July 15, 2012
I am slowly reading the meatiest of meaty reads. Each page of this book seems to spawn a new deja-vu-familiar synapse in my brain…and I LOVE it! It's like traveling! I asked for something other than romance and murder/mystery and this is what was delivered from a girl with lots of books. The book is called 'Creation Myths' by Marie-Louise Von Franz and I recommend it to anyone looking for enlightened confusion with a side of sudden displaced awareness. I would compare it to watching a season of 'Lost'. You connect everything then later realize there is an entirely different way everything is connected and though either way makes perfect sense when you lay it out…it's all temporary because eventually, nothing makes sense all over again. Make sense? Math was always this way for me and I know I'm not alone with that.
Jung's studies of the psyche are being communicated in this book. I've heard of Jung before. quoted him even, but I've never actually read much about him until now. I'm learning about the connection between Archetypes and physical phenomenon (synchronicity). When this book was published, all of this was considered a 'missing link', a scientific mystery! (it's a very old book)
Maybe I'm totally wrong, but nowadays, ideas like String Theory seem to tie it all together…like finding the missing link. Patterns of Archetypes are what we fall into with consideration of our own spectrums of reality…our individual consciousnesses. So maybe the reason why we experience psychic, synchronistic phenomenon is because we are attracted to or picking up on certain already-established patterns of consciousness or rhythms of energy…and this is why everything seems to connect, especially where learned, shared archetypes are concerned. I get it!
I wish I were in a room full of scholars who could tell me all about this right now. I wish I could dress up like a Scientist and pretend I am one today. I wish I had some good chocolate or a creme brulee. God, that sounds so good. I can taste it all!
I am proud to say that I confidently and officially don't know much but it's certainly fun to be a free explorer in this puny palace a la cruel cement. They may be able to shackle my body but not my imagination. On that note, I think I'm going to write a Christmas story now. Thank you God(o:
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Which Bitch is Which?
July 26, 2012
I have been here for 48 days and I can attest that the idea that time passes more quickly as you get older is purely situational. In jail, time does not pass quickly, no matter how old you are.
I'm thinking too much so I'm probably going to write too much. It's something to do.
While I am speaking upon truths in this wee hour of an apparent Wednesday, I will also remark that after careful self-scrutiny, I do believe that I am one of those people that others label as 'too nice'. I gather this other truth from my life experience as a former doormat to opportunists, as well as from the multiple suggestions that I read the book, "Why Men Love Bitches". This book has been put in my hands 3 times (twice since I arrived here) and suggested more times than that.
I am still reluctant to read it.
I think the word 'bitch', like time passing quickly as you get older, is destined to remain situational. I think that sometimes the word means 'self-respecting, confident woman' (I bet this is what it means in the book I should read) and sometimes it just means 'nasty bitch'. Of course, sometimes it actually does mean 'female dog', but usually just around kennel club people.
Here is an example of how being too nice carries the potential of turning a woman into a smokescreen of 'nasty bitch'. As she makes friends with men who love her for her true niceness, they often want much more and when she is not interested in reciprocating, (as she clearly states from the beginning), there develops a small-town, chronological string of 'what he said's'. Each blah blah blah created to salvage an individual damaged ego can run into train wreck intersections of BLAH and create a false image of 'BITCH', but not the good kind. It's not very fair at all and very good reason to become the other kind of bitch (not the female dog, the other one).
The collective, defensive locker room talk makes it seem as if there is something wrong with HER because she didn't respond accordingly to these selfless, amorous, charitable suitors, instead of accepting the truth…she was just not available and/or interested in that way. Get enough men with their egos burned by the same woman within a certain town's radius and eventually they form a great wall of 'what they said' and like a smokescreen, she ends up looking like the undesirable kind of bitch, which is not really fair. It's a testosterone racket.
The 'warm and personal' connection that some 'too nice' women can easily make can give some men the wrong idea-then, because these types of women are particularly sensitive, they don't want to hurt anyone's feelings so they let it carry on way too long, far beyond their comfort zone and when they cut the relationship just to emergency breathe, the confused men are left wondering, "Why? What's wrong with me? It must be her! She was so nice! I could tell she wanted me and now she's a total bitch!".
And why did she let it happen? She's too damned nice! Where's that book...
Of course, I don't mean to offend the countless wonderful men of the world. I love men and certainly want the right one all for myself when the timing is right. I think my booking photo would do nicely for EHarmony or Match.com. I knew I smiled in the middle of that horror for a good reason. I wonder who they might match me up with. Maybe Charles Manson. Sorry Charlie, I'm not into facial hair and there's something in your eyes that sort of makes me want to look away. Take my advice-Maybe consider a different head shot. (just call me a bitch(o:)
I have been here for 48 days and I can attest that the idea that time passes more quickly as you get older is purely situational. In jail, time does not pass quickly, no matter how old you are.
I'm thinking too much so I'm probably going to write too much. It's something to do.
While I am speaking upon truths in this wee hour of an apparent Wednesday, I will also remark that after careful self-scrutiny, I do believe that I am one of those people that others label as 'too nice'. I gather this other truth from my life experience as a former doormat to opportunists, as well as from the multiple suggestions that I read the book, "Why Men Love Bitches". This book has been put in my hands 3 times (twice since I arrived here) and suggested more times than that.
I am still reluctant to read it.
I think the word 'bitch', like time passing quickly as you get older, is destined to remain situational. I think that sometimes the word means 'self-respecting, confident woman' (I bet this is what it means in the book I should read) and sometimes it just means 'nasty bitch'. Of course, sometimes it actually does mean 'female dog', but usually just around kennel club people.
Here is an example of how being too nice carries the potential of turning a woman into a smokescreen of 'nasty bitch'. As she makes friends with men who love her for her true niceness, they often want much more and when she is not interested in reciprocating, (as she clearly states from the beginning), there develops a small-town, chronological string of 'what he said's'. Each blah blah blah created to salvage an individual damaged ego can run into train wreck intersections of BLAH and create a false image of 'BITCH', but not the good kind. It's not very fair at all and very good reason to become the other kind of bitch (not the female dog, the other one).
The collective, defensive locker room talk makes it seem as if there is something wrong with HER because she didn't respond accordingly to these selfless, amorous, charitable suitors, instead of accepting the truth…she was just not available and/or interested in that way. Get enough men with their egos burned by the same woman within a certain town's radius and eventually they form a great wall of 'what they said' and like a smokescreen, she ends up looking like the undesirable kind of bitch, which is not really fair. It's a testosterone racket.
The 'warm and personal' connection that some 'too nice' women can easily make can give some men the wrong idea-then, because these types of women are particularly sensitive, they don't want to hurt anyone's feelings so they let it carry on way too long, far beyond their comfort zone and when they cut the relationship just to emergency breathe, the confused men are left wondering, "Why? What's wrong with me? It must be her! She was so nice! I could tell she wanted me and now she's a total bitch!".
And why did she let it happen? She's too damned nice! Where's that book...
Of course, I don't mean to offend the countless wonderful men of the world. I love men and certainly want the right one all for myself when the timing is right. I think my booking photo would do nicely for EHarmony or Match.com. I knew I smiled in the middle of that horror for a good reason. I wonder who they might match me up with. Maybe Charles Manson. Sorry Charlie, I'm not into facial hair and there's something in your eyes that sort of makes me want to look away. Take my advice-Maybe consider a different head shot. (just call me a bitch(o:)
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Jail 101: Nothing Hurts When You Laugh
Sometime in July (undated)
TRIPADVISOR REVIEW: Monterey County Jaihouse Manor
A 2012 Destination On The Rise!
831GirlInStripes: "I want my money back."
It is very late. Monday night. I was moved to a new Lockdown room because believe it or not, this place became overbooked and now, the fluorescent lighting in my room is stuck on incessant flicker a la 'Psycho'. I respectfully asked 2 Deputies to please change the bulb or relocate me to another room, but the first grunted and deferred to the second and the second told me very rudely that there was nothing to be done about it, in a sarcastic and patronizing way.
The Guest Service here is excruciating. I want my money back.
I informed her that I have a court date tomorrow and even when I close my eyes, the intense fluorescent flickering penetrates my eyelids, threatening a severe headache. She was continually rude and abrasive. I smiled and said, "I'm trying very hard to hold back, but I can't help but ask, 'How many Sheriff's Deputies does it take to change a lightbulb?'"…Just making a light, funny joke and she nipped very angrily, "Well you just DID ask, didn't you?"…as if somehow, the joke was WAY out of line, when in REALITY, it was a GREAT line for the moment and the timing was perfect. This Deputy had no 'in the moment' sense of humor...something I consider a survival necessity.
Oh well, I will pretend the flickering is fluorescent firelight-or maybe just firelight (mind over matter) on my eyelids and I will cocoon myself on my 'is this really a bed?' in this bleak camp setting, like a good prisoner of war. Gotta' stay positive(o:
Did I mention only getting 2 short and interrupted hours of sleep the night before? Did I mention the frigid shower water for DAYS on end? I keep hearing, "This is jail, what do you expect?-as I have heard on the heels of so many subhuman interactions since I arrived here…to which I responded, "If this jail showed common respect to those who find themselves here, justly or otherwise, then maybe a greater percentage of inmates would exit with a stronger sense of value and self-esteem, lowering the probability of his or her return.". There are SO many people here who repeat the same cycle…it seems as if everyone knows each other. They talk about their many stays here…like it's a Holiday Inn!
