm around my neck as if to choke me. I twist around and say “no”. Just now I had to explain, you don’t touch people in here. Touching is either sex or violence. Friends bump fists, shake hands, you know there is no room for horseplay. I’m shocked. It gives you an idea of who’s in here. Begs the question What is going on? Wisconsin is the leader in penal institutions. Lose the dairy status move into prisons. Are citizens worse than other states, better cops? I think not. Lock them up and forget. Then let them out. On you. I blame Elvis. He & Dick & irony. Law & Order. Leave my house unlocked, leave my children unattended. Sure there is crime but when the whole system becomes an instrument of politics. Elvis. A good guy surely fun as hell. But are we moving in the right direction. I don’t know but if I didn’t see it I wouldn’t believe it. You read/heard the budget issues. How many times was DOC threatened to lose $$? What have you heard since? Prison is a warehouse. A very busy warehouse. A lot of $$ comes in. A lot of people benefit from it. A lot. You, the taxpayer?

A buddy was walking with me last night, talking of his family, support, visits, etc. He’s a typical child that grew up comfortable. In a loving family. Something went wrong. He was telling me how his dad ran errands for his mother to him in the county jail. The awkward conversations. That distance. A father with his son on the other side of that fence. It was like 2 tons of bricks landed on me. I freaked. It’s not I couldn’t but my God, your child in prison. I know it’s fucked that your dad is in here. Or mom. Well he was like, “I was thinking my dad must be so disappointed in me”. I was like, “I’m sure your dad is thinking the same thing “where did I go wrong” “Really” “Without a doubt”. I say this because he’s honest. He backs up his stories He’s consistent. He’s smart. I see the pics, the letters. My eyes were welling up. His pain. His family’s. My Noah. God, this world. Our mistakes, our misgivings. The complete fuckin mess. The pain. After a while I just retreat. You know the other problem is I know his crime & I truly wouldn’t label as such. It could never stop me or cause any reservations. Confusion. Why so severe. Then I remember the big picture.

Came out this morning to first frost. Blue moon. Brilliant sun. Hot coffee. Sunday. I perfect morning walk. Sure that Noah was asleep. Possibly Amanda. Not Evan Henry. All I have to give are good thoughts, prayers. Figuring Kelly might be asleep if Max wasn’t acting crazy (cat) & most friends in same world. It felt good. You learn how to love with your hands tied. Learn to let go. Learn “to have faith”. To love horizon. Relate to dogs in pens & horses surrounded by barb-wire. Learn & understand limitations. Insanity. Need for great music & smell of fresh paint on canvas. Heard an interview with Chuck Close. Brilliant artist. A man of incomprehensible strength. Courage.

& I think of my father. His voice. Laughter. Courage. His teaching by example it’s okay to cry & live with dignity. & the notion it’s better to let 9 guilty men to be free than 1 innocent man to be imprisoned. I got my rose colored glasses from him. & from both mom & dad the ability to laugh through all this nonsense. & never wait for that fat woman to sing.

Heard Wilco last night. What a fantastic band. It’s off their new album, something “about” Germany. A great song. Perfect way of ending a Saturday.

Richard & Kelly again, thank you for this radio & headphones. I will attempt to describe the pleasure. It’s more than letting me know how much you care. It’s not quite the key to the prison’s front door. It’s knowing the key exists. Knowing your arms are wide open. & like that idiot in the Verizon commercial - you are not alone.

All my love.


Friday, November 9, 2007


When asked what it’s like playing bad guys, De Niro replies, “I don’t play bad guys. I play people who make choices that are different from other’s.” Rebels. Slim broke the/our doorknob off in his hand. Actually it seemed to give up. We have 2 grown men “fighting” over someone who seems/is said to be a hermaphrodite. I think I’ll spend the rest of my “time” in this cell. Knob or not. Children of Bodom and True Grit. Some more Shirley Jackson. Perfect weather. Got a nice comment to which I respond…

Thanks C. I’m doing alright. I send you & S my love & 1,000 hugs. Drama? Only if you mean Ed Albee or E. Taylor. Hot tacky sticky drama not for sake of. Otherwise strictly chaos, baby. Create a new world. No more baking for this guy. Sounds like all is good. Still in same place? If you see P say hey and share some of those hugs & thanks G for being messenger. My friend.


