"I feel that I murmur in fear. "
|
april 2, 3, 4
Oh, we've got a right good collecxtif of freaks to learn from right here. I MEAN on this corner of les internet. So now I'm lounging in my cell reading curriculum vitae and letters from/to Michael Kane. People beggin to TESTIFY before les grand jury, which just came back after taking the week off. And though Friday's Daily Camera presents Hunter floating les trial balloon of a possible EXTENSION for the jury (which expires on les 22nd du this fucking month) I am told les net people have OTHER information about what will REALLY happen. I've been busying myself this weekend (fin de semaine) with asking les prisonniers to sign les petition to have radio stations, far and sundry, play The Who's "Eminence Front" on the DAY they hear of les indictment. There might have been DOZENS of songs that would do...but does it not feel like TIME is short? Make a decision...stick with it. "Come and join les soirree dressed to kill"...( and stay that way ALL NITE). "It's une put on". A huge snowstorm blew in Thursday night and Friday. And in a way of cheap quick relating to outside humjans I soundbyted Lance on Friday night saying only, "tonight's movie...bride of chucky, bride of chucky, bride of chucky". I couldn't hear a WORD Lance said back, so excited was les buzz in les pod. I must not be human because I am UNABLE to sit through these noise fests. It sounded like he spoke of les niceness of Judith Phillips. Lt. Haas inspected my room again. We didn't talk. He saw, "A Little Girl's Dream" on my table and I thought he rolled his eyes. I banished it to the crate under my bed right after he left. Last night I made a faux pas as I was speaking with TWO real JACKASSES, one named "STIX" and the other "UTAH". Now get this...Josh the kidnappe, who is in les MAX pod sent them his INCIDENT REPORT which depicts clearly that 3 people in this pod "snitched" on him. So UTAH and STIX were INFECTING this pod with KNOWLEDGE, see. So that's how I came to be talking to these extremely and deeply flawed people. So, after reading les shameridden report( written by SGT.MEALS) we chatted a moment longer, just long enough for me to say, "hey, what did they do with that BABY KILLER in cell #35?" I hadn't seen him around and I thought maybe they'd reclassified him. But no, Stix tells me LOUDLY, "he's RIGHT BEHIND YOU", and I yoink around and look into his eyes and see CLEARLY that he just witnessed REAL PROOF that "everyone's talkin". He hardly ever comes out of his room. Aint it ODD, though, that simply having a WEBSITE knocked me out from working in the kitchen...which ultimately cost me three more weeks in jail...and yet this guy (named DOLORES) is in all les journals with stories of family members screaming,"baby killer" at him in court AND he gets a 44 year sentence, and neither one of these aspects results in ANY reclassification for him. "bass ackwards," I tells ya, "bass ackwards". And so..that gives me the RIGHT, when I get out, to IMITATE society in ANY aspect I see fit. I think one of the first items on the agenda will be to gather certain webpeople on a smokey mountaintop. Yessy,yes,yes. There should be Lisa Flowers,Mrs.Brady, SunnyDay, Lance Matthews (of course) AuntieBJ, Connie, and maybe, following them, we could have a roped off area where Murphy, Goethe, and Jameson could stand and only drink GENERIC Kool Aid. But the IMPORTANT thing is that we ON PURPOSE decide to SNATCH some sort of dopey youngman off les boulevard.K? We MUST do this. Please. We snatch les juene homme and drag him kickin and screamin up les mountaintop.And THEN we ALL try to make his fears abate. We tell him to "CHILL". We have a soiree, okay. And we take les young man and tell him he must ONLY wear some sexy little orange shorts,k? Mrs. Brady herself bought em on a train layover in Chicago and presents them to shiny boy from eine wrinkly crinkly shopping bag. Lance and Goethe can FROGMATCH les juene behind a tree, to change. Next what we MUST do is bust out les coolers of beer. And so we MINGLE while les boy is in NO PAIN , but chained to a tree (see). And we hand him one beer after une other as we ourselves put away quite a few. And we talk about NOTHING, hell, we could talk weather or Ramsey case, or who on net undulated with whom else on net, and after awhile we arrive at le cease de la resistance, and seemingly from NOWHERE we produce HUGE overstuffed chairs for US to sit in, each of us with a nice accoutrement table nearby for ashtrays, beirecans, and what not (bowls of buttered popcorn...delicieaux). And we place les chairs in nice neat rows in front of a PLATEFORME. No, we are not going to hang