We have rec at 8:15am today. While out in the rec yard one of the obnoxiously loud inmates walks up to two other inmates and myself going out of his way to look at and talk about who has the nicest "cheeks" (butt). I end up having to push him when he goes to touch me. I told him to get away from me in the first place but then he went for physical contact so I pushed him off before his hand made contact. I don't hate him or anyone for how they feel but that doesn't mean I welcome it.
Today a group member visited me in person. I got scolded for being too loud but the room had a few other families that would get loud for moments and so I would speak louder but I was facing the guard desk and was closer to the desk than the other groups.
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I am currently re-writing journal entries since everything I have written recently is mostly frustrated ranting.
I did have some partial dreams. Shoveling cars out of snow. Filling a bucket with gas because my Camaro ran out of fuel. Ran with some guy to his house but his dog attacked me so I jumped up on the counter. I welded a metal bar to a frame. I picked slices of bologna out of the middle of chicken patties. My brother left me behind to go to school but I couldn't get ready for school because a guy kept peeking in the window. I grabbed a broom handle to defend a kitten from a large rat in an open vent in a basement and then an otter crawled onto my shoulder with his front paws and pushed his nose against my cheek and ear. I didn't note which days I had some of the dreams because they are often so brief that I question if it is worth bothering to write about them. Also, I am in a funk about not bothering to write any more journal entries or letters. I don't do a good job of keeping track of who I have written to recently and most people expect me to write about something. My sleep is constantly interrupted and I am so lost about this whole mess that I pace back and forth in my cell between four and twelve hours a day. Some days maybe more. I guess it has just been difficult to try to invite people into the experience when they cannot even begin to imagine what it is like to be trapped without the ability to mitigate the problems. Although hostility between inmates seems to have subsided recently a few of the guys have been complaining that guards are throwing away their property when they search our cells. Toothbrush and its container, hair ties, and other petty theft really stresses guys out who cannot afford to replace lost property. This system is so wasteful. Supposedly they have guards drive inmates from the minimum security prison in Prairie du Chien to work in the kitchen here instead of having guys who are housed here to do the work. The DOC hires guards to allow prisoners to be transported to a different prison to work every day. It is all just so foolishly wasteful. They aren't really dreams. They are fragments of dream incomplete. The guards routine harassment essentially guarantees it.
I spoke with the Wolf for two hours today. We never have enough time but I appreciate how very smart and diplomatic she is. 2:05am my dreams are interrupted by a guard throwing things into a garbage container. It's like someone striking a drum right outside my cell. Video visits continue to have issues today. I am beyond frustrated from arguing away regular phone calls as well.
A member of a cartel and I negotiated payment of my friends debt for something other than his life. When I left his house I ran for the airport but heard a concert across a field and through some trees. The concert was at the bottom of a canyon or ravine whose steep sloped walls had people scattered around its acoustic marvel. I routed around to the right leaping to prominent points of the massive terrestrial depressions crown to the tree line on the far side. Through that tree line I slid down a small hill to a pile of leaves and realized my back did not hurt so I refused to move until I was discovered by a man with a flashlight just before sunrise. In front of me was three old buildings protected for historical significance to a college. One of the schools administrators approached me and asked if the smallest of the three buildings bothered me but I said it did not and that I thought it was the best of the three for its ornate architecture. Then a hog dragging a leash started pathing toward me junk for truffles. Then the school administrator introduced me to a bunch of students and I awoke.
The thunderstorm was right above us at 2:25am and the guard stopped to ask if I was okay. I told him I was just enjoying listening to the storm. He asked if it woke me. I replied the storm isn't what wakes me, or keeps me awake. Dreaming about my back not hurting was so nice. The storm fades afar by 2:55am but my four hours of sleep was straight through and better quality than I have had in a long time. Oh, my dream had started with me explaining to my boys how to eat healthy. Afterward, in that house, I then had to save my friend from the cartel. Thunderstorms are great. While they distribute mail, one new guard says to another "That's Anderson." Since our names are on the door the particularized recognition seems odd, especially since no other inmates are specially indicated while the rest of the mail is handed out.
I dreamt I was a teenager again and my friend wanted me to cover $50 to his $10 for some weed but then wanted to split it in half, but I told him he could get one sixth and leave me to try to make my money back.
A large carnivorous dinosaur smashed through the roof attempting to eat the small group of us but a man and woman in the group immediately started shooting their arrows at it and climbed out on to the roof for an unobstructed aim. Shortly after it became evident they met their demise as the dinosaur crashed through the hole opening the roof even more and causing me to fall down a mechanical chase way to the basement. I landed in a large corridor which could have been accommodated two trucks passing in opposite directions. The floor had about six inches of water and people were all fleeing the attacks of numerous small dinosaurs. I ducked into a small hallway that branched off the main corridor but discovered a dead end where another guy was attempting to conceal himself under the shallow water while a dinosaur fed on its catch about thirty feet away from us at the hallways entrance. I looked at the dinosaur and I supposed running passed while it is now distracted is much better than laying down in the water to be its next meal.
