The NewJack’s Guide To The Big House

The Collected Wisdom of Ol’ School Table of Contents

1. What do they say about questions in the Big House? 2. I thought it didn’t count in prison? 3. What happens when I make a deal with a dude, but my people’s check didn’t clear in time for store orders? 4. Who am I when I’m hanging out with four junkies? 5. But that guard is different; he’s pretty cool 6. Isn’t Chrysalis a car? 7. Can I get something sweet? 8. I think ya have to keep these scumbags locked up. 9. Did you see that fine piece of ass walk by? 10. What do I do when the power (and the TV) goes out? 11. When do they turn the phones on? 12. Was that Bean talking about me? 13. That’s it, I’m done with everybody! 14. How do I do the Rehabilitation thing? 15. Whaddya do when there’s a urine test and yah can’t go? 16. Whaddya do when them muddafuggas trash your cell? 17. They wanna put me away and bury me! 18. What’s my chances on parole? 19. Why don’t they see I’ve changed? 20. But nobody’s gonna hire an ex-con out there. 21. Why do They all treat us like pieces of shit? 22. How do you put up with all these shitbums? 23. This is all fine n’ dandy, but I’m Gangsta! 24. Should I stash a shank somewhere? 25. What’s the secret to staying sane? Introduction Welcome to the den of thieves, the hospice of addicts, and the purgatory of murderers. This is prison, the most intense experiment in human interaction known throughout history. This Guide was written after 11 years in prison, after once believing I would die in prison, and then finally seeing the front gate awaiting me. There was no Guide when I was locked up. There were remnants of certain “Codes” along with a new generation of “Corrections.” With cameras and computers, The Man has made a science of this prison scenario, but you may find that He isn’t what you might have expected. This is Big Business and “job creation” for prison employees and loyal voters. I once read in one of their industry documents the definition of “Rehabilitation”: “…when the punishment is painful enough to deter future criminal conduct.” This is the equivalent of spanking you harder to invoke obedience, and this is proven to work on a very limited level. The inner resentments that accompany suppressed rage pervert your core from the Truth. But this Guide is not about Them, it is about you, the New Jack in the Big House. At times it may sound preachy, and for this I apologize; my intention is just to get you thinking (to start) and more importantly, to do what you must do to salvage yourself. The destruction of the world is less a product of Machiavelli’s disciples than Sancho Panza’s. It is the fool, the lazy, and the ignorant who loom as our greatest enemies, not the evil workings of The Machine. You still with me? Good. We need you to tap into the real deal, something we are often too young for recognizing—even when it is all around us. The most visible creatures in prison are the sly foxes, and the most vocal sounds are the ruthless wolves. Remember that when you dine with wolves, it is useless to ask if you are guest or entrée. This Guide picks up at the end of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s classic novel, Crime and Punishment. The main character, Raskolnikov, has begun his prison sentence, and we are told that he will ultimately serve 7 years on his Bid; released at age 32:

“He did not know that the new life would not be given to him for nothing, that he would have to pay dearly for it, that it would cost him great striving, great suffering.” But that is the beginning of a new story—the story of the gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing from one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of a new story, but our present story is ended.” (P. 542) Be that new story. - Bruce Reilly, aka Ol’ School (2005)

1. Dear Ol’ School, What do they say about questions in the Big House? -Don’t Ask! You don’t ask questions in the Big House. It must begin here. Nobody likes the nosey Buttinski. Not only is it poor manners, it’s dangerous. Makes you look like a stoolie. Just yesterday I was working on a man’s appeal to the United States Supreme Court, and reading up on legal procedures. Along comes some guy with a big whiny mouth crying about his lawyer to anyone who’ll listen. He’s serving a punk bid – one of those guys who would hit the street before his paperwork got filed. “What are you looking up, if you don’t mind me asking,” says the 40-year old bald Black Man. “I do mind you asking,” says Ol’ School, in an offended and condescending tone. As if I was going to answer the first question, which then leads to an avalanche of follow-ups…and I’m supposed to say what: ”But don’t tell anyone, I might get in trouble”? I don’t think so. By him so blatantly violating Chapter One, about questions, he has made me categorize him as just another Wahoo to avoid and forget. People would consider me pretty open for a convict. I don’t Mad- Dog everybody, and I’m rather talkative with a quick smile and stupid laugh. Just because I answer more questions than I should doesn’t mean I ask them. If the Brotherhood builds and two men reach a certain level, then you can ask questions. Heard a noise last night? Don’t ask. Never ask a guy where he got some contraband item; whether it’s food, drugs, weapons, clothes, reading material - whatever. That’s his move. Don’t ask. If you ever do ask a question, never do it in front of others. Broadcasting news in the form of questions is the most common error of judgment; possibly for this reason the rule was first developed. Such a move can “put me out there” with he who is eavesdropping, be it prisoner or guard. That’s a “Dry Snitch” technique – the “innocent” way of revealing information. There was I guy I lived in the block with, a fellow Steelers fan and my back-up storehouse for sports knowledge. We shared battle stories and the whole bit, yet it wasn’t until we took a class together that I learned he was serving a life sentence for murder. That was over five years after we met. The subject just never came up, and I don’t consider him anything short of a stand-up convict. That’s a rare label these days. Keep to yourself with the personal information, and expect the same of others. Let trust build at it’s own pace. For me, that means (usually) you’ve been down for at least a year or two, and lived in my cellblock, or worked with me, for about six months or so. If those stretches seem long, or longer than your bid, well you’re not really doing time – and that’s probably a whole other book (and God Bless ya, short-timer). 2. Dear Ol’ School, I thought it didn’t count in prison? - Bullshit. Life always counts. There is a tendency in prison to make this a parallel universe, and pretend we possess a street self and a joint self, and never the two shall meet. This is a grave mistake. Suddenly this man awakens, like Rip Van Winkle from his dreams, and the whole world has passed him by. Let us look at a few uncounted parts of prison life: Drugs and Sobriety: Clean time counts wherever it is had. Those who have it understand why, and those who don’t, cannot imagine what it means. Sobriety changes you, and the mind-body literally begins to “recover”. After a while the novelty wears off and it’s not a big deal to string a series of thoughts together; it’s no longer amazing to feel healthy and powerful…but what then? Ahh…what then, the great mystery of prison. Confronting the roots of one’s illness (which is then medicated with drugs and alcohol) is its own chapter. After a while, the medicine’s side- effects become an illness on top of an illness. Let the new ailments go; stay sober in prison. He who goes scrounging around for a cigarette, lying to his family for money, scamming the guy in the next bunk, going to segregation and losing Good Time, asking his people to sneak stuff in the visits… That’s straight-up fiending. Imagine once you get out—to have maintained such addict behavior for those prison years? Throw booze, women, crack, and dope in the picture, and you’re a complete wreck. A great coach once said, “Practice doesn’t make perfect, Perfect Practice makes perfect.” Violence: A common prison attitude is how a man claims to not have a bad attitude on the street, but “around here you gotta be like that to keep these punks in line. People out there have some courtesy.” Is that right? No, sorry pal. People are people, and just because we’re all wasted in a bar, on a corner, or trapped in cells doesn’t change the Truths. If you sincerely want to know what kind of dude you were on the street, just ask your woman, your Mom, brother….don’t fool yourself about what a great and generous, respectful man you were while driving around smoking weed, coming home drunk, or holed up in a hotel room. If you want others to be more courteous, be that way towards others. This is no Golden Rule or magic button—there will always be some deeply ignorant cats around (same as on the street), but in general what you put out is what you get back. If you think you can generate a habit of smashing anybody who disrespects you, and then change that once you hit the street—you’re ludicrous. Out there, it’s wide open. No cameras, no guards, no bumper- to-bumper potential stool pigeons…you’ll be quicker to act. In fact, many will say, “ If this was the street…” and they go into a big thing about folding a guy up like a lawn chair, shooting dudes in the chest, etc. It’s all insecurities. Confront the other person respectfully, man to man, and try to sort things out in a way that doesn’t end in being locked up. Sexual Activity: This is the root of the phrase, “It don’t count in prison.” If you’re gay, good for you. I can hardly imagine being locked in the Women’s Joint, and although I may not meet my ideal Chiquita, at least there would be some kind of company. Those of us who are straight (and sure of our selves) must accept a certain base level of yearning and depression. In our hyper-sexualized culture, and many of our personal backgrounds, not having that physical connection is an extreme departure from the norm. On a purely biological level, sex amongst a population of intravenous drug users, sometimes on grungy “Missions,” and generally irresponsible with their health… is deadly. The Ninja (HIV) is the big daddy, but Hepatitis is the most common. (Prisons don’t like to test inmates for Hepatitis, because then they’re liable for the expensive Interfuron treatment. They are only held liable if your illness is known, and They refuse medical treatment.) When we get infected, we then take it out to our wives, girlfriends, and such. The Big House is a petri dish for bacteria; so be careful. On a psychological level, I’ve seen the guy who must defend himself from new side-switching labels. He tries to play it cool: “Can’t a muthafucka get his shit off?” His neighbors are smirking and laughing, as he pretends a “real” convict is supposed to get serviced by a “punk.” All the denials in the world will never shake the scenario. Don’t be that guy. He starts to second- guess his sexual identity, and then he falls off into a wider abyss. The best and easiest method is to say to yourself, “Yeah, so I’m grumpy sometimes… I ain’t got none in years! “ After awhile, sex is less of a big deal, and the loving companionship of a woman is the true thirst. And you won’t find that in a broom closet with a part-time transvestite. While in prison, be the Man you strive to be. Always aim for that goal. If you want friends and family members are kind, respectful, compassionate towards this struggle—be that way to them. If you want them to be intelligent, healthy, and spiritual—work on that for yourself. Set an example. In prison we have a unique opportunity to study the world, its people, and ourselves; and we can improve by practicing our ideals. (This also means we must develop a set of ideals.) Likewise, we can also get worse, devolve, if we let this whirlpool spin us mindlessly around and suck us down. Fatherhood: Got kids? Ask them if this time “counts.” Ask them if they can make their childhood stand still until Daddy gets out. Its not gonna happen, and you can’t just pick up where you left off. Think about what they think, and don’t say such things as: “They know I love them,” or “Me and my kids used to… “ and on and on into the darkness. Their young minds aren’t as developed as ours, and their experiences are limited. On TV, most all the kids have fathers; society (and kindergarten) puts the smiley face on life, and it reiterates a world that most of us will never have. We can make a case that children shouldn’t be turned onto a fantasy channel of how it’s “supposed” to be, but (like it or not) you’re in prison pulling the plug. Your time in prison becomes a growing percentage of their short lives. Hell yeah, it counts. This time is precious. Perhaps I could guilt-trip a Prison Dad into suicide, if I tried hard enough. The reason I don’t help anyone with Family Court legal dramas is because I can’t stop identifying with the kids, who are probably wondering, “Why do my parents gotta be so fucked up? What did I do?” You think I believe your version of events? Wrong. I’m not clairvoyant, and I have no idea what is best for your children. Out of the thousands of fathers I’ve met in prison, none have ever confided that they used to beat the little ones, yet we know it happens all too often. I may have a more open mind about the difficulties of living in the armpit of Amerika, and the Family Court judge may not have the bias of being abandoned by the man who fathered him. I leave this area to divine intervention. What I can suggest is to become personal to your children. Write a shitload of letters. Make your own cards for all their birthdays and holidays. In the same way you would love a sloppy hand-crafted card from your little rugrats, the Hallmark moment isn’t quite as worthy for hanging on the fridge. Don’t ask me to draw you a Mickey Mouse; scribble it up yourself, and cheerfully apologize for your artwork. Teach them how to do your best, and how it is “the thought that counts.” If you show that much loving care, then maybe your Baby’s Momma won’t be so hard on the visits. Learn some things. What are you sharing with your seed to grow them? Got any wisdom? Do you understand why he’s failing Algebra and she is wearing skimpy clothes? Don’t be selfish and think you’re the only one who has it rough. Don’t ask them to read more books than you. Don’t ignorantly rationalize: “I grew up in State Homes and was running the Streets at thirteen—and I turned out alright.” Reality Check: Aren’t you in The Big House? I wouldn’t wish this scar on the neck of anyone, least of all my children. 3. Dear Ol’ School, What happens when I make a deal with a dude, but my people’s check didn’t clear in time for store orders? -- You’re Bad Money. Our lives are so simple, revolving around such small amounts of money, it is amazing how few dudes can keep a balanced budget. There is a grace period following a transition, such as arriving in prison, switching securities, or coming out of Segregation. A guy loses his job or his connections, and it takes a little time to get his hustle together. What are the prison Hustle-games? They say everybody best find one, but it isn’t necessary. For instance, legal work can be a hustle. During my three years awaiting trial I read and studied the law every day. People see that and they start asking questions about their own situations. I’ll say, “I don’t know, but I could look it up for you.” After awhile the questions get repetitive and the man who can store that info in his brain has a hustle. The man who can write clearly has a hustle, because every day somebody needs a letter to the judge, a lawyer, or a motion for sentence reduction, etc. As for me, I don’t use it except as a goodwill gesture (if they want to hit me off with a return donation, I won’t refuse.) I never fight what I think is a losing battle, or if it wouldn’t change anything, or if I’m uncomfortable with that guy getting out. Some guys are merchants, which is the foundation of this experiment known as America. Interestingly enough, these hustlers can easily adapt to living a mainstream existence; those who don’t believe in the money-wrangling culture must create their own form of underworld. Prison merchants will deal in cigarettes, drugs, food from the kitchen, soap from the laundry, sweatsuits and radios. Others aren’t so crafty, so they sell services such as ironing clothes, doing laundry, cleaning cells, cutting hair, braiding hair, etc. Some dudes are superb gamblers, beating both the skilled and the “fish.” You can usually get a poker game started with a few guys, and before you know it there’s some big loot in the pot, and then along comes the Heat. The safer move is your standard head-up battles, and you aren’t considered a true convict card shark until you’re playing pinochle—so learn that game whether you throw down a bet or not, as you’ll need some kind of credibility. Dominoes and Scrabble are good for reeling in the fishies because people like to think they can play these games simply because they know the rules. Fools. Chess is another ego game, as the easy money flows in from the fake-ass prison intellectuals. But be careful: The baddest muthafuckas are the ones with the best Stupid Act. They’ll suck you in and clean you out, just like Forrest Whitaker did to Paul Newman in “The Color of Money,” the Hustler got hustled. Some guys’ hustle techniques are shaking down the weak or stealing from the unsuspecting. I don’t recommend it, nor do I appreciate any friends of mine doing as such – but everyone wants to have a hustle. We live in a world where there is no place for the physically strong and emotionally daring. This is perhaps the end of history as we know it, when all of the frontiers have been conquered and all the treasures are well guarded. And yet there is this blood which flows to our fingertips, something biological which urges us to compete, to test our mettle, and we can’t satisfy this gene by joining the Army and dying for a false cause. In this light, crime is only a natural phenomenon; but I suggest we discover more profound ways of tapping that vein, ways which make our community proud. My only real hustle is artwork. I charge a basic fee of $20.00, up front, for a pencil portrait (or car, etc.) on a regular 8 ½ x 11 piece of drawing paper. When guys have a problem with it, that’s their dilemma, not mine. In business-like fashion I remind them that drug dealers get the cash up front. My skills are known and I’m not going anywhere. I tell them my shop has an engraving on the wall “This may be business, and we may be friends, but my business doesn’t know my friends.” And as such, conflicts over money are avoided. A prisoner can always just be a “citizen”. Get a job in prison, make your measly starting pay (as little as $12.50 per month) and work your way up to $45, $60, $90 per month. I‘ve never actually made $90, but I recall $63 being a slew of cash. When the working poor come begging and my polite denials make them mad or accusatory – I take offense and go in shittalk mode: “Look man, I’ve been down a decade and probably haven’t gotten over a grand form the street on all those birthdays and Christmases. It took me 8 years to fill my frozen account because this joint refused to give me a job. I drink my coffee every day, eat a soup every night, and write a lot of letters. If your taste is too rich to live like me, well tough shit man. It ain’t my fault you polished- off your store order in a weekend. Go take that beggin’ down the road to all the kilo slingers who can’t rub two nickels together. You ____” (They always take off before I finish!) You can get by in here on five bucks a week, and live lovely on ten. You don’t need four Milky Ways, protein powder, nor a bar of soap every day. Some guys need a diet or a psychiatrist rather than money. Living within one’s means is a problem for most of America, with its mantra of “Buy, Buy, Buy”. So a dude might as well get started in here if he has any intention of not coming back to the Joint. For those who have children, Baby’s Mommas, or elderly parents on SSI – you may want to live beneath your means so you can send a little financial help home. People do it all the time (well, here and there). You can be sure that if I did have dependents, I wouldn’t let my hustles lay dormant. I’d stay working, because money is mighty tight out there. I hoped that when the Man outlawed cigarettes, more guys would have money; coffee and candy bars would flow like heaven’s manna. I hoped. Medium wasn’t so bad, but Minimum is pathetic because smuggled smokes are everywhere. It’s the same scheming bad money characters. Yet instead of $5 packs – its $3 each cigarette! Such a man, desperate for those few puffs of toxin, is deeply addicted. He is enslaved and that jones whips him all day and night. I can’t trust a man who would sell himself out. Rather than feed himself all week, he buys fifteen minutes of nicotine. There is little more you have in prison than your word. Do not give it lightly. If you’re unsure, say so. Have the foresight to anticipate bumps in the road – you’ve had enough of them so far, it’s about time you see them coming. The three words I dread from a Brother is, “I got you.” It’s like an Italian guy kissing your cheek and hopping in the backseat behind you. In here it’s usually on unintentional burning; the dude means well but if he could do everything he means to do, he might stay out of prison. Basically, he is out of his own control. It can happen to any of us from time to time, but then you have those who will live and die in this way. Bad Money don’t make money. You can’t make a bet, can’t get a loan, and even Grandma stops sending money for the televisions that mysteriously keep breaking down. Its tough to change your credit rating – on the street and in the joint – so be careful about it. Bad Money is the quickest way to become a “crumb”, the lowest insignificant speck of flesh in the Can.

