Many say, wonder, what I’ll do, free. I guess it makes them, those, wish, and want to think ahead. Many wonder what made me cross the divide. The other side, to this gut-grey life inside……Can you put yourself in my shoes.? Hmmm. That makes me give a grin. You’ll never win. Win, a coming dawn; for you’ll be dead and gone…..Cross never here. You’ll be made to wilt. Dry up; give up; forget your God; maybe laugh to your own sour smell; for Pete’s sake what have you become?…..Brother, you aint no fun. Wonders sunk all your heart desires. Guess what? You’ll thrown it into prison’s mire……Me, this fellow knows a way. Up a forgotten lane. To the very edge, I’ll go. My moon will be there, full. My eyes spand the wanted land. So calling to me. Sorry my love it’s all I see…..I’ve finally crossed. Not to lights and dance. Nor bed and she and she. Know, just the simple spot and a seat for me……I’ll think of something never born; write something never read. Feel something never felt. I’ve crossed, you see, blessed a first for me. Give me those crossings everytime. I’ll survive to the head of the bastard’s lines. Keep all else; this George will be fine.
Yes, many say, wonder, what I’ll do.
Guess it makes them…..wish.

I subscribe myself,
George Martorano

What to say?? My 25th Christmas “caged”. I haven’t sent out any holiday cards since the death of my son. I can’t. I do phone my daughter on all the holidays. I smile on the holidays. The smile does not mean alot since it is only of the face, and not the heart these days. I don’t know if my heart can smile anymore. I will keep trying though.

If I could make it so that every child has a great Christmas, I would – even if it meant I would have to burn in hell.

I never feared much, now, I fear nothing. They have done all they can to punish me; now I just sit warehoused.

Earlier today, I got ahold of a “pear”. I haven’t seen a pear in years. I held it… studied it… it’s colors and smells… then I ate it… slowly. What pleasure, imagine, something as simple as a pear bringing pleasure. Maybe I should have learned this earlier in life, simple pleasures, maybe I would’nt be where I am today.

I wish the people in Washington, the elected officials, would start moving on these “prison-reform” bills. I wish this because each year, more and more of us are dying while warehoused. Being warehoused can make one very tired. I am getting tired.

I remember a while back when they used to bus us from one facility to another (now they fly you, sometimes). 16-18 hour rides on a bus, chained to another person, a stranger. Each day stopping at some county jail. They would wake us up at 4am, chain us, and load us up for another 16 hour ride to another hell hole. Imagine doing this for 10-14 days, well I did do it. A trip from Miami to New York took 2 weeks. The bus would stop everywhere picking up and dropping off inmates along the way. I took another 4 month trip from Lewisburg in Pa. to L.A. County jail. They say it was by mistake. On these trips you would get tired, dog tired, all the way to the bone tired. One way to get a rest was to get into a squrmish, a fight of sorts. They would then throw you in the “hole” till the next bus came.

I wanted to weep one day, you see, I was so tired and weak that I had to hit my friend just to get a rest. I learned that day to not hit in the head, just the torso. I have passed this on to many a convict. You get the rest you need and don’t really have to hurt anyone in the process.

I am sorry this is all I have this holiday season. Christmas, it is supposed to be joyous-it’s the day our Lord was born.

I wish I could “pen” warmth, I can’t.

I wish I could weep like before, I can’t.

I wish I could stop the pain and suffering of the world, I can’t.

I wish I could send a Christmas card, I can’t.

I know the part of loneliness I wish I never knew. I wish and wonder if I’ll ever be a funny person as before… I will try, but, I don’t know if I can…

MERRY CHRISTMAS,

George

I know at times I have become one with a loose and lost soul. A soul from a galley slave. His spirit enters me… I am there, pulling at the oar, chained to it. As I pull, I look through a small port hole. I see water, I see some of the world. I know death is on the horizon, death is the only freedom.

When one pulls on the oar, when one walks prison halls so very long… it is the same. Yes, you can call me a galley slave. Now in my 24th year, that soul from the ships slave comes more and more. I breath hard when it enters me. I stand tall against the wind. Even when the gray steel door slams closed and laughs. I back up, stare, and know how life can be bitter sweet.

With respect for this site and those making it possible, I swallow this bitterness… never getting to the sweetness. I pen, hoping that from my words, that those that read, will know not to back away when some ugly-beaten soul wishes to enter you. Befriend it, know it’s tears, but, never, never fear it.

I subscribe myself, George Martorano