Well hello there,
It has been about 8 years since I've written about ... anything. I've been busy, I've been on vacation, I've been dead to the world. I don't know who would care at all to read this but here it is.
I have just been released from prison. There, it's out. I wish I could write how a weight has been lifted by posting this tidbit of information. I cannot. The reason I was in prison is inconsequential considering I am innocent. The jury found me guilty out of... I don't really know how they came to their conclusion as I had photos and alibis. Find me guilty they did and I served two years with the TDCJ as an inmate.
At first I was in jail though. Many people think jail and prison are the same thing. They are not. First off, depending on the county, jail is extremely boring. I know what you must be thinking, "it's jail, not a vacation." Yes, you would be correct. Jail isn't supposed to be exciting. The unfortunate part is that jail is not supposed to be a punishment either. It is intended as a detention for those awaiting a verdict, guilty or not guilty.
My first night in jail after I turned myself in for sentencing was an eye opener. I suppose I didn't really believe it. I kept telling myself that it was simply an experience. I was escorted to a holding cell and every couple of hours, I was moved to a slightly larger than the last holding cell. Finally, I was in the largest holding cell the county had, along with about 20 other unfortunates. We were taken out 5 at a time for showers.
Showers in booking are very non private. We are stripped, searched, and told to pick from a line of shower nozzles. Under each nozzle is a solitary button. There is no hot or cold settings, there is just the one button. I later learned that the water would warm up after you press it and wait for a few minutes. That night, I was naïve. I took a shower under what felt like icicles. There was no soap nor shampoo.
I exited the shower and was searched again. My clothes had be put into property and I was issued my orange trousers, shirt and shoes. I was allowed my undershirt only because it was white. My socks and underwear were stylishly colored and therefore not allowed. I was also issued a blanket, sheet and towel. After that shower, I was escorted back to the holding cell as they struggled to find "housing" for us all. The holding cell was steel box painted a light brown color. The floor was concrete. We had two toilets, stainless steel. There are of course, no doors for privacy. The sink is connected to the toilets. I suppose this is intended to be efficient.
The area was crowded and by this time it was 4am. Most of us had laid out our blankets to sleep for a while. Sleep is all I wanted to do, hoping it was all a dream. As I laid down, I noticed my blanket had a big hole right in the center. I was cold that night and the next few nights. This was in November, one week before Thanksgiving day. At around 8am, my name was called and I was taken to "el Pozo", the hole. I thought it was something I did or somehow my lying accuser paid to have me placed in solitary. Nope, I was put there because of overflow. If the jails are overflowing, does that mean the police are getting better at catching law breakers, more people are breaking laws, or that we are being over policed?
I woke many times that first day/night. It felt as though I was there a week. I had no television, no radio, no watch. I didn't know how much time had passed. I could hear other inmates shouting across the halls. I was handed my meals through a slot in the door. It seems everything in "county" has to be made with mustard. I was hungry, so I ate.
I served a week's worth of time in that first night. I was already feeling crazy. The following day, I asked a guard how I could shower and get soap. My shower wouldn't turn on. I had nothing to bathe with either. He turned on the shower from the "picket" and told me I would have to buy soap and deodorant from the commissary. He checked my trust fund and told me I had money in my account but they only run commissary once a week so I would have to wait until the next day to make any purchases.
I rinsed off in the shower. This time the water ran hot. I passed the time by doing push ups. The next day, a guard passed by a commissary slip and a list of items available for sale. I was ecstatic when I noticed stamps, paper, envelopes and pens were available. Pens, I didn't have one to fill out the list. I told the guard of my conundrum and he begrudgingly found a pencil for me to borrow.
That evening, I received my items. I immediately began writing to my wife. I thanked her for putting the money in my account. She is strong and I wrote telling her to remain so. I missed her terribly, her and my daughters.
Soon after, my cell door opened. I didn't know what was happening so I stayed sitting down staring at the open door. After a bit, a guard yelled at me to hurry up and pack. They found a dorm for me to go to. I hurriedly packed my meager belongings into my sheet. I later learned of the holes in my sheet. My stamps must have slipped out. I had to wait a bit longer to mail my letter.
Tuesday, May 14, 2019
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Dark Angels
My faultless angel, do not rid this pest,
use your downy wings to shield the dry heat
of love radiating from out this chest.
Oh my lovely, I am but lumps of meat.
Save, with your guidance perhaps I just might
find some enchantment to change this dull man
to an angel so that we may take flight!
Alas, our fate has issued a just ban.
