Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Lumpen (Pigs and pills)

I want to say a few things about our ´class´ at this time in Amerikkka so those unfamiliar with us can be better prepared to struggle with us.

99% of us in those Koncentration Kamps, at least from what I´ve seen personally, are so mind-fucked and jaded as to think we deserve being caged and abused. Most of us have basically already given up and expect nothing less of the society and family that raised us. This type of “head-trip” is intensified by the psychiatric medications pushed on us as a sort of “you-need-this-and we´ll- give –it –to you” – bullshit guise, when it´s widely known in medical, “correction” and society circles that Seroquel, Effexor just cause diabetes; Celexa, Wellbutrin, Paxil, etc. just cause impotence among other problems.

So you have men and women (though I´ve not seen a women´s camp, I´ll wager it´s alike), believing they are rejects and deserve prison. Add to that pent up sexual frustrations, because of the medications you depend upon, and look forward to like a monkey sniffing ass, and hoard or sell to catch the only half “human-type-emotional” buzz you’ll ever experience, causes you to be unable to be sexual in any way. Totally uncool if your whole hood or set or gang supports “manly-men” and schwarzeneggerizm.

But then you overcompensate. You are weakened by the Antitriptaline / Elavel because the poison numbs your stomach and body. So you can’t work out even or exercise. But you can’t also stop now as you rely on the shit to sleep. You rely on The Very Thing that’s killing you to get you through. It becomes: either hang yourself or keep taking the pills to the neck.

So you have these two demons.
You have these pills that have to be replaced by something, anything, if and when you parole. And the system makes it a whole hell of a lot easier to get heroin or crystal meth than Serequel on the streets. Coincidence? Fuck no! The pigs know what the medication does to you and what it turns you into and eventually “ass-tight-as-a-drum” “heart-beating-wickedly-in-your-numb-constipated-chest” makes you do. These substances are the Lumpen’s big-bourgeoise enemy. When they put you in the “mental illness” zone you are basically fucked. You’ll basically, 9 times out of 10, kill yourself or shoot up the mall or university dormhouse.

And can you blame those motherfuckers who explode?

Ever since the age of Neanderthals we humans let our bodies tell us what’s what. But just recently we’ve been pumping our youth full of chemicals to “one-up-we-know-better-than-evolution”-correct their false criminal behaviors.

And that brings us to the second demon. We think we are “evil” criminals. We’ve been taught it. Treated like it. Said mercy to it. And that includes the places they place us in. We are institutionalized. We feel out of place in society (and Amerikkkan society, these days maybe we Lumpen are the more progressive). So if our “replacing-of-the-pills”-behavior doesn’t get us thrown back in the kennel then our “apeing-to-the-mindwashed-citizenry” will.

We must play the part. We lack strength, knowledge, even natural sexual urges, to guide us. So we look to the movies. We look to our “homies” or CD players to show us. But they’re in the same “hurt-beyond-words-so-we-act-hard-to-compensate”-soiled shoes. We look but we don’t find. We are a new breed. We are brain-dead but a force. If we become activated progressively we will become a bulldozer to this system of injustice.  

But the state of mental anguish we are chemically depped in prevents much sight beyond the day to day.

To break into the Lumpen mindset is going tot take a new breed of progressive. Because we are a new breed of man. We are the Zombies; the Mike Myers  and Jason Vorhees  on the revolutionary screen stutter-stepping to the screams of the Bourgeoisie. We trail strips of chemical wrapped cotton. We wear masks of institutionalization. We moan the sounds of pent up Humanity.

We are not peasants or mill workers.
We do not care about wages.
We look for, we seek, basically, the next crime. The next drive by. The next stabbing. Not because we need the money (we eat free in our cells) but because that is the only way we can barely feel anything close to humanity. We want to be normal again. But each day we worsen and harden and rot. We have trackmarks and stabwounds. Our brains and livers are hollow and swollen. We are used to taking and breaking.

But we cry at night because it’s all an act. We try and exercise, but can’t. We try and learn, but can’t. We attempt to fuck each other but can’t. The pills won’t allow us.

So we get mad. We turn on each other. We don’t turn on the “master” because he’s too strong. The motherfucker’s invincible. Just look at him. Plus he’s our “friend.” He feeds us and gives us candy pills. Let´s drag each other down. Let´s start from the bottom and climb to the top until there´s nothing left of us. Then we won´t be seen as low or lame or weak. At least not by one of “ us.”

