Friday, November 04, 2011

New Writing from Eric McDavid

Dear friends,

Eric asked us to share this piece with you about his experiences. It's
covers a lot of ground - from the time of his arrest, through his time at
Sacramento County Main Jail and past his sentencing. You can also view the
piece at:

There is a lot we could say... But we'll let the piece speak for itself.


Eric always loves to hear feedback from folks about his writings. Perhaps
you could write him a letter and let him know what you think once he gets
to where he's going? We still don't know where Eric is or where he'll end
up (he's being transferred) - but we'll let you know as soon as we hear


Putting this critique out of my head & dn on paper comes w/the kind of
sigh that loosens your shoulders & unravels your stomach, catching you off
guard w/the guttural vocalization coming out w/that flow of Wind... the
delusion that fed my waiting was the possibility of my writings making an
already shitty situation of prosecution even worse... Hind-sight always
comes w/a sting = my charges topped out at 2 decades – only 5 more months
than i received... naiveté came N2 play elsewhere = despite stay'n true 2
my understanding of entrapment (where a govn't agent uses coercion &
manipulation, while providing all the materials, 2 direct & manifest an
act deemed illegal by the state), had i done more research there would've
been no way N western culture i would've utilized that defense... it's on
the verge of ludicrous 2 think the system would impede a mechanism
bringing N such vast amounts of $, fueling the bureaucratic fascism that
defines govn't 2day (remember the bonds we can post 2 get bailed out?
ever wonder what happens 2 them if we remain imprisoned? not 2 many
others do either – where R the majority of bonds w/N the financial system?
yep, bound & traded on the market; this B'n 1 scheme amongst numerous
others)... don't get me wrong – i harbor no regrets about my choice of
go'n 2 trial; part of me is curious of what difference a necessity defense
would've made... here we go... woken long B4 U're rested, it's cold
w/concrete everywhere, called out by the speaker above the steel door,
patted dn & escorted 2 the elevator, never know'n where or why, the door
opens 2 the chaotic jingle of chains, shouting cops, waiting 4 others – a
marshal's list 2 fill, patted dn, the pinch that only comes from shackles
& cuffs attached 2 a waist chain, Ur jingle adds 2 the cacophony,
processed & packed, 12 N2 the 10 bk seats of a van... the outsd world
through the windows holds every1's tongue, despite B'n early the goings on
R enough 2B a sensory overload = people walking, driving, riding bikes,
eating breakfast on the run, smoking, drink'n coffee, talking 2 each other
on phones – the marshals have the radio on some corporate station still
play'n the same songs when I stopped listening over 5 yrs ago... parked
behind N the secured garage, moved, stored, caged & still bound 2 Urself,
some1 asks “got the time, marshal?” “6:30ish,” hearings B4 10am R rare,
most = much later... coming from the concrete grayness, steel metal bars,
placid white walls, 2 step out N2 mahogany everywhere, deep reds, soft
blues, business attire & hairdos, stenograph, briefcase, pens &
notepads... chained 2 Ur own body N oversized shirt, pants, paper shoes =
neon orange... eyes immediately turn 2 the bk of the room & R flooded by
the benches behind the defense – friends & family bringing a rush of
nutrients that cannot B put 2 words; i could barely keep still know'n that
i was sharing the same air & only w/N arms reach of their embraces... it
was such a contrast 2 what lay B4 me on this SD of the Bar... standing B4
that 1st black robe, the separation was disorienting, the language &
process was that of another world... bail denied – flight risk = knowledge
of standing on the SD of the road w/thumb out, knowledge of boarding
locomotives when they slow or stop = flight risk; no family ties =
traveling w/out a cellphone & unable 2B contacted by family = no family
ties... after the sardine-van ride bk 2 the gulag, it's bk ↑ 2 the cell &
wait 4 the visit i knew was coming... 'never knew if it would B my
