When I landed on the sand of the hour glass I was surprised at how hard the impact was. There was no fear while falling. My right side hurt because that is how I hit the sinking surface. I felt my face. It was already bruised and swollen. I didn't have a mirror to examine the damage and after walking over to the glass I could not detect any observable reflection. The sun light was intense but, looking up, I couldn't see where all the light was coming from being under the immense cover that was an end of an enclosure perhaps a thousand feet across. I figure that the end must have been opened since I could not make out any sort of opening for me to have entered. The entire disc above me is swirling with magic but a solid barrier nonetheless. I suppose my only way out would be to go down. That's when I hear the voices and laughter. Out of below, where I wonder if the atmosphere is even breathable with airborne sand and dust. I feel the pulling. The sucking, as my feet go below the surface. The worms will try to eat through me but I hear them laughing and I need to go. The worms. I hesitate and try to step a foot free to try to find a way to protect myself from the worms.

Crash, crash, crash, go the guard keys. Well, that is the second time his keys woke me tonight. I get up on his next lap, about 3:00am, and ask him to tuck his keys. He does, kindly. No unpleasantness about it. About three hours of sleep and that feeling you get when you hear the voices of people you love after not being allowed to talk to them for years. It isn't happiness. There is some. It feels more like your heart is way over full with blood, and it bursts. And then you can feel the pressure go down. Even out to your finger tips it goes down. It feels like the blood is gushing out of your heart all over the place and you need the other person to help contain it but they define themselves by how busy they have been with work or life and can not possibly begin to imagine the feelings now spilled out all over the place. And then you think a lot about how you are supposed to be happy, or at least happier than you were but now you realize a little bit better about how bad everything has been hurting inside and now it is just an open wound that no one can really mend.

Most of my days are saturated with that confusion where I am not sure if things that help don't actually make things worse. I have spent years only being allowed things to take it away. That includes pictures of my kids, by the way. In jail I used to ask to be put back in the hole. After seven months in administrative segregation they really started pressing me to go back to general population. Thirsty to come up with some reason to take it all away again just glinting in their malicious stare. My brother now has the pictures I tried to flatten after they must have crumpled them up while going through my property. Not just punished, but intentionally harmed with no defense for myself. Oh, and my attorneys were just too busy. Yes, pictures were my most prized and cherished possession. Pictures I cannot get again of people I love the most. There are new pictures now. I hide them for fear of having them taken from me. The only picture on my wall is a tiny little copy of Starry, Starry Night that someone included in a message. I am not going to tie everything together in some clever way this time. I am just "so tired of being tired of being tired." And probably not half way through it all, yet. But the sand, it's pulling. And there is laughter on the other side. Oh, I guess I am going to tie it all together. Damn, my right side hurts. 

After breakfast comes the announcement; "unfortunately, due to the needs of the facility there will be no rec or phone calls today." The phones have been unreliable and now for whatever other reason we won't be able to talk to our loved ones. One of the guys asks a guard why. He replies that he doesn't know, he just works here.

They hide their name tags and lie to the inmates so inmates don't have information to file proper complaints. Even when I fill out a paper request slip I am told to "just put property guy" or some similar generic identifier. To get guards names guys will have to get disciplinary paperwork to learn certain staff member names. That includes nurses too. The name tags are flipped backward and if not, the writing is so small you can't easily read it.

Whatever is going on leaves us with cold lunch today. Ham sandwich in a "tasty brands" package. Like a gas station sandwich, it is mashed into an unappealing deformation but it isn't putrid like the sandwich fixings we get from the kitchen here. I wish they would always get these pre-made sandwiches. The usual stuff is so nasty. I wish they would bring mail more than once per week. Getting messages and letters is such a highlight to my week. I don't know if today's restrictions are from lack of staff but the guys say Waupun has a lawsuit about conditions and restrictions on inmates. Hopefully it will only be today that we lose out on phone. I hope mail and property delivery won't be affected as well. 

Crossy Word level 585 is journal with the only other word to be crossed with it being lunar. I dreamt I was telling people at work that I enjoyed my job and wished I could get more hours. Perhaps my body telling me it is desirous of more physical therapy exercises. I am awake before 3:00am with less than three hours of sleep and can feel the tension in my back pulling. It usually takes about 12 hours to start constricting me like a giant invisible python. Well, not giant. But for sure, invisible. It doesn't matter how much stretching I do, it won't stop whats coming.

