I have interviewed scores of former inmates.
Let me be clear, that throughout my life, ever since trying to decapitate a friend who was beating up my little brother, I have bent over backwards to remain on the right side of the law, have groveled to a dozen abusive cops, have declined often to act on well-founded moral principles, just to stay out of jail and prison. It has worked. I have never been locked up and it is my single greatest fear to be behind bars. However, I am a person who has often hoped for death to take me rather than undergo humiliation or continue in certain conditions. In 1994 I attempted the ultimate stress reduction and stepped in front of a bus at Highland and Baltimore and was actually pulled out of the street by a surprisingly strong little women who I hadn't noticed. Since then, however, I've come to appreciate that I'll be gone in a blink of Time's eye regardless and have fallen prey to the curiosity of how this little drama plays out. So, for me, contemplating my end is more an exercise in morbid curiosity and practical and planning than something like dread.
It is bothersome to see the look on my sparring partners’ faces when they see how fragilely I hobble out onto the mat. Charles tries to apply some humor, like when he pointed to the gray-headed grappling dummy in the black gi that forever leans over with his head between his rubbery knees and said, “I thought that was my coach until you walked through the door.”
Inquiring as to my ability to defend myself, Charles was horrified when I showed him the knife I carry and said, “So how would you handle prison?”
“I won’t, as soon as I knife the responding cop in the neck the rest of his coworkers will take care of that. Death by cop is actually my end time fantasy right now. I think about it constantly. I will not go to prison for defending myself.”
“Twelve in the chest? That’s how you’re going out? Can I fit you with a Gopro?”
We all had a gruesome laugh about that. But, what if the responding cop is a woman, or one of the guys I trained or a cop I know who’s not a dick?
Since I would go to prison with 9-1 black odds for killing black martyrs who were only trying to collect reparations, I would likely be tortured and raped by larger, younger, more numerous men, including corrections officers. I’m not having that. So, my plan is, should I ever get locked up for anything that I think might result in prison time, I would, probably in the general holding area at Central Booking, pick out the weakest, most isolated man and kill him. It’s not that hard. You just have to KO them from behind or the side and then jump up and down on their head. I would do anything to get into solitary confinement, including murdering absolutely harmless guys in there for pot possession or failure to pay child support.
I know that is extremely ugly and is evil, but that is my plan for incarceration, should it happen, to kill wimps. Strong dudes have to sleep, so they are vulnerable too, should it come to that. If they successfully attack me I’d bite the face off of every fellow inmate until I was locked away. [I have bitten in self-defense. It’s very easy when you have hands. If canines had hands they'd be much more aggressive.] Ideally, if I have to carve up some attackers one of them has a gun and we end it that way. I’d be happy with that, have already decided not to go for the gunmen but gut his nearest accomplice.
I’m totally serious. I once tried to chop a guy’s head off—a good friend of mine—and took the arm instead, and am well in touch with what I am psychologically capable of. In the end, since I see myself as a slave of the U.S., any citizen –particularly a member of a favored minority or a voter—is an aspiring master of mine. In my mind any democracy—and U.S. citizens behave as if this is a democracy—consists of 51% of people worthy of my hate and 49% worthy of loathing, for democracy is nothing more than factions trying to enslave one another, ideally with 51% enslaving 49%.
How could I feel too guilty about paving my way to solitary at the expense of those who would own me through their political proxy aggressors?
I do not like what I have written, but will post it anyway as an example that principles often have very dark logical conclusions once put into play. I, and my socially incompatible principles, might be one of the best arguments for the worship of The God of Things.
Taboo You: Deluxe Man Cave Edition
I don't like what you have written either. Killing the responding cop or killing wimps is a terrible idea. You should come up with a better plan.
You are correct. I did not want to post this after it was done, but I thought I'd be disingenuous to bury it.
Funny thing is, the first day of high school, when us middle schooler's had been told that we would all be beaten and humiliated for initiation—the teachers did stand back for this—I bit one senior girl and stabbed one freshman who was just trying to make friends.
The girl started painting me with lipstick on the bus because these varsity football players—including a gigantic Pollack who looked at me with amazement as I bit this bitch—wouldn't touch me. I already had a rep for splitting the head of the varsity corner back when I was 13. After I bit her and drew blood I wiped the lipstick off m forearm onto the new shirt on some innocent twerp whose mother had spent a week's salary dressing him up for his first day. He cried. I snarled. I ended up marrying his older sister six years later.
When some big fat freshman tried to befriend me by unfortunately touching me because I was the only freshman not being beaten up and dumped into trash cans by upperclassmen, I stabbed him with my very sharp pencil and snapped it off between his ribs as advanced placement history teacher/soccer coach, Art Richardson watched from across the hall. Art later tried to recruit me as a leg-breaker for his soccer team and I declined citing ethical reasons...
The truth is I have generally become extremely anti-social in large group environments and have visualized this possibility from that perspective. Now, since I have committed to cutting my way out of an attack, this is a possibility, though I minimize it by staying inside almost all the time, especially in the city, at night.
Or plan B, draw a swastika on your forehead day one, go all sieg heil and join the Arуan brotherhood, that's why they are there for.
Do the old I'm not locked in here with you, you're locked in here with me dance:
youtube.com/watch?v=B3lsJmwNO40
"democracy is nothing more than factions trying to enslave one another, ideally with 51% enslaving 49%."
This is the best description of democracy that i've ever read.
Ouch.
Just say—I'm Sam J! Don't you'll feel horrible.
I don't know if this will change under Trump but I believe I read somewhere awhile back , not joking , that if you claim to be transgender, they will send you to a woman's prison so there you go.
Your description of your high school days reminds me about a story about my youngest older brother, who like you, was also the wrong guy to victimize. Some of his friends came back to our house to tell my older older brothers that some older kids were hassling him. By the time my brothers got to the scene , they found my much younger brother beating the older kid senseless. My own fighting days ended around 5th grade when I was TKOed by a kid who had been moved back to our grade from the grade above. I have not been in a real fight since.
That's a great story, thanks.
I too was beaten by an older kid. when I was 15 I picked a fight with an 18 or 19 year old farm boy who worked bailing hay. He made me look like a mutant and then backed away in horror afraid he'd kill me. that due hit harder than most boxers I've fought or trained with.
I heard later that the kid who ended my fight career was sadly killed in some kind of drug related incident so I feel better that I was at least thrashed by someone with some "street cred".
"I have a high art, I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me." - Archilocus, 650 B.C.