The pigs already see us as lames. So does society. And that´s because we are. We´ve allowed them to make us weak. We begged for it. We faked suicide attempts and hearing voices. We´ve server mental health a bucket of bullshit so they´ll give us a “head-change.”

So now what are we to do, Lumpen? Comrades?

We can stop. We can look up at the men holding the batons. We can sniff the air and smell their fear and see their sweat drip off their brows.

They fear us.
That´s why they mind-wash and institutionalize us. They fear us because they know they are wrong. They start out like the rest of society believing “criminals” are “evil.” But once they live around us in our units, they see we aren´t bad people. They compare themselves to us and come up lacking defense. Because they´ve done worse. They do worse. And then the realization hits them that something´s wrong with the system. They see it first-hand in our faces. In their own guilty faces each morning.

Then the pig questions: why?
Why me? And why them?
It could have been me!

The system´s a bunch of shit and I´m just a pawn in that system. That makes me worse than being just a victim. Because I comply. Each day I do what I´m told, even though I know what I do is incorrect.

Ten years of this.
And twenty.

The pig´s a shell now. He´s been eaten inside and out by his country´s corrupt “corrections.” But he´ll die before he´ll admit it. Can you imagine if the world knew! If everyone saw the reality I´d be considered no better than a slave owner or a nazi in charge of Auschwitz. We can´t have that. And in order to keep that from happening he starts in on them. The offensive begins. Instead of being an observer he dips his limp wick in the mix of “criminals.” He incites. He belittles and tortures. He sleep-deprives and mind-fucks. Until he begins to feel powerful. He carries it home to his wife and kids. He treats other kids the way he treated the “criminals.”
He must create more.
He chooses who.
He becomes many. He becomes the society that picks several out of each class to cage. From day one, like sharks surrounded by chum, they sniff out the headstrong. The “colored” or unclean. These are set aside for the men who wear the badge. They must perpetuate it. They must or they´d have to admit 2.4 million human beings rot in cages just because of their fear.

Just because of what my father was taught by his father. And we can´t have that. Because that would mean we were sick. And it´s them who are sick. Those. Not me. Not us. I do not carpool and deep cleanse because I´m sick. I do not take Valium and Viagra because I´m sick. I do not attend church then hurry home to catch the Simpsons; I do not watch a war on television I don´t know the reason for or even understand the geography of; I do not drink wine to sleep and sip coffee to function; I do not take Tylenol and Gobble Tums… because I´m sick.

It´s them.
These “coloreds.” Those poor folk who don´t attend church services because they work. Heathens! Sinners! Damn you to the depths of hell! Or solitary.
That´ll teach you to be different. To voice dissent or question our war over in Afghanistan. Where´s Afghanistan? Why are we at war? Shucks uhhhh…  was it because of Mr Burns?! And that power plant thingy?

You. Amerikkkan. I let you take me into the depths of your hell. I took your pills once upon a time and it took me a stroke and two years to crawl out of that pit. I have track marks and hepatitis that betray the shame I used to feel because your society considered me a “bad seed.”

But now I see the whole sad situation and I´m sickened beyond words. You attempted to destroy me. You are attempting to destroy my family because you need to fill the status quo of “criminals.” My comrades sit being brain-washed (and starved to death), and they are so far gone nothing I do raises even subtle awareness.

The tables will be turned if not in my lifetime than the next, because such blatant disregard for life and humanity as this imperialistic, militaristic system shows is bound to fall hard!

The sad part is you don´t see that the very people you think are beneath you will be the very same who rise the fuck up and take it from you.

So here´s to Mr Burns everyone.
And that war in …AAA… Russia?

In strength (Keep ´em distracted Homer) and struggle
B.

Monday, 22 November 2010

FDR 25 or… fascism?

FDR 25 or… fascism? (Xs)
10/21/2010

At the Utah State Koncentration Kamp they have a policy (FDR 25) which is “top secret” as the Division Director, a.k.a. overseer, will tell you here:

“The policy you are requesting is FDR 25, intensive management / suicide prevention / strip cell. FDR 25 is classified as protected under the provisions of Grama Paragraph 63G-2-305 (12). That chapter deals with how staff is to handle and interact with criminals in the system. In fact, we do not let that chapter out to anyone not in law enforcement. Your request for a copy is, therefore, denied.”

A snippet of this policy states:

“Inmates shall not be permitted to receive newspapers, magazines, pamphlets, brochures, etc. Including religious texts, newspapers or pamphlets.”

