Tumor Time

I have three Federal death sentences, in addition to life without parole sentences in at least two different states (Idaho and California). But it seems now that The Universe has other plans for me.

About two months ago, I started experiencing numbness in my arm, leg, and torso, and head; on the left side of my body. I even pushed the "emergency call button" in my cell at one point because I knew something was "wrong" with me, medically; not that it did any good to push the button... after five or ten minutes a guard showed up at my cell door and asked, "What is your emergency?" I told him about the numbness and "spacy" feeling in my head, then he left and never came back; I spoke to a lieutenant that was just walking past my cell a half-hour later, but he didn't do anything to help me either (at least not that I know of).

So, I waited a few days and started keeping a written record of each time I felt similar numbness symptoms. Then, about two weeks later, I suddenly had an extremely painful headache that hurt so bad that the pain alone made me puke. So I pushed the emergency button again, and this time the guard could see I was sick, so he called medical staff, and after I told them how I felt (and about the numbness, etc.), he said he'd schedule a doctor's appointment. But instead, the next day, they came and took me to the local hospital emergency room. They ended up doing a CAT-scan, and then told me that they found a large "tumor indicative mass" in my brain. But they found no "experts" on such thing locally, so they transported me via ambulance to a brain trauma center (called "Espinazi" in Indianapolis). There, they did an MRI on my head, in addition to a full body CAT-scan (to look for any tumors elsewhere that could have been the source of the tumor in my head (they found none).

After that, a neuro-surgeon specialist came to talk to me and essentially told me they had to do "urgent" surgery to reduce the mass of the tumor (but the neurosurgeon said they'd know more after surgery when specialists would run tests on tissue samples from the tumor).

It turned out to be a "glial blastoma", the size of a man's fist, growing mostly in the right temporal cortex, and intruding into the prefrontal cortex. The neurosurgeon was called "Miracle" (not "Dr. Miracle", but just "Miracle", though sometimes I heard the nurses and other doctors refer to him as, "Dr. Miracle"). When I asked him the reason for his name, he said that he was called "Miracle" because he and his mother both nearly died when he was born (no details, other than that). He must have made his mother (who I assume is still alive) very proud, by becoming a prominent neurosurgeon.

I initially refused "treatment" (i.e. surgery) because I wanted to talk to my fiancée first, which I told them over and over. The B.O.P. refused to let me talk to anyone (not even my attorneys, or my mother, for "security" reasons). So I thought if I refused treatment (surgery), they'd return me to Terre Haute (prison) and I could at least call my fiancée, and let her know what was happening.

That night, in Espenazi, I imagined I was holding her, and I told her what was happening, and how important she was to me, especially in that moment of crisis. And then I remembered a phone conversation with her that we had had just the week before, where we discussed each other's death, and loss (of each other). It was like we both somehow "knew".

The next day, when Miracle asked me if I wanted to proceed with the surgery or not, I told him that my fiancée already "understood", and I was ready to proceed (with the surgery) and within hours, I was taken to the surgical theatre, and before I went under (anesthesia), I looked around and saw lots of monitors, computers, and other "high-tech" equipment... This was no ordinary surgery. (I was told later that it cost three quarter of a million dollars - for the surgery alone!) 

The next thing I knew there were people bustling all around me and my head hurt really bad, and I couldn't figure out what was happening (confusion). Someone, a female voice, kept saying in a consoling tone, "You are okay. You just came from surgery, the surgery went well..", and I kept saying, "It hurts... Please stop, it hurts really bad...", and, "I don't know where I am...", and the consoling voice said again, "You are okay, the pain is normal, you just had brain surgery..."

Then I felt someone rubbing my right shoulder and I had a vision of an old man's hand inside of an ordinary shoe-box, and for some reason I thought the hand was a symbol of something "normal", or "ordinary" that my mind could "hold on to" in order to find my way out of the confusion. I could still feel someone rubbing my shoulder at the same time, so I told them, "Thank you for rubbing my shoulder, it helps...", and then a different voice told me, "You are rubbing your own shoulder..." Then I realized it was my left hand that was rubbing my shoulder, seemingly with a mind of its own. Weird, but things only got weirder, and more confusing after that. The pain only added to my confusion because it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I couldn't tell where it came from. I just knew it hurt.

They put me in a "private" ICU room and five well-armed BOP-guards never let me out of their sight. They even "scrubbed" and put on sterile gowns so they could watch me during the surgery.

I was in ICU for several days after the surgery. It wasn't incontinent, per se, but I did end up pissing the bed a few times just because I got confused and could not control or even feel my left hand (so I spilled the urinal - plastic bottle - accidentally without even realizing it until I felt the wet sheets). The nurses were extremely nice about cleaning me up, which I deeply appreciated. I never felt so helpless (or hopeless) in my life and that made me realize (and wish) how I could have been (like the nurses) a better person than I was, simply by caring for others. My mind today is still "foggy", so I can't begin to find the words to express what I wish I could here, about how much I appreciated the nurses, and how that made me realize... the difference between a "good" person, and a "bad" person. I don't mean to say, or imply, what a "bad" person is (like, someone who doesn't care, or something). I'm just saying that I realized a little kindness goes a long way! Really, for everyone!

I was also allowed to have ice cream, apple sauce, and /or graham crackers just by asking, anytime I wanted, which was another deeply appreciated "kindness". 

They (the nurses) gave me "meds", some in my I.V., others in pill-form. I got pain pills (I don't know what, but they worked, thank goodness!), anti-seizure pills and some other pills, like Dexamethasone (to reduce swelling in the brain). I took all the pills they gave me.

For the most part the guards were polite and respectful, even with me. They spent most of the time in the room with me watching (Netflix?) on their phones, and/or talking about what they were going to do with all the money they were making (with so much overtime on this special detail (watching me)). Sometimes I felt like they were deliberately keeping me awake, by talking right next to my bed, and making other noises to wake me up if they thought I was asleep, but I honestly don't know if they were, or if my mind was just playing tricks on me. So, I decided, consciously, that it was my mind playing tricks, and not the guards, but I still don't know either way.

I do know that the guards did some very kind and considerate things for me, like adjusting my blanket (when they saw me trying (and failing) to adjust it myself to keep warm), which was inconsistent with my life's experience, and consequently ended up adding to my confusion.

I got confused a lot. Everything and everyone seemed "alien" to me. Nothing seemed "ordinary" or "normal", especially after I started hallucinating (small creepy little hands waving at me from behind stuff, and weird wavy patterns that floated in the air, sometimes with flashing bright colors, a lot like what I imagine LSD hallucinations must be like). The hallucinations didn't bother me though, because I was still rational enough to realize they weren't real, per se.

About a week after the operation, they transported me in a van by strapping me in a wheelchair in the back with full "box-cuff" restraints (that was more painful than my head!) to a special BOP hospital ward nicknamed "The Big Room" at a local hospital (here in Terre Haute). I thought of it as "the cuckoo's nest" after my first day there because of how "insane" it was circumstantially. There was only one or two other patients there who I spoke to (mostly because I was lonely) and more than ten guards, unarmed though, who occupied one entire end of the room, where they talked and played with their phones while ignoring the inmate patients (most of the time). It was a gang of bullies (mean guards) and they were exceptionally mean to me, in spite of my terminal cancer (tumor), and they made it very clear that they enjoyed seeing me in pain and suffering.

The head nurse was a real-life nurse Ratched - very pretty, and superficially nice, with a vindictive and hateful mean streak that she made little effort to conceal (she seemed to enjoy the control she had over other people's (inmate/patients) misery (by controlling their pain meds - not just me, I saw her treat other inmates the same way), and even control over when they could urinate, according to her "schedule", which was determined by her "needs", not the patients').

The doctors prescribed pain meds for me, so I could "rest and recuperate" after the surgery and before I started radiation and chemo-therapy; which I was allowed to have on request once every six hours; but, between nurse Ratched and the guards, I felt lucky to get the pain medicine at all. I was often happy just to get ordinary Tylenol. 

One time, just for example, when I asked a guard to ask the nurse if I could have some pain meds, because my head was throbbing and keeping me awake (which happened a lot), the guard told me, "You don't deserve pain meds after what you did to that family" (apparently in direct reference to my crimes), and then just stood there looking at me (seemingly to enjoy watching me suffer),

Another time one of the guards told me that, "A lot of people will be very happy if you die...", with emphasis on "a lot of people". 

