My attorney, Joe, called last week and told me that the judge in Idaho has finally issued his ruling on the six-week multi-million dollar "competency" hearing that took place at the beginning of this year (2013). Not unexpectedly the ruling is that I was, in fact, "competent" when I waived my death sentence appeals, and "competent" when I opted to represent myself (and consequently provide no legal defense - i.e. no witnesses, evidence, or arguments against any sentence of death - the news reporters claimed that I wanted to die, but hopefully, if you've been reading this blog, you already know that's not true at all). So, I am officially now legally sane; what a relief, LOL. They had me worried for a while there, LMOL!
I haven't actually read the judge's 60 page decision yet, but Joe is sending it to me and once I have looked it over I'll write what I think here (for those who care). In the meantime, I shaved off all my hair. It was getting too long to manage easily, and signing up to be chained up and taken downstairs to get it cut was too much trouble in my book. Besides, it was fun cutting it all off myself with a single razor in the shower, and it gave me something to do that was out of routine, which helps to break up the monotony. I've been waiting for the judge's decision before I shaved my head because I didn't want any reports of "unstable behavior" reaching him and possibly influencing his thinking. I have no plans on keeping it shaved clean. I just wanted to be rid of the mess for awhile, at least until it grows back.
This decision (competency) also means that I can start being a little more honest again about some of my thoughts and feelings that I was worried the "defense" attorneys (who are all great people) and doctors would use to convince the courts that I am not competent. It's not that I've been dishonest, I've just been avoiding certain forms of expressing myself that could be misunderstood or even misrepresented. Now that the district court judge has made his ruling I don't need to worry about this so much because all subsequent rulings (appellate) are supposedly made "from the existing record", and not from anything I say or do now. In other words, I'm free to be as "crazy" as I want again. LMOL LMOL! LMOL!!
(J.D. 12-24-13)
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Noisy Neighbor
The only other prisoner here in Federal Death row who seems willing to talk to me beyond just being polite is my current next door neighbor. He is a tall sixty-something unshaven and scraggly grey-haired man who only talks to me when he thinks he can get something from me; a magazine, extra food, or some sort of favor.
I suppose he thinks that because most of the prisoners here shune me he should be able to win favors from me by being nice. I only suppose this because he is rarely nice to anyone else and talks trash about homosexuals, child molesters, and nigers, openly and frequently. But, I treat him kindly and politely all the same. I figure it's not his fault that he is so transparently self obsessed. To top it all off, he fancies himself a brilliant amateur scientist with ideas for trapping unlimited energy from the earth's core that can solve the entire world's energy crisis, if only President Obama didn't personally have it out for him. (According to my neighbor, the reason he is on death row is because of secret presidential orders to keep his revolutionary energy ideas from being taken seriously.)
This might seem comical, but I don't laugh and try to ask interesting questions when he talks about such things, though it is extremely difficult to get a word in at all, much less a question, when he's on such subjects – when he's on ANY subject, really. I try not to just humor him the way most of the guards and other prisoners do, and maybe that's why he talks to me – it's another theory at least.
The other day he yelled out my name to get my attention, „Hey, Duncan! Joseph Duncan!” I answered by yelling from my bunk without getting up, „Yeah?!”
He asked, „Do you want to use the phone?”
I honestly did not understand why he would ask me such a question out of the blue like that. So, I replied with a question that seemed natural to me, „Why would I want to use the phone?”
When I asked that I heard someone further down the tier (or „range”, ad they like to call it here) laugh out loud. My neighbor reacted by lashing out at me.
„Fuck you, you piece of shit coward!”
He made sure to yell it loud enough so the person down the tier (or „range”) could hear. I didn't know if he was yelling at me or the other prisoner. So I asked as bemusedly as I could, „Are you talking to me?”
Well, he said he was talking to me and then over the course of the next few minutes he accused me of showing my asshole to other inmates through the cell door window, talking about fag sex with other inmates through the air vents, being the most self-centered person he ever met, and a liar to boot.
I didn't bother telling him what I thought about him, and neither did I bother attempting to defend myself by refuting his accusations. Instead I just asked why he was attacking me just because I'd asked him why he asked me if I wanted to use the phone. I also asked him why he thought I was self-centered, which he couldn't answer but I assume it is because I refused to buy things on comissary for him when he tried to get me to in the past, not to mention other „favors” I refused to do for him (he seemed to forget about all the things I did for him without ever asking so much as a thank you in return, like loaning him books and magazines, and giving him coffee, sweetener, and extra food when he asked for it, and that I've never asked him for so much as a conversation in all the time I've been here).
From his responses to my questions, and other evidence, I was able to discern that the reason he asked me if I wanted to use the phone was because he was trying to involve me in an overt attempt to keep another prisoner from getting the phone. It was this other prisoner who laughed when I didn't go along with the plan, which my neighbor thought was a conspiracy between me and the other prisoner (who, according to my neighbor, I was having a homosexual relationship with through the vents and windows), all to make him look bad.
So, after assuring my neighbor that I'd never spoken to any other prisoners at all through the vent, and that I didn't even know the inmate who laughed at him (nor did I know anything about any other inmate's homosexual proclivities) and that I'd only asked why he asked me about the phone because I genuinely was perplexed by the sudden unexplained question, my neighbor „accepted” MY apology (which I took to be the closest thing to an actual apology from him) and was then quiet for the rest of the day (for him to be quiet at all is a gift in itself, and I suspect he actually believes he's doing me a favor when he is quiet – and to tell you the truth, so do I).
I had also asked him when he thought I had ever been dishonest, and hence, a liar. His answer surprized me. He told me that he didn't believe that I killed all those children, and I lied to protect someone else.
Why would he think that? Actually, I didn't bother to ask because I doubt if he would tell me the real reason. Ever since I first met him, or, more specifically, since he first started talking to me, I have strongly suspected that he was after any information that he could report to the Federal authorities. I even sent several affidavits to my attorneys in the past detailing every conversation I had with him at first, because I was concerned he would happily lie under oath and say I said things I would never have said.
This is not paranoia on my part. In the past, several inmates have reported conversations I had with them that never even happened. One inmate at IMSI (in Idaho) got so mad because I ignored all his attempts to get me to talk to him (from several cells away) that he started banging on his walls and door (it actually wasn't until he started banging that I even realized he was trying to get my attention). And, even though I just continued to ignore him, and never even said, hi, I found out later that he reported all kinds of conversations I supposedly had with him where I told him things like, that I hated myself and wanted to die, and that I hate children and talked about all the „sick” things I liked doing to them. I know about this only because the Riverside (California) investigators asked me about it during an interview they held with me in the Indio jail. They admitted it didn't sound like something I'd say, and I told them I was shocked that such statements would even make it into their files.
So when my neighbor here started talking to me for no reason, and asking questions about my case (that I carefully never answered), I made sure to at least document my side of the story. And when he told me that he didn't think I killed those children, and that I lied to protect someone, I knew exactly where he got that idea, from the FBI. I happen to know that this is a theory of theirs that they've been investigating for some time, mostly (and I'm assuming here) because I don't fit their profiles for a person who rapes and kills children. (I'm assuming this to be the reason for their suspicion that I lied to protect someone, but the fact that I don't fit their profiles for a child killer is formally established in their own official reports – which state in plain language that I deviate from their profiles in extremely unusual degrees and regards).
My neighbor hasn't spoken to me since, and I can only hope he won't, for a while at least. I call him „my neighbor” because for some reason he keeps ending up in the cell next to me or across the hall from me, even after the „random” cell moves that take place every three months.
