SEGREGATIONS
“Mr.
Blake, we will take your testimony into consideration and have made note of
your excellent behavior. Your
cooperation is greatly appreciated and we will make our decision known to you
within the next thirty days. Until then,
do you have any last words for the committee?”
“Yes
Sir. Dear Honorable Members of the
Parole Board, your time and attention is truly appreciated. I can assure you that if you should grant my
parole, that I will dedicate the rest of my life to repaying my debts to
society. I know that I can never take
back what I did, but with your decision, maybe I can contribute to something
new, something good. Thank you.”
“This
concludes our Parole Hearing of Walter Blake, inmate number 0032186. We will now take a lunch break and meet back
here in one hour.”
****
What’s
an hour? By the time these goons get
back from their lunch, I will have lived hours within their hour. Time is all I
have now, so much time that I find time within time. I can count seconds within a second and live
days within a day. Paradoxically, I can sleep
for minutes and weeks pass just the same. With no clear direction, for all I know,
thirty days from now might actually be yesterday. For me, time is an hourglass of sand in the temper
tantrum hands of a screaming toddler.
This
is my third time up for parole, and I can honestly say, I would take death by
electrocution over having to go into that room of dodos one more time. They make me feel like a god damn dog getting
its nose rubbed in the heaping shit it just took on their white carpet. Every time they rub my nose in shit and then send
me back to my kennel. My freedom is in
their hands now. Come to think of it, it’s always been.
I’m
not the only one. It’s all of us. They’ve got you all on leashes of various
lengths and degrees of slack, and believe you me; the second one of you even
thinks about shitting on their white carpet, it’s off to the dog pound. They’ll stick you in a kennel and rub your
nose in shit until you learn to do their tricks or die. The part that fucking
gets me the most is that we willingly pay taxes to build our own kennels, under
the delusion that they are only for the strays.
Anyway,
now that I’ve rolled around in my analogy a bit, let me get back to the
dickheads that got me started on all of this; the assholes that wouldn’t last
one day in this hell. The dickheads and assholes that can go get fucked!
I imagine that right about now they are out to
lunch, stuffing their stupid fat faces with pastrami, chips, and diet coke.
This is sure to be followed by a circle jerk up and down the chain of command, until
it’s time to clock out and go home. Upon arriving to their caves, they will slap
the days bacon down on the table, strip out of their hunting attire, and slip
into their vices. After a meal of two
parts meatloaf, six parts beer, they will then fuck, beat, or ignore their
wives and children, all to the anthem of Monday Night Football. Off to bed.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
It is only my instinctive urge to survive and
copulate that brings me to whimper and beg to such cowardly men. Men with so much freedom, if it were cash,
they would wipe their asses with it. Freedom
that I protected under fire and blood, flushed away in the afterthoughts of the
spoiled and mundane. Though I must beg
to these bastards, my dignity remains intact under the pathetic façade, knowing
at least that my freedom and incarceration were well earned.
Obviously
my freedom prior to my crime was earned during my time in the war, but my
incarceration, not so easily. It’s not
what I did that put me into prison, but what I did to survive once I was behind
bars, that earned my place in the house of pain. Thinking back now, I choke on the irony of it
all. I went from being a professional
killer of Nazi scum, to eventually being surrounded and under the protection of
a growing neo-Nazi movement.
Once
the late 60’s rolled around, it was almost impossible to be white and not a
skinhead in the federal prisons of America.
Believe me, I held out as long as I could. There was no race or group that I hated more
than Nazis, especially American Nazis. I
tried to go under the radar and avoid any affiliation with the skinheads, but it
was the niggers that eventually forced me out of hiding and in search of
security. Trust me, if the blacks would
have accepted me, or even just let me be, I’d probably still be killing Nazis
to this day.
****
If
you take a Styrofoam cup and place it over burning toilet paper, it will melt
into a cone. If you keep melting more Styrofoam
and adding it, it will strengthen your cone.
If you then grind and file that cone into a sharp point, you will have
yourself a proficient tool for stabbing the shit out of somebody. This is how
the nigger that tried to kill me made his shank.
I
was doing pull ups on the bars in the yard when from behind, my weight was
lifted by two big black arms. A big
nigger had me by the waist, then another that had his pants down like a punk,
rushed me from the front and proceeded to batter my guts like bread. My blood soaked abdomen provided just enough
lubrication to slip like a fish from the big niggers arms. What I did next,
would be my defining moment in prison as a mean mother fucker.
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