Dear Friends,

One time for breakfast I at ½ cup of eggs made from a powder, 1 tablespoon of peanut butter that was so old that it turned into powder and ½ an orange. Then for lunch I received a single 2-3 oz soy/hamburger patty. One time I was told I was being provided an adequate and balanced diet plan approved by the State and created by a dietician. Remember that on time Nueces County Jail was full of it? Eh. I don’t think I even like writing about it although I feel the need to vent or something because every time “chow” time comes I can feel myself getting angered.

I will be glad to be going to the much worse state jail facilities, at least they have an actual process for inmates to aggrieve, of course no one probably listens but even an at’a boy would be nice right now.

Lacking food and therefore lacking energy, I’ve been laying around a lot, idling, loafing, or what have you. Most of the time I’m thinking about things to write and stuff like that, but I’m starting to get what I can only define as day-mares. Sometimes I close my eyes and images or a short nightmarish dream will play through my mind. Sometimes it’s not even as tangible as that… I’ll just be sitting and I’ll be overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of fear or endangerment. I wonder if this feels like what a woman feels when she walks a dark street at night; or when a dark person finds themselves “on the wrong side of town” and has the eyes of 200 angry ghosts staring at him; or how a deer feels when she hears the first gunshot of her life; or how salmon feel battering their heads against concrete that is preventing them from returning to their home to continue on life with their death; or how a sex worker feels when she sees a John pay her pimp the extra dollar so he will not have to wear that silly condom; or the feelings a junkie gets when he’s coming down off of a 3 month high into a world that’s still spinning way too fast for him to handle; or the feelings his girlfriend gets a week later, after their biggest score, when he is having “trouble waking up;” or is it the feelings of the 72 year old lady every time she sees the spotlight from a chopper above flying through her neighborhood; or maybe it’s the feelings of her next door neighbor, the single mother, who can hear the gunshots enter the living room where her child is watching cartoons; or is it the SWAT officer’s overwhelming feelings as he shoots into the wrong house for the 3rd time this week wondering if he’ll make it home to his wife and baby that night; or is it the feelings of ancient air being crowded out and poisoned by chemicals and industrial waste; or is it the feelings of ancient soil and ancient waters suffering from the same; or maybe it’s the feelings of a dolphin being entrapped by something she does not know is called a net; or the Chinese man working on the troller dragging the net as he thinks of his brother who got washed overboard the week before and of his cousin who worked for three months and then was still denied a paycheck; or could it be the feelings of their Grandma as she makes her way from the electronics landfill that use to be her farm land; or of her husband’s feelings as he sees for the first time computers, LCD’s, LEDs, Plasma screen TV’s and men who walk around carrying guns as they make their way into the city. Of course it’s a feeling of dread, but I can’t even imagine it being as dreadful as the feelings from all of those I just listed. Still, I can’t help but to notice that all of these feelings are birthed from the same problem. I’m not trying to project, create, assume, presume, or establish false realities. I’m simply trying to relate. Here’s to surviving this dreadful culture.

Here’s to their death. In the name of our health.

Written from the Nueces County Jail

(Transcribed by Charity)