How To Get Evicted From Prison, No. 2

DOZENS of tiny screens illuminate the early morning hours of a Tuesday in February. A large group of men are exchanging messages with loved ones while waiting to be disappeared on a bus. Many have forfeited their sleep to send their goodbyes, families and prisoners alike.

The arrival of a 3 A.M. makeshift breakfast increases the rate of 150 heartbeats, informing them all departure awaits. The journey ahead, unclear in length — the final destination still yet to be known.

Though the phones have been dead for the last six hours, several are hopeful and check them again. Collecting the wishes we stuff in our pillows will have to wait until we’ve traveled the distance: Tonight our heads will lay in another timezone, far removed from support and systems of betterment.

The expense will arrive at our loved one’s communities as we return to them unprogrammed, in further need of Correction. Compensation will be inadequate as a six-month course that fails to balance the effects of long-term interruption. And it will be missing altogether for the cost of remittance — a silent, unspoken depletion of pocket.

As our taxpayers feed families in other populations, we’ll wait years to be sent back worse than we left.

We know all of this before our extraction: We’re not the first to go and we won’t be the last. With history our guide –and accurate with facts — our politicians still lobby that all this is sane.

Breakfast is finished, the carts have arrived. Our tired population answers calls as a herd: “Cram into the unit one-door-over and prepare yourself for further instruction.” “Hurry-up and wait” is a commonly issued order.

Up to five at a time funnel through the door, the empty beds left behind will be filled with a song.

Through the next door over there’s no room to sit. I’m with hardly any room to stand, holding the box of my prioritized needs: Shoes, shorts, media player and a pillow, plus a few books and food items I have yet to indulge.

The room full of men are all dressed the same, save for one very specific, awkward exception: My white T-shirt is not like the others — with a touch of black marker I’ve made it a tux. It’s an inside joke for similar minds: a clear indicator I’m ready to party.

The crowd, a mixture from several institutions, is overflow from every walk of Corrections, all told of the madness by which we were picked — apparently, we’re suspected of docile.

Many sketch out, strange to each other. Some buddyup for the strength that doesn’t come with a number. Looking around I finally recognize some faces — the faces of those lost in another Higgins email:

MSG FROM IDOC – T.Higgins02/08/2018The Karnes County Correctional Center (KCCC) is owned and operated by the GEO Group Inc…located 59 miles southeast of San Antonio in Karnes City, Texas…550 bed medium custody facility…currently houses 300 male and female detainees from United State Marshals Service as well as detainees from Karnes, Bexar and Hidalgo County Sheriffs Departments. The facility administrator is Warden Barry and his second in command is Major Martinez.Karnes County Correctional Center810 Commerce StreetKarnes City, TX 78118 Phone Number: (830) 780-3525Fax Number: (830) 780-4057This will be a short term assignment (approximately 4 months in duration) after which our inmates will be transferred to a long term out-of-state facility that has not yet been selected…personal property limited to… a 16 x 12 x 24 clear storage bag. [T]he remainder…will be stored and transferred directly to the long term facility…all feeding done in the housing units. A large and well stocked library and law library…three large paved recreation yards…restricted to 50 inmates at a time…facility offers no programs…DEPOSITS:…Money will be…transferred to the receiving facility to post to inmate trust…timing of those transactions is not yet known…PHONES:Inmate phone services…provided by Global Tel*Link Refunds…obtained by calling Inmate Calling Solutions (ICS) at 1-888-506-8407 or writing: ICSolutionsAttn: Customer Service, Refunds2200 Danbury StreetSan Antonio, TX 78217 Funds on debit accounts will be transferred to Global Tel*Link by ICS within fifteen days of the transfer from IDOC. How long until…funds available…I do not know…JPay…not…offered at…location… Inmates…encouraged to spend down…media account before departure…all funds on…JPay…subject to forfeiture…for this out of state transition any remaining funds or stamps will remain on the account until the inmate is returned…If an inmate is released…unused media funds…subject to forfeiture…JPay services will not be available…Any content…lost or corrupted out of state is non-recoverable…until… inmate returns…Failure to sync the player before transfers are made will render the player inoperable after 30 days…Contact visiting is provided using seven tables.

The hours pass again and we’re collected in small numbers. In no rush to sit shackled and wait, I avoid being harvested until the last group.

