"the howling wind, le resistance...
i am landing this ship"
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february 4th What we haven't hacked and dissected at all is the goings on (agise-ments) in San Francisco before embarking on the Vancouver journey in late l996. The moment I closed 'fly apartment door in San Francisco I began the era I'm in now; Or earlier when I'd ordered the train ticket over the telephone using my credit card. Or when I'd failed to get a better job and be secure. On and on But the moment that makes me WINCE is the closing of that door and the long walk down Market Street towards the Embarcadero. This moment is not so much a cousin to the moment when I went to the ramsey house a few months later, not so much a sister, but the SAME moment. A true torment. It was similar to wearing a billion ton moo-moo. It seems people were pained by the look on my face. I was moving onwards to strike a preemtive blow. I set out to solve what for others is an AFTERLIFE problem but for me it's apparently a medical condition. I was rotting alive. I was encased in a cloud and removed from your little opinions. The expression I wore was a mockery of life itself. There wasn't a corpse in site. These are the escaramouches (scrapes) that make me FLINCH. The eggs of unstoppable embarrassment. The situations from which to go/ ONWARD. To run and continually run again. Please get ready to misunderstand me as we get further into this area. I believe it is a REQUIREMENT in the way you read the human rules, you dirty rotten cheap ass weasels. We'll have to wade slowly into this cesspool. You are supposed to be doing your time,' rasps some idiot via email, "not harassing the public." Do you not hear the ticking. How stupid can you be (ginja) . I judge you to be a dud and waive a limp ~ pom-pom, in your direction. Ladies and gentlemen, may I unmask for you an entire BREED of WINNING LOSERS. The cancer gonna bubble up in YOU one day and you'll cough your bitter words on prized carpets. I had a black eye as I left San Francisco, I shudder and recall. I got it in front of City Hall. But there's today, and on this very bright day there are vats of tar bubbling and gurgling outside the jail. This morning's Daily Camera quotes Sheriff Epp as saying the damage from the windstorm the other night will cost the jail $150,000. There are pieces of debris everywhere. I believe I noted it in these journals in late Oct or early Nov. when it was possible to see workers on the roofs tarring and insulating. This work is what blew away. I am not focusing... .I am getting a flash from the journey to Vancouver. I recall speaking to a teenage couple in the snack car. In fact I bought them a beer. They were stow-aways getting from one town to the next in Oregon. They asked me if I was in trouble. What if I was. And finally, last night Lydia came rushing outta the guard booth at 10:30 and ordered everyone to lock down. Ambulances and fire trucks could be seen snaking into the parking lot. And today the reason became known. JOHN FLACH, an inmate who has spent most of his time in this jail since he was 18 suddenly died over in the Special Management pod. John was quite a disturbed individual, thick-tongued, retarded and violent, but sometimes gentle as a pussycat. Very much like Lenny in OF MICE AND MEN. John was banned from ordering coffee by Bill Weiss. It would freak him out. Of course he bummed it from others at any given opportunity. Once I saw him shove his shoes in the toilrt and continually flush till there was a waterfall over the tier. He also used to keep the pod awake by screaming "JonBenet" in a HATEFUL childish tone for hours on end. Tick, tick, tick. current | 1999 | 1998 | colfax diaries |