Thursday, August 27, 2009

Poetry by Edgar Pitts

By Edgar Pitts

Neglect is like a noose
Around the neck of a
As the neglect increase
The noose tightens
Hope dims
Efforts fade
As the sad reality slowly
Cascades and drench your
Lonely mind with truths
That can’t be concealed by desmans
Because love progessed
But not invested in
Amount to neglect
That suffocates
The relationship with contradictions
That only magnify the distinction
Between love and hate
So once the alienation is realized
Love subsides and hate is elevated
As the relationship slowly suffocates
As it is left hanging by its neck
And all attempts to revive itself
Only hasten its demise by the
Strangling effect of broken promises
And deceptive apologies
All cloaked in lies
To justify the neglect.

By Edgar Pitts

Put my soul in a bird
And let it fly away;
Let my flesh remain in
This atmosphere to decay.
Put my memories in a bird
And let it fly away;
Leave my physical possessions
Put my consciousness in a bird
And let it fly away;
Throw my trophies away.
Put my spirit in a bird
And let it fly away;
Let all my appeals and prayers
To live another day fade away.
Let my soul,
My memories,
My consciousness
And my spirit be free.
Why should they suffer
Because of me?
I would rather live the life of a bird
Than to be a prisoner always.
I would rather spend my days
Soaring the heights of the sky
Than to be waiting
In a prison cell to die.

American Carnage
By Edgar Pitts

Trump is all about the rubles
He doesn’t give a damn about
The people.
Trump is the stripper
And Putin and the oligarchs
Are making it rain;
While Trump is bending over
And genuflecting
In acrobatic postures
To refrain from speaking
Truth to Power to his spy
Masters in the Kremlin.
So much for American
Trump’s secrets give Putin
The leverage
Putin is now holding the
Leader of the Free World
Now that is what I call an
“American Carnage”
Trump may be vulnerable
But he is definitely
Not a virgin
He has always been open
For business
He doesn’t hold
Anything sacred
He would even sell the
Declaration of Independence
If the price was right and
He could get away with it.
Because he has a fetish
For the profit; so he defy
The teachings of the
Prophets and fornicate
With the nations; yet in
The name of the prophets
He professes to be the
Healing of the nation.

Trump is all about the
Rubles. He doesn’t give a
Damn about the people.

Isn’t it ironic that it was
This Siberian Candidate
Who demanded that Obama
Produce his Birth Certificate
But the irony only revealed
The masquerade
Because whenever there is
A crisis of ideas Patriotism
Is always trumped by
Finance so the
“Make America Great Again” merchandise
Is being made in China
While in America
The irony is more obvious
Than ever
Because Trump is now
Using the American flag
To divide and conquer
So Colin Kaepernick
Was scapegoated as being
Unpatriotic for speaking up for the less fortunate
Trump’s hypocrisy is now
Because Gold Star parents
Sacrificed their children
For the country
While Trump and his
Children are sacrificing
The country for their
Country club.

Trump is all about the Rubles
He doesn’t give a damn
About the people.

White privilege gives Trump
The leverage to be treasonous
While masquerading to be a
Because Patriotism is the Perfect
Trojan Horse for False Prophets
And all False Prophets needs a
High Horse to ride while
They deride others to divide
Each from the other to become
Their puppet master
So Trump’s voters look at him
And see a Savior
But Trump look at them
And see nothing but peasants
To be used like puppets
Because in Trump’s eyes
Peasants don’t qualify
To be members of his
Country Club
Yet members of his Country
Club don’t put the country
Instead they want to turn
The world into their golf
Course without borders
And wall us in with the
Racist mantra of
“Law and Order”
To prolong the racist saga
Of the prevailing order
But this Trump scam
Will begin to crumble
With Trump defecting
To Russia right into
The hands of handlers.

By Edgar Pitts

Your mind is as enticing
As you're attractive appearance;
It's curvaceous features are intriguing;
Like the pages of a suspense novel
With it's alluring adventures
Waiting in the shadow off your every word.
And I feel like a soldier
In your presence;
Eager to explore your essence;
Eager to unveil your soul;
To behold the delight of its depth;
The charm of its dimension;
And the comfort of its warm embrace.
But not to linger on its edges;
But to plunge into its core
Like an explorer;
To vibe mind-to-mind with you.
And invite you to ride my mind's vine;
To climb its length with your curiosity;
To squeeze its with with your desire;
To embrace its entirety with your passion;
And be enraptured by its climatic
Release of enlightenment.
So that we may treasure
Each other's full measure.
And there will be no regrets
In our endevors;
Nor any guilt in our pleasures.
And like a feather blowing in the wind
We'll be carried away
By this sweet occasion;
Our soul vacation.
And like refugees
We'll take refuge in the Oasis
Of each other's mind;
Where we'll find solace
In the midst of this
Desolate world.

BeliZean Food
By Edgar Pitts

I remember your
Beautiful body like
I remember my way home
And like home
I reminisce about
It’s tenderness/
About its sweet caress
That use to leave me
Breathless whenever
we use to be in each others
warm embrace;
It’s a warmth that I miss
Like I miss my favorite
The blanket that we use
To cuddle under as we
Enjoyed each others
Treasures with hugs,
Kisses and pledges of
Love that climaxed
Into our mutual pleasure
That I now yearn for
Like I hunger for my
Favorite dish;
And like that good home
Cooked Belizean food
That is prepared from scratch
Baby I have a taste for you.
Because like this prison food
My life has been bland
Without you.
So I need your spice
To excite me;
I need your pepper
To revive me;
I need your ginger
To make me stronger;
And I need your honey
Because I have a sweet
Tooth for your.
So at the end of my
Odyssey we’ll
Rendezvous like Okra
And plantain in a pot
Of stew;
Then I’ll indulge my
Taste buds
In you.

By Edgar Pitts

I want to tell you something
That means the world to me;
But it might mean absolutely
nothing to you.
It is something that I value;
But you may have a different
View of it.
You may even say that it is
Inappropriate to be expressed;
But we both know that's just semantics.
Because denial of it can’t
And won’t change it’s essence;
It is spiritual and flawless
It takes rest and erase
All prejudice;
And sweet lady that is never
Inappropriate to express.
I’ve been dying to talk to you,
Not the you who they
Pay you to be,
But the you who you truly are;
The you that shines from beneath
Your facade of protocol
Like a star;
The you that illuminates
My dark and dreary days
And turn them into sunny
And tropical moments
Whenever I see you.
The you that speaks sweetly
To me with your silent starr
 and your inquisitive gaze/
The you that sets off flares
In my mind whenever
I’m near you.
The you that don’t comply
With your mouth;
Because what your mouth
Refuse to say,
Your enticing eyes
Your seductive body
And your electric vibe
Reveals to my receptive mind.
Because your presence
Fascinates me;
And your soul delights;
And your eyes have me
Mesmerized by signals
Of your yearnings
That can’t be concealed
By denials.
I don’t mean to pry into
The sanctum of your mind,
But your vibe is telling me
“Seek and you shall find”
So I want to tell you
Something that means
The word to me;
But it might mean
Absolutely nothing
To you …

