In Honolulu chances are better than good that we are all connected to each other through shared acquaintances, or friends of friends. There’s an effort to clean out some of the corruption in a local government that is heavily reliant on who you know and who you are related to. It looks like the former police chief and chief prosecutor are going to federal prison in 2020 for various forms of corruption that boil down to theft. It turns out that the associate of mine who christened me Harvard Hooker behind my back, has an old friend who I also met. This old friend gave me a bad feeling and I wasn’t surprised to find out he was calling me “that black chick,” and worse, behind my back. But here is the interesting part, the Harvard Hooker guy, and his obnoxious friend, are acquainted with the present day defendants, the former faces of Honolulu law enforcement. I saw the obnoxious friend on the news very recently, because he is also headed to prison. I guess there is a group of private school graduates who come from the upper economic classes in Honolulu, but they themselves are criminals and scrubs who now take turns living in each other’s cars. They spend their time trying to get control of their finances back from the families that held economic interventions and took over their money supply so it doesn’t all go up in smoke. Without the family money they support themselves through “boosting” Boosting is shoplifting as a way of life in order to get money for drugs and gambling. Practitioners would not call themselves thieves any more than they would call themselves liars because “taking from stores is not the same as stealing from people you know.” But thieves and liars they are, and I admit I felt superior to people who did these things because I didn’t have to take money. People happily gave me money and they didn’t want it back. And yes, I will further acknowledge that I still make a moral distinction between voluntary sex workers and thieves. It is not exactly mind blowing that these game room regulars are somehow connected to the big name criminals I see in the news, the former police chief and his wife the former prosecutor. My peripheral connection to these people was what surprised me. Addiction, be it drugs, or in their case, gambling, strikes people from every segment of society and what I was taught about addicts being low lifes just going lower, is not true. And yet, even though I know the issue of addiction is not about morality, I still struggle not to get on my high horse and consider myself the top of the group of bottom dwellers. Lol. I am not the only one to have come from somewhere socially higher to end up towards the bottom rung of the social ladder. Morality is part of the story but I think we go into our addictions doing what we really thought was ok to do prior to picking up. We were just never put to the test before. Of course, here in Hawaii you should keep in mind that it is very easy to get caught. It’s not six degrees of separation between people, but more like three.
The only one hurt was the Acura that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the 10 minutes I recorded after we were allowed to get off the bus after it nearly took the door off of the Acura. In this film you will see remarkable racial diversity. You will get to see the outside of the underground dungeon I was taken to many times as an arestee. You will notice that there’s no brewing gun violence during a situation that would invite road rage elsewhere. Hawaii ranks dead last on a list of States listed in descending order according to the spending power of $100. If D.C. is added, Hawaii comes in 51. I know it’s the 20th anniversary of Hawaii’s only mass shooting, which was committed by a disgruntled Xerox employee. Still, pay attention to the word only. I guess people here are gruntled and not disgruntled because there’s just about no gun violence. When you watch the video you will see the lack of urgency in spite if the hindrance to Honolulu traffic on a major thoroughfare at the very worst driving time. The bus driver, who has a flower behind her ear, is laughing and chatting with the cops that showed up. I hear they’ve got a great union and if she’s in the right family she need not worry about her job. She certainly appears unconcerned, but I don’t really know why. The Acura driver is not so light-hearted but if his insurance is in order he might’ve scored.
Enjoy the scene from a distant land.
Yes, I am a Scorpio. Based on everything I think I know about the zodiac this sign is common among the people who are extreme: very sensual, very loyal, very intelligent, very revengeful. That sounds about right to me, about me. I am going to formulate a list of predictions that are short, sweet, and what I believe I need to make me happy. Now, even if I don’t believe that they can happen because they never have (like being in a long term/life long relationship with someone I love who is in love with me and shows me in a way I understand and appreciate), I am going to start thinking positively and ignoring that nagging inner voice that sounds an alarm whenever I lie to myself. Is that the law of attraction in action? It’s the best I can do. Here goes:
- The aforementioned relationships–romantic and friendship
- My site goes viral and becomes a household name as I expertly use words in voice and verse
- Clear perfect skin and a weight of 127 pounds as a reflection of great physical, mental, and dental health
- Owning a home where I live, and out of this looney bin, with pets, and guests, and housemates
- World Travel as a way of life
- Daily Laughter that mingles my laugh with other people’s laughs
- Enough of a stable income to have all I need plus savings and good credit, plus as much travel, investments and property as I want
- Relationships with family members
- Doing meaningful work that makes the lives of those I touch better off for having known me, especially since my record will be expunged.
