October 20, 2009 11:37 p.m.
In here, you’ll lose your bearings if you let the pressure and corruption overcome you. You are a lifeline and a Godsend.
How are you sweet lady? I hope that all is well with you. I don’t hear from you as often as before, not that I blame you though; I’ve been sparse in my writing as well. It’s not from having a lack of things to say, I promise you that. There’s just been too much going on, then they run commissary so sporadically over here, I buy enough stamps to write all the people I need to write…then I’m stuck in limbo waiting for commissary to roll back around. Like now, it’s a long story though.
I did receive a letter from you last week. Believe me, I know you’re busy. I’m just spoiled, not ungrateful.
Whew! So much is always taking place here. This facility is completely out of control! Ferguson was strict, but at least there was some sort of structure, some fear of consequences to balance out the power struggle between good and evil. Here, it’s just a free for all. These guys smoke cigarettes in the TV room like it’s legal, they drink wine, run all over the place and no one ever says a word.
The other night, about 15 Crips jumped on this one kat and hit him with a broom stick, stabbed him three times….the block got locked down for 24 hours, a handful of inmates went to solitary confinement and that’s it. No, I did not want to be locked down for 30 days as punishment for something that I was no part of, but that punishment was so light, it was almost like saying, “Oh, it’s okay. He’s still alive.” Absolutely crazy!
And to make it worse, because I’m from Houston, other Houston dudes have passed it off like I’m a part of some crap called “H-town circle” when they know damn well I told them that I was “solo,” by myself, “one deep," so I had to get that straightened out. It’s just been crazy.
In the process of searching for a date for my wet floor fall, I ran across my medical records for my initial physical therapy session. Lo and behold, I read in my file where this therapist begins the notes on my visit by typing, “high risk sexual behavior observed.” ): (I tried to draw a shocked face, but I don’t want to make light of the situation.)
Now…I’m pissed, insulted, shocked and humiliated, but super super pissed. I go above and beyond to stay out of the way, speak respectfully to all the guards and staff, try to be as nice mannered as possible. How can this woman just dream some nonsense up like that, then pass it off as fact? Not only did not one sexual thought leer anywhere near my mind when I met this woman, it wasn’t even an afterthought. This lady looks like a pale Jackie Chan, with a light mustache. She’s so far of my sexual radar it’s awful.
So how it’s legal that she can do that, just type something and I’m stuck with it? I don’t have a sexual history in this place, period. No exposure cases, no masturbation cases, no establishing improper relationship, nothing; that’s not even in my character. Now the next person who reads my file will think I’m some kind of rapist. Our great justice system. A man with daughters—labeled and stuck with it.
What I’m going to do is wait until I complete my therapy, then make an issue of it so I don’t get kicked out before I’m healthy. But I’m going to make them amend that crap! I can’t even look at the woman without blazing hatred. Talk about something to pray on.
The P.T.A. is sweet though. She’s good looking, even though she’s 60. But none of us look at her like that. She’s the one that actually works with us. I’ve not seen one guy disrespect either of those women. And the P.T.A. is so sweet, how could you behave in any manner but your best?
She’s keeping me sore, but won’t allow me to overwork myself into pain or further injury. It’s pleasant enough. It keeps me tired though. I sleep like a baby.
There you go, an update on the horrors of prison life. Hopefully it helps you to see how important it is to me to have outside love and support. In here, you’ll lose your bearings if you let the pressure and corruption overcome you. You are a lifeline and a Godsend. Just so you know.
It’s so cold here, too. I freeze every single night, but this is life on the inside. Wish I had better content to offer. Hopefully my next letter will inspire smiles. Sorry, rainy days.
November 1, 2009
Hey Lady! How are you? Hope everything is good your way. It’s okay down here, cold! I’m okay though. In a pretty good mood tonight for no particular reason. Sleepy though.
Received the latest letter from you, beautiful pictures. As always, I can count on you to keep my mind free. Thanks. And thank you for responding to my letters. So many people write folks, but completely ignore the content of the letter they are replying to; that’s so rude! ): I mean, sometimes, like now, I’m too lazy to get out of bed and get your letter off the shelf, but you were on my mind, so here I am.
Therapy is going smooth. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about that crap on my medical records, and brought it up to Mrs. W (the sweet one). She told me not to sweat it, that they put that nonsense in everyone’s file, that she pays it no mind because she knows its garbage planted to prejudice staff against inmates. That’s still messed up, and I still feel violated.
