Jason has hopes for the New Year 2012

January 3, 2012

Well, here I am again.  But this time I’m all the way positive, my mind is clear and I’m ready for the journey.  Yeah, the stuff I’d written before was … ah… kinda scattered and dark.  So I trashed it.  Yep.  Felt good too.  I knew you’d understand, I only want to embrace the good.  Oh I know that bad is a part of life and I’ll express that too, but those last pages of writing were not me.

So glad you enjoy your holidays!  Happy New Year!  I see you never stopped working.  I’m going to follow your lead and work my tail off this year.  I put in work in 2011, but I could and will give more.

Already I’ve been delinquent on the workouts, on my reading and prayer.  And it’s crazy how the milestones seem to bring about another level of noticeable clarity and maturity.  With each passing day I see myself more separate from the rest of these people.  I look at the television less and watch the people.  No one it at a standstill, they’re either progressing or regressing.  Gotta get better, anything else is madness!

What’s it been for us, three years now?  Doesn’t seem that long and what a difference you and Joe have made in my life.  Positive people planting positive seeds.  Hope you’re proud of your fruit.

It’s really quite a story, especially when you look at the friendship that developed, although you busy are more parents than friends, but still friends.  You know what I mean. 

By now, we know that I’m super extra sensitive when it comes to people I love.  And I don’t remember exactly how the exchange went, but I only implied sending the letters for Letters to My children book to my aunts because 1) they suggested that, 2) I don’t want to assume that I can just cook up some book idea and that I’m special, I’m just considering all the work ya’ll put into the first book and I just don’t want to be imposing.  My intention was not to offend or give the impression that I wish to go through someone else.  It’s just me being me.  I must be considerate of what you guys have going on.  After all, I would not be where I am now (in my writing) if not for you.  It’s important that you understand that you are appreciated and that I do not nor would I ever take you for granted.

Can you sense my excitement though?  It’s bigger than the book idea, which was excellent (I’ll have to thank my aunts).  It’s that I’ve been holding in so much concerning my kids and the idea of getting it all out, hoping that it falls into their hands and get a chance to know me and my truths…it’s very exciting.

Then, I’m sure that I’m going to go ahead and follow through on one of the novels.  No excuses this year.  I’m almost looking forward to this lockdown which should be any day now.  If I don’t call this weekend, you know we are locked down.  It’s rumored to only be two weeks instead of 30 days, but I’ll have to see that to believe it.

Anyhow, I wrote the first letter on New Year’s Eve.  That’s how I wanted to bring in my new year, reaching out to my babies.  It’s going to be cleansing and therapeutic.  I’m going to be able to say things to them that I can’t say to others and share a part of me that most people never get to see.  As serious as I am, I’m a big kid at heart. 

Well, your Broncos made it in by the skin of their teeth.  Pittsburg is going to be a challenge, but they can be beat.  My poor Texans are going to have to fight for everything, but my Saints should have a cake walk. If they can beat Green Bay, and they can, they’ll win the Super Bowl.

Okay, back to the book (can you tell I’m excited?) I can see the cover and everything!

I know you said that you’re not religious, but do you believe in angels?  Growing up I always imagined guardian angels as like fairy people hovering over us to guard us.  But now I think that people on earth can be guardian angels, servants of God sent into the lives of those in despair to guide them back to hope.  God sent me two of his best!

Ha, look at me going on and on and on!  I’ll wrap it up here and send this out.  Hope you got the card I sent, I forgot to ask on the phone.  Be good and stay warm!

Love,

P.S.  Could you make me another resolution sheet like you did last year?  My 2012 resolutions are included.

2012

Reach out to my kids!

Humble myself!

Be even more productive!

Be more positive!

Be steadfast in my faith!

Be motivated!

Be even more courteous!

Never slack off!

Persevere without and through failure!

Learn from y mistakes as well as the mistakes of others!

Never fail!

Never make mistakes!!!

