Biology 101

For the last month or more I have been studying biology via a new program offered to death row prisoners through the education department that allows us to have DVD players in our cells so we can watch college level lecture videos. The course I signed up for (“Biology: The Science Of Life”) is in six parts (12 DVDs with a total of 72 lectures by professor Stephen Nowicki of Duke University) and is produced by The Teaching Company as part of their “Great Courses”-series that I’ve seen advertised in magazines like National Geographic on occasion. So it’s good stuff (academic quality) and watching the lectures is more enjoyable for me than 99% of what I see on commercial T.V., even though Nowicki isn’t much of a lecturer --- he stumbles over his words constantly. Personally, given the video format, I think they should use professional speakers, not professors at all. They should just let the professors develop the material, then maybe coach the lecturer from the sidelines.

We get the DVDs (two at a time) but no textbooks, even though the booklet that accompanies the DVDs lists several texts as “essential reading” (by title and chapter for each lecture). So I ordered one of the text books (Campbell & Reece, BIOLOGY 6^th ed.) which because it is an outdated edition didn’t cost much at all (less than $15, including shipping and handling). The text makes the course even more enjoyable for me, not to mention more educational too. But it’s a huge book with over 1300 pages (not all of it covered by the lectures), so I feel like a small dog with a brand new big bone to chew!

At the end of each part (12 lectures) we are supposed to answer some true/false questions and then get a certificate for completing that part. But since they (the education department here at USP Terre Haute) haven’t put together any questions for this course yet (they ask me for a generic essay on the material covered instead, which I’m sure no one would ever read if I wrote it) I’ve been writing the questions myself and giving them twenty questions, with detailed answer explanations, so they can choose ten to type up and make part of the program (for other prisoners to do in the future, though apparently I’m the only one who signed up for biology so far). It seems I always find some way to contribute to the education departments of every prison I’ve been in (I’ve actually lectured, and developed entire courses from scratch in the past, including a complex on-line “Introduction To Computer Programming” course that provided interactive lessons and quizzes), and I’m always happy to do so.

Walla Walla Flashback

   When I was a prisoner at the state penitentiary in Walla Walla, Washington, living as a full out queen with my “man” in the same unit where they murdered the child-killer-rapist Westley Allan Dodd by hanging him in front of an “official” audience, three guards once took me down to the area where the death-chamber was located so one of them could threaten to “fuck me up” if I ever looked at him “funny” again. The same thing just happened here in Terre Haute, on death row (SCU) on my way to “recreation”.

   I had asked to use one of the indoor exercise rooms where a “TRULINCS” computer is located so I could download some songs I bought yesterday (but they weren’t “available” until today for some strange reason) onto my MP3 player. Two guards came and cuffed me up through the “bean-slot” of my door as usual (hands behind my back) then opened the door (from a control-box at the end of the tier manned by a third guard) and proceeded to escort me to the rec-room.

   The only thing strange was that I had asked for the upstairs “big-room”, which I was told was available (i.e. no one else had asked for it), but they were taking me downstairs instead. I thought maybe someone was in the upstairs room, but when I glanced in that direction on the way to the stairs I noticed the lights were off in that rec-room. Odd, but no reason for alarm.

   The alarm came a moment later though. As we (me and two guard escorts) were half way down the stairs, on the landing between stair sets going down --- a “blindspot” hidden from all the cameras in the unit --- the guard in front of me suddenly stopped, turned to me and calmly said, “Don’t you ever come out for rec on my shift again, I don’t like you.”

   I must admit I was a little confused and taken aback at first. His tone didn’t match the words I was hearing (I suppose he had rehearsed all this in his fantasies over and over, so in his mind the deliberate calmness contrasted by his threatening words was meant to be dramatically intimidating, like in the movies --- which is usually where someone like him gets all his social cues).

   But it only took me a second or two to piece together the puzzle and realize what was going on; it wasn’t my first “rodeo” after all. Then I asked him as incredulously as I could, “Are you serious?” At which point he turned and pushed me with his fat belly (which he had to do just to get his face “in” my face) and said something like, “Damn right I’m serious! I’ll chop your fucking head off and throw it down these stairs, you fucking sick bastard, fucking with children!”

   His calm-demeanor fantasy was quickly abandoned as soon as his intended victim (me) broke from the script in his head, and he began resorting directly to the bullying tactics he no doubt grew up relying on to make his way in the world (he clearly wasn’t relying on any thing passing for intelligence).

   At this point I said what I had wanted to say right off, but had to make certain of the circumstances first (i.e. by asking if he was serious). Once I knew he was indeed serious (which made the whole thing hilarious to me, like something out of a bad B-rate movie), I just smiled and said, “Well, fuck you too then.” As if I were an actor delivering the line I was expected to deliver but with no “heart” in it.