You know, I try to tell these very confused kats in here that simplicity is happiness. I mean, the rims, jewelry, cars….all that’s fine and dandy, but you can’t take it with you, or cherish it like memories of good times. You’re very right, counting your blessings is important. Things can always be worse, even when it seems they can’t.
My heart goes out to you. I know that you deal with it (your illness), you are very capable and active, but that doesn’t mean that you deserve it. Seems that bad things always happen to the best people. It’s life, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.
You are very brave to push on with a positive attitude. Again, you give me yet another something to admire about you.
Wow, sleep is upon me. Better rest up. I’ll write a better letter later. Sorry it’s so short.
Sincerely,
November 25, 2009
Hey! I’m sorry I have been so busy! ): After the holidays I’m going to sit down and write a long letter and respond to all your recent letters.
Right now it’s after midnight and I have to wake up early for therapy. I’m sleepy, too. Ben hard at work on cards for you and my mom. Hope you enjoy it! (: I’m no artist, but maybe it’ll be worth a smile. Thanks for simply being you!
Happy Holidays,
P.S. Get full and take plenty of pictures of all the great dishes.
December 18, 2009
Who would have thought a year ago,
we’d be pen pals still?
I’ve been missing in action for a good while, haven’t I? Well, my apologies. I’ve not been feeling good, sleeping more than is healthy. But whatever it is, I’m coming out of it.
I’ve enjoyed your reminders that you care. They have helped me on some nights that I was otherwise miserable.
Of course, I wish you plenty of holiday cheer. The letter is still coming. I foolishly don’t purchase enough postage to last so long. We’ve not gone to the commissary since the 23rd of last month. The cell block is in a state of chaos. I’ve not sent out any mail in about three weeks, I know folks are probably worried. Hopefully we go Tuesday. Couldn’t stand to go through Christmas in this sad state.
You know I’ve got all kinds of good things planned. That’s what makes my holiday, in here cooking, listening to Christmas music, then eating something that is “exotic,” in comparison to the crap we eat, and the excitement and approval of those that I share with.
Anyways, a very Happy Holidays to you. Your friendship is a gift!
Who would have thought a year ago, we’d be pen pals still? Especially after my ugly first letter!
Blog Not Everybody
Is the guy with the teardrop tattoos and the bottle cap knuckles less gay than the guy with the fitted pants and eyeliner?
Regardless of what scientists say, homosexuality is not a disease. Homosexuality is not contagious, communicable or transmittable. If it was, every man in this place would be so ridiculously, completely, head over heels, snapping above the shoulder gay (straight men snap down, never above the shoulder). Surely I’m no expert. I can’t tell you what homosexuality is. As a man though, I can damn sure tell you what it’s not.
Homosexuality is not something that suddenly occurs overnight or after a certain amount of time. You don’t wake up one morning suddenly gay. There are dudes in here that have been here for twenty plus years who are not gay. They’re tormented, half crazy, but not gay. And then, there are guys in here who have been here twenty plus years and are very gay. There are guys that aren’t here twenty minutes and “discover” their homosexuality. There is no alarm clock ticking or level of pressure you reach where you just gotta’ have a man. No, it doesn’t work like that. Time is time, pressure is pressure. The longer I’m here, the more I want a woman.
Early 2000, I came home from boot camp. My long time girlfriend and I were lying in bed one morning when she asked me about anal sex. Rolling over, kind of puzzled, kind of excited, I took the bait. “Why? Wassup?” Smiling her beautiful smile, she responded, “I don’t know. I thought that’s what ya’ll liked in there.”
Now even though I knew she was playing, I went from zero to sixty in about 0.5 seconds, extremely pissed. Her smile became a mask of fear as she watched my anger transform me into a raving madman. I’ve never been abusive of women, or the kind of guy who gets his rocks off on beating women, but that morning the temptation was there. We are both fortunate that I loved her as much as I did. I mean, there are certain things that you just don’t play about.
However, while only a small percentage, I’d guess about 15%, of the men in the Texas prison system are gay (5% openly, 10% waiting in the wings), you would be astounded at the number of “straight” men who play the “come on” and “gay” games. I mean, imagine you run into a guy you’ve known all your life, or long enough to have seen him interested in females, a girlfriend, kids, and this guy, this certified street kat doing two life sentences from a home invasion turned double murder, a killer for real, grabs two huge hands full of another man’s butt…and squeezes! Jeeze…I swear, almost nothing surprises me anymore.
All day long you hear guys referring to each other casually as “bitches” and “hoes,” playfully, no retribution. It’s commonplace to see one man walk up behind another man and thrust his pelvis into the other man’s backside. Yes, it is sickening, something I can’t begin to understand, much like homosexuality, I see it and don’t see it. I just do me. And when I see these guys, the pretend guys and the real gays at visitation, kissing their kids, holding their wives’ hands, I shake my head and tell my momma how much I miss her.
