April/May - Midnight Express Books

CORCORAN SUN
April/May 2011
ISSN 2162-2779 (Print) ISSN 2162-2760 (Online)
TO OUR READERS: "HOPE FOR SALE"
Awhile back, we were In the chow hall and one of the kitchen workers,
Mousie, passed by the table and asked "You guys alright? You need
anything from the kitchen?"
Issue 59
WHERE THE WOODS WON’T END
(Preview exerpt)
Chapter One: "The Golden Pony"
It was powered eggs & cold, half-cooked potatoes for breakfast, nobody
really wanted any more of that, but
somebody did ask, "You got any hope back
there?" Mousie didn't miss a beat and
answered, "They're sellin' it on the tier all
day long, 3 for 2." It was funny, sort of, in a
cynical convict kind of way. It didn't
necessarily mean anything specific, yet, in
its simplicity,that off-the-cuff remark stated
everything that anybody could ever say
about the condition of being locked up...
and, about life.
Many years ago there was a boy whose grandfather owned a horse farm in
north Missouri. This was no well-tended thoroughbred ranch, these were
work horses; back then people still used stock for plowing the fields or
pulling wagons. Every Sunday the family
would gather for dinner and sit around and
talk. The boy would listen to the adults
attentively and inevitably during the course of
conversation, the term 'horse sense' would
come up. How 'this' one or 'that' one didn't use
their horse sense, or didn't even possess any.
The boy always wondered what horse sense
was...as the horses around the farm didn't
seem, to be especially smart. In fact, the old
dirty animals seemed sort of broken down and
downright dumb.
Some of these guys have been sold false
hopes all their lives; by gangs, abusive or
abandoning parents, drugs and drug
dealers, teachers, lying and cheating
partners, shyster lawyers...so much so that
hope doesn‘t seem real anymore. You can
see It In their eyes--the ones who have
given up--the light is gone. They spend
their time & energy & what's left of
themselves going for the quick fix--a little
dope, a little wine, whatever seems to work.
It's a hell of a thing to see a man so beat
down by life that he's tired of getting back up. The thing about hope is,
it's priceless and Invaluable and impossible to let go of once you've had
a good taste. It is that little light inside that keeps you going when the
odds seem insurmountable. Just as the littlest candle can bring light to
the darkest room, even the smallest bit of hope can enlighten the
darkest spirit. You can't buy it on the tier, but it's free if you know where
to look for it.
The boy was always asking to ride them
though; he didn't care how big or dusty they
were. One day, the grandpa traded for this
beautiful Palomino pony. You know the kind,
with the blond mane and long tail, and gold
coat that shines in the sun. Well, the boy got a
Iook at that pony and fell In love immediately.
He begged and pleaded, "Please let me ride
the pony! Oh, PLEASE, I've got to ride that
pony!" Of course, the grandfather was softhearted, as most grandparents are, and the
old man gave in and lifted the boy up and put
him on the pony. The boy was thrilled and the grandfather was happy...for a
second. In an instant though, everything changed! The pony reared up on
its hind legs and when they came down, it took off in a full gallop!
Instinctively, the boy clung on to the mane and held on for dear life as the
pony took off across the pasture at top speed. Its hooves pounded the
ground like a rumbling train, and the wind cut into the boy's face as tears
streamed down his cheeks. He was scared to death, but he was excited,
too.
Those people In Japan who survived the earthquake, the tsunami, and
now nuclear radiation...losing loved ones and barely clinging to life
themselves; they're still going for it. Those people who took to the
streets in Egypt and Libya, they're going for it. I saw a guy on TV who
got his face electrocuted completely off, now he's undergoing a face
transplant, still going on. You see those orphaned kids In Africa, raising
their brothers and sisters, with nothing...still going. Things like that
make you realize that no matter how bad you think you got it,
somebody else is always doing worse. And if they can summon the
strength to continue, why not me?
Across the pasture they went; the colt was surprisingly agile and swift. They
glided over the grass barely touching the ground. It was a big pasture, at
least two country acres, but it was surrounded by a sturdy fence made out
of railroad ties and barbed wire. As they neared the end of the meadow, the
boy anticipated what was to come. They were going to run head-on into that
fence, and the pony was not slowing down!
Continued on page 7
Optimism, faith, confidence, expectation, desire, dreams. belief--not
things that can be bought, but a way of Iife, and a state of mind. Even
on the tier.
-RZR
Welcome new readers and hey y’all to old timers.
The SUN strives to be a source of light to reach the
darkest corners, and a beacon of hope for the
forgotten. Thank you contributors to this issue. Your
work is greatly appreciated and your participation is
warmly received. Much love to all!
