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On January 19, it marked exactly 31 days. A full month behind the bars of FPC Morgantown. Time moves strangely here—every minute drags, yet a whole month has already passed since I turned myself in.
You need to sign the petition to free Keonne Rodriguez and William Hill, the developers of Samourai Wallet. Every signature truly matters. Judge Denise Cote sentenced me to 60 months of incarceration. One month down, 59 to go. Life in prison is a completely upside-down world. Inmates say “BOP” stands for “Backwards On Purpose”—not far from the truth.
A concrete example of this twisted logic.
Although FPC Morgantown only has 160 inmates, I have to wait for a guy in Oklahoma with more urgent dental issues to be treated before me. Nothing works normally here. Upon arrival, I had my Admission and Orientation session after 28 days. A formality that contrasts with the daily reality of confinement.
We are told it’s not a punishment. But it sure feels like one.
Motivational posters decorate the walls, some more absurd than others. One proclaims: “You are confined by the walls you build yourself.” Ironic, isn’t it? My daily routine helps me cope. I wake up at 4:00 AM, make “prison coffee” with powdered milk and instant coffee. I write in a notebook by the flickering hallway light. At 5:00 AM, the inmate count begins, and I stretch to relieve the aches from the mattress that’s as thin as a crepe.
Listening to the radio is my link to the outside world. More on this topic: Property Fraudster Gets Prison Time.
At 6:00 AM, phones and computers come to life. I check my emails at $0.06 per minute—it adds up quickly. Then I call my wife, Lauren. Calls are limited to 510 minutes per month, with a maximum of 15 minutes at a time. You have to manage that carefully. After the call, I change clothes to go exercise. With a friend, we play handball or work out in the gym. These activities are essential for my physical and mental health—without them, you’d go crazy.
At 8:00 AM, I prepare my breakfast. Often porridge with dried fruits and honey, bought at the commissary. I prefer to cook for myself, avoiding the prison cafeteria. The food there is not great. The routine allows me to maintain a semblance of normalcy in this environment. But the connection to the outside world remains limited, constantly reminding us of our situation.
For now, I wait.
On January 15, 2026, I received a letter from my lawyer keeping me informed about developments regarding my appeal. This correspondence is crucial as it keeps me updated on the ongoing legal proceedings outside. Although the news isn’t always encouraging, it’s better than nothing. Each day brings its logistical challenges. On January 20, I had to wait over an hour to access one of the two working phones before 5:00 PM. Patience has become an essential virtue here, especially when outdated technology slows down our attempts to contact the outside world.
Interactions with prison staff vary greatly. On January 22, a guard—whose name remains unknown—showed rare courtesy by allowing me to extend my time in the prison library. These moments of human understanding, though rare, make a notable difference in daily prison life. It really changes the atmosphere when someone treats you like a human being. For more details, see Bank of England Backs Down on.
On January 25, a new directive from the BOP management.
They further restricted access to computers for security reasons. This decision sparked lively discussions among inmates, each thinking about ways to adapt to these new restrictions. It’s not easy to stay in touch when they keep cutting off communication means. On January 26, 2026, I received a letter of support from the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF). This message reminded me that, despite the isolation, the outside community continues to follow our situation closely. Their commitment is a comfort in an environment where hope is often scarce.
On January 28, a meeting was organized by the prison director to discuss new communication policies. Although the announced changes were minimal, they significantly impact our ability to maintain ties with our loved ones. The frustration among inmates was palpable, with some expressing their discontent out loud. Not really surprising.
On January 30, an internal initiative emerged: a group of inmates, led by a former university professor, began organizing informal educational sessions. These gatherings, though unofficial, offer an opportunity for intellectual stimulation and knowledge sharing. A crucial need for many of us here. Without it, the brain turns to mush.
