Mongoose Distro

From Comrade Kado:

Comrades, In a few months from now things will begin to move rapidly. Organizing then takes on a proactive and very hands on approach. Articles and essays will never cease to be part of this network, and its beyond important. Many involved have this alone to offer. Without online organizers or writers that put together the news of the various struggles, the efforts and the triumphs – we would be in darkness.

Today I would like to introduce a comrade to you. Toledo Ohio will be our initial location and our collective , “R.@.T.S”, is a small group of dedicated, driven and passionate people whom are motivated to bring about freedom for anyone that desires it. (as said previously, many people want to be led and that’s their choice). This is too an open invitation for any of you out there to reach out and tell The Toledo rebels YOUR story. We can struggle as individuals and, from my experiences in the scene, its often a safe bet. There’s plenty of posers and fakes. The point of this is to see who’s who and also to show you what we are about.

My observations of recent have shown me that protest and …other, less passive means of making a point or expressing disapproval is the common theme. While I’m not against those ideally, to the contrary – those actions have a pivotal role in this effort. My direction has more immediate results. While creating these free spaces, and generating autonomy, as well as self reliance is not as ” sexy” as wielding a Molotov or public displays -en mass, it certainly has valid points. You’ll find that even within’ our small collective, ideals vary. Which is important. No way would we ever grow as humanity, nor reach our potential if we didn’t have variances and share them!

You have something to offer. If you keep silent and struggle alone, then your struggle is in vain and your silence becomes submission by default. What would you do RIGHT NOW if you could do ANYTHING?? What would you change? What would that do to bring about that “revolution” we all so often speak of? Too often people are stuck in a sort of rut trying to envision a way to radically change everything at once. Its why most people take to the streets to gather in protest. There’s this hope that today, at this rally, on this issue – something huge will finally happen.

Facts are, nothing huge ever comes of anything in this struggle all at once. We must gain every inch. Consider it a field of battle. Gain ground and reinforce your position. That is exactly my reasoning for free spaces. A few acres here, a small plot there and eventually we have so many locations that people no longer have to be part of the system. Over the course of time our autonomous zones will be all over, everywhere. But with that for now, I would like to leave an open invitation for you to add your input, ideas or merely your responses to what I’ve put out to you… Comrade “J” with a bit about their story and how we have come together….Solid@rity!!

Noah Coffin 1795167
Ellis Unit
1697 FM 980
Huntsville, TX 77343

Commissary/Release fund:
$noahcoffin1312 (CashApp)

from Comrade J:

Who am I? I have always been a thinker, and until recently you could have called me a “knowledge worker”. School has been a major part of my life almost since day one. On the one hand this means that I have had access to outstanding educational tools which rightfully should be accessible to everybody who desires them; on the other hand it means that for most of my life I have been jumping through hoops laid out for me by “adults” and “authority” figures, all the way from preschool through college and into graduate school.

In grad school I managed to learn quite a lot of what I was “supposed” to learn and also quite a lot of what I wasn’t supposed to learn. While using the tools of the university to sharpen my mind it was impossible for me not to notice as well that I and my fellow grad workers were being exploited and expected to destroy our bodies and minds in order to expand the university’s financial and social capital. Through these labor struggles I was also introduced to broader political struggles in the local community, inside and outside of the university which dominates the town it occupies. I also used the resources available to me to research the university itself, and I understand now that bourgeois universities only intend for us to learn what capitalism wants us to learn—they want us to think, speak, and act like the Beast. (And if y’all knew how much snitching goes on in these places…)

For true education the bourgeois university must be overthrown and replaced with truly free modes of education. For the purpose of this message, it does not matter which universities I have been a part of, or whether the professors and administrators were “liberal” or “conservative”; they are all the same. From preschool to “higher learning”, our educational facilities are a major piece of (and mouthpiece for) the police state. In the end my love of learning was stronger than the university’s many traps and expectations of obedience. I decided that I simply could not present my research to the university and allow them (through the “thesis defense” process) to change it into something palatable to the powers that be (or, god forbid, actually useful to the Beast and its sick schemes—I mean shit, Einstein discovered E=mc2 and the awesome beauty of relativity and capitalism turned it into atom bombs). I had to leave the university world behind to preserve the integrity of my research.

This has meant entering the world of “work” outside of the ivory tower—same struggle, different battleground. Though I came up as a labor activist, I understand now that the existing forms of labor struggle (unions that have largely been bought out by and become dependent on the employers they are supposed to be fighting) are woefully inadequate to the task of getting us free. They might even call the police on you if you get too oppositional! So the question is how do people really unite; how can individuals seeking freedom for themselves and for each other come together and form a union that isn’t bound by any ties to the system? A union of thugs, you might say…

As I navigate this new stage of my life I have been very fortunate to link up with Comrade “F”, who has been doing a huge amount of work to free those who have been captured and condemned by the US prison system which rivals the Soviet gulag system. And Comrade K@do, who has been rebelling against the system since the day he was born. As well as some other quality human beings who are locked up in prison but struggle to keep their minds free. Together we want to find and create ways to live free and to help others get out of the grind, to fight and to keep fighting until every cage is empty. Fire to the prisons and the factory farms!

From Comrade Frankie:

From all of the way at the back of the grocery dumpster and straight out of fucking patience. Put your hands in the air for the good, the bad, and the leftover frankkkkkkk. Hell on 8 wheels and screaming about prisoner’s rights.

I’ve been doing prison abolition work for many, many, many years! Working to get those inside government slave camps, aka prison outta there. Until all are free, I will use my power to amplify those who are incarcerated. Formerly married to supposed Anarchist Sean Swain, I’ve since worked to help real people who are down for the cause. Always here to answer questions curiosities about prisoner support/prison abolition! Abolition feminism and much more!

How many of you have been at this awhile? There’s some comrades I’m in touch with that have dedicated decades to “damage control”, putting a salve upon the wounds of this struggle against the tyranny of the machine, a system that has been ever morphing, changing – adapting..The many faces of this monster across the breadth of human history paint us a seemingly bleak portrait.

