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I am not sure about G.P. On the mags. I do know that C.O.’s had to fight for us to be able to keep getting our maxims, no nudity here. Even easyriders with awesome titties are a thing of the past. When guys come in from other places they can have porn, but when they search our rooms later on, any found are taken. I still have one issue of my easyriders that the shit – bags didn’t get. Just happens to be a good one. With any luck at all I’ll only be in prison a bit over 8 – more months. Then I’ll get something real.

I’d like to be able to find a pen – pal around Portland. As I’ve said, I’m not sure what’ll be happening when I get out up at Green Lake. My father may die before I get out, or worse, give all of my shit away before I can get out. He pissed me off by giving one piece of property away. We own somethings jointly so I think I’m safe. I’d like to find a woman down here. Maybe end up moving down this way. If nothing else, find one to have visits with or something. I really can’t even talk to these guys, untrustworthy! No women contact is bad enough for me, but need someone to write. I’m dying here…

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There is nothing that these prison walls have left to offer me. As I have spent eleven long and tedious years under their scrutiny during my incarceration I have lost many family and friends to death. Their final regards being sent with their last gathered breath. Others have moved far away to take a chance on a new life. Uprooted from their communities were both children and wife. And, so it has gone that I have done most of my time alone. Hundreds of people to play cards with though nobody phone at one point I had become bored even with my writing going to quite well. Then the next thing I knew I was put into a prison – rehab cell. Fourteen hours a day were filled with confusing rules and routine. It took me several months to figure out what it really did mean. I was informed that the rules were to break me of my negative ways. So I crammed and I studied them all the rest of my days. In some of the meetings I related my long and pent up grief. Thus making it easier to turn over a new leaf. I sat and I listened as others told stories of their disastrous lives. The loss of their children and separation from wives. I pondered long and hard before making my final choice. It was time that the world got to hear my voice. I looked hard to find my areas that I needed attention. And, also dug out harmful thoughts that needed prevention. In time I gained an entirely different way of thinking. Gone were the old routines of spending long hours each day drinking and the mornings waking up with pounding headaches and bloodshot eyes. The new days were to be much brighter, happier, with clear skies. I had been through a process of molding my thinking habits and more it allowed my vision to see that this would be my last prison tour. I wouldn’t ever again be forced to live another man in a tiny cell or have to breathe the stench that is a prisons’ well known smell or drink water from decaying pipes long unfit for human consumption or eat food I am told is beef, atleast by the cooks assumption. No more nights laying on a plate-steel bunk wondering if I’ll get any mail. Staying out of prison is something at which I cannot afford to fail. I am learning all of the tools I will need to live my life in sobriety. While making a place for myself in a sane and rational society. Through the years that I have been sitting around in prison. Short-term and long-term goals have both fallen and risen. Today, I am not into making plans for a long and eventful life. I’ll just take one day at a time and see if I can find a good wife. All of the aches and pains that fill me will never miss this place. I could never come back here again because it would be an unbearable disgrace.

 

Being that I seem always to be on the market for a future ex-Mrs. Wire, I thought I would share with the world hte contents of a letter. This letter would be the letter I would love to send to the Mrs., show she could fuckin’ understand that I have nothing to worry about because “I have a place to live and three meals a day”! Hello!

Dear Barb –

I must admit I was a bit taken back by that six page scream fest you called a letter. I am so fucking sorry that I did not understand the extent of the misery that is your life in the free world. Upon considerable reflection I was out of fucking place to suggest that you have a lot of positive things happening in your life! I should have known that your high paying job could not be close to as rewarding as a job here for sixty cents an hour. What was I ever thinking when I suggested you had a pretty good car? You are right; walking in the driving rain or snow without weather gear has to be better than driving. Stupid me! Again, I had no fucking clue our nice little apartment is so bad now. Dorm living with smelly old men as to be so much Better. You know, it must be awful to have all that money to blow on drugs, booze & smokes, whenever you want. I never should have complained about the meds I get even though they don’t come close to touching my pain. It has to be a struggle for you to be able to order out food night after night. You are right; I should be happy to pay up to 16hrs of my pay to get a decent meal from Commissary. Well, Babe, I should end it here so I can lock my self down so some ass can count me. It must be difficult for you to self-impose when you come & go!

– Love, Bob (the Husband you no longer want anything to do with)


– Bob Wire
MDOC# not provided

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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.

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