r25288.com Blog

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

July 15th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

Chapter Eleven

Enter Stage Left

Big Bobby Bee

“David was thirty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years.”

The Second Book Of Samuel

5:4

“You can only protect your liberties in this world by protecting the other man’s freedom. You can only be free if I am free.”

Clarence Darrow

My last letter to Blue, I wrote one week before he left prison. I wrote it on Saturday, and Sunday, November 22nd and 23rd, 2003. It read:

Dearest Blue,

What can I say?

I know with you I need not say anything.

For as you say, we’ll always, “Be Tight.”

Finally, I believe it, and trust you, and your word.

Before you leave, I have faith, we’ll touch again ( and we did ).

For nine months, you’ve been my best friend and more.

You offered me your hand in friendship, with no strings attached.

In here, that is rare, so you became a treasure to me.

You, like your birthstone, are a diamond in the rough.

A jewel to me, among a thousand stone faces.

I like your brown eyes, your arched eyebrows, and curly lashes.

Your nose is strong, and your lips soft and full.

Your slender tall frame is attractive to me.

Hundreds of miles of the track we’ve walked together.

You’ve shared your game with me, and your aspirations.

Just being with you has given me pleasure.

Our time together has grown short.

I’ll miss you immensely, but a tear I’ll try not to shed.

For the future, I believe, for us, holds more than a weekend.

I gave you rip. I gave you food. I gave you a piece of my heart.

I know at times we hurt each other, and for that I’m sorry.

But misunderstandings gave way to acceptance, and understanding.

Acceptance of you was easy, with all your strengths, faults, and weaknesses.

Your assets far outweigh your liabilities.

You, like an orgasm, are a gift I gave to myself.

Around you I feel good and often aroused.

Thank you for your courage of stepping to me on 2-25-03.

Thank you for forgiving me for my loose lips on 4-28-03,

and the birthday present you gave to me.

Go out there and surround yourself with positive people,

and I’ll be happy for you.

Don’t come back here, and I’ll be happy for you.

We sent your Ma flowers.

We sent your son a present (previously never mentioned in this book ).

I gave you a going away present.

I tried to help you meet some of your needs here.

Thanks for the present of yourself these past months.

You’ve meant, and still mean alot to me, and I’ll miss you so.

But life goes on, as you say.

So, thanks for all the memories,

especially the loving memories you’ve given to me.

I like your laugh, and your playfulness.

I like the wisdom you’ve shared with me.

You’ve shown me how to live more in the present, in the now.

And for that, I thank you.

I watched you gamble, I watched you eat.

I watched you get haircuts.

I listened to your hopes and disappointments.

I touched you, and you touched me.

And, I’m a better person for it.

So, in our final days together in prison,

I’ll cherish and protect our time together.

Walk out of here, and become a better man.

A man that both men and women look up to.

For you have it in you.

It is a charisma, a charm. a distinction, you, your personality, it is an attractiveness that draws others to you, just to spend time with you.

Don’t use others. You don’t need to.

You’re a better person than that.

Do unto others as you want done unto you.

Give what you want-honesty and truthfulness.

To me, the 25th of every future month will bring back fond memories of you, and our time together.

Go out there and make a bigger and better name for yourself.

Strive to help our cause. Stay free, safe, healthy, and happy always.

Go in peace, knowing I have love for you.

You were my dream in my nightmare called prison

In this jungle of razorwire, I found paradise in you.

All My Love,

Your Friend,

Chris

I spent December, 2003, and January, 2004, walking the track alone, waiting for a letter from Blue, which never came. Not even a thank you note; Emily Post would have been disappointed, and she didn’t even get a blow job from Blue. Oh, the horror.

Some inmates have a couple of extra dollars, so they do not need to con, hustle, cheat, steal, gamble, extort, or prostitute themselves, to buy their honeybuns, cigarettes, deodorant, etc. Thanks to my supportive family and friends, especially my Republican friends ( and I bet you never thought I was ever going to say anything positive about Republicans, did ya? ), I was one of the fortunate minority who always was in the chips ( money ), as they say in prison. I had at one time a subscription to the USA Today, the Wall Street Journal, and the St. Petersburg Times. Until I was told to drop two of them. You see, in prison, the system wants to keep the inmate ignorant and dumb, so he’ll go out and commit more heinous crimes, because that’s all he knows how to do, and if we let him read more than one newspaper a day, he might get educated, become employable, and then politicians couldn’t complain about crime, and continue to scare the public into funding more prisons, and guarantee their reelection.

So, yes Virginia, there are laws on the Florida law and rule books that say inmates may only subscribe to one daily newspaper, and also rules that you can’t give your newspapers to other inmates. It is called job security for guards, wardens, and politicians, and others who make up the prison industrial complex. You see, Virginia, rehabilitation has also been removed as the primary goal of prison, and replaced with punishment. It’s the law, so it must be for the good of society, and right. Don’t you think so? I was the only inmate receiving the Wall Street Journal, and it wasn’t available in the law library or regular library. Ask yourself, Virginia, why is the system afraid of inmates reading the Wall Street Journal, or more than one newspaper a day, when the majority in prison can’t even afford to subscribe to even one newspaper.

For each $20,000.00 donation to R25288, to help promote education and a better understanding to Americans of prison life, sent to P.O. Box 5514, Clearwater, Fl 33758-5514, I will autograph Chapter A (unpublished, of Gods’s sexual orientation ,and which of the two main political parties make the best cocksuckers, and which parties’ women are the best sexual lovers, and why; from a lifetime of personal experience. Chapter A will not be published in God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys. It is exclusively to donors, with a non-reprintable clause attached. For each $1,000.00 donation to R25288, the donor may receive autographed Chapter B, also not to printed in God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys, with a non-reprintable clause, of any one year of my personal prison journals, from 2001 to 2006. Real names and ID number will be redacted.

I have shaken hands with U. S. Presidents, although not their dicks. I’m Chris, not Monica. I have interviewed governors, interviewed terrorists, and been intimate with men and women from both major political parties, ( both impressive in their own unique ways ), and God has no political orientation, except love and forgiveness, and they are so rarely allowed on any voting machine, or are they?

The hustlers, busters, cons, and pimps all tried me, wanting to get into the car, and drive, as they put it . They wanted to pickup where Blue left off, but I wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Besides, I could never find the car.

That is, until a former, bright, attractive, former ABE (Adult Basic Education ) student of mine, walked into the picture. He asked to walk with me. My heart was in need of a pain reliever, and the prison Dr. ( a combination between Dr. Mengele, and Peter Lorre ) didn’t believe in giving inmates any type of pain relief.

The inmate was called Big Bobby Bee. He wasn’t extremely tall, or extremely muscular. He didn’t have extremely big hands or feet, so I’ll let you figure out what the big stood for.

I interviewed him on Saturday, January 31st, 2004, at 1:30pm, on bench “A”. He is number ninety-seven in my survey. He was born an African-American, in 1981, and raised in a real southern red state. He was 5 ‘ 10 ”, 165 pounds, with beautiful, sensitive brown eyes.

This was his second time in prison, having been here before in 2000, on a plea bargain, for possession of a concealed firearm, and possession of coke with intent to distribute. He said he was guilty. Is an honest crook an oxymoron? Or, even possible?

He went home, and came back in 2001, on a four year plea bargain, for possession of pot and coke. The only thing prison teaches the majority there, is how to come back. For that, the system earns/cheats getting an A.

He had been in six different prison facilities in Florida. They included the South Florida Reception Center, in Miami, the North Florida Reception Center, in Lake Butler, and the Central Florida Reception Center, in Orlando ( that is all three Reception Centers in Florida ), Henry C.I., Sumtner C.I., and Liberty C.I.

Personally, I’d rather say I’ve been to six different locations, like Toronto, Jamaica, Bahamas, Hawaii, San Francisco, and Key West. But, sometimes, we don’t have that choice.

He had received ten to twelve D.R. ( Disciplinary Reports ) at Liberty. Two were for gunnin. Bee was young, black, virile, and liked jackin his dick, looking at the back of female staff. He had never had a gay experience. Gunnin is usually done naked behind the shower wall, looking into the officers’s station at the female staff. It is not always done alone, nor always behind the shower wall.

As hot water in prison doesn’t last continually, it sometimes became an inconvenience for those wanting to take a hot shower, as the times for showers were also limited. Again, it is the typical sociopathic, prison culture mentality, of my needs are more important than your needs. It is the juvenile, narcisstic, egocentric personality, that often landed them in prison to begin with. So, most guys out of respect, fear, and/or intimidation, would just let the gunners use up the hot water, spending up to a half hour jackin their dicks, and using all the hot water, with seven other empty showers waiting to be used. It was all communal, with no dividers.

Well, honey, most, but definitely not all of the gunners were unattractive, and would probably have had to resort to rape to get any pussy on the streets anyway. Well, I had no respect for gunners,cause they were using up everyone else’s hot water, and for other reasons, and we could only shower, normally between five to nine pm, Monday through Friday, and I was not going to be denied my hot water. It was as much my hot water as the next man’s. So, while I made a point of not looking, I also made it known that no gunner was going to stop me from taking a shower when I chose, and not when it was convenient for them. And that’s exactly what I did. Some would jump out of the shower, insecure of their own manhood, especially blacks, for fear of what other homophobes would think of them gunnin with a gay in the shower with them, others would just stop, and others would keep going to climax. Regardless, I could care less, I just got in, used the hot water, and was out in less than five minutes, cleaner and feeling better than when I got in. Most men in prison were too timid to do what I did, but had no problem on the streets killing, robbing, raping, and gang banging. Most men in prison are still children, and need the security of a knife or a gun to feel like men, cause they are really just still little sissy boys, wanting to be men, with not enough real men around, or gay role models to teach them how.

Bee had also received DR’s for disorderly conduct, and refusing to work ( he was one of the few soldiers(a term of respect for real men in prison) that did not bow down and kiss the man’s boot, and be the boy to the master in prison ), even though the law, and the Thirteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution says you are suppose to.

At one time, the law also said women couldn’t vote, human beings could be slaves for life, black and whites could not marry each other, and gays could be arrested for going to gay bars, and not marry. Many American citizens want limited government in their bedrooms, business affairs, and lifestyles, just not yours. I had much respect and love for Bee, for his bravery in the face of a powerful oppressor.

Of all the facilities you’ve been in, which one did you like the best, and why?

South Florida: lots of women staff; lots of weed; like being on the streets.

Of all the facilities you’ve been in, which one did you like the least, and why?

Liberty: fucked up officers, and inmates.

When is your EOS ( end of sentence )?

December, 2004, at the earliest, and July, 2005, at the latest.

Bee had a ninth grade education , and had never been married. He stated he had one child, and maybe two more, two girls, and a boy; ages three, four, and eight. They were from three different women, aged twenty, twenty-two, and twenty-six. His father did construction, he had last heard from him in December, 2002, and he was not supportive of Bee. His mother worked in manufacturing, and was supportive. He had three sisters, all older, and supportive, and no brothers.

What was the most serious crime you ever committed?

Selling dope.

What is your favorite sport?

Basketball.

What is your favorite TV show?

I don’t know. I don’t watch TV no more…Bernie Mac.

What’s your favorite movie?

Set It Off, with Queen Latifah.

What is your favorite song?

Tupac, Only God Can Judge Me.

What is your current favorite day of the week, and why?

Saturday-do nothing.

What was your favorite day of the week on the streets, and why?

Everyday-freedom.

What was your greatest lifetime achievement?

I lived to be as old as I am now.

What was your best time in prison?

Ain’t no best time.

What was your worst time in prison?

Everyday.

If you could change just one thing in prison, what would it be?

Return to serving only sixty-five percent of your sentence.

Are you straight, gay, or bisexual?

Straight.

When were you last checked for HIV, and what was your status?

July, 2003, negative.

When was your first sexual experience, and with whom?

When I was thirteen years old. She was fifteen or sixteen years old, and a friend of the family.

What was your best sexual experience, and what made it the best?

All of ‘em-getting off.

Did you have a fear of prison when you first got here?

No, why be scared?

What are your future plans?

Get a job. Go back to school, and go to church more often.

What are your thoughts of gambling in prison?

Emotionally, I don’t feel like gambling. Once, I felt it was everything. Now, it is a waste of time.

What are your thoughts of gunnin in prison?

I love it.

What are your thoughts of gays in prison?

I never thought about it. Everybody’s got their own thing.

What was your religious upbringing?

Baptist.

Do you believe in God?

Yes.

What to you is God?

Reason I got life. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here.

Do you belong in prison?

No. No one does.

Do we need prisons, and if so, for whom?

Yes, for murderers.

If your son was coming to prison, what would you tell him?

I’ll be there to support him. You made a mistake, now learn from it.

What to you, was the greatest lesson of prison?

Being away from home, cause I learned to avoid getting in trouble.

Each year, there is a tremendous turnover of inmates at most prisons, Liberty was no exception. So, at the beginning of Black History Month, I again gave my same speech of the previous year to lots of new faces, and again I received a standing ovation.

Bee and I became friends and walked the track daily. Can you turn a truly straight man gay? I don’t think so. Will a truly straight man have gay sex with another man, if he likes him as a friend, and has enough encouragement? I know so.

I wrote Bee on February 12th, 2004:

The Bible: King David and Jonathan’s Love

1 Samuel 18:1

And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.

18:3

Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.

20:4

Then said Jonathan unto David, Whatsoever thy soul desireth, I will even do it for thee.

20:41

And as soon as the lad was gone, David arose out of a place toward the south, and fell on his face to the ground, and bowed himself three times: and they kissed one another, and wept one with another, until David exceeded.

20:42

And Jonathan said to David, Go in peace, forasmuch as we have sworn both of us in the name of the Lord, saying, The Lord be between me and thee, and between my seed and thy seed for ever. And he arose and departed: Jonathan went into the city.

2 Samuel 1:26 ( David lamenting over Jonathan’s death ):

I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.

On 2-14-’04, Bee wrote me back the following:

To: Chris

From: A very special Friend; Bee

A Rare And Precious Friendship

The words “rare” and “precious” describe the valuable friendship between David and Jonathan. The relationship was precious and priceless to both of them. To Jonathan, it was more ‘precious’ than his birthright to succeed his father Saul as King of Israel. He bestowed on David the property that symbolized his royal heritage: his robe, tunic, sword, bow and belt ( 1 Samuel 18;43 ). the friendship was priceless to David because it elevated him to the status of royalty and repeatedly saved him from death at the hands of Saul.

Furthermore, this friendship was “rare”. It was rooted in the courage and faith of David as he met victory against the giant, Goliath. After this battle Jonathan “became one in spirit with David, and he loved him as himself ” (18;10). The heart of the son of a king was knit together with the heart of the son of a commoner in an uncommon love for the God of Israel. Yet God, by his providence, brought them together to fulfill God’s plan to create community in place of a fractured kingdom.

Today our communities and our nation are divided by racism, classism, and sexism. We struggle with issues such as affirmative action, bank red lining, injustice, and the destruction of families. We have an urgent need today for those who have been redeemed by Jesus Christ to enter into rare and precious friendships of such caliber as Jonathan and David’s. Only then will the walls that separate us from one another and God come down.

Later that same day, Valentine’s Day, February 14th, 2004, I wrote Bee the following:

Valentine Thoughts of 2004, for Big Bobby Bee, With Love, Chris

We walked the track together for many a mile

Thanks for your courage to come into my life

I like your style, your brown eyes, and curly lashes

I hope we stay close for quite awhile

I like you honey, and I’ve always been straight with you

You shared yourself with me, and for that I cared for you

Differences we’ve got: black-white, younger-older, straighter-gayer

However, in recognizing our similarities, we can overcome our differences, too

I was once your teacher and a good student you’ve made

Let me teach you more of different ways

Prison is hard, cold, and impersonal, and good friends are hard to find

For you, I overcame my fear, and visited your home, even if I never got laid ( Bee lived in the only dorm -I- that offered individual cells with doors, and privacy, and was off limits unless you lived there )

Haters will always make up rumors to try to keep us apart

I like your honesty with me, even though it sometimes hurts

With open communication, we can work things out

I may think too often with my emotions, and lead with my heart

And you didn’t fully understand the game when you stepped to me

And misunderstandings it’s caused, as we both know

Your full lips present me a handsome face that I admire

Big Bobby Bee, I’ve got love for you, that I know you can see

You’ve fed me, held me, and touched my hand, and I long for more

I like to slip my arm through yours and walk arm in arm

I like when you reach to touch me, and reciprocity can be met in many ways

Be my # 1 partner for the rest of the year, don’t close our opening doors

On Saturday, February 21st, 2004, I wote this for Bee, from events earlier in the day:

Cum Saturday Morning

Your scent of manhood was on my hands

It wasn’t wrong

I smelled you on my lips

I enjoyed you all day long

You were in my nostrils

And you said, “That was nice.”

I held your hand, as I gave you pleasure

I think you easily could have cum twice

You shared yourself with me

You smiled down on me

As I tasted your esctasy

The initial awkwardness soon vanished

You filled my mouth, you filled my hands

I’ve memorized your smell

Thanks for caring for me

Again with you, I long to dwell

Your scent of manhood was on my hands

It wasn’t wrong

I smelled you on my lips

I enjoyed you all day long

Bee was uncircumsized, and it allows for tremendously more feelings of sensitivity, pleasure, and ecstasy, so unless you believe in the removal of the clitoris, to take away female pleasures of sex, I highly recommend that you do not circumsize your male children. Any quack telling you different is a circumsized male Dr., or a castrating female Dr., that doesn’t know the difference.

On 3-1-’04, Bee wrote me the following:

To: Chris

From: Bee

Love & Truth

The relationship between love, truth, and obedience is brought into focus in this letter, The word love occurs four times and truth five times in this brief admonition against false teachers. Truth and love must maintain a continuing partnership. Truth without love, as well as love without truth, can be dangerous. Real truth yields a multiplicity of wonderful values such as justice, goodness, decency, honesty, integity, sincerity, and most of all righteousness. Yet truth needs love to attain those lofty heights, for loveless truth can become cold, harsh, mean, oppressive and last ( but ) not least destructive. Sometimes we can do more damage with misplaced, poorly timed, and ill-used truth than you can with a lie. On the other hand, love that is not steeped and gird-ed in truth is weak, overly accomodating, and easily influenced-without impact or power. In today’s givin time, “nice” people are weak, and “strong” people are mean. But throughout all that, it has given me great joy to find a friend such as yourself. The way it’s going or has gone let that be that and let the truth be told, you didn’t love me from the begin. ( ning ), Unconditional Love goes a long way if you know the meaning behind it. When you love someone you don’t abandon them or treat them bad. Often we want to love someone but still want to reserve the right to reject certain people. But love doesn’t work that way. “We” as in one must love one another and that’s the truth. So, take heed to this in a positive or negative way. Bee

To avoid his feelings, Bee began gambling heavily, went into debt, and wanted me to pay them off, after he swore not to gamble. When I refused, he checked in, and stayed in prison until the end of his sentence in July, 2005. He had taught me sign language, which is quite beneficial in prison, and we found ways to communicate, and remained friends. I call the feelings homosexual panic. It is where, and when a man recognizes his androgeny, and has no one around to say, “Hey, it’ OK, I too have been there, and still am occassionally. It just a part of life. It ain’t no big deal. Did I ever tell ya about the time…”

“I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him , but he gave me no answer.”

Song Of Solomon

5: 6

“Where justice is denied , where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob, and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.”

Frederick Douglas

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

July 9th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Ten

Violence

“And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.”

The Gospel According To Matthew

11:12

Prison was my tsunami, and I survived. I pulled a dead child from below the surface and gave him the breath of life. There was another in my midst. It was all with the grace of God, and with his blessing, and due to his protection for all involved, only one perished.

Some choices in life are an either/or situation. Some choices in life are forced upon us, and we must choose, or lose, and sometimes both. The tsunami engulfed me, the moment I saw it coming. I was able to escape the yacht’s cabin that would have been my tomb.

I heard my younger brothers’ voice trapped within one of the various chambers of the cabins, but I was too afraid and weak, and I did nothing but yell, “Where are you?” I heard no reply, and he suddenly appeared from under the water, he was helpless, in the arms of a strange man, being taken away. I only had one pair of arms, currently holding the child, and he said, pleadingly, “You are my brother.”

I knew then I only had that moment, or we would both be lost to each other for life. So, I set aside what could have been, for what I knew, had history with, and needed me more. I took him out of the arms of death. I cry.

He wrapped his legs around my waist, as I held him and tears fell hard. It was only a moment, like a lifetime. He bravely told me of the loss of the one-his wife. I did not know until then, and I cried harder, for it was my loss also. I cry.

The struggle goes on for those of us left to struggle. Choices and moments continue. I awoke. I cried. I wrote it down. The struggle continues. Prison was my tsunami. What I learned from it, I share with you. Some tsunamis destroy us, some we survive, but some we can avoid. The tsunami of prison ain’t no game. Avoid it at all costs. Your life and your humanity may depend upon it. God saved me from my tsunami. It was pain and joy, and I left my brothers in blue behind, many who will not survive the tsunami of prison. I cry.

“His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealings shall come down upon his own pate.”

The Book Of Psalms

7:16

Question 46/a, asked, Do you consider yourself a violent person?,and, What is the most violence you have done to another person, and received from another person?

Question47/b, asked, What is the most violence you have seen in prison?