Once after a guard kicked my bed to wake me up, then stood around my bed with several other guards talking (so I could not go back to sleep). I saw one of the guards with a ball-cap that had a Christian cross penned on the front of it. I asked hopefully, "Are you a chaplain?" The other guards chuckled and he said, "No." Then I asked, "Then are you are fake Christian [in reference to the cross on his hat] or something?" And he said, "No, I'm not a fake Christian [implying with emphasis that he was a real Christian]". I don't remember now what I said next, but I said something he didn't like, because I remember clearly him saying, "Normally I'm an easy-going guy, but if you don't watch your mouth, I'm going to beat your ass right here!" Which was a threat I took seriously, because I had already observed the way the beds were arranged with curtains between them that would make it very easy to conceal them from the numerous cameras (I counted at least six) in the room. And he made this threat not only in front of the other guards (four or five at the time, all standing around my bed for no apparent reason, other than to harass me), and in front of "nurse Ratched" (who said nothing, of course). So, I started screaming, as loud as I could, and waving my arms over my head (hoping someone watching the cameras would see me, even if they couldn't hear me), "Help! Help! I'm being threatened! Help!" The gang of bullies didn't move, but just kept standing there watching me scream for help. After a moment or so, another guard came over from someplace unseen by me (another room or area out of my view) and asked me why I was yelling, so I told him I had just been threatened (and was afraid for my life, because one blow to my head could easily kill me, so soon after major brain surgery). He told me, "You need to calm down, or you're going to end up in four point restraints". I replied by telling him, "Go ahead, I'm sure you've probably already filled out the paperwork, the same way they did for George Floyd."

(After reflecting on this incident carefully in hindsight, I've come to realize that I may well have had a dangerously close encounter with modern clansmen (as in KKK). The man with the cross on his "hood" was possibly some sort of clan "wizard", or other ranking member of the clan, judging by the way the other "bullies" deferred to him with the same sort of shallow (unearned) respect that "gang leaders" often relish, which I have learned to recognize after more than 40 years in prison. It's the kind of shallow respect that comes with rank, regardless of character. And it explains how such bullies can thrive without fear of reprisal in a system that supposedly safeguards (grievance protocols) against such behavior (i.e. threats, and violence). The bullies feel "safe", because they know the "clan" (or perhaps "union"?) will protect them from reprisals. The only thing I've been uncertain about in the past was where their sense of "protection" (from reprisal) was coming from. I used to think it was their BOP "Union", but now I think it may well be some modern organized racist clan instead, especially after one of the other nurses (who was close to nurse Ratched) made a comment to me regarding the BLM movement where she strongly implied that "blacks" should be happy that they aren't slaves anymore, and stop complaining about systematic racism (which in her stated opinion is not a "real" problem).

After all this, and after the c/o who came from "nowhere" threatened to chain me up ("four-point restraint"), yet another nurse, who seemed "neutral" (i.e. not so filled with hate as the guards), but not as genuinely kind either (as the nurses in Espenazi were), came and asked me if I needed anything, then helped me adjust my bedding (to be more comfortable) and then she asked me to calm down and be quiet for a while, to which I replied that I would, "for her" (because she asked respectful, and because she always treated me "fairly" (if not kindly). Shortly after she arrived, so did my lunch, which I accepted (from the guard who brought it, who was also more "neutral" than the rest, by saying "thank you" as I usually do, no matter how hostile the guards are (either in jail, prison, or now in the prison hospitals because I still struggle to understand, and accept, their hostility, as I wish they could understand (and accept) my own hostility (something not likely to happen anytime soon).

[J.D. November 2020]

The Killer Parade

Every Thursday (like today), for some bizarre reason that has never been explained to me, the "administrative staff" of this prison (the heads and directors of the various departments, from the warden's office down to unit staff) come walking through the unit, up and down all the ranges (halls of cells) looking in each and every window one after another. It is a parade of all the people here who are actively engaged in an open conspiracy to kill the prisoners who the System has given them permission (or "orders") to kill. So, I call it "the Parade of Killers", while they still call it simply the "administrative walk-through". It is supposed to give the prisoners a chance to address any concerns or grievances directly with the "person in charge", but the few (very few) times I have ever attempted to talk to any of them as they paraded past my cell in their fancy suits, they just kept on walking and pretending not to hear my request for address. I've seen them do the same thing with other prisoners, so I know it isn't personal. They simply loathe doing their job, and want to get it over with as quickly as possible. If I happen to be asleep, or just lying on the bunk with my eyes closed, then several of them will make it their job to demand I sit up and acknowledge their presence at the cell door window. Literally, that's all they do! They say, "Duncan! Are you okay?" and then before I even have a chance to collect my thoughts, much less answer them, they are gone. So much for addressing any grievances. If all looks good on camera and on paper though. They can officially say that they personally "spoke to" each and every prisoner, and made sure they were "okay". 

It is indeed nothing more than a parade, and no less than a parade of the worst sort of "cold-blooded" killers of all! The ones who "the people" (taxpayers) pay to kill for them.

So, in the time it took me to write the last few sentences above, they all have just walked past my cell, each peering in at me in turn, but because I was up and "alert" (sitting on my bunk, writing), not one bothered to say anything to me. So much for the parade today.

[J.D. Sept. 17, 2020]

Day-To-Day On Federal Death Row (For Me)

I exist inside a roughly seven-foot by fourteen-foot concrete cell with a solid metal door on a "range" (hallway) of 24 cells facing each other altogether. In every cell there is a stainless-steel shower stall, toilet/sink combo, metal desk/stool, bunk, and metal locker. The locker stands about 40 inches tall, so there is room on top to put stuff like a T.V. (a clear plastic 12'' LCD-HD issued by the prison) and DVD player (issued by the education department, but used mostly to view religious and non-religious DVDs from the chapel library). There is a metal mirror (usually warped and scratched) above the sink, and a narrow window on the back (outside) wall that is screened (which makes it difficult-to-impossible to see anything outside) so only light can come in, as mandated by Federal guidelines.

Everyone also gets two plastic open-top foot lockers for storing stuff under the bunk. We are allowed to purchase personal shoes and some clothing items on commissary (sweat shirts/pants, socks, underwear, sneakers, etc.), but I prefer to settle mostly for just the state issue items when I can (e.g. I've never bought shoes here and just wear the cheep deck shoes I was issued when I first arrived anytime I need to leave the cell).

We normally get "rec" five days a week, and can choose to go "outside" (to one of the walled-in monkey cages that barely let you see the sky directly above) or one of the inside "rec rooms" where they have some treadmills and exercise bikes that some prisoners here use (like caged rats as far as I'm concerned). I rarely go to "rec" (I've only been "outside" maybe three times in the last ten years), and when I do it is only to one of the "rec" rooms with a computer so I can print mailing labels (which are required on all outgoing mail) and re-validate my MP3-player (which must be connected to the prison computer system, "TRLINCS", every fourteen days or it stops working).

Mostly I'm quite content to exist in my cell, receiving meals three times a day passed in through a slot in the door, and mail (five days a week). I avoid talking to other prisoners since they always seem too focused, even obsessed at times, with their cases (legal matters) and whatever is on T.V. (which is mostly a bunch of gobbledygook as far as I'm concerned).

I have been spending a few hours each week in the "leisure room" lately with my "rec partner", "Steve", who is an older gentleman whom I am allowed to be in the same room with (which is considered a "privilege" that must be earned with "good behavior", etc.). We play chess and talk about things other than our cases or what's on T.V. Like me, Steve is more interested in the philosophical aspects of our existence, and though we don't always agree (philosophically) we do get along okay conversationally. But, I don't trust him with private or personal matters, or anyone else in this place for that matter. (Trust is a fool's gambit in any prison.)

So, other than the polite conversations I have over a friendly game of chess with my "rec partner" I really don't socialize here at all. The other prisoners treat me respectfully in matters that require interacting with them (such as asking to use the phone next, or trading store items for stamps, etc.). In fact, the only harassment I have experienced in all the years I've been here has come from a handful of guards who don't seem to realize they aren't in high school anymore, so they bully me because of my crimes the same way I'm sure they bullied "weaklings" when they were in school. Fortunately there are no guards here now (that I'm aware of) who are so immature (though there are a few who seem to harbor some resentment toward me, probably because they were "molested" as a child, or have some other dark secrets of their own that my crimes remind them of).

I usually sleep most of the day and stay awake at night while it is quiet. After so many years in prison (literally most of my life) I've learned to sleep through almost anything, and wake up automatically for things like meal or mail (unless I have earplugs in. But, I only wear earplugs when the noise is exceptionally bad, which is actually more often than I like lately since I've moved to this "phase II" range (with "leisure room" privileges for good behavior) where there are several "lonely" prisoners who like to yell conversations from one end of the range to the other, which I find quite annoying, but tolerate because they are such pathetically lonely souls (i.e. I feel sorry for them).

When I'm awake I like to read (non-fiction books or pages of material from the Internet that my people on the streets find and print for me), write (letters, and blog stuff, like this), listen to music (I have over 500 personally selected songs on my MP3-player that I listen to nearly every day to relax, or sometimes just to block out the loud conversations from outside of the cell; everything from 70's rock, 80's pop, contemporary pop, and classical, with several "meditation" tracks as well), or watch a little T.V. (actually, probably more T.V. than I like to admit, but most of the time the T.V. in my cell, which I keep tied to the side of the locker facing my bunk so it doesn't take up space, is turned off). I enjoy thought provoking dramas, like "Breaking Bad" and "Killing Eve", or a good documentary on PBS or History Channel; but I honestly can't stand better than 99% of what they call "entertainment" these days, and probably despise as much as 80% of it, especially all the "pig fiction" and "faux reality" crap (my terms for things like "Law and Order", "Criminal Minds", and "The Kardashians", which makes me want to "gag" intellectually if I ever try to watch it). Even the so-called "news" ends up disgusting me most of the time. It's not even news anymore, it's all commentary and little else, no real information at all! Which makes me miss the Internet even more, where I can set up a filter directly on the A.P. wire and get my "news" directly, then investigate anything I find interesting for myself.

I usually masturbate at least once a day, and frequently two or even three times a day still, which I am very happy and almost proud to announce at my age (57, last I checked). I believe it is good for my body, mind, and soul. I still like to imagine having sex with children, even rape and such, but more often than not I just like the fantasy of being with my beautiful young soulmate (and fiancèe) and satisfying her, on all the levels and in all the ways one might satisfy the person they care more about in life than anyone else.

I call my girl as often as I can, though the 15 minute time limit on all personal calls makes it impossible to have anything resembling a full conversation. We manage at least to touch bases on the numerous philosophical and theological topics we discuss in depth in our letters. This helps clarify our discussions, but it'd be really nice if we could take our time and really think more about what we are trying to say on the phone so we might actually have a chance to "connect" the way people like me are so often accused of not being able to (it's like "they" don't want prisoners to "connect" with their loved ones, because that might go against their whole "sociopathic" theory or something.)

For the most past I am comfortable, and have no real complaints at this point in my life. I sometimes wonder if there is still something left for me to do in my life, like write a book, or discover some great secret (become enlightened?). But for now I am very content if my only purpose is loving my fiancée, and showing her my love in any, and every, way I can. That's far far more than I could have ever hoped for on this ride that I call my life.

[J.D. May 13, 2020]

Other details:

I have a small paper trash can that I keep wrapped in an extra sheet so the two-scoops of ice we get each day will keep cold and I can store a few items, like milk from breakfast, or meat from lunch to make a late night snack with, etc..

I have a homemade HD-TV antenna that lets me get about 15 extra channels, which is nice because they are all much clearer (digital, and some HD) than the prison channels we get (which are all fuzzy analogue channels).

I crochet and draw too, but not very often. I made a nice hat for my mom, and some warm booty-socks for myself most recently. I am allowed to purchase a very limited selection of materials, such as yarn, pencils, and paper, via special purchase order (SPO) that I must pay for with a 30% make-up.

I can also purchase limited "religious items" by SPO as well. For example, I have a "religious medallion" and a beautiful deck of tarot cards with Jung-inspired artwork that I bought via SPO. (The medallion is a pewter pentagram/wolf that I wear in honor of my commitment to my fiancèe in lieu of an engagement ring, which I'm not allowed to have.)

We can order commissary once a week. I usually order coffee, mayonnaise, barbecue sauce, and salt (i.e. things that make the meals here a little more palatable). I sometimes buy "treats" for myself, like cookies, chips, or candy, but I try not to make it a habit. The selection is very limited. We must also buy our own hygiene and stationary items, also very limited in choice (e.g. no dental floss, unperfumed soap, and only one kind of pen with black ink --- no other pens are allowed, not even via SPO).

I also buy tweezers, and use them to heat water for my coffee by clipping two pairs to the tongs of my T.V. plug then holding a cup of salted water up to immerse the tweezers which then heat the water to a boil in about 30 or 40 seconds. I then use the heated water, which is tainted with iron oxide in the process, to heat clean water in a separate bottle that I immerse in the tainted water. This all takes about four minutes, but the effort is worth it for a drinkably hot cup of instant coffee. The tweezers end up rusting away and must be replaced every other month or so, because of the salt (without salt it takes too long to heat the water). Some of the other prisoners have more elaborate "stingers" for heating water in their cells that use cords and sometimes even an insulated cup to make a kind of double boiler. But, I prefer the much simpler tweezer method.

Currently, due to the corona-virus scare, we are only allowed out of our cells if we sign up a day in  advance to use one of the TRULINCS computers. There is no "rec" or "leisure room", and all our meals are either in snacks or Styrofoam trays. Most of the guards have been wearing masks (usually bandannas for some reason) and all prisoners are required to wear washable cloth masks (that were made and issued by the prison itself) anytime we leave our cell (I've only worn mine twice since they were issued over a month ago, which goes to show how rarely I leave my cell). So, I've been washing my hands frequently, and wiping down the phone with disinfectant every time I use it to be safe. No one in this unit has gotten sick yet, but I expect they will sooner or later.

Overall, the "pandemic" has actually improved my life considerably. Too bad it won't last (though, like many, I believe this "pandemic" is only the beginning of something that will get much worse, and soon). The meals are better (probably because they are made more simply), I have fewer reasons to leave my cell, and I get more phone time with the love of my life. I don't think it will ever get much better than this, which is okay too.    

Turkey Day On Death Row

Today is "turkey day" in the U.S., which means I should get lots to eat. Sometimes it feels like a "day" for me is a year long, or rather, a "year" is only a day long. What I mean is that I look forward every day of the year to the good food we get once a year, so when that day - or, those days, Thanksgiving and Christmas - come and go it seems to me like only another "day" has passed, not an entire year. In other words, nothing else ever happens around here, so I have only the extra food I get once a year to "mark the passage of time", if that makes sense.

[J.D. November 28, 2019]

Time To Die; Or Not?

If you watch the news then you know that five Federal prisoners here in the Terre Haute USP/SCU ("Death Row") have been selected to be killed by the government upon order of the U.S. attorney general. I am acquainted with four of the five, though call none my friend (I was on the same range of cells with them, so we were neighbors for years). It seems more will be selected soon, and like these first five (first in some 16 years, that is) they will be moved to the higher security cells on "A-range", which have sat empty 'til now. You could say A-range is the real "Death Row", since that is where they hold prisoners with an actual "execution" date, and it is a row of cells rather than a hall like this range I am on ("B-range", both "B" and "C" ranges are halls with cells on both sides facing each other, but A-range has all its cells on just one side).

When I first heard this news I felt relieved. I've been a little worried that the Federal government might actually stop killing its prisoners before they got around to killing me. I don't want to grow old and die of "natural causes" in here. I read a book once, "How We Die", by Sherwin B. Noland, see: 5NBooks) about how the body dies "naturally". Let's just say it is almost never "pretty", and certainly not pleasant. Being "put to sleep" is clearly a much better way to exit this "ride" we call life. So my hope has long been that the Federal government would adopt the single-drug protocol (which is the "cleanest" way to kill someone if you must do it in my opinion) and kill me before my health --- or worse, my mind! --- starts to fail and I begin the long, slow and painful process of dying "naturally", which is made many times worse by being in prison and having to rely on people who care little to nothing about me (and some who literally wish me ill!) to provide my needs, just to keep me "alive", forget about being kept "comfortable"! They don't do "comfortable" in prison health care.

But my hope may yet be dashed. My lawyers think this recent move by the U.S.A.G. is a political distraction, ordered by the president (Trump) to keep people's attention off him while he flounders in the news, again. There is also a rather well-known and strong "wind of (social) change" that this move by the A.G. goes against. It seems people in the U.S. are starting to wake up to the insanity (and injustice) of a government killing its prisoners (who present no real danger as they are rendered defenseless against the will of the state). That's actually the reason I've been a bit worried in the first place that they might never get around to killing me before this "wind" blows out the so-called "death penalty" flame once and for all.