   The guard took the theatrical bait nonetheless, and pushed me again with his belly as he got closer to my face, so now I could clearly smell his breath (not minty, but not bad either like I almost expected), and said, “I’ll fuck you up…” Then talking to the guard behind me, “…take those cuffs off right here!” (he didn’t, of course).

   Talk about flashbacks! Well, I knew --- this time at least --- not to say anything the least bit “threatening.” Instead I just smiled and quipped, “That’d be fun,” to which he responded, “Oh, you think this is funny! I’ll kill your family!” (Yes, he really said that! Can you believe it?) “I’ll rip your fucking head off” (apparently that’s something he likes saying), and then, “I’ll fuck you in the ass!” at which point I really smiled and said (honestly), “Oh, I’d really like that!” To which all he could say was, “I bet you would!”

   “Yes, I would.” I said again. I looked around during all his commotion and calmly noticed that the other guards, including the one right behind me, were willing to condone, but not participate in this idiot’s shenanigan. So I knew I wasn’t in any real danger as long as I stayed calm and didn’t give him what he wanted (like I so foolishly did last time; see “What Happened In Prison: Part IV” in the “5NConfessions” section).

   Eventually they took me the rest of the way down stairs and to the rec-room without further incident. I downloaded my music, then browsed the books on the book cart (selecting one to take back to my cell with me about Islamic eating practices) and relaxed while I listened to my new music. I figured he would tear up my cell (i.e. “cell search”) to get even with me for not taking him seriously (and probably making him look foolish in his mind, but I hope not because that’s not what I tried to do at all). I thought if I saw him again when my rec-time was over that I would say something like, “Hey, you know, if you don’t want me to come out for rec on your shift all you have to do is ask and I’d respect that.” Then maybe add something like, “You don’t have to threaten me like a three-year-old.” (But then I decided I’d leave that last part out.)

   But, I didn’t see him again, and the other, more sensible (i.e. adult) guards came and took me back to my cell (which was not “trashed” after all --- big relief), in cuffs, without comment or incident. I think they were actually a little embarrassed about the whole thing. I certainly would have been if I were them.

   (Note: One of the reasons I have avoided going to “rec” in the past was precisely to avoid confrontations like this one. I had to look at the name on this guard’s shirt because I honestly had no idea who he was, much less how obsessed he is with child molesters, or me for that matter. And though I never noticed him specifically before, I know well enough, from years and years of experience, that prisons are full of his “type”, on both sides of the locked doors. The only truly amazing thing about all this --- in my experience --- is the relative INfrequency of such encounters; both with the guards, and prisoners, here in Terre Haute. I’m still trying to figure out why that is.

   I have no good theories, yet.

Unconscious “Watcher” Comes To The Rescue, Again

   I requested to use the room with a computer that has a printer attached yesterday. This so-called “law library” (it used to have bookshelves full of law books, but they were all removed and replaced with a computer) also has a copier that prisoners can use (at fifteen cents per copy) if they have a copy card (purchased on commissary). I needed to make some copies of documents for an appeal I’m working on concerning the prison’s decision to restrict me from using the e-mail program that other prisoners, even on death row, are allowed to use. Like an idiot I left the last document I was copying in the copier; which is the kind of mistake that I almost never make.

   I did not even realize my error until today, just a couple of hours ago. I actually might have realized it a little earlier, when I thought about the documents that I re-filed in my locker I couldn’t remember the forgotten document being there. I think this was my unconscious mind trying to get my attention, but my conscious mind clearly remembered making a copy of the document, so I assumed I must have just filed it without remembering. The possibility that I had left it in the copier never occurred to me; like I said, it was the kind of mistake I just don’t make.

   But then shortly after lunch today I got a note passed to me from the prisoner who lives across the hall from me. He had fund the document (which had my name and number on it) when he went to use the law library this morning, and was returning it to me. Along with my document was this note: “FYI – I have litigation being drafted against these people’s blatant skewing of the applicable BOP Policy’s promulgation of the e-mail access policy. If you want some aid with you circumstances give me a holler.”

   I had to look up the word “promulgation”, but this prisoner is one of those prison lawyer types who spends all his time fighting the System. I can really use his help, and since he has offered to help I intend to accept. But, I would never have asked on my own. In fact, just a few weeks ago this same prisoner offered to let me read his “Prison legal News” issues if I wanted (something he values highly), but I politely declined, explaining that I prefer not to play the System’s sick game. (It may seem now that I’m contradicting myself, but the way I see it is that the System is the real criminal, and while begging it for my life – i.e. filing appeals against my death sentences – is demeaning, asking it for a drink of water, metaphorically speaking, isn’t.)

