Rabid Sharks
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Prison Blog

In which Possum recounts his experiences as an offender in the system.

Possum Bones is autistic. He has identified as a dirty kid in the past, and he’s attended multiple rainbow gatherings. He has several years left to serve in the Washington Correctional system.

He has been making art since he could sit up. He communicates better in writing than speech. If you are interested in the experience of an autistic person doing prison time, check out his Prison Blog. If you are a fan of comic art, underground/outsider music, Lovecraft, Clarke Ashton Smith, Murakami, Cixui Liu, etc.

Emotional Bullshit: In Which I Inhale 9000 Dicks 7/18

I’m mysteriously frustrated and can’t sleep. I’m taking another sleep aid and writing. It feels like I’ve got some grand unspoken thing that wants to be written or made real. It feels like something that’s been with me for a long time, for years, and its getting heavier but I can’t sum it up, so I can’t extricate it. The heavier it gets, I feel it working on me.

“No one else has seen the sights across our eyes”

“How many people know what its like to be a slave? A slave to your heart. A slave to your grave.”\

The golden and blue filigree of a ceiling fan on DMT when I was 16. The white gold pillars of the sun temple, stamped with the eye of wedjat. the fearsome voices of love in the aether. Death. 19 months of jail time.

The sorry state of the first person I ever cared about, from whom I learned I was capable of empathy for other people. My current physical and mental state. Memories I could spend a lifetime attempting to understand and to communicate. This burden…the futility of my limited mind. Limited comprehension, limited time to comprehend. With this burden, how can I ever live…normally…the way that people do. And no matter who I talk to, nobody can help me even if they relate, its up to me.

Does it transcend rationality? Is it obscene? Can it be captured? God fuckin dammit, every time it ends up this garbage. All I know is I’m stuck with something and it may never hatch. It has something to do with dreams and visions induced by chemicals, but it also has to do with a lot else: being autistic, learning from bums, learning from captivity.

It’s all too much to tie together. I’m intelligent enough that I know how utterly insufficient my thoughts and my language are to summarize what’s making me like this. It’s experience that changed me and set me up and now I’m reaching this point of critical mass it feels like…I know I’m not enlightened and I hate to use such a loaded word but its a process of enlightenment is what it feels like.

I’m often surprised by the way I feel. Like everything is NOW, the world is going in one ear and out the other, flowing through without a hitch and its like I could just stay that way eventually, but its a little scary this moment to moment way of being. If I was like that all the time, what would that mean? The mind of a dog? Once again I’ve produced prose that’s inadequate to convey what I feel.

Elisa Carlson