So, I hope my lawyers are mistaken. Or, if they are right, then I hope the powers-that-be decide to "distract" everyone by actually killing us again! Like I said, I am acquainted with most of the five who have already been selected (and given "dates" for their "executions"), as well as with most of the rest of the other prisoners waiting here with me for their "dates", and there is not one prisoner here (that I am aware of) who I think would be better off without being "put to sleep". Obviously most of them feel differently, but then they don't seem to know what I know... in fact, most of them seem to desperately avoid such knowledge. And I believe that's the reason "death" scares them so much (judging by the way they talk about it and "fight" against it so much).

But, not me. I welcome a peaceful death, or even a violent one! It's only dying "naturally" in prison that concerns me a little. And I'm not suicidal either. I don't want to die at all. I just don't see any reason to fear it. So I don't mind knowing when and how I might die; in fact, I prefer knowing to not knowing! Why wouldn't I?

[J.D. August 5, 2019]

Learning How To Shave @ 56

I shaved my face for the first time in prison. So I didn't have a father around or the Internet to help me figure out how. And not long after the first time I shaved my face I was shaving my legs, and yet still had to figure it all out by myself. And now that I'm 56, and in prison for the rest of my life, I'm still figuring out how to shave.

I thought I had it down pat. When I lived in Fargo, I figured out the best way to appear "clean-shaven" on a daily bases was to shave "down" (with the hair grain) each morning on weekdays (workdays), and then only shave "up" (against the grain) on Friday, so I'd be extra smooth for the weekend "fun". I did it like this because if I tried to shave against the grain every day I'd get irritated skin and razor burn. So I thought I had it all figured out.

Here on death row I don't need to appear clean-shaven at all, but I still don't like the itch and hassle of having a beard, so I've been shaving "against the grain" just once or twice a week, which I can do without the skin irritation, and which gives me the personally pleasing "extra smooth" mug once or twice a week for my own gratification (i.e. it "feels nice").

Then the other day while flipping channels I saw part of a popular sitcom where a man was in the bathroom explaining to his young son how to shave while he himself did so in the mirror. And to my amazement he told the boy to first shave with the grain (down) and THEN shave against the grain! I had never tried this, nor heard of it being done that way before. I always assumed you must shave one way or the other and never considered doing both in proper sequence.

So, I tried it, and it works1 I can now shave extra smooth every day if I like with no skin irritation! I'm 56 years old and have been shaving for at least 36 years, and I'm only now figuring this out? How strange the way we learn, and don't learn, at the whim of life.

[J.D. March 29, 2019]

Religious "Management"

As anyone who reads this blog should know, I don't profess or subscribe to any organized religious belief system. I believe only in what has been given to me personally to believe, and I hold that belief above all others, not because I think it is the "true" or "right" belief, but because it is MINE, and mine for a reason.

That being said (and hopefully understood), I have engaged the "Religious Services"-program here (USP Terre Haute) in order to get permission to obtain certain so-called "religious items" that are consistent with my PERSONAL beliefs. As a consequence, it seems I have been formally registered by the BOP as "Pagan" and associated with "Wicca" (i.e. people who practice "magic" and call themselves "witches" and such), all because I ordered (through the "Religious Services"-program) a deck of Tarot-cards that are consistent with my "belief" in Jungian synchronicity (i.e. I believe there are no "coincidents" and that everything that happens, happens for a reason, and these "reasons" are connected and related to apparently "random" events, such as the order of cards in a shuffled deck). In fact, the Tarot-deck I ordered uses artwork that was directly inspired by Carl Jung's "archetype"-studies, which Jung himself relates back to synchronicity, which is the reason I ordered them.

Before I ordered the Tarot-cards, I had been "associated" with "Asatru", because of a "religious pendent" I ordered to honor my belief (and also as Jung believed based on his own studies and experience - which he considered "science", and not a belief system) that symbols can represent and influence the "synchronistic" coincidences that we experience. I chose a small pewter pentagram with a howling wolf. The pentagram is a historically very positive symbol that has long represented our "journey" through life (as a cycle that repeats from birth-to-rebirth), and the wolf represents Fenrisulven in the Norwegian tradition.

All this is very consistent with my beliefs, and though it corresponds (synchronistically!) with certain belief systems (such as Wicca, Asatru, not to mention Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism and too many others to say) it was the (Christian) "chaplain" in charge of the "religious services"-program here who "associated" me with various religious groups, not me. And in so doing, I was allowed to participate in the Asatru Ceremonial meal" last year (they brought an extra tray of food to my cell that other "non-Asatru"-prisoners did not get), which I genuinely appreciated in a "spiritual" sense because the meal represented a "synchronistic" event that corresponded meaningful with other events in my life at the time.

So, this year I decided that I'd like to participate in the Asatru "celebration" again, and sent an "electronic message" (intra-net e-mail) to the chaplain requesting to be allowed to participate. But, as the attached image (of my request and the chaplain's response), I was rejected essentially because of the Tarot-cards I bought.

I spoke to the chaplain himself when he made his rounds here on death row, and I asked him how he could justify telling me how I am allowed to practice what I believe. He replied by saying he was only doing his job "managing religious services" so they are not abused or otherwise taken advantage of. I started to tell him how hypocritical such "management" was, but realized quickly that I wasn't just challenging his ideology, but the very nature and premise of his chosen profession. So I interrupted myself and told him that I "accepted" his decision with reservations. And then a few days later I attempted to "spell out" my reservations for him in another "e-mail" to Religious Services (see attached image). It has now been several weeks, and the chaplain has yet to either respond to or even acknowledge my e-mail.

[J.D. January 6, 2019]

No Shit Sherlock

As I've said before, I can't really say too much about what really happens around here, out of respect for others' privacy, but mostly because a lot goes on that is "against the rules" and I don't want to stir up any shit.

But, I can tell you a little about the stupid shit that happens. A couple of months ago, two of the old men on the range, a black man and a white man, both obviously prejudice, who were celled next to each other (so only a cinder-block wall separated them) got into an argument over the "noise" the other was making (and thus being "disrespectful"). The argument became quite verbose and involved the usual impotent threats of death and violence.

I've noted that it is only the less intelligent sort who end up arguing like that. The rest just laugh at them (and also laugh rather than argue themselves as well). So it was all nothing as usual, until the white guy decided to report the black for threatening him and "keeping him awake at night" (this went on for several days, btw!). Then the black was moved, but before he moved, he decided to decorate his cell with his own feces.

Normally the black is a fastidiously clean person, but in his mind, smearing shit all over the cell walls and floor (and in the shower) was the only way he could "hurt" the white guy for being a "rat". He actually announced (several times) so everyone could hear that he expected the white guy he was mad at to have to clean up his shit the next time they moved cells.

But, that's not what happened, of course. Instead the guards ordered one of the "orderlies" (trustees) to clean the cell instead, which he did describing the mess in graphic detail as he did so we could all enjoy the madness together.

And that's just typical shit that happens in places like this, where a man's illusion of power and control is so hampered by reality that they will resort to extreme stretches of the imagination in order to maintain their illusion, as both of these men did (one by smearing shit all over, and the other by being a "rat"). I feel fortunate that my own illusions don't require so much external maintenance.

[J.D. August 2, 2018]

"Child Porn": Final Update

My name is Joseph E. Duncan III. I am on Federal "death row" at the Terre Haute, IN USP (prison) for kidnapping, raping, and murdering children. If you've read this blog, then you already know that a few years ago my fiancée sent me a picture of a famous French child model named Thylane Blondeau, who is known for her very provocative pictures in popular magazines, such as Vogue.

My fiancée had found the picture in fact on Vogue Magazine's website, and she printed some off to send me as part of a discussion we were having about the way children are sexualized in popular media.

I received the letter with these pictures through regular inmate mail. The envelope had been opened, and (presumably) the contents had been inspected and found acceptable. I had no reason to think the pictures were not allowed, nor that they should have been restricted. In one of the pictures, little miss Blondeau was indeed shirtless, and posing in a pair of pants in her signature provocative way. But, the girl was clearly prepubescent, and as flat-chested as any boy would be at the same age, so I figured, reasonably, that the prison policy against having pictures of women's breasts did not apply. I was wrong.

