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LaQuinton, 35

Stories

Meet LaQuinton…

It has taken me 22 years, to wake up, and see the streets are not for me. All I’ve done to myself, is mess it up. You ask where am I going with this? I say all of this because it take me a long time to wake up and see that bad roads only lead to worse roads.

Incarcerated: 3 years
Housed: Sacramento, California
One day I woke up in the hole and started praying to God. I prayed and told God, “All my life I tried to do things my way, and now look at where I am.” I told God that I am ready to do his will and that I want to be a leader. I then asked, “Who am I going to lead?” In order to be a great leader you have to be a great follower. So I finished praying and started cleaning my cell, and heard from God. He told me “You’ve always been a leader you just followed the wrong people.” There comes a time in a man’s life where he realizes – when he was a child, he acted like a child. Now as a 35 year old man, it’s time to act like one and put childish things away. My whole life, I made bad decisions going down the wrong road. I started gangbanging, smoking and drinking at 12. I have robbed, been robbed, shot and been shot. Been to different states and sold drugs. I have pimped women. You can say I have done it all. Now look at where my life has taken me – to prison, in the hole, for a knife. Not once in the 22 years I’ve been on that road, have I given God a chance. It has taken me 22 years, to wake up, and see the streets are not for me. All I’ve done to myself, is mess it up. You ask where am I going with this? I say all of this because it take me a long time to wake up and see that bad roads only lead to worse roads. But if I put my trust in a higher power, the sky is the limit. I’ve missed out on my kids lives. Many things I can not get back in life. Cars, house, money, love and trust, but time you can’t get back. So I ask who ever reads this, please let someone you know that’s on a bad road – its not going to work out the way they think. Remember God is love and love conquers all.

Robert, 63

Robert, 63

Stories

Meet Robert…

 The walls were stained with every substance imaginable. The peeling point was a sad testament to the hopelessness and despair etched on the faces of the few men who stirred from their curtained bunks to check out the new guy.

Incarcerated: 23 years

Housed: California Men’s Colony, Vacaville 

I was taken to the hospital for surgery. Then transferred to the California Medical Facility in Vacaville to recover. I learned how to walk again, to climb stairs. I participated in physical therapy with zeal. Two doctors stating only a small percentage of their patients had my mobility and agility. I pushed through the pain of therapy, so I could hurry back to San Quentin where my life was. I requested an early discharge, he agreed, filed the discharge papers, then the bottom fell out from under me. SQ wouldn’t take me back since I was assigned a wheelchair, a walker and a cane even though I didn’t need them. The doctor corrected the paperwork saying I had no need of any mobility device and I waited, and waited. I was in a filthy hospital dorm with 12 people. Three were under palliative care and in their last throes of a very agonizing farewell. I expected to see my transportation officers appear at any moment. Three days later I was told to pack up what meager property I had. I was being moved to “the mainline” of Vacaville — what! I was taken to a cellblock which consisted of a long hallway with five locked dorms on either side. The noise and smell are what assaulted my senses right off. Music was playing, men were screaming at one another while others gathered in small groups. The smell permeated everything. The shower was releasing billowing steam infused with antiseptic fluid used to spray the walls. Dirt was deep in the walls with ancient food stains, it made for a very moist and dilapidated environment. The officer unlocked the dorm to my new residence, he pointed to an empty bunk and gravely announced that it was mine, then promptly left. Musty cardboard boxes were stacked haphazardly in the dusty corners. The walls were stained with every substance imaginable. The peeling point was a sad testament to the hopelessness and despair etched on the faces of the few men who stirred from their curtained bunks to check out the new guy. Two days later, I asked the floor officer to please check when SQ was coming for me. He called someone and told me I was staying. I was stunned. What? I have nothing here! No life, no friends, my parole packet, typewriter, no personal belongings. All my stuff was stored at ‘Quentin before I left where it will stay until further notice. The fellows here are different from the ones I know in SQ. They are predisposed to violence and criminality. At 64, I can easily be pulled into violence, as an innocent, labeled as a collateral participant. Most get high every chance they get. My life and worldview has changed from criminal to returning citizen. This is a scary place for me.

John, 40

John, 40

Stories

John, 40

Meet John…

 I wanted something better. I wanted to go home. I realized I wasn’t worth anything doing bad. I embarked on a journey of transformation. I took control of my life and destiny.

