Jason begins a job in the library

June 6, 2011 9:54 pm

 

And it is pleasant to hear from you, too! Yes, I’m in a pretty good mood. Our friend, Warden Scott, walked through this morning and decided to let us off of lockdown as long as they don’t find anymore weapons. (That will not go over well). He promised that the next time he locks this cellblock down, they won’t get up until Christmas!

He complained about not receiving a copy of the book!  Can you imagine that?  But he is good advertisement.  Every time he sees me he starts in about it to whoever will listen. Unfortunately when I tried to ask him about my property, he became busy and had to run. Last time (last Friday) I spoke to the investigating Sargent, he told me that the Warden knows, but has to be reminded.  So that’s my mission, to see that he gets reminded, because I’m out of there right now. Hadn’t heard anything about any money, then we aren’t scheduled to go to commissary until the 15^th.   We’ll probably go sooner, but you can never say.  Won’t matter much to me if I’m broke.

In other unfortunate news, not even a full hour after they let us up and replaced our TV’s (another cell block’s inmates were in our dayroom yesterday because their cells were being searched – they slashed both of our TV plugs), some idiot, a idiot I know very well, stole the officer’s cup.  Of course, this infuriated the officer who had been nothing but nice to us and made sure we got out of the cells A.S.A.P.  Once again, I tell you, these are the worst people on the face of the earth!

I have to get a job and get off of this wing!  In the chow hall, a dude told me how stupid I was for turning down the kitchen job numerous times and that I must like suffering.  I had no argument.  Now my mercy is in the hands of the librarian. We’ll see.

No, if I get a job and move south, those cellblocks do not go on lockdown half as much as the one’s on this end, and when they do, they come up before this side.

Yes, the North side of the building is the “trouble” side.  Why I’m housed on this side, no one could tell you.

Yes, on lockdown they bring us brown bags, usually with some type of meat sandwich and a peanut putter sandwich.  And since I don’t eat peanut butter, you can imagine what it’s like for me.  Several times last week, they fed us back-to-back bean (cold) burritos, followed by egg salad sandwiches, or corndogs.  Kid meals, snacks, and bad tasting at that.  If you don’t have food in your locker you lose weight.

If you get caught with green money, they drop your trustee (time earning status) several notches and change your custody level, like from minimum custody with privileges and dayroom time and the ability to spend $85 at commissary, to medium custody, no privileges, little dayroom time, and a $35 restriction, plus loss of good time (days counted toward parole) and other restrictions.  Often times there is some solitary in the equation but usually only a few weeks.

I still get excited about the book!  I’ve been writing here and there but awaiting something…can’t put finger on it, but it’s coming.

Went ahead and began reading When the Lion Feeds (by Wilbur Smith) and found myself unable to put it down!   Very, very entertaining.  I have so many questions because the vocabulary throws me.  I figure that most of the words I don’t know are words describing animals and plant life.  But I need to know what “BRAAIVLETS” means?  I’d like to know how to properly pronounce certain works and names.  Like the whip they use for beatings?  Or how do you pronounce “Mbejane” and “Nkosi” which meant what, exactly?  My curiosity can be a pest.

Speaking of daddy long legs again, my spider had a huge sack of eggs in her mouth.  No, I don‘t like it, because I know there will be hundreds of babies on the ceiling!  Not cool.  And I learned something.  I could have sworn that I read that they were poisonous. Feels good to not be ignorant.

Glad that you are still busy and cheerful.  I got back to working out again after a few days break.  Finally got scheduled for a doctor’s appointment regarding almost dying the other day.  I know, I know, but that’s what it felt like, and I’m pretty tough.

Well, read some then get a few hours of sleep before breakfast. Gotta go to breakfast or wake up terribly hungry. Not an option.

Love, 

June 12, 2011  11:40 p.m.

WOW!  A very eventful week!  And I’m so tired!!  I’d decided to wait and write you tomorrow, but my heart said otherwise.

