Indifference, or to make a difference...
"Indifference, to me, is the epitome of evil." -Elie Wiesel
What was your first encounter with the death penalty? When did you first really think about methods of execution? For me, after I was processed into the prison system through Central Mississippi Correctional Facility, I was housed at Unit 17. When executions are carried out they are done at Unit 17. It is where the gas chamber is and where people can watch as the State carries out murder and declares it to be justified, even humane. This is where I really started serving my prison time, where I got my nickname, where I learned some of the basic rules of doing time. It was a period when I taught myself how to draw, did a lot of corresponding with my family, slept a lot and dreamed of freedom without doing much to further those dreams. It's amazing what people can become accustomed to. I lived near the very room where they perform executions and got used to it.
Years later I lived with the guys on Mississippi's death row. I got to know them, I learned about their struggles, their petty squabbles, their solidarity, their families. I lost my prejudices and saw them as fellow humans who have made terrible mistakes. Maybe that is easier for me because of my situation. Judging them because they are on the row would be, for me, like the pot calling the kettle black. The point is that you can love the sinner in spite of the sin.
I remember being there, watching as K9 officers escorted my friend Joseph Burns out of the building for the last time. What was I to tell JoJo as they took him to murder him? "Keep your head up," or "You're in my prayers"? I didn't say anything. I just stood there, mute. I think about that often. I did get a chance to send my friend Jan Michael Brawner, Jr. a message before the State executed him. I've always been able to write better than I can speak, though.
So now the executioners are facing a dilemma. They are running out of the drugs that are used to carry out these State sanctioned murders. They are improvising. We have just seen another botched execution in Arizona that was horrendously inhumane. States are discussing going back to firing squads, electrocution, the gas chamber. You know who was also a proponent of using poison gas? Herr Adolf Hitler.
America was quite an inspiration to Hitler. He studied the methods used on the American Indians: concentration camps, starvation, forced marches, uneven combat, genocide. He noted how Africans were enslaved. He learned from racial segregation. He emulated studies into sterilization of the people deemed unfit. We are still doing these things today. 132 women prisoners sterilized in California between 2006 and 2010, that we know of. And we are still abusing and breaking up the families of the American Indians, taking children away from their parents for no reason at all.
When are we going to learn? Are we going to continue to be an inspiration for those like Hitler? Will we bring back the firing squads, the electric chair and gas chamber? Or will we move beyond the idea of "an eye for an eye" and once again be a nation that the rest of the world looks to with admiration instead of disgust and disdain? It starts right here. One step at a time. One signature at a time. People stepping up and taking action instead of stepping aside with indifference. If you aren't telling those that represent you in government that you don't want people murdered in the name of justice, then you are allowing it to happen. Will one person make a difference? Not alone. But when each person does their part, it does make a difference.
What have you learned?
Some posts that I write, I just know it isn't time to publish them.
Something seems to be missing. This post that you're reading has been in
the works for awhile. I hope that it helps.
It is in most people's nature to want to "fix" the problems in their
life; that a specific plan of action will make things right and make us
feel better. We develop plans to "fix" ourselves, "fix" situations, make
everything alright if we just take the right actions. Then we hit a
wall of pain. We want so badly for problems to be of material nature,
ignoring the internal struggle we are facing. We try to force the
problem outside of ourselves in order to try and wrestle it into
submission. We tell ourselves it must be due to circumstances, other
people, bad luck, lack of money. The reality is that all problems are
problems of perception.
You probably don't remember being born, but your mother will never
forget giving birth to you. For most people, it was the single most
traumatic experience: coming into this world. There was pain. There was
fear. But not knowing any different, you embraced the pain. You let go.
You surrendered. Think of any time of great challenge and you will see
great growth. Problems, issues or challenges are the catalysts for
personal growth.
Conversely, self-pity and lack of trust inhibit us. Why is life so
unfair? Did I do something wrong? What did I do to deserve this? What
did I neglect? Where is God? We lose hope and find it difficult or
impossible to have faith in joy, happiness, love, safety. We forget that
pain is the greatest teacher in life.
So what can we do? We associate surrender with defeat and it goes
against everything we have learned since birth. But some things we have
to relearn or we will continue running up against that wall of pain
until the lesson sinks in. Often, life's lessons go against our human
logic. We must surrender, let go, embrace the pain and acknowledge that
our problems originate from within and are a matter of perspective.
Whether intentionally or not, I am certain that I have hurt a lot of
people throughout my life. To those, I send my apologies. I ask that you
find forgiveness for me. To all those who have harmed or hurt me, I
forgive you. I send my love and understanding. We are all connected.
Namaskar.
Out of the mouth of babes...
Each of us has our own worries, our own problems and habits, our own pet
peeves. Years ago I read an explanation about how each individual's
problems are more important to them than the next person's problems. For
the most part, anyway. There might be a mudslide in China that kills
hundreds, but if you get up in the morning and stub your toe, you're
more focused on your possibly-broken toe. Extreme? Maybe. You get the
idea, though.
Speaking of extreme, I don't regret having gone through the rough periods and terrible conditions that I've experienced. Why? Because I survived. I wasn't broken. I learned from all of it. The crucible either destroys you or refines you. And I learned to not rely solely on my own strength.
One story I've shared many times, and will continue to share, is about a friend of the family. He was born with hearing impairment and required hearing aids as soon as he could wear them. A loving and intelligent child, he was still a little boy and prone to do things like turn off his hearing aids when he got tired of hearing the chaos of the world around him. From early on he would make odd statements, telling his mother of things he shouldn't know or be able to know. When she would ask him how he knew, he would say, "God told me."
On this particular day, his mother had promised him that he could go outside after he took a nap. By the time he had awoken from his nap, clouds had rolled in and it had rained outside. After he'd put his hearing aids on, she prepared to break the news to him. He didn't show any surprise or disappointment, and all he replied was, "I know. God told me." Normally she would let these statements slide. This time, however, she said, "I wish God would talk to me." Her son looked at her and replied, "He does. You just don't listen." Taken aback, she decided to pursue it a bit further. "Well, what does God sound like? Does he have a deep voice?" "No," he answered, leaning close, "He fwhifpers."
When life is chaotic and you feel confused as to what you should do, be still. Find a quiet place, unplug and tune out the world around you. Just for a few minutes. And when you're listening, remember... He whispers.
Speaking of extreme, I don't regret having gone through the rough periods and terrible conditions that I've experienced. Why? Because I survived. I wasn't broken. I learned from all of it. The crucible either destroys you or refines you. And I learned to not rely solely on my own strength.
One story I've shared many times, and will continue to share, is about a friend of the family. He was born with hearing impairment and required hearing aids as soon as he could wear them. A loving and intelligent child, he was still a little boy and prone to do things like turn off his hearing aids when he got tired of hearing the chaos of the world around him. From early on he would make odd statements, telling his mother of things he shouldn't know or be able to know. When she would ask him how he knew, he would say, "God told me."
On this particular day, his mother had promised him that he could go outside after he took a nap. By the time he had awoken from his nap, clouds had rolled in and it had rained outside. After he'd put his hearing aids on, she prepared to break the news to him. He didn't show any surprise or disappointment, and all he replied was, "I know. God told me." Normally she would let these statements slide. This time, however, she said, "I wish God would talk to me." Her son looked at her and replied, "He does. You just don't listen." Taken aback, she decided to pursue it a bit further. "Well, what does God sound like? Does he have a deep voice?" "No," he answered, leaning close, "He fwhifpers."
When life is chaotic and you feel confused as to what you should do, be still. Find a quiet place, unplug and tune out the world around you. Just for a few minutes. And when you're listening, remember... He whispers.
From visit to visit
After spending so many years locked down in solitary confinement, I
think I am still adjusting to general prison population. My writing has
dwindled down to almost nothing compared to what it once was. I spend
the majority of my days dealing with all the various personalities and
everything else that goes along with being in general population. And
every day I wonder if, once again, I will be put back on lockdown for
another person's stupidity; if I will be punished for someone else's
actions.