Question 48/c, asked, What is the most violence you have seen on the streets?

For a variety of reasons, not every question was asked or answered. NN = nothing noted in my notes.

” O God, the proud are risen against me, and the assemblies of violent men have sought after my soul; and have not set thee before them.”

      The Book Of Psalms

       A Prayer Of David

       86:14

This is some of the violent sides of my brothers in blue. It is not meant to excuse their actions, but to help you better understand that if you were beaten as a child, raped as a child, burned as a child, beaten with 2′ by 4’s as a child, taken away from your families as a child, then perhaps you too, might grow up into an angry young man, and want to hurt others, for what you have suffered, and there but for the grace of God go you or I.

“The horrors experienced by many young inmates, particularly those who are convicted of nonviolent offenses, boarder on the unimaginable. Prison rape not only threatens the lives of those who fall prey to their aggressors, but it is potentially devastating to the human spirit. Shame, depression, and a shattering loss of self-esteem accompany the perpetual terror the victim thereafter must endure.”

United States Supreme Court Justice Harry A. Blackmum,

in Farmer v Brennan

1.a. No. Pushed partner on the streets, down the stairs. Punched in chest by__(partner), after I spit in his face.

b. Someone get hit in the face with a lock on a belt. ( a common weapon in prison is to attach a lock onto the end of a belt, and use it like a whip).

c. My Mom’s second boyfriends wife fought by me-over affair.

2.a. No. Killed someone. Been jumped on the streets-no hospitalization required.

b. Somebody get stabbed.

c. Other than me killing somebody, that’s about it.

3.a. Potentially. Shot two others. Jumped on by three blacks, on the streets-no issue.

b. Officer get beat with a curling bar-don’t know issue.

c. When I shot the people-she twice, him three times.

4.a. Yes. Kill some. Stabbed.

b. People raped. People killed.

c. People shot.

5.a. I can be, when jit (younger-often teenager), whipped, beat, kicked up on some basers(crack heads-cocaine drug users)-may rip you off. Fighting with Baby Mama (described below), hit me with shit-grabbed a butcher knife.

b. Ain’t seen none.

c. Motherfuckers get shot-beat up.

6.a. No. I was slammed into the concrete once. Assaulted by police in handcuffs-punched in back and legs. Fistfight done to me.

b. Murder ‘98, Dade, black on white, unknown reason.

c. Murder ‘82, white on white, unknown reason.

7.a. Extremely-went after a dude with an ax for hitting a child-kidnapped when I was three years old-abducted-mean woman and man-with five other kids-put rips (cigarettes) out on us-twenty years in federal institution-tied us up-two and a half months.

b. Seen two murders-Union CI, ‘86, black on black-selling out-knife-leaving out of the kitchen. White on white, ‘87-’88, Union CI, over poker game-homemade knife.

c. Shooting and cutting, at redneck bar, in Lakeland (FL).

8.b. Someone get hit in the mouth at Liberty.

9.a. I pistol whipped a couple of people. Hit a guy with a beer bottle. Guns put in my face.

b. A guy hit in the head with a lock.

c. I saw another 974 get shot and die. 974=Imperial Ganster Disciple(I=the ninth letter of the alphabet, G=the seventh letter of the alphabet, D=the fourth letter of the alphabet). IGD originated in Chicago in the 1980’s-in Texas, California, and Nevada…(further explained in gang question # 63).

10.b. Nineteen murders: inmate on guard, guard on inmate, and inmate on inmate-ACI, Avon Park CI, Martin CI, UCI, and Cross City.

11.a. No. Four assault charges. None to me.

b. Dude stabbed at FSP (Florida State Prison) twelve times-threw to bottom tier from the second tier-killed him-over skinning (card game).

c. Nothing.

12.b. Kick to neck-crushed man’s windpipe.

13.a. No. Fight-surprised with some punches in jail-no issue.

b. Fights.

c. Car accident.

14.a. No.

b. Rape-black on white-Mayo C.I.

15.a. Absolutely not. I can’t stand violence.

16.a. No.

b. Dude getting hit over the head with a lock at Liberty in 2001-going into F dorm-black on black-don’t know the issue. (Dorms at Liberty C.I. were labeled A through I, J=medical, Y=disciplinary confinement-A through H held two sides with approximately seventy-one/two per side).

17.a. No, Once I got cut up with a machete by a Haitian guy in ‘87-thirty stiches-I invaded his privacy-he was staying in a vacant house-I went through this window, looking for a place to rest. I’d been smoking crack all night. Another time I was stabbed by a chicken head(crack addict) woman-I wouldn’t buy her no more dope-stabbed in my lung-’90.

b. Seen stabbings-throat cut- six to seven people killed-black on black, white on white, one, a white tried to rape a black, and the perp(perpetrator) got killed.

18.a. No At times. Never done nothing to a person-nothing never done to me.

b. Bitch got hit with a lock.

c. Dude got shot in his head, and his eye popped out-white on black-police shot him.

19.a. No. Shot someone. Someone shot me. He shot at me and missed-issue drugs.

b. Dude get raped-black and white on white-Martin ‘99. Someone stabbed-Brevard-black on black-riot over basketball.

c. Someone get their brains blowed out.

20.a. No. I shot up his truck-stupidity-best friend’s dad’s truck-bullied my friend around.

b. Riot-’97-Baker C. I.-officers and inmates-officer demanding respect-didn’t deserve-staff and inmates hurt-two officers killed-0 inmates-was part of lock down for one week-better changes came about-officers started showing more decent respect toward inmates.

21.a. At times-about my money.

22.b. I saw someone die, hung himself-black. Two stabbings-worst at Cross City C.I.-people getting stabbed.

23.a. Abrasive-not violent or aggressive. I shot someone during a robbery. I beat someone unconscious in prison over a debt.

b. Beatings and stabbings-cuttings-guy getting hit in the head with a pipe.

c. Murder. Hispanic on black-shotgun blast-arguing over french fries.

24.a If pushed-nothing-murder-killed a person.

b. Seen quite a few stabbed-one in the eye, with a lightning rod-lost his eye-Hardy C.I.

c. __(friend) shot a guy in a bar with a twelve gauge shotgun, and killed him.

25. NN

26.a. No, not that I couldn’t be. I avoid it if I can.

b. I saw a murder at Tomoka, ‘92, Spanish inmate-two got killed over gambling-never determined who did it. Black Cubans rumored responsible-saw bodies being taken out in the ambulance.

27.a. No.

b. Guy hit in the head with lock-alright-respect.

28. NN

29.a. At times. I beat a dude with a locker in prison-over putting his hands on me violently.

b. Got jumped by six dudes-white long hairs-they didn’t like the word, “cracker.”

c. Lady get decapitated by semi-truck-traffic accident. 357 buddy blew his brains out-old lady left him.

30.a. No. I beat a guy up-no weapon.

c. A police dog had my hand in his mouth, and I woke up to it, while I was laying in my bed, in my apartment, sleeping. I have nightmares about that. I saw five people get shot-one died-gang related stuff.

31. NN

32.a. No. I was raped when I was eleven years old, by my sixteen year old babysitter. I never told. It beame consensual (sex with minors is never consensual). It happened nineteen more times.

b. Punched.

c. Someone got shot-robbery-black on white.

33.a. No. Plead the Fifth-child abuse-Mothers boyfriend burned my body-my mother got her ass kicked, too.

b. A guy die from chemotherapy.

c. A guy shot in the head-skull cracked-fingernails burst out of his fingers, and his toes burst out of his shoes-black on black-murder for hire.

34.a. Maybe if enough money involved. Beat a guy over $50.00 with a baseball bat. Hit with a lead pipe in hand and face-disrepect to father.

35.a. When I have to be.

36.a. No. Beat up a dude in high school-he walked in front of me, and didn’t say. “Excuse me.” A guy beat me up for having sex with his Baby Mama (Baby Mama means wife, girlfriend, mother of their child, often a mental and/or physical baby, giving birth to a baby-but still old enough to produce the eggs, necessary for birth) stabbed and still won the track meet-110 yards.

b. Dude get stole (unexpected hit, cheap shot, as in sucker punch) playing chess over fish steak.

c. Me and __(friend) beating up on skin heads.

37.a. No, I shot someone in the back in’95-38 Special-didn’t know him-lived-never charged- I got shot in ’96-shot someone for some money-they robbed me- 5 Kilos of cocaine, and $2,700.00 cash,

b. Somebody got raped-jit camp-three blacks on a white gay guy.

c. Somebody’s head got blowed off by a shotgun.

38.a. No. Knife both ways.

b. Rape-Marion C.I.- three blacks on a young white-first timer in prison-they fucked him in his ass. They slapped him down, and were taking turns on him-had him in cell-medical and police found him-he went to an outside hospital, and was then transferred. The three got charged for it. As a gay human being-I had low self esteem, and I didn’t have the courage, or the balls to tell. I feared for my life.

c. Man ran over by a car-head squashed by tires-walking out of a bar-accident.

39.a. At times.

40. NN

41.a. No. Murder. Dudes cut on head-no stiches.

b. __(friend) stabbed a dude at Sumter C.I.-black on black-knife pulled over TV-lived.

c. Dude shot dude through the mouth-died-black on white-robbery issue.

42. NN

43.a. I have alot of personalities, and if I have alcohol in my system, nine out of ten times, I’m going to get into a fight-straight as they come-but I get along with all of them. I don’t prejudge a man, whatever he wants to do is alright with me.

b. When an officer threw a dude over a rail at Lake Butler C.I.-three whites on one black-they killed him, ‘84, no one ever charged-brushed it under the rug-you just keep going-you see and you don’t see in prison-whole floor saw-he had “reckless eyeballs”-looking at a white woman (in cell block T wing-rail=second floor to first floor). Lake Butler was different then-had to deal with racism then.

44.a. No. I whipped ‘em-I shot at ‘em. I’ve been shot at.

b. Seen some of everything-dude getting whipped with belt and lock-dude getting stuck-dudes jumping dudes.

c. Dude got shot in the stomach with an AK, and his stomach flipped over his face-black on black-beef.

45.a. No. It’s more of protection of inmates from guards-abuse-getting beat up asleep-killed-kicked. I was beat up at Zephyrhills C.I. Five guards, in ‘98, beat the shit out of me-in my muscles-so no bruises or blood-confinement cell-no witnesses.

46.a. No. If you violate me, then shit, I’ll try to handle the situation accordingly. I can get down with the best of them-no rules-however it comes will determine how I handle it-you get stupid, you act wild, I’ll be wilder than you. You come as a gentleman, I will be gentle. You come as a monster, I’m going to be Frankenstein.

b. Officers ran into room-use of electric shields, at Henry C.I., in 1999.

47.a. No Hit __ (friend) once.

b. __(inmate) hit dude with a lock, (while dude was sleeping).

c. Car accident-three year old boy died.

48.a. Yes.

b. Four black guys raped a white guy-Santa Rosa, ‘98, not gay or effeminate-because after that, not reported-he stayed.

49.a. No, but if sombody makes me mad, I can get violent, especially when I’m drunk.

b. I saw a guy get raped in ‘98-Polk C.I.-black on white-straight-five blacks raped him-new and small on compound, and he had a big mouth-not gay, but had a little feminine side, and alot of small guys don’t make it in the chaingang these days-went to hospital and got stiched up, and on PC(protective custody).

50.a. No.

51.a. Absolutely not. I’m a peacemaker.

b. Fight at Liberty-barbershop-bloody arm-didn’t know the issue.

52.a. No.

b. This is the most laid back prison I know. I just deal with it. I put myself here.

53.a. Not at all. Knocked the hell out of someone-nothing.

b. A fight.

c. A car accident-death.

54.b. In Illinois prison, I saw fifteen blacks jump a white guy, and stabbed him. He died. They used him as a pin cushion. I was in Minard, Illinois, in the ‘87 riot-it was a hellhole-3,000 inmates. It was called, “Kill Whites Day.” -retaliation gangs-I was fotunately locked in my cell-guns going off-tear gas everywhere-not a nice place to be. I was a small town boy, threw into a street wise gang run prison. My knees knocked when I got up to stand. When transferred , gang members were on both sides of the bus.

They try you right off the bat. I didn’t hook up with a gang, that’s why they didn’t like me-everyone paid extortion-every cell owned by a gang-you pay every month, or you go to PC. I paid three packs of cigarettes a month.

55.a. No. shot someone-jealousy over a woman. Shot at -robbed.

b. Someone stabbed to death.

c. Someone shot to death-don’t know why.

56.a. No more than the next person. I killed seven times on different streets, in NY, NC, and FL; robberies and revenge. Three in NY, three in FL, and killed little bro in NC. I was shot and cut-abused as a child by mother-I left home when I was thirteen years old. I was beat with bull whips, and 2 by 4’s.

b. People getting killed-numerous in NY.

c. Guy’s brains splattered on me in dice game.

57.a. I’ve been stabbed twelve different times. I use to be a very violent motherfucker. I got tired of it. It gets old. This will be my first Christmas I’ve spent with my kids since they were born. __(homosexual partner) lying on me in here to justify what’s she’s (regardless of the name or pronouns used, there are no vaginas in male prisons).

b. Riots and stabbings in MD-helicopter next to prison.

58.a. No. I hit a guy with a lock. I was hit upside the head with a breakfast tray.

b. Guy get stabbed at Martin C.I.-black on white-white stabbed by black lover for cheating on him five times, and broke his jaw. I saw a rape at Martin-four blacks trapped guy in his room. He checked in the next morning (to check in is to request PM or PC, protective management or protective custody, which are the same).

c. Nothing.

59.b. Guy got stabbed at another C.I.-in stomach-hospital-don’t know why.

60.a. No. Hit someone, and been hit.

b. Other people hit.

c. Someone shot.

61. NN

62.a. At times.

63. NN

64.a. No. Shot and got shot-person lived.

b. Stabbing.

c. Person get killed-bad dope deal.

65.a. No. Pacifist.

b. Guy broke jaw here.

c. Someone getting punched.

66.a. No. Absolutely not. Murder-intentional. Guy didn’t deserve to die. I can’t get into it.

67. NN

68.a. No. Me and two other white friends, when we were fourteen years old spray painted a black kid. I feel stupid about it today. At age thirteen, I got my first tatoo of a swastika, and was wearing a white power T-shirt when four blacks broke my leg in four different places.

b. Stabbing at DeSoto C.I.-black on black-gambling.

c. Fighting.

69.a. No. Got shot. Kicked someone in the face.

b. Stabbing.

c. A man beating his girlfriend.

70.a. Yes, and no. Robbery is said to be a violent crime, but I try to go out of my way to see no one gets hurt. Do I pick on people? No.

b. Fight.

c. Person pistol whipped.

71.a. Sometimes when necessary

72.a. Mellowed. I can be violent-fight-stabbed in my left hand.

c. Shot at on the streets.

73.a. No. Never felt threatened in prison-was pushed around-but never felt really threatened-say they were just fooling around.

b. Heard rumors regarding sexual assaults, but I never talked to anyone that was.

74.a. No. Hit dude with a bat one time and broke his jaw-white. Caught at a girls home and got roughed up-my eye split once.

b. Cross City C.I.-card game-black on black-guy shanked(stabbed) and killed.

c. Motorcycle crash, with dude decapitated, ‘82, Tampa.

75.a. Only when pushed.

76.a. No.

77.a. No

78.b. A guy burned a sissy’s face up-threw stuff on her face and lit it-Orlando C.I., 2002,-after he beat her with a padlock on a belt buckle-I knew her-she was giving away his food that he bought for her, and fucking them-two other guys -she got air-lifted out of there.

79.a. No.

80. NN

81.a. At times, killed a person-fight.

b. Person got beat.

c. Person got shot-homeboy shot in head by dad after fighting dad over beating mom.

82.a. Not at all, extremely docile-slapped in the face-pulled hair-been beaten severly.

b. Not seen-couple of little fights.

c. Haven’t.

83.a. No.

b. Assault at another C.I.-bloody nose.

c. Assault.

84. NN

85.a. No. Stabbed someone-arguments-streets-gambling-stabbed-tried to jump homeboy-dope-steal-streets and prison.

b. Someone get stabbed.

c, Someone get shot.

86.a. All in all, I’m a harmless person.

87.a. I can be. Stabbed a couple of people-lived-immature at the time.-Beaten regularly-in an abusive relationship-first love.

b. Few fights.

c. Someone shot in the head, and died-owed money-black on black.

89.a. No. Coked up-hit best friend with fist-then he started swinging back.

b. Fight.

c. Someone killed-beat in the head with a hammer-white on white-don’t know.

90.a. No. Stabbed in prison in NY over poker game.

b. Someone get killed-NY-black on Hispanic-died-knife-cross each other over turf.

c. Somone gettin shot and killed in NY-white on black-drugs.

91.a. No. One fight in whole life-hit a guy with my book bag at the school stop-I had been pushed.

b. Guy hit another with a lock on a belt-black on white-food-infirmary-I-dorm.

c. Fight in a club.

92.a. Not no more. Ass kicked in another state-shot up guys neighborhood-shot someone.

b. Seen people get cut up, and held down and dick rubbed to their face-face sliced with razor.

c. Some shot-killed-no comment.

93.b. Someone get stabbed-Lake Butler C.I.-black on white-white stabbed-lived-don’t know issue.

94.a. No. Only you start something, I’ll finish it, except, like Gold, they brought it to me-deserved it, except the one that died. I was shot in the head with a machine gun-one bullet-back of the head-had monopoly-now he’s doing sixty years in prison. I was stabbed in the neck, in ‘96-bar fight-black on black-over bitch.

95.a. No. Beat up a dude in middle school-nothing done to me.

b. None.

c. Homeboy got shot-died-drugs-gang related-black on black.

96.a. I don’t know, Chris, I can be violent, if provoked to be violent.

97.a. No.

b. At another C.I., alot hurt-don’t know why.

c. Someone getting shot-don’t know why.

98.a. No.

b. Stabbing-Hispanic on black and Hispanic on white-here, 2002-misunderstanding.

99.a. Not by any means.

b. Ice pick stuck in guy’s forehead, close to his eye socket-Gulf C.I., 2000, lived-man stuck by homosexual lover of dude he was messing with.

100.a. No. Beat a dude at age fifteen over money he owed me. Twelve blacks jumped on me over dude I beat up at a card game.

b. Stabbing-black by Hispanic-riot.

c. A neighborhood fight.

“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, nor of me his prisoner: but be thou partaker of the afflictions of the gospel according to the power of God.”

The Second Epistle Of Paul The Apostle To Timothy

1:8

“From the compassionate point of view, peace (like freedom or any other value) without equality constitutes a state of structural violence which may justify some revolutionary violence, if this later is considerably less than the former so that a net gain in violence reduction can be achieved. Compassion requires a commitment to nonviolence as a means of achieving its values. However, where a lesser violence has a reasoanable probability of ending a greater violence, the commitment to nonviolence requires a very careful and highly circumscribed use of violence (preferably limited to property and not extended to persons even at the risk of corrupting compassion in the process. While revolutionary violence involves a risk, structural violence (such as the differential infant mortality rates of blacks and whites) is a sure thing existing now and slaughtering innocent children day after day in the here and now. The revolutionary will dirty his hands by turning to violence to put an end to this violence, in the hope that the net gain will be less violence. But will the absolute (?) pacifist keep his hands clean by standing by while the innocents are slaughtered? This question in particular and the problem of peace in general create more cognitive dissonance for compassion than any other question or problem I can imagine. It is difficult, if not impossible, to answer this question in the abstract. The only authentic answer probably has to come from concrete situations, guided by the principle of coherence and the value of compassion for all they are worth.”

Compassion, by Dr. William Eckhardt

Father to Edward, Steven, and Christopher/R25288

Breaking the cycles of violence you read about above will never be achieved through the building of more prisons, but through the building of more schools, and values education, peaceful conflict resolution training, spiritual development, vocational training, for all of our children, including our abused children in our prisons today, living in adult bodies.

“Justice is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity. Those who clearly recognize the voice of their own conscience usually recognize also the voice of justice.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

July 4th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Nine

My Bad Beautiful Blue

“Then came Peter to him, and said Lord, how oft shall My brother sin against me, and I forgive him? til seven times?

“Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times; but, Until seventy times seven.”

The Gospel According To Matthew   18: 21 & 22

                                             Desiderata

                                            by Max Ehrman

“Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

“As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

“Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.  If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lessor persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

“Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

“Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

“Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

“Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

“With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”

Written by Max Ehrman in the 1920’s (1872-1945) Poet and Lawyer. Desiderata in Latin stands for, “Things to be Desired.”

It was not, as historical revisionist would like you to believe, found on the Old St. Paul Church in 1692.

Of Desiderata, Max said, “I should like, if I could to leave a humble gift–a bit of chaste prose that had caught up some noble words.” Thank you, Max!

