NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED....

March 16, 2011

“My issue is that you’ve gone through all this trouble to that no one else would do, to help me, and the system strikes again.”

8:37 p.m.

Oh boy! All day I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this. Don’t panic, it’s nothing horrible. It’s just that it’s crap, for lack of a better word.

How are you? Pleasantries first, get you smiling. Well, I’m sure we both felt that some kind of stupidity would prove along and disturb the glory flow of productive happiness we’d established as of late. Bummer, Dudette. Like, I was totally stoked, you know? Like, so not “Chevy to the Levee,” but more like “Purple Haze,” you know? Then comes the man with all this UFO’s, ketchup and mustard conspiracies, and now the blasted staples! Buzz kill, Dudette.

Yeah, the legal pads came today, and these sweet people won’t let me have them. Why? Yeah, this is the good part. Staples. No, not the store that they came from, because they have staples in them. (This is the part where you raise a dainty fist and shake it at the morons who create the rules which of course are designed solely to make our lives miserable and frustrating.)

Right now I’m making light of it by being humorous. This morning I was not a happy camper.Yes, staples. So I asked the woman who delivered this imbecilic decree, trying not to become more irritated by her resemblance to the gay tiger trainer, the one who didn’t, but should have gotten his face eaten off, “Can’t I just remove the staples?”

She replied, “No. No you can’t. You can send them home or have them destroyed.” By destroyed, she means that she can take them home and distribute them amongst the good folk up in her trailer community. HA! Nice try, Nannette, but she won’t be buying bingo cards and Old Milwaukee’s Best with proceeds from my paper.

If I’m being ugly (I am) you had to be there. She wasn’t very pleasant or understanding.

Anyhow, the problem can be rectified. My issue is that you’ve gone through all this trouble to that no one else would do, to help me, and the system strikes again. However, no blame rests on you.

It doesn’t do any good to dwell on what went wrong. Here is how we fix it and the dilemma within. I can send the legal pads back to the store and you can arrange to have them switched out for pads that are glued and not stapled. (how stupid!) ): But, (there’s always a but), I’m guessing at what it will cost to send them back to the store, which wouldn’t be a problem if I had the money. Before you think it, NO, you shall not consider it. I know what you’re thinking and you’ve spent enough. 

I’ll find out exactly what it will cost to ship it and see if they’ll let me deduct that amount from my account. I’m sorry about all of this. ): I think the rules are very stupid. We get stuff with staples every day. It’s always something. “Stupid is as stupid does.” Whatever that means… I will let you know how it all works out. Again, I’m really really sorry. I had no idea about the stupid rule. The plus side is I have 60 days to send them back before they “destroy” them. It will take several days for them to let me know what it will cost to ship them back. Why not eat into those 60 days. The trailer park is already excited. Perhaps you can find out the shipping fee for me, if you don’t already know, so I can know if Nanette and the gang are trying to get a few extra gallons of gas out of me.

On to more positive trains of thoughts. I’m praying that you and your husband are at least somewhat receptive to the novel idea. I know I’m desperate, and if it’s not a good idea, please be honest with me? Situations like this make me more desperate. If I had some income, I would have arranged to send the pads back this morning.

No one has killed anyone. Things seem relatively calm. One of the guys at the center of all the drama went P.C. (Protective Custody) today. And he left with a bunch of people’s cash money and a cell phone…allegedly. Ehh, I don’t believe that, but I really don’t care. One less problem. Unfortunately for him, his “familia” is definitely going to put a hit out on him. There is not a unit he can be safe in this state. Sad. The evil you do will do you. Karma and what not.

Tomorrow is my precious baby girl’s birthday! I wrote her a letter early this morning and sent it out. Goodness, that letter was gut wrenching for me. Lord knows how I love those kids! Anyhow, I got a card made for her too, a pink Care Bear and Strawberry Shortcake. Still I wasn’t satisfied. Bet you can guess what I did then. Like you said, great writing. I could only make myself read it once, then I let one of my boys check it out. He looked at me in a way that I can’t really explain. When he finally spoke, he said, “Boy, you’re bad!” He said I remind him of Ralph Ellison. I think that’s a high compliment, although I’m not familiar with Ellison’s work. He asked why I’m not writing a book. I just smiled. Signs?

