August 4, 2008
Hello John boy,
Just had to tell you about the crazy dream I had last night.
My regular pattern – go to bed early but I can feel heart palpitations coming on. Why? Who the hell knows? So anyways I get to sleep. No panic attack.
I am on my side and feel someone in the bed. I move my arm to feel what (Max) or who it is & I feel an arm. I say – “is that you John?” and you say “yeah”. So I turn to look at you and you have longer hair and about 2 days worth of facial hair growth wearing a white “hanes-like” crew tshirt. I go – “what’s wrong? What do you want?” (See how crabby I am when I am sleeping! Ha!) and you tell me that there is a problem with Green Lake. “the book?” yeah. I said , no, you mean Spit & Sugar. You say no, Green Lake. Ok. What’s wrong? You haven’t worked on that one in a long time”. Well then we hear some music playing – electric guitars – and you say “oh, I gotta go” and you start to fade away. Then I say to the “music” who are you? I don’t have for you right now. Go away. And the music stops. I can see a white door that is half open with bright white light coming from it. But then you come back because the music went away and say oh, I can stay a little while longer now. And then you show me a paper with Singlepresse 2007 typed on it towards the bottom and the below that is the computer path – you know “C:Programs\dkjfldjflakfjdlajf\lkjdfsdlfj” and that is the problem with Green Lake. That the path is displayed. I look confused and ask you what do you want me to do ‘cause I don’t remember that ever being there and then you are gone.
Of course then I am awake. Can’t sleep. Can kind of feel heart palpitations but they are very light. That seems to be the pattern lately. Heart palpitations lead to a “psychic” dream. So weird. I wouldn’t mind the dreams so much if I knew or could figure out what they mean.
So today I checked the Green Lake of yours I have in the computer and there is no computer path on the bottom of the pages. So what’s your problem??? Hahahahahaha!!
So I am exhausted today. Work is pissing me off like you wouldn’t believe. Hot & humd. Disgustingly gross. Just want to be on vacation.
That’s my note for the day. I wonder what is going on in the universe that is giving me these dreams right now.
Kelly
8-5-08
K –
I still have goosebumps – first of all without question the guitars is Evan. Don’t know why but as soon as I read; “Evan” popped up – my heart broke & I was there. Green Lake has been on my mind big time. I’m planning a sequel but comes & goes, plus I’ve been planning a cover (beaded). Just very amazing. As of Friday night/sat I did have a 2 day growth on my face (just got head shaved & face done Thursday night) How fuck’n amazing. Oh, the computer thing? Who knows. Perhaps it’s a song? But girlfriend somethings up!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
8908
Essentially our days are our own. To always certain extent movement – even you are limited by movement – hence logic. Some marvelous challenges of that half lead to this 21st century. So we walk. Alone or with other. & those of you who “know” me, know & understand my judgment or lack of, in determining a “friend”. Believe me that term is a loose definition, though occasionally 1 sneaks by. My friend Dave is. Met him when I got here. Very distant. Been down for a bit. Very independent. Smart. Quick tongue & very well read. A great pal. We share a lot & have quite a bit in common. So far he’s the only one with exception of Josh & Mark in the H.O.C. to reduce me to tears of laughter, begging for relief. Davis is a gas. Very very cautious though so social, to say the least, he exhibits skills that I lack & need to fine tune. He discerns. Needless to say, that’s #1 in here. Everyone lies. “I was this – I did that”. I roll my eyes. Dave finds the holes in the conversations. We can be a wicked team. So between Dave & Genet (again Elaine, thank you) I’m finding my way. Accepting chokes. The burdens. The life beyond the decisions. Prison. Here (&now) is not Genet’s. There is no honor amongst thieves with the exception of a few. At the same time a buddy will sell you out for a “thank you”. I used to be a dog. Still loyal but not quite as so happy. I’m learning the ways of the snake. Silent, steady & very aware.