I like to know authors’ biases, prejudices, beliefs, and truths. So, here are some of mine, written July 5th, 2003:

1. My truth may not be your truth;

2. I am, you are, God is;

3. My cup is again half full, and not half empty;

4. The size of my dick doesn’t matter, but yours does, and a clitoris is just a miniature dick;

5. A dick up a virgin ass hurts, but pissing out a kidney stone hurts more;

6. Puking is not fun;

7. Sex sounds good, but an orgasm feels better;

8. Yesterday was, tomorrow may be, but now is; enjoy your is;

9. Slavery was, and is, just read the 13th Amenment of our U.S. Constitution, and the exception is prisoners, mostly black, so much for an end to slavery. Racism, sexism, ageism were, and still are;

10. Hope requires action today and tomorrow;

11. Ignorance can, and shall be overcome;

12. Life is a bowl of cherries; eat ‘em, and just spit out the pits;

13. Prison in America, in the beginning of the 21st century is over utilized, racist, too punitive, not rehabilitative, and a huge waste of resources and human potential;

14. Structural violence/systemic violence is more insideous than individual violence, last longer, and hurts more;

15. Just as psychologist and psychiatrists manufactured madness, so too do judges, prosecutors, and legislators manufacture injustice;

16. Prison is OK if you don’t mind sleeping with seventy-one other men, some snoring loud enough for the whole room to hear;

17. Organized religion helps the ignorant; spirituality helps the less ignorant; and we’re all in need of help;

18. It is possible to have a good orgasm with a soft dick;

19. Worrying is wasted energy;

20. We are all connected;

21. In prison, it is all about the honeybun;

22. We’re all doing time;

23. Angels exist;

24. If I told you everything I knew, you’d be smarter than me;

25. I’m a literalist; I say what I mean, and I mean what I say;

26. I’m part of the problem, and I’m part of the solution; I’m whole, not schizophrenic;

27. Life is a gift: open it, give it meaning, and enjoy it:

28. Suicide is hard, and harder on the survivors;

29. Here is one letter short of there;

30. Anger is one letter short of danger;

31. I am a pacifist, and corrupt governments consider me dangerous;

32. We are all immortal;

33. A little paranoia in an insane society is healthy;

34. Only in prisons are blacks a majority, and that is an example of systemic violence;

35. From a lifetime of observation, not that I was looking, mind you, but blacks normally have bigger dicks, and only insecure white males really care;

36. Most dicks have no conscience;

37. The head on your shoulder is more important than the one between your legs;

38. Money helps;

39. Sex, and making love are different;

40. Making love to a nun, for me , was a spiritual thing, as was my love making with men of the cloth;

41. I have made love to a man, and I have made love to a woman, more than once, at the same time. As they were both my lovers, it was glorious;

42. Marriage is a 50/50 chance , and I lost;

43. I was once a surrogate father to a couple who could not conceive, the old fashioned way; we were often in bed together(not to be confused with the couple in # 41). In the beginning unbeknowst to them, at the time, I made love to him in the mornings, and to her in the afternoons, usually using the same Holiday Inn bed;

44. I usually like the underdog, but cats are my favorites;

45. I have won, and I have lost; I prefer winning;

46. I now live an illegal drug free life, but when I was younger, pot was good, but Quaaludes were better, and sex on Quaaludes was the best;

47. I always had champagne taste, but sometimes beer pockets;

48. Medium rare is more flavorful than well done;

49. Lobster in butter sauce is my favorite;

50. Pills were made for cholesterol;

51. I prefer a hot Florida day to a cold Iowa night;

52. I have never had a bad blow job;

53. Earlobes are sensuous;

54. The Secret Service, during a time of personal security clearance, requested that I quit declaring Philadelphia as my place of birth. They were correct; I was born in the suburbs of Ridley Park. I still say I was born in the City of Brotherly Love-I guess it is just some gay issue I’ve got;

55. Life is like chess, and vision is the key; protect the king, but save the queen-sounds gay too. What can I say?;

56. Forgiveness is hard, and turning the cheek harder;

57. In prison, sensitivity is seen as a weakness; where do you choose to live?;

58. Bad things happen to good people; good people turn bad things into good things;

59. Today, live and love, for it is all we have, and it may be our last;

60. The courageous creates, and the coward destroys;

61. Learn one; do one; teach one, in all worthy things;

62. He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother;

63. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you;

64. Showering with a friend is cleansing; showering with a friend, and his girlfriend is more cleansing;

65. Character is hard to come by in prison; where do you choose to live?;

66. Those who only judge human surface beauty are only shallow humans;

67. I was told once that I have a tremendous reserve of energy, and I choose to believe it;

68. I was once called an asset, and Most Likely to Succeed. I was then given the lemon of prison, so I decided to make lemonade;

69. Black is beautiful;

70. A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste, And Prison Is A Terrible Waste Of Million Of Minds;

71. Music is a blessing;

72. In Acceptance Lies Peace;

73. Prison is a nightmare, and a dream, a punishment, and a gift;

74. War is the ultimate failure of communication on both/all sides, and the victor is the ignorant ego of patriotism, that trashes God’s laws and karma;

75. What ye do to the least of thee, you do to me;

76. We are all family;

77. I swam with the dolphins in the ocean, and their eyes were filled with joy, and I lived with the sharks in prison, and their eyes were cold, black, and lifeless, and they were just searching for life to devour;

78. There are only two types of people in the world; those who suck the energy and life out of you, and those who give or share their energy with you, hopefully, in a reciprocal fashion;

79. Blessings continue;

80. Without the support and love of my brothers Ed and Steve, and their wives, and my few friends, and lovers in prison, who protected and loved me, I would have died there, or worse, beome one of those sharks.

“There is one God looking down on us all. We are all the children of one God. The sun, the darkness, the winds are all listening to what we have to say.”

Geronimo

So, I left the dorm, and met Blue on the track, and we walked and talked. I interviewed Blue the next day, by the benches before the Rec yard, under the guard tower. I was a Writ Writter (someone who helps inmate with law work or grievances), so inmates seldom interrupted me when they saw me helping someone, taking notes, nor did the guards. I liked the bench because it seated three comfortably, but most would not interrupt, which allowed for more honesty, due to the personal nature of so many questions. After awhile, the word got out that I was doing interviews, but still no one interferred.

Blue was born in 1978, was 6′ 2 “ and weighed 148 pounds. He was arrested in 1998, for the sale, delivery, and manufacture of coke (cocaine). He admitted to his guilt, and took a plea, got eighteen months, did his time, and then went home, without getting any DR’s.

In 2002, he was arrested again for the sale, and delivery of ecstasy, crack(cheaper, more potent coke) and coke. He admitted to his guilt and took a plea, and got thirty months. He had spent eleven months in college, where he had his first gay relationship. He was never married, and he said he had no children. We were friends and partners until he went home on Monday, December 1st, 2003, at 8am.

His parents divorced when he was six years old. He was the youngest of two boys. He lived and was raised by his mother and “aunties.” Now, my aunts were my father’s, and mother’s sisters. Blues’s were always around the house, at all hours, because Blue grew up in a house of ill repute, as his aunties were members of the world’s oldest profession. What do you think would become of a child raised in that kind of environment? Some of the answers to that question will be revealed later in this chapter.

Basketball was Blues’ favorite sport, and green his favorite color. He had no favorite TV show, movie, or song. He was shot once in the leg, by a friend, accidentally, and had no current major medical conditions.

What is your favorite day in prison?

All of them, cause if I make it every day I’m doing good.

What was your favorite day on the streets?

Everyday, cause I know I’m still living.

What was your greatest lifetime achievement?

High School graduation.

What was your most serious crime?

Manufacture of Coke.

When was your best time in prison?

This time.

When was your worst time in prison?

The first time.

Which prison did you like the best?

Liberty better than Brevard-that was a jit (youthful offenders) camp-adults-different attitude here-insight on alot of things-a challenge.

What would you like to see improved in prison?

Opportunities-jobs-a more learning environment.

Blue said he had no gold teeth, tatoos, or religion, but said he was somewhat spiritual. He said he never had to deal with racism in prison.

Is your sexual orientation straight, gay, or bisexual?

Versatile.

How do handle the lack of privacy in prison?

I take it one step at a time.

What are your future plans?

Become more of a man-take things head on-challenge life, and what’s out there.

What type of assistance will you need once you get out on the streets?

Good people-financial people-educated people-hard working role models.

Blue did not consider himself a violent person, and he had spent one day in a JDC(Juvenile Detention Center) for resisting arrest without violence. He considered himself a leader, and his current prison job was “Houseman,”-one who cleans the dorm after people left for their daily jobs.

What are your thoughts on gangs in prison?

Bullshit.

What are your thoughts on gambling in prison?

Just a hobby-way to pass time-way of survival for some.

Blue labeled himself an Independent, but said he had never voted. His last HIV test was in August 2002, and it was negative.

Do you think you will be coming back to prison?

I don’t plan on it.

Have you made friends in prison, that you think you will continue to communicate with on the streets?

Not many-a couple.

What was the most violent thing that you have seen in prison?

Stabbings-Hispanic on black, and Hispanic on white-here at Liberty, in 2002-misunderstanding.

If you had a son, and he was coming to prison, what would you tell him?

Keep his head up-be a leader-obey authority, and Daddy loves you no matter what.

What was your greatest lesson of prison?

There’s more to life than to waste it doing time.

“For Lucien

“I am the man, I suffered, I was there.”

Walt Whitman

“But people can’t unhappily, invent their mooring pasts, their lovers and their friends, anymore than they can invent their parents. Life gives these and also takes them away and the great difficulty is to say Yes to life…

” ‘Somebody’, said Jacques, ‘your father or mine, should have told us that not many people ever died of love. But multitudes have perished and are perishing every hour-and in the oddest places!-for lack of it…’

” ‘But I am a man,’ I cried ‘a man! What do you think can happen between us?’

” ‘You know very well,’ said Giovanni slowly, ‘what can happen between us. It is for that reason that you are leaving me.’ He got up and walked to the window and opened it. ‘Bon,’ he said. He struck his fist against the window sill. ‘If I could make you stay, I would, he shouted. ‘If I had to beat you, chain you, starve you-and I could make you stay, I would.’ He turned back into the room; the wind blew his hair. He shook his finger at me, grotesquely playful, ‘One day, perhaps, you will wish I had.’ ”

Giovanni’s Room, by James Baldwin

My heart hurt in prison, literally, and I found that being in love lessened the pain, so for my survival, I searched out love, in basically a loveless environment.

On April 8th, 2003, I wrote Blue the following:

My Bad

“You came into my world, and walked and talked with me. I’m sorry I wounded you. My bad, for what you gave was free.

“While my intellect is fast, my common sense is sometimes slow. I want you as my friend, my partner, my dawg, so please don’t go.

“Wisdom and experience you have. Youth is not your handicap. Mistakes, I’ll make, and so will you. This way is new, and there’s no map.

“Life is an adventure, a journey, a risk, a chance, with sorrow and pain. But if you stay open and communicate, you’ll experience more sun than rain.

“Thanks for you, and moments of joy. I wish you the best, and hope for more. Anger is easy, forgiveness is hard. Come back my way, don’t head for the door.”

Blue, I came to realize was an addictive personality to gambling, and I became his enabler for a bit. We argued over it. He continued to call home and get money from his mother to pay off his gambling debts. And I became adament, and also quit helping him with them. So, he gambled less, and lost less, and we spent more time walking the track. I was born April 29th, 1950.

It was around 2pm on April 28th, 2003, and I sat under one of the two gazebos on the pound. Each had eight metal tables bolted to the floor, with four metal chairs around each table also bolted to the floor. Blue was skinning-a card game requiring little skill. There are 52 cards in the deck with 4 of each, so everyone playing, picks a card, and no one grabs the same number. So, let’s say I grab a seven, and you grab an eight, and someone else grabs an 9, and someone else grabs a 10. Then the remaining cards are shuffled and placed back in the deck box, and pulled out from the top, one at a time. Now, first we bet. We use cards cut in half-each representing $1.00. Since money is not allowed in prison, you utilize deodorant, packs of rip(cigarettes), food, etc. You buy your chips from the house ,who pays out at the end of the game/day.

So, now we bet against each other-no limit. Then a card is pulled out. Let’s say it’s a seven. Since I have a seven, I then have to pay everyone at the table whatever I bet. If it was a eight, then you would pay me, and everyone else at the table you bet, and we go through the whole deck.

Now this being prison, and with nothing to do, the cons, and hustlers try to increase their chance of winning by cheating. This is accomplished in a variety of ways, and usually involves, the house, which changes daily, and a partner of the house, who is in on the con. Now, you may mark the cards, or sand them down, or add an extra king, for example, and take out a 10, for example. So, now you or your partner pick the 10 as your card, cause the house is allowed to play, but not too often to draw attention, and therby increase your chance of winning by 25%. Now, the smart player is the one who can count to 52, and knows a deck is to have 52 cards. And it does, just an extra king and less one 10. This being prison, cards cannot afford to be bought daily. Usually, the house partner is a trusted member of the game who is not questioned, so he counts the cards, shuffles them, and usually insures that the hustle is not discovered. If ever discovered, well it was Joes’s deck, and then Joe will say he borrowed it from Henry, who got it from Jimmy, who got it from Sam, and Sam is in jail, or transferred or went home, and so it’s charged to the game. Everyone acts the role of ,”Who would have thought Sam would have done this?” And the game continues with a different deck, meanwhile the house is still ahead, and shortly ends the game out of ‘disgust’, to maintain their profit margin, and the fishes come back to the game the next day to lose more money, cause they have noithing else to do, which suits the system, cause without any vocational training or education, the bad boys will be back within a few more years from release, and insure their job security, and the perpetuation of the systemic violence.

Well, Blue was winning and feeling good, and he got up from the table and came over to me and whispered in my ear, “Do you got two new staff working in your dorm?’ “Yeah,” I replied. “OK.” he said, “Go in and get your dick ready and wait for me on the shower floor, and I’ll be in in two minutes.” It was to be my birthday present. Blow jobs make the best presents, so who was I to argue? I walked into the dorm, unnoticed, walked into the empty bathroom, and knelt down behind the five foot shower wall that stretched the length of eight shower heads about three feet apart. I undid my pants, laid on the shower floor. No one took showers during the day. I pulled out my dick,as Blue turned the corner and laid down between my legs, and started giving me my birthday present. I had never cum so quickly before in my life. Some of the sperm slid out of his mouth onto my blue dress pants. It was my badge of honor, that I wore proudly the rest of the day. He said, “Happy Birthday, now that I know you can cum so fast ,we can do this more often.” I loved this kid’s attitude. And we both left, as we arrived, unnoticed. Another victory for my prostate.

However it was the second, and last blow job I would ever receive from Blue, and the end of our sexual relationship. Shortly thereafter, he was placed briefly in confinement, for doing three way phone calls-a violation. Confinement affects us all differently, and Blue couldn’t handle it, so he basically broke no more rules. I was Ok with it, and I understood. I never once saw his dick. We still spent every day together until he left prison, being friends, and having fun, just not sex. It’s all good.

On April 25th, 2003, I wrote Blue:

Thanks

“Thanks for sharing yourself with me. For two months now, you’ve been my friend, and more. Through ups and downs, even though we’re not free, I’m so glad you stuck around, and never bolted for the door.

“We’ll play it your way, as you say, and live for today, day by day. The future is unknown, so we’ll live in the here and now. Some call it straight, or bi, some call it gay. You called it ‘versatile.’ I like it that way. I’m glad you’re my pal.

“I like the way you carry yourself. I like waching you play cards. I like you being sensitive to my emotional needs and desires. I’d like you more if we were around less guards. I’d also like to like you around less thieves, thugs, and liars.

“Through talking daily with you, secrets and all, and walking the track, I’ve grown to cherish our moments together of sharing. And when you were down, I supported you with more than one pack. Thanks for your friendship, your daring, and your caring.”

Blue got upset when I quit enabling him, and spending time with him at the gambling tables, so, on May 8th, 2003 he wrote the following (grammer uncorrected):

“Threw the up’s and down’s-And the smile’s and the frowns-and the good times and the bad, I always thought you were a friend I’d have. But sometime things get Ruff and people get weak-but at the same time We are still We-I can’t say that I know what you are going threw but right now you are not the person I once New-Time, Time, Time was something you always wanted but where are you when I get lonely sleep, or reading, or lately just in your own little world So here I am alone to take on this crazy world.

“But alone I started and I guess alone I finish when I fall I know how to get up and keep moving and try, try, try, again But Chris you were a friend I thought I had to the bitter end.

“Key words you spoke

“Friendship”

“Trust”

“Hardship”

”Support”

”Honesty”

”Time”

“Feeling”

”Love for a friend”

”Don’t leave”

Your lucky # should be 6,7,8

Cause Chris ain’t playing strait.”

On May 11th, 2003, I wrote:

Dearest Blue,

Thank you for your note of 5-8-03. It was sensitive, and I appreciated you writing it. I came to you shortly after receiving it, in hopes of talking with you. But, you blew me off, basically saying you were doing exercises. So, I was hurt, because I even told you that I’d be in the dorm, if you wanted to talk. That was three days ago, and you never came to talk to me. So, I still wanted time with you. But, Blue, friendship is a two way street. It is a give and take. It is reciprocal-reciprocity-remember Blue, I always told you that was important to me.

“What I was going through (Not “threw” as you wrote-but it’s OK Blue, it’s just the teacher in me coming out) was feeling a bit used, abused and taken for granted, by you. And, yeah, you’re probably right that I may be too sensitive, or emotional. But on your birthday, I bought you chips, loaned you a towel and rubber bands(essential to putting down a professional ’skin’ game). I watched the game, kept things straight, while you were away from the table-only to have you give one half of your winnings to “Animal,” and nothing to me.

“The next day, while you were drinking a soda, and I had none, I asked you for a sip, and your response was, “Don’t do that.” This after I have bought you chip, soups, and sodas for the past month.

” So, Blue, what I’ve been going through is trying to figure out our friendship. Friendships throughout history, and our lives, have come and gone. Some are stronger, and last longer, and I hope, and want our friendship to continue to grow, last, and be strong. But, mature, healthy relationships and friendships require nurturing from both people involved. Reciprocity is important. It’s the concept of I’ll take care of you, if you’ll take care of me I’ll feed you if you’re hungry, and I’m able, and that is your need and desire. That is reciprocity, Blue.

“I don’t want you to have, ‘to take on this crazy world’ alone. I want you as my friend and partner. But, don’t use or abuse me, or take me for granted.

“Blue, we have lots of differences-age, race, background, education, but we have so much in common. In this environment, many people are hating on two people being close and partners, cause they don’t have, or can’t have. So, separating two people in here is easier than two people struggling to keep a tight friendship.

“I’ve always been straight with you, Blue, and while my sensitivity may be a weakness, it is also my strength. It helped me lower my ego and write this letter.

“Now, we can choose to walk separately in here, and I’ll be professional with you, or if you want our close friendship to continue, and develop, I’ll be walking the track today, and all you have to do is ask me to take a walk, so we can work out our differences. If I don’t hear from you today, Blue, I’ll just take it that you just want the ‘professional’ friendship, not the personal friendship. And, it’s all good.

“With Love,

“Chris”

Blue came to me that day, and we walked the track daily from then on, laughed, and had fun together. I bought him a pair of sneakers, and a sweat suit, and we had it sent to his mother, so she could send it to him in his EOS(end of sentence) package. It is the only time your family may send you clothes, and you only get to put them on before you walk out the outer gate, so no one get to see how you look in them. Blue promised to send me a picture of him in his new outfit.

He gave me the following going away letter, the day before he left ( again in his own words, punctuation, and spelling):

“Hello well theirs no time to be wasted so here I go all so fast we became friends and even faster we both learned alot and just a little faster than that my time has come to depart But alway’s understand that in every situation in life has a learning process to it and one thing you got to learn is “capture the moment” in other word’s “Ball till you fall” live every step of life like it’s the last one left because you never know when the next step is going to land I hope you understand where I am comming from never chase if it’s meant it will come to you the world move’s around and round so sooner or later it will come back your way dont for get that you have been a very good friend at times well all the time and you made thing’s alot easier for me in this spot and I thank you for it I hate seeing someone as smart as you in a place like this this here is not your cup of tea But life goes on all you can do now is make the best of what seem so bad and role with the punches which I know you can do I have faith in you But one of your down falls is “lonly’ness” you think you need someone by your side which you don’t you are too smart to need any one * people here need you * !! Now let that sink in for a minute now that you have thought about it let me Break it down you taught me something I’ll never for get which was there is 3 – types of power money, friend’s and knowledge and that’s so very true now I always told you I like control!! and control is a form of power but in order to be a controler you need knowledge right which bring’s on friend’s because everyone wont’s to know what you know? and that equals money because you pay to learn

“now once again please stop and think about what I said in those last couple of line’s because it all tells you more about me But moving on in order to be a winner you got to know how to loose and except it with a smile understand!! But in the heart alway’s know that in the end you will win

“Dr.(Blue called me “Dr.”) my plans with you was to show you the way comming from the bottom because I see you never been to the bottom so yes I tried my best to take you their and Bring you back and at times we went rock bottom but together everything was fine and we still are friends no matter what now its funny because I know that you say live for the moment and I know that will play a big part in your life and Blue taught you that so I think our ‘Roler Coaster” Ride was fun but now we are to the end But befor I end I want you to lay Back and think about this whole Ride from beggining to end and you will so (see) how end (in) the end you win

“later

“Blue”

We exchanged adresses, and family addresses. I sent him letters and Christmas cards. We hugged and said goodbye the morning of 12-1-03, with promises of letters within two weeks. I never heard from Blue again.

His next door neighbor went back to their county jail months later, and had ten years taken off his thirty year sentence. He found out from family and friends that Blue was now wearing high heels, dresses, and wigs.