Lil Wilson Pickett & land of a thousand dances thinking of Patti Smith

Here’s a rough draft, not sure how rough, yet

free range convict
for Jacob

I recollect, even
in our sleep we
surrender. Virginia
Woolf found every
pebble on that beach
to make stone soup.
alas, forgot to change coat.
upon these 10 toes I stand
determined. question &
never to define. I’m a good
man better than some
worse for the wear. hell
I even remember purpose of
blood. see between greed.
one’s prison is 3 squares.
never to stand upon yonder.
chair with rope necklace. never
sleep in anything but good
ole thermal

Thursday, November 8, 2007


My celly is raving about is new mattress. I go “it’s a fuckin mattress not a lifestyle.” Sometimes I wonder. Like really wonder Just got some terrific mail and I hope my dear friend you’re ok with my quoting you. “CONGRATULATIONS!" (Elliot Smith just came on the radio so I take it as a yes.) "Named for his beloved uncle. Evan Henry. And Evan is a form of John. Fantastic! He is going to love his magic pony. Why do children love ponies so much? And why do we love giving them? Maybe because they deserve to be blissfully happy, cherished and celebrated. Congratulations!” How could I raise a complaint ever. Such a wonderful dear friend. Thank you. & Elliott on top of it. Earlier I was hit sideways & here is what I was writing…. Rick Springfield on the radio & the most blissful letter. One I will use (above) so perfect. Strange. Take my freedom. Place me in a cement shrouded cell & my friends knock on my head, “John can we come in and play” & we do. We come into this world naked & leave clothed-realistically & metaphorically. When Rick Springfield sings there is only one woman for me. & when I read magic pony I only think Evan Henry. Point being we are vaults. Treasures of our own divine. Magnificence. The architects of our own internal destinies. & friends? Friends are the ones we invite in. Serve tea & cucumber sandwiches. Glass of whiskey. You get the picture. Let’s redecorate. I got me some fine-ass friends. Funnier than fuck & wiser than the mountains. & mountains can’t speak. They just hover. So wise. Zen wise. Tao wise. Slap yr thighs wise. So let’s play some spades. Talk some shit & help that one out of the dark. Elliot Smith case in point.

So my other letter is from a terrific musician friend. He tells me his uncle comes over, his birthday and they go for a walk. See his X (hard) then runs into my family – Noah, Amanda, C & husband and Evan Henry & I quote “the baby is beautiful and new borns are normally disgusting”. So my friend & uncle keep walking. He says “ I was just writing a letter to that woman’s x-husband”. What a riot. Small world and a good one at that he then goes on to say “maybe we’re all in a wet cell” implying we’re all guilty of something. He also mentions he’s listening to Siouxsie & the Banshees. Was just describing to a friend yesterday, Evan’s nickname as a youth was Siouxsie Sue. He also adored them.

He goes on to say perhaps he should do a “prison retreat like me”. It does wonders. But there is a lot of take. But plenty of gain. This radio is so great. Hearing songs I thought I forgot. Been writing & reading. Got To Kill a Mockingbird & Sita by Kate Millett. Love her work. Rain fills the rest of my moments. Getting a master ready for Kill(ing) time. Hopefully will be done within next 2 weeks. It’s something I’m writing. Here’s 2:

