We're All Just STDs
A little
food for thought today. Every creature on this planet has its own natural
habitat, a niche it fills. Some are even symbiotic in nature, such as the
clownfish and the sea anemone, or tube worms and their internal bacteria. That
being said, just what is a human's natural habitat? Unclothed, climates can
easily be too hot or too cold. Put us somewhere where there is a lot of direct
sunlight and we will burn and get melanomas, since our eyes and sense of smell
aren't keen enough to hunt or scavenge in the dark. We aren't well suited for
aquatic life. We aren't great climbers. We don't have wings. We don't have
durable claws. So, let's say a moderate climate, slightly humid, near fresh
water, with indirect sunlight at sea level... Anyone have any idea where that
might be? Face it, without our big brain to adapt ourselves and our environment
to our needs, we would be in serious trouble.
So, where do we fit in?
The first movie I got to see when I was transferred to Walnut Grove in 2001 was The Matrix. Still one of my favorite movies. I do not believe that humanity will ever be in a situation like that, but it made me think about the nature of reality and other such things. There is one part I'm reminded of now. Agent Smith (bad guy) is speaking to Morpheus (good guy), whom they are trying to break and find out about the rebels. Agent Smith says,
The first movie I got to see when I was transferred to Walnut Grove in 2001 was The Matrix. Still one of my favorite movies. I do not believe that humanity will ever be in a situation like that, but it made me think about the nature of reality and other such things. There is one part I'm reminded of now. Agent Smith (bad guy) is speaking to Morpheus (good guy), whom they are trying to break and find out about the rebels. Agent Smith says,
"I'd like to share
a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to
classify your species and I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every
mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the
surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area and you
multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way
you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern.
Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer on this planet. You're a plague and we are
the cure."
That stuck with me. About six years after seeing The Matrix I
was reading an article about viruses that really brought this home.
Something you might not know is that in 2003, when the human genome was fully mapped, it was found that 8% of our genome is composed of broken and disabled retroviruses, called endogenous retroviruses. If it takes less than 2% of our genome to create all the proteins necessary for us to live, to what extent are we -who we are, what we are- affected by the 8% of our genome composed of retroviruses? The rungs of the ladder of human DNA consist of three billion pairs of nucleotides spread across forty-six chromosomes. The sequence of those nucleotides determine how each person differs from another, and from all other living things. Something to think about is how we share, in thousands of exact places throughout our genome, viral fragments with primates like chimpanzees and monkeys.
Something you might not know is that in 2003, when the human genome was fully mapped, it was found that 8% of our genome is composed of broken and disabled retroviruses, called endogenous retroviruses. If it takes less than 2% of our genome to create all the proteins necessary for us to live, to what extent are we -who we are, what we are- affected by the 8% of our genome composed of retroviruses? The rungs of the ladder of human DNA consist of three billion pairs of nucleotides spread across forty-six chromosomes. The sequence of those nucleotides determine how each person differs from another, and from all other living things. Something to think about is how we share, in thousands of exact places throughout our genome, viral fragments with primates like chimpanzees and monkeys.
Endogenous retroviruses aren't newly discovered. In 1968, Robin Weiss found endogenous retroviruses in the embryos of healthy chickens and suggested that they were not only benign but might actually perform a critical function in placental development. He was laughed at. Weiss went so far as to live with a group of Orang Asli tribesmen of the Pahang jungle of Malaysia so he could test the eggs and blood of red jungle fowl, ancestor species of the chicken. They had the same virus.
Did you know that the earliest mammals, up to at least a hundred million years ago, laid eggs? Then embryos essentially became parasites. They began to implant themselves in the lining of the womb, developing a placenta. The placenta is essentially a modified egg, yet allows for the elimination of waste and to take nourishment from the mother's blood while preventing immune cells or bacteria from entering. In the 1970s biologists were surprised to find retroviruses in baboons on a layer of tissue known as the syncytin, which forms the principle barrier between mother and fetus. The same is true in humans. Cell fusion is a fundamental characteristic of mammalian placenta, but also of retroviruses. The protein syncytin, which causes placental cells to fuse, employs the exact mechanism that allows retroviruses to latch on to the cells they infect.