When a guard found this picture in my cell he wrote me up for having "child porn". The guard said in his "Incident Report" (disciplinary action) that I had violated rule #305 "Possession of anything not authorized and not issued through regular institutional channels".

Obviously, the picture had been issued to me, after being inspected by staff in the mail-room, and I still had the letter it came in to prove it (the letter itself clearly references and describes the pictures enclosed as they were being discussed). But, I was found "guilty" by the DHO (Disciplinary Hearing Officer) and harshly sanctioned (120 days loss of commissary, visiting, and phone privileges, plus a $75 fine - which happened to be all the money I had at that time!).

So I appealed over and over again. My main issue was that I was found "guilty" for something the policy itself says explicitly I was not guilty for. The picture was issued to me through regular prison mail, and I had no reason to think it was not "authorized" accordingly.

Nonetheless, I lost one appeal after another, for reasons that became even more ridiculous than the original incident report! The regional office claimed that the picture does show a "female breast" even if it is "undeveloped"... seriously? And even if it did show a real woman's breast (fully developed), the fact remains that it was handed to me by a prison guard passing out mail, and the envelope was opened and contents inspected... per policy, so I had no reason to think it was not authorized (there is no policy that "forbids" prisoners to have pictures of women's breasts, only a policy that requires the warden to restrict such pictures coming in through the mail. So if any policies were violated it was by the "warden", not me!)

All of my appeals fell on deaf ears, until the warden at some point decided that because it was my first "incident report" (ever) that it should have been handled at the "unit level" (UDC instead of DHO hearing). So they found me guilty again, at another hearing, ignoring again all the facts and evidence, not to mention rules, policies and Federal laws that I presented as "evidence" at my hearing that I had done nothing wrong.

After several years appealing (in order to "exhaust my institutional remedies"), I eventually tried to take it to a Federal judge by filing a Habeas Corpus in Federal court. But the judge quickly dismissed my complaint, stating that as long as the disciplinary action does not cause me to serve more time (which it can't because my sentence is "death"), then the prison can punish me however they like, and the court (judge) has no jurisdiction.

Of course that's not true either. But, I don't have the legal prowess nor financial resources (it would cost about $400 to appeal the judge's dismissal, and/or proceed under a different legal avenue... and new "prison litigation" reform laws require prisoners to pay the full amount of such fees, regardless of any "forma pauperis" status).

So, once more the System has proven to me that I have no "rights", and that "they" can punish me however and whenever they like, regardless of any rules or laws that pretend to prevent them from doing so. And once more I ponder how they could ever expect me to "respect" them or their "System" of so-called "law and order", which has only proven itself to be anything but what it pretends.

The System does what it wants, and then uses the premise of "justice" as an excuse. The "good guys" are the real "bad guys", and us "bad guys" are just a bunch of beaten down dogs with little choice but to bite back whenever we can in order to defend ourselves. Thus the System propagates...

[J.D. August 1, 2018]

P.S. If you think I deserve to be punished "unfairly" because of what I did to children then you are using the exact same excuse that all "do-gooders" use when they do "evil"... judgment and condemnation. There's nothing "wrong" with having an opinion. But when you impose your opinion upon others, it becomes a judgment that can never be "right". I would know.

Prison movies for December 2017

"The Dark Tower" (2017) - Dec 30

"The Emoji Movie" (2017) - Dec 29

"Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales" (2017) - Dec 25

"Spiderman: Homecoming" (2017) - Dec 23

"Churchill" (2017) - Dec 22

"Wish Upon" (2017) - Dec 16

"The Mummy" (2017) - Dec 15

"Denial" (2017) - Dec 9

"Pelé" (2017) - Dec 8

"Little Men" (2016) - Dec 2

"Batman and Harley Quinn" (2017) - Dec 1

The Stench of Our Understanding

We have not posted anything for a while because we have been contemplating the direction and purpose of our blog. We have always wanted this to be no more than an honest and open exposition of Joseph Duncan's thoughts and experiences, as a kind of glimpse into the mind of a human being that many call "monster". The idea - the hope - has always been that by doing this, then perhaps those who are ready will find for themselves that we are them, and that the only monsters in this world are the ones we imagine, and create for ourselves.

But it has come to our attention that by iterating with singular first person pronouns, we are inevitably giving the impression that this blog is about Joseph Duncan, when it has never been about him at all. His mind is no more than a psychological sponge that has soaked up the dross and drit exuded by all of us. The Fifth Nail has only ever endeavored to squeeze the contents of this metaphorical sponge onto the page, and let the pattern that emerges be read like an inkblot which says more about the person seeing it than it does about the one who has made the stain.

So from now on we will speak only using plural pronouns as often as we can in order to emphasize that this blog is not about one person. We will also attempt to shift our focus more on expressing our thoughts in a more general form, so they can be seen as thoughts coming from a sponge that has been used to wipe society's ass, and not from the mind of some "evil monster" that we imagine in order to convince ourselves that we're not the one's to blame for the mess. But prisons are the outhouses of the culture we live in, so we have no one but ourselves to blame for the offensive "smell" that wafts from within. Everyone has to shit, so no one is "innocent". So take a good whiff, my friend, because it is both you and I that are making this stench, not just "me".

In Haiti, workers empty communal outhouses at night and in the dark to avoid public scrutiny and humiliation.

Old Rules, New Rules, and the Rule of Law?

Last month, the warden announced (via Inmate Bulletin) that the original inmate property limits would be once more strictly enforced after a hiatus that had been going on for longer than I've been here (over at least the last nine years and probably much longer). The limit imposed by policy is five books per inmate, 25 personal letters, 1 laundry bag, etc. etc.. It is a well-known prison "management" tactic to relax certain policies so prisoners will take the leeway for granted. And then, when a "correctional staff" member needs to unofficially "punish" a prisoner, they can do so by arbitrarily "enforcing" the policy that has been previously unenforced, thus legally imposing a "hardship" on the prisoner otherwise not allowed by numerous state and Federal regulations. So, the fact that the warden is suddenly deciding that the leeway on inmate property limits is no longer necessary, must be an indication that he thinks he can control inmate behavior by some other means.

Of course it is all only a delusion of power and control in the first place. Regardless of what rules, laws, or regulations that are enforced or not enforced, the ultimate truth remains the same: You can't control what other people think, and if you can't control what they think, then you can't control what they do. They might let you think you are controlling them (when inmates do this, it is called "manipulative criminal behavior" - but, of course, the only reason we (prisoners) do it, is to avoid getting punished arbitrarily - and any prisoner will tell you that all punishment in prison, whether official or unofficial, is completely arbitrary; so the "the trick" is to avoid it and the only way to do that is to become "manipulative"), but, in the end, the only thing the warden and other "officials" ever manage to do is to sustain an illusion of control that serves to justify their fat paychecks and allows them to rationalize the inhuman ways they treat other human beings.

This latest decision to suddenly start enforcing a previously unenforced impingement on our humanity is a pretty good example of how this illusion is created. Here in the SCU (Special Confinement Unit, a.k.a. "Death Row") in Terre Haute, IN, we are confined to our cells 23/7 (or very close to 24/7 for someone like me who rarely bothers to ask to be cuffed up and escorted to a box-shaped cage with a ball in it that they call "recreation"), our books and letters are the only things we have that connect us to the outside (a.k.a. "real") world. Sure, we have small color T.V.s, but the program selection is controlled completely by the prison and consists almost entirely of brain-numbing (and "washing") cop shows and Christian propaganda (a.k.a. "feel good") programs. Only in my books do I find useful information that encourages me to think for myself rather than let others think (and form opinions) for me. And only through my letters do I get to discuss those ideas and exchange opinions with other people who are interested in the same sorts of things I am.

So the limit of five books in my cell, with no access to the Internet or even a prison library (see: Note 1) very effectively and quite literally cuts me off from my most valuable source of "intellectual stimulation" (as they call it). And the 25 letters restriction reduces my ability to effectively and meaningfully correspond with my family and friends by limiting the depth of our "discussions" to what I can retain in my immediate memory (plus 25 letters), which isn't very much.

