The journal of Greg Freeman

Table of Contents:

3 Jan 2005 Monday Early A.M.

I've always hated yellow paper. It just looks sickly... It's journal entry #1 and I'm pretty excited about it all. Not sure how it'll all turn out and maybe that's part of the allure but we're off and running, er... or rather scribbling and it should be fun. I think I'll try to commit to writing twice weekly, Mondays and Thursdays, to stave off the burnout risks of an everyday task. I know as soon as it begins to feel like a job, I'll neglect it so we'll go w/twice each week. I'm enough of a rambler to fill up some pages so I doubt there will be lack of content.

I sat down earlier with a cup of coffee intending to start my scrawl but it seemed like every atom in existance was conspiring against me. The chaos of people shouting, door slamming, radios baring, and toilets flushing was too much. It was like a war zone. Enough to make someone cuss. Hell, I did cuss. Repeatedly. Right now most people are sleeping so there's a lull so I'm trying to wrestle a few thoughts down. Late night is the priosn OMZ. Things are less chaotic and though I know it's only a deceptive prelude to a more turbulent time tomorrow, I'll take my quiet time as I can get it. Without it I'm nothing nice. If I'm denied my quiet time for some reason, maybe there's a late game on and multitudes are hoo-ra-raing, and I'm kept up, come the next day my mood is powerfully piss poor.

With the new year, I figured I'd try some resolutions. For me it was more a test of self discipline. Challenging myself. They weren't open-ended oaths like "lose weight" but goals that were clearer to me. The vows are to run until the first day of summer (June 21). I'm going to keep a physical exercise schedule (at least three weekly routines) because I am in segregation and confined to my trusty 5'x8' for 23 hours each day and it's horribly easy to become lethargic. I'm nearing my 27th year of life and nows not the time to be slacking. So DROP and GIVE ME 50!! Ummm, hold that though. I've also vowed to balance the physical improvements w/mental tasks. I'm going to teach myself a new language and finish a novel. I'll focus on German since I know a smidgen already and it'll help when I write to my comrades in the Czech Republic. (Don't ask why they don't speak Czech!) On the novel, I just want to see if I can. I've some outlines already. Something directed towards a young adult readership, fantasy genre. I'm also going to get me a mail-order wife from Russia! Well, maybe not but who wouldn't want a fair-haired shiska!! That was rude, I know. Six months of concentration on personal betterment should do me righteously. We'll see! For some reason, I've been filled with a sense of urgnecy recently. I only don't know why or for what. I've been incarcerated since '94 when I was 16 and I've a decade under my belt so I don't know why but I've the feeling, premonition (?) of something. Who knows. I just feel it. Maybe it's just gas. Oh! speaking of gas, you ought to have experienced what we had for lunch yesterday. You would (who the hell is "you" anyway? I keep writing "you". Newrmind it. Stop interrupting!) have seen this chicken... umm... residue stuff they were trying to pass off as chicken soup but it looked like some laundry water that the cooks drug a wet hen through and called it "soup". What's more there was a cricket in my "soup". A dead cricket. A dead cricket that likely died of food poisoning. I dine on nothing chicken here. I've been to work in the chicken houses and you do NOT want to know what goes on in there. PETA would have a coniption something fierce if they found out.

Don't laugh at my penmanship. I figured I'd print because my script is, well, it's not as pretty as the fine print here. Trust me. Ah, hold on, Martina McBride's on the radio! ...good stuff that. What a songbird. I'm in TX so there's lots of honky tonk on the radio. I'm not too keen on most of it but for a few I'll make exceptions. I'm actually from Louisiana, a displaced coon ass, yeah! Never wore one of them cowboy hats. What are those anyway? They look like someone's wearing a birdbath on their head.

I think this journal isn't coming along right. It seems more like a letter. We'll figure it out. Let's try one of those suggested topics in the Library mailing... The week's fresh so there's time enough to get it together. They are hauling in the breakfast meal now, so the natives shall soon wake. Back to the warzone!

