Going Bald

I went to “rec” today in order to shave my beard off and cut my hair. For “rec” (short for what the jail calls recreation), I am allowed to go up on the roof of the jail to a domed cage about half the size of a basketball court. There is a basketball, and hoop, and even a handball (much more than most other jails have). I'm allowed one and a half hours, by myself of course, twice a week. But I usually only go once every other month or so, to cut my hair and shave my beard off; like today. The cordless electric trimmers that they let inmates use (only during “rec”) have been an ongoing issue. Because of the constant use they get, they usually only last a few months before the battery stops taking a charge. I've seen at least four different models of cordless trimmers since I've been here, and they seem to get cheaper and cheaper (and stop working sooner) each time they are replaced. There haven't been any trimmers at all available for the last month or so. But I was told they finally got some new ones about a week ago, and I was past due to get my beard wacked off, so today I went to “rec” accordingly. But the “new” trimmers were the cheapest I've ever seen. They would not hold a charge for more than a minute or two at a time. And I had already started to cut my hair when the charge ran out on the first trimmer. They had two, so I exchanged them and tried to continue cutting my hair when the second went dead too. So I shot some hoops while I waited for them to charge some, then tried again. By the end of my hour and a half of “rec”, I had wacked off most of my overgrown hair, but now I had an uneven mess of stubble all over my head and face. Fortunately I had anticipated a problem like this and had a backup plan. They don't let inmates have real razors to shave with (they issue one inch wide “toy” razors that are so dull that they literally rip the hair instead of cutting it, no lie! They're called “no shank razors”, but about the only thing they are good for is making shanks. And, they are so easy to tear apart to get the blade out that they should be called “easy shank razors”. Somebody's making a lot of money by just calling them “no shank razors” for nothing, a very typical “industrial complex” rip off) but I ordered some “Magic Shave” (depilatory cream) from the jail commissary, and after “rec” I went to the shower and smeared almost a whole tube of the stuff all over my head and face! And, behold, 15 minutes later I was as bold as Kojak (but twice as handsome) :) (This is the first time I've ever shaved my head in my life, and I get no thrill from it, so it will probably be the last time too.)

How A Spider Listens

When I find spiders in my cell lately I have been catching them in a styrofoam cup that has a clear plastic lid. When I find flies, or other insects, I put them in the same cup. The spiders are kept happy, I think. The other bugs, not so much. I like to watch the spiders spin their webs, catch their food, and feed. The largest one gets most of the prizes, and she has even molted once already, much to my surprize! But she is still only about one centimeter toe-to-toe. I wonder how big she will get. The smallest are less than a millimeter toe-to-toe; barely even specks of dust. But they are just a bold as the largest. I saw one of the smallest actually pounce a fly that was the size of a house by comparison! All the spiders in my little cup (five to date) seem to be the same species. I have often said that all living creatures are potential teachers. From my spiders I have learned a lesson that I have been seeking for years. I did not understand why the Eastern teachers of peace and wisdom put so much emphasis on correct posture and form in their practice. The big spider in my cup taught me why. As I was watching her preparing and mending her web, apparently in anticipation of the particularly large fly that was in the cup at the time but not yet caught in the web, I was fascinated by her every move. But most interesting of all was when she finally moved back to the center of the web. As I carefully watched, she assumed the “listening position”. She grabbed several strands of the web and put slight tension on them. I could see her do this by the way the web moved as she settled down to wait. Then, once she had the right tension on the lines and the right position of her body and legs (with her legs symetrically arranged, probably so she could balance the slight tension on her body from the web) she did a very humanlike thing: she wiggled her behind as if settling in to a comfortable position. Then she did not move at all. She would remain completely still for as long as it takes for the “understanding to come” (i.e. the fly to become trapped in her web). I suddenly saw clearly that she was “meditating”! Many things I had read in Buddhist books suddenly made more sense to me. The need for proper posture in order to balance the slight tension we keep on the web of our experience. I already understood that meditation was a form of listening, and now I understood the relation that correct posture and form have to the act of listening. Of course, I cannot truly express the understanding I have “caught in my web”, using these words in this blog. But anyone who has experienced the way nature teaches us might at least smile at the lesson I have learned. I could ask no more.