All I know is that this is NO Holiday Inn, folks. Next time, I'm using a Travel Agent.
TRIPADVISOR REVIEW: Monterey County Jaihouse Manor
A 2012 Destination On The Rise!
831GirlInStripes: "I want my money back."
It is very late. Monday night. I was moved to a new Lockdown room because believe it or not, this place became overbooked and now, the fluorescent lighting in my room is stuck on incessant flicker a la 'Psycho'. I respectfully asked 2 Deputies to please change the bulb or relocate me to another room, but the first grunted and deferred to the second and the second told me very rudely that there was nothing to be done about it, in a sarcastic and patronizing way.
The Guest Service here is excruciating. I want my money back.
I informed her that I have a court date tomorrow and even when I close my eyes, the intense fluorescent flickering penetrates my eyelids, threatening a severe headache. She was continually rude and abrasive. I smiled and said, "I'm trying very hard to hold back, but I can't help but ask, 'How many Sheriff's Deputies does it take to change a lightbulb?'"…Just making a light, funny joke and she nipped very angrily, "Well you just DID ask, didn't you?"…as if somehow, the joke was WAY out of line, when in REALITY, it was a GREAT line for the moment and the timing was perfect. This Deputy had no 'in the moment' sense of humor...something I consider a survival necessity.
Oh well, I will pretend the flickering is fluorescent firelight-or maybe just firelight (mind over matter) on my eyelids and I will cocoon myself on my 'is this really a bed?' in this bleak camp setting, like a good prisoner of war. Gotta' stay positive(o:
Did I mention only getting 2 short and interrupted hours of sleep the night before? Did I mention the frigid shower water for DAYS on end? I keep hearing, "This is jail, what do you expect?-as I have heard on the heels of so many subhuman interactions since I arrived here…to which I responded, "If this jail showed common respect to those who find themselves here, justly or otherwise, then maybe a greater percentage of inmates would exit with a stronger sense of value and self-esteem, lowering the probability of his or her return.". There are SO many people here who repeat the same cycle…it seems as if everyone knows each other. They talk about their many stays here…like it's a Holiday Inn!
All I know is that this is NO Holiday Inn, folks. Next time, I'm using a Travel Agent.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Jail 101: Can I Get A Cup of Coffee With This Cinnamon Roll?
I have nothing against Buddhists…I actually love Buddhists and they usually love me, too. Just because I sort of made fun of Buddhists here is not meant to offend anyone. Just thought I'd mention this(o:
July 16, 2012
I would get into how good the morning cinnamon rolls are here, but who can truly enjoy a cinnamon roll without hot coffee or tea? Water or milk is okay, but they shame a good cinnamon roll in the morning…so I save mine for an afternoon snack and call it a muffin. Muffins don't really care what they're paired with, as long as they are center stage and thoroughly loved. Funny, I know people like this.
……………………….
I wonder if I would be more productive just 'sitting' (like a Buddhist) instead of rambling away with this mini pencil. Are Buddhists very productive or are they just completely self-centered? Aren't they taking a trip to Nirvana and ignoring everything else just to get there because they have unwavering faith that it's better than Dubai? I'm suspicious. I know people like this and they aren't even Buddhist…they just want what they want and want it bad. Aren't we all the same(o: Either way, I am finding more fun making fun of (I mean 'with') Buddhists, with this golf pencil on the back of whatever legal form this is…I can testify that injustice does indeed come in MANY forms…and they are all official with stamps on them and everything. I'm just glad there is a blank side to them so I can express what I REALLY feel. I write on these pages and ignore the intimidation they arrived with…it's good therapy!
I've been thinking about the humiliation of going to Court…and the sheer cost. The shackling, the transportation, the babysitting and 'prisoner storage' (the 'tank'), the multiple escorts from start to finish. There should be radical rethinking in concern to this barbaric process. This is the New Millennium, for God's sake. Court Skype, anyone?
It is common knowledge these days that in America, a person in custody is treated as completely guilty until proven innocent…it's just the truth. I have been treated like dirt by total strangers in uniforms, as if I'm a mongrel, an ignorant menace to society. I don't deserve it. These people have no clue who I am or what my story is. Even more frightening, some of these individuals so clearly enjoy being in the position to dominate and are given free reign to be out right abusive, like Nazis. The experience is so Third World and humiliating, humiliating, humiliating. It's hard to imagine that this is happening in our great country...a country I love.
Back to the subject, I think a great remedy for the prisoners and the state would be to adopt a new process all together. There should be a 'mobile Court' that services the jailhouse for most of the routine court dates. The Judge and the pomp & circumstance should be brought to the jail offices, whether in person or via Skype or something similar. I can't imagine that I am the first person with this idea.
The hearings that only take a matter of 5 minutes could be reduced to very little time and money spent. I imagine that some of the Judges might even enjoy the foreword change of pace. The trials could still be held at the Courthouse, but the hearings that consume all of 5 minutes of a nearly 5 HOUR total process could be shuffled through right where the inmates are being housed. It makes sense to me. Maybe if the County were to cut back such enormous expenditures by using modern day technology, the many cutbacks to basic needs of inmates wouldn't be so necessary. It's just common sense.
……………………………
I was just laying here (I can start every entry this way because 'laying here' is what we do 23 hours a day) thinking that it doesn't make much of a difference whether I write about my dreams involving green Lhasa Apsos and Elton John in a Willy Wonka world or simply what is actually happening here…it is all equally absurd. This is a time in my life when it is reasonable to question what is the dream and what is true. I know I don't deserve this treatment but I am accepting it, not fighting it…like an observer in a dream I sense and trust isn't real. God, let me wake up soon and say, "Whew! It was all just a dream!".
July 16, 2012
I would get into how good the morning cinnamon rolls are here, but who can truly enjoy a cinnamon roll without hot coffee or tea? Water or milk is okay, but they shame a good cinnamon roll in the morning…so I save mine for an afternoon snack and call it a muffin. Muffins don't really care what they're paired with, as long as they are center stage and thoroughly loved. Funny, I know people like this.
……………………….
I wonder if I would be more productive just 'sitting' (like a Buddhist) instead of rambling away with this mini pencil. Are Buddhists very productive or are they just completely self-centered? Aren't they taking a trip to Nirvana and ignoring everything else just to get there because they have unwavering faith that it's better than Dubai? I'm suspicious. I know people like this and they aren't even Buddhist…they just want what they want and want it bad. Aren't we all the same(o: Either way, I am finding more fun making fun of (I mean 'with') Buddhists, with this golf pencil on the back of whatever legal form this is…I can testify that injustice does indeed come in MANY forms…and they are all official with stamps on them and everything. I'm just glad there is a blank side to them so I can express what I REALLY feel. I write on these pages and ignore the intimidation they arrived with…it's good therapy!
I've been thinking about the humiliation of going to Court…and the sheer cost. The shackling, the transportation, the babysitting and 'prisoner storage' (the 'tank'), the multiple escorts from start to finish. There should be radical rethinking in concern to this barbaric process. This is the New Millennium, for God's sake. Court Skype, anyone?
It is common knowledge these days that in America, a person in custody is treated as completely guilty until proven innocent…it's just the truth. I have been treated like dirt by total strangers in uniforms, as if I'm a mongrel, an ignorant menace to society. I don't deserve it. These people have no clue who I am or what my story is. Even more frightening, some of these individuals so clearly enjoy being in the position to dominate and are given free reign to be out right abusive, like Nazis. The experience is so Third World and humiliating, humiliating, humiliating. It's hard to imagine that this is happening in our great country...a country I love.
Back to the subject, I think a great remedy for the prisoners and the state would be to adopt a new process all together. There should be a 'mobile Court' that services the jailhouse for most of the routine court dates. The Judge and the pomp & circumstance should be brought to the jail offices, whether in person or via Skype or something similar. I can't imagine that I am the first person with this idea.
The hearings that only take a matter of 5 minutes could be reduced to very little time and money spent. I imagine that some of the Judges might even enjoy the foreword change of pace. The trials could still be held at the Courthouse, but the hearings that consume all of 5 minutes of a nearly 5 HOUR total process could be shuffled through right where the inmates are being housed. It makes sense to me. Maybe if the County were to cut back such enormous expenditures by using modern day technology, the many cutbacks to basic needs of inmates wouldn't be so necessary. It's just common sense.
……………………………
I was just laying here (I can start every entry this way because 'laying here' is what we do 23 hours a day) thinking that it doesn't make much of a difference whether I write about my dreams involving green Lhasa Apsos and Elton John in a Willy Wonka world or simply what is actually happening here…it is all equally absurd. This is a time in my life when it is reasonable to question what is the dream and what is true. I know I don't deserve this treatment but I am accepting it, not fighting it…like an observer in a dream I sense and trust isn't real. God, let me wake up soon and say, "Whew! It was all just a dream!".
Friday, November 16, 2012
Jail 101: Shelly Went 'A Courting And She Did Ride, U-Huh.
