Hello my friends-
I'm sitting in my prison cell thinking and praying for you guys-not to sound sanctimonious-mainly because sin can accompany me frequently most days. As a matter of fact thanks to my lovely sister (Pattie Sue) I do get some magazines: Golf Digest/Sports Illustrated/ESPN: The Magazine/Nate Geo/TIME and thank to my little bro (Denniski) I was able to procure a running special on the USA today. Needless to say the advert of the zines coming my way makes me popular to men whom believe me to be an anathema because I ain't got no gang affiliations, tattoos, drinks hooch or engage in the sex porno slave trade market going on in the this camp. Which can easily enrapture one's thoughts, actions and daily rituals.
Yesterday I got ESPN'S the Magazine's "THE BODY ISSUE." As soon as I had it in my grubby hands-Out Damn Spot! I couldn't wait to see all the naked women athletes-especially under the guise: "Well I certainly can look and "appreciate" how these women take care of them fine, trim, curvaceous, sexy, beautiful...about 42 seconds into the first gaze, (Job 31: "I have made a covenant with my eyes: why then should I look upon a young woman?") I wanted to hide in my cell and join the crowd of those involved with the perversion of masturbation. Now of course you may think: How disgusting! Yeah, me too. After witnessing for a decade now against dastardly acts such as this, it still can rise up (not punny) and encroach on my walk-mostly because Jesus taught that "the eyes are the windows to the soul," and again as Proverbs instructs me in the matriculation of my Christianity that the "...eyes of man are never satisfied," so it is when I fully engage pornography-which although arguments of such a "beautiful display" of athleticism will lend full assurance to how duped secular society has become inured to the gelid fact that we've like sheep have gone astray within the freezing cold that warms us none.
You know I belong to a small group of men -(there are 4 of us)- we gather each Sunday after church to go through the prayer box which sits out in full access to all prisoners. I want to share with you all some of these incredibly heart wrenching and sometimes selfish, selfless petitions; which further aids me to know that help is needed via strong Christ-like men here-out there-everywhere. I'll keep them anonymous-most of them are-God knows because for most of these guys God calls them his own-"and I trade treasure, I trade fame, just to hear you call my name-I've been touched by you and I will never be the same." Here are some of them:
"Father I pray for your help-I don't want to go on without seeing my kids."
"Jesus please keep my from hurting people"
"A hedge of protection over the judge and jury that sentenced me to life-I forgive them."
"Help me escape."
"Save my cellie, whose Muslim but a good dude."
"I pray for salvation for my parents who are Pagan."
"Teach my hands to war Lord if there is another riot-I don't want to get raped again."
"When I get out, keep me from vengeance on those who snitched on me."
"Give me a way to sneak tobacco in here through visitation-I'm dying for a smoke!"
"For my two children that I've not seen or heard from in 15 years."
"Keep my anger from killing again."
"I pray that the FBI doesn't find out about those "other" things."
"I hope the Steelers win the Super Bowl."
"I want my bother safe over in Afghanistan."
"For early release-like today."
"I'm tired Father- 27 years in here-can You help me?"
"All my family has deserted me-who else but You? Thank you Lord."
"My boy was shot and killed by a man who snitched on me to stay on the streets-how do I cope Lord?"
And even more compelling:
"Father, the man who raped my wife just came to this compound. I'm planning bad things-forgive me.
Okay my fried this outta fill some prayer time for you if inclined to stand in the gap as Ezekiel 22:30 asks of us. The Rolling Stones have a song: "Beast of Burden" it laments that..."I'll never be your beast of burden." Yet that's what we're called to do. That prayer list aforementioned in some of it's wicked intent I am capable of carrying out-from the worst of it to the praise form it. And so I put away my measuring rod that I have for many that are not of my ilk...of my religiosity...of my "churchianity"...and offer up the petitions of the prisoner. I need help here for it all- so I ask you to pray that the Lord of the Harvest give the heart away to seek God's favor, mercy, and above all forgiveness and love for each of us.
I love you guys....thanks...later...dougie boy
Showing posts with label Passing Time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Passing Time. Show all posts
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Hello out there...
...I have been out of pockets in sort of a peculiar fashion. In searching for reasons for my discontent I come back to me..."Surely after my turning, I repented; and after I was instructed, I struck myself on the thigh...(all about the head and shoulders in my case too!)...I was ashamed, yes, even humiliated, because I bore the reproach of my youth." Jeremiah 31:19 delivers such a stark realization of my plight..and fight. When sinners come to a right and sure knowledge they will find the right and sure way. Sinners could become saints if they would but show themselves men...Isaiah 46:8...if they would but support the dignity of their nature and use aright its powers and capacities. "But on this one will I look on: On him who is poor and of a contrite spirit, and who trembles at my word." Trust me here friends when I say to you that GOD brings fears by making our sins our punishments--beating us with our own rods when we at first hurried to ruin by wroughting out delusional behaviors which we should of been afraid of yet thought to escape via sinful shifts in carnal desire. You can tell where a man is going in the hereafter by what is going after here--my prison time and experience is the mentor of all this. Ponderibus librata suis- Poised by its own weight.
Praise HIS name though! "Fear thou not....neither be dismayed." GOD'S servants must not give way to disquieting fears and difficulties before them. They must not sorrow as those who have no hope for the troubles which they presently lie under. If you look to the world for help soon it will fail. Either through a societal boredom, death of such a one, or the advent of something more appealing than aiding the suffrage of any. (Who talks like this?..me!) Carnal confidences fail. Creatures created are physicians of no value. Be the disease ever so dangerous, the patient is safe if GOD undertakes the cure. JESUS is like that!
Lately I have been coming to the computer fully expecting a plethora of messages from all whom I stay in regular contact..but alas! To my dismay little have been the electronic missives from which I derive semblance of normalcy in this razorwire land. Not to fault those maintaining relations. After all they have families and bills and work..and just a general life to speak of. But me? I got this standstill existence--a groundhog day life from which even the littlest communique tossed my way will send me head over heels and agog with the thought that someone cares. And don't get me wrong, I have carved this nefarious niche to which I owe my prison stay, so I can say with much aplomb that gratefulness is my posture of need when I do get to hear from you all. I don't write these blogs to garner response (though that'd be neat if they did), the folks that do send me their e-mails are in my history book of learning, for it is they who visit me in my most dire downtime. A special thanks to Patti-Sue...Tara..Sophie the Six...Kim...all women....that's who JESUS appeared to first after HE was resurrected. "Quit ye like men be strong"...the Scriptures tell me...my son Dojo does this passage justice..a real man that I was not...way to go David..I pray for all you guys..I'm here willing to reach out and discourse on whatever crosses your beaten path...or just "Crosses....the one less chosen has taken me years to hack away the foliage fraught with a rectitude of self and not the reliance of CHRIST...it is there where I do find true comfort...it is there where HE sends me friends to talk to like this.
...thanks for listening.
...later...dougie boy
Praise HIS name though! "Fear thou not....neither be dismayed." GOD'S servants must not give way to disquieting fears and difficulties before them. They must not sorrow as those who have no hope for the troubles which they presently lie under. If you look to the world for help soon it will fail. Either through a societal boredom, death of such a one, or the advent of something more appealing than aiding the suffrage of any. (Who talks like this?..me!) Carnal confidences fail. Creatures created are physicians of no value. Be the disease ever so dangerous, the patient is safe if GOD undertakes the cure. JESUS is like that!