4. Dear Ol’ School, Who am I, when I’m hanging out with four junkies?

-The fifth. Life is not about where you are, it’s who you’re with which matters most. This is why many people around the world would rather struggle as the salt of the earth, with their families alongside, than to do a bank heists and go on the run. (Or something like that.) Who you spend your time with in prison will make all the difference. Prison is like war, which has often been described as “long periods of boredom separated by the quick spurts of scary intense hell.” Basically, nothing is going on and its up to your crew to create something. Whether that is entertainment, mayhem, or meaning – that is upon yourself. Whatever habits your crew has, you will soon be doing the same. Prison has created its share of heroin addicts; so what makes you so special? When a dude is being called on his selfish behavior, the inevitable comeback is: “ I came in alone, I’m going out alone.” Then he’ll proceed to say how he doesn’t give a shit about anyone here, blah, blah, blah… The same guy is usually the one griping about the lack of unity, or how people on the streets don’t give a shit about what goes on in here, etc. That guy is a frivolous fraud who sways which way the wind blows. An interesting thing about his little motto is that he forgets to point out: He is not alone while he’s inside. Not even close. Yeah, yeah New Jack, I know what you’re thinking: “I roll alone, I’m out for dolo, I don’t need no crew.” My point is that you’re surrounded by people whether you consider them Brothers, Criminals, Junkies, Wife-Beaters, or whatever. You will not get any solitude-- and segregation is anything but that (the noise never lets up, and they all wanna tell some battle stories to pass the time.) Your life becomes a shopping mall, but all men and no products. You shower and eat bumper to bumper. Ball games overlap, you stand in lines for everything, and hatred of humans can dominate the brainwaves. What you do is try to scratch out a little space to breathe. You find a few dudes (and don’t be in a hurry to find them) who can have a good time shooting the shit. Maybe you’re into some of the same things. You can watch some TV, hear a song, or read a book – then come back to the crew with some interesting conversation. Even a bump on a log is nothing if it weren’t for the log. For me, the crew was mostly down with sports (playing and watching) and music. And a quick wit is essential. If you’ve got no Comeback skills, don’t get down with the crew that cracks on each other. You’ll want to fight them-- I’ve seen it time and time again. My crews have mostly been down for a similar time; thus my “generation” came to prison around 1987-97, and are mid-twenties to late-thirties. Yet once upon a time, we were all under 25, most of us facing capital crimes like murder and robbery. We still look too young to be called “Pops” or “Ol’ School,” but therein lies the paradox: nearly all those who look and act the part aren’t in prison. So the wisdom you find is most likely to come from a guy in his thirties who has been doing this shit straight through his entire adult life. Don’t get down with Haters who despise your good news, or would rather you not get out of prison. A true friend will always root for your life to improve, but many people down in the muck can’t help but drag you in the shit and keep you there. My thing is: I want to see all of you get out of prison. Those who I hang with need to get out there and be strong for our People; those who aggravate me need to just get out of my cell block. IF you chill with cell-thieves you might just get punched in the face, and not even see it coming. What they do reflects on you, as everyone knows who associated with whom. Even the cops know, and that’s how you get swept up in a heroin ring, sneaker scandal, “gang” affiliation-- and you get buried in prison. You may think its cool until you’re sick of it all and just want a new life. That’s when a guy yearns for the Quick-N-EZ Life Renewal Super Suit, now available in an array of colors, from Small to XXL. Most New Jacks can’t understand me at all. Coming to Minimum Security reinforced my suspicions: prison is a big joke for the first few bids. 90 days, 6 months, 2 years (“I knocked out that deuce, yo”). Big deal. It’s all about working out, playing cards (not even learning pinochle), making connections, and lying to women-- or “girls”, as only the most seriously co- dependent women are falling for the whole game. Prison for most of the short-timers is about being a better pet, not being a Man. And so it is that for those of you facing some serious time shouldn’t expect much out of the short-timers. Consider yourself lucky if they send you to Maximum Security for a while. Even if you’re only doing a couple of years, you’re much more likely to find dudes who recognize the gravity of their situation.

5. Dear Ol’ School, But that guard is different; he’s pretty cool…

-Save it, New Jack. Don’t be a Jeff Jefferson. I’ll defer to my homeboy, Jesus, who said something like, “Just as you didn’t give him water or wash his feet, you did not give me water or wash my feet.” One way of judging someone’s character is to watch the way they treat those who are “below” them in status. As for the guards (cops, hacks, screws, dicks or whatever), they almost always favor a few guys. Don’t try to be one. Why? It turns you into a Jeffer, Ass-kisser, and Sucka. Perhaps you start out feeling respected, different, better than the rest of us. Or you rationalize that you get a lot of inside information from these cops. They do things for you, and yet 90% of the time-- these favors are simply the normal things a zookeeper does for his caged animals. Eventually the Cop-Jeffer becomes fully tamed and initiated, he is malleable, pliable, and molded into the stool pigeon. All will protest: “ Not Me!” Yet such is the fate that everyone will think you are, so you rationalize: “I only rat on the scumbags”. Huh? New Jack, just don’t play this game. There is no integrity. The Jeffer allows a cop to, (ha ha), smack him in the nuts, yet the Jeffer cannot hit back. The Jeffer finds every cop joke funny, and he must cultivate his fake laugh to assure the cop is hilarious. The Jeffer is a Yes Man for every cop complaint about other convicts. Some would call him a House Nigger, as he becomes entirely subservient to the cop(s). The transformation is complete when you give the cop food, which you bought on your $1 a day pay… Meanwhile he’s making over $120 a day and never gives you shit. Some cops with over fifteen years seniority can make over $100,000 a year with all the overtime and double-time pay rates. Try not to choke on your next snicker. A Man should look another man in the eye, regardless of caste or occupation. He neither condescends nor idolizes. You won’t sleep any better, interact any better, or get out of prison any sooner by believing that every single cop is a vile piece of shit who will be cruel and unusual in every punishing chance he (or she) gets. I don’t advocate that. Studies have shown that the power does corrupt a mind; and the average gang of cops could probably jump a convict, beat him to a pulp, and get medals before anything else. We all know it (cops and cons) and many of us have seen it at least once. Cops come into the job in different ways, just as we do, and prison affects different people in different ways. Some humans are sympathetic to the weak, some despise them, some are forgiving, others vindictive, etc. My point is to not get caught up in their soap operas. You have enough problems to deal with, you don’t need cops any closer than they already are. Some associates of mine are Jeff-Masters Supreme. It sickens the rest of us to watch. But it is important to note what sort of person gravitates towards this role. Many have immense turmoil in their heart and mind, allowing their soul to be sucked out by any mosquito which lands on them. Cops often love sex offenders, whose guilt and background renders them into easy prison slaves. Those who suppress their resentments in the face of male authority, or only to further pervert it for the shadows upon release. A prison masochist, a whipping boy for the hand of society, becomes an even sicker individual than when he began. You cannot live amongst society as a beaten animal; its hard enough when others label you as such, but when you agree—it’s drugs, suicide, or backlash. As a Jeffer you will come to despise your master and, unable to do anything about it, despise yourself. New Jack, I’m trying to build some healthy self-esteem here. You may notice the older dudes that will Jeff and say, “ I remember when that hack was a rookie”. So what? Did you shakedown cells together? YOU don’t want to be a five-time winner in the prison sweepstakes! (If you do, stop reading and go play spades.) The cultivation of stool pigeons and Jeffers, along with the protection of Rippers and Diddlers, has served to water-down the prison population. We can have no unity when we have no common respect, so it is in the service of The Man to contribute to our overall demise. They have a science at work here, the development of a social policy to categorize and control a segment of the population. If you ever here a cop complain about the sleazy sex-offender, ask him why he protects that diddler from getting beaten. If a cop has an issue with any tattle-tale inmate, ask him why this duplicitous behavior is rewarded with lighter sentences and quicker parole. These catered-to princes of the neo-Liberal prison policy are exactly the shady bastards who cannot adopt loyalty and responsibility into their lives. The Man is sowing some shitty seeds, and we shall see what the future holds for the reaping. Fuck that game. Let’s invent a new one.

6. Dear Ol’ School, Isn’t Chrysalis a car? -A vehicle, yes; a car, not at all.

“Chrysalis” is the stage between caterpillar and butterfly. You surely know a little but it bears repeating here, in a prison setting. This transformation is rather unique in nature, although a biologist should feel free to correct me. All species change, evolve and devolve, as they adapt to the conditions of life. The caterpillar-butterfly merely makes it obvious. After the caterpillar is hatched and starts getting it’s eat on, his skin refuses to grow with him. Perhaps it hurts the little dude, but he probably doesn’t know it. So he literally comes up out of his skin. In the final stage before becoming an adult, the caterpillar goes into a ball, like a prison cell, feasting on itself to form these wings. Only a small percentage will survive the predators in nature (and the human inventions to kill every insect in sight; “insecticide”) to become a flying creature of beauty. Ask yourself: how often are caterpillars stepped on and crushed as the creepy crawly things? How often are butterflies chased down and crushed? We’re rather prejudiced against the underdeveloped creatures, just as “civilization” has long been at war with Nature’s grace. This chrysalis is no different than the Joint. Once upon a time, the people of our lands had sacred rites and rituals to transform our youths to adults. It is different now. Given the crucible of prison, you must make it your time of transformation or you will return to a world which is quite prepared to crush you dead on the sidewalk. It takes 2-3 years for the creation of a butterfly. And I’ve long held the belief that it takes three years for a prisoner’s mind to change. A shorter stretch than this, and you’re still holding onto the old ways, the old life. You must kill the past and start anew. Imagine a caterpillar which always wanted to remain a caterpillar. He never goes into the pupa shell, never enters chrysalis, and says all the butterflies are suckas and sell-outs. What a great waste of his potential… but who will notice? Who will care? Now ask yourself how many things will you learn in the future; how many places you’ll go; how many children you’ll teach. Ask yourself how many people will slug through life with a broken heart because you cannot embrace your potential. Turn this punishment on its head. Flip the script and make it work for you, not against you. There will always be growing pains, erroneous, ways, and suffering; prison is merely the version you stumbled into. By transforming yourself in here, creating your chrysalis stage, you do not have to stumble out – you can walk out. And stay out. That older cat on his 8th bid isn’t a “career criminal,” he’s a “career prisoner” who occasionally gets furloughed to the street every few years. That guy wishes he were you, a young New Jack with a chance to get it right.

7. Dear Ol’ School, Can I get something sweet? --The last sweet thing I knew stopped writing 5 years ago.

Hunting down “something sweet” is the daily ritual of the junk food junkie. He’s good for a bag of chips and a candy bar a day… easy. The real- dealers mow down three or four Snickers, and then some. Believe it or not, the easiest thing to do in prison is to get fat, out of shape, and “at risk” for every ailment in the book. Check it out New Jack: you’ve already sacrificed a few years of this life, so you’ve gotta earn them back. Preserve yourself by getting healthy. I’m no nutritionist, workout genius or diet guru; I’m just a regular dude with some regular advice. The food They give us is all boiled and greasy, and the Food Groups are all about the chicken, pasta, bread, potatoes… basically things which come in shades of khaki, which happens to match our clothes. It all turns to blubber if you don’t exercise. The food you can get in the Store Order is ready-to-eat junk or soup/ rice items that need to be cooked. Guess which you can chow down quickest? How to put away the opened bag of chips is a dilemma to haunt civilization for ages, so don’t think you alone can defeat the Snack Gods. Most fat people eat out of boredom, and prison is a place where we confront boredom to the extreme. All our TV, card games, and daydreaming is fertile soil for Munchies, Cavity Creeps, and Couch Potatoville. If you can manage to store all that fat in your ass (assuming you aren’t secretly a woman), then maybe you want to chunk-up a little; we spend a lot of time sitting around on steel benches, and its tough to argue with a comfy seat. You can be sure it’s genetics, rather than the brew, when a beer-belly develops in The Can. Besides all the constriction to your internal organs, the beer gut puts far too much strain on your spine… until you find yourself in the catch-22: I need to lose this gut because my back is killing me, but I can’t go jogging or play ball because my back can’t take the pounding. My advice to the New Jack: Use it or Lose it. Prevention, prevention, prevention. Never sleep on the cardiovascular exercise—the running around, elevated heart rate, dripping sweat activities. Basketball (full-court, when possible), jogging, football, even speed-walking will do the trick. For 5 years in Max, my whole crew was in great shape because we played hours of ball every day. Even when it was merely “go deep” with the football, there was always some kind of motion involved. I broke my wrist and went stir- crazy until (eventually) I was playing soccer, steady-QB, and one-handed softball… with a cast on my arm. [By the way, I’m an idiot too.] A prisoner never knows what his living conditions and recreation schedule will be in the future, thus we must seize the day wherever we are. Lifting weights will make you strong, but not necessarily healthier. Prison culture is geared towards getting Bigger and Badder, raising your “max” on the bench, squats, dead-lifts… Other than a few genetic supafreaks, we turned into burly offensive linemen rather than chiseled linebackers. Look at all the old folks in the world; how many are massive behemoths? Don’t be the guy benching 500 lbs., while his chest conceals a jelly-belly and an aching heart, pumping away, screaming: “I’m dying over here!” You will need to find a balance in activities, but don’t spend every waking moment building this perfect physique, monitoring your progress 3x day in the mirror… while developing nothing to go into the body. Your flesh, muscle, organs, brain—these are tools, a vehicle, through which you carry your true self. They are a means to an end; not ends unto themselves. It is very easy to get vain in prison amongst the feelings of competition in the pack. Beware, New Jack, as you may easily lose your way. Nobody is an expert on what women want in a man, but if it is your motivation to be what women want – ya think its all about a big shaved chest and a six pack of abs? For me, I wouldn’t want a woman who thinks like that, who would discard me for the next moron who looks good. Yet many in prison are motivated to be the most desired (not simply with looks). This is akin to a dog trying to please his master. Are we to be a class of men who are determined to make the best pets? Do we want women who supply us with food, shelter, drugs, and sex – while we just keep exercising and getting a nice sheen on our coats? Don’t be a house-husband, be a man. You only end up ditching that woman for the younger, newer one, and on it goes until the Ol’ 1950’s male/female roles are reversed. Then what – a Men’s Liberation Movement? If you need a motivation, a sense of approval, don’t feel bad – we all do, on some level, or we’re psychopaths with no connection to anyone. My advice in times when the self-sufficiency is wearing thin: Try to be what you would want in a father, whether you have kids or not. You may then decide wisdom is the greatest feature, along with communication and dedication to weathering all storms for the sake of the children. You may choose to be careful with your money, see life in the long term, and seek women who can be good wives and mothers – not just good for the night. Want another motive to be a man? Try “son” or “grandson” or “brother”… there are many, many roles, so don’t fall in the prison trap of merely being a stallion. Oh – this shit ain’t drastic enough to develop your teenage mind? Just wait. Do some more time. Let you life waste away like an insignificant rock which wears down with every driving rain.

8. Dear Ol’ School, I think ya have to keep these scumbags locked up.

-New Jack, you got a case of Lock n’ Stockholm Syndrome. You don’t need to be Jeff Jefferson to have the Lock n’ Stock, you merely need to adopt a certain logic or “philosophy.” Occasionally, your path will cross that of a truly sick individual. He may have been sick from birth (toxic chemicals in the water of his womb; or merely an act of random nature; God?), or poisoned as a toddler (chewing lead paint on the walls? Arsenic in the water?), or is lost from a traumatic event (molested as a child? A widower? An ex-soldier? O.D.?). Sometimes you will be around him long enough to notice, if you are aware; and yet these twisted minds are a rarity. When a guy makes blanket statements about “these low-life muthafuckas,” he is referring to the most of us. That includes himself, you New Jack, and me. It has taken decades of media propaganda and politicians’ rhetoric, but a theme has developed in our culture where the imprisoned have been considered lost causes, mutants, and the property of Satan. I can’t change that perception no matter what I do, nor can you, because there are about ten million other prisoners/ex-prisoners in this country. My point is you can’t share in the condemnations. Once somebody convinces you to hate you, you’re all shot up. It isn’t doing you any good to be pessimistic and self-defeating, to be convinced that nobody will ever hire an ex-con… so you shouldn’t even try to go legit. If you become a collaborator with the oppressive forces, you betray yourself first and foremost. And you’re encouraging the next guy to say the same denigrating crap about you. Tearing others down won’t build you up, no matter how deeply rooted your personal issues, so give that shit a rest. If you come to prison because you needed money that day, take a look at two things: (1) Why did you need the money? (2) Why did you choose an illegal method of obtaining money? Let those questions guide you in understanding who you are and what you’ve done. This society can only employ a certain amount of people, and as our technology advances we need fewer and fewer workers to make things happen. Therefore, it helps if you can recognize the larger issues so the details start to make sense. If you are all about the cash, the paper, then you have my sympathy. (But you will fit right in to American culture, at least). So you better start thinking like a businessman. Your methods of making money must be sustainable, taking you into old age and providing for your family. If your methods are about having a fun run, breaking even (after the confiscation and the lawyer), then having your family send you money in prison – then you ain’t about the money. You’re bullshittin yourself and anyone willing to fall for your amateur antics. The serious hustler can push any product. A true leader can guide any organization. If you’re in the can for slinging drugs, and if you had a stretch where you understood how to rise up in the game, then you need to transfer those talents into a legitimate operation. Read books on finances, learn the lingo of P/E Ratio, Drip Fund, Small Cap Growth, Mutual Funds, Stocks, Bonds, Futures, Options. Learn what a put and a call are. Learn what a short and long mean. Learn currency exchange rates. Learn about Venture Capital, Real Estate, Mortgages, Foreclosures, and Tax Lien sales. Learn about the time value of money and how much the prime rate controls the nations economy and ultimately how it can affect the entire world. Learn about how leading and lagging economic indicators can make you money. Learn about how history, especially in economics, always repeats itself. Learn about how historical data can be used to run a regression analysis to predict a financial instrument’s price movements. Learn how being able to predict the price fluctuations of a financial instruments can give you the edge to capitalize. Learn how you can make money by buying and selling commodities. Whaddya Know bout that, New Jack? Subscribe to the Wall Street Journal, Business Week, Inc, Fortune, Black Enterprise and use your time to think about where you can carve out your space. Read Adam Smith, Karl Marx, John Maynard Keynes, William Greider, Lester Thurow, and Thomas Malthus to get your mind on the money. Be ready to walk into a college classroom… and others can call you a criminal all along the way. (You will surely meet the real crooks in this racket, and you’ll be quicker to anticipate their shysty maneuvers then the sweet little citizen who just had the retirement fund flushed down the shitter.) It won’t matter because you’re focused. They don’t count, and you never signed up for the Lock n’ Stockholm Syndrome. So if you don’t have a GED, that would be a good place to start. For the New Jack who is down because he hurt somebody, possibly killed someone, you have to confront those emotions within yourself. It may take a spiritual strength you had no prior knowledge of, and the process requires stages of understanding – don’t trick yourself with a victorious “ I got this” conclusion. Be open to “getting it” more over time. Guilt becomes a wasted emotion, feeding into the worthless immolation of self-hatred. It thrives on depression and keeps you ripped to shreds. An emotion that leads towards a positive future might be called “ intelligent regret.” To get there, you must fully understand what you’ve done and how it ripples throughout the world. You must realize what holes in your character contributed to this violence. If you can conceive the whole story, and consciously work towards filling those holes – such actions become your remorse. This is how we begin to move on. The alternative is suicide. Whether you enter the cold embrace of Death or eat and sleep as the living dead, it brings no justice, no vengeance, and no healing. Lock n’ Stockholm is you contributing to a society’s psychosis; whereby “they” feel better because “we” are less than those great, upstanding, virtuous citizens. Don’t become a footstool for someone else’s empire of shit. Opt out. Someone willing to pay $40,000 per year for your existence should have a good reason, no? Yet, too often society neither knows nor cares why they pay it. Fear? Retribution? Rehabilitation? Nope, except for the aforementioned rare, sick individual. A strong case can be made that it is Society which behaves insanely, considering the way They waste their money; and we who have no money might be logical in trying any means necessary to obtain it. In the meantime, we wash away our worries with the poor man’s psychiatrists: Jack Daniels, Mary Jane, and Mr. Brownstone. Many in power will use us for grandstanding on occasion, sometimes demonizing us as the cause for society’s ailments (we are actually the results of any ailments); and other times they will use us as poster children for their (too often fraudulent) benevolence. Don’t look the gift horse of help in the mouth-– take it where they’re giving it-– but don’t expect a thing. We are the enemy in domestic wars, so choose allies carefully.

9. Dear Ol’ School, Did you see that fine piece of ass walk by?

-Stop Stalking. Any thing which is made taboo is soon perverted in the minds of those who seek it. Take any toy from a child, no matter how old and dusty, and see if that becomes the thing the child desires most. We do it with sex and drugs and booze quite commonly in our culture. Withholding it for those we think are mature enough (16, 18, 21 years old) always some new plateau to reach, or be it the permanently illegal drug. In prison we have programs and conversations and meetings in place to cope with no intoxicants. Those who can’t handle it will find some score here and there, sometimes facing the consequences. Yet the “need” for women is much more natural and historical than getting high. Nobody is making a case that we need to abstain from sex and love upon release, if we want to toe the line and not come back. It is legal and encouraged, particularly while a vocal public (and conservative mouthpieces) tell the world that God’s Plan is about man and women; Gay marriage is sick, etc. So we’re just trying to be Fellow Americans, is that so wrong? It is so easy for any American to be consumed by lust, but this is infinitely magnified in the mind of the prisoner, for whom women are taboo. He also can feel the peer pressure to prove he is a “real” man, so he talk, talk, talks about tappin’ so much ass… the guy begins to sound like a closet gay dude, insecure that he’ll be outed! Often our connections to the outside are two dimensional (televised and photographed), and we all know sex sells. The media pushes these products, these voluptuous, revealing, seductive…you get the idea. This just compounds the problem. Certain things in life are a “given,” and we don’t need to keep making note of it. The sun shines, rain falls, prisoners want freedom, and hot chicks populate TV and magazines. No big mysteries there. So save that overloaded commentary for some idiot who missed the memo. Don’t point out every fine Honey; reserve your approval for the rare aesthetic specimen that perhaps goes overlooked. (e.g. did you know that the former bassist for Hole and Smashing Pumpkins, Melissa Auf Der Mar, is a beauty in both the classic and slutty sort of way?) Bring something new to the equation; don’t be a mindless follower on such a simple subject. To maintain your sanity, place some limitations on your “stalk.” If you watch more than one TV show solely to scope out a certain actress (or that “Reality” fiction-action-banter), then you’re risking some long-term perversion in the mind. As for flipping through mags: don’t give it more than an hour at a stretch. And please, please when at all possible, do not go out of your way to see some counselor/teacher, thereby gettin’ your stalk on. You are developing habits in here, for good or ill, and don’t go thinking you’ll return to “normal” upon release. Unlike the Street, you aren’t “gettin some” here and there, thus flowing the juices and easing the tensions. In prison, the stalker (in a pinnacle state of perfection) will obsess on the object... which is another human being with all the complexities of character. At this point the word “Love” enters the fray, disguised in one of its horrific Hallowe’en costumes. Thy mind shall drift ever downward into the gutter, into the abyss where thoughts of women mirror the mind of a rapist. However... (there’s always a “however”) sometimes you may objectively conclude: “Ya know what? Me and her would get along just perfectly, we share so many interests, she laughs at my witty asides, she isn’t scared of my background, and, well shit—the only thing between us and eternal bliss is this damn prison cell!” Let me tell you something: That isn’t a happy conclusion even when it’s accurate. Who wants to live in a state of hopeless yearning? Embrace your inner monk. Check yourself. Resistance is NOT futile.

10. Dear Ol’ School, What do I do when the power (and the TV) goes on the fritz?

-- Celebrate! One night while watching TV, I saw an interview with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. He has been a refugee from Tibet since 1959, where he is the rightful political and spiritual leader. He was asked what he thought of television, and I will paraphrase his wise analysis: ‘Television is not good, not bad.’ (Readers of Buddhist literature will find that just about everything is Not Good/Not Bad.) ‘TV is a tool, a means to an end, and so what are the purposes? The best side of this tool is its ability to bring the world closer, shorten distances, making the foreign and distant seem a part of your personal realm. It is much more difficult to slaughter one’s “enemy” when you can see their blood and humanity with one’s own eyes.’ TV is a capable teacher, allowing a lesson to reach many people at once, with the insta-speed of satellite transmission. I have tried to use the Box for my own purposes, not be used and consumed by it (as The Man would prefer). The TV is my tool, not the other way around. It has shown me a wealth of knowledge in lieu of college, such as PBS documentaries on Bob Marley and Jesus, Cambodian landmines, “Hoop Dreams,” and Bobby Kennedy. I’ve seen Charlie Rose interview Quentin Tarrantino, Michael Moore, and Noam Chomsky; Bill Moyers interviewing Howard Zinn and Joseph Campbell. “Frontline” peels the layers of lies (championed by the matrix of the mainstream) and reveals the slices of truth which, like a disturbed onion, can make your eyes water with sadness and rage. My television has brought me some “This is why I want to make movies” movies... “Dead Man Walking,” “Good Will Hunting,” the “Matrix” trilogy, “21 Grams,” “In America” and I could go on and on with culture used as a vehicle for substance; or creative storytelling such as “Momento” and “Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.” I watch political roundtables and realize that their analyses are no more expert than the hosts of a sports radio talkshow. Any Joe Schmo can call up the radio station while stuck on the 128 Beltway, gripe about pulling Pedro Martinez once his pitch-count reaches triple-digits (and his fastball’s fading effectiveness no longer establishes the devastating fury of his change-up), yet our political commentary has yet to reach a democratic level of participation. On a sports show, if you call up and make some illogical statement of pure emotional bias (for or against), you will be laughed-off as some amateur buffoon. However, call a so-called political show and that’s 90% of the action. (And if you ever hear a guy call up either show, with the handle of “Blitzburgh Bruha,” that would be Mr. Ol’ School tellin it like it is.) But I digress (which is, after all, the whole point of writing a book). There is a gutter side of television, the Not Good side, which is what I usually call “The Mainstream.” This is the bullshit of sleeze n’ skeez, and “if it bleeds it leads.” It showcases the salacious perversions, encourages voyeuristic delusions, and preys on victims’ vulnerabilities. Often it is about that tingle in your tingler. Taken in small dosages, like the occasional candy bar, is not a big deal in your life... and maybe I sound like some Holier-Than-Thou Fundamentalcase Preacher. But let’s keep it real, shall we? Many a convict is LIVING his TV, for it and through it, watching 20, 40, 60 hours of this shit each week! If you’re serving a nickel that’s 260 weeks (not factoring the Good Time), so do the math: 260 weeks * 60 hours of Brainrot= 15,600 hours of Vegetation You are what you eat. This axiom is true for food and for the intellectual/emotional consumption in our day-to-day rigamaroll. How many 12 year old Jr. Skanks does it take to for TV to convince you that 15 is mature and womanly enough for an adult relationship? How many superCop drunk- tacklings does it take before you subtly root for the overdog and develop the symptoms of Lock-n-Stockholm Syndrome? Don’t watch “Cops.” That’s #1, right there. Haven’t you seen enough badges for awhile? Studies of the foreign versions (by the cowardly lap-dog psycho-sociologists of America, who make careers out of analyzing the splinters in others’ eyes) have shown that these shows serve as propaganda tools, influencing the viewer to Obey... Obey... obey abusive and obtrusive authority. Such tools are akin to Hitler’s fascist “Brownshirt” brigades, marching the streets, subjugating your will, seizing the non-conformists in the name of your own “protection.” If there is one primary inconvenience to those who flex their flunky muscle of Police Power, it is the United States Constitution. The fascist wants you to forget (or better yet, never know) who works for whom. They will often try to suspend the Constitution, in whole or in part. Hitler succeeded, in the name of “Terrorism.” His party was quite effective with his domestic pacification and “cleansing.” That mentality of elitists isn’t a disease borne out of Bavarian bratwurst; it is simply a human flaw—“Hubris,” they call it. In America, The People rule, and this means New Jacks, Ol’ Schools, our mothers, the cranky old dude across the street, and almost 300 million other folks. If the Boot-kickers don’t like it, they can get out. Besides the cop “reality” you’ve got your cop “drama” series, where everybody is a stool-pigeon and all the noble detectives are Sherlock Street Thugs, pulling more ass than a city bus. Do yourself a favor: Get Bored! Celluloid reality isn’t real, and television shows are just filling the space between commercials. The cheaper the actors and the bigger the tits, all the better for ratings. They must think of us as pathetic creatures, presuming we will flock to the low-brow circus Get into your own reality series and try rising up in that game show. And don’t be that weird tunnel-dweller who watches the network news 3x day; you are only proving the conclusions about news watchers: The more they watch, the less they actually know about what is going on. It isn’t news you can use (except for gossiping), its mostly just about making us feel helpless and afraid—fire/blood/gun/flesh/seeping wreckage of metal—which parades symptoms without penetrating the problems. Call it a corporate conspiracy, a cynical ratings game, or just plain ignorance; the reasons don’t matter as much as the results. Your job is to smarten-up, not dumb-down. Indeed, our options are limited; and no, we cannot be serious scholars at all times; but once we fall into the Potato Zone where heaven is just a remote control and 500 more channels away... we’re all done. Television is the opiate of the masses (the ones which crack and smack didn’t hook). You would need to be extracted, like with a cult member, and deprogrammed. As such, anticipate the negative side-effects of the drug which that little Box is. A sample dosage (RX) as follows: Mon.-Fri. No TV before 7pm. Ask any cellmate(s) to wear headphones. If the audio is intrusive, position back to screen, and unleash the walkman-headphone sonic screen. Deciphering Daytime Programming is futile; Consult TV guide, as available. Channel surfing encourages the urge to watch “something.” Scout the upcoming visual terrain. Find worthy programs. Do not watch entire movie, only to later say “That shit was stupid.” This conclusion can often be determined after 15 min. Weekends. Daytime exception for movies, sports, and PBS re-runs. Upon hearing, “Yo, check out [insert channel #]” you do NOT have to check out said channel. You have not missed a thing in life, as long as you are present for your own experiences. My first year in prison I didn’t own a TV, nor did most all of my drive-by cellies, who were fresh off the street and usually facing a petty charge (a la, they’re all depressed and messed-up in the new-found Purgatory; the Dope-sick are puking and shitting and begging for chocolate.) I basically just read a few books a week, wrote a bit, drew some pictures, and learned some card games. Music was my exterior attachment. Finally I wanted to watch uninterrupted football on the weekends, but when I bought a TV, I was in cells which had no electrical outlets! A mixed blessing, as I didn’t get too grooved on the boobtube. Over the next five years I followed my own prescription, only watching daytime TV when it’s the NCAA hoop tournament, and sometimes other “bonus action” (Wimbledon and French Open). Slowly they’ve peeled all the sports to cable channels. After getting a roommate in Medium Security, I mostly conceded the helm to him; like an overburdened parent, the television became my babysitter. Respectfully, I would ask that they wear the headphones rather than blast the volume, and 99% of the time this worked, without incident. One friend and roommate of mine would awaken with me, and after breakfast our cell became college dorm (minus the chicks, weed, and little fridge). We mixed in our various classes, jobs, and yard rec. The time was working for us, not us working for the time. Like myself, he was a teenage killer experiencing his re-birth. It’s easier for us to “get it,” with our lives being so dramatically obvious-- but the average New Jack has to catch on quicker and be more aware, because his life can trickle by without ever getting a handle on it. Don’t try to forget. Don’t try to get your mind out of this place. Be right here, right now, and start building some positive habits. Bulk up your mind, and make an acquaintance with reality, because that is what you’ll need to know if you wish to live this life with a sense of worth and dignity. 11. Dear Ol’School, When do they turn the phones on? -Simma down, NewJack. Phone fucks up the bid.

If it’s 7am on a Saturday, and you’re trying to call anyone other than Grammy Edna (who’s awoken at 4:30 am for the past 20 years)-– you might have a few issues. Hunting people down won’t get you anywhere. Monitoring you woman, catching her lies, barking out orders... these types of action don’t build bonds and heal relationships. The phone-slamming scenarios bulk up your hate and frustration; before you know it, you’re sitting in seg for fighting a guy, and you don’t even know his name. You just lost your job, cell, and 30 days of good time, all because of a phone call. Nice. Your people on the street have lives that are generally quite busy. (Maybe too busy and too complicated for their own good, but that is a lifestyle you signed-on for also.) There is work, errands, cleaning, kids; cars break down, basements flood, dishwashers go on the fritz, computers lock up...and maybe all they have left is 20 minutes for a hot bath, especially now that she’s pulling double-duty… then you call. The space between your prison life and her street life leaves a lot of room for speculation. There are two main reasons why you always see the negative side: (1) You’re surrounded by cynics who champion the dirtiest side of relationships; (2) Your past with her consisted of lying, cheating, and substance abuse problems. The phone dilemma is one factor in why it takes three years for the mind to change (according to the 3 Year Theory of Dr. Ol’ School, Ph.D., esq., etc.). After awhile, be it the easy way or the hard way, the phone situation works itself out. After things get squared away (bills, possessions, court, and all that) you either form a truce with your people or, one by one, they drift away. Sometimes it ends with a big blowout, other times it’s so subtle you wonder what happened. Don’t be any more of a drain than humanly possible. Putting up some strong and happy front isn’t the answer. I tell everybody they have to accept the bad with the good, or else this isn’t gonna work being friends and whatnot. Be honest with yourself, first and foremost, then you can decide who can handle your rocky days, and how much they can take. Remember: This may be the USA, but it’s not all about you, ese. Comprende? Be courteous with your brother convicts. Don’t sweat their phone calls, buggin them how you need to get on the horn; especially if you’re the serious phone-jocker. There is little more aggravating than the guy who lives on the phone whining for someone to get off. Usually he complains/ intimidates in the direction of somebody who isn’t of his phone-sweating kind. That’s where I draw the line, and remind a mofugga that he’s got some balls to bitch at a guy who uses it for maybe an hour all week. Usually he’s a New Jack, which I’ll help him remember, and he should put some time in and do his homework before he starts regulating the cell block. On the flip-side, when you’re on the phone show some respect for the next guy. If you see a quiet dude, somebody new, or an elder statesman: hook him up. Ask if he needs it after you. If your girl comes to visit, and you call her every day, then you can afford to cut it short once in a while for those of us who may only have that tiny time slot to catch our people at home. Etiquette: Ask the dude on the phone, “can I get next on that?” And lets not devolve into tribalized possession of the phones. We all wear khaki, and self-segregation makes us collectively weaker. Being able to negotiate the sharing of our phones is the primary anger management class in the Joint. Try getting a passing grade, even if the other guy failed “play time” in kindergarten. Don’t cry to the cops either, unless you’re out to make a name for yourself as a Cop Calling Coward. Just like you and your roommate can cannibalize each other with cabin fever, the same thing happens with the phone. Nothing is as suffocating like blah, blah, blah, every day after day, when there ain’t much going on. As the rare Ol’ School OG dealer told me once (out on the set): “The slow grind is the best grind.” If you’re serving a stretch, I recommend you don’t call anyone more than once a week; maybe 3x a week for your wife or baby’s momma. And visits are along the same spectrum. Keep in mind that your kids might start to hate the visits because all you can do is sit and talk; then they may begin to hate you. Think long term: is this sustainable, or will it burn out? (And it’s a two-way street, Mr. Needy.)