Partner & family or my attorney who would B 1st... the attorney visits
were N closed booths w/little stainless steel stools & table top w/a slot
under the plexi-glass window sized 4 paperwork... i could feel the
presence of microphones N the false ceiling above us – seemed ridiculous 2
believe they weren't there... Mark's communication skills w/N the court
room were pretty damn good – but N any other circumstance = extremely
lacking... i got 2 the point of having 2 put him through grounding
techniques at the beginning w/reminders throughout “Mark, what did U hear
me ask? R both Ur feet on the ground? can U feel them?”... i needed 2
make a list of questions just so i wouldn't get wrapped ↑ N his whirlwind
of energy... the handshakes through that slot N the table top was the
extent of humyne humyn contact during the 28 mo of confinement N that
jail... now, visits w/my Partner & family were a bit different... next 2
the attorney booths was a continuous stainless steel tabletop w/the
plexi-glass window running all the way dn the middle... each booth was
separated by a partition of plexi-glass, & 2 communicate w/your visitor a
phone receiver is used... 2 deter visitors by causing frustration & raise
stress levels, the volume was lowered or a static background noise made
hearing the other persyn near impossible at times & perfectly clear the
next... knowing each word & sentence were 2B scrutinized by any # of
'intelligence' agencies wasn't 2 big of a step – but i've never acclimated
2 not B'n able 2 touch those i love... have'n those visits kept me alive
as much as the oxygen i was breathing, & getting others perspectives on
the proceedings N court helped 2 make sure i wasn't the only 1 baffled by
what was go'n on... the courts i experienced eviscerated any ideas
regarding a jury trial B'n the last oasis of justice w/N the system; where
a jury is provided all the facts & info., & B'n free 2 their
interpretation w/justice as the intent & end... if that were the case, i
wouldn't B N this cell, nor hearing time and again stories from folx N
here reflecting my own... throughout trial i was dumbfounded by the
blatant ways (2 me) the jury was held N contempt by the judge & lawyers –
at the same time regarding them as some porcelain doll the lawyers and
judge didn't want 2 tip over... throughout the proceedings my eyes would
wander over 2 those folx sat off 2 the SD, occupying that space of
audience, the passive observer... 1 or 2 dozing, most w/the impartial
looks of random thoughts= bills-work-family-etc., 'reminded me when i was
a kid at church with the pastor speaking of famine, drought, floods, the
starving of children & elders N economically colonized lands = there was
this blanket of something over or behind people's expressions = “a higher
power is at work here”... i remember get'n called 2 jury duty & duck'n it
like the plague; forced 2 accept pennies on the dollar after drive'n at
least an hour through bumper 2 bumper each morn'n & night, 9-3 sit'n N
uncomfortable chairs, "we're all stuck here, so the smoother we make this
= the faster we can all go home,” "follow the lead of the professionals,
they've been do'n this a long time & know what they're do'n; after all,
justice is their business"… by the time the jury instructions were handed
dn, they were so deluded, confused, & malleable – it took hardly a nudge 2
direct them dn the prescribed path... i'm at a loss of words due 2 a
couple of reasons = 1) the jury didn't C it & didn't do anything about
it; 2) i saw it & didn't do anything about it... this is a jumble of
curiosities= how can truth & justice B found w/out open understanding of
all parties & honest, authentic communication? R they even meant 2B there
N the 1st place? how would a political prisoner go about getting a jury
of their peers? how could a jury B impartial if they're confined 2
perceive & relate 2 censored info only from a deliberate perspective
chosen by a person paid by the state whose superiors maintain their status
& the status quo?... 'hear that N the middle of my trial the judge won
the judge of the yr award? weird, eh?... the day of the verdict i can
remember sitt'n N the cage on the 10th floor... the court room & attached