Malcolm X
By Edgar Pitts

Who did what
Who called the shot?
I just don’t know
All I know is that it
Shouldn’t have been so
Malcolm should have lived
Until he was a thousand years
Old or even more
Some say that it was the cointelpro
Of that I’m sure
But what made negroes
Gun down our hero
And turn around and practice passive resistance against a savage
Who threatens our very existence
While Malcolm was plotting a resistance against the nemesis
These imbeciles was plotting
Against the shining prince
They’re worse than Judas
Because Judas had a conscience
So he committed suicide after
Treacherous action
But after the treason
These Judas are still breathing
Why don’t they just die
And make us rejoice with joy
non -believers disguised in black skin
Sabotaging the struggle
That they don’t believe in
So they use their skin to deceive men

Niggas killed Malcolm X and
Niggas will probably kill me too

You got to be naive to believe
You can determine friend
From foe
Just based on skin color alone
And not by the content
Of the character
I see the niggas
But where are my brothers at
Bob Marley said that they sold
Marcus Gravey for rice
Then they ambushed Bob Marley in the right
They say the eyes never lie
But experience tells me
That they don’t always
Tell the truth
Niggas killed Malcolm X
And niggas will probably
Kill me too
Huey Newton was still an asset
Yet slugs put him in his
Casket while agent
Provocateurs that deserve
Death remain in our midst
Misfits in position of
Leadership navigating the
Lives of the less fortunate
The blind leading the blind
Now we can’t find our way
out of this maze that got
Us trapped and strapped
With guns that we only
Aim at blacks

Niggas killed Malcolm X and
Niggas will probably kill me too

I’m analyzing this self hatred
Wondering why this black life
Of mines ain't considered sacred
In a blink of an eye a nigga
Would lay me dead on the pavement
But if my pigment was white
A nigga would think twice
Fifty times before he contemplates
I’ve stared into the eyes of
These boys who claim to be
Real men and I’ve seen the fear that paralyze
The fear that makes them
Throw away their weapons
When the cops hit the intersection
We’re conditioned for submission
So the prisons are full of blacks
Who hate blacks and backstab
Each other because they’re
Petrified of the real nemesis
Life sentences and these fools
are complacent with just being
Jailhouse celebrities
All is vanity
Buy up the commissary
And live good in the penitentiary
While we’re becoming liabilities
To our families
Where is the sanity

Niggas killed Malcolm X and
Niggas will probably kill me too

Through the Noise
By Edgar Pitts

When will this all end?
The experiments, the fences
The evil behind the smiling faces
The guard in the gun tower
Who is watching us through
His binocular with his finger on the trigger
The counts that remind us that
We’re nothing but a number
When will this all end?

The feds took our freedom
Then our dominion based on
Bogus convictions
Then they told us that we
Can’t have a woman
The only thing they left us
With is an opinion that if
We express they will label
Us as a threat
And lock us down at the ADX
And put us on a range with
Derange fools who don’t even
Know their own names
And with fools who try to gain
Fame off a next man’s pain
And with cell soldiers
Who spit venom from the safety
of their single cell
At good men with life
sentences who know who
The true nemesis is
But all through the noise
We remain silent
And restrain the violence
Because the environment
Is nothing but an experiment
By the government to get
Data to use against us later

When will this all end?
The experiments, the fences
The evil behind the smiling faces
The guard in the gun tower
Who is watching us through
His binocular with his finger on the trigger
The counts that remind us that
We’re nothing but a number
When will this all end?

How could it be that I’m
in the penitentiary doing life
While my potential wife face
This cold, cold world without me
I’m suppose to be the man of
The family
The sole provider
The one to satisfy her
the breadwinner
Instead the feds got me
In the ADX
Stuck in a concrete casket
Being fed rotten lettuce
And treated like a savage
The stress is hard to manage
So I try to make exercise
A habit
But some days are worst
Than the others trying to stay away from
The undercovers
The backstabbing vultures
That voted me off the island
Like survivor
Because here at the ADX
The fools who profess
To be soldiers
Be the ones that sing like Mariah
But thoughts of someday
Holding my love again
Keeps me anchored
To my sanity
This is purgatory
No serenity in the midst
Of all the treachery
But these fools aren’t machiavellis
They’re just trapped and
deceived by their own

When will this all end?
The experiments, the fences
The evil behind the smiling faces
The guards in the gun
Tower who is watching
Us through his binocular
With his finger on the trigger
The counts that remind us
That we’re nothing but a number.
When will this all end

He was arrested in development
As an adolescent
He never smelled the sweet scent of a woman
He never enjoyed her joy
So he finds it hard to look
A woman in the eyes
His world is porn
A synthetic escape
In prison he is not even
A clone of his full potential
The injustice of this practice
Is intentional
Degenerates in congress
who cross dress
Pass laws to enlarge
The same sex environment
And turn testosterone
To estrogen
And Estrogen to testosterone
To defeat the insurgent spirit
And make convicts complacent
With playing jailhouse politics
The real world then becomes irrelevant

It’s sort of like that movie
The Village
When the Myth of monsters
 in the forest keep the people
Hostage to their own ignorance
Some convicts no longer speak
Of freedom
It lulls them to sleep
Instead they would rather
Talk about soaps and play
Those kinds are doomed
Their mind is their own tombs

When will it all end:
The experiments, the fences
The evil behind the smiling faces
The guard in the gun tower
who is watching us through his binoculars.
With his finger on the trigger
The counts that remind us that
We’re nothing but a number
When will this all end?

By Edgar Pitts

Dear sweet Lady
Do you believe in fate?
Do you believe that
There is a force at work,
Working to bring complete
Strangers together to turn
Them into friends
Or something stronger?
I ask this question because
I’m sitting here in this lonely
Cell with a void in my heart
It’s a void that I’ve been
Ignoring at the price of
Sleepless nights
Trying to convince myself
That all I need is,
“a crust of bread and
a corner to sleep in,
a moment to laugh
and an hour to weep in.”
But the fact that I’m now
Writing you demonstrates
That I was wrong
Because like it was said
“Man does not live by bread alone.”
So what I’m seeking in you
Is what I have to give
And that’s a sincere heart
And an appreciative soul
And in this cold, cold world
These attributes are more
precious than diamond or gold
So as I unfold the scroll
Off my mind before your eyes
I hope you would recognize
In me what I already recognized in you
So excuse me sweet lady
If I may sound possessive
When I say that there is a quality in you that I must
Possess and claim as my own
It glows like gold
And it has possessed
My own soul
It emerge from your core
To illuminate who you truly are like a star
I know that my claim
May sound absurd because
I hardly know your name
I couldn’t deny the zest
That you’ve impressed on
My mind with just your voice
So I’m confessing my affection
That was inspired by a desire
That ignited a fire in my soul
That burns for you
Yes baby it’s
“Fire and desire”
And the heat of the attraction
Is so intense I couldn’t exercise
So I’m expressing myself to you at the risk
Of sounding like a fool
But whether I’m a fool
Or not
I couldn't deny the sublime vibe
That have me feeling so alive
whenever I’m able to look
Into your beautiful eyes
I couldn’t resist the magnetism
Of your spirit that captivated
Mines despite of the distance
Between us
I couldn’t ignore the potential
Of the moment that is pregnant
With promises of joy, passion
And satisfaction
And even though I’ve already
Said a lot I could never say
Too much to leave nothing
For your imagination
Because I believe that this
moment was written
In the constellations
So what’s left to be said
Is immense
But what’s left to be done
is even more profound
So don’t take my words
For granted
Because this is more
Than a pick up line
That is designed
To mesmerize you with words
Instead this is a well defined
Expression of my soul
To your soul
Soul to soul
So my answer to the question
Posed is
Yes I believe in fate
Yes I believe that there’s
A force at work,
Working to bring us together
So baby tell me

What do you believe?

