Found Pages from Kingpin’s prison journal
February 2, 2008
I feel like a ghost, like I’m haunting a desert or a deserted prairie. I float around the prison in a detached sort of stupor, wondering and wondering till I have no sickness left in my stomach. It is replaced by the echo of a sadness that screamed ages ago. It can still be heard but no one can recognize or recall exactly what was said or when it was said, or, and this is the worst part, why it screamed in the first place! Oh, the reason is obvious, or at least it used to be, but now no one knows it anymore. All they can do is almost recognize its existence. It is the elephant in the room and breathing space is, therefore, limited.
The hollow feeling I have empties itself when I piss but enough of it hangs on to leave an anxious space in my stomach. Where my heart should be is a simple fearful anticipation – a wanton longing for something that appears will never come. It is hope soured.
February 10, 2008
Man, I am dying for a cigarette. On a side note, one of the more colorful inmates came to me this morning politely demanding me to be his cellie. I will take that as a misguided compliment. However, I am good being cellies with the priest…
February 26, 2008
As I offer up my terrible, terrified, (and therefore humble, I hope) supplication to a God that my cellie believes in (I am not so sure), one that I cannot grasp completely because of my own mortality and my flesh thereof, I float in a kind of bubblified vacuum, a detached stupor of which there is no end, only minor unsatisfactory fluctuations therein. I wonder, wandering in a sickened state. I am nauseous. I need to exist but, unlike my cellie, the priest, I find it futile and discouraging to even appear normal,
especially after what happened with Alpha. In this futility, I end up eating my own stomach, and turning it inside out when I think of him. My stomach dissolves because of a lack of edification and true substance as I battle the demons that haunt me after Alpha’s death. This dissolution of my insides upon thinking of him ends as an echo of sadness reaching my ears and residing there. Alpha’s scream is years old, it seems, and neverending. I hear it still… No one knows what he said or when he said it or why he said it in the first place though I think it is on account of the desolation as he haunts me as I pace…
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