So, where do humans belong? And just how close to the truth is Agent Smith's revelation?
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4/20/2013
Mercurial.
That is the best word I can think of to describe the nature of memories. They
even have a dualistic nature like that of the Roman god, Mercury. Some of my
strongest memories are those of places I considered home as a child. We moved
around a bit, so the homes of my grandparents and great-grandparents have more
solidity in my memories. I remember the layout, where everything was, the
atmosphere...and the scents. Scents seem to trigger memories associated with
them and solidify them, in my experience.
The scent I associate with April 20, 2013 is that of blood. Coppery, cloying, all-pervasive. A wounded animal scent. The smell of blood is something everyone recognizes on a deep level.
Memories are such mercurial things though. Some memories of 4/20 are so clear, like the look the Vice Lords had on their faces as they realized their brothers on other pods had started fighting. The realization that they would have to fight, too, and how they struggled to work themselves into that frame of mind. Other memories of 4/20 aren't so clear, such as who tried to stab me -whether it was purposefully or mistakenly. We all fought, though. Offensively or defensively. Actively or passively. For an hour and ten minutes we fought for our lives while guards and SORT officers looked on.
As dangerous and deadly as the fighting was, there were still moments that stirred the streak of dark humor in me. When you see grown men throwing TV and microwave parts at each other, using trashcan lids and microwave doors as shields...you cannot help but shake your head at the absurdity of it. But it was no laughing matter that Demond Flowers lost his life during all of this.
Back and forth the battle went for over an hour, until there wasn't a place you could step that wasn't splattered with blood. Finally the SORT officers tossed in tear gas canisters -which the prisoners tossed back and forth at each other. Then they came in firing their crowd control guns. At me. I'm guessing I make a good target or something. They herded us into cells and locked the doors. Most likely you will never know what it is like to be locked in a cell with 14 other bruised and bleeding men, covered in mace and pepper spray. I hope you don't. We were alive though, and things could have been much worse.
Since 4/20 I have had time to reflect on what happened, and I want to point some things out. Surviving in prison has a lot to do with being aware of patterns. Humans are creatures of habit. The first tell-tale sign something was amiss that day was that someone in admin had turned off the primary satellite descrambler, so all the TVs showed an error message on the screen. On the West Hall, we found out later that they had let them out, then locked them back down before allowing them back out. On the South Hall they did not let us out of our cells until right at 10:00 A.M.; about an hour later than normal, even by these chaotic standards here. Patterns. The administration at WCCF knew of the potential threat that morning and chose to disregard it.
So now the entire prison conveniently stays on lockdown status until CCA's contract is completed and someone else takes over the responsibility. Business as usual in the world of the prison industrial complex.
The scent I associate with April 20, 2013 is that of blood. Coppery, cloying, all-pervasive. A wounded animal scent. The smell of blood is something everyone recognizes on a deep level.
Memories are such mercurial things though. Some memories of 4/20 are so clear, like the look the Vice Lords had on their faces as they realized their brothers on other pods had started fighting. The realization that they would have to fight, too, and how they struggled to work themselves into that frame of mind. Other memories of 4/20 aren't so clear, such as who tried to stab me -whether it was purposefully or mistakenly. We all fought, though. Offensively or defensively. Actively or passively. For an hour and ten minutes we fought for our lives while guards and SORT officers looked on.
As dangerous and deadly as the fighting was, there were still moments that stirred the streak of dark humor in me. When you see grown men throwing TV and microwave parts at each other, using trashcan lids and microwave doors as shields...you cannot help but shake your head at the absurdity of it. But it was no laughing matter that Demond Flowers lost his life during all of this.