How are you?  Going to have to try to make this letter quick, have to get up in the morning, long day.

Anyhow, since you last heard from me, so much has happened.  Got a chance to go to the commissary, then forgot to buy stamps.  At least I had money.  Don’t know where it came from yet.

My mom sent word that she’d be up here at the end of the month.  My uncle came last weekend, but had to leave early to set up for the Maverick’s game.  As always, we enjoyed each other’s company.

Went to the library Wednesday and decided not to bug the lady about the job she’d offered me.  I spoke as usual, and she told me that she’d submitted my name.  I kinda shrugged if off and thanked her, not really trying to start hoping for a change.  That afternoon, I got moved to the South side.

I love the job!  The environment is great, and the A/C doesn’t hurt, plus the librarian is such a sweet lady.  It’s pretty cool. The cellblock is better, but my celly and I work the same hours and that won’t work out.  He’s all right, but he just has this vibe about him, you know?  I’m not comfortable, so I’m going to move to where the rest of the library workers are.

Yes, I got the book.  Excellent job!  Really, everyone wants to read it.  I tell them they can buy it.  A lot of people are talking about it, though, and that’s cool.  It’s really very well put together, and you did great on the editing.

However, our friend in the mailroom denied one copy because we aren’t allowed to receive duplicate copies. How stupid?  So I have to mail the second copy to the library. Whatever, I’ll do it.  It’s still stupid.  Especially because I never got the last three books that you sent.  And it’s obvious that you didn’t get them back.  Awful.  Sometimes I loathe these people.

Some other stuff has happened too, but I’m too sleepy to remember.

Cool card you sent to the Warden.  Don’t know how he’s going to take it.  Hopefully he doesn’t get too upset, if he even ever sees it.

Write more later.

Love,

Blog - I Believe I Can Fly

I believe I can fly!  Really, I do.  To you it may sound childish or absurd, but it’s the truth.  The world is the sky, and when I abandon all my worries and burdens, I can fly.

High, high, above the clouds I soar, the wind beneath my wings, making my eyes water, slanting my eyes.  I need not flap, but only hope, believe and trust.  Care to join me?

No, I’m not always able to fly.  A good deal of the time, I’m so weighted down with stress and despair that I can’t even jump.  But when I let it all go and place my faith in the hands of my merciful provider, the sky is the limit.

When we are children, just running through an open field without a care in the world made us feel so free that we’d spread our arms, bank left, roll right, swoop and spiral in a giggling wonder that only ended when our energy did, and really not even then.  Even a graceless crash into the high grass didn’t ground us.  We’d lay, sprawled out and giddy, chest heaving, grinning up at the blue expanse, marveling at its magnitude, curious about the dragon shaped cloud drifting directly above.

Then, somewhere along the way, we lose our ability to fly.  We grow too serious, too practical, strapping on the troubles of the world and giving gravity dominion over us.

Some of us will never fly again, too ashamed of the trust required.  Others will only learn, remember how to fly after we’ve hit rock bottom and realize that the only way out of the hole we’re in is up.  Having lost everything but hope, we recall the formula for flight, test the wings of our imagination and faith and take to the skies.

With a child’s heart, you can soar above your troubles, above your worries, and explore the heavens.

You are only as free as your state of mind.  Do you believe you can fly?  Join me.

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's excitement continues. He blogs in rap.

February 9, 2011

“ Most of my fights then and the few as an adult have been about standing up for someone who can’t.”

12:12 a.m.

As you can probably imagine, your husband’s letter “wowed” me! A pleasant wow though. Now, hours later, after writing him a book, I’m thanking you as well. Your vigilance and ability to write and write well not only keep me buoyant, but keeps me sharp. Not many people write, but those who do are educated. It makes a difference.

No, no access to a computer. No doubt, people would surf porn and a lot of escape routes. Texas is so prehistoric anyhow. The classes that have computers do not have internet access (some classes do, but the access is so limited, it’s anemic).