Life together will not be as a stroll
one takes through fields or in a city park.
No, for us it shall be as with the troll
doomed to hide and bicker, life in the dark.
Bleak but together, we will leave our mark!
We’ll shine at midnight, we two angels… dark.
use your downy wings to shield the dry heat
of love radiating from out this chest.
Oh my lovely, I am but lumps of meat.
Save, with your guidance perhaps I just might
find some enchantment to change this dull man
to an angel so that we may take flight!
Alas, our fate has issued a just ban.
Life together will not be as a stroll
one takes through fields or in a city park.
No, for us it shall be as with the troll
doomed to hide and bicker, life in the dark.
Bleak but together, we will leave our mark!
We’ll shine at midnight, we two angels… dark.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
My addiction
The first image I have when I awake is you. A strong urge to hold you envelops me. I long to experience your dulcet aroma as it dances within the corners of my still dreamy mind. It entices every wistful neuron. Following your scent as ravenous as a wolf, I find you waiting boldly in the kitchen. You do not speak, but your presence tells volumes. Slowly, I reach out. I touch your smooth sides all the while letting the heat enter my soul via my finger's tips filling my soul. I inhale, almost too deeply, your intoxicating scent. I wish never to exhale lest I release the heaven captured in my burning lungs. I just watch you sitting there in front of me. I am cautious of you. For I know you can burn me so. Your heat frightens me and yet it seduces me too. I allow your creamy caramel shade to beckon me.
I can stand this waiting no longer; I need to quench this thirst. Oh, the sensations brewed by you. With the swiftest determination, I lift you up. As I bring my throbbing lips to you, I feel your sting and savor it as I close my eyes. I know I need to taste you now. I take you in my mouth and let your intense heat and flavor awaken all my senses in one grand explosion of alertness. How could I ever survive, nay exist, without you my morning cup of coffee?
I can stand this waiting no longer; I need to quench this thirst. Oh, the sensations brewed by you. With the swiftest determination, I lift you up. As I bring my throbbing lips to you, I feel your sting and savor it as I close my eyes. I know I need to taste you now. I take you in my mouth and let your intense heat and flavor awaken all my senses in one grand explosion of alertness. How could I ever survive, nay exist, without you my morning cup of coffee?
Just try (sonnet)
..
When you love someone who feels like the flu,
roll yourself into a tight little ball.
plunge in a puddle of broken glass you!
Large and fat pile of flesh, don't you dare stall!
....
For pain is forgotten with stronger pain.
Don't you wish to rid yourself of the stink
That pierces at the moment of disdain!
Hurt yourself lunge your head into the sink!
....
Crush your heart out of your chest expel it
With the hatred that is afforded you.
Stomp on what is left and onto it spit
Blood and mucus and phlegm, they are more true.
....
What is love without the hurt, just a lie,
Need not be difficult if you just try.
When you love someone who feels like the flu,
roll yourself into a tight little ball.
plunge in a puddle of broken glass you!
Large and fat pile of flesh, don't you dare stall!
....
For pain is forgotten with stronger pain.
Don't you wish to rid yourself of the stink
That pierces at the moment of disdain!
Hurt yourself lunge your head into the sink!
....
Crush your heart out of your chest expel it
With the hatred that is afforded you.
Stomp on what is left and onto it spit
Blood and mucus and phlegm, they are more true.
....
What is love without the hurt, just a lie,
Need not be difficult if you just try.
Spider's side...
Hey everyone, I normally don't do this but the truth must be known! A good friend of mine told me the story and how twisted the truth has become. My friends name is Spider and he told me about a blind date he had. Somehow, everything went wrong and now his name has been dragged through the mud. Spider asked me to write his side of the story so the truth could be known. The following is a transcript of our conversation.
Hello, my name is Spider. Actually, my screen name is Spider75. I am online a lot and don't get out too often. I am Hispanic, Latino, Chicano, or whatever you want to call it…of Mexican descent. No I am not Mexican, that is a nationality, I am a U.S. citizen. Anyway, I digress; I was saying, "I don't get out too often." To combat my loneliness, I myspace it a lot. I occasionally visit dating websites. I have had friend tell me they had pretty good luck with them so I try them out. I logged on to a new site that promised to hook you up with your fairy tale dreams. So I set up a profile. I made sure to advertise my Hispanic heritage. After a couple of days I logged on again. The warm buzz filled my otherwise quite room. It took a while because my system is pretty old and I have been too lazy to defrag my drive. When I logged on I was surprised to have a handful of "hits."
One of them stuck out over the rest. "Little Miss" was her screen name. She wrote she is the athletic type and loves health food. Her favorite pastimes are picnics under big shady trees and just sitting back. She was the girl for me. Over the course of about a month, we messaged each other and she made my top 4. Eventually, she was my number one friend. She had the most beautiful pictures displayed on her profile. She was always smiling in them. Her golden hair full of curls. When she was eating in the pics, it was always healthy like cottage cheese or celery. I am very camera shy so I don't display my pictures on my profile but it never seemed to bother her. Finally I got a comment from her, "lmirl" (lets meet in real life). I was ecstatic.
We set up a date to meet at the park under a huge mesquite tree. I chose that site because it reminds me of a picture I saw in a nursery rhyme book when I was a kid. It's beautiful, the tree is a giant Mesquite tree. The large limbs wind out so you get a lot of shade. It sits atop of a grassy knoll. A beautiful park bench sits under it. It's one of those old fashioned benches, iron on the sides with hardwood slats for the seat and back. I arrived about 3 hours early and decided to climb the tree to wait for her. I closed my eyes and daydreamed about how our lives would be changed for the better. Daydreams swiftly metamorphosised into real dreams. When I awoke I saw her below me.
She was eating her cottage cheese like I half expected. She looked beautiful in her conservative blue dress. Her curly hair swayed hypnotically in the warm summer breeze. She just sat there eating her curds and whey. I felt I was still dreaming. I just watched her for awhile. I figured that my staring was beginning to get a bit too creepy. So I jumped down and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Spider", I said with my biggest smile.
She jumped up and spilled her curds and whey all over the ground and on her pretty blue dress. The wind blew her beautiful blond curls to the side of her fragile face. Her full crimson lips contorted into an uncomfortable frown. "Spider, your Mexican!" she said. I argued the semantics and told her I am proud to be an American. She threw her face in her small hands and bawled that her father would never accept me. I told her I didn't care and she shouldn't either. She cried even louder saying that she was too scared because her father would never see me for the man I am. She ran away. In the distance I saw her get into a blue BMW convertible and drive away. I don't know how long I just stood there flabbergasted. I mean, this isn't 1950's Mississippi. We are in the new millennium for Christ's sake!
Desperate, I went home and logged on to myspace. She had already deleted me from her friends list. I called her at home but her father answered and actually tried to contract me to do the landscaping at his summer home. He kept calling me Jose. When I told him who I was and that I had kind of a relationship with his daughter he started screaming at me. He kept saying he had friends with the newspaper and such. He threatened that I would never get another job landscaping again. I told him, "dude, I'm a video game designer!" I don't even think he heard me. Finally, when I realized he couldn't be reasoned with, I hung up on him.
Well, he sure wasn't lying. The next day on CNN and all the local papers, stories were run:
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
When along came a spider
And sat down beside her
And scared Miss Muffet away!
I was outraged and tried to get the papers to print a retraction. I mean they didn't even capitalize my name and I didn't even have a chance to sit down, let alone beside her! Not to mention; I didn't scare her, her bigot father's ideals did! I tried to contact lawyers but Mr. Muffet is just too powerful around here. So I had to take matters into my own hands. If Little Miss reads this I want her to know that I'd like to talk to her and sort this all out. This is just my side of the story. Thank you for taking the time to read it.
The preceding was obviously fictitious. I was bored and decided to have a bit of fun. If you need a moral to the story...just use the ol' there's two sides to every story...lol
Hello, my name is Spider. Actually, my screen name is Spider75. I am online a lot and don't get out too often. I am Hispanic, Latino, Chicano, or whatever you want to call it…of Mexican descent. No I am not Mexican, that is a nationality, I am a U.S. citizen. Anyway, I digress; I was saying, "I don't get out too often." To combat my loneliness, I myspace it a lot. I occasionally visit dating websites. I have had friend tell me they had pretty good luck with them so I try them out. I logged on to a new site that promised to hook you up with your fairy tale dreams. So I set up a profile. I made sure to advertise my Hispanic heritage. After a couple of days I logged on again. The warm buzz filled my otherwise quite room. It took a while because my system is pretty old and I have been too lazy to defrag my drive. When I logged on I was surprised to have a handful of "hits."
