Jason's book PrisonLife InsideOUT - Letters from Prison
has just been released. It is available for
preview and purchase by clicking HERE.
Second edition will soon be available on
Amazon.com and other online bookstores.
Letters and a new blog
July 13, 2010 12:36 midnight
Thank you for your kindness and support.
But before you get the impression that I’m still in a funk, I’m not. Mentally I’m much better. My mom has been a rock, excuse me—my rock. Without her and YOU, I think I would have snapped and lost it when things were thick a few weeks back. Thank you for your kindness and support. You and your husband have gone great lengths for me, seeing me as a person, when so much of the world sees me as a liability, a threat, another lost cause, a number.
No, unfortunately, these people have no replaced my stuff, nor made any attempt. What they did, seeing that they were thoroughly screwed, they sabotaged my step 2 grievance. It’s dated the 6th, I turned it in on the 7th, they claim that I didn’t turn it in until the 11th, one day after the deadline. How convenient? Really, it pisses me off how easily they manipulate us on the inside, making us weak and defenseless. Now I have to try to bring in outside agencies…it has worn me down and put cracks in my resolve, but I cannot just let them violate me like that, as if I’m not even a man. No, I’ll fight them until I cannot fight anymore. I’ve accepted that I still may lose, but they’ll know I was there and think twice before picking a fight with me. I won’t lose them all.
I have not let it sour my outlook on life, though. To be a fighter is in my nature, just as it is to bring warmth and affection and positive energy to the world.
We are on lock down right now, but it’s been fairly pleasant. It's been cool, I have plenty of food, several good novels
AND (: I was able to purchase a new fan the day before we went on lock down! My mom told me to buy it and let them reimburse me.
The only real problem has been that they are taking their time moving me. I really, really despise my cell mate. I really wish they’d match me up with someone of an equal I.Q. and temperament. Just something else I have to fight for, rather than fight him. I loathe selfish people and “know it alls.”
I love the pictures you send. Your husband’s pictures are awesome! I love the freedom his pictures always convey. It’s an escape for me.
Jeeze, I know there is more I want to tell you, but I’m sleepy and my brain is in a fog. Oh yeah, the knee! You asked about the dreadful knee. Well, I work it hard nearly every day but I need a second surgery…”a meniscus” or something? My muscles are strong, my will, too. Hopefully this surgery will be the key.
Yes, I still have the cane. I don’t always need it, but it is reassuring amongst a crowd. Still, I’m able to jog in place for up to an hour some days. Like I said, I work it hard at rehabilitation.
Well, I better get some rest before I collapse and drool on this letter. (: (My workouts drain me.)
Sincerely,
P.S. You’re the BEST!
August 18, 2010
Wow,
It’s amazing how much time lapses between the madness, and I can find the calm and serenity to write you without transferring all of the tension. Oh, I know you’ll say you don’t mind, but I mind. I care too much about you and your feelings to let the ugliness of this place radiate through my letters.
So, here I am, nerves a little ragged, but heart happy, as it always is when I write you. (: What upsets me is that I can never keep track of all the things I need to ask, or respond to. Forgive me? I do try to go back and go through your letters.
Did I wish you a happy belated birthday? I hope so. I am so scatter brained. I know I should have sent a card and probably didn’t. Although there’s no excuse, you wouldn’t believe all that’s been going on.
First, this little fat kid was supposed to be robbing me. Now it sounds bad, but all it really did is piss me off. For one, most everybody respects me, so as people found out, they became angry. Second, this dud is like 5’5’ and built like Barney Rubble. I’m 6’4” and built like a pro wide out. It’s funny, really. At the time though, I was enraged, and that scared me.
“You are welcome to whatever I have,
if you can leave here breathing.”
See, on the surface, I’m just the silly, good natured boy next door. But when threatened, I become a panther, all bunched muscles, instinct, and lethal intent. And the truth is, had he come in my cell, even with a knife, he would not have been able to stab me enough before I broke his neck. I’m sorry, it sounds awful, but it’s reality. Don’t mistake me for a killer, because I’m not, but I will not be the victim either. My instincts take over. I’m sure yours do too in the right (wrong) situation.
Well, I told the kid as much. Told him, “You are welcome to whatever I have, if you can leave here breathing.” The look on his face was priceless. He began to explain how it was a misunderstanding, and how he wouldn’t disrespect me, blah-blah-blah. I laughed it off, but the scary part was, I definitely would have killed him. I shouldn’t be like that. But how else can it be? Kill or be killed, right? I have to survive this hell and live my life out there—as intended.
I got my x-rays back and I have calcification, osteoporosis and a bunch of other junk around my knee. That sucks, but I’m optimistic. I work out every day. I don’t feel like all that mess is in my leg. Maybe the surgeon will clean all that out. Gotta think positive.