Back and forth the battle went for over an hour, until there wasn't a place you could step that wasn't splattered with blood. Finally the SORT officers tossed in tear gas canisters -which the prisoners tossed back and forth at each other. Then they came in firing their crowd control guns. At me. I'm guessing I make a good target or something. They herded us into cells and locked the doors. Most likely you will never know what it is like to be locked in a cell with 14 other bruised and bleeding men, covered in mace and pepper spray. I hope you don't. We were alive though, and things could have been much worse.
Since 4/20 I have had time to reflect on what happened, and I want to point some things out. Surviving in prison has a lot to do with being aware of patterns. Humans are creatures of habit. The first tell-tale sign something was amiss that day was that someone in admin had turned off the primary satellite descrambler, so all the TVs showed an error message on the screen. On the West Hall, we found out later that they had let them out, then locked them back down before allowing them back out. On the South Hall they did not let us out of our cells until right at 10:00 A.M.; about an hour later than normal, even by these chaotic standards here. Patterns. The administration at WCCF knew of the potential threat that morning and chose to disregard it.
So now the entire prison conveniently stays on lockdown status until CCA's contract is completed and someone else takes over the responsibility. Business as usual in the world of the prison industrial complex.
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Even heroes...
Seldom do I
bother to watch TV shows, for various reasons. I avoid stressful situations if
I can, and there will always be friction about what these guys are watching. My
friend, Roy Harper, calls them "idiot boxes" and my Dad called them
"glass pacifiers." Issue one to every prisoner and you'd have fewer
problems. Normally I have neither the time nor inclination to bother with it,
but a recent morning saw me awake at 4:45 waiting for some Tylenol to kick in.
I don't take my pain meds French-style. So I watched the TV through the window
in the cell door.
I had heard of Smallville before, but hadn't done more than glance at the TV while it was on. In this particular episode I gathered that Clark Kent's father here on Earth had died or gotten killed. Yes, the show seemed a bit cheesy and over-the-top. I kept thinking about emotions, though. Here's Superman- super fast, super strong, super tough. Yet just as subject to emotional turmoil as you or me. Interesting concept.
I had heard of Smallville before, but hadn't done more than glance at the TV while it was on. In this particular episode I gathered that Clark Kent's father here on Earth had died or gotten killed. Yes, the show seemed a bit cheesy and over-the-top. I kept thinking about emotions, though. Here's Superman- super fast, super strong, super tough. Yet just as subject to emotional turmoil as you or me. Interesting concept.
My definition of a good book is one that makes you look at things differently. I just finished reading "Autobiography of a Yogi" by Paramahansa Yogananda, and I classify it as a great book. However, if you think it divulges techniques in practicing Kriya Yoga, you'll be disappointed. It does speak about emotions, though.
Think about it for a moment... How many of our actions and decisions are emotionally driven? We do things because they make us feel good. We refrain from doing things because they make us feel bad. Affection, anger, angst, anguish, annoyance, anxiety, apathy, arousal, awe, boredom, contempt, contentment, courage, curiosity, depression, desire, despair, disappointment, disgust, distrust, dread, ecstasy, embarrassment, envy, euphoria, excitement, fear, frustration, gratitude, grief, guilt, happiness, hatred, hope, horror, hostility, hurt, hysteria, indifference, interest, jealousy, joy, loathing, loneliness, love, lust, outrage, panic, passion, pity, pleasure, pride, rage, regret, remorse, sadness, satisfaction, shame, shock, shyness, sorrow, suffering, surprise, terror, trust, wonder, worry, zeal, zest. The whole gamut of emotions.
Emotions influence -and are influenced by- so many things. Mood, state of mind, how well our body functions, our health. Even the etymological root of the word emotion means "to stir up." And throughout history, being driven by emotions was viewed as something evil. Today's society in contrast is "self" centered and focused on self-gratification. I think there can be a middle ground though- acknowledging emotions without being completely driven by them. This is the balance that Kriya Yoga encourages, until you progress to the point of viewing it all as illusion. Easier said than done, since even Superman has trouble with it.
