The teeth go because dental care is practically nonexistent. Several years ago I was brutally beaten by a pack of sadistic guards, which caused nerve damage to several of my teeth. The prison gave me the choice of living with the pain or having my teeth pulled out. I’ve been in pain ever since (prison policy says no root canals, even if the guards themselves cause the damage).
Diabetes and heart disease come about from being unable to move. These cells are just big enough to take two steps forward and two steps back. Even if you work out for an hour a day, that leaves 23 hours when you are practically not moving at all. Add to that the cheapest diet you can find—plain noodles, white rice, white bread, grits, et cetera—and you’ve created a recipe for disaster. If you don’t work very hard, and aren’t very, very careful, you’ll die in here.
Last year there was a brief mention on the news about a sick prisoner who had to be put on life support after he was left lying in his own feces for several days. They eventually fired two guards for it, but only because it was mentioned on the news. Just about every guard in the prison had to pass that man’s cell on a daily basis. They all saw him. The two guards who got fired were simply scapegoats.
I don’t want to complain. No one likes a whiner, I know. Sometimes I just get so tired, though—tired of the abuse, tired of the cruelty, tired of the apathy. It wears you down to nothing. But I know that allowing myself to be sucked down into it, allowing myself to waste time dwelling on it, does nothing but create and feed more frustration. Tomorrow is a new day. I will put this one behind me and move forward into a more productive place. Today, however, what you get to read is me whining and complaining. As Billy Bob says in the movie Bad Santa, “Well, they can’t all be winners now, can they?”
FEBRUARY 26
I’ve been asked by quite a few people why the prison serves breakfast at 2:30 a.m. The answer to that would be slave labor. The prison is run by what amounts to slave labor—planting crops, digging ditches, construction and maintenance—any job you can think of other than guard is done by the prisoners. They have the choice of doing whatever job the administration gives them to do, or go to the hole. They throw you in there, then drag you out every thirty days to ask if you’re ready to go to work yet. If you say no, they toss you back in. This goes on until the person’s mind or soul has been broken. So breakfast is at 2:30 a.m. because they want to have everyone out in the fields as early as possible so they can get as many hours of work out of them as they can.
It’s a brutal system. In other states prisoners get paid, even if it’s only five cents an hour. Not here, though. Here you get nothing. They still charge you if you need to see a doctor, even though many people have no money and no way of getting any. The reason other states pay prisoners to work is that in prison you have to buy everything—they don’t give you even the basic necessities, from soap and toothpaste to coffee and candy bars. So they charge you for all of it and take back the money they’ve paid you anyway.
They can also put you in the hole for giving something to another prisoner who can’t afford it. For example, say the guards decided not to feed a guy one day to teach him a lesson. If you give him a candy bar, they can give you thirty days in the hole. Give someone soap who can’t afford it—thirty days. A cup of coffee? Thirty days. It’s cruelty and madness. I once saw a man get thirty days for giving another man construction paper. The only thing you can do is keep your head down, be quiet, and try to avoid notice.
FEBRUARY 27
I just received a letter from Amy in New Jersey, asking if I believe in God. What I think is that belief is irrelevant. Belief doesn’t play much of a role in my life. What matters to me is experience. I experience the Divine in my life on a daily basis. For me, effort is far more important than belief, and the effort I put forth is to spend every single moment of my life in the presence of the Divine.
I like to compare spirituality to riding a bicycle. You can believe with every fiber of your being that it’s possible to ride a bicycle, but until you start practicing you won’t be able to do it. Spirituality has to be about action, not belief.
One of my favorite quotes of all time comes from Oscar Wilde. When someone asked him if he believed in God, his response was “No, I believe in something much bigger.” I feel the same way. There is no old man waiting in the clouds to inflict pain on us for our failures. What there is is beyond words. Our concepts of God are tiny and insignificant compared to the reality of what Divinity is. Does that answer your question, Amy?
Speaking of such things, I gave up all cursing for Lent in an attempt to practice a more mindful way of speaking. It’s harder than I thought it would be. I’ve slipped several times, but I’m still trying. What trips me up most is dealing with the abusive guards. When they’re deliberately trying to hurt me, or when they’re harassing Lorri, I find myself cursing them under my breath and have to remind myself “No cursing!” Lorri and I are supposed to be able to see each other for three hours once a week, but this week a hateful guard deliberately took an hour of our time. The more attention the case gets, the more hateful and vindictive the guards become.
FEBRUARY 28
I’ve never felt anything like what I’ve been feeling for the past few days. It’s like there’s a tremendous tidal wave hovering over my head. It’s just been growing and growing ever since word of Johnny Depp being a supporter and friend began to make the rounds. Johnny contacted Lorri for the first time in 1999, calling her up on the phone while she was at work one day. From that moment on, he corresponded with us both, with emotional and financial support in equal measure. He learned everything he could about the case, down to the finest details, and when he appeared on 48 Hours his participation was startling where his knowledge of events was concerned. To be honest, it’s a little scary. It just feels so huge. I can only imagine what the energy would feel like out there. One thing I’ve discovered is that I wouldn’t want to be a celebrity for anything in the world. They have to live with far more energy than this directed at them twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I can’t even imagine how it would be to have to try to lead a normal life when there are people constantly trying to ask you questions, catch you on film, et cetera.
