22609


Let’s confirm a few ideas/thoughts – concepts that exist in here. Never trust. Never let down your guard. Continue with criminal behavior. Do what you have to do to keep everyone at bay and on the defensive. Well that’s how most exist in here. It’s not like I’m some special person (I am! Ha!) It’s I try to get everything out of a situation. In here it’s solitude. It’s loneliness. It’s contemplation. Look at yourself 360°
degrees. If you need to step out – so be it. Well I deal with my rage (soon I won’t personify) my sadness. Despair. Just that immense hollow that attempts consumption. But I get tired. Wiped out. It’s the lot I’ve chosen but my actions are not always on target. My issues are with mankind & the mistakes we make – but the deeper I look & have. I keep coming back to God & the concept of our purpose. What is the purpose? To discover pain. To understand suffering. Explain that to all who have lost someone. That void. That great big horrid pain. So we march on .We drag with us those who can’t walk. We continue. We continue to fight. To hurt. To continue this cycle of despair. I’m done. My acts of inappropriateness & stupidity are waning – soon no exist. My issues are with the Maker & that is my plan of attack. There will always be suffering & misunderstandings & the chaos of nature. It’s when I indulge that chaos that I set my self on fire. I so regret the pain I’ve caused the ones I turned my back on. I am truly sorry & every day I strive to create less stress – chaos. I’m learning to walk away. Not to indulge my own stupidity or other’s. My celly sings at random. These slow deep warbling Gospel songs. I can’t always understand the lyrics but his voice is beautiful. Yesterday after group I walked I was so tweeked. So like I was covered in something - bugs? Wet liquid? Something. I came back to the cell. We talked & talked and I could feel my pain rising – silence. Then his voice & the river I become. Became. All the pain. All the pain.

If anything, please hug someone after you read this. Someone. & remember all we have is each other.
All we have.

21109

I’m not the only one, nor should I be, to call Reed “my brother”. Our brother. We turn natural wonders of the world “waterfalls”. Crazy beautiful mountains – geysers, landmarks, huge national parks. Reed as a man was as big as any mountain. As deep as any river. With a soul as bright, if not brighter, than the northern star. It’s an understatement to say Reed will be missed. We will stumble & we will collapse. Reed was/is a profound friend. The true family of man. Any good that I contain within, I give freely to Tom & Candy, Reed’s parents. His brother Geoff. To Justin, Ben & Ben, Bryan, Noah, Sara, Michelle, Joe, Derek, Jack, Danimal, Johnny, Fish – my heart goes out to all of you. Miggs & so many otheres.

Reed, my brother, please provide some guidance. Some understanding. Your music like your laughter – oh so divine. My God man, I love you so much & my heart is so gone.
All my love.

2809

For the past 2+ years I’ve shared a few moments of music. The masters of song lyrics – the vast universe of. & I have a check list & believe it or not, I’ve heard some beauties from E.Smith to P.Furs – Richard Hell, Voidoids, Heartbreakers, Misfits, Social D, Replacements, Husker Du – just amazing. Just now Gram Parsons live with Emmy Lou Harris (1973) – Love Hurts. My God – such purity of note. Clarity of soul. I get scared but that fire is so good. So blessed. I just held the radio. Hugged, rocked & sobbed. This place does clarify your priorities. Now to hear Townes Van Zandt. Wow.

No the banjo isn’t my favorite favorite. It’s just great. I dig but I get the perfection of the guitar. Dave’s just worried I don’t shower a lot, don’t wear socks & now the banjo. I’m not denying the simplicity but I’m not that country.

& when I mentioned Tim, James, Julie & Noah getting brutalized – they were robbed while fishing down by the reservoir.
Ok?

Later.

2609


Do you dream of what you know – understand? Or like the bottom of depth of ocean where impossible for man to breathe without assistance? Every time I pierce my skin I stop & gaze as red joins this world. Slipping down the whole concept/reality of just disorientates me. Mid-stride I glide thru the dam. But blood A letter A distinguished word & I’m back to who am I? Who are you? What are we? This wonderful chaos blankets all my thoughts.

