How not to communicate to Prison MGT and ACC
The prelude to this (below) is my damaged/compressed Spinal Nerve Roots – pain +++ down left arm, +++ left shoulder, left face, diminished sensation and power for all previously mentioned (which occurred in June 23rd and July 10th 2009 – prisoner assaults) of the C-Spine section. I never thought there was so much damage until after the C-Spine MRI. This was a consequence of 2 assaults by 2 different prisoners at separate times as well as required spontaneous restraint of the 2 prisoners, well 3 if we are being pedantic. No sleep for 48+ hours, no pain relief and a disorganized mind at 0400 hours.
You just shouldn't’t be allowed access to a computer at these times.
Well at the very least the Send button should be locked away. So I don’t feel entirely at fault here – I think not therefore I Am Not (responsible).
In any case I sent this,
can’t un-ring this bell.
Mrs. S and Mrs. B – Let Mrs. R know I am not completely committable, I just write for the fun of it.
And again, Morning Ladies -
I should have typed this earlier as I have been awake all last night and tonight, though the pain has relaxed for some unknown reason so I can type for a bit. Well the acute pain has receded; the chronic pain, diminished sensation, weakness etc continues, and Mr. Acute Pain is never far behind - bundled up and loving his newly refurbished rooms in my C-Spine.
Basically as I’ve awake for 48+ hours I am now making the most of this ‘no-pain window’; for now in any case - and you all know I will ramble (very soon I fear), though Mrs. S has a Vulcan language Decoder and she understands me; as does Mrs. B. Mrs. R has been very helpful through out all this as well by listening to my rants and helping me feel that even though we have no current medical/surgical intervention we do have forward motion and if we continue in this Endeavor some semblance of hope is there (hope which Captain James Cook ran out of in the then named Sandwich Islands, named after an Earl in England, his only achievement in an era where the Empire lost direction and America) - pity I was born an arrogant, sarcastic, iconoclastic, pessimistic, paranoid individual, at least that's what Heidi (Wife) tells me - she likes to think it will all work out - I prefer to expect the worst so anything gained or positive is a bonus, this makes more sense to me -
Safer too.
Such is life.
I would like to thank all of you for making this easy re the paper work etc. You all know I have been working at Mt Eden Prison in pain for 5+ months until it was too much to bear (or Beer, I know which one I stumble towards) and you’ll have been supportive each time I have communicated with you. I look forward to our meting (?) 2nd of March after initial consult from Dr C; who, from other Dr's around the place (whom have been in the business for some time), report he is very good with Spinal Injuries, guess we have to wait to see - rather anxious re what the outcome will be, what’s the bet they stab me with needles (with the largest bore needle they can find) which I hate and I now sitting here shuddering at the prospect of blood tests. People have pointed out that I coped with my Ta Moko, my retort is that tattoo needles are different; the pain is different, distinctive, wanted - for me the blood taking needles remove something (and I swear that my veins have grown nerves to increase the pain of these blood testing procedures) from me as opposed to the Ta Moko which gives to me an expression of part of who I am - communication comes in many varied forms.
Stop rambling. I wanted to say thank you.
We all know most trialed medications are not good for me so far - probably because I'm a pain full stop; Poison might help, they were a great late 80's early 90's band and the way they Shook & Thrashed their big hair one could reasonably conclude they should have some spinal abnormalities. I guess if the drugs they have access to actually work for Spinal Injuries good on them; though you can count me out regarding most of them - not everyone can be a Living Illicit Drug Legend like Keith Richards who I am sure has his cereal with JD's or should that be JD's sprinkled with cereal.
The Rolling Stones - no Moss on them ones.
Codeine Phosphate - doesn't touch the pain. Good if one wants to be constipated. It does greatly mitigate Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) attacks and associated pain - my God ‘that pain’ is and continues to be the most painful thing in my life.
Fighting, assault and restraint (in the immediacy of the event) I do not feel anything or much, certainly no pain, and retain a rather clear sensorium at the time, which has proven to be a useful defense mechanism. Afterwards is a different story - could it be that now I have notched up 15 years in Forensic Psychiatry that at 37 I am Old?
What a sad life, perhaps I will take up Edward Cullen's offer of Immortality.
NSAID's – I can't take this class of medications due to my Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) as it precipitates +++ pain via cramps, ulcers and believe me I have been on the toilet for days after trying different NSAID's (in the past) that Dr's reported had low incidence side effects of this type (probably too much info) - thanks to that Dr (years ago), not current Dr’s, names have been altered to protect the innocent - according to John Walsh - only in America; where Sandwiches are had in plenty and one is big enough to block several aortic arteries in one go, let alone crash and sink The Boston Tea Party.
DHC - this is a fun drug if you like to scratch your entire body for hours to the point where skin integrity is compromised. Apparently I internally convert the DHC into morphine and itching is one of the common side effects - I don't have enough hands to reconsider this approach.
Norflex - not much pain coverage. Not many, if any.
Paradex - same as Norflex, ‘How Bizarre” (RIP Pauly).
Amytryptaline - we trialed Amytryptaline at a low dose as it is clinically indicated for pain, especially nerve pain - seemed to work for a few days until it had established itself in a therapeutic window - which window? Today we'll be looking through the Square Window and learning about the letters – E and S. Unfortunately that window showed and held a combination Serotonin Storm leading to +++ agitation, no sleep and danger to any stray cats, dogs and Parliamentarians.
