End of an era

Here at New Folsom Art room/AIC (Arts In Corrections) it's an en end of an era because they are making it impossible for LWOP to program here unless you are a trouble maker in constant trouble. They are changing C-yard to a non programming yard and transferring all long term programmers. So Marty, Ken, Spoon, Marco who run the Arts In Corrections classes, we are all up for transfer and probably all be gone by the end of the year. Not that any of us are indispensable, just that there wont be an Art room or yard to do art programs. So, I hope Alaskans and anyone else who has been a part of AIC/Art room and wants to see us together for the last time will come in as soon as possible. "Big C" who ran singing classes has already been transferred.

Bird Blog

Read new posts on the Bird Blog

Lockdown, ten months

They have eased up some on the lockdown only to unleash their next phase in their plan to continue making this yard a non programming yard. They are allowing some more blacks to go to work. Still I am denied work, visits and phone calls and still locked in cell almost all the time. There has not been any incident between blacks and south sider Mexicans since April, not even a frown and yet lockdown continues. I sit longing to go to work and close out my prose and poetry classes in realness. But New Folsom's plan is to not have any programs on C-yard and to bring in all the trouble makers they can, to foment continuous strife on this yard until they are ready to change it into a sensitive needs level four yard. Sad thing because this was once a progressive programming yard that rivalled most lower level prisons until the state decided to make it dysfunctional.

 

Lockdown, No Drama

Unlock seems to be working, they have been releasing blacks and south sider Mexicans to go to work, store, yard and medical and nothing has happened. Still they have not allowed me to go to work. Still there are no visits or phone calls. Yard has been very controlled with one building at a time and before this past week it was one race on the yard at a time. Yesterday all races was on the yard and nothing happened. So I hope they let me go to work next week. Because due to new criteria I and all LWOP's with low points will be transferred to lower level prisons, which isn't always a blessing. It depends on where you go.

The entire Art Room (formally Arts In Corrections) workers may be transferred. My transfer may happen in September. So, I'm looking for places to send some of my property out to the streets, letters and paperwork for safe keeping. They are changing New Folsom C-facility into a lockdown hole kick out yard with no programs. Soon even the Art room will be shut down. Shut down of programs seems to be a part of the new mission at New Folsom, and they are no longer hiding that plan.

(written August 10)

Go On

For Samuel Beckett

I cannot go on like this

but, I will go on

on and on even when

on is off

Something is stirring

in my soul, wanting

to burst out like a

hot spring in the desert

Wanting to come out

and I don't know

what it is, in the moment

I hope it's a poem

I hope it's a song

Something vast like Euripides

something wise and funny

like Aristophanes

something deep like Langston Hughes

so deep in the seas

where no light goes

I know what it is

I want to create my way

off this lockdown

and write my way

out of prison

They allowed redemption

once

but only condemnation now

I cannot go on

but, I will go on

on and on even when

on becomes off

Melancholic and sad

they are letting some

lifers go home

some, I have known for a lifetime

and that's a good thing

Yet, there is no end

in sight for me

and I don't know

anymore where to go

to get strength to go on

I don't know where

to go to leave

this sadness and pain

and make my heart sing again

and make my spirit soar again

Everywhere I look

there is a big sign

that says no

no forgiveness, no love

no hope, no second chance

no dreams, no romance

I cannot go on

but, I will go on

on and on even when

on becomes off

But, I have nowhere

to go

nowhere that says

yes

Yes, it's okay to dream

for some come true

yes, it's okay to hope

for freedom is free

yes, it's okay to love

for love can be true

I sit here in the moment

in melancholic limbo

why keep dipping into

an empty well

I cannot go on

I will go on

even when on

becomes off and

I have nowhere to go

© Spoon Jackson

Bird Stuff Suite in July

Drawing by Spoon

Turkeys

It's warm and windy out. The tall blondish brown grass is swaying on the other side of the razor and electric fences. The grasses, dancing to Mother Earth's song. A few blackbirds and cowbirds just outside the window. Looking out I saw the mother turkey and beside her the baby turkey I had seen weeks ago. It is about four or five times bigger. They cross the dirt road to the boulder field, where in the distance the hills fall into a drop, some kind of valley and more sky. It was so great to see the baby turkey is still striving and growing.

