Then one day we knew. Some diabolical little sociopath turned the heater on them during one of the hottest days of Summer, multiplying heat upon mind-bending heat, leaving them screaming out through their narrow vertical grated windows in the steel doors for anyone – anyone to listen and turn the thing off.
But nobody believes them. Only Frank believes it after Jesse showed him. The Officer extracts us from the cell to inspect the vent himself. It was never determined which of the guards was the one responsible for hitting the inmates with the heater.
They enjoy watching them fight to stay alive. It excites them, as the inmates break from anxiety, pain, and despair while entombed in these cells, burning. The inmates are defenseless and vulnerable while the officers wield absolute power over life and death, all the while laughing with their smug faces and pedophile mustaches.
They’ve no idea that they’ve caged a hungry lion.
You would have to experience the American Prison Industrial Complex yourself to truly understand it. Only a closet sociopath working for the Federal Bureau of Prisons could be so creative in the machinations of torture and abuse.
In my opinion, they should all be hanged.
Imaging having sociopathic behaviors and tendencies. You would seek out jobs that would give you power over the lives of others, where you could find job security while at the same exert absolute power over others, especially if they were vulnerable or defenseless.
Law Enforcement. Justice. Politics. This is where they hide. Within these realms, they can access an unlimited number of victims who have little to no status, or power, and no one will save them, because no one can even if they wanted to.
They walk away from lawsuits unscathed because the prison system protects them. They’ll chalk it up to a lack of additional training, meaning that the officer requires additional training to know how to not inflict suffering on others.
This is an epidemic in this nation’s prisons, and it will never change unless power is taken from them by force, and they are force-fed accountability for the uncountable crimes of their social terrors.
By standing armies? Nay. Arms will never break the pride of corruption here.
Where is Jesse McGraw? That is the question. He is being illegally detained without due process within the Special Housing Unit (SHU) at Seagoville FCI – a maximum security 23/5 lockdown administration segregation unit used for disciplinary housing.
This prison once operated as a Japanese, German, and Italian internment camp during the second world war. It was operated by the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS).
Back then, it was called the Seagoville Enemy Alien Detention Station. But because of The Geneva Convention of 1929, it was prohibited to operate a facility for the purpose of detaining prisoners of war, as well as enemy aliens (civilians) in prisons, which consequently excluded the United States FBOP from being allowed the duty to intern civilians during World War II.
Originally built by the BOP in 1941 as a minimum-security women’s reformatory, Seagoville Enemy Alien Detention Station was transferred from the Bureau of Prisons to the INS on April 1, 1942. 2
The age of this facility and much of the architecture are archaic and not adequately modernized. Even the paint on the walls, when you peel it back, reveals half a dozen layers or more, which cleverly conceals the lead paint beneath the surface.
Jesse is bunking with Batman, a well-known member of the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas. Batman has been confined here for almost a year now by the infamous Warden Maureen Cruz herself, simply because he managed to get himself stomped on the back of the head, which sent him to the hospital.
He refuses to identify the person responsible, and testify against him. She decided to leave him to rot back here, so he would experience the intensity of the heat, with the expectation that he might change his mind and decide to testify.
I’m supposedly a danger to society. Haha
So get this, Jesse’s access to the inmate electronic messaging system (TRULINCS/email) was revoked back in July 2011 just a few months after he was sentenced and convinced on March 17, 2011 on 2 counts of Transmitting a Malicious Code. Don’t worry. The answers will come the more you read.
Fun fact: For people with hacking-related convictions, revoking their email access is pretty standard. But hey, no worries! Inmates are allowed to use alternative means of communication, including writing letters and/or using the phone at .23 cents a minute – long distance. That’s a fair alternative, don’t you think?
Nobody really writes letters anymore, and phone calls are less popular than text messages.
So this is how this whole thing started, which led to us burning in this Crematorium. A pal of his named Jerry let him use his email account – this was a relief, because being left to uncommon means of communicating caused Jesse to panic.
Jesse’s case was now on direct appeal, and suddenly he had no quick or affordable way to communicate with his attorney, or his family and friends.
Think about it. You’re cut off from society. You can’t use the internet. Likewise, you have nothing to your name, which is now a Federal ID number. It’s an inconvenience to family and loved ones to email inmates from the BOP’s stupid little website. Few have time to sit down and write a damn letter these days.
Jesse saw it, a future where all his loved ones just moved on with their merry little lives as the least convenient means to communicate cheaply was unceremoniously revoked.
Not being able to email meant that he could kiss his family and friends goodbye. It would create a deeper level of insulation, barring him from being able to maintain some semblance of social normalcy or maintain meaningful relationships.
