I graduated from high school in England. I have never been married and have no children. I have travelled to many countries and have been exposed to many cultures.  My remaining immediate family members reside outside the United States and I am currently the only Chinese prisoner on California's Death Row at San Quentin Prison. My case, from inception to verdict, has been both a travesty and outrage of mistreatments and miscarriage of justice. 

Because of these and other reasons,  I constantly feel misplaced, sad and lonely - like a dolphin caught inside a tuna net.

I am writing because I am interested in seeking sincere friendship through correspondence and visiting with someone I can build an enduring and meaningful companionship with - someone with whom I can share good times, bad times, life, thoughts, feelings, experiences and passions from this dark hole of humanity.

Out in the free world I enjoyed such things as reading, learning new subjects, wilderness exploring, martial arts, movies, travelling, cooking, outdoor adventures such as mountain hiking / climbing, scuba diving and serving as an infantryman in the United States Marine Corps.

Poor dude. Out in the free world, he also enjoyed things such as abducting women with his Marine Corp buddy Leonard Lake, beating them for weeks on end, killing them, incinerating their bodies, burying their ashes on their mountainous California property, selling their worldly possessions, driving into San Francisco, and picking up brand new victims. Oh, and moonlit walks on the beach, dining out, and seeing movies. Natch.

His partner, Leonard Lake, actually managed to maintain a marriage.

Why bring it up? What can we learn from this? Well, here:

Balasz was then asked for more information on Lake and told the detectives that she and Lake had met at a Renaissance Fair in Marin County and had married after dating for a short time.  As his best man Lake had chosen Charles Gunnar, a long time friend who at just 5'8", weighed nearly four hundred pounds, prompting Balasz to christen him "the fat man."   Shortly after the wedding, which was paid for by Gunnar, the couple moved to Philo in Mendocino where Lake found work managing a motel.  Within a year, Ng arrived and moved in with Lake and his new wife.  According to Balasz, Lake and Ng got on well, as they were both former marines.

• Lesson 1: Don't hang out at Renaissance Fairs
• Lesson 2: Mountain People are fucked in the head.

Mainly, the reason I was reading about Ng and Lake is because the Hitler Channel was playing a documentary on them yesterday. I was nominally familiar with the two, but hadn't placed them as San Francisco-based serial killers before (probably because they actually lived in Wilseyville, out in the middle of fucking nowhere), and had always wondered why San Francisco didn't have a shitload more serial killers. It's prime hunting ground, what with all the homeless people, teenaged runaways, and fuck-ups with shitty parental relations who could disappear and not be missed for months on end.

Of course, many will bring up Manson, but despite his current housing in Vacaville (that may not be current), Manson's crimes were mainly committed in Southern California, and, more importantly, Manson just talked people into killing people; he is disqualified from any legitimate serial killing definition. Not to mention his attention-whoring. ZOMG, NAZIS!

Awwwwww!

Man, I have a LOT of SHIT

And not the poops kind. Seriously. I am currently on dinner-break from throwing stuff away, sorting through 20 years of accumulated crap of all sorts. I have to sometimes remind myself I don't have time to read all the old crap. High school report cards? Shredded! College transcripts? Shredded! Phone bills from 1990? Shredded! Tomorrow, ${college_friend} and some of his coworkers are coming to pick up my couch, and bookshelves. I hope. Then Friday, the container arrives, which I will then fill with as much crap as I can prune myself down to keeping. Remaining furniture will be picked up by a Vietnam Veterans' charity. Everything else goes in the fucking dumpster.

My tickets are purchased. My storage container is paid for. I am stressing out, fearing that I won't get it all done, but I know one thing for sure; Tuesday night, I'm getting on a plane and leaving Raleigh.

Complications

Cupertino seems to be bereft of hotellage for the most part, and, more troubling, completely bereft of extended-stay-type hotels. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it; ${new_mothership_employer} has showers in the buildings, and the offices are pretty large; maybe I should just pack my sleeping bag and a pad in one of those giant duffle bags, and put some serious office-time in, proving to all my future coworkers that I am either 1) extremely dedicated, or 2) batshit crazy. Both would probably be good things to establish, right up front. Like the beard doesn't already speak the text of those volumes...

OK, If You'll Excuse Me...

I should get back to packing...

This bowl!

Plus, I have violent corpse-fucking fantasies to write. They don't write themselves, y'all!