6 Jan 2005 Thursday Midday

Reporting from the front lines... Natives are especially restless today... There must be something in the water. Hmm. A very interesting, not to mention surprising, letter showed up from my mother. It's been several years since I've heard anything and it's frightening how much the outside world changes while we sit in stasis here. I've never had much contact with any of my biological family since I was adopted but my mother married, divorced, remarried, moved several times (so much for stability) while me aunt has some major cancer that I won't even try to spell. The kids of the family have all grown up and married, had children, etc. I try to look at myself and distinguish any changes and aside from a few minor differences, all I can say it that I've aged 10 years. Had I a decent mirror I might be able to see some wrinkles - wait, I'm only 26. I better NOT have any wrinkles! This pen is giving me the blues... Alrighty then. Funny thing happened whilst I was hunting my pen. Seems some fella down the run is upset because the officer mistakenly denied him an opportunity to go to recreation and he began banging on his door. That lasted five good minutes and either he got discouraged because his efforts went unnoticed or he got tired. So he started a fire. Smoke's billowing out of his cell and several people are coughing and cussing. What's funny is that he set the fire inside his cell. Usually folks will set a blaze to a pile of trash and sheets outside their cell on the run. He elected to burn his own cell up. I had to hang a blanket across the front of my cell last balck smoke roll in and have everything in my lil' apartment sooty and smoke-smelling for weeks. At least it got the supervisor's attention. They rolled the firehose down and blasted his cell with water and then turned off his electricity so there won't be a repeat. Of course he didn't get his recreation. He's back to banging. I fear he must be on the lower end of mental stability charts. Ho hum. Oh, hell. They're screaming that he's flooding the run now. Let me go pick up all my junk off the floor so it won't get wet. Sheesh. Label me cynical but this cat has issues...

10 Jan 2005 Monday Early Morning

Man oh man. There's some bad news that I received over the weekend that's really put me in a funk. I don't have very many friends that I consider close but one of them that I've known well for nearly 8 years received the dreaded "you're needed in the chaplain's office" from the wing officer. 90% of the time this is a notification of a death in the family. It was and he heard from his mother that his father has died. He was elderly and had cancer so it wasn't entirely unexpected but none of the time spent preparing can assuage the anguish of a loved one's passing. My friend is wrecked, his spirit totally sundered. Ron's a strong character but it's go to be immensely difficult to cope. Not only with the death of his father but with worry for his mother. His parents were two equal parts of a whole. He fears that she may not have the strength, aye, the will to carry on. So often we hear that when people are together for years, in this case, decades, when one passes, the other doesn't last long. I try to keep his mind off of it but how can one not dwell on it. I can't imagine his inner pain. The closest thing to me I've lost was a best friend when I was about 12. Ron's one of those I am closest to, a true friend. I don't know really how to handle it. Freindship is not something easily defined. To be sure, most of what we come to refer to as a friendship is naught but a superficial relationship. More often then not it will be a union born of mutual gain by the parties involved. The union, the friendship, remains secure as long as the mutual gain is apparent. The deeper friendship, the true friendship I believe shared by Ron and me is a rare treasure indeed and the wise soul will value it as such. This type of friendship is not relative to mutual profit. This friend is someone you consider great in character and someone you credit with enriching your life, giving your existence worth simply because of the relationship. Who can easily name someone that so embellished their life simply by their existance?

I learned the value of a friend just before my incarceration and my time here has deepend that knowldge. For a long, long time I felt that friends were an unnecessary bother until I became helpless once. The sense of helplessness is quite possibly the most profound anguish a person can realize. A prisoner is no stranger to feelings of helplessness and I think Ron may feel that way now in regards to his mother. The feeling burdens each of us. All loathe the grip of it but loathe more knowing that the likelihood of breaking free of helplessness while alone is slim. I intend to show Ron he shan't be alone. Years ago I didn't know how to value friendship; I felt I needed no friends. In my stubbornness I believed myself strong enough to conquer my foes with fists, if not reason. I was an arrogant child, convinced that by the sheer power of will I could banish anything undesirable. Stubborn, arrogant and most of all foolish I was, though now I have come to realize that through time I rarely had to stand alone, and whether I acknowledged it or not - rarely did I stand alone. There was forever those who gave support even when I was convinced I did not want it. Even when I did now know they were giving it. These were those of grand character. Those that made me capable of banishing the helplessness and made life worthwhile. Treasure, indeed, these. Perhaps I can return the gift.

Would that I learned all this earlier! I have always been but a single bee in the murmuring hive whose solotary song is not in tune with the collective droning. Still am, though my sights are differently set. I've read somewehere that "Isolation is the sole crucible in which man's character may be formed". I've had my share of isolation for sure.

13 Jan 2005 Thursday Breakfast

I managed to swipe a law man's pen this morning! This fella who is well known for being an overzealous enforcer of policy got into an arguing match with some guy that lives on the floor above me. I'm not sure what all was said but it wasn't much before I heard a loud splash of water that was thrown at the guard. The guard jumped back against the rail and dropped his cuffs, gas, pen and clipboard over the rail onto the bottom floor in front of my cell. I snatched the gas canister to this pen that really doesn't write worth a crap...

