His social history from CSH indicates Mr. Brents grew up in an extremely chaotic and abusive home environment…Brent’s father continued to be very abusive toward him, and indeed, fractured the orbit in his eye. He was hospitalized and Dependence and Neglect charges were filed, however, they were later dropped for some reason.
-Colorado State Hospital Social Summary report on Brents, Jan. 4, 1989
Filed under Childhood, Psychiatric evaluations, Quotes
There is no present or future—only the past, happening over and over again, now.
-Eugene O’Neill (sent to Amy by Brents on March 25, 2006)
Filed under Quotes
I do consider Mr. Brents to be a danger to himself and to others at this time. He has a very extensive past history of violence and, thus far, has not made significant progress in learning more adaptive coping mechanisms.
-Psychiatric Evaluation on Brents, Colorado State Hospital, March 29, 1991
Filed under Psychiatric evaluations, Quotes
According to the history, Mr. Brent’s father began sexually abusing him at the age of four and continued this abuse until the age of eight. This included forced fellatio. The father also physically abused him and, on more than one occasion, threatened him with a gun or a knife. He also apparently beat him to the extent that he fractured the orbit of one of his eyes. Mr. Brents was also sexually abused by his mother from the age of four until the age of 13.
-Psychiatric Evaluation report on Brents, Colorado State Hospital, March 29, 1991
Filed under Childhood, Psychiatric evaluations, Quotes
I don’t know me. I am everything I hate. I am my father, my mother, sick, evil, twisted, confused, angry, sad, lonely.
-Brent Brents
Filed under Quotes
The following is from a letter Brent Brents sent to me in July 2005, shortly after he was sentenced to 1,509 years and re-entered the prison system.
-Amy Herdy
Well Hello There Amy,
I sent you a letter Last nigh. I sold my lunch yesterday for a stamp-the guy hates me but Loves chicken paddies…So how was your weekend. Mine was relatively exciting I continue to do my study on Relative Boardom. It seems the subject will in fact find many and varied ways to entertain oneself. from capturing hundreds of ants in a styrofoam cup to using said styrofoam cup as a basket and an orange seed as a basketball…Slept many hours (well not realy slept) But Rested when there were no Inmates in the corridor. Count the bricks on my cell (426)…My neighbors are arguing over a stupid chess game (Another every day occurance.) They are both dishonest and since they play by number from cell to cell they cheat. The others are yakin about their whores (hoes) and how much crack they were servin…Some days its all about how they got ratted on or how its always someone elses fault. Now I know why I did not miss prison. (The Bullshit) There is a sadness to it all. It does rot a persons brain. you have to be acceptional not to get caught up in one form or another of Prison Polotics and Bullshit. And if you manage that your considered a rat or just treated generally like shit. I’ve seen it all for years and it never changes. (only the names will change.) Same Shit, Different Day, Bigger Shovel. And its that way for the cops to. All Prisoners have a vice. Drugs, Sex, Gambling, Violence, Race whatever there is something for everyone. Physicaly none of the guys on my teer are a challenge if I were to face them one on one. But thats impossible most of the time. If I could get a nickel for every time one of them says hes going to kill me the girls would all be wealthy beyond measure. One guy never says anything. He just nods. See Amy no matter how much you or anyone else tries to understand what prison and jail is like you have had to have experienced it for at Least a year. The violent aspect you see on T.V. is a very minor part. Imagine waking up in a little room every day for the rest of your life…
For some the lonlines becomes unbearable and they turn to other men or fall prey to predator males. Still others become prostitutes to purchase there commisary needs or drugs. Any way you look at it once a person does anything sexual and is found out he becomes a mark or a victim to one half of the population and a piece of shit to the other. Unwritten law says you stick with your own kind. Violate this and again persona No Grato to half and victim to the other half. Snitch or Rat and everyone hates you even the cops. Child molester-killers and theres a good chance you could or would be severely injured, murdered or slaved (punked) most end up in the later servatude. Drugs are plentyful whatever your addiction is its Available. Less product and more money than on the street of course (risk enflation) the chances of becoming involved in some type of violence As A Result of Said drug use 85% to 95% eventualy. Gang violence or the threat of has become a daily thing whether or not you bang as they say. You can never trust any one in prison. If you do then your an Idiot. Most prisoners are like small predators. But then you have your hyenas, wolves, lyons, snakes. The predators vary and you can spot them easily. Hyenas most young gang bangers wont take you unless they are more than 3 or 4. Wolves can go either way a gang or solo. Lyons usualy solo but Loyal to a gang. and snakes are straight predators. They will be loose they can…Violence increases 100 percent Thanksgiving thru New Years and in the beginning of summers. Nothing you know of Life outside goes inside with you, what possessions you have are Truly not yours. The one thing you Truly own (your Body) Is not even yours. Then After years of the same routine even your mind Is not yours. Yes you may be able to think and act to some degree for your self but esentaly your Institutionalized and There is Little you can do to be any different. For most the Idea of death after so many years becomes welcome. This is All to say Nothing of the compramises in morales and values that will take place as you pass years in prison. The changes in your mentality you become things you hate, you do things you swore you would never do. You Live Like An Animal. The Truly sad Thing is No matter how a person argues it, this is the truth of the matter.
