Monday, 19 May 2003. The IDEA behind this whole trip according to the objectives of U.S. Federal Law Enforcement is to undermine the confidence I have in my very own ability to survive [and] to succeed at anything I attempt to put my mind towards achieving. It is as if the F.B.I. wants me to lose all faith in my ability to think, to be effectively able to account, to plan and to execute any idea of my own since I must not trust my mind: I must only seek approval and guidance from the minds of the very people who want to send me to prison for a life term. To say,
“You see, you can’t even keep track of the things you own. You aren’t capable of running your own affairs. You need the Bureau of Prisons to give your derelict mind structure. You can’t cook and you’re not even toilet trained, Boogey.”
The F.B.I. wants me to believe that I am below normal in intelligence: That since I cannot talk or communicate effectively due to “brain fry burnout” I must be an idiot.
“Oh, yeah? Idiots don’t pass the LSAT and score perfect on reading comprehension tests, motherfuckers! Try something else.”
Wednesday, 21 May 2003. Combination? A long time ago, a sadistic third grade teacher told me to, “Never assume a goddamned thing.” I took it for granted that I would remember the numbers for opening my safe. The only issue of concern was whether or not my safe would be in Brownsville upon my return; whether or not the contents of my storage space would still be in place. “Do I remember the combination?” I tied those numbers in with the tragic events of my past life so there would be no way and no chance of my forgetting them.
Another aspect of MINDWAR is this constant pressuring, and if it isn’t one thing it’s another: I didn’t go to Tapachula MX and El Paso TX (lose a calculator); I decided to spend an additional week in Belize (lose a camera); I refused to rush up to Chetumal MX after experiencing another loss in Belmopan (forget the combination to the safe).
Worst case? “Now you have no choice but to return to the U.S.S.A. pronto. You need a programmable calculator. You must buy another camera. You need to confirm the safe’s combination. Hurry-up, hurry-up… wait!” I’ll visit a locksmith.
Friday, 23 May 2003. Harvest Time: “Your time is cum!” What began in 1969 must end in 2003: The United States Government has [set] a price [for] my death: There’s a bounty on my head.
Thirty-three years is apparently long enough and now these motherfuckers think it is time to send me to deathrow since life in prison would mean too many conversations with “interviewers” (e.g. criminologists, psychologists and federal investigators) – I said I could articulate their methods too goddamned well. Reaction: “Are you implying that the U.S. Government is attempting a cover-up?” Duh!
“Much of this accusation depends on what I mean by the word ‘prison’: PRISON could mean any condition which restricts Liberty in thought, in action, and in spirit. A lifetime in the United States of America would mean all of the above.
“I am the perfect case study and prime example for federal objectives – what with all those recorded telephone conversations I had during my Hitlerian youth, they [F.B.I.] are convinced that I am worth years of federal funding in a Federal Prison setting.
To say, “’Well, Joshua [Penrose Woods], all we need is a little wood and a little wire to get this aeroplane built… Yes, Alvin [Douglas Lucas], it is quite feasible – we need aeroplanes for our combined ghetto defense airforce.’ You see, I used to be a ghetto dictator…” It’s a complicated story.