Essay - ARCHITECTURE

Years ago, I noticed the title of one of Talib Kaels’ CDs “The Beautiful Struggle” and I wondered, what in the hell is so beautiful about it?

Today, I listened as two TDCJ officers talked about fighting to a younger inmate.  They were enthusiastically promoting the use of violence to solve a problem.  Usually I hold my tongue but I chose to step in.  I told them that a “man” fights mentally, that you can’t think of one place in industrialized society where grown men fight outside of the boxing ring.

Both of these men looked at me like I’d just admitted to wearing pink g-string panties.  One is a regular prison guard but the other is a Safe Prisons officer, a Sergeant.  How ironic?  I was the only “man” in the room and looked down on for rejecting ignorance.

The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I became.  How could I be frowned upon by guys who haven’t seen a percentage of the death and pain in the streets that I have?  With all the dirt and blood on my hands, those dudes would dare to look down on me.

In that moment I understood The Beautiful Struggle.  Yes, it is beautiful that a gangster can become a gentle man, that one who has taken so much can learn to give, to live, to promote life.

Their rejection of me caused something in me to wither and die, their judgment murdered a part of me…but from that death, something greater was born.  Enlightenment.  In that tragic moment, the rays of revelation shone upon me.  I realized that the world is composed of people, builders and destroyers.  Those two prison guards are destroyers, looking to further tear down a peo0ple already crippled by negativity, ignorance and self-defeat.  But I am a builder.  It is my calling to construct and reconstruct, to build and stabilize, to fortify, to support, to salvage.  No, we won’t be rebuilt overnight or in a day, and I won’t be able to do it alone, but in time, through hard work, dedication and vision, I know that we can be restored to pride, strength and dignity.

A Beautiful Struggle indeed!  I am down for the cause and up to the challenge.  What about you?  Have you come all this way to demolish or build?

Two more letters and A Blog

July 19, 2009

“Hearing from you has become something that I really look forward to, a much needed highlight in this mundane existence.”

1:00 a.m.

Thank you so much for understanding my situation and the care and concern you show me week after week, without fail! You really spoil me.

Me, on the other hand….I must confess that I am a chronic procrastinator. I put things off till the last minute. Always have. Really there’s no excuse, except that I often get swept away in the abundance of happenings that take place in my head, and before you know it, I’m engaged in something else.

Hearing from you has become something that I really look forward to, a much needed highlight in this mundane existence. You don’t understand how meaningful your letters are to me. Never think that you bore me!  I love sharing the simple things in life. Believe me, this is only exciting on the outside looking in.  I’d gladly trade riots, homosexuals, gangs, fights and all the other drama for gardening and swim meets. And by you sharing not only written accounts, but photos as well, you allow me to live a life outside of this through you. If anything, I’m grateful.

Despite my ties to the streets and shady associations, I value the honest quality of life. My mom reared us to be intelligent and cultivated, assertive and diplomatic, righteous and passionate. My interests are far removed from the streets.

I love to fish (preferably fresh water).  I love nature period.  I’m into art, literature and poetry. My imagination is very vivid, kept me in trouble as a child. You’d be surprised at what will hold my mind captive.

Unfortunately, I’ve not left for rehab yet.  It should be any day now, but when I do, my address will change completely.

Happy belated birthday!  I love birthdays. People frown on me because I celebrate in here. These guys are too tough for that.

Jeeze, time is flying!  I’ve got to wrap this up and get it to you, but I’m not finished responding to your letters. Just want you to know that I did receive them and you are appreciated.

I’m sending you plenty of good wishes as well along with a huge smile! I’m thankful for you, PERIOD.

Fondly,

July 20, 2009

“It costs about $75 a month to live decent in here. That’s including food, hygiene, postage and writing materials.”

11:30 p.m.

Howdy! How are you?

Allow me to be honest? I’m in a pretty good mood right now, and that’s the best time to write to others, because they get clear, concise thoughts without the bitterness that this place breeds. So here I am, as I promised. Just took a bath and washed my hair (got my hair cut shorter) and I feel like a new man. My hair is wavy when cut short, but when long, it’s real curly and I start looking like a Dominican.