July 10, 2012
The funneled afternoon sunlight that sheds across this particular cell takes me to Europe in my mind-it's not pink like Paris, it's yellow…buttery yellow like an Italian Garden. It warms my face when I close my eyes and takes me there right now. My paper is buttery yellow in this light. I'm going to close my eyes again and take a nap, pretending I am asleep in that garden…and there is a cat curled up next to me.
..................
I had Court today. I half expected the Court date to be rescheduled because yesterday I was deemed unready to participate in a Court Hearing because I am under Psychiatric Evaluation for another 30 Court days. I assumed that official 'unreadiness' would have seeped it's way into today's court date, but no such luck...I heard my name on the loudspeaker and sleeping after another restless night was no longer an option.
I once again participated in the dehumanizing experience of being chained at the ankles, wrists and waist at 6:30 A.M., transported in the back of a Sheriff's human cargo prisoner van and then forced to wait for 3 hours in a freezing cold holding tank with a dozen or so other women going through the same experience, however varied our individual journeys may be. What made this day's humiliation different than all the rest was the fact that when I came to this jail, I was prescribed a medication that practically knocks me out and this medication was delivered to me right before I was called to court. The medication makes me dizzy, drowsy, but also agitated.-like thousands of muscle twitches are going off in bodily sequence -all over. (*the meds were discontinued since then)
Thankfully, another inmate understood my predicament and supported me. When I say 'support' I literally mean 'support'…she held me up whenever I was feeling that 'Tim-ber!' feeling and I used her lap as a pillow as I laid on the cold, hard cement in all of my chains, in a dizzy daze on the threshold of nausea.
The room was spinning. There was a woman in there who must have been my age-all fun and laughs, though. She was extremely loud and aggressively flirting with every male who was in eye shot…nearly flashing them (apparently she has done this before because she was recounting past experiences at the same time). I must admit, in my nearly unconscious stupor at that moment, her crude behavior was at least fun-loving and she obviously meant no harm to anyone. She was just being exactly who she is, without shame. She is incarcerated alongside her own daughter and it sounds like they make the most of what life delivers them-in their own way. I make no judgement. Who is anyone to judge?
All I know is maybe if it weren't for this social anomaly in the room, I may not have been able to stay awake. Even as I paced and staggered in chains under the cool air vent, in an effort to stay conscious, she moved all over the place, rattled and giggled incessantly. At one point, she even climbed onto the toilet-sink counter-in all of those chains-and managed to tear a notice posted about not flushing anything but T.P. and she THEN used her tongue to write her inmate booking number using the red powder from the Kool Aid packet she had smuggled in…all for some very unattractive bald guy in the next tank who apparently gave her an interested 'looksie'…NO JOKE! A Deputy came in at that point (as totally shocked as I was) and berated her. She was not the least bit embarrassed and why would she have been? To her, the behavior was perfectly natural…quite entertaining in it's own way, too.
Right when I felt as if I just couldn't make it, I smelled the scent of candy in the air…sweet and fruity! Like smelling salts, the scent of candy on someone's breath instantly made me alert and then, right when I wished so badly I had one, someone gave me a green apple Jolly Rancher. Aha! I knew it was a Jolly Rancher! There is a scent that can only be that of such a candy! I enjoyed that intense flavor in a way I had never enjoyed one of those before and it kept me so awake. I vowed in that moment that when I got back to my cell, I would add 'Jolly Ranchers' to my commissary order form. I changed my mind later because I don't have a real toothbrush here and I don't want cavities…but I plan to buy them on 'the outside', oh yes. Oh yes. (tomorrow I am going to post what I wrote about a dream i had that very night...a dream about Elton John and his dog who was the exact color of that green apple Jolly Rancher...it was a weird but very great dream that was appropriate for that day!)
................…
An echoing chorus of conversation whips around this pod and amidst the loud noises of it all, , sometimes very profound thoughts are being conveyed…you have to observe, somewhere in between the "Like a mother fucker"'s and"Son bitch"'s, there is treasure. Creative listening around here can be like panning for golden thoughts buried somewhere in the Klondike mountain of 'Mother Fucker'! Heehee(o:
The funneled afternoon sunlight that sheds across this particular cell takes me to Europe in my mind-it's not pink like Paris, it's yellow…buttery yellow like an Italian Garden. It warms my face when I close my eyes and takes me there right now. My paper is buttery yellow in this light. I'm going to close my eyes again and take a nap, pretending I am asleep in that garden…and there is a cat curled up next to me.
..................
I had Court today. I half expected the Court date to be rescheduled because yesterday I was deemed unready to participate in a Court Hearing because I am under Psychiatric Evaluation for another 30 Court days. I assumed that official 'unreadiness' would have seeped it's way into today's court date, but no such luck...I heard my name on the loudspeaker and sleeping after another restless night was no longer an option.
I once again participated in the dehumanizing experience of being chained at the ankles, wrists and waist at 6:30 A.M., transported in the back of a Sheriff's human cargo prisoner van and then forced to wait for 3 hours in a freezing cold holding tank with a dozen or so other women going through the same experience, however varied our individual journeys may be. What made this day's humiliation different than all the rest was the fact that when I came to this jail, I was prescribed a medication that practically knocks me out and this medication was delivered to me right before I was called to court. The medication makes me dizzy, drowsy, but also agitated.-like thousands of muscle twitches are going off in bodily sequence -all over. (*the meds were discontinued since then)
Thankfully, another inmate understood my predicament and supported me. When I say 'support' I literally mean 'support'…she held me up whenever I was feeling that 'Tim-ber!' feeling and I used her lap as a pillow as I laid on the cold, hard cement in all of my chains, in a dizzy daze on the threshold of nausea.
The room was spinning. There was a woman in there who must have been my age-all fun and laughs, though. She was extremely loud and aggressively flirting with every male who was in eye shot…nearly flashing them (apparently she has done this before because she was recounting past experiences at the same time). I must admit, in my nearly unconscious stupor at that moment, her crude behavior was at least fun-loving and she obviously meant no harm to anyone. She was just being exactly who she is, without shame. She is incarcerated alongside her own daughter and it sounds like they make the most of what life delivers them-in their own way. I make no judgement. Who is anyone to judge?
All I know is maybe if it weren't for this social anomaly in the room, I may not have been able to stay awake. Even as I paced and staggered in chains under the cool air vent, in an effort to stay conscious, she moved all over the place, rattled and giggled incessantly. At one point, she even climbed onto the toilet-sink counter-in all of those chains-and managed to tear a notice posted about not flushing anything but T.P. and she THEN used her tongue to write her inmate booking number using the red powder from the Kool Aid packet she had smuggled in…all for some very unattractive bald guy in the next tank who apparently gave her an interested 'looksie'…NO JOKE! A Deputy came in at that point (as totally shocked as I was) and berated her. She was not the least bit embarrassed and why would she have been? To her, the behavior was perfectly natural…quite entertaining in it's own way, too.
Right when I felt as if I just couldn't make it, I smelled the scent of candy in the air…sweet and fruity! Like smelling salts, the scent of candy on someone's breath instantly made me alert and then, right when I wished so badly I had one, someone gave me a green apple Jolly Rancher. Aha! I knew it was a Jolly Rancher! There is a scent that can only be that of such a candy! I enjoyed that intense flavor in a way I had never enjoyed one of those before and it kept me so awake. I vowed in that moment that when I got back to my cell, I would add 'Jolly Ranchers' to my commissary order form. I changed my mind later because I don't have a real toothbrush here and I don't want cavities…but I plan to buy them on 'the outside', oh yes. Oh yes. (tomorrow I am going to post what I wrote about a dream i had that very night...a dream about Elton John and his dog who was the exact color of that green apple Jolly Rancher...it was a weird but very great dream that was appropriate for that day!)
................…
An echoing chorus of conversation whips around this pod and amidst the loud noises of it all, , sometimes very profound thoughts are being conveyed…you have to observe, somewhere in between the "Like a mother fucker"'s and"Son bitch"'s, there is treasure. Creative listening around here can be like panning for golden thoughts buried somewhere in the Klondike mountain of 'Mother Fucker'! Heehee(o:
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Jail 101: Consciously Senseless
July 9, 2012
I'm awake and it's probably 2-3 A.M. …can't sleep so I thought I would write my spinning thoughts because they keep going around and around anyway-maybe if I catch them and put them away, they won't keep my mind so busy…even though I DID fall asleep at 7 P.M. so this is likely a normal waking hour for me, given the clock that I have adjusted to.
In my mind's abyss, I keep thinking about Helen Keller and her unlimited capacity to learn without the support of sight or hearing. Then I think of my own in tact 5 senses and I wonder how much farther along I might be if I had been born without one or two. Of course, I am grateful for my functional senses and I don't mean to devalue my experience by comparing my reality to anyone, but I have always had a deep fascination with Helen Keller-ever since I was child. I always wished-almost felt as if I actually had the opportunity to know her. "WA-TER!…WA-TER!…WA-TER!" I can see that scene from 'The Miracle Worker' perfectly, right now in my head. I remember thinking how lucky that little girl was to have parents who loved and supported her so much. She could have been put away like so many people but she was born fortunate.