Know what makes it worth putting up with? Fifth weekend contact visits with my family. This most recent visit I got the chance to spend time with my grandma and my sister. I also met my nephew, Marcus, for the first time. That was fun.
When they arrived in the visitation room, I was already waiting for them. The visiting area is about 40'x40' with small tables spaced throughout and chairs placed around them for visitors to sit. Vending machines are placed along the wall where the door is through which the visitors enter. I was sitting at a table close to the door and stood up as they came through. My grandma and I hugged, while I asked her about the trip. My sister was holding Marcus, so when I hugged her, Marcus gets encompassed, as well. He took it all in stride.
As we sat down I told my grandma and sister that I hope they understand that this visit is about Marcus. They laughed but knew I was serious for the most part. My grandma asked if I wanted anything from the vending machines, so I told her I would like a Pepsi. You see, my nephew likes the taste of Pepsi and loves the containers. As soon as my grandma set the bottle down in front of me on the table, Marcus looked back and forth between me and the Pepsi, reached toward the bottle and made an inquiring "Eh?" sound. I said, "That's right. I'm bribing you, buddy. No shame in my game."
Anyway, I won't bore you with a play-by-play of the visit and how I have the greatest nephew ever. I'm sure you already know that. I fed him bites of things that would make him hyper once he was on the way home. Isn't that what uncles are supposed to do? I'll share this last bit before I close out. As visit was winding down and Marcus was getting fidgety, I wanted to see if he would come to me. I held out my hands and he held out his little arms, ready to be picked up. I took him under the arms and pulled him toward me. As I settled him against my chest, he laid his head against my shoulder. I had to take a deep breath to keep from breaking down. Babies are so accepting. They accept you just as you are.
Walking out of the visit room is never easy, and this time was no exception. I waved and said, "Bye," stepping through the door to be searched. I received a letter the following week telling me that as I walked out of the visit room, Marcus said, very quietly, "Bye." He turned one year old just four days after our visit.
Know what makes it worth putting up with? Fifth weekend contact visits with my family. This most recent visit I got the chance to spend time with my grandma and my sister. I also met my nephew, Marcus, for the first time. That was fun.
When they arrived in the visitation room, I was already waiting for them. The visiting area is about 40'x40' with small tables spaced throughout and chairs placed around them for visitors to sit. Vending machines are placed along the wall where the door is through which the visitors enter. I was sitting at a table close to the door and stood up as they came through. My grandma and I hugged, while I asked her about the trip. My sister was holding Marcus, so when I hugged her, Marcus gets encompassed, as well. He took it all in stride.
As we sat down I told my grandma and sister that I hope they understand that this visit is about Marcus. They laughed but knew I was serious for the most part. My grandma asked if I wanted anything from the vending machines, so I told her I would like a Pepsi. You see, my nephew likes the taste of Pepsi and loves the containers. As soon as my grandma set the bottle down in front of me on the table, Marcus looked back and forth between me and the Pepsi, reached toward the bottle and made an inquiring "Eh?" sound. I said, "That's right. I'm bribing you, buddy. No shame in my game."
Anyway, I won't bore you with a play-by-play of the visit and how I have the greatest nephew ever. I'm sure you already know that. I fed him bites of things that would make him hyper once he was on the way home. Isn't that what uncles are supposed to do? I'll share this last bit before I close out. As visit was winding down and Marcus was getting fidgety, I wanted to see if he would come to me. I held out my hands and he held out his little arms, ready to be picked up. I took him under the arms and pulled him toward me. As I settled him against my chest, he laid his head against my shoulder. I had to take a deep breath to keep from breaking down. Babies are so accepting. They accept you just as you are.
Walking out of the visit room is never easy, and this time was no exception. I waved and said, "Bye," stepping through the door to be searched. I received a letter the following week telling me that as I walked out of the visit room, Marcus said, very quietly, "Bye." He turned one year old just four days after our visit.
How To Eat An Elephant
I realize that I do not talk about it often, but religion and
spirituality are topics that I am very interested in and drawn to.
Through my own journey I have come to my particular beliefs, and I do
not claim to have a monopoly on truth. I became unitarian universalist
because of their tolerance for all belief systems that are not harmful.
Most people aren't even aware of this group, but that's okay. I don't
scoff at what others believe, I encourage them on their particular path
and attempt to help them in any way I can. I think that's why I'm drawn
to the Chaplaincy Department.
Wilkinson County's Correctional Center has, in recent months, hired a new chaplain to meet the spiritual needs of the prisoners housed here. Mr. Roscoe Barnes, Ph.D., is the man for the job. Working within the limitations of the prison environment he has begun weekly Jumah services for the Muslim prisoners, weekly Christian services, and even arranged for auditions for a praise group/choir á la American Idol. One man can only do so much when trying to meet the needs of over 900 prisoners, though.
What Chaplain Barnes needs right now are volunteers who will come in and share their time and love with prisoners. Mr. Barnes has reached out to the local congregations, and Christian volunteers are being vetted and trained to help. But other faiths and belief systems are underrepresented. I have seen that a lot in Mississippi, and I am asking for your help to change it. We need to see Islamic volunteers, Wiccans coming into prisons, Jewish believers sharing their love, Thelemites living by agape instead of mouthing the words, Kabbalists teaching from their wisdom. We aren't asking you to come in and try to convert everyone. Rather, we are asking that you share of yourself and donate your time, live by what you profess to believe.
Chaplain Barnes has a lot on his plate, but is undaunted by the enormity of the task. When I asked him how he plans on getting it all done, he asked a question in return. "You know how you eat an elephant?" Laughing, he answered his own question with a simple truth, "One bite at a time." I am glad to have Chaplain Barnes filling the position he does and I am asking that you help us to help him. We are looking for any groups that might be interested in donating materials and literature pertaining to their particular faith to the Chaplaincy Department at WCCC. Know of any covens or temples in the surrounding area that might have members interested in volunteering to do some prison outreach work? Have any suggestions or advice? You can contact us by emailing us at prisoninmateslife@gmail.com or by emailing Chaplain Barnes directly at roscoe.barnes@mtctrains.com or even by calling (601) 888-3199 ext. 2214 to speak to him. We look forward to any feedback from you.
Wilkinson County's Correctional Center has, in recent months, hired a new chaplain to meet the spiritual needs of the prisoners housed here. Mr. Roscoe Barnes, Ph.D., is the man for the job. Working within the limitations of the prison environment he has begun weekly Jumah services for the Muslim prisoners, weekly Christian services, and even arranged for auditions for a praise group/choir á la American Idol. One man can only do so much when trying to meet the needs of over 900 prisoners, though.
What Chaplain Barnes needs right now are volunteers who will come in and share their time and love with prisoners. Mr. Barnes has reached out to the local congregations, and Christian volunteers are being vetted and trained to help. But other faiths and belief systems are underrepresented. I have seen that a lot in Mississippi, and I am asking for your help to change it. We need to see Islamic volunteers, Wiccans coming into prisons, Jewish believers sharing their love, Thelemites living by agape instead of mouthing the words, Kabbalists teaching from their wisdom. We aren't asking you to come in and try to convert everyone. Rather, we are asking that you share of yourself and donate your time, live by what you profess to believe.
Chaplain Barnes has a lot on his plate, but is undaunted by the enormity of the task. When I asked him how he plans on getting it all done, he asked a question in return. "You know how you eat an elephant?" Laughing, he answered his own question with a simple truth, "One bite at a time." I am glad to have Chaplain Barnes filling the position he does and I am asking that you help us to help him. We are looking for any groups that might be interested in donating materials and literature pertaining to their particular faith to the Chaplaincy Department at WCCC. Know of any covens or temples in the surrounding area that might have members interested in volunteering to do some prison outreach work? Have any suggestions or advice? You can contact us by emailing us at prisoninmateslife@gmail.com or by emailing Chaplain Barnes directly at roscoe.barnes@mtctrains.com or even by calling (601) 888-3199 ext. 2214 to speak to him. We look forward to any feedback from you.