Where there has been people gathered together, there has been too the opportunists that saw the potential of exploiting them. The fine tuning of control has taken some trial and error, and people aren’t agreeable with subjugation, so the modern methods are much more cunningly executed. Today, many people don’t even realize that they’re lost in a system of slavery. Slaves to dependence. Slaves to debt. Indoctrinated into belief that their lives are on a path that must be treaded upon. That the system is the only way. It’s tragic.

What freedom is there in your society? Choices are laid out before you, pre packaged and prepared. Should you refuse to choose one of these..Where do you go from there? You don’t want to spend your most vibrant years pursuing a “career” in the school system. You’re definitely not fond of the idea of being a laborer for some capitalist, nor do YOU want to become a company person that exploits the ones that are sleep walking through their oppression. I watched and experienced my widowed mother suffer under the weight of this system, sapping the life out of her as she tried to give us 6 kids the only options she herself knew.

The people that have no desire to be ruled often fall into the options that they THINK aren’t prepared for them. This place is filled with those people. Fulfilling their duty to the machine the same as the lower class minimum wage earner does. The masterminds behind these societies and Nations have painstakingly and meticulously designed the places for the business man and the dealer. The goal from each individual was the same – gather finance. “Get on top”. But tell me dear reader, where IS the top? what do you sacrifice to get there? Is that freedom? What is freedom to you? Do you HAVE to go somewhere this week? Do you have bills\debts to pay in order to maintain your “freedom”?

We do not lack for awareness. This network of people is vast and global. There will be people, always, that desire to be herded. They are content with being given options and directed where to go. As an anarchist I’m not about to say they shouldn’t have that freedom. My goal is to get the truth out there that more options exist, then to offer those people that seek freedom a place to be free.

While I’m not the first to visualize communities of self sufficiency and autonomy, my goal isn’t to grab a spot, become static, and hide out. What I want is to head up building back many pockets of resistance against this system, creating multiple locations. A network of free people that not only offer relief from the struggle to those whose options are running out, but something that will grow to counter that system. Its going to start with day one out there. Progress to location number one and become the pebble that skittered down the mountain which will cause that landslide.

We can be more than just weary people picking one another up as the weight of the system bares down upon us all. The most staggering concept of all is that we’re duped into accepting this slavery. The allure of society and the imprinted desires to reach its summit goads many people on in a climb that’s never going to take them beyond the facade. People are today ready and eager to get out of their families homes to gain the “freedom” of adulthood, along with their own debts.

Tell me comrade – what’s more valuable than self reliance? What good is a million dollars if “covid 2.0” shuts down the world economy again, and the governments decide for you – everything? I was in solitary confinement in Texas for that. Not a great feeling.

Solid@rity Forever!

Support and shout-outs welcome

Noah Coffin 1795167
Ellis Unit
1697 FM 980
Huntsville, TX 77343

Greetings friends and comrades!

How many of you work to make ends meet? There’s a great many of you who must utilize the system in order to make the changes that you do: For the prisoner support, for the house or apartment you stay in – often paying rent (which is something of a crime against humanity).Those are necessary endeavors at this point. As long as money systems are in place, and governments or prisons exist – money is unavoidable to anyone active in this collective struggle.

The plans that I will put forth to you won’t immediately dispose of the reliance, at least in part, on the various currencies of this world (as we are comrades on many continents!). The trajectory will, in time, take us beyond the confines of that system. To gain that freedom, it’ll take some collective strength, dedication and determination. I’ve been inside a cage so many years that I’m not held captive by many of the shackles of today’s system. There’s nothing to hinder my full dedication to these proposed projects that I’m putting forth to you, my comrades in this struggle.

During my past 3-4 years inside I’ve gained knowledge, as well as college degrees in a subject that will change so much for us. Throughout my captivity I’ve studied the trial and errors of the many efforts beyond the wall. The global pandemic lock downs that effected the entire planet certainly opened my eyes to the priority we must place upon these first huge steps toward freedom and autonomy. Step one is for me to step out there the last couple months of 2023, and begin to generate funding necessary to build the foundation, (this is where the reliance upon that money system is the greatest).

The first step for my part is to use my talents to bring in these funds. As a great tattoo artist, I intend to host mobile tattoo events – attending organized gatherings of supporters and comrades and doing house calls. All for donations of course. A $25 donation would get anyone a permanent gift of expressionistic body art that would COST them hundreds at an establishment shop. The donation would be toward these goals ; gaining free zones where rent doesn’t exist and food is grown naturally, as well as sustainable prisoner support – one weekend a month will be to raise funds for whichever captive comrade is up on the rotation, needs to continue these events and training for comrades in the necessary knowledge to end our slavery to this system. A weekend tattoo event would likely generate a thousand dollars. With this funding the next steps toward these goals won’t take long to attain.

My knowledge and study as a Master gardener enables me to take raw, seemingly “unprofitable” land and transform it into a sustainable, beautiful place. Think Texas hardpan soil. Think Texas panhandle..These are merely examples of places that would cost very little to obtain, and almost nothing to keep. With a few years and dedication these would become free zones. Communities for us where rent doesn’t exist and grocery bills either. The freedom to pursue the talents and desires that this system rapes us of.

The future will bring about our ability to access the only free market left that the government doesn’t pillage – Farmers markets. For anyone who doesn’t know, There’s zero taxes on groceries. What’s more is these markets generate more funding than you’d think. Need an example? With a 50×90ft space, in 4 months grow season, utilizing intensive gardening methods, all natural – working 5 days a week, 5hrs a day, we would generate $90,000. This is a model based solely upon tomatoes, on the lowest end of profit. This is but one aspect of my model. I encourage all input, ideas and support. If we come together work and rent will cease to exist. Now I just need to build that foundation. Any support is welcome and encouraged. I’m getting out in Texas, after a great many years. A plan, knowledge, skills and drive, but nothing else. More will come as I have much to discuss.