Did she really learn multiple languages? Was she really such a scholar? When I think of senses and the migration they have the ability to take into areas most people never illuminate to, I feel a strange envy for where that woman existed, kind of like envying the life of an Astronaut. I know there is so much more to see..so does Andrea Bocelli. When he sings, he carries so much more than sound…so does Stevie Wonder. They both carry sight for any blind soul and the place it comes from is clearly deeper than the 5 senses.
I think of Mark Twain (as usual, love that guy!) and his trip through Europe and the Holy Land. He quips about the bones of saints-the wood from the Holy Cross…countless pieces of it claimed as authentic and on display throughout Europe's churches that if combined, could build a cross the size of Noah's Ark! Then I think of the programs I have watched on T.V. about Helen Keller…a few years ago on KQED there was one in particular that documented her deep study of alternative philosophy and religion…then the other night at 'jail church', one of the visiting ladies pointed out that Helen Keller was a devout Christian and faithfully spoke on behalf of the church.
I think like wood from The Cross, every faith would like to adopt the past as it's solid foundation; not that anyone is lying. I think the desire to believe is strong enough to make it true, no matter who is staking the claim. I wonder what Helen Keller would think of this-or Mark Twain, who was a very Godly man…I think!
It's funny. I paused for 5 minutes to lay back here and during that pause, as I was imagining Helen Keller, I suddenly became acutely aware of every little buzzing sound, from the fluorescent lighting to my inner ears…a harmony of buzzing from the conscious to the subconscious, like everything we either notice, or don't notice-all together at once. Silence has never been so noisy. Just in this moment I am noticing that there is so much more to consciousness.
I still have so much to learn and do in my life. Maybe knowing this has kept my spirit young through so much experience I have consciously chosen to remain unconscious to…so much experience that could have made me old way before I ever had the chance to fully live. I feel my opportunity to live is coming now, like I'm crossing a threshold. Either that or it's the middle of the night and I'm just confused(o: Something I know for sure is that God is here. I can only imagine that both Helen Keller and Mark Twain figured that out. I know this so I don't have to worry about whose story is true or whose cross is real. God is real and alive through every sense.
…Now I am laying here thinking, "I was in jail!". Of course, I am still here as I write this, but I am seeing myself in my mind---after this, sitting back and realizing, "I was in JAIL!"! It's a lot to fathom and I know there will be that moment when it will hit me that I actually went to jail-Me! Shelly Pisciotta! A good deed doer! Wow! I think it's kind of hitting me right now. Oh my God! I went to jail! I mean, I'm in jail! Me! Shelly Pisciotta! Wow! Oh my God! This is not right.
Breathe.
One thing I can say about this experience is that aside from the regular meals that can often be difficult to eat because they are horrible, I have twice enjoyed the most delicious chocolate brownie I have EVER tasted-and it's not just because I'm in jail that I have this opinion-it's really that good of a brownie. It's so chewy, chunky, chocolatey, yummmmm, so good. I can admit it's even better than my own and that's a lot for me to admit. I didn't think brownies could GET better than mine(o: I just KNOW it's someone's special recipe. That brownie is a secret recipe brownie if there ever was one-WOW. I wonder what Helen Keller would think of this...or Mark Twain. Well, not really. They wouldn't care, most likely...or would they? Hmmm. God, give me rest. Does not making sense count as going without certain senses and does this set me apart intellectually? I wonder what Helen Keller would think(o:
I will also say that (and maybe this IS because of jailhouse deprivation), summer fruit has never tasted sweeter to me. Apples so sweet and crunchy-like juicy candy explosions in the mouth…oranges like I have never experienced…pears like pears should ALWAYS be! Willy Wonka couldn't even design fruit this scrumdidliumptuous. A piece of summer fruit here is an intimate moment to be had and not to be disturbed by anyone. I save each piece for the perfect moment to be enjoyed. I haven't had one in a few days and I'm beginning to feel a little frustrated, actually. Dried fruit is worthy of some praise here, as well. It tides me over, especially if I combine it with peanut butter in place of jam…kind of relatively delicious in it's own way! I might even do this at home if it doesn't cause traumatizing flashbacks. If I weren't so tired, I would bring up the cinnamon rolls…but they deserve more than a final mention.
I'm awake and it's probably 2-3 A.M. …can't sleep so I thought I would write my spinning thoughts because they keep going around and around anyway-maybe if I catch them and put them away, they won't keep my mind so busy…even though I DID fall asleep at 7 P.M. so this is likely a normal waking hour for me, given the clock that I have adjusted to.
In my mind's abyss, I keep thinking about Helen Keller and her unlimited capacity to learn without the support of sight or hearing. Then I think of my own in tact 5 senses and I wonder how much farther along I might be if I had been born without one or two. Of course, I am grateful for my functional senses and I don't mean to devalue my experience by comparing my reality to anyone, but I have always had a deep fascination with Helen Keller-ever since I was child. I always wished-almost felt as if I actually had the opportunity to know her. "WA-TER!…WA-TER!…WA-TER!" I can see that scene from 'The Miracle Worker' perfectly, right now in my head. I remember thinking how lucky that little girl was to have parents who loved and supported her so much. She could have been put away like so many people but she was born fortunate.
Did she really learn multiple languages? Was she really such a scholar? When I think of senses and the migration they have the ability to take into areas most people never illuminate to, I feel a strange envy for where that woman existed, kind of like envying the life of an Astronaut. I know there is so much more to see..so does Andrea Bocelli. When he sings, he carries so much more than sound…so does Stevie Wonder. They both carry sight for any blind soul and the place it comes from is clearly deeper than the 5 senses.
I think of Mark Twain (as usual, love that guy!) and his trip through Europe and the Holy Land. He quips about the bones of saints-the wood from the Holy Cross…countless pieces of it claimed as authentic and on display throughout Europe's churches that if combined, could build a cross the size of Noah's Ark! Then I think of the programs I have watched on T.V. about Helen Keller…a few years ago on KQED there was one in particular that documented her deep study of alternative philosophy and religion…then the other night at 'jail church', one of the visiting ladies pointed out that Helen Keller was a devout Christian and faithfully spoke on behalf of the church.
I think like wood from The Cross, every faith would like to adopt the past as it's solid foundation; not that anyone is lying. I think the desire to believe is strong enough to make it true, no matter who is staking the claim. I wonder what Helen Keller would think of this-or Mark Twain, who was a very Godly man…I think!
It's funny. I paused for 5 minutes to lay back here and during that pause, as I was imagining Helen Keller, I suddenly became acutely aware of every little buzzing sound, from the fluorescent lighting to my inner ears…a harmony of buzzing from the conscious to the subconscious, like everything we either notice, or don't notice-all together at once. Silence has never been so noisy. Just in this moment I am noticing that there is so much more to consciousness.
I still have so much to learn and do in my life. Maybe knowing this has kept my spirit young through so much experience I have consciously chosen to remain unconscious to…so much experience that could have made me old way before I ever had the chance to fully live. I feel my opportunity to live is coming now, like I'm crossing a threshold. Either that or it's the middle of the night and I'm just confused(o: Something I know for sure is that God is here. I can only imagine that both Helen Keller and Mark Twain figured that out. I know this so I don't have to worry about whose story is true or whose cross is real. God is real and alive through every sense.
…Now I am laying here thinking, "I was in jail!". Of course, I am still here as I write this, but I am seeing myself in my mind---after this, sitting back and realizing, "I was in JAIL!"! It's a lot to fathom and I know there will be that moment when it will hit me that I actually went to jail-Me! Shelly Pisciotta! A good deed doer! Wow! I think it's kind of hitting me right now. Oh my God! I went to jail! I mean, I'm in jail! Me! Shelly Pisciotta! Wow! Oh my God! This is not right.
Breathe.
One thing I can say about this experience is that aside from the regular meals that can often be difficult to eat because they are horrible, I have twice enjoyed the most delicious chocolate brownie I have EVER tasted-and it's not just because I'm in jail that I have this opinion-it's really that good of a brownie. It's so chewy, chunky, chocolatey, yummmmm, so good. I can admit it's even better than my own and that's a lot for me to admit. I didn't think brownies could GET better than mine(o: I just KNOW it's someone's special recipe. That brownie is a secret recipe brownie if there ever was one-WOW. I wonder what Helen Keller would think of this...or Mark Twain. Well, not really. They wouldn't care, most likely...or would they? Hmmm. God, give me rest. Does not making sense count as going without certain senses and does this set me apart intellectually? I wonder what Helen Keller would think(o:
I will also say that (and maybe this IS because of jailhouse deprivation), summer fruit has never tasted sweeter to me. Apples so sweet and crunchy-like juicy candy explosions in the mouth…oranges like I have never experienced…pears like pears should ALWAYS be! Willy Wonka couldn't even design fruit this scrumdidliumptuous. A piece of summer fruit here is an intimate moment to be had and not to be disturbed by anyone. I save each piece for the perfect moment to be enjoyed. I haven't had one in a few days and I'm beginning to feel a little frustrated, actually. Dried fruit is worthy of some praise here, as well. It tides me over, especially if I combine it with peanut butter in place of jam…kind of relatively delicious in it's own way! I might even do this at home if it doesn't cause traumatizing flashbacks. If I weren't so tired, I would bring up the cinnamon rolls…but they deserve more than a final mention.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Jail 101: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (thanks Elton John(o:)
July 6, 2012
Because I refused the T.B. test during the mandatory 2-week physical that consisted of recording my weight, blood pressure and asking me how many pregnancies I've had and when was the last time I had an HIV test, I was later called for an unexpected chest X-Ray. When I first objected, explaining that my health care is my choice, I was berated that this was procedure when an inmate signs to refuse the skin test and though I would have appreciated this information about procedure when I was signing the refusal, I reluctantly agreed…especially after the female Deputy suggested that I should be taken by force after I respectfully and intelligently spoke my legitimate concern.