Each day I’m more confident, it comes easier, flowing with passion. It’s like composing music, seeing where an A-flat will sound better than a B-sharp, or however music is done, you get my point. Transposition is the word I think I’m looking for. Framing my mind to the paper is the extent of my work. Like my heart-soul-mind are all intricately, yet intimately connected.

 

What I wrote tonight was….powerful, liberating. It was something that I needed to get off my chest in the worst way. Thank you for this opportunity to express myself for myself, to my kids, to the world! Thank you! No matter what does or does not become of it all, this is something I need to do.

Hum, well I think I’ve rattled off quite enough. I just got an update on the postage and it beats the earlier estimate.

Don’t be upset about the paper? They know not what they do. (I hope!)

Love,

BLOG

BENCHES

Reality, there is no escape.  Reprieve, respite, eventually release, but no escape.

Today I had a visit from a cousin I hardly even know, yet he jumped into my life without any flotation devices and no fear of drowning.  As it turns out, he jumped in to pull me back to the surface.

The visit was great, liberating, encouraging and therapeutic.  Once I began to talk, he actually listened earnestly, sincerely softening his kind and intelligent eyes further.  And I flowed, pouring forth more than I intended, purging myself of my tainted truths. 

There were a few moments of silence where he watched bees swarm, small children climb into the laps of parents, the free and those incarcerated, but it was never awkward.  It was as if I’d known and been around him my entire life.

When the visit was over, we hugged, then hugged again.  I’m not sure if my father ever touched me any time other than when he was trying to beat my brains out, if he did, I only remember the beatings.  But hugging my cousin felt like hugging not my father, but a father…a father to me.  That was my reprieve.

After stripping down completely naked to be searched, dressing and being counted, we went into the hallway that leads back into Hell.  It was in that hallway that I watched the glow of love fade from the faces of my fellow inmates as the realization sank in that we were indeed returning to our damnation.  It was I who spoke the thought, “Back to this bullshit.”  No one said anything, but they all slowly shook their heads, trying in vain to wish it away.

Refusing to let the weight of oppression steal my joy, I started about how good it was to see my cousin (whom I call uncle because of the age difference).  Some guys started listening, their ears tuned in to me, their eyes and hearts still outside at those picnic table with their departing loved ones.

Back on the cellblock, I sat down with an actual friend of mine and recapped my visit, jubilant in the retelling.   A few guys stopped by, asked if I’d had a good one, and told me that I was still glowing.

Trying to preserve my glow, I retreated to my cell, washed up, turned on my fan and started writing, telling my best friend of my visit.

“Chow time” was called about an hour and a half later, and although I was full of junk food from visitation, I decided that I’d go to chow anyhow and give my food away to someone who might be hungry and doesn’t have any food in their cell.  No good deed goes unpunished.

Returning from chow, I found a spot on the dayroom wall and stood to watch March Madness on the television.  The same friend from earlier and I were talking about some random nothingness when the blows began.

At first, I thought the two guys were playing around, the wild punches with nothing behind them, the whole exchange was mechanical.  Then Crips started jumping over benches and people, flailing unaimed fists into the melee.  Immediately, everyone in the dayroom was on their feet, some edging toward the brawl of Crips and Folks, some edging away, some with gaping mouths and terror stricken eyes, others calm like me, numb to the senseless violence that can spark without warning and spread like a wildfire, a conflagration of hatred consuming all it touches.

As soon as it sparked and caught, it had died, smoldering embers of abhorrence burning in the eyes of both sides.  One guy still clutched the wooden cane which he’d wielded during the brief free-for-all.  Just like that, ready to do whatever, to represent for your flag?  Even if it means never going home to your family, at least you kept it real.  Real damn dumb.

But it wasn’t about colors, sets, families…and then it was.  Turns out, one of the guys was sitting on the other guy’s BENCH.  I’m not sure if the Hoova was on the Disciple BENCH or the Disciple was sitting on the Hoova BENCH.  In the end, it was all about a motherfucking BENCH!  A BENCH?  No, no, excuse me, an uncomfortable iron BENCH that’s bolted to the cement floor?  A BENCH that was here when we got here and will be here when we leave, be it by bus or by bag.  A seat.  A resting place for asses, literally.  Seriously?  I didn’t even have to ask, “respect” or “principle” are the usual copouts for the justification of stupidity in here.