I know there must be a lot of support being generated out there because the level of hatred directed toward me by the guards has increased tenfold. I don’t even care. It just lets me know that good things are happening. The feeling in the air is almost the same thing I feel when a thunderstorm is coming. That’s what I pray for—rain. Enough rain to wash away the corruption, the cover-ups, the darkness, and the apathy that has stolen the past seventeen years of my life.
MARCH 16
The prison refused to let me see Harada Roshi. Communication between us has suddenly become a “security risk,” even though nothing has changed since the last time. I gave up trying to understand prison logic long ago—Rolling Stone magazine is a security risk, sodas are a security risk, salt and pepper are security risks. The list goes on and on. It’s incredibly disappointing that we didn’t get to talk. It would have been like getting a breath of fresh air to have been able to see Roshi and Chisan. Chisan is Roshi’s translator, and a female priest who does tarot readings in Japan. They carry an incredible energy with them wherever they go. It’s like love, happiness, compassion, discipline, and fun all rolled up into one current of golden light. At least Lorri got to meet them for dinner and talk about where our practice has taken us. I can’t wait for the day when we can go to Japan and visit the temple. It’s a way of life that hasn’t changed much in hundreds of years, and life in the temple is practically a world unto itself.
Roshi had no idea who Johnny Depp was when he heard about the 48 Hours episode. That’s how I wish I could live—cut off from modern society and focused entirely on self-development. In a way I do live that way, except that my days are a dark and distorted version of monastic life.
In other news, the execution that was scheduled for tonight was not carried out. The
attorney general is furious, and the guards are less than pleased. No one knows what to expect next.
APRIL 9
This is to the raven-haired lady I spoke to today from the Innocence Project: Thank you. Thank you for speaking to me like a human being. A lot of times they’ll bring tours through here and they come to my cell and just stare at me as if I’m some sort of exhibit in a museum. I’ve had teenage girls from a community college criminal justice class stand and watch me in the shower, and they didn’t even speak. They just stood around as if they had every right in the world to do so. You, raven-haired lady, were only the second person to ever speak to me. I was very happy to hear that you have been reading these letters. I have been slacking on the updates lately, but now I want to do a better job. In some ways I feel like I’ve been throwing messages in a bottle into the ocean, wondering if anyone is finding them. Now I know that someone is.
Not much is changing here. I’ve been moving deeper into my studies, my meditating, and my energy work. The days continue to fly past at an incredibly high rate of speed. The only thing of interest to anyone is that I think Marilyn Manson is quickly becoming my new best friend. Lorri loves him to pieces, too. He’s going to be speaking out for us on VH1 at an awards show that will air in July. He’s also painting my portrait, which I am incredibly excited about. Manson got involved to help with my case, although he has stayed behind the scenes—he thought his presence might be as hurtful as helpful in the public perception.
The air is filled with that odd, powerful energy that you only feel when the seasons are changing. It stirs up old memories of when I was young and free, and it nearly drives me mad. It was during this time of year that I experienced my very last days of freedom nearly seventeen years ago. The energy in the air makes those memories feel as if they only happened a few days ago. It hurts me somewhere deep in the core of my bones, but it’s an exquisitely beautiful kind of pain.
APRIL
They stopped the execution that was scheduled to take place last night. They had already taken the man to the death house, where the executions are carried out, when the Arkansas Supreme Court issued the order to stop. Now there will have to be a hearing before anyone else is put to death. That probably bought an extra year for those scheduled to be executed soon. Maybe. You can never be certain.
More than anything, I’d like to go to a park today. I want to sit in a swing, drink chocolate milk, and not think about anything in the world except the pleasure of that moment. I want to know what a normal life feels like because I can’t remember anymore. I want to drag my feet on the ground as I swing back and forth. I want to feel the fresh, spring chi on my skin. I’m very tempted to get out my Halloween decorations today because looking at them always gives me a little burst of excitement. I can’t, though, because I have a rule: No Halloween decorations before June 21. That’s the summer solstice, so after that we’re officially in the second half of the year.
Another rule I abide by is no peppermint until November 1. I only eat peppermint between November 1 and January 6, because that keeps it special. If you don’t do things like that in here, then there’s nothing to look forward to.
APRIL 18
Many people have asked me why I cut my hair. The answer is because I didn’t have a choice. One day the prison decided it was a “security risk” if my hair were to touch my ears or my collar. If I refused to let them cut my hair, I would be thrown in the hole for thirty days, my visits would be taken for one year, and I would not be allowed to use the phone for one month. Same deal with facial hair. Sideburns that extend beyond mid-ear are “detrimental to the order and discipline of the unit.”