To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, because of the leeway on the number of books and letters we have been allowed to keep in the past, I had previously been able to keep a small collection of reference books in my cell (20 to 25 books at most) on various subjects, from Quantum Physics to Religions of the world, including a few books on how to draw, and even several books I am using to study foreign language. Learning another language is very important to me, even if it's the last significant thing I learn before I die, because it is the language of my one true love - the person who my entire life was meant to acknowledge (yes, my "soul-mate" - which even I have!) So, I will keep three books to help me learn my love's native (human) language, which leaves me with only two more books that I am allowed to have. If I want to have something to read, then I must use these two slots for "current interests" and essentially get rid of all my "reference" books, including my NIV/KJV Bible, my Webster's College Dictionary, My Philosophy and Religion Dictionary, all of my other "Religion" books (Hindu, Zen, etc.) and all my "textbooks" (calculus, biology, physics, etc.) that I use as additional reference while reading (I generally don't keep a book as a "reference" unless I actually reference it frequently).

But, worse still is the restriction imposed upon the numbers of personal letters I am allowed to keep. My fiancée writes me at least twice a week, and has been for the last several years. I've already gone through all of my letters from her alone in the past and gotten rid of more than half (just to reduce the number of letters to a few manila envelopes full). But now I must go through those and select fewer than 25? (I'd like to keep some letters from my mother and a few friends, too.) That's not just heartbreaking, it's heartrending. It takes away my most valuable possessions, and reduces my connection to those whom I love (and whom I know love me) to what I can hold in just one hand.

The result, of course, is a powerful urge to revel against the "authority" that is causing me this pain. It is an urge for retribution that all prisoners feel. It is what drives them to be so "manipulative", and to find other ways to keep their humanness alive. It was this "urge" that ultimately drove me to do the insanely violent things I did that got me on "Death Row" in the first place. And even though I knew my "retribution" would put me here - and subject me to more of their "delusions of power and control" over my life (and what I think). To me, the satisfaction of proving they controlled nothing (they didn't stop me from raping and killing - all they ever did was make me want to rape and kill even more!) was (and still is) worth it.

So, I'm not "crying" about the way I'm being treated now. Make no mistake, I'm only trying to point out the way all their efforts to control me, and those "like" me (other human beings who don't value what "they" value") only end up doing the exact opposite of what they contend (and pretend). It's not about me or what I did, or what "they" do to me at all. It is a "mentality", a "sickness" that spreads and contaminates all of us. The wardens in this world (as a metaphor and literally) will always seek to rationalize their power and justify their insanity. They will push for more and more "control" over their "wards", as they have always done and will continue to do (see: Note 2). The Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ) has recently imposed a restriction on prisoners in Texas prohibiting them from "maintaining active social media accounts for the purpose of soliciting, updating, or engaging others, through a third-party or otherwise". In other words, Texas wards - in response to the threat that the truth (information) about conditions in prison imposes upon their illusion (and delusion) of power and control - have responded (as they always have in the past) by once more attempting to "gag" the prisoners. Whether they succeed or not will be telling (it is, of course, being challenged by numerous "human rights" groups). If they can get away with such a restriction (and it's simply a matter of time before they can get away with anything they want, because the illusion must be maintained at any cost), then it will spread quickly to other states and I'll soon be restricted even from expressing my thoughts here on this blog. Why? Well, like they say, if you have to ask... then you're not likely to understand the answer.

[J.D. May 29, 2017]

Notes:
(1) There have also been newly imposed limits on the total number of books available for ILL (Inter-library loan) requests, which was the only already extremely limited library access we had.

(2) It is an established tactic of those in authority (a.k.a. "Big Brother") to instigate disobedience before they attempt to institute a new and potentially controversial means of control. This not only creates a kind of distraction, but it also serves as a demonstrable justification for the new rule of law that they intend to impose.

Merry Christmas From Death Row

I haven't really written much for 5NChronicles because not much really happens here on Federal death row; at least not much that I can write about without getting someone in trouble. I generally "lay low" and don't do anything to draw attention to myself either from the guards or other prisoners. Most of the really "bad" (small-minded trouble-makers) guards have been moved out of the unit (not by my doing, since I've never formally complained nor mentioned any names the few times I wrote about their antics here on the Fifth Nail --- oh, except for counselor Edwards. I couldn't really avoid mentioning his name because he was the unit "counselor").

Right this minute, the other prisoners are arguing over who's after who in the "line" for the phone. This is "normal". They act like it's the most important thing in the world, yelling at and insulting each other constantly. The "line" is just an informal agreement for who's next. If someone wants to use the phone (a black old-fashioned push-button phone with handset and receiver from the 1970s that has a long cord so it can be passed by the guards from cell to cell) then they must yell out, "Put me in line for the phone!" and then whoever is last in line is supposed to yell back, "You're after me!". But, what usually happens is someone forgets where they are in the "line" and so they yell out "You're after me" when they're not last, or maybe someone else yells, "You're after so-and-so", and the line gets all "messed up" and then the arguments inevitably ensue when someone realizes they got "bumped" out of "line". It happens several times a day. I try to avoid the arguments by not asking to use the phone when there is a long line, or a line with certain people "in" it that never remember who they are after who's after them, nor do they even pay attention to who's asking to "get in line", until they suspect they got "bumped" (because they weren't paying attention). It's a typical madhouse. (And if I ever get in the middle of one of the arguments I always just say, "Never mind, I don't need the phone that bad", and let them argue among themselves; which they seem to enjoy.) (Note: The Inmate Telephone System, or "ITS", is set up so each prisoner must "log on" to make a call using a sequence of numbers followed by a voice recognition validation. Once they are logged on they can only call numbers that have been approved for each inmate, and then they can only talk for 15 minutes before the call cuts off and the prisoner must wait 30 minutes from the end of their last call before they can make another call. That's the reason the phone gets passed so much between cells, and the reason prisoners "get back in line" over and over, so they can talk to their friends and loved ones for more than one 15 minute session, which is barely enough time to even say "hello" in terms of any real meaningful conversation. The "ITS" is designed to "thwart" abuse of "telephone privileges". But, all it really thwarts, as usual, is prisoner social contact --- the one and only thing shown to be more important for reducing recidivism than even education. Go figure...)

I know I seem to complain a lot about being in prison. But, the truth be known, I don't really mind being here at all. I told a friend (pen-pal) recently that being on "death row" is just another place to be. The food is terrible, but much better than it could be --- if you consider history, for example, which I usually do. The cells are cold, but I can take a warm shower any time I feel like it (each cell has a stainless steel shower stall), even in the middle of the night if I want. I am thousands of miles away from my family, friends, and fiancée, whom I can barely afford to call 15 minutes at a time (prisoners must pay 90 cent for local calls, $3.10 for national calls, and $14.85 for all international calls; so it gets expensive; and, of course, prohibitive). But, I know I am loved, and I can write my heart out (stamps are cheap and stationary is free) anytime I feel a little lonely. I don't get bored easily, so the T.V. (13' HDTV with about 20 channels, all provided and paid for by the prison to keep the prisoners pacified) and my books to keep me "entertained". I also have an MP3-player with over 400 selections of music and meditation tracks that help me relax and/or "escape" into my mind anytime I want as well (which is very helpful when I don't want to listen to the telephone arguments, for example) by just putting on my headphones (KOSS CL-20s) and turning up the volume.

All-in-all, I think I have it "pretty good", considering. My state of mind is steady and quiet most of the time. I have few worries, since death (as something to worry about) is "off the table" as far as I'm concerned. In fact, the two biggest worries in my life right now are losing my health, and losing contact with my fiancée; both of which are "problems" that death could in fact easily resolve! (And I mean that in only the most serious and upbeat way --- since, for me at least, death is a perfectly valid "solution"). If my health goes south, I can just "volunteer" to be executed, and hence be rid of my useless body. And if something happens with my fiancée, whom I love with all that I am, then I would not even need to "volunteer" in order to know that we will be together again some day --- because that is the promise that love makes.

So, I might even say I am "happy", at least relatively speaking. I am loved, I am comfortable, I am entertained, and I am not confined (within my own mind): What more could anyone want? Christmas dinner, of course! And we get that once a year, too. A feast fit for nearly any king (in history at least), thanks to the modern miracles of agriculture and commerce. So, I'm not complaining at all really. I'm just trying to record things as they are. And if that sounds like I'm complaining... well, that's not my fault either; it's just the way things are.

Merry Christmas!

[J.D. December 24, 2016]

«Child Porn» Update: Children Have Breasts?