E Is for “is this pain Ever going to stop?” S. Is for Sleep (none for 48+ hours), as well as looking at the numbers 666 with reference to; if no cure or ability to control the pain and fix me (I believe they have the technology, "We can rebuild him", cheers Lee Majors for that reverberating cord insert) I will be labeled as 'Beyond Salvage' and disappear in Mexico's Badlands.
Again.
No questions or scrutiny would penetrate ‘that’ Government folder on me (yes people, they have more than one folder on everybody, the one I am referring to is the Black Ops one), let alone acknowledge its existence. Irrevocably in the end time and people move on; perhaps reluctantly for a while though at the End no-one will hold your hand when Yee walk through The Valley of the Shadow of Death – all you’ll hold is an envelope that you can’t open and a course that was determined prior to your Grandparents birth; there is no way to move from this inexorable path.
Yep - just when I thought we were on a good pain management regime, the Amytryptaline produced side effects in combination with the Venlafaxine - which can happen and it is not overly rare, sometimes people die from Serotonin 'Storms’ (my weird way of putting it - and it is Me/Myself/and I; I am not dead, yet).
Look towards the West on the Fifth Day, a Wizard is never early nor late, he arrives exactly when he means to.
On occasion this happens: the combination of a SSRI medication (even an atypical SSRI) and a Tricyclic medication. Side Effects - akathesia; internal restlessness generally with irritability and/or aggression. Stopping Amytryptaline obviously doesn't help with my pain ++ as well as left arm diminished sensation, weaker than right on a good day, labile temperature, nauseous, vomiting (though pain does cloud the clinical picture), irritable state of mind, inability to sleep, rest, you feel the need to move even if sitting and leave my restless leg alone, he's shy.
Tramadol - I will leave until talking to Consultant Dr C next Wednesday 24th? He’s the expert on Spinal issues and so hopefully it will be an illuminating session. Don't worry Mrs. R, I have not obtained a script for it and I believe (I have to; which admittedly weakens my previous pessimistic profile) that there are other cheaper pain relieving medications, breathing exercises, etc. They could always hook me up with a case of Jack Daniels Ol' No# 7 - that'll kill the pain for a while.
Well - I see the Mourning (yes, Mourning) Sun on the Horizon, time to look at it with a squint -
Trying Damn hard to look like Clint Eastwood.
(God Damn he’s sexy).
He looks out, into the receding street,
He sees only the frame he needs to.
Focused.
No one else here but the street.
And.
The street and the target who refused to back off, the target he was brought here for. Payment they offered he declined; he’d been in this situation too many times. From when he was young and lucky to now where he was alive and not sure why.
He hears nothing as every soul is locked in their respective abodes, the community’s collective breath held. Only the Saloon is open – perhaps a taste soon, the harsh whisky they serve here is not exactly commendable, but it ensures you know you’re alive and after all, isn’t that the purpose?
He feels his revolvers.
These parts of himself that others think of only as weapons, those others who see them as only tools, they are the ones that ask for help – for help when they lose faith in themselves, in their abilities, in their calling, in standing up and making themselves heard. Perhaps they would not win if they stood as he did, though at least they could have stood apart and not been counted as part of the diminutive flock.
He checked himself – not here to judge, not here to complicate things, just business, keep it simple, and keep it the way it’s always been.
Win or not he would remain free.
Free and righteous.
He felt his revolvers; moved his hands over them knowing each part, each distinctive feature, so close to him they had become him. Guns with the barrel sights shaved down to give a quicker draw; to take the hitch away, to give that millisecond advantage so he doesn't have to rush and ensures accuracy as opposed to the hasty man.
He knew his abilities; he knew his strengths as well as weakness’ and appreciated both as well as the craftsmanship of the balanced parts of himself. If ever there was a woman he would call wife she could never take this or those past moments away, he would always be in debt to these ivory encased parts of himself.
Selfish he thought – but at least true and honest from beginning to end.
All these thoughts rumbled through his mind in an instant though nothing deflected from the reality of the here and now.
It was as it always was.
As it always would be.
A thought – many thoughts – circulating; the same ones that seemed forever; forever and ever circulating, never leaving.
Axiomatic truth never does.
He knew he could never take a wife or family, his destiny was not measured in this manner. A lonely space in time was his lot; a skill to allow others to achieve the dream he once thought he could have yet knew he could never fairly achieve.
The opponent outdrew him, though in that frenzied moment he fired first into the dirt, too nervous Clint mused – a hardened smile that was not lost on those lucky enough to see.
Shooting scared is the worst play a gunslinger can make, it exponentially compounds when he figures this out. Not by some sudden insight, but by the 'thud' he feels in his chest, the difficulty in trying to draw breath.
Whilst prone in the dirt the shadow of a man covers him from the glare of High Noon.
The Man with no Name kneels; he leans into and holds his opponents’ hand, squeezing to bring back a level of consciousness. Enough for Last Rights and enough to acknowledge one of his kind, to give solace. Perhaps something the one lying there has never received, let alone understood; he does now. He ‘gets the facts’ and grimly accepts the outcome - the end point of his choices.
He looks up at a Man he has never met; amongst all those he has come up against, all the men he has dealt with, he had finally met his match. He never knew any of the past marks, just as he didn’t know the Stranger griping his hand and shading his eyes from the sun now. What he wouldn’t give to share a drink with him, swap stories, laugh and relax for a time, to be part of something instead of this creeping nothing.
Both men held each other in their own way, understanding that the payment of dirt and dust was inevitable. Both men smiled at each other – as the sands of time emptied into the trampled empty street they twisted and whirled like a sad Dervish’s last performance before the main event.
These two; the outsiders, the lonely and unwanted ones, unless of course the sheep can not cope, then they pay and laud and clap them on the back as if they had been a part of the event – leeches, parasites,
Business.
It was an honorable Death – Man against Man, no tricks, no parley, no debate and no cowering.
These two Men in a town of cowards gripped each other that much harder before Death took one life and waited patiently for the other.
Take Care Ladies
David George Barnett
27.11.09
1930 hours - Mt Eden Prison, Friday.
Well it's that time of night.
Time to traverse the stairs,
Both up and down.
Dodge the trains,
And the Surveillance Seagulls.
Time to get some beer and settle into the Original Friday The 13th, I have the Bloody Hockey Mask ready and the Machete sharpened - if there's an edge out there why not look for it?
Why not peer over?
Though not to close,
As Hunter.S.Thompson said -
The only ones who really know where the edge is, are those that have pushed it that bit to far and gone over, they can truly look back with a clarity of vision and understanding, the rest of us just manage to pull back at the last moment, that moment between now or later.
As for now,
The Blades may be rusty,
But the Spirits are willing.
The Grey Madness
Well it's that time of night.
Time to traverse the stairs,
Both up and down.
Dodge the trains,
And the Surveillance Seagulls.
Time to get some beer and settle into the Original Friday The 13th, I have the Bloody Hockey Mask ready and the Machete sharpened - if there's an edge out there why not look for it?
Why not peer over?
Though not to close,
As Hunter.S.Thompson said -
The only ones who really know where the edge is, are those that have pushed it that bit to far and gone over, they can truly look back with a clarity of vision and understanding, the rest of us just manage to pull back at the last moment, that moment between now or later.
As for now,
The Blades may be rusty,
But the Spirits are willing.
The Grey Madness
21.11.09
Note to self regarding safety in Prison related to external purchases of clothing.
As nurses in prison we are granted a total of $500 dollars split in two (2) over x2 6 month periods to purchase clothing as we are non-uniformed staff (and should remain so according to studies internationally that show uniforms only serve to provide barriers to care and collection of vital information re health conditions and provision of health care).
Over the many years (almost 9 including the one I year was working for Mason Clinic in the prisons) I have worked in Mt Eden Prison I have duly used this allowance to cloth myself in usually non-descript items to go about my work though it appears this year I made a decision on choosing a pair of shoes that led to thought about, though not completely fully foreseen circumstances.
I brought them as they provided great ankle support and I move around Mt Eden Prison a lot; from top to bottom and everywhere in between assessing and managing risk as well as things not exactly in my job description, not to mention the need for good tread grip when in the middle of a physical encounter.
They are white and blue and high top(ish).They have the name AND1 which I thought spelt ANDY in an unusual manner and as I have a brother named Andrew I thought this was a sign – this as well as them being discounted led to the selling point (or is that the buying point?)
It took the first day of me walking through South Wing (Mainstream Prisoners – the hardened) to medical to understand that perhaps the shoes were now the focus of the multitude of prisoners commenting on them.
In medical it took one of my favorite transsexuals to inform me that the shoes were indeed ‘nice’ in that the name of them was not ANDY but AND 1 and they were sought after basketball shoes which meant that had I not spent the amount of time working with +++ prisoners I would have probably have been turned over for them (staff or not) on entry to the wings.
As it stood I knew that in no way would I be touched as they (prisoners) know the consequences of anyone fucking with me but naturally my mind became Devilish and so I doubled my travels through the wings for the fun and ‘dem eyes no longer were attempting to stare me down (a foolish enterprise in any case) but fixed to the floor -
And then when I had to check out a mainstream prisoner in the yards I asked the officer to take me to the yards as I needed no medical equipment, just mind questions.
Four yards of mainstream prisoners, four yards of fun.
North, East, West and South.
For some of those eyes this was the first time they had all turned in one direction to reach the acronym NEWS.
Which brings new meaning to an old book my Dad gave me once a long time ago – how to make Work fun in the Workplace.
I believe I finally had some inkling of insight.
And like Dorothy all it took was a pair of shoes - she and I initially had no idea of the power of them though we both finally reached Revelation and Home safely – the only difference being she took the whirlwind whilst I have ridden that monster in my head for years and it was an economical car that drove faster than it should when I finally left Prison at 2100 hours for respite -
After stopping for beer.
The Grey Madness.
As nurses in prison we are granted a total of $500 dollars split in two (2) over x2 6 month periods to purchase clothing as we are non-uniformed staff (and should remain so according to studies internationally that show uniforms only serve to provide barriers to care and collection of vital information re health conditions and provision of health care).
Over the many years (almost 9 including the one I year was working for Mason Clinic in the prisons) I have worked in Mt Eden Prison I have duly used this allowance to cloth myself in usually non-descript items to go about my work though it appears this year I made a decision on choosing a pair of shoes that led to thought about, though not completely fully foreseen circumstances.
I brought them as they provided great ankle support and I move around Mt Eden Prison a lot; from top to bottom and everywhere in between assessing and managing risk as well as things not exactly in my job description, not to mention the need for good tread grip when in the middle of a physical encounter.
They are white and blue and high top(ish).They have the name AND1 which I thought spelt ANDY in an unusual manner and as I have a brother named Andrew I thought this was a sign – this as well as them being discounted led to the selling point (or is that the buying point?)
It took the first day of me walking through South Wing (Mainstream Prisoners – the hardened) to medical to understand that perhaps the shoes were now the focus of the multitude of prisoners commenting on them.
In medical it took one of my favorite transsexuals to inform me that the shoes were indeed ‘nice’ in that the name of them was not ANDY but AND 1 and they were sought after basketball shoes which meant that had I not spent the amount of time working with +++ prisoners I would have probably have been turned over for them (staff or not) on entry to the wings.
As it stood I knew that in no way would I be touched as they (prisoners) know the consequences of anyone fucking with me but naturally my mind became Devilish and so I doubled my travels through the wings for the fun and ‘dem eyes no longer were attempting to stare me down (a foolish enterprise in any case) but fixed to the floor -
And then when I had to check out a mainstream prisoner in the yards I asked the officer to take me to the yards as I needed no medical equipment, just mind questions.
Four yards of mainstream prisoners, four yards of fun.
North, East, West and South.
For some of those eyes this was the first time they had all turned in one direction to reach the acronym NEWS.
Which brings new meaning to an old book my Dad gave me once a long time ago – how to make Work fun in the Workplace.
I believe I finally had some inkling of insight.
And like Dorothy all it took was a pair of shoes - she and I initially had no idea of the power of them though we both finally reached Revelation and Home safely – the only difference being she took the whirlwind whilst I have ridden that monster in my head for years and it was an economical car that drove faster than it should when I finally left Prison at 2100 hours for respite -
After stopping for beer.
The Grey Madness.
Sunday Driving
Don’t know why the car behind me had wild gesticulating hands attached to writhing bodies moving in some sort of native dance, I had only cut them off when pulling out of a side street so you can see my quizzical brow asking myself the question.
And still the maniacal dance behind me continued.
I thought I had finally figured it out, they must be in a rush to get to hospital or some other important synonym and (I again figured) why should I be the one to get in their important way?
So I slowed and waved the illegally lowered, Knight Shade tinted Jap Import past me –
Only to have it slow to my speed and wave all over the road with the contents continuing their sign language,
A sign language that left me feeling I had misread the initial interpretation I had made, it would appear there was no actual important destination for this abomination of a vehicle, only the arrogance of perceived ownership of the road, which I knew was a mistaken one considering the God that I am (Heidi and I have come to a compromise in that I am not actually The God but perhaps one with a little ‘g’).
In any case, this conclusion and nascent understanding of the situation drastically altered my countenance and decision making.
You can take my word for it that maneuvering a family four door sedan with a stick shift and no additions to make it a road rocket up and past the car in front of me was no easy task, I imagine that having them not expecting me to actually try this was an important feature, as well as me engaging the power button and leaving the overdrive off – the other tricky bit I had not attempted prior to this was a 180 drift using a foot/hand brake; it was a little shaky and lacking the Mags to reduce wind resistance did not help though the desired outcome was achieved and I slid to a stop in front of them as they skidded to their own.
Being a forward thinker (hahhaha) I had reached down the side of my seat during the slide and popped the boot, so by the time the car had drifted to a halt I was already out of the door and gathering the golf club, a driver, located next the decomposing hitchhiker I picked up 1 week ago – hint, leaving lime and lavender in next to a body greatly reduces the stench that can lead to projectile vomiting.
I don’t know why I had kept this old club though it had a weight to it that when held it felt like part of me, the other reason was it had an old green and red felt grip which reminded me of Freddy Kruger and so naturally this piece of art will be with me for some time, as well as at this moment being a piece of art that was about to be functional.
By the time I was around the front of my car their doors were beginning to open.
Jap metal has a distinct sound when slammed against itself, especially when the force driving the collision of metal on metal comes from the inside of the car.
I mounted their bonnet and swung the club with the belief it was a Fiery Sword, I knew it would not take out the windscreen though the shattering spider effect of the glass and associated lack of seeing where the fuck I was located was indeed the fear I wanted to inspire.
A quick look down at where I was standing showed what affect Alligator Boots with metal heel and tip can do to tin foil meant to be a bonnet.
I leapt from the initial position to the drivers side of the car and took out the dramatically over tinted window and then the passengers side as I wanted them all to see me and see the effect of their actions – action equals consequence and consequence was me.
Surprisingly the gesticulations were not in evidence only bodies leaning away from me with whitened faces previous to this I had only seen on corpses.
I leant into the driver’s side and tapped the ash of my slowly burning cigarillo into his lap and looked at him through my Pilots Sunglasses.
Silence is a word best felt and understood in these kinds of situations, you truly experience it in its visceral form before the spelling of the word was decided upon.
“I know you” he said, his timbre being alike that of a castrato though trying to raise to at least a tenor, “I know you from prison, you won’t get away with this”.
Really.
“You know me do you? Well if that’s the case you know who I know in prison, who I know outside of prison, who I know on both sides of the bars and you should at least have an understanding of opinions of me. Is this not true?”
An understanding crossed his face.
Sirens began to come to our respective ears from the distance but most definitely coming our way.
“You’d better motor on off in a slow inconspicuous manner; I’ll take care of the cops”.