-Brent Brents 7-25-05
Filed under Prison
I was and I am solely responsible for the actions I took. However people need to see how I was made. Then realize there are thousands of me out there and more still being made and do something about it. Something besides the “systems” answer.
-Brent Brents
Filed under Quotes
By Brent Brents
Brents sent me this poem in July of 2005, shortly after he was sentenced and while coverage of his case was still rampant in the media. He enclosed this note:
“So There’s my Goofy Little poem. Im trying not to be emotional today. It is getting to be a drain on the toilet paper resource. You know happy sad happy sad. Crying all the while. I don’t want to shut off The feelings because then I start to feel like I did before and thats not good. No more Lies and deceite. I am dedicated to telling the truth and The old me is Just to easy to fall into.”
-Amy Herdy
January 30, 2010
Alone I sit
Here in my cell
Reality has hit
Alone since twelve
My mind a prison
Freedom a mystery
Strange new wisdom
Look what I’ve done to me
How I have hurt you
Guilty Am I
Nothing did you do
my Life was a Lie
Lost long ago
A happy little dude
Wherever did he go
Searching for the truth
my heart is good
my mind is bad
I’d change if I could
Chances gone and past
I have a Goal
It’s Right and True
my story be told
It it helps one of you
This is my Life
The only one I’ve had
I have caused pain and strife
The Truth is sad
Afraid of Death I am not
of dying alone I am
This is me, I Deceive you not
A vulnerable new man.
-Brent Brents 7-20-05
Filed under Brents' writings
Brents is NOT considered a management problem. He has been polite and courteous to staff and peers alike, and gets along well with everyone.
-Colorado Department of Correction Progress Assessment Summary, Feb. 14, 2004
Note: Brents was released five months later. A year to the date of that report, he committed his most violent crime spree.
Filed under Quotes
By Brent Brents
In January 2009, Brents sent me this poem, along with the following note: “Ok my attempt at a George Carlin, Dennis Leary type poem/rant is in here tell me what you think (honestly)…Obviously my spelling and puncuation are shit. So at some point could you correct all that and print a copy for me? Yes i know this may take a year or more. It’s not like I’m in a hurry.”
He was right–I set the poem aside, only to discover it a couple of weeks ago, when I typed it up and sent it to him.
So far, this is the only entry of his where the punctuation and spelling were corrected, at his request.
-Amy Herdy
January 19, 2010
Alone in my forever captive body living
in a cage masquerading as a cell
one that in all of reality is nothing more than
a bathroom without a tub
all amenities within reach
seven short steps end to end
Three foot by six inches
my view of the world outside
a scenery that changes
only with the seasons
yet never changes at all
From time to time
Murderous oaths are hurled
from one warrior to another
warriors whose true identities
are as cowardly villains and users
who prey on the weak of the world
Constant companions the smell of
Feces, urine and dried blood
then there are the chemicals
scientifically designed and scented
to mask this hell surrounding us
In the grip of night
echo the noises of self gratification
Nightmares and flagellant conclusions
Carved in paint clad steel doors,
door frames, window frames and desks
are the initials, names and countless
other things to announce those
that were, are or who have been
and once again returned to
this never ending hell
Walls, doors and window frames
painted the color of shit
shit from a diarrhea pained ass
peeling like so many tears in
the fabric of life’s cruelty
Small TVs, Radios, pictures of Jesus,
Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mom, Dad
and our children are the
blessed treasures of us all
He stares at me twenty-four-seven
What is it you are doing
with your captive self
he seems to ask accusingly
Rosaries, crucifixes, Pentacles and
stars of David
don the necks of All
announcing our faiths
Shaved heads become cost effective
alternatives to the rising prices of shampoos
and less the symbols of
gang-related identities
Hygiene a hellish nightmare for some
a welcome pleasure for others
stainless steel sinks, toilets and showers
diseased hot beds places where
we clean souls live in
agitated states of paranoia
Caffeinated coffee and tea
become hot commodities
traded like stocks
Prescription painkillers
psychotropic mind-filtering pills
and of course the illicit reality
Killers’ heroin, cocaine and methamphetamines
are the choice of most
and become the main currency
of murderers, rapists, thieves
and crooked guards
Fishing lines made of boxer
short waist band threads
strung from cell to cell
another way to communicate the
murderous secrets, drugdeals
and the simple needs of all
Nurses, librarians, teacher and
female guards clad in breast covering
protective vests are our only
source of contact with the fairer
sex making up illnesses, pains
and other Lies to solicit
Just one more attentive Moment
of a soft perfumed woman
Drugs, sleep or suicide our
Only means of escape from
this other-wordly reality
The sounds of knives being
made from various materials and being
sharpened on concrete floors perceived
slights real or imagined disrespect,
anger paranoia and rage
all in a day’s existence
The smell of a shit-permeated
pod after one of us checks
out by hanging himself from