What a long day! I got a bunch accomplished, though. Most importantly, I got an opportunity to go to the commissary. We only go like every third week and it’s such a hassle. It costs about $75 a month to live decent in here. That’s including food, hygiene, postage and writing materials….

true, they feed us three times a day but the meals are trash.  I’ve never seen so many casseroles in my life!  Yuck!  And “great northern beans,” horrible.  I really only go to the chow hall for the vegetables because they sell no veggies in the commissary and about five meals out of the week are worth eating.

But then you get trapped in the chow hall for 30-45 minutes, sweating like a slave. Plus, the chow hall is about three quarters of a mile from where I live, naw, maybe half a mile, but it’s quite a hop. And it highly increases your chances of going to solitary or coming about some sort of trouble.

Yeah, so I do a lot of in cell cooking. Like tonight I made a spicy rice with butter, garlic, cayenne and dried bell peppers (salt to taste). Also some instant mashed potatoes (butter and herb flavor) and some buffalo wings. A friend of mine who works in the kitchen sent me five of those precooked chicken patties with the breading on them.  I cut them into good sized strips, marinated them in a sauce of butter, hot sauce and garlic, then breaded them in crushed potatoes chips and set them in a bag inside of my hot pot for a few hours, then poured the remaining sauce over them. You’d be amazed at some of the creations I come up with…imagination and a little know how….

I’ve not eaten yet because I wanted to write to you and my aunt first—before I eat and get drowsy. Had some nasty ice cream earlier (Blue Bell Banana Split). I meant to buy banana pudding flavor; that crap was awful! But it’s hot, so I downed it and a cold coke. Hey, I treat myself when I can afford it.

My mom is the only person who really sends me money and because of it, she hardly writes. But she understands that cooking makes me happy, so I buy materials to cook up all kinds of stuff. As a matter of fact, I’m going to share a recipe with you later, but first, allow me to tell you what’s been going on in here, since you say you’re interested.

It ain’t all peaches and cream in here, let me tell you that. This past Friday, a guy got caught by a guard performing oral sex on another guy, and that other guy was my celly a few weeks ago for five days. See, it’s not that that type of stuff doesn’t go on everyday in here, because it does, but people don’t get caught! Getting caught means that your family will receive a letter and a phone call informing them of your homosexuality. There is a “zero tolerance” policy, consensual or not. What really sucks, I know both of those guys and no one suspected anything like that to happen.

Sunday was a day straight out of hell. A guy that lives on my cell block, or “lived,” got life flighted out of here. Yeah, this new officer (a real asshole!) was picking on people in the hallway going to lunch. (I’m not free from these morons, even on crutches.) The guy said something smart to me and a few others, I didn’t bite on it. Another guy did and was sent back without eating, which is against the rules, but we have no rights.

So we informed a LT about the officer’s behavior. He brushed us off. On the way back, he started picking at an inmate who was crying because he’d been called to the desk and told that his sister was dead. They exchanged words and before you know it, three officers were elbowing, choking and kicking this guy. The dude never threw a punch. They beat him so bad that a bone came out of his leg. Blood was everywhere! Talk about excessive use of force. The man is diabetic and had to be flown out of here. Rumor is he died, I hope not. His family was pulling up to visit when the helicopter was leaving. Crazy, huh?

Four officers and several inmates wrote statements against the officers involved. There is a big investigation. There will be a lawsuit. Talk about “trouble.” What’s worse, the officers included were high fiving each other when it was done with. I hope they get fired and then some! Bastards.

Another guard got beat up in the chow hall because he tried to snatch a guy’s tray out of his hands. Two inmates got sprayed in separate incidents. That pepper spray had me sneezing and crying and the medium custody blocks I was complaining about….all three of them went on 30 day lockdown.

This morning, officers found a pound of weed on the trustee camp (outside workers) and 20 people failed urine tests. It’s been hectic. It seems wrong for me to be in such a good mood but why shouldn’t I be? I’m out of the way, trying to do what’s right.

Okay, it’s getting late and the mail goes down the hall at about 2 a.m. Still have to write another letter.

About my time….I hate telling people because they push away from me like I’m already dead. I have a 40 year sentence. Sorry, I know it hurts you too. The good news is, I can possibly go home in six more years if things work out. Please don’t cry or anything, just stay in my life?

My kids are 9, 7 and 5. More about them in the next letter—promise.

Okay, I’m going to give you one of my top secrets, G-14 classified recipes. On one condition, well two really. One is you have to try it. Two, if you get rich off them, cut me in as a partner. (Top secret recipe not included here.)  I make those in here. They are gone before I make them. I make them every day. The profit is nice. We’ll discuss it more after you’ve made your first batch.

Well, I’d better get on to my aunt’s letter. Look forward to hearing from you.

Joyfully,

Blog - Poetic Justice

Born.

Tore out of the womb into a room full of strangers….and a world full of dangers.  Opened my eyes, fought to survive and surprise!  So this is life?

Not bad.  Not bad at all.  I’m ready to run and play and have a ball!  Be a kid, then grow big, standing proud, strong and tall.  What about my childhood?  Pretty good.  As good as can be expected, sometimes hectic, but never rejected.  Spoiled, loved and reared through the laughter and tears, looking back on those years….and I asked to be here.

Here.

Here is definitely not there.  Here is where fear is palpable; you can smell it in the air, comingled with bitter breath, death, abandoned hopes, soap and powder to mask cigarette smoke, and musk.  In this world, men aren’t men, they’re just bones, hate and husk.  Shells of former donors, brothers, sons, guys who loved life less than guns, half hearted lovers to sweethearts long gone and married.  The What Was.  The buried, the deprived, the vapor of dreams, ignoring the screams and clawing at seams.

Here it seems to teem hostility, undaunted anguish, pure unfiltered misery.  Each breath, defeat by the lungful….springs sprung, hung, pulled….ruled by oppression.  Depression’s like a drug, lulling your hope, suppressing joy, dimming your scope, leaving you crazed, drowsy, dazed just enough to cope.

That man is Satan and that man is Christ.  And neither man gives a damn about life.  So I stand separate, yet submerged.  Diversing my soul becomes a pastime, ducking slugs from Formica thugs with intentions to blast mine.  Landmines litter this landscape, exploding with murder, malice and rape.  The wounded fester, whining, fencing off the killing blow, thinking back on Momma’s words, “Boy, be good.  You reap what you sow.”

I witness the throes of death with detached fascination, contemplating my own demise, visions far too vivid in the eyes of my mind.  Livid at each image, I push away from the table, refusing to consume that which lives to consume me.  And all I have to sooth me is the love from above and beyond.

Beyond.

Beyond these walls, here ends and there begins, so I focus on family and friends.  My sins committed and atoned for.  I mourn for the old me, the me with bloody lashes on his soul, a mouthful of gold, and more anger than one man should hold.

I scold the new me, mold the new me into something boring, foreign to the What Was.  I journey on, touring, searching, imploring, testing my wings until I am soaring.  Soaring above the here, flapping feverishly, foolish and free….here among them who aren’t men.  But that’s them and I’m me…and I’m free.

June 28 & July 5, 2009 and my second Blog.

June 28, 2009  Late

Please forgive me.  I know I have been a horrible pen pal.  For what it’s worth, that is not my intention.

No excuses, things have been so hard on me these past few months, I mean, really my life has been miserable!  And I’m that type of person that doesn’t like to burden those special to me with negativity of this place.  And happy thoughts have been touch and go.  Fleeting to say the least.  I only request that you bear with me a bit longer?  In a few weeks, I’m going to another unit to begin rehab on my knee.  Things should be multitudes better there.