12. Dear Ol’ School, Was that Bean talkin’ about me?! -Settle down, New Jack. El dicé la comida es muy mala. One thing you must accept is that you will hear the Spanish language throughout your days in the Big House. You don’t have to like it, but you might as well work with it. Oh, you wanna be one of those “Speak English or die” type of dudes? That’s an excellent song by SOD, but as a political philosophy – its pretty vacant. As long as prisons are a collection of outcasts, misfits, shadows, and unemployed, you will have black marketeers and immigrants in with you. Don’t go getting all patriotic, New Jack, as if these luxurious American prisons should be only reserved for English-speaking, native-born outlaws. If you want a better America, paying less taxes to punish us, start by keeping yourself out of prison. Save all the “citizen” bullshit. Its only been about 150 years since English-Speakers began filling up the western half of our country-- where people had been speaking Spanish for 300 years, and Navaho, Ute, and other local languages for thousands. Its only been a century since American governments began conquering and infiltrating the sovereign nations and/or Spanish colonies: Cuba, Panama, Nicaragua, Puerto Rico, Guatemala, Dominican Republic, etc. – so this is the Rome to which all roads lead, the country with a statue parked out front saying “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free,” so don’t hate on the next man trying to get his hustle on. (Don’t hate the player, hate the game.) If the confines of a prison cell aren’t real enough for you to be a realist, then your Fantasy Land game is pretty tight. But if you are a realist, then you can recognize that our nation is becoming very bi-lingual… yet it seems the Hispanic folk are the only ones who can speak both languages. Get ahead of the curve, New Jack (unless you are Hispanic and bi-lingual; if so, ignore this advice), and learn to communicate. Get a Spanish-English dictionary and write down three words a day – noun, verb, and adjective. If you do this for one full year, giving yourself weekly and monthly review, you’ll know 365 objects/places, 365 actions, and 365 descriptions. Amidst all this, find some books, anything-- be creative. Textbooks, easy reading with Spanish and English text, Spanish sports magazines with material you’re familiar with, etc. Find an amigo willing to help, and ask him about conjugation (the endings to words; La Amiga, Los Amigos, escribo/escribando, etc.); ask him to teach you all the little words (prepositions, conjunctions…) like but, for, in, above, can, will, and all those tiny gems to flesh out a sentence. Your duty to yourself, your family, and your victims(s) is to get as much out of the prison experience as possible. Don’t limit yourself to what you already know. There may come a time when Mainstream Society doesn’t want you back in any way, shape, or form. What will you do, give up? Punt? Return to prison? You’ll have to get nice and live with the rest of us, in our universe where an ex-con is more common than a college graduate. We need people willing to help, who bring something to the table, and won’t whittle down our numbers with the divisiveness of racism and xenophobia. W’sup?

13. Dear Ol’ School, That’s it. I’m done with everybody. -Build bridges, don’t burn ‘em. There are three types of “everybody”. 1) Everyone in prison, 2) Everyone on the outside, and 3) Every everybody. Oftentimes, it is important to pull back from others so you can maintain your sanity; however, how you do such a move is vitally important. Sometimes you will find yourself amidst some twisted prison melodrama where you and/or your Bro made a mistake. Maybe you made an enemy… there are so many real and imagined beefs popping off all the time. It may be time to withdraw for a while, let life simmer down, and get away from particular bad news dudes. You don’t need to announce it. You don’t need to start it off by throwing punches. My three solitary endeavors, the way in which I regroup myself, is with reading, writing, and drawing. Reading incites my thoughts and inspires my writing. Investigate the past and explore your culture; as Bob Marley sang: “If you know your history, then you would know where I’m coming from; and you wouldn’t have to ask me, who the hell do I think I am.” Check out other peoples’ histories and see what other minds have been thinking about. Throughout time, a remarkable amount of noted names, leaders, and writers, have been in prison just like yourself. Nelson Mandela, Eugene Debs, Dostoyevski, Tolstoy, Solzhenitzin (you can’t be a Russian writer unless you’ve been in the Big House), Hitler, Arafat, John McCain, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., Don King, Jose Santiago Baca, Bernard Lafayette, Tupac Shakur, Merle Haggard, Charles Dutton, Wole Soyinka, Bobby Sands… the list is ridiculous. After you’ve been studying a while, you may start to laugh at the modern American attitude that an ex-con is washed up and hopeless. If you need to work on your reading and writing skills, well what a coincidence that you want some space from the fellas! Every prison has GED teachers and convict tutors who will be as enthusiastic about your learning as you are. Consider that a school kid needs two years to get 360 days in the classroom, and you need just one. Similar for the college student’s time dedication (Ironically enough, colleges have been reducing class time, yet increasing tuitions). If you spend five years of daily studies in prison, I can all but guarantee your intellect will be on an advanced level, although a learning disorder requires special attention, and most can’t or won’t, find it in prison, (sorry). All this reading, pausing, and thinking will make you want to share your thoughts-- as you’ll be bursting. Write your family, a buddy, ex-girlfriend you stayed cool with… how else can you discover if they want to go to that level? At least they can come to realize who you are becoming; this is how you might assess what sort of relationship you can have with them in the future. And so there usually comes a moment or two, or three, or … (you get the idea) when you decide to banish yourself from the telephone and write no letters. You can still write, just put it under the bunk. One page per day spawns you a book in one year. But I digress; why cut yourself off from your people? Just do it in the right way, that’s all. Over the course of civilizations, in all corners of the Animal Kingdom, the child is severed from the parent to emerge as an adult. Once grown, emotionally, a man has a new relationship to his parents and siblings. It is merely for the boy’s sake to have this separation; it is also for the parent(s). Keep in mind that most of our parents were deprived of cultures that initiate their adolescents to adulthood. Many of them struggle with their own delusions and insecurities-- thus they are mired in materialistic and sexual pursuits of power; they are overcome by alcoholism and other addictions; they feel unworthy of providing wisdom, or inadequate to pause long enough for reflecting on life. And just think: You’re the one in prison! So we must invent our own visionquests, spiritual jihads, and dive head-first out of the nest. Step softly, as heavy traveling leaves deep footprints.

14. Dear Ol’ School, How do I do the Rehabilitation thing?

--Welcome to Step 4. “Make a list of all those you have harmed, and be willing to make amends to them all.” That is Step 4 of all those handy 12-Step programs for self-improvement; but let’s sidestep all the kinder gentler jargon: Take stock of all the shit you’ve pulled and all the pain you’ve inflicted throughout your life. You don’t have to DO anything about it, not just yet (if at all), however you must have some retrospect to do some inventory on the past, and simply humble yourself in the face of this madness. We never stop learning in our lives, as long as we’re open to letting it happen. The closed-minded grumpy bastard has little reason to inhale oxygen, except his sado-masochistic desire to repeat the miseries of yesterday. We need to embrace a new day as “new,” a fresh scratch-off ticket and you have yet to find a coin to scrape that weird waxy metallic coating off. My age (31) and years of sobriety (11) don’t inherently say anything about me, don’t come with answers to the mysteries of our Universe; however, they do remind me of how many times I have played the lottery of a new day. Just last night, upon hearing a few men (young and old) speak, I realized why I’ve chosen to stay sober: I love reality. It’s really that basic. To immerse oneself in this natural existence, and mold into a man who is responsible, who grows in wisdom, who is a benefit rather than a burden… you need to hang out in Reality. The pain we have caused others has become a part of their realities, their memories, finances, and lingering psychological issues. So if you choose to forget, drown your sorrows, and check out of this world—you’re dishonoring their wounds and making matters worse. You will have hit rock bottom and kept on digging. Writing things down is a good way to get things out of your mind’s death-roll, the spinning and spindling until you finally declare, “Fuck It!” Put it on paper, for your eyes only, and keep thinking, or (more accurately) un- thinking. You have to break down the game tape, see where your offense is inept, defense has glaring holes, and special teams ain’t so special. Uncover the hurt you’ve conveniently buried; let it hurt. Let it bleed. Time to stop running (in a 5 x 8 cell) and impale yourself on the sword of regret. It takes a spiritual suicide to be reborn. Apologies are much deeper than the quaint words someone teaches a child to say. When sincere, an apology is perhaps the most powerful force in the realm of human nature. It is a gift to someone who has (through their suffering) earned at least this much. The gift may take time to develop, as does a puppy or a sequoia sapling, but it is the birthing of an idea so perfect that nobody can buy in a store: Forgiveness. We don’t apologize in search of something that is outside of ourselves. This is our debt, and it needs to be paid. The path of Wisdom isn’t paved with our intellect, so I will withhold some words on this subject for fear of the shallow nature of a word. Wisdom is gained through experience and awareness, and it is a direct benefit along the journey of so-called “rehabilitation.” You must shirk the fibers of selfishness which led you to prison. In this way you can learn how to truly interact with others, becoming a citizen of a community, member of a family, rather than a leeching black hole absorbing all matter that is within reach. We need to shun this culture of Grab-n-Greed in this “Land of the Free.” Drop that mantle of “Woe is Me” and write a few things down to observe that mutual truth: Woe is Thee. Look upon the hearts and souls you’ve stained in the wake of this tornado which is you. Life won’t come to you tomorrow as one bow-wrapped package when They pass out the mail. Patience is the prisoner’s pinnacle virtue. When I see a guy cutting the lines for phones, medication, or chow, I know he has some basic issues to work out. He needs to learn patience, and more importantly, he needs to appreciate Respect. I see those subtle moves, and I can see his Addict/Crook mind scheming in it’s isolated fishbowl. He either can’t conceive of the disrespect shown to the 100 guys he stepped in front of, or he just doesn’t care. Don’t change your talk, change your actions. If you want to have “game” in a real-deal way, it’s all about the deeds; words ain’t worth but a breath of stale air. So what’s the big deal, you ask? Well the deal is that: If we cannot even grasp the mutual understanding of a Line, then what can we share with a family or community? I’m a loudmouth side-comment demon, so you can count on me saying, “Ahh… there goes the good crackheads, hurry along, yes. Don’t concern yourself with anyone else, and I’ll see you when you come back on your next bid.” Check it: There is some shit we all want; The shit is distributed by one person; We all must figure out a way to get the one person to serve us all; Aha! The Line is born. “First Come, First Serve.” What would happen if we all were line-cutters? It would be a mosh- pit, and muscle comes into the fray, and the shit we want will probably end up demolished. So don’t be the guy who is telling me about accepting Christ as your Lord and Savior, then turn around and cut me in line because (obviously) you’re so important and deserving of special treatment. Would you cut your own Mom? There will be a time “when the last shall be first and the first shall be last.” In the meantime, we have Road Rage for those who are sick of disrespectful muthafuckas who can’t grasp the basics of common courtesy. If you think that nobody will ever hold you accountable for making your own Express Lane, you’ll see. Keep it Up!

15. Dear Ol’ School, What do you do when there’s a urine test, but yah can’t go?

-Focus, Grasshopper. Yes indeed, some have called me The Piss Ninja, able to drain the vein from a barren bladder; seemingly conjuring fluids where none previously existed, divining waters from dust. But how? First, know that it is all “psychological.” Your body is 75% water, constantly sucking the nutrients from food and fat, while leaving aside the waste. IT’S IN THERE, believe that, and you merely need to relax and release. Block out the distractions. “What? Block ‘em out?!” Yeah, New Jack, that’s right, and you’ll need to have an approach to do this. An approach is a prepared mental state, similar to a Major League pitcher coming out of the bullpen. Can a reliever plan on closing-out 4 games in a row, like Keith Foulke did to the Yankees (on their way to the glorious Red Sox World Series victory)? Of course not; nobody can predict activities of such a gargantuan magnitude. What Foulke possessed was an Approach: “Fellas, whenever you need me, for as long as you need me. I am unstoppable, an assassin.” To be a fellow Piss Ninja requires the mentality of a Minuteman in April, 1776, ready to run through the fields of Lexington at dawn. Furthermore, I feel oddly empowered by whipping out my Piece in front of the traditionally condescending prison guard. It is he who is paid to look at miles of penis; it’s in his job description: cock-gazing. He may feel slightly peculiar, shameful, embarrassed. He thinks to himself: ‘I am NOT gay. Nope. Not gay, not gay, not gay, not—will this guy hurry up and piss already?! C’mon man, look: it’s just sitting there. He isn’t going to piss. Do something, please, shake it, squeeze it (that usually works for me, the Squeeze Technique, I think it gets some suction going or something) NOT GAY! Just piss a few drops, I don’t care. Please! UGH! Like it matters… there’s still another 50 dicks, I mean guys, lined up behind him. This will take all day, just- I Hate This Fucking Job! Screw the triple- time paychecks and the 4 months paid leave I got for bruising my knee when I tackled that asshole. And this loser with his tiny little dick. How’s he ever getting any women with that thing? Mine’s bigger. Yeah, definitely bigger. Then those other gorillas, fuckin animals with cocks no woman would want; probably all rapists. Mine is probably the perfect size, actually—oh, wait, it’s moving, he’s… he’s… leaking like a fountain! Ahhh… and I’m NOT A HOMOSEXUAL!” Better him than me. I haven’t seen such things since I was about 7 years old, when my brother and I would pretty much pee anywhere we liked, in anyone’s presence. As men, we keep the eyes above shoulder level and I’m under no orders to do otherwise. So you see, it is the man holding his Gun who wields the power… not the spectator. Don’t believe it is humiliating. Instead, take the approach of the 7 year old: Weeee! Train your eyes on the bottom of the cup, chin buried in your chest. Sometimes you’re clothed, or just in your boxers (maybe you go for the tighty- whities), and sometimes They strip you completely nude. Sometimes They stand behind you, or beside, or directly in front of your piece. Remain focused on the little plastic cup. Exhale and let your gut sag all the way out… let loose. Relax your temples, neck, shoulders, arms, and breathe. In Breath, Out Piss. In Breath, Out Piss. While your at it, fill that baby right up to the rim. “Here you go, ready to chug. Shots on the house!” If you really can’t tinkle this time, no worries, man. All They do is put you aside for awhile, eventually alone in a cell, and give you 4 hours to figure out how to get a liquid form of you swirling around in the cup. The only ones who Can’t Go under these circumstances are those who know the urine is “dirty.” For the dudes who are getting high, zonked-out and giggling at a TV screen… Oh well, I guess they just need more reasons to give that shit up.