I don't know which side of the dirt road and fields the mother turkey and its baby lives on. I never see them walking up the road at late dusk near the fences like grown gobblers and turkeys without babies. I imagine they travel under the cover of tall grasses, there must be a route through the grasses and tiny hills.

Wait! Wow, amazing, moments ago I spoke about not seeing any mother turkeys and their young walking up the road towards where I imagine the turkey trek, looking out the window I see two mother turkeys walking up the road with about twelve chicks! I guess the young are quick and strong enough to bring out in the open now.

Early

The next day, after the rains I got up early and watched the grass outside my window to see if the brown grass had greened any since the night rains.

The sky over the fields, by the tree and small hills are filled again with swallows darting about. A true dove is back on the razor wire. The squirrel is in the shade under the tree on his second look out boulder, where weeks ago I saw the turkey hen hanging out with her baby. I don't know what you call a baby turkey. I wonder what the squirrel is watching.

Maybe there wasn't enough rain, enough wet for the fields of wild grass to turn green. I'll await the true dove and watch the dusk from the window.

Lime yellow canary

I waited at dusk again looking out of the thin thick window hoping to see the new geese family. The turkeys pass on their way home from the feeding fields. The gobblers follow the hens. The males hang out in groups of threes. Their legs are like long popsickle sticks. I wait and again the true wing-tail dove appear atop of the razor wire, only four feet up from the lethal electric fence.

I put a window cover in, but something keeps making noise and I take the covers out of the window and see a tiny lime yellow-green canary staring and fluttering up and down the window. We stared at eachother a few moments before it flew away.

Smile

A new day and the bushy tailed ground squirrel is standing tall on one of his look-out boulders near the shaggy evergreen tree. I was so blessed yesterday to see two wild mother turkeys taking a rambunctious group of baby turkeys up the road to the turkey tree. First time I ever saw that. It made my day. I suppose my day isn't hard to make. A smile can do that too.

Peace and realness

Bird feast

I see now what countless swarms of insects the swallows, starlings, cow birds, red winged blackbirds, crows, kill deer and some other kind of birds I don't know the name of, that spread their wings like a cape or umbrella to shade the ground as they catch something to eat.

I don't think the true ring-tailed doves or pigeons were eating the tiny insects. They are on the cell window right now. They hop and fly like tiny grasshoppers. They definitely have been the feast the swallows and other birds filled their bellies with. There must be tons of them, for more than ten days the birds have been feasting and yet at dusk today, I still see the insects boldly all over the window sill, darting about in the sunsetting sky and I think the birds must be sated or burnt out for the moment.

Twitter and Facebook

Spoon is now on Twitter. Tweets also appear on the public Spoon Jackson Facebook page. These are started to try to help promote the blog and Spoon's books.

The Editor

Bogged Down (Jim Crow)

Mass incarceration for a whole

generation of the poor

so that the one-percent

can fill their pockets and soar

A lockdown for all the black and brown

in all the cities and towns

You have no keys to the doors

and no carpets on the floors

The walls are already closed

in on you chosen before you are born

leaving you no place to go

sometimes no place to feel

Cages are opened from the outside

but, transcended from the inside

Sometimes you must close your eyes

and the walls will fall

Mass incarceration for a whole

generation of the poor

so that the one-percent

can fill their pockets and soar

They bog you down

in the worse parts of town

low or no income and low

or no education

They tell you, you have no keys

to life, no value and no souls

that you are forever

criminals, gangsters, hustlers and hos'

Ghettos and barrios, starving,

homeless, hopeless, fatherless, loveless

places, with liquor stores, cops

economic faces and educational and judicial traps

Mass incarceration for a whole

generation of the poor

so that the one-percent

can fill their pockets and soar

You are deemed a criminal

and disposable in their eyes

even before you are born

and fodder for their mass incarceration farm

The new caste system to waste

the youth, while the one-percent

who owns the drug profits legal

and illegal, rich and poor

War on drugs war on crime, war on black

and brown youth is a pipeline to clown

suits, a smoke screen

to mass incarceration

Mass incarceration of young men

fathers and sons lives

who are having no other options

do what they must to survive

Survive in this society

where all they have to do

is see you as a criminal

that makes you expendable

A new caste system to waste

a whole generation of poor blacks

and browns, with no human rights

and a scapegoat for all America's woes

Mass incarceration for a whole

generation of the poor

so that the one-percent

can fill their pockets and soar

Why is the war on drugs

waged only against the poor?