Another guy that I’m cool with emerged from the bunch with bright red blood on his t-shirt.  Without second thought I traded shirts with him and went to my cell to wash the blood out of it.  He can’t leave the dayroom, unfortunately until things are settled between his family and the Hoovas.  Even though he had nothing to do with it, he is invariably tied in…until the end.

We all choose the roads we travel, they and their antics are but unknown landmarks on the roadside as I make my journey through this to what must be better than this.  Really, my main concern was that no one gets discovered bloodied and bruised so that I’m able to go to commissary on Monday.  It’s been a month since my cellblock last went and my stomach won’t understand that it’s being neglected behind a BENCH.

Jason's book available on Amazon.com as an ebook!

At last Jason's book Prison Life InsideOUT Letters from Prison is available online at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005HYDM0O for Kindle for $7.95.  

It will soon be available online in print as well.

 

March 13, 2011

“I have to be punished for some mess I had nothing to do with, again.”

7:48 p.m.

Don’t want you to grow tired of me thanking you, but I must show my appreciation, although words don’t quite do it. Jeeze, I was-am thrilled with the dictionary and the thesaurus, but the other three books leave me speechless! You really are wonderful! It’s a shame that I’ve been asking my family about a dictionary for nearly four years, yet I complain once and you send me both, and excellent versions at that. All of the books are in mint condition, not a crack in the spines, not a bent page. No one has ever opened those books. Thank you!

It has been an eventful week. I finally heard from my mom, though it didn’t make me feel very good. ): I love me, that’s going to have to be enough.

I do feel much better. I didn’t actually get a real cry in, but it was a much needed wake-up call. After the fact, I realized that your love for me forced me to see the lack of love from others and that was just too ugly a revelation. No, I’m not blaming you or implying that you did something wrong. It’s just that since the day you walked into my life, you’ve not left my side. You set the bar pretty high, which is good, great! Still, it makes me makes me sick to my stomach that I can depend on you more than my family. Perhaps I used to be a horrible person and I just don’t remember. Or maybe they see me as a lost cause? Either way, I’ve worked so hard to make them proud, and succeeded in making myself proud, but failed them.

Your ability to believe in me…you encourage me to believe in myself, that’s priceless!

Yes, I have a pen that writes now. I was complaining to a friend (one of the very few) and he said that was unacceptable and gave me his pen on the spot. He is supportive of my writing so I share with him.

Actually, I wrote two blogs last night. I was writing one about how I wish I could always be happy, but that’s not humanly possible. Then, the “Eses” beat up one of their own. It was ugly and unfair, and it took me to a darker place. Taking your advice, I wrote. Sleep couldn’t hold those words at bay as they surged forward. Long time comin’.

It’s good to know that you’ll be a calm head when I freak out. After that letter was gone, I worried that you might think me crazy. What a relief to have someone understand and care, in a place where it’s so easy to feel forgotten, your kindness is unheard of.

Ironically, you are my best friend! This all feels so surreal. In relation to the drama in my life, this feels like a dream, actually stepping out into the world again…as words.

Right now we’re locked down. Yes, again! Always. I hate this bastard warden. Last night’s fight had something to do with Mexican Mafia and Houstone Tango Blast and some moron snitched, so we are locked down. I guess until they investigate. So I have to be punished for some mess I had nothing to do with, again.

These guys are like little kids. Only in here does a fight stand for something. People in the world don’t fist fight. Not where I’m from, they don’t. You disrespect someone, they shoot you. END. I keep telling these guys that they are going to get killed if they go out there thinking they can beat the world up. People don’t fight anymore, they kill. And if they don’t kill you, you’re going to jail.

The ebooks sound awesome! I’ve been wondering if this prehistoric state is going to ever let us have any sort of technology. Magazines are going out of business, books are obsolete. The future (for me) is exciting and frightening. You give me an incentive to crank out plenty of pages.

Your hugs are received and needed. Rest assured, I’m better, focusing on the positive. Let me close this one and spend some time with God. As always, I look forward to hearing from you!