Lately I have been coming to the computer fully expecting a plethora of messages from all whom I stay in regular contact..but alas! To my dismay little have been the electronic missives from which I derive semblance of normalcy in this razorwire land. Not to fault those maintaining relations. After all they have families and bills and work..and just a general life to speak of. But me? I got this standstill existence--a groundhog day life from which even the littlest communique tossed my way will send me head over heels and agog with the thought that someone cares. And don't get me wrong, I have carved this nefarious niche to which I owe my prison stay, so I can say with much aplomb that gratefulness is my posture of need when I do get to hear from you all. I don't write these blogs to garner response (though that'd be neat if they did), the folks that do send me their e-mails are in my history book of learning, for it is they who visit me in my most dire downtime. A special thanks to Patti-Sue...Tara..Sophie the Six...Kim...all women....that's who JESUS appeared to first after HE was resurrected. "Quit ye like men be strong"...the Scriptures tell me...my son Dojo does this passage justice..a real man that I was not...way to go David..I pray for all you guys..I'm here willing to reach out and discourse on whatever crosses your beaten path...or just "Crosses....the one less chosen has taken me years to hack away the foliage fraught with a rectitude of self and not the reliance of CHRIST...it is there where I do find true comfort...it is there where HE sends me friends to talk to like this.
...thanks for listening.
...later...dougie boy
Sunday, May 22, 2011
It has been...
..a definite while since my last blog. I was wondering as in writer's block, if a type of "blogblock" exists. If so, then I've picked up the virtualness of such a thing recently.
Many things to write on my friends, and where to begin is the troubling spot. One of our APAP men was beat up pretty badly yesterday. He was involved in unsavory things (get out of town..in here?). Although I tried with desperation to warn him repeatedly of the lie down with dogs get fleas axiom of such predictable anathema in here, still, like me...(it's important to remember but for the grace of GOD go I) he has to find out where that school of hard knocks firmly holds counsel. And found out he did.
Gambling is a pernicious addiction that can create a whole new genre of rationalizing to those unsuspecting of its gambit. Laying the footwork within the foundation of lies. One never knows that the worst thing that besets a gambler is winning. Then illusions of grandeur build that mendacious house of cards from whence the wind will blow it down with such a gentle breeze..instead for me now.."A mighty fortress is our GOD". The most heinous of crimes I ever commited was in Las Vegas (just going there is a felony). I won't get into the machinations of it because I told my sister of it one day, and she didn't talk to me for six months.
Oftentimes men in here will go about purporting how "good" they were at being or doing bad. I now point out the oxymoronicness of such..well...moronness..many think I have gone the route of senility. You can never be good at doing something bad. Still I must say in efforts to thwart wrong doing in my life, the evidence that demands a verdict is thusly put in apropos which tells us that ...Lot was sorely vexed by the behaviors surrounding him..(paraphrasing the book of Peter)...when in the throes of besetting sinful actions on a daily basis, it is a tough call to remain faithful to one's walk with our SAVIOR JESUS. Impossible? No. But when pornography/gambling/violence/deceit, is not only thrust at you all over this place (including the myriad avenues it travels over the six flat screen televisions we got) then lusting, as well the accroutrements that follow suit to this, and all disrobing fleshly assault to the senses, it is a full-time battle. Should there be anything less though? I think not.."For in this world you will have tribulation." The warfare of spiritual fidelity is all in with its benefits giving sway to remaining in HIM at all costs.
To a chase of a different sort....softball season is in all its regalia here. I wish I could send off snippets of the antics that take place out on the field. Short stories abound! I hope to capture some of the hilarity, as well the heinous, of what can happen in a day's play on the diamond. Above and beyond I tell you of what is considered America's past time. Our team, The "A" leaguers, are in first place...5 and 1 so far and the talk of the compound is everyone wanting to take us down a peg. We are the "Rangers" (of Texas ilk) in honor of my son's Dojo's favorite squad...never the Yankees! Rosemary's fave....mine of course being the indomitable Red Sox..which is the name of my "B" leaguers...we're 2 and 2...struggling for sure because I got me some gangbangers on the team that are having a hard time understanding and accepting coaching from a guy who looks suspiciously like either the Judge that sentenced them, or the cops that arrested them...but I'm working on winning their favor..might take a hot minute..but it's always in my periphery that perhaps I could win some to JESUS. And so I press on...helping me along this pathway are a few good men who want change too...accountability is one of the toughest accepting endeavors a CHRISTian will always face if true change is gonna come.
Okay my friends..I am praying for all...including family ties (not the sitcom for those reaching back that far..haha) Me...I'm gonna keep on hitting the ball and touching 'em all until they wheelchair me...
Until then...agape...Psalm 27...
later..dougie boy
Many things to write on my friends, and where to begin is the troubling spot. One of our APAP men was beat up pretty badly yesterday. He was involved in unsavory things (get out of town..in here?). Although I tried with desperation to warn him repeatedly of the lie down with dogs get fleas axiom of such predictable anathema in here, still, like me...(it's important to remember but for the grace of GOD go I) he has to find out where that school of hard knocks firmly holds counsel. And found out he did.
Gambling is a pernicious addiction that can create a whole new genre of rationalizing to those unsuspecting of its gambit. Laying the footwork within the foundation of lies. One never knows that the worst thing that besets a gambler is winning. Then illusions of grandeur build that mendacious house of cards from whence the wind will blow it down with such a gentle breeze..instead for me now.."A mighty fortress is our GOD". The most heinous of crimes I ever commited was in Las Vegas (just going there is a felony). I won't get into the machinations of it because I told my sister of it one day, and she didn't talk to me for six months.
Oftentimes men in here will go about purporting how "good" they were at being or doing bad. I now point out the oxymoronicness of such..well...moronness..many think I have gone the route of senility. You can never be good at doing something bad. Still I must say in efforts to thwart wrong doing in my life, the evidence that demands a verdict is thusly put in apropos which tells us that ...Lot was sorely vexed by the behaviors surrounding him..(paraphrasing the book of Peter)...when in the throes of besetting sinful actions on a daily basis, it is a tough call to remain faithful to one's walk with our SAVIOR JESUS. Impossible? No. But when pornography/gambling/violence/deceit, is not only thrust at you all over this place (including the myriad avenues it travels over the six flat screen televisions we got) then lusting, as well the accroutrements that follow suit to this, and all disrobing fleshly assault to the senses, it is a full-time battle. Should there be anything less though? I think not.."For in this world you will have tribulation." The warfare of spiritual fidelity is all in with its benefits giving sway to remaining in HIM at all costs.
To a chase of a different sort....softball season is in all its regalia here. I wish I could send off snippets of the antics that take place out on the field. Short stories abound! I hope to capture some of the hilarity, as well the heinous, of what can happen in a day's play on the diamond. Above and beyond I tell you of what is considered America's past time. Our team, The "A" leaguers, are in first place...5 and 1 so far and the talk of the compound is everyone wanting to take us down a peg. We are the "Rangers" (of Texas ilk) in honor of my son's Dojo's favorite squad...never the Yankees! Rosemary's fave....mine of course being the indomitable Red Sox..which is the name of my "B" leaguers...we're 2 and 2...struggling for sure because I got me some gangbangers on the team that are having a hard time understanding and accepting coaching from a guy who looks suspiciously like either the Judge that sentenced them, or the cops that arrested them...but I'm working on winning their favor..might take a hot minute..but it's always in my periphery that perhaps I could win some to JESUS. And so I press on...helping me along this pathway are a few good men who want change too...accountability is one of the toughest accepting endeavors a CHRISTian will always face if true change is gonna come.
Okay my friends..I am praying for all...including family ties (not the sitcom for those reaching back that far..haha) Me...I'm gonna keep on hitting the ball and touching 'em all until they wheelchair me...
Until then...agape...Psalm 27...
later..dougie boy
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Painting...
I called my beloved sister, Patti-Sue, on Friday the 19th. She and her son Brett were over at Mom's house collecting up the stuff that still remained since her passing in December. Not wanting to talk due to...well just being amongst her Mom's stuff. Memories are a tough business in those circumstances. She talked briefly with me to let me know that the painting which was left to me in Mom's will was going over to her house to await my release from prison. At which time I can firmly affix it to my abode, wherever that may be. Couldn't say much more, I can tell when my sister is in her feelings about things..now if I can just corral that unique intuition when it comes to other women...well maybe I would be on to something.
