Hmmmmmm...

I visited my parents this weekend. Usually this gives me great stress...

Great gobs of green slimy stressful stress...

This time was not that different. My parents have not changed much in the years I have been gone. My Dad seemed very happy and my mom talked my ears off bringing me up to date with just about every crisis, catastrophe and argument that has occurred over the last 3 - 4 years since my last visit/exile/banishment from the kingdom of Oz...

Saw a few of my sisters and that was really great - felt like I connected with Cathy - at least a bit anyways - possibly Susan but most definitively not Lorrie - although she and I never really got along. To be honest I still hold the Mrs. Beasley incident against her.

In any case my family accepted me back with the exceptions of a few who, I am sure, would rather I never ever ever came back at all.

To these people I say "too fricking bad asswipes... the prodigal son has returned..." (insert trumpets here)

and...

cut.

Wonders and wonders and still a few more frickin' wonders

It is strange for me right now.

Surreal actually.

To the few people who actually read this blog I beg your indulgence while i catch you up since my last entry last march.

Faithful readers - the two or three of you that may actually remember - i was dating a girl named Amanda - was feeling like i was in love with her - was still using drugs fairly heavily and wound up going to jail for a break and enter that Amanda and I committed across from the Toronto Sun building on King Street.

Cue music... "oh the things you do for love..." sheesh eh?

Well Amanda is gone now and while a part of me still remembers the hurt - I now try and simply remember how nice, very nice it was while it lasted.

Nuff' said about this though.

Have managed to work off of drugs from march to June and stopped using in late June after one more insane run which i will write about one day but not today as it is a longer story and not really suitable for the summary i am currently writing - lets just say its a story and a half and if you know anything at all about the stories I tell and write about then I am hoping that this line will suitably tease you into looking for the story in future postings.

Have been clean since then - moved into the first of what i am thinking will be several half-decent places as I quest for the perfect place to hang my hat after many years abroad within the naked and slightly deranged city...

I go to NA, CA and even AA now - I can not see or hang out with any of the drug users or criminals I used to - I work constantly on my recovery - I carry great shame and guilt over some of the things I did over the last five years - some i will be able to make amends for and others I will not. I lost a lot of friends and people who were once important to me - which is a shame in itself. On the other hand though I have developed some new relationships with good people over the last six months and reconnected with some others. My children love me again and I see them as much as i possibly can - we have really good relationships now and i can only see them getting better and stronger as we move down the road together. I have reconnected with my parents and some of my sisters and cousins and one uncle and I hope to continue to do this.

Most importantly, my obsession to use have finally left me - i hit the end of the darkened tunnel i had been walking through - often stumbling, sometimes falling flat on my ass or face depending on the way the wind blew...

I am starting to create once more and that feels really good - better than i can possibly put into words.

So. this is where I am right now. Not nearly as exciting as my title indicates but ths' ok too.

Will post more later...

cheers!

Chapter Two - What has gone before – Jane - 1985 part one

Jane left her house on a cool November evening at six o’clock with no expectations other than meeting her friend Janice and Susan, getting some older guy to buy them a bottle of something tasty at the liquor store, getting hammered and then hitting the dance her school was holding that night.

As she walked down the leaf filled side street to Susan’s place she mused quietly to herself about the real reason they were heading to the dance. True they all loved to dance but for the most part the rest of the kids who attended to school were way too preppy for her and her friends. She had wanted to avoid the dance entirely but Susan had insisted they attend. Jane was fairly certain that her friend was getting ready to fuck the exchange student from Sri Lanka. It wasn’t that Susan really liked him or anything but she did have a dirty little habit of fucking any boy who struck her as interesting in any way and the exchange student had been a focus of conversation for a few days now.

To be truthful Jane was not that interested in any of the boys who attended their school. They all seemed so very young to her and except for a few drunken make-out sessions in Janice’s finished basement and that ill-fated date with Miles at the beach party during the summer – she still considered herself a virgin. She masturbated frequently for someone so virginal and if you asked her whose face she saw as she approached climax she would not have been able to tell you. In her mind he was yet unnamed – still an unknown.

Like any seventeen year old girl she had an ideal that her mind was forming around and she was certain she would know who he was when she saw him. Janice had been dating the same boy, a tall and stunningly handsome frat boy on a football scholarship type named Carl, for two years and they had carefully scheduled sleepover dates every Saturday night.

Usually Janice spent Monday and Tuesday lunches describing in detail every sordid act they committed between sundown Saturday and sunrise on Sunday. She and Susan would squeal in delight as Janice filled them in on what she did with her mouth, what he did with his and the numerous positions of actual intercourse between.

The running joke between them all would occur after Janice finally told them of the earth-moving orgasm she would have at he end of her date and Susan would inevitably comment that she should write a book. To which Jane would always respond that she had – it was called the Karma Sutra – to which they would launch into peels of fresh laughter. It never seemed to get old.

Jane had decided to dress up a bit for the dance so that she would not feel so upstaged by her friends, who always treated these things like the full-on fashion extravaganzas. While Jane knew is was unlikely that a Fashion czar would suddenly appear at the dance and sweep any of them away to mega stardom in the world of protein-starved cocaine-fueled photo shoots, she had selected a pair of crisp, black, skin tight jeans, her Doc Martens - freshly shined for a night of who knew what with who knew who - and a soft white cashemere top with short sleeves that seemed to show off both her cleavage and the curves of her young breasts in ways that made even the most committed guy look twice.