juror room were ↑ on the 14th & i sat there imagining positive energy
flowing N2 the latter... when a marshal showed ↑ 2 take me ↑ the elevator
i knew it was 2 early... as every 1 was settling N & waiting on the
judge, a juror caught my eye & gave a small shake of their head – i had 2
give my self a small smile 4 perceiving the outcome... it didn't surprise
me any more than the sentence handed dn by the judge... he'd made his
intent known throughout the trial; at 1 point turning 2 Mark & i 2 give us
a small nod & smile when a juror asked the precise question which would
lead them all 2 perceive the confidential informant as not B'n a govn't
agent when i 1st met her... this was actually the pivotal point during
the deliberations as stated by a couple of the jurors N letters they wrote
2 my attorney... at sentencing the presentencing officer recommended 13
yrs, the prosecution 20, & the judge mentioned someth'n like wish'n that
he wasn't bound by the limit put on him bc it was a conspiracy case &
couldn't give me the 293 months the charge carried otherwise. the impact
on loved ones racked me harder than the time handed dn, & somehow i had
more confidence N the appellate courts (social programming is a pain N the
ass)... i was way 2 excited know'n i'd B out of that county jail &
solitary confinement... so far as my experience w/the sacramento county
gulag, we'll have 2 start at the beginning... 1 more time = bright Winter
mountain morning, sit'n on the trunk of the car soaking N the brisk blue
Sky, “did i seriously leave my pouch of tabac at the house?,” here come
the other 2, 'click,' screeching wheels N all directions, i fixate on the
suburban B4 me, less than a bus length away, both SD doors open B4 it
stops, out come 2 shouting ninja turtles w/the nozzles of their AR15s
leading the way, a quick pan @ soaks N the other vehicles, shouts, guns, &
stop on her eyes staring at me N the rear view mirror, that 'click' B4 the
screeching tires registers as the auto-lock 4 the doors of the car she's
sitting N... dominoes tumble btx my ears as i slowly raise my hands & get
dn 2 knees, stomach, arms out-reached, the asphalt doesn't exist under my
cheek, nor the 2 knees N my back, i'm bk by the time i'm cuffed & stood ↑,
hands leaping N2 my pockets looking 4 a key that isn't there... shock has
set N & the contradiction of B'n me rides the torrent of adrenaline N2 a
state of calmness & clarity; there is no tremor N my breath, nor shaking N
my hands; i can feel the embrace of cool morning air moving @ me, the
warmth of the Sun on my skin, N my eyes the full green of Trees & deep
blue of Sky sinks N, “this is go'n 2B the last time my eyes hold them 4 a
while,” i give out a silent thanks w/a sigh... a small crowd has gathered
2 watch, i'm taken N2 the bk of a durango rental, the other 2 R N separate
cars, JTTF driver (c.h.p. or sheriff's dep.), fibby hops N beside me,
short ride dn the hill 2 a suburb satellite compound N citrus heights i
never knew was there (lived w/N 5 miles of it since jr. high), during
their attempt 2 debrief my property was logged & headlamp stolen by the
fibby “i'll take this as evidence,” yes i'm still pissed, “U got anything
2 say?” “U got an attorney 4 me?,” bk N the durango & headed dn town, just
B4 we pull N2 the underground garage of the gulag = “We always go easy on
the 1 that turns 1st” “U're fuck'n kid'n me,” sit'n on a concrete bench
under the gulag, paper wk B'n processed, i'm soak'n everything ↑ while
look'n bored as fuck = there's double doors on every exit, scrubbed
concrete i can tell has been spattered from countless struggles coming 2
late – once U're N the bowels surviving digestion is the only viable
possibility i can C... there R no windows, ultra-violet lights at
measured distances break ↑ the heavy doors – be they steel or bullet proof
plexi-glass, feels like i'm wait'n N line 4 some twisted roller-coaster
ride... a young look'n agent w/an ATF windbreaker sits next 2 me,
“recognize me?” “not really” “U know how hard it was 2 keep up w/U?” “no”
“we'll have 2 have a beer when U get out” “U're buy'n,” behind the sliding
door, uncuffed, patted dn, handkerchief and hoodie taken, cuffed, wait, 2