On a Sunday
for Evan Henry

grief became

wild dog

you’ve just
given me
a 2
x 4


to walk
one’s path

bramble clover asphalt
all gather

mine carry melody
sound of


Wednesday, November 7, 2007


Noah’s show is tonight. Highlonesome @ the Social. When I was out & working we painted the Social. Nice place. Fantastic mac-n-cheese. Not quite the few lbs of cheese butter & whipped cream in mine. But it’s solid. I was thinking about James earlier. I wrote to him about falling in love in here. Well, I know how that sounds but no, & yes I have been falling. Does one have to have an object? Or like a cliff, can one just fall? Well I’m still thinking that out. Few minutes ago my chest was burning. Ears electric & every molecule in my body was barking. Radiohead on Fresh Air. Yeah, I know I’m in prison. Frankly it can be forgotten Any way. Thom Yorke & 10 minutes. You already know of the new album, In Rainbows (right?). Well they chatted and then played “No Surprises”. Well how perfect their smile. You forgot their eye neck & suddenly dizzy. Well that kind of happened but worse. I gasp. Almost screamed & yes….water works. What brilliance & yes, James, it was/is love. Slim had left our cell. I’m stretched out on my bunk. Light off. Just gasping & then more chatter. Interesting. & The “Idotec”. Well, I’m gone. Fuck that whole desert isle thing. 10 albums. That’s stupid. For me spontaneous brilliance. Last night Nick Cave, Waits, REM, The Ramones. Christmas Easter Thanksfuckingiving. So my buddy Richard, this radio is truly a fantastic gift. Yeah Baby! Evan Henry beats you out, but, my God, this is so great & believe me, loved. It’s said what goes around comes around. I believe keep your heart clean. Try pure. & your brain as positive as possible & it can work out. Love is by action the most needed surprise I had spent a few hours today writing & editing. Sent some work out to Joel. & I’ll end with some but first I want to describe this/my/our cell. Big ole door. Steel. Few locks & vertical window. Sink/toilet combination. Polished stainless steel mirror. A corkboard. On my ½ - actually our things run all over – photo (8x10) (sent by Kelly) of Evan & Noah & myself in our stairwell. Photo of Stacy looking coy with great glasses holding copy of the Recluse (nice publication), a card from Luckystarstudio - their show Storybook – great artists & sweet painting of little dudes in a swan boat. Think cooler statement then Bjork’s dress. A photo of T.Moore & A.Berrigan taken by Stacy. Photo of staff of Woodland Pattern – the best bookstore. Not just my opinion. It’s nickname, Woodland Patterson. Photo of gummy watermelons taken by Elaine E. A memo from myspace of tonight’s Highlonesome show & last but not least 8X10 Patti Smith on Horses cover. I tell them she’s my girl “Really?” “Don’t be an idiot” then Slim’s trunk where he creates magic. Really cool constructions. Then large metal shelves. Slim’s chaos. Mine books. Berrigan. Camus. some Zen. Thesaurus. Pasolini. Clock. Some large folders. My shirts & coats. Then my trunk. Window. Frosted over. Don’t open & our bunk. Me on the lower. Slim floats in space. 2 cool shelves at the end. I sit on my bed typewriter on my shelf. So I sit on my bed and type. Listen to radio. Got it. You don’t want to break too many laws. & yeah don’t get caught. For if I ever make this sound cool REALITY CHECK. I’m locked in okay? Alright. Now some poetry.


ecstasy travels
on the breath.
isolation tastes
greed. anger. of

learn how to read impending weather.
uninvited by another’s eyes.
marked. breeze of passing gull.


geese overhead
killdeers every
I don’t talk in circles
I walk ecliptically

late August past noon

not unlike
teaching a dog
to smoke crack
he said, “cremate the body
soul becomes dysfunctional”
I can feel you
in my bones.

with yr. horizon

sleep become only child.
bourgeois delight. frost
penetrate. jellied bread
eggs fresh toast despair.
pristine breath poisons.
day. became. allusion.
insomnic. hitch cart
insinuate constellation.
bestow word. stuff under bed.
cotton. ration. weave. generous prayer.
soon secure. limb surround limb. tongue to ear.


fog mount.
forward claim day.
mystic frost surround single gull sliver.
few cons walk I count
such as

self portrait

shred flesh to bone. maneuver.

embroider on. teeth consume bone.

blood paint. coil hair. salamander dew.

fingers rigid. sag belly shrug. & from thighs. midnight.

beckon begin. harken lost quiver.

to flank. of (a) distance.

whatever makes you happy

warm maple
syrup. Blue
by Joni
Mitchell. I
crawl back into bed
you follow in the sad
he named his cats
after moments of

Tuesday, November 6, 2007


The cold has set within. Whether interior or ex. it clarifies & confuses. We tend to fall either apart or collapse internally. Summer is over. Freedom restricted. & now death. Fall, Winter. In here the collapse is obvious & silent. Read across the faces. Resignation. Soon cabin fever. Some fight. Some, not all. Today I made my mind to. Though I want to give in and collapse. Indulge the obvious. Disappear as the moon dusts. FUCK THAT! Evan & Noah were disciplined with time-out chairs. Evan would beg, “please beat me”. Always the dramatic one. Today battling impending doom, I saw Evan in that chair & smiled. Isolation sucks. So easy to freak & go to the hole. & I thought of my responsibilities to myself, my friends, family. My society. Community. & the great letter I received from James. Stuck my nose in Exile and the Kingdom by Albert Camus. Truly a man that will guide me thru all of this. A gentle gifted giant. I’m still sick & dizzy. Very weak. I believe either low blood sugar or my heart again. Tomorrow night Noah & the Social. Oh, to run wildly into black. Before I run out on you, Howlin Wolf & Bo Diddley & the radio saves the day.


