Peace of Mind through a Psalm

February 20, 2012

My dear lady, you are so overdue for me to pour my heart out.  Yes, the shoulder still aches some but it’s much better.  I should have never tried that stupid exercise.

The weather is still mild, chilly but comfortable enough when I crawl under my blanket.  I’m not complaining.  I’d much rather this slight chill than the sweltering heat of the summer.  Unfortunately, the next major lockdown should fall right in the hottest part of the summer.  I’ll endure that when I get to it.

So far we’ve been locked down since the seventh and we probably won’t be done until the fifth of March.  Yeah, because of the warden, it takes him a month to do what should only take two weeks, then they don’t find half of the phones or knives.  It’s just going through the motions.  They already shook down my cellblock though, so I’m alright.  Still have food, paper, books…

My biggest pain has been this Viking that I live with.  This dude hasn’t brushed his teeth once.  Not one time.  But it’s not his breath that bothers me.  His body odor is….unreal!  He sleeps wrapped up in his coat.  It’s not that cold.  He sweats for 9-10 hours, sometimes more, then pops from under the coat smelling like spoiled cabbage and onions!  Not cool.  I’ve been tempted to take that coat and throw it out of the cell.  Been biting my tongue.  I want to ask how he does not smell that rank, putrid funk.  Seriously, it’s got a four foot reach,  Don’t laugh, it’s bad.  You know how wild animals smell?  That musty, wild, overbearing stink used to warn other animals of their presence?  It’s like that.  He’s just a little boy, though.  Lord bless him.  Like we’ve become accustomed to saying, prison is not supposed to be pleasant, all the more reason to get out and stay out.  I’ll leave this to the so called, gangsters and funky dogs. 

The writing is coming along.  Not forcing it, just letting it flow.  Really, it’s good that you are so busy.  Also been working on recipes.  Wish that I was where I could try them and tweak them to perfection.  How does a marinated grilled chicken breast, stuffed mushrooms, red onions, Monterey pepper jack and Colby cheese, lettuce, beefy tomatoes, thin sliced jalapenos, sliced avocados, two crispy slab slices of bacon, chipotle salad dressing, honey mustard on grilled sourdough (with a teaspoon of the chicken breast drippings spooned on the breast before closing the sandwich) sound?  With a serving of seasoned yam fries and pickles on the side.

Honest to God, I cannot wait to get out of here, run the sun up, shower, work all day, come home, experiment, test my recipes, photograph the finished products, then feed my neighbors in exchange for feedback.  I hate being out of practice, out of the industry.

More and more, I’m considering making the move the Hughes unit to go through the college culinary arts course.  Of course, I love my job now and to leave would break the old lady’s heart.  I’m tired of moving and readjusting, starting over.  I’ve earned a reputation as a gentleman here.  Then more than likely, after I complete the course, Beto will want me back to cook for them and I do not work for slackers.  This food service department sucks.  I want free reign and nurturing of my talents.  We’ll see.

I should have started writing earlier.  I had every intention of writing you one of those good, long cards on the table letters but I’ve got to sort of rush this on so I can make sure that it goes out in the morning.  These officers don’t do much and they don’t want to do the little that they do.

Mainly, what I wanted to say was that I love you!  Sometimes, I may not say it enough, but I need you to know that you’ve touched my life in so many ways and all of them positive.  It’s hard to put into words.  You’ve filled so many voids in my life, played a major part in bringing me out of the doldrums that I was lingering in.  There truly must have been an angel by my side…I can never than you enough!

I was reading A Sparrow Falls and I stopped to think about all you’ve done for me.  You are my angel.

Also, I know you are swamped, but I want you honest opinion, do you think When Hell Freezes Over is good enough to continue and follow through?  I have other stories, but I’m torn between finishing something and starting something fresh.

Everybody keep telling me to push the first one, but I still feel that it would need too much editing, too much cutting to make it respectable.  It’s good….it’s just too raw and I don’t want to go that route, not when I can do better.

You opinion means a lot to me.  And it’s not that I’m in a rush to get something printed, but I feel the need to complete something.  I’m sitting on several short stories and about twelve started novels.