“Are you sure?” he asked with acquiescence.
“Yip, just remember our conversation and everything will be fine” I replied with the Freddy Club languidly hanging over my shoulder.
The import shuddered off and I watched it’s over sized muffler disappear into the distance as marked and unmarked Police cars screeched to a halt around me.
I turned around to see guns drawn and pointing at me.
The guns went down as I turned around and the plainclothes Detective came wandering up to me.
“Jesus Dave, why this again?”
“You guy’s like the chase, you like the hunt and more than that you like the anticipation of it all and pushing those over powered cars past their limit as you know they’re not yours and seeing how fast you can go over these new speed bumps is fun”.
“True” he conceded, “But why only the Cowboy Hat and Alligator boots? Can’t you for once put on a shirt and some pants? It scares the shite out of people”
“I believe you just answered your own question, and besides nothing goes with it – and don’t you dare mention leather, cows are my friends, for reasons we will not go into here, too many witness’s”.
“Well did you at least get the number plate?”
“Of course, but forget about them, they are going to be laying low and ‘wondering when’ for some time, my way saves you time, overtime and a shit load of paperwork”.
He seemed annoyed and placated at the same time, though I could see he was in agreement with everything we had talked about.
He finally spoke.
“Guess I’ll see you at my place with the rest of the force for the BBQ tonight?”
“Indeed, it would be rude not to, I’ll bring the family”
“Good” he quickly retorted “At least I know you’ll be wearing clothes”.
“Yes my friend, for I am a culture vulture and understand customs handed down from the ancient Inca’s, my head dress will be in full plume and the skirt I wear will be ironed”.
“As usual then” as he walked back to the unmarked vehicle and motioned the uninitiated cops back to their cars.
I stood a little longer after they had left; sometimes it is a strange yet fulfilling feeling dealing with both sides of the force in such a short period of time and having the outcome you want, the outcome you predicted.
Though it still (after so long) leaves me wondering where I fit in amongst it all.
In the dark of night when others are asleep and my minds synaptic messages do not allow this for me I realize this is the human condition, one example of its many forms.
The Grey Madness
And still the maniacal dance behind me continued.
I thought I had finally figured it out, they must be in a rush to get to hospital or some other important synonym and (I again figured) why should I be the one to get in their important way?
So I slowed and waved the illegally lowered, Knight Shade tinted Jap Import past me –
Only to have it slow to my speed and wave all over the road with the contents continuing their sign language,
A sign language that left me feeling I had misread the initial interpretation I had made, it would appear there was no actual important destination for this abomination of a vehicle, only the arrogance of perceived ownership of the road, which I knew was a mistaken one considering the God that I am (Heidi and I have come to a compromise in that I am not actually The God but perhaps one with a little ‘g’).
In any case, this conclusion and nascent understanding of the situation drastically altered my countenance and decision making.
You can take my word for it that maneuvering a family four door sedan with a stick shift and no additions to make it a road rocket up and past the car in front of me was no easy task, I imagine that having them not expecting me to actually try this was an important feature, as well as me engaging the power button and leaving the overdrive off – the other tricky bit I had not attempted prior to this was a 180 drift using a foot/hand brake; it was a little shaky and lacking the Mags to reduce wind resistance did not help though the desired outcome was achieved and I slid to a stop in front of them as they skidded to their own.
Being a forward thinker (hahhaha) I had reached down the side of my seat during the slide and popped the boot, so by the time the car had drifted to a halt I was already out of the door and gathering the golf club, a driver, located next the decomposing hitchhiker I picked up 1 week ago – hint, leaving lime and lavender in next to a body greatly reduces the stench that can lead to projectile vomiting.
I don’t know why I had kept this old club though it had a weight to it that when held it felt like part of me, the other reason was it had an old green and red felt grip which reminded me of Freddy Kruger and so naturally this piece of art will be with me for some time, as well as at this moment being a piece of art that was about to be functional.
By the time I was around the front of my car their doors were beginning to open.
Jap metal has a distinct sound when slammed against itself, especially when the force driving the collision of metal on metal comes from the inside of the car.
I mounted their bonnet and swung the club with the belief it was a Fiery Sword, I knew it would not take out the windscreen though the shattering spider effect of the glass and associated lack of seeing where the fuck I was located was indeed the fear I wanted to inspire.
A quick look down at where I was standing showed what affect Alligator Boots with metal heel and tip can do to tin foil meant to be a bonnet.
I leapt from the initial position to the drivers side of the car and took out the dramatically over tinted window and then the passengers side as I wanted them all to see me and see the effect of their actions – action equals consequence and consequence was me.
Surprisingly the gesticulations were not in evidence only bodies leaning away from me with whitened faces previous to this I had only seen on corpses.
I leant into the driver’s side and tapped the ash of my slowly burning cigarillo into his lap and looked at him through my Pilots Sunglasses.
Silence is a word best felt and understood in these kinds of situations, you truly experience it in its visceral form before the spelling of the word was decided upon.
“I know you” he said, his timbre being alike that of a castrato though trying to raise to at least a tenor, “I know you from prison, you won’t get away with this”.
Really.
“You know me do you? Well if that’s the case you know who I know in prison, who I know outside of prison, who I know on both sides of the bars and you should at least have an understanding of opinions of me. Is this not true?”
An understanding crossed his face.
Sirens began to come to our respective ears from the distance but most definitely coming our way.
