True Colors Guaranteed (random thoughts)

Elvis had TCB, my motto is TCG. It might not be pretty, people might not like it. But i have all the time in the world and not much to lose. I know what I am and what I'm not. For example, I know I wanted this to be a structured flowing poem but now I know it is free flowing gibberish essay. I'm motivated by too much coffee and getting to listen to Nirvana's entire Nevermind album. It's one of those albums that came out exactly at the right time in my life that I ate it up and breathed it in like oxygen. If I had been in the 60's and a girl I would have been crying and screaming like those Beatles fans you see on old T.V. footage. It doesn't really have that effect on me anymore, other to whisk my mind away down memory lane. I'm not sharing those memories right now, they're mind and I'm feeling possessive. TCG, I still prefer Heavy Metal and hard emotional rock to any other music. TCG, the more I meditate, pray and reflect, the less fluffy hippy lovey-dovey it gets. I can just as easily reach inside and touch a dark, devoid of all light, center in me just as easily as touch the divine, hopeful, love light side of me. To tell you the truth, I think there is more dark in me than light, but I'm trying to remedy that. If there is a such a thing as a remedy.

TCG, I want to be cremated instead of buried, only because I have a fear of being confined and I see that fear growing the longer I stay in prison. TCG, I think about my death everyday. It's usually in a different light as the day goes on. In the morning when I wake up it is usually an angry hostile reaction to my dreams (which are never of prison) being interrupted only to find myself still here and not having peacefully "passed on" in my sleep. Then it turns reflective wondering if today is the day my mind finally snaps and I "hang it up" (that's prison slang for suicide) or if I pissed someone off enough to have them kill me or if it is my time to go by falling down the stairs. Mind you this is 99% of the time my thought process between waking up, eating breakfast, and getting ready for work and the rest of my day. So an hour and half, max. everyday. TCG, I'm so busy with my job and other daily activities, I forget all about the whole subject till about final count around 9:00pm. Then it's back to my cell and the process starts again, but different. The death thinking usually turns more melancholy. It is not so much my suffering (poor me, I can't go on like this) attitude as it is a "my poor family" they would be better off when I'm gone. It would be a joyous occasion for the people who put me here and a relief for the rest of the family and friends.

I'm like a splinter under your fingernail. It (I) hurt like a son-of-a-bitch going in ("crime", trial, prison sentence), a constant throbbing pain while still in the finger (support, money, encouragement, failed appeal) still having to deal with me in prison, but one sharp pull and the splinter comes out. Sure it hurts more for a second or two, but after that it is relief, a sense of "ahh, that's better" I'm glad that splinter is out of there. TCG, my family and friends will probably freak-out reading this, but not to worry, I Can't "hang it up" for 3 reasons.

1. Fear, I'm a chicken-shit, I don't think I could literally do it.
2. My faith in God tells me that it is a sin and that all trials and suffering is God's will, so there must be a reason for all this.
3. Karma, there is no escaping really.

While this life has been shitty, the next will be even worse if I added the negative karma of ending my own life. So fear not all you splinter ridden readers, I'm not going anywhere until God grants it, which brings my thought process full circle with waking up angry that I woke up again, period. And so goes my thought process. TCG, round and round. It's so much a part of my life (no pun intended) like breathing or routine like brushing your teeth that I don't even feel abnormal thinking it anymore. Well, I'll try to continue on a lighter note, next time. The coffee is wearing off and I'm getting tired. Time to sleep and start the cycle over again, hopefully not. Good night.

3/6/2008

Restless, anxious can't sleep. Too much coffee at too late an hour or maybe the spicy food around 9:00pm. Decided to listen to the radio which I don't do that often anymore. I was listening to the local Hard Rock and Heavy Metal station and discovered something. The "old" familiar dark metal songs seem to be different. What once was edgy or "dark" on a rebellious "cool" level is now much darker. I think I can touch a much deeper darker place in myself and imagination when listening to lyrics of death, depression, rage, or whatever. I guess the dark violent murderous lyrics in Heavy Metal takes on an all new twist when you live with violence and among murderers. I've eaten meals and had surreal conversations with people who have acted out that rage in a intimate way and believe me, it is NOTHING like a heavy pop-metal song by Korn or Static X. But no other music fits my mood lately. Classical, jazz or oldies are turned quickly and pop and rap are never even turned to. I just feel so weighted down. Walking the narrow path, helping others when I can either through encouragement, or just listening is exhausting. Just waking up in the morning and holding my head up to make it through another day is like running a marathon. And at every literal turn of the head is drugs, violence, hustling, sex, harassment from inmates and officers. It's like having an ever tightening closing force field closing in on your and no matter what it is, you lock your legs and prop yourself up and push against it, it still shrinks. It would be such an easier life if I just turned convict. Start a hustle, smoke, drink, drugs, violence, join the local white gang, start running the tier like the lifer I am. But I just can't bring myself to it. I think maybe I'm going crazy or maybe that's wishful thinking also. I guess I'm just hanging on to that little ray of hope. I am comforted by knowing I'm not alone in my suffering, my family suffers, my friends suffer, even the inmates around me suffer. I'm comforted in knowing the God is still with me. But I also know that I don't have the mental or emotional strength to do 10, 15, 25, 30 years in here. Christ in heaven! As I reread what I've written, I'm so ashamed of how self-centered I am. I'm gonna shut-up now.