One of them stuck out over the rest. "Little Miss" was her screen name. She wrote she is the athletic type and loves health food. Her favorite pastimes are picnics under big shady trees and just sitting back. She was the girl for me. Over the course of about a month, we messaged each other and she made my top 4. Eventually, she was my number one friend. She had the most beautiful pictures displayed on her profile. She was always smiling in them. Her golden hair full of curls. When she was eating in the pics, it was always healthy like cottage cheese or celery. I am very camera shy so I don't display my pictures on my profile but it never seemed to bother her. Finally I got a comment from her, "lmirl" (lets meet in real life). I was ecstatic.
We set up a date to meet at the park under a huge mesquite tree. I chose that site because it reminds me of a picture I saw in a nursery rhyme book when I was a kid. It's beautiful, the tree is a giant Mesquite tree. The large limbs wind out so you get a lot of shade. It sits atop of a grassy knoll. A beautiful park bench sits under it. It's one of those old fashioned benches, iron on the sides with hardwood slats for the seat and back. I arrived about 3 hours early and decided to climb the tree to wait for her. I closed my eyes and daydreamed about how our lives would be changed for the better. Daydreams swiftly metamorphosised into real dreams. When I awoke I saw her below me.
She was eating her cottage cheese like I half expected. She looked beautiful in her conservative blue dress. Her curly hair swayed hypnotically in the warm summer breeze. She just sat there eating her curds and whey. I felt I was still dreaming. I just watched her for awhile. I figured that my staring was beginning to get a bit too creepy. So I jumped down and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Spider", I said with my biggest smile.
She jumped up and spilled her curds and whey all over the ground and on her pretty blue dress. The wind blew her beautiful blond curls to the side of her fragile face. Her full crimson lips contorted into an uncomfortable frown. "Spider, your Mexican!" she said. I argued the semantics and told her I am proud to be an American. She threw her face in her small hands and bawled that her father would never accept me. I told her I didn't care and she shouldn't either. She cried even louder saying that she was too scared because her father would never see me for the man I am. She ran away. In the distance I saw her get into a blue BMW convertible and drive away. I don't know how long I just stood there flabbergasted. I mean, this isn't 1950's Mississippi. We are in the new millennium for Christ's sake!
Desperate, I went home and logged on to myspace. She had already deleted me from her friends list. I called her at home but her father answered and actually tried to contract me to do the landscaping at his summer home. He kept calling me Jose. When I told him who I was and that I had kind of a relationship with his daughter he started screaming at me. He kept saying he had friends with the newspaper and such. He threatened that I would never get another job landscaping again. I told him, "dude, I'm a video game designer!" I don't even think he heard me. Finally, when I realized he couldn't be reasoned with, I hung up on him.
Well, he sure wasn't lying. The next day on CNN and all the local papers, stories were run:
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
When along came a spider
And sat down beside her
And scared Miss Muffet away!
I was outraged and tried to get the papers to print a retraction. I mean they didn't even capitalize my name and I didn't even have a chance to sit down, let alone beside her! Not to mention; I didn't scare her, her bigot father's ideals did! I tried to contact lawyers but Mr. Muffet is just too powerful around here. So I had to take matters into my own hands. If Little Miss reads this I want her to know that I'd like to talk to her and sort this all out. This is just my side of the story. Thank you for taking the time to read it.
The preceding was obviously fictitious. I was bored and decided to have a bit of fun. If you need a moral to the story...just use the ol' there's two sides to every story...lol
apologies
The skeletal remains of slaves have been found from like the 1600's. Scientists have run the requisite exams and found that some of the bones were crushed by the enormous weight the slaves were forced to carry. This entry isn't about slavery and whether it was right or wrong. It was wrong by the way. No, this is about the titanic weight we carry on our souls or conscience. We all have regrets that we live with. We never confront these regrets and they add up. It gets me wondering, what could our souls tell us if they were subjected to the scientific tests that bones are? Would they show fractures from the weight of our regrets? Mine would probably be flat. So if feels good to tell someone sorry once in a while. No, not the sorry you say for blowing your wife off so you can watch a rerun of Everybody loves Raymond. Even though that episode was awsome, when Marie is taking care of Deborah and....sorry. Anywho, you have to mean the apology. Therefore, the situation you are apologizing for must be something that is weighing heavily on your soul. Then you truly feel a weight lifting. Growing up, I was a jerk. According to some people I love, I still am. But I apologize. Recently I apologized for a big mistake. I won't mention which one so as not to breach the trust of the person to who I apologized. But I feel better. So, if I have offended anyone, I am truly sorry. Adrian, I am sorry I called you an asshole. You probably don't even remember. Clemente, I am sorry I kicked your ass when you were in middle school. In all fairness, you did throw a dart in my back.....on second thought I take that one back....lol. Tiff, I am sorry for laughing when Clemente called you a fatty fatty two by four, whatever that means. Ray, I am sorry for yelling at you when you copied my picture, I should have embraced the idea you were paying me a compliment. Mom, I am sorry for...well just about everything. Turi, I am sorry for not kicking Javi's ass when he really deserved it for leading you on....that little skinny son of a ...sorry. Slimer, I am sorry you were so scared of me, why I don't know. Carlos, I am sorry about making fun of your mother, she really is a saint. Stop making her say milk in English you prick. Calcaneo, I am sorry I never said anything to you when your father passed. I was afraid to put my foot in my mouth. Robert, I am sorry for constantly telling you your mom is hot...I haven't seen her lately. Damn, this is taking longer that I thought. Well, sorry to all and I guess I will keep apologizing until the weight is lifted.
