I had the opportunity to look at the discovery material briefly this morning. An hour is all they allow and the computer took almost forty minutes to load a cell phone extraction. I got to view some pictures I had taken of my kids and I don't know how to sort my feelings about how they do not look the same and I still dream about them as they were four years ago. Yes, I cried, and heavy when I got back to the "privacy" of my cell. 

The state-issued tablet has a slow and awkward version of law library access which I have been using to read about cases with hopes of finding the best verbiage to express my own arguments. It annoys me that they call assertions facts and even call obvious non-truths "false facts." It is such a liars game where even blatant lies must be referred to as fact? Everything I stumble through reassures me greatly, as long as I get an honest judge. Against my skepticism I remain optimistic. My head obsesses about them taking from me something they cannot replace for their convenience and gratification. Oaths do not assure honesty and the system should require more to be called justice. 

6:00am until 12:00 noon, I am taken to Gundersen Health in La Crosse and do a preliminary interview with Paula. I was really hoping for any sort of treatment but alas no. Still not. When we were done the two guards that drove me made me sit in a room while each took turns going to eat and make phone calls until I got upset about being forced to sit in shackles while they sponged extra time to steal a larger paycheck. Not enough staff? No. Staff just don't have to do anything so they can always claim to need more people. The trip should have taken less than four hours total, including the interview. DOC deserves budget and staff reduction. Taxpayers are getting robbed.

I probably do not do a very good job of explaining what normal prison life is like. Some things may seem normal to unfamiliar observers but they are not. One thing the guards do as a security measure is take a mirror on a stick and check the underside of chairs and tables to make sure inmates aren't stashing contraband to retrieve for themselves later on or to pass it to another inmate. This morning at rec the unit manager is again out of his office to watch inmates. He goes to the bench seats at the end of the basketball court and is bending over low enough to position his head under the seat. Inmates are confused by him checking under seats while we are at rec. Apparently it is something they do not do in front of inmates and also how he is going about it is abnormal enough to invite the usual accusations that the unit manager is "offering his ass." One inmate says the unit manager is "blowing in your eye" (soliciting) if you'll blow in his eye. It does seem to me that he is out here pretending to do some job duty but doing it peculiarly enough to demonstrate he is up to something else. It doesn't matter to me if staff is gay, but after they lied to discipline me at Dodge I have been trying to understand the reason behind it. So when the staff advertise themselves it becomes juxtapose their restrictions on inmates having provocative pictures of their significant partners and how heterosexual interests are points of persecution. So much so that they are welcome to make up an obvious lie and impose discipline. Sounds sort of crazy but it's actually way beyond that. Guys are welcomed to take hormone treatment to "gender flip" or match their biological gender to their psychological gender. That used to be called gender dysphoria but I am not certain of the current politically correct term. Based on reported depression and suicide rates, I wonder if persecuting people for sexual disposition and gender preference of themselves or their partners really should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. I don't even feel unusual should be the argument. Cruel and unjustifiable punishment is probably a more appropriate phase. Anyway, this place continues to confuse me. 

Jeepers creepers takes a step back when she opens the young guys trap across from me so she can see his junk while she is collecting dirty laundry. She actually moves her head to follow the view. Normally the guards stand near enough to the door to see you through the glass window but stepping away allows the line of sight through the trap door and she is obvious about it. Witnessing this behavior encourages me to second guess the screening process for new employees. How could they know?

Today is the first time I have seen the video walk through of the missing guys apartment. There were a number of things that were clarified by seeing the video that I misunderstood by looking at pictures of the place. I don't think I had any particularly helpful observations but I did notice there were Clorox wipes on his counter so I wonder, based on Kenosha Detective logic, what crime scene he must have been cleaning up.

I got to "PRC" about 10:00 this morning. I think it stands for prisoner re-classification. I voice my innocence in the conviction and the issue with the staff at Dodge. The woman administering the review says my points are low enough to be sent to a medium but that I have a "restriction" that mandates three years in a max level institution. She also says that even without the trouble at Dodge, I am sentenced to so much time that I would not be prioritized for any vocational program or work assignment. So, because of the sentence, I cannot work to pay my own contribution toward child support. Justice system?

