Write me:
Craig Jacobsen #353588
ASPC Eyman Complex, Browning Unit
PO Box 3500
Florence, Arizona 85132

Loss, Medication, and Integrity

My child was killed by Dianne, the mother of Candace and Lara. She crushed up RU-486 (the abortion pill) and slipped it into Lara’s fruit juice without her knowing. Lara was going to name our little girl Kaylith. My next daughter, I promise, will be named Dana — after one of the victims in the Idaho massacre years ago. Her name is awesome.

Now I’m forced onto psychiatric drugs. Every three weeks, I get an intramuscular shot. Every day, I’m forced Abilify (8 mg) to counteract side effects — like growing breast tissue and feeling “gay.” On top of that, I take 25 prescribed meds daily for psychiatric and medical issues.

I’ve gained 80 pounds in four months. I’ve lost part of my vision. I have metabolic syndrome.

There’s a reason people do things that seem crazy at the time — their logic, however twisted, makes sense to them.

I need to bolster integrity, honesty, and transparency when I approach the U.S. Attorney. My proposal to the court must be binding. If no resolution can be found, all charges could be dropped — and monsters would remain loose.

Medication as Punishment

The forced medication renders me physically and mentally impaired. I can’t walk more than 50 feet without passing out. My mind is play-dough, my thoughts paranoid ideations that spiral.

I only have 5 years left.

All of this is due to the callous treatment of Nurse Practitioner Maria Conjos at Browning, who works for Naphcare, an Alabama corporation — merchants of death.

I can’t breathe right now.

In 2023, an ER doctor ordered potassium by IV. The burning pain was excruciating — the same chemical used in state executions. Inmates feel the fire climbing the arm and chest before it reaches the head.

Violence and Hospitals

The prison is chaos:

19 homemade knives were found on death row last month, along with a cellphone.

Officers drive recklessly, often over 100 mph, transporting inmates to hospitals in state vehicles that are not sports cars.

Medical care is subpar. I am treated as “human shit” by most hospital staff, undeserving of care.

When admitted to hospitals (a dozen times a year), I am chained hand and foot to the bed. I am not allowed to shower or use the toilet. I shit and wash up in the hospital bed like an animal.

Most inmates don’t want to go to hospitals.

Clarifications and Corrections

Some earlier blog entries contained word-processing errors from my prison tablet:

Macy’s, Hughes Aircraft, and coca plants were incorrectly inserted.

Baryshnikov performed at the Oslo Theatre in Sarasota, not the Van Weisel, in January 1991.

While in the Sarasota FBI field office, I sat at Special Agent Mark Broom’s desk six days a week, 8–10 hours daily, for three months. His office was near Agent Royer’s, where I could hear everything being investigated.

Senior Special Agent Jerry Cellars once took me fishing after his vacation in Tennessee, urging me to quit snitching and maybe plant trees instead.

But I kept snitching. In Las Vegas, I reported to Karen Knowles and Brian Ford. They paid my rent for Spycraft, my store, and kept me out of prison. That store was tied to Bob Rogen of Royal Viking Way, a friend of Sheldon Adelson.

Execution and Death

An execution is scheduled for March 19, 2025. Officer Zwick is administering the lethal injection. He relishes it. To him, the inmate is prey.

Staff here race-bait, gloat, and pretend moral superiority. The atmosphere around executions is orgasmic for them.

I’m full of anger, rage, disappointment, and loss of value. Maybe in another parallel universe (Stephen Hawking’s theory) my other self is living a good life.

I embrace death as a friend. But is it final? Or does consciousness continue, youthful and unburdened?

Death, to me, is a big black door with no handle.

I am ready to open it.