I got a response back from the B.O.P. Regional Director, Sara M. Revell, on the appeal I filed over being accused of (and harshly punished for) having “child porn” in my cell because a friend sent me a picture from Vogue magazine's website of a famous French child model wearing pants but no shirt in a perfume advertisement. The girl, Thylane Blondeau, is only ten years old, and as flat-chested as any boy her age. But the B.O.P.'s official response to my appeal claims, “The child's breasts do not have to be developed to be considered breasts.” (A direct quote.)

The director also now (out of the blue) claims that I did not receive the pictures in the mail, despite the fact that I have provided a clear copy of the letter I received with the pictures that speficially refers to and describes the pictures enclosed. The reason the director makes this claim (that I didn't get the pictures in the mail) is because according to B.O.P. policy I can't be found guilty if the “contraband” was issued to me through “regular institutional channels”.

So the director is not only redefining “breasts”, but she is also reinventing the facts of the matter in order to justify punishing me for doing nothing wrong except “offending staff's sensibilities” by being a “sex offender who is not authorized to possess sexually suggestive pictures of children”. (Another direct quote from an earlier DHO report concerning this same incident.) Nevermind that B.O.P. policy also does not allow “special restrictions for sex offenders” unless they are at an SOMP institution and have been informed of said restrictions (which I never have).

So now I am forced to appeal, again, to the Central Office in Washington, D.C. The last time I appealed this same incident to the D.C. office I never got a response. Since D.C. is the last chance for “remedy” in the B.O.P., if they deny my appeal I can take my complaint to a judge (which you can't do until after you have exhausted all other “remedies”). So not responding now allows them to respond later, after I file a lawsuit. And if they dismiss the incident then that lawsuit must also be dismissed. So not responding is a tactic they use to avoid trouble in court, and hence get away with violating their own policies if an inmate chooses not to file a new lawsuit (which takes a lot of time and money).

I don't know if they will respond this time or not (they're supposed to respond within two months, but technically they can take as long as they “need”). But if they don't then my attorney has already promised to help me file a lawsuit since this so-called “child porn” can have a devastating effect on any future hearings in my death penalty cases (which is the only reason I am spending so much time and effort on all these appeals).

This is a very typical example of how “The System” maintains the “appearance of justice” while acting arbitrarily and according to its own distorted “sensibilities” (where prepubescent children have breasts, and “sex offenders” can be punished just for being a “sex offender”). If you think, like many do, that I have no call to complain (or otherwise expose the truth) because of my “crimes against children”, then you are like “them”, who see only the small picture in front of them (the one they spend so much time painting to look like “justice”). In the big picture – and in reality – this kind of distortion of the truth leads more directly than those obsessed with the small picture can imagine to the continued manifestation of child murder and rape. No, I will never get out, and hence never rape or kill children again. But, I'm not the only one this kind of “justice” is being “painted” on.

I was in prison once before, remember, and I was treated the same then as I am being treated now. Except, last time I did get out, and I couldn't wait to “set things straight” when I did. And now when the guards here spit in my food, or threaten to kill me if I request recreation time, or punish me for having a picture of a girl with no shirt and calling it “child porn”, I just think to myself, sadly, how the cycle continues, and wonder how many more children must be raped and murdered before it ends.

[J.D. September 26, 2016]

«Child Porn» Redo

The «Incident Report» that they used as an excuse to «punish» me for having so-called «child porn» in my cell (that was really just a picture I received in a letter of a professional child model wearing no shirt for a perfume ad in Vogue magazine) got «returned» to the UDC (Unit Disciplinary Committee) because it was only a «300 level» (not serious) write up, and it was the first write up I ever got at any level. The UDC originally referred it to the DHO (Disciplinary Hearing Officer) so he could impose a more serious sanction than the UDC were allowed to (I ended up losing four months of phone and commissary «privileges», in addition to a $75 «fine», which was all the money I had in my account at the time).

The only real difference is that the UDC is not allowed to impose a monetary fine. So, I got my $75 returned. But, the UDC (Unit staff) still found me «guilty», and additionally claimed in their «reasons for findings» that the child was «nude», which she was not at all (she had pants on, and was much too young to have breasts to «display»). I truly think «they» (B.O.P. staff) were hoping that I'd drop my appeals (and lawsuit) if they let me have the money back. They can't give me back the four months of not being able to call my family (mom and girlfriend) or being able to buy coffee or even salt for my food. So they imposed that as «time served».

Of course I appealed (it's not about the money or the punishment; it's about them ignoring their own rules and regulations and creating a false record --- that says I had «child porn» in my cell --- that can and likely will be used against me in court some day!). In fact, I filed three separate issues of appeal: One, that the UDC falsely claimed the child was nude; Two, that the picture was issued to me in an opened an inspected letter, so I had no reason to think I was not allowed to have it; and Three, that the picture does not in fact violate any rules of policies (or laws, needless to say).

But, the second and third issues were not accepted on appeal. Only the first issue was processed, and eventually (nonsensically) denied (of course). The other issues, which are directly supported by B.O.P. policies, were simply ignored. Apparently, even the forms I submitted for these issues were just discarded, and not even officially «rejected» or anything.

So now technically I can't even appeal these other issues to the Regional Office level because policy says I can only further appeal issues that are in the original appeal! So they seem to be trying to block my appeal (in much the same way they did the first time when I tried to appeal the original DHO decision). All I can, and will, do is file a complaint to the Regional Office against the institution for (again) refusing to process my appeals, and hope the Regional Office eventually forces them to process all the issues of my appeal the way they did last time. I really don't care whether they grant or deny my appeals based on the issues I raised, since I can't be «punished» any more than I already have. But, I need some sort of response one way or another for the lawsuit that my attorney is helping me file for violating my (so-called) «due process» rights --- which, even after they have been watered down by the courts for prison discipline, are supposed to keep prison staff from arbitrarily punishing me like this, just because I'm a «sex offender» («special restrictions can be applied for «sex offenders», but only at special «SOMP» (Sex Offender Management Program) institutions, and only after the «offender» is told what the «special restrictions» are; I was never told about any special restrictions on me or my mail, before or since this «incident»).

So, the ordeal of my appeals being all over again (I must «exhaust» all institutional «remedies» and appeals before I can go to a Federal judge with a lawsuit); such we call «the workings of justice».

[J.D. July 8, 2016]

So Much For Security (Guard and Inmate Stabbed on Death Row)

On Thursday, February 4, 2016, shortly after I had met with the Regional B.O.P. investigator about being denied formal redress (see "Child Porn" Saga Continues), a guard and the prisoner he was escorting in handcuffs, were both attacked and stabbed by a prisoner who was «accidently» let out of his cell unrestrained, here on death row. The unit was consequently locked down, and now rumor has it that changes on how this unit is run are coming down the «pipe» from the Regional office (perhaps because there was an investigator here from Regional when the «incident» happened). Several guards have already been removed from this unit (SCU, a.k.a. «death row»), and more rumors say the guard who «acciently» opened the wrong cell door was fired.

The big problem with this whole «incident» should be fairly obvious. The attack happened on the range (hallway of cells) directly below the one where I am celled, so I'm not personally familiar with the prisoners down there, though the prisoner who got stabbed is a «co-defendant» (crime partner of one of the prisoners on my range who I am familiar with (and get along with). The «word» is that the prisoner who got stabbed had complained several times about the other prisoner threatening him (i.e. he is a «rat»). So, the odds that the other prisoner's door got opened by «accident» just as the rat was being escorted past, is slim; and the fact that the attacked appeared to be ready for the «accident» to happen, with home-made knife (shank) in hand, ready to attack as soon when his door opened, is a pretty good indication that he wasn't the only one who wanted to hurt the rat.

The guard who «accidentally» opened the wrong door, and more than likely the guard who ended up getting stabbed while escorting the rat, had to be in on the attack. They probably told the prisoner to be ready for his door to open «accidetally» (this kind of «information exchange» happens often between guards and the prisoners they are «familiar» with – all sorts of rules are in place that are meant to prevent it, but it is one of those «human nature» things that no amount of rules or laws will ever stop). One of the guards could have simply whispered in the prisoner's cell, «Hey, if your door opens accidentally when the rat comes back from rec, don't do anything 'stupid'», which of course means, «Be ready».

The guards probably thought they were being «cool», and having some «fun» at the same time (a lot of guards thrive on violence even more than the prisoners – so they create situations like this so they can «do their job», and look like heroes, I suppose). But, I doubt if they expeted their patsy to come out of the cell armed with a shank! So the whole thing backfired, and even got the guard who was escorting the rat stabbed as he tried to «restrain» the attacker (this guard may or may not have been «in» on the «fun» - but the guard who «accidentally» opened the wrong door was definitely «in» on it).