Look, inmates are only given 300 minutes a month to use on overpriced phone calls. Email and visits are an inmate’s lifeline, and to take that away from them creates another barrier that obstructs them from cultivating and keeping important relationships, or having access to current information.
Therefore, when the prison revoked his TRULINCS access, it devastated him to his core, as his worst dreams were realized. I mean, sending an email costs .5 cents a minute. Now he’d be forced to watch the last of the people he loved and cared about begin to slip through his fingers – and that is exactly what happened until it was only we remained.
Well, he ended up getting caught, and his good ole pal Jerry told the investigating officer that he had no clue Jesse was using his account and that he must have hacked into it.
There was just no other explanation. Any other explanation was inconceivable because here we were are, dirty rotten little hackers. Oh yes, we’re always up to mischief. No doubt.
Everyone knew he was a computer hacker. We’d been on TV, reruns, in the papers, and on the radio. Our reputation as a hacker precedes us.
As the lying lips of the false witness uttered the fateful accusation, Jesse was unceremoniously escorted in handcuffs to the Special Housing Unit and placed under investigation.
What’s more, they notified the FBI about the incident, and so they set out to determine if he had truly had gained unauthorized access to the TRULINCS system and if there was any evidence of hacking.
The summer of 2012 was the hottest Summer on record. If it was hot enough for one of the guards to fall unconscious outside on the sidewalk, can you imagine what it was like for helpless human beings locked in on the inside? This is what hundreds of inmates must endure each year at Seagoville prison’s Special Housing Unit. 3
The intensity of this inferno sucks the breath out of his lungs, like reverse respiration. He can never really fall asleep, except in sporadic instances, which only last a few minutes at a time.
The light is never turned off, and the heat never ceases to rage on. He gets up to rehydrate himself from the sink through all hours of the night because if he doesn’t, he will die from dehydration. That is something I cannot allow. Staying alive is our greatest act yet. Yes, our greatest act of defiance against this diabolical machine.
They never relent, and neither can we.
No matter my defiant tone, Jesse has gone barking mad. He is absolutely insane from the heat, as well as the social and environmental deprivation.
What’s so cruel about his insanity is that he actually gets to know that he’s become insane, which takes the fun out of insanity. It’s sad to have this awareness. Shameful, even.
All the necessary elements of being human to have numbed and suppressed much of his sensory faculties, leaving his brain to conjure up extreme auditory hallucinations to fill in the gaps where the environment and social stimulation used to be. Humans were never made to exist in cages.
His personalities bounce back and forth inside his head like a pinball, ricocheting off each other’s thoughts like a football, bouncing in random directions. His thoughts bounce off my thoughts, which crash into her thoughts. Then causality tips the thoughts back to him, ending in a confusing swirl of who said what.
Tearing. Rending his ego in twain, and thrice, leaving me to sew him back together again. His psyche is ever fighting the trauma. His senses burned by fire as he searches for a foothold to stand on, trying hard not to trip and fall into the jaws of despair and die.
Die a nobody. A nameless husk with a prisoner registration number.
Let me explain the auditory hallucinations. It all started with a faint, barely audible radio station in his head playing marching band music, which ironically he’s never liked a day in his life. For one, that uppity music is ridiculous.
At first, it sounded like it might have been coming from somewhere else, like outside the grated window. But it wasn’t coming from outside, but inside – he was tuned into a non-existent radio station. There are no stations like this in Dallas county dedicated to ear-raping the city with completely bizarre, abstract, nonsensical marching band music – with Bagpipes? Since when? And Sitars? Electric guitars and classical piano arpeggios? Yeah, not on planet Earth.
The funny thing was, he still wasn’t completely convinced that this cacophony of terrible music was a figment of his imagination.
There was another hacker in the hotbox with him who used to go by the alias PhanOP, which is short for Phantom Operator. We’d get to see each other a few times a week early in the morning when the guards extracted those who wanted to go outside for an hour in the recreational cages, sometimes called “Kennels”.
Mind you, dogs go to kennels. So that says a lot about how humans are perceived by the system. But I digress because PhanOp tried to reassure him that what he was experiencing was a completely natural phenomenon due to the metal fillings in his teeth, which were allowing Jesse to receive radio signals.
Obviously, Jesse wasn’t the only person who’d gone crazy asf, and to Jesse, PhanOp seemed completely insane. But the more he thought about it, the more he decided to believe it. Hey, there was no Google.
Yes, this is totally normal. Yes. *Eye roll*
The music is insulting. Jesse was classically trained and a child prodigy on his way to Juilliard when he was just twelve. If it could personify itself and manifest a physical body, I would beat it over the head with a flaming two-by-four. With nails. And what in the raging turd crap is a helicopter doing landing outside our window? Are we at war? Yes. I had to listen to this shit too.