I will remark that some of the Deputy Guards are respectful and professional, but some…well some are clearly sadistic and obviously find a sick thrill in dominating and humiliating another woman. It's probably perfectly natural in these kinds of 'Lord of The Flies' society underworlds…Science. However, if I were a doctor and these people were my patients, I would want to put some of these Deputies on psych meds for uncommon aggressive behavior and call it NOS (which stands for 'not otherwise specified' and is given to confusing disorders with no diagnosis yet).
I settled down and agreed to get the X-Ray, only because I thought it would be a good idea after all and I cooperated fully and cheerily, even. I was taken with 'Dahlia' (another name change) and two other female inmates from a different 'pod'. We marched down long, sterile hallways …always staying on the right and stopping at the corners (this is how you do it because this is what they tell you to do) until we finally arrived back at 'the tank'…the minimalistic room I became so familiar with when I first arrived. I was half expecting flashbacks of THAT experience, but I decided to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative…the whole song, I kept it playing in my head! We were left there for about an hour, along with a woman who had been arrested for drunk driving.
I kept my positive attitude throughout the experience, even in the company of a young inmate (not Dahlia), whose degree of ignorance and trash mouth truly set her apart from some of the worst I have seen here. I am proud to say that I didn't allow her to bother me at all, even as she was trying diligently to do just that. I feel as if I am really developing the mind strength and ability to separate my emotions from the energy of others, while maintaining my focus and joy.
This whole experience is very much a kind of unexpected 'training' that some might CHOOSE to participate in, if only for the character building, therapeutic spiritual and cerebral challenges that are offered here. I feel an odd and authentic appreciation for these challenges, including what I have experienced with some of the nastiest of Deputies and inmates, alike. I learn how to manage me and test myself to stay 'even keel' through every bit of traumatic stimulation I receive here. I know that somehow this is an investment and sometimes I pretend that this is a 'Survivor' kind of seminar and I have paid good money to be here, so I am going to get all from it that I can. Can't be that far off from a real inner city kind of Ashram, can it?
Perspective is the most important piece of anything. I could easily HATE this, every second of every day. I could write a book of what is simply not right, not fair and I could begin with the very fact that I was even arrested in the first place. Instead, I choose to pay attention to the circumstances and reflect. I see the challenges like an Olympic course and I consider myself a champion through it all. I will become my very best because I take it all as education…Philosophy, Physiology, Spirituality, Psychology, Physics, Math. I take each day and translate it into what I can apply to my own improvement and growth. All that has been designed to take from me will only strengthen me in every way. It's what I choose and I will not waver.
I have experienced epic tolerance, shoulder to should with epic lack of tolerance. I have foregone fear to absorb what I see and hear. I learn and appreciate, I feel love for every person here-I feel hope for each soul. I secretly wonder what it would be like to spy into the lives of so many of these broken women in ten years. I so hope they overcome-EVERY single one.
Back to 'the tank'…The Deputy came to retrieve us and led us down a hall where an X-ray Tech was set up in what was about the size of a small cloak room. We had our photo shoots and then we were returned to 'the tank' for another hour. Dahlia is so damned popular in this place, she was socializing with both rooms of men on either side of our 'tank' cell-yelling her information to several close friends of her family and one of them even asked for my booking number so he could write me letters…it was a huge compliment, though I passed on the request...for me it's a time and place kind of thing.
Dahlia knows SO many people here, I felt like we were walking down the red carpet surrounded by Papparazzi, rather than a jailhouse hallway to the X-Ray machine! No joke! She was having so much fun, too-as if she was at a party, seeing all of her closest friends, laughing all the way. She has a GREAT attitude, however different than what I consider my own great attitude. We are all different and it takes all kinds, as they say. If everyone had a great attitude like Dahlia but in his or her own way, then the world would be one big, beautiful menagerie of great attitude!
Dahlia has 5 children and clearly loves them very much. They are the topic of almost every conversation I've had with her and it's such a breath of fresh air in a place where most moms don't even seem to know where their children are or who they are with. I pray for Dahlia's success and that she never comes back, though I imagine some of her friends here might find some disappointment in that!
Eventually the Deputy returned for us but as we shuffled down the hall, he smoothly dropped the 'bad seed' inmate into a very yucky holding cell before bringing the rest of us back to our pods. I think maybe they listen to the conversations that go on in 'the tank' because she was being incredibly foul and disrespectful-not just towards me, but also towards the Deputy who brought us-who, as it turned out, was one of the kinder, more gentle types.
I felt proud of myself that in the moment I decided to go with the X-Ray and change my perspective, no matter how rough the experience was…it was a breeze to smile through it and a hugely liberating relief to know that I can! I do not take any of this as a setback. My life is becoming amazing, right here-right now. I will thank the roughest and meanest of Deputies when I leave here. I don't think they know how much they have given me in all they tried to strip.
Through the injustice, I notice a perfect balance on the large scale…especially when it comes to 'fairness'. There is something divine to observe here, like anywhere. Life really IS fair. I am gaining tools I have always longed for. The pain I do not feel and the love I soak up from even the air that surrounds me, however stale. I deserve to find this joy because I know I DESERVE joy, not punishment so regardless of time or place, It is finding ME!
The unique tools I am gaining have been no small challenge to retrieve. This makes me think of a broomstick that is caught high in the barbed wire that surrounds the rooftop 'yard' where we go for fresh air and exercise for one hour, 3 times a week.
When I see the broomstick, I feel like Dorothy who has been set to task by an ordinary man behind a curtain to retrieve it from a fear-wielding wicked witch…all in trade for my release. Even as I am still here, I have figured out that I am finally home; a safe place inside of me where I find the courage of a lion who is no longer a coward and the heart of a tin man who loves the world. (If I only had a brain…hehehe!)
Because I refused the T.B. test during the mandatory 2-week physical that consisted of recording my weight, blood pressure and asking me how many pregnancies I've had and when was the last time I had an HIV test, I was later called for an unexpected chest X-Ray. When I first objected, explaining that my health care is my choice, I was berated that this was procedure when an inmate signs to refuse the skin test and though I would have appreciated this information about procedure when I was signing the refusal, I reluctantly agreed…especially after the female Deputy suggested that I should be taken by force after I respectfully and intelligently spoke my legitimate concern.
I will remark that some of the Deputy Guards are respectful and professional, but some…well some are clearly sadistic and obviously find a sick thrill in dominating and humiliating another woman. It's probably perfectly natural in these kinds of 'Lord of The Flies' society underworlds…Science. However, if I were a doctor and these people were my patients, I would want to put some of these Deputies on psych meds for uncommon aggressive behavior and call it NOS (which stands for 'not otherwise specified' and is given to confusing disorders with no diagnosis yet).
I settled down and agreed to get the X-Ray, only because I thought it would be a good idea after all and I cooperated fully and cheerily, even. I was taken with 'Dahlia' (another name change) and two other female inmates from a different 'pod'. We marched down long, sterile hallways …always staying on the right and stopping at the corners (this is how you do it because this is what they tell you to do) until we finally arrived back at 'the tank'…the minimalistic room I became so familiar with when I first arrived. I was half expecting flashbacks of THAT experience, but I decided to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative…the whole song, I kept it playing in my head! We were left there for about an hour, along with a woman who had been arrested for drunk driving.
I kept my positive attitude throughout the experience, even in the company of a young inmate (not Dahlia), whose degree of ignorance and trash mouth truly set her apart from some of the worst I have seen here. I am proud to say that I didn't allow her to bother me at all, even as she was trying diligently to do just that. I feel as if I am really developing the mind strength and ability to separate my emotions from the energy of others, while maintaining my focus and joy.
This whole experience is very much a kind of unexpected 'training' that some might CHOOSE to participate in, if only for the character building, therapeutic spiritual and cerebral challenges that are offered here. I feel an odd and authentic appreciation for these challenges, including what I have experienced with some of the nastiest of Deputies and inmates, alike. I learn how to manage me and test myself to stay 'even keel' through every bit of traumatic stimulation I receive here. I know that somehow this is an investment and sometimes I pretend that this is a 'Survivor' kind of seminar and I have paid good money to be here, so I am going to get all from it that I can. Can't be that far off from a real inner city kind of Ashram, can it?
Perspective is the most important piece of anything. I could easily HATE this, every second of every day. I could write a book of what is simply not right, not fair and I could begin with the very fact that I was even arrested in the first place. Instead, I choose to pay attention to the circumstances and reflect. I see the challenges like an Olympic course and I consider myself a champion through it all. I will become my very best because I take it all as education…Philosophy, Physiology, Spirituality, Psychology, Physics, Math. I take each day and translate it into what I can apply to my own improvement and growth. All that has been designed to take from me will only strengthen me in every way. It's what I choose and I will not waver.