She looked hot and she knew it and when she arrived at Susan's place she enjoyed the whistles and mock cat-calls that her friends greeted her with. Both Susan and Janice looked fantastic. Susan wore a variation on the little black dress that looked painted on it was so tight - she had opted out of wearing a bra and her nipples were almost visible through the sheer material.

"If this doesn't get Mohammed's attention tonight, nothing will" she commented to Jane as the three girls fussed over their makeup in the bathroom of Susan's house.

"Well, if Mohammed doesn't notice those headlights he's either blind or gay" Janice added and the three girls laughed heartily.

They had been drinking steadily since Susan's brother Stan dropped off a large bottle of Vodka about ten minutes after Jane arrived. He was three years older than they were and could buy liquor easily but seldom acted as their supplier. Jane had flirted with his pretty heavily when she first arrived and she could feel him sizing her up out of the corner of her eye as she spoke to Janice and Susan about how they would obtain the night's liquid lubricant. A few come hither looks later from both Janice and herself and Stan was in the car and rushing off to the liquor store to do their evil bidding.

"If he drooled any harder over your tits in that sweater I swear he would have slipped on it and knocked himself senseless" Susan teased after he had left to get the vodka.

"It didn't help that Janice over here was getting dressed in front of him. Standing around in just her bra and skirt. I could just about see her panties when she was putting on those stockings of hers" Jane retorted with an evil looking smile.

Janice pulled on her own top - a pale yellow blouse that matched the ribbon in her hair- tossed her long brown hair back over her shoulder and laughed, with mock innocence in her voice said "I've been getting dressed in front of Stan since I was five years old - I can't help it if he likes to watch".

The three primped until Stan arrived with the vodka and once he arrived Susan was quick to dismiss her in order to - as she put it- talk about girl stuff. Stan didn't put up much of a fight but made sure he took his time going back up the stairs taking one last opportunity to check both Janice and Jane out from head to toe.

"Call me if you need a ride home Sue" he shouted from the last stair before looking back once more - likely hoping to see more of Janice and her stockings or Jane and her shapely breasts.

Chapter One – What has gone before – James - 1985

James Watson was seventeen years old, attending grade twelve at the neighborhood high school and impressively, almost staggeringly high on several hits of purple mike acid the night he first met Jane.
Earlier that evening, he and his friend Dave had met on the corner of Old Weston Road and Montgomery Road and after a few minutes of hushed almost frantic conversation, had gone on to commit a daring break and enter on a music store – stealing several electric guitars – one of which may have or may not have been a Fender Stratocaster.
In addition to the five guitars that the two sweet faced and shabbily dressed young men made off with that night - James also pocketed a silver harmonica off the table of the darkened shop.
He would wind up keeping the harmonica as a sort of talisman against personal harm on future crimes he would commit. Crimes he would commit against his fellow man – crimes he would commit of the heart, and most of all - crimes he would commit against himself.
If asked, later on in life, about his superstitious and almost obsessive nature of carrying around this harmonica he would grin a mischievous grin, use his left hand to brush the stray and wild locks of dark hair that always hung in his eyes back and over his forehead and begin to chuckle softly as if laughing at a private joke.
James linked his protective talisman to every thing that was good in his life. The day he scored his silver token he had met Jane – who he fell in love with instantly – with the intensity that only acid and especially purple mike flavored acid can bring to the type of hormonally charged, adrenaline fueled, juvenile delinquent that he aspired to be.
He and Dave, who was a good looking boy according to his female classmates, taller than James by a good six inches with a cheerful face and strong squared jaw had just left the music store by way of a back window situated some eight feet above the ground in the rear of the building. James had sent Dave out first and then handed each guitar carefully out the window and lowered it into Dave’s waiting hands.
By the time all the stolen guitars were passed down Dave resembled an overloaded roadie/caddie the straps of each guitar crisscrossing across his chest in a manner that struck James very similar to the Union Jack. As he lowered himself to the ground and landed with a soft thud he told Dave that he looked like the British flag.
Dave laughed and started singing “God Save the Queen” in a raspy broken voice that would have made any aspiring punk musician proud. James laughed heartily at his friend, rolled his eyes and with relish suddenly joined in the singing.
Ten years later James would remember this night with vivid accuracy - the two of them, best of friends – invulnerable to harm - laden down with their stolen wares and full of the jubilant glee that can only come after a successful and totally illegal evening’s work.
The two wannabe master criminals made their way down Weston Road, cockily aware of oncoming vehicles and making sure they slid far enough into the shadows of the cool November night so that they would not be seen. They may have been cocky but they were far from stupid. To be caught would not only ruin the night’s festivities but it would also result in another trip to the Sudbury Juvenile detention Centre where the two had met the previous year.
James had been caught stealing chocolates, of all things, at the local shopping mall’s Laura Secord store. The security guards at the mall had taken him down rather harshly as exiting the mall and when James stepped off the little yellow school bus in Sudbury he had looked pretty much the archetype of the battered and beaten down street hooligan. It was an image he wore with cocky pride.
He was a mosaic of bumps and bruises. He had seven stitches above his right eye and his left arm was in a cast and had been signed by as many of his friends as space would allow. Written prominently across the forearm of the cast were the words “GIVE ‘M HELL JAMES!!” printed in big, bold block letters by his friend Alice just before he left Toronto.
She had magically produced a thick black sharpie and had meticulously printed out the message while simultaneously slipping little folded cellophane packets of acid, hash and pot into the cast through the opening at the wrist. Most of his friends had come to see him off that time and for the most part he never really expected to see any of them again.
This was his reasoning as he planted the end all and be all of kisses on Alice seconds before they pulled him away and tossed him roughly onto the bus. She had tasted like vanilla and their tongues swam for scant seconds, teeth clicking so very softly before they were abruptly pulled apart. Looking out the dirty bus window at the group of his friend gathered to see him off he saw that Alice was crying now. Johnny’s brother Steve had put his arm around her in an attempt to try and console her and she turned into it, sobbing into his shoulder and upper chest.
James felt immediate pangs of jealousy over the move. Couldn’t the guy have at least waited until I was out of sight before pulling that sort of shit? He thought to himself bitterly, his face a complex mosaic of yellowing purple and red bruises and his eyes welling up over the tearful goodbye. His pants felt a little tight around the crotch as a result of Alice’s well-educated lips and soft warm tongue. His stomach was churning over being forced to leave. His mouth was dry and for a moment he thought he would pass out from the light-headedness he was feeling. He struggled with his feelings until the dizziness lifted.
His eyes flitted over to his Father who was standing in the back of the crowd with his large arms folded over his equally large over-coated chest. His hair blow wildly in the late November wind and his collar was turned up to protect his face from the cold chill of the air.
He was a large man, well over six feet tall and wide in the shoulders. A thick grayish silver beard framed his wide face and seemed to highlight the sharp lines of both his brow and nose. His eyes were sky blue in color and the dark rings beneath them alluded to more than a few sleepless nights in recent days. James could remember his Mother telling him once a long time ago that his Father’s eyes were a way to look into his soul and see all the things he bottled up tight inside of him. Although when James looked in his father’s eyes he saw disappointment, loneliness and fear. He wished he could have seen love or even a little bit of parental concern – but James could only see his own feelings mirrored back and this almost always caused him to look away.
James’ Father looked on in silence, seemingly feeling uncomfortable at the display of youthful affection the gathered teens were showing his son. Maybe he was proud, but James would never know. His father stood there like a statue and even when their eyes met though the dirty glass window James could read nothing and after a few seconds he simply looked away. The bus lurched forward and off they went and after a few seconds James could no longer see the small crowd of kids screaming and waving at his departure.
When he arrived in Sudbury he was grateful for the chance to stand up and stretch his legs and lower back as he had actually fallen asleep for a majority of the long drive. There were three others on the small bus and for the most part they had all kept to themselves.
James had not paid much attention to the on the trip itself but once the inside light came on inside the bus he could see that, like himself they were beaten, haggad and more than a little scared.
They had passed the time by sleeping or staring banefully out the window of the bus at the passing snow covered and by now twilight colored countryside. The driver had pulled through a drive through coffee shop in Barrie but had not asked the boys in the back if they wanted anything and they had not asked.
It was a bleak two-storied building they pulled into and as he stepped off the bus he could feel the bite of the winter wind on his sore and battered face. He had already tucked his dope deep into the crevice of his cast and was confident that the only way anyone would find it was to dig it out with a long pencil or if worse came to worse actually remove the cast and let the small packages fall out – exposing his illicit drug use to everyone.
If anything, he had a half-hearted hope to be caught smuggling the drugs he was carrying in his cast into the facility and thereby elevate his standing among the other delinquents currently incarcerated there.
As he left the bus and walked up the wide, granite slab sidewalk, recently shoveled by the looks of it, James felt his freedom slip away with every step. It was a feeling he would come to know with the intimacy of a lover. He breathing became shallow and every step towards the door brought him closer and closer to feeling like he was about to be buried alive.
James was two feet from the door and about to be the third boy through the door and he suddenly felt that he was about to succumb to absolute mind-numbing, pant wetting panic.
He knees began to buckle and tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. His adams apple felt painfully large for his throat and scant seconds before he was about to cry he was stopped dead in his tracks. The boy in front of him threw his arms up with a piecing wail and grabbed hold of the door frame – refusing to enter the building.
The boy fell to his knees crying and screaming that he was sorry and just wanted to go home, please he cried, he just wanted to go home. Ashamed of feeling the same way and embarrassed by the display James diverted his eyes from the scene and his gaze landed on the windows of the second floor of the building and to his surprise there were dozens of somber faces looking down at the four newcomers and the scene unfolding on the steps.
The faces were young ranging from twelve to possible eighteen years of age, but the eyes told a different story. These were not the eyes of children or even of youth but they were they eyes of men who had already seen and felt and experience more life and pain then any young man should ever have to.