12:30 PM
Lying awake, thinking, meditating, when the word groan bubbles up over and over and I start crying. I look it up in my bible dictionary and concordance and am pointed to this: Romans 8:26

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

Don't tell me God doesn't speak to us! Thank you Abboy. Amen!

3/5/2008

Doing some theology study since there hasn't been a class in two weeks due to illness. It was going great and I finished a section on the different aspects of God's goodness (mercy, grace, long suffering, etc). Anyway, I started to daydream (which happens a lot) about Ghost Hunters (sci-fi show), mediums, psychics and what not. What are the point of these people? I mean really?! So they "ghost hunters" catch a voice on tape or a thermal image, so the medium commons with the dead, so the psychic can describe the after life. So what?! What is the ends? High-five to you for confirming there is an after-life, spirits, or whatever. Since the dawn of man, they have been saying the same thing, cave painting, ancient scripture of ALL religions. My question is so what are you going to DO with that confirmed "knowledge". Are the ghost hunters telling you how to live better so you don't have to be "trapped" here after death? Are they really revealing anything? NO! The medium that talks with deal loved ones, they accomplish nothing except maybe where grandpa buried the family fortune! The psychics that tell you about past lives or what the after life looks like. What!? How does that info help? People seem to be so concerned about proving, validating, and confirming that there is a life after this one that they forget to concentrate on this life, here, now. A motivated person would take their confirmation, and with their eased doubts set out to live by whatever moral code or religion they believe in to make sure they have the best possible next life, whether in heaven, next rebirth, or whatever. Instead, most just hop from book to book, show to show, confirmation to confirmation, doing nothing but spouting off about what they read or saw to try to confirm someone else. Just a random rant and thought. I'm just as guilty as everyone else, after all.

I watched the Ghost Hunters show and own got spiritual books. Like they say "Don't just sit there, do something." Or in my case and beliefs of Zen/Christian contemplation, "Don't just do something, sit there." Which reminds me, I finished reading Living Zen, Loving God and found it fascinating. I'm re-reading it again and highlighting parts that speak to me. Habito, the author, showed me it is possible to still practice Zen and study Buddhist scriptures and be a devout Christian at the same time. Both are separate and neither subtracts from the other. Beautiful. Back to theology. Later.

3/4/2008

The weirdness continues. Some native dude stopped by my cell while I was watching TV and struck up a conversation. Never even spoke to him before. He talked for a half an hour! I wrote my wife today and sent a b-day card to my son. I didn't sign it. Hopefully that way he will still get it. I sure miss them both. I wrote grandma and [my aunt] also.

3/2/2008

Good TV tonight. watched the movie Doom, which I've never seen. The two hours of dark twisted drama. Dexter and Breaking Bad. This upcoming week is going to suck. I have to do inmate pictures again. The job of doing it isn't so bad except that the dudes in here complain, bitch and wine all the time. I've got to learn to let it go. There are too many clouds in my blue sky. Got a lot of reading done this weekend. Read both BuddhaDharma and Tricycle Spring 2008 issues cover to cover. Finished reading Zen Mind, Beginners Mind and the next two chapters in Living Zen, Loving God. I wish I had a fast forward button. Jump to an appeal working, the truth being told and getting out of here, heart attack, brain tumor, death. Just hurry up already. Hard to look forward to the next day when there isn't anything positive to look forward to. Friends leaving, family members moving on, both hurt equally. Twice the suffering. Once when they leave, once knowing I'm just being selfish wanting them to stay. It's hard when all you have left to look forward to is either death, heaven or rebirth. It's even harder when you can't do anything but wait for it. I appreciate the support and love I still receive, but I don't pretend to believe that eventually that will go away. Talk to any lifer in here, they'll tell you eventually it trickles away and stops. I'm not bitter about it, I know people eventually have to move on and live their own lives.

