tired...
spent today in a C.P. (or Command Post, although what it is that I'm supposed to be commanding is beyond me) which is one of three little machine-gun nests clustered around the central building of the Institution. all three are reached by a network of catwalks & ladders & once you're in, you're locked in until a Sergeant comes to unlock you some 12 hours later.
this was my first time in this particular one, which stuck out in one quadrant over one of the chow halls (shiny hexagonal steel tables), another quadrant overhangs a wide hallway that bisects the building (which also contains the kitchen, gymnasium, laundry, property & mail room, & Prison Industries where yes, Virginia, they really make liscence plates) the other half sticks over one of two main exercise yards. the whole C.P. is roughly four paces across.
NOTHING in this particular institution is automatic. everything--every door, gate, shower, light--is operated with a knob, a switch, a key or a button. today, I was in charge of two roll-up gates & four doors.
a good portion of the day was spent popping open doors, herding inmates too & fro from Chow with the yard page (I, gentle, poetic soul that I am, have gotten to where I can fake a pretty good authoritative bark.), saying things on the radio (after a while I figured out the sort of things that I'm actually SUPPOSED to say on the radio), & resisting the urge to stroke the shotgun kinkily with a distant, dreamy look in my eyes while murmuring, "I am the Angel of Death....I am the Angel of Death..."
what sort of things do Max Security inmates have for dinner? I tell my little neice & nephew that it's mostly just sausage made from naughty little boys & girls who jump on the bed after bedtime even though they've been TOLD, like FIVE times, not to jump on the bed after bedtime (I'm such an Evil Man) but that's probably a little bit of a fib. tonight it was teriyaki chicken, cake with yellow frosting, soft tortilla shells, mixed vegetables & rolls. it did't look half bad.
after dinner the yard was closed, nobody was using the doors much, & I spent the rest of the evening singing the "Meow Mix song". after a while I got bored with this, & experimented with variations(Gregorian Chant Meow Mix Chant, Meow Mix Song as done by KMFDM, or Jimmy Durante.)
I wonder, if in any institution, whether it's a prison, an army base, embassy, whatever--how many of those distant figures, distinguished only perhaps by a glint off mirrored sunglasses, or a flash of rifle barrel, might be singing to themselves: "meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow ..."
probably just me.
'night.
spent today in a C.P. (or Command Post, although what it is that I'm supposed to be commanding is beyond me) which is one of three little machine-gun nests clustered around the central building of the Institution. all three are reached by a network of catwalks & ladders & once you're in, you're locked in until a Sergeant comes to unlock you some 12 hours later.
this was my first time in this particular one, which stuck out in one quadrant over one of the chow halls (shiny hexagonal steel tables), another quadrant overhangs a wide hallway that bisects the building (which also contains the kitchen, gymnasium, laundry, property & mail room, & Prison Industries where yes, Virginia, they really make liscence plates) the other half sticks over one of two main exercise yards. the whole C.P. is roughly four paces across.
NOTHING in this particular institution is automatic. everything--every door, gate, shower, light--is operated with a knob, a switch, a key or a button. today, I was in charge of two roll-up gates & four doors.
a good portion of the day was spent popping open doors, herding inmates too & fro from Chow with the yard page (I, gentle, poetic soul that I am, have gotten to where I can fake a pretty good authoritative bark.), saying things on the radio (after a while I figured out the sort of things that I'm actually SUPPOSED to say on the radio), & resisting the urge to stroke the shotgun kinkily with a distant, dreamy look in my eyes while murmuring, "I am the Angel of Death....I am the Angel of Death..."
what sort of things do Max Security inmates have for dinner? I tell my little neice & nephew that it's mostly just sausage made from naughty little boys & girls who jump on the bed after bedtime even though they've been TOLD, like FIVE times, not to jump on the bed after bedtime (I'm such an Evil Man) but that's probably a little bit of a fib. tonight it was teriyaki chicken, cake with yellow frosting, soft tortilla shells, mixed vegetables & rolls. it did't look half bad.
after dinner the yard was closed, nobody was using the doors much, & I spent the rest of the evening singing the "Meow Mix song". after a while I got bored with this, & experimented with variations(Gregorian Chant Meow Mix Chant, Meow Mix Song as done by KMFDM, or Jimmy Durante.)
I wonder, if in any institution, whether it's a prison, an army base, embassy, whatever--how many of those distant figures, distinguished only perhaps by a glint off mirrored sunglasses, or a flash of rifle barrel, might be singing to themselves: "meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow ..."
probably just me.
'night.
Here's my new finding:
Christelow, Eileen: Five little monkeys jumping on the bed (New York, Clarion Books, 1989).
Abstract:
Five little monkeys experience the consequences of jumping on the bed because their mama called the doctor and the doctor said, 'No more monkeys jumping on the bed!'