​On the way back from PRC the unit manager is standing with guards at the control cage or "sergeants cage" but he is standing in the middle of the hallway at the corner with his feet spread much wider than his shoulders and his arms crossed. The "wide base posture." It forces inmates to wait and walk around him as being discourteous is how he attempts to validate himself. Does anyone else feel they ruined Scooby-do by introducing Scrappy-do to the show? I bet some of you who are good enough to read this wonder why it is even worth mentioning. It shouldn't be but this is the guy who imposes the restriction on being able to talk to my kids, who took away evening and weekend phone calls to force me to get the state-issued tablet, and lied to the people willing to call the prison on my behalf. In my eyes, I would say it is a punishment on my children and loved ones as collateral damage for his eagerness to have something with which to punish me. He is questionably meddlesome beyond his badge of authority, and a solid example of how leaving things to the distraction of staff assures the abuse of power. 

Jordie brought me a tablet this afternoon. He had thought I needed to exchange my tablet because someone told him I already had one. He came back later with the form I needed to sign and now I can bother people on evenings and weekends too. 

I was young, maybe in my early teens and was forced to dance with an older man much taller than I was because he thought I was attractive in my disguise of a dress, makeup and a wig. Really awkward way to start a dream but I quickly found an opportunity to break through the crowd around us and left onto the back of a giant magical horse before reaching my hand down to swing my girlfriend onto the horses back behind me. The horse was directed by some sort of telepathic communication I had with it that I called "the vision." To escape the pursuing authorities the magical beast jumped over a train whereafter we had to find a hotel to stop and rest while I watched an old movie that had a duet between a man and woman which would both suppress my insanity and enable the vision for me to communicate with the horse. Learn the song. Learn the song. I slept about 12:30 until almost 4:30am.

Someone ear marked Donald "Duck'n Shots" Trump at his political rally in Pennsylvania today. I bet that will basically guarantee he wins the next Presidential election. I was looking at the news using the word "neutralized" when referring to the shooter and thinking that the term is befitting for what the government and authorities do to someone accused of a crime. I was financially and socially "neutralized" for them to get away with three years in jail and then the bogus trial and conviction. Now the prison continues to try to neutralize my ability to defend myself with restrictions so unreasonable that it significantly compromises access to legal resources or a social network of people inclined to help me right this wrong. I think neutralized is not the best term for what happened to Trumps attacker. The attack killed someone and he or she was killed in response. It feels like they use the term neutralize to reserve ethical and emotional justification. The attacker allegedly shot eight times but when you listen to the gun fire there is a final shot that happens in the end that sounds like the authorities put an extra shot into the attacker to assure he was dead. Maybe he was neutralized and then executed just in case? It seemed like it was a late shot but the attacker could have done so much more damage. It really was a commendable response by the secret service and security detail.

​I hope my kids enjoyed the thunderstorm tonight. We would open the door and watch the storms from inside my house or inside the sunporch when we had warm weather storms like tonight. 

They still have not issued me a tablet, I expect pleased they do not have to. I suppose I should have accepted the offer in the first place had I known they would then be preventing all weekend and evening phone access for those of us without a tablet. Rec is an hour today and it is really nice outside. As he often does, the unit manager comes outside and watches the inmates. One inmate points out that we get accused of masturbation if we tuck our hands in our waist band as our cloths do not have pockets but the unit manager can stand around watching us with both his hands in his pockets, implying he is fondling himself when he watches us. I walk into the room with the exercise equipment to avoid whatever he is watching us for and for some reason the unit manager follows me in there. One of the inmates soon to be released is bold enough to comment when the unit manager walks in the room. "Tom is here to watch me work out! Come watch me work out, Tom!" Being confronted about his creepy behavior embarrasses him enough that he turns red and leaves. He didn't go back to work though. He went outside and walked around the rec yard watching the guys get sweaty in a game of basketball. The jokes continue about him blowing kisses at inmates and how he should have pom poms. I am just struck at how many times I have heard they do not have enough staff but they have staff that doesn't have anything to do but to stand around watching inmates instead of doing a job. Find a cute man to stare at and never work a day of your life? I dont' know what he followed me for but I wonder if ulterior motives are behind my being deprived of phone calls. Maybe the unit manager is jealous and so he doesn't want me to maintain relationships with anyone else? If the first thing they think tucked hands would be doing is sexual, then what are they doing with their hands in their pockets? Creepers. 