- Finish writing the song that is the the answer to Bob Dylan’s Rolling Stone
I would feel comfortable going to my 25th college reunion with these accomplishments. Notice how I left room for different scenarios to take place and still bring the goals to fruition. Ok, you are my witnesses. At this time next year we shall see what all the positive thinking and doing the footwork accomplishes because right now none of this can happen, except reaching my goal weight, writing the song, and perhaps doing meaningful work.
Monday, November 19, 2018
I have a morbid sense of humor. I find amusement in things that others might find depressing, upsetting, even mean…I readily make myself the brunt of a joke if it makes me laugh. This practice is called “gallows humor.” I always understood gallows humor to be the jokes people made between themselves as they waited their turn to put the noose around their necks during public hangings. If there was ever a time that would benefit from levity, that would be it. How can I not laugh at the fact that somehow my Harvard got ahold of my prison address at the Women’s Community Correctional Center, called W Triple C.. I had to chuckle at the thought of the alumni affairs office rushing the magazine to me since I was valued as a graduate, only to have the magazine sit in the prison mail room because inmate desires were low priority. “Next time no come jail,” the ACO (Adult Correctional Officer) snapped at me in Hawaii’s colloquial dialect, called pidgin, when I asked about the late mail. Correspondence from the outside breathed a bit of life into that stagnant prison world.
The Alumni magazine situation taught me a lesson. I was the same person on the inside, but how people viewed me and made decisions on my worth was determined by what they thought I had done, not by anything anyone actually knew about me. Staus is an invention, a construct. I was either this scholar or that criminal. Not surprisingly, the felony negates the honors, negativity being so much stronger than positivity in humans. In fact, the honors become a source of gallows humor at best to cruel mockery at worst. I have heard, “They made a movie about a girl who overcame adversity called Homeless to Harvard. You’re Harvard to Homeless. To Homey. To Hooker.” Ok, that’s funny, but “What a waste” or “She is proof affirmative action doesn’t work” were far less accurate and way more painful. The fact is, on a soul level, I am neither scholar nor criminal, my deepest identity has nothing to do with the things I have done that society spotlights. In my humble opinion, I believe I Am the purpose in my heart. Since status is a construct I am going to be the builder and decide “me” for myself. know what I want people to say when asked to complete this sentence: Caroleena is so [fill in blank]. I want people to say, Caroleena is so Positively Impactful. This blog, our blog, uplifts and encourages. My identity is the uplifted, the encourager. According to who? According to me. Failure is not an identity, it is an event. Prison is not where I “ended up” but where I passed through. Good thing I did or I wouldn’t have to stories of lesbianism behind bars, which will begin next post. By the way, I always want to know what someone did time for because as much as I know that crime doesn’t define a soul, the things people get caught for are decent indicators about what’s going on with them—and seldom the one and only time they made that move. I will tell you because I know you’re like me and you want to know. I was caught with $10 worth of black tar heroin in 2002. The manner of arrest is so embarrassing I haven’t mustered the nerve to be that cringingly honest yet. Not yet. But I will keep my word that my blog is the most honest account of (some of) the taboo and the personal
When I see good looking successful people on television I feel like a failure and I have to turn the channel, but the feeling of depression about the overall state of my life lingers. I know this way of thinking is not healthy, my question is: am I normal? Do people commonly feel like this about public figures? Because if I am crazy in a normal person way, I would take comfort in fitting in, even if it is with the dysfunctionals.
Can you relate?
Have you felt like this too?Caroleena, the Expert Escort, checking in
Experience is very expensive due to its cost. What is the price we pay for experience?