Fascism: extreme totalitarian right-wing philosophy.
Right-wing: conservative or reactionary.
Reactionary: tending to oppose (esp. political) change.
So basically the “corrective facility” in which I am caged in has policies in which they break down how to treat and interact with Jews (I mean criminals). This policy includes restrictions on allowing captives religious texts and newspapers, etc. and I´m supposed to be corrected in some “out-of-the-blue” fashion, I guess, as I sit all alone with nothing in a solitary cell.

Hypocrisy: False claim to virtue; pretense.

The cherry on top of this Hitler-esque Hill is the symbol the Utah Department of Corrections uses on its letterhead and on their website. Which states they provide Honor, Integrity, and Accountability.

Honorable Departments with nothing to hide wouldn´t have top secret policies aimed at reactionary ends. And no policy supported by that department, could have a single ounce of integrity if it keeps men from practicing their religion and free speech. Last I checked this was still Amerikkka with a constitution that was written by revolutionaries in an attempt to stop that sort of injustice. And accountability. Who´s responsible for caging men for decades alone without magazines, religious texts, pictures, newspapers, and then releasing them? Is this their “accountability” they tout from one of the peeks in Southern Utah´s Red Rock on their letterhead symbol? Are they to be held accountable for men who don´t even know who the Amerikan president is because they´ve not read a newspaper in decades? How do you expect a person like that to get a job let alone be reintroduced back into society?

I just don´t get it. Unless the whole point (goal) is institutionalization. And then you have thousands of men in their youth, or prime, kept away from any and all pictures of the opposite sex in magazines, photos, etc. for decades. For punishment? I´m not even wanting to get the ramifications of that one. Or should I? For propriety´s sake I better skirt it. Yet… it is a reality. It is true. Wouldn´t any grown adult who was kept away from the opposite sex, even in photos, for decades become a management problem? I´d like to see one of you out there attempt it and let´s see if your loved ones don´t treat you with a little “ intensive management.”
And then you´re going to let these men out. The next time you guys see a high speed chase, ask yourself this: Is it possible this man was paroled thinking Bill Clinton was still president and the Twin Towers still stood?

Just imagine it. Is he running from the cops or from a world that suddenly fast forwarded twenty years and grew an internet. Is he scared of the handcuffs or more afraid of being kept without pictures of Britney Spears, Hayden Panitierre or Megan Fox for decades? Maybe this man is a devout Muslim or Christian on parole and as he “high speeds”, he´s attempting to memorize the Bible´s Second Letter to the Corinthians before they cage him and keep him without his holy texts for another decade.

Do you ever think of this society? Or are you too busy hating?

The next time a man at your local 7-11 seems shifty-eyed or suspicious, please don´t call the cops, maybe he just never knew Doritos had thirty-one flavors now and Michael Jackson´s not still the King of Neverland (King of Pop though he´ll forever stand). Maybe the cover of the latest “Maxim” magazine just took him some time to digest and he´s still catching his bearings.
Mayhap actually attending a church service, after two decades without has him overcome with the “Holy Spirit.” Maybe he needs a hug or a conversation and not a phone call to the cops and more solitary.

And know, reader, I´ve personally been at both ends of this field. I grew up being told, shown and believing people in prison are there for a just reason and deserve it, because they are bad people or lacking in some degree. I was taught this by my own family even though my own father was in prison. I was taught to hate him. And I did.

And then I came to prison. And I became the one hated. I paroled and was “that man” at the gas station (mouth full of the new cool ranch Doritos. Hands gripping several Maxims). Four times I received the “phone call” instead of the hug or conversation. And I again sit without religion, photos or newspapers. As society and my family hates me. Yet know, I sit with the utmost respect of my father now and extreme love. I now know why he was shifty-eyed and suspicious. But sadly. I don´t think I´ll ever understand why I was taught to hate him… - (Bourgeoise propaganda?) –

So at the start of this essay I showed you how “corrections” can oppose change. (if that is possible? I question it, even though I live it, is the sad part). I spoke about three words, or six, and how fascism, right-wing and reactionary can hide behind honor, integrity and accountability.

You know, I´m actually afraid that if I was to learn the whole FDR25 policy I´d discover it states how to drive a man mad real slow and convince him he´s mentally ill so they can push mind-numbing and body weakening psychotropics on him to stop his humanity and turn him into a good middle-class sleep. I´m scared it would be the revision of the German code used in the 1930s. The one that had all those past upstanding middle-class citizens driving their children to soccer and piano practice as they crinkled their noses trying to ignore those smells and ashes hitting their windshields. To ignore their Kamps.