By Edgar Pitts

What I don’t know about you
Is just as enticing
As what I do know; Because what I don’t know
Is glowing like a star
In the night sky
That fill my mind with wonder.
So reveal yourself to me by degrees
Like a striptease;
Because your mystique intrigues me;
But to keep me intrigued
Baby you’re gonna have to feed me what
I need;
And what I need is for you to reciprocate
The interest and the need that I’m showing
So open your mind to mines;
And invite me into your world
To dignify my existence with yours.

By Edgar Pitts

Baby let me massage
Your mind with mines.
So close your eyes and open your mind;
And feel my warm hands
Rubbing the stress
Out of your thoughts,
With pure warmth and affection;
Feel my fingers squeezing the worries
Out of your mind with complete adoration
And appreciation of your divine being;
Bringing calm to your commotion.
This is the true definition
Of undivided attention;
Because you’re the sole object
Of my affection.
Baby let me massage
Your mind with mines
Until your body temperature rise;
Until your aches and pain subsides;
Bringing relaxation down your spine;
And opening your mind’s eyes to my truth.
Sooting what needs to be soothed;
Touching what needs to be touched;
Caressing what needs to be caressed.
So let me kiss your mind’s lips with mine’s;
Let me stare into your mind’s eyes with mines
Let me whisper in your mind’s ears
With words of sincere worth
That I adore you;
That I appreciate you;
That I need you.
Baby let me massage
Your mind with mines.
Listen to my whispers in your ear;
Let it penetrate the surface;
And sink deep into your mind
To awaken the dormant joy
That’s waiting to be enjoyed
Baby let me massage
Your mind with mines.
Let me penetrate your depths/
Where you remain untouched
Like buried jewels;
And untapped fuel.
Baby this is what I call
Soul searching.
So baby I wanna explore and adore
What has been ignored;
I want to bless what has been neglected;

I wanna appreciate
What has been taken for granted.
Baby let me massage
Your mind with mines.
Let me pour words like warm oil
Down your spine of your mind;
And massage it into your soft sin
Until it relieves the tension
Deep down in your muscles.
BEcause I know that after a long day
Of the hustle and bustle
You just want to relax
And be catered to.
So baby let me massage
Your mind with mines …

The New Cross
By Edgar Pitts

Democracy is the new cross
For the west
In the past the West conquered
Under the sign of the cross.
But Christianity is now in retreat
And the prestige of the cross is now lost.
So the new cross is Democracy
Where they claim the people rule
But the food
The schools
And the tools of production are in the hands of a few.
Now the people are made to be fools
By the schools
And are kept hungry due
To manufactured poverty
Then they are told what to do
By this few who use democracy
As a tool to rule
It's a subtle evil
The vehicle they use to rule
Is the ignorance of the people
Democracy is the new cross for
The West

The Gospel According to Nat Turner
By Edgar Pitts

Births hurt
I know because I see the wars
And the blood that pours
When the poor declares that they’re
Determined to be poor no more
I see the women mourning the fruits
Of their wombs at the tombs of their
Doomed children
The truth hurts the one who is bold
Enough to reveal it
So many conceal it like the Pharisees
And use religion as a fig leaf to deceive
The masses with promises that vanishes
Like the morning dew at sun rise
But from among the people only a few rise
While the cry for justice fall on deaf ears
Fears not confronted grows into mountains
But they say that faith moves mountains
So I’m drinking holy water from the fountain of the rock that was cracked by Moses
Baptized to be chosen in the furnace
Of affliction of the middle passage
By a savage people who will never see us
As their equals
They crucified Jesus then change his
Facial features to resemble the creatures
That slaughtered our ancestors

They crucified the Dread
So I’m gonna crucify this verse
With this teachings

This is the Gospel according to
Nat Turner, Sojourner and all the other Souljahs
Who envisioned us before we were fetuses
And taught us through the ages on pages
In and out of cages
From the slave ship to the gallows
About this evil apparatus that oppose us
Judas sold Jesus for thirty pieces
Of silver
And they sold us for liquor
And gunpowder
The similarities are so profound
I can’t be wrong
When I say that I was lost
Now Im found
And I still stand above ground
Behind enemy lines in defiance
Of all the lies
As I watch my foes shout crucify him
I count my blessings then  I scream out
To the heavens:
“Lord forgive them not for they
Know exactly what they do.”
So I violated their curfews
And when faced with danger
I still speak truth to power
Or be devoured like Jonah
By the storm of his life
That’s why I need a Sista like ISIS
For my wife who knows how to face crisis
When the strife gets too hectic

They crucified the Dread
So I’m gonna crucify this verse
With his teachings

Treachery perfected
And taken for virtue
Stains the soul like mildew
The whole world is subdued

And placed under a curfew by a few who have
Allied themselves with the reptiles
The night sky is dotted by satellites
That intercept the light of the stars
Darkness now prevails
And jails multiplies
The senses deprived of human contact
The soul permanently scarred
I see the deceived masses giving applause
To the speeches of demagogues
Trying to quench their thirst
By drinking water from a mirage
Being bombarded with a barrage
Of counter intelligence propaganda
There's no more vacancy at Hotel Rwanda
The CIA killed Lumumba
They said Jesus said
That we must give to Cesar
What belongs to Cesar
But I don’t believe the preacher
So I say we should get Cesar
And silence the preacher
Unless he’s preaching
The Gospel according to
Nat Turner …

Love Again
By Edgar Pitts

You’ve turned your back on me
And it’s best that you keep it turned
You owe me no explanation
Or apology
Nor do I want any
You had the upper hand
And instead of giving me a hand
You used it to slap me down
Who you are is not who you say you are
But who you are is who you show you are
We can all claim to be stars
But as long as the darkness prevails
We are nothing but shadows lost
In a maze of constant sorrows
The days are full of illusions
Constant deception from those I accepted
As friends
No need to make amends
Because a man like me can’t trust again
My people will always be my people
But evil don’t get no sequel
And I see the treachery in your features
So I just can see you in my future
These words are not to soothe your pain
They’re to release us from our common shame
Then I might be able to love again

Beauty and the Convict
By Edgar Pitts 

Beauty and the Convict
She is the Beauty
He is the Convict
She is the Goddess
And he is the Menace
She was baptized
And he was demonized
And criminalized by this society
Two unlikely candidates for love
Brought together by destiny
And sparked a controversy 
their rendezvous is taboo
But their love is etched
On their hearts like
Matching tattoos
Her sacrifice is the greatest 
She gives more than she takes
She visits him at the prison
Where they speak of their
Vision of love
And past heartbreaks
Their oblivious to the prejudice
Of the world
Caught up in the rapture
And keeping eye contact
Until their visit is over
Her friends don’t understand
Her stand
They’re trying to convince her 
To leave her man
But she stands firm and
Unconcerned with their opinions 
Her love revives his mind
And it radiates through his eyes
He is now redefining 
His way of life
Finding light where there
Was darkness 
Love where there was hatred
So he now hold life sacred
At night he writes her love 
letters while staring at her 
pictures on the wall
He is now rising from his fall
She brings him new meaning
 to old songs he cherish her words and
Read them like psalms
She is so gorgeous
So the prison guards are mad
And envious to see her
Visiting a convict that
Is so notorious