Back in Indio

A few weeks ago I was unexpectedly put on a transport merry-go-round from Blythe to Indio to Riverside then back to Indio. I supposedly had a dental appointment in Riverside but I did not know what for. But by the way I get transported and left overnight in a holding cell, with nothing but a toilet and hard bench to sit on, and then all day in another holding cell with chains on my hands and feet (yes, much like in a medieval dungeon only with more lights). I presume I must have made someone in a command position angry about something; I'm just not sure what.
Oh well, (as I always say) the merry-go-round stopped in Indio for some reason, so here I am (so much for the „solution” to the noise problem).
I don't mind. They could put me in a real dungeon chained to a wall and I would still not mind. They have as much right to bring suffering into the world as I did (and still do). If I decried them that right then I would only be condemning myself, which is something I no longer feel the need to do.

Transfer to Blythe Jail

Yesterday morning i chose to seek an „internal solution to my problem” (of being harrased by an inmate trustee) and the payoff came much sooner than i thought it would. But, instead of the philosophical insight that i expected, the solution came in a very material form. Rather than attacking the other inmate (which was my „old school” inclination) i released my irritation over his behavior and addressed the real problem: being woke up in the middle of the night and often kept awake by incessant noise.
The trustee only made himself a target of my underlying frustration over the noise levels in the cell i was in The noise was excessive, to say the least, because of the cell's location in a high traffic hallway and also because noisy and dissruptive inmates who yell and bang on the doors for no good reason are routinely placed in the cells adjacent to the one that i was in. So instead of „punishing” the intrusive trustee with a „golden shower” (spraying urine on him through the door), which probably would have only made things worse by instigating the trustee to find some way to „punish” me in return (which is also why crime escalates in the wider world when society turns to „punishment” as a solution), i instead sent a kite to the classification sergeant, requesting that some solution to the noise problem be found (withuot specifically mentioning the incident with the trustee). I had hoped, at best, to be allowed to have a pair of foam rubber earplugs (which they sell on commisary at other jails but not here in Riverside), but to my delight and surprise i got something much better.
I got moved to a completely different and far more comfortable jail! I'm still in Riverside County, of course, but they packed me up and drove me some 90 miles East to a jail in Blythe, which is right on the Arizona-California border along Interstate 10. The cell they put me in has a real metal bunk (with a top bunk over a lower which provides a little shade from the blarring florescent lights that are standard in most jail cells these days) a complete mattress, a 20 inch color T.V.! And even hot water on tap (for coffee). And the food is better!
I can't believe my luck. I even got a clean new blanket that is at least twice the thickness of the blanket i had at the other jail in Indio (and it's not torn up either). And of course, most of all, it' quiet! Relative to the cell i was in at Indio this one is like a morgue. I slept last night like a baby.
The only problem here could end up being a blessing in disguise. The problem is that i now have to be transported 90 miles for all court appearances. The ride can be a bit uncomfortable, but getting „out and about” once and a while is pleasant also. I know i won't enjoy all the hassles that go along with being transported (getting chained up and often waiting for hours in featureless holding cells). But the peace and quiet alone is more than worth it!

Golden Showers

For the last several nights, including just tonight, I have been awakened in the middle of the night by a large "skinhead" trustee who covertly bangs on the door of the cell I am in as he mops past in the hall. So for the last couple of nights I banged back on the door and called him every name I could think of to try to discourage him. It seems I only encouraged him instead.

So my next plan was to resort to "old school" prison tactics. I emptied a pack of jelly which is like a fast food restaurant "ketchup pack", only twice as long, so it can be inserted through the door crack. Then I poked a few small holes in the unopened end. Now, I have only to insert the device through the door, and the next time that trustee mops past my door I will fill it with urine (if I wanted to be really mean I would mix in some feces, but I've never gone that far before), then squeeze my side closed so the liquid sprays out through the holes on the other side of the door, "giving the punk a golden shower".

But, I say: "was", because my conscience will no longer allow me to do it. I have no real anger toward the trustee. I just want him to stop banging on my door. And it's easy to rationalize "teaching him a lesson". But I won't. Because I believe now that such rationalizations are self-deceptive and destructive. I will seek a solution to this problem inside myself instead.

What's Next For Duncan?