2/29/2008

As I turn inward, things bubble up. Memories, things remembered. Nothing traumatic ... yet. I'm doing some sort of meditation as a child. I know that now, not then. Sitting in the car staring out the back seat window. My eyes are focused but not following any thing that is going by. I watch it (the window) like a television, just letting things float and glide in and out of the frame. Never lingering on what I saw never "attaching" myself to it, never wondering or anticipating the next thing. Just letting things arise, glide past, and disappear. It plays in my head often. The other memories I have are weirder, premonitions and wishes, that I don't care to discuss right now. First because no one would believe me and second, they're hazier memories than my child window meditation, so until they come into sharper focus and I remember them completely, I'll wait. I've felt so weird this week. Not depressed or anxious or happy, just weird. It feels like I'm on the edge of a gray neutral alert, watchful awareness and anticipation that something is going to happen. I don't have the faintest clue what. Crashing depression, breakthrough joy and peace, death, enlightenment, don't know, maybe nothing, maybe just a really good bowel movement! Ha! Weird week, someone brought me ice cream today. Had extra money and decided to share. It was good. Weird.

I Still Believe...

Even when I search for Him and can't see or find Him.
He is beside me, comforting me, holding me.

Even when straining my ears listening for Him, waiting, hearing nothing.
He speaks to me, guides me, lulls and sings to me.

Even when I'm cursing, raving, crying, questioning and doubting.
He is listening, agreeing, disagreeing, sympathizing, empathizing with patience and love.

Even when I stumble and stray from His narrow path. Sometimes clumsily ignorant, sometimes defiantly running.
He puts me back on His path. Sometimes with a gentle hand, sometimes with a painful shove.

Even w hen I sit in the dark, frightened and in despair.
His light spot lights me, warming me, loving me and lighting my way.

Even when I fail and fall over and over.
His Grace lifts me over and over.

Even when His children are struggling and suffering.
I still believe He laughs with joy more than He cries in sorrow.

2/26/2008 9:00 PM

Holy crap! Some super disrespectful CO's working tonight. Screaming, threatening, calling demeaning names, the whole works. Makes things that much more worse around here for both the inmates and the CO's. Friction and backlash hostility all around tonight. And it could all be avoided with the still the job being done if done with more tact and respect. Bizzaro world!

2/24/2008 10:00 PM

What do you do? Can you do? When you feel the need to express yourself, but you have no way, no talent to do so accurately? No artistic ability, no music ability, no writing ability to express anything. Generic words, bad handwriting, emotional paralysis. There is no way to accurately express my joy of seeing my mother this weekend or having her tell me about my son. Or the weird combination of heart felt happiness, relief, gut twisting grief, hurt, betrayal, and chest-crushing heart-ache longing, remembrance, hearing how my wife soon to be ex-wife is doing fine, moving on, even thriving. Not that I wouldn't think she would, could or should, it's just.... Shit! I don't know. Emotional Paralysis. There isn't anyway to express the excitement and suspended reality of having both my friends visit only to have the mud hold sucking gap of the smelly noisy negative demon ridden prison not only welcome me back but with enthusiasm. Not that I don't appreciate the little I have. Others here have nothing. I have God's Grace and miracles shining down on my family, friends, letters, books, good job, etc. But this ever present darkness, funky stink, weighty pressure of depression is exhausting. In fact I'm not even sure if it IS depression or just the natural environment and "punishing" atmosphere of prison. I don't know what would be more terrifying to me: 1. Getting actual help for my "depression" only to discover that weight never lifts and it is the prison or 2. To have the weight and feeling lifted so I have a "normal" feeling and energy while in this place. I mean really. Think on that it is a n win situation. Either you feel exhausted, spacey, funky, heavy weight always on you OR you feel normal, have energy, laugh and adapt well, soak in to the prison system living without hope but not really caring because damn it your a con now. I see it all the time. Inmates happy-go-lucky, jumping out of bed full of piss and viegar, ready for breakfast, ready to lift and exercise at rec, ready to work, ready to hustle drugs, sex, crafts, whatever. Ready to fight at a drop of a hat. Ready to steal, con, lie or do anything to make their life "better" here. I mean they really don't sedem to mind or care that they're here. I've only been here a year and I've seen people violate parole and come back, and to high fives, back slaps, fist pounding and even hugs from other inmates welcoming them back! I daydream and talk about getting out but it's all a pipe dream really. Everything I've ever known is gone, everything I ever was or thought I wanted to be is gone. I have day dreams of being let out of here (so sorry #48018, the stat made a mistake, here's your life back) returning home to forgiving, loving wife wrapping her arms joyfully around me, my song leaping into my arms with joyful squeakings of daddy, daddy. Of getting my job back, friends, peers, co-workers, slapping me on the back with chimes of "I always knew you were innocent, I never stopped believing in you." Like that Lou Reed song goes "... and I guess that I just don't know." It's some kinda madness though to repeat this process over and over. There are times I think I'm insane and times I wish I were insane so I would even know or care where I am. That scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest" comes to mind. The one at the end where Jack Nicholson is finally lobotomized and blissfully unaware of anything. Ahh... heaven. Well I've rambled enough. going to read some fantasy novel series by Richard Goodkind called "The Sword of Truth" series. I'm on the second book. They're good so far, they suspend my reality for a while. As I finish off this entry my thoughts and love go out to all my family and friends who still stand by me and give me comfort.