“You’d better motor on off in a slow inconspicuous manner; I’ll take care of the cops”.
“Are you sure?” he asked with acquiescence.
“Yip, just remember our conversation and everything will be fine” I replied with the Freddy Club languidly hanging over my shoulder.
The import shuddered off and I watched it’s over sized muffler disappear into the distance as marked and unmarked Police cars screeched to a halt around me.
I turned around to see guns drawn and pointing at me.
The guns went down as I turned around and the plainclothes Detective came wandering up to me.
“Jesus Dave, why this again?”
“You guy’s like the chase, you like the hunt and more than that you like the anticipation of it all and pushing those over powered cars past their limit as you know they’re not yours and seeing how fast you can go over these new speed bumps is fun”.
“True” he conceded, “But why only the Cowboy Hat and Alligator boots? Can’t you for once put on a shirt and some pants? It scares the shite out of people”
“I believe you just answered your own question, and besides nothing goes with it – and don’t you dare mention leather, cows are my friends, for reasons we will not go into here, too many witness’s”.
“Well did you at least get the number plate?”
“Of course, but forget about them, they are going to be laying low and ‘wondering when’ for some time, my way saves you time, overtime and a shit load of paperwork”.
He seemed annoyed and placated at the same time, though I could see he was in agreement with everything we had talked about.
He finally spoke.
“Guess I’ll see you at my place with the rest of the force for the BBQ tonight?”
“Indeed, it would be rude not to, I’ll bring the family”
“Good” he quickly retorted “At least I know you’ll be wearing clothes”.
“Yes my friend, for I am a culture vulture and understand customs handed down from the ancient Inca’s, my head dress will be in full plume and the skirt I wear will be ironed”.
“As usual then” as he walked back to the unmarked vehicle and motioned the uninitiated cops back to their cars.
I stood a little longer after they had left; sometimes it is a strange yet fulfilling feeling dealing with both sides of the force in such a short period of time and having the outcome you want, the outcome you predicted.
Though it still (after so long) leaves me wondering where I fit in amongst it all.
In the dark of night when others are asleep and my minds synaptic messages do not allow this for me I realize this is the human condition, one example of its many forms.
The Grey Madness
17.10.09
17.10.09
It would appear more of the Gargoyles have inserted themselves into the prison system.
Of all Monsters these are the ones that prefer this environment, the dank corners, and the high walls, the towers which give them a special sight and air at night.
The fact that we do not see them as Gargoyles in the prison setting is that they are in a place of Power for them and our retinas see not the danger and influence that their Evil peddles. What we think we see are system changers of those that in most cases do not appreciate the workers on the floor, or as Communism would have the Proletariats.
Simples Proles these Gargoyles believe of us as they go about making prison something that it is not and was never meant to be, laughing whilst the Evil energy does not have to be managed by them but added to the yoke that us on the floor carry and in time turn against each other.
Change by disintegration of communion or companionship.
Change without the power of the ones that actually do the work is a clever and not often seen or recognized form of system change or management.
And people think that gargoyles are only stone idolatry based high on archaic buildings.
Seen many lately?
My point exactly – they are not on the corners of Churches here or even now in the Eastern Block they are aware this is their time, a time where we all fail to see that Monsters in various environments are not seen any more as the belief has faded or indeed gone.
How can you see something your brain and eyes no longer accept or even understand?
You don’t.
So to you reading this should explain the power shift.
I only realized the extent of this power shift the other day when I railed aggressively against a fellow worker, a friend, when the underlying issue was not his but a change from the Ivory Towers that understand not the pressure of maintaining the true Evil and Danger that society has given to us to manage, to look after and to ensure their rights are served above our own.
At this time I began to see the gargoyle in the corner grinning, not the one that had made the changes but the shape shifting glimmer of one watching with a certain mirth the damage he/she was creating.
These Monsters had achieved the outcome they wanted, us fighting against each other, though the glimmering grinning Gargoyle disappeared annoyed when we Proles worked our issues through and became one again.
One of these Monsters may be gone for now though the over all plan remains the same and the division of us on the floor is it’s basic and powerful plan.
I am no fool (at this specific moment), I personally know how much energy and emotion this saps out of me and therefore I imagine out of others that in ways think or intrinsically know the same thing, perhaps in different ways though the effect is the same and I see good people drop by the wayside daily,
Through no fault of their own and I hold nothing against them for they are no doubt smarter than I.
I do not think at this point we will win as the game has been stacked for far too long and we who know how to manage and safely run a prison funnily enough are the ones that do not have the voice or power, but this will not stop me from trying to do the best for those around me, staff and prisoners alike.
The Best.
‘They’ think we do not know this or practice it anymore.
The Best takes a lot from an individual.
It takes sacrifice.
Ask my wife, ask those who used to know me, look at me now as opposed to then.
When asked why I continue, “why not leave?”
When for most of your life you’re told you’ll end up in prison as a you’re a lowlife and no good at anything (my teachers) and you’re able to get into the heads of those who have locked their Demons away for eons, when you're better at risk assessment than most including experts in mental health as well as maintaining their safety with reference to physical, emotional, intra-psychic, spiritual and mental health –
You keep going.
The Gargoyles have seen me and I have seen them, we both know we represent opposing sides and battle will be met without quarter,
What they fail to realize is that I am close to winning what ever decision I make.
This on several levels should at least cause a ripple.