Sincerely,

March 15, 2011

“Because of your belief in me, I believe in myself.”

9:11 p.m.

You are simply amazing! Do you mind if I just state every letter like that? That could be my everyday greeting. Or maybe “You’re awesome!” Either way, you are.

So, today they let us off of lockdown (again). Lockdown, lockdown, lockdown! (“Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!”) It sounds silly, but I just want to do my time. I mean, I don’t want to, but I have to, and it would make it so much simpler if they’d just leave me alone. This collective punishment is crap. Blend guys who want to do right and go home, with idiots who don’t care about themselves or anyone else, then punish everyone when the idiots mess up. That’s so stupid.

Then, the administration tried to make it a race issue, claiming that “a bunch of Black dudes” jumped on a Hispanic because he can’t handle his liquor. But one must expect the lines of reality to get twisted in a place of perversion. Guess their “investigation” gave them proof that the incident was resolved. I sure hope it is. I’m sick of doing other people’s time!

Mail time came along and washed away all the tension of my day. I got the BIG card with the beautiful pictures. I guess these particular pictures aren’t just my favorite ones. You definitely know how to spread joy.

I also got a letter from you today. Thank you for your concern and your everlasting kindness! I have my moments, but friends like you won’t allow me to stay down. Be glad I can’t email you. I’d “blong” your mail all day.

You know, I’ve always been told that I had a talent for writing, but I’ve never really believed in myself…until now. I feel free when I write, and I know in my heart that good will come of it. Hopefully your assessment is accurate and people will be hooked. The haters I’m used to, but positive feedback would be a welcome change. Your encouraging words give me even more confidence. Confidence is major. Because of your belief in me, I believe in myself.

In the past there’s always been something or another holding me back. Lack of dictionary, lack of proper editing skills, lack of publisher, lack of someone to shop publishers, lack of typewriter (because I don’t have the supportive cast I now have), so typing it here was the only option. I even considered paying one of those women in the magazines who type for a fee, but someone told me that if they stole my writing, I couldn’t do jack about it. Of course, I trust you. And there is nothing holding me back. Why?

Because you’re sending me a whole tree! Goodness! The few times my family sent paper, it was like 10 pads. Again. I can’t thank you enough! Jeeze. Don’t even know where I’ll put that much paper but I’ll figure it out. Guess the best thing to do would be to crank it out, write like a man possessed. I hope you got a really good deal. I know you did it to help me, but I didn’t want you spending all that money on me.

I’m grateful beyond words. I just don’t want to be a burden. Anyhow, I’ll make it worth it. I’ll make you proud. And if it helps, the legal pads cost $1.50 a piece for 50 sheets. I know you got a better deal than that. I’ll express mail you when I get them.

All of the books were received. I got the excellent dictionary and thesaurus. (I have not looked up a word I didn’t find!) The novels I received were the two books about Africa by Wilbur Smith and Centennial by James Michener. I haven’t begun reading them yet. I’m saving them…if you understand that. Trust me, it won’t be long before they lock us down again. ):

Yes, I’m enjoying the back to back letters, too. Your theory is dead on, you brighten my day every time I hear from you. You are consistent, kind and genuine. There was a lady from California who wrote twice and other who writes every blue moon. You’ve been there, growing closer all the time, pushing me forward instead of holding me back.

I don’t mean to imply that I expect you guys to publish anything free of charge. I’m just saying that I have no money, all I have is my talent. Any level of success would great from my standpoint. It would be really great to show people that when they didn’t believe in me, someone did. 

I do look forward to your husband’s blogs. There was something I wanted to ask him from the last one. I’ll have to go back and reread it so the question will come to mind.

Glad the weather there is nice. It’s been decent here, but too up and down. Chilly one day, then humid the next. Perfect “cold” weather. Good thing I rarely get sick.

Ahh, the rabbits seem to have gone to greener pastures, or perhaps, less garlic smelling pastures. I know the cayenne pepper works with cats. We had some that used to pee in my mom’s elephant ears and kaladiums? Paladiums? (Duh…dictionary) Caladiums. Anyhow, Momma would sprinkle cayenne and keep the cats away.

Me, I’d lure the rabbits in, pressure cook all the grainy toughness out of the meat and make a beautiful stew. Eat my grass, I eat your….tail.

