Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Coming Attractions
We are working on posting my artwork and my comments regarding it. Currently we are in the process of photographing my artwork. I hope to have something up by the middle of next week. Stay tuned.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Evolution of Man and the Clamicidal Maniac
Before I begin my usual diatribe against the universe and all things stupid and unfair, a brief word on my recent absence.
For those unfortunates that believe prisons are places of reformation and not asylums, ponder the following tale. I know that what a man goes through while incarcerated will most likely garner little sympathy, yet it seems that some of the odder bits of the prison experience were omitted from the brochure. I was never informed that not only would I be responsible for my own actions here, but that I would also be accountable for the actions of my cellmate. Yeah, it seems that when contraband is found in a shared cell (in this case a lethal sewing needle), both occupants are, in prison parlance, “good to go". Despite the fact that the needle was found in the personal possession of my cellie, despite his stepping forward to claim responsibility for the item, the supervisor on duty took us both to segregation. I guess in their minds where there's smoke - there's fire; or in this instance where there’s a needle there’s illegally hemmed trousers. So I sat in seg for the weekend, which turned out to be the hottest weekend of the year with temperatures in the nineties. And that was another slap from the cosmic clown that runs the universe as I had just received newly repaired fan mere days before this incident. (No fans allowed in seg.) I swear I seem to be petting the wrong end of the dog my entire life. A flatulent incontinent dog. So I went through the rifling of my property, arguing with the property officers about missing items and generally hating life. Oh, not to mention another new cellie. Life doesn’t get much better.
So I’ve been rather disregulated, uncomfortable with my new surroundings. My life has done an ever-so-slow implosion. While there was no major catastrophe, I am getting tired of putting out tiny fires. But then again I can deal with it; and I know that this is nothing compared to the challenges I would face in “the World”.
I feel like I’ve hit this critical stage of evolution; where a species either lives with their adaptations or goes extinct. Here are two new adaptations to report. I’ve come to the conclusion that while I hate saving money and delaying gratification, I am starting to see the benefits. By not raiding my mutual fund profits and doing with less in the short run, I have survived the recent recession having lost not a penny of my capital. That feels pretty good. I also made the intuitive leap of realizing that getting a year-by-year subscription to a magazine has its advantages. Previously, I have sent in my magazine renewals immediately (afraid of losing out even when they sent them to me 6 months in advance) and I always went for the 2-year subscription that the magazine paraded in front of me as an obvious money saver. That appeared to be a no-brainer to me. In the last month I figured out that while costing a wee bit more, renewing a magazine for only 1 year leaves me with more flexibility when the lean times hit. I feel like the first hominid that stood tall.
“Check me out, I am fully erect. Holy crap! Is that a saber-toothed gerbil?”
So where does this leave me? Have I raised the bar permanently; never again to be able to say that stuff is too hard? Another troubling implication is that we are trying to get an assessment for me (some nonsense about childhood trauma and what not). Am I ruining the before picture of me? When I am assessed will I test out as "normal“ – which leaves me with no other explanation for me than being a low-down, dirty, mean son-of-a-bitch?
I also worry about the witch-doctoring and tinkering my friend Jackie is currently doing. She insists on reading up on the best methods currently available for fixing what ails my brain and trying them out on me! I know that she means well and that if we were to be judged by our peers as to who was more of a success in life it would be no contest; yet, I can't help but wonder about a woman who seems to base her decisions to purchase a sweater solely because the buttons are mother-of-pearl. She is the Clamicidal Maniac. Nothing seems to grab her attention like the shiny nacre of a clam shell button. How many mollusks must pay the price before her button lust is sated?
I've been informed by the powers that be in the prison matrix that due to my having "[Several] major conduct reports in the last year" I am being denied a job in the prison food service. It is the free world equivalent of being told by McDonalds, "Thanks, but no thanks". I admit that my ego is suffering the most although I am irritated that if I am going to be denied employment then at least try to make an honest evaluation of the facts. In the past 35 months I've had TWO major conduct reports. Both stemmed from the same incident. So I've decided to appeal the decision to his superior. Not that I enjoy this process as all of my life I have hated the appearance of being seen as begging these functionaries for anything, but right now I have nothing better to do than deliver an eye poke to the proverbial institutional eye. Jab, jab, jab.
While I'm on the subject of rejection I will relate another stinging slight I recently received. I recently wrote an old friend, lets call her LISA. Admittedly I was never the best at writing; forming connections with people was never my best trait. I guess that I have my mother to thank for that. But I reached out to Lisa and invited her to get in touch with me. Seeing that I've known her since I was twenty, I thought that she might be willing to write. I guess that I was WAY off on that. While I don’t care that she doesn’t want to write or reconnect, I am left to wonder just how much my past is going to haunt me? Seems to me that some folks are far too comfortable simply making their minds up without even finding out the truth of the matter. The media is now the arbiter of what we think and how we feel about any given subject. So why should anyone get to know me, or listen to what I have to say? Maybe we are all too content to allow our minds to be hi-jacked by some viperous talking head that has discovered that the greatest ratings lie in the hands of the lowest common denominator. For those brave souls that are not afraid to find themselves alone with their own brains, please don’t be afraid to contact me at the following address: Scott C. Kieson 127174, WCI Box 351, Waupun, WI 53963.
