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The Da Vinci Code in Prison

In prison you hear that everything is a "conspiracy". I read the DaVinci Code only because everyone had started to talk about it as something somewhere between mystic revelation to hidden truths revealed. All of my fellow cons read it as fact. No matter how many times I told then to read the first page, which is a disclaimer, it was still fact. Jesus had taken the whore as his wife and it did not stop there. The ever-present Muslim influence continued the story - Jesus was never crucified but was swapped out and escaped death to live a long life in bountiful Egypt. This should not be called a blog but a blob, because if all the wild things said in prison were to be written down not all the blogs in the world could contain them - thus a blob, ever absorbing, ever growing but without definition.

Game Face

He be grillin' me when he sees me walkin down the corridor

Being white in an environment of Blacks and Hispanics - being a minority in a reverse otherworld- opened my eyes. I learned to understand a lot of non-verbal communication - facial expressions, exaggerated posturing. And a way of communication called game face,-- an attitude you want to project; the idea is to communicate indifference and aggression - "you stand back coz I don't give a fuck about you until you come up in my face and cross my boundaries and that's when I fuck you up".
But there is a problem with this subtle, expression - it can cost a Latino or Black (esp. an x-con) a job. It is read as disinterest to aggression.

This facial expression becomes to easy to adapt as a response to most input. I learned that the game face on the street - which is like an unbreakable barrier, can be approached. Many guys don't even realize they are using it, so you checl out other clues.

Grillin someone is deliberately grimacing - baring your teeth at someone you hate. I had a buddy in Artie's Place that grilled june coz he was jealous and thought me anfd June were going to become lovers. He told me all about how J and "L" were already involved ( not just he, d everyone else at Arthur Kill knew abouty that love affair and the story sometimes added on that I was fighting "L" for J). Poppycock. We were never lovers. In fact he told me about his secret life, a life which did not include me. This man, J is a sociopath, and came close to getting fucked up for lying - trying to impress the Latin Kings by saying he was associated with a big name in the Kings. But, luckily, a friend of mine - a King - reasoned that J is just a kid, trying to fit in, scared to death because he was so pretty. (yet at the same time using his good looks to cocktease guys) so my friend convinced the guys to leave him alone.

But he got a lot of grillin for a while.

Green; the great racial integrator

A common saying in prison is "You are wearing green just like me".

Usually means that you are no better than anybody else. Also means to me - since I am white and the speaker is usually black, you ain't getttin any better treatment here just coz these white devils (the corection officers) are descended from the same experimental race. Yes you read correctly.

1. White man is the Devil
2. Black man is god
3. Whites were created by a black man as a result of some experiment.

But I was told that I was a good white devil as far as white devils go. This by a man who called himself father for whom i had a lot of respect, although i think some of his ideas are not based on sound "Western" logic. And that's it there. He would say that western logic is white man's logic and has enslaved his race. And he is , in part, correct. There never was racism; the kind that created a class of people as slaves, until around the 1600's. before that there certainly were slaves but these were indentured servants. Throughout history there were slaves but not for their race, but for there circumstance.

More later.

Azul - ONE

In Prison we all wear green - the great race equalizer!

In Prison we all wear green, here in NY State. We are issued green nylon pants upon arrival in mid February and they don't bother with the longjohns - green or otherwise!

We get 3 pants, 3 shirts 3 white boxer shorts (which June complained about as being to revealing - he is one of those who showered in his boxers most of the time - what that says about him we shall see later on.) We also recieved 3 very thin nylon white tees, 3 pairs of socks and a pair of ill-fitting boots (black).

At first the state recieves its visitors (long or short term) in one of two "Reception" centers. There you are evaluated and wait for a bed to be available in another prison. Where you end up depends upon your state of mental health and how nicely you play with the other boys. State facilities range in degree of security; from camps without fences to "mediums" with a very high fence covered in cow cutting wire. (Although I heard more than one story wherein prisoners tried to go where no cow dared go.) The most secure would be the infamous "max".

A max is surrounded by a very high very thick concrete wall topped with a peculiar bird that talked as if his mouth were full of marbles and built nests and filled them with machine guns. This is where you go if you can't play "nicely" with others, or if you have commited some legal "degree" of murder.

Well - back to green. Later on, when you are sent to your final camp, medium, max; you may collect and wear other clothing but there are strict rules. They are given to you on a piece of paper which is illegible. So you learn by breaking the rules and going to the box!

One of the rules, by the way, is

"No physical contact"

. That means not even a handshake, but most of the correction officers ignore that part. However, if the hanshake should turn into a kiss, you go to the box. A friend of mine hugged and kissed his "lover' (Actually, not a lover, my friend is a player and plays the game so well, so convincingly that he will do whatever it takes to get whatever he wants. If it means being homosexual for awhile so be it. Of course this makes him bisexual but don't tell him that unlesss he is in a real good mood. June is a very messed up kid. And he gets angry and throws a tantrum at the drop of a hat.

This story is about Prison, myself and my experiences and observations, it is about the races, and my revelations on race and our racism, (by our I mean the kind of racism unique to the United States - necessary to the United States; and it is about June;

whom I observed and whom led me to believe we were friends. We are out of prison and it still goes on, unfortunately I have become fond of a brilliant, resourceful, clever and devious sociopath. But more will come - please ask me questions - I will tell no lies. Unlike June.

"Monsters are such interesting people", Bugs Bunny

There are monsters in the dark in prison.

Lights go out at 10 or so. Most guys sleep; or read awhile first. But in a dorm of 60 guys, some of whom are '"muslims", It's amazing whtat can happen. Anything from a fight to sex (with a lookout in both caes - the lookout in a fight never works because shouts of

"Fight' and get that nigger" YeaH, YEAH!" put an end to it.

This is the way to end something - calling in the police by it's loud nature (but it's not snitching to some - this is called "dry snitching"). Sex at night is serious and no one dare get caught.

Time and Doing Time -12 years on the run.

[fugitive]


Time, as it plays its role in coincidence, landed me in prison to do time, as it plays its role in the clock's continuity. It was coincidence that put me and the TNT (NYC's drug crime especialistas) on the same corner at the same time.

Twelve year's time had passed since I was found guilty of Possession and possesion with intent to sell. I had worked in New York using my own name and SSN for 12 years after skipping out on my trial - never got in trouble with the poh-lice. But that day
I had to get straight; after all, one can't function without getting straight; you know - But until then, never was I found, - not worth looking for. I ran for twelve years and the DA and Justice didn't like that.

Oh Well.

I'll tell you more later.


[fugitive]