Who owns no land, no ships, no planes

no ware houses, no barges, no stores, no trains

Mass incarceration of a whole

generation can set in motion

for all the smallest infraction

a lifetime of commotion

A lifetime of incarceration

no way to clean the slate

especially in California, the richest

mass incarceration state

No matter what you do

it's still your fate

in California the mass incarceration state

in California the mass incarceration state

© Spoon Jackson

Winter and spring gone

Winter and spring gone, all spent on lockdown. Now the seventh month, still only black prisoners are on total lockdown and still only because of the color of their skin.

My skin longs to be touched and blessed by the sun as I look out of the window and watch the warmth lay on the blondish grasses. On the other side of the two razor topped fencing and lethal electric wire, the grasses are taller and a more blondish tan near the squirrel boulders. No direct sunlight ever shines through these boney cell windows, although it's dusk and the sky is heavy with sun. I can feel none on my skin. My once dark skin is now high brown.

The Brave Six

Lockdown continues, going on six months now, so I don’t have my writing classes to teach. Fortunately, Professor Tom Kerr, who teaches writing at Ithaca College in New York, contacted me to do the Brave Six project with a new batch of young students at his school. Tom and I first orchestrated this essay/letter correspondence with his Ithaca college students and my New Folsom writing students in 2008. We have done this project now three or four times.  It has been an enlightening journey for both free world students and my incarcerated writing classes.

Just this week Tom wrote me with a new batch of questions from both his persuasive and argumentative writing classes. Because of the lockdown, I cannot contact my students, so I answered all the questions myself and sent them in.

The Brave Six projects started when my friend Margot, from Switzerland, sent me a printed-out copy of Tom Kerr’s web page and his address. She wondered why, though I had many projects going on with people in Europe (mentoring students as well as film, book and song writing projects) I had few in the USA and she suggested I write Professor Kerr. I read that Tom had worked with well-known writers on Death Row at San Quentin and that he saw them as human beings. I felt there must be some realness there inside Tom, some courage – an honest appreciation for the power of words, forgiveness, love, service, redemption, change, education and growth.

I pondered Tom’s information for about a year and then sent him my articles, “Speaking in Poems” and “Shining in Darkness.” I had no expectations and figured he might enjoy the articles, but that I would not hear anything back.

Weeks later I received a letter from Tom telling me how the two articles had inspired and primed him... Read the whole essay at ALT/space published June 12.

Road to injustice

I was reluctant to read “The New Jim Crow” Michelle Alexander's book at first, being incarcerated myself, I thought what could I learn? How much more injustice in America could I stand to ponder and read about. I am living this moment in prison inside a race based lockdown and the courts and system don't care. I know and live inside the mass incarceration of black and brown people, and it's not hidden or a secret. I've lived it first hand as the prison system has grown in California and become more racist, program less, unforgiving and cruel since the nineteen seventies. What could I glean from this book?

Well, immediately, I looked into the mirror and saw and felt every word on each page of her book, and it broke my heart, but not my spirit. I saw how the courts, prosecution, law enforcement, politicians and American media set up this so called war on drugs and crime as a smoke screen for their true intention which was and is the New Jim Crow - - to incarcerate, bog down and enslave as many black and brown people as possible. Thereby marking, branding the young people for life. They may as well had gotten a branded iron and put it on the sides of the youth's faces. Even people who get out of prison physically are set up for failure.

The courts and government don't care if lockdowns or roundups of people of color are based on race and color of skin, it's as welcome as the morning sun. The courts say racism or race based actions are harmless error. Often the courts are saying in essence that if you don't use the word “nigger” out loud or say out loud an action based on race it's fine to lockdown blacks and harass them just because of skin color.

You may not see the hanging trees that line the roads of injustice across America, all the way to the Supreme Court, but hanging from those trees are black men, young and old. When a system of justice is shown over and over again to be racist and unjust and the courts say, well, just a harmless error, and prove it, it is like telling a man with both legs chopped off that they are still there.

Pipeline

Spoon is back with a new essay in SJRA Advocate.

When I was five years old, I anxiously awaited my turn to cross the field and go up the old wooden stairs across the railroad bridge to school, as thirteen of my brothers had before me. The older kids seemed happy to go and they stayed all day long. I thought the fun must be endless.
When I finally got there, I was slapped by the kindergarten teacher I had a crush on, Ms. Tereese, because of a fight I had with another boy. I was paddled from the second grade on and beaten with extension cords and water hoses at home. I failed every course e, from reading to math, and yet it was as though no one cared. By the fourth grade, I was told by the vice principal that I was no good and that I would never graduate from high school. Although I proved him wrong, I was passed from year to year even though I didn’t how to read or write. I did not know what a subject or verb was, or how to do simple fractions. I attended classes doped up, smoked out, smelling like weed and liquor. Apparently no one noticed.
I had choices I didn’t see growing up....(read the reaming part in SJRA Advocate)

Life is precious

Inspired by Marina Baric, student from Sweden. 

Thanks for your questions, I answer them only for myself. You asked, “what kind of insight and what kind of thing, dream or thought can make a man feel like he has the right to take another person's life?” There is no such right for me or any person, entity or government to take a life. I believe life is to be cherished and celebrated and nurtured.

I have never set out to take a life or dreamed of killing someone, but I did. And after, sitting here in prison almost 35 years later I can still say I have never set out to take a life and I do not dream of doing so.

There are some ignorance, unawareness and awful economic situations that contributes to the loss of lives and people justify the killings the same way the governments justifies the Death Penalty and Life Without Parole. For me anyway, trying to justify a killing is an excuse.

There are all kinds of environmental, sociological, religious, psychological and governmental reasons one uses for taking a life, all are still excuses. There are quick and long killings practised and sanctioned by most of these entities and yet none of those are justified in truth and realness. Sometimes one isn't aware of how precious life is and have not yet felt the truth.

There is no such thing as a just war or just killing. All life is precious.

Life is precious when we begin to see, think and feel in the moment and by seeing ourselves and our lives in other human beings or other creatures, dogs, cats, birds, horses, any plants or animals. Then we know that by taking their lives, one takes one's own life. So as you said, “a person that ever thinks about taking someone else's life, maybe isn't appreciating their own life”. If we know it's our own heart we are blowing up, stabbing, shooting or beating, perhaps then we can show love and how life is precious.

Vi är en klippa!

Spoon

Peace G

Peace G
Sharing books and songs

Dances and dreams

Instead of bullets and bombs

Wisdom and peace

Instead of greed and war

Peace G. building bridges

and wells

Instead of tearing them

down

We grow from our missteps

sharing forgiveness and mercy

instead of revenge and hate

Peace G. we walk each

in our own shoes

and as one, one people,

one planet, sharing many

cultures

We walk embracing the real

in all of them

coming together in peace,

truth and realness

© Spoon Jackson

Sept 2010

Bird Stuff

More Bird Stuff on the Bird Blog

Why not At Night I Fly, America?

The documentary, masterfully made by Michel Wenzer and Story Film, who poured their lives, hearts, tears, art and endless sweat into this film to make it all the way real and unique, why At Night I Fly was not even accepted in the smallest film festivals in America is a disgrace and a disrespect to the truth, real art, real film and enlightenment.

At Night I Fly won the two greatest awards in Sweden and was recognized for its outstanding vision and realness in every European country it appeared in as a great, unique, insightful and needed documentary.

Yet, the documentary film industry in America did not embrace At Night I Fly, USA is known for not embracing the real and mainly want the fake and phoney, unredeeming stuff to be given to an auduence. Stories and stuff that keep the stereotypes flowing and the masses drugged and dumbfounded with illusions of how honorable and true the USA media and documentary industry is.

When in fact, the documentary industry and media in general in America can't care less about truth, true art and realness and promotes whatever the prison officials or government officials tell them is the truth even when it's a lie. There is a ban on allowing media to come inside California prisons and the media does nothing to fight it.

At Night I Fly unveiled the truth in art in prison, justice and injustice. The media in America, liberal and conservative have all been paid off. They don't even try to come inside to know the truth. The prison allowed the great Oprah Winfrey to send in Lisa Ling to do a documentary but only if she did it on the negative aspects of prison and mainly the fabricated side of prison life. They ignored the truth and true art and realness going on behind these walls.

It is a shame that American media is not independent and has no back-bone for promoting the truth. Whatever the state and prison officials send out to them they print and show as gospel. No heart, no courage, no realness.

