Letter to parole officer (from Bubba's journal)

I have elected to use this unorthodox approach to convey the following information because I sincerely feel that it will afford me the best, if not the only, opportunity to present it as I think it must be presented, uninterrupted and uninfluenced by the pressures that are naturally produced in the interaction between a parolee and his parole officer, in situations of this type.

As briefly as possible, I will recount last week's experiences, the "week" that I spent in the L. A. County Jail.

As you know, you had me booked into the Long Beach City Jail on Monday, April 2, 1990. Your instructions to me were as follows: upon my release, which would be on the following Monday, April 9, 1990, I was to stop to get my methadone dose, then proceed straight to your office to see you. Very simple. And all was proceeding according to schedule until Saturday, April 7, 1990. On that day, at the noon "pill call" in the L. A. County Jail, I am absolutely certain, with the benefit of hindsight, that I was mistakenly (hopefully) given the wrong medication by the dispensing nurse. I am of the firm opinion that this "wrong medication" was an unusually massive dose of "Thorozine." I am unsure of the spelling, but I am referring to the drug that is generally prescribed for slowing the actions of aggressive and often times, dangerous individuals.

A few hours later, to my utter surprise, I was told to "roll it up for release" on Saturday, April 7, 1990. At about 11:00 pm that night I was finally free. I decided to walk from the county jail to 6th and Main to catch the bus to Long Beach. It was during this time that it dawned on me that something was very wrong with me. I am very tempted to say my actions were those similar to a "Zombie." But in truth that would be slightly overstating it. My head was buzzing, my movements were uncommonly slow and sluggish, and to talk and be understood, required frightening effort.

It is my guess that you simply do not care about anything that one of your parolees considers dear to him if it in some way conflicts with what you feel, from you out-of-touch perch, is "best" for him. Even this insensitive approach would be acceptable to me if you would not attempt to make it appear, when you impose your, at best, borderline legal conditions, that it is the parolee's best interest that you have in mind.

You enter the picture imposing an authority that licenses you to run roughshod over any and all, projects and relationships that may have taken a lifetime to put together, as if only you are able to determine what is good or bad. It seems to me that you are determined to be damned sure that the impact that you have on the parolee's life is that it will damn sure not be the same when you are finished with it, as if that alone is progress.

Well, you have succeeded in fucking mine up. I must be quite careful here, for I nearly wrote something that I would be sorry for.

In fact, I'd better close this note. I think that you can figure out how I feel toward you. Unsparing Hate.