I don't plan on being up to watch Smallville on a regular basis, but I don't regret it this time. Reminded me that on some levels we all have our weaknesses. Some things are more subtle than Kryptonite.
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RIP Jan Michael Brawner Jr.
When
I was at the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman, I was housed
for quite some time with the guys on death row. I don't think there was
anyone I was closer to on the row than Jan Michael Brawner, Jr., whom we
knew as JB. He called me his Little Bro and I called him my Big Bro.
And as I'm writing this, I've heard them announce on the radio that he
was pronounced dead. My Big Bro was executed by the State of
Mississippi's murder machine.
What I'd like to know is...just what was accomplished by murdering JB? Was justice served? Does anyone feel a sense of closure or satisfaction now that he's dead? And if so, what kind of psychological mindset does a person have to possess to feel satisfied at the death of another person? But I'm not writing to debate these things here. I'm here to remember JB.
Through the years, I have refrained from asking people about the crimes they were sentenced for. I figure that they have already been judged for whatever it is and I don't have any need to know about it. So, instead of regurgitating what the media has forcefed you, let me tell you about the JB that I knew. Let me tell you about my Big Bro.
When I first met JB in C-building of MSP's Unit 32, he had already known of me through mutual friends. I don't associate with many people unless I've been around them for awhile, but I made an exception with JB because others were vouching for him. We shared common interests like reading, especially the science fiction and fantasy genres. The Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind was his favorite, whereas the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan is mine. This brought about an interesting discussion because I said that Goodkind plagiarized Jordan's ideas. JB was determined to find out the truth...and judging by copyrights and dates, I was right. That was one of the many things about JB that I respected- if he was wrong, he could admit it.
If JB borrowed something from someone, even if it was just a pack of salt, he was sure to repay it. If he could help someone, he would. JB cared and was a loyal friend, a loving son and brother, and it bothered him he couldn't do much for his mom, brother, sister. I've seen him humble himself, apologize to people and ask them to forgive him.
How many people who hate JB are professing Christians? What an ironic thing- the very ones reveling in his death are those who pay lip service to the doctrine of love. JB didn't fear death; he was at peace and knows who his Savior is. JB is a true Christian, I'm glad to have been able to encourage him in his faith, and I'm proud to call him my Big Bro. Matthew 25: 31-46 is an apt passage. Are you a sheep or goat?
JB's last words to me were a prayer for me and the ones I love... The world is worse-off for losing JB and I'll miss my Big Bro, but I look forward to seeing him again one day.
What I'd like to know is...just what was accomplished by murdering JB? Was justice served? Does anyone feel a sense of closure or satisfaction now that he's dead? And if so, what kind of psychological mindset does a person have to possess to feel satisfied at the death of another person? But I'm not writing to debate these things here. I'm here to remember JB.
Through the years, I have refrained from asking people about the crimes they were sentenced for. I figure that they have already been judged for whatever it is and I don't have any need to know about it. So, instead of regurgitating what the media has forcefed you, let me tell you about the JB that I knew. Let me tell you about my Big Bro.
When I first met JB in C-building of MSP's Unit 32, he had already known of me through mutual friends. I don't associate with many people unless I've been around them for awhile, but I made an exception with JB because others were vouching for him. We shared common interests like reading, especially the science fiction and fantasy genres. The Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind was his favorite, whereas the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan is mine. This brought about an interesting discussion because I said that Goodkind plagiarized Jordan's ideas. JB was determined to find out the truth...and judging by copyrights and dates, I was right. That was one of the many things about JB that I respected- if he was wrong, he could admit it.
If JB borrowed something from someone, even if it was just a pack of salt, he was sure to repay it. If he could help someone, he would. JB cared and was a loyal friend, a loving son and brother, and it bothered him he couldn't do much for his mom, brother, sister. I've seen him humble himself, apologize to people and ask them to forgive him.
