I've been imprisoned 8561 days. That's more than 23.4 years. Every year I undergo a silly ritual called an "annual review." The other day a "counselor" who told me that she preferred dogs to people, performed the ritual. Her evaluation reflected no change from last year and last year's review had shown no change from the year before. Nothing ever improves. There's a reason for that. Prison does no good. The administrators know that it does no good. The employees, like Fido's-friend the counselor, are so inept that they can't think for themselves. They can't evaluate or re-evaluate. Their best effort is to parrot what the last bureaucrat said. So, after twenty three years, the prison administration says that I still have the same things "wrong" with me. I still need the same things. I'm still the same "problem." A big chunk of my life has been spent being a high-paying job for dog-lovers who see me and all prisoners as hieroglyphics etched in stone, fossils in storage, bodies in a warehouse waiting to die. If society insists on imprisonment, at least there should be some object to it. Something should improve. /FONT>