   If I hadn’t “accidentally” left that paper in the copier he would never have known I was appealing the e-mail restriction. But when I look at all the evidence, there were plenty of indicators that I could ask him to help me. And even if my personal principles would not allow me to ask for help, I think my unconscious mind very cleverly found a way to get it! 

Contentment

I often wake up, as I did this morning, and for several seconds, maybe ten or fifteen, I have no clue where I am. But, instead of panicking, I feel just mild curiosity that seems to arise from a deep calmness.

This morning when I awoke my cell was fairly dark (one of the nice things about life here on Federal death row, i.e. no annoying lights shining into the cells all night) and I was lying on my side facing the wall. So opening my eyes didn't clarify my situation as it usually does. But, I still felt no panic. Instead I actually enjoyed the puzzle; was I in a bedroom? A cell? A hotel?

Where I was wasn't nearly as interesting to me as the mere fact that I had no idea about where I was.

I knew that this curious type of innocence wouldn't last long. And, sure enough, as soon as I turned onto my back I suddenly knew exactly where I was. The memory came all at once, not gradually or piecemeal. But, it took a small clue, like a speck of dust in a snowflake, for my memories to crystalize around. I was in a prison cell on death row in Terre Haute, Indiana.

Along with the "where" also came the "who, what, when, and why". (Most interesting perhaps was the "who", because before the memory came I honestly didn't know who I was and didn't seem to care any more than I did about where I was!) I was a convicted serial child rapist/murderer with three Federal death sentences and a good chance I could be killed within a few years.

Now, you might think this sudden realization would hit me hard, the way it does for people like me in the movies and on TV crime fantasy shows. But it didn't strike me at all. Instead I just felt satisfied that I had remembered where I was; and an underlying contentment with the entire situation.

I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I want to say that, "I felt like everything was going according to plan." But, that only works if I emphasize that it's not MY plan, at least not as an individual named Joseph E. Duncan III and called "Jet" by friends and family.

And the mere fact that I can't remember what the "plan" is matters no more to me than when I couldn't remember where I was.

Somehow I know, on a level clearly beyond all thought and memory, that everything is going to be okay, no matter wjat I can, or can't, remember!

Small Minds

   Some of the guards here are amazingly (or, maybe not so amazingly) more immature and small minded than the inmates they are in charge of. By small minded I mean that they have an extremely limited ability to perceive the significance of their existence, or the extended consequences of their actions; which is pretty much also the definition of immature, since expanded awareness is something one expects to develop as a person gains experience. But, some people become intellectually stunted, for various reasons (usually some form of self-righteousness or hubris) and never extend their awareness beyond their immediate surroundings in both space and time.

   I am well aware of the many psychological studies that conclusively show prison inmates in regards to emotional and intellectual development. Not all guards are so “childish”, but enough of them are that it becomes prudent to generally avoid contact with certain guards for much the same reason you might avoid contact with certain prisoners if I was in general population instead of isolated on death row; they are bullies, and enjoy every chance they get to make themselves feel good by making someone else feel bad. But, what they don’t realize, per definition of their small minded perspectives, is that every time they abuse their power over a prisoner they usually end up making their own lives a little more unpleasant by at least as much as they dish out, if not more.

   For example, today I needed to use the phone to call my attorney. So, I asked the prisoner who was currently using the phone to pass it to me when he was done, which he agreed to do readily enough.

   A little while later a guard came on the tier and promptly started catering to other prisoners’ requests to pass items between cells (a common practice). I stood at my door and watched as he went from one cell to another opening and closing the slots in the doors with his key to get and deliver the items requested. As he passed my cell I asked him to get the phone for me, and told him what prisoner had it, but he seemed to just ignore me. Then when he got down the tier I heard the prisoner who had the phone ask the guard to pass it to “Duncan”. The guard told that prisoner, “I’ll be back in a minute.” Then he continued passing items for other prisoners before leaving the tier without passing me the phone.

   What am I left to think? Did he just forget? Probably not; most likely this was --- from his limited perspective --- an opportunity for him to make a “child killer” suffer, even if only a little; or to at least remind a “dweeb” of his “dweebiness”, as bullies are won’t do. Refusing to pass the phone is a rather minor annoyance as far as what guards like him can and have done before, but it serves as a good example of how a small mind creates its own misery. Let me explain.