16. Dear Ol’ School, Whaddya do when them muddafuggas trash your cell?

--Excellent. I needed to re-organize anyway. Usually They just move a few things around, sheets & blankets are off the mattress, and the drawer is emptied onto the bed. To be sure, there are several variations on The Man’s Home Invasion/Re-Decorating Techniques: DEFCON 1. The “I don’t really want to mess with your shit, but The Brass says we need to start searching 3 cells a day, so I gotta make it look good,” garden variety. This cop basically just wants to go back to reading his newspaper, sleeping, or shootin’ the shit on his cell phone. There is an implied agreement that he makes the bunk look extra fucked-up (for dramatic FX) and you pretend you have been thoroughly searched with a fine-tooth comb. It’s no biggie; this is when you accept that at times the Cop has to do what the Boss tells him. Let it slide. DEFCON 2. This is the standard issue “10 Minute up to the Limit semi-smash while you’re not in the cell” maneuver. Like the garden variety, this is a little dessert for you come home to, after chow or after work. Surprise! He does an inventory of all your basic shit and confiscates anything non-regulation. To wit: The set of headphones you copped for two bags of coffee that have a name sanded off with a stone, and you used a needle to etch your name in place. He grabs anything more than 8 socks/T-shirts/boxers. He snags the paper clips, rubber bands, empty plastic jugs, and that extra pillow which comes in handy when you’re up late at night reading the observations of Ol’ School. The nature of DEFCON 2 is that you don’t get jammed-up for anything. They throw stuff out as you plot how to replace all your McGyver gadgets. DEFCON 3. Oh yeah, it’s Fiesta Time. This is the “Strip Search and stow-away to another room or handcuff-to-the-rail, Don’t Think You Can Stop Us demolition” move. They’re reading your mail looking for any sign (tat art, sets in the air, etc.) which makes these insecure and ignorant types believe that something is going on. They search your photographs, thinking that the Mail Cop isn’t as top-notch a detective as themselves, and that any big Osama message will soon be discovered. They read your legal work, unsure of what they’re looking at but knowing there is some useful nugget to find, and maybe the Attorney General will give them an award at the yearly banquet. Shit gets damaged. Kool-Aid and laundry detergent (which they, at first, think is some mother-stash of dope, or coke, or creatine… or something illegal). Dirty clothes mixed with clean, cellie’s gear swamped with your own, fans broken, see-through shit not seen through (so They crack it open instead). It’s all good in the ‘Hood, New Jack, so just roll with it. I take the opportunity for a little Spring Cleaning. If you have a little O.C.D. (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a common issue with cell-dwellers), approach this as your medicine.

17. Dear Ol’ School, They wanna put me away and bury me! -You best get in that Law Library, son. When my first cellmate in prison found out I was facing a murder beef, he told me that: “You best get in that Law Library.” If this guy ever said anything wise in his life, his words to me were genius. I had no idea what this library scene was all about. Where? When? What the Hell good is it gonna do anyways? But, like a good Grasshopper, I was soon to find out all that and more. Every prison facility is equipped with the books you need to defend yourself in court. It’s the law to show us the law, and you need to know the law to fight the law. How vast this library must be is subject to debate; The Man will always have an interest in keeping you as ignorant as He can get away with, so its on the strength of martyrs, outcasts, and lawsuits that we keep any books on the shelves. It won’t be advertised, and the usage will be as limited as can be, enough to keep you off balance and impotent. The Man will also try to throw you in segregation for helping Brother Convicts with the law. My advice is 2-fold: 1 Fold: Screw ‘em. A little seg time is chump change; gives you a change of scenery and time to focus on your reading and preparation (essential to every legal case); 2 Fold: Take The Man to court in a Civil Rights Action (See: Federal Statute Title 42 § 1983), and read the U.S. Supreme Court case, Johnson v. Avery. To remember that, just remember the former point guard of the San Antonio Spurs: super-smiling Avery Johnson. (The ruling is that They can’t stop us from helping each other unless THEY are willing/able to help us Themselves.) So back to you and your case: Start with the statute you’re charged with; look up “Robbery” (or whatever) in the index of “General Laws.” A law clerk or any Bro in there can easily show you that much. We would much rather show you HOW to use the books, rather than hold your hand every step of the way. You are the only one whose life is at stake in your own case. You’re the one who goes to every court date, has the paperwork, signs the documents, etc. The law clerks can be here today, gone tomorrow. After you get into the General Laws, they will hi-light a few relevant cases, known as “caselaw.” This is what judges have ruled in the appeals of guys who came before you. This decides how the laws are to be interpreted and used. From those beginning cases you can cross-reference; this is called “Shephardizing” a case. Ask a law clerk, or local knowledgeable dude, how to use the massive listings in Shephard’s books. This is the heavy-duty research, which is essential. Keep in mind the scheme: Only cases that were lost at trial are appealed and thereby end up In The Books. Those who won remain unknown, so you only get tips from the losers. Wouldn’t you rather watch game-tape of the Steelers, in how to beat the Patriots, instead of the slew of squads who lost? As for me, I approached my own case with the three cats I can trust: Me, Myself, and I. This was the most important project I could ever imagine working on, and so there was no hesitation in committing myself to the research. It took me 3 full years to resolve the whole pile of bullshit, and I was up against a $Multi-Million Ma$chine, which didn’t know fact from fiction. The scary part is that They didn’t really care. Work with your lawyer, not against It. Help It help you, and know what the fuck is going on. Why show trust? Do you know this Character? Whether It’s an overburdened Public Defender, a drunkard, fool, or a GimmeMyMoneyMothafucka, or even a kind-hearted genius… you have no reason to turn over your trust merely because you see a suit. (The biggest swindlers in history ALWAYS wore suits.) Make this attorney say, “We can’t just pull the wool over this guy’s eyes. He wakes up pretty early; he’s not the average New Jack.” Remember: Knowledge is power, but don’t waste the ammo. If its time for your appeal, a lá you lost the trial, all the same still applies. Don’t be the guy with 8 years in The Can, lost the direct appeal, and NOW he starts to study the law. If you can scour a Sports Section, you can scope the law. If you can memorize song lyrics, you can retain the judicial rhetoric. However… I’m not in La-La Land New Jack, I know that English may not be your first language, or you may be barely literate, etc. The legal mumbo-jumbo is indeed complicated, so here’s a deuce of tactics: Uno: Continually work on your English language skills over the days, months, and years. See the GED teacher, get a Literacy Tutor, read, write, and scope things which challenge you to Think. You wouldn’t believe how far I’ve seen men progress with this mongrel step-child of a language we call English. Dos: BE VERY E-Z 2 HELP. I have assisted many in the legal realm, some of whom were Spanish, Laotian, or illiterate; but most were able to read and write (definitely not idiots) although they were looking for the best Legal Rep available. If you do manage to find a helping hand, answer his questions and DO NOT badger him; and don’t go giving him some bells n’ whistles tale of woe. Just the facts. The longer you stay in his ear, the less work he can actually do. Be willing to work; he may scribble down a rough draft and need you to either type it, or re-write it in neat penmanship (yes, hand-written work is acceptable in court. Blood on a napkin is legit, if ya wanna get technical about it.) If your People on the street can help with the typing, postage, and calling the Court Clerk (“Did you file the motions? When is the next court date?”) get them on board with you. For those who help you, Inside and Outside, keep them on your Christmas List. They could be sitting around watching soap operas, running ball, or doing their own legal work—they don’t have to get all wrapped up in your saga, dealing with all that frustration and bullshit. When I help someone in The Can, I need some sort of proof as to how bad they want it. If you won’t sacrifice, why should I? And if I consider you capable of doing it yourself, then I’ll just yell at you for being a lazy bastard trying to pawn off the mental aggravation involved. There’s too many helpless dudes around, with worthy causes, for me to carry the weight of the educated man. I had a Bro who spent 5 years working on his own case and never once asked me to take over the operation. This guy even took some of the weight off me, by lending a hand to some of the New Jacks to the law. As such, he was free to get a second opinion from me here and there. After 8 years in on a 30-year sentence, he flipped his case and walked free. Like he kept screaming: Innocent all along. The sooner you get off your ass and get it in the law library, as a regular, the shallower a grave you’ll be digging out of. If the pen is mightier than the sword, build your heart into a flak-jacket and your mind into an arsenal.

18. Dear Ol’ School, What’s my chances on parole? -Don’t rush the end of the Bid. It comes when its time. Imagine: you’re serving Life Without Parole. How would you live out your days? Okay, so you would ponder suicide for a while; that’s the normal starter’s kit. And yet the fact remains that most prison suicides are amongst those doing the shortest stretches, as they feel the constant, immediate weight of life’s pressures. Us big timers (the Ol’ Schools of American prisons) have ended that past life, it’s over, and we reside in a House of the Dead (as Dostoyevski dubbed it). We must invent some new existence, from scratch, and we never had much training in this department. So what would it look like? Consider yourself as a plant. Whether a weed, rose, redwood or bonsai, all plants want to grow; they all strive to be sturdy, colorful, and adapted to their elements. Plants in the Arctic don’t give up, nor in the desert—and they don’t just sit around complaining about not living in the tropics, or dwelling on the glory days of grace in the botanical garden. So settle in, sink your roots, and learn how to change sunlight into power. Photosynthesis for the soul. The guy focused on parole does everything for parole. He goes to classes for parole, says “what They want to hear” for parole, jeffs with the cops for parole, even manipulates his Baby’s Momma for parole. He sets up this great Hope, a paper pyramid, which is ultimately blown away into the desolate sands of nevermore. A man starts feeling like he did everything he was “supposed to do,” and believes the Parole Board owes him something. That attitude sets up a tower of resentment and bitterness, two emotions which leave a plant stuck in its shell, feasting on its own energies. At my first parole hearing, They opened with: “So what do you do with your time?” I had been locked up for almost 7 years and was rarely on the phone, rarer still were my visitors (as I never lived near the prison, friends and family were far away.) Here I was surrounded by the 5-Headed face of The Man, yet I felt relaxed in his lair. It was just a conversation, a visit—we all knew I wasn’t getting parole. “Right now I’m trying to save up enough money so I can quit my job and focus on my artwork.” It was a gut reaction, early in the morning, based on my honest perspective of the past few weeks. Like any other artist or writer, success is defined by quitting the Day Job; in the meantime, we take sabbaticals (if we can) to experiment with the intensity of full-time creation. My response prompted The Man to engage in a substantial conversation, quickly filling up 20 minutes. I was able to reflect on the internal/external forces that led me to this violent moment in time, A.K.A. The Crime. It is not the Parole Board’s duty to get me out of prison, nor are They empowered to bless me worthy of redemption. They’re merely a handful of folks who are True Believers in the so-called “System.” Such Believers usually see the world in black/white, good/evil, you’re with us or against us, etc. Much of the Truth just doesn’t compute, as shades of gray require subtle judgments and challenged assumptions. I, for one, make more sense to Them as an Evil Genius, than as a man who is truly sorry and will now use his supapowers for Good (or something like that.) Parole isn’t an election campaign and we can’t win any votes; it is easier for Them to presume we are all savages, and Their duty is to monitor our self-control. “Rehabilitation” is considered to be: the punishment is severe and painful enough for a man to never want to experience this Hell again. Sort of like letting your child touch the stove, just so he can learn that lesson for once and for all. Unfortunately (for everybody) They misunderstand the actual issues. Can They learn? I don’t know—but if a gorilla can talk, dogs can sniff bombs, and dolphins can work for the U.S. Navy… well there is always a chance. At any rate, you probably want some timeline idea about getting parole:

1st SHOT After a third of your bid comes 1st Shot. This is reserved for the Vicious Stool Pigeons. If you know someone who got released on the first review, and they aren’t dying of cancer (costing the State too much loot for health care)—be suspicious, very suspicious. If YOU get parole under these circumstances, and still have the sack to be reading this book, look in the mirror and spit on yourself… and then commit to a new life of dignified behavior; accept the karma of repercussions you will receive down the line. If you’re a Vicious Stoolie waiting on the Board to read your “Letter of Cooperation” from the Attorney General: #1 The Board sees so many of those letters, it most likely won’t get you out. Ha Ha! I can’t believe you fell for that sucka shit. #2 If you think you’re Stoolie-game is that tight, close this book and suck somethin’. The goal of a Hearing debut is to get the “one year review.” For a Big Timer this is a score because usually it takes 3 strikes to get the Hell out of here. A 2-year review (what Ol’ School got) is the norm if you’re serving over 12 years… and you can get mollywhopped with a 3 or 5-year jammy if you got some dirty urines, assaulted the cops, escape attempt (or success?), etc. In my travels, hiring a lawyer doesn’t change any of this 1-5 year window, so save some change, stay out of unnecessary trouble, and accumulate some productive time to talk about. As for fake remorse: People usually think they are better actors than they truly are, so find a way to side-step that temptation. (Think of a really cheesy 4 a.m. Straight-to-Cable movie; those pathetic actors are professionals, yet somehow the director kept on filming.) And don’t go trying out your Bullshit Game on the fellow convicts. Most won’t even tell you when they think you’re a fraud, because we don’t care if you try that gambit in a parole hearing. We generally give each other the big Thumbs-up in public, but in private we are a cynical mass of non-believers. So if you ain’t real, don’t bother setting yourself up for the spike—right down your spine.

