I am sitting here, at my desk, bored out of my goddamn skull. For some people, being bored is an inconvenience. For me, however, it's absolute torture.
You see, I get trapped inside of my head very, very easily. As you all who read this regularly can imagine, being inside my head isn't always very pleasant. At best, it's bothersome, but at its worst - like tonight, for some reason - it's downright frustrating.
I have a good deal of things on my mind. There are events and people from the past that I haven't thought about in years randomly popping into my head. I have things that are presently going on that are eating at me, as my last blog post covered. And, of course, the ever-present concern of the future that all human beings everywhere seem to share.
This, I believe, is what bothers me the most. You see, all I really want is my piece of the American Dream - my slice of the pie - for my future. Alas, I don't really know how to go about doing it. I have very few practical skills, beyond being able to talk and write like I have more than just clay, porn, and flatulence in my head (not exactly true, but I can fake it with the best of them). How, then, does one turn this into something that can be relied on to make money dollars?
I have no friggin' clue. I'm just taking shots in the dark, writing where and when I can, but mostly just doing the same thing as any of you, and that's floundering around the sea of life like a jellyfish, only half-aware of what's really going on around me. But that's okay. I've come to accept it.
While on the subject of jellyfish, I would like to point out that cuttlefish are the coolest sea critters ever.
Moving on....
I've been doing a lot of thinking about my own personal views and philosophies, lately, and have come up with this: absolutely nothing. I only say this because of the fact that what I believe in are things that any man or woman or hermaphrodite or eunuch or whatever can agree with, regardless of creed, race, food preferences, and so on. Things like "Don't be a dick." and "Let it be."
It's a bit more complicated than that, but I've pretty much lost faith that others can follow my thought patterns. This is mostly because I can barely do it myself, so how can I expect others to do it?
My brain moves along at a rapid pace. I know a lot of people claim this, but let me put this into perspective for you. I enjoy the analogy that it's similar to a cheetah running under the influence of no less than one ounce of crystal meth after having chugged a gallon of Red Bull.
For those of you now thinking about it, here is a cheetah, specifically for the enjoyment of your eye-orbs.
Moving on....
I normally don't care at what pace my mind runs at, because I have this awesome ability to ignore it for a while. I can just push everything aside and let my subconscious roam on automatic pilot and things pop up here and there. But then times like these come around and everything that my subconscious mind processed comes up to the surface, allowing me some pleasantries and a lot of horrors.
I think about pleasant things, sometimes, but then there are those times where I just want to stab my brain with a Q-Tip or something, because I'll suddenly think about something horrible that I did to or for someone in the past, and I start to get stuck in some kind of loops with these kinds of memories, which, of course, lead to some pretty gnarly (read: jacked up) thought patterns.
I like to sometimes sit here and analyze what it is that I'm thinking and why I'm thinking that, but tonight, for some reason, I can't do that. Instead, I'm sitting here like a trained monkey, type type typing away on my keyboard in hopes that I can get somewhere constructive.
Clearly, this isn't working out too well, but again.... that's okay.
I sometimes wonder if my snake is secretly planning my murder. I haven't fed her in a while, and she's staring at me from behind the walls of her glass prison, the light of the heat lamp reflecting eerily off her obsidian eyes. Her tongue flickers, and I wince, not helping but to imagine that same tongue flicking at an open wound of some sort.
I really am a screwed-up guy.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Monday, November 07, 2011
Crime and Punishment
I know that this was supposed to be something about racism, but I don't have access to that document. Not having posted anything for a while, I felt that there needed to be something here, so instead, I present to you all my experiences from my adventures in our legal system.
For those of you that don't know, I was pulled over for driving under the influence last year, on the weekend of Thanksgiving. I will not sit here and whine about how I got caught, how the Man is out to get me, etc. The simple fact of the matter is that I did something that I shouldn't have done - regardless of the reasons - and I got caught and had to pay for it. That last bit is both figuratively and literally, mind you.
Anyhow, the point of tonight's entry is just to talk about what all I experienced throughout the entire ordeal.
We'll start with this past Wednesday, which was the day of my arraignment.
I entered the court room at 1:05pm, which was five minutes later than when I was supposed to be there. This turned out to be a non-issue, as my lawyer didn't even come looking for me until around 2:30. During this time, I busied myself with observing the other court-goers that were around me.
It never ceases to amaze me the type of people that are prevalent here in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. There are good people here, to be certain, but for the most part, this place is made up entirely of a very simple people. As I looked around, I saw people that were there for what was quite obviously not their first time, or even their first offense. Indeed, many of them were actually bragging about their current charge, as if it were a point of pride in their life. While I'm not entirely certain if the bravado on display was pure or if it was a coping mechanism, that doesn't change the fact that it's quite disturbing on multiple levels.
After being called by my attorney - the wonderful Mike Carrucoli - and discussing a few things with him, he seemed rather confident that things weren't going to turn out so bad for me. After filling out a few documents and answering a few bizarre questions in the paperwork, we were set to present our case to the judge.
The first judge that I was to appear before was deemed to be a tough sell, and so Mr. Carrucoli had us moved to another judge. A few moments and a humble attitude before his Honor granted me 3 of the 4 initial charges dropped, and I was sentenced to a mandatory "adult time-out as per law," as my esteemed roommate termed it. I was to spend this past weekend in the Franklin County Correctional Facility, slapped on the wrist and chastised; put in the corner to think about what it was that I did.
Upon getting to the jailhouse on Friday, I was booked. The booking process took entirely too long, I feel. I had to sit around in a jumpsuit about 4 sizes too big, wearing ridiculous flip-flops and watching syndicated television on a small CRT monitor that was hanging from a corner. I won't go into the humiliating strip search procedure that I was forced to endure. Believe me, nobody wants to envision my vile turnip of a body in anything but clothing.
After the needlessly long wait, I was led back to the "cell" that was to be my home for the next two days. I say it with quotations because it wasn't so much of a cell as it was a nook that was carved out of the wall, with four "beds" - two on either side. Some asshole with a horrible sense of humor - or a touch of sadism, I'm not entirely certain which - assigned me the top bunk, despite my repeatedly telling them that I have a bad knee. Whoever made this decision, I believe, needs to be shot.
Moving on, I soon fell asleep on what they considered to be the pinnacle of jailhouse comfort: a slab of metal with a large hunk of pleather that had a slight incline at the top that served as a pillow. Being the resourceful rogue that I am, I used the duffel bag that I was given to hold the spare over-sized jumpsuit and undershirt and even uncomfortable tighy-whitey underpants that are standard issue in such places as a pillow in and of itself. Pulling the threadbare woolen blanket around my body, I stretched out as best I could and promptly passed out.
For about five hours.
I was given a rude awakening via a call for the inmates to line up and take medication. As soon as I figured out what was going on, I shrugged, stepped out of line, and went back to bed. Little did I know, in another hour and a half, I was to be awaken again for the morning meal. Now, I'm not entirely certain whose idea it was to wake people up at 6:30 in the goddamn morning to feed them what can only be described as processed slop, but this person, too, needs to be found and shot.
I will take this moment to touch on the "food" that is served in our homes for the criminal-minded. I have never before in my life seen something that looks like food, and has the texture and even smell of it, but has absolutely no flavor whatsoever. I wish that this was an exaggeration. I was assured by one of the guards - oh, excuse me, Correctional Officers - that the food was, indeed, completely balanced nutritionally. This was met with a raised eyebrow and the phrase "I'll take your word for it."
Moving on. As I was eating my first breakfast in the jail, I was recognized by someone that I used to hang out with before I moved away from Pennsylvania. I have always referred to him as "Shakes," seeing as how he has Parkinson's Disease, and that's how I will continue to refer to him now. He informed me that my visit should remain trouble-free, as he started a rumor that I was with the KKK as another inmate commented on how I "looked like a mean one."
Of course, I found this to be absolutely hilarious. We shared the meal, and he helped me fill the remaining time by getting up to his usual antics, some of which involved screwing with another inmate by pretending to be masturbating while occasionally looking behind him and staring at said inmate in a rather creepy manner.
I read a few books from their book racks, including an interesting piece by Orson Scott Card, as well as helping Shakes develop a makeshift war game played with a deck of cards and scraps of paper with crude pictures on them, which we entitled "jailhouse Warhammer."
Despite these various distractions, these were the longest 48 hours I have ever had to endure in my life, and if I never have to repeat something like this ever again for as long as I live, it will be entirely too soon.
I will not go so far as to say that I will stop breaking the law, because that will never happen. I think that the laws that I typically break are stupid, and are completely pointless. I feel that if I want to smoke a joint, that I should have the freedom to do so, seeing as how it's entirely victimless. It's hardly my fault that this country's government is too goddamn stupid to figure out how to tax it. However, I will never again drink and drive, that's for sure.
The grand total of what all this will cost me financially is going to be a little over $2000 dollars when everything is said and done. Again, I know that I have nobody else to blame for this but myself, but holy crap, does this "justice" system ever need to be re-worked, because from where I'm standing, this is less about teaching someone a lesson and more a giant scam to get as much money as they possibly can.
I'm all about having to pay for your mistakes, but when you charge someone to stay in a jail that you sentenced them to (no, really, I had to pay $30 to stay there or be considered an escapee) under threat of further legal ramification, then something is entirely broken.
For those of you that don't know, I was pulled over for driving under the influence last year, on the weekend of Thanksgiving. I will not sit here and whine about how I got caught, how the Man is out to get me, etc. The simple fact of the matter is that I did something that I shouldn't have done - regardless of the reasons - and I got caught and had to pay for it. That last bit is both figuratively and literally, mind you.
Anyhow, the point of tonight's entry is just to talk about what all I experienced throughout the entire ordeal.
We'll start with this past Wednesday, which was the day of my arraignment.
I entered the court room at 1:05pm, which was five minutes later than when I was supposed to be there. This turned out to be a non-issue, as my lawyer didn't even come looking for me until around 2:30. During this time, I busied myself with observing the other court-goers that were around me.