Incarcerated: 23 years

Housed: San Quentin State Prison

She was a teen mom, raising me in poverty. I didn’t feel life’s hardships until I was teen. My grandmother, who loved me dearly, passed away. My dad was already in prison. My step dad was known for the biggest drug bust of all time and earned a long prison sentence. After his arrest, my family endured a lot of pain. I tried to stay out of trouble by going to school, working and playing ball, while all my friends went to the California Youth Authority. In the hood, there was nothing but devastation, poverty, prostitution, drugs, gangs, domestic violence and corruption. I ignored it, not knowing how to ask for help. I turned to the gang lifestyle, fast money, not thinking this abuse was an addiction and would become my norm. One day my life spiraled out of control. I shot and killed a human being. I was given a 57 to life sentence for murder. In prison, I continued to live the gang lifestyle. I landed in the notorious Pelican Bay State Prison. The gang culture was deep, violence, riots, stabbing and killings was the norm.  After 12 years, I woke up and saw I was destroying myself and realized the harm I was inflicting on people and my family. I wanted something better. I wanted  to go home. I realized I wasn’t worth anything doing bad. I embarked on a journey of transformation. I took control of my life and destiny. I stopped killing the authentic me by committing violence. I attended self-help classes, I identify my character defects and warped belief systems. I changed my thinking, reactions and habits. Positivity became second nature. I earned a college degree, completed vocational trainings, and have been disciplinary free. After taking parenting and family relation classes, I began to build better relationships. I was grateful and surprised by their encouragement and pride in me. Instead of being leary or worried, they can’t wait for me to come home, if God wants. In the process of this journey, my release date changed. I qualified under Senate Bill 260 & 261 as a youth offender.  go to the parole board next year. I am optimistic and hopeful. I contribute my success and change to those whom I owe amends. 

Paul, 64

Paul, 64

Stories

Meet Paul…

Life is a play. We play many parts, when the curtain is drawn, what will it all mean? Peace is a process, not an acquisition.

Incarcerated: 20 years
I am a prisoner, a pauper, a poet, a painter and an author. I am a father and a son. My life is more than half over. It feels like I was born here in this cage, and when I die it will be my mausoleum. Life is a play. We play many parts, when the curtain is drawn, what will it all mean? Peace is a process, not an acquisition. Hear me, I am the silent one, the one you cannot see, then I shall fade away. Think before you feel. Be careful, life is full of negative emotions.
Breathe!

Body And Soul
Is love a desire and lust a need?
Is lust a desire and love a need?
The body has needs
The heart has capacity

Control of one is possible,
But are both?
Or is all truly illusion?
Do we control anything at all?

Love we cannot demand
It must be given freely
Yet we can open out hearts to love
Though to love is not always wise

Lust demands a payment from the soul
Love rarely remains unbroken
When all is done
When life and love and lust are through
Only death remains

Life and Death are opposites
Are Love and Lust?
Death knows no weakness
Only Purpose

Love Sorrow
Imprisoned corpses shake the ground
In a box of iron ore, limestone, silica sand
A container and magnet for negativity

Love rarely remains unbroken
Flying wingless detritus
Sorrow is a ghost of pain and grief
Immortality of spirit

Pale horse frowned
That a heart cannot be stolen
It must be freely given

Entertainment grabs your mind
Love hangs on a cross only as a symbol
Of our unwillingness to reply in kind
Though to love is not always wise

Arnoldo, 42

Arnoldo, 42

Stories

Meet Arnoldo…

My heart is overwhelmed. I ache knowing I cannot fulfill these desires, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful to God who reminds me how I may still touch this individual with a special prayer on my birthday.

Incarcerated: 16 years

Housed: Correctional Training Facility, Soledad, CA

From time to time while lying in my prison bunk in California, I ponder about another who shares my date of birth or the date closest to it, someone who may be lying in his bunk in a Prison House in Congo, Africa. I’m physically, spiritually and emotionally healthy. But what about him? Aside from his emotional well being, what about the desires of his heart? Does he hear from his family like I do? What did he aspire to be when he was a young lad? What were his life history wounds? When was the last time he had a cold Pepsi with ice? I wish I could be present with him in his yard of scarcity in his prison in the Congo, so he could tell me the deep things of his heart or share with me his inner sorrow. I would  be hesitant to tell him that I could eat a HoneyBun whenever I want or file a grievance if my broccoli is served cold here in this American prison, 9000 miles away from him. Perhaps he would join me in singing a worship song on my guitar and after we could kneel before God Almighty in prayer asking Him for redemption, healing and hope. My heart is overwhelmed. I ache knowing I cannot fulfill these desires, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful to God who reminds me how I may still touch this individual with a special prayer on my birthday, March 12th.

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