The California (Riverside County, Indio) case is indefinitely stalled while Duncan prepares for an eventual trial. The next status hearing is June 11th, and there is a tentative trial date set for some time in September (me thinks), but that will be rescheduled for probably the middle of next year since there is no possibility that Duncan will be prepared for trial this year (or next for that matter).
The federal appeal is still question. The appellate court should decide within a few months whether or not they will accept an appeal filed by Duncan's stand-by counsel without his consent.
If they accept the appeal then it could take another one or two years for them to rule on it. The appeal issue will be Duncan's competency to represent himself.
If the appeal is not allowed then Duncan could be scheduled for execution by the end of this year or early next year. There would be no further appeals to delay what Duncan calls his „release date”.
However, if California decides that it still wants „justice for Anthony Martinez” then they could delay the federal execution until after the state's trial. Of course, if they do not delay the federal execution for their demands of „justice” then they'll only be exposing themselves as the hypocrites and murderers that they really are. I would happily welcome them to the club. :)

Not So Naked Lunch

"Tacos," at least that's what I've heard today's lunch called more than once by the deputies. I get one "hot meal" a day, and lunch is it; thank god only one! I refused to eat my "hot meals" at all for more than two months straight when I first got here over a year ago once I saw the way it was served. Because I am in "isolation" all my "hot meals" are served in three compartment styrofoam trays, which means the food routinely gets mixed together; I get gravy in my pudding and pudding in my salad all the time. Today we had beans, ground meat (possibly beef, possibly not meat at all). Iceberg lettuce and salsa. I was lucky and they did not put the salsa directly on the beans or meat today, so I only had to pick a few green peppers and onions out of the meat and I was good to go. I like "taco" days merely because of the quantity of food I get. It means I don't have to be hungry later. Even if they dump the salsa on the meat and beans I will either scrape as much off as i can or just mix it in and count my blessings that I have plenty to eat as it burns its way down to my stomach. We also get a small packet of artificially sweetened juice (to mix with 8 ounces of water), which was orange today. And a single pack of dressing (italian today) that I usually save until I have enough to actually use for either a salad or on my hard boiled eggs in the morning (since we get no salt or anything else to put on the eggs). Actually the "hot meals" aren't all that bad compared to other jails (ADA County jail in Idaho was hands down the worst food I have ever had to eat in my life, with Kootenai County jail a close second-even the plain bread tasted horrible-here in Indio the bread is pretty good!). The only problem here isn't the food itself so much as the propensity they have for peppering it to the death with green, black, red, and other unamable peppers! Yuk! Don't people realize that pepper only came into use historically as a way to mask the flavor of spoiled and rotting food. And that's exactly all it's good for since even a little will completely dominate the taste buds so you can't taste anything else. A far far cry from plain unsalted popcorn!

Bugs Under The Toilet

Indio jail is by far the most disgustingly filthy jail I have ever been in. And as a rule, jails are pretty disgusting. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that this jail is as close to the Mexican border as I have ever been (in jail that is). I would imagine this place is an exercise in sanitation compared to an actual Mexican jail. I have been confined here in "isolation" (a cell by myself) for over 15 months now and though I have asked several times to have my cell cleaned, or even to just be given some cleaning supplies so I can do it myself, I have received neither. So I use a thin wash rag that I bought on commissary, and a bar of soap, to clean everything from the walls to the floor and even the toilet (which has some strange black mold growing in it that quickly spreads if I don't keep it washed out). When I first moved into this cell they told me they "cleaned it out" for me. But, the walls were not touched and were spattered with food and body fluids (goobers and probably semen). The floor had goobers too that I had to soak for several minutes in order to remove, not to mention layers of black and grimmy crude that to this day I have still been unable to clean out of all the corners (though I keep trying). Well, actually this is the fourth different isolation cell I have been moved to here in Indio (they only have four) and I have meticulously cleaned them all. This one (cell 19-4) was by far the filthiest. Now at least I have it under control. I can't do much about the grime and bugs (pincher bugs, crickets, and little black things) that live behind and under the toilet. I leave the crickets alone usually (unless they start getting a little too bold and I find them crawling on me-then it's down the toilet they go along with all the pincher bugs I find). But at least the walls are cleaned up to as high as I can reach. I just have to ignore all the blobs of toilet paper stuck to the ceiling and on the light up there. So I manage. And now the only really disgusting filthiness I have to put up with is when they take me to the shower cell where there are regularly 50 or more flies on the walls, and maggots crawling out of the cruded over drains in the floor. In the shower I have too often seen blood on the walls and floor, used bandages, and all kinds of other refuse that tends to build for weeks at a time before being swept out (not cleaned at all). And worst of all...poo! Oh well, at least the water is copiously warm.