GOODBYE NATALIE
Chapter two TROUBLE ON THE LINE
Fallon Dawn Hunter hadn't planned to be a receptionist when she escaped
her tiny hometown of Lonely, Kansas over a year ago. Now, she found
herself in a stuffy shoebox of an office, four floors above Hollywood Blvd,
answering phones for two bosses. If she perched herself atop the sturdy
oak desk and peered out the dirty window, she could just make out the
Hollywood sign in the distance. The last 3 letters at least, O-O-D, which
seemed appropriate.
sent a shiver down her spine when the caller spoke her name, "Fallon
Dawn?‖
One boss was a struggling attorney who kept himself busy behind one
closed door. The other door was marked with a non-descript sign that read,
―A-1 Detective Agency.‖ After 6 months on the job, Fallon Dawn had never
met anyone from A-1, no calls ever were directed on that line and her pay
arrived promptly twice a month in the mail; always cash.
She obediently complied. "OK, I got it."
As boring and dreary as the job might seem, she didn't mind it. She could
take off whenever she wanted and the attorney, Burl Barnes, was a friendly,
decent type. She especially liked that fact that he didn‘t hit on her. She'd
had her fill of being chased around desks and it was comforting to know he
wasn't interested in her in that way.
"Good. Now follow these instructions to the letter. The key opens the A-1
office. There's a floor safe in the southeast corner under the rug. The
combination is… "
―Yes?"
The voice was very businesslike. "Listen carefully; don't ask questions and
do exactly as I say. There's a key taped to the 'underside of your lower left
hand desk drawer, get it."
He continued, "Is Barnes there?‖
Fallon Dawn glanced to the closed door, "No. he's left for the day."
She scrambled for a pen & wrote quickly.
He continued, "There's a briefcase in the closet; inside it, there's a card with
an address. Place the contents of the safe in the
case, lock it and then deliver the briefcase to the
address on the card. Can you do all that?"
Judging by the way he specialized in immigration law
and seemed to gravitate towards young male clients,
Fallon Dawn realized that she was definitely not his
type.
Her voice was tight, "Yes."
She'd arrived in Hollywood with the usual ambitions
that so many others seemed to share. She had been
on the auditions & interviews and call-backs. She'd
attended evening and weekend actor's workshops
and had the obligatory headshots done. She had
even met a producer who said that she had just the
right look for an exciting new picture he was working
on and he could arrange a try out. To calm her
nerves he provided a mild sedative and champagne.
When she came to, face down in the middle of
filming with her 3 co-stars in various stages of
undress and obviously excited to make her
acquaintance, she stormed off the set in humiliation
and rage. A consoling associate producer hastily
offered a monetary apology for "any inconvenience
or misunderstanding", but he also pointed out the
fine print in her signed release form.
"That a girl. And Fallon Dawn, don't tell anyone what
you're doing or where you're going. Don't make any
calls. Don't talk to anyone. Do you understand?"
Fallon Dawn felt a throbbing in her head from the
pulse of her quickening heartbeat. Blood was
pumping to her brain furiously & her ears were
ringing from the pressure. She wasn't sure what she
was feeling--fear, indecision, panic, excitement,
intrigue?
"Yes, I understand.‖
"Good girl. Be there as soon as you can. And one
more thing, make certain you're not being followed."
The phone went dead. Her hands shook slightly as
she lit a cigarette & went about the task. She
surveyed the office one last time before shutting off
the lights and happened to glance at her own
reflection the window. She barely recognized the
figure there. Comically she thought to herself. "Well,
sweetheart, you're definitely not in Kansas anymore. She shut and locked
the door behind her. You might leave the doors unlocked back home, but
not in L.A. As she made her way down the shiny, tiled hall, her high heels
echoed clearly in the waning light She'd given up snow boots for stilettos
and innocence for wariness. She patted her purse reassuringly.
The psychological bruises and self-imposed shame
took time to heal. Luckily, the video entitled.
"September Dawn" wasn't a huge seller and the
heavy make-up and blond wig disguised her face.
The experience, however, did sour her on the movie business and the once
optimistic and trusting farmer's daughter was now a more streetwise &
steely-eyed femme fatale type. Fallon Dawn stayed to herself mostly and
could spot a come-on a block away. She‘d traded her starry dreams for the
steady 9-5 and her trust in the kindness of strangers for a loaded Colt .25
automatic in her purse.
(to be continued)
When she placed the weekly calls to her aging mom & pop back home, she
still let the bubbly old Fallon Dawn show through. Her old dad could tell
though that his little girl had changed. There was an indefinable edge in her
voice that was different. An underlying sadness that hadn't been there when
she used to go on hayrides after the October harvests, or when she'd laugh
freely when he pushed her too high on the rope swing in the Cottonwood
tree that grew in the front yard of the modest house with the warm glow of
home fires lighting the frosted windows. Sweet, innocent Fallon Dawn was
lost to the world now and she'd have to find her own way, for better or
worse.
For all exciting, uncensored episodes, go to:
www inmate.com/goodbye-natalie
©2008, Dbabb
It was another brilliant, sunny and hot L.A. afternoon when the office phone
awoke Fallon Dawn from her daydreaming. She was more than a little
curious when she noticed it was line two ringing. She answered, ―A-1
Detective Agency. How may I help you?‖
P.O. Box 3311, Granada Hills, CA 91394
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The voice on the other end was low and gruff. In her mind, Fallon Dawn
envisioned the caller to be dark and mysterious, masked in the shadows. It
2
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Attwood tells his story in sparkling prose that flows like ferociously
goosed up electricity. For example, "A topless man with WHITE PRIDE
tattooed across his midsection barged past Billy. Everything about him
screamed king of the jungle. Size. Aura. Blond mane. 'Wattup, dawg! I'm
Outlaw, the head of the whites.'"
