LEVIATHAN

Leviathan- 1.  A large sea animal.  2.  The political state; especially a totalitarian state having a vast bureaucracy.

I’ve always viewed this existence with a level of marvel & fear.  Who knows when or where the catalyst of this misconceived ideal morphed my reality, where infamy was heralded, when one was branded a man by the penalty of his indiscretion.  It is so unfitting to acclaim this existence  as a rite of passage when motionlessness is often a feeling I’ve associated with this hegemonic beast.

I’ve always felt the certainty of this institutional creature hovering above me, this roaming massive predator.  Stewarded by malevolent Blue-coats, led by their superiority complexes, as they herd us within these truculent lines of anonymity.  It’s hard to thrive when you’re psychologically trained to only survive.  Sirens invoke mugs to mask our discontent,  residual effects of our learned helplessness.  I recall in my youth seeing silhouettes of my reflection peeking through police barred windows feeling like I was looking through the slits of  two front teeth.

Often, I question my obliviousness to whether or not I was truly in-cognizant of the bricks I threw at this leviathan.  I grew up with a level of envy towards the individuals we threw nightly commemoration for (pouring Liquor), not whose sunsets were limited (death), but those who sooner or later will be released by this imposing entity to be celebrated as legends made by tales of their former exploits, that only became grander by their absence of Foolishly, I was destined to be here.

Eighty seasons I’ve staggered within the bowels of this penology.  It must be the internal flesh toned ambiance that doesn’t induce healing from this psycho-traumatic experience of just being.  I meditate sometimes, lost in my thoughts, when the dead silence of the night gives way to the be-groaning sounds held within the lining of this passage.  Therapeutically I reflect, consciously seeing my past in High-Def, images play on my cell ceiling.  I’m bombarded by floods of memories, states within  my youth when I accepted this notion that validity was found among these walls.  I’m paralyzed, reflecting on moments like the time Shorty E was flexing in his “Wife Beater” and I was trying to make out his prison TATs, or the first time I got handcuffed, clutched in a Leviathan’s claws, held hostage in the blue & white Crown Vic, blamed for busting a white woman’s car window at the age of 11, cynically asked, “How many people have you shot this year?” I swear it was only water in my gun or stolen cap pallets from Walgreen’s.  Who knew pre-adolescent deviancy would lead me here, slithering down the esophagus of this Chronos complex/Prison industrial design.  Housed in the rural waste land, plugged in as its main commodity, keeping life as they know it to be, operating as it always has…Privileged.

I’m stuck here in this prison life, but isn’t life an operative term?  I’ve seen walking, talking cadavers with stitches along their Third Eye (awareness).  Their existence is sightless bumbling into one chaotic incident after another.  Empathy hides underneath my chagrining scowl-Damn!  Some men will never be free.  Freedom is a concept I’m familiar with; It resonates within my thoughts whenever I think of my nephews, their joy not impeded by narratives made to destroy them.  I wish I could encapsulate their spirits, keep a force field around their innocence before the System milieu clouds their psyches.  As for now, I endear my future-selves with cautionary tales hoping they will never be confined within this belly.