Time, irreplaceable time is the price we all pay for experience. And since experience is so costly it should be valued in a manner that further increases its worth. How do we go from spending time to time well spent? By saving our minds from the domination of our own thoughts. I have learned an amazing lesson from my blog. I have shared my experiences and people have commented in such a way as to introduce me to interpretations of the past I never would have come up with on my own. Experience limits us if we don’t share it with other people and let our own interpretations have sole dominion in our minds. When we receive new viewpoints and apply a new way thinking we make our shared experience informative because the possibilities of retrospective reordering are infinite. As long as we keep sharing we can live new lives with each new paradigm shift. Sharing experience and being open to feedback is the best way to build the value of our most precious, costly commodity.
Share every regret with many thoughtful, talkative, opinionated people who are very different from you. Their original ways of regarding your life will be the closest thing to getting a do over. New viewpoints will create new memories. We revisit memories more in our minds than we walk down new roads with our bodies.
New opinions=New Life
THE DREAM OF A BIG AND QUICK PAYDAY
Women at the Women’s Community Correctional Center in Kailua, Hawaii, and the Oahu Community Correctional Center, in Honolulu, Hawaii saw women who went before them and did what people always say is wise. They tried to learn from history and take lessons from those who came before them. And women who came before them knew how to take advantage of the law that labelled them as victims if they had sex with guards. They seduced said guards with promises of eternal silence only to keep stained garments that had incriminating DNA. The promises of silence were uttered while the garments were being secreted for the return walk and cursory pat down before transitioning into the housing module.
Did anyone feel bad for men who were just looking for meaningless encounters that they paid for with candy or make up? The common response, in pidgin: if you no like, next time, no come jail. This statement was made to anyone, staff or inmate, who complained about the conditions because, what else could one expect in a place meant to mete out and receive punishment? On the mainland, a commensurate statement would have been, if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Women took full advantage of dirty guards, but they did not respect people who were disloyal to their affiliates. Equally important was the absolute certainty that any betrayals inflicted were done to those who would do the same if given the opportunity. In fact, in the eyes of the law, these guards were deemed rapists. These men were victimizers guilty of crimes more serious than the misdeeds that had brought the women under their control. So who were the real the criminals.
In my biased opinion, this hard boiled view is right on the money. After talking to the women in prison it is my belief that if you are looking for victims, the women’s prison is where you will find them. Compared to many of the women, my life with people who adopted me but hated me, was an embarrassment of riches that I should feel grateful to fall into.
What falsehoods do I misinterpret as truths to hold self-evident?A disappointed Expert Escort after finding out another dearly held fact is wrong.
A crime is committed. An eye witness identifies a suspect. The suspect confesses guilt. At one time a confession that confirms an eye witness statement would have been iron clad evidence of guilt. Today we know that police are allowed to lie while questioning people. Yes, they are. After all in America, who cares about the designated bad guys? Police cannot overtly threaten a suspect with direct threats or violence. However, they can say, “we have talked to your mother and she wants you to admit what you did.” Or how about “if you don’t say you did it you are in for the ultimate punishment.” And “there’s undeniable evidence of your guilt, but if you say you did it, you can go home.” For those of us who thought police had to adhere to a code of honor that would preclude such contact, well, we were in for a shock.
I personally say I would never confess to anything I did not do. But what if, in a low voice, just between me and the one female officer on my side, she offered me something she never offered anyone else–a chance to go home if I just said something meaningless that would not even be on the record–would I chance it? Easy for me to say what I would not do when I am not in that position and have no life experience that could inform my understanding of being accused.
And speaking of life experience, that’s the issue that makes eye witness accounts unreliable. We never “see” anything for what it is. Instead, every bit of information is filtered through our understanding of what things that look like this have always been in the past, and therefore, when we see something that looks like a past event, and everything we see looks like a past event, then we figure out what we saw. There’s way more steps to seeing stuff than I ever realized. Hence, once unassailable evidence could be totally unreliable. The formerly indisputable is now questionable.
If we can’t rely on what we see and hear–and now we know we cannot–what can we rely on for the truth?
Everyone wants to live long, but no one wants to grow old.