BOOK REVIEW
HARD TIME
Besides his knack for telling a story and his yummy use of the English
language, what makes Hard Time so interesting is that jail changed Shaun
Attwood. He went from being a spoiled rotten rich kid to a mature,
thoughtful human being. In other words, living in the middle of a twilight
zone teetering on the edge of the Abyss had a modifying effect on
Attwood. And watching the metamorphosis take place is a large
component of Hard Time's attraction. For the reader, it's like watching a
chameleon change color.
By Shaun Attwood
Christopher Zoukis, Reviewer
Most people are happily ignorant of
the difference between the term 'jail'
and 'prison.' And since you don't learn
the difference until after you've been
arrested, ignorance is indeed bliss. Jail
is where prisoners are held while their
cases are pending. If convicted,
prisoners are sentenced and shipped
off to prison, where they serve out
their time.
Before arriving in jail, Attwood's life revolved around money and
pleasure. In jail, his focus expanded. He began reading literature and
philosophy, trying to understand the human condition, his condition. And
he took the first baby-steps toward becoming an author, writing letters
and articles, and blogging.
Hard Time is an accomplished literary work that moves along like a
thriller. It has tension, humor, a plot, and snappy dialogue. At the same
time, it's a story about real people, who although flawed are still human
beings. And buried underneath the primary story is a scathing indictment
of the U.S. penal system.
Most prisoners, whether in jail or prison, are not inclined toward literary
endeavors. Which pretty much explains why so few jail or prison memoirs
are published. Of those that are published, only a few are good. Two
'good' ones that immediately come to mind include Kenneth Hartman's
Mother California and Jimmy Lerner's You Got Nothing Coming.
On the Read-O-Meter, which ranges from 1 star (really bad) to 5 stars
(really good), Hard Time gets 5 stars.
A third one can now be added to the list - Hard Time.
Hard Time is available for $13.60 plus $3.99 postage at Amazon.com and their
book sellers as well as other book stores.
Hard Time is the true story of Shaun Attwood. Attwood was born and
raised in England. After taking a degree from Liverpool University,
Attwood migrated to Phoenix, Arizona, where he worked as a
stockbroker. Attwood flourished in his career, bringing home $500,000 a
year.
When he wasn't making money, Attwood was raving. Raving is a
combination of Halloween, earsplitting rock n' roll music and, of course,
drugs and alcohol. Drug-fueled, non-stop wild partying is another way to
put it. And for Attwood, it was not only fun, but also a stress reliever. His
drug of choice was Ecstasy, but pretty much anything would do in a
pinch.
Eventually, Attwood quit his day job - which had been very, very good to
him (he was rich) - and concentrated on buying up large quantities of
drugs and partying. Since his parties lasted for days and included all the
free drugs anyone could want, he had a lot of friends. Life was good for
Shaun Attwood.
Then everything went to hell in a handcart. The police arrested him and
tossed him into Maricopa County Jail, which is run by Sheriff Joe Arpaio,
who is also known as "America's toughest sheriff." Sheriff Arpaio's
reputation is well-deserved. He is tough. However, he is also the most
sued sheriff in America, because of his jail's deplorable conditions,
extreme violence, and prisoner death-rate.
Shaun Attwood spent twenty-six months in Sheriff Arpaio's jail. Welcome
to Hell on earth. Attwood's life in jail makes Dante's Inferno look like a
Sunday school picnic at the beach. For the jail was awash in sewage,
cockroaches, food unfit for human consumption (you wouldn't feed it to
a dog), contraband drugs, and brutal violence. This, despite the fact most
of the prisoners held there were - supposedly - innocent until proven
guilty.
Phone service not available in all states – call or write for more info
3
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A biker walks into a yuppie bar
and shouts, “All lawyers are
assholes!” He looks around obviously hoping for a
challenge.
Finally a guy comes up to him, taps him
on the shoulder, and says, “Take that
back!”
The biker says, “Why? Are you a lawyer?”
“No, I’m an asshole.” From Walter Allen’s PRISON
GET YOUR OWN COPY NOW
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Now you can have your own copy of
Icicle Bill and Goodbye Natalie!
GOODBYE NATALIE - $14.95
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HUMOR available at Midnight Express Books
DOC: ACLU claims
'misinformed'
By Kelly Kazek [email protected]
Reprinted with permission
The commissioner of state prisons said he has not been served with
the lawsuit ACLU lawyers said they filed Monday demanding equal
treatment for HIV-positive inmates, but he said the claims are “by
all
accounts
false
and
misinformed.”
The American Civil Liberties Union filed the class-action suit
against the Alabama Department of Corrections over a policy to
keep HIV-positive prisoners segregated from other prisoners,
which, in effect, bars them from rehabilitation services. Among the
plaintiffs are four inmates from Limestone Correctional Facility,
which
has
more
than
200
HIV-positive
prisoners.
The suit names DOC Commissioner Kim Thomas, Alabama Gov.
Robert Bentley and other DOC officials.
Thomas said in a statement released Thursday morning the
allegations “regrettably ignore this department’s important
obligations to provide health care, prevent the transmission of
sexually transmitted diseases, and manage the prison population in
such a way to ensure the safety of that population, departmental
staff, and the public at large.”
According to the ACLU, prisoners with HIV in Alabama are
excluded from residential pre-release units where prisoners near
the end of their sentences learn to transition back into the
community and from jobs that enable prisoners to gain
marketable work skills and experience. It also stated that the
inmates are not allowed access to the community corrections
program, which affords qualified prisoners the opportunity to
work in the community during the day.
The suit was filed on behalf of 10 plaintiffs. The four local
prisoners are Louis Henderson, Darrell Robinson, Dwight Smith
and Albert Knox. Two other prisoners are part of the Decatur
work-release program and four female plaintiffs are housed at
Tutwiler Prison for Women.
Allison Neal, legal director for the ACLU in Alabama, said the
ACLU and DOC have been communicating on the issues since
2006 but have reached an impasse.
Margaret Winter, associate director of the ACLU National
Prison Project, described Alabama’s prison segregation policy
as “nothing more than a shameful remnant of an earlier era of
ignorance and hysteria about HIV.”
The ACLU stated South Carolina is the only other state with
similar prison policies.
Adam Smith contributed to this report
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
WHAT’S SO FUNNY?
The old man was telling his friend, ―I just bought a brand new hearing aid. It
costs me four thousand dollars, but It's worth every penny, Its state-of-theart, the best available. It's perfect!"
―Really?" Says the friend, what kind Is It?‖
"Twelve thirty."
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right
While out shopping for vacation clothes, an old couple passed a display of
bathing suits. It had been many years since the wife had bought a swimsuit,
so she asked the husband's advice. "Should I get a bikini or an all-In-one?"
"Better get a bikini," he replied. "You'll never get it all in one."
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
The following are actual headlines that were published in various
newspapers:

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







Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Man kills self before shooting wife & daughter.
Something went wrong in jet crash, expert says.
Panda mating fails; veterinarian takes over.
Miners refuse to work after death.
Juvenile court to try shooting defendant.
War dims hope for peace.
If strike isn't settled quickly, it may last.
Cold wave linked to temperatures.
Red tape holds up new bridge.
Kids make nutritious snacks.
Typhoon rips through cemetery: hundreds dead.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight,
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
A man and woman meet on vacation and quickly fall in love and decide to
get married. On the honeymoon, they realize that they should probably open
up to one another so they might have a chance to make it work. "It's only
fair to warn you," the man says, "I'm a golf nut. I eat, sleep, and breathe
golf." "Well," she begins, "I'll be honest too; I'm a hooker." The man is very
concerned and seems crest-fallen for a few minutes, then says... "Have you
tried keeping your wrists straight?"
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
Send jokes or other Items to: MEB Sun, POBox 69, Berryville AR 72616.
...and the dead, bury their dead. Dividing up the loot and booty of the freshly
deceased, sitting around formica tables laden with tuna helper and Pepsi,
cigarette smoke filling the little rooms and hidden corners of the desperate
and pitiful minds of those who tally their own value by the amount of
coupons left in their food stamp booklet, or the price they get on day-old
bread at the discount bakery. The stench of greed and poverty can't be
washed away, stains on the soul are unwashable and forever, fate
deliberate and unkind.
"Humor is a precious treasure to the soul."
-Nick Bone
If the spirits have a sense of humor, surely they must laugh when the inlaws and out-laws remark, aghast:
"The will! It is UN-SIGNED!"
To submit stories, etc., to the Corcoran Sun --send to:
MEB Sun, POBox 69, Berryville AR 72616 (send stamps for
issues) Everyone is welcomed to submit or contribute. The
Sun is seen statewide and across the U.S.
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weeks. State and federal cases, parole board news,
statistics, legislation and articles on prison, parole and
correctional issues of interest to inmates and their
families.
CLN also provides services such as copying and
forwarding federal and state cases, articles and news
and materials available on the Internet.
5
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STUNTIN’ IS A HABIT By Laura Shope
Chapter Two
I slid my I.D. badge through the time clock on the wall at work. It was six
a.m. and I was tired as hell. Me and Slick stayed up until three in the
morning making love. The thought of it made me smile. I went into the
bathroom to text him an ‗I LOVE YOU‘ before I started work. After my phone
displayed, "your message has been sent‖ I headed out to the floor. I was
working in a Calvin Klein warehouse, picking clothing orders for businesses
such as Sears, J.C. Penny, and Macy's. All I made was minimum wage and
I worked my ass off. I always looked forward to my lunch break, that's when
I caIled Slick and we would talk for the whole thirty minutes. At noon, I ran
outside to the picnic tables, lit a Newport and called my sweetie.