We’re taken to a room, stripped, searched, detected for metals, and then issued what we’ll wear for our trek to the border: A paper jumpsuit, briefs, socks and a tee, with shower shoes and shackles have never felt worse.

I manage to keep my contraband tuxedo, excited at the thought of new-captor impressions.

I’m escorted outside by a combat soldier whose insignia bares the mark of Corrections.

Shuffling towards the bus, through an anonymous unit of pain, multiple chuckles escape from facemasks. “Check out the guy in the tux.” I know in my heart I’m already a hit. All that’s left now is convincing the others.

Placed on the bus, it’s wait for more hours. Our caravan is preparing to hunt for the News — by staging what will look like an impressionable blind.

Two lucky souls are rushed off the bus before the wheels have their chance to try and make a move. It’s unclear who they know or what they can prove, but it’s “Good for them,” regardless.

After an hour’s wait is a twenty minute drive to the airport, where we find camera crews lining the runway. This is the moment they’re waiting to capture: Forty Hooded Killers With Ten Thousand Rounds Quell Potential Uprising from One Dozen Dozen Obscenely Good Behaviors.

Our plane is being held by Mercs Incorporated. They have happier faces than those under the hoods. Or maybe it’s that they’re not anxious to kill us. Either way, it’ll be another hour before we board the plane.

One at a time we’re removed from the bus, coached up the stairs, and guided through an entrance to our seats on the bird.

I’m doing my by best to scan the airport windows. My friend’s son is here, somewhere, making his way to his Grandma’s. His mom had said he hoped for a wave. I wish I could see him to bless his heart.

His dad passed a few years back. Both our trips today are effects from the loss.

It’s now my turn to board the plane. I’ll have to make up for missing his wave and convince him the high-level security was strictly required: Because when it comes to holdin’ down good ol’ Uncle Pat…

Riders on the Storm –The Doors


How To Get Evicted From Prison, No. 1

Friends At Left Bank Books — Books to Prisoners Project

Dear Left Bank Books,

Thank you for the new round of books. I wasn’t expecting them, and was excited yesterday to see the delivery from you. I always laugh out lout at what you send me, because it’s all so fitting and inspirational for the Book of Irving Project. I hope you can take the time to view how it’s developing. I contribute all my progressions to thoughtful individuals such as yourselves.

Here is the pitch I’ve included in the last few hundred letters:

It started with a battle in a private prison on the Mexican border. It was a battle for basic human decency. I had to create a medium to capture the experience, and have since developed it into a model of civil discourse. Please take a moment to view my efforts: bookofirving82431.com. It’s creative.

So you can imagine how The Handmaid’s Tale, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and Confessions of an English Opium-Eater may be influential to my work! I haven’t received much response yet but for a book or a letter here and there. That’s really all I need to keep me going.

I’d like to invite you to share my materials in any format and with edits. I also wish to reinforce how very much appreciated you are, and all the work that you do.

Holiday best!
Patrick Irving 82431
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707

Blame Karl Friston


Dear Karl,

Festive Greetings!

This year’s uncontrolled Free Energy experiment has produced some inspiring results: From current isolation, I am experiencing an amplified perception of somatosensory stimulation, along with a verifiable level of heightened productivity. The density cluster created last year has transitioned into a more defined state, but still maintains fluidity. The majority of observers remain unknown and signalling attempts bring minimal returns. However, as I am unable to actively observe the results and adjust for noise, I find any return at all very promising!

Signals will be modified in the year ahead, see additional relay, and contain instructions on how to use free, existing scaffolding in the interest of mimicry. Additional benefits of symbiotic behaviors will also be made available with a focus on latent states — as opposed to those existing.

All in all, it’s a good year to be a nerd, Karl! I’ll forever be grateful to share this period of time with you.

No response is necessary.

Holiday best,
Patrick Irving 82431
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707

Excessive Use Of Tort Continues


Dear Chief Page:

Thank you for being receptive to my issue regarding the tort. Your inquiry was certainly appreciated.

I wish to acknowledge Mr. Shedd for his effort to communicate the USPS issue and his attempt to resend the tort as noted — on or around 11-05-19. However, this very same tort (addressed as Legal Mail) was returned to me again, unsent, through institutional mail on 11-27-19, along with the denial of a request to copy grievances that had been placed in the Legal Box, the same way I’ve grown accustomed to these last eight months.