From Internet records, I recently learned that in May, 2004, Blue was arrested for driving with a suspended license. In September, 2004, Blue failed to attend his hearing. In November, 2004, Blue was listed as an Absconder/Fugitive from justice, with his location listed as “Unknown.” Please pray for Blue.

“For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost.”

The Gospel According To Matthew 18:11

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

June 25th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Eight

Fuck God

“They shall take up serpents and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.”

The Gospel According To Mark 16:18

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. I felt fear myself more times than I can remember, but I hid it behind a mask of boldness. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear…

“Man’s goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished…

“I knew as well as I knew anything that the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away another man’s freedom is a prisoner of hatred, he is locked behind the fear of prejudice and narrow-mindedness.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

“Fuck God,” that was basically what I was saying as I lay in my bathtub, in my red swimsuit. I had my suit on to be more presentable in death. They were quite fashionable. Lord knows, I didn’t want to appear inappropriate in death, as if death cares.

“Someone saved my life tonight, sugarbear,” had just played on the radio. ”Daniel,” by Elton John, was now playing on the radio. “Daniel is leaving tonight on a plane…” The warm water is filled to the brim of my bathtub, as I slip my left foot behind my clock radio that I had sitting on the upper ledge at the foot of the bathtub. I had it plugged into the wall outlet, with an extension cord, so it wouldn’t come unplugged, as my foot pulled the radio into the bathtub with me, to end my life, through electrocution.

Zap, crackle, pop, and smoke, and I heard nothing more about Daniel. I was out one clock radio, but no closer to death. Another failure. Fear of prison I had, however, I had no fear of my death or afterlife.

It was 2am, Monday, October 8th, 2001, as I lay all wet in my Dunedin, Florida, condo bathtub, just hours away from my sentencing. I thought of my last failure just twenty-four hours earlier. I copied the late 1960’s radical, Abbie Hoffman, who offed himself by ingesting sixty Valiums. I figured that would be a neat, clean way to go out. In ninth grade, I had been voted the kid with “The Cleanest Locker.” I was into clean.

So I mixed sixty Valium with thirty Dalmane’s ( sleeping pills ), both legally prescribed to me, and a large quantity of Jack Daniels’ whiskey. I took them out of their plastic coated shells, and mixed them into the Jack. Of course, I used a large plastic glass. By the way, isn’t a plastic glass, an oxymoron? Do other people think of these things, too?

Oh well, I didn’t want any broken glass that might cut my body if I got woozy and fell down. Death was OK, but let’s leave out the messy blood, that might also stain the carpet, or furniture.

In the movie “Soylent Green”, with Charles Heston, which was also Edward G. Robinson’s last movie, my concoction might have been called, “A Sleeping Beauty.” It tasted sickenly pharmaceutical. Maybe, I should have used Southern Comfort instead of Jack.

In reality, when you’re offing yourself, God, grammar, and cleanliness really falls by the wayside. I sat on my queensize bed in my bedroom, with my HBO on, and emptied the contents from the pills into the plastic glass. They came apart easily enough, but I really hadn’t thought this through enough. What to do with the empty capsules? Well, I made as neat a pile as I could on the floor, next to my bed. It became like an ant hill, made up of empty half capsules, instead of dirt or sand.

Next, after emptying the capsules, which took some time, I poured in the Jack Daniels, which I had brought into the bedroom. Then, I used the spoon I had brought in earlier, to stir the “Better Life Through Chemistry” mix. Then, I put in three ice cubes, from the brown ice container, with the white lid, that I had also brought in earlier. I had it set up on the end table next to my bed. It was a $.25 garage sale purchase. Suicide can require so much time and preparation. I had now made a deadly concoction, literally.

I sipped it. Now, that was a mistake. Deadly concoctions were not meant to be sipped, maybe fine wines or cognacs, but not deadly concoctions. How was I suppose to know? It was my first deadly concoction. As this was my first attempt at suicide, I was a novice about offing myself.

This wasn’t going to work, so, I went into the kitchen and poured some sugar into a cup , and returned to my bedroom. I added two teaspoons of sugar to my deadly mixture, and sipped again. Still too bitter, and pharmaceutical. So, I added three more teaspoons of sugar. Still too bitter. I was getting discouraged. You might think that attempts at suicide are as discouraged as one can get. I’m here to tell you, that that too, is a false assumption. The better question might be, “Is getting discouraged while trying to commit suicide, a sign of mental health?” I don’t know, but it’s fun to think about, and I do know that fun, and laughter are good signs of mental health.

I used my left thumb, and my left index finger to hold my nose, as my right hand guided the fatal drink to my lips and I chugged it. That was the ticket. I finished it, and carefully place the oxymoron on a coaster, so the sweat wouldn’t stain the wooden end table. It was right next to my then working clock radio, which I hadn’t killed yet. My twin sized pillow and the head board of my bed were just inches away from the end table. The radio was next to my brass table lamp, with the beige lamp shade. Everything was nice and neat, and in its place, except for the ant hill of capsules.

I laid back on my pillow, and channel surfed, as I petted my cat, FIPS, who I had rescued from the Pinellas Park Food Stamp parking lot, thirteen years earlier. FIPS stood for Federal Intervention Program System, designed basically to catch food stamp frauds.

FIPS was an independent cat, like most cats. Every time I took her to the veterinarian, he always wanted to pull one of her teeth. I figured it was expensive, but I also figured he knew best. After he had extracted all but seven of her teeth, I figured as her Dad, that I finally knew what was best. I continued to take her for her annual examination and shots, with the strict instructions of, “Pull no teeth.”

I turned off the light as FIPS purred on my stomach. I had placed one of my pillows under my knees, as my Dr. had always recommended, due to back problems. No need to put extra stress on my back during my last few hours of life. I wanted to be comfortable when I approached the light. I was fifty-one years young, and had lived a good life. My eyes closed, and I slipped away.

Then, I saw the light. It was blurry, like a fog, a mist. Slowly, I struggled to open my eyes. I had no hangover, pain, or negative feelings, as I slowly realized that the light was the morning sun shining through my bedroom window. The white curtains were closed, but I had forgotten to close the dark blue cloth curtains, so the room was bright, and I was still alive.

I always knew I was different. I never had had a wet dream, and Abbie Hoffman could pull off what I couldn’t. Damn God!

So, now, here I lay, all clean, in my bathtub, with my red swimsuit on, not dead, and with nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to do, and no radio left to listen to. I got up, unplugged the bathtub, and dried myself off, as I looked into the mirror, above the sink, the length of the wall, across from the bathtub. Another failure, two within twenty-four hours. I wasn’t sure my ego could handle it. Then again, how strong is an ego that accepts death, willingly? I wonder what Socrates would say about that?

God wasn’t going to let me die now. He was going to make me contend with my greatest fears, and face the music, and not the radio type. It was all part of the plan. It was a plan I hadn’t arranged, so, naturally, I fought it. I had so much to learn, and so much yet to go through.

Death, to me, was more manageable and acceptable than my fears, because I had lost my faith. The cup had quit being half full, and had become half empty.

Two months ago, I had become a convicted felon, and today, I faced fifteen years in prison. I knew I might get raped in prison. I just wasn’t into big black men sticking their wee-wees into my butt. The movie, “Deliverance” with its male rape scene, played through my mind constantly, and fear controlled my life.

So, my third, and final attempt at self destruction, occured at the Pinellas County Jail, where I told the other inmates I was just trying to lose weight, so the nine days there (October 8th to October 16th, 2001 ), I ate nothing, as in nothing. I just gave my food away. Needless to say, the other detainees were quite happy to eat my food. I heard if you didn’t drink any liquids for three days, you’d die. So, I didn’t drink anything for my last three days there. I experienced no discomfort, nor did I die. God protected me, and I no longer have a desire to destroy his creation, but, rather to celebrate it.

I spoke of one other revelation in my life, in the last chapter, besides prison that liberated my mind, body, and soul. It was on the back roads of Iowa in 1973. I was driving alone, and I was exhausted. It was the middle of the day. I said out loud:

”God, I need help, please help me?”

I looked over to the passengers side, and I saw an angel of the Lord. It was a vision, an image, a light, a soul form, and I said:

“Will you drive?”

I awoke hours later on a side road, not part of my planned route. The car was parked on the side of the road, and I was laying down on the front seat. I knew then that I was immortal. That there is more. That the story doesn’t end here. I raced home to tell my two roommates that we were immortal. They looked at me in disbelief. I have kept this to myself since then, because maybe, we all are not immortal.

All I know, is he wouldn’t let me go yet, and medically I shouldn’t be here, but I am, and so I will dedicate myself, and my energies, and my life to…

“Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.

“He shall call upon me, and I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.

“With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.”

Psalms 91:14-16

“In acknowledging the prison walls, I had also determined that I would be courteous to the guards. So, “Yes sir,” “No sir,” “Please,” “Thank you,” “Excuse me,” “You’re welcome,” and all other polite phrases were in constant use whenever I spoke. That astonished the guards, who represent the bottom 7 percent of the human race, people with little intelligence who make their living using force and fear to warehouse human beings and violence to purvey a point of view.

“Following my dad’s advice, I sought to turn a bad thing into a good thing by learning what makes the white man tick. I spent most afternoons in the prison law library reading, mostly about criminal, Indian, and prison rights cases.”

Where White Men Fear to Tread, The Autobiography of Russell Means, with Marvin J. Wolf.

In confinement, August, 2002, I wrote:

I.M.U. ( I am You )

I.M.U.

I am an inmate, I am a thug

I’m the governor, the man with a plan

I am the guru, the teacher, the stockbroker

I’m your worst nightmare, and you’re greatest hope

I.M.U.

I’ll abuse you,

Use you,

Forget you,

Fuck you…

and Love you…

I.M.U.

I am a criminal, or so I’m convicted

I am oppressed, and I’m angry

I hurt, and I hurt

I receive, and I give

I.M.U

U.R.I.

I fear, you fear, we fear

I.M.U

U.R.I.

I hope, you care, we love

Action creates reaction

Violence begats violence

Hate engenders hate

Forgiveness is hard

Anger is easy

I.M.U.

Prison is liberating

Who would have thought?

Who else knows?

Put a lid on it!

Can’t let it out!

Too many would come

For Secondary Gains

We can’t afford it…

Stop the Madness!

I.M.U.

Scared, fear pops its ugly head again

Anger, competition, one-upmanship

Laughter, what a concept

Happiness, what a joy…

Silence

Imprisoned in my mind

I’m free to roam

You can’t hold me in your fears any longer

I will be free

I am not alone

Thank God…

We will be free

I.M. Free

U.R.I.

I.M.U.

Welcome!

“As long as the world shall last, there will be wrongs,

and if no man objected and no man rebelled,

those wrongs would last forever.”

Clarence Darrow, Lawyer, 1930

On July 27th, 2003, at 4:40 am, I wrote:

21st Century Inmate

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

i once was a bird

i now am a worm

i played your game

your rules

i lost

you sent me to the wire; beyond the razorwire

to punish me

your system

you stripped me

you shaved my head

you yelled

you threatened me

your system

you showed no mercy

you said once that

i was an asset, a treasure

now, you say i’m

a malfunction

i’m broken, and you

and your system

don’t tolerate malfunction

or diversity

so, like the broken Christmas toy

you threw me away

behind the wire

with all the other broken toys

that you don’t want to fix

just punish

Father, forgive them,

for they know not what they do

you stuck me

you took from me

you prodded me

you violated me

your system

once, when machines were broken

we fixed them

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

like Jonah

i am in the belly

of the beast

out of sight

with no constituency

power you have

and power you abuse

teach

fix the malfunction

rewire the toy

you’d do it for a machine

just do it

the power of Christ

commands you

fix the broken toy

fix me, and my broken brothers

the power of Christ

commands you

do the right thing

your system

our system is broken

i didn’t know

it was broken

until i got here

i’m sorry

the circle of life

brought me here

you are just

a cog in the wheel

in the system

a puppet

a pawn

what you do to the least

of thee

you do to me

the power of Christ

commands you

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

you caged me like

an animal in a zoo

you fed me on schedule

the lights go on at 5:30am

and they never totally go off

yet i live in the darkness

of the belly of the beast

in your hell, you call prison

the Darth Vadar

of your broken system

Nelson lived here

Alexander, Martin, Gandhi, and Jesus

all lived here too

they understood, they knew

you don’t know,

you don’t understand,

but, it’s OK, you see,

you’re just broken

you need to be fixed

so, you’ll know and understand

i stand in lines

all i have is time

so, i’m rushed to hurry

to get ready

to stand in one line

to scurry from one point

to another

i am your house mouse

in your cage

i’m forced to choke

on your food

or lose it,

for lack of time to chew it

so, i can get back in a line

to walk in a straight line

to go and lay on my bunk

to await the next light flickering

and the blare of

“Chow Time,” or

“Education, Inside Grounds, Law Library Clerks”

to rush, to stand in another line

routine

“Sick call, lower bunk, upper bunk”

“What we got here is a failure to communicate.”

What we’ve got here is a clusterfuck

“Oh, the horror, the horror.”

you want to break me

you want to break a broken toy

you want to punish and break the broken toy

to cure and save it

remember Vietnam?

remember the Golden Rule?

who is the truly broken toy here?

Father, forgive them,

for they know not what they do

“Seven o’clock meds”

my brothers lay on their bunks

with their hospital folds

dressed in their blues

darkness outside,

artificial light in here

as they await the words

“Chow Time”

so they may rush out, to stand in a line,

to rush to eat, only to rush back here,

to again lay on their bunks,

to sleep, perchance to dream,

in hopes for brief fleeting moments,

to escape these bars and razorwire

these are my brothers,

and i am their kin,

i accept them

In Acceptance, Lies Peace

many are indeed broken toys

and some are beautiful spirits

“give me your huddled masses, yearning to be free”

my brother puts his pants on

one leg at a time

wipes the sleep from his eyes,

and unlocks his combination lock

to his locker, the box of his life and worldly possessions

on this side of the razorwire,

his deodorant, that the state doesn’t provide

his toothbrush, toothpaste, and his toilet paper

which the guards withheld from me

more than once in confinement

because it was their zoo

and i was only an animal to them

i am not an animal

i was never an animal

i am a man

i am a human being

a man by nature

a woman by nurture

Father, forgive them

for they know not what they do

“Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”

Philippians 4:11

Probably one of the best events in prison occurs in February, because it is Black History Month, and you get to see and hear beautiful talent. Due to being locked up in confinement, in February, 2002, due to my medical condition, I missed it that year. The following year, the theme was, “The Souls of Black Folk, authored by William E.B. Dubois, 1903. I gave a speech that I had memorized, in front of about one hundred inmates in the Chapel, with the Warden in attendance, on February 10th, 2003, where I said:

“I’d like to thank Mr. Jones for inviting me, and the Warden, Mrs. Smith, Mr. Green, and the DOC for sponsoring this event.

“Gentlemen, the struggle for civil rights, human rights, and prisoner rights continues. If you’re not already a member, join the struggle, gentlemen.

“A year ago I couldn’t participate in this event because I was in Disciplinary Confinement for fifty-eight days, and I lost all of my gain time. Today, DOC computers have no trace of that Disciplinary Report, or that loss of gain time, because I struggled, and used the power of the pen through a grievance to overcome that DR, and loss of gain time. Misunderstandings and oppression will always exist, and continue, unless we try to change them, gentlemen.

“The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior, who faced oppression and tried to change it, influenced my marching for human, and civil rights, starting back in 1963, before many of you were even born. It was his, Mahatma Gandi, and Jesus’ interpretations of non-violence, and civil disobedience, that led me on Thursday, December 16th, 1965, to wear a black armband to Theodore Roosevelt High School, in Des Moines, Iowa.

“This had been expressly forbidden to do, by the school officials. I still wore it to protest our United States involvement in theVietnam War, and to mourn those who had died in that conflict, on both sides of the 17th parallel. On the morning of December 16th, 1965, the Vice Principal of Theodore Roosevelt High School, asked me to remove my black armband. When I refused, he asked me if I wanted a “busted nose?” I didn’t want a busted nose, but I still refused to remove my armband. It led to my suspension, and began over a three year struggle for justice through our courts, that finalized February 24th, 1969-approximately thirty-four years ago, this month, with a United States Supreme Court case, a 7-2 decision, in my favor. It was a victory that set a precedent for all student rights across America, and which still stands today.

“My name and actions are outlined in every law library in America, along with my friends, John and Mary Beth Tinker, under Tinker v Des Moines. It is also in many history books, along with two books specifically written about our case, by authors, Doreen Rapaport, in 1992, and John W. Johnson, in 1997.

“The 1960’s were a time of drugs, sex, and rock and roll, but for many of us, it was also a time of struggle for justice, for human rights, civil rights, gay rights, and prisoner rights.

“Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote from jail in Birmingham, in 1963, and I’m quoting some of his writing from that time that were originally written on the margins of a newspaper, and scraps of paper a run-around provided him, before his attorney was finally allowed to give him a pad of paper. And I quote:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere…I would agree with St. Augustine that ‘an unjust law is no law at all’…Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever…I suppose I should have realized that few members of the oppressor race can understand the deep groans and passionate yearnings of the oppressed race, and still fewer have the vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong persistent and determined action. I am thankful, however, that some of our white brothers in the South have grasped the meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves to it. They are still all too few in quantity but big in quality… I have no despair about the future…I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom…Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence across the pages of history, we were here…If the inexpressable cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom.” End of quote.

“United States Supreme Court Justice Abe Fortas writing for the 7-2 majority, in my case, also penned some strong words in 1969, and I quote:

“It can hardly be argued that either students or teachers shed their constitutional rights to freedom of speech or expression at the schoolhouse gate…

“In our system, undifferentiated fear in apprehension of disturbance is not enough to overcome the right to freedom of expression. Any departure from absolute regimentation may cause trouble. Any variation from the majoritys’ opinion may inspire fear. Any word spoken, in class, in the lunchroom, or on the campus, that deviates from the views of another person may start an argument or cause a disturbance. But our Constitution says we must take this risk, and our history says that it is this sort of hazardous freedom-this kind of openness- that is the the basis of our national strength and of the independence and vigor of Americans who grow up and live in this relatively permissive, often disputatious society…

“In our system,state operated schools may not be enclaves of totalitarianism. School officials do not possess absolute authority over their students. Students in school as well as out of school are: ‘persons’ under our Constitution. They are possessed of fundemental rights which the state must respect, just as they themselves must respect their obligations to the State.

“In our system, students may not be regarded as closed-circuit recipients of only that which the State chooses to communicate. They may not be confined to the expression of those sentiments that are officially approved. In the absence of a specific showing of constitutionally valid reasons to regulate their speech, students are entitled to freedom of expression of their views.” End of quote.

“Another one of my heros was United States Senator Robert F. Kennedy, who often said, and I quote:

“Some men see things as they are, and ask, ‘Why?’ I dream things that never were and ask, ‘Why not?’” End of quote.

“Dream gentlemen. Never give up your dreams. Racism lives in our White House, our Senate, our state, and within the DOC. Your job, gentlemen, if you choose to accept it, is to fight racism. And the tape will not self destruct in five seconds. Racism will continue to thrive until enough good men and women of conscience stand up, and stop the bricks of racism and hate from being thrown anymore.

“The struggle continues for civil, human, and prisoner rights. Black or white, Hispanic, Indian, Oriental, gay, or straight, we’re all in this together. In recognizing our similarities, we’ll overcome our differences. If we help build each other up, and not tear each other down, we can make a difference here at Liberty and beyond. Gentlemen, the struggle continues. If you’re not already a member, join the struggle. Thank you.”

I received a long standing ovation, except by maybe the Warden.

‘Never believe that a few caring people can’t change the world. For indeed, that’s all who ever have.”

Margaret Mead, United States Anthropologist

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

June 18th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Seven

Receiving My First Prison Blow Job

“His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.”

Song of Solomon 5:16

“Within a few months, our life settled into a pattern. Prison life is about routine; each day like the one before; each week like the one before it, so that the months and years blend into each other. Anything that departs from this pattern upsets the authorities, for routine is the sign of a well run prison.

“Routine is also comforting for the prisoner, which is why it can be a trap. Routine can be a pleasant mistress whom it is hard to resist, for routine makes the time go faster.

“…Losing a sense of time is an easy way to lose one’s grip and even one’s sanity.

“Time slows down in prison; the days seem endless. The cliche of time passing slowly usually has to do with idleness and inactivity.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

On day sixty of my imprisonment, I wrote:

“Cellmate

Thank you God for sending me my cellmate

My homey, my man, my dawg, my whobe-yoube

Thank you God for sending me to prison

With a cellmate who is lessening my hate.”

I am a literalist. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. So, in Chapter Four, when I say I came out in prison, that is what I meant. For fifty-two years, I created my own prison, and lived in it. God sent me to prison, to escape the prison of my mind. So, I decided to live the life that God graciously gave me, and to no longer live in shame, but to live proudly the gay life, that he chose to give to this child of his.

However, it still took me about a year in prison, before I could live the truth of my gayness. Thank you God for giving me the gift of gayness, and the courage to finally live it freely, in prison.

On the morning of December 24th, 2001, they sent Tom away to another prison. A safe prison for law enforcement types. I never told Tom that I was gay. My wife knew, and we had good sex. So, you can call me gay, or you can call me bisexual, but I think you would be mistaken to call me a straight white male.

