Friday, 1 October 2010


We never did take a tour to Alcatraz. I guess we've sort of been there already. Through fiction, that is.

We sailed past the prison Sing Sing three years ago, in a nice breeze. And this summer we've passed San Quentin several times. I don't know the full meaning of this, but it somehow feels significant.

Is it fair to say that sailing around the world is a direct opposite to spending years in jail? Maybe, but there's also something in common; in our kind of pocket-cruising we're living most of our time with less space than in a cell.

But the argument is halting. We're moving. We're moving in the extreme. And the whole point of doing time is to stay put; the inmates are only moving through time.

I read Edward Bunkers 'Education of a Felon' some years ago. This is the only biography I've finished. I kept visualizing Alcatraz while reading, although Edward Bunker did most of his time in San Quentin, further down the bay, as the youngest inmate ever. Later he wrote several books, and appeared in numerous movies, such as Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs.

What does all this mean? Nothing, I guess. But I kept taking pictures of Alcatraz when we left some days ago. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by this place.