The longer days give me more time to work out, but my body has not fully adjusted either. I’ve been sluggish for a few days. Gotta’ get in a good rep tomorrow. Maybe that’ll set me straight. 

Well, I better hit the hay. Who knows what tomorrow holds. Could be anything around this camp.

I wrote a really deep and brutally honest blog last night but one of my few respected associates would be upset if I sent it off without letting him check it out. (He’s a fan) So I’ll send it later this week. Not that you have a shortage of them to work with. I go in spurts. Right now I’m in a good one.

Be looking for my hugs and I’ll be waiting for yours.

Big hugs and smiles,

Blog   For Her

My Dear, my Love,

Lady,  how do you do?  Guess it’s painfully clever I’ve been thinking about you.  Baby, it’s been too long, much too long, what a shame.  I should not be on fire since you’re an old flame.

So appropriately named, Ebonie…my Ebonie Queen.  Queen?  Queen!  Please!  I’m down on my knees!  Love, you surpass want, you Love, are a need.  Cause I can’t continue as a me when my mind’s eye can we.  She was what she was, but Love…love is just love, except when it’s LOVE. 

Better than sex, even better than drugs, you set me on fire whenever we hug.  Just a touch is enough to engulf me in bliss, consumed by your spell, entranced by your lips.  And your kiss is like nectar from God’s favorite bloom.  I’m closer to heaven when you’re in the room.  Or my mind, or afar, in my heart you’re engraved.  The love of a lifetime, decades past a phase.

I’m a slave, you’re my master.  I’m captured in rapture.  Love bound and set free by the sound of your laughter.  Like woodwinds and strings on the wings of a cloud, face held high and warm in the rays of your smile.

Girl you reached thorugh my flesh, through my bones, to my soul, to the core!  I need more!  Boo I’m hooked, I’m addicted, a fiend!  Just a fool for your love, Love, my Ebonie Queen.

                                                                                                                                               

Jason is thrilled with a dictionary and thesaurus

March 6, 2011

“You are schooled in the county jail about the importance of minding your own business, but these guys can’t help themselves.”

10:01 p.m.

I’m back! Still happy! Still alive! (that’s not funny) The past days have been eventful, but common prison at its finest (worst). 

Tonight some dude got beat up because he talks too much. Everybody wants to be famous and fail miserable, only succeeding in being brainless.  Morons. You are schooled in the county jail about the importance of minding your own business, but these guys can’t help themselves. It’s sad to witness the never ending self destruction, but….Jason escapes to his own world, light years away from this place of purgatory.

Still floating and inspired by your excitement and enthusiasm! Really, you must be an angel sent by God because I was in the depths….woe, 180 degrees.  Glad you enjoyed the writings!  Printing my full letters are fine.  I have nothing to hide.  I don’t mind you printing the names of my kids. They are as much a part of my life and meaning as anything I can think of.  As far as I’m concerned, you need not leave anything out. It is what it is.

And if I haven’t already apologized for my reaction to you asking what I need. I’m sorry. ): Money being spent on me is such a soft subject, still, I over-reacted. I was wrong to be so defensive.

A guy showed me an article in this magazine Parabola, about a fox that hid in a hollowed out log, thinking himself witty. Then realized that he was stuck. A woodpecker began to tap the log, annoying the fox, who demanded that the woodpecker stop. The woodpecker ignored the fox’s demands and kept pecking. Eventually, the fox realized that the woodpecker was his means of escape and he’d been trying to run off his only rescue.

I was the fox. I’m in no position to turn away help from people who have my best interests at heart.  Forgive me?  I’m still learning that I can’t control everything.  I would be most grateful for paper if you sent it.  Lord knows I need it. I bought one note pad the other day, but it’s so expensive here: $1.50 for 50 sheets.  The rules are:  no colored paper, only white. I prefer college ruled, but beggars can’t be choosers.  Like the books, they have to be sent from some place of business.  Unfortunately, we can’t receive pens, and the pens they sell here suck!  Paper though, would be of major assistance. I’ve started on novels often but don’t finish because the paper costs so much.