Another slice of a cold cut ham last night. It wasn't as foul as the day before but the smell has me now nauseous at the smell of the other ham too. It at least looks much more likely meat. It even has some black pepper on the top to help cover up its questionable flavor. I eat the pear, carrots, and potato chips it came with. I won't starve, but I will be hungry and won't feel well. The meal plan is a 4 week cycle which does not whatsoever reflect eating for my blood type. You don't need to read the whole book. There are plenty of summaries on the internet. The majority of people cannot process dairy and milk is provided as the solution (all pun intended) for protein, calcium, and vitamins A&D as mixed in. I don't understand how the meal plan can be designed around and what most people cannot eat. It forces people to spend money on commissary which they also collect a percent, I heard. Although I can process milk and dairy, my body doesn't enjoy it. I also heard it is an inflammatory and may make symptoms worse. No milk after physical therapy? The protein powder has not been an issue for me. I used to get tubs of Greek Gods Black Cherry Yogurt and mix in protein powder. I was really fit back then. I took a Vitamin D supplement in jail for a bit and it would spike my headache the way milk does and I wonder if it isn't actually an issue with the vitamins they mix in. Jail decided a pill was adequate substitute for sunshine. Does anyone else think that is insane? Bizarre artificialities that seem like some derivative of a Doctor Liebig who theorized that a diet of the required nutrients was all that was required to sustain life but in practice it fails. You cannot live on multivitamins. Milk is not sunshine no matter how much Vitamin D you add. Go outside and play!

​Outside at rec my thumbnail shattered on the basketball. When I was being malnutritioned in Kenosha, my nails got thin and wavy and developed little pin hole voids. The last of that deformation is almost grown out now, but not quite. About a quarter centimeter left. That's where the nail broke; the ridge line between the deformed growth and the regular thickness that my body could now create when I got to the prison diet. I might complain about how gross it is sometimes but it has been much better than jail. I clipped my nails way short and the rest of the malformed nail should grow out in perhaps a month or so. Broken over the nail bed hurts but the guards brought me a bandaid. I will try to hold it steady. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. My body loves vinegar and oil noodle salad, today. It had peas, celery, green beans, and olives. The peas and beans were probably leftovers but lunch today was tasty. 

Captain's log, star date... October 14th, 2023. What embarrassing stuff can I later regret sharing with the world today? I have skipped physical therapy for about 5 days now. I had to get some sleep. I got almost four hours. So desperate for sleep. Tomorrow I will exercise again and I am dreading it. Phone system was down today. Some people I try to call on the weekends because I don't know their schedule, or I do and during the week is a bad time to call. Can't call my kids. So rotten of her.

I should have written earlier when I still remembered my dream. Everyone had clothes on. The rest has faded too much to try to write about. I "slept in" until 2:30am. Just uncomfortable enough to prevent sleep. The days are so long!

On the weekends they provide cold sandwiches. That jellyfish bologna or this processed ham that I do not believe is fit for human consumption. The stuff is so crudely processed you can still make out the features. The tubular veins and arteries ar so alarmingly abundant. There is a really dark part that is from the outside of the pig. Snout? They wrap it in cellophane it has some milky white film that is not congealed fat. It smells putrid. I tried washing it off in the sink to get a better look and try to find a way to eat it but it smells worse after trying to clean it off. Bacterial film? I mash it into three plastic bags trying to suppress the odor. Is someone not washing their hands before handling the food?

Sorry. I know; another gross journal entry. May as well tell you about how small the toilets are and how your equipment will touch the bowl or dip in the water depending on where the water line is. I find that so gross too. Even worse, the showers aren't on to wash off afterward. Showers don't usually get turned on until about 6:oopm. If your business decides to kiss the bowl, then the sink you get drinking water from is also the cock-wash. Is it still called a sexually transmitted disease if it is contracted by having a drink of water? I know they don't want us touching our eyes to put contact lenses in. Filthy... for the security of the institution. Security and safety are always the two excuses. All the greatest wrongs are perpetrated under that guise. There is always an ulterior motive.

