American Bad-Ass

Kid Rock's singing to me that "Only God Knows Why".  From my front row seat, knee deep in the a Florida prison, I declare that I agree.

I once was lost, but now I'm found.  Was blind, but now I see.  What I see is bunk beds stretched across an entire dorm full of sweaty prisoners.  Lost to the streets and lost t addiction, I found myself on the not-so free side of this fence. 

For five long years, I have laid my head on a  pillow hundreds of men have laid on before me.  Slept on a bunk that was one mans salvation and a thousand others nightmares.  Forget walking through the valley of the shadow of death, I pitched my tent and live in the bitch.

If drugs were my escape and way to bail on reality, prison was my reality check.  The battle grounds where I came to face my demons.  And I'm doing it sober.  When you spend your life running from that monster, prison puts you in a back alley with no escape, then puts all those skeletons right there with ya. 

Time to make like David and hit Goliath dead in the nuts with a small, smooth stone.  Or the forehead....whatever works.

Perhaps I don't always live right.  Seems somebody always has a finger pointed at me.  I swear too much, have too large of a voice and somewhere there's someone who wants me to take a seat.  Sorry, but that ain't happening. 

My momma's proud to call me her son.  She got to see me clean and free from drugs.  She knows freedom has nothing to do with fences and razor wire.  My freedom, and yours too for that matter, is found in your heart.  Freedom is a state of mind.

You have a world full of people that are prisoners in their own home.  Shackled to their job, the wrong partner, finances...others are enslaved to the bondage of religion.  They placed so many regulations on their life that they lost the very freedom they sought in the first place.

We do dumb shit, us people.  I broke the law, changed some peoples lives and consequently my life was also changed.  Changed for the better. 

If we learned to quit seeing roadblocks as dead ends, we all would brighten our tomorrows.  Not to mention the people you bless when they see you stand up and fight.  You become someones breath of fresh air.  Perhaps if people could lean to see past the tattoos and occasional cuss words, they would stumble upon the occasional nugget of inspiration. 

I don't know why you read this blog.  Chances are, I don't even know you.  We may never meet.  Still, I wrote this for you.  Even if you're not a fan of the way I live my life, I think that's cool.  I think it's cool you took the time to show love and hang on The Jailbird.  Yeah, even the haters just showed me love cause you just helped raise the stats one more.

And you know what?  I just raised a stat too.  One that suffers terribly every day.  Every day hundreds of people lose the war on drugs.  They lose their lives to addiction.  The beast.  Well, my mom won't lose her oldest son that way.  I too am a statistic.  One that boldly states change has come, change is here.  I face life head on and don't back down.  I fight for you what I believe in.

My family and the people who love me.  And I fight hardest for me.  I forgave myself for all my shortcomings.  The only question now is.....can you? 

Laid II Rest

Recently, you have seen a lot of new art inspired by extreme sports and magazines.  Today, a piece arrived in the mail that came from J.J.'s heart.  Laid II Rest is significant to the old life J.J. lived: ten years of drugs and crime.  Now he lives a life in prison.  Since prison, J.J. has become clean, reconnected with his daughter, and has an amazing relationship with his mother and siblings.  J.J. discovered his artistic talents and found love.  Everyday J.J. rolls on.  On to a better life.  His old life has been Laid II Rest. 

Mail Call!

Communication tends to vary from one person to the next.  Like your lover may have greeted you at the door with nothing on...only a rose in her mouth and a can of whip cream in her hand on Valentine's Day.  Here, our lovers would need to send a photo of that.  And.....the mail room isn't going to let that type of greeting in.  No, I'm afraid you will be shut down.  But!  If it's the thought that counts...

This is my personal conflict.  Mail that comes into the prison.  I understand security needs to make sure no pipe bombs have been put into that sweet Valentine's Day card.  What about the mail that goes out?  This prison shakes us down once a week.  Their officers come into our dorm and sift through each article of our personal property.  To top it off, this is a faith and character based camp.  They are really over the top here.  Which brings us to the mail.

Tampering with mail is a federal offense.  Not a small offense...a federal offense!  Before the mail is inspected the people inspecting are suppose to be certified.  They are then instructed to 'scan' the content of the mail.  Looking for items that could be deemed a 'threat' to the institution.

Up until a year ago, there was a large mailbox at the front gate where we put outgoing mail.  That mail was picked up by an office, then taken to a sorting room where it was dumped on the floor and kicked around a bit.  My art is usually bent in half; at times torn, and other times completely lost.  That was the old system.

About six months ago maintenance came around and installed mailboxes in each dorm.  Most camps then send a certified mail carrier to each dorm to pick up mail each night.  Not this camp.  Prison mail is divided into two categories.  Legal mail and personal mail.  Personal mail can be inspected by officers.  Legal mail may not.  This is for security purposes.  Your dorm officers are not privy to your charges and offenses.  Personal problems then arise and many times a conflict of interest.  For this reason legal mail is done by a personal call-out.  All personal mail comes directly to your dorm to be passed out.  The problem?

With mailboxes being installed in each dorm now the dorm officers collect our mail.   Then, they sit during their 8 hour, midnight shift and read our personal mail.  First problem?  They are not certified.  Second problem?  They are our dorm officer and are not privy to that level of personal information on us, nor our people's personal lives.  And last but not least....they don't scan read....they read word-for-word.  The problem in this is that we openly talk about family issues and many times legal issues with our family.  The very topics, that for security reasons, our dorm officers are not suppose to view our mail.  And, in a couple cases those very officers have approached inmates because they took personal offense to a topic that was discussed.  This is the very reason a certified mail handler is to scan read outgoing mail.

Instead, we watch officers sit and laugh at our jokes, ponder our personal problems and read when we comfort our siblings.  I'm left feeling violated.  There is a difference between protecting and serving.  Wait....my bad.  That's your cops out there that respond to that call.  The motto here?  Never walk alone.

I broke the law.  Not only is my house torn down once a week for an inspection of all I own, but my family is dragged into the mix as well.  Some officer back here knows way too much about my family and loved ones.  Now they know my legal issues and when I talk sex with my woman.  Are there any lines?  If so, where are they?