Right now I’m only taking American/Texas government. Not a class I’m interested in, but it’s valuable knowledge. There wasn’t money available for me to pay for another class. Ironically, my teacher instructs via satellite from the main college campus. Our notes come from her computer. I may be able to write her about it, but I can’t speak directly to her without my class and a few others hearing.

Yeah, the gals told me pretty good. Thank God everything is back to normal. I’ve increased the intensity of my daily workouts, nothing major though. Running something I plan to do out there as well. Every morning, run and start the day firing on all cylinders.

Happy to hear you’re back to work! You seem happier when busy. That’s a healthy mentality. Dealing with books, you are open to worlds of insight and possibilities, stories and histories. Sometimes it sounds like so much going on, you know? The children’s book sounds interesting. I loathe bullies. Most of my fights then and the few as an adult have been about standing up for someone who can’t.

The weather here has been dreadfully cold for about a week, warmed up, now they are expecting six inches of snow tonight. It’s chilly, but not cold like last week. It was so cold in this cell that I didn’t want to get from under the covers to pee. ): Glad at least ya’ll can be warm, safe and stationary. I worry so about the people I care about. My mom doesn’t understand that and goes for several weeks without letting me know that she’s okay. I thank you for the constant contact.

Again, your husband's blog was very informative and entertaining. I can see it all in my mind as I read. The pictures were great too! I really think the picture of you in front of Victoria Falls is wonderful! The pictures look like paintings.

Well, I’m going to write myself to sleep. Better put this out to be mailed. I’m very excited about all of this. I’ve been writing too, so don’t think I’m all talk. 

Always looking forward to your kind words! What a friendship. Who would have thought?

Sincerely,

February 14, 2011

“What you and your husband have given me is more than my passion to write back, ya’ll have given me purpose in a purposeless place, joy in the jungle of the jolted.”

9:19 a.m.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!

Have I told you how special you are to me? “Wale lal Lady, if I ain’t, then perdon me….I’m long overdue.” Honest, you are very, very dear to me, so allow me to say I love you. No, no, no….don’t blush…no awkwardness…formal smormell. We are sooo far beyond “formal.” This is life, life demands passion, passion grows from seed of truth. My goal is not to offend, but simply pretend not to pretend. You have become as near and familiar as family. You are family. Geesh, he waited until my defenses were down…what can I say? I guess I’m easy. So when I close a letter, from time to time, “with love” know that it’s from the heart, no ulterior motives, no byproducts, no preservatives, just wholesome, old fashioned love.

I’ll gracefully accept you smiling, crying (touched tears), or doing a little dance, anything else would be uncivilized.

Obviously, you’ve noticed I’ve got my mojo back! How about roasted lemon pepper chicken to celebrate? And your very best bottle of Welch’s 2010 vintage sparking apple cider. I insist. You are the catalyst, largely responsible for today’s Jason. Call your husband in the room and ask him if he would give you a big thank you hug for me?

How are you? Hopefully you’re experiencing milder weather. It’s currently warm down here, but I’ve not paid the weather much attention, been in my own world, literally consumed by words, thoughts…this past week has been productive. I’m actually glad to be on lockdown. They bring my food (regardless of how awful it is). No need to dress, to interact. Read, work, think and if there’s time, eat, work out and bathe.

I’m nearly out of paper, no surprise. For the last several years, I’ve only needed paper for letters, a poem or rap here and there. Now, I must have written 30 pages, front to back, in the past six days! Writing until my hand hurts. What you and your husband have given me is more than my passion to write back, ya’ll have given me purpose in a purposeless place, joy in the jungle of the jolted. And as advised, I’m not writing with dollar signs dancing in my head, but you have my word, if any money is made, not matter how far down the line, regardless of how small the amount, I’m going to do something special for you.

