Inside A Federal Prison
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…
April 5th, 2007 at 6:21 pm
I would like to thank the site creator for his time and effort and acknowledgement of George’s fight for freedom. It is very much appreciated.
“…however much I am pressed with questions
and deny all questions,
there is a point
where I find myself forced
to say no,
NO
then
to negation
and this point,
it’s when I’m pressed,
and what remains?
That I am suffocated;
and I don’t know if it is an action
but by pressing me thus with questions
even to the abscence
and the nothingness
of the question
I was pressed
even to the suffocation
within me
of the idea of body
and of being a body.”
Antonin Artaud???
January 18th, 2011 at 3:02 pm
My Millionaire Mentor 2011…
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