Renz Prison Farm

You can see what’s left of the Renz Prison Farm just across the river from Jefferson City, Missouri. I’ve been meaning to take a closer look for years and yesterday my friend George poked around for a a few minutes but there wasn’t much left to see. (There’s a bit of the history in this Vox article from 2015.)

The building is too far gone to get much of an idea what it was once like. I didn’t see many individual cells and assume the large open rooms were dormitories. This four minute video (not mine!) offers some different views:

Thought Switch

I’m imagining a technology that doesn’t exist. Yet. A lightweight set of electrodes that monitors my brainwaves and transcribes (transmitted via Bluetooth to my mobile device, let’s say) my thoughts. An advanced version of today’s voice-to-text apps. We get to read that “stream of consciousness” at long last.

I imagine printing out a hour’s worth of this mind noise and using a red pencil to circle anything interesting or profound. Alas, there is almost nothing worth noting. Hour after hour after hour. I’ll program an intelligent algorithm to scan a week’s worth of my thoughts. What the hell, let’s to a month! Scanning for something worth saving. Not much, it seems. All that miraculous brain power wasted on “monkey chatter.”

Since I’m imagining yet-to-be-invented tech, how about a drug (or an implant, perhaps?) that will quiet that mind noise, leaving only the input from my senses. (I’m thinking we’ll need a timer switch to re-engage the thought process.)

Click.

I feel the morning sun coming through the hundred foot oak trees that shade my deck. I hear birds — near and far — singing to whomever birds sing to. There’s the sound of the water feature gurgling in the middle of the flower bed. A cool breeze gets a sigh from the Golden Retriever at my feet (say ‘hello’ Hattie). I take a sip of coffee and experience the slightly bitter taste on my tongue. Somehow I know this is a good thing without an accompanying thought. I still have 10 minutes before the noise returns.

Recycling

Every week I load up the MINI with cardboard, plastic, magazines and glass bottles and take it all to a recycling station. In the small town where I grew up in the 50s, people burned their trash in 50 gallon oil drums. A couple of years ago we started recycling but it’s going to get more difficult in a week or so when the city ends it’s current contract. In the new Amazon world I generate a butt load of cardboard. And those slick catalogs? A tsunami and no way to stop them. It will all go in to the landfill again. At least until such time, if any, the city provides a way to recycle.

I’d love to have a recycle machine. Cut the cardboard up in to manageable pieces, toss them in, hit a button and 15 minutes later… what? A highly compressed cube of cardboard? Turn all that plastic in the solid plastic bricks that could be used in some productive way? I don’t know. I buy such a machine but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist.

Jay Parks – Drummer

Jay Parks drums for the sheer joy of it. Most afternoons he can be found sitting in his truck (waiting to pick up his wife when she gets off work) drumming along with tunes on local radio stations. He was kind enough to let me record a minute or two. I don’t think Under the Boardwalk by the Drifters would have been his first choice but he’s a trooper. As I drove away I could hear him keeping time to Ike and Tina’s Proud Mary.

I recorded this video back in 2012 and would have sworn I posted here but I can’t find it.