The Grey Madness, Gollum, his 6000 year old Dog and The 6ft White Wabbit.
It would appear more of the Gargoyles have inserted themselves into the prison system.
Of all Monsters these are the ones that prefer this environment, the dank corners, and the high walls, the towers which give them a special sight and air at night.
The fact that we do not see them as Gargoyles in the prison setting is that they are in a place of Power for them and our retinas see not the danger and influence that their Evil peddles. What we think we see are system changers of those that in most cases do not appreciate the workers on the floor, or as Communism would have the Proletariats.
Simples Proles these Gargoyles believe of us as they go about making prison something that it is not and was never meant to be, laughing whilst the Evil energy does not have to be managed by them but added to the yoke that us on the floor carry and in time turn against each other.
Change by disintegration of communion or companionship.
Change without the power of the ones that actually do the work is a clever and not often seen or recognized form of system change or management.
And people think that gargoyles are only stone idolatry based high on archaic buildings.
Seen many lately?
My point exactly – they are not on the corners of Churches here or even now in the Eastern Block they are aware this is their time, a time where we all fail to see that Monsters in various environments are not seen any more as the belief has faded or indeed gone.
How can you see something your brain and eyes no longer accept or even understand?
You don’t.
So to you reading this should explain the power shift.
I only realized the extent of this power shift the other day when I railed aggressively against a fellow worker, a friend, when the underlying issue was not his but a change from the Ivory Towers that understand not the pressure of maintaining the true Evil and Danger that society has given to us to manage, to look after and to ensure their rights are served above our own.
At this time I began to see the gargoyle in the corner grinning, not the one that had made the changes but the shape shifting glimmer of one watching with a certain mirth the damage he/she was creating.
These Monsters had achieved the outcome they wanted, us fighting against each other, though the glimmering grinning Gargoyle disappeared annoyed when we Proles worked our issues through and became one again.
One of these Monsters may be gone for now though the over all plan remains the same and the division of us on the floor is it’s basic and powerful plan.
I am no fool (at this specific moment), I personally know how much energy and emotion this saps out of me and therefore I imagine out of others that in ways think or intrinsically know the same thing, perhaps in different ways though the effect is the same and I see good people drop by the wayside daily,
Through no fault of their own and I hold nothing against them for they are no doubt smarter than I.
I do not think at this point we will win as the game has been stacked for far too long and we who know how to manage and safely run a prison funnily enough are the ones that do not have the voice or power, but this will not stop me from trying to do the best for those around me, staff and prisoners alike.
The Best.
‘They’ think we do not know this or practice it anymore.
The Best takes a lot from an individual.
It takes sacrifice.
Ask my wife, ask those who used to know me, look at me now as opposed to then.
When asked why I continue, “why not leave?”
When for most of your life you’re told you’ll end up in prison as a you’re a lowlife and no good at anything (my teachers) and you’re able to get into the heads of those who have locked their Demons away for eons, when you're better at risk assessment than most including experts in mental health as well as maintaining their safety with reference to physical, emotional, intra-psychic, spiritual and mental health –
You keep going.
The Gargoyles have seen me and I have seen them, we both know we represent opposing sides and battle will be met without quarter,
What they fail to realize is that I am close to winning what ever decision I make.
This on several levels should at least cause a ripple.
The Grey Madness, Gollum, his 6000 year old Dog and The 6ft White Wabbit.
Ramblings of the Disenchanted
05.10.09
I’m a loser.
Of course I will not be able to bring the feeling that Beck could though the title is enough; short, simple and to the point.
Today is caught up in wide proclamations as well as made up diagnosis that gives those who need them leverage and meaning to their lives or to the lives of others around them.
Can’t really rant against them due to the states I find myself in but at least I know I have the diagnosis that DSM won’t include – I’m a loser or alternatively, I’m fucked up.
Again – short, simple and to the point.
Some people aren’t meant to live a natural life; not meant to proceed through the given ages to the end that some idiots believe God gave them. These ones that decide to take another course at times are assessed as mentally unwell.
Well let’s look at the criteria of the Mental Health Act 1992 and amendments with regards to mental disorder as mental disorder has a different definition than that of mental illness – mentally disordered under the MHA 1992 is about inability to take care of oneself or dependants and be a risk to self or others – in the simplest of descriptions.
Am I unable to take care of myself and dependants? – probably not but there is Heidi the wife to take care of them and who really needs a fucked mind such as mine I existence?
Am I a risk to my dependants? No – only by remaining.
Am I a risk to myself? – I hope so.
And so we come to the debate of why I should not be allowed to take events and life into my own hands as I am not under legal disability (i.e. able to make sound decisions, instruct a lawyer, construct a defense which I am doing now by the sounds of things).
People would argue that a sound decision is not toward self annihilation though I would argue that life, religion and law has become so engrained that there is little alternative left to the other side, the other decision that can be well thought out through the time given to the individual.
Should we think strongly about it we should come to the conclusion that the Ages and Empires have all come to ends often due to individuals or many individuals that have not been able to sustain the expectations of the multitude.
Expectations – it always comes down to expectations, whether you’re a Caesar, Tyrant or Mongol leader, whether you’re a single individual that decides now is the time.
No-one can decide that for you unless they have a bullet driven into your brain.
And then perhaps you should thank them.
Thank them for the time and effort they used without thinking.
But in any case they closed the book.
No more chapters.
