I’m starting to have trouble getting time in the quiet room to work on my writings. It seems that there is a sudden interest among the prisoners to be up and about after lock down for no other reason that to just hang out and bullshit. The problem is that only five prisoners are allowed to be in the quiet room at one time, and the space is distributed on a first come/first serve basis. Since my bunk is the furthest away from the sign up sheet, the other prisoners get signed up before me. As I told you before, most of them just want to hang out and prevent other prisoners from utilizing the quiet room. As a result, I’m changing my schedule around so I can remain proactive.
There is a little Mexican guard who is obviously gay, and I think he has his eye on me. He always wants to talk to me just for the sake of talking. I want to tell the little bastard to make like Michael Jackson and beat it, before I beat him. He’s more mixed up than a feather in a whirlwind. I don’t agree with homosexuality being innate – in my experience, it’s always been a choice, and mostly for perversions sake alone. I don’t claim to know everybody in the world and what their sexuality is, but I’m telling you how I’ve always seen it played out. I do see homosexuality as rebellion against God, and that’s my religious belief – I’m sure you support my right to my belief, the way I support your right to do whatever it is that you do. I like to make my wife think I’m a Neanderthal, so whenever the subject comes up, I tell her that there’s no way that anyone can be “confused” about their sexuality…just look down. If you see a dick, you’re a man. If you don’t see a dick, you’re a woman. Note the shape of said organ, than note the shape of the opposite gender’s organ. No confusion. She laughs and laughs at me – we have a short hand expression now for when we’re having trouble communicating – “just look down.”
I’ve had gay friends, acquaintances, and hell, family members! I’m not discriminatory or prejudice, I just don’t condone the lifestyle. And I’ve also had some close encounters of another kind – one with a drug dealer in Detroit in the early ‘70’s, and the other was a prisoner at the State Prison of Southern Michigan.
In 1970 I was 12 years old, so this happened about 1973 when I was 15. I was visiting my cousins on the weekend, which was a usual thing for me during those days. We all liked to smoke marijuana and do goofy things. My cousin, “V”, had a serious crush on me, to the point of trying to do things to entice me into a sexual relationship. She often made attempts and passes at me which I would instantly reject – it was clearly wrong to me, it made me sick. “V” is a real freak-a-zoid, and still is to this day. Once she called me into the bathroom, and I walked in to see her squatting over the toilet with her hands spreading her vagina apart – it made want to vomit. It always pissed me off – aside from being my first cousin – she’s very unattractive…insult and injury in one shot. It didn’t take me long to get wise to her tactics, and I set her straight on the issue, although she still pulls those kind of stunts on me to this day.
So back to the main story – we’re all at my auntie’s house, and we want to smoke some weed. “V” is the only one that could score some pot for us. She took me with her to that I could be introduced to the dealer for future purchases. When we arrived at the house, this ugly-ass fag (sorry, there’s not other word that describes his appearance) came to the door. “V” introduced me, and we bought $10 worth of pot. “V” asked the guy if it would be okay for me to come back and buy without her, and of course the guy agrees. We went back to the house to smoke and get high. It wasn’t very long before we were out of smoke and needed to get more, but “V” didn’t want to come with me, and since I was the one spending my money like an idiot, I decided to go myself.
I knocked on the guy’s door, and it took an awful long time for Mr. F to come to the door…so long that paranoia kicked in and I was just about to turn and run when the door flew open. Here he was butt-ass naked and soaking wet. He was panting quite heavily – out of breathe. He told me to come in, and I was really scared but I wanted the weed, so what do you think dumb ass me did? Right, I went in. He disappeared into an adjacent room, and as I stood there in the dining room, I noticed a mirror positioned at an angle which allowed me to see into the bedroom. What I saw scared the shit out of my 15-year-old self.
A huge, black Great Dane sitting on the bed with its tongue hanging out and its dick fully erect. At this point, I’m about to shit my pants! First, I don’t trust this fag, and two, at the time I was fearful of dogs in general, let along an enormous dog with a hard-on! The guy came out of the bedroom, I grabbed the pot, threw the money and took off.