Rest assured that your letters, cards and photographs bring me joy, even through the darkness I’ve been all but consumed by.  J The pictures are great.  I love the wildlife, especially the rhinos.  Oh and how I envy you and your “wascally wabbits.”  How I long for life’s simple moments.

It’s easy to admire your compassion and kindness towards others.  You seem to be “Mother Earth,” providing for all of the children one way or another.  How refreshing to see you, your husband and family, so warm and close.  You provide me with fond inspiration and hope that my trials will soon come to pass.

I just returned from Galveston again.  That’s wearing me down.  Won’t even tell you how awful a trip it was!

This is just another short one, but I beg you to understand hot and unpleasant it is down here, even in the middle of the night, I’m sticky with perspiration and drained of energy.  Just know that you are on my mind every day and your good wishes are most appreciated!

Warmly,

July 5, 2009

Hello!  How are ya?  I really do hope that all is well with you!  I never can quite find the proper words to express my gratitude for your role in my life.  I mean, in here, it is so easy to feel all alone, be devoured by the darkness and forgo all hope.  You have no idea how your kindness and unselfish ability to share your joy helps to keep my spirits high.

Wow!  You and your husband have made me a part of your very very active and interesting lives.  One day, I too hope to live to the fullest as well, to be comfortable, in a healthy relationship and able to travel.  I admire what ya’ll have, deeply.

I must be honest; my life has been pretty much off axis since my injury.  It’s been one drama after another.  And all of the back and forth to the hospital has taken its toll.  The last time I went, when I came back, they housed me on a cell block for inmates  who can’t think for themselves, guys who are G-4’s while I’m a G-2, guys that are Line 3’s while I’m a S-3.  I know that makes no sense to you, but trust me, I didn’t belong down there.  G-2 is a custody level; “G-2” is minimal custody.  “G-3” is for guys with over 50 years, “G-4” is medium custody, “G-5” is closed custody.  The line class thing is more complicated.  You enter the system a “Line-1” and work your way up.  As a “Line-1” you aren’t allowed contact visits or certain jobs.  From a “Line-1” you go up to a “S-4” which is a state approved trustee.  Every six months you go with no cases, your line class advances until you get to a “S-2” which means you  are eligible for outside jobs unsupervised and all contact visits.  Any major cases you receive can knock your class and status down, then it takes you a year trouble-free to move back up.  Pretty boring stuff, but it gives you some idea of just how much I didn’t belong on a medium custody cellblock, especially not on crutches.  All types of nonsense goes on down there….from riots, fights with officers, fires…you name it.

My family has been kinda off and on, too.  Like my mom, she doesn’t write very often, so I worry about her.  But no matter how much I try to explain that, it doesn’t get through to her.  My ex-wife is still acting stupid with me about my kids, so I’ve not seen them. 

I’m going to send you a few pictures.  Unfortunately, I’ll need them back because I don’t have copies, but you are welcome to make copies.  (I hate asking for the pictures back, it seems so tacky!

If you’re wondering why I have so much time and energy to write, there’s an interesting explanation.  This kid got into a fight the other night on the recreation yard.  The next day his eye looked like he’d been hit with a sledge hammer.  His friends were able to keep him hidden in his cell yesterday, but today he popped out like he didn’t look like he’d lost a bar fight and the officers noticed.  So my cell block is on “lockdown” for 24 hours while the “incident is investigated” which basically means “less work for the officers…free day!”

So I’ve rested, allowing my mind to wander, cleaned up and done some reading.  Now I’ve written you.  Well, I better wrap this up and settle in for the night.  I’ve got a Patricia Cornwell book to get into.  As always, I thank you for your friendship and your kindness.  You have no idea the impact you have on me.  Hope you enjoy the pictures!

Like family,

BLOG # 2

                              Smiles

It’s 1:20 a.m.  It’s cold.  I’ve been writing letters for hours….I’m tired and I’m lonely.  The penitentiary consoles no man.  The consolation and rehabilitation is done within.

My writing hand aches, though not as much as my heart, so I write on.

Am I sad?  No.  I’m beyond the sadness.  Actually, I’m quite content considering my circumstances.  Incarcerated, yet that is life, for now.  Not all of me is here though, and my soul tickles my flesh to a smile.

I just got off of my good knee, saying my prayers, most of which were the usual, then many thanks for plenty of blessings.  These last few nights though, I’ve made an amendment to my prayers.  Towards the closure of that brief but sincere monologue, I’ve begun to ask God to touch my children’s hearts, just for a moment, and let them know that they are loved.

In my mind, I can see them smile slightly in their sleep in response to that touch.  Sweet, pure and so innocent.  It doesn’t matter where their little minds think the love comes from, just as long as they feel it.

And with those smiles floating above the stratosphere of my thoughts, tranquilizing the pain laden tumultuous clouds, I’m able to enjoy a period of peace.  I can crawl under my shabby blanket already warm, comforted by the slightest silken caress of my spirit, reminding me of the joy that was and preparing me for the joy that will be.

They’re still smiling.

Two more letters - April & May, 2009 - and my first BLOG

April 26, 2009

I’m sure you think I’ve forgotten you?  Never!  The past few weeks have been “one thing or another.”  Yeah, there was the lock down when I couldn’t buy stamps.  Then I bought stamps, but the commissary lady stole them, like I’ve got money to throw away.  It’s been rough, to say the least.  But I have received your letters.   Thank you for including me in your life and your thoughts.

How are you?  Hopefully you’re better than I am.  I am exhausted.  I spent all of last week shackled and traveling on pissy buses.  Very unpleasant.  Tell me why it takes two days to get to another city, from where I am, like two hours away?  It took two days to get there, two days to get back, all for the doctor to look at my knee, frown and say, “Dude, your knee is jacked up!  You need major surgery.”  She couldn’t operate because there was too much swelling.  So I have to go back in a few weeks.

I may have gotten about 15 total hours of sleep last week.  My body is on “shutdown.”  So forgive me for this short letter?  I’ll owe you a long one and those pictures (have to dig them out) but I wanted to let you know how I was so that you don’t worry.  You treat me like family, it’s only right that I respect and love you as a son respects and loves his mother.  Can’t have Momma worried.

Isn’t it a shame that it took those people a month to get me to the hospital, and my leg is still messed up?   This great state and its billion dollar prison industry.  There is no justice—just us.  And they don’t care what happens to us as long as the Big Wigs get paid.

Oh, I had to send the address labels back to you.  Sorry.  Thank you though.  They wouldn’t let me keep them.  These people are so stupid.  They police the insignificant things while guys run around here with knives, weed and meth.  Noooo, don’t fingerprint them when you find them, just stop the stickers coming through the mail.  Crazy.

Anyhow, Mom, let me rest my poor body and expect a real letter by the end of the week.  I’ve not forgotten you.  You and your husband are constantly in my thoughts and always in my heart.  Smile. J

Sincerely,

May 24, 2009 early morning

Here it is 4 a.m. and I’m writing you because you’ve been on my mind, plus my body decided to grant me a moment free of the torturous plain I’ve been living in.

Where are my manners?  How are you?  I did receive a few letters from you, but my mail is like two weeks behind because I’ve been traveling, and it takes time for the mail to catch up.

Yes, I finally had the surgery (left patellar tendon reconstruction).  I was supposed to have the “scope” but the doctor said that my leg was too messed up.  Honestly, I almost wish I hadn’t had that surgery.  Never in my life have I felt so helpless, and the pain is beyond words!

At the hospital, I was ordered two Tylenol #3’s every four hours, for 30 days.  These hateful people at this facility have cut that to one pill three times a day, because they say I can sell the pills.  Well, maybe I could, if I wasn’t in excruciating pain! J  There’s nothing any of these guys could give me that’s worth that medicine to me.  And the meds don’t give me complete relief, but I’m learning to find contentment with shades of comfort instead of seeking the big picture.

