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

Telephone: (520) 868-0201 EXT 6700

Credibility and Forced Drugs

My small patina of credibility has evaporated here in maximum security. How can I testify when I am forced to take psychiatric medication? There is no flexibility in how others see me.

I am fed the same food day after day. When I was in the Boy Scouts, I was taught: sweet is safe, bitter is bad. Most of this food is bad. The nutritional value is questionable at best.

Psychiatrists and the FBI

I once attended a group in Nevada for serial killers, supervised by a psychiatrist who admitted he was being paid through government and private grants to write classified text for the FBI Behavioral Science Unit in Quantico. He won’t win a Pulitzer, but his words are in their files.

When another psychiatrist asked me, “Does a rolling stone gather moss?” I answered: “I am kinetic energy, close to molten, devoid of moss.” Never trust a shrink who wears Birkenstocks.

To escape, I immerse myself in fantasy. I bought the soundtrack to Camelot. In my head, I am the king, master of my own destiny — though surrounded by a dark energy that engulfs me in this untenable place.

Violence Around Me

Yesterday, officers deployed pepper spray right outside my door. A large psychotic black inmate violently assaulted a Hispanic male officer and tried to attack a Hispanic female officer. These assaults are common. One-third go unreported, especially inmate-on-inmate violence.

Blood is still dried on the floor outside my cell. Staff walk through it every day, ignoring the biohazard.

Last year, an officer forced me into a cell covered in blood — ceiling to floor, walls, even the toilet. No cleaning supplies for days. Another time, I was locked into a cell with a ruptured sewer pipe, left for weeks without proper supplies. I developed bacterial infections that prevented a heart operation. Just three weeks ago, another sewer pipe burst behind my cell wall. Sergeant Deal and C/O Gutierrez eventually cleaned my cell and told me to file a grievance against the other shift for wanton disregard of my health.

Inmates and Survival

The men here are super violent and should not be released from their cells. I have 30 years of incarceration without violence. Forcing me to live among monsters will eventually end in blood.

Sometimes I wonder: maybe I should hoard weeks of my cardiac medication, lace soda bottles, and leave them where they can be stolen. Whoever drinks would die.

Space, Time, and Reality

The space-time continuum feels suspended here. Sheets of space fold, and somewhere within them, I am happy.

In prison, I must suspend politeness. Stereotyping and discrimination are survival tools. My statistics:

95% of white inmates are trash.

99% of blacks are dangerous and unreliable.

50% of Hispanics fit the unfortunate stats.

These stats apply to correctional officers too. Personal character is gone in this place. Everyone tied to corrections is corrupted. Someone, please — find the binary alkaloids to help me clean house.

Medical, Custody, and Death

I refuse to undergo heart ablation or pacemaker surgery until I am moved to a lower security yard that reflects my classification and behavior.

I am forced to take psychotropics “to improve my life,” but they only strip me of quality of life. If I die from them, my family will sue, and vigilantes will act.

Medical overrides custody here. Staff are deceitful. Officers are incorrigible.

At Florence Anthem Hospital, Sergeant Ortega dropped his gun at my feet while I was unrestrained. Was he trying to set me up to be killed? On December 26, 2023, Sergeant Nielson allowed me access to a gun while driving 90 MPH. A black Jehovah’s Witness officer sat in the back with me. Before arrival, Nielson pulled over, put the gun in the trunk, and kept driving. Banner Hospital has surveillance that confirms my account.

I swear: officers want me dead.

Execution Culture

Because of what I post on this blog, some antagonistic officers are leaving me alone. But there is a palpable, orgasmic anticipation among Browning staff over an upcoming execution.

I spelled WHACK wrong in my last entry — Officer J. Crude corrected me. Staff Zwick and Cain even volunteered to sit with the condemned inmate before his death. Like cats playing with a mouse before the kill.

This is perverted justice.

Heat and Summer

Arizona’s heat is coming. All electric fans were confiscated because they could be made into knives. Now both inmates and officers will sweat it out through spring and summer.