The Language of Touch
One of the things I didn't get a chance to do is to be there for my younger
brother and sister, as I should have. Now my sister has a child of her
own and is studying to become a nurse. This is something she really
wants. She just recently participated in a competition with 14 other
students, placing fourth on the written exam and second in the practicals. The
most difficult part of the competition for her involved the medications
and types of injections, since they aren't told which meds they will be
tested on. I had a bright idea- maybe I could help my sister study by
corresponding with her about these things. If we both have the same book
to study from, we could quiz one another on definitions, types of meds,
drug interactions, etc. Our mother ordered the book - one for my sister
and one for me. She received hers. Mine arrives...but no, doing
something to foster family ties, something positive, is counter to prison policy.
Instead
of the book, a guard gives me a notice that says I cannot have the book
because the contents of the book are contrary to regulations, so I got
the guard to escort me up the hallway to the mailroom window. When I
asked Ms. Groom why I couldn't receive the book, she said she had
flipped through it and "couldn't understand it," and she asked some
other people and they said I couldn't have it. I asked for names, but
all she would say is that she "asked around." This is how they determine
what we're allowed: If Ms. Groom doesn't understand it, she will ask
around. Maybe she polls random shoppers at the local grocery store, or
discusses it with her choir at church.
As I thought about all of this walking back to the pod, I became angrier with each step. I miss out on 16 years of my sister's life and when I find a way I can possibly help her, I'm thwarted by a mailroom clerk who can't understand it. I have not hugged my mother in over a decade because some desk jockey asked around
and the consensus is that my mom can't visit me. The DOC touts reform and rehabilitation, but when it comes down to it, rehabilitation is bad for business.
Very seldom do I get angry. By the time I calmed myself down I had made my mind up about a couple of things. First, I'm going to have that book. Come hell or high water, I am determined. Second, things are going to change. Last time I made my mind up about something like this I helped the National Prison Project shut Unit 32 down. Anger can be a positive thing when channeled in the correct way.
So what does any of this have to do with the language of touch? Nothing and everything. I have done a bit of studying about touch and the lack of it, and thinking about not being able to hug my mom helped me redirect my thoughts. Imagine seven or eight years where the only physical contact you had with other people is when you're being placed in restraints. This is extreme sensory deprivation, but this is overlooked in our Western culture where advances in technology cause us to use our distance senses -sight and hearing- more, and our proximity senses -touch, taste, smell- less. We are distancing ourselves literally and metaphorically.
I am very glad that my nephew is being raised in a home where he is hugged, cuddled, comforted, tickled and not deprived of touch. Touch stimulates nerve connections in our brain, especially during infancy but also throughout a person's life. A plethora of nerve connections is the hallmark of intelligence, creativity, and behavioral plasticity. Studies also link a lack of touch during childhood with violent and antisocial behaviors. This makes sense when you consider that research in the teaching of reading indicates that not only is verbal facility -the ability to use words- not our primary mode of communication, but children who do not crawl, and touch, and handle things, almost invariably have difficulty with language.
A New York pediatrician named Henry Dwight Chapin published a report in the early 20th century about orphanages in ten different cities. Ninety-nine percent of infants did not survive the year of their admission, and those who survived were severely retarded. Why? What caused this? They called it merasmus, a general wasting-away. Further research revealed that orphanages with more attendants had higher survival rates for infants. Wherever babies were held and played with more, they were more likely to survive.
How can it be that we overlook the usefulness of touch with adults? Headaches, somatic pains, digestive/ eliminative dysfunctions, heart conditions, apathies, depressions, obesities, loss of appetite, emotional tensions, physical stresses... all could at least be made easier to deal with if touch therapy was factored in. Touching and being touched literally change brain chemistry -soothing, uplifting, relaxing. In both babies and adults, touch has been shown to develop and organize sleep/ wake cycles. Consider how many people suffer from problems that are sleep associated. But we've been brainwashed into thinking that touch must lead to sex.
We all long to share and communicate our thoughts and feelings. Some thoughts and feelings are so deep that words cannot express them, and sharing with others cannot be satisfied solely on the verbal level. Yet, we are so terrified of touch that we have forgotten its language. But why does touch terrify us? There is power in touch; when we touch, I am vulnerable unlike at any other time. The ability to do harm with touch will always exist as long as there is a power differential between individuals, sexes, races, and classes. We've feared it so deeply that we legislate laws, cultural mores, taboos and conventions to control it.
Adults have limited touch to 3 areas: the handshake and other similar symbolic gestures; sexual intercourse; hostility and anger, where anger protects us from other emotions that might burst out. The handshake is a ritualized caress; a reconnecting, but a buffer. Sexual intimacy is really our only area of open intimacy, and there we can speak as only touch can, of who we are and how we feel. We fill that one allowable intimacy with all our needs to touch. No wonder our culture is obsessed with sex and plagued with problems and frustrations about it. The sexual revolution is misunderstood, in that it is about more than new attitudes towards sex. It's about relearning a language we've lost through disuse.
Ever wonder about the appeal of contact sports -those we participate in and those we watch? Ever shake your head at parents who lose control when physically disciplining children? Baffled by physical violence and antisocial behavior? There are many children who only receive physical intimacy when they misbehave. Also, expression of strong hostility keeps other feelings from being revealed. As with sex, all sorts of completely inappropriate feelings are thrust into this outlet for emotions. We should not be freed from, but freed for emotions. One thing that sets humans apart from the animal kingdom is our capacity for the depth and complexity of emotions we experience.
We need the power of touch more now than ever before, especially in our Western culture. So take this lesson from me, and please don't take touch for granted. I hope to see therapeutic touch used more in dealing with troubled youth, and maybe it will make inroads into prison in the near future.
As I thought about all of this walking back to the pod, I became angrier with each step. I miss out on 16 years of my sister's life and when I find a way I can possibly help her, I'm thwarted by a mailroom clerk who can't understand it. I have not hugged my mother in over a decade because some desk jockey asked around
and the consensus is that my mom can't visit me. The DOC touts reform and rehabilitation, but when it comes down to it, rehabilitation is bad for business.
Very seldom do I get angry. By the time I calmed myself down I had made my mind up about a couple of things. First, I'm going to have that book. Come hell or high water, I am determined. Second, things are going to change. Last time I made my mind up about something like this I helped the National Prison Project shut Unit 32 down. Anger can be a positive thing when channeled in the correct way.
So what does any of this have to do with the language of touch? Nothing and everything. I have done a bit of studying about touch and the lack of it, and thinking about not being able to hug my mom helped me redirect my thoughts. Imagine seven or eight years where the only physical contact you had with other people is when you're being placed in restraints. This is extreme sensory deprivation, but this is overlooked in our Western culture where advances in technology cause us to use our distance senses -sight and hearing- more, and our proximity senses -touch, taste, smell- less. We are distancing ourselves literally and metaphorically.
I am very glad that my nephew is being raised in a home where he is hugged, cuddled, comforted, tickled and not deprived of touch. Touch stimulates nerve connections in our brain, especially during infancy but also throughout a person's life. A plethora of nerve connections is the hallmark of intelligence, creativity, and behavioral plasticity. Studies also link a lack of touch during childhood with violent and antisocial behaviors. This makes sense when you consider that research in the teaching of reading indicates that not only is verbal facility -the ability to use words- not our primary mode of communication, but children who do not crawl, and touch, and handle things, almost invariably have difficulty with language.
A New York pediatrician named Henry Dwight Chapin published a report in the early 20th century about orphanages in ten different cities. Ninety-nine percent of infants did not survive the year of their admission, and those who survived were severely retarded. Why? What caused this? They called it merasmus, a general wasting-away. Further research revealed that orphanages with more attendants had higher survival rates for infants. Wherever babies were held and played with more, they were more likely to survive.