Despite all my complaints and suffering, I’m becoming stronger, more patient and more thoughtful of others.  People, for the most part, have been compassionate and understanding.  That has surprised me.  Still, some folks will always be jerks.  That does not surprise me.  Overall though, folks have been helpful and kind.  Everyone seems to be genuinely concerned for my well being.  They frown when they see me hopping on these crutches, sweating, wincing at the pain.  Their faces tell me what they’re thinking.  Women say it aloud, “Oh Baby!  What did you do?”  The attention is a gift and a curse.  For three years in this facility, virtually no one knew who I was.  Now, in 90 days, everyone knows me.  That’s not my choice status.

Please forgive me for my transitions?  My intentions are to be a better pen pal than I have been.  It’s just been one thing after another.  I was gone ten days when I left for surgery!

7:00 p.m.  Wow! I adjusted myself to get more comfortable and passed out.  It was 9 a.m. when I woke.  That’s crazy, but that is my life right now. 

Thank you so much for being constant and not wavering!  Really, continuous love is hard to come by in here, yet you treat me like I was one of your own children.  You are always positive and your letters always bring a smile to my face.  Even before I read them, on seeing the return address alone, I know that you’ve “tucked in some good wishes” for me inside. J  You are amazing and I’m thankful for your role in my life.

Right now I’ve got on a knee immobilizer and a splint that goes from my hip to my ankle.  Talk about uncomfortable.  I can’t even shower.  It’s bird baths for me.  Then I’ve been blessed with a very sweet cellmate.  I know, “sweet” is not a word you’d commonly use among guys….straight guys in prison, but this guy is the exception.  He changes my sock, brings me food, changes my sheets, goes out of his way to make sure that I’m comfortable.  He’s protective too, seeing as how I’m not really in much of a position to defend myself. J

Basically, it’s a physical and emotional rollercoaster.  Gotta learn to take the good with the bad and use it all to become a better person.  Isn’t that what it’s all about anyway?

It’s all humbling and empowering at the same time.  Realizing that you aren’t as strong as you thought, realizing that you’re stronger than you ever imagined all at once.  Maybe that’s confusing for some, but for me it’s a tragic yet beautiful revelation.  Maturity sought by overcoming strife.

Well, allow me to hope that you are as happy to hear from me as I am to hear from you.  I will be in touch.  For the present, there may be delays, but you will always have a letter coming sooner or later.  I’m sure that you by now trust my good motives and patiently await the following actions. :)

From my heart,

P.S.  No, these people won’t allow you to send postage either.  They sell them to us at the commissary, charge us for them, then don’t give us the stamps and call us liars when we complain.  Yeah, I know.

Blog #1      Happy

Believe it or not, I’m happy.  No, I’m not overjoyed, not ecstatic or delirious with glee, and I’m not depressed, withdrawn or suicidal.  I’m merely happy.  I’m happy and it disturbs people because I guess maybe they feel I shouldn’t be.

Happy is what I am though.  Other inmates, some with less time than me, some with more time than me, ask  “How much time to you have?” or “You ‘bout to go home?” or “Ready for the world, huh?” or many similar questions.  I do not relish telling them the truth.

The time doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it bothers them.  I respond stone faced, voice devoid of any emotion, “40 years.”  Their reaction is always the same.  They move closer, staring at me with huge bugged out eyes as if I’m some fascinating creature beyond the limits of imagination, voices drop to an intimate, conspiratorial tone, as if willing me to cease with the shenanigans and tell the truth.  “Four years?”  They inquire, too enthusiastically, like nodding “yes” and smiling they can make me give the answer they seek.

It’s the same routine, and me being the stand up guy that I am, I never stray from the script.  Still without emotion, betraying only the slightest impatience, I make the dreaded correction.  “No, forty.”