And the books are most welcome. You know that I’m a bookworm.  Especially a good dictionary and thesaurus. I’m always looking up words for definitions and spelling. I can’t stand to not know what a word means. I’ll get up in the middle of the night and look a word up. It drives me crazy! And while I pride myself on my vocabulary, I’m rotten at Scrabble.  Those are useless words that real people don’t use.  A waste of my brainpower. XU, please!  The best thing to do is call or go online to find the guidelines for sending stuff.  So many stupid rules, I can’t keep up.

Thank you for the encouragement and support! Tell your husband that, too…well, he reads the letters. I’m really enjoying his blogs!! There’s so much to learn! It’s absurd for me to be stuck in this one place with so much land and culture out there to be explored.

Take care and I’ll write again in the next few days.

Sincerely,

March 7, 2011

“Positivity is my shield and weapon. Last week I was frail, today I’m unstoppable.”

10:09 p.m.

Thank you!!! I know this is not our formula, for me to write you every day. However, the dictionary and thesaurus arrived this morning (actually they arrived the 3^rd, but I only got them today) and you know that I love them, that I love you more for sending them, and that I owe you a gigantic thank you mommy hug!

You picked really great books! And what does that say about one that I’m so thrilled by such books? Well, I embrace my nerdship. With these tools, I may one day become the King Nerd or His Nerdship.

If I weren’t concerned with keeping them in good condition, I’d sleep with them. Instead, they’ll be right at the head of my bed, within a groggy half-sleep arm’s length. You’re the best!

Want some more good news? Sure? Okay, yesterday I was accosted by a female officer in the cafeteria. Apparently, an old celly who I was feeding now and then, let her taste my food. Well, to say that she was impressed is an understatement.

She told me that I need to be working in the kitchen. Ha, you can imagine my smirk. I was radiating arrogance, justifiably, when I told her that I’d submitted several I-60’s to the kitchen, classification, the warden. She scoffed, “SO! Tell them you’re a real live chef!”

After I left, she talked to some other officers in the kitchen. So, the word is out. I’m a wanted man (music from The Good, The Bad, The Ugly).  At first I told myself, ‘to hell with them, they don’t deserve me!’ Then, someone told me, “Hey man, that’s where you’re supposed to be!”

Anyhow, these geniuses are still trying to kill each other. It’s tragic. Positivity is my shield and weapon. Last week I was frail, today I’m unstoppable.

Blog   Mouse or Monster?

Let society tell it, I’m a menace, a criminal mastermind, a monster.  A monster caged and humiliated, left to pace the same eight feet repeatedly like a feral dog, rushed to bathe, rushed to eat, hurried back inside my cage where the door is slammed shut as if to emphasize the butt of the justice system’s cruel joke.  Then left to slowly rot for a lifetime.  Hurried into forever.

Yet I watch the news and wonder if society has its priorities mixed up?  Okay, I was once a good man who did bad things to survive, made bad choices, bad acquaintances, bad liaisons, wrong turns in a vehicle powered by good intentions.  Oh, I wasn’t a saint, but I was far from Satan.

Still when it’s all said and done, I’m just a man, loving, losing, learning.  Sometimes, things are as bleak as the sky of Hades; my guiding light is the goodness of my Lord encircling the smiling faces of my children.  Nothing do I love as pure and completely as I love my babies.  Does that mean that I’m falsely labeled or that I’m just a monster with a heart?

Although I know I’m a man, and a good man at that, my opinion counts for nothing.  Regardless, I know monsters.  I’m not of them, but they dwell where I dwell, sleep where I sleep, eat what I eat, breathe the air I breathe…and I’m glad they are here with me rather than out there with my family.

Then ever so often, I’m reminded that they are out there too.

Today, watching the news, I caught myself stabbing my fingernails into the palms of my balled up fists, my jaws clenched, my heart thudding fiercely as I watched pictures of a precious two year old girl smiling the thrilled and innocent smiles of a happy baby.

While the pictures of that beautiful little angel showed on the screen, the reporter told of how the child was held down in scalding hot water that resulted in second degree burns and the end of the young life that she’d barely begun.

Even now, hours later, my emotions are muddied, raw and conflicting.  The rage is awake and roiling like a storm cloud, my sadness is an uncrossable chasm of grief…and yet, consumed by fury, heartbroken, as part of me is guilty.  Not because I had some part in it, I could never ever imagine harming a child.  My guilt stems from the relief that my own little girl is whole, safe, unmolested and alive.