"You have reached the voice mailbox of 'Slick' please leave your message
after the tone."
My brain boiled because I knew instantly what was going on. Slick was
getting high. He was just like me when it came to the phone... if he didn't
answer, that meant he was up to no good, and I knew what his no good
was, crack.
The rest of the day went by agonizingly slow. I was fuming and itching to get
home to yell at Slick .. and find out where he got the dope. Our town was
really small and drugs weren't usually there, unless someone from out of
town brought them. The only person that I could imagine doing that was
Murphy, and I was hoping to hell he wasn't back.
It was always the same and this was just more of it...everyone I dealt with
always needed me to get the money. I never f---- it up. They called me the
‗organizer.' They'd deliver me the drugs & I'd get the money. I loved that
paper, so I got on the phone and went through my list of fiends.
I felt like I was always working. First shift was my legit job, second shift was
taking care of Slick, my baby, Elijah, and the house, and the third shift was
selling drugs. Sleep wasn't in the equation. $700 was my stopping point, I
called it a night.
It was 2:45 a.m. and my alarm clock was set to go off at five a.m. Slick did
good; he didn't smoke anymore and laid down with me to go to bed. In no
time at all ―Must Be Nice‖ was playing on the radio, waking me up for work. I
felt like I had just closed my eyes, but I was ready to get up and get paid.
I had a routine for every morning. Straight to the kitchen for coffee, wash my
face, do my hair and makeup, and finally, wake Elijah up and prepare him
for daycare.
The horn from my grandmother's car beeped from the back alley. She
dropped me off at work and Elijah at daycare every day. I paid extra money
to keep Eli in daycare just because I didn't trust Slick to look after him. It's
sad, I thought I was in love with this man, but yet, didn't trust him enough to
be with my son. My grandma drove me around because I lost my license.
SIick liked to smoke that hard, and I liked to drink. Two DUI's were on my
record before I was nineteen. Not good. So, off to work again to make some
pennies.
Lunch came around, and as always, I ran to the picnic tables, lit a smoke
and called Slick….
Three o'clock finally came around and I flew home,
only to discover what I already knew. "What the hell is
wrong with you?" I yelled at my man. He was high out
of his mind. 'Gooped up' is what I call It. "I'm at work
bustin' my ass for pennies while you're here gettin'
high! Get out! Get the hell out of my house!" I was
screaming and blazing mad. Whenever I get upset, I
always throw him out, or threaten to... and, I always let
him back in in a day or two.
"You have reached the voice mailbox of 'Slick' please
leave a message after the tone." That bitch operator
again. Son of a...
Later that night, Slick came home after sobering up. I
was chIllin' on the couch watching CSI: Miami when he
crept back in.
"You alright, Journey?" Nikeisha asked as we filled out
our truck tickets for the next clothing order.
This was all too familiar from yesterday. That mother-------- was getting high again! I knew I should have hid
the rest of that crap before I went to work, but Slick
had gotten over on me again, convincing me he could
handle it.
―I‘m sorry." he apologized weakly.
"Yeah, I'm cool. It's just that piece of shit, Slick, is on
my nerves again." I complained.
I looked at him, I didn't really want to, but I couldn't
stay mad. "Why do you keep gettin' high, Slick? You
know I can't stand to see you Ike that."
"Why don't you just leave his broke ass? Every other
day you're either complaining about him getting high or
not having a job," Nikesha said.
He deflected the blame onto me. "You started it by
lettin' your man, Murphy here'" Referring to that little
episode where I flipped some weight for Murphy, which
I KNEW would come back to haunt me. Still, I was
defensive.
"You know what, you're right! I'm better off without him.
When I get home I'm putting his ass out for good!" I
said with certainty—I meant it.
"What's that got to do with right now?‖ I blasted.
He just looked at me for a minute then stomped off to the bathroom. I
followed him, hungry for a fight. "You motha-f------ , you better start talking!"
"Journey," Slick began, "Murphy stopped by here today and gave me an
ounce to get rid of."
I can imagine how I looked at that moment, big eyes even bigger, mouth
agape, shoulders tense and fists clenched... my temperature was rising and
I couldn't seem to speak without yelling.
"Why the hell did you take it!?" I screamed. "I thought we agreed not to sell
no more!"
Slick argued back, "So did I, but when I was out in Ohio, I found out you
were doing it anyway. What's so different when I'm the one doin' it?"
Hustling was always at the core of all of our arguments. "So, that's how it is?
Tit for tat? We ain't never gonna make it nowhere living life like that, Slick." I
was frustrated and drained.
"Listen, baby, we'll come to an agreement. You did what you did while I was
In Ohio, and let me flip this onion and then we're done, deal?"
Emotion gave way to business sense. "Alright. So, did you get rid of
anything or did you just smoke all day?" I asked. Slick had a hard time sellin'
when he smoked, that's why I was surprised he had some product left.
"I made a couple' dollars. Get on the phone and make some calls." He
ordered.
