SkinTight

James Skinner

To Whom It May Concern,

Writing has always been my way to relax an unwind. Even in despair, the movements of my pen and seeing the words left behind is comforting. There are times when I believe that the act of writing is more important than anything i have to say. Then, there are other times when I believe that it is merely a means to legitimize my rapidly shifting thoughts and musing. Whichever the case, I am granted a momentary reprieve from the surrounding chaos that slowly erodes my sanity. As long as I am within these lines, nothing else exists. A fool’s attempt to evade the inevitable? Perhaps. But come breathe the stench of mental decay for just one day, just one, then try to convince yourself that you'd never be that fool. So, to whom and about what shall i write? Shall it be with favor or contempt? Shall I complement or condemn? Why even waste ink and energy on the latter when an abrupt silence says it all? All you need is the will, right? But am I not the bane of many, fleshed and drawing breath? That left-handed cancer, double the bad news to those who count such things? That masshole!? Why indeed... rapidly shifting thoughts and musings. Yet, despite it all, I learn and grow. Today’s lesson? Well, I'm not quite sure, it’s still pretty early. But i do know this: I've found no comfort in these words.

• By James Skinner. Written in January, 2009 at Arizona Dept. of Correction SMU-1, Violence Control unit (VCU). This is the place where Pelican Bay and the FED’s ADX in Florence, CO derive their name. (Also see Solitary Justice, Tuscon Weekly, James Skinner)