How can it be that we overlook the usefulness of touch with adults? Headaches, somatic pains, digestive/ eliminative dysfunctions, heart conditions, apathies, depressions, obesities, loss of appetite, emotional tensions, physical stresses... all could at least be made easier to deal with if touch therapy was factored in. Touching and being touched literally change brain chemistry -soothing, uplifting, relaxing. In both babies and adults, touch has been shown to develop and organize sleep/ wake cycles. Consider how many people suffer from problems that are sleep associated. But we've been brainwashed into thinking that touch must lead to sex.
We all long to share and communicate our thoughts and feelings. Some thoughts and feelings are so deep that words cannot express them, and sharing with others cannot be satisfied solely on the verbal level. Yet, we are so terrified of touch that we have forgotten its language. But why does touch terrify us? There is power in touch; when we touch, I am vulnerable unlike at any other time. The ability to do harm with touch will always exist as long as there is a power differential between individuals, sexes, races, and classes. We've feared it so deeply that we legislate laws, cultural mores, taboos and conventions to control it.
Adults have limited touch to 3 areas: the handshake and other similar symbolic gestures; sexual intercourse; hostility and anger, where anger protects us from other emotions that might burst out. The handshake is a ritualized caress; a reconnecting, but a buffer. Sexual intimacy is really our only area of open intimacy, and there we can speak as only touch can, of who we are and how we feel. We fill that one allowable intimacy with all our needs to touch. No wonder our culture is obsessed with sex and plagued with problems and frustrations about it. The sexual revolution is misunderstood, in that it is about more than new attitudes towards sex. It's about relearning a language we've lost through disuse.
Ever wonder about the appeal of contact sports -those we participate in and those we watch? Ever shake your head at parents who lose control when physically disciplining children? Baffled by physical violence and antisocial behavior? There are many children who only receive physical intimacy when they misbehave. Also, expression of strong hostility keeps other feelings from being revealed. As with sex, all sorts of completely inappropriate feelings are thrust into this outlet for emotions. We should not be freed from, but freed for emotions. One thing that sets humans apart from the animal kingdom is our capacity for the depth and complexity of emotions we experience.
We need the power of touch more now than ever before, especially in our Western culture. So take this lesson from me, and please don't take touch for granted. I hope to see therapeutic touch used more in dealing with troubled youth, and maybe it will make inroads into prison in the near future.
Prison Sex?
I have now spent half of my life as a prisoner of MDOC, so I've been
around long enough to see- or hear- a lot of things. Some are funny.
Some sad. Some you wouldn't believe. However, I never cease to be
amazed.
How many of you have heard the classic "Don't drop the soap!" associated with prisoners? I've never found it amusing. Here's the reality: Most prisoners are members of a gang. All gangs I've been around have a rule against homosexual acts among their male members. So rape by gang members in Mississippi is a rarity, and any gang member involved ends up "smashed" (beaten very badly).
Rape does happen, though. Most cases that get reported are more along the lines of new prisoners being manipulated into the act. One full-grown adult male raping another would be a bloody and difficult thing. I know this sounds odd, but the majority of you have never been in a fight or fought for a long period of time. One minute isn't easy. Two minutes is pushing the limit for the average person.Three or more? It will seem like the longest time in your life.
My friend, Ant, had a blunt way of questioning those who claimed to have been raped...
Ant: So, you got raped?
Them: Yeah.
Ant: Did they knock you out?
Them: No.
Ant: They tied you down?
Them: No.
Ant: It was more than one, and they held you down?
Them: No.
Ant: Did you fight back?
Them: Well...you see, what happened was...
Ant: Man, you ain't got raped!
From what I understand, there is a gang of gay guys at EMCF in Meridian who operate like an actual gang. EMCF is an odd place, however, seeing as how it houses prisoners whom the State deems in need of treatment for mental illness. Don't get me wrong, there is quite a bit of undercover homosexuality that goes on amongst guys who would never admit to their acts. And for those who can manage it, sex does happen between staff and prisoners. Always a risky proposition for whatever staff member is involved.
Over the course of the coming months we may see how Commissioner Epps' decision to stop conjugal visits will affect the rate of violence and rape inside Mississippi's prisons, if he doesn't change his mind. There's something you can do, though, especially if you are a resident of Mississippi. Right now Senate Bill 2735 is on the table. Check it out. This bill is being pushed by Kelly Muscolino, President of Mississippi Advocates for Prisoners (M.A.P.). The bill is an attempt to keep conjugal visits for Mississippi prisoners and their spouses. You can contact Mrs. Muscolino at mississippiadvocatesforprisone
I have ordered some of the bills being discussed and will soon be writing about them. Hopefully, I will be able to offer a prisoner's view on them. In my experience, prison sex usually involves the courts, legislators, and MDOC officials screwing us over. Maybe I will be able to share some good news with you all.
How many of you have heard the classic "Don't drop the soap!" associated with prisoners? I've never found it amusing. Here's the reality: Most prisoners are members of a gang. All gangs I've been around have a rule against homosexual acts among their male members. So rape by gang members in Mississippi is a rarity, and any gang member involved ends up "smashed" (beaten very badly).
Rape does happen, though. Most cases that get reported are more along the lines of new prisoners being manipulated into the act. One full-grown adult male raping another would be a bloody and difficult thing. I know this sounds odd, but the majority of you have never been in a fight or fought for a long period of time. One minute isn't easy. Two minutes is pushing the limit for the average person.Three or more? It will seem like the longest time in your life.
My friend, Ant, had a blunt way of questioning those who claimed to have been raped...
Ant: So, you got raped?
Them: Yeah.
Ant: Did they knock you out?
Them: No.
Ant: They tied you down?
Them: No.
Ant: It was more than one, and they held you down?
Them: No.
Ant: Did you fight back?
Them: Well...you see, what happened was...
Ant: Man, you ain't got raped!
From what I understand, there is a gang of gay guys at EMCF in Meridian who operate like an actual gang. EMCF is an odd place, however, seeing as how it houses prisoners whom the State deems in need of treatment for mental illness. Don't get me wrong, there is quite a bit of undercover homosexuality that goes on amongst guys who would never admit to their acts. And for those who can manage it, sex does happen between staff and prisoners. Always a risky proposition for whatever staff member is involved.
Over the course of the coming months we may see how Commissioner Epps' decision to stop conjugal visits will affect the rate of violence and rape inside Mississippi's prisons, if he doesn't change his mind. There's something you can do, though, especially if you are a resident of Mississippi. Right now Senate Bill 2735 is on the table. Check it out. This bill is being pushed by Kelly Muscolino, President of Mississippi Advocates for Prisoners (M.A.P.). The bill is an attempt to keep conjugal visits for Mississippi prisoners and their spouses. You can contact Mrs. Muscolino at mississippiadvocatesforprisone
I have ordered some of the bills being discussed and will soon be writing about them. Hopefully, I will be able to offer a prisoner's view on them. In my experience, prison sex usually involves the courts, legislators, and MDOC officials screwing us over. Maybe I will be able to share some good news with you all.
Coming Full Circle
I don't remember my first Christmas in prison, in particular. What
stands out for me are visits that I received around the holidays; one
moreso than the others to date. It was the first visit I had with my Mom
while I was housed at Unit 32.
Until the last couple of years Unit 32 was open, there were no contact visits allowed because it was a maximum security facility where death row and high risk prisoners were housed. When I had my first visit there with my Mom, they only allowed us one hour and we had to communicate via telephone, separated by security glass. Before that I had been housed at Unit 17, which is a much smaller unit - 60 prisoners compared to approximately 1,000. A big change for me and my family.
Until the last couple of years Unit 32 was open, there were no contact visits allowed because it was a maximum security facility where death row and high risk prisoners were housed. When I had my first visit there with my Mom, they only allowed us one hour and we had to communicate via telephone, separated by security glass. Before that I had been housed at Unit 17, which is a much smaller unit - 60 prisoners compared to approximately 1,000. A big change for me and my family.
This visit
was in December and Mom was telling me what they'd been doing. Mom
always fills me in on what my younger brother and sister have been up
to. Leah was 3 years old, just getting old enough to really enjoy
Christmas, and Tommy was excited. They had been given some early
Christmas "happy," including these hollow plastic candy canes filled
with M&M's. Tommy had been eating his candy and it was almost empty.
