This means getting forms from the Kops to fill out and send to the parole bureaucrats. In them, prisoners are supposed to explain why their sentence is too long for rational people to abide. The forms get longer each time they get revised. (3 times in 2 years, so far) they ask for reams of details, most of it old or unnecessary. This inquisitive proves that no one ever manages to “pay their debt to society.” Once the cop and lawyer system puts a crime on you, you never live it down. Their record of it outlives you and probably taints your family. The parole crats have their highly paid flunkies flip through all these pages. Most of them get filed, but not read. Thinking people suspect that these files ill function more as punitive quick references for denying relief instead of for justifying it. The best ones are flipped through by the parole crats, who are all cops or prosecutors who have always stuffed prisons full, not let people out. They pick out a small, token number of files to send to the governor. Her flunky might flip through some of them, particularly those where kin have donated money to political campaigns, or ones where people have hired lawyers to push for them with telephone calls, faxes or letters.

Every time my parole date rolls around, a pack of Lawyers send me letters asking for money. Their sales pitch trick the desperate into paying for “Legal Representation” that accomplishes nothing. The politicians only pretend to want to fix bursting prisons by letting someone out. They love to gain election to lucrative public office by shrieking “Tough on Crime!” once in office, they love to take payment from families victimized by their Lawyers’ system by shouting “Smart on crime!” to give hope, but not relief. Secretly, they know that the big money is in selling their captives to the corporate prison industry. This is safe money that never comes back to hurt their political careers. Locking people up and throwing away the key is always popular. Turning loose criminals never is, plus it is dangerous. These crooks have been societally crippled by conviction and prison. They don’t know anything useful. They can’t compete with un-convicted people. They can’t get jobs. No one wants to hire them. It is almost a certainty that they will return to addiction, crime and parasitism. Almost no communications are granted. The whole process is a public relations farce.

Ouster Mouse

When they built this torture facility and slow death camp, someone forgot to remove a one by two inch stake that marks the inside 90 degree angle that marked the intersection of two walls. The floor people smoothed their cement around it. The masons pulled it up to lay their cinderblocks around it, leaving a hole. After the cages were completed, they put in a couple of victims to suffer their cage, being locked away tightly for at least 15 hours per day in a space not much larger than a restroom stall. Then a mouse moved in, as I described earlier in an essay titled “Guerrilla Mouse.” This rodent excavating sand and gravel from this hole for many days, eventually removing about a gallon of tailing. The last couple of nights these railings were wet when I laboriously swept them up each morning from between and beneath all the steel crevices of the bottom sleeping rack. Apparently this was not good, because he stopped sleeping and excavating there and somehow began a new hole in the concrete seven feet away in the other coriver. This hole has a much smaller entrance. He has been excavating this new hole every night I caught this mouse, just to characterize it. It disappeared when I let it go. I set up two feeding stations that offered peanut butter, and mashed bread stuck to the underside of the toilet bowl. The blob of wheat disappears one to four times per 24 hour period. The blob of peanut butter lasts several days. At night, I can often see it roving mouse shoot into the dim cage and hide briefly behind a chair leg, or the waste basket, before scrambling under the rack.  A small female found the holes. She picked the second one to move into. Or she is the one who somehow chewed through the concrete and had been excavating it for so many days. It’s hard to tell because, in the dark, they all look the same. The only time I get to really see one is when it gets hungry enough during the day to race up under the toilet, pull the bread down and shoot back under the rack to its hole. A really amusing manoeuvre occurs when I lay a square of toilet paper way out in the open. Mice despise having to leave the safety of cover, but they love toilet paper for bedding. They don’t want it badly

Veterans Club

The Veterans got together and fought a series of wars against several wardens before finally getting permission to put on a fundraiser for various charities. Their first plan was to sell miniature pizzas to their inmate brothers. The jealous Kops shot down each of many plans, using various excuses to conceal the fact that they regard every dime that the inmates get from their families as belonging to the Kops. In each of the private areas that the Kops inhabit are flat screen TVs, coffee makers, microwaves and various other appliances with plaques on them signifying that they were donated to the Kops from various vendors who sell vastly overpriced products to the inmates through the Kops. The Kop have a monopoly on virtually all inmate spending, and were not about to let anyone get a piece of this action. But, somehow the vets broke through this blockade. The inmates can’t get pizza anywhere, and the kops though that this would suck out all the inmate money that normally gets spent on the few items that the prison “store” offers. To prevent this, the Kops let the vets sell pastries instead, which are also sold by the Kops’ store. The prison store takes you money and delivers bloat-priced goods a week later. The vets took our money into the bloated prison bureaucracy and sat on it for over a month. I wasted $5 on them merely because I had it to waste, they had managed to seem to have successfully done this once before a year ago, and the two things that I tried to buy were different from the Kops’ sugary, chocolaty crap. (I avoid this crap because it’s full of grease, sugar and chemicals.) Of course, I got screwed: I was at the Law Library when the veteran inmates finally came by to pass the stuff out. When they said, “look at all this extra stuff that we have left over!” the others said, “Let’s eat it!” So, it looks like I paid $5 so some inmates could eat a pile of pastry, then give a few cents to un-named charities and get gold stars put in their prison files showing all the Kops what kind of great guys they are for putting together this project. I should get a silver star being smart enough to risk only $5, and too stupid to stay in my cage and wait for a month for them to come around to pass it out.