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The Cliff, The Cell, And A Life Saved
After the prosecutor's visit, I was moved to another cell. His clear message seems to be a green light for solitary confinement again.
It feels like a psycho killing - the conversations and the feudal meals with the boys did me a lot of good.
Bang-bang, clatter-clatter, lock-lock. Little Big Boss Warden Schaefer is standing at my door, telling me about a last chance to withdraw my application to leave the country if I want better prison conditions like my 'holiday' under the roof.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
After a shower and a walk around the yard, I am locked up again, alone. For hours, nothing for the rest of the day.
No book. No tokens. No provisions. No mail. Neither from my parents nor from my lawyer.
In my mind I escape to the Graebsee. As teenagers, we spent the warm seasons there with our girlfriends. Officially called 'Bruchsee', swimming was forbidden.
The police checked regularly. During the day on the flat shore they usually turned a blind eye. In the evening, on the steep side, they were more conspicuous.
But they couldn't be there all the time, and we took merciless advantage of that.
Every year at least one drunken idiot would fall off one of the metre-high cliffs on the west bank and drown.
We braggarts would jump from the top with a huge run-up so we wouldn't scrape our backs against the cliffs.
We built a reasonably weatherproof hut in the bush and had a lot of fun.
When I was 15, I saved the life of a 17-year-old boy in the 'Gräbser', as we called our lake. For once he wasn't drunk, but he had a severe cramp, was screaming for help and panicked.
I swam to him as fast as I could, punched him in the face and pinched his chest so hard that he let me lead him to shore without pulling me down the abyss.
Saturday slowly creeps away. No one talks to me - no one is interested in me. It hurts. All Quiet in the Eastern Jail.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe
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By Tommy H. JannotAfter the prosecutor's visit, I was moved to another cell. His clear message seems to be a green light for solitary confinement again.
It feels like a psycho killing - the conversations and the feudal meals with the boys did me a lot of good.
Bang-bang, clatter-clatter, lock-lock. Little Big Boss Warden Schaefer is standing at my door, telling me about a last chance to withdraw my application to leave the country if I want better prison conditions like my 'holiday' under the roof.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
After a shower and a walk around the yard, I am locked up again, alone. For hours, nothing for the rest of the day.
No book. No tokens. No provisions. No mail. Neither from my parents nor from my lawyer.
In my mind I escape to the Graebsee. As teenagers, we spent the warm seasons there with our girlfriends. Officially called 'Bruchsee', swimming was forbidden.
The police checked regularly. During the day on the flat shore they usually turned a blind eye. In the evening, on the steep side, they were more conspicuous.
But they couldn't be there all the time, and we took merciless advantage of that.
Every year at least one drunken idiot would fall off one of the metre-high cliffs on the west bank and drown.
We braggarts would jump from the top with a huge run-up so we wouldn't scrape our backs against the cliffs.
We built a reasonably weatherproof hut in the bush and had a lot of fun.
When I was 15, I saved the life of a 17-year-old boy in the 'Gräbser', as we called our lake. For once he wasn't drunk, but he had a severe cramp, was screaming for help and panicked.
I swam to him as fast as I could, punched him in the face and pinched his chest so hard that he let me lead him to shore without pulling me down the abyss.
Saturday slowly creeps away. No one talks to me - no one is interested in me. It hurts. All Quiet in the Eastern Jail.
How To Diaries is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe