Diary New Folsom May 11

Good morning realness folks and Mother Earth. I'm still trying to make running and walking a habit again. It's good to keep my heart pumping. It's a quarter to six and the sky is beginning to glow. I'm looking forward to see the Gosling Five, perhaps they are only days from flying away. Yesterday I got a letter from my splendid friend and editor Anja, and I found out my new articles and blogs have not made it to Sweden yet. I sent them weeks ago. They should have arrived.

I hope these daily blogs are not too boring, but people kept asking me about my prison every day life. I can tell you I literally suffer every day. It's easy to say let go of most wants and desires, yet as a man each day I suffer and long for the hug of a woman or just to hear a woman's voice in conversations or just to sit and share space. Sex doesn't have to be involved, just yin and yang and sharing space and silence, sharing wisdom and realness. My listening to your stories of the day and week or whatever an your listening to mine. I think I have unique exiting stories to share. What prisoners who are human beings doesn't suffer for verbal or physical touch. We are still human beings who love and long to share space. I'm not a monk, or priest and have no inclination to be celibate, physically or verbally. It's an endlessly deep punishment to miss the magic of sharing intimate moments one human with another for a day, week, month, year, ten, twenty, thirty years. Can you imagine four cave walls and a tiny window as your view of the world and only dreams to be with the opposite sex, yin and yang. Hell, sometimes I long to just see a woman's feet and feel guilty and like a freak even though it is a natural occurrence for someone deprived of real beauty where most things natural and human are forbidden in prison. Where even a kiss is forbidden.

Karma Dept

What does it all mean

this life and my karma dept?

The boiler blew up

last night

Must have been like

a bomb

So loud it was silent.

Everyone ran but me

I heard later the whole

wall could have shattered.

I stood there watching

the panic, rolling

a cigarette

It didn't matter, it was

my karma dept.

Why aren't you writing?

I have nothing to write,

nothing to say. Over ten

years of this life

has been wasted.

My karma dept.

I want to tell someone,

some lady, I love her

not to get sex

but just because I do.

No reasons, no conditions

for there's just being

and natural love

My karma dept.

I came here today

to perhaps share a few

tears together, a poem

or two

but it didn't work out

so I just walked away

for it's my karma dept

THE VULTURE'S BACK

Tonight I looked

at the sky and there was no moon

If there was I could not see it.

Once again I wonder where the moon

is hiding

when it's not glowing.

Once again this night, teardrops lie

just beneath the surface.

Water fills my eyes that have cried

a billion tears.

Once again sadness fills my heart

that has yet to share its full bloom.

Once again smiles lie beneath my frowns.

The vulture's back circling the core

of my heart

that cried a billion tears

that dreamed a billion dreams

that smiled a billion smiles.

© Spoon Jackson