Essentially our days are our own. To always certain extent movement – even you are limited by movement – hence logic. Some marvelous challenges of that half lead to this 21st century. So we walk. Alone or with other. & those of you who “know” me, know & understand my judgment or lack of, in determining a “friend”. Believe me that term is a loose definition, though occasionally 1 sneaks by. My friend Dave is. Met him when I got here. Very distant. Been down for a bit. Very independent. Smart. Quick tongue & very well read. A great pal. We share a lot & have quite a bit in common. So far he’s the only one with exception of Josh & Mark in the H.O.C. to reduce me to tears of laughter, begging for relief. Davis is a gas. Very very cautious though so social, to say the least, he exhibits skills that I lack & need to fine tune. He discerns. Needless to say, that’s #1 in here. Everyone lies. “I was this – I did that”. I roll my eyes. Dave finds the holes in the conversations. We can be a wicked team. So between Dave & Genet (again Elaine, thank you) I’m finding my way. Accepting chokes. The burdens. The life beyond the decisions. Prison. Here (&now) is not Genet’s. There is no honor amongst thieves with the exception of a few. At the same time a buddy will sell you out for a “thank you”. I used to be a dog. Still loyal but not quite as so happy. I’m learning the ways of the snake. Silent, steady & very aware.
Friday, August 15, 2008
8208
When I used to rage, a dog at my throat, chewing. I could feel that consumption. The cracking of muscle. Slopping of fat. Whether human, object or even air, I was launched. Friend or foe. Lover, family, best friend. My rage. How to explain?Regret sorrow, the endless sadness. This is not attempt of pity pot – this was the way of my life. My control. My anger. Now as that dog leaps, a simple no & the disgusting dance evaporates. A ton of thoughts shower of emotion. & the understanding of. To be believed or not, this was never about the assault of a child. It was just another of my steps over that line. To challenge. To upset. To lash out. Self destruct. & so prison.
The happy home of the most fucked up. Not necessarily the crimes. Oh sure, some real issues. It’s the dealing of. The admitting to. The “this is who/what I am”. Not a badge. An admittance. I am & have been a criminal. Not so much of committing crimes but attitude of. Behavior of. My middle finger proceeds me. Was it the way I was raised? That first beer. Death. The inconsistency of life. Why me & not you? Strange questions. I know there are those who know me & know I’m safe® here to a certain extent – yes. Am I some terrible terror? Of course not. I love the individuals & I hate the society. Those who “know” me know there are no limits (well, obviously some). Where is this coming from? Well it’s what I fight – I want to be part of and to a certain extent I am. But I have to be honest. With the exceptions of those in my heart (you know who you are), this life in here is nothing. The handcuffs. The cells. The showers, food, library. I know this is medium but even in max I relaxed. I am comfortable in my skin though it itches dog like, when I think of you. That’s the strange. The ironic part. Most guys hate it here & all they have is some family/friends, or, nothing. I don’t hate it. Here I am blessed with support – yes even as the letters drop off & the promises of $ or more letters fail as that finger rises to the horizon, I whisper to myself “another day closer to home”.
There is no denying I am a selfish man. I turned my back on true solid love & allowed my anger – sadness- my comfortable rebellion, to ride shotgun. I know you’re expecting a different John. No, just a better driver. Elaine E. reminded me of Genet, though never far from the brain or heart, - that reminder spanked. So I’m reading The Declared Enemy & wonder to myself – a society that seems to sleep with n o anxiety is truly dishonest and so wrong. When he writes of the rights of blacks, queers or Palestines in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, I reply – My God! Are we ever going to grow up? We can’t handle the idea of a woman for president or a black man? The fact that that the vile term is used/allowed – “race card” – fuck it.
Accept the responsibility Amerika. We’re racist-sexist-homophobes – what is different angers us. We use God, facts & figures to promote and to justify. No. No more Stop right now. Listen to the politicians voices – what they say they believe in. Fuck the crotch & ignore the skin. Allow another Bush? Are you serious? Get some balls, some strength & fight. Fight for this country before it’s too late.
We have hated too long. I live in a house of hate. Of confusion. Of sadness. My God, think of your children. Their children. No more. Please no more.
When I used to rage, a dog at my throat, chewing. I could feel that consumption. The cracking of muscle. Slopping of fat. Whether human, object or even air, I was launched. Friend or foe. Lover, family, best friend. My rage. How to explain?Regret sorrow, the endless sadness. This is not attempt of pity pot – this was the way of my life. My control. My anger. Now as that dog leaps, a simple no & the disgusting dance evaporates. A ton of thoughts shower of emotion. & the understanding of. To be believed or not, this was never about the assault of a child. It was just another of my steps over that line. To challenge. To upset. To lash out. Self destruct. & so prison.
The happy home of the most fucked up. Not necessarily the crimes. Oh sure, some real issues. It’s the dealing of. The admitting to. The “this is who/what I am”. Not a badge. An admittance. I am & have been a criminal. Not so much of committing crimes but attitude of. Behavior of. My middle finger proceeds me. Was it the way I was raised? That first beer. Death. The inconsistency of life. Why me & not you? Strange questions. I know there are those who know me & know I’m safe® here to a certain extent – yes. Am I some terrible terror? Of course not. I love the individuals & I hate the society. Those who “know” me know there are no limits (well, obviously some). Where is this coming from? Well it’s what I fight – I want to be part of and to a certain extent I am. But I have to be honest. With the exceptions of those in my heart (you know who you are), this life in here is nothing. The handcuffs. The cells. The showers, food, library. I know this is medium but even in max I relaxed. I am comfortable in my skin though it itches dog like, when I think of you. That’s the strange. The ironic part. Most guys hate it here & all they have is some family/friends, or, nothing. I don’t hate it. Here I am blessed with support – yes even as the letters drop off & the promises of $ or more letters fail as that finger rises to the horizon, I whisper to myself “another day closer to home”.
There is no denying I am a selfish man. I turned my back on true solid love & allowed my anger – sadness- my comfortable rebellion, to ride shotgun. I know you’re expecting a different John. No, just a better driver. Elaine E. reminded me of Genet, though never far from the brain or heart, - that reminder spanked. So I’m reading The Declared Enemy & wonder to myself – a society that seems to sleep with n o anxiety is truly dishonest and so wrong. When he writes of the rights of blacks, queers or Palestines in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, I reply – My God! Are we ever going to grow up? We can’t handle the idea of a woman for president or a black man? The fact that that the vile term is used/allowed – “race card” – fuck it.
Accept the responsibility Amerika. We’re racist-sexist-homophobes – what is different angers us. We use God, facts & figures to promote and to justify. No. No more Stop right now. Listen to the politicians voices – what they say they believe in. Fuck the crotch & ignore the skin. Allow another Bush? Are you serious? Get some balls, some strength & fight. Fight for this country before it’s too late.
We have hated too long. I live in a house of hate. Of confusion. Of sadness. My God, think of your children. Their children. No more. Please no more.
72808
Finally located The Diving Bell & The Butterfly. An inmate had donated it to the library. Amazing book. In here probably all the more so. Of course we are not limited to the extent of Jean-Dominique. But we all need heroes. & I will never deny this sky. Something that throttles you reading this. Perhaps it’s my interpretation – no matter. When all has or attempted to be taken away the/that sky has a way of smacking you silly – in a Zen Master kind of way. We move too fast. I moved too fast. Now that I’m regaining my turtle vision, perhaps I’ll light from the cocoon – flapping. Read this book. See the fuck’n movie. My God, perhaps it will stop, thoughts.
