Boo! Did I scare you? Gangsters of Love don't scare so easily. Anyone dress up for Halloween? I can imagine some costumes for people: Darth Jen, Princess Solomon, Emeric Won Kenobi, and Declan Solo. Without prompt, my doctor once told me that something about me reminded him of Han Solo. Declan is definitely Solo. Josh-2D2 and I guess I am Z3PO. Always stumbling around and complaining. Heh.
Prison does absolutely nothing to acknowledge Halloween but I let my heart celebrate it nonetheless. My kids never really got to dress up or trick-or-treat with me but carving pumpkins and eating candy, for sure. "Zoo-zoos" and "Wam-wams" are what guys in the joint call snack cakes and treats. Candy is just "sweets." I looked over some old letters and pictures and feel really positive about things today. The departure of some of the louder inmates has gotten the unit quiet by midnight fairly regularly over the last few weeks and there is much less hostility in the group. I hope my kids are taking care of their teeth. I would brush my teeth with them, at the same time. Without me around I fear the worst. I spent almost ten dollars on legal copies and probably won't have music for December now. I need to figure out how to talk to my kids. I need to figure out how to acquire institutional records. Okay, Okay. It's Darth Sol and Princess Jen. I just prefer the classic Star Wars because I am old. Princess Solomon does have a ring to it though. Makes me think of our cousin Chastity getting pregnant at 14 years old. A guy named Jed, who is not a Jedi to the best of my knowledge, was the father. Well, his brother Jeb actually was. Chastity is dyslexic and supposedly "flipped the D." Turns out the courts don't care about truth as long as they have an excuse. Yes there are jokes that flipping the D means something else. Anyway, Jed thought the word turpentine on the side of a rusty old can in Chastity's father's garage had sounded pretty, so that's what they named their little girl. Eight years later a suspicious fire consumed the entire house they were living in. Fire Marshal determine the fire started in Turpentine's bedroom. The crazy part is that the was never any trace of her found in the burnt out house. She must have completely burned up. Some people say her ghost is trapped in a rusty old can in her grandfather's garage and can escape her confinement just once a year, on Halloween. It is said she loves to see the glow of fire on the sleeping faces of men whom the court system takes advantage of through child support and custody cases. If it's you she has chosen you will hear her trying to start a fire. Matches? Lighter? Did you hear that? Oh no! Yes, my impromptu ghost story could use a lot of work, but as usual I just write what comes to mind. Thanks for being here for me and in some way with me. It means a lot. I hope everyone has a safe Halloween. And, brush and floss!
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I dreamt about troubleshooting my stereo equipment. Someone had twisted speaker wires together that must have been inadvertently disconnected. Then they had rebalanced the sound through the equalizer to compensate. I awoke when I found the wires but I am sure my unconscious self got it fixed.