 Although the voice of The Man at this hearing was a woman’s, she is still, and always, “The Man” until further notice. Ol’ School trusts that you know what is meant. Using any other term, to embrace any politically correct Title IX spirit of transgender equality would miss the abstract of reality. Any New Jack, or New Jackess, who has a problem with the masculine personification of the power structure… take it up with The Man. 2nd SHOT If you’re on the slow track, this is your chance to shift gears. What have you done since the Board gave you that 5-year hit? If you’re on the fast track, you may actually have a chance, so be ready. If you’re a Big Timer, They may give you a “Release Date” of a year or two. (Release Dates for Mid-Time dudes, 4 to 10 years, are around 60 days to one year.) With these delayed Release Dates, you don’t need to have a job and home all lined-up. Within a few months of the actual release, They will check on that stuff. At my second hearing, They basically got into a little discussion group with me, about the nature of crime and punishment. My central thesis was, and is, that in any “War” (on Drugs, generic Enemies of Freedom, and other such devices worthy of a full-scale P.R. campaign, complete with new government jobs which provide guns and badges and loyal votes, etc.), peace will not be found until all sides can come together at the bargaining table. We The Alleged Criminals are not being represented, therefore all of these wanna-be “liberal” ideas are doomed to failure. Addiction, violence, and underground economics will continue. My strength (if I may be so bold, bear with me) is as a communicator, able to speak in the various English dialects and to understand the others’ point of view. But anyway, I digress. The Board told me to “keep doing what you’re doing.” No complaints from me. 3rd SHOT For those of us who are accepting a punishment (which is easier when we actually committed the crime), and for those New Jacks living a respectable existence, it’s reasonable to expect a Release Date on the 3rd Shot at parole. I told a lawyer’s rep before the hearing: “I can get a two-year release date on my own. If you can get me out sooner, I’ll pay you whatever you want.” The lawyer never got back to me, and I went on to get a two-year release. (Not like I could pay whatever he wanted, but I would’ve mowed his lawn for a really long time. Honest.) What if you’re the guy who is offered parole just a few months shy of flattening the bid? First of all: stop bitchin and moanin. You have a choice. Either take a chance of living modestly and legit on the Set, work without a cop breathing down your throat, cook what you like, sleep without noise, have your woman, play with the kids, watch anything on the tube, play the pimpin’ car thief video game, get some tattoos, shit in privacy, order a citizenship-seeking bride from a corporate sponsored War Zone™, smoke your stoags, sink into a couch, do flips on the mattress, and all other things of that nature… Or you can keep on doing that time in The Joint. By staying Inside you guarantee the time will be served. By taking parole, you have a chance to avoid a Violation and cut the time. You can’t win if you don’t play, but you can’t play if you ain’t got a dollar to buy a ticket. The Parole Board doesn’t care if you tell them to “shove that parole straight up their ass.” we’re just numbers, accounting statistics. I’m 93174, How are yah? The warden, governor, cops, cons… so few care, it can hardly be mentioned. A bed will always be open, and the taxpayers won’t revolt any time soon. They don’t know and don’t want to know, even at $40k per year, what is going on with us. They fall for the propaganda about Tough on Crime and Coddling criminals with all our luxuries. Ignore that crap. Some of you are blessed with families, children, parents, and close friends… they care. They count, and they want you back in their world— preferably sane, peaceful, and with a strong sense of vitality. How should they feel if you’d rather stay in a prison cell than come out to live with them? Explain that one to the munchkins. Go tell that Family Court judge, as it makes his job that much easier. God helps those who help themselves, and Luck favors the prepared man; two axioms to live by. There are enough who do, and they keep us involved in their lives, leaving very little time for those who don’t. It’s your choice New Jack.  However, it should be noted that if you are Violated, the parole time doesn’t count towards the time left on your bid. And if you’re given parole again, the time to serve on parole starts back at zero. Ex.: Be 4 years into 5 years of parole, then get a technical Violation for being “out of bounds,” serve another month in prison. When you get parole back, you now have to do 4 years/11 months of parole. That last 4 years goes Poof! Like it never happened. You’re only “paranoid” if there are no Black Helicopters tracking your nocturnal maneuvers; and you’re only “over-reacting” if the System is actually fair and honest. 19. Dear Ol’ School, Why don’t they see I’ve changed?

--You can change yourself in an instant; It’s the perception from others that takes time. The nature of “doing it for myself” is that nobody else will notice. Yet how often do we find ourselves hoping, wanting, wondering why we can’t get recognition for our growth? This is our selfishness, whether we groomed it by being spoiled or neglected children; we’re seeking attention, and it is an understandable, although shallow, way of being. People are entitled to make judgments. We analyze, choose, and discern the “right” course of action many times each day. Sometimes we overanalyze, others we go on instinct; for one there is a statistical pattern, for another it is blatantly obvious. Taking a job, meeting a woman, having a drink with an old acquaintance, reconciling with an abusive spouse, encouraging a parent-child relationship with an addicted parent… these are all judgment calls, some which carry high stakes, and we try to make the best choices. Who wants to be a sucka, trampled on two or three times? So as I keep saying: You must become immune to everyone else’s opinion. To a certain degree, Fuck ‘em. No need to go around hating the whole world (you’ve probably been there already, or are still there). What I’m saying is to find your own philosophy and FOLLOW it. Like minds and like hearts attract, so the question is: Are you living the life of someone you want as a friend? Father? Son? Anybody can say anything and run whatever game fits the scenario. Most of us are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, however, most of us don’t have anything invested in you. Don’t think that people are gonna come out of the woodwork to vouch for you, trust you, and all that. You’re now on Double Heavy-Duty Probation with humankind, not just the government, and once we catch you bullshittin’—its over. I’m someone who may see the fraudulent as being pathetic and weak, vain attempts to get your way through manipulations… But, then again, I have a little more compassion for you and your situation than the average bear. Most people see the moves and are just sick of it, sick of you, and this merely reinforces their opinion of your “evil nature.” Because people (family, in particular) don’t want to totally dispose of you, because true human nature is inherently pulsing with the force of love, they would rather think “nothing”—acknowledge nothing. It is a temporary write-off. They know up close and personal how long a way, and how long the time you have towards everlasting Change; so don’t expect any great pats on the back because you’ve got a couple certificates in Anger Management, Cognitive Restructuring, and Domestic Violence. If we in the prison think these classes are a joke, a paycheck for some disinterested social work hypocrite, then how can we expect others to see a class like postgraduate studies at Harvard? Look man, you fell off. Change is mandatory, not an achievement. See life like a training sequence from “Rocky”, with whatever theme music you prefer, for however long your bid shall last. When he was “feeling strong now…” he was always alone, arms raised to a statue at dawn, and he drew his confidence and approval from deep within. Put in the work and the time to let your mind sweat. 20. Dear Ol’ School, But nobody’s gonna hire an ex-con out there. -If ya can’t get in the front, go to the back. If the back door’s locked, check the window.If the window don’t open... try the chimney… Learn all the skills you can NewJack. So what if you have to be twice as good, twice as fast, and always on time? Did you expect to walk through this world half as good, half as fast, and show up at your whimsy? It’s time make a commitment. Picture yourself floating across the ocean to this country, paddling from wherever you want, where you had made some mistakes as a young man-– and their government wasn’t quite feeling those moves. You show up on these shores haggard, broke, gaunt, and physically spent. Your mind is scarred after all those months at sea, but it feels relief. And your spirit... that mighty force which survived and conquered just for the sake of a new beginning, the fire inside you is a pillar from earth to heaven. Now what do you do? The paperwork version of you, the official file, is never gonna look good. You can’t fix it, so screw it. How many people are hiring and working “under the table”? That shows you how blatantly the average American doesn’t give a shit about what the Official System dictates. And guess what? Nobody is calling up the IRS as employment stoolies. With a few million illegal immigrants working illegally in this country, don’t give me the “Nobody’s Hiring” story. (Unless you want to talk Macro-Economics, of Keynesian, Marxist, and Malthusian concepts) You have a few options:

* Be honest and up-front about the whole prison thing; * Leave the “Convicted of a Felony” question blank; * Work under the table without even filling out a job application; * Pass yourself off as an illegal immigrant; * Assume a new identity; * Reconcile and rebuild some burnt bridge... If you had some preconceived notions about the way it’s supposed to be, well you can toss those in a sewer drain. It “is” however you have to make it. Life is a unique experience and so is the job market. Some of the questions are: Have you been convicted of a felony in the past five years? The past 5 years. If you’ve put some time in, or are only back in The Can due to a violation, it may be awhile since that last felony. So that answer is easy: “NO”. There are strengths to cull form life in the Joint. Find yours and stress them to an employer. Discipline, mental toughness, value on physical health, sacrifice, priorities, multi-cultural atmosphere, sobriety... such attributes are qualities a boss may wish in all his/her workers. Or for those who find their calling as foot soldiers for the community: what substitute is there for your experience? Drugs, crime, violence, pride, youth, oppression, materialism, ignorance, poverty, greed, injustice, police brutality, tribalism-- these are the issues which hold our sufferings. These are the realms in which a prisoner finds his home. The most important thing is to have a vision. Discover the motive for your motivation which taps from the core of your soul. Maybe you have names tattooed on your body and you want them to live deep lives as loving, powerful, intelligent adults. Think of those days floating on the raft. Think of why you want a second chance at freedom. Leave no stone unturned, no avenue untravelled, and don’t have too much pride for assistance. Asking isn’t begging; folks would rather give you a fishing pole than a fish.

21. Dear Ol’ School, Why do They treat us like pieces of shit? -God Bless ‘em, every one. Sure you’ve got a serious stack of lemons, and your Momma gave you the tiniest juicer to make lemonade, but find your way to humility and gratitude. Okay fine, lets pause and take stock of The Man’s Minions: Lots of power, mostly unchecked; Inferiority Complexes, megalomania, manic- depressive, childhood traumas, insecurities, chaotic wife and kids. They’ve got x-wives and X-mas presents calling out for their cash. Some are too fat, too short, wallowing in credit card debts, and surrounded by wise-ass tough guys who think they’re tough-ass Wise Guys. Wow: They sound like Us! Granted, we would like society’s representatives to be more honest, fair, professional, thick-skinned, unbiased, competent, and have enough initiative to unlock a door and pass out the mail. With a bit of Convict unity and our Peoples getting political, we could ensure quite a bit of that. It is in society’s best interest to staff this place with some noble Centurions rather than a ragtag bunch of paycheck-mongers. But in the meantime, are you gonna let Them be the focal point of your program? Its debatable whether a torture chamber will scare us away from criminal behavior, or if some school/clinic institution can teach and cure us into a better way of life. By all means try to improve the situation for the next guy—I’ll be there with you. The main reason prison is the way you found it (a kinder, gentler, antiseptic genocide) is because the last New Jack got released and never bothered working towards prison reform. He left prison, and everything about prison left him. So: You gonna be the next repeat offender who comes back bitchin about how this place is worse now than you remember it? Remember it. Remember how you would rather be broke than in prison, because it seems like that goes out the window as soon as a dude is broke. Appreciate the men, women and children who treat you with dignity—because now you truly know the difference. See a smile, give a smile. Say “please” and “thank you” because respect breeds respect. You need to build good habits for your new life (or hold on tight to the good pieces of you), and take pity on the man who is so lost, so ignorant, he is impelled to vent his frustrations in your direction. You gotta pick your battles, New Jack. Your enemy is your greatest teacher. Story time Homeboy: One morning a farmer was working his fields outside of a village and along comes a weary traveler with a walking stick and satchel slung over his shoulder. After their greetings, the traveler asks the farmer to tell him about the people in the village. “What were the people like in your village?” The farmer replies. “Well,” the traveler sighs, “the people in my village were very selfish and not all that nice. They were only focused on making lots of money, fought a lot, disrespected the elders and drank liquor long into the night.” “That’s unfortunate,” the farmer calmly spoke, “because you’ll find much of the same in this village.” The traveler continued along in low spirits, as the farmer kept to the tilling of his field. Near the day’s end, another young man, clearly from far off, came walking along the road. He saw the farmer, and after greetings he asked the same question about the people in this village. “What were the people like in your village?” The farmer, again, responds. “Oh, well…” the second traveler perked up, “the people of my village are a fine and noble people. Everyone is very polite and looks after one another. We stress hard work and education; it was very difficult for me to leave on my journey because I love my friends and family so much.” “Excellent!” The farmer cries out, “You’ll find much of the same in this village.” 22. Dear Ol’ School, How do you put up with all these dirty shitbums? -The best thing I can give my Brothers is a good example. These so-called “Scumbags” are my People. Some have good hygiene, some don’t. Some have impeccable manners, others may be deemed entirely “uncivilized.” (C’mon now, this ain’t a country club.) Of all the securities, Minimum demands the most intense interaction with others (cells being from 2 to 10-Man, and the common bathroom w/o doors on the stalls, etc.) so it deserves a little xtra attention here. However, the lessons apply everywhere. The reason most of the slobs live as such is because they have no sense of “home.” Would they piss on the toilet seat at home? Okay, some would, but there are consequences from Moms and wives and all that. In prison, they sense nobody is watching, no one of Authority. And their concept is not that they are pissing on our toilet seats, but rather it is The Man’s toilet seat, a stand-in for the face of The System. Without self-discipline to do the right thing for the sake of doing the right thing, and without the proper paradigm through which to view OUR living conditions, we will continue to see this self-defecating behavior. Lost souls have difficulty respecting others, and those who have a dirty view of themselves, will exhibit that through their actions. What we need is to help them find an anchor to this earth, a sense of Home. I tolerate all the immaturity because of empathy, a trait I try to cultivate, especially while it’s in short supply. Put yourself in the next guy’s shoes, and recognize his pain, his ignorance or whatever else it is which keeps him like a bewildered barnyard animal, like a lost boy in the mall, screaming, “Mommy!” (I remember that terror of being lost quite vividly…) People in the Joint are hurtin’ for certain. Everybody is in a financial hole, responsibilities aren’t being met, there’s a dying family member, relationships on the outs, and there’s no more clouds to smoke-up around their heads to dull the senses to reality. WHAM! Prison: the left hook for ya ass. It can be difficult to grasp the focus to maintain ourselves, and we all don’t have some cutie coming up to the Visiting Room expecting us to look and smell good. Some convicts are mentally disabled through no fault of their own, and shouldn’t even be in the criminal inJustice system. I don’t expect all my Brothers’ minds to have the pistons firing at the same rate as my own, (and yet I’m the one who can never find the motivation to stay clean-shaven or worry about a stain on my clothes.) I look around and I see so many psyches in shambles. There are men still fighting what the Vietnam War did to them, and now they’re in a cellblock with Southeast Asians to make his illness even more intense. There are those who have been on so many different medications, they can’t even keep track of their diagnosis (nevermind the real possibility that these meds may have permanently altered his brain frequencies for the worse.) Many of my Brothers had “Child Advocates” who stuck-up for them as juveniles, because of abuse and abandonment, and all kinds of fucked-up shit… yet that 2-bit System discards its compassion and consideration as soon as he is old enough to look humane in the chains. I happen to look superb in chains, as the silver contrasts with my dark hair and the shine resembles the Defiant glint in my eyes. But enough of that artistic notation… Unlike many of our so-called “Pro-Life” activists in this country, some of us see the value in humans after they come out of the womb, after they make mistakes, after they’re tortured, after they have done all those things which make certain sorts of folks think of people as Other People. I respect another man’s pain, and I won’t condemn someone for not bouncing back from being beaten, robbed, raped, addicted, and the slings and arrows of the world. There are straws gently falling from the sky every day, ever so softly, and landing on a man’s back… breaking it in two. Nobody is a “scumbag”. They just aren’t adapting well to our jungle version of civilization with bodies piled high in the sky. This prison environment isn’t natural, it’s evil. I generally find myself remembering that when the water rises to my eyebrows. To be honest, I have less patience for the cops (and the collaborators who defend them). The cop goes home, the longest he has to put up with someone is a few hours. He has days off, sleeps and shits elsewhere, doesn’t wait in any of our lines... I’m not too concerned with his stress level. If he (or she) can’t feel good around us feeling bad, well maybe that’s a lesson about the Superiority Complex: just thinking you’re better than the next human being doesn’t bring happiness or peace of mind. Yeah it can be tough on the forehead in the Joint. Some days it seems like nobody is worth a damn. But keep punching the clock, and make it through to the next shift. You never know what you might find when you keep an open mind to let it come.

