Page asked me an interesting question last night, asking me if I felt that my life had changed as a result of incarceration. I replied that, No, it didn't really change, since I'm mostly a workaholic, and the only difference, fundamentally, is where my bedroom is. That has to be the truth, given that I still spend money as if I can't take it with me to the grave.

Of course, my spending habits have to do with the premise that I won't find someone of high enough caliber to be my wife, and subsequently I won't father any children. After reading so much of The Silmarillion, I'd expect a line to go like, "So endeth the line of the House of Ron."

But Page was really more asking about if he felt that we, as convicts, would be discriminated against in the future, specifically in the realm of careers. I told him that certain fields, such as politics, require one's past and reputation to withstand a crucible of scrutiny, and in that regard, yes, this conviction will adversely affect him. In my case, I would probably not be able to work for NASA or some government contract as a result of my residence here in Camarillo.

However, I told him that there are other ways in which one can be engaged in one's field without having to be subject to such microscopic background-checking. He was surprised when I told him that I was at peace with the idea that the label of I Am A Felon will follow me to the grave and beyond, primarily because it's just another thing that I get to tack on. I'm also a Caltech Graduate. I'm Filipino. I'm a 5'6" Male. I Believe Lee Harvey Oswald Acted Alone. I Fear No Dancefloor. I Am Not Afraid Of The Life I Have Yet To Live, and I Certainly Fear No Outcome of Man-made Judgment.

One can select Hamlet's "To be or not to be..." soliloquy in an attempt to typify the play as a whole as pensive and full of thought and inner turmoil and angst. True, such elements exist, but taken within context of the rest of the work, that pensiveness, that inner turmoil and angst comes amidst a backdrop of one of Shakespeare's more bloody tragedies. So does one scene of introspection suddenly cancel out the final body count?

Those who choose to let the product of one night of irresponsibility outweigh many other days of prudence and temperance, let them stand before me and judge me in a manner fitting to the sentence they might opt to levy. I have taken responsibility for my actions and indiscretions. If you can look in my eyes and find malice, or corruption, or any other sapling that would lead to an entangled thicket of misdeeds and betrayal, look away now. Look away now. Turn your eyes from mine, so you don't burden me with having to pay you any regards.

I'm not looking at you; I'm looking past you. My time will not be wasted by those who have eyes but lack vision. No single act of my lifetime stands alone, whether you find me in the depths of squalor or at my most beautiful. There will exist a time-- there always will, when those that have exercised judgment based on single acts alone will come to anguish over those decisions. And nothing will bring me more joy, nothing will bring more diabolical fucking glee, than when I prove them wrong.