Leah had only eaten a few of her M&M's. Seeing that Tommy only had a
few left, she opened her container, then opened his and- being careful
not to spill any- poured half her M&M's into Tommy's container.
I couldn't help it. I cried. Some tough prisoner I am, eh? This December promises to be memorable, too. I hope to soon meet my nephew for the first time. I left my sister when she was a baby, and now I get to meet her baby. That will be a Christmas present to remember.
I couldn't help it. I cried. Some tough prisoner I am, eh? This December promises to be memorable, too. I hope to soon meet my nephew for the first time. I left my sister when she was a baby, and now I get to meet her baby. That will be a Christmas present to remember.
 |
| Merry Christmas from our little Marcus! |
Wishing you all Happy Holidays. Take care, stay safe, and don't take your loved ones for granted. We thank all of you for your support and for caring. Love and light to you all.
Wasted Youth
When I came in the system, I was always the youngest prisoner around
with few exceptions, until I was shipped off to Walnut Grove Youth
Correctional Facility in 2001. Often people wouldn't know how young I
was unless I told them, and then they thought I was joking. Fifteen
years later there is no "youth correctional facility" and I am around
young guys (who are around my brother's age) coming into this system.
It's an odd experience.
In prison, when you start associating closely with people, giving them advice when they ask for it or if you get them out of a problem... you become responsible for them. And having been locked up so young, I still don't see myself as the "old convict" these youngsters view me as. I have had to let my guard down a bit to associate with them and it is taking some readjusting on my part.
A couple of them in particular are lighthearted and upbeat, which I encourage. In prison, anything that might be slander against someone's "manliness" is avoided and considered disrespectful. These two joke about each other and it's no big deal. It's no-holds barred - gender, sexual preference, whatever. I overheard one say to the other, "Bitch, I need a hug." I couldn't help but laugh because I knew he was playing, but he wasn't. And no, neither one of these youngsters are gay.
I worry, though. I remember when I was at WGYCF, when guards and staff would comment that I smiled so much. After ten years of being harassed, moved from cell to cell every week around prisoners with mental illnesses that weren't being treated... I stopped smiling so much. It took me awhile to come back from that bitterness, but I've become even more introverted due to my experiences. Guys have commented that my face doesn't show emotions, that I always look calm. A lot of that is due to meditation, but prison has trained me to be less outwardly expressive. I worry that prison will affect these young guys as it has affected me.
I will probably be writing more about these kids in the near future, so brace yourself. They aren't politically correct. They don't care if it upsets you or if you're offended. Actually, that would amuse them no end. It's like being around a couple of Howard Sterns in training, so shocking people is always a plus for them.
Just a reminder: If you have a loved one in prison, the holidays are difficult. Support them as you can, and I hope they'll reciprocate. If you are reading this and are only involved on the fringes, send some prisoners a card and let them know they are not forgotten. They will appreciate it.
In prison, when you start associating closely with people, giving them advice when they ask for it or if you get them out of a problem... you become responsible for them. And having been locked up so young, I still don't see myself as the "old convict" these youngsters view me as. I have had to let my guard down a bit to associate with them and it is taking some readjusting on my part.
A couple of them in particular are lighthearted and upbeat, which I encourage. In prison, anything that might be slander against someone's "manliness" is avoided and considered disrespectful. These two joke about each other and it's no big deal. It's no-holds barred - gender, sexual preference, whatever. I overheard one say to the other, "Bitch, I need a hug." I couldn't help but laugh because I knew he was playing, but he wasn't. And no, neither one of these youngsters are gay.
I worry, though. I remember when I was at WGYCF, when guards and staff would comment that I smiled so much. After ten years of being harassed, moved from cell to cell every week around prisoners with mental illnesses that weren't being treated... I stopped smiling so much. It took me awhile to come back from that bitterness, but I've become even more introverted due to my experiences. Guys have commented that my face doesn't show emotions, that I always look calm. A lot of that is due to meditation, but prison has trained me to be less outwardly expressive. I worry that prison will affect these young guys as it has affected me.
I will probably be writing more about these kids in the near future, so brace yourself. They aren't politically correct. They don't care if it upsets you or if you're offended. Actually, that would amuse them no end. It's like being around a couple of Howard Sterns in training, so shocking people is always a plus for them.
Just a reminder: If you have a loved one in prison, the holidays are difficult. Support them as you can, and I hope they'll reciprocate. If you are reading this and are only involved on the fringes, send some prisoners a card and let them know they are not forgotten. They will appreciate it.
Under the Dome
More often than not I read nonfiction instead of fiction, though I enjoy
both. Recently I have read a few novels to pace myself and take a break
from my studies. I am currently reading Stephen King's "Under the
Dome." Some of you might be familiar with the TV series based on this
book. As is to be expected, there are a few differences between the two,
but I always prefer the book, personally.
The Dome's environment is something I can understand. It's a prison. Being incarcerated is comparable to how the inhabitants of Chester's Mill, Maine felt when the Dome fell. You wake up in a different world. The rules have changed. Learn fast or suffer the consequences. Put a group of people under constant stress and things come out that you wouldn't believe they would be capable of - good and bad. People clique-up for strength and safety. The pecking order is in full effect and leaders are self-appointed by the rule of brute strength and ruthlessness.
Don't worry. I'm not going to spoil the book for you. Think about the situation, though. How do you keep a group of people that have been unwillingly cut off from the the rest of the world from devolving into chaos and savagery? I am not finished with the book, but I look forward to learning how Stephen King handles the situation. Will he be spot-on? Or will he rely on some deus ex machina to save the day?
There are a lot of people who immediately shy away from anything associated with Stephen King. I was exposed to his novels from an early age and took comfort in the worlds he created when I began to read those books after I was incarcerated. "The Stand" is still one of my favorites, and is a classic. At the heart of his work, King shows us that we each have our own story and that we all have a mixture of the hero and of the monster in us. No matter how outlandish some of the stories might seem, King is a realist.
How well do you think you would deal with living under the Dome?
The Dome's environment is something I can understand. It's a prison. Being incarcerated is comparable to how the inhabitants of Chester's Mill, Maine felt when the Dome fell. You wake up in a different world. The rules have changed. Learn fast or suffer the consequences. Put a group of people under constant stress and things come out that you wouldn't believe they would be capable of - good and bad. People clique-up for strength and safety. The pecking order is in full effect and leaders are self-appointed by the rule of brute strength and ruthlessness.
Don't worry. I'm not going to spoil the book for you. Think about the situation, though. How do you keep a group of people that have been unwillingly cut off from the the rest of the world from devolving into chaos and savagery? I am not finished with the book, but I look forward to learning how Stephen King handles the situation. Will he be spot-on? Or will he rely on some deus ex machina to save the day?
There are a lot of people who immediately shy away from anything associated with Stephen King. I was exposed to his novels from an early age and took comfort in the worlds he created when I began to read those books after I was incarcerated. "The Stand" is still one of my favorites, and is a classic. At the heart of his work, King shows us that we each have our own story and that we all have a mixture of the hero and of the monster in us. No matter how outlandish some of the stories might seem, King is a realist.
How well do you think you would deal with living under the Dome?
They were more than MDOC numbers...
In most parts of the world, the beginning of November marks the time when we
slow down and focus on the dead, on how fragile life is, and we wonder what
awaits us after we the earthly chapter of our existence ends.
Here in Poland, we visit graves of our loved ones, and we light candles- a
tradition which dates back to the pagan days- bonfires were meant to warm up
souls wandering among those still alive.
It has always been my favorite holiday- when I feel so close to the Absolute
and to the mystery of transitions in life. The figures of crying angels, the
dates on the tombs and a question without answer- why something has to end? I remember
stopping by graves of people I did not know and I tried to imagine their life…
that was my tribute to them… to think of them, to remember them, even if they
were strangers to myself.
This is the time when it strikes me the most that we all are nothing but dust in
the wind…
And even the great ones are gone at some point. Writers, singers, scientists,
activists, good people whom the human kind owes a lot. Newspapers and magazines
print their stories to make sure they are not forgotten. That we spare a minute
of prayer or a minute of silence to honor their lives.
Yet, there are millions of stories that are never published. Each person
had their story, and each of them might have meant the world to someone,
although for the world they might not seem important. Some of them the world
decided to forget while they were still alive, and then taking it even a step
further and getting rid of them… Here I have in mind inmates executed in the
name of justice… You can lynch me for that, but I believe that those men and
women were more than numbers they had on their prison IDs and they were more
than the crimes they had committed… They had mothers, they had wives, they had
children. Perhaps some of them, perhaps all, were guilty of what they had been
convicted of. Does it matter now, though? I still want to remember them because
who am I to judge?
I asked Steven to write a few words about the men he had met in Parchman’sUnit 32. Here are his short obituaries for those whom most of the world does
not want to remember. But we will. They will be in our prayers and in our
thoughts.
John B. Nixon, Sr., executed on 12-14-2005 - We called him Mr. Nixon, and he was always respectful,
if distant. He spent two decades waiting to be executed.
Bobby G. Wilcher, executed on10-18-2006- "Big Bob" had an appetite for noodles and cheese puffs as big as his sense of humor.
Earl W. Berry, executed on 05-21-2008- A victim of our justice system. He was mentally retarded and should not have been executed.
Dale L. Bishop, executed on 07-23-2008- I spent quite a bit of time around "Bart" and you definitely shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He was a music aficionado without peer and never ceased to amaze me.
Paul E. Woodward, executed on 05-19-2010- Used to laugh uncomfortably when I would imitate his voice to confuse other guys on the tier.
Joseph D. Burns, executed on 07-21-2010- "JoJo" was from the area I grew up in, and that was something we had in common. He was the last person I saw escorted out to be executed and he was at peace with his Creator when he went. He'd had a spiritual experience before he was taken to be executed.
Larry Matthew Puckett, executed on 03-20-2012- One of the most intelligent people I have met in prison. Minded his own business, but would stand up for others when needed.
Henry Curtis Jackson, executed on 06-05-2012- One of the first guys on the row I met, causing me to re-evaluate my preconceived notions of them.
Jan Michael Brawner, Jr, executed on 06-06-2012.- My big bro. Loved his family and was always concerned about them. Had one of the loudest bellows I'd ever heard when he needed to get someone's attention.
Gary Carl Simmons, executed on 06-20-2012- Told me to hold on to hope and not give up when things seem to be at their worst.
Bobby G. Wilcher, executed on10-18-2006- "Big Bob" had an appetite for noodles and cheese puffs as big as his sense of humor.
Earl W. Berry, executed on 05-21-2008- A victim of our justice system. He was mentally retarded and should not have been executed.
Dale L. Bishop, executed on 07-23-2008- I spent quite a bit of time around "Bart" and you definitely shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He was a music aficionado without peer and never ceased to amaze me.
Paul E. Woodward, executed on 05-19-2010- Used to laugh uncomfortably when I would imitate his voice to confuse other guys on the tier.
Joseph D. Burns, executed on 07-21-2010- "JoJo" was from the area I grew up in, and that was something we had in common. He was the last person I saw escorted out to be executed and he was at peace with his Creator when he went. He'd had a spiritual experience before he was taken to be executed.
Larry Matthew Puckett, executed on 03-20-2012- One of the most intelligent people I have met in prison. Minded his own business, but would stand up for others when needed.
Henry Curtis Jackson, executed on 06-05-2012- One of the first guys on the row I met, causing me to re-evaluate my preconceived notions of them.
Jan Michael Brawner, Jr, executed on 06-06-2012.- My big bro. Loved his family and was always concerned about them. Had one of the loudest bellows I'd ever heard when he needed to get someone's attention.
Gary Carl Simmons, executed on 06-20-2012- Told me to hold on to hope and not give up when things seem to be at their worst.
President Obama and Changes
Imagine this for a moment... You're on your way home. It's dark out and
raining, and you just want to get inside, eat supper, relax after a long
day. You happen to spot someone you don't recognize walking behind the
homes of your neighbors, taking their time and looking at the houses.
There have been eight burglaries, nine thefts and one shooting in your
community during the last twelve months. Would you be suspicious of this
person walking around in your neighborhood, in the dark, in the rain,
behind your neighbors' homes? Probably so. Is it profiling? Of course it
is. It's also common sense.
By now I'm sure you realize I'm referring to incidents similar to the night Trayvon Martin was killed. Understand from the outset that I do not think this young man deserved to die. What happened was terrible no matter how you look at it. There are only two people who know for certain what happened that night, and one of them is dead. The reason I am writing about this is because of what I see happening behind the scenes and how these things are being used to tear our nation apart. Instead of attempting to unify the country, President Obama has done nothing but cause more division.
Let us say that things had happened differently. Let's say that it had been the young man President Obama identifies with, saying, "If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon"...let's say it was Trayvon that had the gun. Zimmerman follows him, jumps him and gets shot by Trayvon. No hue and cry would have been raised. Open and shut case. In Florida, 17 year old Trayvon would have spent a good portion -if not the rest- of his life in prison. Why isn't President Obama interested in that? Why doesn't he want to reform juvenile justice or talk about reform and rehabilitation for troubled youth? You know why not? Because he doesn't care. It doesn't touch his life directly and doesn't affect those he loves, so he doesn't care. He isn't any different in that than most people.
When President Obama was sworn into office, people had hopes that he would bring about positive change. He didn't promise that, though. He just said "change". Instead I've only seen and read and heard about changes that have been harmful to our nation and people. "Trayvon Martin could have been me 35 years ago," the President said. Mr. Barak Hussein Obama, I think the United States of America would be in a better position if that had been the case.
So, if you see someone walking around in your neighborhood, in the dark, in the rain, where they aren't supposed to be...don't worry. It's just President Obama. He's looking for that change he promised. I will leave you with a quote from the Declaration of Independence:
By now I'm sure you realize I'm referring to incidents similar to the night Trayvon Martin was killed. Understand from the outset that I do not think this young man deserved to die. What happened was terrible no matter how you look at it. There are only two people who know for certain what happened that night, and one of them is dead. The reason I am writing about this is because of what I see happening behind the scenes and how these things are being used to tear our nation apart. Instead of attempting to unify the country, President Obama has done nothing but cause more division.
Let us say that things had happened differently. Let's say that it had been the young man President Obama identifies with, saying, "If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon"...let's say it was Trayvon that had the gun. Zimmerman follows him, jumps him and gets shot by Trayvon. No hue and cry would have been raised. Open and shut case. In Florida, 17 year old Trayvon would have spent a good portion -if not the rest- of his life in prison. Why isn't President Obama interested in that? Why doesn't he want to reform juvenile justice or talk about reform and rehabilitation for troubled youth? You know why not? Because he doesn't care. It doesn't touch his life directly and doesn't affect those he loves, so he doesn't care. He isn't any different in that than most people.
When President Obama was sworn into office, people had hopes that he would bring about positive change. He didn't promise that, though. He just said "change". Instead I've only seen and read and heard about changes that have been harmful to our nation and people. "Trayvon Martin could have been me 35 years ago," the President said. Mr. Barak Hussein Obama, I think the United States of America would be in a better position if that had been the case.
So, if you see someone walking around in your neighborhood, in the dark, in the rain, where they aren't supposed to be...don't worry. It's just President Obama. He's looking for that change he promised. I will leave you with a quote from the Declaration of Independence:
Prudence, indeed, will dictate, that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government and to provide new Guards for their future security.
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¿Buenos días?
Over a year ago I wrote that a change was coming. Positive change, I'd
hoped. I am still hoping for that positive change to happen as
Corrections Corporation of America transitions out of Wilkinson County
Correctional Facility, and Management and Training Corporation takes
over its operation. As the change happens I will do my best to write
about it so that it gets posted on the blogs for those who are
interested. In the meantime I will share a story with you, for your
reading enjoyment.