Listening to Waylon Jennings. His voice narcotic to me. I could just climb up his verse. So so perfect. The other night on Punk N Pie (WRST) heard Misfits, Replacements, Social D. In my mind you could hear a pin drop. That’s what my dreams are made of. Sometimes spiders. Sometimes your lips. I do get pissed. Yesterday - why do I write this blog? Never a comment or reference to. I feel as if you’re watching me in the shower. At least hand me the soap. But a new song comes on & I think “no bother”. This is my way of saying I’m still on the plain & here’s some ramble.

Thank you to Stacy for 2 great books & Kelly for updating and running errands. Just keep well. I miss you all so much. No this not a dream. Our dream begins face to face. Nose to nose. Shared breath. A sneeze.

1249


It’s like 18 below out right now. No real movement. No walking. I have to remind my legs we’re lazy today. Still the itch to move. Nice letters from brother Paul & Reed. Actually great. Paul says Dad is hanging in there. Wants to see the Spring/Summer after this cold, cold winter. & Reed & Noah starting a band.

20 some years ago Colette, Evan (4 years old at the time) & I ran into Brian Ritchie (Violent Femmes) @ Sweet Doomed Angel – an amazing shop on the Eastside of Milwaukee. Evan was Evan – very direct. Actually politically aware and very anti-establishment so Brian & the owners of the shop were like “Oh, he’ll become a banker some day”. Between getting pissed & laughter we were like “no way” Yeah, I hate that belief you fight everything your parents dig. Rebellion for the sake of. Evan & Noah whether born or raised are poets. Without question. What dictates – nature or nurture? Who cares? My sons, our sons, are fantastic & now a new little beast. I sit back here looking out on some highway. Watch cons come & go. “Society”. I can meander in my
thoughts justify. Sadness hovers cause I’m so far from my sons/loved ones. But we’re here. It’s what we do with it. That’s what matters. Even in here. We’re living, sure existence, but I’ve always pushed it. Suck the life right out of life. Delicious. Sit back & listen.

Got rid of my killer celly. Got an alright quiet guy a few years older then me. Just go with the flow. Water is breath & breath movement.

Reading a book on gay vampires & just got Thurston Moore & Bryan Coley’s book – No Wave. Very nice. If you don’t remind yourself so much becomes lost. I can’t always hear the music but with these pics I remember the dance & soon enough the smell sounds hot. Check it out.

Later.

Reed

#1

lie this cross
against
yr chest

borne
deliver

you, one
of
life’s mysteries

never solve

our

salve

#2

Kiki said
“elegant
with

an edge”

now, how I see

yr shadow

robust thunder


#3

prepare for
battle

tongue beneath teeth

logic circumstantial

yr music
LIBERTY
a miracle
across this/my
chest

no need for magic
within this wind

dust
dry
dust
dried


#4

care or
not to
care

not landscape
never sea

ability
attempt

love

now,
I wait
for
the
sun

#5

need to find
some
bird
within this fence

answer these needs:

shoulder to bend
neck to soothe
fire to plan
love to instigate

too much cabbage
over abundance
of weeds

lie divine
my blood yrs

need to find
some bird

when black became grey
drug light
comrade moon
man shutters
nature
sighs

purpose revolution
revolution born
of love
a better

when black greys
I stand upon the shoulders

I knew you back when


#6

depend on to
that we can’t
grasp

yr voice, always

rapture
now memory must
hollow
hallow

we use grass to landscape
once, huts
if no leaves then to wipe
ass

why does it be
everyone
goes to sleep
remains
asleep

remain sleep remains
sleep remain sleep

good-night
good friend

21109


Reed Alan Chadbourne Thieme


Thieme, Reed Alan Chadbourne Age 28, died in his sleep on February 5, 2009. He had a big heart, a bellowing voice, a booming laugh, a bear-like hug, and a will to live the blues. Reed was born September 8, 1980, in East Troy, where he attended Good Shepherd Elementary and East Troy Middle and High Schools. He graduated from the Southern Lakes Alternative School on May 28, 1998. In East Troy, his performances evolved into the band Fulvous Low with Erin Malcolm and Ian Watson. When Reed moved to Milwaukee to major in film studies at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, he founded the punk band Avoided with Justin Remhof and Ben Blask. He subsequently worked construction jobs and devoted his considerable energy to performing and touring with Avoided. Reed was indifferent to status and fashion, colorblind, intense, congenial, and a performer since childhood. He will be sorely missed by his parents, Tom and Candy Thieme of East Troy; his brother Geoff (Stacey) and niece Kailey of Milwaukee; maternal grandmother and paternal grandparents; and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins who loved him dearly. A memorial service will be held at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, 1936 Emery Street, East Troy, at 3:00 PM, Friday, February 13. Visitation with the family will begin at 2:00 PM. You were the best, Dude. Rest and be at peace. BRETT FUNERAL HOME (414) 342-0692