All my love and Solid@rity Forever!!!

Noah Coffin 1795167
Ellis Unit
1697 FM 980
Huntsville, TX 77343

For all those who have followed my writings and subjects in the past few years and have awaited word, news, or new content – this is for you..These past two years have been met with silence on my end. My close comrades have been kept in the know and fully aware of the circumstance’s surrounding my absence on the network. Full disclosure will follow soon enough, though suffice it to say now, it was necessary to slide back awhile in order to make the moves and changes that have been made. Many decisions were made following in the wake of the exposure of “Malik”, as well as the ripples that produced. My work today isn’t about others but about me, YOU, and the few comrades that I’m confident are who they say they are. In a short while my efforts will evolve from type, rants and ideals – to action.

After so many years of captivity and the cruelty of a seven year stretch in solitary confinement I’m set to be released as early as September this year, (upon completion of a program of course). There aren’t words that can express the love and gratitude that I feel for the family that I gained thru this struggle. The close friends that have been a beacon of light that shined to me in the sordid confines of isolation and remained as a guiding luminescence, leading me thru..Friends that remained even as I closed my note pad and put the pen down. More than just a shout out, this is a call to prepare for collective effort. Whether you’re on the east or west coast, on this continent or on another – things are about to change. We NEED to make those changes. My following articles will be concerning those plans and I encourage all of you to consider them, and offer input or ideas in return. This is about all of us. Its about Freedom in every sense of the word…

Over the last 3 years I’ve educated myself, getting degrees in subjects that are relevant to making some changes that would become a foundation for us everywhere to build upon. If you’re reading this then chances are you know my back story. If you don’t, then follow my articles and writings and you’ll get the gist. my beginning isn’t unique and countless people struggle thru that same fate. Endless more will too unless we change that trajectory. Its up to US.

Before I go further I’d like to thank and give recognition to Wendy, Heinz, Annabelle. Y’all know who you are. Then to the collectives Mongoose Distro and its collab with Pitgoose, Fire Ant , and The Toledo Rebels “R.@.T.S”.. The latter of which myself, Frankie and Jesse are the creators of and you’re soon to see a lot of. These collectives have been relentless in their efforts to end the oppression of captivity on every level possible funding, writing, sending literature, getting word out..The list goes on. They sacrifice whatever they can to do this and I encourage anyone able, to get on board. Perhaps you have books to donate or can commit to writing weekly. To many here, that is more than you could imagine. The system is voracious in its appetite for gain, and if not for the sacrifices of my selfless friends, I wouldn’t even be able to type this email. Maybe there’s some of you who can adopt a captive. Whatever you can offer, its not nothing if its anything.

Prisoner support will always be part of our efforts, Till All Are Free..My next writings will begin to show our plans to stop the flow of bodies being funneled into the gaping maul of this heartless machine. Eventually starving it of those lives that sustain and keep it going. We can do nothing but help those now caught up in it, giving them hope and love..But tomorrow is up to us. The very fact that you are reading this is proof that people care. That love isn’t a fable and also that you desire change. Let’s make this change. We can dress the wounds of this struggle, mourn and rage over the casualties. But that is merely the catalyst which will bring us together. Stay tuned and anyone wanting to email direct go to :securustech.com.

Noah “Comrade Kado” Coffin

Solid@rity Forever!

Noah Coffin 1795167
Ellis Unit
1697 FM 980
Huntsville, TX 77343

1. Life in Prison

In the wake of the most recent of many, many draconian crackdowns, I find it necessary to attempt to capture an idea of living within a prison, under terror and tyranny of those who sadistically presuppose my criminality in absence of my humanity.

I. Issue

By far the most common question of my writers, by no fault and not to dissuade such questions, is a big question: what is life like in here? What do I do, how do I live, what goes on – what is prison? I’m at times folx first written prisoner. While I can’t write of Prison, I can offer my material critique of my lived reality; a prison, this one.

Prisons are strikingly similar in affect, regardless of particulars.

II. Physical Structure

[Figure 1] [Figure 2] [Figure 3] [Figure 4]

There are several other rooms, features, areas of this facility that I will not bother drawing: To mention a few: the infirmary, the kitchen, the DMV office, etc. etc.

Figures 1-4 encompass the large majority of my waking day, though even within this scope I spend nearly all my time trapped within Figures 1-2.

Traditionally, one spends around 6 hours per day allowed access to Figure 2. The particular housing unit I’m housed on affords me around 12 hours in such a manner. Else, one spends the remainder of one’s day confined to Figure 1, or at “work” (read-as: slavery). I sleep in Figure 1, sent there to do as such at 9:30pm (which traditionally would’ve been 8:50pm) – I sleep until roughly 5:00-6:00am, when I’m again allowed access to Figure 2, (traditionally would occur around 7-8am-ish) [Figure 5] Figure 1 is kept locked by a solid steel door which operates on a hydraulic press – it slides. Most notable of this practice is the ear shattering noise of doors grinding open and slamming shut, steel-into-steel. Comparison: imagine 2-3 textbooks dropped, twice as loud as that.

Figure 1 contains 2 twin sized, hard, mattresses placed in a solid steel bunk bed structure. Roughly 2 feet from the bunk bed structure is a stainless steel toilet-sink combo. A desk, steel, sits in the corner, being roughly 5 foot by 17 inches – the desk is adorned with two 1 foot diameter (0.8 sqft) steel stools roughly 15 inches from each side of the desk.

[Figure 6] Figure 1 also contains 4 steel shelves – 2 for each prisoner. One shelf is to hold books, the other hygiene supplies. 2 are situated abote the desk, one is by the door, the other is by the toilet.

2 “TV stands” are between the toilet and desk. A “reading light” is by each bunk. A mirror is above the sink, made of steel.

There are 4 AC Power outlets for electronics and 2 coaxial outputs. For cable TV. [Figure 7] Each prisoner is afforded 2 such boxes, stored underneath the bunk bed structure – all of one’s property must fit within one’s 2 boxes. Else, property is confiscated (read as: stolen) to be mailed out at personal cost, “released” to be picked up, or incinerated.