Being up all night I watch and listen to the guards do their rounds. They don't really check. They just blast the cell with a bright light as they crash through the hallway carrying their load of unused keys, noisily at their hip. Then they clack the metal checkpoint with their baton. I wonder who sued the prison system that the result is this perpetual harassment to every prisoner thereafter. Make the toilets smaller so inmates don't drown? If you ever went star gazing before cell phone apps did all the work, you used a red flash light to read the star map. Same reason numbers on nightstand alarm clocks are red. Same reason cell phones have a feature to suppress "blue" light. It interrupts your natural cycle. Your eyes don't have to adjust with the red light. It doesn't trigger the something in our brain that says it is time to be awake. You know people that go camping a least two weeks a year tend to keep a natural circadian rhythm? I heard that somewhere and am curious if its really true.

​Jail would not shut the lights off while we would sleep. When I went back for the restitution hearing, I was in a different housing unit where there was no benefit to griefing the inmates. No petty games and the lights were shut off at night. No shaking their unused keys. They also don't clack the checkpoint, either. I think a red flashlight should be mandatory. They work great to look at a star map. Leave me to look upon the Great Light Night Sky. If you don't know, that is the translation of my twin boys first and middle names. Oop. Tears. Should have left that alone. 

Captain Zachariah J. Anderson, signing off. 

I try to save portions of my meals so I always have something to eat when my will power allows. Maybe because I dreamt of my boys, I go for something which is special in the sense that if I were to prepare something for my kids with so little available then it would be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich extraordinaire. I set aside a pad of butter from a regular meal and hold onto the two packets of peanut butter when they come with breakfast. I mix those with two and a half tablespoons of protein powder. Currently, the chocolate and peanut butter combination is creating a peanut butter cup sort of experience, but it tastes a little "off." I even went with some apple jelly tonight/this morning, which compliments it well. The protein powder makes such a big difference in controlling hunger. Dinner last night only had a bite and a half of meat. There isn't anything for my stomach to work on so it empties too fast. Protein portions I try to space five hours apart for complete digestion and in between I set aside fruits, vegetables, and bread as snack options. It seems to work best to ration my meals in half to really stretch out what is provided. I also trade the desserts for food that will sit in my stomach longer.

​Belly-aching, body-aching, heart-aching. My usual journal themes. I should write more when things bother me less. The journal isn't new. I kept one during my time in jail as well. Basically to account for all the rotten things they did to me. I didn't choose to have long hair. They refused me a hair cut for over a year. I thought I would let a friend of mine cut it when I went home but... I didn't go home. Not yet. Okay, my back says I am done for now. 

I don't remember how it began, but I had a dream the other night where I was at a place that my brothers and I used to live with our dad. I was sitting in the living room with my boys who are always younger and smaller in my dreams than they are now. Their legs straight out were not longer than the depth of the cushion on the couch. They were each wearing shoes too, that I was proud they tied themself. I had been telling them that there is so much that I cannot explain and all that I knew to tell them is to be patient. They were not happy about their mom's actions. Their mom arrived and asked to have a word with me in private. We walked over to the stairwell down to the basement and, with the lights on, descended a few steps and turned to face her above me with one leg up a few steps so one leg was vertically straight and the other was elled to horizontal with my knee forward. That sort of Captain Morgan pose, while I leaned against the hand rail. Sadie then, in the dream, steps down to position that forward leg between her own legs and squeezes my thigh between hers. I am perturbed and ask her what she is doing. As I am telling her to get off of me the guards baton hitting the metal checkpoint right outside my door awakens me. I wasn't going to write about my dream because it included my ex.

Tonight I slept from after the 9:30pm standing count, until 11:00pm. In my dream, I was at a very erotic party. There were naked people everywhere. The center of the large open room was a bare but concrete floor. Dark. Grey. Black. The ceiling held a million tethers that dangled from above and obstructed most of the light. The music was heavy and slow. Romantic. I made eye contact with a woman (an actress whom anyone would recognize by name or face) and she expressed that she felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar. I told her that there was no reason to be uncomfortable and that I could show her if she liked. I don't know if I grabbed a tether from the ceiling, but I had a small light whip in my hand. I told her how everyone enjoys this, and proceeded to lightly tap the bottoms of her feet while she was declining the solicitation of another man. I laid down next to her somehow very comfortable on the hard stone floor, and also in the crowd of perhaps one hundred others in various groupings and couplings of romantic stimulation. When I began to tease other parts of her body, including her hair, commenting on how pretty it is, she asked me to change the bauble end toy of the whip. I told her that I had a bunch she could choose from, and opened a small black cloth bag to spill them on the floor next to us. While I enjoyed gently striking her all over the features I enjoyed about her, she began to sing. At first the song was just aloud to the music, but she did smile and direct some of the song to me. The lights had grown colorful and she started to volunteer  her parts she desired I whip. She, we, held a lot of people's attention by the time she finished the song. We thanked each other for a wonderful time and put our clothes on. I then walked across the room (to my right) and through the bar, into the restaurant portion of the building. It was a much bigger space than most bars and restaurants, and for some reason an orgy in the other room was somehow normal and acceptable. My kids had been there eating, or going to eat and as I hugged my daughter, my two boys, again and still small, had scooted into a booth. They asked why I couldn't join them to which I told them that their mom would be joining them and asked one of my sons to give me a hug goodbye. He curled up in my arms so his knees were against my chest and I started rocking back and forth telling him that everything is going to be alright. As I kissed him on the top of his head someone took me by my shoulders and started moving me over to allow for me to deposit my son on the other side of the booth. I awoke myself as I twisted out of the person's hold while telling them that I would let go of my son when I was ready and not sooner. I awoke laying on my back, face up to the ceiling. No tethers or whips dangling above me. Tears streaming down both sides of my head. I even had tears in one of my ears. My eyes hurt so bad and crying never helps. 