Little did I know he was about to be out of the picture
anyway.
(to be continued)
Laura Shope, the author of 'Stuntin‘ is a life coach, personal counselor,
artist, dog trainer, and body waxing aficionado serving a term In a federal
pen in West Virginia. Chapter Three of "Stuntin' Is a Habit" will appear in the
next Sun and we'll find out what kind of dynamic twists and turns young
Journey runs into then...with or without the unreliable Slick.
Thanks to all the supporters and contributors who made this
edition of THE SUN possible. When you're done, please
pass it on to the next person. Your neighbor down the tier or
a loved one at home might find something herein that could
be of benefit. Your letters & comments are much appreciated
and inspiring.
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The above are in a Federal pen., so use an Intermediary
when writing. Please be polite and use discretion when
responding.
THE GOLDEN PONY (continued from page 1)
In the distance, the grandfather gave chase, but he wasn't going to
catch the pair. Peril waited, and closed in with every passing second.
The pony's wild nature had been hidden behind a veil of beauty, and
now, its instincts would command that this was to be a final ride for the
Iittle boy. The fence stood strong and immovable before them and the
boy knew they were absolutely going to crash. It had been an exciting,
breath-taking adventure but now, if was to end tragically. Unless...
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The boy had grown up around the farm and he was a tough little kid
when he needed to be. If there were ever a time to summon up some
courage, this was it. At the very last second, before the disasterous
crash, he leapt from the pony's back and tumbled across grass!
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The grandfather finally caught up and ran to the boy gathering him up
and checking him over. "Are you all right?" He asked, out of breath.
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The boy picked himself up, dazed and bewildered, but none the worse
for wear. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"Why'd you jump off the pony?" Grandfather asked.
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The boy was confused, why'd he jumped? "He was going to run into the
fence!" He said. Then he remembered the little pony and quickly turned
to see how it had survived the crash. The pony was standing calmly
over near the fence, munching on a big mouthful of juicy bluegrass. He
was looking back at the boy, and seemed to sort of be...smiling, if that's
possible for a pony.
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The grandfather laughed and said. "Naw...that horse wasn't gonna run
in to that fence, that horse got horse sense. He got more sense than
you do!"
THE SECRET TO RELATIONSHIPS
And THAT was when the little boy finally realized what horse sense is."
"In relationships we're so used to complaining about other people.
For instance, "My co-workers are lazy, my wife makes me mad, my
children are difficult. It's always focusing on the other person. But for
relationships to work, we need to focus on what we appreciate about
the other person, not what to complain about. When we complain,
we attract more of the same bad things. Even if you're having a really
hard time in a relationship, you can turn it round. Make a list of all
the things you appreciate about that person. Think of the reasons you
love them. List 30 things and take time everyday to focus on one.
When you switch to focus to what you 'like' then you'll get more of
that. Often, we want others to MAKE us happy, and often, that fails.
Why? Because only one person can be in charge of your joy, that's
you. The other person can only share your happiness. If you want to
be happy, YOU have to decide that's how it's going to be." (from:
The Secret, by R. Byrne )
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, when you go into that deliberation
room, that's exactly what I want you to use when determining this case.
Horse sense; common sense to see that the prosecutor hasn't proven
their case against me. They haven't proven it because they can't. They
can't, because I am NOT GUILTY of these charges. And that is what I
want you to find me, NOT GUILTY!"
    
The above story was written by, and told to a jury by a pro-per
defendant, representing himself In trial on a 25-to-life case. The
conviction rate In L.A. County is well above 90%, convictions of proper's is about 99.99%. When the prosecutor got up for final closing, she
had a story, too; her story began, "When I was in law school..." The jury
crossed their arms and legs in text-book negative body language. They
didn't want to hear about law school, they wanted a pony! The jury
deliberated for an hour and a half, 60 minutes of that was for lunch. On
the 14th day of trial, they came back "NOT GUILTY."
Till next time, we wish you health, wealth,
beauty, peace, and love.
As the famous defense attorney, Gerry Spence noted, "A Jury thinks
with it's heart, not it's head."
7
PUBLICITY PACKAGES
HOW 2 EARN PAROLE 2010©
Are you a SELF Published Author looking to get the word
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IN THE NEWS
(From Coalition For Prisoners' Rights)
A recent article In the Coalition for Prisoners' Rights
newsletter reports that cell phone usage in prisons is way
up. This might seem odd, in that cell phones are prohibited
in all state and federal prisons in the U.S. and an August
2010 law made possession of a phone in a federal prison a
felony. Yet, usage is on the rise.
In the first four months of 2010, over a thousand cell phones
were confiscated in federal prisons. In California, over 8,000
have been confiscated in the past three years. Prisoners
actually use their phones to call news outlets and report
conditions in their various locations, at times.
Access seems to be similar to other contraband and prices
vary depending on the type of phone (and service plan).
Reports indicate prices are around $300-$1,000. How are
they getting in? Some reports suggest guards or other prison
personnel bring them in, the money is hard to ignore. For
instance, one prisoner reports buying a $50 phone for $800,
quite a mark-up, but supply met demand. It appears
capitalism is alive and well, even on the inside.
