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The Stink of the Clink
Men, by nature, expel interesting odors. It’s just what we do. It isn’t until you have been corralled with over 500 of them, however, that you truly learn to respect the diverse putrefaction the human body is able to produce. The bullshit they feed us ensures the conistent manufacture of farts and while most are simply indistinguishable from the smell of feces, some breed Legend.
There was a fart whose potency was so strong it woke me from a dead sleep. Think about that for a second… A gas, that when passed, is so volatile it has the ability to snap one out of unconsciousness. It was as if my brain recognized a threat to it’s existence and yelled “Wake up or Die!” There are farts in here so bad they bestow nicknames upon their creators. There’s a dude here we call “Darth Vapor” on account of his ass mimicking the “pssssshhhhh” of Vader’s exhale, only when this fucker “exhales” his gas moves from rack to rack like the angel of death in the book of Moses, destroying the nasal passages of each cell’s inhabitants like the bubonic plague.
And then there is the issue of hygiene or, more specifically, the lack thereof. Some dudes in here just don’t give a fuck - and while that lack of concern is fine in the free world, it will lead to problems when you share a 7′ X 10′ living space with another grown man. There have been more than a couple of physical altercations that have started as a celly’s simple refusal to put water on his ass. If taking it to that extreme may seem excessive, it’s only because you are unfamiliar with the level of stench I describe. You have yet to encounter BO so bad it makes your left eye twitch as if you are suffering a mini-stroke.
This is the Stink of the Clink… and living in it is just as much a part of doing time as shitty food and pecking orders.
Be good to each other,
A word from the Artist...
Aside from being my mental lifeline to the outside, this blog is an effort to help provide my beautiful son, Orion, with a little support while I am away. Any profit generated by the Ads on this blog get split between him and a charity that builds wheelchair accessible playgrounds for disabled children.
Aside from that, my spirit pretty much survives on sincere correspondence from the outside world. Letters sent by anyone are more valuable to me than clean socks. Write me, and I'll write you back.
Dante Orpilla #49007-112
FCI SHERIDAN, SATELLITE CAMP, P.O.BOX 6000
SHERIDAN, OR 97378
DO NOT SEND FUNDS TO THIS ADDRESS
On June 16th, 2010, I was sentenced to serve 28 months in a Federal Penitentiary, for possessing with intent to distribute a Class A narcotic. This blog is a visual representation of that experience. Please enjoy responsibly.
For the better part of my life I have operated under the beautiful assumption that mans greatest gift is his ability to create. And so I do. My name is Dante. I am an artist, a musician, a writer and, above all, a very proud father.
Please note that messages are sent in writing to Blackmarket Arts and due to his situation he will not be able to respond. If you would like to begin a correspondence, please write to him.