I'll continue to be polite, and speak to him when he speaks to me. But, I'll never trust him. Not because I'm worried he'll find out the truth, but because I'm worried he'll help the authorities of this world cover it up.
(Originally written by Joseph E. Duncan III on June 20, 2013)
P.S. I doubt that my „neighbor” above will ever see or learn about this entry. But, just in case he ever does, then I hope he will understand that I am really saying nothing about him at all, only about me (i. e. my own doubtlessly deluded perceptions). I also hope that the readers of this blog already understand this.
I suppose he thinks that because most of the prisoners here shune me he should be able to win favors from me by being nice. I only suppose this because he is rarely nice to anyone else and talks trash about homosexuals, child molesters, and nigers, openly and frequently. But, I treat him kindly and politely all the same. I figure it's not his fault that he is so transparently self obsessed. To top it all off, he fancies himself a brilliant amateur scientist with ideas for trapping unlimited energy from the earth's core that can solve the entire world's energy crisis, if only President Obama didn't personally have it out for him. (According to my neighbor, the reason he is on death row is because of secret presidential orders to keep his revolutionary energy ideas from being taken seriously.)
This might seem comical, but I don't laugh and try to ask interesting questions when he talks about such things, though it is extremely difficult to get a word in at all, much less a question, when he's on such subjects – when he's on ANY subject, really. I try not to just humor him the way most of the guards and other prisoners do, and maybe that's why he talks to me – it's another theory at least.
The other day he yelled out my name to get my attention, „Hey, Duncan! Joseph Duncan!” I answered by yelling from my bunk without getting up, „Yeah?!”
He asked, „Do you want to use the phone?”
I honestly did not understand why he would ask me such a question out of the blue like that. So, I replied with a question that seemed natural to me, „Why would I want to use the phone?”
When I asked that I heard someone further down the tier (or „range”, ad they like to call it here) laugh out loud. My neighbor reacted by lashing out at me.
„Fuck you, you piece of shit coward!”
He made sure to yell it loud enough so the person down the tier (or „range”) could hear. I didn't know if he was yelling at me or the other prisoner. So I asked as bemusedly as I could, „Are you talking to me?”
Well, he said he was talking to me and then over the course of the next few minutes he accused me of showing my asshole to other inmates through the cell door window, talking about fag sex with other inmates through the air vents, being the most self-centered person he ever met, and a liar to boot.
I didn't bother telling him what I thought about him, and neither did I bother attempting to defend myself by refuting his accusations. Instead I just asked why he was attacking me just because I'd asked him why he asked me if I wanted to use the phone. I also asked him why he thought I was self-centered, which he couldn't answer but I assume it is because I refused to buy things on comissary for him when he tried to get me to in the past, not to mention other „favors” I refused to do for him (he seemed to forget about all the things I did for him without ever asking so much as a thank you in return, like loaning him books and magazines, and giving him coffee, sweetener, and extra food when he asked for it, and that I've never asked him for so much as a conversation in all the time I've been here).
From his responses to my questions, and other evidence, I was able to discern that the reason he asked me if I wanted to use the phone was because he was trying to involve me in an overt attempt to keep another prisoner from getting the phone. It was this other prisoner who laughed when I didn't go along with the plan, which my neighbor thought was a conspiracy between me and the other prisoner (who, according to my neighbor, I was having a homosexual relationship with through the vents and windows), all to make him look bad.
So, after assuring my neighbor that I'd never spoken to any other prisoners at all through the vent, and that I didn't even know the inmate who laughed at him (nor did I know anything about any other inmate's homosexual proclivities) and that I'd only asked why he asked me about the phone because I genuinely was perplexed by the sudden unexplained question, my neighbor „accepted” MY apology (which I took to be the closest thing to an actual apology from him) and was then quiet for the rest of the day (for him to be quiet at all is a gift in itself, and I suspect he actually believes he's doing me a favor when he is quiet – and to tell you the truth, so do I).
I had also asked him when he thought I had ever been dishonest, and hence, a liar. His answer surprized me. He told me that he didn't believe that I killed all those children, and I lied to protect someone else.
Why would he think that? Actually, I didn't bother to ask because I doubt if he would tell me the real reason. Ever since I first met him, or, more specifically, since he first started talking to me, I have strongly suspected that he was after any information that he could report to the Federal authorities. I even sent several affidavits to my attorneys in the past detailing every conversation I had with him at first, because I was concerned he would happily lie under oath and say I said things I would never have said.
This is not paranoia on my part. In the past, several inmates have reported conversations I had with them that never even happened. One inmate at IMSI (in Idaho) got so mad because I ignored all his attempts to get me to talk to him (from several cells away) that he started banging on his walls and door (it actually wasn't until he started banging that I even realized he was trying to get my attention). And, even though I just continued to ignore him, and never even said, hi, I found out later that he reported all kinds of conversations I supposedly had with him where I told him things like, that I hated myself and wanted to die, and that I hate children and talked about all the „sick” things I liked doing to them. I know about this only because the Riverside (California) investigators asked me about it during an interview they held with me in the Indio jail. They admitted it didn't sound like something I'd say, and I told them I was shocked that such statements would even make it into their files.
So when my neighbor here started talking to me for no reason, and asking questions about my case (that I carefully never answered), I made sure to at least document my side of the story. And when he told me that he didn't think I killed those children, and that I lied to protect someone, I knew exactly where he got that idea, from the FBI. I happen to know that this is a theory of theirs that they've been investigating for some time, mostly (and I'm assuming here) because I don't fit their profiles for a person who rapes and kills children. (I'm assuming this to be the reason for their suspicion that I lied to protect someone, but the fact that I don't fit their profiles for a child killer is formally established in their own official reports – which state in plain language that I deviate from their profiles in extremely unusual degrees and regards).
My neighbor hasn't spoken to me since, and I can only hope he won't, for a while at least. I call him „my neighbor” because for some reason he keeps ending up in the cell next to me or across the hall from me, even after the „random” cell moves that take place every three months.
I'll continue to be polite, and speak to him when he speaks to me. But, I'll never trust him. Not because I'm worried he'll find out the truth, but because I'm worried he'll help the authorities of this world cover it up.
(Originally written by Joseph E. Duncan III on June 20, 2013)
P.S. I doubt that my „neighbor” above will ever see or learn about this entry. But, just in case he ever does, then I hope he will understand that I am really saying nothing about him at all, only about me (i. e. my own doubtlessly deluded perceptions). I also hope that the readers of this blog already understand this.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
A Day In The Life...
I wake up at approximately 4:30 a.m. I lay still for several minutes thinking about the dream I just woke up from. I always seem to wake up from dreams these days, but I usually forget them within ten or twenty minutes. Today I've forgotten. It's Tuesday, December 3, 2013.
4:44 a.m. I sit up and punch the light botton on my clear plastic battery powered alarm clock. It's fairly dark in these cells when the lights are off at night, which is a real blessing most prisoners don't get. I'm not sleepy, so I decide to get up. I urinate, throw some warm water on my face to rinse the sleep away, and brush my hair just enough so the guards won't think I'm a nut case when they look in my cell. I haven't cut my hair in over a year, and amazingly it's still only hinting about turning grey.
4:45 a.m. I put on the cheap but amazingly accurate Casio watch that I bought while I was in Idaho Maximum Security several years ago. I haven't actually work this or any other watch since before my arrest in 2005, but I wear it today as a reminded to write this.
5:05 a.m. I finish up these first few paragraphs and since it is all quiet on the tier I decide to pull out my book about Chaology and read until breakfast. First I put some water on to heat for coffee using the stinger I made by clipping two pairs of stainless steal "safety" trimming scissors to the prongs of my T.V. plug. I just set a cup on a makeshift shelf so the scissors are immersed and in about seven to fifteeen minutes the water will boil, depnding on how hot the tap water is to start with.