New pen. Took an hour to find it in the cluster. It's really pathetic the way I can't keep my cell presentable. I'll clean it and not half an hour later is all screwed. I drew a picture on my wall above my stink/toilet combination. It's pretty good, too. It's a black/grey rendition of a woman standing with an innocent-looking-though-clearly-guilty expression. It's about 3 feet tall. She's clothed so the overzealous guards eager to bust chops can't say too much - but it is still against the rules. Yesterday, a lawgal told me to take my 'poster' off the wall and I had to tell her it was a drawing. She rolled her eyes and went on her way. Ho hum. I really don't have a lot of troubles with the guards here. I do my thing, they do theirs. Hopefully, anyway. I know some only want to do their 12 hours and go home and those are the better ones. Then there are those who seem to take pleasure in making life miserable for the convicts. Of course those get more trouble then many but it's all part of it. The worst however may be those who are laid back on Monday and when you see them again on Friday, they are complete assholes. It's easier to deal with those who you know will act a particular way. I guess those who are consistant are more desirable. Even if they're consistently assholes. At least you'll know what to expect. Know what I mean, jelly bean? Why am I writing about law dogs? I must be daft.

17 Jan 2005 Monday Early Morning

Oh man. I really, really hate pancakes. I'm sick and so tired of flapjacks that it doesn't even make sense. Breakfast here on the front lines is either fried eggs, scrambled eggs or flapjacks. They determine what's served when. Sometimes it seems like there's more variation because of the way they burn the food. I mean, one day we'll have flapjacks that are crisy and brittle and the very next day they'll be gummy and gooey. IHOP it is not. I'm a morning person so I'll bitch about breakfast a lot. I swear they've got pseudo scientists instead of cooks in that kitchen. Nutrition? Come one! There's more nutrition in a booger than in those flapjacks. Taste, too, I'll wager. I'll have to get back to you on that one, though.

I don't know why I switched to cursive -- well, I'm lying. I befan to print, thinking it would be better on the eys for a possible reading but when I looked back at the penmanship, it's just as atrocious as this.

It's been really cold here lately. Especailly with the archaic heating system and all the broken windowns. it's such that it's difficult to get out of bed after waking and difficult to keep from crawling in the old fart rack to curl up in a fetal position. In fact, to demonstrate the difficulty in resisting the temptation, I'll go there now. Brrrrr!

20 Jan 2005 Thursday Early A.M.

Isolation is the sole crucible in which man's character may be formed... I'm not sure where I picked that up but I believe there's a measure of truth in it. I've been in the prison's Administrative Segregation (super maximum) for five years. I can tell there's been a lot that has changed about me - though who's to say good or bad. I'm more of an introvert than I once was and sometimes, I wonder if that forced change will adversely affect me when I'm released. Not that change, specifically, but all the changes together. I'd like to think not. I hope they haven't created a monster. But, those who I've been knowing for years have siad I'm more patient, more aware of what's going on but less "moved" by things. Have I gotten my priorities in order or have I just become apathetic towards everything? I mean, there's lots of things I care lots less for, like material things, others' opinion of me personally. But other things I've come to care fervently about like family and heritage. I'll see when I get there I guess. Hell, I don't come up until 2024 for parole. Who am I kidding?

Segregation has it's positives if you don't succumb to the mental turmoil... or is that psychological turmoil? If you don't let it break you, that is to say. How's that? Lots of people are robbed of their spirits after a time in here. The most difficult part of it to accept is the reaons they placed me here. I've not done anything, no disciplinary infractions or anything of that nature. They've seen me talking to some people who they consider threats to institutional security and then I'm guilty by association and branded a gang member then placed in seg. Mercy. It's a discriminatory practice that only affects Hispanic and White inmates. There are no black groups so segged, despite most of teh violence in prison being committed by black groups. I guess they just wouldn't have the room to seg those groups. Hispanics have about seven different groups they systematically segregate and Whites have about three. With Blacks, none. So much for equality, eh? Oh, the egalitarian myth. Isn't it wonderful? I harbor no ill will towards others unlke myself (I'm simply indifferent) but a lot of that stuff makes no snese. For example, there's laws that protect every minority, religious kook and faggot (I lied about not harboring ill will; I abhor homosexuals.). There's laws protecting these special classes. The only class that receives no legal protection is the Christian White Male. Texas enacted a new Hate crime law that was supposed to fix it so I'm not sure. What the hell is a hate crime anyway?? Do you murder people you love? No. You usually commit assault on people you dislike, right? Hate crime. Legal bullcorn. Let me scram before I get on my soapbox!