These were the eyes of the street, the hoodlum, the drug addict, the homeless man drinking Listerine, the glue snifter who huffed paint thinner in a desperate attempt to kill the pain.
Feeling strangely comforted, James suddenly knew he would be ok.
Later that night he met his bunkmate Dave and as a show of respect James divided up his dope and he and Dave got as high as they could stand – staying up all night trading sharing stories about girls they slept with, hearts they broke, fights they had won, families that didn’t understand them, teachers that hated them and crimes they had gotten away with.
(THE FOLLOWING DAY _MEETING THE REST OF THE BOYS)
The following night after dinner James fell asleep almost instantly. He could remember feeling a sense of kinship with the rest of the youthful criminal element around him. It was a strange sense of comfort - similar to that he felt when he would stay out for days at a time with his friends, drinking, drugging. fighting and fucking.
He slept well that night and when he woke up he woke up with a sense of pride. He knew that he would be ok. He knew deep in his being that he would survive this ordeal – that he would become a stronger person because of it. That coming to that god-awful place had not destroyed him, had not broken him as he had originally thought it might.
James had not seen the boy who broke down on the steps since he arrived and for all he knew perhaps that display had worked and the boy sent home – full of remorse and rehabilitation. Perhaps he got his wish and was allowed back onto the bus and returned home to his grateful parents.
James would never know what became of the crying boy, but he would never forget how close he came to being that guy. It was this experience that taught him to bury his hurt and weakness deep within himself.
He was stronger than that, stronger than most and he would never give them the satisfaction of knowing they could somehow hurt him.
The remainder of his time in Sudbury passed in a blur of classes, meals, exercise time, card games, long-winded boasting sessions with the other guys, the occasional fight and evening drug use with Dave. The two became close and when it was time for Dave’s release – a full month and a half before James they swore a blood oath to hook up again in Toronto when they were both free.
James doubted he would ever see his friend again and served the remainder of his time in a haze, using more acid to get through the day and ending each evening staring out the window of his room at the thawing snow banks, numb from his evening hash intake.
On his release he toyed with the idea of seeing his old friends but wound up simply going back to his Father’s house, getting a summer job at the closest pharmacy and basically keeping his head down until school started in September.
His first day back to regular High School arrived and he pulled together his book-bag, threw a handful of pencils into it and headed out the door expecting the day to suck more than any previous day had before it. He threw his heavy and badly beaten leather jacket over his shoulders and said goodbye to his Father.
He took his usual route to the school, passing others he recognized along the way and because he was feeling like crap about life in general he kept his head down, the smoke from his cigarette swirling around and through his thick mop of dark hair. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone and when he turned into the school he was annoyed to find that someone was deliberately blocking his path into the building. He looked up from the sidewalk, smoke from his cigarette making him squint – ready to slap down the asshole blocking his path.
James sighed and lifted his head to give the bastard his best “do you really want to fuck with me so early in th day” look and as he did so he found himself looking directly into the smiling face of his friend Dave.
More than a few curses later the two were reunited and joyful to discover they had signed up for most of the same classes that semester.
They were inseparable, incorrigible and more than a little streetwise. For James it was as if he had been reconnected to his Siamese brother and there were no limits to the things they could do.
A perfect example of the things they would find themselves doing was the music store burglary. James had scoped the place out and came up with the plan, making sure they could get rid of the stolen instruments at a local biker clubhouse afterwards in exchange for copious amount of illegal and illicit narcotics. As usual all he needed to do was spell the plan out to Dave and it was game on.
The job had gone off as well as could be expected and they arrived at the clubhouse on schedule and went up the stairs of the large residential house and rang the bell. Hearts beating a little faster as neither of them had actually been inside before. They had spoken at lengths earlier about the nessessity to appear at ease while dealing with the bikers. To make sure they didn’t come across as punk-ass kids and above all else, they had to make sure that in no way, shape or form - show disrespect to anyone in the house.
The whole encounter took less than ten minutes, but to the two teens it felt more like an hour.
A large bearded man wearing a dirty black muscle shirt that read “Yeah I Fucked Yo’ Momma” and equally filthy pair of jeans answered the door looked annoyed as hell at the interruption.
He asked them what the fuck they wanted and James told the man that they were there to see someone named Little Devon.
The burly biker grunted in mock annoyance and waved them through the door into a wide front hallway. The boys maneuvered through the door carefully making sure the guitars did not touch or scratch the walls as they entered the “Momma Fucker”, as James later referred to him, closed the front door behind them and took his time putting the dozen or so locking mechanisms back in place. Dave’s mouth dropped open as he counted no less than eight deadbolts and at least seven chains. This was not including the thick slab of lumber the biker wedged under the handle of the door itself.
He looked up smiling wickedly at the boys and noticing Dave’s look of amazement told them that it was a rough neighborhood and that you could never be too careful.
The boys nodded in agreement – not really knowing any other way to respond.
They were led through a dimly lit living area filled with men and women who represented the spectrum of the biker subculture. Several men in black leather played pool at a table on the far side of the room. Another dozen or so men and women – all in various degrees of undress sat around a long coffee table cluttered with beer bottles ashtrays and other assorted drugs, paraphernalia and garbage.
You could smell the pungent aroma of pungent pot mixing with acrid cigarette smoke, sweetly musky sweat and stale beer. On the far end of the couch that sat nearest the table, one of the bikers was suckling on the teat of a large breasted woman with a number of tattoos. Her fingers glided lazily back and forth across one nipple as the man suck the other. She looked very high and seemed to look through the two young men as they passed through the room and up a set of stairs on the far side of the room.
The inside of the house was dirty and unkempt but was not without its own charm to both boys. They later spoke of the numerous weapons they had seen leaning against various walls, the number of bare breasts they saw and the sheer quantity of drugs they saw during their short visit. In the main living room alone they saw at least a half pound of pot, several people hot knifing hash, a bowl full of white powder which could have only been cocaine.
When they got to the top of the stairs they were led into a small room and the “Yo’ Momma” Biker pointed them to a couple of chairs and left the room. It was a small room with a large black Harley Davidson poster scotch taped to one wall. The wall opposite the poster contained a large window that overlooked the front yard.
Dave walked over to it and looked down onto the street. He was a little nervous. He and James began to unload the guitars just as Little Devon entered the room and whistled appreciatively at the guitars. He was short, greasy and was sporting a wicked looking handlebar mustache. James stepped forward and shook hands with Little Devon.
They exchanged a few words about the number of instruments versus the quantity of narcotic they received and after a few minutes of dickering back and forth they both smiled and Little Devon pulled out a small brown paper package wrapped in string. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small plastic bag full of pot and tossed it over to Dave.
They three shook hands and Little Devon clapped them both on the back, encouraging them to come back and visit often. He led them down a second set of stairs and out the back door of the house into the adjoining back alley.
They had made a successful deal and left the clubhouse with two hundred hits of purple mike acid and almost an ounce of pot. The pot they would sell and the acid they divided equally. They took two hits each and stashed the rest deep into the recesses of their battered leather jackets, oblivious to the fact that if they were pulled over by police they would likely be facing some serious possession for the purpose of trafficking charges.
They continued to wind their way through the city’s west end until finally they found themselves both peaking and standing across from a High School that was quite obviously holding some kind of dance.
The two high teens entered the High School and bought tickets for, what Dave thought with a smirk, a ridiculously high price and went into the dance.
They were there for less than a minute before Jane walked by and began a love affair that would change everything James ever knew. It would be the only true relationship James would ever have with another human being. It would begin with the shyest smile and would later circumvent every natural law, every reasonable emotion and somehow even cross the boundaries of time itself.
James may not have known it at the time, but he was about to meet his match.

