November 10, 2010 11:45 p.m.
Your letters often rescue me from self destruction, I swear I owe you more than you know! Yesterday morning, one of the rare mornings I’m in the dayroom (came back from the library) I’m sitting, talking to this guy, watching Good Morning America, or the Early Show or one of those types, awaiting the Rachael Ray Show (who I adore!), who had Julianna Margulies (The Good Wife – E.R.) who is beautiful as well, as a guest, when this moron changes the station. Okay, no big deal, except they only open the doors to the cells every few hours and I’d just missed my opportunity to go in. So I said so (to the guy I was talking to) and this idiot (that changed the channel) starts telling me about how they watch this certain program every morning. (Now, picture a 38 year old black man, muscular, tattooed all over, over animated, trying to explain to me why he put the TV on Telemundo.) (: “So what. I don’t care what you want to watch. I just wish I’d have gone in my cell, and I wasn’t talking to you!” He tells me that I shouldn’t speak up on it if I didn’t care, as if he’d not understood a word I’d just spoken. Now I’m pissed. I told him, “Hey, I’m a grown f***ing man with kids! You can run this TV, run this prison, but you don’t run me. It’s my prerogative to say what the hell I want to say!” He walked off, mumbling like a girl, and Issac, the white guy I’d been talking to, grabs my arm. “Jason, forget him. They’ll jump you or stab you. Just let it go.”
But I didn’t let it go. I let it fester. Several hours later when the guard told me I wasn’t on the list to go to college classes, I flipped out. Once it was all straightened out, I apologized to the officer, but was still angry at the inmate who’s a Crip and thinking about taking a chance getting jumped or stabbed when I got two letters. One from my uncle and one from you. Both were kind and encouraging, causing me to pray for guidance and giving thanks for you both. Gotta let my pride go or it’s going to get me killed. But you brought me back to peaceful reality. Thank you.
How are you? It’s taking the mail room so long to get your mail to me, it’s dated by the time I get it. The letter yesterday 11-9-10 was posted 11-01-10. But thank God they didn’t send it all over the state like on the other cell block.
Yeah, I went on the dreaded hospital trip last week. The trip was awful, cold, uncomfortable and discouraging. It took me almost a full week to recover and find myself. But I’m glad now. (: I put off the scope until the end of December. Not ready to go back to crutches!
When no one else seems to care,
I know I’ll hear from you!
I never think you forget me. When no one else seems to care, I know I’ll hear from you! (: And although I always write you, tell your husband that he’s special to me, too. (: You guys have done so much for me and have been such good friends!
So glad that you were “thrilled” to hear from me. I try. (: Anything I can do to be a friend and return the kindness and sincerity that you give so unselfishly. Really glad I have the energy to write. I wasn’t aware of how lazy I’d been until I started back working out.
You know what? My mom had actually told me the truth! Yeah, the hateful lady that I’d talked to about my account is the one who lied, let me to believe I had no money, planted the seed of doubt, I watered it and grew panic berries. It wasn’t enough for me to put my plan into action, but it was a start and I’m doing better than most everyone else on the cell block. They want to borrow on credit. Ha! I can’t eat credit. Like I’d trust one of these guys, who lie for entertainment?
Actually, the aunt I vent to is my Godmother, kinda a spiritual advisor and my mom’s baby sister. I’ve lived with her and she knows me better than most. The aunt who listed me on the (SOC) webpage is very emotional and has just resumed writing me. She kept me as a baby, then again when I had mono. She is Creole like all of us but looks white.
So far the lockdown rumor has been just that, a rumor. But I trade books I’ve read for one’s that I have not read. Plus I go to the library. Every once in a while, my grandmother will go to a discount/used bookstore and send me a stack of books which I devour way too soon. This last lockdown, they let us go to class, but usually they don’t. I guess because we pay for college, they can’t keep us from going.
Oh, the Broncos. Goodness! We don’t see many of their games because of the broadcasting regions, but I wonder how Orton can throw for all those yards and they still lose? The Texans are sapping the life out of my season. They find a way to lose games, which is frustrating. True, the secondary is horrible, but the offense can score. To me, it’s bad coaching. I want Kubiak fired, like last season! He’s not a good coach and he doesn’t have heart. The only reason they keep him is because G.M. Rick Smith is from the Broncos, too. But at least we aren’t as bad as the Cowgirls! And I’ve still got my Saints.