I have experienced epic tolerance, shoulder to should with epic lack of tolerance. I have foregone fear to absorb what I see and hear. I learn and appreciate, I feel love for every person here-I feel hope for each soul. I secretly wonder what it would be like to spy into the lives of so many of these broken women in ten years. I so hope they overcome-EVERY single one.
Back to 'the tank'…The Deputy came to retrieve us and led us down a hall where an X-ray Tech was set up in what was about the size of a small cloak room. We had our photo shoots and then we were returned to 'the tank' for another hour. Dahlia is so damned popular in this place, she was socializing with both rooms of men on either side of our 'tank' cell-yelling her information to several close friends of her family and one of them even asked for my booking number so he could write me letters…it was a huge compliment, though I passed on the request...for me it's a time and place kind of thing.
Dahlia knows SO many people here, I felt like we were walking down the red carpet surrounded by Papparazzi, rather than a jailhouse hallway to the X-Ray machine! No joke! She was having so much fun, too-as if she was at a party, seeing all of her closest friends, laughing all the way. She has a GREAT attitude, however different than what I consider my own great attitude. We are all different and it takes all kinds, as they say. If everyone had a great attitude like Dahlia but in his or her own way, then the world would be one big, beautiful menagerie of great attitude!
Dahlia has 5 children and clearly loves them very much. They are the topic of almost every conversation I've had with her and it's such a breath of fresh air in a place where most moms don't even seem to know where their children are or who they are with. I pray for Dahlia's success and that she never comes back, though I imagine some of her friends here might find some disappointment in that!
Eventually the Deputy returned for us but as we shuffled down the hall, he smoothly dropped the 'bad seed' inmate into a very yucky holding cell before bringing the rest of us back to our pods. I think maybe they listen to the conversations that go on in 'the tank' because she was being incredibly foul and disrespectful-not just towards me, but also towards the Deputy who brought us-who, as it turned out, was one of the kinder, more gentle types.
I felt proud of myself that in the moment I decided to go with the X-Ray and change my perspective, no matter how rough the experience was…it was a breeze to smile through it and a hugely liberating relief to know that I can! I do not take any of this as a setback. My life is becoming amazing, right here-right now. I will thank the roughest and meanest of Deputies when I leave here. I don't think they know how much they have given me in all they tried to strip.
Through the injustice, I notice a perfect balance on the large scale…especially when it comes to 'fairness'. There is something divine to observe here, like anywhere. Life really IS fair. I am gaining tools I have always longed for. The pain I do not feel and the love I soak up from even the air that surrounds me, however stale. I deserve to find this joy because I know I DESERVE joy, not punishment so regardless of time or place, It is finding ME!
The unique tools I am gaining have been no small challenge to retrieve. This makes me think of a broomstick that is caught high in the barbed wire that surrounds the rooftop 'yard' where we go for fresh air and exercise for one hour, 3 times a week.
When I see the broomstick, I feel like Dorothy who has been set to task by an ordinary man behind a curtain to retrieve it from a fear-wielding wicked witch…all in trade for my release. Even as I am still here, I have figured out that I am finally home; a safe place inside of me where I find the courage of a lion who is no longer a coward and the heart of a tin man who loves the world. (If I only had a brain…hehehe!)
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Jail 101: Clara, Disciple of God
Throughout my journal, I wrote about certain people I met while I was a prisoner there. I will share those entries, but I have changed their names for their privacy. I will never forget some of these individuals…the interesting, wonderful characters who crossed my path. This next entry is about a woman with a heart like a prism…in all of her 'lostness', she reflects a certain wisdom that is found there. I think I will rename her 'Clara', for the clarity she seeks.
July 2, 2012
Monterey County Jail
The first morning I woke up here (well actually it was the second because the first was while I was still being held in the 'tank', as I've learned it's called…more about that experience later), the first thing I remember is spying from under my blanket at an inmate who was on her 'hour', touching my breakfast at my door slot because I left it there, untouched. Breakfast arrives here at 4 A.M., by the way. I didn't expect I would be staying here for more than a few days at the most and I was intending a hunger strike for the duration, on principle that what is happening here is a crime. I heard the woman say, "ungrateful bitch" as she surveyed my food. I could tell she wanted it. At that moment, spurred by fear of creating enemies in a place I have heard is a bad place to create enemies, I popped my head out and told her in a most gracious and friendly way, "Please take it, it's a gift!". She was startled and her tone changed entirely and she said in a sweet and hopeful voice, "Are you sure?" and I said, "Please, please…it's a gift!". This was my first conversation with Clara and my first experience with social meal dealing around here. The way food moves to those who want it is probably some kind of beautiful, synchronized dance if watched from a distance…an intelligent design of give and take like a big, horizontal paper bag and plastic wrap moving snowflake!
Clara has been to this jail countless times over the last 35 years. She is appreciated by even the meanest of Deputies and she jokes that there should be an honorary 'suite' dedicated to her in Lockdown…like me, she likes her 'own space'. I chose to be put in Lockdown when I arrived here because unlike the 'open pod', each inmate is given her own space, however cramped that space happens to be.
A few of these rooms are double occupancy which can be hit or miss, all depending upon who winds up in the other bunk, otherwise there is a great deal of privacy. The only trade for this convenience is each room is only given 1 hour per day to shower, watch television and walk in small circles for exercise. The remainder of each day is spent confined in the cell. I do not mind this in trade for not getting picked on elsewhere. I've heard the stories..they're not pretty and I'm rusty when it comes to gangster etiquette. Here in my space, I feel relatively safe and I read about 14 hours a day so most of the time, I am transported somewhere else. I have never appreciated books so much in my life as I do here in this gulag.
Clara seems to have lived a carefree life of playing…not caring about tomorrow but truly, she lives a spiritual existence and in my opinion, she battles with drugs and alcohol because she lives on the cusp of multiple realities-she 'sees' and she tries to numb herself to all she sees, I think. She sticks up for herself and defensively communicates that she has a light that surrounds her (as if it's not obvious) and about a man who told her this once-a man who grew up on an Indian Reservation, as she explained, who was 'taken' by her energy. I can easily see her depth without her big explanation. Many may dismiss her as a 'drunk' or somewhat crazy, but I see her.
She is a delicately framed, older than her years woman with the face and eyes of a classic fortune teller! If I were a Director, I would cast her as a Gipsy…she would be GREAT! She claims to be a Disciple of God and when she defensively told me this, I softly responded, "I think you are, Clara.". For all I've experienced, I think she must be. To have maintained such a beautiful heart of faith and a witty sense of humor through so many years of pain and still have the desire to share God with those who don't know Him yet-She is a Disciple of God.
The moments when she becomes flustered and defensive about this don't suit her true personality. I can tell these moments are what she's developed through being too sensitive to the judgement of others who have probably challenged and dismissed her in the past. She openly and shamefully shares her chronic problems with drugs and alcohol, as well as her other mistakes and her opinions of those mistakes…her clearly horrible behavior when she is very drunk in public and her tendencies to get physical and beat people up, rather than walking away when confronted. This is hard to imagine because she is a very small woman. She is like a floating butterfly who walks like a 7-foot gangster, fisted hands and all! It's quite a sight! She is tiny and giant at the same time. Some people pull this off.
One thing that is for sure, her heart is giant and so is her spirit. I hope Clara is taken care of for the rest of her life. I hope someone takes her under their wing so she is free to be happy and never afraid of anyone or anything taking advantage of her vulnerabilities. I hope she is free to be the Disciple of God she chooses to be without any worries and I hope she gets new teeth. Such a great smile with those sparkling eyes…she has the energy to light up a room. If that woman organized her head and had a major makeover she would be a knockout and men would be at her feet in no time…I would just hope that she would pick the best one!
July 2, 2012
Monterey County Jail
The first morning I woke up here (well actually it was the second because the first was while I was still being held in the 'tank', as I've learned it's called…more about that experience later), the first thing I remember is spying from under my blanket at an inmate who was on her 'hour', touching my breakfast at my door slot because I left it there, untouched. Breakfast arrives here at 4 A.M., by the way. I didn't expect I would be staying here for more than a few days at the most and I was intending a hunger strike for the duration, on principle that what is happening here is a crime. I heard the woman say, "ungrateful bitch" as she surveyed my food. I could tell she wanted it. At that moment, spurred by fear of creating enemies in a place I have heard is a bad place to create enemies, I popped my head out and told her in a most gracious and friendly way, "Please take it, it's a gift!". She was startled and her tone changed entirely and she said in a sweet and hopeful voice, "Are you sure?" and I said, "Please, please…it's a gift!". This was my first conversation with Clara and my first experience with social meal dealing around here. The way food moves to those who want it is probably some kind of beautiful, synchronized dance if watched from a distance…an intelligent design of give and take like a big, horizontal paper bag and plastic wrap moving snowflake!
