Incarceration Chronicles V: 25 February 1994 (Day 9 at Lorain C.I.)
After my sentencing in October 1993, I spent four months in the county jail before being transferred to a state prison (Lorain Correctional Institution) on 17 February 1994. In prison, like anywhere else, some days were more "interesting" than others from a journaling perspective. At this point, early in my "bit," I was locked in a cell with one other guy 23 hours a day. Because in 3-house (as our cellblock was called), we rarely got out of our "rooms" except to go to meals, this might qualify as one of my most boring journal entries. But I think each puzzle piece, however apparently plain, is an integral part of the complex "big picture." So here it is, unabridged. And rest assured, I wouldn't be in 3-house much longer.
First here are links to previous installments, to provide a bit of context:
Part 1: 17-21 February 1994
Part 2: 21 February 1994 (continued)
Part 3: 22-23 February 1994
Part 4: 24 February 1994
Part 5 resumes my diary where we left off, at the start of my 9th day at Lorain Correctional Institution:
Fri. 25 Feb. 1994
6:45 a.m.
Last night I dreamt I was home. Pam and I visited Mike at the county jail. Then we drove around. We were going to go shopping, but changed our minds and went home. We were about to have sex when the dream ended.
* * *
I swear to you my love is true,
Especially when my dick's in you.
* * *
7:30 a.m.
I just read more in "Living the Resurrected Life."
* * *
10 a.m.
I just wrote another letter to Candrasekhara Dasa, since his letter to me was probably returned by the county jail.
I hope I'll be able to get enough stamped envelopes to mail all these letters out. I know I'll get more money on visiting day. But I might get to go to commissary before that. I should only have $4.58 left. I wonder how much they charge per envelope? Those, a pen and more paper are my highest priorities. Everything else can wait a week or two, if need be. I still have some state soap.
* * *
11 a.m.
I have finished reading "The Resurrected Life."
Now they are testing the fire alarms. The noise is extremely irritating.
* * *
11:50 a.m.
I just wrote a short letter to Mrs. Springfield [one of my attorneys].
* * *
12:40 p.m.
I just read another tract my cellie had, "Tommy's Choice" by Mina Glick.
* * *
12:50 p.m.
I jusr read "That's My Place!" by Edwin Raymond Anderson. Now I begin the March/April/May 1994 issue of Our Daily Bread.
* * *
3:40 p.m.
I just shaved. The razor was dull enough to tear my face up. It doesn't help that I have no shaving cream.
Other guards have let new arrivals make phone calls on their first day. I wonder why we weren't allowed.
It's snowing abundantly again. Earlier, we had all sunshine.
* * *
7 p.m.
I've been writing to Pam and reading from Our Daily Bread.
* * *
9:40 p.m.
I began reading Bhagavad-gita again. However, this time I am skipping the introduction and purports by Prabhupada [founder of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness]. I want to get its jist, without an ISKCON twist.
* * *
"A person who is not disturbed by the incessant flow of desires ... can alone achieve peace."
(attributed to Sri Krishna, from Bhagavad-gita 2:70, translated by Prabhupada)
strange how something seems unbearable yet we bear with it as well as we're able in spite of its un-bearability. The rights we take for granted in our daily life become rewards when we think about not having our freedom.
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True, Joy.... It seems surreal to me to read this now. I seem incredibly matter-of-fact about the whole morass. I believe I kept my remarks short because I was nearing the end of my last legal pad. Might have written more if I hadn't been concerned with running out....
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I find the contrast between the dream and "sex" haiku, and the immersion in religious tracts and literature interesting. Almost two ends of a spectrum...and you fell somewhere there in the middle.
Could you have music at this point? I know you've said you could have cassette tapes but didn't know if you had them here. I can imagine music could really help cut into the bordom factor... and since like the books that you read over and over you got to know your music very intimately as well because of how often you listened to the same thing.
Did one day blend into another or by keeping a journal did it help keep things distinct..?
Sorry for asking so many questions... it's just these come to mind whenyou post these..
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No music during the four months in the county and three in Lorain C.I.... I did get to hear a couple of songs, purely by chance one time. One of them was "Loser" by Beck. But that will come in a future installment, I'm pretty sure.
Tracts were all I had to read at this point, besides the Gita, which they let me have because of my "religion." At the county jail, they had a mini-library - plus they let me have my Gita and a Thompson Chain Reference Bible sent in from home. When I got to Lorain, they wouldn't let me have both - made me choose between the Gita and the Bible, so I picked the Gita, figuring I could find another Bible somewhere more easily.
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This entry makes me feel like this:
$#*&^%$!!!! I remember Lorain Correctional and feeling that closed in feeling and the freedom I felt to leave after class realizing the guys I just taught were going to have to spend every day and night locked up in there.
I also remember seeing the gulls on the lawns and thinking they could just fly off. It gives me cold chills to think of this.
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I wrote a poem about those gulls... there were hundreds of them, all the time. Guys would save bread from their sometimes pitiful meals and feed them out their windows. The poem will be coming up pretty soon in my journal.
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Why are the gulls part of my memory? I remember thinking of the way humans treat each other curtailing freedom and making those behind bars suffer in cold desolate cells while the birds can fly inside and fly out totally free to come and go. I would love to read your poem about this.
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Elena, are you implying that there should be no prisons? Or are you speaking metaphorically of something else? No person is as free as a bird unless they are a vagabond, which I would assume is not the most pleasant of lives. Everyone commits to something.
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No, I am certainly not implying that there should be no prisons. I am remembering teaching in this prison where John was at that time and realizing that he was innocent, that there was no evidence presented of his guilt with DNA or other evidence except the lying testimony of a teen age girl. I could walk out after teaching there while the men I taught had to stay even though many of them did nothing except to get involved with drugs. But when I left I was free to drive away and the hundreds of gulls that flew into the yards there could fly away. That is all. Yes, freedom of movement, of choice, of life and that is what I believe we all want. And THAT is what I am committed to. Eleven years of depressing and isolated living is too long to be punished for something JC didn't do. Period...
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I guess I still don't understand. You are comparing the prisoners to the birds. Why should they not be as free as the birds? If the only crime was drug dealing, why should they be caged? I guess what I wonder, is what, in your opinion, would deter a dealer from dealing dangerous drugs, when the drug business is so lucrative? I realize that you are saying that the punishment should fit the crime and what I am asking is, do you not believe that very often, it does?
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Yes, of course, the punishment SHOULD fit the crime. When it doesn't THAT'S FOR THE BIRDS. LOL
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Your poetry has gotten much better.
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LOL... ain't that the truth!?!
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