have come forth to report on her vindictive actions. But, nobody listens when three or four writers, working in unison with the SEC, post inaccurate articles supporting the sanctimonious stand of those dismantling power-abusing bureaucrats? The SEC receiver liquidated (yes, liquidated) the company for pennies (to her friends?). They shredded (yes, shredded) the company's documents (before the appeal!). The SEC itself then seized the $700,000,000 judgment. It cancelled the original case by the company against the SEC. Let's go back to the diary, before I get too angry to think clearly.
By the way, I promised positive stories when they occurred. I was promised by the education director, my counselor and one of the “suits” today that books would be sent to my isolation cell.
No books from any of the three employees have arrived today. I continue reading the Bible and unfortunately I keep re-reading "We're All Doing Time". Of course, multiple pages are ripped out so I guess I'm reading "We're All Doing Some Time" with hundreds of pages removed through old age, usage or vandalism.
It is important to note that although I had been mechanically lucky in my cell until today my prison water is now inoperable and my toiletries are still not here - but I'm not worried because I'm on the "list" for toiletries.
One Chicken Pox infected cell neighbor is now getting medical attention for dehydration - I guess being unconscious can move you up on the medical "list". What a cracker-jack run organization.
Chapter 5 – My Counselor meets “Al”
No one comes on our little tier or ward without wearing Hong Kong air filters on their faces. I'm not worried because my counselor told me I'm behind the door most of the time and I'm probably not on the list to get Chicken Pox or whatever the masks are being worn for this week.
Today I await the Appellate Court's ruling on emergency relief, or do I have to stay one more week to have the new ordered deposition in here instead of answering questions in a more humane setting. What a vindictive action, hopefully someday impeachable.
I was told that regarding my water and broken toilet the plumber would handle it immediately. That was about 2 hours and 45 minutes ago. Immediately, only works one way in an institution like this. We perform immediately when the slot opens for food; they don't have to respect us - so inmates gain respect in other ways. It's so clear to see the double standard of respect in prison.
Today I was awakened to my first concert while in captivity (if that is an acceptable term because even wild animals have larger cages). They are installing a new shower on our Ward. The old one has been out of service for years. The construction crew is top-notch. They began singing doo-wop "I got to get out of this place if it's the last thing I ever do". Hey, that's my song! Maybe they are inmates too? From what I can see - they look like they have as many tattoos as the inmates have. There are so many tattoos on guards; it seems to support my premise that we become like those with whom we work. The workers are guards! It's a reflective and pensive thought that something is wrong with an institution where both the guards and the inmates have the same school song.
Good News - they fixed my water. With contempt, (can I use that word?) the corrections officer (CO) shook his head when he arrived after six hours of my calling. "It's only a switch outside your door" was his comment …as if I could get out the door, or if I could touch the switch. "It was simple to fix - no problem" were his comments, as he walked away in disgust. Why should I feel inadequate? Speaking of inadequate, this shower project by the doo-wop crew of four has been going on now for the better part of five days. It's difficult trying not to listen to the dialogue. "Fuck this"," fuck him", "I told him to fuck off!" I started meditating (self-taught) on my bunk today - can anyone blame me? I must try anything to block out the sounds and negative energies of this place.
By the way, my counselor who is no longer speaking with me tickled me yesterday (not really). She answers to three names and often does not respond if you call her one of the names she is not pretending to be that day. She wanted to know why I call her Ms. Andrews, et.al. "Who is this Al guy? I don't know no Al," she said. What a laugh she gave me. Instead of my self-taught UMMMMMM meditating mantra, I decided to use ALLLLLLLL. It made me smile, and I probably accomplished the same internal joy as if I had been surrounded by incense, llamas and a mountain peak. This inept counselor operates under three different identities. When you address one of her names, if she doesn't want to engage, she becomes one of the other characters. Nothing gets done. She gets away with this mentally painful treatment of needy inmates. Mrs. Andrews, et.al, causes more anguish to these young men and no one even addresses her manipulative or psychotic behavior.
I still have not received books, so I keep re-reading these letters from inmates to this prison guy, who is the Ann Landers of prison life, in "We're All Doing Time". He's a sensitive guy but some of these letters remind me of why I am in solitary. For example:
"I stabbed this guy 38 times in prison until he was dead. This is my eleventh murder, but I now feel the presence of the Spirit in my cell. What mantra should I hum?" I've also gotta get out of this place. Hey, maybe I can help them fix the shower!
From what I can gather from the terms "unbelievable", "fucking ridiculous", and "I can't take this much longer", the work on the shower has halted because a toilet instead of shower handles was delivered for the shower repair order! All I know is that the yelling indicates someone did something the crew didn't expect. I guess we'll continue our across the hall walk for our shower. Institutional brain dead thought occurs when the negative energies outweigh the positive ones. Someone defecated in the shower. That's what the yelling is about. They do not know which guard (yes, guard) did it! What a system.
As I await today's legal visit, I savor the silence, but wish I could know exactly why the shower construction appears to have more challenges than the Verrazano Bridge, the Great Wall of China or me finding an honest and fair-minded Judge to view all of the facts before destroying a company, attempting to destroy a personal reputation and giving me a two-week, or longer, hiatus which I hope will soon end.
Material for this diary comes faster at me than I could ever imagine. As you remember the elevator was "broken", (I am told today the builder of this building was arrested because of how poorly it was built). So after my legal visit on floor three I have to climb with a guard up to floor nine. No big problem, just another creative exercise in my Club-Fed diet program. Climb six stories with your hands cuffed behind your back. Upon arrival at the ninth floor I was put in a holding pen until one of the five eating and resting guards decides to move me to my cell.
Today was very eventful because Ms. Andrews et.al, my counselor, who to this date has not accomplished one of my requests, was walking about the Day Room, which is flanked by numerous holding cells. She saw me, and I silently stared at her. I stared because I knew she had decided to put me in "my place". She started down the stairs to lower cells (about 5-7 concrete steps). Either it was only justice or maybe it was Al who tripped her, but good old Ms. Andrews took quite a tumble.
That humorous tumble has consumed the entire staff for more than an hour. Their panicked reactions were comical and their ability to stand one very overweight 4'8" counselor up again could have been a comedy skit on late night British Television. I didn't say anything, but Ms. Andrews knows that my stare was the last thing she saw before she did a seven stair high-dive into the holding cells. Like Harry Potter, I'm feeling wizardly empowered. All I need now is a Potter escape from my cell beneath the stairs.
When I returned to my cell, my lunch was there (for hours) so I was very selective as to my eating choices. Of note, today is something new. Instead of milk for breakfast and nothing for lunch and dinner they gave me two small packets of granulated fruit punch. It is a very blood-like color when mixed with water. My mind is not a criminal mind, but the last thing I would give these prisoners is a substance that would resemble blood. I can think of too many reasons and ideas of
