To an industry of enslaved EGO in organized service to its maker:
There is more love in every existing molecule than there is hate in all existence. That balance is insurance. Like a promise. God (however defined) has already won. If I must choose a side, that is the side I choose.
Truth is that undeniable persistence.
Flatter each other with the garbage you produce to con the world of ticket buyers into your lies (most recently, "Big Eyes") after raping lives and minds for your subject matter. You've already paid your price but I know you understand that's the deal you made.
I am not an artist, if that is what you claim yourselves to be. I am a soul. I forgive you. I know the truth. I choose love.
Balance is due.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Jail 101: Archetypes Roasting on an Open Fire
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:
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, 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.
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