You ever hear that expression? I have. It made me think that the main problem with the passage of time is growing old. The aging I have experienced really sucks, to be perfectly honest. Once, I was young and beautiful. Now I am middle aged and very attractive. I do the best I can to stay in shape, and sure I look better than other people my age but compared to my former self, well, my appearance is not the same. I don’t like it, but I guess it would be unbearably freaky not to age, to truly look 21. Listen to me, writing as if I had been offered the chance to not show my age, but for the sake of keeping to the natural order of things, I declined. Lol. I thought aging was the worst part of time passing. And then, people started to die. At first, it was people much older than me, and far removed from me, like actors from the early days of Hollywood. I had no family, so I did not have to experience the worst part of loving someone I grew up with–the inevitable loss of that person. But now, death is everywhere. People I know, people I know of, famous people whose work affected my life (Prince, Michael Jackson). The circle of people I hung out with is diminishing. It was a loose circle, not a tight group. I found out about the death of the person who used to drive me to my escort appointments around the island when I worked for an escort service that had ads in the phone book. He had been honest, reliable, and I always paid him what I owed, even if we got to the site and the date didn’t happen because the guy changed his mind. Still, we weren’t friends, because once a guy knew what I did for a living, he felt a sense of entitlement to my services, especially if he did anything for me. I’m not talking about favors, but if I hired a guy and paid him cash, he still felt entitled to sex. I disagreed, and made enemies by doing so. In fact, my refusal to have sex with him caused him to lead a rampant rumor among other guys I had refused, that my fit body is not a product of exercise but evidence that I was once a man. Had I been the one to die, I doubt he would have spent a lot of mental energy pondering me. Oh, he might have mentioned it to other people to further the rumor because people like to look privy to information that is unknown to others. Gossip is almost another addiction in that it is so very difficult to refuse. He probably would have continued to gossip about me, but beyond that, he would not have cared. (If I take the words he spoke about me as an indication of his opinion of me.)
Aging is terrible but it beats the alternative.
I can’t get the death of one of my detractors out of my mind. Between 2015-2017 I was with three people during their last 24 hours on this earth. These three people mattered to me as individuals and as a part of what’s happening in my life–the introduction to death. Did you, dear Readers, know that death was such a part of life as you get older? I didn’t. I feel blindsided and full of dread. I figured I would tell anyone else who was as clueless as I was so they can be prepared. If preparation for the inevitability of death is truly possible, I don’t know. I guess we shall see.
Prison officials did not simply accept inmate claims of sexual abuse by guards. They investigated. I was drawn into an investigation becsuse of the comments I had hear. You know, it’s funny how memory works. I don’t know much about machinery and I don’t even remember the polygraph device, how it was connected to me, or even how it produced it’s results. I know it was small, no more than 12 inches by 12 inches and that it was carried by one of the three suits from IA. All of those details are vague, but what I do remember is the unexpected results and what these results meant to me. I remember the yes or no questions I was asked, including one that required me to lie. I had no emotional attachment to the results of the test beyond my great interest in a new event, especially during the monotony of incarceration. Typical me, before I answered each question, I evaluated my answer. Took no more than a Nano second, certainly my thoughts flew by faster than I can type and you can read.
Silently, to myself, I pondered. My name? What name does the questioner mean? The nickname I call myself? My birth name? When I was asked to lie a bout the ilir I saw, it occurred to me that, the color shown is whatever these men say it is, so I’m not really able to lie. When the tester looked at the paper, he was perplexed. The only answer the tester felt sure I meant was, “yes, I heard the guard say black women are known to spread their legs for drugs.” All of my other answers were undetermined. Not indicative of deception just unclear. The lie detector could not tell if I was deceptive or honest. One of the three officials from the Department of Public Safety had expressed a lot of pride that Hawaii possessed this state if the art polygraph, a polygraph deemed so reliable for such a diverse spectrum of people that the United States military used the same model to question suspected traitors among the rank and file. Yet, this standard method used to evaluate normal people did not work on me. They left rather abruptly and I never heard another word.
