I get legal access for an hour at 8:35am and on my way there I encounter Peters, the social worker who the corrections program supervisor for C unit, Tom, informed me took the call from my kids mom. She attempts to give me the letter I sent out to her, my probation officer, and a list of other people that were copied on the order to stop me from speaking to my daughter. I told her that she was listed at the top and that is directed to her as well. She counters with the suggestion that I could pursue the issue through the I.C.E. process. I relay what a fraud I.C.E. is and share a brief version of what happened with the librarian at Dodge. It is all just to insulate them so they can get away with doing wrong and her suggestion doesn't offer any genuine resolution since whatever staff say, no matter how absurd, is accepted as truth. Without the possibility for reasonable consideration, as indicated by the proceedings with the Dodge complaint, and the fact that they never even spoke with me before imposing the communication restriction, I cannot have any faith that any remedy would be available through I.C.E.

My back spasmed out on the eighth and finally "let go" this morning, ten days later. It still and always hurts as though someone is leaning on my back with their elbow but instead of the whiplash tightness that captures my breath, I can breath normally. People write to me saying they are happy my back is better now but my normal is hurts enough to prevent normal sleep. I struggle to find four hours of sleep a day when I have nothing better to do for 23 of those hours. 

Nicknames and tag-line comments usually centered around guys trying to green or tease out some indication of ownership of what is accused. In the first few months after my arrest an inmate had asked me "Did you eat him?" while we were walking laps around the small recreation courtyard off E-north housing unit at KCDC. It wasn't until my face was broadcast on CourtTV and social media got a hold of my image that "The Kenosha Brad Pitt" or "The Kenosha Johnny Depp" was ever mentioned. I am sure the internet has an almost unlimited potential for nicknames and comments but I didn't have access to see for myself. 

I get some legal access today. The other inmate in the small room at the other computer gets called for HSU and I spend some time further convinced that what I experienced was not the intended due process but a perversion of what every attorney is schooled to value.

​When the other inmate comes back he explains that he has been at Boscobel since 2018 and before COVID they got two hours of rec per day. He points out that only Charlie unit range one is so restricted as our rec, today, is limited to 45 minutes but the other ranges are getting a full hour and a half. He also says that other units get fed hot meals when we do not and also that the kitchen gets better food but the guards eat it and give us worse. Like, we get plain corn chips but they eat Doritos. We get gross expired sandwiches and they eat the Smuckers Uncrustables. I wonder if the actual cost of housing an inmate isn't ridiculously inflated by the misappropriation or mismanagement of resources. He also points out how they routinely claim there is not enough available staff but everywhere we look has multiple staff standing around gossiping. It is not absolutely true but it is frequently the case. The rec time being cut in half means each side is let out for half the usual time. This avoids the phone conflict with the other inmate for the time being. The food is still way better than what they served in county. Since COVID policy taught the prisons how little they need to do and gave them all the excuse to make it the new normal without consequence, we are essentially a Supermax with the minimal and most restrictive form of incarceration. Guys that know better are especially frustrated though. 

The "call" comes back through the vent about 8:18pm. "You have to handle it yo'self." It's starting to look like the muscle those guys have over the phones is not interested in catching tickets. Not on this range or the next. Good behavior goes to other prisons. Many of these guys are here on bad behavior at medium security joints. Prisons are, by and large, just a fraternity of misbehavior on the tax payers expense. It seems to pain people with young children and physical ailments the most, both of which conditions weigh heavily on my own experience. Young guys who don't care about the responsibility of fatherhood and haven't acquired the aches and pains of years of hard work seem to be downright happy. They pass around the information of the same handful of girls willing to put money on the phone and once they have a TV they spend their time watching reruns and hollering to the other inmates what channel to flip to because some girl has "cheeks." They rap their fantasies and tell grossly exaggerated stories in the vent. It's mostly bizarrely childish.

My neighbor whom we ordered the chess set for was left/given a TV by someone who left. He still plays chess, but much less.

​All of my recent back spasm has subsided to its usual blunt ache. I also talked to The Wolf again today. She has a ton of stuff to work on and she has mentioned something I have not known or considered during each phone call since she was retained. I am of the impression that she really is in her element and I look forward to seeing how things get composed and presented in our efforts going forward. She has repeatedly commented on the group's efforts to get information together and identify things that are important. Even some of the things I identify may not make it into our arguments later but she has lists for reprioritization based on what information scan be affiliated to support our position. 

Some people have asked about growing up and if I could share more stories about it. It is hard to navigate around painful moments, and put things in the correct order, and include pertinent details to decently convey events that other people might be sensitive about. I might find it easier if an organic dialogue flowed into topics but being stuck in here is a physical imposition as well as a psychological one designed and well exercised.

How about the scar next to my right eye? I was probably about 6 or 7, perhaps. My brothers Josh and Sol shared a bedroom with me, or I with them. I had the top bunk bed. Josh, the lower. Solomon had his bed L'd off the stack of the other two. When they weren't being used as beds then they were an indoor jungle gym. Sol being four years younger, manifested the bravery for his first leap from my upper bunk to his bed down below all at the coaxing and encouragement of Josh and my elated prompting. The blank faced shock of his maiden voyage was almost immediately replaced by a smile betwixt exhilaration and the satisfied surprise of still being alive. It was about that fast that he fell into the circuit of jump, climb, repeat but Josh and I had failed to account on his smaller size taking longer to ascend the ladder to the upper bunk but quickly adapted to climbing around him. When our adolescent surplus of energy didn't have us bouncing off the beds and walls then we often had ballistic forms of entertainment throwing things around the room. Solomon's wealth of hand-me-down stuffed animals was the accumulation of both Josh and mine to which we still provided attention when its as within arms reach to missile at a target which could often be each other. In some odd thoughtlessness I had grabbed a stuffed animal dog that we called "Le Mut." (That is French for "The Mutt") and fired him above my head but it struck the glass light cover and shattered its simple squarish glass into large triangular shards. Nowadays, when cats think other cats are fast they say (in their own language) "he (or she) has Josh-like reflexes." If you don't believe me then ask your cat. When the cat doesn't answer it is because they thinks everyone says "Josh-like reflexes" and presumes your question too stupid to answer. 

But anyway, the light explodes into deadly mutilating shards and a pieces the size of a... really small... glacier strikes me in the temple all the way to my skull but somehow Josh grabs Sol and dashes them both into the bunk beds and out of the surprise attack of translucent danger. Warm rushed down my face while disbelief and confusion wrestled my impulses. Josh's "Mom!" alarm went off first. Sol soon after. I knew I messed up bad when my mom didn't want to hurt me for accidentally hurting myself. My mom ran to the bathroom to contain the mess with a towel? Fail. Is it that bad? It doesn't really hurt. I look at my mom's face which says it is. Not a moment lost getting us into the car and heading for the hospital. I was in the front seat. "Can I look?" She didn't want me to but eventually gave in. In the dim light of the passenger side vanity mirror it first appears closed but the slightest press splays open the skin and I see the skull underneath which somehow wasn't completely covered in blood. The blood rushes heavy again and I reapply the towel. I imagine the doctor numbed it but I only remember getting the stitches which stung. I also remember trying to look at it in the bathroom but didn't get to see much because our mom's quick assessment dictated action. My brothers faces appeared to fear my death. They were unbuckled and riding in the back seats but it was Josh's face I saw in the vanity mirror before my own. At one point he was clung to the shoulder of the front seat but our mom made him sit back. The stitches were like stiff bristles which had to be taken out later on.

​The doctor had said "An inch one way and he would have lost his eye, and the other; he might be dead." Maybe he was just trying to keep me from rocketing Le Mut at any more light fixtures. So I have both eyes and am quite alive but have a little reminder in my reflection to try to be a bit more careful about things. Otherwise, every Halloween I would have to escape from a light fixture and haunt children with stuffed animals. 

My back is doing a little better today and I am not holding every breath and grunting a little with I exhale. About 9:26am I go to the nurse to give blood for lab tests. She said it was to test for inflammation which seemed vague but today says to look for indications of arthritis or Lupus. While taking blood, Worley accidentally dropped the second vial and had to stick me a second time. I couldn't just hold the apparatus while she grabbed a replacement. For security reasons it couldn't be allowed. I am not afraid of needles and it was funny because it seemed to bother her more than me and I was the one getting bled. Bandaids on both arms caught the other inmates attention as soon as I walked out. It was nice to see that the nurse is conscientious about her job and if her actions hurt an inmate. 

One of the new guys to the unit is young and keeps rapping his songs in the vent. He doesn't have a radio or TV from what I can tell. He says that every time they send him to the hole that they break his ID and try to charge him for the replacement. I know that having our names ironed on to the clothes comes with some liability as well. The guy swears he didn't damage his ID but then voices his prerogative to refuse to wear one which is one of those things where its too coincidental that "ten" IDs are damaged but it is always the guards. Although some guards do break your things when you go to the hole, some guys account of that type of abuse of authority is hard to believe. 

About 10:05 I get called to HSU. I was wrong. Worley, today, explains I saw Stockstone the other day, and Lee the day after that. I was mistaken about Stockstone's name. She hears me out and also says that I will be contacted for lab work to try to determine inflammation. She also says she will follow up with the doctor. She offers no reply to my question about why no one will look at my medical records. If you can afford it, inmates were allowed to order Pizza Hut pizzas from the local restaurant. The guys are in good spirits. I won't spend funds on that, but it is nice for inmates and the local business. Buffalo wings too! Laying on my left side and sitting up is sharp pain fire alarm. Pushing out my sternum arcs my thoracic spine and does the same thing. Serious pain alarm. I hold my breath and let out little gasps as my body reflexively tries to steady my rib cage. Ugh! I am definitely skipping my physical therapy exercises right now. As much as I hate to be forced to deal with divisive self-centered bullies, the system bothering to warehouse them holds a value to society as a whole.

Back from HSU, I listen to a new inmate "teach" another inmate his methods. "Soft" is powder cocaine not "salted" or cooked into crack. He describes his perfect ratio because it excites while increasing the libido and women "gush" and keep coming back for more. Also, the girls then give themselves freely and there is endless bragging to the simple and easy advantage that some acid and fertilizer yield together. Keep your kids away from these sorts of people. They are just as predatory as... large pharmaceutical companies and opioids. You should also keep your kids away from those. I guess, the reality is, now there is an entire new group of guys now taught his "successful" method. And they will be out soon enough. They already relish the bragging rights their teacher showers upon them. Who would be upset if I mention Adam and Eve right now? Do not bite the apple! The knowledge will result in your downfall! It does not make a better life. It will be your ruin. 

Right before lunch my neighbor, Joe, asks if I am "getting it together" (getting my body together; working out) because he can hear me grunting and gasping in my cell. I suppose I need to try to be quieter about hurting. Really, I was doing good to avoid these more severe spasms when I wasn't doing the physical therapy but I have no way to know if this is change for the better and the growing pains that accompany or if it is "lost cause" suffering.

​About 3:10pm, the guy who is making an issue about the phone and I both get let out for using the phone at the same time so I step into the room he is assigned and ask if he wants to come to an agreement or if it is going to be a game of who gets to it first. He says he is going to talk to someone and refuses any sort of agreement. I doubt he has the integrity to honor an agreement without swearing in front of a valid witness anyway. I essentially communicate that if I beat him to the phone, that I will make one call and move along. That isn't good enough for him. By 6:42pm someone is walking down the hall complaining that "he's outta here so he wants someone else to catch tickets," and specifically names that stocky guy. Maybe he is trying to recruit someone to get into it with me, but he must be looking to transfer out of here. Not everyone wants to be a childish bully or take foolish risks for someone else's phone games. At least, I don't know that he is in any other sort of action that would necessitate the risk of catching tickets. 

It is an extremely uncommon day of really nice weather for mid November. Despite my back ache and whiplash, I go to rec but opt to use the phone. W/hen I get to the phone I usually use, a small guy is sitting at it but not calling anyone. When I ask to use it, he tells me he is holding it for a different scrawny guy who walks around me to accept his reservation. The second scrawny guy then dismisses my request for the phone explaining that he is holding it for a stocky guy. The first guy explains that he was recruited to reserve/hold the phone for the second who held the phone for the last guy who I asked, despite being the first one to the phone with any interest to use it, to let me know when he is done and to "put me on the list" as next. He stays on the phone for the entire rec and I repeatedly check back. He even comes outside to get another inmate at one point but says he is still on it and hurries back inside before I can get in the door.

I practice shooting left handed even though my back has me making all sorts of noise. Another guy who joined me to shoot around asked if I had Tourette's (syndrome). The last beautiful day for the year.

The stocky guy stays on the phone until almost the end of rec but the guards let me get on the phone and gives me a few minutes after watching me try all rec to repeatedly check for a phone. This is how the guys "own" the phones though. They recruit "send offs" to be where they cannot in exchange for simple approval or inclusion. The simple transaction as old as mankind to prey upon someone's insecurity to satisfy some underhanded interest. On the way back to my cell, the stocky guy tries to shoulder check me as well, like some sort of effort to intimidate me. I move out of the way almost quick enough and it turns into this weird glancing rub as he strides past into a group of other inmates in the hall. Back in my cell, the first scrawny guy is across from me and I tell him that what he did prevented anyone else from using the phone. He offers to reserve the phone for me next time but I said no. I tell him if I make it there or am next in line that I would appreciate him being good enough to just keep it honest. I tell him I don't want any special favors. 

