"Congratulations", he says, the parole officer, "You're the first Green to complete parole successfully." "And early." Three years early."
Nice. I guess. . .
But we forget.
The years i did. Ten in total. In a solitary cell. The voices and body bags and letters unsent. The unspoken of the missing spokes in my wheel which i rotated and balanced each day. Each second. In order to one day rise above. Crawl above.
But now i just want the choice. The decisions to be mine. Should i work or not? 90 hours in order to just pay the process of getting to and from work with brushed teeth and full belly. I'm ordered to work. Its stipulation. But maybe now I'll quit, be a little hungry and have fuzz teeth. But. Have time. Have energy. For myself.
I can leave the state now...
No more surprise, armed visits and piss tests. No more monthly fees in order to keep bullets in the guns hipped and at the ready if i make a sudden move.
Sudden move... Maybe that's it. I can move now. Suddenly. They'll have to knock now before they kick in my door. They'll have to tell me to freeze now before they shoot.
I guess, what I'm trying to say, is Theres Alot lost. Its just not as simple as a completion of a process because i was " corrected" by corrections.
No. Because i wasn't.
Everything i was told to do in prison... I did the opposite. The parole programs upon release... I criticized. I laughed at. Because if i would of embraced their "Gods" and "relapse is a part of recovery" where would i be now?
No God. No relapse. No love for those that showed nothing but hate to me for years. No rehabilitation. But bucking. With strength. With the knowledge that the entire in-justice system is corrupt. That to even have reading material or food and water isn't a guarantee when your suffering in chains in this "land of the free."
That you can be murdered by state employees and be sent home as a suicide. That psychotropics are a tool used to break you, handed out by smiling, supposed "care" givers and medical "professionals."
I've worked. I've bucked you you dirty, crooked bastards. Even though you gave me three extra years for "refusing medications."
I've beat you at your own games in order to show the world you play unfair. In order to make known the hypocrisy of your war on drugs. The racism in your freedom and the lowness in your higher power philosophies.
You're either war recruited to fight for imperialist armies or chained. Chain or be chained.
Police force or policed.
Pork producing, cashier register, toilet scrubbing middle men. On the fence. Waiting. Supporting troops and perpetuating the prison industrial complex with your non-attention. With your captive hate.
Fuck your wars and your soldiers. Fuck your badged, coward, P.D. Swat teams. Power to all prisoners. To Jailhouse Lawyers, those refusing meds and compliance. To sprinklers pulled and shit thrown. Rise up you righteous.
To those warred upon. Luck. Knowledge that your cause is true and right and the contradiction is in your favor more each day.
Fuck your system. Set up to control at all cost in order to keep in power your elite.
But most of all.
Fuck those that still believe in this system. That still seek to raise offspring to assimilate into this shitmill.
Whatever happened to resistance?
To those that stand up for what's right even though they know they'll be knocked down again and again.
The fear of being knocked down. The redness of face in he who trips beside his peers. The terror of stumbling and slipping. Tripping.
But what is life, what is knowledge if not learning to be more sure-footed by stumbling? To learn to be graceful while doing the ungraceful?
Its this, this even-road, this "same-same" flat surface emotion and lifestyle. This ability to just take a pill and never feel good or bad but just O.K.
This perpetual war supported, never to be lost or won, but continued just for the sake, the money, of the business involved in war. . .