Beauty and the convict
She is the beauty 
He is the convict
She is the Goddess 
And he is the Menace
She was baptized and 
He was demonized and
Criminalized by this society
Two unlikely candidates 
For love brought together
By destiny and sparked at

His plight keeps here up at night
His fight is now her fight
So the politics of the injustice
Makes her think politically
The Penitentiary is now
Her enemy
The obstacle that is keeping her 
from building a family 
Like slavery did to Harriet
And Dangerfield newby
She wants to have his baby
And even though she is still 
Young she can hear her
Biological clock ticking
Her maternal instinct
Is kicking in
But the time he is doing 
Is too wide to get across
Too low to get under
And too high to get over
So she got a loan
From a sympathetic friend
And got a lawyer
And a private investigator
To uncover new evidence
Of his innocence 
At their visit she tells him
About her endeavor
But after so many appeals
Being denied all he could do
Was smile
But he wasn’t surprised
Because he could see the 
Sincere love in her eyes
And even though he didn’t 
Have any faith in the system
He had faith in her persistence
So he allowed her to continue 
With her mission
And in the meantime he continued
To indulge himself in her mind
Enjoying her joy
Because before her his soul 
Was on ice
Until he saw her face
And heard her voice

Beauty and the convict
She is the beauty 
He is the convict
She is the Goddess 
And he is the Menace
She was baptized and 
He was demonized and
Criminalized by this society
Two unlikely candidates 
For love brought together
By destiny and sparked a Controversy

That evening when their 
Visit was over they kissed
Each other goodbye
Then they was dismissed
By a guard with an evil smile
But he held and kissed her
Until the last second
Until their fingertips 
no longer touched
Until the steel door slammed shut
With her sweet smell still
In his nostrils he went
Back to the hell of his lonely cell
With her hopes and dreams 
She drove off into the 
Twilight listening to her 
Screaming heart feeling
The pain from being apart
Her thoughts were interrupted
By a police car pulling her over
As the cop got closer she
Realized that it was the guard
With the evil smile
She asked why did she get 
Pulled over
He said that she exceeded
The speed limit
So she will get a ticket
But in an instance
He started to ask about
Her visit 
And what was a beautiful
Lady like her doing visiting
A convict that wasn’t worth shit
She had to restrain herself
When she told him
“It’s none of your damn business 
Write the ticket or let me go.”
He was angry and it showed 
But her love for the convict 
was real and it glowed 
So he realized that his 
Mischief was useless
So he let her go
Without even writing a ticket

Beauty and the convict
She is the beauty 
He is the convict
She is the Goddess 
And he is the Menace
She was baptized and 
He was demonized and
Criminalized by this society
Two unlikely candidates 
For love brought together by destiny 
and sparked a Controversy

          Love is most often a defiant act!
To be continued….

By Edgar Pitts

I could speak with a voice
Thats as smooth as silk;
And just as fluid as milk;
To entice you to be mine;
To invite you into my mind;
Where I too am naked.
And I’m pretty sure I could find
Words that glow like gold
To express what's in my soul.
But what needs to be said
About love has already been said before;
So I’m not gonna exploit love anymore;
Instead I want you
To reflect on my deeds,
Seed by seed,
Element by every single element,
Strip me naked like a psychotherapist.
And if you find any evidence
That contradicts my love for you,
Then Baby I don’t deserve you.
But I’ve made it quite clear
The moment I declared my feelings
For you that it’s pure, honest and 
Without prejudice.
So don’t for one second think
That I’m taking you for granted;
Because I’m no hypocrite.
For me the sex was never casual;
To me it was always spiritual;
Something sacred and immaculate.
Because that’s what I see;
That’s what I feel
Whenever I’m around you.
I see you
With eyes of penetrating
So when I have you to myself
Time is never of the essence;
Because joy becomes enjoyment
And time becomes irrelevant.
And undressing you always
Becomes a special event;
To adore your body
That is adorned in the best of flesh;
Tight and folded;
And sweet to caress;
With curves that rises to peaks
And dips into a sacred valley
Of lilies; to soft and hollow places 
Of Oasis And I’m like Roses standing 
Before the burning bush;
I’m in awe;
And burning with desire for you
And the day after 
I’m always there;
Holding you near;
Trying to dispel your fears;
Whispering in your ear that 
“I’m not going nowhere.”
Yet you’re still suspicious of me;
And remain locked like a fortress;
And won’t let me penetrate below
The surface of your mind.
You share your body with me;
But not your dreams;
And that’s like dying of thirst
Next to a running stream.
I heard you screaming;
I want to make your nightmares mines
And slay your demons;
But at times you make me feel 
Like I’m the demon.
Yes, your body has me dreaming; 
But it’s your mind that has me fiending
I wanna enjoy your joy; 
I wanna impregnate your mind
With mines; and yours mines;
And give birth to a nude mind/
That isn’t cloaked in self doubt,
Fear and insecurity.
Because to see you naked. Is just a finite act
In an infinite action of who
You truly are.

Particles of stars are in your eyes;
But as beautiful as you are 
Stars still fall.
So who are you beyond your flesh;
Beyond what I can touch;
Beyond what makes my eyes smile;
Beyond what makes me lust;
Beyond what makes me explode in joy;
Beyond what will return to dust;

Tell me Baby
Who are you?

I Have Dreams
By Edgar Pitts 

Do you know what hurts the most
About being locked up for life behind bars?
It’s the stars that I see
That I could have reached
I’s the recognition of my potential
That sparkled my ambition
And even though I’m behind walls
That stand tall
My vision makes me see further
In my mind I’m an explorer
But the reality of the steel doors 
won’t let me venture into my odysseys
So I exist in a constant state of misery
Dying to be free
In deep sleep I have dreams of making
Sweet love to a queen
It’s so real it makes me oblivious to the obvious
And for a moment I feel like I’m in heaven
With an angel for a girlfriend
Then as the sleep flees I awake to the 
Nightmare of my reality
The concrete walls and the steel bars 
Make me scream 
And the emotional scars are so deep
It feels like I’ve been locked away an eternity
Now I know that a woman is the blessing of liberty
And this isolation makes me feel so lonely
Like a captive in purgatory

It’s the 4th of July
By Edgar Pitts 

It’s the 4th of July
And I’m not free
I’m sitting here in limbo
In the bowels of this Penitentiary
This is a man minus his glory
Modern day slavery

Schools are not profitable enough
The prison industry is bigger business
The hotel for the miseducated ones of society
Warehousing human beings like commodities
It’s good for the economy
Illiteracy is a tool to make more money
Give the poor lobotomies
And lead them like zombies
Directly to the penitentiary cells
Where cheap labor sells for 20 cents an hour
This attracts corporations like corpses attract vultures
Overseers stand on guard in gun towers
With rifles to stifle all rebellions
And keep the slaves slaving on the plantations
They seek justification for this holocaust 
In lost cause of fraud and pass flawed laws
That have clause like hawks
While the sharks racially profile
And round up men, women and child
In a single file line to be confined
Justice in denial
They turn brothers into rivals
To testify against each other at trials
One gets life behind bars
While the other walks the green mile