I have reached a point where I'm tired of frequently and repeatedly getting all of my meager possessions torn to bits during searches that occur because of the idiots around me who want to harm each other. As is the problem with modern society, these people focus on treating the symptoms and not the root cause of a problem. So when my neighbor decides to tear down the fixture housing the light in his cell and make knives out of it and I am the one that is awakened at 1:30 A.M. with cops beating on my door and yelling for me to get down on the ground... I ain't going.
Think about the predicament a prisoner is in with situations like that. Unless they want to get labeled as a snitch, they can't say anything about what another prisoner is doing, even though that prisoner might be making a weapon to harm others. For many of you it might seem like a cut and dry decision. It isn't. And in prison everyone pays for the decisions of the few.
So here is the entire group of SORT officers (like the SWAT you see on TV) on the night shift standing outside our door, yelling at me, shining lights in my eyes at 1:30 A.M. ...I've told you, I am not a morning person. The lead officer is of Mexican heritage, so I politely say "Buenos días" to him, jam my door so they are unable to open it, and cover the window so they can't see inside. Now they are stuck outside my door looking stupid.
I'm normally respectful and courteous to a fault, complying when the guards tell me to do something. Respect is a two-way street, though. The SORT officers finally regroup enough to decide the next step in protocol is to open the food port in the door and spray me with chemical agents. I was expecting it. When they got the flap to the food port unlocked and open, ready to spray me with their mace, they were met with my prison-issue pillow. The spray intended for me was now all over them instead. They try the crack all around the door with the same results, because I had been stuffing towels in the cracks. The mace finally did cover one side of my body, but I didn't even notice it at the time.
Now imagine, fifteen SORT officers mingling outside this door covered in mace, trying to decide what to do next. One of them turns to his fellow officer and asks, "So, what do you say? Full gear?" Unless full gear includes a blowtorch, I don't think it would have helped them. Guards just aren't accustomed to this kind of resistance from most prisoners. I finally decided to let them in, since I'd made my point, I felt.
They went in and destroyed our cell, and I hated that for my roommate. He feels the same way I do about the situation though, or else I wouldn't have resisted the guards' intrusion. After they were done with "searching" the room, they had to take us to the clinic because they had used chemical agents. I admit, I was making them angry on purpose, laughing about how they looked standing around before I allowed them in the cell. A couple of them tried to get rough with me, pushing me into the wall, bruising me up, tightening the cuffs on my wrists. I've been through all that before.
After refusing to bother with medical staff taking my vital signs at the clinic, SORT escorted us back up the hall to our cell. On the way back I started telling them how they could have gone about things differently. During the whole time I was goading them I hadn't been disrespectful, but had been blunt in telling them that unless they were willing to go so far as to permanently maim me or kill me, there really was nothing they could do that I'd not been through already.
Before we got back to the cell I started yelling, "HONESTY! LOYALTY! INTEGRITY! RESPECT! THE CCA WAY!" over and over. And then I burst out laughing. They got the point. And as they put me back in my room I told them politely that if they came back in the same way they had come this morning, they could expect the same results. I'm still not a morning person.
I have reached a point where I'm tired of frequently and repeatedly getting all of my meager possessions torn to bits during searches that occur because of the idiots around me who want to harm each other. As is the problem with modern society, these people focus on treating the symptoms and not the root cause of a problem. So when my neighbor decides to tear down the fixture housing the light in his cell and make knives out of it and I am the one that is awakened at 1:30 A.M. with cops beating on my door and yelling for me to get down on the ground... I ain't going.
Think about the predicament a prisoner is in with situations like that. Unless they want to get labeled as a snitch, they can't say anything about what another prisoner is doing, even though that prisoner might be making a weapon to harm others. For many of you it might seem like a cut and dry decision. It isn't. And in prison everyone pays for the decisions of the few.
So here is the entire group of SORT officers (like the SWAT you see on TV) on the night shift standing outside our door, yelling at me, shining lights in my eyes at 1:30 A.M. ...I've told you, I am not a morning person. The lead officer is of Mexican heritage, so I politely say "Buenos días" to him, jam my door so they are unable to open it, and cover the window so they can't see inside. Now they are stuck outside my door looking stupid.
I'm normally respectful and courteous to a fault, complying when the guards tell me to do something. Respect is a two-way street, though. The SORT officers finally regroup enough to decide the next step in protocol is to open the food port in the door and spray me with chemical agents. I was expecting it. When they got the flap to the food port unlocked and open, ready to spray me with their mace, they were met with my prison-issue pillow. The spray intended for me was now all over them instead. They try the crack all around the door with the same results, because I had been stuffing towels in the cracks. The mace finally did cover one side of my body, but I didn't even notice it at the time.
Now imagine, fifteen SORT officers mingling outside this door covered in mace, trying to decide what to do next. One of them turns to his fellow officer and asks, "So, what do you say? Full gear?" Unless full gear includes a blowtorch, I don't think it would have helped them. Guards just aren't accustomed to this kind of resistance from most prisoners. I finally decided to let them in, since I'd made my point, I felt.
They went in and destroyed our cell, and I hated that for my roommate. He feels the same way I do about the situation though, or else I wouldn't have resisted the guards' intrusion. After they were done with "searching" the room, they had to take us to the clinic because they had used chemical agents. I admit, I was making them angry on purpose, laughing about how they looked standing around before I allowed them in the cell. A couple of them tried to get rough with me, pushing me into the wall, bruising me up, tightening the cuffs on my wrists. I've been through all that before.
After refusing to bother with medical staff taking my vital signs at the clinic, SORT escorted us back up the hall to our cell. On the way back I started telling them how they could have gone about things differently. During the whole time I was goading them I hadn't been disrespectful, but had been blunt in telling them that unless they were willing to go so far as to permanently maim me or kill me, there really was nothing they could do that I'd not been through already.
Before we got back to the cell I started yelling, "HONESTY! LOYALTY! INTEGRITY! RESPECT! THE CCA WAY!" over and over. And then I burst out laughing. They got the point. And as they put me back in my room I told them politely that if they came back in the same way they had come this morning, they could expect the same results. I'm still not a morning person.
We now interrupt your regular scheduled program...
Today I will complain. Why? Because it amuses me and there is nothing
you can do to stop me. MUAHAHAHA! Go ahead, try. See? You are no match
for my powers of complaint. And now I will proceed with my rant...
Contrary to popular belief, most prisoners do not own a personal TV or even have the opportunity. As the media and the government know too well, televisions are wonderful for pacifying a population, though. In Wilkinson County Correctional Facility there are two TVs on most pods, so there will not be fights about what is to be watched. One is used for movies or regular programs, and the other is for sports.
On 4/20 when these guys were trying to kill each other over an argument that happened on a lockdown pod about a pair of electric clippers, some bright soul decided to pull one of the TVs down and use it as a weapon. That TV is the one I could see from the cell where I am housed. I rarely watch TV, but it's a constant background noise, a subconscious thing. Hearing and not seeing it... I do not think the general public truly realizes how television is brainwashing you.
These days there are more commercials than actual programs, and most of the commercials are for insurance companies. And they play them over and over and over. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseum. (Pun intended.) Progressive. Geico. The General. State Farm. Farmer's Mutual. Ever wonder why your insurance is so high? This is the reason. They can't handle your claims because they are too busy planning their next round of annoying commercials. I do not want to hear Flo sing "I'll stand by you" or play the kazoo. Can't we just get Tard the Grumpy Cat to just frown at people during commercial breaks?
Contrary to popular belief, most prisoners do not own a personal TV or even have the opportunity. As the media and the government know too well, televisions are wonderful for pacifying a population, though. In Wilkinson County Correctional Facility there are two TVs on most pods, so there will not be fights about what is to be watched. One is used for movies or regular programs, and the other is for sports.
