Transcription
Curious.
Grave Diggers
01.25.2013
I'm too immature! That's it. To converse with others I notice I'm just ten. Or nine? But sitting here silent I'm ninety. Sitting here spilling my darkest fears, I'm already dead.
I don't care about people judging me like only the dead would. On paper. But to walk in this open section and have people snigger playfully, or start conversation, I see ulterior, shady motives in it.
"What are they acting like my friend for? What is it they want?"
It will kill me if one day I find out it's delusion dreaming these enemies. But, it's like I'm dead already. Buried in sticky soils of non-trusting.
I know I keep going over this but this is what it's about, isn't it? How the hell can people justify solitary confinement if it turns people into things that think their grandma's out to "book" them?!!
My coffee's poisoned. Even though I opened the factory sealed bag myself. My peanut butter is poisoned. Even though I opened the safety seal to find a smooth, unblemished layer of peanut butter.
I've flushed all my coffee because it's poisoned, I think. Flushed a whole bottle of B-12 vitamins because...
But I've done things politically. It's that that gnaws at me. Prisons are white supremacist. I'm white and have been screaming revolution against white imperialism. Shouldn't I be afraid?
How much of my paranoia is common sense? And how much delusion?
If I get killed I'll lose my lawsuits... so, I plug off my door. Ignore people. People trying to kill me with kindness. Coax me into population where screwdrivers are handy.
I'm going to stay in solitary (I must!) until I overcome these thoughts. Like a man remaining underwater to avoid a thundercloud. But this is solitary common sense. Which we have in abundance.
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