to live outside the law you must be honest *
111208


memory
dust buddy
with teeth
& me
without broom

“the state uses any hammer
to pound one’s peg
into their hole”
strums Kafka

sit in dark
snow isolates
insulates
must claim fear
I have forgotten yr voice

11809


I’m a dog. Literally. Learnt to accept my bird & here, snake. To be more specific I’m a cross between coyote & domestic. Either a canary or a parakeet & for now, without question, bull snake. A bull snake perfectly imitates rattlesnake without rattle & poison. As a child God knows how many I chopped up & delivered to my dad. “John, there’s no rattle”. It wasn’t until baling hay that I encountered a true rattler, “Oh”. Dead I reached down into its slimy form (way dead & starting to leave) I grabbed its rattler – my hand stunk! The story of my life. I can envision anything but I need to experience it to get it. Who knows over active imagination, dark, or just don’t get it. I realized I was a dog a while ago. Cranky, Loyal. Simple but can dance on hind legs. Love to roll in stinky stinky substances & love to throw paws over backs, but kick me too many times & you’ll get more than teeth. Well, if you me, bird is obvious. My grace incredible warble & dainty dainty ways. Ha! No, I’m more like a cowbird. I guess bird is my vision. My escape hatch. My survival. & snake, well, that’s simple. I can squeeze into any situation & it takes some time to realize I’m not fatal & I do shed my skin. This all leads to coddle. Coddle is a strange concept in here. You all (perhaps not) vision prison as this rather stayed serious scary place. Frankly, we all have that basement of youth that is more prison than here. Call it the times, call it lazy. Call it what it is – mental hospital. Call it what the hell do we (the state) have to do to get you (inmate) to take responsibility accountable anything? Sure there are convicts here. Usually they don’t refer to selves as such. Sure there are monsters here – big time freaks, but mostly drunks, mama boys, lost causes & homeless. If I attempted to assemble a crew to rob a bank, kidnap the head of some corporation, I’d be better off getting the Apple Dumpling Gang – Don Knotts and all. So coddle.It’s been cold here just like you all just got. The yards were closed down. So let’s do the math. These are the guys who raped, killed, robbed, maimed – who victimize society & it’s too cold for them. I got frost bite as a teenager. Lost in the woods with friends and hid in a cave until we realized no one was looking for us. My hands & feet got messed up. Not horribly but with my heart issues & circulation my right foot goes dead. No feeling & I can’t even grip a pen with my hands after time outside but I survive & I continue to go outside. Is that the issue, us freezing, or is the issue much bigger? I think it’s bigger. Look at the budget for D.O.C. Look at the direction prisons are going. Believe me you (the taxpayers, the victims, society) do not want to coddle inmates nor do we need to be in “that” hole. There is a middle ground. This is not a very smart population (inmates). You do not want to coddle these/this men/man. We get popcorn once a month. Work is not mandatory or the programs (the road to accountability/responsibility) It’s a play prison. Sure we’re locked up. Sure we’re monitored. I’m looking at the big picture. Our shared picture. Our children’s picture. This is why I’m now called “Non-Union”. I see both sides. I always have. There are always 2 sides. This is why I’m a dog. Independent – loyal, yet will attack at odd provocateur. Think about it – coddle in here just sounds gross.

Next word – empower. Great concept. Great practice. You’ll hear & will continue to hear & to learn to be empowered. For me right now my act of empowering is dancing in my cell. It’s my gauge that lets me know I’m back on track. Dancing is so core to me. I was introduced as a young child by older sister. Was reinforced thru Nut Cracker. I’m a horrible dancer. A hyperactive crazed man on an invisible pogo stick but it’s my language. I don’t really dance with any one. I dance with myself but I am surrounded & I adore dance. Just saw Kelly Anderson from Dance Works in the Milwaukee Journal. Jacob danced with her in college & worked with her in numerous works – Bad Meat. Amazing. Always loved Merce Cunningham. Ms. Duncan. For me it just washes. Imagine an empowered baptism.

So where to go? I’ll be out this spring. Kiki (Anderson), super poet & contributor to Flagrant supports the idea of me doing a reading right out of prison. It’s on my top 10 list. Noah, Amanda, Evan Henry are top 7 things. Friends are 8. Sweet potatoes & couch are 9. Poetry & PBR is 10. Any suggestions? My last reading, days before prison, was at my loft downtown so I like the idea of someone’s basement or attic. Maybe a band or 2. Just something to cleanse me.

The other thing I want to organize is a t-shirt drive. I think I still have some pants & Richard H. & Kelly just bought me a pair of Wranglers but I will need t-shirts so I am going to nag a few friends for t-shirts –yep. Joel-Richard-Richard-Stacy-Julie-Matt-Zack – all of you, I need t-shirts, medium to large – I weigh 158. Bands, crazy images, words, all I want. I’d love words written directly on. Gene, I’d love one of your amazing silkscreens – spray paint, etc. I want to put on all, one over the other. Feel, smell, be with all of you. Ok? If any interest email singlepresse@yahoo.com.

I don’t think there’s any thing wrong with confusion. It’s what you do with it. Reaction. I spend a lot of time confused. Sometimes just wondering. Now wonder, that’s great. One of the main building blocks of the Godhead & of course joy. Joy is right there with bliss, but I digress. Confusion – I’m confused here a lot but that’s to be expected. My celly wants to move. Now my current celly is classic pervert. I can actually watch my skin crawl when he speaks. He has 2, count them 2, natural life sentences plus random additional time of 20 – 30 years so what does that add up to? He claims it’s from having sex with an under aged child. I’m assuming he ate her/him. Killed a few more on the way. So right there he won’t admit to extent of his crime. In the yard David goes “you know who Tyson’s celly is”. Yuck. So if a man can’t be honest about his crime. Now Bob Dylan says “to live outside the law you must be honest”. Following? So everything, everything, my celly says or does I weigh. He hates everyone (very common here), from Martha Stewart ( I love) to President Elect. Judge Judy (she can be a crank). He hates strong women. He hates all races. He seems to hate everyone & everything. He can’t victimize. So those who know John know why he celled up with him. For those who don’t, you will. So my celly want so move. I go up to Sgt. “ Do I need to find a new celly?” “What do you think of_____________?” “Works in the main kitchen” . “That big dumb goof ball?” “Yeah”. “Oh God” “It’s that who I’ll get?” “Well you know Charley is trying to help someone out”. “ Yeah.” “That’s why I let Charley move in with me & because I wanted to understand the depths of his depravity. “ Dave once said “If Dahmer was here…” “Of course I’d cell up with Jeff.” I’m curious & I’m confused. But one thing I’m certain, words have never lied to me. Yes, they have been used to lie to me but if I listened clearly the tone/diction allowed me to see the flaw. Words don’t want to lie. Manipulation does enter the equation. I don’t know why I love poetry. So many things to say why but just not sure. So many transistions. My poetry wants to be honest. Sure, it’s my honesty but me thinks it wants universal honesty. When Evan was born my poem waned & your assumption is right. He is our poem. Colette’s & my collaboration. Then Noah & I became one very far from the written work. They are my everything. Poems became chocolate on everything. Way too much but there were poems on occasion. Rough, raw screams in the dark. I wanted Colette’s breath & limbs. I wanted their eyes. Then I started to die & the words were back at the door willing to deal with my rejection. Then the break-ups. & the words whispered “we never left and never will”. Now they answer my door. They are the whole home. I looked in the mirror today & I look aged & happy. My hair greyed. Was name “happy grey” by another inmate & I wondered. Two years ago I couldn’t die fast enough and now I’m thinking about aging. Confusion wanted to enter the picture & I said no. I want to live for John & for Noah & for Evan Henry & I want to live for today & tomorrow. I need to finish what I’ve started. I need to tell strangers of Evan & I need to walk that line between life & death. Between prison & freedom. I need to hold my friends. My family. I need to piss against a tree. I need to look at a stop light with the confusion of a child. I need to sit in a tub alone or with friends. I need to live confused in a positive way. I turned my back on so much. Way too much & as I continue to turn, soon I’ll be facing you.

