The Horse

Today I was sitting here reading the January issue of The Horse Magazine.

The reason I'm reading a back issue is because the Florida literary review committee has deemed them a threat to the well being and security of inmates.  Therefore, have rejected my last three issues.

The thing that amazes me is that we are in a men's prison.  Not the boy scouts.  Every man here is over 18.  We can fight for our country, give our life on a front line, buy beer and cigarettes, but all the music you purchase on your MP3 player will be completely edited.  Recently it's been the publications.  My Men's Health was rejected because it taught you how to tie a knot.

You learn how to tie your shoes at like 5.  It's a milestone in a boys life.  If you don't know how to tie a knot and you are currently old enough to do time in a men's prison, then you're two fries short of a happy meal.  If this is the case, than clearly you need to learn to tie one.  Did the prison stop to consider this would be a good thing?  

If you're over 18 and can't tie a knot you need to learn.  And you'll no doubt be so proud of yourself, the last thing on your mind would be a noose to hang yourself with.  That's the only threat I can think of.  Other than that, not much else would constitute a knot as a threat.

So what's the problem with The Horse Magazine?  Before prison, I was a terrible drug addict.  I was fortunate to be a drug addict with a motorcycle.  I dated a woman in my late teen years who owned a Harley Davidson Sportster 1200.  After riding it for nearly a year, I purchased my own.  I went for a 1997 Road King with the quick detach saddlebags and windshield.  This way I could quickly transform a touring bike into a sleek old girl with curves to kill.

Riding that bike was the only time I was free from the prison addiction placed on my life.  So today, in my current prison, I enjoy revisiting that freedom.  And I do that when I sit down and read The Horse.  Notice I didn't mention that other biker magazine?  Although it's wonderful to see half dressed women draped on motorcycles, I like to see bikes that even I could afford.  If you'll turn with me to page 32 of The Horse issue #126, you will see an article written by a dude called Mudd.  An underground chopper story called Nikki.

If you consider your relationship with your bike a love affair, you need to read this man's article.  Brilliant.  I do a little writing myself, and was moved to tears to see a man as passionate about his bike as I am.  This magazine is tasteful and even a conservative woman like my own is not put off my the women featured.  It's obvious to see that The Horse is a magazine about the bikes, the men who build them, and then actually ride what they build.  When the prison rejects my magazines I take option number two and send them home.

Home is where my wonderful lady patiently awaits my return.  While she waits, she can read my rejected issues of The Horse.

Mail Room Part II

A few weeks back I decided to exercise my right to grieve the mail room.  Two weeks later my grievances were returned.  "Rejected" on all three counts I brought up to dispute.  If I thought their mail room sucked before, you should see the amount of suck I'm dealing with now. 

My mother's mail was rejected last week because she sent me too many stamps.  Another packet of my art was rejected for tattoo patterns.  Currently, a piece of my art is being held by this prisons security because of possible "gang" references.

If you will look in the art gallery you will see a piece of art that says "ALL IN"...a reference to gambling and the goofy street life of money as a "king".  Unknown to me, the dice in the picture have a visible three, a two and a five.  

Well folks, as you know there are 50 states.  Each state has thousands of three digit area codes.  Nearly every small town across the nation has a group of kids using their area code for a "sign".  I'll bet if you Google your local area code there is some article about local kids using it as their gang sign. 

Two years ago I had no idea I used an Ocala area code in the dice I drew.  And that I had unknowingly referenced a group of goat-fucking, cow-tipping, farm-hands from the rodeo town of Ocala.  Both me and my lady were surprised to learn that my art was confiscated for not a possible tattoo pattern this time.  Now it's graduated to gang paraphernalia.  

This has all of a sudden put me on some list of sorts.  If someone did their homework on me, they would find that I am a quiet man.  I stick to myself.  I like art, I have a sweet tooth, and I enjoy long strolls in the park.  I am not a gang banger.  I have no time in my life to try to do stupid shit to gain approval from a squad of pure idiots.  I'm trying to come home to my family.  So I was shocked when I was pulled from my prison cell the other day to meet the gang task force, where I was questioned as to whom I'm affiliated with, and why I have stars tattooed on me.