Breakfast In Bed

For breakfast today I was given a brown paper sack ("lunch sack") that contained one slice of bread, 2 oz of grape jelly, 2 hard boiled eggs, a banana, a double serving size bag of generic cocoa crispies, a styrofoam cereal bowl and a plastic spoon. I always received one eight ounce carton of fat free milk (fairly fresh this morning). This was a relatively good breakfast. On a "bad" breakfast day I might get: one plain "nutri-grain" donut (unsweetened and hardly edible), a bruised and blackened, or freezer burned, or split open banana. (i.e. inedible), a double serving size bag of plain generic rice crispies (no sugar or other sweetener), the bowl and spoon, and one warm and/or sour non-fat milk. Breakfast usually oscillates between these two extremes with a tendency (fortunately) toward the "good" breakfast days. I am fed each morning around 4:00 am (give or take ten minutes I suppose) through a hatch in the door of the cell. Having no place else to sit, I enjoy my meals while sitting on the concrete bunk, "breakfast in bed!" I always appreciate the food I am given and consistently thank the deputy who hands it to me though hatch. I never forget that millions are starving in this world every day.

Eating Meat Free (Dinner)

"Four-thirty you can eat meat free! Ha Ha Ha Ha !" So the jolly mental patient said repetitiously outside of the Sexual Psychopath ward window at Western State Hospital while I was there from 1980 to '82. We all assumed he was so flabbergasted by the concept of free meat to eat that he went insane. Well, so far I'm managing to cling to my own sanity as I am served dinner every day around four o'clock in a brown lunch bag. Today was very typical: One slice of processed cheese, one slice of processed turkey lunch meat, about 10 ounces of grated carrots (in a styrofoam cup), two slices of bread (mashed, but not intentionally today), a rime apple, the obligatory eight ounces of fat free milk, a plastic spoon and three packs of mayo, (one for the sandwich and two for the carrot salad). I had saved one of my boiled eggs from breakfast this morning, as I often do, and chopped it up in a saved styrofoam cereal bowl using the edge of the spoon. Then, I mixed in two packets of mayo to make egg salad, which I added to the sandwich to make it a little more interesting (not to mention satisfying). Now you know.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Deputies

Some of the deputies (jail guards) seem to think they are still in high school, where being "cool" requires them to harass the class "nerd" in front of their friends. Except instead of a nerd it is now a "child killer" that they feel compelled to taunt in order to impress each other. I have been called names, had my food mashed, denied toilet paper, frequently startled awake at night, and even farted on! (How childish is that?) All by jail deputies here in California, who are paid $25-$30 per hour with excellent benefits to perpetrate their little high school pranks. You would think with that kind of money they could find better ways to impress each other. Most of the deputies are genuinely cool though. That is, they don't feel any need to prove their "coolness" (i.e. they act like adults). As for the adolescents; they are a nuisance, but by being so they make themselves insignificant.

"I am here, I have come."

I am here...in jail...in California...facing death. This is my worst nightmare come true. It is the thing I have feared more than anything for most of my adult life. It was that fear that ultimately drove me here. But now...I'm not afraid any more. I'm not sad, or depressed, or angry. Of course, I'm not happy or pleased either. I am just...here...and I'm not ill, worried, or suffering. I get stressed over the noise at times. But when it is quiet, like now, I can empty my mind and totally accept things as they are, totally.

I sleep, eat, read and meditate on a narrow (22") concrete "bunk." The mattress is two inches of foam padding wrapped in nylon reinforced plastic. It is six inches wider than the "bunk" and ten inches shorter than me. There is no pillow, and one thin dirty and torn wool blanket. It is uncomfortable, but I don't mind. I did not come here to sleep.