The letters to my children continue to be positive.  Some days it’s just too hard to write them, but other days I just open up and go.

The meal you described sounded mouthwatering! Mmmm!  One day.  I’ll have to send you this recipe I cut out of a magazine for a pork roast.  It looks delicious.

Africa is in your sights, huh?  So cool!  I know you guys are going to have a blast.

Speaking of Africa, it seems that each Wilbur Smith book gets better.  I really liked this last one, but I was so glad when Dirk Courtney died, although the deaths of Ruth and Sean hurt me deeply.  I’m preparing to start Birds of Prey, perhaps tonight.

Well you know you are in my heart, in my thoughts and in my prayers!

Love,

ESSAY - Understanding Autumn

Let it go.

No, really, let it go…because I have.

And what good does it do for us to hold on to our mistakes once we’ve learned our lessons?  Understand.  Understand that I indeed tortured myself, clutching the profound stupdity of my errors to my soul with the white, bloodless fingers of my regret, replaying every minute of detail of the “what was” and grievously mourning for the loss of “what could have been.”

And then…and then…when at last it seemed I’d reached my end, a message from God sought me out through a friend.  Psalm 37, verses 8-9 said that “anger and worry” were a waste of my time.  So I gave Him my problems and I gained peace of mind, of the kind that’s so cleansing that I laughed out loud and clear, didn’t care who was listening, didn’t care who may hear.  With a smile ear to ear, I knew that I had grown, and in order to grow, one must set free their wrongs, shed them like golden-brown leaves from a tree, as the seasons bring change…autumn lives within me.

You would have to be me…to see what I saw…to feel what I feel, unblemished and raw.  For love is not meant to keep secret and hidden, it too should be freed and uncovered, unbidden.  So I did what my heart said, for my heart knows no rules, to put boundaries on love is the doctrine of fools.

If love is a crime, forever I’ll be imprisoned, criticized for compassion, ridiculed for my vision.  Don’t you see the division of the body and soul, how we’re taught to love less and less as we grow old?  Like the first bitter winds of winter…hate dwells where once was…and cold fills the void in men who’ve long lost love.

I refuse.

Yes I choose to love you, and love him, and love her and love me, and love they and love them!  I will swim on love’s currents in the ebb and the flow, and soar past the boundaries that my heart doesn’t know.  I’ll live as God sees fit, not by man’s hindered plans.  And if ever you’ve loved me, surely you understand?

Understand that I’ve changed, and for the better, because where there once was so much hatred, now there is only love.  Where there once was resentment, now there is contentment.  Where there for too long were problems, now there is potential.

Do not hold it against me that I still “feel” even in this place of bricks and stone, iron and rust, disgust and mistrust.  Instead, be joyful that I still “feel” in spite of it.

ONE

 

Jason writes a long letter during lockdown

February 1, 2012

I had every intention of coming in and writing you a nice long letter, but it almost never works the way that we expect it to, does it?

I was working out earlier and I think I strained a muscle in my left shoulder.  I heard it.  So did the guy standing by me.  It sounded bad, but hopefully it just sounded bad.  Anyhow, it’s just a dull pain, but it’s very uncomfortable.  Could be worse.  I could have torn a rotator cup or whatever and I could be in excruciating pain.  Getting better and better at counting my blessings.

Not much going on this way.  I want to respond to you last two letters, but I’m going to make this letter short so I can ley my body rest.

I am writing though.  Been writing lyrics and writing the letters to my kids.  It’s amazing how good writing those letters has been for me.  And as I get more comfortable opening up to my kids, I find out more about myself.  It’s cool.

Learning a bunch in Spanish class too!  Things are pretty good.  Look for something longer than this soon.

Love,

February 8, 2012

Well, the long awaited and much anticipated lockdown has arrived!  I’m relieved, too.  I’d grown weary of people asking about, talking about, speculating…and I need the “me” time.

Yesterday and today, I mainly rested, worked out and got rid of a bunch of stuff.  With the hard part out of the way, I can attack my writing full force tomorrow morning while it’s still quiet.