How many people who hate JB are professing Christians? What an ironic thing- the very ones reveling in his death are those who pay lip service to the doctrine of love. JB didn't fear death; he was at peace and knows who his Savior is. JB is a true Christian, I'm glad to have been able to encourage him in his faith, and I'm proud to call him my Big Bro. Matthew 25: 31-46 is an apt passage. Are you a sheep or goat?
JB's last words to me were a prayer for me and the ones I love... The world is worse-off for losing JB and I'll miss my Big Bro, but I look forward to seeing him again one day.
-In memory of Jan Michael Brawner, Jr. June 10, 1978 - June 12, 2012
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The Write-Brain Workbook: Day 1
For years I've been told by many people, "Steven, you need to write a book." So I'm guessing that there are those who enjoy reading what I write, or just want to keep me distracted from realizing my plans of world domination. I hope that it's the former, otherwise they might be disappointed. I can multitask. The good news is that I've been at work on what will hopefully end up as a completed novel one day in the foreseeable future.
I am the kind of person who needs to know as much about something as I possibly can before I attempt it. Since I never attended creative writing classes, don't have a MFA and didn't even pass the 9th grade in high school, I've been teaching myself what I need to know to tell stories well, in written form. You, my readers, will be the final judges of that.
One of the tools I have to aid me in the learning process is "The Write-Brain Workbook" by Bonnie Neubauer. I like how it's about practice. All you need is a pen and ten minutes a day- you can write
right in the book if you want. 366 exercises each of which gives you a starting phrase, an ending sentence, a series of challenging words to incorporate, a fill-in-the-blanks character to create and more. It's about keeping the writing as it should be: fun.
Starting with the first exercise, I'm going to work each of them and share the results with you here on my personal blog. No editing. No refinement. Just me having fun. Day 1 gives you twelve words, out of which you choose three to use in the story. I chose: exercise, flatulence, lamb. The story is to begin with: Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel! Here we go...
Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel! Going nowhere, fast. Listen up, 'cause I've something I want to get off my chest. Know why you don't hear about demonic possession anymore? I'm one of the reasons why. That and the fact these modern day quacks stick the possessed into institutions, diagnose them as mentally ill and treat them with drugs. If I were to tell them I'm an exorcist and could help with their "patients", they'd have me right in there doing the Thorazine-shuffle with the rest of the crazies faster than you can say psychopathologicaldisassociaton. And yes, I know I've got to be crazy to stay in a line of work where projectile vomit and deadly flatulence are serious occupational hazards, and aren't due to the breakroom food from the vending machines. Gives a whole new meaning to "silent but deadly." These demons are getting more and more
savvy, too. The cases of sociopathy have increased exponentially within our society and you don't
wonder why? It ain't the water, people. The demon-possessed are amongst us, and I'd like to think they're keeping a low profile to prevent me from catching up with them. That's not the whole story though. Something big is brewing. Something in bold letters, written in something that resembles red paint, dripping down a piece of cardboard held by someone you consider crazy, and it reads something like "THE END IS NIGH!" So no, I don't really want to be in this line of work but I don't see people lining up to volunteer for the Lamb of God's army. Try to write me off as just another nutcase. But part of you knows what I'm saying is the truth. I've disrupted your little world of self-imposed ignorance, and that makes you mad. The way you look at things will never be the same. What you do now is entirely up to you. And by the way. . . good luck with the elections. You're gonna need it.
Summer/ Holiday Packages
I remember the first time I was told I would be able to receive a package, I was still in Unit 32 and had just signed on the "High Risk Incentive Program." Years of experience in dealing with prison administrators has taught me to take what they say, not with a grain of salt, but with an entire bag of the stuff. Which is probably what they say about us prisoners, too. But they told us we'd be allowed to receive a package; that we were already approved. Weeks later after our families attempted to order a package for us, we found out we had not been approved.
That was the first time. The second time went more smoothly, thankfully. And in case you are ordering for your loved one, below you'll find info that will hopefully make it easier. If they can order from the regular commissary menu, then there are items on the package menu that you might want to avoid because they are also on the regular menu.
