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

This blog is my voice. My voice is my pen. I have a need to have my voice heard, so, I write…

Prisons are just buildings, walls and fences, laid upon the ground. A ground where humans are piled into. So, there are many stories to be told, yet so few that will tell them. While America has the most caged, it has the fewest of those that pen of the cage. Why is this?? I do not know. I teach many how to write the thoughts. Few do. They come to my classes, all with the same look. Yes, that look; a look of hopelessness. I wish I could teach more, more to give hope. I was given more hope recently with a visit, a visit I want to share with you…

My niece Blakey and my lovely nephew Paxton came to visit recently. Paxton, a lovely blue eye’d boy of 10 weeks. As I held him I thought of how he was born in Peru, just days after a serious earthquake. As I sat holding him the feelings were many. I, a man who has been caged for 25 years holding a newborn. I am blessed. I felt from God, as I shall one day return to him.

I wonder what life will have in store for Paxton. I pray to be free soon, so that I may be a part of his life. I would never let any troubles befall him, this I swear.

As I sat with my great nephew a bit, he decided to bellow a loud tune. He got the attention of many visitors with his tune, making some nervous.

My good friend Gloria was there also. She has been visiting me for years. To me, she too is life, just as Paxton.

Yes, many looked over to us as my “Little Peruvian Boy” Paxton sang out loud. As I looked and listened it made me feel human, not caged. What a great feeling.

As I have been writing this, 3, yes three helicopters have taken off with victims of violence; all fighting to hold onto life. I pray for them. I have been writing this from by cell, pausing only for that “sound”.
I would much rather just hear Paxton, his sounds puts a smile on my face.
Thanks Paxton, I can hear you. I’m smiling

As I walked the prison yard today, I noticed a group of men that had gathered with “prepared” treats they had purchased at the prison store. I observed for a few minutes realizing that they were “dads”, gathered to celebrate “Father’s Day”. I asked if it was ok to speak a few words to the group. Naturally, they obliged.

I talked to them of the singular appearance of us all. For we all have the appearance of being just prisoners. To the staff, lawmakers, and to many of those in the “free world”, we are viewed as just and only that. I have been viewed like this for almost a quarter of a century.

As I spoke, I was looking about 20-30 feet above their heads; I explained why… I stated that I have been looking up towards the sky for many a year, because, when my eyes are leveled, my eyes only see a compound of caged lives. One must find a way to leave the cage, even if it’s just by looking up !!

Happy Fathers’s Day…