The water was so cold that every muscle in my body tightened as my warmth was instantly stolen from me. The small boat we had paddled from our ship ran aground on a sand bar off the shore and the waters depth had us all swim a few strokes before our feet again found ground to sneak up out of the lazy tide. All I had in my hand was a folded straight razor for shaving and while I waited for the rest of the crew to gather I tried to wring some water out of the rags I wore for clothes and opened the razor electing to use the back edge to scrape water off of my forearm. Someone else would initiate the attack and I could see a few men peeking over the wall to watch the guards who were so far completely oblivious to our presence. The first of us to leap over the wall held a short rectangular blade that glinted in the moonlight. He went silently just as soon as the guard had knocked on a door and announced himself. The rest of the crew poured after him, all of us so hungry that the cold didn't slow us down at all. The small building filled almost immediately with crew whose brutality was platformed as quickly as they could run. With the building full of crew the rest of us began to encircle the building with me stopping just outside a window at the same time a guard was attempting his escape. The man next to me grabbed the guard and with my assistance pulled him right out the window to the ground where other crew members had him dead before I could whip crack a towel cloth. As some crew jumped into the window I was shoved along the outside of the building where we rounded a corner to find a young man yelling "now stop that" while kneeling in the dirt. He spoke the same language as me and it occurred to me that I did not know the language of my crew members to translate for them. It wouldn't have stopped them anyway. The curved blade that killed him did so in one swing. The second cleaned his head from his neck before his body finished tipping over. He didn't even see the swing coming and his head hit the ground with his eyes wild in confusion. My soggy wet clothes held no plunder and I looked at the razor still folded in my hand. I couldn't feel the cold and I couldn't feel the hunger anymore. I couldn't even feel the razor and its handle in my palm. It was as if my own head was cut off at the same time the young man lost his. Both of us lost in wild confusion. My eyes are always so strained and tried that the flashlight that bleaches through my eyelids is mildly painful. That's what awoke me about 3:30am, although I refused to look at the clock until the guards next round. I wonder if contemplating the prosecutors trial fantasy fed into any aspect of my dream since there was a person attacked at a door but my world is currently full of doors and many of the people around me are violent. I suppose my dream was some expression of being obligated to go along with my peer group against my own alignment. I expect someone will try to spin anything I write to satisfy their own perversions, eager to fabricate guilt out of things I did not say do, or dream.

Most inmates and guards do not act out in any way. It is only a small percent of both that behave in a way that could invite comment. Those that act unsensibly appear to me to behave that way for either peer approval or some sort of sexual interest. I feel quite strongly that the path to rehabilitation for any inmate requires an environment where they achieve peer approval for positive behavior regularly and consistently. Like, guards should be able and encouraged to be friendly and encouraging. And this weird dominance and privacy control concerning hormonal compulsions really needs to be as separate as possible as to not invite the abuse of guards on inmates, inmates on guards, or inmates on inmates. Guards are rumored to abuse each other in that way freely and concentually. The nature of being forcibly confined however offers very little assurance of free and concentual behavior. Everything happens through coercion, compromise, and acquiesce at best. Well, most everything I have heard or seen does anyway. That is why the convenient efficiency of multiple people in a cell should only ever be briefly temporary and avoided with much priority. I don't need any more inmates trying to befriend me by showing me their third nipple. Yes, that actually happened.

12:30am I am awoken by the sergeant telling me to get ready and come up to the cage where they control the doors. Not realizing it was for a random urine analysis I used the toilet before going and ended up getting stuck in a holding cell until I could juice a lemon. I tell the guards administering the test that they could have waited until 1:30 or 2:00 since that is all the sleep I achieve most nights.

​I was informed that a fund raising goal was set and exceeded on my birthday. I specifically ask that how much people donate is not shared with me. Money should not be any influence on whose company I enjoy. I am grateful to everyone who contributed but not everyone has equal means and for me it is most important that my regard for people cannot possibly be questioned as to someone's charitable donations. I want to be afforded genuine friendship and not some political constituency. I am grateful to everyone who did send money and who continue to hold an interest in this giant mess. Through the difficulties, my determinatus.