Items on commissary menu that you want to avoid on the package menu:
- 1 Malt-O-Meal Frosted Flakes
- 12 Malt-O-Meal Tootie Fruities
- 14 Zippy Cakes Blueberry Cheese Danish
- 15 Zippy Cakes Mega Buneez
- 17 Zippy Cakes Strawberry Cheese Danish
- 79 Bridgford Beef Summer Sausage
- 81 Bridgford Sliced Pepperoni
- 90 Van Holden's Mild Dill Pickle
- 93 Brushy Creek 11.25 oz. Lasagna with Beef
- 101 Velveeta Macaroni and Cheese
- 105 Velveeta Cheesy, Refried Beans
- 106 Velveeta Spicy, Cheesy Refried Beans
- 107 Sevilla Refried Beans
- 109 Velveeta 2 oz. Cheesy Rice
- 110 Velveeta 2 oz. Spicy, Cheesy Rice
- 111 Cactus Annie's 8 oz. 6 pk. Flour Tortillas
Good deals on the package menu:
- 19 Keefe Kitchen's
- 11 oz. Strawberry Toaster Pastries 6 pk.
- 20 Toast'em Pop-Ups 11 oz. Blueberry Pastries 6 pk.
- 51 M&M Peanut 5.3 oz.
- 52 Moon Lodge Stuffed Jalapeno Potato Chips
- 53 Moon Lodge 6 oz. "Whole Shabang" Chips
- 54 Moon Lodge 6 oz. Sour Cream and Onion Chips
- 55 Cactus Annie's 13 oz. Corn Chips
- 89 Bumble Bee 5 oz. Tuna in pouch
- 2 Tang 12 oz. Instant Orange Drink Mix
- 7 Keefe 10 oz. Hot Cocoa Mix
- 8 Keefe 3 oz. 100% Colombian Coffee
- 30 Bud's Best Candy N Cookies - Butterfinger 6 oz. Mini Cookies
- 31 Bud's Best Orange Dreamsicle Cookies 6 oz.
- 45 Hershey's Miniatures 5.3 oz.
- 65 Kar's 7 oz. Nut & Yogurt Trail Mix Unsalted
If you have and questions or want to share your experiences with us, feel free to leave comments here on the post. We hope this info is of aid to you. For more info on how to order a package for your loved one, click here.
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Adventures with Big Bill
Over the years, I've met some rather...interesting characters. And
because I'm such a caring and sharing soul, I'm going to regale you with
tales of them. No, no, don't thank me. It's quite alright. This is for
your reading enjoyment.
During my time at Unit 32, I was housed around the guys on death row quite frequently. That's where I met Bill. If you were to see Bill, your first impression would be of a guy who looked like he'd been a part of the Hell's Angels. About 5'11", 320 lbs., dark brown hair cut in a mohawk, and a full beard. Undermining this first impression is the one-piece button-up jumpsuit that he's wearing. I got the feeling he had received it when he first came to the row, that it was about 5 times too large and he kinda grew into it, like a goldfish into its bowl. The jumpsuit was once red, but now it just looks pink. And then Bill opens his mouth and says something like "Hi!" sounding for all the world like Ned Flanders from The Simpsons.
I used to get moved on a weekly basis, and I remember the first time I had to spend a week across from Bill. A memorable week it was. The first thing I noticed is that Bill is lazy. He came shuffling up to his door, stuck his arms between the bars, waved and said "Hi!" in an eerily cheerful voice. I saw movement near his feet- in his shuffle to the door he'd disturbed the dust bunnies in his cell, which were the size of small tumbleweeds. As I said, Bill is lazy.
One time I saw him "washing" his laundry. He had put a shirt in his sink, jammed the button so the water kept running, and then shuffled back to his bed. Every 30 minutes or so he'd come shuffling back over to the sink and -with just his index finger- poke at the shirt he had in there. After about the fourth time he did this, I asked him what he was up to. He replied that washing machines have an "agitate" cycle, so he figured he'd do the same. I told him he'd probably have to agitate a bit more vigorously if he expected his shirt to get clean. He said, "If I did this to you, wouldn't you get agitated?" I had to admit that I most likely would. As an aside, when he finally took his shirt out of the sink, it was green. The water at Parchman isn't the best.