You sound very happy to have your computer back. (: Funny how we become attached to things, huh? But it gives you an outlet, keeps you busy. I don’t blame you, not having it is like not having your job.
Well, gonna put this one in the wind. Take care!
Sincerely,
I woke up at 4:37 a.m.
to the sounds of yelling.
November 16, 2010 9:00 p.m.
I guess this is my official “thank you for the bonus letter.” (: It’s an attempt anyhow. I’m sooo tired, but wanted to at least put some words on paper to you before I passed out.
It has been such an excruciatingly long day, you wouldn’t believe it! You’d think that the days are longer and the nights shorter instead of the other way around. I woke up at 4:37 a.m. to the sounds of yelling. (They’re always yelling!) ): But it’s usually pretty peaceful in the wee hours. This morning they did random drug tests and you can imagine the fuss that caused, probably because half of the cell block is dirty.
Thank God I gave all that up, just stopped and didn’t want to escape like that anymore, so I don’t worry about drug tests. I don’t drink or even smoke cigarettes (everyone smokes). But I couldn’t go back to sleep. Then I had an appointment in the infirmary at 7:00 a.m. but didn’t see a nurse until 1:00 p.m. It was tiring. Then I had school, then they didn’t feed us until 8:30, so I just walked in. But I walked in, and I’m writing to you so I’m smiling. (: And with that, I’m going to sleep (right after I bathe) hopefully tomorrow will hold better news.
December 1, 2010 4:53 p.m.
Well, it’s really been too long since I’ve written you! As you know, there was a month between commissary trips and with about a week to go, I ran out of stamps, envelopes and ink pens! ): And if you don’t know by now, I hate asking people for stuff, I’m independent to a fault. Plus, favors just aren’t a good idea in here. You may borrow a few sheets of paper that will cost you several dollars in the long run, or a fight.
So I just roughed it. (: Made commissary last Tuesday, but I’ve been so busy that you wouldn’t believe it! I just wrote my mom last night. I wanted to do my cakes and I’ve been doing them, to the fifth power. Last night was the first full night of sleep I got since last Monday. My plan is working though, so I can’t complain. (:
A few guys bought all the stuff for
gumbo, I cooked that and cheesecake.
I had to write a thesis paper for my English class as well. Just been busy. But for friends, we make time. (: So here I am.
How was your turkey day? The weather? It had been unseasonably warm here and got cold on Thanksgiving Day and has pretty much stayed that way. I had a pretty good Thanksgiving though, despite the circumstances.
A few guys bought all the stuff for gumbo, I cooked that and cheesecake which came out great! We watched football, yelled a bunch, then waited for Sunday and did it again. My Saints pulled off a win in Dallas and the Texans spanked the Titans. Now, I don’t know what’s wrong with the Broncos, but they put up a fight. They are like the Cowboys, all that talent and just can’t win.
Yes, I did enjoy the newspaper. Your paper is very thorough and detailed. A lot of Texas papers just touch on this and that but don’t really go into great detail. When I was on the other cell block, we had ESPN and I saw plenty of Woody Paige on a show called Around the Horn. He’s a silly dude. The pictures of the girls playing with clay shot me back to my own childhood. I was weird. I liked the smell of Playdough. I remember one time my mom and I made some from scratch and I tried to eat some since it was made from flour. Yuck! Talk about salty!
No, no lockdown. Thank God.