I get up to check the time. 11:02pm. I lay back down and cry hard for a while before the pressure abates. I suppose people will want to know who the actress was and there will be plenty of comments about 50 shades of Zach, but that is what I dreamt about. My back is usually what wakes me. My elbow hurts a lot after trying some light exercises at rec earlier today. They told me I have legal mail and should expect to be called for it tomorrow. 

Plenty to complain about. Injustice? The devil who is always leaning on his elbow causing my back to hurt? The power of Christ is failing to compel him. I have backed way off on physical therapy as it seemed to be making things worse. Some of the letters that people send and the jokes or memes are such an excellent piece of normalcy.

I have always been housed with inmates classified as the worst and that largely includes mental disease. They put someone on this unit, range, that does a high pitched and prolonged "woooh" at all times of day or night. I already don't sleep much but his little cry for attention is awfully annoying. Multiple attorneys I spoke with about the appeal said I should expect at least another three years working on an appeal. So, maybe about another 1,100 days without proper medical care, dental care, or even just a silence that might offer me a chance at sleeping for more than an hour at a shot. The stress definitely increases my hair loss. I can gather it and compare my days. Sleepless nights are really shocking. Less than four hours is ugly. Four hours seems to decrease the rate that hair abandons my scalp, but it is still a lot. At some point the locks of love will have to go. The strays tend to collect on the blanket and tickle me so I spend time looking over my bedding to collect the troublemakers. Better when it is my own hair and not someone else's. Now that we have our names ironed on to our underwear I hope I have to pick someone' else's pubes out of my drawers much less often. Being in jail or prison is really gross. Jail had a guy with foot fungus so bad that when he took off his sock, I almost gagged at the sight and smell of a long green fur carpeted fuzz between his toes. Any effort to wash his feet would have displaced the growth. Powdery white at the base out of which a vibrant green fur had sprouted. If you think that is too gross then I should probably skip the stories of things stuck to the shower walls. Or the story of the guy with genital warts... in his mouth. Not only was I in jail with him but he was a case where he sought some sort of relief because he wasn't receiving proper medical care for it. 

Not only were inmates required to wear socks that were worn by other inmates, else be subjected to discipline, but also would be disciplined for trying to keep a single plastic spoon so we didn't need the spork distributed for lunch and dinner. The alternative is to use disposable flatware, but they would us it as an excuse to not only punish you, but also throw property away. Legislative imaginers don't actually account for executive managers because taking people into custody and subjecting them to all sorts of potentially hazardous biological contact just doesn't make sense to me. I don't know what illness a person has that the guards just throw away the bedding and mattress after the inmate leaves, but it has to be worse than gross. I saw that happen numerous times in jail, and at Dodge. Even worse, they put the inmates that are troublesome in those bunks without cleaning and sanitizing them. So, if any fluid or flesh was left on the bunk frame or wall, it is still there afterward. Vomit, blood, urine, pus; all smeared on the surfaces. People going through withdrawals or suffering Covid or other types of flu, they really don't care. Well, normal people do. 