I got the reply from "CPS Tom" from asking him to remove any restriction on my communicating with my daughter. He said I need to address it with her mom who I cannot speak to per court order. A government who violates your rights effectively nullifies your rights. I don't get enough legal access to compose any argument. And, as a prisoner I am required to "exhaust all remedies" which don't exist when you cannot present legal arguments in the first place. I also got back a letter to my brother. The guard said I failed to write his address on both the left AND right side of the disbursement form, so it was incomplete. AND they require inmates use envelopes that are "embossed" (stamped) which allows them to take extra funds and overcharge for postage. I have been wondering why five pages is too many when I could mail 6 or 7 from jail without needing more postage. I just cannot prove it with so limited resources. I sent the envelope and the form to my brother. Every little petty harassment and wrong they can come up with! It seems to me that I could have ten attorneys and it wouldn't be enough. Any resolution is six months away, at least, if not years of being delayed by various "due process." The newspaper was circulated that had reported my arrest before I was transferred from Kenosha County Jail to Kenosha County Detention Center. KCJ to KCDC. I was in a dormitory housing unit with over thirty double bunks on each side of the large room. When I complained about being wrongfully accused the guard had laughed at me and went around both sides of the room mocking me asking other guys who was innocent. Fairly paralyzing moment, really. Before I left KCJ, a plain-clothes detective and uniformed officer pulled me into a conference room and demanded my DNA. I told them to call my lawyer. They said they don't need to and dropped a warrant printed on yellow paper that said Homicide on it. I said "Oh. Well, what do you need me to do?" They swabbed my mouth. I figured it would be a couple days for them to clear my name. From about week 2 until, perhaps week 20, I stayed in a dorm at KCDC. One of the guys who had read the newspaper had begun calling me another nickname. I still didn't understand until another guy got ahold of the newspaper, after everyone else got to read about the article, and gave it to me. Reading the newspaper and being made fun of were so bizarre but really nothing compared to everything that followed. The evening news for SouthEast Wisconsin had me on one night. There was probably 120 other guys in the room and it erupted in yelling, staring, and finger pointing until I boomed for everyone to shut up. Then it was quiet. I was thinking how could this be? I gave them my DNA! And from there it just got worse and worse. No one called me Houdini. But I was dubbed with nicknames from all sorts of people trying to be clever. Covid was the perfect excuse for them to deny inmates haircuts. I would wet my hair and go outside to walk laps and do push ups for rec. My hair would curl at the front and I was called more nicknames because of the silly curl on my forehead. I doubt it would do it very well now, so much has fallen out, but I do not have X-ray vision, cannot fly, or turn back time, and do not have super human strength. I do not understand why mouthwash is so fanatically restricted for me. The inmate in cell 132 is issued the same stuff but keeps the bottle in his cell. I am visited during evening mediation pass to apportion my daily use, which some guards won't even let me pour. I don't know why I am treated different. I suspect that whatever it is is what compelled them to make up that major violation while I was at Dodge. The sudden requirement to write the name and address on the disbursement request to pay postage on outgoing mail, and now I am required to write it on the same form not two inches away, or they will refuse to send the mail. It sounds crazy and absurd but I am not making this up. The guard smiled when I questioned why envelopes without being pre-stamped (embossed) were even sold to inmates if we could not use them for mail. She said to submit confidential requests to medical. I guess their medical forms should be sealable so inmates shouldn't need to buy black envelopes? Just more money tricked out of the pockets of the people that care for me. All Hallows Eve. I am a spiritual guy who tends the graves of family a few miles from my old house. I have always asked people for prayers before any other sort of support, although I know not everyone gives it much credit. I have never been good about religion, however. All of the rituals and practices never took on that comfortable normalcy. Confession to a priest who repeatedly asks with some tone of skepticism if you have shared everything after you already told him twice that was it just struck me oddly. Calling another man Father already had me juxtapose and displaced simultaneously. Being confined in segregation so much in jail really waged war on my mustard seed. I read the only book I was allowed, the Bible, numerous times. Maybe I should have read less case law? All the elaborate design to be able to take advantage of other people materialized by the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth of testimony that was so obviously not. An oath for the comfort of the jurors and convenient denials for much need appeals issues. I haven't opened the Bible since I got to prison. Not because of any particular crisis of faith but because I feel like my prayers aren't even heard. Everything about this experience is somehow wrong. I mean everything that invokes human discretion. It just doesn't ever get at doing good or doing what's right, but about who has the privilege to get away with mistreating someone else for their own satisfaction or gain. Corrections or Department of Corrections is the biggest misnomer and from what I have seen, almost complete fraud of an institution. Yes, I write this about a system used to deprive me of access to my kids. But it also paints itself in this similar or parallel scheme that allows the people who believe or have faith in it to be preyed upon. Prayed upon? Preyed upon? God must exist for a lot of reason and I feel like one of the strongest pieces of evidence that is true is the bargaining stage of grief. I don't want to get into religious philosophy or theology but I don't feel as though my prayers are heard and I appreciate everyone who has prayed for my family and I. I appreciate the messages, letters, books, and other things as well, but, you know; Happy Halloween! :) Comparatively not a bad night for my back. I dreamt I was talking to a truck driver about how he knew the financial health of the company he worked for after a number of coworkers left for other jobs but he decided to stay. I had no interest in driving and as we talked, the ice that had amassed above the front doors to the warehouse had started to melt and crash down onto its steps. Water was shooting from the downspout it was melting so fast. I commented about the company needing to fix that poorly designed entrance before someone got hurt. Then, as usual, my own discomfort drew me from my sleep. Overall, about four hours broken into two slumbers throughout the night. The driver had dark curly hair, like he was greek, or something. The warehouse was blue. Everyone kept their clothes on. Not even one giraffe in the entire dream. I don't know. Fairly boring dream I guess.
