Letter From A Prisoner
At the end of 2003, Bruce Carroll Pierce placed a copy of The Hill of the Ravens in my hand and said, "If we had something like this back then, things would have been different."
Since then I've been with you, some 12 years now if my math is correct. The whole time as one of those prisoners under the thumb of the Beast, sending those little shekels in wee amounts but at a fairly consistent clip. I've suffered the typical torments, including one ugly session with a set of Suits in Louisiana, but took my job as a "Johnnie Appleseed of hate" who spread the Good News of Northwest Migration wherever I went serious nonetheless. Never complained. Never criticized you. Answered people's crap of "Harold's an asshole!" with the response of "At least he's doing his job, what about you?"
I have a bit of a rant myself, but it isn't necessary. Besides, time is short as it is. But I would like to share a short bit with you in the hopes that you'll read it.
I'm getting out in about 2 years, and basically to nothing. Starting over in ways not pleasant. I should be saving my money up so I'll have something to walk out with at the time, but I can't just sit on my ass here and do nothing while knowing that everything counts.
Salute the Northwest Homeland for me. Ex Gladio Libertas!