Finally located The Diving Bell & The Butterfly. An inmate had donated it to the library. Amazing book. In here probably all the more so. Of course we are not limited to the extent of Jean-Dominique. But we all need heroes. & I will never deny this sky. Something that throttles you reading this. Perhaps it’s my interpretation – no matter. When all has or attempted to be taken away the/that sky has a way of smacking you silly – in a Zen Master kind of way. We move too fast. I moved too fast. Now that I’m regaining my turtle vision, perhaps I’ll light from the cocoon – flapping. Read this book. See the fuck’n movie. My God, perhaps it will stop, thoughts.
Friday, August 8, 2008
72108
Routine became, becomes salvation. We eat, shit, sleep all within minutes of each. Of every day. Perhaps minutes stray into hours. Rare. Rare as pelicans. As the monarch. The moment of peace. Celebration. World of living breathe into world of dead seemly. I know I discovered this sky before this incarceration but moments have decided I was wrong. Was it Audrey Hepburn, Rene Ricard, who place blue as God? Or as a child upon this back crushed under drag to & fro. Head banging against. If love is discovered within every moment does the past exist? Has/could this sky any more than this. What deems perfection? What does it mean? I lie upon my back at 50 impossible to forget where I am or even want to. I sink. Upon my back thru the feet of every inmate pounded stroked & resented ear. I blame routine & I blame love. I blame the chaos that created the wheel & the first shot against the state. Alone I am never. Though I strip & shred every article of cloth, muscle, bone alone. I am never. In the death of sky’s blue I sink & then swim. For I fear as much as my day consists of walking in circles & talking to the deaf, the reality of prison can never be understood. The exquisite nature of depravation is more appealing than full lips to a perfect backside. A Guston – a Jasper Johns Elliot Smith viewed in a closet of windows. I tell my friends to understand me, we must become naked. I’ve never meant clothes. To understand prison you spread your ass cheeks with glee.
I revert back to survival as a penniless convict. My messages as such, Joel, thank you – great message. Stacy, rare such perfect combination of words, thought; “Discarded hope breeds violence”. Joseph Beuys, I dedicate my life of wool & lard. Stacy, you, a forest for me within this fence. Thank you. & Lopez, thanks for words & promise of help. Please send to Kelly a.s.a.p. Well all a good day. I shall “pop” up again. Gene, sorry for your bad news. Yet, you such a cat. Always land on your feet. Foots.
Later.
Routine became, becomes salvation. We eat, shit, sleep all within minutes of each. Of every day. Perhaps minutes stray into hours. Rare. Rare as pelicans. As the monarch. The moment of peace. Celebration. World of living breathe into world of dead seemly. I know I discovered this sky before this incarceration but moments have decided I was wrong. Was it Audrey Hepburn, Rene Ricard, who place blue as God? Or as a child upon this back crushed under drag to & fro. Head banging against. If love is discovered within every moment does the past exist? Has/could this sky any more than this. What deems perfection? What does it mean? I lie upon my back at 50 impossible to forget where I am or even want to. I sink. Upon my back thru the feet of every inmate pounded stroked & resented ear. I blame routine & I blame love. I blame the chaos that created the wheel & the first shot against the state. Alone I am never. Though I strip & shred every article of cloth, muscle, bone alone. I am never. In the death of sky’s blue I sink & then swim. For I fear as much as my day consists of walking in circles & talking to the deaf, the reality of prison can never be understood. The exquisite nature of depravation is more appealing than full lips to a perfect backside. A Guston – a Jasper Johns Elliot Smith viewed in a closet of windows. I tell my friends to understand me, we must become naked. I’ve never meant clothes. To understand prison you spread your ass cheeks with glee.
I revert back to survival as a penniless convict. My messages as such, Joel, thank you – great message. Stacy, rare such perfect combination of words, thought; “Discarded hope breeds violence”. Joseph Beuys, I dedicate my life of wool & lard. Stacy, you, a forest for me within this fence. Thank you. & Lopez, thanks for words & promise of help. Please send to Kelly a.s.a.p. Well all a good day. I shall “pop” up again. Gene, sorry for your bad news. Yet, you such a cat. Always land on your feet. Foots.