On 4/20 when these guys were trying to kill each other over an argument that happened on a lockdown pod about a pair of electric clippers, some bright soul decided to pull one of the TVs down and use it as a weapon. That TV is the one I could see from the cell where I am housed. I rarely watch TV, but it's a constant background noise, a subconscious thing. Hearing and not seeing it... I do not think the general public truly realizes how television is brainwashing you.
These days there are more commercials than actual programs, and most of the commercials are for insurance companies. And they play them over and over and over. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseum. (Pun intended.) Progressive. Geico. The General. State Farm. Farmer's Mutual. Ever wonder why your insurance is so high? This is the reason. They can't handle your claims because they are too busy planning their next round of annoying commercials. I do not want to hear Flo sing "I'll stand by you" or play the kazoo. Can't we just get Tard the Grumpy Cat to just frown at people during commercial breaks?
Rise up, people of the world! Take back your TV programming! Boycott companies that have annoying commercials! It is your right to be able to view cute and funny commercials to your heart's content. Speak up and speak out! Indict Flo for crimes against humanity and for smiling too much. The next thing you know, Flo will have her own morning program...and you just cannot trust people who smile that much.
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"By Hook or Crook"- a novel by Chris Roy
I am proud to announce the publication of first-time novelist Chris
Roy's breakout title "By Hook or Crook: the Criminal Ventures of Razor
& Blondie." Chris wrote this novel in spite of his circumstances and
the many restrictions placed on him by those circumstances. Housed in
Mississippi's infamous Parchman Prison, Chris endures the heat and
parasites -literally and figuratively- as well as the stigma of being
classified as a high risk status prisoner. The only high risk you need
to be worried about is in missing out on a great read if you don't
purchase "By Hook or Crook."
Curious to know what goes on in the mind of a criminal in their natural environs?
Ever wonder about the ins and outs of the criminal world?
Have you considered the ingenuity of criminals?
You might have read novels about crimes and the criminals who commit them. You have never read about criminals as motivated as Razor and Blondie. These two know you've only got one life to live, so live it fast and loud. Chris takes you for a ride through the seedy side of Mississippi's Gulf Coast and you'll come out the other side thankful to have all your parts still attached...and you'll feel strangely excited. Razor and Blondie have a goal: GET RICH OR...GET RICH. There is no other option and they will let nothing get in their way. And they plan on having a good time while doing it. From grand theft auto, to fraud of all forms, to identity theft, this duo makes you an accessory to their illicit deeds. You will feel you need to retain an attorney. Or two.
I was housed with Chris in Unit 32 when he started breathing life into Razor and Blondie. That was an interesting process that I am honored to have witnessed, and hopefully encouraged. Now I need to stop procrastinating and start following my own advice! I am proud of Chris and hope the situation improves for my friend, soon. You can help put a smile on Chris' face by purchasing a copy of his book and letting him know what you think about it.
Curious to know what goes on in the mind of a criminal in their natural environs?
Ever wonder about the ins and outs of the criminal world?
Have you considered the ingenuity of criminals?
You might have read novels about crimes and the criminals who commit them. You have never read about criminals as motivated as Razor and Blondie. These two know you've only got one life to live, so live it fast and loud. Chris takes you for a ride through the seedy side of Mississippi's Gulf Coast and you'll come out the other side thankful to have all your parts still attached...and you'll feel strangely excited. Razor and Blondie have a goal: GET RICH OR...GET RICH. There is no other option and they will let nothing get in their way. And they plan on having a good time while doing it. From grand theft auto, to fraud of all forms, to identity theft, this duo makes you an accessory to their illicit deeds. You will feel you need to retain an attorney. Or two.
I was housed with Chris in Unit 32 when he started breathing life into Razor and Blondie. That was an interesting process that I am honored to have witnessed, and hopefully encouraged. Now I need to stop procrastinating and start following my own advice! I am proud of Chris and hope the situation improves for my friend, soon. You can help put a smile on Chris' face by purchasing a copy of his book and letting him know what you think about it.
You can purchase the book here.
We're All Just STDs
A little
food for thought today. Every creature on this planet has its own natural
habitat, a niche it fills. Some are even symbiotic in nature, such as the
clownfish and the sea anemone, or tube worms and their internal bacteria. That
being said, just what is a human's natural habitat? Unclothed, climates can
easily be too hot or too cold. Put us somewhere where there is a lot of direct
sunlight and we will burn and get melanomas, since our eyes and sense of smell
aren't keen enough to hunt or scavenge in the dark. We aren't well suited for
aquatic life. We aren't great climbers. We don't have wings. We don't have
durable claws. So, let's say a moderate climate, slightly humid, near fresh
water, with indirect sunlight at sea level... Anyone have any idea where that
might be? Face it, without our big brain to adapt ourselves and our environment
to our needs, we would be in serious trouble.
So, where do we fit in?
The first movie I got to see when I was transferred to Walnut Grove in 2001 was The Matrix. Still one of my favorite movies. I do not believe that humanity will ever be in a situation like that, but it made me think about the nature of reality and other such things. There is one part I'm reminded of now. Agent Smith (bad guy) is speaking to Morpheus (good guy), whom they are trying to break and find out about the rebels. Agent Smith says,
The first movie I got to see when I was transferred to Walnut Grove in 2001 was The Matrix. Still one of my favorite movies. I do not believe that humanity will ever be in a situation like that, but it made me think about the nature of reality and other such things. There is one part I'm reminded of now. Agent Smith (bad guy) is speaking to Morpheus (good guy), whom they are trying to break and find out about the rebels. Agent Smith says,
"I'd like to share
a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to
classify your species and I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every
mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the
surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area and you
multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way
you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern.
Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer on this planet. You're a plague and we are
the cure."
That stuck with me. About six years after seeing The Matrix I
was reading an article about viruses that really brought this home.
Something you might not know is that in 2003, when the human genome was fully mapped, it was found that 8% of our genome is composed of broken and disabled retroviruses, called endogenous retroviruses. If it takes less than 2% of our genome to create all the proteins necessary for us to live, to what extent are we -who we are, what we are- affected by the 8% of our genome composed of retroviruses? The rungs of the ladder of human DNA consist of three billion pairs of nucleotides spread across forty-six chromosomes. The sequence of those nucleotides determine how each person differs from another, and from all other living things. Something to think about is how we share, in thousands of exact places throughout our genome, viral fragments with primates like chimpanzees and monkeys.
Something you might not know is that in 2003, when the human genome was fully mapped, it was found that 8% of our genome is composed of broken and disabled retroviruses, called endogenous retroviruses. If it takes less than 2% of our genome to create all the proteins necessary for us to live, to what extent are we -who we are, what we are- affected by the 8% of our genome composed of retroviruses? The rungs of the ladder of human DNA consist of three billion pairs of nucleotides spread across forty-six chromosomes. The sequence of those nucleotides determine how each person differs from another, and from all other living things. Something to think about is how we share, in thousands of exact places throughout our genome, viral fragments with primates like chimpanzees and monkeys.
Endogenous retroviruses aren't newly discovered. In 1968, Robin Weiss found endogenous retroviruses in the embryos of healthy chickens and suggested that they were not only benign but might actually perform a critical function in placental development. He was laughed at. Weiss went so far as to live with a group of Orang Asli tribesmen of the Pahang jungle of Malaysia so he could test the eggs and blood of red jungle fowl, ancestor species of the chicken. They had the same virus.
Did you know that the earliest mammals, up to at least a hundred million years ago, laid eggs? Then embryos essentially became parasites. They began to implant themselves in the lining of the womb, developing a placenta. The placenta is essentially a modified egg, yet allows for the elimination of waste and to take nourishment from the mother's blood while preventing immune cells or bacteria from entering. In the 1970s biologists were surprised to find retroviruses in baboons on a layer of tissue known as the syncytin, which forms the principle barrier between mother and fetus. The same is true in humans. Cell fusion is a fundamental characteristic of mammalian placenta, but also of retroviruses. The protein syncytin, which causes placental cells to fuse, employs the exact mechanism that allows retroviruses to latch on to the cells they infect.
So, where do humans belong? And just how close to the truth is Agent Smith's revelation?
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