January 28, 2004---
It's the 28th of January and this month appears to be running for its life. Damn, but the time is frying, as my Japanese girlfriend was wont to say. You doing okay? We're having a coldish one today, but I'm sure it can't compare with what you've been putting up with waaaay up north where you are.

Interesting little coincidence last week. Saw a picture of my old make-out pal, Jennifer Stewart, in USA Today. I'd met her when she came to Honolulu on vacation and we kept in touch for quite a while after she went back to NYC. Then either I got drunk or she did, phone numbers got changed, and she went one way and I went the other. Point is, we lost touch w/ each other.

She won the Statue-of-Liberty-lookalike contest in 1976--the 200th anniversary--and since that time she has been the flesh and blood living, walking, talking, tongue down yer throat Statue. The Statue, that's how she always referred to herself. She had a two second or so walk-on part in Joe vs the Volcano, green-faced makeup and all. And the paper sez she was in Times Square to film a commercial. Gawd, I hope her agent stuck it to them for that one. She's a great lady and I was tickled pink-green-to see her, especially since I'd been thinking of her the week or so before I spotted the deal.

So. My week continues. Have I toad you lately that I lust--um, make that luv--ya? Consider it sed. Big hug. My, what big whatchacallits you have.
The better to rest me weary head upon? Heh, heh. Yeah, I always lick em first.
How's yer dad? And what was that allusion to "a lot of gloom ahead" in yr life about in yer last letter? Do not leave me hanging there, dangling over the cliff, hanging desperately to that little bush marked "to be continued" lest ye truly continue. Heh. Listen. I am in yer corner now and forever, as close or as far away as ya need/want me to be. I am YOUR gawddamn inmate, convict, whatevvah. Now and 4-evvah. So lemme know if I can be a shoulder to lean on thru the mail or even that phone call which for some reason I'm kinda noivous about making. Well, we will hook up voice-wise when we hook-up.

I'm down to seeds and stems (boy, you can tell I started smoking dope before all that sansemilla shit came out, yeah?) re the old ribbon, so if it gives out I'll send this out and continue ASAP.

I'm reading like a maniac, feel confident I'll publish real prison-based novels. Gawd, my cellie was telling me how bad Elmore Leonard (the best crime writer in America, so they say) SUCKS cuz the guy has no clue as to what prison is really like. Nice thing with me (assuming I have a thimble-size of raw talent) is that I done been there, done done that. And have tons of resourses. Like that fucking Grisham sooner or later is gonna do The Jailhouse Lawyer and it's gonna suck and I'll do it right and he'll get the $. Heh. Well, I love ya, but life is thataway sometimes.

I keep sort of staying ready to "roll up" for the transfer, _I'm thinking sometime this year. Will that be closer? Should be. I was thinking maybe you might come see me when I'm there, as I think it's important you see me in prison, weqaring the uniform. Yeah, that's right. Wequaring. That's how we spell it. J/K.

Well, dear heart, this is a shortie for any of a number of reasons, but I will write again soon. Premise. Yeah, that's how we spell it here. Hope all is going well with ya, getting laid all ya want/need, that you're winning at the tables and that the poetry is flowing. Buk is smiling atcha, Hon. Now aint' that a scary thot!!!! Muchos abrazos y besos, Tuyo querido, DiXXX
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Johnny Sanders died the 2nd, Groundhog Day. About 2:30 in the morning Fletcher heard this horrific yelling and pounding. Johnny's cellie was trying to roust a guard. Guards came, took him out on a stretcher, ran him over to medical. Naturally, there wasn't anyone on duty (it's the budget, dummeeeeee) so they called to get the ok from someone in charge. And while all that shit was coming down--or not coming down--Johnny died there in the hallway. Whether he bled to death or what is unknown.

What we do know is that-Fie was taken to 0KC a couple weeks ago, throwing up blood and having uncontrollable nosebleeds. While there his daughter was calling around, trying to locate him. When she finally found where he was, the Feds freaked out. Security breach. Nobody supposed to know where he was. So the Feds took him back to the joint--here--against the doctor's will. Doc wouldn't sign off on the deal. So I'm thinking there's a helluva lawsuit but that won't bring back Johnny.

He had been down a long time. He was a stand-up convict. And I emphasize convict rather than inmate. A convict never snitches anyone out, pays his debts, does his own time, and doesn't take a whole lot of shit from anyone. He was also a black man, but he'was a far cry from those ghetto-blacks who are forever whining, who don't pay their debts, who trash whatever place they find themselves in, whose every other word is "motherfucker." Johnny rightfully despised them. I was so sad to see it come down the way.

I'd just done some typing for him not a week previous. "How much I owe you?" he asked. Nothing, I said. And that nod of the head was the least deal that came down between the two of us.

He'd been walking around the unit with bits of kleenex sticking out of his nose, but of course I wouldn't ask. They had him on so many blood thinners that the slightest little thing would set off this tremendous bleeding.

I'm hoping his family sues the hell out of all those responsible.

And he was suing Maxwell, the Unit Manager, and Warden T.C. Peterson. Suing them to have his brother placed on his visiting list.

And the deal is, they won't allow us to have a Memorial Service. Can't even put up his picture, for those who didn't know him. So there's no real closure. And it would be such a simple thing. There's just nothing from the staff to indicate that they even give a shit. Burns me up. No expression of condolences or anything. Grrrrrrr.