My neighbors kept asking how I could be so lively on lockdown, then they just started to enjoy me. Without even knowing what’s going on, they all suddenly want to read what I’m writing. (I let two guys read my first two days of writing—seeking an opinion—and they told everybody that I was “BAD!”) That feels good, though. As I mentioned before, I need constant reassurance…well, no…I guess not. ): I used to…but now…I hadn’t paid much attention. Well, that’s cool! I’m sure of myself. Cool!

Before I forget (please don’t be upset?), do you remember sending me the pictures of crawfish, turtles, crocs and catfish? Okay, the guy I had drawing that stuff for me went to jail like eight months ago. Then when he got out, I couldn’t catch him to get the drawing and pictures from him. Then, he went to jail again. Whew! So I need more pictures, if you don’t mind, if you have time?

Blog:    The Wrong Man for the Job

I’m not adverse to proper.  Proper speech, proper posture, proper behavior… There’s a proper place and time for everything.  But sometimes, sometimes wrong just feels so right.

In this place, wrong spawns unchecked, destroying everything it touches like an evilly mutated curse of Midas.  And I try my damndest to steer clear of all sources and surfaces of debilitation. 

In this place, it is rare to encounter truly good people.  I don’t mean altar boys convicted of crimes they didn’t commit.  I’m talking about good people, folks with hearts of gold who made copper choices. 

Within these walls are Bible toting evangelists who’ll stab and push your spleen through your back.  Also dwelling within these walls are stone cold murderers, inked head to toe, whom command respect with bearing alone, who pray in secret—humbled by the forgiveness of a higher power, who will fight when threatened, give to the cold the shirt off their backs, and feed the hungry their last spoon of food.

The first man is a poseur, a fool foolishly attempting to fool He who cannot be fooled.  And the biggest fool of all is the fool that follows the fools, so I avoid those types.  The second man, the man you would no doubt label a “thug” on sight, is a man of virtue.  He is my peer, for it is my perception that the blind man who gains sight is of higher value than he who pretends to have sight, shouting directions into the crowd.  The blind leading the blind.

Yes, the repentant killer is who inspires hope in me, that one can sink so low and still rise up.  Kindred spirits, no?  Because of my past, I too will be labeled and stigmatized.  He and I though, with blueprints to build highrise positives and grand productivities, will cross the Statistic River, and transform from “niggas” to enigmas.  Go figure. 

What?  Are you offended?  Please.  Maybe my words are too strong to belong outside of a rap song.  Noo, sometimes wrong is right when wrong makes the statement right won’t make.

Forsake, shake and fake, you live like a fraud. While I keep it real, like I do with God.  By God, you are blushing, hushing my soul?  With the lie that you live and the lies that you’ve told?  That’s cold.

See, I’ve sold enough dope and I’ve shot enough guns, kissed the darkness then chose light for daughter and son.  No more rear view mirrors, no life on the run.  I know who I am now, who I hope to become.  Manifested through lessons of desperate and dumb, realize I’ll move mountains by flexing my thumb!  Not defiant, a GIANT, blessings add to my sum.  Hey, I once was a bird brain, pecking, chasing the crumbs, now awakened and breathing, I am “Jason the Lung.”

Refreshing.  Undressing the wolf in sheep’s wool.  Not worthless.  My purpose?  Divine’s mighty tool.  While you frown and you sneer “he’s all wrong, he don’t fit.”  Since we be’s speaking slang, you ain’t right about shit.

You’ve missed my whole meaning, with a message so strong!  If you’d open your eyes, you’d see right comes from wrong.  See, I’ve been where you’re headed, truth is, I wrote the book.  Went from child to buck wild, crazy crook to great cook.

Accused to accomplished, condemned to complete, use the doubters as steps to success from the streets.  And I wear my wounds proudly, my war cry, my song.  I’ve found me, raw and righteous, now who’s right and who’s wrong?

Joining, coming together, meeting of the minds, do you mind? Mind?  Mine.

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