les shivering wretch. We have banded together to imitate society and we shall do as they USUALLY do NOT; as they RARELY do. We chain les underdressed young man to les back wall du plateforme...certainly in a Jeezy Weezy way. And this is ALMOST all. Les treacherous loser tuba music will play by and by. But we just sit and STARE at the boy as he squirms (se tortiller). It's so SIMPLE! While Connie and Murphy and Lisa and Sunny and Brady all took numerous turns gossipping in les log toilette, and Lance and Goethe and I have, on occasion, during the afternoon, slipped off to relieve ourselves behind a tree, we have, NONE OF US, satiated the discretely whispered pleas of the youngman about this shameful NEED.And as we sit quietly we recognize the HORROR in the boy's face as he realizes he's going to HAVE TO pee (uriner) all over himself so NOTICEABLY as we stare. Listen to les chains clank as he shuffles from foot to foot. Connie puts her face behind a fan and giggles to Sunny, "didn't you hear him WHIMPER just now, Charmante"! Would it be les climax of our outing, that inevitable moment as les posture changes and les dark wet spot forms on les lite brite shorts? Or would the signifigant moment be when in the dead moist embarrasing silence, one of us leaps bitterly from our chair and says, "he WANTED to do that!" We should poke sticks at him and tell him repeatedly how he was WEAK or how he WANTED to do it. (We could have small print variations on those rasping themes hidden in our makeup compacts or on our beer cans to prompt us). As a group we must NEVER let our noses down. Since the boy's shame at his condition is NATURAL we must PERVERT it with our TALK TALK TALK, and our propensity to JUDGE,JUDGE,JUDGE. Anyway, it would be HYSTERICAL if after we waddle away, les MTN. Parks Polizie rolls up and drags away the STINKING, soaking, shaking perve. "Oh, I feel like letting go"...sir Pee Mc Cartney. This feeling is gonna sound familiar later. Yessy, yes yes. How does one let go...les manifestations come out RIDICULOUS and complicated; but come out, they must. Some prisonerish GREYGHOSTS, with long silver ponytails and spiderweb tatoos, have spread a fearful JUJU about my Ramsey indictment day theme song petition. Now a mindless FOLLOWER amongst them wants his name OFF when he originally thought it was a capital idea. And so the list of names SHANT grow much longer as I have CLAIMED that I already sent it away. What wretched cowardice on les parte du SEAN KNUTSON. "But screwing with les Ramseys is what got you in here," he shrilly says. "We are only requesting a SONG", say I, adding a preemptory "for chrissakes". Sean says he had a dream about les petition. This just goes to shhow this level of legal FEAR this Ramsey case inspires in all but those whose shorts are already urine soaked. "Come on in, les water is fine," say I. How I do DEEPLY DEEPLY miss radio. What a tim enhancer it was, and to think...my headphones sit in my property (supposedly) up in booking due to shrill whining complainers right off les net. I wish I had les cheap intercom on my table with eine filthy waxy wire heading staright towards Lisa Flowers, who's done so much of my secretarial work.Couldn't I press les button and say, "Lisa, I've been thinking about those who complained, and I want you to call up les reekin stinkin Greyhound and book me on some sort of late summer excursion fare that gives me a month of travel to ANYWHERE in the US of A, see, and don't forget tickets for my,uh. associates,"LEGS" "SQUISUMS", "HATEFUL NEEGER", and "LEADSEY PIPESEY" (surely Lisa knows how to do this in les nom du Jeezy Weezy so that need not be siad). The wheels of les bus go round and round...we'll soon see how I CLUNG to les underpinning and survived. "Oh, and Lisa, will you get Darnay Hoffman on les blower and ask if somehow it's illegal now to chant, "WHY, WHY, WHY". Everytime I look out to see the snow overtop the greenery I feel that I'm on the Amtrak through the Sierra Nevadas. Again. You know in over two years there's almost never been such Ramsey quietude as these past weeks. Isn't it about time une muffler began to drag behind les bus, flames a flyin? Tick,tick,tick. And so Easter came and went with snow on les yard and no chance to go outside. When I lay down for afternoon naps on these long weekend days I feel that I murmur in fear. Saturday's movie was "Ever After". J.T.Colfax P.S. They gave us an extra grilled cheese sandwich for Easter lunch. P.P.S. I took the "autograph" sticker off Schiller's book and put it on the Eminence Front petition. And off it goes. My desk is clear.Back to murmuring. current | 1999 | 1998 | colfax diaries |