Native American fella walked in awhile ago. Said the fat lieutenant called him "Chief" and told him he was wearing his headband too low. The man doesn't like to be called "chief." To him, it's the equivalent of the n-word for the blacks. So you see that this is the type of...caliber of guard we have sometimes running the show. The ordinary COs are, for the most part, good. And most of the lieutenants. But this one character...sheesh. He took my legal sunglasses because I didn't have a receipt to "prove" I'd bought them myself. Unreal. As if we keep receipts forever in a place like this.

Ohwell. Pardon my pissing and moaning. I just wanted to get this down. Johnny's dead, FCI El Reno goes full-steam ahead, and there's not a whole helluva lot we can do about it. Bush is cutting the budget for the Federal Prison System, so the food will soon nose-dive even worse than it is now. The Common Far - which is what I eat--'has really gotten bad Ribbon gone.
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Cait...I will get this letter off soon, Ah promise. IN the meantime, I'll add a bit more. We're going through a stretch of mild springish weather, and the inmates are flocking to the Yard to press iron skyward, walking in oval patterns, and play pelota (handball). Life goes on inside prison. Johnny Sanders is dead, buried, and it's all over but for the lawsuit.

Went in for another checkup and the blood pressure is great--107/75. They have me blow into this little plastic apparatus that is supposed to measure something having to do with how hard and fast you can expel air fromthe lungs. According to that little device, I'm in good shape in that department, also.

And I have grown a beard since the last time you (grin) saw me. Somewhat grizzled, but that comes with the territory. I look, well, bushy--and not in a Geo. W. sense of the word, either.

So how are you? Once again, you made a reference to a lot of gloom ahead in your life and I'm concerned. Would ya write and clear that up for me? Hmmmm?

Spanish is coming along better, I think, than could be expected. I'm learning quite a few slang expressions, prison expressions, and the like. Also continuing to make more friends from Texas on southward. My fantasies lie in beach chairs with a woman from NJ there beside me, smoking a joint and watching the blue day slide on by us. Neat, eh? Heh, heh. They say the water is so clear that you can see 150 feet down

My study-partner and I have nearly finished a 45 lesson Spanish book. We're trying to get the damn thing "wired" by the equinox, so we have, what? A month or so left to get everything fairly automatic. I'm already at the point where I could go anywhere down there and get along fairly well. Certainly can make my needs, wishes known. And that means I'm well on the way.

So. I miss hearing from you. I know you're very busy and I really do mean to overly whine, but ...well, a letter from you does incredible things in terms of brightening up a day. And I'm saving everything. I just hope they let me take it all with me when I transfer.

Well, dollin', my pal the drag queen leaves tomorrow. Sniff...she's a sweetie in her own right. We're just friends, Hon. But I think just about everybody I know likes her. Well, him. Her. Whatevvah. She has a certain amount of...I guess you'd call it class, charm, charisma. Anywho, the Unit will be the drabber for her being gone. And life will go on, of course.

I'm down to nearly 2.11. Two years and eleven months. That's not a whole lot of time, although it might seem that way. With what I hope to accomplish in these last three-minus years, I'll be kept busy. And the writing, of course, continues to swirl in and out of my thinking.

I'm disjointed today. come to thh k-of it, I've-not-smoked a joint in three-plus years. And I'll have three years of paper when I get out, replete with various piss-tests, so smoking the substance is a no-no until I'm past the reach of the Anti-X. Heh.

I miss you, Hon. You are MsSemperFi. Always faithful--in your fashion. Luvya to bits. Go out and get laid, but be prudent about it. Heh, heh.
D/
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Cait...the beet goes on...life in a vegetative state. Damn, I started this letter on the 28th of January and it's just now come to the point where I can get copies made and send this on its way. Try to get it in the mail tonight. You'll have it by week's end.

Lovely balmy springlike weather here lately. Oklahoma does it again, eh? Eric and I have been going out to the Field of an evening to walk in slow lazy circles jabbering Spanish back and forth. Progress is being made. Am thinking of all those lovely 3rd World countries where ya might like to vacation someday... heh, heh.

Region is here today, meaning the big-shot suits are everywhere-. The lunch meal was decent for a change, but that's the way it is when the Bosses deign to visit us every now and then. See how niiiiiice we treat these inmates? Once they're gone, a return to the trough. LOL.

Gawd...two years and eleven months from today, if all goes well, out the freaking door. If not sooner. Depending on whether or not I accept the halfway house trip or if I elect to go straight to the door. The latter has its advantages. Since I doubt they'd give me more than two months, what the hell. Just do it here and avoid the nonsense of one more layer of the Federal bureaucracy. Well, that's still down the road a ways. I still have a transfer to go through and all the attendent hurly-burly of that particular deal.

I was thinking of LLT earlier. Remember her? Long-legged Texan? Gawd. I am caught in this time warp. In some way, I never really left Poetry Cafe. It's something to remember.

But of all those I met there, you were and are the best. Yesterday, out at the Field, the wind was coming from the Interstate and we could hear traffic sounds--for a change. Usually we can't. And I thought of yr sister and her husband and wondered how many times they've driven by here.

My mother is 77 years old this April, and her health seems less than optimal.
In her last letter she spoke of beginning to think of death as being a blessing. Cripes. Are we to that point--ALREADY???

I have begun that process of watching my diet, getting exercise, buying the vitamin e from commissary, popping the multi-vitamins--all that stuff. Hope it's not too little too late. Sixty deep knee bends, push-4', walking, jogging. Still in pretty good shape considering the shape I'm in. Heh.

And apparently the suits are headed this way...the grand tour of the Zoo...coming up. Gotta run. Remember that I love you.

Thank you. You are beyond, over and above, head and shoulders...you know what I mean. You're Cait. Love ya, always.

DiXXX