On the evening of December 24th, 2001, I wrote:

“It’s Christmas eve. I ate my Snickers

And wished Jesus a Happy Birthday

I hear in the cell next to me

An inmate reading the Bible his way

A letter from my attorney says the judge

canceled my bail-he said my appeal was frivolous

Tonight I pray, the law I’ll fight another day

The cold air blows through the window crack

Through Your Word and Spirit, there’s nothing I really lack”

On January 2nd, 2002, I arrived at Liberty Correctional Institution, in Bristol, Florida. Later that month I wrote:

“Is it three months lost, wasted, or saved?

Blood was spilled today in the Liberty yard.

Deals were made unknown to the guards.

Through sadness and pain, here your path is paved.”

When I speak of Virginia, I do not mean the state, or Virginia Wolfe, I mean the child who asked basically, if Santa Claus was real. Yes, Virginia , Santa Claus is real, and God is real, and the ultimate goodness of man can bring tears to my eyes. And the next time you see Santa, ask him what does God want for Christmas?

On Monday, February, 24th, 2003, at 7:02 am, I wrote:

“It’s all about the honeybun. The hustle, the con, the game, the daily chase for a soup and a chip, or a honeybun. Something to eat in the evening after supper, before bed, when the lights go out at 11 pm To be able to throw a solidified package of soup noodles on the floor, to break up the noodles. It is a daily symbol of affluence, because most have no money, no paying job, and no consistent outside support system. And everybody wants others to notice that they’ve got. As in, ‘Hear that, man? I got. I ain’t po’. I’m living off the land. I know how to hustle. I ain’t going to bed hungry, at least, not tonight. I need no one. I’m a survivor. I’m a convict.”(a ‘convict’ is a respected term, one who has been down, and knows the games, whereas ”inmate” is a less respected term, however I continue to utilize it throughout this book, without any disrespect meant).

They get that soup, chip, or honeybun basically through intimidation, extortion, gambling, prostitution, and stealing. That is the game the system perpetuates in prison, because they offer basically no paid jobs. They perpetuate the spread of AIDS, by providing no free condoms, or buyable ones through the canteens, nor do they allow your families to send you any.

Did President Johnson contribute to the assasination of President Kennedy? Is AIDS a government conspiracy to wipe out the African continent? I don’t know, Virginia, what I do know is that the majority of people incarcerated in this country of prisons are African-Americans, and the fastest growing group of persons with AIDS/HIV is young African-American women. The system, the American government, is perpetuating genocide on the African-American race in America through it deliberate indifference to the medical needs of it’s incarcerated by failing to offer condoms, knowing full well that 90% of them will return to the streets and infect their wives, their unborn children, and their fellow incarcerated brothers will infect their sisters, and mothers, who will then infect their fathers.

The latest United Nations report on AIDS, of 11/’05, says that there are one million people in the United States infected with HIV; and roughly 40,000 are infected each year, and while blacks represents approximately 13% of America, nearly 50% of all new HIV cases in America are blacks; 40 million people worldwide are HIV positive, and 25 million have died worldwide of AIDS since the 1980’s. Genocide of American prisoners and African Americans is systemic violence that must end. If our current politicians choose to kill your families, you have no choice but to throw them out of office come November, or accept your complicity in the genocide that is being perpetuated with our current destructive, life denying policies toward prisoners, and blacks.

But it’s all good, Virginia, because they are just blacks, and it is just a form of population control. Who will stand with the homosexual infected with AIDS? Who will stand with the African-American infected with AIDS? Who will stand with the baby infected with AIDS? Virginia, honey, we all must stand. If we don’t, who will be left to stand for us, when, God forbid, our turn may come. The bell tolls for us all, Virginia. They took away my right to vote. Virginia, please help me come November, by voting out of office all the haters, and those who perpetuate genocide on the weak and powerless in our country and elsewhere. I have not had sex since July, 2005, and fortunately, thank God, I remain HIV negative.

In prison, “Charge it to the game,” basically means you lost, you got ripped off, you’ve been shorted, cheated, conned, and now it is time to move on, and forget it, and charge it to the game. You’ll be back to fight another day, or back to score or win another day, and now just accept your loss. It matters not whether it was a financial situation, physical, emotional, or the loss of a friend. It all comes down to charging it to the game, and get on with your life. Similar to forgive and forget. It is always a hard thing to do, because it is of God. And his way, doesn’t come easy.

During my unexpected sabatical to prison in America, in the 21st century, of our Lord, I discovered a liberation of my mind, body, and soul that I had experienced only one other time in my life(more on that later). Maybe it was the food, as in, it must have been something I ate. Or, maybe it was looking at men dressed in blue all day, day after day. Similar to Salvatore Dali’s, Elephants and Swans painting, or pictures that you focus on hard, and then see something not originally seen, even though it was always there. Who knows, maybe continued exposure to blue prison uniforms stimulates the left side of the brain, or creates post traumatic stress disorder, or pre-traumatic stress disorder, or maybe order, without the dis. Maybe it was just having the time to think and read. Maybe it was just my time, and I would have progressed, developed anyway; maybe my metamorphosis from my cocoon to this butterfly stage would have occurred without the experience of prison, but I doubt it.

Is prison a symbol of failure or an opportunity for growth and success? In school, I had been elected the President of the Student Council, at two different schools. I had been voted “Most Likely to Succeed.” So, I chose to look at my time in prison as just another part of my continued success. Life is all a process, part of that “road less traveled by”, that our former poet laureate, Robert Frost wrote about.

Now, in America’s current dysfunctional state of prison punishment, my attitude and outlook is not fully appreciated. However, as prison changed me, so too, must America change from it present destructive incarcerative mentality, to one of a more compassionate, constructive, instructive modality.

On Tuesday, February 25th, 2003, at 9:09 pm, I wrote:

“Stage right-enter my little boy Blue.

“Memories of the Way We Were’ is playing on my headphone radio, and count just ended. So, it is approximately 7:00 am. Count is at approximately, 7:00 am, 11:30 am, 4:30 pm, and 9:00 pm, and various other times while we sleep. It is basically to insure we’re all still here, and no one escaped.(In my four years, three months, and two weeks in prison, no one successfully escaped to my knowledge, but I’ll share an unsuccessful attempt later by a young prostitute, in on murdering his step father, and along with his mother, dumping the body off a bridge. He is # 2 in my study).

“He was a bit like the country of his birth; everything came easy to him.’ It is funny what we remember, and the fact that I planned to use Hubbell’s words to begin this paragraph. It was a 1973 movie, ‘The Way We Were.’ It starred Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. It is one of my top ten favorite movies. But the coincidence is that the song played just now. Who would have thought? What dreams may come?

“I had just been awakened from a dream for count. In the dream, which really wasn’t a dream at all, which took place this morning…you see, it was a spontaneous day. It was not what Nelson would call a routine day. I didn’t plan it, it just happened, unplanned, and unexpected, and it was a glorious day. It is what I refer to as a peak experience day. Abraham Maslow may differ with my definition, but he’s already written his book. This one is mine, with my definitions. The day just joyously flowed over me in waves of warm sensitivity that I’ll always cherish, and never forget. Was it a karmic event, or spiritual, or even deserving. I don’t know, but I was touched by…

“Education, library clerks, inside grounds, go to work.’ It was 8:00 am, and the staff’s statement meant it was time for me to go to the gate. I was a teachers aide, and I taught adult basic education. That was until Governor Jeb Bush cut our seven teachers down to one. So much for, ‘No Child Left Behind’. They even cut out all of our vocational training. San Quentin has more education programs for its’ inmates than Liberty Correctional Institution.

“The concept is simple, keep ‘em stupid, give ‘em no job skills, and they’ll be back within three years, and the system maintains its’ job security. God Bless The Prison Industrial Complex, and the destruction of the family, brought to you through the courtesy of your Republican government, and the systemic violence it perpetuates on the weak, the blacks, the gays and lesbians, the women, and the ignorant. And please be sure and keep ‘em ignorant. And please God, continue to provide tax cuts for the rich, and please continue to build more prisons, so we don’t have to look at the poor among us.

“I got to the gate, and was informed that the teacher I assisted was not there today. He was an excellent black teacher, who rarely took time off, and had a sincere love for education, and helping inmates learn. So, I headed back to the dorm, to await the opening of the yard.

“Liberty had a weight room, two basketball courts, a volleyball sand pit, a soccer field, a football field, and a third of a mile track, one time around. So, in my spare time, I walked the track, and I enjoyed that. Our inmate to staff ratio was approximaetly fifty to one. We had three gun towers. While I often heard target practice within sight of the prison, never once, to my knowledge, was a gun fired from a gun tower.

“So, I had a day off. ‘Yards open, if you’re not a houseman, get out,’ the staff announced over the dorm loud speaker, at 9:00 am. That was my call to put on my headphones and head to the Rec yard for some laps around the track. I usually walked three to ten laps daily. I was on my second lap, about a fifth of the way around when I heard someone moving up beside me. I glanced over and heard, ‘Hi, Chris’. I replied to the young black man, ‘Hey, sport’. That’s what I say when your name I’ve forgotten, or I don’t know. Now, this tall, slender twenty-ish man, I’d seen around, but I had never spoken with him.

“I glanced back to the track, and continued my own individual thoughts. The strange thing I noticed was that the individual had rapidly moved up on me, but now, for some reason, was not passing me, and was now keeping my pace. I hadn’t bothered to remove , or lower my headphones when I had said, ‘Hey’ to him. It is basically my non-verbal cue that I am into my own dream world, and not wanting to be disturbed.

“Finally, he had overcome his fear, and said, ‘Have you ever gotten a blow job from another man?’ Say what? I thought to myself. Did I hear what I thought I heard? OK, and if I heard what I thought I heard, then this would definitely qualify for my world to be disturbed, and I lowered my headphones, and replied, ‘Excuse me?’ To which he repeated his original question. I wasn’t sure of the intent of the question, so I replied, ‘Yes, I have, and I’ve given blow jobs.’ I don’t know if I said it proudly, defiantly, or defensively. I just said it.

“We hadn’t broken our pace, as I glanced over at the dark sunglassed, clean shaven, short haired, good looking young man with a muscular face, and protruding adams apple under his chin, with a black clear complexion. He was walking on my left side. It was a clear, and sunny day, in the sixties, temperature wise. Neither of us were wearing jackets. We were both in our dress blues, and I noticed we were both wearing white, long sleeved, long john shirts, under our dress blue, short sleeved shirts. I was wearing my tennis shoes with holes in them, and I observed a good layer of dust on his black boots from the dry sand of the track.

“He then said, ‘Could I give you a blow job?’ Yep, that’s what he said. OK, now maybe you have strange men in blue come up to you every day and say things like that, but I don’t, and never did. Did I tell ya that prison is strange? Anyway, without breaking our pace, and feeling blood rushing to my dick, I then decided to respond with the casual appropriate question of, ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Blue’, he replied. ‘Well Blue, I’d like that,’ I finally said, by now, with a full blown hard-on.

“I had a medical call out at 9:45 am. Blue and I walked the track several times together, chatting and getting to know each other. At 9:40, I told Blue that I had to go. He said he didn’t want to rush our friendship or relationship, but he asked when I would have free time again? I told him I was teaching one of my private Stock Market classes after lunch, and we could get together after that.

“In prison, you never know what an appointment may entail. I went to medical, and had my chest partially shaved, by the nurse, before she gave me an EKG, and that was the end of my appointment.

“After lunch, my student John had me called to the laundry room. The dorm is actually separated into two dorms, G1, and G2. I saw John through the gated doorway to the laundry, through the gated doorway on his side, about ten feet away. He needed to cancel our appointment, which was OK with me. I then saw Blue, and asked him if he wanted to walk after the yard opened, since John had cancelled, and I was now free. He said he’d be over after the yard opened.

“It was around 1:20 pm, when the staff announced, ‘Yards open.’ I laid on my bunk, as the dorm emptied out, and at about 1:35 pm, I decided to take a piss. As I walked to the bathroom, I noticed about only three other inmates sleeping on their bunks, and one female officer reading in the officer’s station.

“I was at the first urinal, closest to the officers station when Blue walked around the corner, from the front door, and placed a broom at the locked utility room door. As I looked across the shelf separating the bathroom area from the shower area, where the utility room was, I said to Blue, ‘You do have easy access, don’t you?’ ‘Yeah’, he replied, as he walked around to the third toilet stall from the officers station, a few feet behind me, to my left. I glanced back at him while I was still holding my now enlarging dick, which seemed to forget that we were there to take a piss.

“Do you want to do something?’, he said. ‘What, where?’, I replied. ‘I’ll go down here’, he said, as he moved down to the eighth toilet stall, the last one, farthest from the officers station, and sat down. I walked over to him, and pulled out my dick, that I had temporarily placed back into my pants, for the few feet journey. I watched as he placed his sweet, wet mouth, with his soft large lips around my dick, and began sucking it. I placed my right hand on his head and ran it down under his chin and felt his smooth skin and large adams apple. By now, he had my whole dick in his mouth, and was pushing his roman type nose, and chisled face into my pubic haired thunder road.

“Our uniforms have front buttons for the fly, and I still had my belt on, and had only unbuttoned a few buttons of my fly, My left hand was holding down my blue gym shorts, which didn’t have a convenient opening for a dick, like our boxers did. I had been watching the officer’s station, and the dorm area for any interruptions. Each toilet stall had a four foot high divider, so from a distance Blue was not visible, and it just looked like I was standing there taking a piss.

“At one point, there was a loud noise around the officers station, that startled Blue, and he removed his mouth fom my dick. My dick missed the warmth, and felt deserted, so I said, ‘Don’t stop.’ Did I ever tell ya that at this point, my dick has little conscience. Anyway, Blue immediately wrapped his luscious lips again around my organ, and I tilted, and thrusted my dick farther into his mouth, with some positive feedback of, ‘Oh Blue, you’re good.’

“Blue was receptive to the feedback, and began moving his lips and mouth more feverishly up and down on my dick. However, since I was standing in front of him, I guess the more appropriate way to describe it would be, in and out. Of course, at this point, proper grammar usage wasn’t on my mind.

“I slid my right hand down Blue’s left shoulder and caressed the back of his neck. ‘Blue, I’m about to cum’, I offered, so Blue could pull away, since we hadn’t discussed this before. Blue tightened his lips around my shaft and didn’t miss a beat, as he continued to massage my dick with his tongue and lips. It was like he was riding a horse and didn’t want to miss a thing, or get thrown off. I looked down at Blue’s face pressed against my crotch. His eyes were closed, and he had attractive curly eyelashes. I felt his hands touch my balls through my pants, as I shot more than one load of cum into his hungry mouth, as he swallowed it all, and continued slowly blowing my now decreasing hard-on.

“It was one of those spontaneous, passionate moments, very rare in prison, that probably lasted all of five minutes. While I was wearing my watch, it wasn’t where my attention was concentrated. Yes, it was definately a fantastic moment, and a peak experience day. I would have approximately one hundred similar type experiences in prison. Blue is # 98 in my study. Yeah, I’m bad. I’m a sexual outlaw in prison, a member in good standing of God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys.

“If prison is an impersonal, oppressive, and inhumane environment, which it is, then this act, was a reflection, a reminder of our humanity, our individuality. It was a defiant act of freedom, a choice we made freely in an environment that allows minimal choices, and denies emphatically our sexuality.

“I was startled by another sound by the officer’s station, and pulled my dick out of Blue’s mouth, and stepped over to the sink. We made it , we had gotten away. I turned the faucet on, as if in washing my hands. Blue got up from the toilet seat, and walked over to me, in between me and the officers station. He was facing the officers station, with his back to me, as I said, ‘That was great.’ He reached behind himself, and touched my crotch, and replied, ‘Yeah, when can we do it again?’ ‘We got to go. Where are you going to be?,’ I asked, as I headed back into the living area past the officer, still reading, and unaware of our actions. No inmate either had seen us. ‘On the Rec yard’, Blue answered as he turned the corner, and headed out the door. ‘I’ll see you there’, I replied.

“I felt lightheaded as I walked back to my bunk. Yeah, that’s what he said, ‘When can we do it again?’ I think I could easily love this kid. He definitely has the right attitude. Intimacy in prison is like finding a diamond, it is a very rare commodity. Consciously choosing to reach across the great divide of space, tradition, security, rules, laws, time, and lonely isolation to touch another human spirit is also too rare. No one was the wiser, that for a brief moment, in a bleak place in the universe, two men took refuge, and expressed love, in their shared humanity, with God’s blessing.”

“As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”

Song of Solomon

2:3

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

June 12th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Six

Yi’l Be OK

“Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise thy name: the righteous shall compass me about; for thou shall deal bountifully with me.”

Mas’chil of David; A prayer when he was in the cave. Psalm 142:7

“A nation should not be judged by how it treats it highest citizens, but its lowest ones-and South Africa treated its imprisoned African citizens like animals.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Walk To Freedom.

I was awakened from my nap by ring…ring…ring…the phone’s ringing. Quick, get up, and get the phone. I started to roll out of bed to get the phone, but my eyes opened, and I saw the prison cell door. The horror! I’m still here. It’s not my phone. My body was here, but my mind wasn’t, yet. No need to get up. Ring…ring. Is someone going to answer the phone, since I can’t, I thought to myself. Ring…ring. Oh well, maybe not. Ring…ring. What’s up? Isn’t this prison? Aren’t I under some type of protective management? Who’s minding the store?

Ring…ring. Are you kidding me? What time is it? I look out the door to see the wall clock. It is 12:45 pm. Where is everyone? Ring…ring…ring. Well, the caller is persistent, anyway. Probably the governor calling to give me a pardon. Yea, right. The phone stops ringing. I hear inmates yelling to each other through their cell doors. Those are the bad boys, because that’s definitely against the rules. I go back to lay down. Nothing much else to do.

His name was Howdy. He would come to my cell door five days out of the week, and meet my needs. It was his job, from serving food trays, and handing out laundry, to sweeping the floors. He was a trustee. He was white, sixtyish, and I never knew his crime. He said he had done four years, and had another four to go. He said he use to deliver pizza, when he was on the “outs”.

“Hey, whar ya in fer?” Howdy said to me, when I first met him. “They didn’t tell me,” I lied. I wasn’t about to say that I was former law enforcement, afraid for my safety. “Guess they just don’t know what to do with me.” “Yi’l be OK,” he replied. “Wan’ somethin’ to read?” “No, thanks,” I said. “Ya got anythin’ to eat?” Howdy asked. ”No,” I replied. “Dam’ I’m hungry,” Howdy said. Howdy was skinny, and always hungry.

Howdy was what’s referred to in prison, as a “runaround.” Someone whose job it is to run around and get those locked up in cells twenty-three-plus hours a day, forms, sheets, clothes, towels, hygiene items, underwear (every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday-when you’re allowed out of your cell for five minute showers), toilet paper, clean uniforms, socks, meal trays, and about anything and everything legal to have. Staff delivered the mail.

Sometimes, you could hear another inmate going off on a runaround, because they didn’t get salt and pepper with their meal, or didn’t like the shape of the socks they were given. Sometimes, the inmate with more than criminal behavior as their problem, as in, psychiatric problems, would accuse the runaround of stealing from them. This, of course, was impossible, because the doors were locked.

I remember one of those types, when I first got into administrative confinement. He was in the cell next to me. Day and night, he would strain his voice, by projecting a Linda Blair devil type voice from “The Exorcist,” and yell out, “God will punish you!” Stretching out the word God. The walls were thin. He managed to jolt me out of my sleep, more than once, with his admonishment.

“Will,” to me meant the future, as in, “You will be sorry.” And as far as I was concerned, God was doing a pretty good job, right now, in the present, with punishing me. I believed it couldn’t get any worse. But, what did I know?

“He restoreth my soul.” Well, I don’t know if it was restored, but I slept most of the next two days. The trauma of prison, can be very tiring. I wonder if Martha thought so, too? Of course, she hadn’t arrived yet.

I was awakened by an officer knocking on my door. “Hey, you want a roommate? He’s just like you.” The black officer asked. “He’s just like you. So you want a roommate?” The officer repeated. So, I said, “OK.”

He then slid a blank form through the edge of the door, and said, “Sign that.” The form said I was willing to have a roommate under the following conditions, with no reason stated. So, I just wrote in, “Under similar circumstances.” I slid it back to the officer, and he left.

So, I’m getting a roommate. Well, I wonder what, “Just like you means?” Does that mean he’s short, white, bald, old? I came to find out it meant he also had a law enforcement background. OK, how much can I do to clean up this small area. Where is my maid when I need her?

After a while, a tall, slender, white, with hair, young looking man, entered the cell. I stood up, extended my hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Chris.” “Hi, I’m Tom.” (I do not use real names throughout this book, except my own, and other authors, the Bible, and real entities).

Tom was nothing like me. This wasn’t the first time that the DOC (Department of Corrections) and I would have a difference of opinion, nor the last. However, it is just a microcosm of society, and I met many good, honest, humane officers, and staff there.

Tom was Jewish, and married with children. He had been sentenced to five years in prison as a sex offender. He said he only kissed her breasts, and she was almost sixteen. It was all more than I wanted to know, or hear.

But as far as a roommate went, he was OK. He was clean and he showered. He had two years of college, so he was someone with whom I could carry on an intelligent conversation. He had a supportive family, with money. That, and not being a gay Conscientious Objector, or Vietnam War protester, probably contributed to him being released in 2003. Three years before me, and I didn’t kiss anyones’ breasts. He is today listed as a sexual predator.