Lord, forgive me my selfishness?  But isn’t this the same gamut of unfair emotions every parent feels when they hear such awful news?  And isn’t it equally selfish of me to wish myself gone in that child’s place?  I’d trade places with her without hesitation, but what about the children I leave behind?

It seems nothing is simple, especially when so thoroughly detained and oppressed that I have no control over these tragedies.  If some sick bastard were to commit an act (Lord forbid) as terrible or perhaps more treacherous against my babies, I would be utterly helpless, unable to protect my own, the life that began within me.

Times like these, to be a monster would be a fantasy.  I’m less than a man, a mouse, sniffing, darting this way and that in a maze of madness.

Prison Life Takes Its Toll

March 1, 2011

“A good cry would probably do me some good, if I could. How sad? Tears, my soul is screaming, but there are no tears.”

9:44 p.m.

First off, thank you again and always for allowing me into your life and coming into mine! Sometimes…I just don’t know where I’d be mentally without you. I now, usually I try to send you positive letters, reciprocating strength and encouragement, but right now, I’m just not in that place. Forgive me for being so torn. God knows that I don’t always believe in the strength that I display. Some days are so much harder….Jeeze.

Um…honestly…I need someone to cry on right now. Really a good cry would probably do me some good, if I could. How sad? Tears, my soul is screaming, but there are no tears. My body just won’t produce them. That’s so sad. How do you forget how to cry? God, I hate this place!

You are the only person who has contacted me since the end of January. It feels like I don’t even have a family. At first I was upset that I wasted stamps on people who won’t write back, now there is no energy left for anger, just hurt. Hurt like someone has cleaved through my collarbone and hacked my heart in half. I feel so empty and so abandoned. My life is a lie. This feeling is too familiar. I’ve had to deal with it off and on for all of my life. You’d think I’d be numb to it by now. Am I so stupid that I keep letting them hurt me, over and over again? Do I have faith in them because there is nothing else to have faith in?

I feel so low it is scary right now. I’m doing better now than ever before in my adult life.  I’m so sorry! Maybe I shouldn’t be writing at all. But I feel that if I don’t get it out, I’m going to have a breakdown. I want to punch the wall, break my hand so I’ll have something, a physical pain to focus on. But you know I won’t because (deep breath) I know better. I’m not trying to scare you, I promise. I’m just so damn tired. You wouldn’t believe how tired I am. When do I get to stop hurting? When? I would never never turn my back on my babies, no matter what! I’d die before I made them feel unloved.

I’m sorry for putting this all on you. I can’t talk to people in here though. I can’t show any weaknesses. This is not the place for it. I can’t. Still, I’m afraid of what holding it in will do to me.

It’s amazing that your letter got here this fast. How can it take two days, but seven on other occasions? Man, I need a vacation! 

Guess it’s obvious that I’m losing my mind and your letter probably saved—is saving me from total self destruction. I’m a mess.  I’ve been hiding in reading books and workouts, working myself way too hard, blinding myself with pain, reading until I pass out to keep from have to think, to wonder.

Sorry to make you strain with this handwriting of mine. But when I try to write slowly, it’s impossible to keep my thoughts flowing, so I write at full sprint, trying to keep up with my mind.  Again, I ask you to forgive me? I’m just not in a positive mental place right now. Once can only pray that tomorrow is better.

P.S. I’ll be alright, okay? I know you care about me. I promise I won’t do anything stupid. I wouldn’t hurt you like that. I’m smart, just wounded. 

March 3, 2011

“I’m not as strong as people think. I just wish I was Superman.”

11:28 p.m.

So excited to hear from you again! But, so, so sleepy. Long day. Really long day. But, I’m back to me. Yes, I’m myself again. Pardon the nervous breakdown. I’m not as strong as people think. I just wish I was Superman.

Anyhow, I’m too tired to write this letter. So I’ll get back to it this weekend. Just wanted you to know that I’m better, and basking in the joy of your letter.

 

March 4, 2011

“Survival is the only option. And if I must survive, must live, I will not live in misery. Ah, learn to bob and weave. This round, I’ve got prison on the ropes.”