But Halloween is almost here. I suppose I will dress up like a convict and pretend to be some sort of violent criminal for a day. Seems popular. Everything I have seen says that's trending. It's not a fancy costume but I will work with what I got. My other option is to go as a nudist. I don't see that going very well for me. If the guards don't take issue with that then the inmates will. I suppose I could go as the victim of a violent crime but from what pictures I have seen I haven't gathered enough packets of ketchup. Maybe I could just offer people stuff to try to have people talk about what my costume is but not actually have one. That way everyone will think that I... too much? Well, perhaps for writing the Public Defender's office manager for being initially denied. I was assigned an attorney on October 25th. Angela Kachelski, State Bar No. 1020860. Court record and transcripts were ordered. I wonder how long it will take to get all of that together. I keep thinking about Tim's voice pleading to be moved out of W block. HIs erroneous temperature reading must have happened about 6:30am. The nurse was at his cell in W-block getting a normal reading at maybe 9:30am. She was telling him he needed two acceptable temperature checks in a row. He was arguing that if he really had a fever a couple hours previous then he would still have one now. Since he did not, and did not feel sick, that it was an obvious mistake. They refused to move him out and told him they would come back that night to check him again. Then, more hours of pleading to the guard on every lap through the unit. Even told he needed to wait half a day, he was so panicked that I suppose it must have been claustrophobia. The level of anxiety that would drive someone to take their own life as the consequence of the improvised security policy for covid where they don't even clean the vomit, snot, or blood off the walls.
When I first was arrested, I repeatedly asked for my families phone numbers. Two of them had businesses and phone numbers you could get with a google search. They gave me the wrong phone numbers so I couldn't contact anyone and when I complained, they just said that the people I was trying to contact weren't answering. Their phone system allows them to handle specific phone numbers special. I wonder if they didn't gather contact numbers I had requested and block them because I was fairly certain I was trying the correct numbers. Especially for one of my brothers whom I went with to get him his first cell phone and phone number which he still has to this day. My first jail nickname came in those first couple weeks. The guards would come into the housing unit which was a dorm of a bunch of bunks separated by a door to a common day room. The guards kept coming through in twos and looking at me. The other guys, many who had been in jail previous to recognize how odd it was had taken notice. The guards would look at me with wide eyes trying to soak up my image. Other inmates noticed that I was some sort of spectacle for them for whatever was in their heads. Some wide-eyes that the clerk of court, and jurors, and all sorts of other people have for me based on pre-conceived notions, fed to them by whoever else. One day I was walking away from my bunk as two guards came in. The older one was indicating to a younger one toward my bunk in the corner and I was passing him as he was looking to the other guard. The older guard was standing at the door that separated the two rooms and appeared fearful as he backed away from me and right into the wall. I was just going into the other room, but his abrupt bump into the wall while giving me a look like he was afraid I would eat him alive was witnessed by a few guys including one named Johnny who started calling me a nickname because the looks on their faces was like kids who went to the zoo. That wild wonder and excitement. I had no idea what all the interest was about at that point. I don't know that I can comment about when I heard about what, but it was all so bizarre from the start. The same guard who bumped into the wall, almost knocked the glasses off his face, was the same guard working W block when Tim was pleading to be moved to a different unit. I wake up about 2:00am. I feel like someone is sitting on my back. It's hard to breath but the usual sharp pain isn't present so I am in a rarely discovered configuration and don't want to move. Stupid rec. On all fours I can suck a deep lung full of air and stretch a bit but that only alleviates things very briefly. What I would do for a heating pad and someone to pound on my back.
I dreamed that my brother and I had three women I knew over at my and my ex's old apartment. One of the girls was a stripper and was showing him some dances without any clothes on. I went and crawled into bed next to Bunny and told her we would leave as soon as my brother was ready. Shew as under the covers facing away from me. I was on top of the blanket hugging her. Then we left and we stopped at a gas station where my brother was now my other brother and was young and small again. I divided up my cash and told him eh could go in and get something for himself but I needed to figure out how to get us home, hours away, because I didn't want to go to this woman's house. That is where, feeling it difficult to breathe, I awoke. Over five hours later, after the guard has come by twice an hour and shined his light in my cell. I am curled onto hands and knees, oblivious to him. That light and pretending to check on prisoners is such a joke. Petty harassments. Know what it is a reminder of? February 8th or 9th, 2021. I am in a special segregation in Kenosha County Jail called W block. It is four cells across a small hallway where each cell has both a face of bars and a few feet beyond that is a solid steel door and narrow window. A cage within a box. I am in the first cell, A.J. is in the second, David is in the third, and (a guy who I thought was called Butterfield based on guard chatter) Tim is in cell four. They brought Tim in after the thermometer flaked out and indicted a fever. Covid quarantine. David was sick as hell. A.J. was the state's witness against co-defendants in a homicide (he got all sorts of extra favors). And me, who was being harassed in all the petty ways that Chinese water torture desires. Tim, however, was in a panic telling the guard (Correa) that they had to get him out of there. He said he couldn't take it. The guard told him he failed the temperature check and couldn't leave until medical cleared him. Every lap he was freaking out so they brought a nurse and checked his temperature again. Perfectly normal. So then he wants to get out of W but they tell him that he needs two temperature checks in a row to be healthy before he can get out. He is upset because the first test was faulty and he shouldn't be in W in the first place! They don't care. Policy. So, still, every lap they guard does he is panicking and begging for a way to contact his girlfriend or wife. A phone call? A tablet to email? Anything. The guard eventually gives in and I hear him call his girl from the phone out in the hallway. He says something about her having to take care of the kids and I suppose he is facing a long time. Every time the guard comes through he continues to ask to be moved to a regular housing unit. Eventually, after spending the morning and early afternoon in a frenzy, he passes out for a few hours. Shift change, a guard named Schulz does his first round and verbally acknowledges me, then A.J. David I think is still passed out. Tim I presumed to also be sleeping, except on the next lap when the guard gets to the fourth cell, the end cell, there is an explosion of keys jingling and crashing. "Ten thirty three! Ten thirty three! Umm! Uhh! Possible suicide!" I hear him get the first door open. I hear him get the caged door open. The clamor of boots racing down the outer hallway gets louder as they approach. Within moments a nurse arrives. My outer door is partially open and uniformed guards flash by the narrow view. The nurse has started the defibrillator which is instructing her and whatever guard (female) to resuscitate Tim. A supervisor comes to the hallway and says "I need someone to go down to the old sally port and let in EMS." Why the hell ask someone in the middle of life saving procedure to go do whatever else without taking over that responsibility? The guard does what the supervisor implied though. Then it was just the robotic voice telling the nurse to place the paddles and to not be touching the person. The nurse starts calling out for help that she needed the guard to come back. "She needs to do that while I am doing this!" No reply. I start yelling "come help her or let me out and I will help! hey! hey! hello!!!" The nurse does get the defibrillator connected and it announces that it is shocking the patient numerous times. In between each shock it pauses to detect a heartbeat. Eight minutes later, EMS is there and in no hurry whatsoever. The nurse was in a hurry and urgently explains to the EMTs that she got his heart going and he needs oxygen. The EMT is dismissive saying they got it now. They got it. I hear him announce pupils dilated to five millimeters and something else. Then they suppose to get him "loaded up" and bring in the gurney the wrong way around. Then wheel it out of the little hallway and turn it around. No hurry. They get him on the gurney and he goes passed my cell and still is not being provided any oxygen. The first thing the nurse told them, desperately. Nope. After that, A.J., David, and I got thrown into a holding cell. I was stuck there for four hours until two female detectives arrived from Racine. I get called into a conference room and they ask me what I said to the guy. I am shocked and confused. Are they trying to blame this on me? I decline any sort of statement to them because I don't trust them at all. I write many of things in a letter to my attorneys who either never receive it because Kenosha was meddling with legal mail or because they just ignored it like most every other letter I sent them. Many months later I was in a unit with a guy who claimed to be Tim's best friend. He said he was the one to have called and told Tim's wife or girlfriend about Tim's death. he told me that Tim was taken to the hospital and put on life support for a week before dying. Again. I don't know if what he claimed was true. I just know that when I complained to the guard about what happened he said "It happens." and when I asked to speak with mental health I was allowed a couple sessions but because there was no "crisis intervention" needed, meaning no indication of my own potential suicide attempt, that they discontinued meeting with me. The mental health supervisor (Washington, if I remember right) was the one to explain it to me. They aren't there to provide counseling services. Everything they do to inmates they pretend is for safety and when safety is a real concern it is the lowest priority. We aren't "Prisoners in Our Care (PIOC)." We are persecuted in our cages to the convenience and delight of whomever chooses. Every time that light flashes through my cell, that is what I think about. Called the prison to encourage them to punish me if I talk to my daughter who needs me more than ever right now? They will eagerly accept that request. What is the right and legal thing to do doesn't matter when you can't afford an attorney and aren't afforded the resources or time to defend yourself. They can do and take what they like, even if it is supposed to be mandatory or required. We don't need Constitutional rights. They only prove to be a cause for lawsuit that a court of equity pretends can designate a comparable dollar amount if you can file within a certain timeframe while being buried in every possible disadvantage. What we need are Constitutional protections that require the application of all policies, rules, and laws to not infringe on our liberties. Otherwise we have done nothing but exchanged kings? Otherwise humanity and tyranny are synonymous? Tim didn't respond to much. I tried to talk to him a bit but he was a few cells away beyond two solid doors. He didn't really want to talk to me; a stranger with no authority to get him out of his trap. My condolences to Tim Nelson's family. From what I saw and heard, he was pushed from a desperate situation by the people responsible for his care. They don't care. It is often quite the opposite, in fact. All the greatest wrong is done in the name of right. I signed up to view my discovery material and get to do so at 5:30pm today. I don't have much but wanted to review notes I had about parental rights since they won't allow me to talk to my daughter on Sadie's prompting. When is a woman's word greater than the Constitution? In Wisconsin, almost always. They searched my cell while I am out. I came back to find the confetti of old letters that I divid amongst the trash, toilet, and inside milk cartons I let them throw away in a separate trash, dumped in the plastic bin with my stuff. My towel is on the floor. Food is dumped out. They took the small paper bag I used for condiments. I don't mind if it makes their job easier but I don't understand making a mess of things. I guess it could be worse but it certainly didn't need to be what it was. Also waiting for me is the paperwork from physical therapy. Tendinopathy/tendinosis takes 10-12 weeks to remodel provided adherence to the protocol. Eccentric wrist supination/flexion. Contract the muscle and let it out over 4 seconds. 15 repetitions, 2 to 6 sets, 2 to 6 days per week. The tingling in my heel is possibly plantar fasciitis. Gastroc stretch and foot massage. Hasn't worked so far but I will do it as directed. The guys get sick of eating the same thing on a 4 week cycle. I come up with an extra tray of chicken stir fry at lunch and an extra tray of sloppy Joe at dinner. I can skip the milk and bread and eat like an adult for a day. Plus we had rec in the gym today. Light weight with slow release. I think we used to call them "Negatives" to let the weight out slowly. I didn't know it rebuilt the tendons though. Exercise isn't just for muscles. It's good for other stuff, too.
The shots from the tanks were so loud that my ears were pulsed with waves of deafening loudness in between their ringing. Th amount of sand and dirt it kicked up invaded my mouth as I yelled up to my commanding officer who was seated on top of the tank. He was calling out targets for the rest of us infantry to suppress with rifle fire while the tanks proceeded to level the small village. Even though I had goggles on I kept my eyes squinted because the percussion alone antagonized the reflex to protect my eyes. I saw only glimpses of the targets he indicated and I wondered why he failed to acknowledge that our view from down here behind this wall was obstructed to his own vantage point. "The tanks won't have the ammo!" What? "They don't have the rounds to level it all! We need to sweep and clear!" Oh hell, we are going to have to go through every building and structure which increases the odds one of us, or more, will get hit. I try to clean my goggles and settle for leaving the sand and dirt that rims the frame. I can see well enough to look down the sights of my rifle. I feel confident to hit what I shoot at in this proximity that I don't need a scope with any significant magnification. Being a shoulder isn't what I imagined it would be. Give the tanks more rounds and do it without risking our lives? Being military property is not a glorious feeling. I saw him run into the building. I don't know who he is but if he hasn't fled by now he is almost certainly a combatant. I can feel the sand between my glove and the grip of my rifle. I follow him into the building clearing corners as my heart pounds wildly. That's when I feel a pain in my back. Friendly fire? Who the hell shot me? I wake up.
Oh, it's just my back telling me that 1:00am, less than an hour of sleep, must be a good time to get up and stretch. Really vivid dream. I could feel how tightly I had tied my boots because the sand could be "sloppy" footing. I suppose, in some ways, this is apt to be a dream journal since prison is otherwise fantastically boring. I guess I should also point out I have never been in the military. Feeling the sand between my glove and gun and knowing I would be disassembling my rifle to clean it as soon as we finished clearing the village seems like an odd detail for me to consider in a dream. There were other details too, like the pool outside, which seemed perfect for the climate but probably a nuisance to maintain with all the dust and sand. There was also luggage for travel and electronics in the house where I had expected a much poorer standard of living. Or at least less technologically accustomed lifestyle. It all went by so fast and I was really focused on any movement from corners or crouches. The sand was not pristine like it was in the hourglass dream. It was light brown, tan, and almost copper colored. Very dull, and caked onto everything. It even accumulated in the grooves on the top of my rifle. When a tank would fire it would erupt billowing clouds that would blanket us and all of our equipment, but we felt safest because the tanks would draw their attention away from shooting at us, directly. And people don't want to peek out at a tank and incur the wrong sort of acknowledgment. I saw the physical therapist, Nate, between 2:00pm and 3:00pm. He is going to send me exercises for my elbow and my foot. When I get the paperwork from him I will offer more of an explanation. From the pictures, my explanation would be that I have to realign the fibers of the tendons because they supposedly look more like scrambled eggs. Slow, 4 second release to certain muscle contractions at least twice a week. I just have to create a way to perform the exercises because we aren't allowed medical equipment or access to any sort of medical rec. We can have knitting needles and CPAP machines but not a small handle or heating pad. The hypocrisy of policy demonstrates the priority is to minimize comfort and nothing to do with safety. A simple handle to turn over and let back slowly to "remodel" my tendon. When I talked to the physical therapist he commented that my complaints fit criteria for drug seeking behavior. People who are addicted to opioids often suffer from chronic pain when they stop. For me, I emphasize having exhausted internal medications and my pains are accompanied by some audible verification, so it isn't just some "subjective" claim. Plus, the MRIs show enough to the trained eye. I have been practicing dribbling and