5:19 a.m. The water's ready, so I pour it into an insulated mug with a water bottle of clean water in it. I use the stung water, which tastes like rust, to heat clean water this way indirectly. It takes a lot longer, but everyone knows you can't drink stung water unless you like getting sick. In the morning, because the top water isn't very hot to begin with, it takes two zaps to get the water in the bottle hot enough for a decent cup of coffee.
5:27 a.m. Second zap is complete. It only takes about 90 seconds to transfer the maximum amount of heat from the stung water to the bottled water; I know because I once jerry-rigged a thermometer out of an empty pen ink-tube and timed it.
5:32 a.m. Coffee is served, nice and hot the way I like it (freeze-dried of course). I turn on the T.V. and flip it to VH1, but I'm disappointed to see that the morning music videos aren't on yet. So I watch "Black Ink" (a tattoo reality show) with no sound while I enjoy my coffee.
5:39 a.m. Finish my coffee, turn off T.V., jot this down, and pick up my "Chaos" book, kick back on my bunk and read.
5:59 a.m. I hear a guard come on the tier and start opening bean-slots to pick up laundry. I get up and wait by the door for my bean-slot to open then push out the three partly filled mesh laundry bags I had prepared (i.e. tied shut securely) last night. Laundry is picked up on Tuesday and Fridays in the morning and usually returned clean on the same afternoon.
6:11 a.m. I finish updating this and go back to reading.
6:27 a.m. I hear guards come on tier and start passing out breakfast trays.
6:31 a.m. The bean-slot in the cell-door opens and I am handed two eight-ounce fat-free milks, and two 2x8x10 inch plastic trays with lids (I just now measured them), one "hot", and one "cold". The "cold" tray has a halved apple, two packs of saccharin based sweetner, a pack of dried coffee, and a spork utensil pack that contains a small napkin and a little salt and pepper that I never bother with. The "hot" tray today is my favorite; two bisuits, a serving of chopped up boiled potatoes, oat meal, and gravy with hamburger meat in it. If I'm hungry, I'll eat the oat meal with about eight packs of my own store-bought aspartame based sweetner (saccharin is only good with tea as far as I'm concerned because tea hides the bitter aftertaste). But, today I'm not that hungry, so I just eat the biscuits and gravy and drink one milk. I put the other milk in an insulated pitcher of ice that I save each day for this very purpose by wrapping the pitcher in some sheets to keep the ice from melting overnight. They usually pass out ice around dinner time (4 p.m.), and I can keep it from completely melting this way for about one day.
6:50 a.m. Trays are picked up, bean-slot is closed, I write this, then go back to reading about Chaology, chapter 13: "Evolution and Order without Design". Fascinating stuff!
7:48 a.m. Finished chapter 13. I feel empowered when I read books like this, that help me articulate my own experience and understanding better. I get up, remove the jacket I'd been wearing since I got up this morning and lay it on the top of the ice pitcher where I keep it when I'm not wearing it, then I cover the door window with a towel that I keep hanging on the door for that purpose. Being able to cover the window like this is another luxury that most prisoners don't have. I've never been in a prison or jail before where you could get away with covering the door window, or any window for that matter, even temporarily, without getting in trouble for it. Here, they not only allow it, generally, but I suspect they even appreciate it since I'm sure they don't like looking at a man sitting on the toilet or taking a shower any more than we like being looked at while we do so. I covered the window in this case so I can sit privately and relive my bowels a bit on the stainless steal 3000$ toilet provided kindly for such purpose. When I finish, I wash my hands thoroughly and dry them on the same towels as I uncover the window again. i put on some more water for coffee and then sit to write this while I wait for it to heat.
8:13 a.m. I put my jacket back on. I was a bit warm when I took it off a moment ago, but now I'm cold again. I usually wear a personal (i.e. store-bought) thermal undershirt with long sleeves, on top of my state issued T-shirt, which generally keeps me warm enough. But today my one and only thermal shirt is in the laundry, so I'll have to make do with this jacket.
8:14 a.m. Water is hot and ready. I make my coffee and enjoy it while watching music videos and commercials on VH1 without sound. If I see a video I like or haven't heard before come on then I'll pick up the earphones and put them in one or both ears, otherwise I prefer not to subject my brain to so much unnecessary noise.
8:30 a.m. I finish my coffee and making the above entry, then get out my copy of "The New York Review of Books", which came in the mail yesterday, and I start combing through its pages and making a list of interesting books that I'll send to one of my "defense team" friends and ask her to print off and send me the Amazon.com information for the books. This is how I find good books to read, and it's how I found that book on Chaology that I was reading earlier. If I find a book I really like then I'll ask one of my lawyers to order it for me, which they are always happy to do much to my deeply felt appreciation.
8:49 a.m. A guard taps on my door. I look up and see his face in the window. He asks, "Rec?" I shake my head, no. He continues on to the next cell. I have not been to "rec" (i.e. recreation) in over a year. I see no point in it. Some of the guards don't even bother asking me if I want rec anymore, which I appreciate. If I ever decide to go to "rec" (i.e. a walled in cage outside, or room with an excerise bike inside) then I'm sure I can find a way to let them know. I return to making my list of books.
10:10 a.m. Lunch is served, interrupting my perusal of the Book Review (I also read any interesting articles I find, and this morning I found several; one about Norman Rockwell, another about Mike Tyson, and a third especially interesting one about the paradigm shift in sexual views that occurred when Christians took over Rome, or in my opinion, when Rome took over Christianity.) For lunch we get two covered trays again. On the "cold" tray is a pasta salad, two slices of wheatbread, and some lettuce, tomato slice, and onions, along with a small packet of "Miracle Whip" like salad dressing, and a spork. On the "hot" tray (which is never hot at all by the time we get it) we get a "chicken patty" (imagine a single chicken McNugget smashed thin so it's the size of a patty, then overly peppered - probably to cover up the fact that there's not enough chicken in it to taste) and a lemon pie, and some plain white rice. I eat the pie with the milk I saved from breakfast, then put the rice in the empty milk carton and put it back in the ice pitcher in case commissary (store) doesn't show up today - it should be here by now but is late - and I get hungry. I leave everything else on the trays untouched (except the salad dressing pack, which i squirrel away); I'm not THAT hungry (the smell of onions on the "cold" tray ruined everything on it for me, and the pepper on the "chicken patty" ruins that (I've tried scrapping the peppered breading off in the past, but there's just not enough meat underneath it to scrape anything off of).
10:44 a.m. Trays are picked up and I go back to perusing my magazine for books.
10:50 a.m. My hands get cold, so I put on the jersey gloves I bought on store a few weeks ago.
10:56 a.m. I find another interesting article I'd like to read, about sea monsters of map legends, but now my eyes and back are a little tired from reading all morning. So, I mark the page for later, and kill the light by tapping on the touch sensitive button near my door. Then I lay down, still wearing my jacket and gloves, and meditate in the prone position for a while. Hopefully commissary will come before long.
12:40 p.m. I fell asleep. Just woke up by "fire alarm" buzzer. It goes off about twice a day lately, and is very loud and annoying. So loud in fact, that the guards have ear protection they can wear when it happens. Fortunately this cell I am in is about twenty feet from the buzzer. The cells directly under the buzzers are much worse. I often wonder if they intentionally set the alarm off as some form of psychological torture. It sure seems like it.
12:42 p.m. Fire alarms finally stops. I turn on the T.V. and flip through the channels. I'm lucky and find a documentary playing on History Channel ("How The Earth Was Made", and awfully pretentious title methinks, but at least it's something to watch that won't numb my brain). I put on water for coffee, then put an earphone in my ear and enjoy the program.
