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Hey,

The first thing that comes to mind is “I want to get High” by Cypress Hill.  That is where I am at as of now with my soundtrack of my life.  Then I sit and think about it and the more I concentrate on my soundtrack the more I begin to realize that there is so much more to my life soundtrack.

I can’t remember the names of the group that sings these songs but I can remember that I used to listen to these songs on the front seat of my Bampi’s truck coming back from blueberry raking.  One of the songs is “White Lightning.”  I used to sing this song every time it would play on the old 8-track.  I remember that we used to sing the song as

“Teaming, teaming, alligator soup, looking for the place where he made his brew, they were looking just a looking but my pappy kept a cooking – phew – white lightning.”

Apparently that is not the right lyrics to that song as I found out when I got older.  I asked my Bampi why he didn’t tell me that I was singing it wrong.  He simply told me that he was just happy that I was singing and that he thought that I was cute singing.  This made me feel loved.

Arline.

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Hey everyone.

If anyone gets to watch the remake of “Hidden Rage,” (featured on the show “Deadly Women.” https://www.youtube.com/embed/kY4aESX6itE?rel=0&autoplay=1 – Rage) including me, keep in mind that it’s all his (the victim’s – Rage)  family’s side of the story.  It just recently came out in the past year or so, when someone asked me why I tried to kill myself (after the murder of the victim. – Rage.)

I told them that I thought that I was a bad mom and that I didn’t deserve to live if I could be with someone who hurt my son.  I guess that is because of my TBI.

That is when my friend asked me why I never told anyone about him hurting my son.  I said I was afraid of what people would think of me.  I figured that I would just eliminate the problem myself.

They all like to tell the story they way they think it happened.  Like, I came in the room and he was standing and I shot him.  Nope.  He was passed out drunk.  But of course they wouldn’t mention anything like that would they?

Anyway, I told you that I was the non-conformist, so of course I had to trace my left foot, right?

Gonna let you guys go for now.  Got to write Robin and Jacobi before I mail this out tonight for tomorrow.

Not quite what my foot looks like, but hey, you try to trace your left foot with your left hand when you are right handed.

Want to get an eye tattooed on the bottom of my foot.  Gonna hurt like a bitch, though.

Love and tight hugs,

Arline

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Hey everybody out there,

I just got done facilitating a class.  I have another class at 9:30 to 11:30.  Then the rain closet.

I just want to talk about some stuff to try to sell on the internet so I can get some money.  I need money in the worst way, too.  My boss is on  leav4e for a while and I am trying to save the stamps and phone time untill next month.  She didn’t put in 9our hours or anything so I don’t even know if we are going to be getting paid the whopping twentyfive hours I got in July.  Fucking sucks.  Got a raise to 80 cents and hour,  but, 35% comes off the top before I even see any of it.

Sorry.  I am bitching again.  Just stressing about stuff, you know.  As far as selling stuff I have: a paintings on canvas: “tulips,”  “space,”  “chickadees,”  “a spooky tree with an evil moon in back,”  “a big eyeball with yin-hang for the pupil,”  “a city scape at night reflecting on the water,” and, last one: “a shack on ocean front with clouds.”

I can also crochet stuff.  Like, to order.  I can bang out hats in two hours with stuff grafted onto them.  Actually, everyone wants hats with their MDOC# on them.  Also with their children’s names on them.

We get two free mailing a week here, but that’s about it.

Hope to hear from someone soon.

Love: Arline

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Correctional Corruption

Posted by Rage in the new Political Prisoner Blog: https://politicalprisoner.wordpress.com/

One of my names is Robert James Bartlett, and my Maine Department of Corrections number is 32270. I’m currently incarcerated at the Windham Maine Correctional Center, doing 17 months for violating probation on a conviction of OUI which occurred in 2004. I suffer from a mental illness, addiction and residuals from a traumatic brain injury. Here’s my groove on Corrections in the State of Maine:

While Incarcerated at Kennebec County Correctional Facility in January of 2009, I pulled one of my best friends from a shower where he hadcommitted suicide by hanging. Arthur Brian Traweek was a co-founder of the Holistic Recovery Project, and suffered from a mental illness. We were both successful graduates of the Kennebec county Co-Occurring Disorders Court Program.

Brian was only serving a 6 month sentence, but he’d been threatening suicide since his incarceration in November. While hanging from a sheet in the shower, an officer, Herreva went through our block for a check and actuallyopened the door to the shower room & seemed to look inside. (Apparently not.) After we pulled Brian out of the shower and alerted the guards, it was perhaps 8 minutes before they began performing mouth to mouth resuscitation on Brian. Why? No one could find a “separator:” a 25 cent plastic piece which rests between a victims lips and a rescuers (to prevent infection?) When they arrived, they said that he’d had a pulse. 8 minutes. Now he’s dead.

Brian had tried to commit suicide before, but with his particular illness most successful suicides are actual accidental. Brian counted on the jail to protect him. (To read the full deposition on Brian’s wrongful death, written only hours after the tragedy – click here).

What happened? There was an official police investigation. Nothing came of it. Maine State Civil Liberties Union promised to look into it, but never did.

Carol Caruthers of NAMI did stage a vigil, a candlelight vigil for Brian, right outside our window at the jail. It was attended by people who’d never visited Brian while he was alive. Neither would any of the crowd be visiting any of us who survived. We were treated to a crowd of candle-holding strangers, drinking coffee (which we couldn’t) and smoking cigarettes (which we couldn’t.)