My father, Dr. William Eckhardt was a Peace Researcher. After twenty-five years of research, he wrote in his last book (Civilizations, Empires, and Wars), in 1992 (the year of his death from prostate cancer) that eighty percent of all war deaths are civilians, and the country that starts the war loses more often.

Dad had been trained as a Clinical Psychologist, and had been a consultant to the courts. He had told me that sex offenders had a low rate of success, as far as a total cure went. The fact that Tom has been out three years, may mean we may be making some progress in that area.

I accepted Tom, not his behavior, and we got along fine our sixty-eight days together, in that small cell. I know nothing I’ve done in this life warranted me going to prison, so I chalked it up to some past life crime, that I was now doing karma for, or God giving me a new opportunity. You see, I view the cup as half full, not half empty.

I wrote this between December 12th, 2001, to December 23rd, 2001:

May God Bless You, Too

Prison is but a stumble, Ye not let me fall

The window in my cell will not completely close

Early in the morning, I feel your cool draft, I hear your call

I see surrounded by flood lights, the fences of twelve foot, topped by barbed wire

In your daylight from my prison window, I see your light blue sky, and your light green grass, your white clouds, like cotton balls

Your words I read, of forgiveness, and in faith, you abolish my tire

Salvation has come through the crack in the window, through the sunrays on the wall, through the tears on my cheek

In hope, and in faith, Ye not let me fall

The screen mesh on the window is covered in lint and soot, the hole is filled with tissue

The slate of window is stained with remnants of grass, and a cloudy film of age, unclean

But I still see your blue sky, and the barbed wire to my right

Another warehouse of your human souls, fifty feet straight ahead

With a treetop above it, I see your light

Your word is the seed that is now taking firmer root

Deliverance is coming, but not yet today

Much still to learn to follow your Way

I say the miracle of life resides in this temple body

It can produce life, like the earth produces plants

Plentiful and never ending unto eternity, which is mine

The lights of three, of four cell windows, I see from my window, shine tonight

Some cells have no windows, housing your human souls, without your natual light

And the hum of the air conditioning in the medical trailer between us, hums off and on

The Amtrak train sounds its’ horn at dawn

Prison is now my sanctuary, as I read and learn more of thy Words

A 6′ or 7′x9′ cell, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

Hello, my name is of He, and I am an inmate

I am a sinner, I am strong, and I am meek

Yesterday at dawn, the frog called your name

The trouble and worries of my mind left

And your calm of thoughts came

My next door neighbor cursing and yelling awakens me

Finally on day sixty-five, the heat works briefly, another miracle to see

Prison is my seminary

To let events happen, to let it just be

Today, I saw my fathers’ hand in me

I sang your praise last night

Cells away, a song replied, without the light

An unknown inmate knocked on my cell wall, and said in the night

“May God Bless You”

December 23rd, with weekend warriors

I replied, “And May God Bless You, Too”

“A freedom fighter must take every opportunity to make his case to the people.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

To do that, we both broke the rules, because communication within confinement is verboten. I heard beautiful spirituals sung by beautiful black voices to the appreciation of all who heard, except the authoritarian officer who silenced them. Sometimes they were racist, sometimes they were sadistic, always, they had the power, so they were right, even when they were wrong.

You could buck it, and you also could get maced, placed naked in an isolation cell, with a thermostat they controlled, or they could kill you, which has happened, and it is all documented. Just entered the name into any search engine of Frank Valdez. His wife has a website up under geocities.

I was often placed into isolation without my law work or my religious materials. I filed Inmate Request forms for the same. You see that is required first, before you can file a grievance. You are also not allowed to keep a copy of your inmate request form. The staff then have ten days to respond to your request. Then they can say they never received it, and you start all over again. The system is in need of change, and an Ombudsman/woman/men/ or women, that inmates may have faith in, so that their voices may be heard.

“This would be a hazardous life, and I would be apart from my family, but when a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

My first sixty days in prison when I was allowed to call no one, not even my attorney or family, and my grievances were never responded to, and have probably been destroyed, they finally told my family that I had written down the wrong numbers, and that was why I couldn’t get through. I’m sure you have problems remembering your own phone number, too. Yeah, right. Of course, when I requested a copy of my phone log listing the numbers I had written down, they were never forthcoming with them, because they knew I had written them correctly the first time. They too, no doubt have been destroyed, from all my request in October, November, and December of 2001. I was finally allowed to call my family in January, 2002.

And if you were to ask the DOC did they lock me up for refusing to sign my name, they will tell you that it never happened, They will just tell you that they did lock me up for refusing to follow an order. And the order that I refused to follow, well it was to sign my name. I refuse to sign false confessions, or forms that say it is OK to take away my rights. Yes, Virginia, The DOC and I have truly honest differences of opinion, sometimes.

On November 1st, 2001, I was granted a Motion For Bail Pending Appeal. However, I was already in prison, and the DOC didn’t know how to deal with it, as so few of us get bail pending appeal, and never once you’re in prison. So, whenever I left my cell shackled and handcuffed behind my back, I took my Order with me. For simplicity, it was a Get Out Jail Free card. I begged everyone to please take it out of my pocket, read it, and let me call my attorney or family to arrange bail. No one did. All of my grievances were never responded to. So, on December 6th, 2001, with no legal representation present representing me, my bail was revoked. Once in the belly of the beast, it will not let you go, and will do everything in its power to bring you back, which it does with every two out of three of us, within three years of our release from prison.

“Little can be said in favor of prison, but enforced isolation is condusive to study.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

In any psychosexual-sociological study presentation, it is important to understand the language, the semantics, the meanings given to words and terms, and their conotations and denotations.

Webster’s 1st through 10th edition Dictionaries have no definition for gunnin or booty bandits. If it did it might read like this:

Gunnin-verb, one who guns; a gunner, not in the military sense, rather in the prison sense; a person who masturbates himself, usually in public, to the back of a female staff’s body or head; as only done by male inmates, it is heterosexual in nature; it is maturbation, normally to climax, unless observed and stopped by staff; a form of rape; not to be interpreted as a homosexual act, although homosexuals may also be gunners, however the object of their affection/interest/desire would be a male. However I never witnessed homosexual gunnin in prison. Gunnin usually falls into the ethnic background of the African-American, but not always. Done normally or abnormally, depending on your point of view, by men who view women as sexual objects to be used for the gunners pleasure. I was not a gunner, and I would interrupt them whenever I became aware of it. More on this later.

Booty Bandit may be described as a noun: one who likes booty, sometimes spelled boody-a vulgar slang.

What is defined from the dictionary, regarding booty:

“1. Plunder taken from an enemy in time of war.

“2. Goods or property seized by force or piracy.

“3. A valuable prize, award, or gain.

“Slang-the buttock.

“Vulgar slang:

“a. The vulva or vagina.

“b. Sexual intercourse,

“African American Vernacular English, from obsolete Black English booty,

“body, perhaps alteration of body”

It should not be confused with “a bootee which is usually a knitted shoe for a baby, or bootie which is an ankle length disposable foot covering, used by medical personnel and others in sterile environments.”

So, a Booty Bandit, as used here and in prison, is used as a noun; one who likes booty, as in ass; one who takes ass, as in a bandit, a thief; however, while used in the prison environment, the conotation usually infers to anyone interested or engaged in homosexual sex; as used in the situational setting of prison, it does not necessarily denote that a Booty Bandit is a homosexual, although the act itself is a homosexual act. The denotation cannot be accomplished without two people involved, and aside from the act of rape, usually involves two consenting male adults.

When the system places normal men in cages with other men and no women, like animals, and denies them conjugal visits with their wives, or girlfriends, the system perpetuates homosexuality.

A Booty Bandit is one who enjoys and engages in normally consensual homosexual acts. The enjoyment may be brief, and may involve pychosexual/psychoreligious emotions of guilt, denial, and self-loathing for engaging in the homosexual experience/act.

The prison Booty Bandit usually sees himself as the active male role model versus the passive one. He is the inserter, not the inserted. He is into the top position, not the bottom. He usually cares little for his partner’s needs being met, or reciprocity. On the streets he may be on the down low, as in not letting his female partner/s know of his bisexuality, or he may on the outs, only engage in heterosexual activity.

At one time, I and another experienced inmate counted fifty inmates in our institution of approximately thirteen hundred inmates that we basically knew were engaged in non-closeted homosexuality, or approximately four percent. As I was at this institution over four years, I found this figure fairly consistent, and I guesstimated another approximate two to four percent were closeted, and chose not to engage in homosexuality in prison, and had told me so. I believe homosexuality in prison mirrors that in our society at six to eight percent. The fascinating item in my study, next to the WCC(worst crime committed) statistic, was the twenty-one percent who called themselves straight, but had more than one adult gay experience. That to me, represents a much larger percentage of bisexuality, than we may be aware of.

I believe the difference could come from being a gay interviewer, and the subjects knew I would not condemn them for their bisexuality, if admitted, where a straight interviewer might.

Every interview began with asking for their ID card. The data there provided answers to questions one through eight:

1. Name;

2. ID number;

3. Date of birth;

4. Hair color;

5. Eye color;

6. Height;

7. Weight;

8. Race.

Th rest of the questions:

9. Nickname/s;

10. Number of times in prison;

11. First time in prison, subsequent times, charges, pleas, and sentence/s;

12. Where incarcerated, and years there;

13. Number of DR’s-Disciplinary Reports, dispositions, why, charges, guilty or not;

14. Which prison you liked best, and why;

15. Which prison you liked least, and why;

16. EOS-End of your sentence;

17. Your educational level;

18. Married, and number of marriages;

19. Number of children, sex and age;

20. Age of wife;

21. Mother alive, and supportive;

22. Father alive, and supportive;

23. Number of siblings, and supportive;

24. Age and sex of sibling/s;

25. Birthplace;

26. Raised where;

27. Vocation on the streets;

28. Number of hospital stays;

29. Most serious medical condition today;

30. Favorite sport;

31. Favorite TV show;

32. Most favorite movie;

33. Most favorite color;

34. Favorite song;

35. Current favorite day of the week-why;

36. Favorite day of the week on the streets-why;

37. Greatest lifetime achievement;

38. Worst crime committed;

39. Best time in prison;

40. Worst time in prison;

41. What one thing you’d improve in prison;

42. Tatoos, first, last, and meanings;

43. Have you ever had to deal with racism, or homophobia in prison;

44. How do you handle the lack of privacy in prison;

45. Sexual orientation;

46. Do you consider yourself a violent person-most you’ve done and received;

47. Most violent thing you have seen in prison;

48. Most violent thing you have seen on the streets;

49. Do you have gold teeth, and if so their meaning;

50. Do you condider yourself a leader;

51. HIV status;

52. First sexual experience;

53. Best sexual experience, and why;

54. Current job in prison;

55. Did you have a fear of prison the first time you got here;

56. Future plans;

57. What will you need to help you when you get out;

58. Were you ever in a JDC (Juvenile Detention Center);

59. What are your thoughts on gambling in prison;

60. What are your thoughts on drugs in prison;

61. What are your thoughts on gays in prison;

62. What are your thoughts on gunnin in prison;

63. What are your thoughts on gangs in prison;

64. What was your religious upbringing;

65. Do you believe in God;

66. If so, what is God to you;

67. What are your thoughts on prison;

68. Do you belong in prison;

69. Do we need prisons, and if so, for whom;

70. What are your thoughts on 9/11;

71. What is your political persuasion, and have you ever voted;

72. Have you made friends in prison that you think you’ll continue to communicate with once you get out, and if so, how many;

73. Do you belong in prison;

74. If your son was coming to prison, what would you tell him;

75. What to you was the greatest lesson of prison.

For whatever reason, once they gave me their ID cards, and they saw me write it all down on paper, honesty basically followed. Pedophiles even told me they were pedophiles, but on the pound, the general prison grounds, their crime was usually known as something else more acceptable.

I only had one person stop the interview, after I had obtained the answers to questions one through eight. He was not comfortable with continuing, so we didn’t. His incomplete data is not used in this study.

One person also started the interview three times, but continually got interrupted, and had to leave. I gave up doing an interview with him, and his incomplete data is also not used here. I finally decided just to number everyone one through one hundred. I never took the study, or answered the questions.

For a brief while, some inmates thought I was an FBI plant, which I have never been. The third person who requested to be anonymous won a four year football scholarship. He was in on first degree murder charges, which he didn’t share at the time of the interview, but I subsequently found on the DOC website. A few said of the interview, that it was the best experience they had ever had in prison.

Once they had told their stories, I somehow felt like an accomplice. I had taken on their secret, their burden. I still have not been trained in Christ enough, because while I maintained their confidentiality from other inmates during my whole stay there, I was sickened by their lack of compassion, their egotistical, narcisstic personalities and attitudes. I was saddened by their anger, hate, misfortune, lack of education, opportunities, lack of moral and ethical training, their lack of love, and God in their lives.

Worse than their crimes, and lack of humanistic values, was the disturbing realization that we, as a society, were offering them nothing to change their behavior, and as such, we have all become accomplices to their future murders, rapes, and child abuse. All we have done is keep them away from us for awhile, because ninety percent of them will get out, in worse shape, with more hate, than when they first got here. Ask yourself, at the next horror news, why did that former inmate rape, kill police officers, and other vs. going back to prison. What is going on in our prison, that people would rather take your loved ones lives, and their own, than to return to live in prison. When death is more attractive than prison, it is time to reevaluate our prisons, and how we treat our fellow human beings there. No other country in the world experiences this like we do. Why is that?

Thomas Szasz wrote in his book, The Manufacture of Madness, that psychiatry basically perpetuates more illnesses through more new names, and forms, and therefore guarantees their future employment.

So, too, in the criminal prison industrial complex, judges, court administrators, and legislators promote the manufacture of crime, by labeling more crimes, and extending punishments with mandatory-minimums type laws. We now incarcerate over two million Americans annually, with approximately one half of us being first time non violent offenders, that should never be in prison to begin with. Prison is too expensive for first time non violent offenders. We need to develop more alternatives and options like European and the Canadian governments have done. Your grandmother on Medicaid needs food, medication, and housing, but we are cutting her benefits to pay for unnecessary, and too long prison terms, while offering nothing but hate and no values education or rehabilitation, only a continuing cycle of imprisonment.

“The struggle is my life. I will continue fighting for freedom until the end of my days.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

Some thoughts on gunnin in prison taken from question number sixty-two in my survey, and not everyone answered the question:

1. “Personally, I think it’s sick, perverse.”

2. “I dislike it-it perpetuates sex offenses-gunnin someone down, against their will, is a sex offense, I think.”

3. “I’m against that.”

4. “That’s their thing.”

5. ”I’m a gunner-women should let us gun ‘em more-we’re not touching ‘em.”

6. “Against it-when public.”

7. ” Totally sick-she ain’t in here to be gunned at-here to do her job.”

11. “Something unstable there for person to do that-I try not to judge.”

13. “Hideous.”

14. “I love it. I do it every now and then.”

18. “I gun a bitch down quick, so it don’t make a difference.”

19. “Get your groove on-never gone to jail for-just be careful.”

20. “Infatuation-memories.”

23. “Should be charged with outside-lewd and lascivious-if gunnin staff-gunnin a book OK.”

24. “I ain’t never done that before in my life.”

29. “It’s a sickness.”

30. “I don’t too much like it, I guess.”

32. “I had someone do it to me yesterday-interesting.”

33. “Perverted as fuck-but that’s them.”

34. “Stupidest thing an inmate could do.”

38. “Disgusting, perverted, sick.”

41. “To each his own.”

44. “That’s a psychological problem.”

47. “I detest it.”

53. “Disgusting-should not be allowed-not where everyone can see.”

55. “Keep it up.”

56. “Disgusting.”

58. “I don’t think you should gun an officer, but inmates OK, if they let you.”

60. “Mental health problems.”

64. “Perverts.”

65. “Gotta do what ya gotta do in a sexually deprived environment, and nature calls.”

68. “Disrespectful-don’t like it at all.”

69. “I don’t understand it.”

70. “I use to do it-only in county jail-if woman looks at it while doing it-I’m all for it, if not, it’s perverted.”

72. “I think it’s foul-disgusting-actually raping that woman unless she initiated.”

74. “To each his own-long as not gunnin me.”

81. “Let him do his thing if person gets off that way.”

82. “Disgusting-repulsive-outrageous-uncalled for-demeaning.”

83. “Stupid-I don’t understand how you get off looking at the back of a persons’ head.”

85. “Alright-cool.”

88. “Oh my God-Yes, Man-I see nothing wrong with it-safest sex in prison-wish they wouldn’t gun me-desperate to gun me-locked up so long.”

89. “They have a problem with-got to stop it-wouldn’t know how to stop it.”

90. “They shouldn’t allow that-a waste.”

91. “Disgusting-utterly appalled-lowest a human can go.”

92. “Dumb-the way the cats be doing it-gunnin a tower that can’t see ya(some guys gun the towers on the Rec yard when staffed by a female).

95. “Shit, hell no.”

97. “It’s fun.”

100. “Long as it ain’t me, man, they can do what they want to do.”

“Prison is designed to break one’s spirit and destroy one’s resolve. To do this, the authorities attempt to exploit every weekness, demolish every initiative, negate all signs of individuality-all with the idea of stamping out that spark that makes each of us human and each of us who we are.

“Prison and the authorities conspire to rob each man of his dignity.”

Nelson Mandela, Long Road To Freedom

“And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you,”

John 16:22

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

June 5th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Five

May I Please Go Home Now

“Therefore if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me.”

I Corinthians 14:11

So too is it with the criminal mind, like the gay mind, it is a language that many of us have no understanding of, and it frightens us, as the unknown usually does. In breaking down the walls of misunderstanding, we open the doors to new perceptions, and increase our wisdom, tolerance, and Godliness.

Lunch consisted of a bag with a peanut butter sandwich, a turkey sandwich, and a cookie in it. No Grey Poupon mustard was offered. As a Finalist in the Tampa Bay Chef’s Open, prison cuisine was not my favorite, but it was always nutritious, and tastier than I had expected.

After having my picture taken, and my fingerprints, I finally decided that I was tired of sitting on the Group W benches, with too many of my intellectually challenged brothers in blue. I approached an officer, and pointed out page two in the manual, and requested protective custody.

I looked around the room at fifty plus other criminals. I now had figured out that half of the guys came from Pinellas County with me, and the other half were from Pasco County, and they had arrived just shortly before us.

I was told that I was now in PC-Predetermination Confinement status. I was led off shackled and handcuffed to dorm E2, which was the unit for Administrative Confinement.

I was placed in cell number eight, alone. There was a toilet, sink, and two bunk beds attached to the wall. It had a window to the outdoors. There was a slat in the door for food trays to be placed through, and it had a window. I was next to the back door.

I had been given blue slip on cloth type shoes, size ten. They fit fine. They were called “bo bo’s,” and I still don’t know why. I was also given a white 2x tee shirt, white 2x boxers, white socks, and a 2x orange jump suit. It had five snap-ons, four of which were capable of snapping.

I was given a black blanket, two white sheets, one pillow case, with no pillow, a comb, which I had no use for, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and one roll of toilet paper.

After another strip search, I was left alone. I made the lower bunk, which I had been assigned to. This cell was to be my home for the next seventy-seven days, or eleven weeks, or one thousand, eight hundred and forty-eight hours, but who’s counting?

The cell was about six feet by nine feet. The food slat was about one third of the way up from the floor, in the door, about four inches by twelve inches. It was also where I would stoop to get handcuffed. There was also a stainless steel sink, and toilet at the end of the bed, on the right side. The bottom of the door had a four inch gap for empty food trays to be slid out. Over the sink was a six inch by nine inch scratched up metal mirror. Suffice it to say that these are all guesstimations, as rulers were never provided.

Prison life is the art of maximizing minimalism, and everything has value.

Beside the sink, next to the door, was the stainless steel toilet. The sink had two push buttons for both the cold and hot water. The cold water button did not operate for my first thirty days. The toilet button was above the toilet, on the wall, and had a habit of sticking. The toilet had no liftable padded seat like I was use to, in fact, it had no liftable seat at all. Oh, the adjustments prison life forces on one.

The view out of my cell door window was of the staff desk, about sixty feet away, by the front door. Fortunately, there was a clock above the desk. I could not see cells one through seven to my right, but I could see cells nine through fourteen, in front of me.

Beside cells one and fourteen was a single person shower room, about the size of a small closet. Cell fourteen was used for storage, and a bathroom for the staff, and trustees. By the front door was floor to ceiling plexiglass, looking out to the control room. I use to work in a control room. Now I am the dangerous one being controlled. What goes around sometimes comes around. I was in Unit 2 of E dorm, and Unit 1 was to our right, not visible. Units 3 and 4 were visible through the plexiglass, through the Control station.

On top of cells one through fourteen, were cells fifteen through twenty-eight. It was similar to old prison movies, with grated metal stairs at both ends leading up to a catwalk of about three feet in diameter, surrounded by a couple of guard rails.

My window facing the outdoors was on the back wall, about five feet from the floor, about forty inches wide by twenty inches tall. There was a knob that allowed the window to be opened. Only about one third of the window was openable.

There was a medical prefab type like building ten feet away from my window, like a mobile home. Past it was the Disciplinary Confinement building. I could see four windows there. There were more, but the medical building blocked seeing any more. The windows were high, at about the ten foot level, from the ground. Over the DC building, I could see the tops of a few trees. To the right looking out, I could see more fences, with spiraling barbed wire. With the hum of the air conditioning unit at the the medical building, I laid down to nap. Sleep is a healer.