I had a few choice words for all my cousins, and for “V” in particular when I got back to my aunt’s house. “V” laughed at me, and after smoking the wacky-tocaccie, I thought it was funny too…but I’ve never forgotten any of it.
Then when I was in the Trustee Division in Jackson I was participating in the Impulse Control Psychotherapy program and there was a homosexual prisoner – let’s call him Mike for the purposes of our discussion here. Anyway, I noticed that this motherf’er kept on making eye contact with me during these sessions. There were about 12 guys in the group along with the female therapist. The therapist made all of us in class refer to Mike as “she” and “her” when making reference to something Mike said. Apparently this appeased and assuaged Mike’s misconception as to what he is. Naturally I refused to participant in this fantasy, and the therapist became offended at me for taking the position that I did. My reasoning was that, even thought this motherf’er had silicon breast implants, he is still a man, and I for one am not going to psyche myself out to think, say or believe otherwise to satisfy some quacked-out therapist who probably needed to see a fucking shrink herself. I don’t suppose that anyone cares that this had an impact on MY mental well-being in that, here I am being forced to acknowledge and accept a fucking lie. Nobody cared or understood that in being forced to appease and assuage this dude’s desire to be addressed as a female, they were subconsciously indulging in homosexuality themselves! But not this man! I told the therapist that she could kick me out of the group if she needed to, but under no circumstances would I address this motherf’er as a woman, and that I’d just refer to him as Mike. Needles to say, the therapist and Mike were not happy f=with me, however, the therapist was reluctant to actually take the step of kicking me out for those reasons.
During one session of group, I got up to use the toilet, and shortly afterwards Mike came into the restroom as I was finishing up, just about to return to group. He asked me if I could ask me a question.
M: “I want to ask you something, but you might not want me to.”
R: “Ask your question!” (My wife tells me I’m cantankerous, and I guess I am – I absolutely hate it when someone starts a conversation like that).
M: “Well, I don’t know, you might get mad”
R: “Just say what you gotta say, and I will decide whether I’ll be upset or not” (obviously, this kind of carrying on already has me mad).
M: “Do you have a brother named “H”?”
R: “yes”
M: “Well you know that him and me a cool with each other?”
R: “And?!”
M: “Well, I just thought that …well, you don’t do homosexuals, do you?”
R: “Bitch! Get the fuck outta my face with that shit, and don’t every approach me like that again!”
“Mike” damn near broke down the restroom door trying to get away from my wrath. The nerve of that guy, trying to hit on me because of what he and my brother may or may not have done. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, and I don’t care!
These incidents go through my head when I see someone who thinks he’s a homosexual…I don’t like being around them for too long because of this. Don’t get me wrong…I don’t hate or dislike them because of who they are. I just hate and dislike what they do, especially when they try to involve me in it. That is between God and them – I have my own issues that I have to address and deal with, I don’t need to take on someone else’s.
So call me a small-minded or a bigot if you must, but remember that I would die for your right to think the way you do, even if I think you're wrong...would you do the same for me?
Nothing new happening on the block today – so long for now.
R
Tags: Prison Life , Drug Use , Rehabilitation , Auto Biography .
Today was rather slow. It is the day before we get store. One of my cubies (another prisoner who shares the same cubicle), keeps offering me sugar cookies he got from the cafeteria. I keep telling him that I don't want them, because him motives are not genuine. He knows that I cook up frequently, and he wants to mooch off me when I cook up. He's a bum. 
malpractice. He seems to think that he is an M.D., and continues to diagnosis the prisoner population without a license. I have requested to be seen by a licensed Physician, but they keep denying my request, contending that the P.A. does in fact have a license to practice medicine. I've told him that the current medicines are not working, and that my condition is worse. Still he contends that it may caused by my smoking. I told him that I have never consented to any unlicensed person practicing medicine on my person, and now as a result, I am being punished. This shit crazy. 
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