Do I condone homosexuality? You know, to each his own. I don’t know or pretend to know why the earth spins, why the sky is so vast…I don’t have the secrets of the universe.
Raised in the church, I have my faith, my beliefs...know what the Bible says about Sodom and Gomorrah. In the end, we all have to atone, you know. There are a couple of homosexual guys on my cellblock that talk to me every day. I don’t slap them to the ground and berate them. They are human beings, too. They are no threat to me or my manhood. I don’t see what is sexy about a man and I’m not in the least bit curious. More women for me, huh?
What’s confusing is how the guys who are “man enough” to be open about their homosexuality are scorned, treated as less than men, called “hoes,” punks” and “faggots” while the “studs,” the dudes so called “on the fence,” O.G’s and all, are treated with the utmost respect. The blind leading the blind. Is the guy with the teardrop tattoos and the bottle cap knuckles less gay than the guy with the fitted pants and eyeliner? Because this guy is the “man” in the relationship, it’s cool? Come on. First base, short stop, second base, outfielder, batter….pitching or catching, it’s all baseball. Some people love the game. I don’t play nor am I a fan.
Society has indeed embraced homosexuality as a culture. At some point you have to accept it and roll on. Homosexuality is here, it is what it is. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me, doesn’t affect me….sometimes it does.
One afternoon in the spring of 2003, my long time homeboy, Chris and I stood on his front porch, grilling some steaks, drinking beer, “chillin’. A school bus pulled up on the street below his second story apartment. Two little black girls stepped off the bus and the bus departed. These two children, dressed in khaki pants and clean white polo shirts waited until the bus got a good distance down the street, then wrapped their little arms around each other’s waists. Nothing to be misunderstood about it, this was not the embrace of friends; this was the embrace of lovers. The smaller girl leaned her braided head on the bigger girl’s shoulder and they strolled down the street.
I watched them for a long time before I turned to meet Chris’ eyes. In his eyes was the same sadness and disbelief that I felt. “No?” He gasped. I’m not sure if it was a question or a plea, but I understood. Shaking my head in response, worried about my three year old step-daughter at home, I drained the remainder of my 24 oz. can. Those little girls couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, tops! They hadn’t lived enough to know what sexuality was, and it broke my heart.
Nothing is taboo anymore. Guys in here are always bragging about their bisexual wives, and there are always a handful of guys eager to hear all of the juicy details. Me? Eh…not so much. Yeah, yeah, yeah…double standards…I get it. Here’s the thing though, I’m not attracted to men at all. I’m very very attracted to women. So it would be a lie if I said that the sight, thought, idea of two women kissing, etc. doesn’t arouse me, but that’s where it stops. Arousal. Primal, lustful, animal instinct. It’s not something I’d want in a relationship. Call me old fashioned, but I’m of the Adam and Eve cult, not Adam and Eve…and Patrice. Or John! Nooo, that opens too many doors. The woman I vow to spend the remainder of my life with should be loyal to me and only me. If she has needs outside of us, we shouldn’t be together. And how do you explain that to the kids? “Oh that’s just your Aunt Naomi.” Stop it.
A woman from a former relationship, a woman I loved very deeply, went out with a family friend. While she was gone, I stayed home with the kids, fed and bathed them, smoked some, drank some, then sat on the couch and watched The Lion King with my son. Right there on the couch is where I passed out.
Hours later, I was awakened by my shorts being pulled off. Buzzed, eyes straining to focus in the dark, I could see “my woman” tugging anxiously at my shorts. With my assistance, she got my shorts off and was all over me. I didn’t even ask.
Weeks later, we lay in the bed after making love. This was usually when we aired dirty laundry and confided in one another. She told me that our family friend (a female) had come on to her that night at the club, touched her breast and kissed her. For the slightest instant I was aroused, but alarms were sounding in my head.
“Did you like it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered with a hint of irritation. But I already had my answer. She’d been so turned on by that, that she came home and ravished me. I lost respect for her that night. See it how you choose, but if another man, friend, family, Moses, tries to come on to me; he’s getting the kiss of death. Diane Sawyer won’t have to come interview me in jail to know how I felt about it.
Ahhh…but this is the world we live in. The world we love. I’m not the judge, jury or executioner. I’m just a man doing my time, searching my soul, praying I know the answers before I get too old.
“Jay Straight, like Indian hair.”
Shawn “Jay-Z” Carter
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