“I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians; both to the wise, and to the unwise.”

Romans 1:14

In the struggle between good and evil, God is only a letter removed from good, and evil is spelled vile. The man in white is not always the good guy, and the man in black may be good.

The law means what it says, or does it? When we ignore and misinterpret the law, which is semantics, and the study of language, and the meaning of words; when justice is abused, we have a denial of justice, and people like me imprisoned, who shouldn’t be.

Florida Statutes 918.10 (1) Charge to Jury, reads:

“At the conclusion of argument of counsel, the court shall charge the jury. The charge shall be only on the law of the case and must include the penalty for which the accused is being charged.”

I represented myself at trial, and I asked the Judge to comply with the above law, and I did so on the record. On this subject, the Florida Attorney General has said:

“Failure to comply with statute would not be reversible error in a particualar case if request therefore was not made by or in behalf of the defendant.” 1939 Opp Atty Gen 87

Under Brown v State, 206 So.2d 377 (1968):

“Failure to give an instruction is of no avail on appeal unless it is requested and improperly refused at trial level.”

Under Williams v State, 370 So. 2d 902 (1980):

“Word ‘Shall’ as used by Supreme Court when establishing rules of court procedure mean exactly what it usually means as defined in accepted dictionary, and thus it is error for trial court to refuse request to charge on maximum and minimum sentence which may be imposed.”

Under McLaughlin v State, 721 So. 2d 1170 (1998), the Florida Supreme Court said this:

“When language of statute is clear and unambiguous and conveys clear and definte meaning, there is no occassion for resorting to rules of statutory interpretations and construction; statute must be given its plain and obvious meaning.”

Under West’s Florida Statutes Annotated subsection 775.021 (2003):

“(1) The provisions of this code and offenses defined by other statutes shall be strictly construed; When the language is susceptible of differing construction, it shall be construed most favorably to the accused.”

Here is just one example of the justice I received, taken from page 679 of my trial transcript, which is public information, on this very issue, and my request to the Court to comply with the above law:

“The Court: Okay.

The Prosecutor: “Do you want me to research that or have you satisfied yourself?

“The Court: I’m satisfied. It says that, but it doesn’t mean it.

The Prosecutor: “Okay. Is that for capital cases?

“The Court: I think there’s some case law that I’ve been apprized(sic) of that seems to suggest it’s related capital cases, and there’s still some confusion about it, although it’s pretty clear that it doesn’t apply in this situation.

“But, Mr. Eckhardt, again I’ll say what I did earlier, I want to confirm that you brought up something that none of us had ever heard of.

The Prosecutor: “Baffled us.

“The Court: Baffled us absolutely, and I put out a call for further information about it, and I’m satisfied that it would not be appropriate to instruct the jury on penalty for what you’re charged with, and I don’t intend to do it.”

They got baffled, and I got fifteen years. My dear gentle reader, the Judge even said on the record that I was not a threat to society. My crime was being a Vietnam War Protester, and a political junkie.

Americans are highly religious, but only on their own terms. So, I, like them, am highly religious. I can be both gay, and a Christian. The problem, my dear Brutus, lies not in me, but in thine eye. I refuse to be excluded, or buy the definition that God doesn’t like me. God loves me, and my brothers in blue, and my gay brothers and lesbian sisters. God not only made Adam and Eve, but also Adam and Steve, and Eve and Edith.

Those who think otherwise, would prefer for gays to continue to live in the closet, blacks to return to the back of the bus, Hispanics to return to Mexico, and women to return to the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Neither your prisons, nor your hating policies…

Tom was talking to his Ma:

“They sat silent in the coal-black cave of vines. Ma said, ‘How’m I gonna know bout you? They might kill ya an’ I wouldn’ know. They might hurt ya. How ‘m I gonna know?

“Tom laughed uneasily. Well maybe like Casy says, a fella ain’t got a soul of his own, but on’y a piece of a big one-an’ then-

Then what, Tom?

Then it don’ matter. Then I’ll be all aroun’ in the dark. I’ll be ever’where-wherever you look. Wherever they’s a fight so hungry people can eat. I’ll be there. Whenever they’s a cop beatin’ up a guy. I’ll be there. If Casy knowed, why, I’ll be in the ways guys yell when they’re mad an-I’ll be in the ways kid laugh when they’re hungry an’ they know supper’s ready.

“An’ when our folks eat the stuff they raise an’ live in the houses they build-why, I’ll be there. See? God I’m talking like Casy. Comes of thinkin about him so much. Seems like I can see him sometimes.

“I don’t un’erstan’, Ma said. I don’t really know.

“Me neither’, said Tom. ‘It’s jus’ stuff I been thinkin about. Get thinkin’ a lot when you ain’t movin’ aroun’. You got to get back, Ma.”

From, The Grapes Of Wrath, by John Steinbeck.

My prison was Liberty Correctional Institution, in Bristol, Florida, in the panhandle, and it provided me an “ain’t movin’ aroun’” place, and time to think, and write.

“Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.”

II Corinthians 3:17

God gave me the gift of prison, and I decided to go into uncharted waters. I did what has never been done before-an in depth study of the criminal mind, by an inmate, of inmates, from behind the razorwire, over three and a half years. It is mind blowing. I interviewed one hundred inmates, with a seventy-five item questionaire, that I developed. The questions ranged from family history, to education, to medical, to politics, to sexual orientation, to greatest lifetime achievement, to favorite movies, colors, TV shows, to most violence seen in prison, and on the streets, to tatoos and gold teeth, to worst crimes committed, to religion, their thoughts on 9/11, to their first and best sexual experiences, to their thoughts on gangs, gays, drugs, gambling, gunnin (the act of masterbation while looking at the back of a female staff), their thoughts on prison, and who belongs there, to changes they would like to see in prison, to what was their greatest lesson of prison. While not purely scientific, the results have merit, and are worthy of further study.

I spent four years at this level four prison. Level seven being the most maximum. I interviewed murderers, bank robbers, rapists, child molesters, kidnappers, drug dealers, prostitutes, and gang members. They were Democrats, Republicans, and Independents. They were straight, gay, bisexual, and transexual.

They all knew I was gay, and what they said would be made public. I believe the interview process was a confessional for most of them. Because I loved them, and was one of them, allowed for truthfulness that will amaze you. I slowed down doing the interviews, because their stories of abuse, anger, despair, and the violence they had received, and inflicted onto others was more than I could bear. While I had law enforcement, and interviewing experience and training, I had never received priestly training, and their pain hurt my soul.

In the final analysis, prison is full of fear, from the brown shirts-officers, to the blue shirts-inmates, to the white shirts-administration. Only in looking at each other as children of God, each worthy of love, may we hope to bring each other up. For the truth is we must go up together, the alternative offers no hope.

Each interview took approximately forty-five minutes. Only three percent of my study requested to be anonymous. One was a convicted child abuser, one had a father who had killed a police officer. The interesting thing was that those three never said anything incriminating. I will honor their request.

In December, 2005, I finally sat down and began correlating the data, and reading it all, from the first interview in April, 2002. It was voluminous. It was shocking and sad. It was humorous and inspirational. It is the truth, as told to me, and I believe it represents the truth. No quotes or data were invented, or deleted.

To the question of, What was your worst crime committed? Some would respond with, “I don’t know if I want to answer that.” I would respond with, “You decide, I’m writing a book.”

Nineteen percent of my study admitted to crimes they had never been charged with, up to and including murders in three states, kidnapping, ID theft, and various shootings. Here is one response to the WCC (worst crime committed ) question:

” I don’t know-shit they charged me with-I ain’t going to tell you what I didn’t get caught for. Judges read. Lawyers read.”

Here is a response to the question I asked another regarding, Do you consider yourself a violent person?:

“No more than the next man. I’ve killed seven times on different streets in New York, North Carolina, and Florida.”(Never charged with manslaughter or murder).

To the WCC question, another said:

“Murder. I was never charged.”

When I followed up with, In Maryland or Florida? He responded with:

“I can’t say that.”(Released from prison).

Another responded to the WCC question with:

“First degree murder-never charged.”

When I asked, What was your vocation on the streets? He replied:

“Robbing.”

When I asked, What are your future plans? He responded:

“Rob.”

I asked another inmate, Do you have gold teeth, and if so what do they signify? He responded with:

I have three gold teeth-I don’t want to answer what they signify…I’m taking them out when I get out…each one represents a person I shot-all still alive-over drugs-never charged-respect-two in wheelchairs…other dead.” (Released-2003).

As you can see, they all can’t be alive, if one is dead. That was how the interviews went. I was shocked by the lack of remorse by some, and continually amazed at their openness.

To the WCC question , another responded with:

“Murder-never charged-drive by shooting in 1986, in St. Petersburg, (Florida)-don’t know number hurt-mother asked about it-two dead, others shot up-three doing the shooting-AK 47-one weapon, each times three-issue over rob-blacks-no one ever charged-considered an unsolved crime today-I’m concerned over telling you-no, can’t prove I did it.”

One is not allowed tape recorders in prison, and I never took short hand, so the answers are broken up like that above. After I got a few words, sometimes whole sentences, I would follow it up with another question. So, like above, there was one weapon used, and each person shot three times. Only blacks were involved, and the shooting was over a robbery.

Another reponded to the WCC question with:

“Shot someone.”

When I followed it up with, Killed? He responded:

“No comment.”

To my question of, What are your future plans? Another inmate said:

Rape, rob, and pillage-all DOC officials of any institution whether I’ve been there or not.”

Yes, Virginia, we really do need some prisons to protect society. The inmates in my study ranged from age twenty to fifty-six, with an average age of thirty-four. Fifty-six percent were black, thirty-five percent were white, seven percent were Hispanic, and two percent were Asian.

For thirty-eight percent, this was their first time in prison; thirty-seven percent had been here once before; twelve percent had been here twice before; eight percent had been here three times before; four percent had been here four times before; and one percent had been here eight times before. The one percenter listed his vocation as, “Shoplifting.”

Thirty-one percent have already been released to the streets; twenty-three percent will be released between now and 2010; forty-three percent have release dates after 2010, or no release date; three percent I catagorized as unknown.

Twenty-nine percent had some college; sixteen percent had GED’s; thirty-nine percent had less than high school diplomas; fourteen percent had high school diplomas; and two percent unknown.

Thirty-four percent identified themselves as straight sexually; twenty-one percent identified themselves as straight, but admitted to more than one adult homosexual experience; twenty percent identified themselves as gay; twenty-four percent identified themselves as bisexual; and one percent identified as transexual.

The number one rated favorite TV show was CSI, at thirteen percent. The number one rated favorite movie was Scarface, at eight percent, second was Titanic, at six percent. Blue was the favorite color at thirty-eight percent, and second was red at twenty-one percent.

Some of the answers to, What is your greatest lifetime achievement?

“Having a son-very smart-not taking path I took.”

“My daughter.”

“High School Student President.”

“I don’t think I got one.”

“I have learned for myself that if I do not make no good choices for me. I didn’t respect law or other people-I had a negative attitude toward society. I can see different now, and I can make better choices, and not see this place no more.”

“Overcoming hate of myself, because I’m gay-accepting myself.”

“Becoming a Christian.”

“Knowledge I’ve gained concerning God’s word and the law.”

“Getting my breasts. Oh, that felt lovely. That was something I always wanted to do.”

“Always wanted to be a drug dealer-when got first key to sell.”

“Making a change within myself. The way I look at life in being a better person. Once I didn’t care about living-it was an obstacle. I did what I did. I see more to life than negativity-so much. I can’t sum it up in a couple words. Now I feel I can get out and make it. I have a history pattern of institutional progress. I broke that cycle-things I’ve learned since being in prison. I care more for myself, people that love me, children that need me, to do what’s right for myself, my children.”

The religious breakdown in my study was thirty-five percent identified themselves as Baptists; thirty-one percent identified as Christian; eleven percent as Catholic; eleven percent as non-religious; four percent nothing noted; two percent as Buddhists; one percent Hebrew Israelite; one percent Orthodox Jew; one percent Muslim; one percent Jehovah Witness; one percent Judaism; and one percent House of Yahweh.

Question sixty-four was, What was your religious upbringing? Question sixty-five was, Do you believe in God? And question sixty-six was, If so, what is God to you? Some of the answers:

“Baptist. Yes. Someone that watches out for me, and makes sure I make it to see tomorrow.”

“Baptist. Yes A being up there, watching everything. Why he don’t get involved, I don’t know.”

“Christian-firm believer in the Bible. Yes. The backbone of my strength since I’ve been incarcerated-helped me in alot of ways.”

“Christian. Yes. Someone with greater power than me.”

“Christian, now Judaism. Born Jewish-not raised however. Yes. Indescribable entity or force.”

“Baptist. I ain’t seen him.”

“Catholic. Spiritual last two sentences-went to everything. This time, I’ve not been once to the Chapel here. No need for Chaplains here.”

“Baptists. That’s a tough question. Let’s come back to that one…God is anything that a person, he or she, puts all of his time into praising or glorifying.”

“Islam, and parents. Yes. Something that has no partners. God is a just and forgiving God.”

“Baptist. Of course, I am God. Supreme being is a higher God, lower God equals me.”

“Buddhist-open minded.”

“Jehovah Witness. Don’t consider myself spiritual or religious. I just believe I’m saved by grace of Jehovah God.”

“Baptist, now no religion. Yes. God is my heart, I guess, something instilled in me.”

“I was a Baptist. I don’t have one no more. Too much cointradiction over which one is suppose to be right. When I went to church, there was too much trying and bullshit.”

“Everybody here is a body of God.”

“Mixed Buddhist/Catholic. Yes. Essence of good.”

“I try to draw others close to Christ, so I’m a transparent Christian. Yes. Christ has given me life. I want to live life the way he wants me to, so setting myself apart from this world for service of God according to his prescription for life.”

“Episcopal, not a Christian. I was into booty. Does that make me a Buddhist? No world religion. I’m a tree hugger.”

“I was brought up Roman Catholic. Not in the way people believe in God. I believe in a superior being, but not of the Bible. Actually, the Bible’s an evil little book. Every major war has religious conotation to it. God is me. I make my own destiny, not attributable to God, but to me. God, to me, is an omen of evil.”

“Baptist. Yes. She is, oh, so forgiving, understanding, and patient with me. Alot of people will throw the Bible in your face. He’s perfect, and if I’m made in his image, I must be too, cause he don’t make mistakes.”

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

John 8:32

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

May 29th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Four

What A Long Strange Trip It’s Been

“So shall ye say unto Joseph, Forgive, I pray thee now, the trespass of thy brethern, and their sin; for they did unto thee evil: and now, we pray thee, forgive the trespass of the servants of the God of thy father. And Joseph wept when they spake unto him.”

Genesis 50:17

Corruption and abuse of power are insideous. Systemic violence is undetectable to the untrained eye; and so, unaware of it, we unknowingly allow it to continue, because we’ve not been trained to watch for it. It is so much easier to paint the enemy out there, then to draw him in here.

The system repeatedly raped me for doing no harm, and I suffered, and through this book, I share my rapes and suffering with you, so hopefully others won’t have to experience them. I was not raped alone, and today the system continues to rape too many of us for harming no one.

Years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a Georgia case that allowed the death sentence for only rape, calling it cruel and unusual. Any rape is horrible, but if the victim lives, is the taking of the life of the perpetrator, justice? It goes well beyond an eye for an eye.

I was sent to prison even though I had a bail hearing later the same month, contrary to established rules of law. It was done, without any warning, in the middle of the night, with no chance to say goodbye to my mother or family. It was done seven days after my sentencing. I never saw my mother again. She died while I was in prison. I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to her on her dying bed, even though my family tried to arrange the same.

For my first two and a half months in prison, I wasn’t even allowed to call my attorney or family. It is all documented. No, Virginia, this wasn’t the fifteenth century, or in China, Russia, North Korea, Vietnam, Cuba, Syria, Iraq, or Iran. This was the justice I received in the twenty-first century, in the United States of America.

Our strength lies in our ability to make mistakes, and then correct them. Our strength lies in criticizing our government, and then offering solutions. Criticism alone is destructive. Bitterness is destructive. Our strength lies in the reality of my freedom to type this, and post it on the Internet, for the whole world to see…week after week.

So, I heard, “Eckhardt, Christopher Eckhardt,” coming from an anonymous male voice, down the hall. As the good inmate I so wanted to be, I replied, “Here, sir,” and proceeded toward the voice. My teachers had always said of me, “Plays well with others.” I was a good son.

I entered a room at the end of the hallway. Four officers stood behind a counter. They were all dressed in crisp brown uniforms, with short cropped haircuts. I envied their hair. Their uniforms did nothing for me. I’d guess they were in their thirties, and physically fit. One of them confirmed my name, and directed me to the adjoining room, to find my box, from a shelf of boxes. I was instructed to sit with my box, and wait to be called again. Before I made it to the box room, I was called back and given a rule book. I was told to read it cover to cover. Being a very good inmate, I complied.

I found my box, with my one letter in it, and took a seat. I looked at the little white booklet I was handed. It was about six inches wide, and nine inches long. It read, “Central Florida Reception Center-Inmate Orientation Handbook. Revised July 24, 2001. Department of Corrections-State of Florida.”

I opened it, and found that it contained thirty four pages. The Forward read, “You have been received into the Department of Corrections at Central Florida Reception Center located on State Highway 528, Orlando, Florida. You are facing a new challenge in your life, which can be used, for your betterment or can be a number of wasted years.

“THE CHOICE IS YOURS!

“We can supply the materials necessary for rehabilitation, but only you can make it a reality. We can speak to you of rehabilitation, but true rehabilitation must come from within. We cannot force you into it nor will we try, but we will help you to help yourself. Perhaps this is the first time you have been incarcerated within a State Institution. Statistics prove that you have a high percentage chance of returning to prison. Only you can lower these statistics. We cannot. You can listen to the habitual criminal that you will be meeting (the one who claims to have all the answers), or you can pursue a more positive direction in life. You might even ask the habitual criminal to join you in such a challenge.

“This publication sets forth some basic guidelines and hopefully answers the majority of your questions. Due to the nature of this operation and ever changing programs, it is impossible to answer all your questions here. Therefore, you should not hesitate to seek information from the Officers.”

It was signed by the Warden. Well, alright, I thought to myself, a voice of reason. Definately, if I had to be here, I’d better myself and not waste the time. I wasn’t going to let any habitual criminal bring me down.

I turned the booklet to the Table of Contents, and glanced at it, “Processing, Safety Policy Statement…page 1. Inmate Request for Protective Management…page 2. Alright, I thought, and turned to page two.

“Inmate Request for Protective Management” was only one paragraph on page two, and read: “Temporary administrative protection will be afforded to any inmate who believes their safety is in jeopardy and upon filing a written statement of such with the Senior Correctional Officer in charge. Inmates are directed to contact any institutional staff member to request administrative protection.” That’ll work, I thought.

I suppose this might be a good place to let ya know that I am former law enforcement. I support our Constitution, our government, and our way of life. I won a U.S. Supreme Court case; how can I not support our system. However, it is not perfect, it makes mistakes, but it is one of the best out there. I will continue to work for positive change when and where necessary. I will throw open the window and yell, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore,” or I’ll write a book.

In 1974-5, I was employed by the Ontario, Canada, government at the Oakville Reception Center. It was a maximum security facility for juvenile offenders.

In 1978-’83, I was trained by the U.S. Department of Justice, as a Mediator. I was employed, on-call, as such,by the Polk County Attorney, in Des Moines, Iowa.

In 1988-’89, I was employed at the Pinellas County Juvenile Detention Center, in Clearwater, Florida.

In 1989-’90, I was employed by the state of Florida as a Food Stamp Eligibility Specialist, in Pinellas Park, Florida.

In 1990-’92, I was employed by the state of Florida as a Child Support Enforcement Case Analyst, and Supervisor, in Clearwater, St. Petersburg, and New Port Richey.

So, when I was placed in the Pinellas County Jail, after my sentencing, I came up on their computer as former law enforcement, and allowed protective custody. Protective custody is a little more room, and less crowded than general populaton. At the time I was scared shitless, and recognized many inmates as former clients. However, it didn’t take too long for me to realize that I could handle my fellow inmates. It was the system that would do me the most harm.

The common perception of prison is that it is a place where people lose their right to be among the civilized. The loss of such freedom is the punishment. Time away from family and friends is the punishment. However, the system adds on its own form of punishment, besides what the law prescribes. It is petty, arbritrary, and oppressive.

I came out in prison. I filed grieveances. I stood up. I am a man, not an animal. And they, they brutalized me. I wanted to be the good inmate, but I was the round peg that did not fit into their square holes.

My dear gentle reader, to better help you understand, truthfully, if a rule had said you must salute an officer with your right hand, and if you had no right hand, you would have been locked up for failing to follow an order, because you did not salute with your right hand. Never mind that you didn’t have a right hand, the rule is the rule. And that my dear, is the Catch 22 of prison. The humane officer would not lock you up, but the authoritarian officer would. Regardless, once locked up, the system perpetuates, and protects itself, and supports the officer, normally with promotions.

