Grandfather murdered my entire family.

[Jason Rosenquist]

My Story
By Jason Rosenquist
as above, so below.

Foreword


Nocturnal (Written in prison 2008)


Night time is natures gift to us, a time set aside for thought and reflection.
A time for listening to the instinctual advice we give ourselves.
And, inevitably,regret.
For me, when I've used up all of the people in my life and the drugs are all worn off, I remedy the regret by plotting the next set of people to use up, not realizing that the nighttime is exerting its influence on me, making me an accessory to its offenses.
But maybe it isn't the night, maybe it's my codependent relationship with suffering and my inability to use my experiences to increase and fortify my morality.
Using the nighttime for its intended use, I try to intellectualize a problem I may or may not have, which can only be described as a moral illness.
I ponder and explore my travels through regret and realize regret wouldn't exist if I truly was morally malignant.
All I am really guilty of is good old fashioned , everyday, run of the mill, sinful abuse of the night...





Why My Feet Don't Touch The Ground. (Written in prison 2008)


I was never noticed. Even when I acted out.


Never heard, always had to shout.


Tried everything- meditation and all types of prayer


doctors, medication- still felt like I wasn't there.


Nothing helped. Drugs, booze? All fake smiles.


Even tried cutting myself with nail-files.


Still, no one cared. So, full of despair


I gathered my will and a rope, and climbed a chair.


Tied one end to a beam, the other end a noose


tried it to make sure its as strong as it seems and not loose.


Put it around my neck and pulled it tight.


Strange how now I feel alright..


My last thoughts "I wonder if anyone will find me?"


as I tipped the chair and felt my legs kick free.


I'm not trying to plead my case


but at least I died with a smile on my face.


My beautiful spirit released in to the air,


while my invisible body just dangled there...


People wondered why there wasn't a note?


But there was you see,


the one my pain wrote.


All over the inside of me...
Present day…










“Thank you God,for every experience you’ve given me: I am grateful.”
I rolled to my left and off the top bunk of the Maricopa County jail cell I was never intending on leaving alive.


The knot held, both knots, the one tied to the top of the cell bars and the one around my neck.
I felt the sheet jerk under my weight and felt the knot cinch up at the same time and then the pressure of the blood not leaving my head.
… then


blackness……..





“I live on the blink of illumination”
I heard a little kids voice say from the void.
My next relcolection is my cell mate pulling the rope from my neck and screaming at me about something.
I knew that if I touched fentanyl again it would kill me.
Addiction has always been an issue for me.
I was addicted at birth.
My mom had seen enough horror in her 13 short years that by the time she had me she was severely alcoholic and addicted to Demerol used intravenously.
My grandfather used to rape her when she was a child.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s actually my father but I know better.
My grandfather was a gangster.
A kidnapper.
A murderer.
A lifer.
The f****g boogie man.


In 1976,in Minnesota, a wealthy businessman receives a phone call.
“we have your wife. If you want her back get 110 1/2 pounds of $20 bills. Place the bills in a black duffel bag and go to Al’s bar in north Minneapolis and wait for instructions.”
Harry Piper hung up the phone,
“Virginia?”
His wife didn’t respond.
Harry called the police.
The FBI was soon notified.


Virginia Piper was found in the Jay Cooke National Forest near Duluth Minnesota chained to a tree.
Cold.
Hungry.
But relatively unharmed.
The kidnappers got away with $1.2 million dollars, all in $20’s.110 1/2 pounds of them.
My grandpa was able to carry 110 1/2 pounds on his back while riding a motorbike a half mile and up a 60% grade for 200 feet in under 90 seconds.
I know because he used to time himself.
It became muscle memory.
$50,000 of the marked money was found I’m a piggly wiggly bag under the front seat of a stolen Buick with a dead unidentified body at the wheel.
Dead of an apparent gunshot wound to the head.
.357 magnum from the looks of the condition of the head.
No witnesses.


None on the kidnapping either.
Virginia Piper never could identify who had taken her from the garden of her home, but remarked she was treated with respect and was unharmed.
Professional gangster sh*t.
Business.
Nothing personal.
At least not yet.


My grandfather was convicted of the crime for 1 reason.
He was the only criminal Minnesota had ever produced that could’ve pulled it off.
I don’t know what’s true and what’s not because I never really cared but my grandpa, I am told,was the quintessential gangster.
He even had a gang.


