I was given a bad hand of cards… let’s reshuffle.

There’s no rhyme or reason why God lets me conceptualize life at this stage of the game, and now it’s almost over. I’ve learned valuable lessons — but too late. God, or the Devil, has a funny sense of humor.

Officers here tell me I must confess to more murders or they will let inmates kill me. They recently found 19 shanks just feet from my cell.

Vehicles and Credit

After I was released from federal prison in 1994, my vehicles included:

1 black convertible 500 Mercedes (new)

1 tan Mercury Cougar (new)

1 blue Ford Explorer (new)

1 red Astro Van (new)

1 black Cadillac Eldorado (2 years old)

1 white Cargo Van (new)

1 purple, paint-shifting Chrysler Town & Country minivan

1 Cessna 410 airplane

My credit cards included:

American Express Gold (Lehman Brothers)

Diners Club International (Citicorp)

Capital One Visa

Everen Securities Gold Visa with checking

Prudential Visa Gold

Kemper Securities Visa Gold

Fidelity Visa Gold

Smith Barney Securities Visa with checking

Oldie Securities with checking

Dozens of GTI calling cards

Lifestyle

I docked a 40’ Freedom at Biscayne Bay Marina.
I kept a Cessna 410 at Huff Aviation in Venice, Florida.

In 1996, I underwent plastic surgery by Dr. Ward in Orlando to evade photo recognition at airports, DMVs, and even the State Department. Surgery was also meant to avoid Interpol.

Dreams and Decline

If my health improves, maybe I’ll lease-to-own a food truck — a fish fry truck in a big city. But I doubt I’ll live that long. Officers stir inmates against me. I could be dead before release.

I may also die from cardiovascular disease — the result of decades of forced psychiatric drugs. They’ve left me in a perpetual malaise. Death feels better.

On average, I’m hospitalized once a month from psych drugs and environmental stress.

Murders and Memory

Officers once asked what I ate before I killed Rios or Martinez. I told them to fuck off — most serial killers remember meals before killings. I don’t.

Maybe I made cheese eggs on bagels before I killed Richard. Maybe I had something with capers before I killed Kim Lu in Santa Rosa. I don’t recall what I ate before or after I killed “Joey” in Atlantic City on October 27, 1995.

My mind is mush. I may have dementia. A doctor advised testing. I show early signs. I have Parkinson’s.

Corrections and Notes

Special Agent Karen Spandenburger authorized me for the “snitch payroll” in Tampa Bay to cover living expenses.

Officers claimed Richard worked for Giorgio Armani Exchange at Saks Fifth Avenue in New York in 1995. Cheryl approached him to work for STM Robotics, stealing computers worldwide. After Richard was killed, Cheryl returned his Armani clothes in San Francisco and traded them for a purple dress.

A week later, I adopted a dog from the ASPCA in Santa Clara County, then vacationed at the Broadmoor Resort in Colorado Springs, before a job offer from the NSA.

On my GTE MobileNet cellphone and my fiancée’s home phone (813-383-6953, in 1995), there were interesting calls made to MIGs Etc of Sarasota and to the private line of Kaspersky.

Reflections

I had a fascination with danger and romance. But the lesson is this: normal is dangerous enough. I loved skydiving with my wife in Umatilla, Florida, with a Cypress unit for safety.

I once thought the world was mine for the taking. I violated moral and ethical parameters.

Eighteen months ago, I was healthy. Now I struggle to walk 50 feet, shower, or even sit upright. My breath fails me.

Fear and Survival

I now ask officers if my blog posts are “acceptable,” if they allow me to live.

A couple of officers know that notes are being placed in my Styrofoam food trays, warning that my cell door will be left open and inmates will kill me unless I admit to multiple murders and contact police, media, and anyone who will listen.

Craig Jacobsen #353588
Arizona State Prison Complex Eyman
Browning Unit
4374 East Butte Avenue
Post Office Box 3500
Florence, Arizona 85132