Once an officer took me into the back room-the laundry room, alone, handcuffed, and said, “I’m going to slap the shit out of you, so you can’t suck dick anymore.” I never once was given a DR-disciplinary report for being engaged in homosexual activity. I just looked him in the eyes and told him, ” I am former law enforcement, and I will deal with it.” I was very scared. I’m not even sure what I meant by what I said. He never touched me, and later approached me and said that we were going to forget what had happened. I don’t forget. I filed a grievance on him. Interestingly enough, he later, on January 1st, 2005, found me leaving my partners dorm, an area I was not allowed in, and he let me go. Isn’t life strange sometimes, and wonderful.

They punished me on eight separate occassions with disciplinary reports and disciplinary confinements.

In January, 2002, they put me in disciplinary confinement for fifty-seven days because of a medical condition I have-paruresis-basically, the inability to piss in front of others. They wanted to test me for drugs. I explained my condition, and even offered my blood, because I never once in prison had illegal drugs in my system. But that was not their way. The rule book said you have to piss with an officer looking at your dick. Well, I may be gay, but I choose who looks at my dick. So, they locked me up. After serving my punishment for my medical condition, my grievance to Tallahassee was approved. Never mind that they were wrong, they still punished me.

Because a homophobic inmate took my washcloth off the end of my bunk and wiped the toilet seats with it, I was locked up.

Because an inmate tried intimidating me, by slapping me in the face, I was locked up.

Because my partner bought me something to eat, I was locked up.

Because I was denied the right to attend religious services, and ate a piece of bread, I was locked up.

Because I refused to sign my name, I was locked up.

Because I stepped out of line, I was locked up.

Because I wore tennis shoes to the law library, I was locked up. It was something I had done for four years previously, without getting locked up.

For waving to a friend, in the summer of 2005, I was forced to sand the sidewalk, with a crude stone, in the middle of the prison grounds, with hundreds of inmates watching my humiliating treatment. Others were also forced to do the same. When I grieved to the Warden, and reminded him of Abu Ghraib, it ceased.

During my four years, three months, and two weeks in prison, I spent two hundred and thirty five days in administrative or disciplinary confinement. I am such a bad boy. Just look above at all the bad things I did, and that’s it, there were no other disciplinary reports on me. I am such a dangerous criminal. Everything I share with you here is true and documented. I am not James Frey.

I was made in the USA, therefore I am a product of the USA. I never had a foreign object shoved up my ass, it was always made in the USA, so it was never foreign. My own government fucked me more royally than any foreign government or entity ever could, and I still say, “God Bless America.” I was, and still am an American patriot. It is only in America, the land of opportunity, where we can find such appreciative victims of systemic violence.

Just ask our African-American brothers if they mind if we lock up one of their brothers. They obviously don’t mind enough, because one out of three of them will get locked up before they die, and we continue to lock up more of them, as if they are responsible for the systemic violence. The armed revolution against this will never occur in America, because systemic violence against blacks, gays, and women is accepted and tolerated. It is an American tradition, and we love tradition. As a Conscientious Objector and lifetime pacifist, I am opposed to all forms of violence. I still believe we can make all necessary changes peacefully within our system. Recently, in Iraq, a tennis coach and two of his players were killed for wearing shorts. Now, taken in its totality, America is a great place to live, grow, work, prosper, complain, and wear shorts without getting killed for it. So, yes, Virginia, I love America, with its glorious freedoms and occassional warts.

Shortly, I was called again. This time the officer had my personal propery from the county jail. It consisted of a fifteen year old New York American flag lapel pin and a gold nugget tie tack. He opened my box, and was quite happy to see only one letter. He called over the other officers to show them. It was like he had won a lottery, because he had a minimum of paperwork and writing to do. I was allowed to keep my letter, which had family addresses and phone numbers on it.

I then had a choice. What a concept. I could arrange to have my pin and tack sent home, or donated to a local charity. I figured since I didn’t see my wing tips, Christian Dior black suit, tie, belt, white shirt, socks or underwear, that they must have already been donated to someone, somewhere. I wonder if I can write that off of my taxes. Anyway, I chose the donation route, and was given a receipt. I asked the officer about Protective Management, but he said Classification would talk to me about it later.

I was then directed to a larger room, farther into the vast prison industrial complex. I had never heard Eisenhower, or anyone else ever warn us of this destructive complex. NO TALKING was again painted on the walls in large letters. I was instructed to get into a line to get a haircut, which I did. Two inmates were giving the haircuts. There was four people in front of me, and two lines for the haircuts.

I looked around and saw some guys shaving, some showering, some getting dressed, and some sitting on benches reading their rule books. After the buzz cuts, which everyone got, I was handed a safety razor, and told to go shave, and get a shower. I was handed a towel and told that after I finished showering and shaving, I was to go get clothes, from the clothes room, in the corner of the room.

I proceeded over to the sink, and found one relatively clean, and shaved. Behind the sinks were toilets, so I went over and filled up my urine container, and placed it in my boxer lining. Officers were moving all around the room, doing various chores. They were getting finger prints, taking photos, and entering data into computers.

There were three rooms on one wall that apperared to have plain clothes staff in them, doing who knows what. Maybe they were Classification Officers, I thought. I took my shower, and got my clothes. I was then instructed to go to another line. At the end of that line, two officers were inputing data into computers. I got to the front of that line, and was asked how my relationship was with my family, and I said,”Good.” My name and other information I’d previously given in the other room was reviewed and confirmed.

I was then asked about my plans upon release. Yes, I thought, we need to plan for my release, because this is a mistake. I listed my mother as my emergency contact. I was instructed to another area to wait to be called. Alot of sitting and waiting here. They must think I have time to spare. I guess , now, I do.

I went and sat on a bench with three other inmates. In front of us were about ten rows of other inmates, four per bench, waiting to be called to see the nurse, have their picture taken, or get fingerprinted.

The wall in front of us had NO TALKING painted on the wall, in about twelve inch letters, obvious from any area of the room. I about dropped my rule book when I heard a voice shout behind me, “All right, ladies, there’s no talking. Open your orientation books and read.”

The officer doing the shouting walked slowly by me, to the front row, and turned and headed back my way, glaring at each row as he walked by. He looked like the bald sadistic guard in the movie, “Midnight Express.” He scared me. All I could think about was the sadistic guard trying to rape Brad Davis.

I put my glasses on top of my head to read the booklet, as was my custom when reading, as I don’t need glasses for reading. Throughout this whole ordeal, I was allowed to keep my glasses. “Get those glasses off your head, inmate. This isn’t the country club,” I heard the bald guard yell my way. So, of course, I removed my glasses, as I didn’t want to know the potential of his wrath. And honey, I knew this wasn’t the country club.

Most of the guys again had their personal property in bags in front of them. I had my letter in my shirt pocket. We had been instructed to take the mans’ seat in front of us when his name got called, therefore moving us closer to the front of the room. Again, for many it must have been too complicated. I noticed a couple of other guys and myself continually moving two or three rows forward to take an empty seat because no one else was doing so. Maybe they had hearing problems, or didn’t speak English, that’s what I thought anyway. I finally came to realize that some of my brothers in blue were idiots.

“What do we have here today, Pasco County?” You know who shouted that out. Many raised their hands. “I thought so,” the officer continued, “You are stupid. Unless you want to be holding your property over your heads for the rest of the day, you will move up and take the empty spots in front of you.” For all his shouting and painted signs on the walls, they had very little effect on these young men from Pasco County.

Well, the Brad Davis nightmare came over as I was reading quietly, being the good inmate, the dumb duck that I was, while the younger guys with limited vision, who couldn’t see the huge NO TALKING sign on the walls, or didn’t know its meaning, chattered around me. “Shut the fuck up,” he shouted, and the whole room went quiet. Then the staff realized it didn’t mean them, so they returned to their usual routine.

“Everybody, put your property over your heads and keep your mouths shut,” he semi-hollered in a well controlled, angry tone. As guys struggled, lifting their property, to hold over their heads, I pulled my letter out of my pocket and proudly held it over my head. This was my reward, finally, for traveling light. Today, it was better than bonus miles. Fortunately, a few minutes later it was lunch break, and the group punishment ended.

“Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.”

The Revelation of Jesus Christ to St. John 2:10

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

May 21st, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Three

The Welcome Wagon

“If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.”

I John 4:12

As we departed from the Pinellas County bus that brought us here, the kindly officer in his green uniform unschackled and uncuffed us. In a hushed tone he said, “A word of advice gentlemen, do what they tell you to do, because they don’t play here.”

“All right gentlemen, line up along that fence,” the clean cut young officer, in his sharp brown uniform, barked out, pointing to a fence across from us. Everyone moved to the fence. We were now in an enclosed tall fenced area with the building wall of the prison on our left side, with stairs leading up to an entryway. Across from the building is like a garage door, about sixty feet away, to our right. Across from us, about twenty feet away, is another open air fence. Above us is like an aluminum type roof. It is an open air area, definately not heated.

There are a couple of prisoners, called orderlies or trustees, in white clothing, with big white laundry baskets, standing by the building. The officer, maybe he is a Sergeant; I don’t know rank differentiation yet; has two other officers standing by him.

“Face me gentlemen, and remove all of your clothing, and any jewelry you may have on. Put it in a pile in front of you.”

I thought, what did he say, strip now, in front of all these men, who I’ve not been formerly introduced to. Well honestly, I’d not been treated with such callousness since my military physical, thirty years ago. However, I had decided to be an exempliary inmate, so standing between two giant black men, and with as much dignity as I could muster, I followed the order, and began stripping. I purposely didn’t look to my right or to my left at anyones body, but I sensed everyone was stripping.

I did notice that most of the guys have their personal property, county issued clothing and shoes, food, law papers, personal correspondence, cups, bowls, and plastic spoons in pillow cases or paper bags in front of them. The only personal thing I carry is a letter my brother, Ed, sent me in the county jail with four addresses I had requested.

I carefully laid my envelope in front of me. The officer continued, “Welcome gentlemen to the Central Florida Reception Center. Raise your hand if you have been here before.” We were a row of naked men, and I sensed the two giants beside me raise their hands. God knows I was too scared right then to look at any naked men.

“Good,” the officer continues, “then we should have a smooth morning, since most of you are veterans of this system. For you non-veterans, and for those of you with short-term memories, there is no talking today, unless an officer or staff member addresses you. When you hear your name called, you will say, ‘Here, sir’ or ‘Here, ma’m.’ Is that understood?” Most, myself included, striving to be the good inmate, replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Alright,” he said. “Place your arms in the air, as in touching the ceiling, and wiggle your fingers.” He then walked up and down the row and looked, I guess, at our hands and fingers for contraband. “Now lift up your sacks.” I knew he didn’t mean our paper sacks or laundry bags, so I lifted up my family jewels. So, there we were, a row of naked criminals, holding our nuts. I felt like Arlo Guthrie, in Alice’s Restaurant, but instead of sitting on the Group W bench, with all the mother rapers, and father rapers, I was standing beside them. Just a bunch of misfits, and sinners, that I now belonged to.

“Alright, turn and face the fence, and grab ahold of the fence. Now, lift up your right leg toward me, so I can see the bottom of your foot. Now wiggle your toes. Alright, now the same thing with your left foot. Alright, now squat, and spread your cheeks, and cough.” All the while he was doing this, he was walking up and down our line, checking for contraband.

“Alright, now turn around and face me. You’ll be given a pair of state issued boxers now. Put them on.” The orderlies started passing out boxers. “Then you’ll be given a urine specimen container. Place the container in the liner of your boxers, and fill it sometime this morning. Once you have filled your container, return it to your waistband. Do not walk around carrying your sample. I do not want to be wearing your sample. If you are seen carrying your sample bottle in your hands, you will carry your sample bottle over your head for the rest of the day. Am I understood?” Of course, most replied, “Yes, sir.” I never experienced military training, but I felt like I was in it now.

“You will be seeing the nurse later today and you will give her your full urine sample. Now, empty your personal belongings out of your pillow cases, garbage bags, or whatever you have them in, and place them in front of you.”

He continued, as he paced in front of us, looking at our property, “Now place all state or county issued clothes, or property, into this laundry basket to my right, to your left, including belts, shoes, and boots. Now, you will be given a box to place your personal items into. Place the box in front of you, and place all of your personal items in there. Put your name on your box. Fold the box up, and place it in this other laundry basket. If you need a pen to put your name on your box, raise your hand, and a trustee will assist you. No talking. Then, line up on the fence behind me and face the building.”

So, I put my envelope in my box, folded it up, and placed my name on it, with a pen a trustee gave me to use, nice and neat, and placed it in the other laundry basket, as instructed. I so want to be a good inmate. Journalism students today would pay good money to take this situational realism class. I’d pay good money just to leave.

My loose boxers were just tight enough to keep my urine sample bottle secure. I didn’t relish the idea of carrying a urine bottle over my head all day, so I complied as best I could.

“Alright gentlemen, you will procede up the stairs and into the building, and sit in the first room on your right, quietly. When you hear your name called, you will reply, ‘Here, sir’ or ‘Here ma’m,’ and proceed to whomever calls your name. Is that understood?” And most replied, “Yes, sir.”

“There is a toilet in that room, and you may use it to fill your urine bottle. Only two at a time to the bathroom area. Let’s go.” We went, and I never saw that officer again.

We climbed up the stairs to the building, where it was warmer. There were a couple sighs of relief when we hit the heat. I figured it was the veterans expressing their gratitude.

The room we entered and were locked in, was three sides of building, and one side of bars. It was about twenty feet by twenty feet, and there was a four foot cement wall surrounding a toilet, sink, and urinal, with one roll of toilet paper sitting on top of the wall. It wasn’t Mr. Whipple’s Charmin, and nobody wanted to steal it.

There was a grey painted wooden sitting bench secured to the floor and wall on two walls. There was a hugh painted, block lettered, writing on each wall which read, “NO TALKING”. With all the silence requested, I wasn’t sure if it was a monastary or a prison.

The guards left us alone, and right away the veterans began talking. So much for the signs on the walls. A name was called out, and someone replied, “Here.” A guard came and unlocked the cell door, and swung it to a wide open position. The “Here” came forward, and the guard pointed to one of the three teller like windows across from the cell. Behind the windows were three staff who asked for your name, social security number, and date of birth.

When it came to my turn, I said “Here, sir,” not just “Here”. I knew how to follow directions. I had been a good Boy Scout, and I even knew how to give directions. I said I had blue eyes, and brown hair. They said I had blue eyes and grey hair. At least they agreed I had hair.

You were then told to stand against the wall, where a height chart had been painted, and another staff person stated your height. Then you were instructed to stand on a scale, and another staff person would state your weight.

I weighed in at one hundred and ninety eight pounds, and a height of five foot, and eight inches. I ‘m sure I weigh more, and am taller, but I’m not at one of my college debating matches, so it’s all good

Wanting to be a model prisoner, I answered, “Here, sir,” when my name was called earlier. This, being prison, I was, of course, the only one to do so. It was either “Here”, “Sir”, or “Yeah,” that my fellow prisoners stated. Now there were many veterans in this group, and our instructions were quite clear only moments before. We were to answer, “Here, sir,” or “Here, ma’m.” I didn’t think other rookies would try to buck the system in their first hour, so I chalked it up to poor listening skills, the early morning hour, or a combination of both. I was the duck in this crowd, regardless of my dawg yearnings.

After we got sized and weighed, and answered a few questions, we were dismissed to sit back down in the cell, on the grey painted benches. Now, it got complicated. Not only were our names being called by the three tellers, but by anonymous voices down the hall, further into the belly of the beast, or at least this building.

Some guys got confused and would look up and see all three tellers talking with someone, and just figure they didn’t hear their name being called. And being the good inmate, I couldn’t talk to them and let them know that they weren’t just hearing voices. Some picked up on the clue, by the fact that the room was emptying.

When you followed the voice, it led you down the hall where a guard told you to go into an adjacent room. The room also had Group W benches to sit on. Life in Florida prisons is alot of sitting and waiting, because time has no value, if you do not value your time.

I changed in prison.

There is no closure when you leave the living behind. I left them behind, because I could stay no longer, and it was my time to leave. I will not forget them, and you, you will learn of them, for they are, our family.

I remember it all, and I wish I didn’t, but it’s all good!

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

May 14th, 2006

By R25288 ( c ) 2006

www.r25288.com

r25288@yahoo.com

Chapter Two

The Journey Begins

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Psalm 23 A Psalm of David.

I am in the darkness before dawn. The shackle is cutting into my left ankle. I am shackled to a stranger, who I met only moments ago. On this bus, I am traveling from the Pinellas, Florida, County Jail to prison. A transition from glorious freedom and choice, to no freedom, and usually no choice.

It is Tuesday, October 16th, 2001, and my body is being transported to the State of Florida. Soon, I will get my number, show my number, state my number, memorize my number, wear my number, and become a number. I am number R25288. There is no dot.com in my number. There is no computer to a virtual reality. My new reality is a number. Number R25288. A number has no emotions or feelings. I have become a dehumanized number.

I am alone. This is not a dream, but a nightmare. A scary, long nightmare, that gets worse and scarier. I am cold and frozen in my fear. I can not wake up, and the nightmare of my life is in control. My eyes water, and a tear drops. I feel the lump in my throat, and I swallow.

The bus hums east, along Interstate 4. The criminals around me talk and laugh. Most have no fear. They have been on this bus before. I was sitting in the front of the bus. The blacks were in the back of the bus. Racism still lives. I am too scared to turn around, and do a head count, but I guesstimated we numbered around thirty. I do not ever want to ride this bus again. I overhear the career criminals say that we are going to “CFRC”-the Central Florida Reception Center. I don’t expect cocktails on our arrival. For obvious security reasons, this was my first trip without an itinary.

I try to remember the 23rd Psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” I shall not want? Oh, but Lord, I do want. I want to go home. I want to play with my cat, FIPS. I want my MTV. I want my HBO. I want to continue to care for my Mom. I want to drive my own car, and not be driven on this bus. I want to go home. I want control of my life back. I don’t belong here. Why have you forsaken me to a five year prison sentence?

I can see through the cage in front of me, through the bus headlights, “Orlando”. I missed seeing the number of miles to it. Let’s see, Clearwater to Orlando should be about one hundred and twenty, or one hundred and fifty miles. We have passed Tampa, so maybe one hundred miles or less to go. “Think”, I tell myself, what comes after, “I shall not want”?

We are slowing down. Why? Fear! Oh, just a toll booth. We must be close to Orlando. I do not remember sleeping. Probably just my body’s defense mechanism still maintaining some control.

Behind me, I hear a black man answer another. Says he plans to get some booty once he gets to his camp (prison). Well, he ain’t getting mine! I had heard that guys who gamble in prison, and can’t pay their debts, have to become punks, and do sexual favors, to clear their debt. Sexual slavery. Might be the incentive, and time, to just quit gambling. Just a thought.

I wonder why prisons are called “camps”? I have been to summer camps. Somehow, I don’t think this will be like that. I would ask someone, but I don’t want to appear too stupid. I still have to learn their language. Some prisoners are called “ducks”. They are those who are new to the system, a rookie, a novice, a virgin. Someone who can be taken advantage of. Well, not me, dawg. That’s another one, “dawg”. Why do they call each other “dawgs”? I got it, maybe because dogs would be predators of ducks. That’s probably it. I wonder if everyone thinks this stuff through?

Anyway, I’m fifty one years old, a college graduate, bald, a former stockbroker, and I don’t want to be thought of as a duck. So, I guess I’ll become a dawg. In prisons, there are no inmate unions, or cooperative win-win scenarios. There are no open ended questions. There are no fill in the blanks. There are no C, D, or E choices. It is only A or B. Dawg or duck. You choose.

Why do they end sentences with a verb? “What your name be?” “Who that be?” “What time it is?” When I was first hit with, “What your name be?” I replied, “You mean what is my name?” And the response was, “Yeah, what your name be?” I just call it prison-speak. It has no racial boundaries. Ending most sentences with a verb is just the samantics of prisons in Florida. Maybe, the entire country. So, I’m learning their language, my dawg.

Spelling, of course, is another animal. I once had a Haitian cellmate in the “box” (disciplinary confinement) who spelled dawg as “Dow”. I don’t think the Dow Jones Industrial Average would want to be referred to as the Dawg Jones. A bear and a bull are enough animals for them. However dawg or Dow is spelled, it is still pronounced dawg, or dog, with a long g sound.

My Haitian cellmate also washed his clothes in the toilet. That too, is another story for another time. Prison is the art of improvise, and compromise.

Think, what comes after, “I shall not want”? I remember, “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters.” Well, the sun was coming up, as the bus carried us into the Central Florida Reception Center. That’s government-speak for a prison in Orlando.

I had never been shackled to another human being before. He sat next to the window, and I sat in the isle seat, on the left side of the bus, with the driver in front of us. There was a cage between the driver and us. It held two black men. The older of the two apparently had said he was going to “buck it”. Prison-speak, as in to refuse, deny, cause trouble, about going to Orlando. There was no trouble.

Dan was the name of the guy who sat next to me. He spoke very little on the trip. I figured he was as scared as I was. He was white, forty-ish, and had recieved an eight year sentence. I thought a five year sentence was bad. I now realized I had something to be thankful for. Maybe that was my drink of still water, because now, the waters were going to get very choppy. I didn’t see any saviour’s hand to keep me afloat from the drowning waters that were about to engulf me.

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God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

God’s Gunner’s, Booty Bandits, & Bad Boys

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