2/22/2008 11:00 AM

Lunch break. I got about 1/2 hour till I have to go back to work. Things have been scary crazy here. I've been really sick for the last four days; today is the first day of feeling better but not good by far. It started with terrible body aches and headache and progressed into a packed tight stuffed up head and then migrated to the chest. Now its a little of everything but not as acute. The whole cell hall has some form of it or another. One inmate has influenza A, one TB, one a staff infection. They are quarantining them during showers and meals but they still live in the general population so I don't see how that helps. It's a new low for me. To feel this physically bad and be locked up and to get no treatment is torture. If this would have hit me during my darker depressions (which I haven't had in quite a while) it probably would have pushed me over the edge. It's like living in bizzaro land. The administration is doing nothing to prevent the spread or really to contain it. The staff is just as sick and keeps coming to work, walking around coughing and touching every body's cell door. The inmates (most of them) are too uneducated to realize not to cough or sneeze open mouthed into the air, or washes their hands. The inmates are not allowed any bleach to wash their cells, floors, walls, etc. So this place is just a big petri dish. Like I said, surreal. If it was the zombie virus movie, we'd all be walking dead by now! Ha! Yea! Prison! I guess it's on the outside too. But they can get treatment.

2/16/2008

Busy week. Special chapel activities so work has kept me busy, plus the next photo time for inmates is coming up so that will add to the business. Got a couple more books in the mail. One is from a place I wrote to long ago called the Foundation for Inner Peace the other was from my mom. Yea! She must have sent a card and letter too but it was denied because there were Polaroid pictures with it and the prison won't let you have Polaroid pictures. So it's been a frustrating week. I need to find out what my account balance is, because they screwed up $50 my brother sent a little while ago then another $25 came in and my payday is Monday, which is another $49. God! This place sucks enough without having to deal with incompetent staff, not only that but they're arrogant on top of it! They couldn't have possibly made a mistake, and what would I know of it? I'm just an inmate. Lord give me patience. On the positive side, I got a letter from my dharma pen-pal, Heather. It's always good to hear back from her, she is very encouraging to me and lightens my heart. I'm going to write her back and then write my brother. I am going to include her (Heather) letters to me on the blog. They will sound a little one-sided but I think people will get the gist of them and what I wrote to her, plus I hope they will help others who read them.

Hey bro!

[His letter to me...]

I know our letters crossed in the mail, so I'll write again. It's been a frustrating month so far because of all the administration screw ups and mail denials. I'll wait to hear from [1 aunt], [2 aunt] or you about where to send the denied book and please tell mom (and everybody else) that Polaroid pictures aren't allowed. Here is a list of other things I can't have; I am writing the mail room/property office rejection notice verbatim so you might want to pass it along or post it. (God! what a pain in the ass this place is!)

Rejected because:

1. The item contained contraband or encoded material as described above. This includes any information regarding planning or promoting criminal activities.


2. The item violates a Prohibited Act or any other rule, regulation or directive governing the DOC or [state]SP, MDSP, [state]WP as described above.


3. The item contains instructions for the manufacture or use of a weapon, explosive, drugs, drug paraphernalia, or alcoholic beverage as described above.


4. The item advocates violence or may cause violence or other serious disruption of the security or disciplined operation of the institution as described above.


5. The item depicts nudity or encourages sexual behavior which is minimal in nature and/or may be detrimental to your rehabilitation as described above. Included in this category are nude personal photographs, writings, illustrations or pictures depicting child pornography, male homosexuality, bestiality or act of sexual violence.


6. No address of sender


7. The item contained postage stamps, plain or stamped envelopes, stickers, maps, calendars, Polaroid photos, unused postcards, more than four(4) small newspaper clippings, (4) sheets of misc. photo copied materials such as Internet, homemade craft items or pictures of ex-staff members, altered photos of any kind. (the specific item is noted above)


8. Other: __________________

Well that's the notice I get. Well no much else to say. Please post the letters I get form Heather,at Liberation Prison Project. She's awesome and great comfort to me. Thank you so much for the money, I'll call mom and thank her also. Hold off on sending more until I get the paperwork mess straightened out here. I love you bro, and appreciate all the time and money your investing in my bum ass. I'll talk to you soon.

-Love, prayers, dedicated merit to you
[brother]