I felt exhilaration and relief. Surprised to read that? I was definitely surprised by the feelings. All my life I had tried to fit in, but when fitting in appeared impossible I gave up. It’s more accurate to say that all my life I avoided social interactions. No one included me remembered me, and I thought I was doing something wrong. But the results of the polygraph seemed to say that I was naturally different from people. I had always felt different, and I was right. Somehow I felt absolved of the guilt I had over being alone.
So–I made the polygraph ineffective by arguing, mentally, with each question before I answered. I received further input on beating the polygraph from the woman who sought my advice about how and if she could claim she had a guys DNA from an interaction that did not include her. She said that if a person was planning to lie by claiming to do something that she had not done, physically act out the scenario as much as possible. For example, enter the room that’s in her story, walk down the street, etc…I don’t know if that technique works, but how often do you meet people with any input about beating a polygraph? Not too often, so I’ll share this pearl of wisdom (?). Or shall I say pearl of rumor..?
Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Transgender. Queer. As in “we’re here, we’re queer.” I’m told that q is for questioning but questioning isn’t an identity, quite the opposite, so I don’t get that. Wouldn’t”queer” be the catch-all concluding letter in a mixed group whose members don’t necessarily have everything in common. Makes sense to me.
I was incarcerated for a minor possession charge. I tell you this info in the interests if full disclosure though I’ve been warned you’ll reject me if you know. It did not take long to find out that many women dreamed of the big payday that resulted from successfully suing staff for sexual misconduct. You see, when a person is incarcerated her legal status is very similar to a child’s. She is a ward of the state. The power differential between staff and inmate is so extreme it is impossible for an inmate to consent to sex, no matter how she feels. Legally, all sex between staff and inmates is rape. If the guy brings her dope , he drugged her. If he takes her off the grounds he has kidnapped her. If she can prove it, that’s good money. Sometime around 2010 the state of Hawaii contracted with a privately run prison in Kentucky. Women with significant amount of time to do, like over 5 years, without pre-existing problematic health conditions, were flown to the mainland. FYI, I only know the stories I heard, I was not there. According to legend Kentucky employed 18 year old boys and paid them minimum wage. These guys were not intellectual Giants since the job at that pay level didn’t attract the cream of the crop. These hormonal young men, just out of high school, were no match for the seduction tactics of mercenary hard-bitten women. Rumor had it that one comely woman, doing life for murder, won over a million dollars when guards snuck her out of the prison to “party.” Women always gossipped about her promiscuous ways, her constant attempts to seduce, when she tied her t-shirt to expose her midriff during rec. None of the women thought anyone had been raped but no one felt sorry for the young guards arrested for rape. Hey, if you can’t stand the heat…
Not everyone matched her level of success, but there were lesser awards. Once, a couple of years after I was out, a former inmate looked me up because she knew my reputation for helping people with genuine complaints. She had a garment with a guard’s DNA. Another woman had planned to use it to sue, but because like many Hawaii prison staff and inmates, she had grown up with the guard, she couldn’t go through with it. She wasn’t too moral to give the item to her friend. This friend wanted to know from me if I thought scientists could tell that her DNA was added months after the original event. She also told me that proving oral sex could get her $30,000, straight sex $100,000, sodomy perhaps as much as a quarter million. If I helped her I could expect to share in the winnings.
I told her “no” but not because I thought I was really turning down money. I doubted anything would come of this harebrained plan. Besides, if she was willing to ruin a guy for nothing (best case scenario), I doubted honoring her word was a priority. I did not share my assessment of her character but I did tell her science is always progressing in ways you may not discover til you get tripped up.
The encounter with my fellow ex-offender reminded me of my own peripheral participation in another lame scheme that would never have been financially profitable bc there’s just no money in inappropriate staff comments made to someone else. And this is when the polygraph came in…(to be continued)
I USED TO TAKE PEOPLE AT THEIR WORD
Studies have shown (no I don’t know what studies) that only 8% of communication is the literal meaning of the words we use. I used to believe that people meant 100% of what they said, and 100% of the meaning of each statement was found in the exact words. This belief would have been a problem for me if I still held it this week. Last week I spent every night talking to someone on the phone for, I’d have to guess, at least 4 hours. You know the kind of conversations that you put on speaker phone because they go on for so long that you need to do other things but you don’t want to hang up. To my embarrassment, I began to hope. I hoped we were becoming friends. I state this hope while shaking my head at my foolishness because I have found over the years that there is something about me that is off putting to others. They don’t end up hating me, they just drift away after forgetting me. I know the outcomes of my attempts to make friends have not worked out, but I began to wonder if I was creating my reality and sabotaging myself. No, not this time! I would do something different. I purposed in my heart to think positively and utilize the law of attraction to entertain a foolish hope that I could have a friend like everyone else. This was last week.