Anyway we hung up, but not before (to his credit) my nephew Brett gets the phone and tells me he loves me and misses me. That is not said much to me so a special kudos to my man Brett.
I walk away from the phone thinking about the difficulties of what those situations I missed being a part of affect all the rest of the folks other than my self-centered universal on-going 'what about me?' thought processes that consume the best of us..and the worse. I decided to occupy the remainder of my ground hog day existence here in prison by diving into the softball field. We often escape to that which we feel most adept at in order to align the onus firmly laid upon the shoulder of an ill-fated destiny because of our choices.
I went out to the softball field on the rec move at 5 pm. Our field is a mess, but it's all we got. If we don't take care of it...and there's not a whole bunch of men in here wanting to honor what is given them in an American Federal prison. I tell guys who are chronic with their complaining, (and I can get there too..as a matter of fact I'm complaining about them complaining right now don't you think?) that if you were to get put in some third world country's prison system for about three hours, well your whole outlook about this place would change dramatically.
I grabbed a hard rake(it's got inch prongs to dig in to the field, which has been cut out of a mountain so mostly you're digging up shale and rocks) and proceeded to turn the whole infield over in my attempt to ease the pain of what my sister is dealing with, and what is going to be Mom's first posthumous birthday tomorrow the 20th. I went after it for 3 hours...only because "recall"...a term used to bring all the inmates back to the housing units at any given time...is always at 8:30. They want us in before the street lights come on. Sound familiar? Several inmates came up to the field to witness me (sure now they want to be a witness) toil away to the backbreaking labor of digging up this earth...so says our GOD in the book of Genesis (and Tara and Paul can attest to as well). I could've used some help, but they wanted to look and stare instead."Look at that idiot out there trying to do the whole field by himself..."
They didn't know what was happening as the wheels of that painting were etching its way across my mind. Once on the other side of the pitcher's mound I thought I could make it...my parents did a heck of a job in instilling a work ethic that'll never have a Gonier in the welfare line if he/she can put the deltoid to the grind. But time got the best of me (not punny) and I managed just a bit of...oh say...a 4 to 5 foot swath on the very back of the field undone. And I was too! As I lay in my bunk that night, nursing ye old sore back, the paradox of memory upon my conscious opened itself up to the pandora's box of recall, and try as I may I could not eradicate where that painting had come from.
I was eleven and we had just returned from a three year tour in Panama. All in the military will agree that when the head of the household goes out to the dutiful call of service, then the rest of the family comes along for the ride. We had the summer to spend in Massachusetts (all of our relatives live there). My uncle had a little league baseball team, and I tried out for the catcher's spot. Did a good enough job to make the all-star team, and since Dad had came back from wherever he was..Greenland, Panama, Grenada, Suez Canal...he sent for us all to come back to 'ole Virginny--Mommsy and Gumby(Dad) abdicated many years ago their New England roots. But the all-star game--which was a precursor to the Little League World Series if we won--was in a week. So everyone else went, but Mommsy and I stayed back to cater to...me. We ended up losing, but not after I hit a 4th inning homerun to tie the game. Mom was cheering as if I was her son or something.
After it was all said and done we packed up soon to be Patti-Sue's 1972 Chevy Nova and lit out for the homestead in Woodbridge, Va. My Mom had a real affinity for paintings of seascapes and surf spray beating on the rocks of the shore. She bought one right before we left. Since we believed it couldn't ride in the car with us, we got a roof rack with those little not very good gripping hooks that let the painting fly on the Delaware Turnpike--bouncing all over the road as cars took their chances of pummeling it into an oil spill of a thing. We pulled over (not an easy feat on a turnpike I can tell you), but Mom really loved that painting. And since I want to defend her at all costs (not many have gotten away with those "your momma" comments) she went into a frenzied panicked sending me out to... "get the painting! get the painting!...be careful!!" This thing is looking like Alladin's Carpet! The frame skittering across the multi-lane highway and picking up its own speed as cars swerve and duck their way by it or through it. I'm readying myself for a mad dash into the speeding onslaught of metallic thunder. Fortunately some of the pieces started making their way towards me as I did the double dare ya's to Detroit's finest. And then all of a sudden as if a big vacuum sucked all the cars off the planet, there were none for as far as I could see. I ran for it! Scooping and grabbing as much as I could till I heard off in the distance but closing fast the horns from hell! I was through for Mommsy then, but I got a bunch of what was once P. Ellinshaw's "Surf Spray". As I made my way to the car which now had Mom screaming at me for being "such an idiot and what in tarnation was I thinking?! Running out in the middle of the freeway like a crazy person! Are you okay Dwouck?"...I'm like ...my parents are psycho.
I didn't know the depth of Mom's love to find the perfect waves crashing upon the rocks fetish, but soon discovered it as she took what I rescued from the macadam madness and had it reduced from what was once a 5 foot long ocean scape during a storm, and had it cut down to about 2 and a half feet..the name tag still bearing the scratches from its perilous journey of its own into my clutches on that memory filled afternoon.
So as I lay in my cell that night, I had all that to think on because Mommsy won't go gently into the night...not for me....not for Patti-Sue....not for Big Bro...Dennisky..or Danny Boy....more on what else happened on that fateful journey shared by mother and son....I love you guys as much as I can. You all pass that along....JESUS Saves...pass that along too!
later...dougie boy
Side Note: I apologize for the delay in getting this posted for Doug...I thought I posted it when I first got it and just realized that I hadn't. So, I apologize for this being a few days late ~Tara (the one who posts these for Doug)
Anyway we hung up, but not before (to his credit) my nephew Brett gets the phone and tells me he loves me and misses me. That is not said much to me so a special kudos to my man Brett.
I walk away from the phone thinking about the difficulties of what those situations I missed being a part of affect all the rest of the folks other than my self-centered universal on-going 'what about me?' thought processes that consume the best of us..and the worse. I decided to occupy the remainder of my ground hog day existence here in prison by diving into the softball field. We often escape to that which we feel most adept at in order to align the onus firmly laid upon the shoulder of an ill-fated destiny because of our choices.
I went out to the softball field on the rec move at 5 pm. Our field is a mess, but it's all we got. If we don't take care of it...and there's not a whole bunch of men in here wanting to honor what is given them in an American Federal prison. I tell guys who are chronic with their complaining, (and I can get there too..as a matter of fact I'm complaining about them complaining right now don't you think?) that if you were to get put in some third world country's prison system for about three hours, well your whole outlook about this place would change dramatically.
I grabbed a hard rake(it's got inch prongs to dig in to the field, which has been cut out of a mountain so mostly you're digging up shale and rocks) and proceeded to turn the whole infield over in my attempt to ease the pain of what my sister is dealing with, and what is going to be Mom's first posthumous birthday tomorrow the 20th. I went after it for 3 hours...only because "recall"...a term used to bring all the inmates back to the housing units at any given time...is always at 8:30. They want us in before the street lights come on. Sound familiar? Several inmates came up to the field to witness me (sure now they want to be a witness) toil away to the backbreaking labor of digging up this earth...so says our GOD in the book of Genesis (and Tara and Paul can attest to as well). I could've used some help, but they wanted to look and stare instead."Look at that idiot out there trying to do the whole field by himself..."
They didn't know what was happening as the wheels of that painting were etching its way across my mind. Once on the other side of the pitcher's mound I thought I could make it...my parents did a heck of a job in instilling a work ethic that'll never have a Gonier in the welfare line if he/she can put the deltoid to the grind. But time got the best of me (not punny) and I managed just a bit of...oh say...a 4 to 5 foot swath on the very back of the field undone. And I was too! As I lay in my bunk that night, nursing ye old sore back, the paradox of memory upon my conscious opened itself up to the pandora's box of recall, and try as I may I could not eradicate where that painting had come from.