Fortunately, it’s still pretty cool which makes for good lying in bed, bundled up and reading.  Unfortunately, it’s a little too chilly to do much else.  Ah, but one must count blessings.  I prefer the chill to the sweltering heat that the next lockdown will fall in.

Although I hate the title “convict,” I’ve stored up plenty of provisions, and should glide through the next couple of weeks without a problem.  Too many people will be in a sad state in the next few days.  My celly is one of those people.  He went to commissary and bought coffee, cherry Dr. Pepper and two soups.

Well yesterday, I cooked for us both, today, I gave him a soup but soon he’ll be on his own.  He made a choice and although it feels wrong, I see that there is a difference between kindness and foolishness.  Plus, he is a hateful young fella which doesn’t do much for my sympathies.  He has destroyed items before throwing them out of the cell so that no one else can use them.  Why?  If you’re throwing something away and someone else can possibly make use of it, great.  I don’t understand that type of evil logic.  Some people have to learn the hard way.  Humility is a lesson best taught by suffering.  It was a year and a half ago that I got caught without any food for a 27 day lockdown.  There were nights when I felt so weak I couldn’t sleep until breakfast came.  Then I can’t stomach the peanut butter that is in every sack, every meal.  It is an awful place, that’s a given, but once can do things to make it tolerable.  Only a fool would put himself in a position to have to wait on those miserable little wet brown bags to ease the hunger pains.  A fool I’m not.

Safe to figure you’re still very busy.  Busy is beautiful.  As you know, I stay pretty busy in here, but I long for the day that I can be busy out there.

Recipes dance through my head, visions of my determined fare, smiling over a grill full of shrimp.  And it’s not the fare that I seek.  Not at all.  I want to put the work in, gain the experience, perfect my craft, become a master chef without all of the pomp and fan fair.  Instead of guest appearances on talk shows, I want to cook for kids’ sweet sixteen’s or marriages, or graduations, any happy occasion.  I want to make food that people stare at before eating, not wanting to spoil its beauty, yet anxious to taste its bounty.

My boss actually came up with an idea about my restaurant.  She said I should call it “The First Resort” and offer a healthy savory menu, then one page of high calorie indulgences.  Sounds great!  What moved me though, is that she believes in me enough to be at home thinking about my future.  That’s the big thing.  People see that I have a future.  That is beautiful!

She said she’s reading my gook, got 70 pages into it and forced herself to put it down, mainly because she was so angry.  I guess for someone who never knew the old me, being around the new me, it’s frustrating to see all that I’ve endured, to relive the hell that I created for myself.

And people are really beginning to ask about the book.  Let’s hope that they are buying it.  I’m giving away the info enough.  One guy said that his mom told him that she contacted BookCrafters and “they” said they didn’t have that book.  I told him that was a lie before I realized what I was saying. (Jason’s book Prison Life InsideOut can be purchased through www.bookcrafters.net or other online bookstores.)

My boss is purchasing another copy for the library.  Let’s also hope that it brings in more interest.

I’ve compiled all of Joe’s blogs and put them all together for some of the other Wilbur Smith fans.  I know that they’ll enjoy his story as much as I do.

Speaking of Wilbur Smith, I plan to read Birds of Prey and A Sparrow Falls, not in that order.  Right now, I’m half way through R. A. Salvatore’s Icewindale Trilogy.  Drizzt, the dark elf, has won me over.  He reminds me of myself, trapped in a world that I despise, different from everybody, seeking the freedom of the surface, seeking through the lies.  I also have the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.  Gonna try to knock it out, but it started out slow and I put it down.

Relativity is so powerful.  I think that’s the key to reaching people, the ability to relate.  Others who have a purpose, who know that this place is not where they belong tend to gravitate towards me, as if seeking a leader, a spokesperson, someone to lead the charge.  It’s crazy.

Well, gonna write some to the kids, then snuggle up with my book.  As always, I send you all of my love!

Love,

 

Letters and A New Blog

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 23^rd 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