It’s the 4th of July
And I’m not free
I’m sitting here in limbo
In the bowels of this Penitentiary
This is a man minus his glory
Modern day slavery

A prisoner's life often depends
On the ink in the pen
That is in the hands of crooked men
Who have their own interest to protect
To remain on the bench
Indigent convicts often fall victims
To this conflict of interest
To society he is the scum of the earth
Who should have been aborted before birth
The whole world debate over his fate
No right to procreate
An object of intense hatred
His life is no longer considered sacred
Strip searches
Vultures feasting off the carcass of the ignorant 
Convicts remain under constant surveillance
Getting rushed around like migrants
It’s man minus his glory 
A victim of gestapo like policies
Freedom justice and equality
Is only a fallacy in this democracy

It’s the 4th of July
And I’m not free
I’m sitting here in limbo
In the bowels of this Penitentiary
This is a man minus his glory
Modern day slavery

I've seen many become complacent
In this synthetic environment
Some try to rationalize this experiment
So they surrender their minds to become
Institutionalized and remain confined
Behind enemy lines and partake in the stereotypical
Behaviours of their neighbors
Some get religious and wait for a savior 
Others become jailhouse informants
In exchange for favors from the slave master
Others become jailhouse predators
And extort the weak
They expose the secrets that lay hidden 
Beneath and tighten the grip on their
Victims pockets
To them every man is a potential maggot
Human nature is complex
No two men do time like the next
Some play sports every day
Bouncing their time away
A brief escape from the harsh reality
Of time that’s steering them dead in their faces
Others catch murder cases because of jail
House celebrities that put their lives
In jeopardy by being in grown men’s faces
As for me
I study the flaws in the law and formulate
Arguments that’s able to destroy the content 
Of the injustice that’s holding me captive 
I’m fighting a war to dismantle these bars
And even when my wounds heal
It will leave me with scars
So no matter how far I get I’ll never forget
That it’s the 4th of July and I’m not free

By Edgar Pitts 

An education was the justice I never received.
Miseducation was the tool used to keep the truth concealed.
Unable to perceive the reality.
My ignorance had me living a fantasy.
Sex-ism, race-ism and gangster-ism had me living in the past.
While the enemy is preparing for the next century.
Mystified by his lies
Superstition set in.
His religion given an upper hand
Leaving me under the stand.
While they dance on the world stage 
Playing music of the new age
While I still reminisce about the old days stagnated
I hesitated to learn
Now I’m burning in the fire of my ignorance.
I’m miseducated

By Edgar Pitts 

It wasn’t my intention
To try and make you cry,
I just wanted you to understand 
What kind of man 
I am
But if you felt like crying,
Baby let your pen cry;
Let it’s tears fall in between
The lines of your tablet;
Arrange your words like an architect;
And express yourself
To make me feel
What you felt;
Like I made you feel
What I felt.
My pen already wept tears
Of ink that swept away
The blank stare of the pages;
And painted them with words
Of hope, pain and joy;
That gave expression to my soul;
Unfolding the scroll of my mind 
Before your very eyes;
Hoping you would realize the depth of my intellect
And invite me to probe yours
By blessing my eyes with your own
Words of hope, pain and joy.
So let your pen cry. 
Put her in labor;
And let her deliver
The feelings and emotions
That you have percolating
Below the surface of your mind.
And if I impregnated your mind
With something to think about,
Then that child is mines;
So I’m your Baby’s Daddy. (smile)
So give it to G-Bam Shango
What belongs to G-Bam Shango
Like I’m giving to you what belongs to you.
Because you impregnated 
My mind with these lines;
So you’re my Baby’s Mama. (smile)
I hope you appreciate
My sense of humor.
Because I’m trying to secure
A place in your future;
Whether it be just as a friend
Or something stronger.
And that’s not just for 
The realm of fantasy;
Because even though I’m 
In the penitentiary,
I can still do with my interest in you
What a man is supposed to do
With his presence.
Because I appreciate
Your essence.
And it’s at that depth
That I want us to relate;
At a depth that the average fool
Don’t even know exist.
So I wanna bless
What has been neglected;
Appreciate what has been 
Taken from granted; and
Adore what has been ignored;
Because I know 
That at your core
Your remain untouched
Like a virgin.
So open your mind
And let me in;
And let me message your mind
With mines;
Until your cherry pops.
And when you do cry 
It will be tears
Of joy.

The Tree
By Edgar Pitts 

The old tree in the prison yard blocked the view of the guard in the gun tower. The prisoner saw it and took advantage of the hour. He jumped up and fell back down, he got up and tried again, but the wall just kept getting taller, so he couldn’t get over.

A weak prisoner saw his attempt and happily went to inform the guards. The guards came like a stampede of wildebeest and subdued the freedom fighter and took him away. What a shame. Now he’s isolated to a cell behind many steel doors and bars in the segregation housing unit, better known as the hole. This is a cold world.

In the meantime the guards needed someone to blame for the prisoners attempted escape, but the tree was the only one standing around. So they did their estimation and with no hesitation came to their diabolical conclusion. “The tree must go.” The tree that gave calming shade to the prisoners must go. The tree an enemy to captivity and a friend to liberty must go.  The tree that gave calming shade to the prisoners must go. The tree that was the house to varieties of pretty birds must go, the only diversity without violence that the prisoners know.

The birds can’t serenade the prisoners anymore. The tree must go. The birds must now relocate, what a terrible state, but the tree of life must go on.

So limb by limb they cut the tree down.

Edgar Pitts 04616-084
U.S. Penitentiary
P.O. Box 8500
Florence, CO 81226-7000

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Poetry by Joseph Clark

by Joseph Clark
Have you ever wonder why people write poems
and why do a lot of them rhyme?
I guess it’s because they have nothing to do
and just want to burn up some time.

Are the stories they tell really the truth
or just a bunch of lies?
Or is it a code that each little word
is concocted and written by spies?

Some are strange, some are funny
and others are just plain stupid,
And some are written in February
by a little dude named Cupid.

I like the ones that take me away
to a foreign place,
And the silly ones that make me laugh
and put a smile on my face.
I think we all have a special gift
that poems allow us to show.

So pick up that pen and look deep within

and let the freedom flow.

by Joseph Clark
Truly this heart aches,
This laugh, smile, and jokes are fake.
If only people could, would, read this mind,
All the internal hurt, pain and anguish deep behind.
It was easier being a loser, lost behind the walls,
Than dealing with the “Free-world”, all the unknown pitfalls.
Failure hurts, it’s like deep cuts, damn they sting,
Hear I sit, pressing ignore as my phone loudly rings.
Thoughts don’t mind barging my head, each, and every day,
Wanting me, taunting me, to just give up and go away.
“Throw in the towel they’ll need it to clean,”
“If you do it fast, and right they won’t hear a scream.”
Really don’t know why I started playing this game,
Should’ve just popped the whole script, once the pills came........

by Joseph Clark
I am chained to my past, like a dog tied to a tree.
I want to bite, chew and tear through the chain but, it's hurts my teeth.
 I'm locked away inside my mind battling every thought that's changes with time.
Really that's haunted me for as long as I can remember.
 But if a tree falls without anyone around would we hear timber.
I need to on, I want to move on, learning how to leave the past gone.
But no matter what I want to do, I still have no clue.
Why my mind keeps reliving it all again and again.
I'm imprisoned in my own mind, and my thoughts are not my friends.
I fight each and every day, run but,  I still can't get away.
Hoping and wishing for my mind to release me from this prison.
Trying to be voice is my vision.