For those unfortunates that believe prisons are places of reformation and not asylums, ponder the following tale. I know that what a man goes through while incarcerated will most likely garner little sympathy, yet it seems that some of the odder bits of the prison experience were omitted from the brochure. I was never informed that not only would I be responsible for my own actions here, but that I would also be accountable for the actions of my cellmate. Yeah, it seems that when contraband is found in a shared cell (in this case a lethal sewing needle), both occupants are, in prison parlance, “good to go". Despite the fact that the needle was found in the personal possession of my cellie, despite his stepping forward to claim responsibility for the item, the supervisor on duty took us both to segregation. I guess in their minds where there's smoke - there's fire; or in this instance where there’s a needle there’s illegally hemmed trousers. So I sat in seg for the weekend, which turned out to be the hottest weekend of the year with temperatures in the nineties. And that was another slap from the cosmic clown that runs the universe as I had just received newly repaired fan mere days before this incident. (No fans allowed in seg.) I swear I seem to be petting the wrong end of the dog my entire life. A flatulent incontinent dog. So I went through the rifling of my property, arguing with the property officers about missing items and generally hating life. Oh, not to mention another new cellie. Life doesn’t get much better.
So I’ve been rather disregulated, uncomfortable with my new surroundings. My life has done an ever-so-slow implosion. While there was no major catastrophe, I am getting tired of putting out tiny fires. But then again I can deal with it; and I know that this is nothing compared to the challenges I would face in “the World”.
I feel like I’ve hit this critical stage of evolution; where a species either lives with their adaptations or goes extinct. Here are two new adaptations to report. I’ve come to the conclusion that while I hate saving money and delaying gratification, I am starting to see the benefits. By not raiding my mutual fund profits and doing with less in the short run, I have survived the recent recession having lost not a penny of my capital. That feels pretty good. I also made the intuitive leap of realizing that getting a year-by-year subscription to a magazine has its advantages. Previously, I have sent in my magazine renewals immediately (afraid of losing out even when they sent them to me 6 months in advance) and I always went for the 2-year subscription that the magazine paraded in front of me as an obvious money saver. That appeared to be a no-brainer to me. In the last month I figured out that while costing a wee bit more, renewing a magazine for only 1 year leaves me with more flexibility when the lean times hit. I feel like the first hominid that stood tall.
“Check me out, I am fully erect. Holy crap! Is that a saber-toothed gerbil?”
So where does this leave me? Have I raised the bar permanently; never again to be able to say that stuff is too hard? Another troubling implication is that we are trying to get an assessment for me (some nonsense about childhood trauma and what not). Am I ruining the before picture of me? When I am assessed will I test out as "normal“ – which leaves me with no other explanation for me than being a low-down, dirty, mean son-of-a-bitch?
I also worry about the witch-doctoring and tinkering my friend Jackie is currently doing. She insists on reading up on the best methods currently available for fixing what ails my brain and trying them out on me! I know that she means well and that if we were to be judged by our peers as to who was more of a success in life it would be no contest; yet, I can't help but wonder about a woman who seems to base her decisions to purchase a sweater solely because the buttons are mother-of-pearl. She is the Clamicidal Maniac. Nothing seems to grab her attention like the shiny nacre of a clam shell button. How many mollusks must pay the price before her button lust is sated?
I've been informed by the powers that be in the prison matrix that due to my having "[Several] major conduct reports in the last year" I am being denied a job in the prison food service. It is the free world equivalent of being told by McDonalds, "Thanks, but no thanks". I admit that my ego is suffering the most although I am irritated that if I am going to be denied employment then at least try to make an honest evaluation of the facts. In the past 35 months I've had TWO major conduct reports. Both stemmed from the same incident. So I've decided to appeal the decision to his superior. Not that I enjoy this process as all of my life I have hated the appearance of being seen as begging these functionaries for anything, but right now I have nothing better to do than deliver an eye poke to the proverbial institutional eye. Jab, jab, jab.
While I'm on the subject of rejection I will relate another stinging slight I recently received. I recently wrote an old friend, lets call her LISA. Admittedly I was never the best at writing; forming connections with people was never my best trait. I guess that I have my mother to thank for that. But I reached out to Lisa and invited her to get in touch with me. Seeing that I've known her since I was twenty, I thought that she might be willing to write. I guess that I was WAY off on that. While I don’t care that she doesn’t want to write or reconnect, I am left to wonder just how much my past is going to haunt me? Seems to me that some folks are far too comfortable simply making their minds up without even finding out the truth of the matter. The media is now the arbiter of what we think and how we feel about any given subject. So why should anyone get to know me, or listen to what I have to say? Maybe we are all too content to allow our minds to be hi-jacked by some viperous talking head that has discovered that the greatest ratings lie in the hands of the lowest common denominator. For those brave souls that are not afraid to find themselves alone with their own brains, please don’t be afraid to contact me at the following address: Scott C. Kieson 127174, WCI Box 351, Waupun, WI 53963.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Pardon my absence
Dear Readers:
Ani asked me to check in with you and explain that he has been away for awhile due to events beyond his control in the prison. He is getting re-organized and will be back soon with a new blog entry and some photos of his artwork. Thanks for your patience.
Jackie
Ani asked me to check in with you and explain that he has been away for awhile due to events beyond his control in the prison. He is getting re-organized and will be back soon with a new blog entry and some photos of his artwork. Thanks for your patience.
Jackie
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