Warnings! Do Not Antagonize, Tease or Comment on the Cut of Gib!

It would seem that the police appear to think they can simply stop me anytime they like and if they don't like the cut of my gib ~ so to speak ~ they charge me with a breach of my probation ("failure to keep the peace") and whoosh - badda bing baDDa bOOm - a week in jail.
Just like that.
Really.
and people wonder why i do not care for the way our police act.
They abuse their power constantly. Over my time as a poor homeless man suffering and battling drug addiction i was beaten by them, arrested several time for absolutely no reason, harassed by them on countless other occasions, publicly humiliated by them, had friends of mine beaten, robbed and raped. Both men and women I know have been hurt and hurt and again hurt by not only the Police in our fair city of Toronto but by the Guards at our fine prisons and in our fine courthouses and let us not forget those fine fine men and women protecting our local shopping centers and educational institutions of higher learning...

Just finished my last 7-day "B#llSh!t" sentence tonight and I am exhausted. I am hitting the sack and going to restart world tomorrow..

I saw these two guards in A and D over at the West Detention Centre give these two small men (and when I say small they were 100 lbs each if they were soaking wet and with handfuls of change in their pockets ) the most ferocious beatings I ever saw administered to anyone in real live.
It felt like I walked into a horror movie and the worse part was I was helpless to do anything as I watched there monstrous 250 + pound men simply and savagely beat the living snot out of these two much smaller and very scared young men.
Why did this happen you may ask yourself?

Well.....
{I do have to add both men were black (one was a 20ish man from the city - Nice kid - cocky, funny but not a 'gangsta' - the 2nd was an equally nice but rather shy kid from Somalia - I mention these boys background because I honestly do believe this was partially a racially motivated act of brutality}
The lead Guard in A and D at the West Detention Center - a huge monster of angry matter nicknamed "Bam Bam" ~ so named because he looks like the cartoon caveman all grown up ~ overheard the two small newcomers to the jail system refer to one of the female guards as very "sexy". I was there and that is exactly what was said. Bam Bam stopped and shouted into the very full holding cell that he would not tolerate that kind of talk and he would make sure the person or persons who said anything about the women who worked at the West would pay dearly for the insult to these fine women of honour. After the overcrowded holding cell was nearly empty - expect for me, the two I already described as well as another smallish Sri-Lankin guy and some guy sleeping in the corner.

The cockier of the two youth is taken out of the cell and goes to the desk to file paperwork and begin changing out of street clothing and into prison orange. According to what I heard later in Medical - Bam Bam asked the youth if he would be going into PC again this time as, according to what the youth told me, the last time he was in there were some nasty guys gunning for him and if he went into General pop he would have been as good as dead... Anyways the youth replied that he was ok this time and that gen pop would be fine. This was the moment the guard went crazy and grabbed the half-naked youth by the hair and started bashing his head off the desk, another guard joined in and they beat the living hell out of this young man - screaming that this was what happened to people who said anything about any woman who worked at the West. The youth screamed in pain as the beating continued - off camera and in full view of the prisoners who were waiting to be processed.

