Day 9

Cranked out a reply to prison correspondent. It was tough. There was nothing of interest in his letter. Just a commentary on the Menendez brothers’ case, and the implications it has for his case. Usually his letters are more interesting, full of praise and questions concerning white actresses (both porn and so-called *legitimate stage or screen*). Anyway, I replied with my unsolicited thoughts about President Trump’s welcome threat to arrest Obama. Very few people need to be in prison more than the war criminal Hussein Obama (who should also be investigated for the suspicious deaths of at least two homosexuals who were close associates). Anyway, the trap from Day 8 is still in the process of being escaped. I was sloppy. I assumed since I locked myself in my home, I was safe. Therefore, my guard was down and I was suckered into a situation that could end in madness or death. I have no doubt this will seem a preposterous exaggeration to anybody who stumbles across these words. But that is only because you do not know the context. In yesterday’s entry I stated:

I will never be specific about the crimes or the illness. It doesn’t matter, and would only upset the tiny number of people who can stand me.

That was not entirely truthful. There is an additional reason.  By not being specific, I encourage any reader who happens across it to assume the worst, as that is what is most common to human nature.  I also desire, though am not certain of its success, the reader to judge themselves favorably against me.  But merely imagining a hypothetical reader judging themselves favorably against me makes me rejoice.

The Lord answers prayer.  Driving home today from the Plasma Donation Center, I saw this:

I was immediately sick at heart.  My soul grieved for these little ones.  They have no idea of the horrors that await them.  I am much, much further down the road than they.  I know their futures.  The pain and suffering they must endure made me weep.  I am old and hardened, at this stage my own misery amuses me, you see how it pleases me to write of it.  But these little ones are not calloused.  They are still fresh in this Hell.  They have likely only received a few kicks yet.  The reality of their future anguish released me instantly from the trap of Day 8.  On their behalf I spat in Satan's face, and he fled.

Intensity: I survived a rather feverish 48 hours.  

Frequency: Abating.

Factors: Yes, I survived a rather feverish 48 hours.  But at what price?  The knowledge of the agony the little ones must suffer is a hard coin to mint.