Clara has been to this jail countless times over the last 35 years. She is appreciated by even the meanest of Deputies and she jokes that there should be an honorary 'suite' dedicated to her in Lockdown…like me, she likes her 'own space'. I chose to be put in Lockdown when I arrived here because unlike the 'open pod', each inmate is given her own space, however cramped that space happens to be.
A few of these rooms are double occupancy which can be hit or miss, all depending upon who winds up in the other bunk, otherwise there is a great deal of privacy. The only trade for this convenience is each room is only given 1 hour per day to shower, watch television and walk in small circles for exercise. The remainder of each day is spent confined in the cell. I do not mind this in trade for not getting picked on elsewhere. I've heard the stories..they're not pretty and I'm rusty when it comes to gangster etiquette. Here in my space, I feel relatively safe and I read about 14 hours a day so most of the time, I am transported somewhere else. I have never appreciated books so much in my life as I do here in this gulag.
Clara seems to have lived a carefree life of playing…not caring about tomorrow but truly, she lives a spiritual existence and in my opinion, she battles with drugs and alcohol because she lives on the cusp of multiple realities-she 'sees' and she tries to numb herself to all she sees, I think. She sticks up for herself and defensively communicates that she has a light that surrounds her (as if it's not obvious) and about a man who told her this once-a man who grew up on an Indian Reservation, as she explained, who was 'taken' by her energy. I can easily see her depth without her big explanation. Many may dismiss her as a 'drunk' or somewhat crazy, but I see her.
She is a delicately framed, older than her years woman with the face and eyes of a classic fortune teller! If I were a Director, I would cast her as a Gipsy…she would be GREAT! She claims to be a Disciple of God and when she defensively told me this, I softly responded, "I think you are, Clara.". For all I've experienced, I think she must be. To have maintained such a beautiful heart of faith and a witty sense of humor through so many years of pain and still have the desire to share God with those who don't know Him yet-She is a Disciple of God.
The moments when she becomes flustered and defensive about this don't suit her true personality. I can tell these moments are what she's developed through being too sensitive to the judgement of others who have probably challenged and dismissed her in the past. She openly and shamefully shares her chronic problems with drugs and alcohol, as well as her other mistakes and her opinions of those mistakes…her clearly horrible behavior when she is very drunk in public and her tendencies to get physical and beat people up, rather than walking away when confronted. This is hard to imagine because she is a very small woman. She is like a floating butterfly who walks like a 7-foot gangster, fisted hands and all! It's quite a sight! She is tiny and giant at the same time. Some people pull this off.
One thing that is for sure, her heart is giant and so is her spirit. I hope Clara is taken care of for the rest of her life. I hope someone takes her under their wing so she is free to be happy and never afraid of anyone or anything taking advantage of her vulnerabilities. I hope she is free to be the Disciple of God she chooses to be without any worries and I hope she gets new teeth. Such a great smile with those sparkling eyes…she has the energy to light up a room. If that woman organized her head and had a major makeover she would be a knockout and men would be at her feet in no time…I would just hope that she would pick the best one!
Monday, November 12, 2012
Jail 101: Power Flushing & Tiny Pencils
July 7, 2012
Today is Saturday and I just flushed my Irish Spring. I was washing my hands after I flushed and my soap slipped and and I saw it fall, like swirling slow motion..forever gone. I helplessly watched it disappear down a raging whirlpool in my toilet that happens to be connected to my sink. The plumbing here is what I would call 'no fail' plumbing. Flushing is to create a watery wormhole for ANYTHING to successfully travel to a different time and place. I think I could jump into my toilet mid-flush and like a ride on a corkscrew bobsled, I might be carried across a finish line somewhere far away from this cement shoebox. Hmmm…maybe tomorrow.
I think it's designed with such force so nothing-NOTHING can clog the pipes. I've even heard that one of the inmates here successfully flushed an entire jumpsuit (top AND bottom) down her toilet. I heard this story long past deciding to no longer question 'why' around here. It's probably a good assumption that it wasn't the flusher's jumpsuit, though.
The energy of one toilet flush in this jail could probably power a small neighborhood for an entire evening, if harnessed. Go water power!
...Nothing quite like a finely sharpened, teeny, tiny pencil. I feel like I could write on the wall of a mouse's house with this little guy! How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a wood chuck chucked this pencil? Not very much at all. They should just cut the wood out all together and provide lead caps (I guess graphite caps) for the fingers, like they do with the 'no shank' (I finally know what 'shank' means!) toothbrush. There wouldn't be much difference. I feel like I am brushing my teeth with a finger-sized hair comb and after the experience, I can easily understand why most of the inmates around here have missing teeth!
God, what I would do for a pen (and a piece of cheesecake). An actual ink-flowing pen (and piece of cheesecake)! Better yet, some paints and brushes (and cheesecake). It's been so long since I've painted (or had any cheesecake)-I can't wait to get to my paint. I can feel it on my fingers right now-I can feel the canvas-I can hear the music-I can feel the slip sliding of the blues and greens...
JAIL 101
I have never been in 'trouble' with the law ever in my life, until recently and WHAT a surprise it was to experience. I'd never even been cited for anything other than parking violations and a speeding ticket once...other than that, I have always considered myself a wonderful mom and a very respectable citizen.
As part of what has felt like a virtual 'Holocaust' (and I do not use this term irresponsibly) to my life, I was unjustly arrested and spent 5 months in jail…in ACTUAL JAIL while the courts tried to figure out what to do about my case amidst a whirlpool of incredible misinformation…finally releasing me with a misdemeanor.
I considered hiding this experience from the world, a consideration dictated only by shame, but given the fact that I never deserved the attack I received, I feel no shame, whatsoever. What didn't kill me made me stronger…and stronger…and stronger.
I'm a survivor with something to share, though I don't plan to share more evidence of injustice. The blah blah blah blah blah of what happened to me and who is to blame is a broken record in our society and not always good for one's health (of course, this is a joke, ahem)! Injustice is never going to disappear.
I feel like sharing what made me stronger. I'm going to share entries from my journal that I kept throughout my jail experience. I'm going to share what I kept alive and well inside of my soul. I'm gong to share that which a corrupt hell worked diligently, though ineffectively, to destroy. There is certainly much humor and creative perspective to be found in such a place as jail…you don't even have to look for it. No matter where you are…it finds you, if you let it.
What happened to me was wrong and while I ducked my head through the experience in an effort to protect my soul from nothing less than a dehumanizing hell of unregulated humiliation, I somehow kept my spirit alive and well in the trenches with love for all that surrounded me…however scary or cruel sometimes. In that particular land of foreign circumstance, I chose to be a tourist…a self-respecting traveler staying at a very unrecommended 'NO STAR' resort…a patient and joyful critic on a very personal tour of a world within herself, amidst a world within walls of geometric, echoing cement.
They say it's not about what happens to you…it's about what you choose to take from it. I have lost nothing. I have gained deeper love and constant peace. I am very fortunate.
I will try to post an entry every day, though they might not be chronological.
Here is my first:
June 18, 2012
I am reading a novel someone left at my door called 'The Constant Princess'…I guess it's a Historical Romance novel. The story is familiar but what I find connecting most (in an abstract way) is the beautiful description of the 'Alhambra', a maze-like Moorish castle with doorways that lead into garden spaces with doorways that lead into more garden spaces-MANY---eventually reaching the spectacular center. I want to be there, exactly there.
Jail is by no means a Moorish castle paradise but I notice a parallel of design. Not in a literal way, considering cells as spaces within the maze...rather mindful spaces arranged for different orders of designated society within these geometric walls and doorways. The center to be found here is the place where jailhouse royalty is to be found-but there are many courts within this castle, not just one.
There are so many centers to be discovered and as I find, as much as unions of inmates gather to create their own centers, there are individuals like me who find that center within her own private walls…for me, a center as beautiful as the Alhambra I read about in the romance of kings and queens. I walk to the shower and I am in Spain-surrounded by gardens-birds-fountains-sweet smells-warm air and beautiful skies. Here, in this cement, I feel the freshness of internal royalty…equal to all centers.
As part of what has felt like a virtual 'Holocaust' (and I do not use this term irresponsibly) to my life, I was unjustly arrested and spent 5 months in jail…in ACTUAL JAIL while the courts tried to figure out what to do about my case amidst a whirlpool of incredible misinformation…finally releasing me with a misdemeanor.
I considered hiding this experience from the world, a consideration dictated only by shame, but given the fact that I never deserved the attack I received, I feel no shame, whatsoever. What didn't kill me made me stronger…and stronger…and stronger.
I'm a survivor with something to share, though I don't plan to share more evidence of injustice. The blah blah blah blah blah of what happened to me and who is to blame is a broken record in our society and not always good for one's health (of course, this is a joke, ahem)! Injustice is never going to disappear.
I feel like sharing what made me stronger. I'm going to share entries from my journal that I kept throughout my jail experience. I'm going to share what I kept alive and well inside of my soul. I'm gong to share that which a corrupt hell worked diligently, though ineffectively, to destroy. There is certainly much humor and creative perspective to be found in such a place as jail…you don't even have to look for it. No matter where you are…it finds you, if you let it.