The largest prison strike in U.S. history to date was carried
out in December of 2010, in Georgia. At least six of
Georgia's prisons carried out a peaceful, planned, selflockdown to protest conditions. The list of demands included:
A living wage for work, educational opportunities, decent
health care, an end to cruel and unusual punishments,
decent living conditions, better meals, vocational and self
improvement opportunities, access to families, just parole
decisions. There was much public support and the next
phase, litigation, is in the works.
Hospira, the only U.S Company that makes thiopental
sodium, an anesthetic used in U.S. executions, has halted its
production. The Illinois-based company had been
planning to resume production in Italy, but Italy's parliament
issued a caveat to insure any Italian-made thiopental would
not be used in lethal injections. This may delay U.S.
executions. However, a drug used to euthanize animals, was
approved for use In executions in Oklahoma.
To receive the COALITION FOR PRISONERS' RIGHTS
newsletter, send stamp donations to: CPR, POBox 1911,
Santa Fe, NM 87504-1911.
95
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Personal Parole Plans also written indepth on case-by-case basis.
Write for rates.
Q: What did the doe say
when she walked out of
the woods?
A: “I’ll never do that again
for two bucks.”
A guy walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a
beer. “Yes sir, that will be one cent.” the bartender says.
“One cent!” the man marvels. “That’s awesome!” Then, he looks at
the menu and orders the best steak.
“Yes sir, that will cost you four cents.” the bartender says.
“Four cents!” the man says surprised. “Where’s the guy who owns
this place?”
“He’s upstairs with my wife.” the bartender tells him.
“What’s he doing with your wife?” the man asks him.
“The same thing I’m doing to his business.” the bartender tells
him.
Jokes from inmate Walter Allen’s
Prison Humor
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-
BE-UP strives to restore dignity in individuals, while encouraging them to
leave a positive legacy. We're passionate about helping people improve
their quality of life. This is why parents, pastors, teachers, social workers,
and correctional personnel need to look at making What Makes The Great
Great as an integral part of their services. Youth group leaders will also
discover how it will help them in reaching hard to reach youth. Colleges
will find that What Makes The Great Great can be used as an elective to
supplement business or human services courses, too.
This book is not just inspirational; it is powerfully motivational, too. If
you want to grow and develop a life-long vision for your life, this course is
definitely what you've been waiting for.
Teacher’s manual for this course available June, 2011.
CORCORAN SUN
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PRISON EDUCATION
Prison education is a vital topic for not only prisoners, such as myself,
but also for society at large. As important as education is in the ‘real’
world, it is even more important for prisoners. In the ‘real’ world
education determines one’s status and income. Once released from
prison, education does more than determine the former prisoner’s
status and ability to make money. Education determines whether
society views him as a person, who has worth, or not. Education is the
lifeblood of prisoners. In the confines of the prison system, much of
each person’s humanity is drained away. In some cases, even sanity
proves to be elusive. One way for prisoners to hang onto their
humanity is through education. Yet the two terms – prison and
education – don’t seem compatible.
When I entered prison, I realized that a large part of my problem was a
lack of direction. Prior to prison, I had no goals and no purpose in life,
other than having a good time. It was as if I had conspired against
myself. The end result was prison. Prison made it clear a change
needed to be made. I needed direction. However, prison offers very
few directional choices. One that is available is education. And that’s
the one I chose. It has not proven to be an easy choice.
Educating oneself in prison is difficult and continues to get worse. The
primary problem is money. With the elimination of Pell Grants many
post-secondary opportunities have evaporated. Like many prisoners,
by Christopher Zoukis
I make $5.25 per month, which makes it impossible to afford a
college education. This means prisoners must find alternative
sources of funding. And from personal experience, I can relate that
most simply do not work out. Without funding, educational
programs cease to exist. And as more and more programs close,
there are fewer opportunities for prisoner-students. For every
door of opportunity that closes in prison, two or three doors slam
shut in the ‘real’ world, because later, after being released from
prison, the prisoner-student will discover he is unemployable.
It is by means of education that the prisoner-student becomes
employable.
A post-secondary education informs potential
employers that the prisoner-student is not only intelligent, and
thus capable, but also that the prisoner-student has learned from
his past mistakes. He has changed and desires to become a
productive member of society.
Without a post-secondary
education, the prisoner-student has little to offer. No education.
No change of heart. He has only a prison record with which to
compete against other applicants, who have not been in prison.
The employer has absolutely no reason to give him consideration
for any job.
To be continued
http://www.christopherzoukis.com
9
I had the blues
Because I had no shoes
Until upon the street
I met a man who had no feet.
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RAILROAD by Dell Robertson
If you believe in the American notion of innocent until proven guilty, THIS
BOOK WILL DISTURB YOU. If you believe that jury trials are unbiased
searches for truth, THIS BOOK WILL SHOCK YOU. If you believe that
only the guilty are convicted and sent to prison, and sometimes put to death,
THIS BOOK WILL SCARE YOU.
