In a material world

In a Material World Page 1 of 6 Being placed into handcuffs had an instant effect on my mind. My life is going to change. I am not going where I have been and I am being casted, unwillingly, into the unknown while everything I have ever loved is going to be taken away. Prior to my incarceration Aug. 7, 2008 I had a 1973 Lincoln Continental, a 2006 Suzuki Forenza, a five piece Pearl brand drumset, desktop computer, cell-phone and pictures of those close to me, hanging on the wall, inside my quaint mobile home. All of those material things, I took for granted now become the object of my longing as I stand here, naked, in a strip cell as a sheriff deputy observes my exposed body. The deputy has taken everything on my person: Black jeans, black boots, black t-shirt, green underwear and a pair of white socks along with my wallet and long chrome chain that hung from there and attached to the belt loop on my Jeans. I had been drinking that night and still haven't grasped the panoply of my situation. Now the deputy is issuing what I will now have as a county corrections inmate. I am given a two piece jumpsuit with red and white stripes, no underwear, and a pair of hard flat sandals with no socks. Then I'm given a white laundry basket, in it are two white sheets, a pillowcase, and a blanket. A blanket in Page 2 of 6 August? I will soon find out that this jail is cold all year - uncomfortably cold; Men you know what I mean - ladies the same thing that happens after removing your bra in cool air will happen when a man has no underwear in 60 degree structures. After a meal with green gravy covering a dry grey and brown roll with cold grits, in portions that wouldn't fill the belly of a small child, I soon choose to fall asleep. Later I am brought out from isolation given a pair of leg irons to prevent me from walking more than 1 m.p.h. and my hands are cuffed then chained to my belly with a waist chain, that looks behind me. This is normal procedure for every county inmate being transported to court, the belly chain will be removed before seeing the judge leaving me with cuffs and leg irons. This creates a submissive and guilty complex that I was never able to overcome. It is not until after court I am then escorted to the general population. It's at this time I am issued a pillow, the size of a vinal record and as thick as a standard paperback book. Secondly a mat, not to be confused with a mattress, is issued. This mat is six inches shorter in length than I am tall and as thick as the sole of a shoe. Page 3 of 6 Entering my new dwelling of a 6' by 9' cell I observe my new bed, a double steel bunk painted diarrhea brown, a window so narrow I couldn't hope to see where I had come from, a single sink and toilet made of . This is it, I have arrived at what feels like my final destination. The once good mood that was maintained by those little material things in a material world (i.e. pictures, pets, cars, food, a kitchen to cook in, green grasses with old towering oak trees are gone. They are replaced with green and white painted cinderblock walls pressing into my mind, there are no pictures, no T.V., no radio broadcast. The floor brown and lifeless with everything else slam my mood downward into it's lifeless abyss. It's inevitable I begin to weep, it's a very selfish weeping. This weeping is for my own losses brought on by my own actions, everything I'd worked for is gone, curled up on the cold floor in the far left corner of the cell I found a place, a place to be alone in my grief in a place where I thought I could have nothing. Soon, emptied of tears, I rise dry my eyes, face and nose. I never had visited that weeping corner again. I began to change ever so slightly after that point. I looked at myself as undignified so I began to reclaim my dignity, as much as my circumstances would allow. Three-hundred and forty eight days later I am convicted and sent to prison. There everything is stripped away, once again, but the few things I accumulated in jail were of no consequence, but they do let me keep legal papers, medication and eyeglasses. I am issued clothes to wear, but not after a visual Page 4 of 6 inspection for contraband in or on my: Mouth, ears, armpits, fingers, genitals, perineum (the area between the base of your scrotum and the beginning of your Anus), Anus, between your toes and the bottom of your feet, my beard is shaved off along with your hair. I am told what I will wear, how I will walk, when I'm going to eat, when I can talk and what I can posses. In this process they tried to take my dignity. I would not do something so low as to cry at this point, it wouldn't help the situation. Eleven years down this path of living with little material possessions that all fit in a foot locker of the storage space of half of a small cars trunk, maybe. Inside is all of my legal work, dictionary, religious material and personal writings (i.e., Journal writings expanding over eight years, a novel manuscript, letters) personal property (i.e. Sweatshirt, Pen, Pencils, paper, notebooks, stamps, envelopes). All of these items in addition to 50 photographs of family and friends were either given to me by a court, mailed in by family, or purchased by funds on my inmate trust account. The inmate trust account is the primary means to purchase material goods. Completely funded by my friends and family, with a life and expenses of their own, when they can rarely, but lovingly, give so I may enjoy some creative comforts and purchase supplies. When there is a deposit on my account I can access the funds by using my inmate I.D. (Identification Card). This card is in the size and shape of my Fl. drivers license. A barcode is scanned near the bottom of the I.D. by the canteen operator, another inmate and gives him a numerical value of Page 5 of 6 the funds available. Here I can purchase items ranging from soap, shampoo, deodorant to snacks like cookies, chips and soups or writing supplies and utensils. If no-one gives money to my trust account then I must go without those extra material things, while I watch others enjoy. The Florida Department of Corrections (F.D.C) doesn't pay me, not even a slaves wage (i.e. cents/hour) or 99% of the remaining population. The few jobs that do pay (i.e. Canteen operator, Staff Canteen operator, staff barber, Visitor Canteen Operator) are jobs that are highly coveted and allow those assigned to the jobs to not be in want (without soap, shampoo or other hygiene items) leaving me to beg a barter while others, unlike me, to rob or steal what they need. This does create an environment in other parts of the institution that would be hostile toward what little I do possess. As I write this I have no means to wash my hair and the institution refuses to cut it. I must carefully use what little soap the institution does provide (1 bar the size of a courtesy soap at a hotel) at 1/week in the absence of deodorant. Laundry service is provided four days/week to wash my prison uniform and underclothes and one day/week to wash my two bedsheets and pillowcase. My clothes being washed still leaves much to be desired when food and food stains still remain on the clothes (I work in this institutions kitchen serving food to the other inmates.) Some items can be sent in by U.S. mail service by family and friends. These items are: paper Page 6 of 6 10 sheets at a time, envelopes 10 at a time, stamps 1 oz first class and up to 20 at a time. So with the help of friends and family I am able to write this essay and with a little bartering make it possible to live in a material world.