These boxes don’t allow much room for property; let alone multiple years worth of living; let alone a life. This is by far the most arbitrarily enforced of facility rules, most oft used to targeted undesirable, vulnerable prisoners – no one can live out of 2 boxes.

Prisoners are given 1 pillow + case, a few articles of cheap-and-mandatory clothing, and a set of velcro strapped shoes that are prone to blistering soles and removing entire toenails. Prisoners can purchase marked up shoes, “sports” variety e.g. Nike, Adidas, etc..

In Figure 2, there are 2 floors of 17 cells(Figure 1): 27 on each floor. Each Floor has 4 showers; single occupancy. Peppered throughout the ground floor are 18 hexagonal steel tables. Each table has 5-6 steel stools protruding from the epicenter e.g. at one of 6 sides of the table may be a seat. 1 to 2 corrections officers, (prison cops) sit, comfortably, behind a raised counter adjacent, to the exit. Behind this counter are 3 computer monitors, a panic button, and miscellaneous items that one may access as cop’s discretion e.g. a stapler, scotch tape, band-aids, etc.

The panic button closes the “exit door” a steel door operating on a hydraulic press – it also slides.

While the maximum occupancy of Figure 2 is 108, roughly 4 to 8 cells usually hold 0 to1 prisoners – some only ever hold 1 prisoner. At any time, Figure 2 usually holds around 100 prisoners. There are 5 such “units” like Figure 2 – there is additionally a “dorm” with no cells. I have lived on all the “units” for some time, thought not the dorm – moves are frequent, exhausting.

Thus is the “medium security facility” – I don’t qualify for minimum security. A portion of this facility also houses men – I live with women. For specifics on living with women, read my “Make America Pay” zine.

Figure 2 also contains – an ice machine, a hot water dispenser, 2 microwaves, skim milk dispenser, a small “gym” of exercise equipment, and 6 phones.

[Figure 8] calls cost $0.09/minute.

Laundry is done via machines located on Figure 2. As prisoners do laundry, being paid <$1/day, clothes often go missing. Socks and underwear equal days worth of pay, and small-sized clothes, being under-issued by the prison, have a black market.

For entertainment: 3 TV’s, a 4 shelf bookshelf (roughly 2ft length), a shelf for bureaucratic forms, and a board-game-and-stuff filled “bookshelf”.

There’s also a soda machine, though soda costs $2.40/per 20oz bottle.

Figure 3 features a net for pickleball (though no full court), a basketball net (not 10 feet from ground), 8 stone picnic tables, a dirt volleyball court/net, and an inmate ran garden. There’s a shed, storing some balls and hula hoops. Around the perimeter is an asphalt track. Lastly, there are 6 phones by the entrance doors.

Pretty paltry compared to other prisons.

Figure 4 connects all housing units. Figure 4 is where mean distribution, medicine distribution occurs. Most obviously, Figure 4 allows one to travel to another housing unit or any other part of the facility.

Figure 4 is suspect to a very high level of policing.

III. My Cell and My Day

I use every available shelf to hold books, papers, and shower supplies. The rest of my books, typically ones I’m presently reading, overflow onto my desk. I keep college work on my desk, always.

I own an in-cell TV. It is 13 inches, 1080p, with no speakers.

I have a keyboard for my cell. It is 61-keys, I lean it against my desk to store.

I keep various drinks on my desk as well.

We are ordered onto our cell bunk at 11:05AM and 4:30PM for facility wide “head count”.

I usually wake up at 11:00AM, though though given doors open at every X:20 and X:50 (and X:00 on my unit) after ∼6:00AM – not a lot of extra sleep. Occasionally, I get up for breakfast and go back to bed after. Rarer, I wake up at 6:00AM.

After being counted like cattle, I leave my bed to drink coffee, take hormones, maybe change clothes and wash my eyes. I then move most my desk’s contents to my bed, to dissuade sleep and free up work room.

I turn on my T.V. And flip through the news.

Cells doors open after everyone is counted. I’ll make some more coffee, bring out a book or notebook, and wait for lunch. I sit at the same table, neigh-always.

Food deserves its own section. Prisoners tend to be very divisive and territorial – also conservative.

I wake up, I typically play basketball, walk, or jump into reading. I study Math and Philosophy.

Given I comprise a security risk, I forego work (riot conviction, history as union organizer). I’m a full time college student, I read and write all day.

We’re counted again at 4:30PM.

Dinner shortly thereafter.

College typically starts at 6PM, of the classes thus far taken. Else I read and write more or play piano.

I end my time outside Figure 1 (in Figure 2) with a good night call with my girlfriend.

I stay awake in Figure 1 most of the night, working on writing (a book) or doing college work – nights are the only quiet.

Everyday is the same, Sisyphean.

2. Food

Food is part of the punishment, this prison is no different.

I. Free Food

Legally, we must be fed. Prisoners prepare and serve food, often for free or little pay. Kitchen work is compulsory – my exemptness is an oddity. Star-spangled slavery finds a way to continue; syndicalism may have ruined this practice.

There’s a cyclical 5 week menu. Most food sucks, lots of poorly prepared meat, casseroles, and awful bread.

Other prisons set the bar pretty low – this prison is not the worst, though it is decidedly prison cuisine.

II. Commissary Food

Shits overpriced. Imagine shopping only at convenience stores. No fresh food, no bread, little healthy food. Shits delivered on Wednesdays, with orders placed 2 weeks prior. I’d rather shop at Walmart or Amazon.

III. How I Eat

As “an Antifa”, I get payment from Soros monthly. If I budget, and ration, I eat enough everyday to not go hungry. Still, its tight given the high markup and, worse, I feel bad spending this much to eat.

Calls cut into my food budget, as do envelopes ($0.75/per), as do college supplies.

I mostly eat ramen, which gets old fast.