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| Dennis Weaver Memorial, Ridgway, CO |
Rain! Thank God for rain! Yes, today it rained. It’s been sooo hot here. 103 or 104 degrees every day, still in the high 90’s at 10 p.m. Miserable, sweltering heat! Today was a break. If we can just escape August. (:
The pictures of that eagle are awesome! At first I thought it was real! I enjoy all of the pictures.
What kind of books do you read? I read all kinds. I just finished reading one called The Boneman’s Daughter by Ted Dekker. It’s a suspense novel, excellent read.
Dogs on the grill are the best kind! When I was little, my mom taught us to grill hot dogs and to cook them in the skillet with onions and peppers. I was at my cousin’s house the first time I saw someone boil the weenies, and sooo disappointed when I tasted them. Everything is better grilled.
I’d love to get the Africa books, but I couldn’t guarantee you one way or another that they’d be allowed in. About the only thing I could suggest is that you call or email the unit and ask about the procedure. They won’t tell me. I wrote and asked, my request disappeared into the netherworld. ):
Whew! Good letter, huh? Okay, a few favors to ask, (if I can?). One, if you run across any projected draft orders for this season’s fantasy football, and any other info. Also, I’d like a good cheesecake recipe (NY style). And a good quality picture of an album cover. The album title is “Ridin Dirty,” the artist: U.G.K., category: Rap. I think it came out in 95 or 96, if that helps. I had a dream about that album cover, and it’s something on it I can’t remember and it’s eating at me. Just one of those frivolous little things that irritate you until you know. (:
Oh, my neighbor is losing his mind (stressing). He’s a good guy, here for selling weed, nothing horrible. Well, I was showing him some of the pictures and cards. He started whining about how nobody sends him cards, he didn’t even get a card for his birthday, so I told him I’d see what I could do, no promises. He really just needs a “pick-me-up.” But I understand if you don’t want to send something to some guy you don’t know. If you want to send him a card, you can do it through me, but really, you don’t have to send anything. (: I told him I’d see. YOU are mine! (:
I’m blessed that you find the time for me. I only asked because I told him I would. People are always shocked when I tell them how we started writing. It’s true though. Christmas cards out of the blue. Now we’re closing in on two years. Amazing!
Well, I’d better bring it to a close. Thank you for being such a good friend and simply being you!
Warm wishes,
Blog
Belly of the Beast
I hate this place! No, seriously, some days…most days I’m cool, doing me, taking it all in stride. Then some days… some days the frustration wells up in me to galactic proportions, mutates and becomes an untamed, unquenchable violence that scares me to death! Scared of the consequences, scared that I won’t be able to rein it in, scared because I know what I’m capable of when threatened, and I don’t ever want to become that person again…not even for a minute. A few seconds is all it takes to alter your life forever.
This isn’t prison, it’s hell.
As a whole, I despise my “peers.” There are a few exceptions, guys raised with morals, standards, common sense. We are the minority, the few, the scared, the outcasts. The company I’m forced to keep is one of the only more severe punishments. Men that hate for the sake of hatred, because it’s their nature, because it’s all they know. Men who refer to all women as “bitches” and “hoes,” all women-- their own daughters and mothers. No, I refuse to accept these people, these savages. They are not my “peers.”
It’s no mystery why my face is often buried in a book. Books provide a safe refuge, a haven where anything is possible and ignorance is not the law. Working out is helpful as well, pushing my anger into the concrete, taking my muscles to a place where my mind is not needed. A painful gratifying escape.
This isn’t prison, it’s hell. Intelligence is frowned upon, ridiculed, ignorance is glorified. Manhood is defined by the amount of ink in your skin, not your character and actions. Vulgarity is applauded, reservation is exploited, killing is a first resort and kindness is nonexistent.
I water down these images, saturate them so that I can float above the refuse, and to keep from losing my mind. This is my reality though. My key to survival is staying above it.
Unfortunately, and against the will of my dreams, I’m just a man, utterly movable and frustratingly fragile. Human.
Sometimes the sharks will not allow me to float, capsizing my meager craft of faith and hope, tumbling me into the murky water to fend for myself among the blood lusting bottom feeders. I am indeed in “the can” but no one ever mentions the crabs at the bottom, claws upstretched, ready to snatch any fellow on the rise.
This world is not my home, but an ill calculated stop where I’m forced to suffer for my transgressions. I’ve learned to love myself and use my hatred to navigate through this human septic tank. My enemies are used as a guide, an example of what I must never let myself become.
I hate this place. However, unlike my “peers,” I do not hate myself. You may choose to call me “judgmental,” which is fine if you can’t decipher the difference between “judgment” and “consciousness.” Acute awareness is my weapon. I need no sharks. “Live by the sword, die…” no, death is not an option. My mind is sharper than any knife one may forge against me. With justified arrogance, I loathe all beyond stagnation, the detrimental, the damned, those who hate me because they despise themselves. And every night, I pray for them, pray for forgiveness, for patience, guidance, that my children are never witness to a tenth of what I’ve seen…this place harvests no hope. I am but a dim luminescence in the cave of despair.
This world is not my home…I’m in the Belly of the Beast.
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