As I’m currently sniffing at and sifting through them in their multiple commonalities, ESP and GTMO are cresting to a test-sample proving ground for how the United States criminal justice system at-large, and across history, has assiduously attempted to paint itself as a grossly over-burdened redeemer, one who is occasionally (and ever so unfortunately) overwhelmed by its troublesome cast of occupants, but never itself the source or cause, indeed even the very caster, of the occupants’ troubles (including that unrectifiable and meddlesome inconvenience of the prisoners’ own mortality).


To speak in strict fidelity,   
                             I often demur to fury.

What I’m trying to look at (*the above) and what happens daily are frequently not of the same flame. Conceived with an aim to teach myself the measured or reporterly arm of word-farming, I find my barns bearing a steep beef of contrary tendencies. Their packages coming more commonly culled like wreckage.

Cagey and prone to frittering as I am, I haven’t even managed to mention to you yet the absolutely wild racialization of the rhetorics within these objects. Please draw your peepers now across this graph – one stumbled upon amidst a rare Sunday morning’s scavenger run:



Every single and serious mental instability of a black prisoner herein attributed to the ‘polluting’ contributions of fondling, to the soft lurches of self-touch.


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