Same shit! Same day!

SAME SHIT! SAME DAY!

         “Ahhhh!!! There is a God” I said to myself relaxingly while extreme hot water from the shower, nozzle pounded upon my bended bald head and nude body. It’s not that we have steamy hot water to shower with all the time. Most of the time it is warm, lukewarm or ice cold. So when it’s hot like this, I have to take advantage of it, feeling all the stress and anger oozes out of  my exhausted body. I love it! Even if it’s only a moment without longevity. A moment that comes to an end within forty minutes or so. Which is my highlight of my isolated days.

          After my shower I am escorted back to my cell. I’ll put on some hygiene products, wash my dirty clothes and sit idly on my bunk and gather my thoughts that often run  amok on everything that is going on in my world and others world. From a male officer complaining to me that he hates his job and hates his wife cause she refuses him sex, to female officers who are so insecure about themselves that they ‘need’ a encouraging word or two. It’s like I am their fuckin psychiatrist, when it’s really me that needs the therapy (lol).

          It’s been said that “insanity” is the act of doing something over and over again, expecting a different outcome each time. That being said, I suppose  I (and others here) are insane to a degree and just failed to acknowledge it. In fact; every day I wake in this God forsaken place I expect to experience something different from the redundant existence that I clairvoyantly know so well. I can tell you what’s for breakfast (rubbery pancakes that for whatever the reason gives me a headache. So I haven’t eaten them in seven years). Lunch will be some type of noodles with artificial pork or beef meat, and last meal will be one of the many ‘mystery meals’ this prison serves as a cost effective solution to meet TDCJ budget cuts, i.e pea-pot pie (which is only green peas and cornbread) or one of the many watery stews that smells like something out of Nickelodeon’s Barf’s burgers joint (yeah I had to take you all back to the  old school …(lol) Granted prison food isn’t supposed to be gourmet meals. I’m not saying this but it is always an issue when death row inmates are fed differently and lesser than any other inmates on the same prison.

          After seeing the bullshit being served, you best believe that I will get mad, look into my locker box for some commissary to snack on, then entertain the repetitious anger talk with other inmates over the run who is displeased with the slop we were served, and not once will any of us stop to realize that we had the same anger talk yesterday at the same time about the same bullshit food. The same talk we shared for the past months and even years.

          Mail Call will come every night around nine. The officers will ask our name and TDCJ number for identification and make asinine comments like “I wish someone would write me. You guys (DR) have it good. Three meals a day, fan mail and you all never have to work”

          Then I’ll fire back saying, “Wanta trade places? Cause trust me, I’ll take your problems over mine any fuckin day. “Then they’ll pause briefly with a calculated quizzical look on their faces. They’re trying to find a way to justify their dogmatic statement without warring the imaginary seen Dunce hat. But they can’t, and they all quickly recant their previous trade off statement for a more realistic and honest take. “Every time I see how you guys live, I thank god I am free”

          I’ve been doing this Texas isolation death row shit since 1999 and its beyond old. It’s the same shit within the same day around here. As King Soloman once quoted “Nothing is new under the sun”

           “Someone pass me one of them fuckin electronic cigarettes***

           Excuse me. I’m back. Every now and then I get caught up in one of my Rick James moments; drifting off while I drive (lol)

          It’s been a while since I wrote a blog post, Not that any of you would care or even noticed, It’s not that I was wining rave reviews or awards for my dishabille banter, but there is one short ass lady from England (whom I’ll leave anonymous, who actually sent me  a letter/jpay every damn day, encouraging me to write, to get out of the funk that I was funking up, she’ll use words like, Bloke, Fag, poppy, shite , bacon and peanut butter sandwiches- words  that mean totally the opposite from our American understands and words I have no clue as to what she saying. I hadn’t wrote her in months, and she writes daily, How pathetic is that on my part, Not that I don’t appreciate it cause I do, but I know Free world folks has no real clue as to what it takes to function within the depths of environmental insanity. REAL TALK There are days I actually pray not to wake up in the morning. But I know I am not ‘done’ on this planet yet. I know if nobody else gives a damn about me, I know my kids do and they need me. So I wake up with one eye open first, say a prayer to get that damn demon off me, Get up and brush my mouth and come to the door to cuss out an inmate or officer matters not ho. Then I will bless them afterwards lol.

          If you were to add the legal woes to my daily anger (having spent six figures of my pen-pals money on some lawyers). You’ll understand it’s the creation of a nuclear emotional tsunami of confusion and lackadaisical wants that desires to do nothing except sit on this iron bunk (which I am currently doing) and reminisce on what I perceived as past ‘good’ times, fond memories that ill be honest and admit that I still lust for ( I won’t lie, I was a mutha fucker out there in that world) Memories that are precious to me In a confusing way. On one hand I liked the flamboyant lifestyle I had. On the other hand such flamboyancy leads to dead ends. And dead ends currently created the same shit same day reality that I am stuck in, at this present moment.

          See in truth nothing every changes for me and in hindsight for you too. Got a letter tonight from one of my daughters mothers and she writes me once a year at the same time around the holidays telling me the same ole lines, “Hey we miss you, remember when we did this, that and that and this…. Wish you were here”

          Really?

          See words are recycled redundancy, If you mean what you are saying, then be more than words, otherwise its just insane talk, talk that I don’t value no longer, its old to me, it’s the same shit same day to me.

          And let me tell all you little boys out there something that is chasing after my daughters, I WILL BE FREE SOON, Then again I’ve said that before too. It’s the SAME SHIT! SAME DAY!

 

Written by: Charles Chucky Mamou/ Nov 2013

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