I should also point out that 11-27 is one day after your response was dated — the same response informing me the initial problem was fixed. And I’m now concerned where the tort was sitting for three weeks, if not with the USPS.

I can confirm the Secretary of State has acknowledged the handwritten copy of notice I sent using Institutional Mail — for the purpose of redundancy — the same day the IMSI Legal Center purportedly sent the original, complete with all documents supporting my claim. As I used the same address on both parcels, it is safe to assume the problem is not with me.

As always, I can’t help but mention how ridiculous it is that I must now file in Small Claims — while adding filing fees, labor efforts and unnecessary stress to Warden Yordy — in order to be compensated for what was an extremely well-documented and easily fixable issue. I am not beyond settling for the damage as it exists now, however, I won’t be holding my breath.

I would like to reinforce that your initial response to this matter was quite valued, and I hope someday to put this behind us. Because despite what others say, I happen to think you’re fantastic.

Holiday best!

Patrick Irving 82431
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
Messaging via Jpay

Licentious Intentions: A Shipwreck (the dirty mick) Series, No.3

“Morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, hooray!” Another glorious sunrise from my decadent urban chateau.

Every morning, right above my mattress, perched on the branch trying to grow through my window: Peepers. “Okay, guys. I get it: I’m alive.”

The three on the branch will multiply soon. They’ll come from far away. I’m known to them as the man who makes clouds. They’re known to me as a couple of funnies.

As a person whose limits are beyond the excess, I keep my quarters for living modest with temperance. My particular taste: shy of extravagant — because neighbors with questions can cramp my misdeeds.

I’m not a guy that wants to hang out. I’m not socially aching to showoff my things. What I want from others is to see my deterrents: I can hardly fit Me in my personal space.

My current location was secured with some difficulty. A poet might say that speaks of the times.

I never used to have problems befriending one renting. As king of specifics, I’m game to the keep. First or last name and any form of a number: yields the universal attraction by way of simple query. Any effort required is all in the peacock — let it happen naturally and you’ll check into mate:

“Is that a Georgia O’Keeffe print on your T-shirt?!”

“Damn right! And boy was it hard to find — I had to drive to Medford to get this.” Or wherever they have emotional ties.

“Medford, huh? My parents lived there.” But no longer appear in their family photos. “That’s a long drive.”

“Yeah, but it’s such an amazing exhibit. And since I was due for a visit to my cousin’s cricket farm” — a leaning confession, a whisper of guilt — “I just put Celine on repeat and let my chakra drive.”

Once a frown now upside down — would I mind if they shined me with love?

It only use to be that easy. Landlords nowadays, they don’t operate on hunch. They, too, know how to use Search. And beyond that, their grand-kids can pull up satellite imagery right on their walkie-talkies. The last thing my ego needs is some little punk bustin’ my pastel-lovin’ cover.

The landlord here I didn’t bond with. A young lady on my arm did, using my cash as enticement. We didn’t exactly bottleneck options. This place was found and chosen with haste. I was comfortable as hell in the arrangement I left. And the last time I said that was probably never.

The girl? — a remnant from a gig near past. Collecting her was forced adaptation: My friend had a thing — it required some work — and she was a product resulting.

Damage control is tricky business. If your old lady is exploring the option to witness, and my sleeping with her leads to her Civil Commit, your lawyer will explain the job I’ve done as one that discredits her testimony.

And if she was just thinking out loud — maybe I misunderstood — I kept her safe from herself and your friends, and she’ll be here when you come home for her later.

It’s not a preference. It’s not a mistake. And it’s not my case, it’s yours. I’m just the guy who’ll work your best interest using whatever unorthodox method is necessary.

If your twenty-year-old stepdaughter takes fancy while I’m questioning insidious characters, she’s probably best under wing until I sort them all out.

History speaks to my actions as man, and there’s time for apologies later.

Or maybe not. Like if both measures are taken while dealing with one extreme circumstance: Well, I wouldn’t expect to hear from you then.

The girl is gone now. But I still rock this spot because I dig the arrangement: Pay rent to the man who hosts invisible tenants, months in advance, more for less, and extra with no questions included.

I like to think of it as kind of a Bat Cave/halfway house.