jug heads escort me 2 a room the size of a phonebooth & uncuff me, “strip
& put clothes outSD,” they step away, i notice the small window of a box
housing a camera has a yellow post-it 4 a cover & i quickly remove it -
if they come at me it's go'n 2B on film... i can't say i was ready 4 this
form of psy-op.s (can U ever B ready 2 experience something U've only read
about?) but i did know it 4 what it was= an attempt 2 make the oppressed
feel like they R participating N a demoralizing act - having seen a wrong
is bad, having a wrong done 2 U is worse, doing a wrong 2 Urself is the
worst ever, knowledge B4 hand dissolves the power dynamic necessary 4 them
2 oppress... they return, quickly glancing at the camera, 1 goes through
my clothes while the other spits directions w/cold concrete under my feet
= show hands, under armpits, behind ears, SDs of mouth, under tongue, lift
balls, turn @, lift rt foot, left foot, bend over, spread cheeks, cough,
get dressed, no laces N my boots; then the shuffle begins – continuous
displacement from 1 tank to another (more psy. ops.) , this 1 so full
there's only standing room, the next it's just me & the camera, always a
camera & a phone, a toilet & thick boarded benches against the walls,
this 1 fills & empties, moved B4 this 1 fills all the way, time vanishes,
only wondering, is there an undercover N here, a plant, an informant,
dominoes tumble once again = solitary will B the only escape from violent
coercion – abuse could only come from those who have the keys... not
wanting 2 provide the fibbies w/any tools 2 sway my decision 2 go 2 trial
– i could easily picture myself during trial w/a face marred by a fight,
while my attorney layed out my non-violent past & non-existent criminal
record 2 a jury full of raised eye-brows & smirks – i requested solitary
confinement... i was persynally prepared 4 what came w/isolation, having
done the necessary wk on myself = the internal exploring, healing &
nourishing needed 2 survive & dance w/the trauma of B'n raised N this
culture; w/the effects from the shock & continuous trauma of B'n caged all
i would've had 2 fall bk on would B those culturally programmed traits
we're all raised with, such as identification w/the oppressor, mob
mentality, & submission 2 authority... my receiving those weekly stacks
of mail did wonders which i'm perpetually grateful 4, but w/out the anchor
of knowing, loving, & B'n aware of who i am – how could i've stayed true 2
the intentions of my Heart?... through the Spring and Summer a once dear
friend of mine survived iso. & continuous harassment – his folding just B4
Fall was like my Heart breaking N my hands... i tried 2 do all i could 2
aid him N maintaining some semblance of a foundation that he could utilize
– of course (here's that familiar sting), it's not something which can B
given, only found... he was released as soon as he signed his plea deal;
2 prep him 4 the stand it took 3 consecutive days of 9-5... while on the
stand they used something like 'rehabilitated' 2 describe him = now
working 35-40 hrs/week, helping his dad w/the rent, & having a
girlfriend... when he flipped i didn't think the pain could've gotten
worse... what i saw & heard were the scared responses of some1 B'n led
along on a tight leash... lauren was almost the inverse = ze turned rt
away & when i found out over the Summer i was devastated... btx the time
of our arrest & the trial ze'd apparently recovered some – despite the
influences @ hir & the meds they put hir on... it was subtle, but
lauren's words ended ↑ aiding my defense more than the prosecution... the
c.i., 'anna,' wore business attire, mimicking the professionalism exuded
by her fibby handlers... it twisted me ↑ & ↓ 2 hear the distance N her
voice i recognized as always B'n there... at the end of 'anna's' testimony
the govn't resorted 2 character assassination by way of a blatant lie,
pitting their authority vs. my word... their story was that on the last
night i walked out N2 the living room 2 wave an 8 inch knife over 'anna's'
sleeping face (a knife i never possessed, nor did they remember 2 plant N
the evidence), which woke her & her calmly saying “go bk 2 bed”...