The Larson Gang.Donald (Donny) Larson-Leader
Tommy Grey-2nd in charge.
Kenny “The Kid” Callahan- Gang Sociopathic Muscle and actual Mafia member out of Chicago.
That was the Larson Gang,
along with the coded notepad full of names and numbers of second story men, get a way drivers, and gunmen.
They would do things like hijack semi trucks full of whiskey as soon as it crossed the Canada/Minnesota border and sell the cases to seedy bar owners in north Minneapolis.
Then they’d go to Bridgemans ice cream shop, call the sherif, report the hijacking,tell on himself, and tell the cops where he was.
But they never came.
It was just him f****g with the pigs.
And making a name for himself.
I can respect that.


The FBI had to forge a fingerprint and manufacture evidence to convict my grandpa.
That was going to be an issue.
He was sentenced to life in prison.
His 3rd such sentence in the last 15 years of which he actually served 6 years of due to his connections with dirty judges and law enforcement.
Plus the death threats "the kid" made,that he made sure the judges daughter found in her retainer case on her nightstand when she went to put her retainer away for bed.
This time was different.
It was a Federal case, not State.
It meant he was a bigger problem than Minnesota could handle and the Federal Government was telling my grandpa that they weren’t going to f*ck around with him.
But they manufactured evidence to convict.
And as luck would have it, the fed that actually did the manufacturing- just so happened to be my grandpa's lawyer's 2nd cousin.
Once removed.
Scandal insued.
My grandpa won his appeal and the FBI lost the conviction,making the Piper Kidnapping the largest unsolved ransom kidnapping in U.S. history.
Bigger than Hearst.
Bigger than Lindbergh.
My grandfather was released from prison after serving just under 3 years of his 3rd life sentence.




Here’s what I remember.
Not necessarily in linear order.
Something happened.
Everybody is scared.
My grandpa knocked at the door.
My grandma Ruth opened the door.
My grandpa came in looked around and saw Ruth, my mom Debbie, my uncle Mark, my uncle Floyd, the neighbor kid Jimmy and his dad James Falch.)
My mom who is 16, I am 3, grabs me and pulls me to her chest as tightly as I’ve ever been hugged.
It felt good.
Safe.
I hear loud firecrackers all around me and wondering what we’re celebrating.
Fireworks and hugs.
Best day ever.
Maybe it was because my grandpa was home?
I wiggle so I can see what’s going on.
Grandma Ruth is going to be pissed, someone tried to blow red bubbles but they popped and there is red mist in the kitchen windows daily sunbeam.


To this day I can smell the iron in the air that was arosoled from the blood of several victims.
The fireworks stopped.
I’m beimg hugged real tightly and my mom is running.
A few seconds later I hear more fireworks.
I’m cold.
Hungry.
Mostly, confused.
Relatively unharmed.
My grandfather had come home from beating his appeal because he was just that badass.
A gangster, true and true.
The feds couldn’t even hold him.
The world was his for the taking.
Because he had the balls and the brains to do the taking.


He gets home and finds quite obviously that his wife was now f****g the neighbor guy James.
His buddy Jim.
So be it.
You get locked up, you don’t loses your girl, you just lose your turn, right?
He saw it for what it was and said he’d return tomorrow and just wanted Ruth and Jim gone.
It was his house after all.
His house, his tools,
He built the house with those tools.
Her returned the next day with his signature twin .357 magnum revolvers.
He found a U-haul being filled by Ruth and Jim with his tools.
The ones he built the house with.


Ok let me pause here…..


……


……Now I’m no gangster but if you took my wife, and my tools while I was in the joint, I’d kill you.
Maybe I am a gangster?


My grandpa shot Jim in the hand to teach him a lesson about stealing from a gangster.
He was feeling kind that morning.
After he shot jim in the hand, Ruth had had enough of being controlled I think,
I don’t know why else she jumped on grandpas back and tried to wrestle the gun from the boogie man’s hands but whatever reason she had was hers.
As they wrestle, the gun goes off.
Mark, my moms 5 year old brother never felt the bullet that exploded his cranium sending mistified blood through the sunbeam that crept across the kitchen floor on its daily visit through the kitchen window.
Let the celebration begin.
Yay!
Grandpa's home!


When my grandpa saw Marks head explode I couldn’t imagine what he felt.
I don’t know if the weight of responsibility for his actions was what crushed him, or if he just went into muscle-memory gangster mode and just didn’t want to leave any witnesses, but when the fireworks ended and the party was over, 5 lay dead and 2 eyewitnesses were missing.
16 year old Debbie Larson, daughter of suspect Donnie Larson of Piper kidnapping infamy and her 3 year old son, Jason were found in the woods .
Cold.
hungry,.
but unharmed,
adjacent to the farm house by police 3 days after the brutal slayings of Ruth, Jim, Mark, Floyd,and Jimmy.