Internal Bane
by Joseph Clark
Icy tears of unknowing fears flowing in my veins, giving life to dense sorrow and internal pain.
Inflamed blood formed into a flood like lava pouring out of my eyes,
 pushed out by this evil unjust system playing deaf to my cries.
My optimism faded as soon as oppression rudely invaded.
Swiftly stealing my name and personality vanishing me up the river of tremendous tragedy.
A brutal surge of violent thoughts splashed over me, overtaken by tidal waves of harsh anxiety
Callous beast and wicked demons furnish my soul with intense misery.
Overwhelming me with a sharp sense of double jeopardy.
My hope is being held down by the evil heavy foot of hate,
chocking back my blazing desire leaving me gasping for my faith to resuscitate.
Drowning deep in this welcoming pit of despair,
learning how much anguish my bleeding heart can bear.
Dreadful memories are the roots of my shattered dreams.
Giving birth to the fearful nightmares that murder my self-esteem.
Strangled by the cruel hands of emotional devastation,
 escape from the reality wouldn’t be a bad ultimatum.
Painful feelings of become trapped n’ wrapped in those sticky webs of distress,
not wanting to become defeated by this evilness.
Swept away by savage currents in this river of silent depression.
Entangled sheets, multiple pills or razor blades become a serous suggestion.

by Joseph Clark

You know the past is the past for a reason.
That is where it should stay,
But some can’t seem to let it go.
In their head thoughts eats away.

Only if you could become.
The person you used to be,
The mistakes you made in life.
Oh, how we wished to first see.

Nothing can change what happened,
No matter how tough you try,
No matter how much you ponder on it,
No matter how long you cry.

What happens in your lifetime
Happens for reasons first unknown,
So you have to let the cards unfold.
To let your story be shown.

Don't get caught up in the negative.
Be grateful for that you have been given.
Live life for today not tomorrow.
Get up, get out, and just start living,

Because the past is the past for a reason.
It's been, spent, and went now it’s gone,
So quit thinking of ways to change it.
It’s unchangeable; move on, sing your song

Pushing Through 
by Joseph Clark

Never should you give up,
Never should you give in.
Move forward with your head upward use the strength from within.

Always will you believe,
Always will you look straight
Never be that one who is seen with no faith.

Remembering the past,
Looking towards the future.
Stop thinking about dreams it’s time to capture.

You are very special,
You are truly unique.
Going far in life is what you need to seek.

You are super brilliant,
You prove yourself amazing every day,
Time to dust of yourself, time to make away.

by Joseph Clark

Utter loneliness, labeled as a exile,
Thanks for this solitary cell.
Twenty-thee hour lockdown,
One in a cage
Then back to your Hell…

A memory of the cell, stays in my mind.
This is where I exist, subsist, Confined.
To do my own penance,
The spare change of my long sentence,
All the while, dying slowly
In others remembernce…

My Promise 
by Joseph Clark

I felt a tear rolling down my face
    As I sit shivering in this quiet, lonely place.
  I think of you and need you here.
    To wipe away my fearful tears.
  I dropped to the floor with my head between my knees.
    I begin to ask, beg, even plead.
  Please Lord bring take home.
    I can no longer handle being alone.
  Is there an Angel you could send to me
    And give me a miracle? Oh God I believe.
  I’ve done enough time; I need to be free.
    begging you God, bring me back.
    I can’t stand being attacked  ; I believe in you.
    Please God, I know there’s something you could do?
  I'll make it up to you, promise, you know I will.
    I'll be good and honest, grateful and true.
  So please send me an Angel, that’s all I’m asking of you
    I'll say this prayer each and every day

  Until you bring home Father HOME TO STAY!!

By Joseph Clark

You may see me struggle,
but I promise you’ll never see me fall.
Regardless if I'm weak or not,
I will stand tall.
Everyone likes to say life is easy,
but sometimes living it is not.
Times do get hard,
people will  struggle
and constantly be placed on the spot.
I'm going to shine my biggest smile,
even though I need to cry.
I'm going to fight that battle to live,
even though I'm destined to die.
And even if  it's hard
and I may suffer through it all,
you might see me struggle...

but you will NEVER see me fall.

Higher Level 
By Joseph Clark

There is beauty in the struggle but only if you make it..
There is an Opportunity in the Obstacle, only if you can face it..
The is Gain after the Pain, only if you can take it..

Trying to make it amongst the stars around the spaceship..

A Little Something 
By Joseph Clark

Can two be in love forever and always?
What if Are’s was taken away, like a torn-out page?
I would say yes, could you say the same?
These are just a few questions that keep me going insane
It’s okay, I fade away, when I think of your name
I can’t feel you though the glass, I still couldn’t complain
It’s okay I’ll fade away like the sun when it’s bathes
This seems a little repetitive babe let me explain
The sun rises then falls then falls
The moon comes when called
Because of you I’m in awe
It’s your love I applaud, all thanks be to God
Cheers to the one who stole my heart
Racing for love but you put it in park

I wish I would’ve found you from the start…...

A Great Teacher 
By Joseph Clark

A great teacher is hard to find
Believe me I’ve searched far and wide
I went to the top; they had no time
Fell to the bottom; I was declined
Just like the rest I got in line
Waited my turn to be given a try
Internally all I could do ask why
But the great teacher I couldn’t find
Failure came fast like a thief at night
Overtook me and shook me until I lost sight
Some say I gave up, I had no fight
But truth be told, I just lost my might
I was wound so tight, like a clock that ticks
Trying to find a teacher, to make things click
I sought and knocked exhausted and sick
Then I realized what failure was and that was it
Listen to this and you too will find
The end of the riddle in due time
Mistakes turned masterpiece, ease of mind
The bottom decline, the top has no time

But failure is the teacher you want to find

Here We Go Again
By Joseph Clark

Here we go again, trapped in this system that doesn’t want me to win.
Been playing this game for way to long,
Different people, different places, singing the same old song.
Looking for someone or something else to blame,
For these childish actions that have me full of shame.
Searching for hope in a place so dark,
Wishing I was a pencil top so I can erase the hurt for my girl’s heart.
Sometimes I run from the phone cuz it’s tough hearing her cry,
Knowing I’m the reason tears are flowing from her eye’s.
Here we go again a life full of mistakes,
I know I’m far from perfect, but I’m aiming for great.
Have full faith that this will be the end,

Cuz you and I know I cant write a part two of “Here we go again.”