23. Dear Ol’ School, This stuff ’s all fine n’ dandy, but I’m Gangsta. -Good. Then get to loving this Shit. If you want to be “Gangsta,” and be a proud member of this crime & punishment merry-go-round, then don’t complain about it. If you’re making a conscious choice to be away from your family, don’t bitch when they make the choice to cancel you from their Christmas List. The money for TV’s, radios, and store orders will stop flowing and you can ride solo… as a Gangsta. Maybe you’re the “gang member” Gangsta—so where’s your gang? Are they holding it down? Are you bucking for each other in the cell block? Are they giving cash to your family, and are you recruiting new members on the Inside? A true Gangsta, as you know it, is at home in prison; he’s a hardcore muthafucka and the cops don’t wanna fuck with him, lest they end up like the last fool who stepped to the Gangsta. Okay. So let us assume you see a few flaws in the Gangsta creed, particularly if you’re serving longer than a punk bid. (Gangstas and rappers just love those 90-day pump-up bids. If you could get 6 months for murder, the bodycount would go through the roof just to make a name.) But do YOU wanna stay Hard? You want to defy this coward culture and sink some footprints in the sidewalk? Then get an education. Knowledge is the most dangerous weapon you could ever wield; if you get The Man’s diploma… The Man only mocks Himself, and loses ground in stopping you. If you believe that the enemy has divided and conquered the working poor folks of the world, strike back and unify. If you believe that the enemy keeps your kind out of college by jacking the tuition and ushering the Commoners towards prison, then tap your shoes and wiggle your way in the cracks—earn a degree and flaunt it. If you think the enemy hustled heroin and cocaine into our neighborhoods, then stay sober and stop selling His shit. If you think the enemy uses DCYF and Family Court to mold our children into orphans of the barely living, then create a household where you can live the lesson of what it means to be a man in this world. Renegades and Gangstas look at the status quo and spit before they clear their throats. They are too independent, too mentally strong for all this peer pressure and cultural norms. They ask, “Why Not?!” Toss aside the tools of enslavement (pills, booze, weed, etc.) and get a grasp of what’s going on. Find a source of spiritual strength to dwarf the worship of Money, our #1 False God. Most religions are methods of dis-empowerment, so check The Truth against your deepest clear-minded compass. If it doesn’t register Correct, then walk away and roll alone like a rhinoceros—an original Gangsta. He who chooses to terrorize his own neighborhood, kill his kind and steal from his own… he is a Collaborator. He who celebrates his ignorance perpetuates weakness in his family; he devolves and leaves his lineage worse- off than when he was born. Peddling products that create a Street of The Living Dead all adds up to working for The Man. You want to be a foot-soldier for genocide? Look New Jack, if we want our children to be our community’s doctors, lawyers, teachers, and musicians—we better start acting like it. The alternative is that we breed the next generation of hookers and crack fiends. We don’t get two rolls of the dice in life; it’s a one shot deal. By going with the flow, we allow the future, our own future, to be shaped by someone or something else. Fuck the flow—That’s Gangsta!

24. Dear Ol’ School, Should I keep a shank stashed somewhere?

-There’s only 2 reasons to fight, New Jack: For sport and to the death.

If you keep a weapon handy, it’s no different than waking up every morning and putting a 9mm in your waistband for protection—sooner or later you will use it, and the results are generally nothing pretty. Rarely do we use our weapons in actual self-defense, which is what the original intent was. What usually happens is that there is some insult to our pride and we get all red in the face with a bit of steam creeping out our eyeballs. Then, without time to think (or to think about this one compulsive, obsessive emotion) we reach for the tool and take our best shot towards a Life Bid. No planning, no regard for witnesses, evidence, nor escape… and this is why our Big Houses are full of big-timers. The jumbo-size ego becomes a bubble around you, all puffed-up and creating a vast space between your physical self and this extended skin. These bubble-egos brush up on others much more easily than the small man, as the JumboMan simply needs far too much of our common area. Just to get some breathing room from the omnipresent JumboMan, someone can feel obligated to pull out a needle and… POP! Psssssss… let your air out a bit. Now what? As the saying goes, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Whatever you do, don’t “cell-fight.” Cell-fighters bark up 3 kinds of Hell when the doors are locked, expressing with certainty about how many pounds of ass they will kick and the most wicked fury to be unleashed once these doors are opened. It sounds childish to use the airwaves as your battleground, and now we all expect you to be true to your game. And then we have the most tragic irony, where the Cell-fighter (who isn’t really out to kill anyone, he’s just letting off some steam) scares his target into fully believing he is an endangered species. Naturally, he must take action. Unlike the American Buffalo who stand on the range as easy prey, this dude decides to sharpen up a device or throw a lock in a sock. The doors pop and he comes out souped- up, freaked-out, and flailing at your eyes. Oh—you were just fuckin’ around? Oops. For sport and to the death. We don’t have any boxing rings where I did my time, so sport is basically out; though it would ease a lot of tension if the sporting option were in. As for “to the death,” this is only legal or moral when one is saving lives by killing a killer—most importantly, your own potential killer. This brings us back to the JumboMan, with his big, obnoxious bubble, and he is at the heart of 88.1% of all prison beefs. (Okay, I made up that percentage and inserted the dial number of my favorite college radio station, but the figure is, in essence, correct.) If it’s too difficult right now to just “let that shit go,” and if you aren’t prepared to let the past be part of your personal evolution into a deeper shade of humanity: Fight him; but do it with integrity and honor. No shanks, mop handles, nor locks; no ambushes nor 3 on 1 jump- street… go Head-Up. There is rarely a prison “fight zone,” but if you feel the need to arrange some 3pm behind Officer Smith’s guard shack sort of thing, fine, whatever. A measly 20 days in seg for fighting is nothing, and you generally get caught anyway. Cops see somebody’s eye all lumped-up, they ask questions, line y’all up and start checking hands for bloody knuckles. And don’t forget the Stoolpigeon Factor, with their malicious gossip from fink lips. Just go at it, wherever you are. If your foe is bigger, draw upon your heart and skill to get those shots off. If he’s badder, earn your stripes as a Man who is delivering a message in courage and righteousness. And if you have this muthafucka right where you want him, show some dignity and self-control. You have to live with this guy, his friends, and his family for quite a while longer; possibly for the rest of your life. So just win the fight to a degree where he knows it, and he knows you spared him a few injuries. Don’t give anybody a reason to seek vengeance with a metal spike deflating your lung. Floor the dude and walk away. With that said, I don’t believe that a Man needs to prove his inner worthiness by scoring high on the Violence-o-Meter. It only breeds a monster within, which drives you further and further from yourself. Even if you reach the pinnacle, and the entire Joint fears you, this doesn’t mean they respect you. There is a difference. “Respect” is when someone confides in you, trusts, and relies on some part of you. It is when they will vouch for your credibility, will hook you up with a job, allow you to baby-sit their kids or go out with their sister. Such things are not earned via your face-smashing abilities. The violent path does not improve your techniques in dealing with confrontation, in staying with your spouse or staying out of jail. What it does is put a target on your back. Any Gangsta who actually reads The Art of War, can tell you that a battle is won by he who avoids the battle. Physical confrontation is the final resort, after cool deliberation, not a hot-headed outburst, or else you will lose every time. A poorly won battle is a sure way to lose a war. What’s That? You want another story? Well, shit… One day there was a terrible snake which lived on the outskirts of town. This cobra bit everyone who roamed into his patch of woods, particularly the weaker people: small children and elderly. The entire town hated this reptile, and vowed to kill it. One day, Master Dogen was traveling through these woods and, being old, the cobra sprang its ambush to attack… yet instantly the enlightened wisdom of the Master quelled this evil. The snake thanked Master Dogen for his presence and proceeded to explain his terrible existence, how everyone hates him, and he does not want to go on living this way. He begs the Master to tell him what to do. “Do not bite anyone,” the Master said, and continued on his way. The snake was a bit unsettled, although deeply grateful. Biting was all he had ever done, all he had instinctively known to do. But he knew the instruction must be followed if he is ever to be free of this lowly existence. In time, the townsfolk saw the snake again, usually being the children while they are out to play. They threw rocks at the despised creature, trying to kill it, or at least to shoo it away. The snake did not attack. Weeks went by like this, and finally a boy crept in and smacked the snake with a stick. He managed to get away without being bitten. The snake, of course, was focused on the enlightened wisdom of Master Dogen, and was committed to obedience. Eventually the children realized that this old cobra would not, or could not, bite anymore; their courage grew until the snake was thoroughly thrashed at every encounter. A year passed before Master Dogen came back through this patch of woods— and he was surprised to see this swollen, bleeding, broken cobra sprawled out in front of him. “Oh great Master, I did what you asked. I did not bite a single person! It has been very painful, but enlightenment must be coming soon, no?” The Master sighed, “Cobra… I told you not to bite anyone, but I never told you not to Hiss!”

25. Dear Ol’ School, What’s the secret to staying sane? -Have weight; be a stone. A rock rises before you, sure of itself, steadied by the force of gravity and always firmly connected to the ground. The “secret” (if I can attempt to reveal one) is to have Meaning… There must be a reason for a thing to exist in nature, or else it will evolve into something different… perhaps even be destroyed. For a human, we must find a valuable part of ourselves which we feel obliged to share with the world. If at the end of today you can reflect on your actions and decide it is worthy of repeating again tomorrow, then you possess Meaning. If you can emit some form of strength and hope for your Brothers in Chains, your parents, children, siblings, and strangers, then you have Meaning. You need a reason to awaken and a purpose for the rejuvenation sleep brings. A heavy stone dropped in the lakes of Life will create ripples, as it already has, and then sink snugly down in the bottom as a part of the lake itself. Those who find me to be “insane” will mock my commentaries and insights as the delusional ravings of a madman sort of shit. But those fools will never know too much in this existence, because they’re ruined by thinking they’ve got all the answers. The question is not “how to tolerate an insane world.” If it were, we would be in a debate about which crutch/distraction/painkiller is the most effective. It is more important, and more illuminating, to become sane—a highly functional human who is unshakable with his sense of self. This book is an attempt to give you a few ideas; more than anything it is intended that you recognize the powerful possibilities that exist in your prison sentence. Grasping the Meaning in all this madness is the definite pathway to sanity. Epilogue I wrote this book months before my release into a world of uncertainty. Without a family structure, my realm consisted of former prisoners, their families, a few activists, and the handful of folks who waited all those years but lived miles away in other states. My bus commute was 2 hours (for $7.50/ hour) and I was on the electronic bradelet for a year. I never lived in Rhode Island, except behind its prison walls, but you think that was gonna stop me? Some Providence activists (Direct Action for Rights and Equality) began a project of presenting prisoners’ writings for a dramatic reading. The NewJack’s Guide became the framework for the writings and I found myself involved in a way to launch my artistic mission, to share our depths of humanity, our screams and cries from the ghetto. Eventually the project, Voice of the Voiceless, was developed into a full dramatic production. Three former prisoners were in the cast and I directed it in 7 venues. I never forgot the words of a Lifer I met during my first year Inside. He had been violated for being drunk behind the wheel of a parked car (he got a year violation for that). I asked him what it was like after 14 years, to adjust back into the world. “Easy,” he replied. People smile at you, say “please” and “thank you.” The technology is easy to catch up with. Tommy was right: They build things for seven year olds, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the internet, DVD players, cell phones, and the rest- but its pretty funny if you can laugh at yourself. Don’t think its all been easy. Oftentimes. I feel like I don’t fit in this society. When times are difficult, I see why many of us return to prison. Part of my dilemma is as an artist, being ultra-sensitive, chasing the dream, and there not being enough hours in the day or night. I spread myself thin, involved with politics, plays, tattoos, and I finally learned to edit film. Coming on two years now, and I have learned the basic skills to pursue my goals. I have a manageable budget (own a legitimate car), a few incredible friends, and lots of good people I wish I saw more. I encourage everyone to get as much an education as possible, in prison and out. We are trying to build an example here in Rhode Island, a place wallowing in cynicism, and our progress can be seen by the past election: 51% of RI voters restored our right to vote. Probation and Parole shouldn’t be barriers to being members of the community. There is space for everyone. “Normal Citizens” are feeding off our victories and believing in second chances, as we close the gap between misperceptions of Us and Them. People on the Outside are feeling the lessons of NewJack’s Guide as well. A great coach said to “Practice like you play,” and another said, “Practice doesn’t make perfect. Perfect makes perfect.” So do your best to train body and mind for the rest of your life. Once you optimize the spiritual strength bulging within your heart, existence begins to flow like water. Bruce Reilly (March 17, 2007) Free to prisoners Please share this with the person in the cell next to you.

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