My mom was able to grab me, cover me, wait til my grandpa was out of bullets and had to reload, time her escape, and flee with me into the woods after seeing her entire family murdered by her own father.
She was 16.
He fired 8 shots at her as she ran with me.
If ever in life there were a gangster, it’s my mom.




My Mom Is A Gangster (written in prison 2008)


Hey mom, how've you been?


How are you liking heaven?


Anyone else we know get let in?


Not much new with me, just wanted to check in.


I was thinking about you last night.


It's funny, what reminded me was a fight.


I remembered how you used to attack


The social workers who came to take me back.


And how you'd kidnapp me, any chance you got


Because you just wanted to be a mom and never had a shot.


You were the first Christ that I ever met.


And I don't say that with any disrespect.


But because you gave up your life to save mine,


And taught me about acting like its just fine.


Doing what you gotta do to save your mind.


And you never talked bad about my dad


Even tho he raped you and beat you down real bad.


Sometimes you'd get drunk and you'd cry a lot,


All blubbering with the tears and the snot.


But I think that now, I'm finally starting to get it,


Why you buried all that sh*t down and you hid it.


You were trying to keep me protected.


These days, damn, I respect it.


Every time you said that you had a date,


didn't know what you sold to keep food on my plate.


These are all the reasons they said you were unfit.


f*ck them, they didn't know sh*t.


About you covering me up when the gunshots blew,


When grandpa killed everyone but me and you.


Sorry about when I called you a bad mom and hung up.


I was lied to, by who they gave me to, to have me brung up.


They should be strung up or have their necks wrung up...


Then when you overdosed, I went to your house and found the note.


It was the most beautiful thing that was ever wrote.


But I wish I could've saved you from all that pain.


Because I know you would of done the same.


So, God please take care of her, she needs it.


I have her bible and I read it.


So I know just as well as you do,


my mom's the sh*t, and you are too.


I'll see you when I get there, and it'll be all good.


My gangser ass mom's up there, holdin down our hood..






Chapter 2


I was adopted.
Age 12.
When my mom and I were found in the woods by the cops 3 days after my grandpa murdered our entire family, they separated us and placed us individually in to first, witness protection, then the foster system.
My gangster ass, brave mom, took the stand at 17, pointed to the boogie man and told the truth.
Grandpa’s sentencing was a sh*t show because he plead not guilty to 4 of the 5 murders by reason of temporary insanity.
He claimed when he saw Marks head explode, he lost his mind and doesn’t know what happened next.
Well you murdered your entire family except for your only daughter and your grandson.
But it’s not like you didn’t try.
Your daughter escaped with your grandson.
As you reloaded.
And fired…
And she just convicted you to 5 consecutive life sentences.
No possibility of parole.
That’s what you did Asshole.
I’m pissed.
I never lived with my mom again.
She’d try to take me but it never lasted long.
The county always sent someone after us.
She never had any peace.
Not until she committed suicide..




Peace (Prison 2008)


I'm tired of arguing with myself.


1st impulses lead to 2nd guesses which are subjected to 3rd degrees.


The claustrophobia from my crowded mind


almost drives me to take a hammer to my skull.


And shatter myself to peace.





If all I do is constantly argue with myself,


how do I expect to get along with you?


I can't make the simplest decision without debate.


And all I want is quiet reflection


and to shatter myself to peace.





Nothing ever gets resolved or answered.


I play devil's advocate with myself all the time.


But I get the eerie sense that I'm not playing.


So I run full speed into carelessness, with my head down.


Ready to shatter myself into peace.





My future seems determined to analyze the past, endlessly.


Too many opinions from too many old voices


whose only reason for being is to cause noisy confusion.


Until I shatter myself. Because there is no peace.


Unless I shatter myself to pieces...







Resting in Peace (Prison, 2008)


I lie awake at night trying to dissect exactly why it is that I can not fall asleep. Then it hits me:


I'm lying in a death bed.


Dreams die every morning in this bed.


I can hear their ghosts at night when I try to sleep.


They are trying to warn me to not let my latest dreams become collateral damage in times twisted experiment with hope.


Dreams, my own in particular, have become a much sought after escape,


valuable in the way only the endangered can be.


But the sad reality is that once they are born, the morning dooms them.


Much like life.


And that is what makes it hard to sleep in a graveyard full of deathbeds...