The whole purpose was to rob everyone of their identity. Dress everyone exactly alike, give them the same haircut, take away their name, and give them a number. To the prison system, I am not Damien Echols. I am inmate SK931. I still don’t let them cut my hair, though. I cut it myself, with a disposable razor. It’s a time-consuming process, but better than the alternative. The prison “barber” is just a prisoner they choose at random and assign to the job. It’s usually someone who has never cut hair in his life, and I don’t fancy being the training dummy.
APRIL 27
With every day that passes I feel more and more as if I’m playing Russian roulette. It’s nothing to do with the case, because I know that sooner or later someone will step in and correct this situation. The danger I feel comes from trying to survive in here. Every day the odds continue to stack up. Sooner or later the hammer will fall on a chamber with a round in it. Could be anything—diabetes, starvation, food poisoning, skull cracked by a bored guard, heat stroke, or about a million other things. I feel like the frog trying to cross the street in that old video game Frogger. Sooner or later he always gets squashed. The only question is how long you can prevent it from happening.
MAY 1
The next execution is scheduled to take place in three days. Chances are high it will be called off, since the last one wasn’t carried out. There’s another one scheduled for May 24, but it probably won’t take place, either. Everyone seems to think they’ll be put on hold until after a hearing about procedure. Arkansas is the only state in the country that has a law that says the prison director can carry out executions in any way he sees fit. This means it’s legal for the prison to starve you to death. Or burn you alive. Or stone you. The law in Arkansas gives these people the power to do anything they want. What is legal and what is right are often two different things.
Even if the execution gets called off at the last minute, the man who is scheduled to die will never be the same. When someone comes back from the death house, they’re far, far older than when they entered. There’s no life in their eyes, they don’t talk much, and when the guards take them anywhere they shuffle like someone in a nursing home. It’s almost as if everything dies except the body. Guards are the opposite. When an execution date nears, they get a little pep in their step.
MAY 5
Today I saw a campaign commercial for Fogleman. He hasn’t aged well at all. There is a tremendous sense of darkness about him. It was there when he was a prosecutor, but now it seems to have grown to horrendous proportions. Am I the only one who finds it repugnant that they began airing on May 5?
In the commercial he was bragging about how many years of experience he has. Anyone who wants to see that experience in action should just watch Paradise Lost.
I must admit that I was a little hurt that he didn’t mention us in his commercial. I mean, he could at least thank all the little people he stepped on in his climb up the political ladder. Seriously, folks—please don’t forget to vote on May 18. Don’t let this guy keep hurting people, or get away with such corruption.
Today was our first ninety-degree day of the year. The humidity is already suffocating. Summer is here. Over the past few days I’ve been cleaning my cell from top to bottom and throwing out tons of junk. I’ve decided I want to live my life as if I am leaving this place at any moment. From now on I will live in a state of joyous expectation.
MAY 2010
I don’t want to be a nag, or drive this into the ground, but I do want to ask everyone one more time to vote on May 18. The Good Ol’ Boy Network, which includes everyone from the West Memphis police department to the Arkansas Times, is out there promoting Fogleman. They want to promote a man who not only helped condemn three innocent men, but has also allowed a child-murderer to walk free for seventeen years. If this is to be amended, it will have to be you who does it. If you live in Arkansas and are reading this, please turn out on May 18 to make certain this man is not rewarded for his corruption. You have the power and ability to see that justice is done. All it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. This is a chance to demonstrate that not everyone in Arkansas embraces ignorance and corruption. This will be my last plea on the subject. Please, people—vote. Shut Fogleman down May 18.
And by the way, has anyone else noticed that on his commercial Fogleman looks
exactly like Mr. Burns?
MAY 8
Today is the feast of the Apparition of Saint Michael. Old herbal almanacs say you should collect angelica root on May 8 because it’s sacred to the archangel Michael.
They say that if you keep angelica in the house it will change your fortune for the better, because it brings blessings and healing energy into the home. The fact that angelica is so beneficial is the reason it was named after the angels.
You can eat it, brew it like tea, put it in your bath water, or just keep a piece in your pocket.
It’s one of the most used charms in the herbal realm, along with St. John’s wort (named after John the Baptist) and High John the Conquerer (Conqueror) root. Don’t eat High John, though. He’s poisonous.
The day after tomorrow is another interesting day. May 10 is the memorial day of Father Damien. Actually, now he’s Saint Damien. I never thought I’d see that in my lifetime. I think it’s a good sign.
It’s only ten more days until the election.
MAY 10
Today is the memorial day of Saint Damien. Time is passing so quickly. September is going to be here before you know it. I often feel like I’m living on faerie time. In the old stories about the Fay, time is an unstable concept. People who find themselves in the realm of the Fay may pass a hundred years in a single day, or a single day in a hundred years. They may return to the physical world after one night in faerie, only to discover everything and everyone they knew are long gone. Or they may return after having an entire lifetime of adventures and discover they’ve only been gone from the “real” world for a single night. Either way, time is not the same. When I learned that my case would be heard in September, I thought, “That’s not long at all.” Others asked, “Why did they set it so far away?” Then again, I can feel the closeness of Halloween on the Fourth of July, and I can feel Christmas looming at the end of August.
Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row Page 29