What I say to you brother Michel and Story Film and all the prisoners and staff that were in At Night I Fly, you told a real story of art, truth, hope and penology, of darkness and light, the realness and depth of art, hope and incarceration.

I thank you Michel and Story!

America has a history of hiding the truth or hiding from the truth. A history of not wanting the real out there.

Vi är en klippa och jag är stolt to be African Swedish. Continue the realness struggles!

Love, peace and hope!

For brother Michel, Story and Peace G's

Middle of Spring

Lockdown based on race continues with no end in sight. There was a rumour that they would change their ways and base lockdown on whatever gangs or inmates were involved in the incident.* But then the prison changed their mind. There is more profit in keeping as many blacks on lockdown as possible. Blacks are still the only people here on total lockdown.

So it looks like I'll miss spring too. I already missed winter. In a few days it will be seven months of lockdown. My heart and spirit waned for a moment or two and I ended up in the hole. My realness people family, Peace G's and friends from Sweden, Norway and Germany had my back and because of them my heart and spirit stays inspired and full of love, peace growth and realness. Blessings and hugs to all. Things will get better.

*The incident referred to is a riot in November 2011(editor's note)

Baby turkey

Read Baby Turkey on the Bird Blog

Lockdown day 187

I felt my muscles getting weaker, so I started my work out program a couple of weeks ago. I do sit ups amd stretcheing before I get up to brush my teeth, and then I do push ups, pull ups, back arms and squats. I do my walking back and forth in the cell. I let the thin window be my television and view of the world. It has been a month without my property, so I don't have my address book, toothpaste, lotion, soap, paper, pens and my writing material to meet my deadlines.

The tooth powder they give us to brush our teeth with, even some guards have warned me not to use.

Fortunately my Swedish brothers Jan and Göran have sent me some books to read and Judith, my sister has sent in various reading stuff and Barbara Brooks brilliant SJRA Advocate Journal which keeps me updated on all the news on the prison system.

In realness

Spoon

Last Sunday in April

I have not seen a bird yet this morning. Yesterday rock doves, true winged doves, seagulls, crows, geese, red tail hawks, and killdeer were everywhere all morning as I looked out of the window.

I wonder is Mother Earth or Earth Mother holding church somewhere in the hilly wilderness way beyond the prison and by noon or dusk some birds will appear. I think perhaps they all make peace today and don't prey on eachother. Deer lying down with wolves, coyotes and mountain lions. Red tailed hawks holding wings with doves. Bear and mouse walking shoulder to shoulder. A sparrow lands on a bob cat's nose and they toy with eachother like old friends. Turkey vultures flying high. Peace Love

Spoon

Editor's note

Just want to remind new readers that Spoon don't have access to computers or the internet and his handwritten letters often takes weeks to reach their destination so blog posts are always a bit delayed.

True story – Hearing voices

Still on lockdown, so they handcuff and chain you up any time you get out of the cell, mainly for medical and even for showers handcuffed.

Anyways, I had a dental appointment and I sat in the chair as the dentist explained to me how my teeth grinding had worn down my two front teeth. He had actually done a good job explaining things. I am there chained up as the dentist cleans and inspects my teeth with dental tools, scraping and poking asking me a bunch of questions and he wanted answers and I answer him as best I can as he continue to work on me. Finally he says,

“I've heard your voice somewhere before”

“Yeah!”

“..on the radio KPFA, or something.. You are..”

“Spoon Jackson”

“Yes, you wrote a book and you are a poet!”

I said “Yes, that's me”.

It was crazy and cool how this dentist knew who I was by my voice alone even through dental instruments poking around.

Stay real

Continue the realness struggles

Spoon

At Night I Fly - on DVD

At Night I Fly and Three Poems by Spoon Jackson are now available on dvd at Story Film!

Lockdown still going - Fake Sky

Spring is slowly passing on and lockdown have already consumed winter and now eating into spring.

I was in the hole for 12 days and now I am out and back on C-yard. But they have not given me my property so I don't have my adress book or letters from folks I need to answer like brothers Jan, Jimmy and Michel.

They have deepen the darkness of the lockdown and it's now almost the start of my six month in the cage. I am a little tired, but my heart is still full of love, peace and realness.

I am happy to say that ”At Night I Fly” went on Swedish TV April 20. So perhaps hundreds or thousands of people saw it. I hope so.