I was in 42 foster homes from the age 3 through 12.
I was adopted by the Rosenquists.


Origins(Prison 2008)


I came from nowhere.


Neither here nor there.


That means that to be fair,


Where I am, is no ones care.


My existence is in my own mind.


And my only redemption is being kind


If I didn't have it, I wouldn't give.


Knowing that, I shouldn't live.


I'm a good idea I thought up myself


Pretending evil is conquered by wealth


sh*t, my demons define me


They're all that's inside me


Love can't find me


And my best is behind me


Desires blind me


While mistakes rewind me


And loneliness confines me


Patience tries me


and chaos excites me


My damn ego rewrites me


Potential plights me


Over what might be


Sleepless, nightly


My addictions fight me


Its hands 'round my throat tightly


And whispering "Don't spite me..


..I just might be..


..Right. See?"







The first foster home my mom was placed as well.
The Rosenquists.
They introduced me to Christianity.





Handshake with Jesus (written in prison, 2008)


Wait...


So let me get this straight.


You're saying there's a reason


my behavior can be so displeasing?


And it goes all the way back to the beginning,


when a snake convinced some woman to start sinning?


And no matter the time or place,


we are just a fallen race?


Sentenced to doom and gloom,


until a virgin grows a baby in her womb,


we kill him and throw him in a tomb?


But he comes back on day three?


Are you kidding me?


But wait- that's not all


He'll save anyone who'll call


all I have to do is believe


and I won't go to hell, I'll get a reprieve?


All of this sounds just a tad bit shady...


But it could be true, just maybe...


Jesus? You'd better be real


because this sounds like a hell of a deal!


You can have my soul. Here- take it.


As soon as you take my hand and shake it....









Chapter 3
2008


What Prison is Like (written in prison 2008)


Hyper vigilance causes exhaustion.
Paranoia leads to insomnia.
Sleep deprivation breeds hallucinations.
The constant murmur of 100's of mentally ill prisoners induces confusion.
Contempt is created by disrespect.
Privacy is forbidden.
Time becomes a parasite, feeding on your hope.
Everyone is your enemy, as you are theirs.
Violence is always just eye-contact away.
Murder somehow becomes a casual occurrence.
People become a commodity, as rape declares ownership.
There are no holidays. No birthdays. Everyday is exactly like yesterday, as tomorrow will be just like today.
The pecking order was established long before your arrival and your place was not reserved.
Entire generations of fathers are swallowed whole by a system designed for job security.
Empathy, compassion and kindness are all contrary to survival.
Darwin's "survival of the fittest" has evicted God from the masses.
Life in prison actually means you'll die in prison. And there will be no funeral.
Afraid of the monsters? No. Afraid of becoming one...



Dia de los Muertos (written in prison 2008)


Prison is like a big Halloween party held in kennels.


Or a masquerade ball in a sewer.


Its crazy- in a place infamous for its rawness, for an environment that exposes the primal, true-self of man, this place is as fake as Alice's Wonderland.


Skinheads, gangsters, bikers, religious militants, guards, tough guys- all acting like someone they aren't.


Adults in costumes, dressed up in their imaginary disguises, as characters created by egos and misinterpretation of their circumstance.


I've learned its not the ones who try to prove how tough they are and convince you of their dangerousness that you need to beware of.


Its the ones who have to prove nothing, and never reveal anything about themselves, who are the deadliest ones.


While everyone else is competing and clamoring for the respect of the masses, the most self assured villains have no need for respect.


Or the masses.


It is that indifference that makes them such successful predators.


It draws you towards them- a charisma found only in criminals, that lures you.


Not to devour you, control you, or use you, but to change you.


Change you into another one of them.


Not at the Halloween party, but celebrating the Day of the Dead...





I’m here for one reason.
One reason only.
To kill my grandpa…



Natural Born Killers ( prison -2008)


I am a mass murderer.


It's true.


I've killed myself 5 times.


Which means I don't belong with the dead.


Then why do I relate to them so well?


Is it because everybody else who's ever shared my D.N.A. is gone?


Or is it because of my talent for burying things?


In fact, I am so good at burying things, I don't even know when to stop.


So things that should be shared, end up silenced, and things people should see remain covered.


But the dead know me.


They can see the buried things I'm so good at hiding.


Because they are among those things.


I have never held a conversation with any person who shares my D.N.A.


Except one.


And he was a mass murderer too.


Despite the silence, he's the one who taught me to bury things.


Maybe it's genetic?


If so, that explains why I've killed myself five times.