10:49 p.m.

Another grueling day, but I made it through. I’m still alive. Wow, you must really be excited. Can’t say that I’ve ever received back to back to back letters from you! Talk about making my day….um, days. 

Well, before I get to gushing and bubbling about how wonderful you are, let me catch you up, okay? You’re smiling right? Yeah, in my imagination, I always picture you smiling while you read my letters. Well, except for that last one. Sorry.

What can I say. That was really long overdue. Guess that’s just more insight into the hell which is my home. People don’t realize how powerful this place is. Of course there are physical burdens, but a fist fight…hell, a shank fight is less damaging than the psychological blows one must sustain. Even with a cage of mental forearms, the psychological jabs and haymakers smash through all defenses, finding their mark with vicious brutality. The other night, I was punch drink and on the ropes. Thank God that round came to an end.

Really it is only fair that you see me at my lows, since you mainly see highs. (Aussie voice over: “In captivity the male subject displays his most aggressive behavior, left to fend for himself. His resiliency though, leaves much to be desired. He is indeed a broken creature, hobbled by circumstances beyond what he was taught as a pup, leaving him to rely on sharp instincts and the need for survival.”) Yeah, something like that.

The next day I started fresh, embarrassed for having nearly lost control. Then I ran across a kat who reached out and gave me some much needed peace of mind. It’s amazing when a total stranger can tell his story, and it is also your story. And how morbid is it that we find comfort in knowing that someone else is struggling just like you are? Anyhow, he seemed to be taking the beating like a champ and that was inspiration enough for me.

I did a bunch of half-hearted praying, faith shaky, half put off by the unwarranted pain stalking my joy. Then I prayed for real and let it go.

When they called commissary, I went and had $30 down there. It’s not much but I hustle so hard, I can multiply that, so I had to count my blessings. The letter from you wan only the icing on top. So I’ve been on something of a natural high, floating on your words of kindness and loyalty. I hear clowns all the time, hollering that they don’t care about love, don’t know what love it. Idiots. Poor ignorant fools. Only someone who’s never basked in the joy of love would rebuke it. It’s good…great to have someone in my life who never lets me forget that I’m important. Loved.

Still no word from anyone in my family, but I can’t let that worry consume me. Regardless of what’s going on out there, my position is non-negotiable. Survival is the only option. And if I must survive, must live, I will not live in misery. Ah, learn to bob and weave. This round, I’ve got prison on the ropes.

Blog   

My Steak’s Too Tough

“Life is a bitch, and then you die”… right?  Or something along those lines?  Well, that’s a dish easier to digest for some than others.

Take me for instance.  I’m an even-natured, well mannered and intelligent young Black man.  I won’t say I could pass for Denzel,  but I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes.  Sounds peachy, huh?  Oh yeah, I’m in prison on a 40 year sentence.

If you just winced, you’ve already figured out that I’ve eaten a few servings of the “life’s a bitch” steak and washed it all down with a lukewarm glass of bitter regret.  But is there something between the “bitch…”and the “you die?”

Really, you’d be surprised at the amount of laughter that one hears in this place.  Even in an environment filled to the brim with the scum of the earth, where the air stinks of ignorance and hatred and hostility are laws, there is a lot of laughter.  Some of that laughter is owed to the same clowns that made you double over with tears in your eyes in elementary, middle and high school.  Most of that laughter though, is just to keep from crying.

Naturally, I can’t speak for everyone else, but I smile and laugh when I’m all by myself.  Why?  Because crying is a cardinal sin, because I’m so much like my mother who I adore, and so much like my father, who I barely even knew.  I laugh because the sound of my children’s giggles never lose clarity in my memory, because the grass is still green and the sky still blue even through these rusted ugly bars, because my smile doesn’t reflect my sins, because I still have potential, because I’m still my momma’s baby, because when Frankie Beverly sings about “happy feelings” I still feel that joy, because my body is imprisoned, but my mind and my heart are free!

So maybe I got too full on the “life’s a bitch” steak.  There will be plenty of meals before the last supper.  It’s funny now, because that steak wasn’t even that good.  Thank God I’ve learned to cook for myself.  And my hope tastes just like Mom’s apple pie.  Soul food, anyone?