Later.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
72008
“Prison isn’t prison. It’s escape. It’s freedom. There you can escape the trival & return to the essential.” Jean Genet
Kelly left about an hour ago. Great visit for me. Total ease. For her I am sure effort. Get up early (on a Sunday), drive 1 ½ hours here & sit in a retro – 70’s disco hall/prison room. I know her effort – she’s having a hard time waking in the morning for work – 8:20 a.m. – yet she needs to get up by 6:00 a.m. to get here by 8. At first her sacrifice was overwhelming then intimidating. To accept such friendship/love. Out there is hard. In here – just try to guess. I think you understand. 2 points compose a line. We move from 1 to other & back again or off on angles. Tangents. Our lives movement. To cross those line. Friendship-family-enemies. By returning to the essential, the glorious truth reveals itself. For me then the movement stops. I stop. I thank & accept that/this blessing. No longer a frog from 1 pad to the next.
Guys ask how my visit went. If they know me they ask of Kelly. Otherwise just a general question. If they don’t know me they ask if we ate in the training kitchen. (A way for inmates to learn food prep & all aspects of). I respond, “No. Until all inmates have the right to eat there - I refuse. My visitors refuse.” Kelly supports totally. That’s the kind of person she is. She also picked up a few of my hobby projects & will deliver to those intended. She also fills me in on her life. Her family. Her friends & the men in her life. The ease is divine. Silent & calm. Acceptance. I babble & she laughs. Life is composed of these moments when you sit with them and allow them to fill & to heal. Then I believe our purpose(s) revealed. She assures me my friends haven’t forgotten. “It’s summer”. That strangeness isn’t limited to here. She relates equal stories of discontent. What I’m saying is I’m learning to “shut up” & find/stumble upon that essential. Thank you Kelly. Thank you friends. Thank you for taking this rather odd, though real, trip. My first arrest at 18 was for D&D & assaulting a police officer.
I should have left well enough alone.
“Prison isn’t prison. It’s escape. It’s freedom. There you can escape the trival & return to the essential.” Jean Genet
Kelly left about an hour ago. Great visit for me. Total ease. For her I am sure effort. Get up early (on a Sunday), drive 1 ½ hours here & sit in a retro – 70’s disco hall/prison room. I know her effort – she’s having a hard time waking in the morning for work – 8:20 a.m. – yet she needs to get up by 6:00 a.m. to get here by 8. At first her sacrifice was overwhelming then intimidating. To accept such friendship/love. Out there is hard. In here – just try to guess. I think you understand. 2 points compose a line. We move from 1 to other & back again or off on angles. Tangents. Our lives movement. To cross those line. Friendship-family-enemies. By returning to the essential, the glorious truth reveals itself. For me then the movement stops. I stop. I thank & accept that/this blessing. No longer a frog from 1 pad to the next.
Guys ask how my visit went. If they know me they ask of Kelly. Otherwise just a general question. If they don’t know me they ask if we ate in the training kitchen. (A way for inmates to learn food prep & all aspects of). I respond, “No. Until all inmates have the right to eat there - I refuse. My visitors refuse.” Kelly supports totally. That’s the kind of person she is. She also picked up a few of my hobby projects & will deliver to those intended. She also fills me in on her life. Her family. Her friends & the men in her life. The ease is divine. Silent & calm. Acceptance. I babble & she laughs. Life is composed of these moments when you sit with them and allow them to fill & to heal. Then I believe our purpose(s) revealed. She assures me my friends haven’t forgotten. “It’s summer”. That strangeness isn’t limited to here. She relates equal stories of discontent. What I’m saying is I’m learning to “shut up” & find/stumble upon that essential. Thank you Kelly. Thank you friends. Thank you for taking this rather odd, though real, trip. My first arrest at 18 was for D&D & assaulting a police officer.
I should have left well enough alone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)