I was trying to protect people from what I fear will happen when my D.N.A. self destructs and my restraint becomes powerless.


But I don't belong with the dead.


So I use my pen and paper to dig up what I've buried and I use that dirt to bury the past.


Qualifying me to remain among the living.





Before we get there, I need to tell a little backstory.
I told you addiction was always an issue for me.
Along with the criminal activity.
Maybe crime is just in my DNA?
Anyways, not to brag or anything but I had felony fleeing charges along with escape charges and am on my way to prison.
First time.
The same prison as good old granddad.
The guy who’d murdered my entire family in front of me.
Let’s see who’s the bigger gangster…
…Shall we?



Lifers don’t f*ck with anyone who’s not a lifer.
Why would they?
Lifers rule prisons.
My grandpa had 5 consecutive life sentences.
He was 35 years into his reign as the very top dog in the Minnesota Prison System.
I had 8 months to do on an escape conviction from when I escaped a county jail.
That’s a different story.
Maybe a second book?
I put word out that I needed a meeting with a lifer.
Stupid.
I had 8 months, if a lifer takes note of me it’s to kill me.
No other reason exists.
Now I just have to wait.
My Rolex Watch (prison 2008)


Drip.


Drip-drip-drop.


Pressure.


It's building all around.


The water presses against all sides of its environment.


Seeking escape.


Drip.


Drip-drip-drop.


It knows as long as the pressure builds, there is a way out.


Just when it can't take anymore, it is forced through a faulty seal.


Slowly it regroups, until gravity can have its way with it.


Drip.


Drip-drip-drop.


It's free fall is violently halted by stainless steel.


It is splattered into a million tiny droplets.


They gradually roll down the incline until they are swallowed up by the drain.


But wait. Wait for it....


Drip.


Drip-drip-drop.


My Rolex is made out of water, pressure and gravity.





My cell pops open in the middle of the night.
WTF?
It’s midnight….?
“Follow me.” the obviously dirty prison guard barked.
I grabbed my shank.
I'm not stupid.
I followed the prison guard.
He brings me to the chapel.
Leaves.
My grandpa is sitting with his back to me 20 feet in front of me.
The gangster.
Killer.
Kidnapper.
The f****g boogie man.
He closes the Bible he was reading and turned to face me like a man.
I grabbed my shank.
Instinctively.
He looked me in the eyes.
Stared.
Uncomfortably.
“I know who you are.” He said.
There’s no way.
We have different last names.
I told nobody.
How is it possible?
He must not be stupid either.
“Do what you have to do, son.”
No, not stupid.
Ready.
He turned his back to me.
Daring me.
Taunting me.
Reminding me of who he was.
And who I never would allow myself to be.
I had my shank in my right hand.
I grabbed his throat with my left.
As I pulled his face near mine so he would not miss the words I was about speak, I was trembling.



I’m holding the Boogie man by the throat with a homemade prison knife in a prison chapel in the middle of the night.
This is what my life had become.
That’s how far addiction took me.
My thoughts were so twisted, I figured as soon as I kill this fucker, my life will be complete.
I’ll have fulfilled my destiny.
Mission complete.
I’ll be remembered, that’s for sure.
I’ll belong.
To what?


As I drove the knife downwards towards his jugular, I swallowed hard.
I never felt myself say the words.
“You know what old man? I forgive you!”
I shouted in his ear as I dropped the knife.
I never felt like such a bitch in all my life.
I went back to my cell crying.
Silently.
I knew I’d be the biggest joke in the prison by morning.
Way to go gangster.
At breakfast the next morning I heard that my grandpa died peacefully in his sleep that night.
I somehow inherited his position as the very top dog in prison.
I had 8 months.
I was now running the lifers.
Maybe I am a gangster?
Maybe not?
That’s what it’s all about though, right?
Finding who you are?



How Low Can You Go? (Prison,2008)


I think life is about finding out who you are.


If so, then I'm not living.


I can collect the opinions of those who know me, but that's not who I am- its what I've allowed certain people to observe.


My past has a greater pull on me than my future does and I think that comes from having too many experiences in too few years.


An old soul with no idea who it is, is a sad thing.


The only thing my family gave me is depravity, and for some twisted reason, I think my depravity is my most endearing quality.


Sometimes I feel like a failure when I cant save someone from their pain, while other times I'm the reason for it.


The only vision I have is hindsight which is unfortunate because I sometimes feel like the future is only for dwelling on the past.


That leaves the present in limbo.


Maybe I'm a limbo dancer?