I eat some of the free food – breakfast is quite good – but can’t stomach nearly enough of it. Worse yet, I’m largely a vegetarian.

3. Fuck This Place

Punk ass pigs need to treat us as commodities to punish (sadistic pleasure), all to justify their job (look ‘good’), or to get a raise/promotion, or because they think prisoners deserve cruelty. How the fuck is anyone to live like this, with such a cold monster oozing hatred for your every breathe?

I. We Have No Say

Innate to any system of domination is the dominates lack of agency. One can get disciplined harshly, for merely calling into question misapplication of policy, let alone policy overtly inhumane – think of the “Resisting Arrest” conundrum. Policy, rules, employ the fabled “Broken Window” approach – still, it is mostly employed against those who pigs personally dislike (hint: not rapists nor paedos). Some pigs seem to find pleasure in leaving terror in their wake, bordering on fabricating rules on the fly. Several rules, such as “Disobedience” and “Disrespect” amount to vaguely defined tools pigs use to sow terror.

Rules are whimsical, far-reaching, detached from the reality of living in a cell – let alone a meaningful, productive life.

Some examples: property limitations; making your bed; no recycling boxes; no storing things in “other” containers; no taping pictures to the wall; dress code e.g. no sandals, tucked in shirts, often have to wear jeans.

Also – men’s clothing.

Our ability to affect rules, policy, is minimal-to-none. You, my reader, can likely accomplish more with phone calls than I in person.

II. Pigs Want Us Dead

Prison healthcare is a joke, beyond that – how can anyone do more than live to die out of two boxes? Our issued clothes, recycled for those captive prior, take up nearly an entire box – add a pillow, my sheets, my blankets, and what am I left with? Part of 1 box? To live?

Prison amounts to a lengthy, oft, speedy, extermination center whereby our meager life can be mailed to Mommy-Daddy in 1 box post-death – or swiftly incinerated.

Food, confinement are obviously huge health detriments – “criminals deserve it.”

III. Tear It Down

The absurdity of American “justice” can be surmised by the statement: I robbed 7/11 and now get free college. Many turn to “crime” because our basic needs are denied for some terror-inducing spectacle of our human demise, structurally accorded by capitalism.

What is surprising isn’t so-called crime – its that folx want more taxes, less bread: that they want to be repressed.

Why are the many terrorized into unquestionable servitude?

Prison abolition could not come sooner.

Fuck the Police.

Free Sofia.

Sofia Johnson 23976151
Coffee Creek Correctional Facility
24499 SW Grahams Ferry Road
Wilsonville, OR 97070

March 21, 2023

Dear Mongoose and Comrades,

Today I started my hunger strike. Yesterday I was attacked by a white Christian Nationalist trump supporter, who was put in my SHU cell in spite of my protests. Despite my injuries I am full of determination, bloodied but unbroken. But, this is a small amount of suffering compared to friends like Gultan Kisanak, a Kurdish woman and political prisoner. I drew her portrait and wrote some of her quotes. Every day of my hunger strike I will draw a Kurdish woman who is a political prisoner and send her inspiring words to different friends. I ask that you all post them all online for me to raise awareness.

My struggles are not unique. I am fasting in solidarity with Alfredo Cospito, anarchist comrade who has been on hunger strike for 158 days, all the Atlanta Weelaunee Forest defenders and captured protestors, all the 2020 Uprising arrestees, Zapatista Manuel Gomez Vasque, political prisoner Fidencio Aldama, Emily Murphy, Keith Lamar (also on hunger strike), Jane’s Revenge, Caleb Freestone and Amber Smith-Stewart, and so many others – I love and admire you all!

As I write this I’m overwhelmed by the number of friends in cages. So I want to urge everyone who reads this to take 5 minutes to write to a different political prisoner every single day. I’ll end with a quote from Figen Yuksekdag, a Kurdish woman and political prisoner, “History has no love for those who stop and keep quiet. And it definitely has no love for women who stop and keep quiet. After all, everyone in this country is likely to face prison at some point, just as they’ll face death one day. So, I cannot say that I find my situation here too strange. If you view prison as a sight of compulsory duty, it won’t be unbearable.”

Actually, one more quote, to honor Tortuguita:

“To live like a tree – alone and free, and like a forest, in solidarity” -Nazim Hikmet

It is only by organizing politically, socially and organically that we will succeed in our mutual aid and efforts for the liberation of all beings.

Untill all prisons are empty,

Dan

Dan Baker 25765-509
FCI Memphis
PO Box 34550
Memphis, TN 38184

Available for download and print is a 210 page manuscript from anarchist prisoner Doug Gustafson, who has been incarcerated in Texas for well over forty years.

This text, An Anarchist’s Dream, is written as a found manuscript recovered 2000+ years or so in the future, following a successful anarchist revolution and details the events that led up to the overthrow of the capitalist system.

If you know of someone who may be interested in printing it as a bound book, please let us know.

David J. Annarelli 1853637 A-137
PSCC
PO Box 518
Pocahontas VA 24635

December 9, 2022

If you follow the news, you are well aware of a Virginian name Officer Edwards, who recently used police training to attempt to groom a teenage girl for his pedophile needs.
When it didn’t pay off he drove to California, murdered her family, burned down their
house and kidnapped the girl. He eventually died in a fire fight with California police.
Around the same time, back at a Virginia president, a VA DOC guard named Owens at
Keen Mountain Correction Center beat a prison nurse to death in the prison. She was
pregnant with the guard’s child and was threatening to tell his wife about their affair…
These are Virginians, and they are the type of people who flock to jobs and corrections
in law-enforcement in Virginia. Virginia officials will tell you they don’t know how people
who are so dangerous slipped through background checks. Virginia officials are lying to
you because these are the people they look to recruit.