In all the months that I’ve lived here, I’ve never even learned my own address. I make it a point not to exist to the mailman, and I keep my eyes crossed when I drive past the sign. My house numbers are hidden, as well as my street — and it’s taboo if you try to find either.

The nest is protected by a six-foot fence, perfect camouflage for my converted attachment. Where there use to be grass now lies pebbles — prevention from visitors approaching in stealth. There’s a lady that lives in the driveway camper, she keeps me a list of car makes and plates. Call it strange if you want, but I like the service. Her little projects work well for my sleep.

I can switch residences up to six times a year, and it’s not uncommon to keep two or three at a time. A room in this town, a studio in that one. Basement apartments and trailer park compounds, they all offer their own unique form of vantage.

I have utilities in my name, but not for my address. Nor for any other ever planning my visit.

I style my driver’s license photo in the look of “batshit crazy.” Run a check in the system and I live with my mom. Mom gets upset at the sight of my mail and I’m sure she’ll pick me off if she knows where I’m hiding.

Any research at all and it’s assumed I live homeless. That’s a benefit to me if you see me in cuffs: Police have no interest in cardboard boxes, and I have no interest in relinquishing toys.

My music credentials placate the neighbors, who are prone to raise eyebrows at curious frequents: Travel, women, excessively jeweled visitors carrying multiple duffels of nightmares and dreams…the list of scheduled obscurities can go on for long. Normal-type people don’t put up with that shit — unless being subjected to it by the mildly famous. And fame, my friend: it’s just a state of mind — anyone can pretend to be an asshole.

Every once in a while I’ll treat myself to a house. Something with three bedrooms, a yard, and double-car garage. These months are spent paying to keep rooms empty. And they’re followed by resentment when I fill them with girl.

To have a place in the house she pretends well with neighbors. Her friends can come and visit whenever they’d like. My friends are liabilities and thus not invited: I don’t need to be called by a name that rings bells from a thing that may or may not have happened to her cousin or brother. Moving’s expensive — why take the risk? No matter how many times I try to explain it, most my associates fail to understand.

To view my current habitat, you’d think I’m full of shit. Especially if it’s mentioned the things that I collect: Things like an antique soda machine — the kind with glass bottles — or a seven thousand dollar couch that I let tour with my friends. What kind of guy keeps office equipment for four with six hundred-pound bales of damiana in storage? — this kind. Couldn’t expect it.

I say that to say this: That shit’s no use to my daily routine. And when spread out properly, it can’t be attached to a localized circumstance. That’s why I let everyone have something of mine. Everyone.

So maybe it’s weird, my sleeping on the floor with this mattress. But I don’t even use the mattress for six months out of the year. That’s to remind myself the threat of a pinnacle hustle: One misstep can fall everything around me.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I find bad times subjective, it would feel a lot like cheating — how I embrace the good. It can all be confusing when I do bad things. But the bad things I do take care of good people. And that can mean taking good care of bad people. Which, ambiguously, happens to be one helluva good and bad time. You see? Subjective.

“Morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, it’s morning, hooray!”

‘These guys.’ They always seem to find me wherever I move. They want me to get out of bed and start the performance. For as much as they talk I’m not very concerned. Because I know if they’re asked where I’m at, the best they can offer is this:

Beasts in the sky catch the eye while landing with aggression. Move opposite with benched approach, eleven your sense of direction.

Where blossoms the apples, the cherries and more, straighten your path to the city abhorred: An orient garden that flourished in past lies broken with traders that harvest in mass.

Make your way west, go cautious and slow. The constables here all itch for your blow. Now high tops a forest that’s taking you north — the smoke on this trail is not of import.

Scents of a baker are truly a treat, but dark-hour-fresh is risky in feat. The army wall will offer obsession — avoid it while bathing in salted confections.

A road to the hills changes its name, confusing a glance when made on the main. If flickering stars permit the advance, our avian brothers will guide you through land.

Wing a handshake that leads to another — avoiding the signs, the landmarks and numbers. His horse asleep afoots the path… park two blocks over and walk your ass back!

Yeah, they really can be a couple of fuckers.