By Joseph Clark 

Stay awake – young inmate, you got to go to parole court
As the A.M. – creeps in, all my dreams were cut short
Should’ve ran – stuck to the plan, and left the city
Rudely awaken – freedom taken, was shown no pity
Vision tunnels – body crumbles, as I beat this case
Drunken theories – evading conspiracies, gonna be easy to erase
Tough accusations – false allegations, base strickily on my past
Severe depression: slowly swept in: freedom taken in a flash
Enslaving parole – traps my soul, I’m wondering why
Facing years – denying tears, deep within my eyes
Questions for these lessons, overburden my mind
Silent voices: invisible choices, answers only come with time

Parole Games 
By Joseph Clark

Parole said I broke the rules and stipulations. 
State drop the charges but yet I'm still in visitation.
 the judge said I'm facing no time I stop pacing. 
Mind's now racing over false accusations.
 The only violation that I see is from them 
Threats of "The pen" leaving me absent from family and friends. 
Injustice is no justice when will this misery end. 
Here's a better question how do we let it begin 
Revocation but they ain’t hearing me out. 
Gathered all the evidence but they ain't feeling me now.
Thanks to the radio and my people my voice is still loud. 
Been writing this whole time about to have two books now. 
Still parole doubts everything I became. 
Mr. Xcon to icon because I decided to change. 
Got a hundred loyal supporters out here screaming my name. 
Plus they’re probably wear my t-shirts igniting my flame….

By Joseph Clark

Painful silence intrudes my mind
Fluorescent lights makes me blind
Bitter sweet suicide pressed against my arm
Involuntary solitary projected this harm
Enclosing walls allows the devil this gain
Releasing fears in my brain
Buckling knees as the liquid flows
Quivering breath once I know
Overweight guard has a surprise next round
Half heart inmate cleans the flood on the ground
Dreadful suffering will be no more
Tortured soul is free lifeless body on the floor

Joseph Clark

My name is Joseph Clark and I'm a formerly incarcerated citizen. I took up writing as a form of release and escape while inside the walls and behind the bars. I'm currently a student of criminal Justice at the Lonestar Tomball campus. I find pleasure working with plenty of advocate groups such as Pure Justice, The Prison Show and Texas Advocates for Justice.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Art by Robert Rigler

Smart Communications/PADOC
Robert Rigler AF7750
SCI Phoenix
P.O. Box 33028
St. Petersburg, FL 33733

Poetry by Paul Fuentes

The System
by Paul Fuentes

Our turmoil consists of constant mechanical movements.
Trained how to eat, trained when to eat.
Gates open, trained how to move, trained when to mooove. 
Similar to cattle. 
We are the new age contemporary slaves of the system,
Overflowing  penile institutions by means of coercive mobility unawareness.
Open your windows to the soul & behold surplus labor manifestation,
Where the monthly income is equivalent to the freeworlds hourly minimum, and corrections
Headquarters have capitalism on lockdown. 
Ironically we eat like communists,
Therefore single-man enterprises survive off the black market inflation.
The systematic conglomerate recognized slender threads
Of individualism, thus humane apparel was revoked.
Now we’re coerced into manufacturing generic
State property garments to accomplish their vision
Of unconditional complete control.
It’s apparent we are being sculptured, resembling
Robotic clones. Mission accomplished …
We remain the target penetrated by an everlasting,
Ceaseless clip of ignorant stigma fueled by some 
Pessimistic narrative believing that we are all inferior, untrustworthy, unrehabilitable
Thieving, murdering, parasitic drug addicts.
Officer overseer should take a gander through 
The kaleidoscope’s optimistic lens,
Aimed towards a population overwhelmed with 
Scholastic intellectuals, immigration lobbyists,
Artistas, Public enemy-minded civil rights activists, 
Attorneys, musicians, poetas, PHD’s, MD’s & 
Che Guevara-inspired revolutionaries!
Just to say the least … 

Minority of the Minority
by Paul Fuentes

Being introduced to racism so soon out of the womb, opens your eyes while bringing forth obstacles that a child should not be aware of. 
Since my people are from another world, adapting to the environment is easier said than done. 
Just as the seasons change, so does the residence, like clockwork.
Not once has anyone ever told me how to get to Sesame Street.
When the block is too light, stereotypes come out the woodworks. When the block is too dark, tantamount ignorance appears with a different twist. 
When the tone is familiar, I remain distinct … 
Back east, consensus indicates I’m Puerto Rican as the “spick” statement sparks adolescent warfare leaving two types of scars, physical & mental. 
Out west, collective opinion pronounces I’m Mexican, thus the “beaner” phrase jeopardizes my pride and adult warfare leaves even more scars.
My Latino descent is like an endangered species here. Outsiders of the Latino culture believe we’re all the same, “same thing” they love to say.
I beg to differ.
I am a minority within the minority, utilizing discipline by keeping my unique roots & customs alive in the midst of being discriminated by the mainstream Latino society for having differences in music, cuisine and vernacular. I will continue to educate the masses, while simultaneously representing prodigious recognition for my lineage of Maradona loving, mate drinking, tangeros who worship the one & only beautiful baby blue banderas. 
So don’t cry for me Argentina!
Patria o muerte … 

The Rock
by Paul Fuentes

The energy of the opposites soul connection.
Revives my power and manhood once again.
Her soft innocent ways subconsciously yearning for my protection
Subconsciously yearning for my protection, in which I must oblige as my lifelong duty, delivering automatic, like a blink, such as the reflex. 
Although human, I am her rock.
Scarred up from having endured the street-life a bit too long
Life or death scenarios throughout unforgettable terrains. 
I might be a little gruesome to look at, 
Depending on the perspective, but I am there and refuse to move as she can lean her form upon me and expect instant relief. 
Rocks are a solid mass, but in some way she pled with mother nature and in due time her sweetness molded a custom fit.

Paul Fuentes 719443
Washington State Reformatory Unit
P.O. Box 7001
Monroe, WA 98272-0777
Paul Fuentes is a 44 year old Latino of Argentine descent, born and raised in New York. He spent half his life in the Seattle area and a few years in Florida. He's the proud owner of a nostalgic music loving, culture appreciating, humorous personality while focusing on preparing himself for the free world proactively through higher learning and physical fitness. A current committee/advisory board member of the Latino Development Organization, Paul is hoping to pursue a future with prison-reform/immigration activism in mind.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Fifty Thousand Words, Supposedly

August 15th 2009

One of my high school history teachers was something of a pothead. Actually, I guess he was probably my favorite high school teacher, although that probably had more to do with the fact that he would buy us bottles of whiskey for the Friday night football games. Whenever he was too lazy or hungover to bother with glancing at his teaching plan, he would grab one of the TV’s from the library and pop in some movie, usually one with some connection (though said connection could be pretty tenuous) to a historical event. Mr. S taught me all manner of useful life lessons, but the one that I am applying today is: when you run out of words, show some pictures.

And so I have a visual treat for you today: fifty photographs taken within the walls of the Polunsky Palace. Now, before some of you gleefully scamper off to the blogosphere to post about how “Death Row Inmate Still has Cameraphone; Whitaker to TDJC: Owned!”, I would like to inform you that these photos were provided by the State of Texas in response to a Freedom of Information Act request filed by attorney Yolanda Torres. Sorry, no scandal for you today. And now, without further ado, step into my world …(say that in a creepy Vincent Price voice, it will sound cooler).

It’s difficult to describe for you just how massive Polunsky is, unless you see it from ABOVE, but you can at least see some of the exterior from these first two photos.

One of the many gun-towers which ring the perimeter fence. Guards are armed with AR-15’s of the 5.56mm (.223) variety. Gun-boss is a highly sought after position in the penal world, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the vast stretches of boring shifts one encounters there.

View of the Death Row building from within the perimeter fence (taken, I believe, from near 1-Building)

This is the external hallway which connects 12-Building (DR) to the visitation room. The complex to the right is 11-Building. This is as close as we ever get to touching grass or being outdoors. If not for the fence, I sometimes feel I would gladly get whacked over the head with a baton for stumbling and falling into the field.