We looked on in absolute terror and pant-filling fear as a third guard joined in and contributed a few well placed kicks and punches. After at least a ten minute beating they drag the guy over to the bars leading to our holding cell where we can really see him and they start bashing his swollen face off the bars demanding the guy point out which one of us has also said anything about any of the women in the facility. The absolute terror that was felt at that moment at they tortured this guy in order to force a confessional accusation out of him. He eventually and not without a few good and I mean hard as hell encounters with the solid steel cell bars finally entice the guy to point begrudgingly to his friend - the other small man in the cell - sitting next to me - not the Sri Lankin guy but the Somalian dude. He stands up and starts apologising profusely and swears on his mother's life he meant no disrespect and please if they could see how very sorry he was and how definitely he had learned his lesson. Bam Bam dragged the 1st guy away to continue his beating which I later heard took about another half hour or so and involved Bam Bam sitting on the young man's chest shaking with rage and screaming "so you want to fuck me eh? asshole - you want to fuck me!? - well here I am!! - if you want to fuck one of the women here - who might be one of our wives or sisters then you must want to fuck me too!!" as he beat the young man into unconsciousness. Later on I think he just felt bad about being forced to point out his new friend who they dragged out of the cell screaming and begging for mercy. The other guard - after waiting about 3 minutes for Bam Bam to give the go-ahead finally said "I can't wait anymore for this asshole - I'm taking him out now".
The second large guard ~who's name is not Bam Bam but he did look alot like him ~ came into our cell and grabbed the Somalian youth by the hair and dragged him out into the main area in front of where we were being held - where they proceeded to beat him in a manner similar to the way they beat his friend. He screamed at the top of his lungs for forgiveness - that he was sorry and they continued to beat him. At one point he screamed that God knew he was sorry - could they please stop. The reply we heard was that it was too bad 'cause God didn't work at the West.
It went on for about ten more minutes for this youth. Bam Bam jumped between the two beatings like a kid caught between his two favorite flavours of ice cream and simply could not decide which flavor tasted better...

Later I heard that the guard told the Somalian Youth he had better tell the Nurse the injuries he had were self-inflicted and that he was suicidal or another beating - worse than the first would follow him upstairs onto the range. These guys get away with murder - what are a few beatings?
It was simply horrible. I will have nightmares forever about that i guess - my nightmare catalog growing too large too fast over last few years. It is simply too bad that so many of my nightmares come from real life examples and even sadder that these examples are from people who are in positions of authority and expected to safeguard and protect us.

These two young men are not in jail for doing anything bad - they did not kill or rape anyone - they did not brutally attack anyone on the street or even get stopped selling drugs.
One was a domestic incident that got out of control and the neighbours heard raised voices and the police were called. Due to a prior conviction for theft under the man was arrested lest the situation turn ugly. They will likely reconcile and if they cannot make it work they will break up and no one will hurt the other - This situation with the arrest already put behind them - what happened with the guards in the Prison will likely haunt that young man the rest of his life...
The other man was charged with shoplifting a pair of gloves from a store cause he was broke and his fingers were very very cold. He knew what he did was wrong and he pleaded guilty and expected to do his time like a man. He was afraid when he came in but initially he was scared of what the other prisoners might do to him. He learned very very fast - even before he made it up onto the range to start serving his 7 day sentence that the other prisoners have one way of dealing with things and the Guards? well They have another way entirely of their own.

One of the worse parts of this story is that not one person I spoke to while inside the system was surprised and each and every one of the numerous other prisoners I spoke to had similar if not scarier stories to share about similar things they had either seen or experienced first hand. What is even worse is when I stopped to think about it - it was not even the worse thing I ever saw a guard do to a prisoner - maybe one day I will tell you about the Guard at the Don who raped an inmate who had just gotten beat up by another inmate - how this guard beat the inmate with his billy club and forced the man to perform oral sex on him while the other - truly psychotic inmate who started the whole thing proceeded to rape the helpless man from behind.
This terrible thing happened in the Medical unit if you can believe it.
I believe it as I was there in the cell next door and I heard the screams and I saw the horrific shadow drama play out on the speckled wall in front of me as I lay weak and helpless on my cot.

Praying to God that the Guard would not come into my cell next.
I was lucky that night as it seemed that God was working that night at the Don - it was truly unfortunate he was on his break at the time the horrors were going on in the cell next to mine. I am however very grateful that he came back from his break when he did and that eventually the guard was caught doing something inappropriate and was punished by being suspended for two whole weeks with pay. Punishment can be really harsh sometimes eh?
It is also very harsh that God can not put a few shifts in at the West as they could really use him over there these days...

Anyways this was my rant and I am truly and really tired and sad and angry and still a little freaked out so goodnight world. God bless you all. Especially those people that we love to hate because they have committed some crime and gotten themselves locked up. You might not realize it but they need blessings just as much as we do.

Thin white line Chapter 8

Lennie opened his eyes and saw that the world was still in place around him. In his fevered dreamstate he was sure that he would wake to oblivion or worse...