How To Get Evicted From Prison, No. 1

FRIDAY’S 4 o’clock news in Boise coincides with an inmate count at the Idaho State Correctional Center the day it’s announced that a group of inmates will be transferred to a county facility in Texas. A Correctional Officer appears with a cart outside my door immediately after the news brief. “You’re adios’ed amigo. Pack it up.”

I’m given ten minutes to pack the comforts that have made a concrete slab my home for the last two years. My cellie helps fold my laundry and wrap my cords. Everything must fit into two large boxes. The cart loaded, we hug goodbye. And wish the best in luck.

A new cellie is already outside his door, waiting to move in his things. He’s not just new — he’s brand new. He’s also young and short. But not too weird looking. “He might be alright,” speculating. It’ll figure out.

A bag of coffee slides from under the door of a friend I’ve made upstairs. It’s the same bag I loaned him just before count. I’m told not to run up there to grab it but I don’t care enough to listen. “I swear, I’ve got the worst luck,” he says, smiling. Asshole.

A few more goodbyes, a couple chucked deuces, and one last wave to the chorus of voices. My belongings are carted off the unit to the tune of It’s Been a Pleasure to Know Me.

I’m the only person I see on my tier leaving. Some volunteered to go, but they’ve all been chosen to stay.

The CO wants smalltalk while I’m en route to staging . “Blah, blah, blah, personal preferences.” I have no interest.

I’m delivered to an open dorm, temporarily housing 80 confused inmates. Many are suspect: fit the bill of certain crimes. I don’t mingle well with heinous populations. Glancing around the room, I’m checking boxes.

Uncertain of the protocol for this peculiar situation, I find my bunk and my neighbors. They’re reasonable enough in appearance. But as to their status, I’ll forego the inquiry — I’d rather not to know at this juncture.

Idaho Department of Corrections Deputy Warden, Tim Higgins, somehow materializes before us. He aims to placate the crowd he’s amassing. The promises he makes he can’t know to be true, and will soon be discovered as blatantly false. His apparent confusion is not of much comfort.

A few in the crowd — familiar with Tim — are not at all shy when they call him a liar. Our majority sleeps, yet to understand: His job is to get us on airport buses while bypassing any question that might incite resistance.

The jumba-lie-a we’re served is right off the menu. A message arrives while he speaks — the written propaganda makes as much sense as his verbal:

MSG FROM IDOC-T. HIGGINS2/08/2018PATRICK IRVING From:Tim Higgins, Deputy Warden, Contract Prison Oversight UnitDate: 2/7/2018Re: Notification of upcoming transfer to Karnes County Correctional Center in Texas. Idaho prison and county jail populations have experienced continued growth to the point of capacity, making it necessary to begin moving offenders out of state. Please be advised that you have been selected for out-of-state placement at the Karnes County Correctional Center (KCCC) in Karnes City, Texas. You have been carefully screened and found to meet all of the requirements for this transfer. It is our goal to make the necessary transition to the new facility as smooth as possible. Sometime in the very near future, the IDOC plans to move approximately 150 inmates to KCCC, with additional groups following in the future as bed shortages occur. The initial transfer will be by airplane and will take place in the next few weeks. A separate fact sheet provides information and details about the facility. This is a short term transfer (approximately 4 months in duration) that will take place while we review proposals and select a long term out-of-state facility to house up to 1,000 Idaho inmates. The 150 inmates being transferred to KCCC will be moved to the long term facility once the contract is finalized and the facility is prepared to receive them. We do not know at this point where that facility will be located. We understand that many of the inmates selected did not volunteer for this out-of-state transfer. Idaho Code 20-237 specifically allows for the state board of correction to house our offenders in non-departmental facilities when it is necessary. If there are reasons why you feel you should not be transferred out-of-state please let me know when I meet with you. If your family has concerns with this transfer, please ask them to visit our constituent services web page that is located on the Idaho Department of Correction website or contact our coordinator Ammie Mabe at (208) 658-2134, amabe@idoc.idaho.gov.RespectfullyTim Higgins Deputy Warden,Management Services

Even if we plan to use the next few weeks to petition our transfer, we’re encouraged to prepare our things immediately. But not everything is coming with us. “We have one small box for you to fit the items you’ll want with you the next four months — while you wait for transfer to another facility. Your property will follow you the day that transfer takes place. It’s only four months, okay?”