I mean. History does repeat.

And FDR 25, at least the part not “top secret,” doesn´t bid well for things to come. Take it from me. I sit inside one of new Germany´s modern Koncentration Kamps. My face is up against the glass as I watch my comrades one by one being marched off to the firing squad chambers.

The precise titles and tags do change. But what they mean doesn´t.
How we smell doesn´t change either, nor what they do to us and the end result. The basics remain true. And foul.

Our ashes are just disguised as “corrections” and “rehabilitation.” Our punishment for dissent disguised as intensive management and control units. Our pleas for help batted down by the $$ Government´s Prison Litigation Reform Act.

Our humanity denied by policies like FDA25.

In strength (don´t you smell us?) and struggle,
B.

Saturday, 20 November 2010

Silent Accusation II (Spencer Hooper RIP)

Give us rest, give us time
To sort out why our country doesn't realize
Torture laws and racism exist
And there's more to life than
Those Seinfield reruns you missed
As long as you have a Mazda Miata
With a full tank and a pack of smokes
You couldn't care less about 500,000 dead Iraqi children
Less names to intrude on your child's
Santa Claus naughty or nice list!?! folks?
A dead man hangs from an air vent
As a bunch of cowards laugh at him
But this man's dying breath
Pleaded for me to seek justice for him
And the justice will multiply a thousand fold
Because my strength is endless
I've chosen to pick up a revolutionary cause
And the world's vendettas
Against my supposed country
I'll carry the progressive red flag
And your overweight greedy amerikkkans
Will finally understand the meaning of sad
It's a true emotion that bubbles from within
Totally opposite than your sugar come down
And more human than your bullshit "sin"
Ring around the rosey and pop goes the weasel
Is that spittle on your lip Mr Vegetate?
Dialectics is jet fuel to your racist diesel
Give us rest, give us time
To sort out this mess we've made of our lives
Give us a chance to pay for our crimes
You have our bodies, some of our minds
What more do you want?
More pain and some fines!
Take his rigid body and cut it down
Call him worthless, call him clown
I called him friend, his mother's son
Look at his face, look what you've done.
 (Published here)

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

The Statue of Armageddon


I went to church and learned how to cry
Then came to prison and learned how to smile
Seeking forgiveness only from myself
Becoming unshakable on my solitary shelf
Amerikkkan missiles with nuclear tips
Poised like paper tigers ready to Rip
Payloads in excess of seven destroyed earths
Armageddon, she´s ready, with Lady Liberty´s purse
She´s taken her crown and turned it to horns
Her torch turned missile, Her country wanting more
Gimme Gimme, like a spoiled presidential child
Taking from the weak in the United $nakes style
I sit unable to do much more than write
My pen and myself and the long lonely nights
2.4 million captives loudly screeching the truth
Lady Liberty a missile silo waiting to be used
(stop her)

(October 2010)

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

Apologetic subterfuge

Published earlier here in this publication.

February 21st, 2010: a three car convoy of Afghans were traveling to the market and then to a hospital for medical treatment. U.$. forces saw Afghans traveling together and launched an air to ground attack. Women jumped out waving their scarves to communicate they were civilians. The U.$. helicopter continued firing. 21 killed. 13 wounded.


December 26th, 2009: U.$. forces raided a home, pulled eight young men ages 11 - 18 out of their beds and gunned them down execution style. U.$. forces and distraught villagers later learned all were innocent of any wrongdoing. An apology was issued by the U.$. military.


Apologetic subterfuge?!
You can love me if you want
Feel free to hate me if you need
Just keep away from me your ignorance
Your racism and patriotic greed
Believe in your jesus
Your superiority and programmed ways
If it helps you sleep at night
Keep preaching your 'end of days'
Seven comes eleven its a crying shame
When the last time you did a pushup
you fucking lames!
Our bodies were built for sweat and love
minds wired for compassion not drugs
Turn off your fucking TV zombie
unplug that phone and those radios
Now listen, you hear it? 'crunch crunch'
That's those red white and blue imperialist goblins
eating Afghani wives and children for lunch
and the ticking sound that's increasing slowly
it's that capitalist system you love
slowly imploding
I'll shed no more tears for you Amerikkka
I'll never forgive you for what you've done
chewing on pregnant mothers and sons
killing unarmed little girls for fun
I'm an anti-imperialist communist poet
and we're winning motherfuckers
Fox 13's just not letting you know it.
February 12th 2010: U.$. forces raided a home and killed five people, including two pregnant mothers and a girl engaged to be married. The New York Times even uncovered Amerikkkan troops engaging in a deliberate cover up in an April 5th 2010 article.

