Do you remember this poem? I’m sure that I let you read it. Been in my head for years. Actually wrote it in a rehab, the hope house, in Bangor. Fall of ’93 before I was sentenced to the whole ball of shit that I ended up doing. 3-prison beds and 3-probation sentences. I was supposed to do 2-yrs. And a 2-yr. Probation stint. All of the other shit was suspended. So, I ended up doing 2-yrs., 2-yrs. Probation, 2.5-yrs, 2.5-yrs. Probation, 3-yrs, and 3-yrs. Probation, long fuckin’ story too…

 

How would this be to post on an ad? It might let someone know that I’m not uptight and take life way too seriously or anything. I don’t have any money for a picture right now, but I’ve still got to get a couple, so at some point I’ll send you one.

 

If I don’t figure out everything soon for when I get out, I may be needing to put my own ad on craigs-list and start pimping myself out. I’ve been sitting in this shit-hole for almost 5-months now and haven’t really been to concerned with my future.

 

The fat-bitch in charge is thinking about throwing me out of the program right now. The two guys I came home with from the dorms just tested for level-3 on Thursday. I should have too. She even let 3-other guys test that came in after me. Then on Tuesday 2 or 3-more guys tested. The word is she’s not going to let me unless I start doing little punk games ratting people out for a bunch of stupid little shit. I hate the way this “Program” is run. It’s retarded as hell.

 

You wouldn’t believe how hard it is for me to write anything good of my in here. And how much of a kick in the balls that is to me too. All of this down – time I would have thought I’d be cranking out stories left and right. Building up my collection. Working with Susan to get my shit together and make use of her publisher as a sounding-board. Having to pack my head with all of this crap makes no sense to me. I’ve learned everything that this fuckin’ cult has to offer. The rest is repetitious torture. Like another 100-120-days of beating a critter which has been long since dead and forgotten…

 

Wishing Well

If life were as we wished

no troubles to detain

just sunny skies and money trees

with a hint of rain

just beautiful girls with their tans

and none of hungers pain

life would be too easy then

for you and me and mortal men

and if we could go back you see

back again to reality

we’d all be confused as hell

and toss more coins…

…to the wishing well

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