Free George Martorano » emotional

A Black Cat with Rainbows

George Martorano — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 15:27:54 +0000

Somedays it’s black and white, while somedays are gray and pale. Year to year caged has a heavy grip on my shoulders.
Then sometimes through the fog coming off the steel and stone, I’ll get a simple change of freshness. It came not long ago. I was moved to a better cell block, cleaner and less yelling. My new cell is not far from the chow hall. One evening I saw a small black cat near the rear of the chow hall. He was in an area that was shut down so I could not attend to him/her.
The next day I looked out my cell window and there was the cat again, I named him, Blackie. What to do, what to do?.
The area where Blackie hangs out is restricted and I can’t get to him. So, I decided on a “line”. Attached a chicken leg to a long line. It took 3-4 throws to get it where I wanted, now I wait. I waited and waited, no Blackie. The next day I checked again, no Blackie, so I slowly pulled the line back towards me, the chicken is covered with ants. I try a piece of beef next and begin to wait again, no Blackie. I think some. I wrap some oily sardines in a thin paper, oil, smell seeping through. I throw the line down , perfect placement, I’ve gotten good at it by now. I sit and wait… oh the joy I have watching Blackie consume the meal. I watch how he prances to it, almost like he knew how to get the paper off and started chowing it down. Later, I got a chuckle as Blackie got tangled in the line and started jumping around finally getting him/herself freed. I see Blackie once and a while when jogging he yard… it’s almost like he gives me a little head nod good morning when I pass by. He sits out my cell window on occasion, asking, not begging, for a snack.
Well, sardines cost, here, 95 cents a can, that’s almost 30 bucks a month, 325, 350 a year. Know what? I gotta make a move with someone in the kitchen. Get me some regular fish I can feed to him. Hope Blackie likes it, it’s a whole lot cheaper than the sardines.
Anyways, at least I have Blackie to brighten by black and gray days; I think I’ll change his/her name to “Blackie the Rainbow”

25 Christmas’s

George Martorano — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 22:08:34 +0000

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

Inside A Federal Prison

George Martorano — Sat, 24 Mar 2007 23:45:42 +0000

I am asked at times… “What’s it like?” “My God, how do you do it?”… and all I can say is… “Here I remain, here, you can find me through my pen.”

“I’ll explain in simple terms of suffering…”

“I feel as a rock, oh, not some rock of pretty colors. Not some rock positioned on a rise above a lovely shore… No, just a gray thing forever at rest. There, up a dark alleyway, that opens into a cluttered backyard of some abandoned building. Where debris is left. Where drifting smells of decay spawn.”

“Yet, at times, at season best, an ugly vine leans over the rock. Brings forth a single yellow flower; bending there, as to offer a kiss.”

“Then, whence first snow falls. Clean and levels a glistening white across the unwanted place. And as if eyes peeping above Heavens gate. The tip of the rock waits… last, tears come. Just a moistened squint. Just a hint… I can go on… and on…