According to a March 3rd 2010 report "The U.$. ignored the deaths of more than 850 Afghan children from treatable/preventable diseases as they focus warring on the second poorest country in the world"
Fuck you Amerikkka!
Straight up.
no apologies.
and no more hiding.
we're watching,
waiting....
tick tick tick!

Saturday, 16 October 2010

"Home Sweet Home"

From: Solitarywatch:


October 16, 2010
by Jean Casella and James Ridgeway

Brandon Green is imprisoned in Uinta 1, a supermax unit at the Utah State Prison in Draper. His writings appear on a blog created for him by Utah Prison Watch. In this piece, he challenges readers to imagine what is like to live in solitary confinement, as he vividly describes the physical and psychological deterioration that take place in an isolation cell.

Go to your bathroom door and kick a hole in it. Now lock yourself in tight. Throw all your hygiene items, except a tooth brush and toothpaste tube, out the hole. Everything. Now go to your tub and flip it over. This is where you’ll sleep. Now sit. The light switch disappears and the shower spigot. A little speaker replaces them. It listens and sometimes speaks to you. Laughs at you. Taunts you. Tells you your suffering is entertaining. You can’t shut off the light with no switch and you’ll have to shower using the sink.

As you sit, you hear ten or so voices outside the door. That’s funny. Sounds like that guy who robbed my mother’s house last year and put her in a wheelchair after brutally beating and raping her. It can’t be! Is that the judge that let the man run free too? And his twisted attorney? Why are they here!?!
The worst enemies you could imagine, or put a face to, have just moved into your house. As you sit in the bathroom. These people only wish you harm of the utmost. And your death would be nothing but joy for them. All your food, and any mail you might be expecting, will have to come from these “squatter enemies.” Good luck!

To make matters worse, these enemies of yours control all your heating, air conditioning, water from your sink and to your toilet. And to top it off, if they see you sleeping they’ll kick the door and yell at you. They laugh.
You can hear these men day and night right outside your door. You smell them barbecuing  and smoking. You’re hungry. You can hear these men torturing people. Sometimes other people in similar bathrooms next to yours are pulled out and placed in body bags. To the  amusement of these squatters.
 A day passes this way.

“My god,” you say, “what have I done to deserve this?”
A week passes.
 You cry.
A month.
You attempt suicide but your vein closes up before death.
A year.
You are now talking to yourself and running around naked. You are convinced the food you seldom receive, that’s halfway edible, is poisoned. As you eat the rotten “meat” your beard and mustache get in the way of the teeth chewing. You couldn’t cry if your life depended on it. And it used to. But you’ve forgotten why.
Two years.
You can’t remember. You’ve forgotten. Forgotten what? You don’t know. The “squatter enemies” come around and you look at them. They look at you. They laugh. You start to laugh too. You forgot why. But you do.
Three years.
You sleep 20 hours a day. You can’t help it. But your floor is clean. You keep it spotless. You don’t know why. But you do. You’re skinny. You’ve lost an easy 60 lbs. Your skin is turning yellow and your legs cramp up and atrophy. You don’t want to die anymore. Why bother? You’d rather sleep and dream. The dreams are so vivid. More real than these walls.

Five years.
You go home, you leave your bathroom, this year.
They tell you that. But why? Where do I go? I don’t want to leave now. I like my tub and sink…

Dear Comrades (One Love)


Cats and dogs raining down my window
Dust bunnies roaming around my floor
Learned worms crawling around my stomach
Telling me I was taught to want more
These measly maggots at war with science
And what´s before us as real and true
I pump my blood until the skin stretches
Sweat drips onto the concrete like Chinese tea
Searching each repetition the puddle´s reflection
for truth.
The same as I do each U.S.W. study lesson
For a MC´s guidance into deeper realms
Blood starts to puddle and pool with my sweat
I question from where but continue to pace
Letting the itch of it linger on my face
Three cold meals and denials at mail call
Four cold walls and a solitary cot
One man alone with only one thought
Your punk denials will breed lawsuits
And my stomach turns cold to hot
We, Comrades, are part of something larger
More human than “Jesus” dying on a cross
Steering the people through minefields of hate
Aware it´s a privilege we even ate
A species on the sad cusp of extinction
One Vanguard, one chance, one reason
As planet Earth spins out the seasons
Survival of the fittest as Amerikkka weakens
Our species.

One Love Comrades