I imagine that in prison you're likely to hear a variety of tales moreso than in other places. I've heard my share, certainly. Bill's spiritual beliefs were a hodgepodge accumulation, and one of the tales he shared with me was from when he was attempting to become a monk. Via correspondence. I guess it's possible, but I'd never heard of anyone doing it that way. According to Bill, at some point he disagreed with some essential doctrine or questioned some practices within the Church. He wrote to the Vatican and received a response from Cardinal Ratzinger, the Dean of the College of Cardinals at the time (and current Pope), saying he was anathema, from thenceforth excommunicated from the Church, and that he was, "Damned, damned, damned to hell, hell, hell." Thrice damned. Sounds like some conversations I've had with my exes.
In the following years, Bill went through some changes. His best friend on the row was executed and that deeply affected him. He lost weight, became more subdued. His death sentence was commuted to life without parole and he was released to general prison population. I don't know where he is now, but if you're out there, Bill...how's your pancreas? =)
-in memory of "Bart"
During my time at Unit 32, I was housed around the guys on death row quite frequently. That's where I met Bill. If you were to see Bill, your first impression would be of a guy who looked like he'd been a part of the Hell's Angels. About 5'11", 320 lbs., dark brown hair cut in a mohawk, and a full beard. Undermining this first impression is the one-piece button-up jumpsuit that he's wearing. I got the feeling he had received it when he first came to the row, that it was about 5 times too large and he kinda grew into it, like a goldfish into its bowl. The jumpsuit was once red, but now it just looks pink. And then Bill opens his mouth and says something like "Hi!" sounding for all the world like Ned Flanders from The Simpsons.
I used to get moved on a weekly basis, and I remember the first time I had to spend a week across from Bill. A memorable week it was. The first thing I noticed is that Bill is lazy. He came shuffling up to his door, stuck his arms between the bars, waved and said "Hi!" in an eerily cheerful voice. I saw movement near his feet- in his shuffle to the door he'd disturbed the dust bunnies in his cell, which were the size of small tumbleweeds. As I said, Bill is lazy.
One time I saw him "washing" his laundry. He had put a shirt in his sink, jammed the button so the water kept running, and then shuffled back to his bed. Every 30 minutes or so he'd come shuffling back over to the sink and -with just his index finger- poke at the shirt he had in there. After about the fourth time he did this, I asked him what he was up to. He replied that washing machines have an "agitate" cycle, so he figured he'd do the same. I told him he'd probably have to agitate a bit more vigorously if he expected his shirt to get clean. He said, "If I did this to you, wouldn't you get agitated?" I had to admit that I most likely would. As an aside, when he finally took his shirt out of the sink, it was green. The water at Parchman isn't the best.
I imagine that in prison you're likely to hear a variety of tales moreso than in other places. I've heard my share, certainly. Bill's spiritual beliefs were a hodgepodge accumulation, and one of the tales he shared with me was from when he was attempting to become a monk. Via correspondence. I guess it's possible, but I'd never heard of anyone doing it that way. According to Bill, at some point he disagreed with some essential doctrine or questioned some practices within the Church. He wrote to the Vatican and received a response from Cardinal Ratzinger, the Dean of the College of Cardinals at the time (and current Pope), saying he was anathema, from thenceforth excommunicated from the Church, and that he was, "Damned, damned, damned to hell, hell, hell." Thrice damned. Sounds like some conversations I've had with my exes.
In the following years, Bill went through some changes. His best friend on the row was executed and that deeply affected him. He lost weight, became more subdued. His death sentence was commuted to life without parole and he was released to general prison population. I don't know where he is now, but if you're out there, Bill...how's your pancreas? =)
-in memory of "Bart"