Inmates selected for transfer are given priority visitation for the remainder of their time in Idaho. “I’d have your family here tomorrow,” are the whispers of guards.

I’ll comply.


A final game of Scrabble with Mom, our last photo taken together, and the push for one more everything-is-fine face. 150 others do the same — only theirs with wives and children.

I entice Mom into fronting some media credits. “I need Vietnam War songs — to help me get in the mood.” She funds them immediately.

Ammie Mabe does not answer calls from our family. Our concerns of ongoing medical treatment, program involvement and in-progress release preparations won’t have time to find an audience.

The phones shut off Monday night, meaning we’ll be moved in the early hours of Tuesday, February 12, 2018. “That Tim Higgins is full of shit, man!”


How To Get Evicted From Prison, No. 2

Surfing The Channels Of Oversight


Dear Idaho Personnel Commission:

It’s my understanding that you maintain a merit system for state employees. Is this something like an Office of Professional Standards? I represent a group of inmates that have concerns regarding employee conduct within the Idaho Department of Correction, and I’m hoping you can help direct me towards some form of oversight. I’ve exhausted every conceivable attempt to present well-documented issues directly with the Department itself.

Attached is a letter to Mr. Jack Fraser, dated 11-24-19, that may be able to provide some context. An exorbitant amount of supporting documents have also been made available at bookofirving82431.com.

Any information you’re able to provide will be greatly appreciated.

Thank you,
Patrick Irving 82431
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
Messaging available via JPay

Failure to Act: IDOC is Aware of GEO’s Noncompliance


Re: Jack Fraser’s 8-27-2019 Memo

Dear Mr. Fraser:

Your statement regarding the Contract Monitor operating by Texas Minimum Jail Standards, as opposed to IDOC Policy 318, alludes to the fact that you failed to provide an adequate review of my group complaints.

Additionally, it is suggested that you are still unaware of GEO’s contractual obligations, as outlined by IDOC Agreement Number(s) A18-001, A18-002. This agreement is publicly available, received its final signature 6-18-2018, and clearly states: “The Contractor shall resolve all disciplinary infractions, from minor infractions to serious violations, in accordance with IDOC SOP 318.02.01.001…”

If we are to believe IDOC understands the contract they are managing, the second paragraph of your memo is a clear indicator that IDOC is aware they haven’t been holding GEO Group to said contract’s standards. The extensive documentation I previously presented you with clearly illustrates an event took place five months after the contract was signed, and was neither processed by TMJS 283.1, 283.2 or IDOC SOP 318. IDOC’s combined lack of interest and diligence in reviewing these materials is of concern to everyone.

Unfortunately, additional documentation emphasizing the basic lack of performance abilities between the Contract Monitor and their supervisors will now seek a more deliberative audience. This will end our communication.

Thank you for your understanding.

Patrick Irving 82431
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
Messaging via JPay

Excessive Use of Tort


Dear Chief Page:

Recent tort claims sent to the State were returned “Not Deliverable As Addressed.” I submitted an “Access to Court” request asking to speak with the paralegal in an attempt to understand why. The paralegal refused my request while noting my problem with USPS has been addressed. Because it is my position that my problem using USPS, by way of IMSI’s Legal Resource Center, to access the courts most certainly was NOT addressed, I had to investigate this matter through other channels.

It’s with no pleasure I mention this stems from my property that was lost during my retaliatory transfer from Texas. Though an inordinate amount of documentation supporting my request for reimbursement was attached to my grievance, Mrs. Monte Hansen insisted I see Warden Yordy in Small Claims if I wish to collect my $133.77. While I don’t understand it, I’m happy to do it, and rack up the bill on the way.

Returning to the matter of the paralegal, I’ve decided to keep you posted during the course of my investigation and have attached some of the documents I’ll be journaling as a courtesy.

In friendship and incarceration,
Patrick Irving 82431
PO Box 51
Boise, ID 83707
Messaging available via JPay

The receipts…

Notice of Tort form filing

IDOC Greivance response – page 1

IDOC Grievance response – page 2

Returned mail – Office of Idaho Attorney General

Returned mail – Office of Idaho Secretary Of State

IMSI – Returned mail justification denial

Did the letters actually get mailed?

Investigation request – Idaho Attorney General

Investigation request – Idaho Secretary Of State

Investigation request – Idaho Governor