What happened to me was wrong and while I ducked my head through the experience in an effort to protect my soul from nothing less than a dehumanizing hell of unregulated humiliation, I somehow kept my spirit alive and well in the trenches with love for all that surrounded me…however scary or cruel sometimes. In that particular land of foreign circumstance, I chose to be a tourist…a self-respecting traveler staying at a very unrecommended 'NO STAR' resort…a patient and joyful critic on a very personal tour of a world within herself, amidst a world within walls of geometric, echoing cement.
They say it's not about what happens to you…it's about what you choose to take from it. I have lost nothing. I have gained deeper love and constant peace. I am very fortunate.
I will try to post an entry every day, though they might not be chronological.
Here is my first:
June 18, 2012
I am reading a novel someone left at my door called 'The Constant Princess'…I guess it's a Historical Romance novel. The story is familiar but what I find connecting most (in an abstract way) is the beautiful description of the 'Alhambra', a maze-like Moorish castle with doorways that lead into garden spaces with doorways that lead into more garden spaces-MANY---eventually reaching the spectacular center. I want to be there, exactly there.
Jail is by no means a Moorish castle paradise but I notice a parallel of design. Not in a literal way, considering cells as spaces within the maze...rather mindful spaces arranged for different orders of designated society within these geometric walls and doorways. The center to be found here is the place where jailhouse royalty is to be found-but there are many courts within this castle, not just one.
There are so many centers to be discovered and as I find, as much as unions of inmates gather to create their own centers, there are individuals like me who find that center within her own private walls…for me, a center as beautiful as the Alhambra I read about in the romance of kings and queens. I walk to the shower and I am in Spain-surrounded by gardens-birds-fountains-sweet smells-warm air and beautiful skies. Here, in this cement, I feel the freshness of internal royalty…equal to all centers.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Please Read:
This is pasted from the last long run of Twitter tweets i just posted, so please forgive the 'run-on ness' of the structure (I cut and pasted the tweets together), but it's the information I would like to communicate here, not the quality of writing (though I battle with my ego on this, even under these circumstances...kind of like checking my hair before the last minute avoidance of an oncoming tornado!).
I am using my son's computer because mine is not working, but luckily...there is Internet here at home today! I have enjoyed my few trips to the Library lately, though...I feel somehow smarter every time I leave, even if i never picked up a book! I have a theory about being surrounded by so many words...there is inspiration in it...I even read some Mark Twain last night and i wonder if I would have, had it not been for my need to go to the Library for the Internet! Hopefully, I will pick up the good habit once again(o: I count my blessings as much as possible...it makes a difference(o:
TWEETS:
I am a very good communicator. I have not communicated so many things about the discrimination and bullied attack to my life because my son Antonio is under the manipulation of those who have participated in the raping and destruction of our lives and relationships, for political use. I, however...will let it FLOW in EVERY possible way I can...to express the truth about what has REALLY happened here unless restitution to me and my sons is made.
I have information like an atomic grenade and the fact that I have been 'punished' for speaking truth in the privacy of my own home by way of a forced 'restraining order', restraining ME from my own son on the eve of the day he was promised to be delivered home to me, based on manufactured 'bully' documentation..is beyond an accosting to my rights as an American.
What is happening here is Historical. The son of the Chief of Police in Pacific Grove, CA (where I live, at 156 Forest Avenue) and one of pals, 'Brianna', who works at the P.G. Chamber of Commerce next door to me, have participated in epic harassment of my family in a classically over-indulged 'children of too much power' way...I have several documented incidents of this, as well as having figured out a MAJOR attempt they were working on, just last night...I spoke it out loud to my son Collin and I said that I will see to it they are held responsible for what they have participated in (mind all, they are just 2 'loose end' players in the mess and it was their arrogance they were taking too far with this last one that caused me to figure out the scheme).
Their families are connected to celebrities and politicians and they feel 'untouchable' because of this and free to bully with absolutely no sense of care. I feel as if we have been picked at by Nazi chickens who hide behind a sort of 'chicken coop d'etat'.
I feel like I am the only truly brave soul here and with that brave soul, like the waving flag outside my front window, I stand tall and reject the all out bullying I have received from the Police Dept. who is in bed with the County who initiated the order. The County is in bed with particular people who were in my life as former, trolled friends...people connected to big government who are now acting as if they don't know anything about anything. These people are responsible for raping my family of our lives and they are underground politically connected to...MY Landlord. The owner of this house where I live...this house of asbestos siding...this house I was coaxed into moving into...this wired house where we have been observed like lab animals for 8 years,while the truth of my life has been syphoned to thieves and a fake chronology has been created through their friends who strategically hold certain positions within the 'system'.
Estranged family members support the lies because they have been enjoying their share of the taking and they have made deals with these people who have convinced them that it is in the best interest of their own families to do so. I am not surprised, considering the true characters behind their sweet illusion.
The time my younger son has been away has been used to con him away from his brother and I..he is told we are just living it up without him and he has been brainwashed by other family members. This is pure truth. I am a wonderful mother who has survived Historical attack including psychological manipulation to turn me into the illusion that was being created.
This is the truth. I am not a liar and I do not deserve what has happened here. I maintain this and I will not give up until there is restitution and peace made here. Where is my country? I know. Gridlock...because this has become an atomic matrix, like The White House and Congress.
Whichever way politicians want to gridlock themselves over black and white issues is fine with me...but I am a mom and this is my child. Any politician who demeans the sacred value of this love does not deserve to be in any position of power These are the people who would cut my son in half just to win. I want justice.
Even if America is not America anymore...
I am a mom who has been excruciatingly victimized and I want justice now.
Please, somebody see this and help us. Please.
As believable as the slick coverup seems, this is the truth.This is no joke. Please help us.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
This is a Kimono that belonged to my Grandmother, Vadis Davis (this was really her name!). It is circa a long time ago and I was told it came from Hawaii, when it was given to me after she passed away. Every time I stop and realize that there is something very special about it, I think oh, I know! It was my Grandmother's...and she loved everything she ever received with such authentic excitement and appreciation...I can feel that love every time I see it. When I put it on, I feel wrapped in that happiness and in those moments, there is no more loving place to be in the entire world than in that Butterfly Kimono! It's always a gift...like my Grandmother will always be. I love you Grandmother...thank you for knowing me.
Oh, And...
Michelle Pisciotta
My Facebook account was stuck on signed in since much earlier today but I could not access it...if there were any posts ANYWHERE on the internet under my name, up until my Brett Dennen smack, then they were fraudulent terrorism. Just a disclosure...even though the way posting times are continually manipulated, dates and times of fraudulent postings in my name might be a bit hard to track in 'real time'...please keep in mind that I keep with a strong degree of literary class...in all of my convictions of truth.
If there are any comments that exist, seeming unlikely, even if they appear with some of my common sentence formulas, they most likely are not written by me....rather written by someone else, just to damage my character.
I admit, my comment about Brett Dennen seemed not so nice, but I am aware of below the surface games going on and I have just been too honorable to splash it all out here...though I guess I did a bit with just the mention...so I apologize for insulting the history of 'Soul Train' by changing it to 'Soul Trade' and using it in my little commentary.
Idea!
I have and idea for a new TV music and dance show with a nostalgic flare, but representing the new, competitive young Artists of TODAY like Brett Dennen...I would call it 'Soul Trade'! (I say this light heartedly...with love, of course).
"Who Do You Know? Is On First And What Do You Know! Is On Second ...Hey Abbottttt!!!
In keeping with the perfect timing wind at my back, there is something I have learned which I am grateful to know has also evolved as 'transparent' to the public, along with my own discoveries. 'Official' information is arranged by those who pay Attorneys to have it designed. 'Truth' is what is hard fought and stood up for by the few who brave the bully power. When 'truth' trumps '
official' Information, the world becomes stronger. I may be alone, but I am in the company of 'World Changers'. I feel it. My son Antonio wrote a poem at the age of 11 by this very title (it happened to be my favorite)...and little did I know, it was nothing less than deeply prophetic.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
I'm Published!!!
What I love most about having this Blog is that every time I write anything, I finish with clicking 'Publish'. This is good for social conversation because if anyone ever asks if I am published after I tell them that I write, I can definitively answer, "Yes, I am published.". (o: I would continue but it's late and I am off to the publishers! Goodnight(o:
A Romantic Mystery
I took this photo on my back porch and afterwards, I noticed that there is a shadow heart and what (to me) looks like 2 people standing next to a sailboat. It's romantic!
Incidentally, I dragged the photo to my desktop before posting it here, as usual when I post photos, and a window popped up saying that this photo already exists in this location and if I wanted to replace it. I thought this was strange because I had not moved this photo anywhere after I downloaded it, however my photos are hacked (I know this because I get regular 'feedback' about private photos I take that I never even share with the anyone) and I thought it was strange earlier when I was going through the new photos that I had just downloaded onto iPhoto (including this one) and suddenly, my computer froze with the little spinning wheel on permanent spin and I couldn't even shut the program. I had to hold the power button down for several seconds to manually shut down, as a last resort.
Mysterious...but not very interesting, I realize...but if there is someone who is perhaps taking credit for this photo somewhere...may they be exposed...and if it was just to annoy me...I'm not annoyed(o: I think it's a special photo, though...especially because this has been an ongoing dream of mine...a sailboat situation like this(o
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