I was eleven and we had just returned from a three year tour in Panama. All in the military will agree that when the head of the household goes out to the dutiful call of service, then the rest of the family comes along for the ride. We had the summer to spend in Massachusetts (all of our relatives live there). My uncle had a little league baseball team, and I tried out for the catcher's spot. Did a good enough job to make the all-star team, and since Dad had came back from wherever he was..Greenland, Panama, Grenada, Suez Canal...he sent for us all to come back to 'ole Virginny--Mommsy and Gumby(Dad) abdicated many years ago their New England roots. But the all-star game--which was a precursor to the Little League World Series if we won--was in a week. So everyone else went, but Mommsy and I stayed back to cater to...me. We ended up losing, but not after I hit a 4th inning homerun to tie the game. Mom was cheering as if I was her son or something.
After it was all said and done we packed up soon to be Patti-Sue's 1972 Chevy Nova and lit out for the homestead in Woodbridge, Va. My Mom had a real affinity for paintings of seascapes and surf spray beating on the rocks of the shore. She bought one right before we left. Since we believed it couldn't ride in the car with us, we got a roof rack with those little not very good gripping hooks that let the painting fly on the Delaware Turnpike--bouncing all over the road as cars took their chances of pummeling it into an oil spill of a thing. We pulled over (not an easy feat on a turnpike I can tell you), but Mom really loved that painting. And since I want to defend her at all costs (not many have gotten away with those "your momma" comments) she went into a frenzied panicked sending me out to... "get the painting! get the painting!...be careful!!" This thing is looking like Alladin's Carpet! The frame skittering across the multi-lane highway and picking up its own speed as cars swerve and duck their way by it or through it. I'm readying myself for a mad dash into the speeding onslaught of metallic thunder. Fortunately some of the pieces started making their way towards me as I did the double dare ya's to Detroit's finest. And then all of a sudden as if a big vacuum sucked all the cars off the planet, there were none for as far as I could see. I ran for it! Scooping and grabbing as much as I could till I heard off in the distance but closing fast the horns from hell! I was through for Mommsy then, but I got a bunch of what was once P. Ellinshaw's "Surf Spray". As I made my way to the car which now had Mom screaming at me for being "such an idiot and what in tarnation was I thinking?! Running out in the middle of the freeway like a crazy person! Are you okay Dwouck?"...I'm like ...my parents are psycho.
I didn't know the depth of Mom's love to find the perfect waves crashing upon the rocks fetish, but soon discovered it as she took what I rescued from the macadam madness and had it reduced from what was once a 5 foot long ocean scape during a storm, and had it cut down to about 2 and a half feet..the name tag still bearing the scratches from its perilous journey of its own into my clutches on that memory filled afternoon.
So as I lay in my cell that night, I had all that to think on because Mommsy won't go gently into the night...not for me....not for Patti-Sue....not for Big Bro...Dennisky..or Danny Boy....more on what else happened on that fateful journey shared by mother and son....I love you guys as much as I can. You all pass that along....JESUS Saves...pass that along too!
later...dougie boy
Side Note: I apologize for the delay in getting this posted for Doug...I thought I posted it when I first got it and just realized that I hadn't. So, I apologize for this being a few days late ~Tara (the one who posts these for Doug)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Been locked down...
...again!
You would think we could get some act right in this camp--I think there is not enough plays on Broadway for this to happen. I would love to tell you the reasons why we were shut out further, to increment our social diffs, from all that is considered in this...this...prison environs. (Okay so I don't always turn a good phrase.)
As I have told you guys previously, I cell with two other men in 85 square feet. The man on top I call "the cicatrix dude"...translated "Scar"...way too many Al Pacino flicks, or real to his conviction of conspiracy to commit murder. He's on the last of a 20 year sentence. Be getting out shortly (hide the silver!). The other guy, "White Bred," so given this moniker because he's white and grew up in mostly black neighborhoods... "Wonder" must of been taken. We've been "cellies" for over three years now and know each other pretty good (you think?). The whole lock down thing has been wearing upon us like a steel welded jacket that can't be sloughed off no matter the soddened state of the acidic and acerbic amongst us (I'm back in the "A's" in my Spike Lee search for oneness).
Well...things got a little hot over a spades game of cut-throat that we were playing to pass the time. What was I thinking? I'm playing a game called cut-throat with...well...cut-throats. But in acknowledgement to my own claim to fame, I am a convicted armed bank robber so I fit right in don't you think? However, we need to take into account that I am a bought-by-the-blood, born-again believer in JESUS...still though...I don't ever forget what manner of man I not only once was (1Corinthians 13) and can easily segue into on a daily basis if my proclivity to do so overwhelms my walk with HIM.
Meanwhile...which is indeed a mean while in the instances brought about through the various big boy games playing about men's minds that want control of things out of control to begin with. Such was the case when I won three games in a row. Looking back I could've let one of those guys win one, but sometimes I got this wicked spirit of competition dwelling within my members that war against...well common sense. Things got heated up as if a large microwave was set on high and dropped over us in such palpable fashion that well done would've been rare to those ignorant fools whom believe that this wicked spirit of competition lurks only in those not saved by HIS wonderful grace.
I have yet to disclose to you guys that although my family right privy to this...you need to be as well given the nature of said blogpost heretofore (really...who talks like this?) I was out there where the stoplights are a professional magician...yessiree. "Doug's Magic" was the name and my ex-wife (which, I might add, I take umbrage to saying that cursed "ex" part as if it were not so) would say that my best trick was disappearing from society (sense of humor she) Unbeknownst to some felon folk that cards were my forte--could even spin the deck to such a setting so that I receive all the aces and most of the spades (get out of town!). You wouldn't do that, would you? If you could? Just for funnsys?
So as I was saying, my three trumped up victories (pun intended for days on locked up days) were not well received within the 85 square footage where us mean folk can get...well...mean. Tell me if you can how to diffuse the conspiring to murder and the dealing of danger wrought about over a silly card game. I've seen men get nixed for less. So I was kinda in a quandary of sorts. I had in my favor 230 pounds of wrestling behind me, but I am 52 so it is pretty far behind me. I have the old school appellate firmly and ineluctably tattooed on my head, and I had (I hoped anyway) White Bred in my court if it came to Scar and I tossing about the cell, but he lost too! SO it came down to the only alternative left..."LORD teach my hands to war"...a Psalm recited of that great warrior King David. I've drawn upon its canvas for strength I ain't got many times over and, as is the case most times, GOD steps in and handles it...if I really let HIM do so. I opted for it this time because (for real) I've seen enough violence in this life to avoid it at all costs. And so HE gave me HIS instructions to lie down and say nothing. Oh yeah...and quit playing cards during lockdowns. A simply effective remedy for me...for my cellies. And fortunately we were let out of the cell the very next day. That always brings about reconciliation of some ilk to those of us trying to add more time to our lengthy sentences by cracking each other's skulls on the concrete and steel.
Satan desires to sift you like wheat the Scripture tells Peter and he crouches at the door ready to pounce upon the unenlightened. He was trying that old crap on me yesterday...and I was a step away from inviting that destruction on in. We all can do it..maybe not as severe as physical stuff like the aforementioned, but still we, as CHRISTians, will face off against this foe as if the NHL were our mainstay. Keep in mind however that the book of James warns us .."That every man is tempted when he is lead away by his own desire..."....that means more of me is responsible for my actions than Satan ever could be.
I love you guys! Keep pressing....Psalm 61...
later...dougie boy
You would think we could get some act right in this camp--I think there is not enough plays on Broadway for this to happen. I would love to tell you the reasons why we were shut out further, to increment our social diffs, from all that is considered in this...this...prison environs. (Okay so I don't always turn a good phrase.)