a ventilation grill or light fixture
The outline of a dead
body prone on a coroners
gurney covered in the flat
black plastic of deaths embrace
Just another wasted life
one of many who came before
and of the many more to come
Most here are barren hearted
Souls like cracked and dusty
Wastelands where occasionally
it rains love or some
who then flourish
to a lush beauty only to
be abandoned yet again
to dry up like death valley
Then there are those few
who are strong and willing
to survive the destructive nature
of incarceration and suffer
gladly for Loves Sake
Food steamed, fried and baked so
Savagely that week old road kill
would be a welcomed alternative
eaten in numb silence
Toilet paper so inconsistent from
sheet to sheet, Roll to Roll that
one wonders what its purpose really is
it either rips and stick to your hole
or browns your finger
luckily the sink is mere inches away
Library books riddled with
graffiti or torn pages leaving one
as clueless to the conclusion
of the story as he is to life
Calendars of bikini-clad
Beauties or cars and trucks
decked out and polished to shine
motorcycles with more bikini
clad women to tell you that
another day, another week
month or endless year
has painfully crept by
Favorite TV show cancelled
tonight instantly inducing a fit
of rage for we depend on
things remaining consistent from
day to day we live by chiseled
routines of sameness
Eating canteen bought stale
cookies, Ramen soup or other food
Packed with MSG mostly to avoid
the suffocating boredom and prison meals
Washing laundry in a sink
the size of a salad bowl because
cloths returning from laundry
are full of pubic hair and lint from
every one else and as yet
unidentifiable stains one does
not want to know about
Telephone calls to loved ones
twenty minutes to communicate
weeks of information trying
to squeeze in a thousand i Love yous
hoping your still loved
and not forgotten
Letters written and received
if you’re lucky enough to have
Some to write to
more going out than coming in
filled with yet more i
love yous and dwindling hopes
that love will last
praying that the one coming
in isn’t the one full
of the news we dread
Beds made of concrete and
steel narrow and short
mattresses so hard and thin
they aren’t worth a shit
pillows made of the same cracked
and hard plastic a flat
Rock would be an equivalent
Woolen and synthetic blankets
that aren’t fit for the backs of
horses or the beds of dogs
and exceptionally good at letting
the bite of cold air creep in
and eat at ones bones
The site of a bird or a rabbit
or some other animal out the window
is an honestly welcome
and almost holy experience in here
only for those lucky enough to
be able to see out their windows
Of course there are those whose
Windows are covered by steel blinds
or clouded with gang graffiti
and defiant scratches made in
bitter hatred and fits of rage
against the world outside
A heater that almost never
seems to work when there is
a foot of snow outside and the
temperature is ten degrees
that same heater works like
a loyal soldier in august
And let’s not forget the confused
air conditioner that seems to think
a foot of snow and tendegrees
is the only time to work
The clanging of countless
steel doors rattling open and
slamming shut with deafening
bangs twenty four hours a day
The shining of flashlights
pointed directly in one’s eyes
every hour on the hour and
of course the sinister smiles behind
the flashlight as one
Jerks away and temporarily blinded
Guards voices and radios screaming
needlessly and senselessly echoing
off concrete and steel crypts
The constant flushing of turbo
toilets and the earsplitting screams
of vacuum starved push button
sinks twenty four-seven
Using so called safety ink
pens barely bigger in diameter
than a sewing needle and
a bit longer than ones finger to
write with seems inherently childish
but its for security
yours mine and theirs
Leaving your cell for any
Reason a visit, a trip to medical
or some other venture
will result in some man staring
at your dick and leaning over
slightly to look up your
asshole as you cough loudly
and all the while you can’t shake
the feeling he might just
very well be aroused and
Yes you get visually fucked
when you return from your venture
and of course its for security
yours, mine and theirs
Privacy is like some ancient
myth that one can’t prove the
existence of. You smell your
neighbors shit hear him piss
fart or burp Just as he hears
you and all your bodily functions
and he can smell you too
courtesy flush please
You call the cops when
some asshole breaks into your
house and trashes it
can we call you when
the guards trash our cells
oh right safety yours, mine
and theirs
Administration doesn’t care about
us as long as they make
Fat paychecks and have plausible
Deniability when one of
them abuses one of us
out of site out of mind
yours and theirs
Administrative segregation a fancy
term for slow execution of the brain
and the body to follow
the human equivalent of a
pig farm feed ‘em shit, let ‘em
sleep let ‘em shit and repeat cycle
day after day for years on end
until they let us out or
we die…
Just some thought.
Filed under Brents' writings
Many of Brent Brents' victims were prostitutes, women who are especially vulnerable to violence. Therefore, part of the proceeds from the sale of every edition of Diary of a Predator: A Memoir will go to Street's Hope, a Denver non-profit organization dedicated to helping women leave the sex-for-sale industry.
Diary of a Predator 