He had no such luck though as he mentally make note of the ills that he felt that cold Febraury morning. First off he had mo memory of the night before - he did not know how he got to bed nor what he was up toin the hours that preceeded his arrival in bed. Truth be told Lennie remembered nothing after arriving at the Rainbow movie house yesterday afternoon, where he had snuck into theatre seven to watch Life is Beautiful. It may have been a terrible movie or it may have been fantastic but Lennie would never know. He was lucky he could even remember his name right now much less what he did yesterday or how he managed to get home and safely tucked into his own little bed. God looks after fools and little children - aaaand possibly drunkards and even more probably junkies which according to Stanley over at the Shop and Save were the 20th century's version of the classic drunk.

This was not the longest blackout Lennie could remember but it certainly was not without some questions. He could not remember doing any quantity of drugs last night.

No more than the usual, anyways..

He did feel tremendously dopesick, and as if to punctuate the thought: a wave of nausea flew across Lennie in sicken waves, each one stonger bthan the last until Lennie was forced to place his head between his knees in a type of surrender. The sickness, however did not acknowledge the symbol of surrender right away and it took a few more waves for the message to make it to the powers that were to stop the attack and start the laboreous process of taking prisoners.

"Whoa... ahhhhhhh... mmmmhh..." He groaned and moaned as he slowly and painfully managed to achieve a sitting position on the bed, clutching his thin white sheet around him tighter than the shroud of Turin was wrapped on Jesus Christ himself. Lennie was already shivering and sweating, the sickness well on him now, like some kind of evil parasite living inside him that eats both his energy and his soul: leaving only pain, lethargy and an unimaginable hunger for something to make the feelings go away and simply become- well for lack of better words this early in the day- simply operational. Another wave of nauseafloated across him, this time activating a bass drum beat that ran simutaneously through huis liver, up his spine and into his brain. It felt like "innagaddadeveda"and Lennie truly and earnestly hoped that it was not the super-long extended mix. In truth he prayed it would end swiftly before the idea of death by Iron Butterfly became too appealing.

Looking down at the coffee table beside the "couch that liked to pretend it is a bed" Lennie took note of several things at once - the most important item however temporarily blinded him to everything else as he read the printed index card sitting next to what appeared to be a ready-made hype. The card read "2 - Dilaudid 8 for you - from me - feel better - watch the tape - Lennie".

Lennie blinked hard once, than he blinked hard once again.
He re-examined the index card.
"Yes", it was his writing.
"Yes", there was a spoon with a filter in it on the table and what appeared to be a light whitish wash in the spoon.
Yes there was a cigarette with a small piece of filter missing - torn off the previous night Lennie supposed. Next to the smoke was a lighter. He picked up the smoke, lit it with a great long inhale and proceeded to pick up the hype.

Tieing off was easy and in seconds Lennie found a vien and had the needle in and flagged. With one quick shift of his thumb he shot the contents of the hype into his bloodstream and in the same movement slid the needle out of the vein and loosened the tie around his forearm.

The tie fell to the ground in front of him. Blue rubber contrasting with the soft eggshell white of the long sheet that was draped around his waist and legs. A single drop of blood had dripped onto the white sheet beside the tie and for a split second the three colours touched and merged into one as a great warmth swept across Lennie - beginning at his toes and building with a Tsunami-like intensity that simply swept aside any feeling of illness, nausea or pain that might have existed in its path...

Thin white line Chapter 7

In less time than it takes Jane to look around the room ~ she invaritably decides that the current situation is already more than she thought that she could handle. It seemed so easy and straightforward when she and Lennie first discussed it.

Yes, when they went over the plan for Jane to travel back into the mind of her younger counterpart and do what needed to be done the conceptas exciliarating and novel and romantic and terribly exciting. Yes they were building off the adrenalized moment that occured as they discovered their first shared memory and therefore their first chance at actually travelling back to specific point in their joint pasts where she would be able to do something for the man she loved.

According to Lennie it was a beautiful little girl who had pulled him - semi-conscious from his Uncle's burning fifth floor bachelor apartment when he was a little boy.

The problems that Jane now saw in the reality of the moment were quickly disolving any of the previous excitement and romance. First off she is still incredibly high: so much so that her ears are still ringing and she is very, very aware of the tracers that the flickering lights from the fire are making within her peripheral vision. The body she now finds herself inhabiting is very familiar but much, much smaller and weaker than she remembered herself being. She looks at her hands in disbelief and sees the hands of a four4 year old girl. Jane turbns them over and flexes them open and shut. They look even smaller in the strange smoky light. The lights are flickering and the smoke from the fire in the adjoining kitchen is already building to an uncomfortable level.

"Cough! Ackrrr! Cough!" she gasps though her small, smoke filled lungs and she rubs her eyes with the curve of her hands, trying to get her vision to clear up a bit more. Its still a bit fuzzy, her guess is, from hthe jump across time into the mind of her past self.

She can still taste the cocaine and resulting blood from the incredibly potent hit that precipitated the trip. Her ears are still ringing but the tracers are begining to fade now and if Lennie were here and if things were not as hopeless or intense or even as fiery as they seemed, she might even joke she could hear a fly fart on the other side of the world with super hearing like this.