24 Jan 2005 Monday Morning

Whoop whoop! I nearly fired my eyebrows off my face! I was trying to use a homemade lighter in order to smoke a ... umm, a ... a joint. Ahhh! After singing my brows I got it going. Had my neighbor hold jiggers for my time spent breaking the law. I rarely indulge; I don't like being out of it too much. Maybe six times a year. I never wrote while stoned. Kind of weird. Seems like an hour to write a sentence, it takes. I sent for some cookies! A couple of letters and pictures arrived tonight, or Friday, rather, from the Czech Republic. I have a couple of friends over yonder there. It's interesting to read the perspective of someone who lives a long way away. I've found that many of them have a dislike for our country. They think of us as bullies and meddlers. Maybe they have a point but there'll always be something/someone to bitch about; might as well be us. We should return to the explore and conquer stage. Iraq? Liberate it?! Nah, conquer it. Make it the next state. It's like they want to di it anyway, it seems from the way micromanage everything. I don't know. Flay all politicians. Booger them. More seem like buffoons. Like Bush. What's with his inability to read speeches written for him? The poor fool can't say two sentences without stammering. He's got to be embarassed with that. What happend to true Statesment who needed no written speech, not to even mention someone else writing it. No, what we have are glory seekers. Bah.

The psychiatrist came around visiting during their regular rounds. It was a new gal. She had a foreign accent and was extremely fair looking with locks of amber hair and snug, vibrant skirt that fell a single frustrated sigh below her knees. I think I need to be put on psyche's caseload. Their load must be light because after her walking around, they'll be inundated with request to be evaluated for some mental ailment or another. Sometimes I feel like the outsider looking in. The years of monotony conditions one to be completely unphased by surrounding events. Detached, you feel. I hope not to become too distant. I might not come back! I got to find something to eat. I'm starving something fierce, me!

27 Jan 2005 Thursday Evening. Raining.

Today I received a postcard from a New York writer's advocate group telling me now that some writings I submitted were accepted. I had sent some poetry and short fiction. I was looking through some of my earlier stuff earlier; got encouraged to keep it up. Sometimes I will take notes of my thoughts and commit them to writing. I was reading this journal the other day and decided to incorporate it into the book I am trying to do. Some of the poetry as well. One is about the drug culture and the eventual peril off the end of that path. It's called:

Last Kiss Goodbye

No sensations, Emptiness; Strangeld by the ignorance; No return to innocence. The taste, On the tongue has turned sour. Tasting colors, And their sounds; Shadows lifting from the ground; Pointed treasure passed around. Laid waste, On the run, lust for power. Dirty dismal, Smell like piss; Welcoming anarchic bliss. To foes unknown, raise the fist. Wilted; And withered; sardonic grin. Demon needle, Now at rest; Clammy skin, hair's a mess. Beetles party; feast on flesh.

It's enjoyable writing in a way that you try to convey feeling through few choice words. I've no poetic ambitions but it's almost therapeutic to sit and write in that manner. It does some of the same things as drawing does. I suppose it's my outlet to release energy. You have to have an outlet in segregation. Lots of times people let things build until they unload at one time on someone around them. Others, working out suffices. Some play chess, etc.

31 Jan 2005 Monday Noonish

This weekend utterly blew, it did. I don't even want to scribble about it so I don't seem overly bitchy all the time. Much of the last few days I have spent doing legal research. That's extremely exhausting stuff let me tell you. I read, and wrote enough notes for a year. Yesterday I wrote a letter to an innocence project down in Houston to solicit help. I'm panhassling here, shut up. Panhassling is a situation we have when the panhandler gets aggressive and starts harassing for handouts. Thus - panhassler! Now you own me a nickel.

I've seen this is my last entry for Jan '05. I've re-read it and have noticed most of my days were not conducive to decent writing. I'll have to work on that.

Funny thing happened today. They passed out pamphlets on sexual education. Now, the gesture might have been thoughtful but what's a bunch of men going to do with safe sex booklets? I'd say most 'sex' around here is pretty safe. It's not like you're going to have very unsafe sex all by yourself. The booklet says the safest is on television. That might not be the safest place, though, because what if you happen to fall off?!

My birthday's in a couple of weeks. I'm growing old in here. I'm in decent shape, though; folks tell me I look like Fabio... Um, really they tell me I look like my mother but I'm sure that's what they meant. Some just have trouble expressing themselves.

I look forward to February. I'll try not to be so frivolous in my scribbles next month!