somehow the surveillance cameras weren't recording during this event,
which is weird bc they're supposed 2B N whatever room the c.i. occupies
(but of course fibbies testified 2 their witnessing the event on their
monitors), nor was there a 302 filing 4 that night (an event description
form 4 the fibbies 2 write dn a narrative of what they see on the monitors
w/the corresponding times)... 2 say i was disgusted doesn't even begin
2... … so, biased as it is, i've acquired the belief that moving w/a
political intent brings about quite a bit of predisposition from the
courts (yes, i'm B'n sarcastic, their response was more like that 2 a
deadly virus = stamp out & lock away)... it's further supported by a
recent case N sacto where some1 burnt dn a wal-mart, a good portion of an
upscale mall, & his grandma's house; & after the actions were deemed not
politically based (by the same prosecutor N my case), that persyn got
sentenced 2 10 yrs... my case was 1 more notch N the belt 4 the fibby's
cointel tactics – creating monsters 2 fuel fear, while vilifying a pattern
of social relation based upon mutual aid, authentic relation, voluntary
association, & the realization of desires... this pattern of relation was
something i'd found N every place i touched N a yr & a 1/2 of traveling
off the grid - Seatle 2 Ft. Lauderdale, NY 2 San Fran. & numerous places
Nbtx... throughout those times i moved w/an authentic intent, finding a
reciprocity, a mutual respect that accompanies the unconscious (or
conscious) recognition of some 1 sharing their true self - something deep
w/N saying = "this isn't 1 of the culturally cordonned masks"... &
everywhere i went i found others moving w/the same intent - living off the
streets, wk'n small jobs, go'n 2 school; these aspects B'n secondary 2 who
they R... it's the relation 2 themselves & 2 those N their communities
which took precedence= what nurtured them on their paths... & not 1 was
perfect, & had no intention 2B, but they were true 2 themselves N
nurturing who they wished 2 become - not some prescribed mold produced by
another... w/that - the recognition of material objects B'n non-permanent
translated N2 a free sharing or gifting of whatever i happen 2 possess N
the moment 2 fullfill a need U're experiencing rt now (eg.- i'm not going
2 have this pouch of tobacco 4ever; there R numerous ways of acquiring
more; & if U don't have any & would like some= why wouldn't i help a
member of my community?)... these folx came 2gether as long as it nurtured
each individually; communicating their persynal & social needs & wishes
w/the group - moving towards the benefit of the whole, &
there4themselves... i've seen & experienced these grps last for hrs, days,
weeks, months, yrs; when pple felt they were no longer nurtured or out
grew what the grp was providing, most left w/out animosities & usually
w/friendships lasting a lifetime... 2 me, a paramount aspect of
authenticity is B'n authentic w/myself & recognizing my shadow as a
necessary part of who i am (how can i watch out 4 my shortcomings &
negative tendencies if i don't know what they R?); it's also helped 2B
aware that others share N the wounds inflicted by B'n of this culture,
regardless of the nitches they currently find themselves w/N... ... this
same trauma some structures use 2 keep folx fearful of the unknown, afraid
of others, scared of change, worried for the future, & thereby reacting N
ways which maintain the culture... any relation that doesn't bring about
those results must B demonized - thus, the "crazy bomb throwing anarchist"
motif... what better way 2 dissuade the exploration of ideas than 2
portray those associated w/them as lunatics, dreamers out of touch w/how
the world really works... somehow i survived the indoctrination of
schooling up 2 college, worked a couple of careers until i saw what i
would become N those B4 me, then it took 1 more indoctrination bout w/the
intent of teaching 2 finally C this culture beyond the veils of comfort,
medication, & socialization... i came 2 recognize the cultural tools
provided 4 me - manipulation, coercion, chauvinism, kill or B killed, walk
on those below U, destroy all competition – as B'n socio-pathic (defined
as traits which kill healthy, nurturing communities); & after that point
of reference was acquired, there was only 1 remaining action= the
choice... ... ...

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