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Currently, the discussion on which drugs to use in lethal
injections and where to produce or procure them is being
had on the international stage. This is because of a number
of companies and a number of countries are involved in the
issue at hand. Sadly, one can not even come close to seeing
when or where this discussion will end. But for now, Cleve
Foster, Daniel Cook, and other death penalty activists can
breathe a sigh of relief and live to fight another day.
Executions in Texas
Halted?
By Christopher Zoukis
The Texas Department of Criminal Justice is in a panic. On
March 1, 2011, their supply of sodium thiopental, one of the
three drugs used in the lethal injection protocol, reached its
expiration date. This caused Texas, and other states
experiencing shortages or expirations of their stock of
sodium thiopental, to search for either a new supply of the
drug or to find an alternative drug to be used in its place.
Sources: Wall Street Journal; USA Today; State and Federal
Criminal Law Review
Christopher Zoukis is a writer housed at FCI-Petersburg. He is the published
author of numerous book reviews, articles, essays, and poems. He is a New
York Journal of Books authorized book reviewer and a Blog Critics authorized
Texas, like several other states, has come to the conclusion
that pentobarbital, a drug used in animal euthanizations, is
a good replacement for sodium thiopental. But, like other
states, they have failed to go through the proper procedure
to change the lethal injection protocol; a procedure that
requires public comment. As Maurie Levin, one of the
attorneys representing Texas death row prisoner Cleve
Foster, said, "Executions, and the manner in which we carry
them out, are of unique public interest and importance, and
precisely the sort of decisions and procedures that should
be aired in the light of day."
writer. He is a member of the Society of Professional Journalists, National
Writers
Union,
PEN
American
Center,
and
the
Correctional
Education
Association. His works have appeared in Kansas City Star, The Sacramento Bee,
Blog Critics, Midwest Book Review, Basil and Spice, Seattle Post-Intelligencer,
SF Gate, Wopular, Rain Taxi, Ezines Articles, and many other publications. His
content has been syndicated internationally by the Associated Press, Google
News, and Yahoo News.
Currently, Christopher is a staff writer at State and Federal Criminal Law
Review and The Update: Federal Criminal and Immigration Law . He is the
Associate Editor of Corcoran Sun and he is a contributing writer at Blog Critics.
He recently completed his first book, Education Behind Bars; a 652 page
reference guide to distance education for the prisoner-student. To date five
publishers have requested the full manuscript to review and send out for blind
reviews. Besides Education Behind Bars, he is working on his debut novel,
In 1976, the death penalty was reinstated. Since then Texas
has executed 446 prisoners; more than any other state. But,
with the expiration of Texas' supply of sodium thiopental
many death penalty activists and death row prisoners were
starting to breathe a sigh of relief. That was until Texas said
that they planned to resume executions with the aid of
pentobarbital instead of sodium thiopental. As Michelle
Lyone, the spokeswoman for the Texas Department of
Criminal Justice, said, "Oklahoma has successfully used the
drug [pentobarbital] in its execution process and our
protocol would be the same."
Practice Electra.
Christopher can be reached for comment, collaboration, or
assistance at: Christopher Zoukis, P.O. Box 1000, #22132-058,
Petersburg, VA 23804 or http://www.christopherzoukis.com.
FREE
INMATE AUTHOR BOOK
CATALOG
The reason this is front-and-center today has to do with one
man: Cleve Foster. Mr. Foster, 47, was sentenced to die in
2006 for the rape and murder of 28-year-old Nyanuer
"Mary" Pal. Mr. Foster insists that not only is he innocent of
the rape and murder, but that he received ineffective
assistance of council. It is this claim and the change of
execution protocol that brought him to the Supreme Court.
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And, upon reviewing the case, the Supreme Court issued a
stay of execution. But not only was a stay of execution
issued for Mr. Foster, but an Arizona death row prisoner by
the name of Daniel Cook too.
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The Cocoran Sun is published monthly. Subscriptions are
$25.00 a year or 6 new, unused postage stamps per issue.
Editor in Chief............................................Dave Babb
Associate Editor ....................................... Christopher Zoukis
Associate Editor ....................................... Laura Shope
Advertising ............................................... Victor Huddleston
Layout & Design ....................................... Linda Huddleston
How to use Inmate Book Service (IbS)
IbS will advise you of available
copies, retailers, and prices.
21
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is a simple and inexpensive way for inmates and others
with no access to the internet to access the huge markets
available to those in the “free world.” Whether you are
interested in the latest best seller, or something hard to find,
IbS will locate it and advise you of the cost and shipping options.
Texas inmates may order paper and envelopes from Staples.®
Your order will be placed with the online supplier as soon as
your payment and authorization are received.
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14
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HERE’S WHAT I THINK......
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Everything in the past is memory.
Everything in the future is imagination.
Both are illusion; memories are unreliable and we can only
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The only thing that is real is now – this very instant and it is
constantly changing from imagination to memory.
So most of our life is illusory.
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From the upcoming book of inspirational quotes compiled by
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http://MidnightExpressBooks.com
12