1:02 p.m. I hear the guard/counselor ("Mr. Edwards") in the hall answering the "legal phone" and passing the receiver to another prisoner. I get his attention (he's one of only three staff here that I recognize and know by name) and ask him if the "regular phone" (a.k.a. "cell phone") is being used. He goes and gets it from the end of the tier and passes it to me through the bean-slot with the cord running out through a notch when the slot is closed. The "cell phone" is an old black traditional push button phone that you'd expect to see on a typical government desk. There is frequently a line of prisoners waiting to use it, so I was lucky it was free.
1:07 p.m. I call the Federal Defender's Office in Boise, Idaho and ask for Tom, one of the attorneys who was on my "defense team" during my trial in Boise, and a friend. The receptionist says he's not in. I'm fizing my coffee while I'm on the phone since I don't like to waste the hot water, and I ask for Nancy, and investigator for the "defense team", and also a friend. A moment later she picks up and I thank her for the cute pictures of her dogs dressed up for Halloween that she sent recently because she knows how much I like animals, and then ask her if she knows when Tom will be in the office. She says maybe Thursday would be a good time to try him. I thank her again for the pictures, remind her to send Christmas pictures (of her dogs of course) and say good-bye. I have another call to make but must wait 30 minutes before I can make another call. I check my account balance using the phone. I have $99.45, which means the money for the store this week (about $22) has been withdrawn, a good indicator that we should get our commissary orders soon, hopefully today. I finish my coffee then I write this, then go back to watch the History Channel while I wait for my next call.
1:40 p.m. I call the Federal Defender's Office in Sacramento, California and ask for Erika, and investigator and friend, but she is not in. I ask for Joe, another lawyer/friend working on my case and he's busy. I talk to Joe a lot, and was just calling to say, hi.
1:47 p.m. I go back to watching the documentary about the formation of the Hawaiian islands on the History Channel.
2:11 p.m. I hear a guard on the tier, and another prisoner requesting the "cell phone", so i pass it back out through the bean-slot and then go back to watching the Earth documentary, now on Yellowstone National Park geology. I've seen it before, but I don't mind watching it again to help me learn.
3:37 p.m. My laundry is returned. I open the bags and start folding clothes.
3:45 p.m. Dinner is served, very early today. I haven't even finished putting away my laundry. The "cold" tray is just two slices of bread, a pat of butter (or more likely margarine, but I don't know the difference) and a spork. The "hot" tray contains sweet potatoes, green beans, and a mess of something that I think is supposed to be beef stew, but I can hardly tell because it looks like someone put it in a blender. i taste it and I don't gag, so I decide to give it a shot, but it'll need some work first. I chow down the potatoes and green beans, then retrive the rice I saved from lunch in the ice pitcher and I dump it in the "stew". Much better, but now it was too cold to enjoy. So, on goes the water, and out comes the water bottle with the top cut off that I use for heating up concutions like this. It'll take at least three cups of stung water to heat it sufficiently, but I think it'll be worth it, especially since I'm pretty hungry after not eating much all day, and it doesn't look like commissary is going to make it (which means we probably won't get commissary until Thursday; bummer).
4:10 p.m. While I wait for my "stew" to heat up I write the above and then finish putting away my laundry, which includes taking off the jacket I've been wearing all day and putting on my thermal undershirt.
4:25 p.m. I just finished washing my "dishes" (plastic soup bowl that followed me from Idaho Max, the cut off water bottle, and a personal plastic spoon that is much nicer to eat with than a spork) after enjoying my "stew", which turned out pretty good after heating it up and adding a little "seasoned salt" from store. I just put some water on for my after dinner coffee and life is good - too good after all the hell I've wrought in this world - all the more reason I should enjoy what I have; to not appreciate what I've been given to enjoy would be to dishonor devine grace.
4:45 p.m. Trays picked up and mail passed out at the same time. I got a letter from a friend in Europe, which helps make up for not getting any commissary today.
5:15 p.m. Finish reading my mail, and watch end of "O' Brother, Where Art Thou?" the only George Clooney movie I actually like George Clooney in.
5:23 p.m. C/O Joslin, one of the three staff here who's name I know, and the only C/O (guard) I actually like (because she's always fair and considerate with all the prisoners, even the asswipes), brings around the ice, a little late, but always appreciated (by me at least). So now I can have a cold milk with my lunch tomorrow, a good sign that tomorrow will be another good day.
5:44 p.m. I cover my door window and uncover the air vent then get naked and step in the shower. The water is nice and hot, the way I like it, and quickly steams up the entire cell even with the air vent wide open. I brush my teeth thoroughly in the shower as usual, and wash all over with state soap, but don't use any shampoo (I have two different kinds of shampoo, one with conditioner and one without, but save it for visits, if I ever get one). I have no "social life" so no reason to use shampoo, which I consider a cosmetic (no, I don't have drandruff or itchy scalp either, and my hair is dry not oily). After my shower I dry off and admire my body in the mirror over the sink for a moment. Not narcissistically, I'm too old for that, but I do appreciate how my body is aging slowly. I could stand to loose about five pounds or so off my waist, but I still have a full head of mostly brown hair, a mouth full of 28 teeth (sans four wisdom teeth that I paid good money to have pulled while I lived in Fargo, North Dakota) and no health issues at all. Not bad for a 50-year-old man facing death for the last eight years. I honestly think masturbating a lot helps, which I'll probably do later tonight but won't write about it here, sorry.
6:30 p.m. Well, that's about all for my day. I'll probably read a little more, watch some T.V. ("Naked Vegas" comes on later, which I enjoy watching for different reason. ;) ), and write a letter. I'll also floss later (probably while watching T.V.) and then hit the hay sometime after 11 p.m., or whenever I get tired.
This has been a fairly typical day. Other than some prisoners yelling angrily at each other on occassion, which I typically ignore so didn't bother writing about it. Nobody yells at me and they generally all treat me respectfully when I have any dealings with them at all. I treat them respectully too, except for inmate Gabrion, who wouldn't know respect if it hit him in the face and whom nobody respects because he respects nobody. Gabrion was fairly quiet today though, which added to the day's pleasantness. The hoise from other prisoners is typical, especially in the evening, but if I'm ever bothered by it, which is rarely, I just put in my earplugs, or put on my headphones and the problem is solved.
4:44 a.m. I sit up and punch the light botton on my clear plastic battery powered alarm clock. It's fairly dark in these cells when the lights are off at night, which is a real blessing most prisoners don't get. I'm not sleepy, so I decide to get up. I urinate, throw some warm water on my face to rinse the sleep away, and brush my hair just enough so the guards won't think I'm a nut case when they look in my cell. I haven't cut my hair in over a year, and amazingly it's still only hinting about turning grey.
4:45 a.m. I put on the cheap but amazingly accurate Casio watch that I bought while I was in Idaho Maximum Security several years ago. I haven't actually work this or any other watch since before my arrest in 2005, but I wear it today as a reminded to write this.
5:05 a.m. I finish up these first few paragraphs and since it is all quiet on the tier I decide to pull out my book about Chaology and read until breakfast. First I put some water on to heat for coffee using the stinger I made by clipping two pairs of stainless steal "safety" trimming scissors to the prongs of my T.V. plug. I just set a cup on a makeshift shelf so the scissors are immersed and in about seven to fifteeen minutes the water will boil, depnding on how hot the tap water is to start with.