Lennie is not here though and Jane knows that if she does not find a way out of this burning apartment and into that of Lennie's Uncle across the hall - then this trip into the past will be a total waste of time. She forces herself to take a step and sees that all she is wearing is a slight flannel nitegown and a cute pair of bunny-ear slippers she vaguely remembered getting for christmas one year when she was very very young.

"I guess I know how young", Jane mutters to herself as she moves slowly but surely to the apartment door that leads out to the main hallway. She needs to get out of this apartment, get into the unit across the hall, pull Lennie out of his bed and back into the hall so that some fleeing neighbour-lady will see Lennie's small sleeping form curled up on the tattered carpeting, pick him up and carry him outside to safety. This is based on Lennie's vague but strangely familiar childhood memory

Across the thin white line Chapter 4

I looked at the windowed door, shadowed and slightly sheltered from the cool September night and turned my head to smile at Jane. All I was looking for was an acknowledgment that she was ready to go and she way more than simply ready. She was almost vibrating with a combination of nervous energy, adrenaline and expectation. Jane had never looked to beautiful and my mind drifted for a brief moment back to the previous night where we had enjoyed an aventure of a different type.

We had shared a few grams of blow and we had each done the other, both of us finding the right vein, both flagging successfully and neither of us missing the shot. It had been wonderful - after the initial rush of the smash began to fade but before the warm glow and accuteness of sense faded I had stripped Jane down and began to paint an elaborate design on her. I worked my brush and the painted tips of my fingers onto her upper torso, cupping her breast and teasing her peirced nipple each and every chance I got. I drew an increasingly complex design on her naked and willing skin - moving over her shoulderblade, along her arm and around her rib cage and finally encompassing her right breast. Flames and a Japanese-style Tsunami washed across her breasts. She watched me with glowing satisfaction and interest, smiling the same smile sher had on now. I could feel her eyes on me while I worked ~ no that is not the word I want ~ while I played feels better and fae more accurate. She was do happy with the design and when we were done making art we fell onto each other like ravenous wolves, starving for each other, starved for touch, taste and embodying a lust for each other that took us deep into the other... literally and figuratively...
She was grinning at me in a mischeveous, slightly sexy manner that sent a charge through me. A look that said she was with me every step of the way and if I wanted her half as much as she wanted me then we certainly had something going between us. I did want her. More than I'd ever wanted anyone. I leaned in to her and she met me half way - kissing quick but somehow savourig the taste. The taste of her, the taste of the moment, of everything this particular moment entailed.

I leaned back from the moment, and with one quick movement the brick I had been holding in my right hand was though the window. My hand through the jagged hole and unlocking the deadbolt that had been holding the door safely shut from intruders. Intruders just like us.

"Lets go" I whispered and looked over my shoulder to make sure the group of drunken men standing down the street smoking in front of the bar had not heard our noise. They had not and with a final nod we went into the darkened storefront.

We went into the dark store and I immediately went to work and so did Jane as she started feeling her way towards the back of the store to secure our getaway route.

I quickly attacked the3 52" flatscreen in the display window, unplugging cords and cables and generally freeing it from its digital bonds. This large flat monstosity was our sole reason for being in this store at this late hour. I yanked the final cord free and picked up the screen. It was amazingly light for its size and I was uncertain if this was because of the adrenaline flowing through me or if this was because of amazing Japanese technological savvy.

I carried the screen to the back of the store. I could see that Jane was having trouble with the lock on the back door so I put the screen down beside her as she shifted to the left in order to allow me unencumbered access to the door. I threw my weight into shifting the locking mechanism to the left and as it clicked into the unlocked position I felt my right foot slip and unexpectedly start to fall downwards. In the dark I did not realize we were starding next to a stairwell and as I began to tumble down I reached up in an insane effort to find a handhold. I did not and I fell , tumbling into darkness, watching the slightly lit and distraught Jane ~ hands out ~ calling my name. In a split second all light was gone and I lay crumpled at what could only be the bottom of a small enclosed stairway.

it was the end of the world as i know it... I don't feel all that fine...

Interestingly enough the tears did not flow as hard as I thought they would but they did sting my eyes and slow me down to a dead stop when they did finally start. How low can I go --- who know --- simply going to have to take it day by day for now. Lost Amanda when I went to jail last time. I miss her. She is gone. I hope that part of my story is not over. I knew when i got out last time i had more time to serve. I just did not know i would have to do it so soon after the last time. I hate jail but now i have acted accordingly, took my punishments for my actions. It is done.

Update on my life as I get out of jail again serving from Christmas eve to just a few days ago. My children must think me a horrible person. They have not seen me since mid december and I simply was so ashamed of being back in jail so soon after my last bid that I could not even call. I don't know what to say. Honestly I do not. Eli and I are already having major issues over... well over everything i guess. Xander is so sensitive and I know my absences hurt him the most but I also know that he has wonderful supports and I am very very sure Angela is happier without me. Life without cy.

I went to jail fve times during the year 2007.
5 fricking times!!!

NO MORE!!!

I am once more homeless, alone, without friends without family, without love. Lost it all once more but this time I feel that the hardship I have endured is preparing me for something bigger than I could have ever handled without the tempering I have been through. Am I right? Only time will tell...