It’s said that “The pen i mightier than the sword”, then certainly it’s more efficient than the shovel. In our so called civilized society, one can bankrupt, cripple and even murder a man with a simple stroke of the pen.
And you can also bury him alive with written laws designed to heap concrete and steel on his body until his screams of agony can only be heard inside his own mind.
Congratulations america, you’ve perfected a hands free, conscious free, genocide machine that hitler himself could only fantasize about, green with envy.
And sadly, I am lost inside its labyrinth, stripped of dignity and direction. I’ve lost all track of time, calendars, or clocks. These are all insults to my condition.
But there are so many of us here, our black blood oiling the gears of this rusted behemoth. Generation after generation, 18 to 80, blind, crippled, crazy; we are all here, buried and screaming silently through pain filled eyes.
Yes, I am guilty, but let the punishment fit the crime, please. Decades of California’s tricky penmanship has stretched sentences to obscene proportions.
I’ve been away from my family and the world for nearly 7 years. That’s long enough to get a law degree or PHD or in my case start to slip into insanity.
You’d be crazy too after 7 years of dying slowly, living only to feed a mechanical beast whose sole desire is to crush your soul. Feel that, wear those state blues and boots to my yard where you are only as strong as the make shift knife tied to your ankle. Where do I turn to rest, for peace? Where do I find the energy to keep going?
I feel what my ancestors felt standing in the cotton fields under the merciless sun while an equally merciless white man with whip and rifle yells, “Get moving, Niggers don’t need rest!” I feel his hopelessness, his despair… I feel his desperation for freedom and his hunger for justice. If you’ve never known hunger or thirst in it’s extreme then you can’t understand the psychological impact of deprivation.
The same if true for freedom, it’s as necessary to humanity as food and water, and without it we begin to die.
I feel as if I’ve been broken down into something less than human and I’ve lost connection with what I was before.
It is horrific to lose yourself in the eye of the hurricane when everything is just a blur of destruction around you.
In theory, you will find yourself where you left yourself, but in actuality, “where the hell is that?”
My voice is only one of millions buried beneath concrete and steel heaped so high by the greedy artistic penmanship of the American correctional system.