So now changes are coming. The «rules» have failed once again (as they always do eventually), so now more rules will have to be made (the rulemakers – i.e. pharisees – never seem to realize that the rules never actually «fail», they just never work in the first place, and only appear to work at all by sheer chance, until the next «incident» occurs and more rules «need» to be made). The «up shot» is that all the other prisoners on death row will now loose more «privileges» and suffer more restrictions (i.e. «security measures») as a result (the new «rules» invariably only end up «punishing» the prisoners who had nothing to do with what happened). They've already assigned two fulltime lieutenants (one for day shift and one for swing) to the SCU, which is a small unit that never needed its own Lts before now. So, unless the new Lts plan on twiddling their thumbs all day and getting paid for it, they're most likely going to create some excitement of their own, to make themselves feel like «heroes» (i.e. useful) too. And that's not good for the prisoners... it never is. (As I heard the rat's co-defendant say – who himself is a solid convict as far as I'm concerned - «Shit rolls downhill, and we're at the bottom of the hill!»)

[J.D. February 17, 2016]

P.S. It may be interesting to note that the SCU (death row) unit is considered the most «secure» unit in a Federal «Super Max» (Maximum Security) prison. If government «officials» can't keep even one small unit secure in prison, then how can they keep the nation secure? They can't, never could, never will, but will always pretend they can, and take trillions of dollars to maintain their facade, and propaganda. «They» are the ones paid to be «heroes». (Paying someone to be a hero is like paying someone to be your lover; it's just a form of prostitution.)

Disclaimer: It should be obvious, I hope, that much of the information I've provided here is hearsay and not reliable. It is, however, the best information I have at this time, considerating that the B.O.P. is not in the habit of publishing news reports when «incidents» like this happen (and when they do ultimately decide to release information for public consumption, you can be sure it is not the whole story – so I hope I'll be excused for attempting to provide another «version» of the truth).

«Truth is singular. Its 'versions' are mistruths.' --- Fabricant, Somni 451, "Cloud Atlas"

«Child Porn» Saga Continues

Last year I was «disciplined» harshly, and fined $75, because of a picture of a prepubescent French model from Vogue magazine that I received in an opened and inspected letter through the regular inmate mail. Because she was shirtless, the guard who wrote me up thought it was «child porn», which it was not by any legal definition or prison policy.

I was consequently found guilty for having «unauthorized items» (Prison rule #305) and sanctioned to a loss of several «privileges» for four months. The DHO (Disciplinary Hearing Officer) also took all the money I had in my inmate account at the time as well.

In the DHO's official report he side-stepped the hard evidence (i.e. that the picture was issued to me in an inspected letter by staff, and did not violate any laws or prison privileges) and justified his guilty verdict by claiming special rules applied to me because I am a «sex offender» with crimes against children.

I, of course, appealed his decision, but even before I filed my appeal, I submitted an official complaint against the DHO for failing to comply with prison policy and Federal laws, and deliberately violating my (so-called) constitutional right to a «fair and impartial» hearing. My complaint was rejected by the prison administration seven times for false reasons. Each time I re-submitted my complaint with documented evidence that refuted the supposed reason it had been rejected.

I suspet that someone in administration was either protecting the DHO from having his conduct officially investigated, or they were protecting the warden, whose job it was to respond to the complaint, from a possible law suit (if he supported the DHO's decision to find me guilty, then it becomes a conspiracy to deny my constitutional rights, and the warden would be the prime conspirator). So, according to policy, I submitted a complaint to the Regional B.O.P. office, not against the DHO, but against the prison staff who rejected my complaint without a legitimate reason.

I submitted this «rejection appeal» with copies of all the documentation that showed my original complaint was submitted properly seven times over and was excessively clear in nature. I even provided a typed two-page summary that listed every submission, rejection, and other documented attempts to have my complaint heard (even asking the warden in person during his «walk-through»). The Regional office responded by saying it would «investigate», but it didn't say what it would investigate, nor when I should expect a response from the investigation. (As it turns out, inmates are never appraised of the results of such «investigations», unless they sue and get a court ordered subpoena; so there is no way for prisoners to have their complaint satisfied unless they sue, and they can't sue until they've «exhausted all attempts to have the complaint resolved at the institutional level»: Go figure).

Because my original complaint against the DHO was still not being addressed, and prison policy has strict time limits (20 to 30 days) for filing complaints (after which they are rejected automatically as «untimely»), I was forced to submit my «rjection appeal» to the Central B.O.P. office in Washington D.C.. Even this submission was rejected twice, before finally being «accepted» (for consideration), even though it too was properly submitted each time (the third time i submitted it with a three-page letter explaining to THEM what THEIR policies said that made the submission proper in all regards). The Central office accepted the rejection appeal, AND extended the time they had to respond, on the same day. The last time I submitted an appeal to the Central office (the actual disciplinary appeal concerning the same «child porn» B.S.) they did the same thing (accept and extend the response time on the same day) and then they never responded at all after the extended response date lapsed (that was six months ago). (P.S. I submitted the disciplinary appeal, and the complaint against the DHO's «unconstitutional conduct» separately on the advice of my lawyer, in order to prevent the B.O.P. lawyers from claiming that my disciplinary appeal did not address the issue of the DHO's «unconstitutional conduct». In other words, my lawyer and I are making double sure that the B.O.P. has every opportunity to «resolve the issue» before we take the case to a Federal judge, so the B.O.P. can't claim they never had a chance to «address the problem», i.e. legal gobbledegook.)

In the meantime, last week (the same day that a guard and a prisoner both got stabbed by another prisoner here on death row, in fact, I was escorted back to my cell just moments before the stabbing occured – see "So Much For Security"), an investigator from the Regional office finally did show up and asked me about all those rejection notices from the prison concerning my original complaint against the DHO. I was told the guard who came to get me for the interview that «Unit Team» wanted to see me. Since I'm not scheduled to see «Unit Team» for at least two more months, I knew something was amiss. So I explicitly asked what for, so I could bring any paperwork I needed with me (if I had known the truth, that it was an investigator from the Regional office, then I could have brought a whole stack of paperwork that documented in detail all my efforts to have my complaint heard, and all my evidence against the DHO). The guard told me he didn't know (another lie). So I put my hands through the slot in my door to let him cuff me (behind my back) and then they opened the door and escorted me to the attorney visiting room (which I had never been in or even seen before) where the investigator was waiting for me.

I didn't catch his name, but he seemed courteous and professional, which was a good sign. He also appeared to be at least cursorily familiar with not only the paperwork I submitted (which he had with him), but also other aspects of the case (such as the DHO's report, which I had not submitted to the Regional office because it was not directly relevant to the reason for the unjustified rejections). We spoke for over an hour as he very meticulously went over every rejection and my responses, using the two-page summary I submitted as a guideline.

He proposed a few different times that it appeared as though the clerk who was responsible for processing my complaints, and who ultimately rejected it seven times, must have been confused since it was so atypical. And, each time he did so I was careful to respectfully conceed his point, saying that yes, I thought the same thing even, but then how did the clerk miss all the bold lettering, highlighted texts, and direct policy quotes that I provided over and over in each response. I told the investigator that there «appeared» to be only two explanations; either the clerk was deliberately rejecting the complaint for invented reasons, or she was incompetent in her job. The investigator actually opened his mouth to retort my observation, but then nothing came out. Judging by the way his eyes flickered back and forth at this moment it appeared as though he tried to, but couldn't, come up with an argument against that one.

In the end, he told me that I would not be appraised of the outcome of his «investigation»; but, if the warden contacted me in regards to my complaint against the DHO, then I would at least know the result. I got the impression that that was what he was thinking should happen (i.e. he seemed to concur that all the facts I had presented in my case were consistent and correct, which meant my original complaint against the DHO had in truth been unfairly rejected, for whatever reason). In fact, by the end of the interview we had become so cordial that I even told him about my plans to propose marriage to my girlfriend; news that he seemed to respectfully appreciate (I have since proposed, and she said, «Yes!»). He even asked a few polite questions about the engagement ring, and how we planned to get married, before he got up and signaled the guard waiting outside in the hall to take me back to my cell.

I truly appreciated the way the interview ended on such an unofficial and cordial note. I thanked him for his time and returned to my cell.

[J.D. February 15, 2016]