5:19 a.m. The water's ready, so I pour it into an insulated mug with a water bottle of clean water in it. I use the stung water, which tastes like rust, to heat clean water this way indirectly. It takes a lot longer, but everyone knows you can't drink stung water unless you like getting sick. In the morning, because the top water isn't very hot to begin with, it takes two zaps to get the water in the bottle hot enough for a decent cup of coffee.
5:27 a.m. Second zap is complete. It only takes about 90 seconds to transfer the maximum amount of heat from the stung water to the bottled water; I know because I once jerry-rigged a thermometer out of an empty pen ink-tube and timed it.
5:32 a.m. Coffee is served, nice and hot the way I like it (freeze-dried of course). I turn on the T.V. and flip it to VH1, but I'm disappointed to see that the morning music videos aren't on yet. So I watch "Black Ink" (a tattoo reality show) with no sound while I enjoy my coffee.
5:39 a.m. Finish my coffee, turn off T.V., jot this down, and pick up my "Chaos" book, kick back on my bunk and read.
5:59 a.m. I hear a guard come on the tier and start opening bean-slots to pick up laundry. I get up and wait by the door for my bean-slot to open then push out the three partly filled mesh laundry bags I had prepared (i.e. tied shut securely) last night. Laundry is picked up on Tuesday and Fridays in the morning and usually returned clean on the same afternoon.
6:11 a.m. I finish updating this and go back to reading.
6:27 a.m. I hear guards come on tier and start passing out breakfast trays.
6:31 a.m. The bean-slot in the cell-door opens and I am handed two eight-ounce fat-free milks, and two 2x8x10 inch plastic trays with lids (I just now measured them), one "hot", and one "cold". The "cold" tray has a halved apple, two packs of saccharin based sweetner, a pack of dried coffee, and a spork utensil pack that contains a small napkin and a little salt and pepper that I never bother with. The "hot" tray today is my favorite; two bisuits, a serving of chopped up boiled potatoes, oat meal, and gravy with hamburger meat in it. If I'm hungry, I'll eat the oat meal with about eight packs of my own store-bought aspartame based sweetner (saccharin is only good with tea as far as I'm concerned because tea hides the bitter aftertaste). But, today I'm not that hungry, so I just eat the biscuits and gravy and drink one milk. I put the other milk in an insulated pitcher of ice that I save each day for this very purpose by wrapping the pitcher in some sheets to keep the ice from melting overnight. They usually pass out ice around dinner time (4 p.m.), and I can keep it from completely melting this way for about one day.
6:50 a.m. Trays are picked up, bean-slot is closed, I write this, then go back to reading about Chaology, chapter 13: "Evolution and Order without Design". Fascinating stuff!
7:48 a.m. Finished chapter 13. I feel empowered when I read books like this, that help me articulate my own experience and understanding better. I get up, remove the jacket I'd been wearing since I got up this morning and lay it on the top of the ice pitcher where I keep it when I'm not wearing it, then I cover the door window with a towel that I keep hanging on the door for that purpose. Being able to cover the window like this is another luxury that most prisoners don't have. I've never been in a prison or jail before where you could get away with covering the door window, or any window for that matter, even temporarily, without getting in trouble for it. Here, they not only allow it, generally, but I suspect they even appreciate it since I'm sure they don't like looking at a man sitting on the toilet or taking a shower any more than we like being looked at while we do so. I covered the window in this case so I can sit privately and relive my bowels a bit on the stainless steal 3000$ toilet provided kindly for such purpose. When I finish, I wash my hands thoroughly and dry them on the same towels as I uncover the window again. i put on some more water for coffee and then sit to write this while I wait for it to heat.
8:13 a.m. I put my jacket back on. I was a bit warm when I took it off a moment ago, but now I'm cold again. I usually wear a personal (i.e. store-bought) thermal undershirt with long sleeves, on top of my state issued T-shirt, which generally keeps me warm enough. But today my one and only thermal shirt is in the laundry, so I'll have to make do with this jacket.
8:14 a.m. Water is hot and ready. I make my coffee and enjoy it while watching music videos and commercials on VH1 without sound. If I see a video I like or haven't heard before come on then I'll pick up the earphones and put them in one or both ears, otherwise I prefer not to subject my brain to so much unnecessary noise.
8:30 a.m. I finish my coffee and making the above entry, then get out my copy of "The New York Review of Books", which came in the mail yesterday, and I start combing through its pages and making a list of interesting books that I'll send to one of my "defense team" friends and ask her to print off and send me the Amazon.com information for the books. This is how I find good books to read, and it's how I found that book on Chaology that I was reading earlier. If I find a book I really like then I'll ask one of my lawyers to order it for me, which they are always happy to do much to my deeply felt appreciation.
8:49 a.m. A guard taps on my door. I look up and see his face in the window. He asks, "Rec?" I shake my head, no. He continues on to the next cell. I have not been to "rec" (i.e. recreation) in over a year. I see no point in it. Some of the guards don't even bother asking me if I want rec anymore, which I appreciate. If I ever decide to go to "rec" (i.e. a walled in cage outside, or room with an excerise bike inside) then I'm sure I can find a way to let them know. I return to making my list of books.
10:10 a.m. Lunch is served, interrupting my perusal of the Book Review (I also read any interesting articles I find, and this morning I found several; one about Norman Rockwell, another about Mike Tyson, and a third especially interesting one about the paradigm shift in sexual views that occurred when Christians took over Rome, or in my opinion, when Rome took over Christianity.) For lunch we get two covered trays again. On the "cold" tray is a pasta salad, two slices of wheatbread, and some lettuce, tomato slice, and onions, along with a small packet of "Miracle Whip" like salad dressing, and a spork. On the "hot" tray (which is never hot at all by the time we get it) we get a "chicken patty" (imagine a single chicken McNugget smashed thin so it's the size of a patty, then overly peppered - probably to cover up the fact that there's not enough chicken in it to taste) and a lemon pie, and some plain white rice. I eat the pie with the milk I saved from breakfast, then put the rice in the empty milk carton and put it back in the ice pitcher in case commissary (store) doesn't show up today - it should be here by now but is late - and I get hungry. I leave everything else on the trays untouched (except the salad dressing pack, which i squirrel away); I'm not THAT hungry (the smell of onions on the "cold" tray ruined everything on it for me, and the pepper on the "chicken patty" ruins that (I've tried scrapping the peppered breading off in the past, but there's just not enough meat underneath it to scrape anything off of).
10:44 a.m. Trays are picked up and I go back to perusing my magazine for books.
10:50 a.m. My hands get cold, so I put on the jersey gloves I bought on store a few weeks ago.
10:56 a.m. I find another interesting article I'd like to read, about sea monsters of map legends, but now my eyes and back are a little tired from reading all morning. So, I mark the page for later, and kill the light by tapping on the touch sensitive button near my door. Then I lay down, still wearing my jacket and gloves, and meditate in the prone position for a while. Hopefully commissary will come before long.
12:40 p.m. I fell asleep. Just woke up by "fire alarm" buzzer. It goes off about twice a day lately, and is very loud and annoying. So loud in fact, that the guards have ear protection they can wear when it happens. Fortunately this cell I am in is about twenty feet from the buzzer. The cells directly under the buzzers are much worse. I often wonder if they intentionally set the alarm off as some form of psychological torture. It sure seems like it.
12:42 p.m. Fire alarms finally stops. I turn on the T.V. and flip through the channels. I'm lucky and find a documentary playing on History Channel ("How The Earth Was Made", and awfully pretentious title methinks, but at least it's something to watch that won't numb my brain). I put on water for coffee, then put an earphone in my ear and enjoy the program.