As I have told you guys previously, I cell with two other men in 85 square feet. The man on top I call "the cicatrix dude"...translated "Scar"...way too many Al Pacino flicks, or real to his conviction of conspiracy to commit murder. He's on the last of a 20 year sentence. Be getting out shortly (hide the silver!). The other guy, "White Bred," so given this moniker because he's white and grew up in mostly black neighborhoods... "Wonder" must of been taken. We've been "cellies" for over three years now and know each other pretty good (you think?). The whole lock down thing has been wearing upon us like a steel welded jacket that can't be sloughed off no matter the soddened state of the acidic and acerbic amongst us (I'm back in the "A's" in my Spike Lee search for oneness).
Well...things got a little hot over a spades game of cut-throat that we were playing to pass the time. What was I thinking? I'm playing a game called cut-throat with...well...cut-throats. But in acknowledgement to my own claim to fame, I am a convicted armed bank robber so I fit right in don't you think? However, we need to take into account that I am a bought-by-the-blood, born-again believer in JESUS...still though...I don't ever forget what manner of man I not only once was (1Corinthians 13) and can easily segue into on a daily basis if my proclivity to do so overwhelms my walk with HIM.
Meanwhile...which is indeed a mean while in the instances brought about through the various big boy games playing about men's minds that want control of things out of control to begin with. Such was the case when I won three games in a row. Looking back I could've let one of those guys win one, but sometimes I got this wicked spirit of competition dwelling within my members that war against...well common sense. Things got heated up as if a large microwave was set on high and dropped over us in such palpable fashion that well done would've been rare to those ignorant fools whom believe that this wicked spirit of competition lurks only in those not saved by HIS wonderful grace.
I have yet to disclose to you guys that although my family right privy to this...you need to be as well given the nature of said blogpost heretofore (really...who talks like this?) I was out there where the stoplights are a professional magician...yessiree. "Doug's Magic" was the name and my ex-wife (which, I might add, I take umbrage to saying that cursed "ex" part as if it were not so) would say that my best trick was disappearing from society (sense of humor she) Unbeknownst to some felon folk that cards were my forte--could even spin the deck to such a setting so that I receive all the aces and most of the spades (get out of town!). You wouldn't do that, would you? If you could? Just for funnsys?
So as I was saying, my three trumped up victories (pun intended for days on locked up days) were not well received within the 85 square footage where us mean folk can get...well...mean. Tell me if you can how to diffuse the conspiring to murder and the dealing of danger wrought about over a silly card game. I've seen men get nixed for less. So I was kinda in a quandary of sorts. I had in my favor 230 pounds of wrestling behind me, but I am 52 so it is pretty far behind me. I have the old school appellate firmly and ineluctably tattooed on my head, and I had (I hoped anyway) White Bred in my court if it came to Scar and I tossing about the cell, but he lost too! SO it came down to the only alternative left..."LORD teach my hands to war"...a Psalm recited of that great warrior King David. I've drawn upon its canvas for strength I ain't got many times over and, as is the case most times, GOD steps in and handles it...if I really let HIM do so. I opted for it this time because (for real) I've seen enough violence in this life to avoid it at all costs. And so HE gave me HIS instructions to lie down and say nothing. Oh yeah...and quit playing cards during lockdowns. A simply effective remedy for me...for my cellies. And fortunately we were let out of the cell the very next day. That always brings about reconciliation of some ilk to those of us trying to add more time to our lengthy sentences by cracking each other's skulls on the concrete and steel.
Satan desires to sift you like wheat the Scripture tells Peter and he crouches at the door ready to pounce upon the unenlightened. He was trying that old crap on me yesterday...and I was a step away from inviting that destruction on in. We all can do it..maybe not as severe as physical stuff like the aforementioned, but still we, as CHRISTians, will face off against this foe as if the NHL were our mainstay. Keep in mind however that the book of James warns us .."That every man is tempted when he is lead away by his own desire..."....that means more of me is responsible for my actions than Satan ever could be.
I love you guys! Keep pressing....Psalm 61...
later...dougie boy
Thursday, March 3, 2011
My friends...
We just got off a lockdown...6 days in a cell with two other men. Fortunately the 2 others have done a lot of hard time as well, so it wasn't as difficult as it could be in here. You get into 85 square feet with bundles of humanity within (well within) the comfort space that gets even the best of us claustrophobic. Between the three of us we have 35 years of prison done, and close to 20 more left to do. Not woebegoneing it for sure...but weathering this storm can only be wrought in me by the STORM DRIVER. When in the past I have strayed from JESUS, HE checks me in the most uncomfortable and mostly harsh manner.
And it should be like that.
Ecclesiastes 5:4-5 tells me to "Learn hence to vow (I love that! Learn hence..sounds just right)and pay to the LORD our GOD, for HE has no pleasure in fools." How greatly would the Sanctuary of GOD be enriched and beautiful if all would in their places do their part towards it, by exemplary purity and devotion, extensive charity, and universal usefulness. In expounding of Scripture one passage must borrow light from another, reference if you will Matthew 5:15. The lights of the world, the lights of the Church, must shine as lights. Therefore we have light, that we may give light. Providence gains the same end in different ways, that we attend its motions with an implicit faith.
During this time I was engaged to study HIS WORD. I love being married to HIM. It is within the bounty of HIS LOVE that I find this patience to endure. I am grateful beyond measure for it.
We were lockdown because there's men in here wanting to stage a compound refusal to eat lunch in order to bring attention to purported injustices done to living men complaining about being punished for their sins. And it was on chicken patty day of all things! I love me some chicken patties! So (and I can't make this stuff up) they banded into what is now a defunct "Coalition for Concerned Convicts" (I say defunct even though they got what they wanted) literally over a thousand men did not go to the chow hall at lunch. And that's what they thought they wanted (big assumptions often get trounced around here). They thought they would move the hierarchy of a Federal prison to "c'mon we're dying here with the air conditioning, ice machines, microwaves, 7 flat screen televisions, enough rec equipment to open 4 community centers, education out the wazoo (sans tuition and text costs) and of course chicken patties (did I mention that they come with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes...enough fixings to shame a Big Mac?) Well only about a handful of men went to eat--that now have to endure all kinds of ridicule for bucking the CCC.
Mid-way through this staged event...say around 1145...the Warden put the word out to lock us up. And she didn't even need a coalition! Within 30 minutes we were tight in our cells...without the chicken patty. Good sense of humor she has though because they fed us the exact same thing six days in a row...and still we ate better than about 2 billion people the world over. It truly pisses me off. Not the lock down. If there were legitimate concerns (that can happen in a place rife with trouble from that infamous jump street we all leapt out from to land us here), but the CCC had its goose cooked--pardon the fowl pun (that's a double pun isn't?)--because we ain't got nothing to complain about in a Federal prison in America!
I must say with an ineluctable stand for JESUS, that GOD is able as ever to supply HIS people with good things, even in their greatest straits and in the utmost failure of second chances. ALMIGHTY POWER can bring water from a rock, has done it, and can again, for HIS arm is not shortened. Those that are of a fretful discontented spirit-- perhaps your way is rough and uneven, or foul and dirty--will always find something or other to make them uneasy. I shant do it my friends! The best have their infirmities, and far more sometimes in the exercise of that grace for which they are most eminent. But GOD...I love that passage all by itself..."But GOD!"...can overlook such heedless, nay I say purposeful passion, and therefore we must not be too severe..."for those that would improve in knowledge must be made sensible of their ignorance."
