Nickname WaterMan

Recreating (and advancing) pk’s censored domains: / Teaching / Society / Order / Hierarchy versus Conviviality Stories / Jail /

FDC Miami, 2006, Nicknames

A woman I was corresponding with began calling me WaterMan. I was pleased as punch and told a few guys. One guy in particular, Eliezar da Luna, whom I began calling BirdMan for reasons I’ll tell in a different setting, enjoyed calling me by a variety of nicknames, and pleased me extra when he called me WaterMan.

My stories about this correspondent whom I addressed as WoodsWoman will need their own module and I’ll delve into some of the subtleties of the names there. Meantime I supply a fact or two:

While incarcerated in FDC Miami I was befriended by a guy: Charlie tried to help me treat a horrendous case of psoriasis I contracted on my right hand: my hand looked like a cooked lobster claw. He told me he was a steeple jack, cooked really great rattlesnake. When I said I really wanted to eat some of the traditional American woods meats – coon, possum, snake — he told me that I’d be a welcome guest on his wife’s seven acres in South Carolina where I could park a trailer for ever and sample his frontier BBQ: once he got out. He gave me his wife’s name and address, told me to write her, that she’d know all about it, and would confirm the invitation.

I did. I soon called Faye “WoodsWoman”. She soon called me Waterman: but not till after I’d learned that she had a restraining order against Charlie! I was welcome to visit: he’d be rearrested if he ever tried.

hold on, I’m gonna rewrite this

A Faye & Charlie Scrapbook

2014 01 16 Thinking back I believe I know how to precipitate a few facts, plus a few hypotheses, out of the hairball welter:

I suspect that Charlie was arrested for cannabis-farming on Faye’s acres. I suspect that Faye was and is a cocaine addict. I suspect that Faye hadn’t known what Charlie was doing: endangering her with the law (further than she already endangered herself).

Charlie showed me a low grade Xerox image of Faye sitting by their BBQ pit. She looked primitive and very fat.
Nevertheless, once we were corresponding, once Faye told me that Charlie had insulted and abused her, once she had too dmd that she had a court injunction against Charlie coming within 500 feet of her or her property, once I was planning to use Faye as a persecuted-Paul backstop, camp on her land, with its bluegill pond, forever, sell my Sebring trailer and flee to South Carolina once I got out, I intended to be very nice to Faye, to make love to her as she was no longer Charlie’s wife, fat or not. That was before I had any suspicions about her being a drug addict.
Remember, Charlie didn’t tell me she had an injunction against him coming near her property, she did.

So: what was Charlie up to? Why did he invite me to her place as though he would be my actual host? Was Charlie playing a dirty trick on Faye? Paying her back for protecting herself from him? Or was he playing a dirty trick on me? luring me to a hell den? cause he really hated me? wanted to show power?
No, no: Charlie was being nice. He really did try to help with my psoriasis. I think he really got off on my interest in his stories about steeple jacking. So much male bragging about courage is BS, but a steeplejack really get get scrambled. Charlie did get scrambled, got twisted among trees on his way down, never expected to walk again. I think Charlie really loved me. But: some people will turn: on anyone: and be mean as a snake thereafter.

Regardless, by the time I was due for release, sabotaged, tortured by the society for being its critic and would-be savior, I was really horny and ready to make love to Faye no matter how fat and primitive she was. I asked Faye to meet me in Sebring on my release. I asked my sister, who’d offered to pick me up and drive me home to Sebring, to pick Faye up en route. Beth absolutely refused, didn’t want me having anything to do with any WoodsWoman from SC, wife of a fellow inmate. So I asked Faye to take the bus, meet me at my house. She agreed, by post, but never showed.

God looks out for me? even as he sets me up for persecution? Even as he protects me? gives me ecstasies? lets me vacation in heaven?
I tell you though: those vacations in heaven, powerful, transcendent, radiant as they are, have shorter and shorter battery lives. The old hatreds, resentments reinstall themselves.
Still: I wouldn’t trade me for anything.

Hierarchy vs. Conviviality Stories Jail Stories

About pk

Seems to me that some modicum of honesty is requisite to intelligence. If we look in the mirror and see not kleptocrats but Christians, we’re still in the same old trouble.
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