1:02 p.m. I hear the guard/counselor ("Mr. Edwards") in the hall answering the "legal phone" and passing the receiver to another prisoner. I get his attention (he's one of only three staff here that I recognize and know by name) and ask him if the "regular phone" (a.k.a. "cell phone") is being used. He goes and gets it from the end of the tier and passes it to me through the bean-slot with the cord running out through a notch when the slot is closed. The "cell phone" is an old black traditional push button phone that you'd expect to see on a typical government desk. There is frequently a line of prisoners waiting to use it, so I was lucky it was free.
1:07 p.m. I call the Federal Defender's Office in Boise, Idaho and ask for Tom, one of the attorneys who was on my "defense team" during my trial in Boise, and a friend. The receptionist says he's not in. I'm fizing my coffee while I'm on the phone since I don't like to waste the hot water, and I ask for Nancy, and investigator for the "defense team", and also a friend. A moment later she picks up and I thank her for the cute pictures of her dogs dressed up for Halloween that she sent recently because she knows how much I like animals, and then ask her if she knows when Tom will be in the office. She says maybe Thursday would be a good time to try him. I thank her again for the pictures, remind her to send Christmas pictures (of her dogs of course) and say good-bye. I have another call to make but must wait 30 minutes before I can make another call. I check my account balance using the phone. I have $99.45, which means the money for the store this week (about $22) has been withdrawn, a good indicator that we should get our commissary orders soon, hopefully today. I finish my coffee then I write this, then go back to watch the History Channel while I wait for my next call.
1:40 p.m. I call the Federal Defender's Office in Sacramento, California and ask for Erika, and investigator and friend, but she is not in. I ask for Joe, another lawyer/friend working on my case and he's busy. I talk to Joe a lot, and was just calling to say, hi.
1:47 p.m. I go back to watching the documentary about the formation of the Hawaiian islands on the History Channel.
2:11 p.m. I hear a guard on the tier, and another prisoner requesting the "cell phone", so i pass it back out through the bean-slot and then go back to watching the Earth documentary, now on Yellowstone National Park geology. I've seen it before, but I don't mind watching it again to help me learn.
3:37 p.m. My laundry is returned. I open the bags and start folding clothes.
3:45 p.m. Dinner is served, very early today. I haven't even finished putting away my laundry. The "cold" tray is just two slices of bread, a pat of butter (or more likely margarine, but I don't know the difference) and a spork. The "hot" tray contains sweet potatoes, green beans, and a mess of something that I think is supposed to be beef stew, but I can hardly tell because it looks like someone put it in a blender. i taste it and I don't gag, so I decide to give it a shot, but it'll need some work first. I chow down the potatoes and green beans, then retrive the rice I saved from lunch in the ice pitcher and I dump it in the "stew". Much better, but now it was too cold to enjoy. So, on goes the water, and out comes the water bottle with the top cut off that I use for heating up concutions like this. It'll take at least three cups of stung water to heat it sufficiently, but I think it'll be worth it, especially since I'm pretty hungry after not eating much all day, and it doesn't look like commissary is going to make it (which means we probably won't get commissary until Thursday; bummer).
4:10 p.m. While I wait for my "stew" to heat up I write the above and then finish putting away my laundry, which includes taking off the jacket I've been wearing all day and putting on my thermal undershirt.
4:25 p.m. I just finished washing my "dishes" (plastic soup bowl that followed me from Idaho Max, the cut off water bottle, and a personal plastic spoon that is much nicer to eat with than a spork) after enjoying my "stew", which turned out pretty good after heating it up and adding a little "seasoned salt" from store. I just put some water on for my after dinner coffee and life is good - too good after all the hell I've wrought in this world - all the more reason I should enjoy what I have; to not appreciate what I've been given to enjoy would be to dishonor devine grace.
4:45 p.m. Trays picked up and mail passed out at the same time. I got a letter from a friend in Europe, which helps make up for not getting any commissary today.
5:15 p.m. Finish reading my mail, and watch end of "O' Brother, Where Art Thou?" the only George Clooney movie I actually like George Clooney in.
5:23 p.m. C/O Joslin, one of the three staff here who's name I know, and the only C/O (guard) I actually like (because she's always fair and considerate with all the prisoners, even the asswipes), brings around the ice, a little late, but always appreciated (by me at least). So now I can have a cold milk with my lunch tomorrow, a good sign that tomorrow will be another good day.
5:44 p.m. I cover my door window and uncover the air vent then get naked and step in the shower. The water is nice and hot, the way I like it, and quickly steams up the entire cell even with the air vent wide open. I brush my teeth thoroughly in the shower as usual, and wash all over with state soap, but don't use any shampoo (I have two different kinds of shampoo, one with conditioner and one without, but save it for visits, if I ever get one). I have no "social life" so no reason to use shampoo, which I consider a cosmetic (no, I don't have drandruff or itchy scalp either, and my hair is dry not oily). After my shower I dry off and admire my body in the mirror over the sink for a moment. Not narcissistically, I'm too old for that, but I do appreciate how my body is aging slowly. I could stand to loose about five pounds or so off my waist, but I still have a full head of mostly brown hair, a mouth full of 28 teeth (sans four wisdom teeth that I paid good money to have pulled while I lived in Fargo, North Dakota) and no health issues at all. Not bad for a 50-year-old man facing death for the last eight years. I honestly think masturbating a lot helps, which I'll probably do later tonight but won't write about it here, sorry.
6:30 p.m. Well, that's about all for my day. I'll probably read a little more, watch some T.V. ("Naked Vegas" comes on later, which I enjoy watching for different reason. ;) ), and write a letter. I'll also floss later (probably while watching T.V.) and then hit the hay sometime after 11 p.m., or whenever I get tired.
This has been a fairly typical day. Other than some prisoners yelling angrily at each other on occassion, which I typically ignore so didn't bother writing about it. Nobody yells at me and they generally all treat me respectfully when I have any dealings with them at all. I treat them respectully too, except for inmate Gabrion, who wouldn't know respect if it hit him in the face and whom nobody respects because he respects nobody. Gabrion was fairly quiet today though, which added to the day's pleasantness. The hoise from other prisoners is typical, especially in the evening, but if I'm ever bothered by it, which is rarely, I just put in my earplugs, or put on my headphones and the problem is solved.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Broken Toe Blues
The night before last I got woke up again by my neighbor, Marvin Gabrion, at two-thirty in the morning. He is an obnoxious old man of low intelligence who nobody likes. Do in order to punish everyone for not liking him he likes to moan and wail all night and most of the day. And if that's not enough to bother everyone he'll clap his hands loudly once in a while just to wake up as many people as he can to hear his "singing", which, of course, is exactly the kind of thinking and behavior that makes him so unpopular to start with.
Anyway, the night before last was the umpteenth time he kept me awake at night, so I got up and stupidly kicked my door, hard enough to break my big toe again (the last time I broke it was in junior high gym class while playing soccer). So now I not only have to put up with his ignorant shenanigans, but I must suffer in silence for my own.
There is no point reporting my broken toe on sick call since the best they can do is confirm it's broken with an x-ray then put a splint on it. And, since I don't have to walk around at all (being confined to my cell 24/7) there's really no need for an elaborate splint. I've just been keeping my shoes on, even while I sleep, which seems to provide plenty of support. Luckily I have aspirin to help get through the first 48 hours or so, which was the most painful. But now the pain has subsided and I just have to be careful not to put any weight on it.