Come this week, the phone calls stopped, my calls went unreturned, my texts went unanswered. There was the usual progression of thoughts, from not noticing, to noticing, to concern, to speculation. Was he alright? Or was this that phenomenon I had read about called “ghosting.” As I understand it, “ghosting” is the modern way of ending a relationship by not officially ending it but by cutting off phone communication without a reason, or with a cursory reason such as “I have been busy.” The ghostee is supposed to understand that the person was never that busy before, and of course he has his phone with him just as he always had, so obviously he wants nothing more to do with you.
There is no official break up conversation with “ghosting” like the old days of the 80’s and 90’s. Back then no phone communication was not necessarily significant because many people did not live on the phone when the phone was attached to the wall at home and the one phone line was shared by everyone in the household. Even if a person had her own phone in her room, it was not the same as having your own cell phone today because her use of the phone prevented anyone else from using the phone unless they wanted to eavesdrop. A change in phone habits then did not necessarily indicate the person’s own decision but a host of other factors might have come into play. But today, when a person goes from constant communication, to nothing, and the person is not incarcerated, hospitalized, or experiencing any other change to the status of his freedom, there can be only one reason. The etiquette of ghosting calls for the “ghostee” to get the message and not make things difficult with repeated unanswered communications I believes stems from our society’s willingness to embrace the loss of true intimacy in relationships that has resulted from the exclusive use of cell phones.
What should I do? I have never been averse to confrontation, which is a personality trait that has caused problems for me because, according to my late friend Ken, “It’s not that people don’t know they can always tell you something it is that people don’t want to have to say, they don’t want to have to tell you.” I decided to send a message thanking the person for the time we spent and indicating I was aware that the temporary communication has now come to an end. The response:
no, been taking down time for myself. refreshThe Ghoster
I am glad I now know that there is no “up time” coming after the “down time.” I actually would have believed that after a period of refreshment…well, you know. I simply responded that I understood in every way and that, of course, has been that. I don’t know why concern myself with ghosting when an explanation would have been the same reminder that hope can be foolish and the law of attraction is not easily applied.
“Spare the rod and spoil the child”Proverbs 13:24
Yes, that phrase is in the bible. It does not need to be read in context, it can stand on its own. People rarely misquote it, but they just as rarely understand it. People think the quote justifies hitting children. As if a rod, is something to beat a child with, and I suppose that makes sense when you consider that the “rule of them” referred to the correct measurement of a rod for beating one’s wife. American culture has been about hitting the weaker over the head.
However, shephards did not beat the sheep with their rods. They gently but firmly used the rods to guide the sheep back to the right path. Shepherds weren’t out there swinging. I can understand that when I think of another famous psalm about walking through the valley of the shadow of death. At the end of the psalm it says that God’s rod and staff comfort. We need not fear God beating us with His rod. How did our culture get it so wrong? My guess is that people are looking for a way to justify being mean to people because it is human nature to be cruel–“in this flesh dwells no good thing”–I can believe that. However, people really want to feel that their cruelty makes them one of the good guys.
It just goes to show me, that people can take any words and twist them for their own purposes no matter what the author originally intended. I wonder if I will one day be appalled at how my words are misused?
I like old sayings because there is a lot of truth in sayings, and there is a way to apply the lessons from one saying to other situations. It occurred to me, apropos of nothing, that teaching people self-destruction is the most effective way to destroy an individual, even a population. I just wanted to share this random, but oh so true, thought.
Sometimes a person’s actions are not in line with the person’s words so it is important to compare what he does with what he says he intends to do, or what he wants you to believe he is actually doing. Comparing words with actions is a very good way to get to the truth.