The drum of keys awoke me about 3:00am as they rhythmically bounced of the female guards thigh in stride. I hit the button and asked she be requested to "tuck her keys." Recreation was from 10:10am until 11:10am today but the phones shut off fifteen minutes before the 11:20 count. So it cut off the call with my brother because they have some restriction arbitrarily imposed on the phone system. "For security," of course. Then I went to "the cage" where Sgt. Nice controls opening and closing doors where I asked Nice and also caught unit manager Tom, both I asked if any accommodation would be made since the new phone restrictions imposed to accommodate the implementation of the "State tablet" now interferes with access to the phone for those of us who only have access to make phone calls during rec. Tom's response is that I should get a tablet which I explain forces me to accept terms of service I do not agree with. Then he acknowledges my complaints about insufficient law library legal access, saying that "the law library is also on there" but I tell him that "not exactly. It isn't the same" (as what resources are available in the law library.) Tablets have some basic case law, statutes, and simple resources but composing legitimate legal arguments takes more than that. Especially for nuanced and complicated issues. Anyway, Tom was pleased to add the additional point of pressure trying to compel me to use the tablet so they have an excuse to provide me with less. They have, or pretend to have no understanding of the law but are allowed to determine what legal access is adequate; which is the minimal and most restrictive. I bet even trained attorneys have significant difficulty bringing issues to court without help and resources available outside prison. The salt on the wound was when I said there were reasonable alternatives and it didn't seem like something that deserved a grievance. Tom replied he didn't care if I filed a grievance. They have a new service that allows them to make more money from inmates and their loved ones so my complaints about how I am further deprived of access is no real concern of theirs. The grievance process is a joke to them. I am young enough to be in high school looking for a green polo shirt which I find on a hanger in my closet instead of the white and yellow shirt I am wearing. As I descend the stairs to the kitchen a few other kids are waiting to load into the two vehicles outside and caravan to school. They brought a dog with them that is a curiosity to both of my dogs and in their frenzy are getting mud and snow everywhere in the kitchen. I go outside to get into a vehicle and the seats are a wasteland of mud and snow from the dogs having ridden in the vehicles. My jeans are no longer faded blue but now a perfect white and I am stopped from climbing in to either vehicle. As I contemplate a long walk to school the light from the guards flashlight being pointed into my cell for his prolonged examination of a cell whose appearance has not changed since inmates stopped yelling two and a half hours ago, forces me awake. I don't know what holds his attention but it is more than a cursory check. Yes, it is creepy to realize someone is examining you while you lay unconscious with a sleep induced erection. "For safety," of course. They won't tell the inmates yelling between calls to be quiet but they do come stare at you while your blanket has a bulge.
Yesterday, I forgot to mention, I spoke to my attorney. We ran out of time but she said she will look to set another appointment soon. "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." but, for now I will need to "Let it Be" or if I am feeling up to it, I suppose I could "take a sad song and make it better." Seems doable as long as "all you need is love." I am at a big house party which has a lot of guys from a few different bike clubs. The girl I am with notices two other girls get into a fight outside on the second story deck and I see them tumble over the railing in a summersault of flailing limbs. When I look over the railing one of them is picking up a crying baby in the baby carrier. I go to get my car to take the other girl to the hospital but am embarrassed I don't have a bike like most of the other guys. 2:30am guard wakes me hitting his checkpoint. I fell asleep again right away and am in a cave with bars at its upper end and a manageable slope that runs salt encrusted rivulets down to a pool about fifty feet away. The water is warm but I decide not to immerse myself. When I make my way back to the bars at the upper end I notice a broken mirror encased in the salt and try to gather the pieces and collect them outside the bars. I find that I can squeeze through the bars on the far left side and that leaves me in my grandparents old basement with a friend. We are being hollered at it is time to go so I rinse off a round beverage serving tray in the laundry sink and set it to dry. Then I shut off the basement lights and follow my friend upstairs and out of the house. As we pass time two women sitting in a van in the driveway. I notice two pens, each unique in appearance, laying in the grass. As I pick them up the clack of the guard doing his 4:00 rounds awakens me.
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aboutThese are the journal entries of Zachariah Anderson. All entries are originally handwritten by Zach and then transcribed on his behalf. Please note that occasional misspellings and grammar errors may be fixed during transcription for the sake of making the entries easier to read and sensitive information may be redacted. Archives
July 2024
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