Banana cake sounds delicious! You get so tired of eating the same crap in here. Right now, I’ve got four pieces of chicken (deboned) cooking in my hot pot, seasoned with crushed basil and rosemary, fresh onions, chives and peppers, ranch dressing and spicy brown mustard. This guy brought in a bunch of fresh vegetables from the fields, so I put it to work. It’s good to taste different things now and then. Oh yeah, cilantro too! I love cilantro, it has such a clean taste, like parsley but spicy. (:
My family all got together for Thanksgiving too, and although I’ve not heard from anyone yet, I can just imagine my mom, who is a diehard Saints fan, screaming while my youngest uncles (Cowboy fans) yell and holler. We always eat a lot of food too. Gumbo, jambalaya, dirty rice, meat pies, fried turkey, honey baked hams, smoked turkey, boudain, beer sausage, back strap, squash casserole, broccoli casserole, green bean casserole, cornbread stuffing, sweet potato pies, pumpkin pies, 7-up cakes, butter pound cakes, blueberry cheesecake, strawberry cheesecake, peach cobbler, oven rolls, hog cracklin'…we eat! Then we eat Belgium waffles, fresh fruit salad, and leftovers for breakfast the next day. That’s when my mom makes more meat pies and her famous pecan pralines. Growing up, all of my friends and girlfriends would end up at my aunt’s house. And we do even more for Christmas.
10:45 p.m.
Had to run out of the cell, then when I came back, I washed and bleached my floor. Just finished eating and I’m so full! It was good though. No way I could eat all of that, so I fed my neighbors on both sides. The guy in 30 cell is an old Spanish dude, he doesn’t speak English or go to commissary so I don’t mind giving him something from time to time. He’s a sweet old guy though. I think I surprise him because of the language barrier, he doesn’t know me or my background and culture. He probably thinks I‘m a young black dude like all the rest, and in here, the races don’t really intermingle. To hell with their codes and rules, I do what feels right.
That food made me drowsy. My spelling is so awful. Anyhow, I still have one more letter to respond to. That means you’ll get another letter from me following that one. (: For now, though, I better bundle up and get some sleep. The temp is dropping by the second and those screws or whatever is in my knee disagree with cold weather. Thanks for all the hugs and warm wishes! Plenty back your way!
Sincerely,
Thanks for all the hugs and warm wishes!
Blog
I Die Slow
Another part of me died tonight. I watched helplessly while a man was beaten stupid and bloody. Sure, he’ll recover, possible endure a few more such beatings, but the withered portion of my soul deceased, can never be retrieved. I mourn. And the saddest part of it all is, it’s no big deal. Life goes on.
So why do I feel so powerless? True enough, the beatee is Hispanic and it is unwritten that we are enemies, which is supremely stupid. In my eyes though, he is a human being, someone’s son, brother, father… a person. Still, it is a Cardinal Sin within these walls to mind the business of others. You see and don’t see, hear and don’t hear, and never speak on what you can’t back up For me to have spoken up or God forbid, gone to his aid, I would be the catalyst in a race riot that would most likely end up with me as a shank pin cushion.
Perhaps this is not purgatory, but a place lower than hell. Where else in civilization do grown men of 30, 40, 50 years of age walk around trying to punch through human skulls, puncturing lungs with sharpened spikes or rebar, and cleaning craniums with fan motors, they play a game of dominoes, cook, eat and enjoy a meal only upset by the blood on their shoes? Oh that’s right, I’m in prison. There is no civilization. These conditions are common, encouraged and expected. No big deal. If I valued my life, I wouldn’t have been caught up in the streets. Right? There is no rehabilitation, only recurring madness.
This place is like an iron and concrete playground where infantile men in hardened shells strike and joust, sometimes to the death. It’s common, condoned and accepted, a part of everyday life in here. Yet, every time I bear witness to the savagery in which a man is beaten down, deteriorated into stupefied submission or unconsciousness, something in me expires. Worse, I too am capable of uncouth brutality when threatened. Am I no better than my “peers” because I refuse to be the victim? I’m not sure, but I take solace in the fact that I’m never the antagonist, just a man with more heart than sense.
Inside, nothing is as it should be or is outside. These bricks house iniquity, wickedness and malice like a kiln baking it all into a grand evil, unimaginable to society on the outside looking in. Far too often I’m reminded that I’ve been reduced from a man to a number, hands bound squirming, too busy trying to save me to help the next man.
What are my options? Daunting, I assure you. Does a colostomy bag worn to visit with my daughter make me a hero or dumb ass? The bigger question: if the tables were turned, who would come to my aid? Perhaps in my heart I know the answer, so I choose to stand witness, dying a piece at a time instead of all at once in a blaze of chivalrous stupidity.
Regardless, I always end up a little less of the man I was. Talk about a losing battle.
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