Turns out I was.
Life threw me another curveball.
The next morning I met my biological father in prison.
For the first time.
I was 40 years old, in prison, running the lifers.
Now I had a dad.
He was being released after serving 40 years for arson and armed robbery.
He founded the Shamrocks in the Minnesota system in the 80’s as a 20 something convict.
Maybe genetics do play a roll in our lives.
Maybe not.
Like I said, maybe another book?



I danced in limbo for another 15 years.



A.A.


Time comes to run away.


When there are no more fun days.


I find myself in a malaise


Of a depressed haze.


Maybe it's just a phase,


A glossy eyed gaze


Coupled with a sober daze.


I feel like I'm in a maze.


Indecision makes me stay


To afraid to go either way


C'mon J


Now's not the time to play


What the hey?


Look at you- stuck in A.A.


Day after day


Maybe I need to pray


But God seems so far away


I should just get an A-K


Blow myself away,


And make everyone's day.


See what crazy'll make you say?


Oh- I guess that explains


These feelings and awful pains


When my regret is what remains


From thinking with-not my brains?


I need to jerk the reigns


Before I end up on ozzy's train.


Shits insane-


Always the same


Just a different name


It's lame-


It's a shame.


I'm sick of the game.


Just wish my life was tame


And my direction had better aim.









Jails.
Treatments.
Drugs.
Jails.
Treatments.
Drugs.
Jails.
Treatments.
Drugs.
Do you see a pattern?
You should.
It’s a universal law of life.
Rhythm.
Ebb.
Flow.
Cycles.
Transmission.
You transmit what you intend to receive.
You project what you need to discover within yourself.
My grandpas actions left me orphaned and alone.
I spent my entire life trying to belong.
If I kill my grandpa, I’ll fix what he broke. I’ll belong.
It’s my fate.
Bullshit.
Here’s the truth.
Those who have ears to hear, hear this.


What I had to learn.


First, that I had manifested my arrests.
The police rescued me as a child so subconsciously as an adult I was acting out so the police could rescue me again.
Once I realized exactly that.
That I, me, had manifested that, then what else is possible for me to manifest?

Now, am I ready to make a sacrifice for change?
Did I really have the Inability to tolerate any more misery.?
Remember the beginning of my story?


I hung myself.
In jail.
Literally.


I literally had to kill that part of myself in order for my rebirth.


My self discovery.
Second, I had to face my fears.
Why was I so afraid of my grandfather?
Because I recognized that he had the power to affect my life even without my permission.


Really, what’s more scary than someone with that ability over your life?
That’s nothing but slavery.


Same as addiction.


It had the power to to affect my life without my permission, same as my grandfather.


How do I change that?


The ancient medicine of forgiveness.


I had to forgive myself for giving him the power to make choices in my life. Then I had to forgive him for my own peace.
Same with my addiction.


I had to forgive myself for allowing my addiction to alter my life in ways I could never have imagined.


Like holding gramps by his murderous throat in prison.


Same with my addiction.


I had to forgive myself for what I’d let it do to me and in doing so I released its hold on me.


I also knew I had to do something I’d never done before


If I was sick of these same cycles and patterns in my life, I had to do something radical.


I had to shed the addiction for good because I could directly source all of my self imposed misery and cycles back to it.


I had to get rid of that motherfucker for good.


It was a witness.


To all oft the sh*t I said I’d never do, and did anyways.


Yep.


The addition needed to go.



Third, I had to define peace and contentment for myself if I were ever going to have it.


I’d need to recognize it if I saw it.


I knew that all the chaos in my life that I’d experienced left me with the inability to recognize things I’d never had.


I had to literally take a pencil (I was in prison, remember?) and paper and define contentment.


Define happiness.


Define peace.


I had to create the boundaries and definitions for the things in my life that I had never known.



Feeling Content (prison, 2008)

Contentment comes with living only in the moment. Whereas happiness lives in the future.
Contentment is knowing all you need to know right now without creating the confusion that comes with asking questions that either have no, or need no answers.
Happiness is a puzzle that you need to figure out. Put together to obtain it, all the pieces need to be planned for and pit in place.
Happiness is something for the neighbors to see and envy, where contentment has no neighbors.
Happiness is by design, self-destructive. You must work to maintain and keep it, thereby creating anxiety and becoming self-defeating.
Contentment is organic and spontaneous and cannot be added to which makes it self-perpetuating.
Happiness is only measurable against desire while contentment is measured against need.
The chasm between desire and need is what devours happiness.
You desire to be happy, so you need such and such.
Contentment is fulfilling.
It fills you up, and you feel full.