shooting a basketball as a lefty. My right elbow is too problematic. My back isn't getting any better with physical therapy, but my shoulder feels better. After morning rec, between 10:30am and 11:30am, I went to HSU and talked to Dr. Degiovanni. Gina, to her acquaintances. I talked to her about most of my major complaints. Back, elbow, heel, headache, and diet. Referred to physical therapist, pain management, and the dietitian. Yesterday, I forgot to mention, we were given a flyer from J.L. Marcus about Holiday Bundles of food. The maximum purchase per inmate ("Person In Our Care," PIOC) is $100. Lots of sweets, which I do not need without real dental care. The stuff looks pricey but it is nice that they allow something special.***
***NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT ORDER ZACH ANYTHING FROM THE HOLIDAY BUNDLE. WE, HIS FAMILY, WILL BE HANDLING THIS AS THERE IS A LIMIT AND HE HAS SPECIFIC PREFERENCES ON ITEMS HE WOULD WANT. THANK YOU. Being another day of physical therapy, rec, and that junk I have for a back injury, I was laying here awake replaying the appointment with the doctor in my mind. She had mentioned that she would note that a warm towel, (the diversion from real treatment) that the Special Needs Committee defaulted to, would be noted as ineffective. I questioned who was on the Special Needs Committee since they failed to take into account my medical history. I even offered to provide the more than 700 pages for whomever to review as it is on my USB drive for discovery material after my defense attorneys had collected it after the jail was refusing any sort of appropriate care. The doctor today, declined being provided any medical records and said she had to check with whomever was in charge of the records here at WSPF. Why would they refuse medical records but continue to deny progressive steps of treatment? They just pretend to not know to leave inmates revisiting ineffective treatments because they are cheap distractions. Warm rag? She did give me some indication that referrals were initiated but physical therapy for my back is a treatment exhausted long ago. I don't think they are accustomed to inmates arriving with their own medical records. Even before I met with the doctor I was sitting in a chair waiting to be called while three female guards stood at the desk chatting. They had commented about how "Charlie" unit, where I am housed is the noisiest unit in the whole facility and that it is over 90% inmates under twenty two years old. I replied "then why am I over there?" Which was not provided any answer. They went on eating candy and talking about how one of them helped "Martin" sell a horse and the purchaser was gifted a $2,500 saddle and also an expensive saddle bag. She was jealous. She said so. After my trial, I take that to mean that she killed someone about it. She probably just knows the district attorney or has family that takes care of a judges disabled sister so its easy just to frame someone else. Maybe...
I have this feeling that someone will read yesterday's entry and suppose me unwanting or ungrateful, but I appreciate everything people try to send me. I guess my point was supposed to be that the previous guards have used everything a person could possess as an opportunity to try to harm or deprive them. I guess I still feel or expect that sort of treatment which is why I hide the pictures. They aren't even contraband. I have written to a few people that my journal entries are about my experience and not directed at anyone in particular. Maybe I didn't clarify that before, but I try to avoid demonstrating any favoritism because I couldn't have any favorites and some of the things that people have sympathized about, or shared with me are very personal and sometimes very tragic. I don't want anyone to feel belittled, marginalized, or ostracized. There are letters that I certainly look forward to. There are personalities I really want to meet, or eat least speak to over the phone. I hope travel is an option when I finally get out but I will be broke and need to get back to work, so we shall see. Even people that might deserve special thanks and recognition I try to omit from my journal. It is purposeful, out of consideration for everyone who participates and contributes in their own ways and means.
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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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