There are more subtle forms of this sociopathic behavior, and the guards and other staff
at the notorious Pocahontas State Corruption Center exercise these forms of open
torture daily. One of the most common is the deliberate tampering with mail. Two of the
most often seen names are Hagerty and McCall. Aside from delaying outgoing mail,
sometimes for weeks (if they send it at all), incoming mail is often denied outright for
any number of nonsensical and often false reasons. An example of this is the denial of a
book review/catalog. The reason cited was “no nude or semi nude images”. Upon
investigation it was determined that “nude/semi nude” was a tank top shirt. Absolutely
nothing “nude or semi nude“ by any known standards of decency. Of course the target
of this mail denial was a known political writer and the review catalog was from a
publisher – Fifth Estate – that focuses on political themes, many of them anti-prison.
What these two VA DOC employees did – mail tampering – is a federal crime.

This is just one example of a massive assault on the guarantees of the First
Amendment. It is a common event that is meant to not only prevent communications
from exposing the other criminal acts by PSCC staff, but it’s also is a means of isolating
the captives. It’s a vicious form of psychological torture and harm. They want the
captives to believe they are alone, that they are forgotten by their friends and family.
This is solely to make them – the captives – not only more susceptible to further and
more cruel abuses, but also to force a level of acceptance of the abuse.

To further this endeavor it is important to prevent grievances and complaints from being
seen by those at regional or Central (Richmond) administration. Though in all reality,
since the VA DOC only recruits and promote from within its own insular institutions, the
administrators at every meaningful level were hand-picked for their silence and loyalty
to the VA DOC. Without their allowance of endless cruelty and torture, it could be
stopped. Still, “grievance coordinators” such as C. Smalling at PSCC, whose unwritten
job description is “grievance disappear-er”. She answers the grievances herself –
instead of routing them to the proper areas for re-dress – and she makes sure they are
not properly logged so that they disappear as needed. This is especially important in
preventing lawsuits from being filed, some thing PSCC is prone to due to its white
nationalist majority staff and their daily human rights abuses. Without an exhausted
grievance process any lawsuit brought by a prisoner is immediately dismissed by the
courts. In Virginia, even the Federal court judges are Virginians.

Other more harmful – yet just a subtle – forms of torture and harm are the 24 hour
lights, a gift from 15 years of Assistant Wardens who should be in prison themselves.
Currently the PSCC Assistant Warden, Mr. Collins, is facing at least six sexualharassment suits at three different prisons including PSCC. They just move the guy
from one prison to the next and fire the people who lodged the complaints.

Yet another way the staff abuse the captives is through an especially vicious misuse of
the PA system. There are several ways to do this but the two most common are as
follows:
Three very dangerous guards, Barry, Sargent and Shelton are particularly fond of
turning the PA system up to full volume and screaming into the microphone. Since they
work on the night shift you might imagine the problems this might cause for the
captives. 9 PM, 10 PM, 12 AM, 3 AM, 5 AM, anytime they feel like scaring the living hell
out of the 250 people and also disturbing their sleep. This sort of abuse is completely
illegal yet all complaints are ignored or disappeared. These acts are a sign of
sociopathic behavior and given that 40% of Virginia’s captives are warehoused mental
health cases, it is so very devastating. The flipside to this is turning the PA system
volume down so low that no one can hear announcements. This causes not only missed
classes, programs or medical appointments, but it also allows guards to justify all
manner of false charges against captives, most often “disobeying a direct order” or
“unauthorized area”. Both are low level charges but they cause sanctions and fines.
They also make your record appear as if you are a problem all of the time, and if you
get too many you will be transferred to a higher security prison.

Another regular problem comes from guards such as Craig, Bogle, Kimble and others
like them – most of the guards. They are openly racist and antisemitic, go out of their
way to verbally – and sometimes physically – abuse anyone they are able to. On the
boulevard, in the education and library buildings, in the chow hall, any place they are
able to, and they get away with it repeatedly. This has gone on for years and years
without any change or even the least rubber bands. To give you a better idea of just how
far it can go on PSCC’s compound here is a scenario that happened recently:

A guard named Horton and his wife, also a guard, both work on the compound. This is a
violation of policy for a lot of good sense reasons, but PSCC itself is a major violation of
DOC policy and too many lost count. Mrs. Horton, while married to one guard, is
sleeping with several others on the compound during working hours. It is common
knowledge to everyone. As you might expect, Mr. Horton gets fed up with his wife’s
extramarital affairs and decides to solve the problem. This guy brings a loaded weapon
THROUGH the gates – apparently staff were not checking guards as they came in– with
the intent of making some examples. Those examples were going to be PRISONERS!
Not the other guards who were involved with the wife, but PRISONERS! Fortunately a
few guards stuck in and put a stop to this before anyone is hurt, but still, Mr. Horton is
only fired and walked off the compound. Not a single criminal charge was brought even
though he broke half a dozen laws… His wife was recently promoted to “counselor”, and
he was just rehired to work at the same prison and on the same shift as his wife.
Virginians and the VA DOC…

PSCC staff feed captives food that says “not for human consumption“ on the box. Its
medical staff is entirely unqualified in every way. It’s psychologist do not have the
experience to handle severe mental health issues and are even falsifying records to
avoid even dealing with mental health because the facility — and the VA DOC — are
simply not capable or design to handle such issues. Add to this all the well-known and
common place issues with corrupt prison staff – and put the prison in a well hidden
county at the end of some “wrong turn“ Road; in a state that seems to be growing it’s
right wing neo-Nazi extremist population, and you have a real time disaster unfolding
daily… The other 40 prisons in Virginia – a long time slave economy – are no better. On
top of all of that, add a 20% rate of innocence/wrongful conviction (approximately 5000
people as of this writing)… Harsh action must be taken to stop this madness.

Dave Annarelli
@davznothereyo

David Annarelli is a father, musician, activist and political prisoner. He is wrongfully
convicted and unlawfully incarcerated and occupied Virginia. He is a contributing writer
at Prison Journalism Project.
http://www.prisonjournalismproject.org/our-writers

Seth Yates 1776898
Ferguson Unit
12120 Savage Dr.
Midway, TX 75852

Because Chicanos Just Don’t Care: First Court Date

Excerpt of Growing up in Prison, Chapter 2 by Seth Yates

I was awakened at breakfast and given clothes to wear. After brushing my teeth and fixing my hair, I was escorted off the pod by the officer. Even more solemn than usual, he lead me to a stretch of wall where a dozen other boys were already standing.

Ordered to face forward and remain silent, we were cuffed and shackled, hand and ankle. Then, one pair at a time we are separated from the group, uncuffed and unshackled, and then cuffed and shackled independently, only to be lead 20 feet down the hall and into a holding tank. Under the watchful eye of the Bailiff, we are ordered not to talk among ourselves, to respect the proceedings, and fed a matter-of-factly laundry list of do-nots. It all had the air of established ritual.

I watched the boys go into the courtroom one by one, until my turn came. The Bailiff escorted me into the courtroom, gripping his gun tightly all the while. My mom and the lawyer were standing next to a person I didn’t recognize. I was positioned next to them in front of the Judges stand, between my mom and the Lawyer, with the Bailiff right behind me. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as the Judge opened the ceremonies with a tap from her gavel.

I was introduced to the Court. The Lawyer went next, laying a rather eloquent, well-rehearsed plea for the court to release me into the custody of my mother, pending trial. My heart swelled with hope, I just couldn’t see how anyone could refuse such a rational, well-reasoned argument. Glancing sideways at my mom, I could see she held the same conviction. I was coming home.

Then I looked at the Judge, who was staring at the Lawyer with an overly astonished look on her face, as he finished his piece. Lowering her voice to a whisper that enhanced the drama of our situation, she asked, “Do you not know what the charge is?” Pausing for a second, she answered what must surely have been a rhetorical question with a theatrical flourish. With her next word, it was as if a bomb went off in the courtroom I heard gasps and the sounds of shocked disbelief.

The Prosecutor went next, turning out to be the person I hadn’t recognized and mistakenly took for a social worker. Rattling off her reasons why I shouldn’t be released into my mothers custody, such as that I was almost 16, she argued that I should await from Juvenile Detention. The Judge bobbed her head up and down sycophantically with every other word. It was clear that she had already made her mind up on the matter and this was all for show.

“I am afraid I agree.” The Judge declared after the Prosecutor had stated her case. Seth Yates is a Threat to Public Safety and will be held in Juvenile Detention until his next court date. Court is adjourned,” punctuating the fact with a rap of her gavel. “Next case!”

My mom and I had been looking back and forth from the Prosecutor to the Judge in askance, until the Bailiff grunted “Face forward!” and our heads swiveled back to the Judge just in time to make eye contact as she finished what the Prosecutor started, crushing what little hope I had with a wave of her gavel. For emphasis, the Bailiff placed his hand on his gun, his sole claim to authority, it seemed. The threat meant nothing to me. Shock settled over me as I was ushered out of the courtroom.

That definitely hadn’t gone the way I had been promised. Back in the holding tank, the Bailiff began to berate me over my “disrespect” to the Prosecutor and the Judge in “his” courtroom. You would have thought that they were the ones conspired against and slandered. I zoned him out, which only made him rant harder, face turning darker and darker red as I continued to ignore him. What was I going to do now? I appeared to have no optioned left. Maybe… maybe…

I was rudely returned to the moment by more than a few flecks of spittle flying into my face and eyes. I recoiled in disgust and glanced up. The Bailiff was standing over me; screaming directly into my forehead. His face was purple now. I locked eyes with him and tried to follow the incoherent mess that was coming from his mouth. “Disrespect” and “Apology” seemed to be key words, coming up frequently.

I did not feel like debating the Bailiff. I was done with all this already, so I waited for a lull in his tirade. When he finally paused for a breath, I offered a quick “sorry” but that just wasn’t good enough at this point, obviously. Things were much too far along for that.

“Don’t fucking interrupt me!” he shrieked. I got the feeling that the other kids generally went along with things to keep the peace or were otherwise too intimidated to buck his authority. I was never one of those types of kid, and his authority was at stake here. The Bailiff continued to criticize and verbally abuse me until he was good and ready to wind down and lower his tone to a more reasonable level.

“Now. What do you have to say for yourself?” the Bailiff demanded. “Sorry for the disrespect. To your courtroom. Sir.” I said apologetically, getting specific and adding a sir only as an afterthought when the Bailiffs jaw clenched and a vein in his forehead bulged. Apparently unsatisfied, the Bailiff pressed harder. “And?” I considered his question for a couple seconds. If he had left a clue to what he expected me to say while yelling in my face, I hadn’t been paying enough attention. “No and, That’s all.” I told him a bit lamely. “You are a fucking smart-ass, hard-headed little punk!” he spat venomously. But the Bailiff put me back in the holding tank and retrieved the next person, a younger Hispanic boy, for court.

I sat down, noticing a paper bag occupying the spot I had previously been sitting. It contained a bologna sandwich, ice cold, two soggy duplex cookies, and a carton of warm milk. I realized that I was hungry actually, even for this. As I began to eat one of the others declared excitedly, “You know what BCJDC stands for? Because Chicanos Just Don’t Care!” I looked up reflexively and realized that everyone else was staring at me. “What’s up?” I asked nobody in particular. One of the boys tentatively offered an answer…

“You’re fucking crazy, wey!”

Happy Birthday in Juvenile Detention

Excerpt of Growing up in Prison, Chapter 3 by Seth Yates

“If you not gonna clean, you gonna get a case,” he threatened ominously. I blinked a few times. Was that really the best he had? I decided to mess with him. “I am going to catch a case?” I inquired in the most innocent, sweetest gasp possible. “Yes. You gonna clean all those cells or Big Eddy gonna write that case.” he informed me in all seriousness, missing the obvious sarcasm in my voice.