11109

Poetry is ease & talking. Talking is breathing with words. They are not without effort – they are my comfort. In here most of my talking is internal & those who know me know whom I’m addressing & of course context of the conversation. This blog is unnatural – putting a sweater on a horse. Sure it’s cool & all a way to get one’s point, perception, vision across. It’s not unnatural. It’s difficult for me. I already talk to mirrors , puddles reflections – lately birds. So I pretend you are all birds-ok? Then I’ll babble. I have the luxury of knowing what I really want. If I can/ could actually tell you of everything what do I want & of course those that know me know who he is. Well there's 3 hes. 1 is impossible well shackled to this plain/universe. Other doesn’t know me & the last well, that’s his father, Noah. I intend on failing as a poet because not only do I refuse, I can’t, explain/express that pain. Not only do I have no apology I’m proud to know there are emotions, words impossible for me to express. Understand. I had a stroke 3 hours after being released from the County Jail. Do the math over 2 years in prison & to hear Noah’s voice. To see his beautiful face. To let him crush me in his arms. My heart will crash. Then to hold his son. & I don’t embarrass, but a man can only be so strong. I had lost my way. First my health. Then Jacob. Then Colette. Then our jobs. Then James shot. Tim thrown in the river & Julie beat up & then Noah almost shot. Then Evan. Then prison (frankly a relief). I had so lost my way. Then Evan Henry was born. A cycle began. We lost wonderful dear friends & family. I’ve always resented the word/definition comfort. If we accept, yes. We are not here for comfort. We are here to keep getting back on that horse that has thrown us & I’m standing again & I’m ready to raise some hell. To crush Noah with my hugs. Take. E.H. to the lake or down the street for ice cream or whatever. Let him know without letting him know that grandpa is not going to let him go.

Been listening to blue grass/country on the radio today. The banjo may be my favorite instrument. I have wonderful & amazing friends. I can’t talk about them in here. First, no one would believe me. I do talk to Dave about them but Dave is different. Like Aaron. They are the 1% out of a million. Guys who lost their way, took responsibility, accountable. They are the exceptions in here. Sure some guys are alright – Dave & Aaron are friends. Real friends. Not John’s crazy friends. Anyway I am lucky. Good does beget good. Well Kelly is beyond comprehension at every level. When I saw the images of the chap books on the blog I wept because they are alive. We did it. We took so much time & energy to write, publish & circulate 5 chap books plus 2more on the way and a zine we are finishing. Sure anything is possible but when was the last time this was accomplished? I meant the poems aren’t all that amazing but they are righteous & our intentions are/were pure & redemptive. Right now they are in my friends & family’s hands. Kelly pulled it all together. So suffice to say she is one of my untouchables. Of course the list gets major here from friends who sent money for backing the chaps & zine, books & beads, to a typewriter from Richard H. so Stacy, Erica, Julie, Richard H, Richard L. Jonathan, Joel, Reed, Chuck, Matt, Chrisanne, KiKi, Ben, Mom, Dad, Pat, Paul, Mark, Zack Matt, Mike, Jesse, Conroy, Elaine, Gene, Rob, Conrad, Thurston, Noah, Amanda & of course James Liddy, who reminded me of Oscar Wilde (De Profundis is his amazing journey of prison). I’m sure I forgot some and for that I’ll make amends but as you can see I got lots of amending to do. (this is where I am speechless & so loved) & it goes without saying I wouldn’t have made this without Evan.

12909



new poems by John Tyson

11308

no longer lying
stand
obelisk

is it because I forgive myself
or could you no longer remain
prone

when you're non-union in here
you can identify
every bird
species of grass
words
condensate blue
another killdeer scolds me

blood takes stand
where once thought
ghetto


111508


Spicer sung,
"the Poet is a radio"
Pound threw first ball @ Yeats,
"the Irish like contradiction"

Corso rolls out of bed aplop,
"let the sea be merciful"

killdeer possess magnificent melody
on occasion a falcon breaks in
sky caress sun as mother to child

"does blood wish to be in a seaport town?"
Notley quiets

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?