Where I come from, the stars and stripes represents a country that for centuries men and women have gave their lives for.  Many of my friends and family have fought for our freedom.  So how on earth has a group of Spanish guys taken our historical symbols and turned them into gang signs? 

The ironic part of this, is that there's a special force hired by the prison system to investigate guys like me.  And this, my friends, is your tax dollars hard at work.  They could save some time and money if they just monitored the reck yard activity occasionally.  Since all their gang bangers meet up out there to flash their gang signs in the wide open all reck.  They are not hiding their symbols in dice.  They make up these complex hand shakes so they know who's who.

If a man walks up to another man and grabs his dick, I'll assume he's gay.  If you grab my dick, I'll punch you in your shit.  And when you investigate my dice in a piece of art?  You're a dumb ass.  Thank you, and please come again.  

Chapter 33 vs. Mail Room

Chapter 33 is the title given to the handbook of rules for both inmate and officer conduct.

Since coming to prison, I have never seen Chapter 33 enforced on an officer.  Only inmates.  Prison is a one-way street with the men in blue always dead wrong.  There are specification for the length of your hair, your fingernails and the slack in your belt.  None of these have bothered me.  It's the way prison rolls.  But everybody has to report to somebody.  And sometimes some people needed to be reminded of that.

Chapter 33 covers dress code to visiting privileges.  Basically every point in between.  The rules are ever changing and added to and even manipulated to fit the special need of the current situation.  Even if you are right according to Chapter 33, there is one final clause in the rule book: "The verbal order of a superior officer is to be followed at all times."

That is a charge...disobeying a verbal order...which carries loss of gain time (inmates earn time that will taken off their sentence for behaving; that is called gain time), a possible D.R. (disciplinary report, which is a write up when you have broken a rule and again lose gain time or pull a potential transfer, etc) and even confinement time (or "the box").

Most recently the problems I have encountered have been with the prison's mail room.  The people sorting mail are given the job of a mail handler.  They are to scan read your outgoing and incoming mail to make sure there are no security risks present.  What exactly is a security risk you ask?  Good question....

Obviously, my lady in a bathing suit has been branded a security threat to the well being of this establishment. And not only my lady, but the lady of nearly every man at this institution.  When your lady chooses to send you a spicy picture of herself, it will most certainly be rejected by this prisons mail room.

If there were men in the mail room sorting, these letters would come in without delay.  No doubt.  However, Marion's mail room is operated by women.

Currently I have one or more packages rejected each week by this prison's mail room.  I don't believe my lady in her bikini is a threat to the security of this prison.  I may give myself a heart attack, but that's not the point here.  These packages are being rejected according to Chapter 33.  How?  Again, good question...by using the rule that states: "No nudity allowed.  A fully opaque covering must cover all genitalia.  Nothing may suggest that sexual contact is imminent."   

Somehow, my lady holding a volleyball on the beach in a conservative swimsuit met resistance to this rule and was rejected.  In fact, the resistance my mail is hitting is this mail room.  Bending Chapter 33 to fit their need.

Lately, it's been my art.  I'm an artist.  For years I have mailed out and received pieces of art.  Recently all my art is being rejected.  You ask why?  Chapter 33 of course!  "Art is of size and clarity to possibly be used for tattoo patterns."

Yeah....really!  My own art that I drew.  Taken from my gallery and mailed back to me so I can review my art over the years.  Rejected.

Along with this update, I am currently preparing grievances to file against the mail room personnel of this prison. Sure there must be rules, but they need to be enforced both ways.

If you chain up your dog in the sun with no food and water, then poke it with a stick?  You are breaking the law.  Not to mention, you're an asshole.

Mail is considered federal property.  Tampering with it is a federal offense.  So quit poking us with a stick!  Damn Yankees said it best.....

Don't tread on me.