As for Gabrion, the stupid old man who instigated my folly, even as I jot these words he is wailing away in the cell across the hall from me, oblivious to the guards banging on his door to give him his "meds" (anti-depressants for sure, but he needs anti-psychotics). I don't feel bad mentioning his name openly in this blog because I'm not saying anything that can get him in trouble. "Singing", as he calls it, isn't against the rules, which he knows well and frequently insist on his "right' to do it when guards or other prisoners complain. He himself is notoriously the biggest "rat" on the tier, frequently telling on other prisoners out loud and in front of everyone. Then he turns right around and accuses solid convicts of being "rats, fags, child molesters, and cowards", to name a few of his favorite insults.
Marvin Gabrion is one man who really challenges my belief that everyone has merit and deserves to live. The only merit I can find in him is that he really challenges and hence strengthens my ability to be patient, which my broken toe painfully attests.
Anyway, the night before last was the umpteenth time he kept me awake at night, so I got up and stupidly kicked my door, hard enough to break my big toe again (the last time I broke it was in junior high gym class while playing soccer). So now I not only have to put up with his ignorant shenanigans, but I must suffer in silence for my own.
There is no point reporting my broken toe on sick call since the best they can do is confirm it's broken with an x-ray then put a splint on it. And, since I don't have to walk around at all (being confined to my cell 24/7) there's really no need for an elaborate splint. I've just been keeping my shoes on, even while I sleep, which seems to provide plenty of support. Luckily I have aspirin to help get through the first 48 hours or so, which was the most painful. But now the pain has subsided and I just have to be careful not to put any weight on it.
As for Gabrion, the stupid old man who instigated my folly, even as I jot these words he is wailing away in the cell across the hall from me, oblivious to the guards banging on his door to give him his "meds" (anti-depressants for sure, but he needs anti-psychotics). I don't feel bad mentioning his name openly in this blog because I'm not saying anything that can get him in trouble. "Singing", as he calls it, isn't against the rules, which he knows well and frequently insist on his "right' to do it when guards or other prisoners complain. He himself is notoriously the biggest "rat" on the tier, frequently telling on other prisoners out loud and in front of everyone. Then he turns right around and accuses solid convicts of being "rats, fags, child molesters, and cowards", to name a few of his favorite insults.
Marvin Gabrion is one man who really challenges my belief that everyone has merit and deserves to live. The only merit I can find in him is that he really challenges and hence strengthens my ability to be patient, which my broken toe painfully attests.
Dental Work
I just got back from the small dental office in the SCU downstairs after having my teeth cleaned for the first time in over nine years (since before my arrest in 2005).
The hygienist who cleaned my teeth and examined them was very nice, and had kind friendly eyes. She was also very experienced and professional about her work. I was able to ask all the questions I had about taking care at my teeth in prison (e.g. how and when to request an appointment if I have a problem with my teeth - no easy task considering how intricate policies and strained resources determine if and when a given request is responded to - many of my requests have been ignored in the past due to a simple lack of correct wording it seems).
The exam and cleaning went well. She found only one problem area where an old filling appeared to be giving out and needs replacement. Other than that my teeth are in good shape. The filling I got two years ago, to fix what the jail dentist in Riverside, California said needed a root canal (so he wouldn't have to fix it with a filling) is holding up well (surprize, surprize). So now, with this cleaning, my teeth are in good shape, all 28 of them (sans the wisdom teeth), with a lot of fillings in the molars but no caps, root canals, or anything else wrong with them. Not bad, methinks, for a fifty year old man who's spent more than half his life imprisoned.
(Originally written by Joseph E. Duncan III on June 7, 2013)
P.S. A week after the above dental visit I got called out for another dental appointment to actually have my one ailing tooth repaired. The dentist fixed it quickly with a few taps of his drill and a dot of amalgam, without even numbing me up first (per my request - the shot to kill the pain would have been more painful, by far, then the entire procedure!). So, now my teeth are in tip top shape, oh happy me! (It's seems my teeth have caused me more worry and concern these last several years - because I could not get routine dental care - than all the death penalty cases against me, and I'm not even exaggerating!)
The hygienist who cleaned my teeth and examined them was very nice, and had kind friendly eyes. She was also very experienced and professional about her work. I was able to ask all the questions I had about taking care at my teeth in prison (e.g. how and when to request an appointment if I have a problem with my teeth - no easy task considering how intricate policies and strained resources determine if and when a given request is responded to - many of my requests have been ignored in the past due to a simple lack of correct wording it seems).
The exam and cleaning went well. She found only one problem area where an old filling appeared to be giving out and needs replacement. Other than that my teeth are in good shape. The filling I got two years ago, to fix what the jail dentist in Riverside, California said needed a root canal (so he wouldn't have to fix it with a filling) is holding up well (surprize, surprize). So now, with this cleaning, my teeth are in good shape, all 28 of them (sans the wisdom teeth), with a lot of fillings in the molars but no caps, root canals, or anything else wrong with them. Not bad, methinks, for a fifty year old man who's spent more than half his life imprisoned.
(Originally written by Joseph E. Duncan III on June 7, 2013)
P.S. A week after the above dental visit I got called out for another dental appointment to actually have my one ailing tooth repaired. The dentist fixed it quickly with a few taps of his drill and a dot of amalgam, without even numbing me up first (per my request - the shot to kill the pain would have been more painful, by far, then the entire procedure!). So, now my teeth are in tip top shape, oh happy me! (It's seems my teeth have caused me more worry and concern these last several years - because I could not get routine dental care - than all the death penalty cases against me, and I'm not even exaggerating!)
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Remiss Misgivings
Yes, I have been remiss in updating this sub-blog (Chronicles). My intention was to post the day-to-day stuff here so anyone interested could get a feel for what it's like for me to be on death row in Federal prison. But most of what happens around here ends up being stuff I can't write publically about without risking getting someone in trouble, guards and prisoners. So many rules are broken everyday that I couldn't even report what it's like to get chow without exposing violations that any other prison (or jail) I have been in would consider "serious". I dare not even say what the violations are for fear of getting someone in trouble.
So, you'll just have to imagine what it's like for now. I'll post what I can, but it won't be much. But generally I am comfortable - nobody harasses me, not even the other prisoners. People for the most part speak to me respectfully; though I keep to myself and seldom speak to anyone. I rarely leave my cell, by choice. In fact I've only been out of my cell once since my dental appointment two months ago, and that was for a mandatory six-month administrative review (they took me to the counselor's office, ask me if I had any concerns or questions, I said no; then they took me back to my cell).
Life is better for me than even I think it should be, but I still look forward to my "release day" (a.k.a. "execution").
So, you'll just have to imagine what it's like for now. I'll post what I can, but it won't be much. But generally I am comfortable - nobody harasses me, not even the other prisoners. People for the most part speak to me respectfully; though I keep to myself and seldom speak to anyone. I rarely leave my cell, by choice. In fact I've only been out of my cell once since my dental appointment two months ago, and that was for a mandatory six-month administrative review (they took me to the counselor's office, ask me if I had any concerns or questions, I said no; then they took me back to my cell).
Life is better for me than even I think it should be, but I still look forward to my "release day" (a.k.a. "execution").
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Spoiled Baloney For Lunch, Again
Today is Thursday, July 4th. Over this last weekend a guard was attacked in some other part of this prison (USP), or so the memo everyone here in the SCU (pronounced, "skew") received on Sunday informed me.
The nature and extent of the "attack" was left to our imaginations. But, our punishment was spelled out clearly. The entire prison would remain locked down for a week.
For the SCU prisoners, that means no "recreation" (outdoor cages surrounded by concrete walls), and sack lunches (baloney, cheese, or peanut butter sandwiches with a piece of fruit) for every meal. And since I personally never go to "recreation", my only punishment is the sack lunches for every meal. That in itself wouldn't be all that bad (I lived on sack lunches for two years in the Indio Jail in California, so I'm used to worse) except that the single slice of baloney they've given us each meal for the last two days was spoiled around the edges, and the bananas were too green to eat without getting sick.