One day when I was in Kindergarten.
Before I get started... I have not blogged in a long while. In an effort to write again I have created a blog. Postings will probably be infrequent at best. However,in order to get things started I will post a few of my older blogs previously posted on my myspace profile.
Ready? Get set. Go.
A small light complected boy with bushy hair sits at his desk in kindergarten. It is wobbly, dark brown with a deep scratch on the right hand side. The desk is joined by four others effectively forming a "group". Patiently, the boy sits waiting for his "handout". When the blue lithograph paper arrives, he brings it slowly to his nose and inhales. Instant happiness is acheived at the expense of many brain cells. The handout is a picture of a boy running over a field with his puppy. On the feild are 5 two dimensional flowers with 4 petals each. The boy, filled with eagerness to color, kicks his legs. His toes barely reach the floor resulting in a swishing, scratching sound. The teacher passes one box of Crayola brand crayons per group. Before the boy has a chance, the red and yellow crayons are taken. The yellow looks dirty anyway. Blue and pink disappear next. Pink is a girl color. Green, brown and black don't appear "flowery" enough. The boy takes a broken orange crayon. The flat side has marks from other crayons. the boy peels back the paper and scratches the other marks off. He begins to color his 2 dimensional flowers. Happiness is coloring and the boy is smiling. He is proud to stay within the lines. The boy begins to notice a whisper but ignores it. Finally a boy snickers, "There's no such thing as orange flowers!" The boy looks down at his picture and holds back the tears. "Are there such things as orange flowers?", he thinks. Reluctantly and very shyly, the boy asks his teacher. "Ma'am, are there such things as orange flowers?", he slowly asks. "Oh my, yes! Marigolds are orange." she says loudly with a smile. Her makeup cracks ever so slightly aroung the corners of her eyes, next to the twinkle. The boy feels reaffirmed by her seemingly simple reply.
Color your flowers whatever color you want, mine are orange!
Ready? Get set. Go.
A small light complected boy with bushy hair sits at his desk in kindergarten. It is wobbly, dark brown with a deep scratch on the right hand side. The desk is joined by four others effectively forming a "group". Patiently, the boy sits waiting for his "handout". When the blue lithograph paper arrives, he brings it slowly to his nose and inhales. Instant happiness is acheived at the expense of many brain cells. The handout is a picture of a boy running over a field with his puppy. On the feild are 5 two dimensional flowers with 4 petals each. The boy, filled with eagerness to color, kicks his legs. His toes barely reach the floor resulting in a swishing, scratching sound. The teacher passes one box of Crayola brand crayons per group. Before the boy has a chance, the red and yellow crayons are taken. The yellow looks dirty anyway. Blue and pink disappear next. Pink is a girl color. Green, brown and black don't appear "flowery" enough. The boy takes a broken orange crayon. The flat side has marks from other crayons. the boy peels back the paper and scratches the other marks off. He begins to color his 2 dimensional flowers. Happiness is coloring and the boy is smiling. He is proud to stay within the lines. The boy begins to notice a whisper but ignores it. Finally a boy snickers, "There's no such thing as orange flowers!" The boy looks down at his picture and holds back the tears. "Are there such things as orange flowers?", he thinks. Reluctantly and very shyly, the boy asks his teacher. "Ma'am, are there such things as orange flowers?", he slowly asks. "Oh my, yes! Marigolds are orange." she says loudly with a smile. Her makeup cracks ever so slightly aroung the corners of her eyes, next to the twinkle. The boy feels reaffirmed by her seemingly simple reply.
Color your flowers whatever color you want, mine are orange!
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