If You Like What You Read

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Have Faith

Faith  n. 1. The belief that there is a way, and that we are on it. 

Maybe I've been doing great and just don't know it?

I'd often thought that my many years working in that shit hole. Now shit hole is a pretty harsh term, I know. But that's what it was. (And, as of this writing, most-likely still is.) Not always, but at the end, just before I left, it was a shit hole. Complete with shit hole temperatures and unhealthy shit hole air quality with asbestos falling here, there and everywhere. Throw in the giant cockroaches, three-eyed mice, some dead birds and their haphazardly scattered *feces and you have a great start on the making of hell itself. Of course, it didn't always use to be that way. At one time many years ago it was a brand new, state-of-the-art, shiny new co-rec-shunal facility. But it was all downhill from there. The history of prisons is that eventually they degenerate and disappear, one way or another. Of course some are now ending up as "historic museums", romanticized by some naïve tour guide while wide-eyed open-mouthed tourists follow them around with the awe of little children. But I supposed they're necessary, prisons that is. I mean, we can't just go around killing and screwing each other over and over, can we? Thank god we have prisons to stop people from committing crimes. If it wasn't for prisons there'd be way more than 543,334,194 recorded crimes committed the last fifty years.

[*Obviously defecated before their panicked and painfully-slow demise. A bird trapped inside a prison is a pretty sad thing. They get in through the thin-slitted barred-up windows and then can't get out, so they have to fly around the joint until they pretty much starve to death. Or land in one of those super-sticky gooey inescapable cockroach traps. You can't pry them out of those traps once they're stuck without tearing their fragile little bodies all apart, so it's best just to leave them there till they die a slow painful agonizing death. I saw an inmate stomp on one's head once with his size-12 work boot, smashing it's head just like it was a grape. It wasn't a pretty sight to say the least, but a mercy killing none the less.]