Today is my 28th day in jail and i’ve never been more optimistic. Soon this difficult chapter of my life will be over, and I will walk out the front door of the Norfolk County Jail a much stronger and more motivated man with a new perspective on life.
The hardest part of jail is the isolation. I’ve spent my entire time here living in the medical unit, surrounded by sick and psychologically damaged inmates who are temporarily housed here. It’s rare to have a prisoner in medical who isn’t ratchet or insane. There are 8-9 cells here, and unlike the housing units our windows are huge and take up the entire door. There are cameras in our cells and zero privacy. When they lock me in my cell at 10:00 am, I know that I will only have human contact at 11:00 am and 4:00 pm when the CO brings me lunch and dinner. If the CO on duty is a Turtlerider, they treat me like a human being by engaging me in conversation.
But, if you get the wrong CO who treats you like a common criminal, it can be tough. They have all the power and I am basically human shit. They can ignore you when you knock on the door, because you’re just a prisoner to them. It’s dehumanizing to be treated like this, so I will never forget the COs who treated my with humanity.
I still love morning rec, or recess as I call it. They bring me to Brian Walshe’s housing unit at 8:00 am and I run 5-6 miles on the basketball court track I’ve created. It’s been cold as balls this week, and the track is icy and slippery, but I don’t even think about not running. I need it. I feed off it. It sets the tone for my entire day. As I count laps, I think about everything I’m going to do when I’m out of here. I think about how my success and Karen Read’s exoneration will be my ultimate revenge. I think about the army of people cheering me on who message me everyday. I can’t see you or hear you, but I know you’re out there waiting for me, and I won’t let you down.
After I run, I do three sets of pull-ups, and everyday I do more as I feel myself getting stronger. Today is a 17-12-10. Then I shower, make my coffee, and watch sports, before going back to my dungeon.
Being in housing unit for recess is a tease. They get 8-9 hours of recess in units, while I get 3. I appreciate that they are doing this for my protection, but I rather take my chances in gen pop or PC. I’m basically being punished for my own protection. I’ve asked to move in with the big boys several times, and my attorney had a meeting with administration this week. They told him it’s out of the question because I wrote about a sex offender in one of the units and I’d be unsafe there. It seems to me that the unidentified sex offender who can’t resist the urge to attack me should be the one living in isolation instead of me. But what do I know? I’m just a prisoner whose opinion doesn’t matter.
However, I just want to be on the record that I want to be in a housing unit, I’m not the least bit scared, and I’m in isolation against my will. I can defend myself if necessary, and I’m not the least bit worried about getting beat up by a sex offender or a crackhead, which seems like at least 75% of the population in here.
They can’t get me anymore recess but they did arrange for me to watch two football games by myself in intake. I do appreciate that because watching NFL games makes me feel normal again. It sucks that I’ll be spending the duration of my time here in medical, but as long as I keep busy, the time will fly by. Writing articles, talking to supporters, and reading messages accomplishes that. I can do this and I know it will pay off in the end.
During morning recess, the prisoners have started calling me over to their cells because they know who I am. This black dude called me over and asked if I was the guy covering the Karen Read case. He said that his judge is Auntie Bev and he knows that I’m not fond of her so he wanted to help me out. A white guy named Jesse also introduced himself, as I’ve spoken to his sister-in-law here several times. I wrote about some crackheads he knew in 2017 called the Ware Vibrator Bandits and he liked it. He apparently read my first prison diary because he quoted it by calling me a porcelain doll.
At 6:30, I still go to evening recess in SMU where I do 500 step-ups onto a cot. I’ve upped the pushups to 250. The prisoners in that unit are usually doing 10-day timeouts for misbehavior. Currently, there are 6 black kids in there from Weymouth who got into a 3 on 3 brawl, and a little white kid from Weymouth who’s in there for insubordination.
As I walked into evening recess earlier in the week, the white kid yelled “Yo it’s Turtleboy!” He wanted to tell me about how much he loved a 2016 blog about a classmate of his at Weymouth High School named Vanessa who pissed in the school elevator. I wonder what she’s up to?
One of the black kids said “Are you the one who’s famous?” I said I was arrested and it was on the news, so I’m not sure if that qualifies as famous. One of them heard about my freestyles and wants to come on a live show to battle me. He said he wants to be a rapper and I told him that’s how you end up like Mike Giannetti. He didn’t get the reference.