The B.O.S.S. chair. Basically, a metal detector for your backside. The upper portion sticking up on the right side is for scanning your mouth. Windows to 12-Control can be seen behind the chair. This is where all movements are monitored and controlled for the DR population.

Seal painted on the wall next to the DR entrance, just in case you weren’t sure about where you ended up in life.

Another view of 12-Control. Think Safety…when you are clubbing an offender unconscious. We wouldn’t want anyone to get carpal tunnel now, would we?

The rather anticlimactic entrance to the Death Capital of the Western World.

The first of the crash gates along the central DR hallway. In one of my earliest entries from 2007, I described how the paint scheme resembled the bleeping of a heart monitor, jagging up and down in the distinctive pattern which we are all familiar with. After a few “beats,” the line goes flat, about the time you reach the first gate. People wrote me angry letters, claiming that my words were more incendiary than veridical, and that no government body would do such a thing. You can see the horizontal flat line painted here with your own eyes, and in a later photo you will be able to see the last “gasp” bleep, before the line goes “dead.” For most of you, this is going to horrify or at least trouble your sensibilities, but you need to realize than Texans demand regular executions, and so they are simply riding the crest of public opinion with this kind of stuff. This is socially acceptable behavior in Redneckland.

The entrance to A-Pod, my current home.

1-Row, A-Section, A-Pod, otherwise known as DeathWatch. This is the last home for the men here living in Texas’ DR, as the final months of their lives wind down. The large doors are the cell entrances, and the small doors outlined in blue/green paint are the entrances to the pipe-chase. When you hear keys jangling about and the rusty creak of these small doors opening, you know they are about to shut off the water and institute a shake-down.

The inside of someone’s cell on DeathWatch. They picked a relatively clean cell, at least in terms of the amount of paint still on the walls. Nearly all of the paint in my cell has peeled off.

View of a home-made clothesline in a cell. This is a prime example of a TDCJ catch-22 type situation. They make an environment where is it IMPOSSIBLE not to catch a case from time to time (I’ve got two minor cases to my credit.) These clotheslines are contraband, and for having one you can be written up. It can even be classified as a “dangerous weapon.” And yet, we have to wash our clothes, somehow. Most of us use our sinks, though I have heard of men using their toilets as well. After this washing, these clothes must dry, right? This is common sense, and yet the system refuses to bother with creating a solution to this paradox, save writing cases. The massive amounts of minor cases are then collected, and eventually paraded about in front of the Clemency Board as proof that none of us are capable of rehabilitation. As if the existence of a clothesline somehow negates a persons right to live. I know you think I must be kidding, but I have known men who were denied clemency for disciplinary reasons, despite not having ever been tagged with a major case. You can see the small window I have mentioned in the past in this photograph.

Our sink-toilet combo.

The view of a cell door closing.

The showers in each section look like this. You are closed inside this chamber, then un-cuffed though the bean-chute, and must wait until the officers feel like returning for you. (Usually this takes 15 to 45 minutes, although we have been kept in here for more than two hours before or during shakedown.)

The manner in which food is delivered into each cell. Also, when you are cuffed you must back up to the chute, and slide your hands out behind you, so the officers can administer the restraints.

What an empty cell looks like, and the mattresses which are provided to us . This is basically what you get from the state after you arrive. If you have any money, you can purchase items from the commissary. I know many men who have lived for decades here in rooms nearly as empty as this. I have received some flak from people who were peeved off that I spent some of the money given to me on such men, as if this was some sort of betrayal of their intentions. I can appreciate someone wanting their gift to go where it was intended…but, come on, how could I not feel for such people? Look at the emptiness of this cell and tell me I don’t have an ethical obligation to try to help in some small way.

Another view of the window. You can see the mold growing up along the roofline, the result of leakage from the poor construction job you paid top-dollar for. Every single cell in the building leaks, most worse than this one. This has been deemed a health hazard, of course, but nobody really cares about enforcing such decrees. The fact that they released this photo pretty much proves how axiomatic their disdain is for the human rights crowd. In a different way, it also shows just how impotent are the people behind said HR movement.

The staircase leading to 2-Row, B-Section, A-Pod

A couple of officers standing around, which is pretty indicative of how they spend the majority of their time at work.

I really cannot believe they released these. The colossal arrogance of these people! This is the Cage. It is located in the main DR hallway. They place you inside of this sans clothing, as they shake down your house. All manner of people walk by this, as it is the main thoroughfare for the entire building. I guess this was designed as a shaming mechanism, although it is hard for me to conceive of anyone here even remembering what shame is after a few months. I’ve actually seen – with my own eyes, mind – men placed inside the Cage after being gassed and sprayed with CS/CN gas and paint balls, to prevent them from washing off the chemical agents. Ever used meat tenderizer? That’s what this stuff does to human skin. After a few hours in the Cage, you are as red as a lobster (even if you are black), and only then do they take you down to F-Pod.

A view of one of the sets of outdoor rec yards. This is all the socializing any of us ever get, talking through the mesh screen and bars.

The “tray-box”. Some men are placed in such cells for disciplinary reasons. It allows the officers to pass a tray to an inmate without the slot ever being open.

A view of 2-Row, F-Section, A-Pod. The door leads into the next section. There are divisions between each section, both on the first and second rows.

This cell has a plexi-glass shield covering the windows. This effectively prevents you from being able to hear your neighbors when they shout to you.

Many of the cells bear these burn marks. Setting fires is a pretty common means of getting the attention of a ranking officer. Another catch-22. If a regular guard is violating a rule, you have to rely on the same guard to get rank to resolve the situation. Now, you might ask, why would a guilty guard do such a thing? They wouldn’t, of course. So you set a fire and end up going to F-Pod because of a situation originally started by the system itself.

Some utter nonsense about “loyalty to the Institution.” “Remember, an ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness.” Absolutely f-ing classic.

Hahaha…truly awesome. Nothing puts the “moron” in “oxymoron” like “TDCJ” and “Code of Ethics.” I have tears running down my face over this one. They have some weird, convoluted moral calculus going on around here, don’t they? “Be ethical, as we commit mass murder.”

The property room, I guess. I’ve never seen this place with my own eyes, but I don’t know what else it could be. I guess the answers this question about where all our stuff goes once it is confiscated.

One of the tray carriers, loaded with food for somebody. I don’t actually think this is from DR, because our carriers are much shorter, but maybe this photo is years old. Not sure.

One of the legal booths in the visitation rooms. This is actually the one reserved for “last visits” between men about to be killed and their families.

The room where I visited with the psychologist.

A view of the visitation room, from the perspective of the visitor.

The portion of the visitation room used by GP inmates.

The cells where DR inmates conduct their visits.

A legal booth inside of 12-Building, where offenders accused of committing crimes are interrogated.

Well I hope you enjoyed the little nickel-tour of my world. I have to believe that the more people know, the more they will agree with me on the need for intelligent prison reform. If nothing else, I think it’s pretty cool to get to see a place nearly inaccessible to normal people. Thanks for allowing me to help you waste time at work!

For where did Dante take the material of his hell but from our actual world? And yet he made a very proper hell of it.

Arthur Schopenhauer “Homo Homini Lupus”

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