Between my back repeatedly waking me up and the guard clacking the checkpoint right outside my door I must have slept twenty minutes at five different times with lots of stretching and grunting complaint in between. One dream was of me laying next to the couch while my daughter sat on it and talked about how funny an old drinking glass was that had a cartoon of two naked fat people on it and a caption which read "mission impossible" or something to that effect.  Another dream I had was of my boys. The taller one was pouting and sitting on a chair saying he wanted to call mom. I said; "Okay, let me get the phone." I walked up the stairs and my short son was running past and I scooped him up saying "Come here you little meatball," which he thought was funny and laughed and repeated it. Both of those dreams awoken by sharp pain in my back but I did get some stretches in that managed a few pops to indicate that it is starting to let go a bit. The pain is not just the usual throbbing ache of a knot but, perhaps, from the stretching, holds a sharp bite and accompanying burn. Hopefully the next time I dream I will make it back downstairs to scoop up my other meatball. 

Does anyone else agree that Terrell's potato chips are better than Lay's? Potato chips and string cheese, together, at the same time. Go! Your cardiologist will slap you but that happiness will linger much longer. I didn't go to school for economics but I feel like it would emphasize local goods and manufacturing while minimizing labor and immigration issues under a competitive free market framework. It's really simple. It's just not the way money or old people are accustomed to do things. I can't tell if its genius or foolish but if you can't sleep then reading about it might help.

Not expecting to be seen yesterday I had dropped a "blue slip" request and today about 9:45am I am called to HSU and see nurse Lee. She checks my vitals and is also extremely reluctant for any physical exam beyond locating the source of my pain. She focuses on the larger Latissimus Dorsi (????) that bulge parallel the spine and not the side of my spine at its facets. People like to go for the big obvious muscles. She has the same vehement reluctance to examine me as Worley with just a few fingers to locate, but she does actually look at my back and comment there is no swelling. I try to lean back to her finger because even the light pressure hurts so good. She won't let me touch her back to show her how she is close but incorrect. Same regurgitation about Tylenol, Ibuprofen, Lidocaine cream, and warm rag. I also ask her to review my medical records so she can see that warm rag and all the progressive steps of treatment didn't work six years ago and don't work now. "Well..." and shrugs her shoulders. Their job consists of offering me instructions for treatment that has never worked and medication I could order for myself from commissary. It is basically not a service. It is a non-responsive distraction. Oh, and Lee read me Worley's notes which omit anything about sitting at the computer and feeling the tweak. Accurate notes are not their forte. Since no progressive treatment option is available I also ask her to at last make accurate notes. Yes, I am sure it was asking too much. I hold my breath to walk and make funny noises that are embarrassing as all hell. It hurts enough that my hands tremble. Tylenol? No.

The guards keys are more evil than the fan, earplugs, and pillows can suppress. About 3:30am I finally fall asleep. I am in prison with a bunch of blankets over my head backlit with a soft white glow instead of the standard bleached out fluorescent. I hear my daughter's voice. I ask "How did you get in here?" and say "We are going to get in trouble." She says "No, dad. It's okay." I am trying to lay still so the guards won't notice I am awake but also inch slowly to see out from my blankets. She tells me not to. I tell her "You can't take the pills, babe, or you won't have the magic." She tells me that she has to because they are her medication. I respond "You don't even know what that means. And no." She says "I have to, dad, they make me." Then small footsteps start stepping all over the blankets I am hiding underneath. "Hold on, boys. I just need to finish talking to your sister." They laugh and stomp harder. I start to laugh too and cannot tell them to stop since its my boys. "Three minutes until standing count. Three minutes until standing count" blasts out of the small stainless steel intercom panel next to the light switch. The pillow is still pinned over my head. 

Between 9:30 and 10:30am I get to go look at discovery material on a laptop computer in a room in the next range. While doing so I feel a tweak in my back. I am familiar with that feeling and I know I am doomed.

About noon I go get a letter from the public defender. The bill even though the attorney has withdrawn without doing any work and now I have Natalie. 

My back is so bad that I stop and ask the guard to call HSU to ask if they can see me. He is doubtful but I get called about 12:30pm and go see a nurse whose name is Worley, I think. She is super reluctant to put gloves on and the extent of her physical exam is to locate where the pain is. Aside from taking blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature. I explain I had rec yesterday but felt my back tweak while sitting at the computer and now it is just strung tight from my neck to my waistline. She says she can only offer me Tylenol, Ibuprofen, or Lidocaine cream. None of those work. Oh, and ice. When I say heat helps she instructs me to use a warm rag. That also does not work. She says she will order lidocaine cream and talk to the doctor. Because her only offer is nothing that helps I ask her to at least make accurate notes.