But that’s impossible without first knowing yourself.







A Question From Mike (prison 2008)






Do I fear knowing myself?


A friend of mine asked me that.
What came out of my mouth,
confused me.
more than the question did...
I said that I didn't know.
But I knew, without doubt,
that I was afraid to be alone with myself.
Only because I'm the one that holds the most influence over me...
Does that mean I know something about myself,
that I don't know?
Unless I'm alone?
So why did the harmless question that my friend asked generate so much introspection?
I had to disassociate,
like always,
and re-ask myself.


"Am I afraid of knowing myself?"


I think about it.


subconsciencly and constantly.


The answer...?


I've avoided it my whole life.
But it's obvious.
The only answer, possibly,
that contains any truth at all.
Its that I'm afraid of liking myself,
AFTER I get to know myself.


Because my reputation precedes me.
And I know the rumors.
Along with the truths...
So.
To avoid the inevitable let- down, of knowing myself any further.
I embed my interests in others.
But only others that don't really know me, because I'm afraid
of the inevitable let down...
That comes from liking others before I knew them.


Or myself


Fully.







How do you know what your fears are?


Or what you need to forgive or any of the good sh*t I’m talking about.


It’s about being an honest, true judge of yourself.


“Only God can judge me”-Tupac Shakur


Tupac was right.


Tupac knew that we are all gods.


In the sense that we are the only judges of ourselves


when we’re fully aware of ourselves.


After we receive the transitions back we’ve been projecting in our own lives.


We all transmit what we need in expectation of a response.


You don’t send an s.o.s. without hoping someone receives it, right?


The rhythm of the frequency waves we emit after time and vibration. Wavelength.


Frequency.


Cycles.


Through self discovery and acceptance, all of us will realize our own ability to create whatever world we want through perspective shift.


Seeing all possibilities in all states of probabilities.


All vibratory states of matter.


Quantum physics.


Look it up.


As above, so below.


It’s a holographic universe in its definition.


Meaning everything that the universe is made up of, is also found in us. We’re made out of the same things as the entire universe.


That’s the very definition of a hologram.


A hologram is a piece of an image that contains all the information found in the complete image.


Once you realize that, congratulations.



Fourth, I needed to learn patience.


I needed to give the universe the opportunity and time it needed to do its thing for me in my life.


I had to learn something that was so obvious but never knew.


Time is subjective.


At the same time, it’s 10am in Minneapolis and 11 am in Florida and 9 am in phoenix .


Time is relative.


Being an addict, I was used to instant gratification.


The hit.


Because when I took that hit, nothing mattered.


None of the chaos.


The regret.


The shame.


The pain.


Was all worth it.


I was grateful for that hit.


But that hit kept me. Longer and further than I ever wanted it to.


And I’m grateful to be alive after hanging myself.


I needed a new way to be grateful.


For me, it’s giving the universe time to work on my behalf and trust it is.


And be thankful for the time you’ve been given and thank the universe. Remember we’re the same stuff as the universe.


As above, so below.


Discover yourself.



Fifth, I needed to shift what I had been taught certain emotions like fear, guilt, shame and regret all ment to me.


Redefine those feelings as nothing to worry about because they are not anything new.


I can navigate through them.


But I knew I had to do it through my subconscious.


I needed to be reprogrammed.


I realized that the things I focused my attention on,meaning all the things I didn’t focus on, everything else in my life just happened automatically.


Like a background program.


So I had to literally write on paper what not to be afraid of.



Instead of fearing this thing, what can I shift my perspective into seeing what I wanted it to be instead?


That way the thing I was afraid of no longer had my focus.

1/2 full glass (Prison 2008)








There is nothing to be afraid of.




Ghosts are just memories that refuse to be forgotten...




Monsters are just people stripped of their costumes of decency...




Anxiety is just too much common sense...




Pain is just learning lessons we should already know...




Weakness is just being overburdened...




Failure is just being too ambitious...




Loss is just greed exposed...




Rejection is just part of magnetism...




Guilt is just a misunderstanding with yourself...




Shame is just a misunderstanding with others...




Denial is just being optimistic...




Impatience is just determination...




Nightmares are just movie ideas...




Anger is just infected pride...




Death is just the end of the game we play with time...




And fear?




Fear is just not having any plans for after the game.




Which gives me time to be grateful.


Gratitude. Being thankful always.


There’s power in gratitude.


Lastly, I needed a plan.


I needed to put action to my thoughts.


My plans.


