There are new epistles from convicted swindler and evangelical Christian — but I repeat myself — Kent Hovind. The first is an account of his transfers within the prison system, and although I don’t feel even a twinge of sympathy for Hovind, I do feel for the other prisoners who experience the impersonal neglect and arbitrary abstention from human contact that is imposed by they system. I can’t feel much for Hovind, because his accounts are loaded with increasing amounts of frantic piety—he’s praying, praying, praying and proselytizing, proselytizing, proselytizing as if he’s desperated for some kind of magical redemption. It’s just too bad and too late; the poor man is trapped in his useless and self-serving cycle of looking for help from a non-existent being.
The second entry is just plain weird. It’s an extended metaphor in which he compares himself to an ax, and the people he preaches to to trees, and he’s in a vise (which he spells as “vice”) which prevents him from chopping wood, and oh, how he loves to chop wood, and he likes to cut deeply. It’s a little bit disturbing. I hope that when he gets out he is kept away from sharp objects.