Okay...I've been to school and back (in more ways then you can imagine) English 102...gotta write a bunch of essays in this class...who knows that it's my favorite one so far?! We got an assignment to read 5 stories and do a cause and effect essay on one of them. "The Prodigal Son" in Luke 15 is one of them...can GOD map out a life or what? I was so excited when the Professor gave out that one. We have several Muslims in our class, as well as some pros at Dungeons and Dragons..the game and the actions. I hope and pray that somebody else takes up the mantle of the awesome Luke story...pray with me on that, won't you?
We do a lot of discussion in our classroom about what we write. Half the class thinks I'm plagiarizing everything...I can't even spell it! The other half has been around me long enough to let me make it. A guy asked me if I would write his class work for him--a Muslim fella. I was tempted, but a big nix to that form of learning. It's what did me in to begin with...cutting corners. In telling him no I had to be gentle and wise...the same thing said and done with meekness may be justifiable which when said and done in anger or spite may produce in me a culpableness I ain't prepared to handle. Authentic CHRISTianity leaves an unforgettable impression on those who encounter it. CHRISTians are responsible for the enduring impact they make. Believe that.
Well my friends I must be getting this off to you. Once we were let out to our first hot meal in 6 days, I was greeted at the chow hall with a reheated up old chicken sandwich (as I was saying our warden's got her a grand sense of irony..I wonder if she's a writer?) But I did enjoy it nonetheless!
I pray for you all..always..all my friends up on this trailer of a send-off, as well your families because some of you are mine for real...and some by the TRUE VINE..love in a way hardly able to constrain..shed abroad in my heart...Psalm 119:63.
later..dougie boy...alive and kicking
And it should be like that.
Ecclesiastes 5:4-5 tells me to "Learn hence to vow (I love that! Learn hence..sounds just right)and pay to the LORD our GOD, for HE has no pleasure in fools." How greatly would the Sanctuary of GOD be enriched and beautiful if all would in their places do their part towards it, by exemplary purity and devotion, extensive charity, and universal usefulness. In expounding of Scripture one passage must borrow light from another, reference if you will Matthew 5:15. The lights of the world, the lights of the Church, must shine as lights. Therefore we have light, that we may give light. Providence gains the same end in different ways, that we attend its motions with an implicit faith.
During this time I was engaged to study HIS WORD. I love being married to HIM. It is within the bounty of HIS LOVE that I find this patience to endure. I am grateful beyond measure for it.
We were lockdown because there's men in here wanting to stage a compound refusal to eat lunch in order to bring attention to purported injustices done to living men complaining about being punished for their sins. And it was on chicken patty day of all things! I love me some chicken patties! So (and I can't make this stuff up) they banded into what is now a defunct "Coalition for Concerned Convicts" (I say defunct even though they got what they wanted) literally over a thousand men did not go to the chow hall at lunch. And that's what they thought they wanted (big assumptions often get trounced around here). They thought they would move the hierarchy of a Federal prison to "c'mon we're dying here with the air conditioning, ice machines, microwaves, 7 flat screen televisions, enough rec equipment to open 4 community centers, education out the wazoo (sans tuition and text costs) and of course chicken patties (did I mention that they come with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes...enough fixings to shame a Big Mac?) Well only about a handful of men went to eat--that now have to endure all kinds of ridicule for bucking the CCC.
Mid-way through this staged event...say around 1145...the Warden put the word out to lock us up. And she didn't even need a coalition! Within 30 minutes we were tight in our cells...without the chicken patty. Good sense of humor she has though because they fed us the exact same thing six days in a row...and still we ate better than about 2 billion people the world over. It truly pisses me off. Not the lock down. If there were legitimate concerns (that can happen in a place rife with trouble from that infamous jump street we all leapt out from to land us here), but the CCC had its goose cooked--pardon the fowl pun (that's a double pun isn't?)--because we ain't got nothing to complain about in a Federal prison in America!
I must say with an ineluctable stand for JESUS, that GOD is able as ever to supply HIS people with good things, even in their greatest straits and in the utmost failure of second chances. ALMIGHTY POWER can bring water from a rock, has done it, and can again, for HIS arm is not shortened. Those that are of a fretful discontented spirit-- perhaps your way is rough and uneven, or foul and dirty--will always find something or other to make them uneasy. I shant do it my friends! The best have their infirmities, and far more sometimes in the exercise of that grace for which they are most eminent. But GOD...I love that passage all by itself..."But GOD!"...can overlook such heedless, nay I say purposeful passion, and therefore we must not be too severe..."for those that would improve in knowledge must be made sensible of their ignorance."
Okay...I've been to school and back (in more ways then you can imagine) English 102...gotta write a bunch of essays in this class...who knows that it's my favorite one so far?! We got an assignment to read 5 stories and do a cause and effect essay on one of them. "The Prodigal Son" in Luke 15 is one of them...can GOD map out a life or what? I was so excited when the Professor gave out that one. We have several Muslims in our class, as well as some pros at Dungeons and Dragons..the game and the actions. I hope and pray that somebody else takes up the mantle of the awesome Luke story...pray with me on that, won't you?
We do a lot of discussion in our classroom about what we write. Half the class thinks I'm plagiarizing everything...I can't even spell it! The other half has been around me long enough to let me make it. A guy asked me if I would write his class work for him--a Muslim fella. I was tempted, but a big nix to that form of learning. It's what did me in to begin with...cutting corners. In telling him no I had to be gentle and wise...the same thing said and done with meekness may be justifiable which when said and done in anger or spite may produce in me a culpableness I ain't prepared to handle. Authentic CHRISTianity leaves an unforgettable impression on those who encounter it. CHRISTians are responsible for the enduring impact they make. Believe that.
Well my friends I must be getting this off to you. Once we were let out to our first hot meal in 6 days, I was greeted at the chow hall with a reheated up old chicken sandwich (as I was saying our warden's got her a grand sense of irony..I wonder if she's a writer?) But I did enjoy it nonetheless!
I pray for you all..always..all my friends up on this trailer of a send-off, as well your families because some of you are mine for real...and some by the TRUE VINE..love in a way hardly able to constrain..shed abroad in my heart...Psalm 119:63.
later..dougie boy...alive and kicking
Monday, November 29, 2010
Courage I've only read about...
..it's what compels me this morning.
I was reading the most current issue of Sports Illustrated yesterday...thanks to my lovely sister-Patti-Sue...
She came to visit me here in prison on Saturday by the way. We haven't seen each other in almost 9 years. Although we chucked around the compliments of how well one another looked, also what was not avoided was the missing teethes...her with the bridges and the dental work befitting good medical coverage..me with the gap in my choppers that has me still ejecting scraps of food meant for mastication while I went about gesticulating...great are we Goniers at this fine forgotten art form of getting our point across... And if you won't listen after I've thrown half a Mr.Goodbar at you, well, what can a guy do?
For sure though my sister turned heads to the point of guys telling me later on the yard that I had a great looking wife (and ain't it funny how our spouses come to resemble us after years of being together). It was my sister I tell 'em. And then they proceeded to pry into whether or not she's single. Does she cheat on her husband? (audacity has not a chance in this camp.) Finally after dislodging their wayward requests for her risque history they are convinced she must have, I get back to my cell for a nice evening of recuperation. Not only from the ridiculousness of fielding inquiries into Patti-Sue's sexual history (my gosh I tell this one guy she's been married for thirty years...to a cop! Ha! That did it! Off they scampered! Proving that once again these guys dress up with all this purported tough-guyness, and for real they're just boys...mostly alone, scared and scarred from life's reaping and sowing laws--GOD'S law is what it is though--Galatians 6:7-8.)
As I settled into the aftermath of PTVS (post traumatic visitation syndrome) I laid back to peruse the old Sports Illustrated...a reliable candidate that gets my vote for escaping (albeit temporary) the incessant droning of my prison sentence with all its acroutements. Then I happened upon "The Courage of Jill Costello". A 5' 4" buck ten of a woman that spun such a web of intestinal fortitude from which I shant untangle myself for years to come.