Oh, no…

I drew the moment out a few seconds more, enjoying the look of satisfaction on Big Eddy’s face. It wouldn’t last. The bastard had been harassing me All. Damn. Day. And now it was my turn to have some fun. As if to comply, I stuck out my hand. Big Eddy grinned triumphantly and made to hand me the bucket of cleaning supplies. I snatched my hand back at the last second.

The bucket crashed to the floor, scattering supplies everywhere. I looked down at the mess and then back into his eyes, smiling wickedly. “No thanks, I won’t need any of that. Go write that case, Eddy. And then clean those cells yourself. I want those toilets clean enough to eat off of.”

Big Eddy was at a complete loss. Much like when he was hopelessly losing at chess, he froze up, stalling for time. Minutes went by. Silence. It was a simple staring match, now. Finally, he looked down at the mess and asked softly, “That’s how it’s gonna be?” I decided not to dignify that with an answer. A few more minutes went by. At long last, Big Eddy turned and walked away, towards the officers desk. He picked up the phone.

Concluding his call, he returned, pulling out his cuffs and clicking the mechanisms threateningly. Help was on the way. A whole team breathlessly burst into the pod, eager for whatever excitement there was to be had. Their leader was wearing a different color shirt. Red. He was the one that spoke to me.

“You’re refusing?” he intoned, pulling out his own cuffs. “Refusing?” I turned it into a question. Somehow the language sounded awfully formal. “Refusing!” he shouted inches from my face, spraying me with spit. His breath was horrible, and it was clear he wanted a yes or no. Also, his henchmen had me surrounded. But I had come this far already, and not to bow down and submit at the very end. Big Eddy was a part of this hit squad, too. “Yes, I’m refusing.” Whatever that meant.

I found out what it meant when Red Shirt hit me in the mouth with his cuffs, wielding them like brass knuckles. And then all hell broke loose, as the entire gang jumped me. One took me into a headlock, while others elbowed and kneed and repeatedly slammed their bodies into mine from different directions. Which was pretty painful, actually. Red Shirt punched me in the mouth again, this time chipping a tooth, in a feigned, over-exaggerated attempt to put the cuffs on me. Got to make things look good for the camera.

I had one officer pulling me to the left and another to the right, trying to dislocate my shoulders maybe, occasionally punching me in the ribs, and every so often two or three others would take a few steps back and then charge forward, ramming me with their shoulders. Red Shirt got me with his cuffs again, cutting my forehead open. As if in parody of everything you have ever heard of the police, they periodically changed, “quit refusing!” in unison, although I had my hands on my sides when this began and had not moved a muscle. In fact, were I not being choked out, help up by the officer behind me, I probably would have been a small puddle on the floor by now. I was done refusing.

Red Shirt must have sensed that things had gone too far, or at least, just far enough. He grabbed the front of my shirt, took a few steps, and slammed me into the wall, everyone backing off instinctively. They obviously were well practiced, performing this maneuver as a team. The others grabbed me after Red Shirt spun me around, lending a few hands as he executed the same move in reverse. Finally, after much unnecessary grasping that left me with indian burns and scratches and sore elbows, Red Shirt managed to get those cuffs onto my wrists, about five or six notches too tight.

I was spun around and now was nose to nose with Red Shirt. He looked triumphant. “Congratulations,” I wheezed, “You must be very proud,” I wish I could have said it with more confidence. None the less, Red Shirt’s smirk dissolved instantly, so I had hit my mark.

“You’re a little smart-ass,” Red Shirt said nastily. It was true, but I was too exhausted and out of breath to offer another comeback. Oh, but I wanted to. I had to settle for a smile instead. He didn’t like that much.

Disheveled, I was lead back to my original pod but into a new cell. First, in line with the institutional fetish, I was strip-searched immediately after the hand-cuffs were removed. My hands were an angry red-purple and weren’t responding to my commands. The officer assigned to this task caught an attitude with me at first before regaining his senses, and helped me pull the shirt off. I managed the pants myself. Then I was brought the green velcro dress. Stupid. Green. Velcro. Dress.

Some while later Red Shirt came to see me, accompanied by Big Eddy who at least had enough decency to look embarrassed. Maybe he felt guilty, as well he should, being that this situation was of his making, mostly. Then again, I didn’t remember him joining in on my beat down. I might have died if he had.

Red Shirt came to gloat, to rub his victory in my cold, clammy, cut up face. I was covered in sweat, feeling nauseous, and nursing an aching tooth, a dull head-ache, and bruised wrists. These two were the last ones I wanted to see. “Do you have anything you would like to say to this officer?” He was big on the formalities, that was sure. I had no desire to apologize for anything I had been put through today.

“I do have something I would like to say to this officer,” I told Red Shirt, matching his formal tone exactly. Then I locked eyes with my opponent. “Big Eddy?” I inquired innocently, as sweetly as possible. He hesitated, but I waited him out. Struggling to remember my name maybe, he asked finally, “Yes? Seth?” I waited for that admission, my name, before I spoke.

“Fuck you.”

The fight is synonymous with life itself! Therefore, throwing in the towel is never an option. Every day I go toe-to-toe with a system built on discrimination. I face people who want to kill my spirit and strip me of my dignity. On top of all that, I’m wrestling with my own demons. There’s nowhere for me to hide. Running would be a disgrace to rebellious hearts who dedicated their lives to confronting, challenging & revolutionizing.

Yeah, sometimes I find my back against the wall. I don’t fall to my knees, because I continue swinging. I’m gon’ stand my ground! Not only does my life depend on it, but that’s my debt to everybody engaged in the struggle, and those who’ll pick up the torch behind us. Ultimately, this fight is our right of passage. Where each hardship we overcome brings us closer to truth, purpose and righteousness.

Take a second to imagine what equality looks like in its purest form. Have you ever visualized a world more beautiful than that? Well, that’s what victory looks like. Judging from where we’ve started to where we’ve come. I believe that world is well within our grasp! Keep fighting!

Power is the people!

#rebellioushearts

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Contact:

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Dwayne Staats #NT0000
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PO Box 33028
St Petersburg, FL, 33733