The hole cage was no fun and I've lost weight, but thats okay.

FAKE SKY

Back on mainline

out of the hole

they call Stand Alone

where you sit in a concrete cave,

no outside window or light

Concrete bunks, with a

concrete almost table

close to the bunk

no stool to sit there

Only a pen filler to write

they have a three inch wide,

by three feet fake sky window

that leads to nowhere

and you cannot see

out of

I see sky and spots

on the window sill

trying to figure out

which are birds

or just dirt or stains

on the thick pane

Missing Godot

The actor John Goodman wrote me a letter about how he had played ”Big Baby” Pozzo in ”Waiting for Godot” a couple of years ago on Broadway, with my long time friend Bill Irwin. What a treat it was to get his letter and it brought back memories of when I played Pozzo “Big Baby” on stage at San Quentin.

You know what hurts my soul, is that sometimes I watch a movie, a TV show and scenes I know I could have brought to life with endless depth, power and realness. I know I could have brought such feeling, that I just want to sit and cry, why? Why bless me with such depth of seeing and feeling, with such depths of love and empathy and not be able to display such talent. Oh, why must a wildflower wither and go away when the sun forever shines...

In Peace

Spoon

Color of skin

In December, I sat in front of the art room as a fellow artist ran his music theory class inside the room. I saw the watch office clerks look up the hill to the upper basketball court. I sat there knowing that I wouldn‘t be getting my week-end visit from my friend visiting from Sweden, and that the reason would be based solely on the color of my skin.

Everyone, even the birds, knew there would be friction and troubles after months of over-loading the big yard with one particular gang. The state chose to set this yard up for failure, bringing in dynamics everyone knew would combust.

It has been nearly a decade since this kind of disturbance happened on the big yard of C-Facility. Why the state has chosen to rearrange the dynamics of this yard, making its structure ripe for violence, is the question.

I sat there looking at the watch office clerks gazing up the hill in silence, as if they saw a tornado. Moments later, the yard erupted with gunfire, yelling, rubber bullets and tear gas. Prison and medical staff rushed to and fro. Some staff stood in front of the watch office waiting until some clouds of gas subsided up the hill.

The sally port officer locked the gate to the art room. The entire area where I work was now fenced in; the hospital, visiting, maintenance, library and computer class are in this corridor. One nurse yelled, - They won‘t stop.

First word on the local news was that there were around 50 black and Mexican-American prisoners fighting. Later it went from 50 to 150. Now it‘s March and we‘re still locked down. In my cell, I hear what happened in Florida. A young black kid, seventeen years old, was shot down, killed, just because he walked down the street, and the killer wasn‘t even arrested or charged. The authorities decided that the killing of an unarmed young man was justified to protect the shooter‘s constitutional rights. When did walking down the streets or the color of someone‘s skin become a crime? Here it is, 2012, and the California‘s Department of Corrections is still doing race-based lockdowns. Confinement based only on skin color, not any collective wrong doing. This kind of treatment is immoral, un-American, and separatist.

If a prisoner, no matter the color of his or her skin, has not been in any trouble in six months, a year, five years, ten years or twenty years, why are they on lockdown? Or - modified program, which is a new trick and term used by CDC when only some prisoners or one race is on lockdown. Lockdown or modified program? There is no difference between dirt and sand. This kind of treatment of prisoners feeds into such horrible events as what happened to that seventeen year old black youth in Florida.

According to a complaint filed by Prison Law Office in 2011, California is unusual, perhaps unique, among US state prison systems in imposing race-based lockdowns. Such inhumane treatment violates international human rights and is unconstitutional.

You have prisoners of all colors in California, prisoners who just want to program, to do their time and self-rehabilitate. Yet these people, particularly at Level Four prisons, are being punished over and over again, not based on any rule violation, but because of the color of their skin.

I have been back here in New Folsom since 2005 without experiencing any major racial strife. Which at first was a shock because I was here in the late 1980s when such madness was commonplace. Now, for a long time, this yard was relatively peaceful. Until this recent influx of prisoners politicking heavy. What a shame on prisoners, administrators, correctional officers, guards and the public. When will content of character matter? When will forgiveness matter?

© Spoon Jackson
First published in SJRA Advocate.

Reprinted with permission of Barbara Brooks, SJRA Advocate monthly prison newsletter.