At the tender age of ..oh 10 or 11 I'd say from the article's view, she wanted to be the coxswain for Cal Berkeley. A dream she pursued with enough due diligence to put to pasture all laws that line up with physical endurance and mental perseverance, smashing down the ends which most could not fathom justified the means. She was to me (or should I properly say "is to me" for she lives on in my thoughts--as well the women who stood by her--teammates and rivals alike) "a light that shines in a dark place" (2 Peter 1:19). Here I was basking (if you'll allow me that, from my sister's visit), reading along when out of the blue (which in this case the blues did show themselves strong) the cancer hit her from nowhere--a stomach ache mestasizing into a brutal attack on her integrity as a leader and a go-getter.
These men in here I hear complaining about various wrongs done them by being punished for their own sins...what about her? As I thought on my GOOD GOD (the article weaving its way along the tracks of my tears as Smokey Robinson would lament from lost love), but this little woman...Oh man the strength! As she got her opportunity to "man" the coxswain spot at the PAC 10 Championships, and, as I knew the writer of the story was setting me up for her death--especially when in the last time she wielded that handsfree mic and cadenced her crew on through though her rebellious body not wanting it so--halfway through the race blood starting leaking out of her nose and as one of her faithful oarers was told to focus on "Jill's strength"...by her coach. She saw it alright--an indomitable spirit that that wretched disease could not shake--she took the back of her hand and, as the writer put it so, "wiped it away with disdain".
Man, did you catch that? With disdain she battled an all consuming cancer that wanted to rob her of a dream she was now sitting in the catbird's seat of. So take that you cancer you! I couldn't finish the article at first because I knew where it was heading...and when I read that line about the blood in the middle of the race, I was glad to be in my cell without my other two cellies to witness as I pulled the blankets and sheets over my head to weep uncontrollably for this woman I've never met and for her friends and family who cheered her on in the worst of times (but you just didn't know that by her...and I can't take a cold without telling 100 people how bad I feel...) I finished up the story later that night when we were locked in tight--a mistake of course because my crying wasn't done as I knew it would come when the writer stitched me up into her death. But I had to do the silent eye scrunched cry...hoping these big bad convicts don't see me as weak.
Oh we're weak alright by Jill Costello's standard--gangs and the like trying for macho. No sir, that don't cut it. What's unbelievably macho is what came forth from this little woman. I hope this will serves as a wake-up for those of us think we got it so bad. We don't. Do you see? Love always...
later..dougie boy
I was reading the most current issue of Sports Illustrated yesterday...thanks to my lovely sister-Patti-Sue...
She came to visit me here in prison on Saturday by the way. We haven't seen each other in almost 9 years. Although we chucked around the compliments of how well one another looked, also what was not avoided was the missing teethes...her with the bridges and the dental work befitting good medical coverage..me with the gap in my choppers that has me still ejecting scraps of food meant for mastication while I went about gesticulating...great are we Goniers at this fine forgotten art form of getting our point across... And if you won't listen after I've thrown half a Mr.Goodbar at you, well, what can a guy do?
For sure though my sister turned heads to the point of guys telling me later on the yard that I had a great looking wife (and ain't it funny how our spouses come to resemble us after years of being together). It was my sister I tell 'em. And then they proceeded to pry into whether or not she's single. Does she cheat on her husband? (audacity has not a chance in this camp.) Finally after dislodging their wayward requests for her risque history they are convinced she must have, I get back to my cell for a nice evening of recuperation. Not only from the ridiculousness of fielding inquiries into Patti-Sue's sexual history (my gosh I tell this one guy she's been married for thirty years...to a cop! Ha! That did it! Off they scampered! Proving that once again these guys dress up with all this purported tough-guyness, and for real they're just boys...mostly alone, scared and scarred from life's reaping and sowing laws--GOD'S law is what it is though--Galatians 6:7-8.)
As I settled into the aftermath of PTVS (post traumatic visitation syndrome) I laid back to peruse the old Sports Illustrated...a reliable candidate that gets my vote for escaping (albeit temporary) the incessant droning of my prison sentence with all its acroutements. Then I happened upon "The Courage of Jill Costello". A 5' 4" buck ten of a woman that spun such a web of intestinal fortitude from which I shant untangle myself for years to come.
At the tender age of ..oh 10 or 11 I'd say from the article's view, she wanted to be the coxswain for Cal Berkeley. A dream she pursued with enough due diligence to put to pasture all laws that line up with physical endurance and mental perseverance, smashing down the ends which most could not fathom justified the means. She was to me (or should I properly say "is to me" for she lives on in my thoughts--as well the women who stood by her--teammates and rivals alike) "a light that shines in a dark place" (2 Peter 1:19). Here I was basking (if you'll allow me that, from my sister's visit), reading along when out of the blue (which in this case the blues did show themselves strong) the cancer hit her from nowhere--a stomach ache mestasizing into a brutal attack on her integrity as a leader and a go-getter.
These men in here I hear complaining about various wrongs done them by being punished for their own sins...what about her? As I thought on my GOOD GOD (the article weaving its way along the tracks of my tears as Smokey Robinson would lament from lost love), but this little woman...Oh man the strength! As she got her opportunity to "man" the coxswain spot at the PAC 10 Championships, and, as I knew the writer of the story was setting me up for her death--especially when in the last time she wielded that handsfree mic and cadenced her crew on through though her rebellious body not wanting it so--halfway through the race blood starting leaking out of her nose and as one of her faithful oarers was told to focus on "Jill's strength"...by her coach. She saw it alright--an indomitable spirit that that wretched disease could not shake--she took the back of her hand and, as the writer put it so, "wiped it away with disdain".
Man, did you catch that? With disdain she battled an all consuming cancer that wanted to rob her of a dream she was now sitting in the catbird's seat of. So take that you cancer you! I couldn't finish the article at first because I knew where it was heading...and when I read that line about the blood in the middle of the race, I was glad to be in my cell without my other two cellies to witness as I pulled the blankets and sheets over my head to weep uncontrollably for this woman I've never met and for her friends and family who cheered her on in the worst of times (but you just didn't know that by her...and I can't take a cold without telling 100 people how bad I feel...) I finished up the story later that night when we were locked in tight--a mistake of course because my crying wasn't done as I knew it would come when the writer stitched me up into her death. But I had to do the silent eye scrunched cry...hoping these big bad convicts don't see me as weak.
Oh we're weak alright by Jill Costello's standard--gangs and the like trying for macho. No sir, that don't cut it. What's unbelievably macho is what came forth from this little woman. I hope this will serves as a wake-up for those of us think we got it so bad. We don't. Do you see? Love always...
later..dougie boy
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Softly and gently...
...JESUS is calling...calling to carry you home...won't you all come with?
love as always...dougie boy...it's getting late
love as always...dougie boy...it's getting late
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
"My Kingdom is not of this world" John 18:36
The great enemy to the LORD JESUS CHRIST in the present day is the conception of practical work that has not come from the New Testament, but from the systems of the world in which endless energy and activities are insisted upon, but no private life with GOD. We have to get rid of the plague of the spirit of the religious age in which we live. The central thing about the kingdom of JESUS CHRIST is a personal relationship to HIMSELF, not public usefulness to men. You have no idea of where GOD is going to engineer your circumstances...but if where you are just now is utilized for soaking up HIS word by being spent in getting rooted and grounded on the unpractical line, you will remain true to HIM whatever happens.
Mostly these teachings from me are culled out of the various devotions I read through in a day's energy wheeling about this prison compound. It's not the stoplight life that the majority have that's for sure, yet it is yielding up HIS marvelousness around me.