No more verses,
No Gospel,
Back to the Nothing.
Where everything begins and all ends, no favors, no expectations, just nothing.
The Grey Madness
I’m a loser.
Of course I will not be able to bring the feeling that Beck could though the title is enough; short, simple and to the point.
Today is caught up in wide proclamations as well as made up diagnosis that gives those who need them leverage and meaning to their lives or to the lives of others around them.
Can’t really rant against them due to the states I find myself in but at least I know I have the diagnosis that DSM won’t include – I’m a loser or alternatively, I’m fucked up.
Again – short, simple and to the point.
Some people aren’t meant to live a natural life; not meant to proceed through the given ages to the end that some idiots believe God gave them. These ones that decide to take another course at times are assessed as mentally unwell.
Well let’s look at the criteria of the Mental Health Act 1992 and amendments with regards to mental disorder as mental disorder has a different definition than that of mental illness – mentally disordered under the MHA 1992 is about inability to take care of oneself or dependants and be a risk to self or others – in the simplest of descriptions.
Am I unable to take care of myself and dependants? – probably not but there is Heidi the wife to take care of them and who really needs a fucked mind such as mine I existence?
Am I a risk to my dependants? No – only by remaining.
Am I a risk to myself? – I hope so.
And so we come to the debate of why I should not be allowed to take events and life into my own hands as I am not under legal disability (i.e. able to make sound decisions, instruct a lawyer, construct a defense which I am doing now by the sounds of things).
People would argue that a sound decision is not toward self annihilation though I would argue that life, religion and law has become so engrained that there is little alternative left to the other side, the other decision that can be well thought out through the time given to the individual.
Should we think strongly about it we should come to the conclusion that the Ages and Empires have all come to ends often due to individuals or many individuals that have not been able to sustain the expectations of the multitude.
Expectations – it always comes down to expectations, whether you’re a Caesar, Tyrant or Mongol leader, whether you’re a single individual that decides now is the time.
No-one can decide that for you unless they have a bullet driven into your brain.
And then perhaps you should thank them.
Thank them for the time and effort they used without thinking.
But in any case they closed the book.
No more chapters.
No more verses,
No Gospel,
Back to the Nothing.
Where everything begins and all ends, no favors, no expectations, just nothing.
The Grey Madness
Psychotropic
18.09.09
The little pills have gone,
Gone the way of the bigger ones,
Swirling round the toilet at speed as the water falls from the urn into the bowl.
Would they really swirl the other way around should I be playing with my mental state in the Northern Hemisphere? Would I be allowed the quantity I have managed to stockpile in the Northern Hemisphere? And would they have ever let me back on the streets?
Many questions come from time in the toilet though as I have learnt the responses are not always answers or if they are I have learnt that on occasion they miss the mark, by quite a mile.
Or a Barn Door.
You know why Barn’s are painted red?
Cause it’s the cheapest color.
Red is not a color you want to see in the toilet especially if you are male, something is definitely amiss.
Males apparently miss the toilet a lot.
I don’t know how, with all those pills to aim at.
The fluorescent lights have been flickering lately, one has blown, the one on the left hand side of our room so my speech pattern and recognition is impaired though at least I remain able to abstract and miss the door frame whilst the right handed fluro keeps going, this however is now taking about a minute to alight, not a good sign when you decide perhaps you need the pills, searching for them in the dark whilst the linguist in me talks about hairbrushes making banana milkshakes ensuring coal as the secret ingredient – trust me, that secret will be well kept.
Lights or not I still know where the toilet is.
Where my pills are,
Slowly dissolving into the bowl,
This however is not too much of a problem as I haven’t flushed in 76 hours and the psychotropic strength combined with the renal residue ensures the fluorescent lights come back to life, the whirlwind slows down and eerily the words written in blood on the ceiling begin to make sense.
Change the goddamn bulbs.
The Grey Madness
The little pills have gone,
Gone the way of the bigger ones,
Swirling round the toilet at speed as the water falls from the urn into the bowl.
Would they really swirl the other way around should I be playing with my mental state in the Northern Hemisphere? Would I be allowed the quantity I have managed to stockpile in the Northern Hemisphere? And would they have ever let me back on the streets?
Many questions come from time in the toilet though as I have learnt the responses are not always answers or if they are I have learnt that on occasion they miss the mark, by quite a mile.
Or a Barn Door.
You know why Barn’s are painted red?
Cause it’s the cheapest color.
Red is not a color you want to see in the toilet especially if you are male, something is definitely amiss.
Males apparently miss the toilet a lot.
I don’t know how, with all those pills to aim at.
The fluorescent lights have been flickering lately, one has blown, the one on the left hand side of our room so my speech pattern and recognition is impaired though at least I remain able to abstract and miss the door frame whilst the right handed fluro keeps going, this however is now taking about a minute to alight, not a good sign when you decide perhaps you need the pills, searching for them in the dark whilst the linguist in me talks about hairbrushes making banana milkshakes ensuring coal as the secret ingredient – trust me, that secret will be well kept.
Lights or not I still know where the toilet is.
Where my pills are,
Slowly dissolving into the bowl,
This however is not too much of a problem as I haven’t flushed in 76 hours and the psychotropic strength combined with the renal residue ensures the fluorescent lights come back to life, the whirlwind slows down and eerily the words written in blood on the ceiling begin to make sense.
Change the goddamn bulbs.
The Grey Madness
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