It never ceases to amaze me the type of people that are prevalent here in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. There are good people here, to be certain, but for the most part, this place is made up entirely of a very simple people. As I looked around, I saw people that were there for what was quite obviously not their first time, or even their first offense. Indeed, many of them were actually bragging about their current charge, as if it were a point of pride in their life. While I'm not entirely certain if the bravado on display was pure or if it was a coping mechanism, that doesn't change the fact that it's quite disturbing on multiple levels.
After being called by my attorney - the wonderful Mike Carrucoli - and discussing a few things with him, he seemed rather confident that things weren't going to turn out so bad for me. After filling out a few documents and answering a few bizarre questions in the paperwork, we were set to present our case to the judge.
The first judge that I was to appear before was deemed to be a tough sell, and so Mr. Carrucoli had us moved to another judge. A few moments and a humble attitude before his Honor granted me 3 of the 4 initial charges dropped, and I was sentenced to a mandatory "adult time-out as per law," as my esteemed roommate termed it. I was to spend this past weekend in the Franklin County Correctional Facility, slapped on the wrist and chastised; put in the corner to think about what it was that I did.
Upon getting to the jailhouse on Friday, I was booked. The booking process took entirely too long, I feel. I had to sit around in a jumpsuit about 4 sizes too big, wearing ridiculous flip-flops and watching syndicated television on a small CRT monitor that was hanging from a corner. I won't go into the humiliating strip search procedure that I was forced to endure. Believe me, nobody wants to envision my vile turnip of a body in anything but clothing.
After the needlessly long wait, I was led back to the "cell" that was to be my home for the next two days. I say it with quotations because it wasn't so much of a cell as it was a nook that was carved out of the wall, with four "beds" - two on either side. Some asshole with a horrible sense of humor - or a touch of sadism, I'm not entirely certain which - assigned me the top bunk, despite my repeatedly telling them that I have a bad knee. Whoever made this decision, I believe, needs to be shot.
Moving on, I soon fell asleep on what they considered to be the pinnacle of jailhouse comfort: a slab of metal with a large hunk of pleather that had a slight incline at the top that served as a pillow. Being the resourceful rogue that I am, I used the duffel bag that I was given to hold the spare over-sized jumpsuit and undershirt and even uncomfortable tighy-whitey underpants that are standard issue in such places as a pillow in and of itself. Pulling the threadbare woolen blanket around my body, I stretched out as best I could and promptly passed out.
For about five hours.
I was given a rude awakening via a call for the inmates to line up and take medication. As soon as I figured out what was going on, I shrugged, stepped out of line, and went back to bed. Little did I know, in another hour and a half, I was to be awaken again for the morning meal. Now, I'm not entirely certain whose idea it was to wake people up at 6:30 in the goddamn morning to feed them what can only be described as processed slop, but this person, too, needs to be found and shot.
I will take this moment to touch on the "food" that is served in our homes for the criminal-minded. I have never before in my life seen something that looks like food, and has the texture and even smell of it, but has absolutely no flavor whatsoever. I wish that this was an exaggeration. I was assured by one of the guards - oh, excuse me, Correctional Officers - that the food was, indeed, completely balanced nutritionally. This was met with a raised eyebrow and the phrase "I'll take your word for it."
Moving on. As I was eating my first breakfast in the jail, I was recognized by someone that I used to hang out with before I moved away from Pennsylvania. I have always referred to him as "Shakes," seeing as how he has Parkinson's Disease, and that's how I will continue to refer to him now. He informed me that my visit should remain trouble-free, as he started a rumor that I was with the KKK as another inmate commented on how I "looked like a mean one."
Of course, I found this to be absolutely hilarious. We shared the meal, and he helped me fill the remaining time by getting up to his usual antics, some of which involved screwing with another inmate by pretending to be masturbating while occasionally looking behind him and staring at said inmate in a rather creepy manner.
I read a few books from their book racks, including an interesting piece by Orson Scott Card, as well as helping Shakes develop a makeshift war game played with a deck of cards and scraps of paper with crude pictures on them, which we entitled "jailhouse Warhammer."
Despite these various distractions, these were the longest 48 hours I have ever had to endure in my life, and if I never have to repeat something like this ever again for as long as I live, it will be entirely too soon.
I will not go so far as to say that I will stop breaking the law, because that will never happen. I think that the laws that I typically break are stupid, and are completely pointless. I feel that if I want to smoke a joint, that I should have the freedom to do so, seeing as how it's entirely victimless. It's hardly my fault that this country's government is too goddamn stupid to figure out how to tax it. However, I will never again drink and drive, that's for sure.
The grand total of what all this will cost me financially is going to be a little over $2000 dollars when everything is said and done. Again, I know that I have nobody else to blame for this but myself, but holy crap, does this "justice" system ever need to be re-worked, because from where I'm standing, this is less about teaching someone a lesson and more a giant scam to get as much money as they possibly can.
I'm all about having to pay for your mistakes, but when you charge someone to stay in a jail that you sentenced them to (no, really, I had to pay $30 to stay there or be considered an escapee) under threat of further legal ramification, then something is entirely broken.
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