Of course, I could save the bananas for a few days until they are edible, but the green baloney had to go in the toilet. And when the prisoners complained to the guards, and the guards complained to the kitchen, they were told, "the baloney isn't spoiled". They said that it was just, "exposed to the air".
Apparently nobody ever taught them what causes food to spoil (hint: exposure to air!).
So, we were all supposed to ignore the foul smell and ensuring stomach cramps and eat the food we all deserve for being bad inmates and "attacking" a guard.
Oh, wait. Officially, of course, we're not being punished at all. The lockdown is merely imposed to give staff time to "investigate the incident" and "evaluate policy". At least, that's what the memo said.
But, every prisoner and guard alike all understand that the lockdown is really just our punishment. Punishment is all the prison officials understand. It is their only means of control, or at least that's what they think. When inmates behave badly, take something away - it's the only logic they seem capable of.
Of course, historically, punishment has never been shown to curb negative behavior, except in the most superficial ways. The one thing that does solicit positive behavior is simply treating people as fellow human beings (commonly referred to as, "respectfully"). It's a truth that the system doesn't seem capable of comprehending. No surprize there.
The nature and extent of the "attack" was left to our imaginations. But, our punishment was spelled out clearly. The entire prison would remain locked down for a week.
For the SCU prisoners, that means no "recreation" (outdoor cages surrounded by concrete walls), and sack lunches (baloney, cheese, or peanut butter sandwiches with a piece of fruit) for every meal. And since I personally never go to "recreation", my only punishment is the sack lunches for every meal. That in itself wouldn't be all that bad (I lived on sack lunches for two years in the Indio Jail in California, so I'm used to worse) except that the single slice of baloney they've given us each meal for the last two days was spoiled around the edges, and the bananas were too green to eat without getting sick.
Of course, I could save the bananas for a few days until they are edible, but the green baloney had to go in the toilet. And when the prisoners complained to the guards, and the guards complained to the kitchen, they were told, "the baloney isn't spoiled". They said that it was just, "exposed to the air".
Apparently nobody ever taught them what causes food to spoil (hint: exposure to air!).
So, we were all supposed to ignore the foul smell and ensuring stomach cramps and eat the food we all deserve for being bad inmates and "attacking" a guard.
Oh, wait. Officially, of course, we're not being punished at all. The lockdown is merely imposed to give staff time to "investigate the incident" and "evaluate policy". At least, that's what the memo said.
But, every prisoner and guard alike all understand that the lockdown is really just our punishment. Punishment is all the prison officials understand. It is their only means of control, or at least that's what they think. When inmates behave badly, take something away - it's the only logic they seem capable of.
Of course, historically, punishment has never been shown to curb negative behavior, except in the most superficial ways. The one thing that does solicit positive behavior is simply treating people as fellow human beings (commonly referred to as, "respectfully"). It's a truth that the system doesn't seem capable of comprehending. No surprize there.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Without Question
After a very expensive and prolonged "retrospective" competency hearing (one of the marshals told me that they estimated the court at around two-million dollars), the attorneys for both sides, government and defense, gave their closing arguments today.
The government argues, in the interest of seeing me killed in the name of justice (truth be damned), that the defendant (me) has consistantly demonstrated his competence, and was in fact fully competent when he (the "defendant") waived his appeal of three death sentences, and has never demonstrated the overt incompetence that the defense lawyers assert.
The "defense" argues, in the interest of saving my life (truth be damned), that Mr. Duncan (me) has a severe psychotic brain impairment that causes him to make all his decisions (legal and otherwise) in the erroneous context of a complex delusional belief system that is completely removed from reality. Hence, the decision to waive his appeals was made non-volitionally and incompetently.
I would argue if given the chance, in the interest of the Truth (my life, or death, be damned), that the question of my so-called "competence" or even "sanity" should not be a part of the process of determining what society should do in response to my clearly criminal (i.e. socially destructive) behavior. The only question should be, "What happened?"
If we ask ourselves that question honestly, instead of seeking blame, retribution, or even forgiveness, then we would know what to do, without question.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Back in Boise
I'm back in boise, Idaho, for yet another "competency hearing". It's expected to run until the end of January, maybe a little into February. Check the news in Boise for updates.
Friday, January 18, 2013
"Child Porn" Found In My Cell
Amongst the very few papers I brought with me from the Federal Detention Center in Seatac, Washington, as I was transferred via private jet to the Ada County Jail in Boise, was a document that discussed historical Jewish Law (the Talmud) in relationship to sex with children. I used this document to support an assertion I made in an affidavit to the court in which I pointed out that, like me, Jesus was a criminal of the most foul sort, as judged by the society in which he lived. I bolstered my argument to this effect by pointing out that in Jesus' day, sex with children, even child rape of both sexes, was not only legal, but ordained in some circumstances (such as the consumation of a marriage to girls as young as three by coitus, and an explicit exception to the law against laying with another man as a woman for boys under the age of nine, amongst other laws in the Talmud). I gave this affidavit, which directly cited the document I mention above, to my attorneys so they would know my current views in regard to the question of my competency, and how it related to my decision to waive the appeal of the three death sentences imposed upon me in Federal court back in 2008.
The other day I found this document missing from my jail cell, and realized it had been confiscated. So, I told my attorney, and he told me that he had been informed by the marshals that they had found and removed "child porn" from my cell. They did not tell him what the document was, just that it was "child porn".
So I submitted a written request to the jail to have the document returned, as it was a legitimate part of my case. The response I got was, "Sex with children is illegal in Idaho". So, I was not allowed to have the document.
since I had already written the affidavit, and the document itself is freely available on the Internet (Google: "Talmud Law Sex With Children") I was not too concerned about getting the document back. I was concerned, however, with the fact that once again a misleading record has been established of my attempts to keep "child porn" in my cell that can later be used in court as an "aggravating factor" (i.e. proof that I'm a "bad" person). And, it's not the first time either. In fact, this kind of slanted record keeping is pretty much par-for-course. I could give a dozen more explicit examples just off the top of my head, some I have already attempted to counter-document in this blog (e.g. the "assault on a guard" infraction I got in prison for accidentally hitting a guard with a small plastic lid, to mention just one).
It's just another way that the system promotes its view that there are "good people" and "bad people", a view that the system depends on to justify doing bad things (like crucifying the Truth and killing the innocent children of God).
The other day I found this document missing from my jail cell, and realized it had been confiscated. So, I told my attorney, and he told me that he had been informed by the marshals that they had found and removed "child porn" from my cell. They did not tell him what the document was, just that it was "child porn".
So I submitted a written request to the jail to have the document returned, as it was a legitimate part of my case. The response I got was, "Sex with children is illegal in Idaho". So, I was not allowed to have the document.
since I had already written the affidavit, and the document itself is freely available on the Internet (Google: "Talmud Law Sex With Children") I was not too concerned about getting the document back. I was concerned, however, with the fact that once again a misleading record has been established of my attempts to keep "child porn" in my cell that can later be used in court as an "aggravating factor" (i.e. proof that I'm a "bad" person). And, it's not the first time either. In fact, this kind of slanted record keeping is pretty much par-for-course. I could give a dozen more explicit examples just off the top of my head, some I have already attempted to counter-document in this blog (e.g. the "assault on a guard" infraction I got in prison for accidentally hitting a guard with a small plastic lid, to mention just one).
It's just another way that the system promotes its view that there are "good people" and "bad people", a view that the system depends on to justify doing bad things (like crucifying the Truth and killing the innocent children of God).
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