   By not doing his job and passing me the phone when I ask for it he not only endorses the judgmental attitude that instigates violence in prison, both prisoner on prisoner and prisoner on guard, but he more immediately puts off his job onto another guard. Eventually another, more mature and responsible, came on the tier and passed me the phone upon request. So the inconvenience for me was minor; I made my call 40 minutes later than I might have if the first guard had done his job; big deal. The point here is that another guard ended up doing more work than he should have. It wasn’t much, but it adds up, and the more responsible and mature guards are well aware of the resulting work load shift. But, because of ordinary social pressure, they typically don’t say anything about it as it would be immediately perceived (note, “immediate” perception is well within a bully’s limited scope of awareness) as “whining”, so they keep their annoyance to themselves, as a mature person is wont to do.   

   However, as anyone who has ever observed the most basic social dynamics is aware of (i.e. beyond the scope of a bully’s awareness again) this creates underlying social tensions that results in cliques forming that cause all kinds of workplace inconveniences, and in prison it can also lead to some very dangerous situations. An obvious example flowing from the phone situation above would be when another prisoner more prone to violent behavior (and we all know prisons are full of them) doesn’t get to make an “important” phone call later in the day because the phone sat unused for 40 minutes. That prisoner doesn’t know why he ultimately didn’t get the phone sooner, when he asked for it (I presume here that he also shares a small minded person’s limited perspective), he only knows he couldn’t make his call and that, perhaps combined with a few other “critical” factors in his life (such as not getting any mail that day) he decides it’s time to express himself the only way he can in prison: with violence.

   All violence in prison affect everyone, not just the immediate victim, be it guard or prisoner. I admit, this example is contrived, but it is perfectly reasonable. It also hints at the many subtle consequences of ignorant small minded behavior that ultimately only comes back to harm the original ignoramus in the end, and causing a lot more harm and inconvenience for people other than the intended victim along the way. If there were some way to make bullies “see” the extended consequence of their actions I don’t think they’d stay so small minded for long.

Prison MP3

   Since I was found «competent» by the court it means that I’m gonna be stuck here on death row for at least a couple of more years while the attorneys continue to appeal process (still working amicably against my personal wishes). So I decided to invest in a small but immensely gratifying piece of modern technology; I bought an 8 MB MP3 player with a built in FM radio.

   The only player that prisoners here are allowed to buy is the one sold by the prison commissary. It is a SanDisk sansa clip+, factory modified (i.e. custom firmware) for prisons. Most of its features have been disabled, but apparently that doesn’t mean we pay any less for it. The player cost me $69.20 (USD), plus an additional $2.60 for a protective rubber cover, which is a must have. Even the instruction manual that comes with it is written specifically for the prisoner model, with obvious input from prison officials (e.g. the line that reads: «Keep the volume at a moderate level, so that you are better able to hear outside sound and are considerate of the people around you.»)

   The player must be «validated» by connecting it to one of the «law library» computers that prisoners have access to. These computers are also where we can buy songs (for about $1.55 each). So that means I had to actually leave my cell voluntarily for once. I just got the player with my commissary order yesterday and then went to «recreation» in the upstairs rec room, which has a computer in it. I was able to find eleven songs that I liked within the 15 minutes time limit that is imposed on the «music store» application. But then only six songs were loaded and a message appeared on the computer screen telling me the rest were «currently unavailable», and to come back tomorrow to finish.

   So, I went back today by making a special request to the guards to use the «law library» computer. They took me to the same room, and as soon as I logged in and connected the MP3 player the remaining five songs automatically loaded. Then I found thirteen more songs, but when I tried to download them once more five were “unavailable» and so I have to go back again tomorrow.

   I’m listening to the music I bought as I write this (currently, «C’mon N’ Ride It» by Quad City DJ’s --- I like a good dance beat). I was careful not to buy any songs that would be too nostalgic (like «Carry On My Wayward Son», by Kansas, which I listened to a lot during my «rampage» (murder/rape crime spree), and «The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades», By Timbuk 3, which was my defacto college theme song while I lived in Fargo; so I can’t bear the thought of listening to it in this prison cell. I don’t get depressed easily, but songs like these would put me in my shit in a real hurry). Instead I only bought songs that make me feel good (currently, «Cantaloop (Flip Fantasia)» by US3). It’s bad enough that I have to put up with being reminded of where I am by letting the guards cuff me up and escort me to the rec room; I’m definitely not going to make it worse by loading depressing songs on my new pleasure toy! It’s all about avoiding the unpleasant reminders. Unfortunately, the MP3 player must be revalidated every two weeks in order to keep working. So I guess that’ll be one little reminded I’ll have to put up with.  

Bald For X-Mas, But Legally Sane

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)