The latest chap books by John Tyson are now available:

Strike Hard Old Diamond

Killing Time

Barren poise swill

What I Love About Your Life Is What You Leave Out

Spit & Sugar Evolution of Smoke

Books are free! All you do is help pay shipping & handling.

$5.00 per book $3.00 if you want 2 or more $10 for the whole set

Please contact Kelly at sisterweezer@yahoo.com

111108

James Liddy was/is by all accounts, by all actions, by all thoughts – poetry. He redefined for me & so many, poetry & the true existence of a poet.
A brilliant man. A profound & hysterical observer of life – of heaven- of that space in between that so few of us find, let alone live in. He lived in it. He lived.

Today, this morning, reading of his passing “FUCK!” flew out of my mouth. Sadness dropped me to my knees. I’m honored to know James. To have shared, to have witnessed him wearing that God horrid canary yellow stretched out sweater, holding court. Never minding the coffee stains or God knows what, all over.

James wore his life like that sweater.

Jim & Zack – I am so sorry but I am so grateful to have shared the most wonderful, divine Mr. Liddy.


http://www.jsonline.com/news/obituaries/34240804.html

91308

Kelly just left (visit) loaded down with stuff I made.
She’s a saint.
I was lost.
Back in here. Still wrapped in her laughter – her difficult dad- wonderful nephews- new trip to Ireland.
We share insanity.
I’m telling Kelly a story – blah blah about how I really am not concerned , blah blah.
“ I know John, I’ve seen your tub”.
If that’s not love…
Fuck it.
She’s a saint.
I walked in the rain for 10 minutes after our visit.
I’m oh so cleansed.
Blessed.

Later.

91208

I cut my finger the other day & nothing changed. No blood no pain. Just a fine delicate piece of. I pulled & out popped a petal. Thought quite strange so in silence of night I pry open my skin & decorate my cell with flowers constructed from those petals.
Something is changing.
Someone is changing.
Prison is a desert. Lack of love. Ability to eat an apple at will. Such is man’s law. Desire goes as seagulls devour landscape. My identity is more of my mind. My ability to survive.
I live for the sky. Apply to string beads a scattered poem. So now my legs grew/grow stronger & veins run where once death. Transcendent is a remarkable dance. Whether middle finger or my mouthing “I don’t care”.
I fear that to fear is to doubt. To forget. To back petal.
I’ve been ruined. Never one for whistling through grave yards. I do beg Mary Worth in “that” mirror. Strapped & good to go, I’ve said “some of us should never see what’s on the other side of that line”. Can you dig? Ability to split atoms & sell art @100 million ain’t goin’ to stop that river. Man is as superficial as an adolescent wet dream.
Walk away.
Walk away.
Weigh those options &
tell McCain’s token to fuck off. Any time it’s reduced to eyewear – smell the coffee and walk away.
Walk away.
Consider both sides of every line.
Take responsibility & unhook that collar.
Something/someone is changing. & I’ve seen too much waste. Too much death. Lies. Back petals & force fed media compliance. Who are we & what have we become?
Walk away.

91108

Help me!
Get back from hobby making two mugs for Tim & Noah. Exhausted. A friend explained a ‘new push up”. Your arms straddle 2 trucks. So you go down. Way down. Tear. Amazing. Then “Superstar” by Sonic Youth.
You all know I’m in Mexico & I’m blessed. Fuckin’ Superstar & Mr. T. Moore. Blew me away. I’m so blown. Maybe truly amazed.
Reed, letter on the way. You too, Stacy. Miss the hell out of you all but I’m ok. You?
Drop a line. Soon this Spring sprung. & try out these push-ups.
Later.

82708

Today’s Milwaukee paper:

Female teacher gets 25 days in jail and two years probation for kissing a 14 year old male student. A misdemeanor.

William Burroughs said it best & I paraphrase (age & all)

“An old black faggot once said to me - “honey, they’re all shits”.

America thy name is hypocrisy. I run to Emma Goldman & my mother. To those who know me understand the leap. To those who don’t, government is wrong & when you have too much mud - make mud pies.

I live in a cell filled with mud pies.
Kelly soon to visit & then Spring I will be sprung so I guess words are more harmful than physical touch – or just my words? I should have continued on my path of 1st criminal act.

My celly went to the hole after an inmate enraged him by suggesting they go to his cell where he would beat him & put his finger up his butt.
“You want to put your finger in my butt?” my celly asked coming up behind the guy, he pulled a chair – boom boom boom – punched his face, head & raised a chair over his head . Sgt. Yelled: Get on the ground!” Another moment of.

Dave told me he overheard the guy my celly knocked around,”If I would have gotten up”. I’m waiting to hear that conversation to which I will add….”William Burroughs once said…..”

Later.

P.S. Hurray for Ted & Hillary – Hurray!!

82208

My celly went to the hole. Long story short his anger consumed. First directed at me. I responded no, I will not indulge. Probably the most threatening “move” but at this point in my life that “no” spoke volumes. No means a yes to you – by me saying no I was saying – screaming- Yes, I love you & yes I will survive & yes I can move forward & yes life can suck but right now I will pass this test. The last few days a single cell. Quiet and because of Dave I’m reading No Country For Old Men. Holy happiness. Just what I needed. When you’re up there reading Genet you do need help getting to the ground. This is it.

Stacy hang in there. I love & miss you. Julie a letter on the way & yes, I love & miss you.
Lopez thanks for the $ & great letters. One on the way to you.
Ben if you’re out there – best of luck with your birth.
Presents on the way.
& to all a good night.

Later

A Highly Personal Journey of Survival

the blood is bright red
another reminder of
being
victim of the collective pain

what does one do when the loneliness is accepted?

die. inside. everyday. a little.

The Pretending

sin & sinners

don’t you dare judge

(lest you be judged)

someday
bleed.
bleed bright red

blow minds

would you even care


productive only when under the influence
feel only
when
torture
that addicted soul
not meant for this world

create & supersede

only true hearts understand redemption

NOT DEAD YET

when we meet on that Sunday afternoon how long will you stay?

82608

“Nothing should be able to harm a man except himself. Nothing should be able to rob a man at all. What a man really has is what is in him. What is outside of him should be a matter of no importance.”

- Oscar Wilde

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.