I felt I had a message.


So how do I communicate my message?


I always told myself I was a writer.


I even wrote a bunch of stuff in prison.


Ok. So I’m a writer.


I wrote this book one week after hanging myself in a jail cell.


You can’t tell me there’s not power in self discovery.


And gratitude.


Power you deposit into other people.



I started the book with “thank you god, for every experience.”


I said it, so it must be true.
Right?
What’s more gangster than that?




With a feeling of gratitude and abundance, you can manifest anything in life.
As long as you know yourself.
Fully.
Honestly.
Through the completion of the cycles it takes to find your rhythm.
Your vibration.
In all possible states.
If you want to break free from whatever it is.
That’s yours.
Just say thank you universe for providing me the abundance that being who I am provides.
And be who you are.
Grateful.
Content.



I don’t have the answers for everyone.
Just those with ears to hear.
Make the most of today.
You never know….
All I know is we are our only judges.
You and I?
Gods of our worlds.



The Day That Mattered (Free man-present day)




Today,


I find myself alone at the bar.


Again...


The sum total of my decision making has led me here.


I am not a fan of judgment...


I've spent my day, impatiently and franticly attempting to triage my desires as quickly as they come. Same thing I did yesterday too.


Nothing around here changes much


Except for perspective


Alcohol soaked pleasantries, from smiling lips, and hasty glances at my ever-changing options, keeps me distracted from the real reason I'm here.


Today.


I find that I am looking for someone to change. Someone I can convert into the religion of my needs.


Unintentionally, yet with purpose, I'm hunting for someone who's more broken than I am,and who's pain is going to be my next unfinished project.


Ignoring the unfinished, and barely begun project I have in the mirror, and avoiding facing anything that resembles reflection,my mind is able to maneuver with flexibility not yet available to the finished or the sure.I can rationalize anything at any given moment, allowing me the freedom to explore perspective. At least for a while.


Time has a magic that needs to be more responsibly used. It'll distribute, over lifetimes,what it wants to. More of itself or its devastating absence, fear, assurance,fortune or disaster.But I suppose it really doesn't matter because after all, who can really tell the difference anyways? It's all just perspective.


The miracle that most baffles me, is that God gave us all today. His ever-so-wise gift unto us, to do with what we can and will, so that our tomorrows won't look anything like our yesterdays did. It's amazing, what difference a day, today, can make.


To the ever-so-wise.




And neither fortune nor disaster, tomorrow or yesterday, this bar full of 1/2 finished projects, or the mirrorless reflection that I tend to avoid yet so desperately need, can provide me with the incentive or the motivation needed to sidestep the ominous things ahead. Armed with my perspective, which has yet to be proven trustworthy, and has origins that are sketchy at best, I am unable to declare any direction I may be headed or have come from.


Im not sure what exact form it'll take, or what situation is lurking, ready, and patiently observing my every move. But it awaits.. We all know it.


And I know that today is the day.


When else could it possibly occur?


So. I just give my every last thought to my desires and delusions. It's better that they feed on them, than it is for my hope to. Besides, my hope is too passive to have any real chance against my thoughts, and could be devoured by any fleeting whim at any time.


My relationships have all been decimated by exposure. Because another trick up the irresponsible sleeve of time is, to reveal the hideous parts of ourselves that can only be accessed by its exclusive finger pointing, to others. Without warning. I'm wondering what I ever did to time to make it so cruel? Or is that just it's nature?


Maybe, if I had more believers in the church of my needs, those that would worship my impulsive indecision, I could take an offering and hope for the best...


At least that would help me to be less worried about today and what it holds.


Or holds back.




And the bar isn't too lonely. After all, it's full of options and has plenty of pleasantries, attached to alcohol soaked lips, just eager for me to help distract them from their unfinishedness. We can hide from time's exposure together. Or maybe I'll be able to help you realize, in a way that's mutually beneficial, that I am and always will be, all that matters to me? Ahh, some things never change..


But right then, guilt issues certain tasks to me.


I have been assigned.


I am being forced to make a decision.


Ive been appointed and must act as the judge.


Of me


Trusting my faulty perspective I must decide things.


Have I mis-used this gift of today or not?


Where do I stand,exposed by time?


At who's church am I worshiping?


Why do my desires matter so much to me?


Does anything else?


And the biggie. Do I think it's fortunate or a total disaster, that all I have left, the sum total, is today?


Judgment day.

I am very grateful for everyone who took the time to read my story. Thank you. If you found anything of value in this story, please share it so other can more easily find it.