It’s sad to see young men like this wasting their lives. Most of them weren’t even alive for 9/11. Being in prison and getting into prison fights is just normal for them. I never imagined that I’d end up in a place like this, but they’ve never imagined a world where they didn’t end up here. It’s all completely normal to them. I think about what I was like at their age – getting hired as a teacher, thinking about buying a home, and eventually starting a family. But there’s a subculture that has never even envisioned that as a possible life goal because no one in their life modeled that behavior for them, and the cycle repeats itself. It’s such a waste of human potential.
I got my haircut by the prison barber, LC, who’s also in here on a bail revocation. He told me he was in court last week and saw all these Turtleboy and Karen Read signs. When I told him that was me, we hit it off. Prisoners seem to like me because none of them like Michael Morrissey. Brian Walshe got his haircut immediately after me. It creeps me out how much that guy smiles. His cell is filled with books, folders, notebooks, and hot sauce.
My spirits are up this week because of developments in the Karen Read case. In the charging documents against me, one of the counts is that I said I don’t want Karen Read to go to trial. Think how crazy that is – I’m being charged with a felony for wanting an outcome that’s apparently going to happen. An outcome that is backed by an FBI investigation. Ken Mello and Brian Tully want me in jail for that.
I’ve loved reading all the reactions to Thursday’s hearing. Thank you to the hundreds of people who sent screenshots of social media comments. I can’t reply to many because the battery on my tablet will die, but reading them makes me feel connected to the outside world. Your positivity energizes me. When Karen Read is free, and the people who covered up John O’Keefe’s murder are brought to justice, I will be completely vindicated. A year from now, I will still be covering the federal prosecutions and I will be in a much healthier place professionally and personally. None of what I’m currently going through will matter. These are the things I remind myself to get myself through the day.
For the past 48 hours, I’ve had an Asian man with a pubestache in his 30s, keeping me entertained in the cell next to me. He was brought here in a restraint chair two days ago by 6-7 COs, after an incident in gen pop. He refuses to take his meds and lays on the top bunk with no mattress. He spends most of the day standing in front of the door in his underpants, having an angry conversation with someone who isn’t there. On Friday, he threw his dinner at the door, and peas and mac and cheese spilled into the hallway.
“Fuck that shit, n****” was all he had to say.
He likes to get naked for the cameras which prompted a female guard to come down last night to get him to put clothes on. I transcribed their conversation and will put his quotes in italics.
Fuck you n****!
You ain’t shit n****!
Kill you fa**ot!
You suck at life, n****!
Ugly ass bitch n****!
CO: Put your pants on, please.
(CO walks away)
That’s right bitch, you got a fat ass, n****
Don’t tell me to put pants on, n****
Fuck you think you are?”
You ain’t my mom, n****
You need to make her suck your dick, n****. Dumb ass n****. What’s wrong with these n****s?
Then again yesterday, there was a male guard who paid him a visit.
You’re ugly, n****.
Suck my balls, n****
CO: My wife is black.
Did you just call a brown woman black?
CO: Could you please drop that word?
Do you know what n**** means? N****! N****! N****! N****! N****!
Freedom of speech, n****.
CO: Some of the people in here are sick and need to sleep. Can you keep it down?
They need sleep already? The fuck, n****?
As you can see, he likes the n-word and he ends every sentence with it. This serenades me to sleep at night and wakes me in the morning. I won’t lie, I think it’s hilarious. He’s actually way better than the guy before him who screamed “You’re all retarded” at the top of his lungs, all hours of the night.
I still miss my kids more than anything. Special thank you to Mike Casello, who went to my son’s basketball game and filmed some highlights of him almost scoring his first basket. This is yet another example of the goodness and humanity exhibited by Turtleriders during this trying time for my family.
I know that I don’t belong here and I hope to get out before the full sixty days. Although I’m mentally prepared to do the full sixty, there are two ways out – SJC or Feds arrest the bad guys. I hate Brian Tully the most because that LOSER has the biggest hard-on for me. He framed both Karen Read and myself, and I pray to God he’s indicted. If he is, then my charges will likely go away. Either way, I’d rather be in my position sitting in jail right now, than in his position, shitting bricks. I won’t be in jail for long, but God willing, he will be.
P.S. I have court in Dedham District Court at 9:00 am on Thursday, where we will begin to expose Lindsey Gaetani and Brian Tully’s lies. All are welcome to come.