As a fellow inmate said: “Who are these people? Brian never got any visitors when he was alive! Coffee and cigarettes? Why don’t they strippers out there too & call it good?!”

This was while we all faced showering in the same shower my friend had just hung himself in.

I have to throw in a special shout out to Carol Caruthers, who organized the worthless vigil – oh, made the paper, though, didn’t it, Carol? Carol, the executive Director of NAMI, Maine – National Association of Mentally Ill? NAMI did nothing. NAMI didn’t give a fuck. We even asked Carol over & over again to help re-open the investigation! “Please, Carol, Please!! Help us!! Read NAMI’s own reports on those of us with mental illness & addiction, killing ourselves in jail! Help us Carol!”

Carol & NAMI do not care. But they did have that nifty candlelight vigil!

Fuck you, Carol. Fuck you, NAMI.

Brian’s dead.

How many more of us will die, Carol?

Just keep cashing your checks, love.

In the System’s defense – did they ask to become, as Sheriff Randal Liberty so aptly put it recently, “the number one provider of mental health services in Maine?” No, they did not. Jails are for what? Punishment. As Bo Lozoff says, jail is “intended to punish them, pure & simple – to punish, hurt, confuse, emasculate, and eventually break their contrary spirits.” Or, as a friend of mine from Texas said to me before my most recent arrest, “Y’all got only a little over a million people in your whole one-syllable state –  how can your prisons be over-crowded?”

Jails were never designed to treat those of us with serious mental illness or addiction, any more than they were meant to treat cancer or leprosy.

What can we do to change things?

What can you do? Please – get involved. Nothing happens from within, and I guarantee you – all of the powers that be know the truth about Brian’s death, but no one will do anything to change the status quo unless we the people demand it. Call your legislator, your governor – call Carol – at NAMI, Maine. Ask her what time it is. Join the Holistic Recovery Project at http://holistix.atspace.com/wholeness.htm – we have a mailing list there too.

They incarcerate the mentally ill & the addicted, then they release them – untreated – back into your neighborhood.

If the powers that be lived in your neighborhood, perhaps more of us would be sent to rehabs & psychiatric hospitals. Perhaps there’d be money for those programs.

Only you can make it happen.

Please do. Because I guarantee – right now – some twenty-something is sitting in a cell & he’s coming off of opiates & his mental illness is causing him to believe that there’s only one way out.

(Rage has a blog: http://holistixrage.wordpress.com/)

– Rage

Originally posted at https://holistixrage.wordpress.com/2010/04/24/correctional-corruption/

 

I’ve been a little depressed as of late, myself.  You know how guys in jail can get.  I had some guy tell me I should have killed myself after Zina, “She went out gangsta.”

I was thinking, “Yeah, and she left our son and me here.”  as I walked away.  This guy is obviously not the brightest bulb in the box.  Still, it left me angry at Zina again.

Once guy tried to convince me she may still be alive, “You don’t know.  She could be in protective custody.”  I  swear.  I’m surrounded by lawyers and psychologists in here.  Luckily, I”m a little too bright to fall for this shit.

Still… my grieving for Zina is a manic call back.  some days, I’m fine.  Other days it’s a relentless roller coaster.

Just when I had given up on talking to anyone, I had a guy I didn’t recognize call me “Dirty.(my tag name.)”  We started talking and I  asked him if he knew Zina.  He said yes, “She was a beautiful girl.”

When he said that all these images of her, the really good times came flooding back.  That’s when I realized that that’s how I want to remember her.. as beautiful.

I can’t tell you why or how I endure this.  I do believe there’s a reason I’m still alive.  I don’t know why, but I plan on finding out.

I’d enjoy mail from anyone.  My address is:

Michael McQuade / Somerset County Jail / 132 East Madison Road / Madison, Maine 04950.

Tell everyone that I said “hi!”

God bless,

Dirty

Dirty

 

Hey,

Sorry my memory is such shit during that particular period of my life.  I was pretty fucked up.  sorry that it’s taken so long to write back.  Kennebec had me on suicide watch til they shipped me here.  A month and a week.  Just over a week in the turtle suit along.  When they shipped me they left all my paperwork and all.  It took a month just to get some of my shit.

I had almost forgotten your letter.  It fell out of my tome of paperwork the other day.  I was glad because I wanted to thank you for your letter.  Only a few people can realize what a piece of mail can mean to someone.  Especially someone with as much shit as I’m going through..

I can’t talk about my case at all Not only because of the severe nature of the case, but also do to the lack of info on the case.  I  don’t know what the fuck is going on.

I’m surprisingly optimistic for a guy facing life. I’m working out, reading, writing.  I”m clean of drugs.  That’s something I really wanted towards the end.  I tried to get into a detox.  There were no beds open at the time.

I don’t really want to get into the whole mess.  It really hurts thinking of Zina and our son, Loki.  He’s fine which is something, I guess.

I really wanted you to know that I appreciated that letter.  I thank you for your prayers.  You’re in mine as well.  If I ever get outta this place, I’ll give you a ring.

Again, thanks,

Dirty

Dirty

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Political Prisoners

Welcome to the blog from inmates of Maine's jails and prisons.

In collaboration with the Holistic Recovery Project, the Political Prisoners Blog provides a prisoner's view into what's happening at Maine's correctional facilities.

Only your vigilance on the outside can guarrentee that justice goes on on the inside.

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