The standard that develops by people who don't wash their feet or care for their teeth is really low. Cleaners are so watered down that an inmate can guzzle a bottle and not need medical attention. Toilet brushes and the rags for cleaning your sink and table provided in the mop bucket wringer. Kenosha jail was horrible, and now I think of those experiences every time I wipe down the walls and floor after showering in my cell. This place, I get to use my own spoon. No mouth or genital warts, thankfully. Just other people's body hair in my bedding leaving me with the overall impression that it should be much harder to put people in jail, and prison. And it should especially be faster than 1,100 days (or more) to get them out if they never should have been there in the first place. Oh, another 1,100 days.

​More than three years ago, previously, I was arrested and I can expect to see at least another three years. The money that was raised which helped enable my family to get an attorney was awesome. Public defenders are supposedly taking at least thirteen months right now just to be appointed. A large case like mine, with a three week trial would be strung out into the longest possible timeframe. The way I see it; raising that money saved me a year of just waiting. Innocent until... a prosecution has a bunch of people change information to frame you, and then guilty until you can prove you're innocent? With a system that allows (and encourages) that to happen it is more an assurance of injustice than a guarantee of justice.

Meals are served with a white plastic "disposable" spoon. They wrap a napkin around the handles which I often do not use. There are no trees I can hug in the rec yard but I collect the napkins and tuck them into the top of the tissue roll on its side. Its like a little bouquet for cleanliness. Little paper flower swirls. Pick and flower and clean something? It also allows me to pick up the roll with just one finger by pushing it in next to the napkins. My functional style. 

I write a lot about the same sorts of things I suppose but it is usually what is on my mind. I cannot get back to my kids. My daughter will be an adult and my boys will have spent most of their childhood without me. It is a best case scenario because of the wrongs that we all know and plainly witnessed during the bogus trial. I think people should know what it is like and how long it takes to fix this sort of thing. Especially anyone serving on a jury. 

For anyone reading this that donated money to help, thank you. Even though we don't necessarily realize it yet, what you have done so far is at least a years worth of difference to a ridiculously protracted process. And, for the caliber of attorney, may also be the difference between success and failure. Truly impressive. We got this! 

The special needs committee declined my request for a heating pad, which is tremendously helpful for my back. They instruct me to put warm water on a rag. Doesn't work. Tried it repeatedly in jail. The water doesn't get hot enough, or stay hot enough. It is just a deflection and an indirect refusal. A warm rag has never alleviated a muscle spasm. Skipped rec and physical therapy, and ate all of the bread I had saved up.

​Managed about three and a half hours of sleep but awoken by the slosh of keys by some inconsiderate guard doing rounds. It sounds like a bag full of silverware tumbling down steps. Each step a tiny little crash so the inmates don't forget who has the keys and who doesn't. Don't think so? Well the doors are all manipulated by the sergeant in the control room and open and close with the hiss of some air pressure mechanism. Late at night there is very little that needs to be manipulated with a physical key. Plus, why not tuck them in a pocket on a tether? The metallic splash with each stride is just done to be disruptive. Not being able to sleep makes days extremely long. Did you fall asleep? Stand for count!

2:00pm. Unit manager Tom brings me a letter saying that, "per minor child (OA's) Mother Sadie Beacham," I am ordered to stop any and all attempts to communicate with my daughter and failure to follow this order may result in a conduct report for disobeying orders. I get to a phone first today at rec to call my brother and make sure my family is alerted to stop communicating with my daughter on my behalf. I suspect that Sadie isn't going to tell our daughter why I am not calling. She has recruited the authorities, yet again, to do her wrongs.

While talking to my brother, another inmate tries to confront me about using the phone. He says they have a system over here, implying I am not supposed to be on that phone. I tell him, "No, I don't know that" but I have to talk to my family or I just got some bad news I needed to call about. He tries to put me on some type of notice like he is in charge of the phones. Well, he didn't throw down and unless I hear someone sharpening an implement to stab me, I expect the worst that will come of it will be more racist commentary about "soft-ass white boys" but nothing directed at me specifically. I did let my brother go before the call duration expired and offered my thanks and apology. That should at least let him save face about it. 

My letter and the disbursement form are returned to my cell requiring I provide the address to whom I am sending the letter written in the description box. When I ask the guard, he tells me it is because they enter the information into the computer. The information for Madison to handle inmate complaints that is boldly written across the front of the envelope? Yah, it got delayed because, never before but suddenly now, the entire address is required in the description. We only get 14 days and now an additional extra day of delay to jeopardize my asking for any consideration of the truth. Another guard who I presume actually handles the mail comes to my cell when I ask for a supervisor. He says it is coincidence that I have never needed it before but do now. Always note the whole address. Got it.