If the sun and stars were hung on the angles and eaves of peoples’ face, I would be witness to the countless fallings of the sky.  What really sucks is that it hurts me to hurt them.  I become the loathed executioner betraying the hopeful human heart, delivering a merciless blow, slashing out the throat of an innocent bystander.  Seconds tick by in silence while the nimble fingers of reality perfectly repair the damage done to their voice box, their good as new throat flexing as they attempt to swallow disappointment.

Still, I expertly mask my feelings, angry for being forced to even briefly injure a total stranger.  Not angry at their obvious plummet from Mt. Hope, but angry at myself for being here to pull them to their peak, then shove them off, angry that I’ve failed myself and countless others….add one more.

Relentless as a stubborn old fisherman down to this last worm, they press the release on the reel and cast way out between the stumps, where bass have been splashing all morning.  “It’s non-agg, right?”  Here my anger abates, draining from me like rain down a storm gutter.  What does it say about me that people who barely know me want me to be free?   It’s a credit to something, because I’ve encountered several people within these walls whom I pray are never freed.

With a warm smile worthy of comforting a pouting child, I confirm their fears.  “It’s aggravated.”  Despite my efforts, their faces always make that split second transformation from expectant to empathetic on the brink of pitying.  Some, I reassure with promises of time cuts and appeals, others try to reassure me, not realizing that I’ve accepted it for what it is, dreamed every dream of release and envisioned every doomful other possibility.

Not all of them have the courage to continue, but those who do, sober up, look past my eyes, through my vision, searching my soul.  I’ve never asked what they find, but the following words are guaranteed.  “Man….you don’t act like you’ve got 40 years.”

That statement I never respond to, at least not verbally.  What’s the point?  Is there a prototypical behavior or M.S.R.P.  (Municipal Suggested Reduction of Principles) for people with absurd amounts of time?  Would it be more fitting if I fought every day, repeatedly slammed my face into a wall and wailed like a wild banshee?  Would any of that make my time more acceptable to others?  Perhaps, but it’s not logical.  I’m very much like I was in the free world, the changes in me are for the better but in essence.  I’m still Jason.  I’m still my momma’s baby.

Yes, I’m still a Momma’s boy and a dreamer to boot.  Of course, my dreams are no longer the lavish, flamboyant dreams of an adolescent like too many of my “peers.”  My dreams now are simple, reality based, corny even.  While other guys promise themselves mansions, millions, Mayhachs and immoral Malaysians maidens, I subtly shake my head and hope that I don’t see them when they come back.

Mentality and lifestyle are like hand and glove.  I wanted a Benz and a Range Rover….by any means…which means exactly what it means.  Now my dream car is a Toyota Camry or a Honda Accord.  That’s funny to some, probably just as funny as incarceration.  Ha!  I’m cracking up….not.

No my new fantasies are very attainable, and for me, that much more appealing.  So yeah, as cheesy as it sounds, that cottage with the white picket fence and dog look real damn good when you live in the alternative.

I’ve lived the “Dope Boy” life, both sides, and none of it impresses me anymore.  What does impress me is how much my babies have grown since I’ve been gone.  Being away from them saddens me and strengthens my resolve.  Their smiles outweigh my grief.  Using that scale as judge, I push on.

True dreamers know to always look for the silver lining.  All the storms endured in my time, I’m impervious to rainfall, immune to cold, impregnable to high winds.  My head is high, eyes fixed on the heavens, vigilant in my wait for the bruised pregnant clouds to give birth to just a glimpse of sunshine.  I’m never disappointed.

Although I have not held either of my children in over two years, it is not because I do not love them.  I love them fiercely, with every particle of my being, to the marrow.  And they are healthy.  Lord forbid, they could be in a cancer ward, or laid up in a trauma center somewhere, helpless. Though I can’t be there for them now, God have mercy on anyone who tries to stand in the way of me being there in the future.

There is a future, and so I’m happy.  I’m happy because there is hope.

The past is in the past.  Past sins and crimes are already committed and cannot be undone.  But today I have a choice, an option, a perspective….potential.  Peace within, and therefore, I’m happy.