Monday, November 5, 2007


A new dawn another moment within. Thankful to the degree of ecstasy. Dear friend from NYC made possible. Typewriter, radio, headphones & yes, longjohns. When asked what needed I had not to think. Friend inside inquired why not tv. “well I don’t watch, too much to do”. Yeah, I do wander. Stumble over fresh laid questions. Did my workout this a.m. Always hate. Always happy when done. Feel as if some cancer has been lifted. Cancer of comfort. Locked into some big ass syndrome. I need not just my changes but the world at large. I will do what I can to make this better. I need same in return. If you see me acknowledge. Consider, then we may proceed. The road here is paved and well lit. Plenty of signs. To detour is understandable to a certain extent. Just don’t be stupid. A tree branch breaks, here, believe you me, it affects everyone.

Out walking thoughts remain in the sky. Will I get over this beauty. Perhaps. But I truly doubt it. Gives a great ability to clear. To scrub. To disinfect one’s soul. My thoughts go to friends, family. Evan. Noah. Amanda. Evan Henry. The cold air dusts my boiled blood. I enter that room of remorse. Then a hand upon my shoulder & words whisper forgiveness. That battle. Again. Like clockwork a distraction. Fellow inmate complains everyone here is a baby. Well that turns my head. “How so?” "Always whine about the cold”. “Yeah. Some have a hard time.” It’s not the end of the world”. We talk about his life , his celly, his problems. I ask him without getting personal “Were your indiscretions worth it?” “No” “Then why?” “Don’t know”. That seems to be the common answer here. That is where it ends. A lot of reaction in here. I call you an idiot and we look at each other. Say it to a guy who just got a “Dear John” letter & you’re both going to the hole. Everyone is a potential terrorist. I prefer life in Mexico. Not to say I haven’t thought about crossing that border. I just pave my road a little differently. I hope I pave it alright. & I pray that my compass never fails me.

So I come in from my trek. Dizzy as a mf. I mean I’m going down. “No you’re not” commands my navigator. Make it to a chair. Wait and it gets worse. Medication? Heart? Stress? Cold? What? My head swims. I hate to complain I got up to the front desk and explain the situation. Sgt. calls hsu. I’m on a sick call list. I’m grateful. Still don’t know what it is. The good part is it mellows me out big time. This has been happening for a while. Last night it hit me & I’m listening to some kiss-ass music. “Black snake moan”. Like the dork I am, I pass a joint to my shadow. In “our” little world it was blissful. Never thought at my age – Circumstance – I could conjure a make believer world. It was alright. And yes, no one was watching. Too “Risky Business”.

Holy fuck! “To Sir with Love”. Ever since I can remember I’ve been in love with LuLu. My god she is everything. Her delivery is perfection. She has that magic that transcends. I hear her voice & I’m a kid falling in love for the first time. When she gets up & starts to sing in the movie my heart stopped. I realized at that moment the world was good and something terrific,. My heart still jumps. Is that art or what? Right after LuLu I met Tina Jordan & my first kiss. How could I ever complain? Now they are playing the great Alex Chilton. When I walking early I was “composing a letter to Noah”. Explaining. Apologizing. Just letting him know what he already does. Try as I might I truly believe that there is something beyond all this. Not just the fact that I would be dead now. My path was F’ed up. But I believe the most basic tenet, ‘God is in the details” Usually is referred to in regards to design but I believe in it on the grand scale. The true scale. And yes, if I hadn’t died or gone to prison my life would be different. And yes it would be with my son. Grandson. And yes my heart is broken. My sight clear(er).


Dice Riders

Nothing stands between us
except Flying Tigers
Future Funk
The Avenue B Break Boys
The Voidoids-
Time gets in the way, &
sometimes, lots of sometimes,
We get in its way, so,
Love, love me, do.

-Ted Berrigan

God that man is a f’en genius! Just my way of saying, yeah bud, I’m thinking of you & you & you and now to the man who remains another string attached to Stacy’s & my heart:

The Song of the Bells

When evening loses itself in the fountains
my village is a confused color.
I’m far away, I remember its frogs,
the moon, the sad tremolo of the crickets.
Vespers sound and fade into the fields.
I’m dead to the song of the bells.
Stranger, fear not,
in my sweet flight over the plain,
I am a spirit of love
who to his land returns from afar.

- Pier Paolo Pasolini