I had opportunity to witness in the "store" here yesterday evening after my Accounting 1 class from which I am struggling--could be since this class is taught by a banker professor that his idea of accounting and mine were vastly different as I relayed to him to the raucous laughter from he and the class (I love making folks use that awesome sense of humor bestowed upon us by the CREATOR) his being the lining up of debits on the right, and credits on the left...with a plethora of double accounting, adjustments, accruals, and an assortment of other technical journal ledgering that had me as confused as the day I was shot by a drug dealer whom I was convinced didn't have any bullets in the big old 357. I told him that my idea of accounting (especially after he relates how the bank virtually pillages most through interest bearing usury) was so much easier. He in the bank has the money which I wanted without all the hubbub of approval...my methods of withdrawal, although not unique, still cut through all the red tape. Of course, as always, the decisions to follow through with such outlandish felonious ideas does have its drawbacks. 'Tis why you could be at a stoplight and I am here. The reaping and sowing that Galations 6:7&8 speaks volumes to me now. I should've tried the paperwork route...
I love you guys and am being called to work as I finish this up. What a blessing it is for me to be able to write these blogs/bloggetes/ bloggites to you all. I'll explain later how I've come up with these little blogger things..gotta go!
later...dougie boy
Mostly these teachings from me are culled out of the various devotions I read through in a day's energy wheeling about this prison compound. It's not the stoplight life that the majority have that's for sure, yet it is yielding up HIS marvelousness around me.
I had opportunity to witness in the "store" here yesterday evening after my Accounting 1 class from which I am struggling--could be since this class is taught by a banker professor that his idea of accounting and mine were vastly different as I relayed to him to the raucous laughter from he and the class (I love making folks use that awesome sense of humor bestowed upon us by the CREATOR) his being the lining up of debits on the right, and credits on the left...with a plethora of double accounting, adjustments, accruals, and an assortment of other technical journal ledgering that had me as confused as the day I was shot by a drug dealer whom I was convinced didn't have any bullets in the big old 357. I told him that my idea of accounting (especially after he relates how the bank virtually pillages most through interest bearing usury) was so much easier. He in the bank has the money which I wanted without all the hubbub of approval...my methods of withdrawal, although not unique, still cut through all the red tape. Of course, as always, the decisions to follow through with such outlandish felonious ideas does have its drawbacks. 'Tis why you could be at a stoplight and I am here. The reaping and sowing that Galations 6:7&8 speaks volumes to me now. I should've tried the paperwork route...
I love you guys and am being called to work as I finish this up. What a blessing it is for me to be able to write these blogs/bloggetes/ bloggites to you all. I'll explain later how I've come up with these little blogger things..gotta go!
later...dougie boy
Friday, September 17, 2010
I Am a Blogger
I was moving about this compound contemplating when to blog next. Since it costs us to get out e-mail, I was sucking wind as I had no coin left in my account to reach out to you guys. But who knows that sisters are awesome, and mine is one of a kind...I'll argue that point with the best of those whose semantics can't compete with a convict who has spent the better part of this past ten years parrying words around with those who've talked themselves out of the most heinous situations imaginable. So bring your best!..haha. She sent me enough to get back on this blogging phenom..and some books to read to boot. I think I've read close to 100,000 books to date ...not counting, mind you, although most spend massive amounts of their sentence doing just that. As for me, I'll pass on the exact date of my release with all the computations running about for good time deductions, purported law changes, some "friend" on the outside that I may want to tell on (I ain't got no worries there because I did all my stuff by myself).
So... My cellie and I were doing a crossword--New York Times--we're pretty good at them most times and it passes a few moments...events that we line out to get by the loneliness (not spoken of too often because we could get the girly moniker--besides he never does. I'll break down once in a while, but it'll be late at night when the felons are off the beaten path of hurt by sleeping away in dreamland the things that we don't like to confront). Okay as I have told you before, I am a notorious digressor...and maker upper of words too! The crossword puzzle...convicts are extremely good at the following (save committing ludicrous acts of stupidity that get us here) chess, scrabble, dominos, any card games you care to bring, sudukos..and I already mentioned semantics. Thing is board games of any ilk are played in here as if the very compound was a huge Milton Bradley circus.
Oh yeah, did I add fighting? Some are good, but can you be good at something bad? How about that little oxymoron? We had one today over in C-block that started atop the two story berthing area and managed to scrabble itself on down to the grassy knoll where it was transplanted from Dallas...Zapruder and all. But these guys didn't really want to hurt each other..if so the fracas never would've left the top tier..unless one of them left it...in flight that is. All we got here is concrete and steel, so if you get to rolling around, you're going to get hurt...whether you win or not. I saw a guy get stabbed 9 times with a pencil by a homosexual--those guys can fight! I mean I think some of these men in here forget when you stood next to a homosexual in a strip search what they really had down there..wake up!
Okay...back to the crossword. Here we were stuck on the whole right side (a first for us professionals). Everyone in here was a pro at something. Me? I was a pro at screwing up. After much frustration in trying to fit words in where clearly they didn't belong. I kept going back to the clue of what grandparents do over their grandchildren. I knew it had to be "dote", but only three boxes existed for the answer...and the funny thing about the other clues was that they, too, were missing almost to the number one letter. We were flummoxed I tell ya...that is until instead of blaming it on the maker of this particular conundrum, I flipped the paper over in disgust of our collective ignorance, and soon realized that it wasn't a collective dumbness. I owned it all because I folded out the last column of boxes when getting the prepping done for the event passing endeavor. We pretty much solved it from there with, mind you, havin' to endure a thousand yard convict stare from my cellie...surpassing the stages of idiot right into moron..skipping savant altogether. But! We were able to get some time tucked away...so we got that going for us...
later....dougie boy
So... My cellie and I were doing a crossword--New York Times--we're pretty good at them most times and it passes a few moments...events that we line out to get by the loneliness (not spoken of too often because we could get the girly moniker--besides he never does. I'll break down once in a while, but it'll be late at night when the felons are off the beaten path of hurt by sleeping away in dreamland the things that we don't like to confront). Okay as I have told you before, I am a notorious digressor...and maker upper of words too! The crossword puzzle...convicts are extremely good at the following (save committing ludicrous acts of stupidity that get us here) chess, scrabble, dominos, any card games you care to bring, sudukos..and I already mentioned semantics. Thing is board games of any ilk are played in here as if the very compound was a huge Milton Bradley circus.
Oh yeah, did I add fighting? Some are good, but can you be good at something bad? How about that little oxymoron? We had one today over in C-block that started atop the two story berthing area and managed to scrabble itself on down to the grassy knoll where it was transplanted from Dallas...Zapruder and all. But these guys didn't really want to hurt each other..if so the fracas never would've left the top tier..unless one of them left it...in flight that is. All we got here is concrete and steel, so if you get to rolling around, you're going to get hurt...whether you win or not. I saw a guy get stabbed 9 times with a pencil by a homosexual--those guys can fight! I mean I think some of these men in here forget when you stood next to a homosexual in a strip search what they really had down there..wake up!
Okay...back to the crossword. Here we were stuck on the whole right side (a first for us professionals). Everyone in here was a pro at something. Me? I was a pro at screwing up. After much frustration in trying to fit words in where clearly they didn't belong. I kept going back to the clue of what grandparents do over their grandchildren. I knew it had to be "dote", but only three boxes existed for the answer...and the funny thing about the other clues was that they, too, were missing almost to the number one letter. We were flummoxed I tell ya...that is until instead of blaming it on the maker of this particular conundrum, I flipped the paper over in disgust of our collective ignorance, and soon realized that it wasn't a collective dumbness. I owned it all because I folded out the last column of boxes when getting the prepping done for the event passing endeavor. We pretty much solved it from there with, mind you, havin' to endure a thousand yard convict stare from my cellie...surpassing the stages of idiot right into moron..skipping savant altogether. But! We were able to get some time tucked away...so we got that going for us...
later....dougie boy
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