09 August 07

T-Bone on Prison

T-Bone stopped by and talked about his life while serving in the military, the action he’d seen and the people he’d killed. But he asked me not to blog any of that. He then talked about his life in prison.
“How much time have you done?”
“18 years since ’86.”
“How many riots have you been though?”
“Four big ones.”
“There must have been some terrible injuries.”
“Yeah. I saw people losin’ their lives. Heads get bust open with weights, pipes, baseball bats, picks, shovels. People gettin’ shanked in their eyes.”
“What does it feel like to be in a prison riot?”
“You gotta do whatcha gotta do. You’ve gotta get down.”
“I’ve heard that the atmosphere changes just before something happens.”
“There’s a smell of fear, doubt, and stress. There’s an instinctual change in body movement and body language. People start positionin’ themselves in groups on the yard.”
“It’s hard for me to convey to people outside the effect of a prisoner calling another prisoner a punk-ass bitch. If someone calls you that, how does it make you feel?”
“Right away I’m thinkin’ of death. But I’m not gonna go berserk. I’ll wait and catch the person alone. Then the cops can’t see it. If someone calls me a punk-ass bitch, that’s like sayin’ I’m a piece of nothin’, I take it up the ass, or I put it up someone’s ass, that I’m subhuman and have no honour or self respect, that I need to be killed. In prison you have two things: yourself and your word. Certain words are worse than rapin’ someone’s child. If someone calls me out, I’m gonna handle my business.”
“Whites, Chicanos, and paisas make up most of the prison population [in Arizona State Prisons], you must have endured a lot of racism?”
“Here, blacks are always at the bottom of the totem pole. I’ve experienced pure hatred 'cause of the colour of my skin. People seethin’ with vile contempt and hate lookin’ at me like they wanna kill me 'cause I’m black. But I’m wearin’ the same clothes, doin’ the same time.”
“You seem to have a knack for staying strong. How do you do it?”
“The truth is: I turn to God. God helps me mind my Ps and Qs. When I first came to prison an old major told me to avoid the three Hs: heroin, hooch, and homosexuals. I stay away from those.”
“How cheap is life in prison?”
“It means nothin’. I’ve known of people killed for two $40 papers of heroin.”
“You must have lost count of the fights you’ve seen?”
“I’ve seen so many people get annihilated, it’s unreal. I’ve seen cops get shanked – one in the eye.”
“You must get sick of it?”
“The rapin’ irks me the most. It’s the foulest thing for a man to do to another man. Back in the day at the Walls every single night someone was gettin’ brutalised. You could hear male flesh poundin’ male flesh.”
“And nobody stopped it?”
“You couldn’t snitch. If you couldn’t fight back you were game. Some of the rapers were the size of apes. They’d squeeze the back of their victims' necks to put them unconscious. There was a smell of crap on the run from so many dudes takin’ up the ass. Regular dudes, not homosexuals, getting’ brutalised, punked, and scared to admit they were gettin’ raped. You’d also see big dudes kissin’ little whites boys like they were women. Kissin’ them on the lips and neck. Then all night long you’d hear the punks gettin’ fucked up the ass goin’ huh-huh-huh.”
“It sounds like a nightmare.”
“Worse. Gang members would hold someone down and stick things up his ass.”
“Things?”
“Cans, soda bottles, shampoo bottles, broom handles, or metal shanks.”
“Unbelievable.”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood