No Means No: Or does it?

Hotep,

With any artist (painter, singer, dancer or writer), their truth lies within their body of work.  Some opinions would suggest that Amy Winehouse’s anti-rehab anthem; “No, No, No” was an expression of a drug addict living for her next high.

Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and now Amy Winehouse have all encountered their untimely demise at the tender age of 27.  Their bodies of work revealed the truths behind talent meeting tragedy.  All artists whose lives were concluded by drugs.

I wouldn’t call myself an Amy Winehouse fan, but as a lover of music, eventually I experienced her unique sound; sound that led me to wonder if Amy’s “No, No, No” was all anti-rehab.  Or was it a desperate cry for help?  Maybe it was a subconscious plea from a dying woman.  “I need help, but I don’t need it from you.” Feel me?

My stint on death row has taught me that not all help is good help, but no help can leave you... well, helpless.  A drowning person can’t be selective about the hand that reaches out to save them.  Not if they truly want to live.  Na mean?

On the days that I feel like I’m drowning, I find myself saying:  “No my day in court is coming.  No, what about my fam?  No, I’ve got a lot of living to do.”  “No, No, No! Death row will not be my demise.”  The helping hands reaching out to save me have given me an opportunity to bounce back like the springs in a mattress.  Ya heard?

The bottom line is:  “No” can be a plea or it can be a demand.  How you choose to interpret it will be the difference between just watching or offering a helping hand.  A disease can be treated, but a disease can’t be cured unless you familiarize yourself with the source.  Word is bond!!  R.I.P Amy Winhouse.

Keep it 100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Remain Silent?: Case Closed

Hotep,

Casey Marie Anthony was found NOT Guilty of murdering her two year old daughter, Caylee Anthony.  Casey opted to remain silent and not take the witness stand.  Her right to remain silent prevailed.  Her trial took place in Florida and her jurors were sequestered.  Now, allow me to show you how the gavel drops in the glorious state of North Carolina. 

There was another high profile case in the 1990s where an African American male was accused of murdering a white female.  His face was omnipresent in the newspapers and nightly news everyday in the Raleigh metropolitan area.  In this environment, the jury was allowed to go home every single day of the trial.   

For some strange reason, the judge believed the jurors would not be subjected to any media outlets.  If they were, he trusted that the jurors would cover their eyes and plug their ears, if any opinions about the case were presented in their presence.  Real talk.   

One of the hardest things about doing time is watching the free world progress while society sees your life as stagnant inside the box.   

• For the past 15 summers, I’ve watched Allen Iverson go from a misunderstood youngster to one of the greatest ballers ever, to don a Sixers’ uniform. 

• Within these 15 summers, I’ve witnessed the tragedy of 9/11 and felt the impact through the millions of Americans that lived in fear throughout the decade that followed.   

• I’ve even felt a strong sense of pride when this country concluded that Barack Obama was the remedy for our plummeting economy and our hope for real change.   

• This in turn, granted him the opportunity to give many Americans a reason to vigorously display their sense of triumph, upon the news of Osama bin Laden’s apprehension and execution.  Feel me? 

• I wasn’t permitted to attend a Sixer’s game during Allen Iverson’s tenure, as my city’s b-ball messiah. 

• I was preoccupied with concrete under my feet and steel beneath my back, during the 2008 presidential election.  So I couldn’t submit a ballot for the eventual 44^th president.  Na mean?

To keep things in proper perspective, I’m in prison because I made the wrong choice, the choice to exercise my right to remain silent during my trail.  “You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say or do, can and will be held against you in a court of law.” 

This is a law people!  It worked for Casey Anthony, but some people have been convicted because of it.  The law may as well have read:  “If you do exercise this right, you will automatically be presumed guilty. 

If you choose not to cooperate with the arresting authorities, we shall proceed to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”  In my case, the fullest extent of the law is death.

The right to remain silent is a “catch-22.” You can freely exercise this right, but the price of exercising it may be costly.  Not only will you remain silent in a court of law, you will be silenced to society for decades to come.  Case closed!

Keep it 100,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

7/22: A Day in a Life Worth Celebrating

NOTE: This blog post is about 3 weeks late. 

Nonetheless please join us in celebrating Leroy's birthday

Just Kidding Lump, LOL

Hotep,

My flesh absorbed the high temperatures of the summer sun as my mental absorbed the hand gestures and lingo of my man Geezy as he relived the feeling of being released from prison. The rec yard was his stage and he had my undivided attention. If you didn't know, this is my 1st bid. So, I've never experienced this ecstasy of freedom that Geezy expressed.

His words were like music to my ears. You see, it's my 43rd birthday and Geezy's lesson on freedom is my celebration. When my day comes, his lesson will leave this prison with me. In or out, a birthday is freedom. Na mean?

My Moms always made a big deal about my birthday. As I grew into my teen years, it was a challenge to match my mom's enthusiasm about my birthday. My 4th year of existence spawned an epic celebration, a celebration that I begged my Moms not to bring forth.  I always enjoyed going to parties, but I was reserved about having my own. The chances of my party being labeled a "kiddie hop" didn't sit well with me.

Against my wishes, my Moms hired a DJ.  My homegirl Chelle attended Girls High, so Moms left the guest list to her. Needless to say, girls, girls, girls would not be an issue.  This meant, the chances of my party being a “kiddie hop” were growing slimmer.  (Good look Chelle.  From then to now, you're still coming through, Ma). Real talk.

Our backyard was packed to full capacity. "Planet Rock" was ringing throughout the hood and no foot was left standing still. The party-goers were open like a window and this was slowly becoming the best night of my short existence.  But, as the clock neared 12:00am, I began to prep myself for the big letdown. My Moms grabbed the mic.  I just knew she was going to clear the backyard with an announcement that would certify my party as a "kiddie hop."

My teenage euphoria had dropped into my shell-toe Adidas.  I stealthily moon walked my way to the far side of the backyard as I thought to myself: "This is why I didn't want no party." My facial expression was guarded.  I refused to show disappointment when the birthday boy's mommy announces to the entire hood that the party was over. Feel me?

That's when I learned that rockin the mic was in my DNA.  Moms’ voice was like a match at the gas station.  She blew the party up with the signature mic controlling technique: "Let me hear y'all say Hooo!" The party-goers went crazy. Word is bond! Their response encouraged Moms to finish what she started. "I can't hear y'all. Say Hooo!!"

The party-goers responded in unison. "Hooo!" It was a sound that rang throughout my core. I was no longer secluded to the far side of the backyard. I made my way through the crowd, bobbing my head and pumping my fist to the music, serenaded by Moms' commands.  I reached her viewpoint and she signaled for me to join her. She offered me the gift of a motherly embrace, which I gladly accepted.
But, her control of the mic didn't end there.  As she tightened her embrace she yelled into the mic, "Happy Birthday Leroy!" I was in awe. I mean, my Moms was moving the crowd long before Rakim.  Ya heard?

I learned a lot about my Moms on the night of 7/22/82. I see that same enthusiasm in her eyes every year when she visits me on or around my birthday.  Life is worth celebrating.  Geezy expressed it today. Moms expressed it in 1982. Every year of life is a year closer to freedom and my life is far from over. Ya heard? 

Much Love, 

MannofStat

Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Old Mann: a real reality

Hotep,


Reality television has officially taken over the small screen. I mean, there's a reality show for anyone who cares to watch them: American Idol, Jersey Shore, Top Model, The Apprentice, The Housewives of Atlanta, Extreme Weight Loss Makeover, Amazing Race, etc, etc, etc. And trust me, that's only scratching the surface of your television screen. Real talk.

Long gone are the days of Sanford and Son, Good Times, The Jeffersons, Three's Company and All in the Family. Now, if the names of Fred Sanford, James Evans, George Jefferson, Jack Tripper and Archie Bunker don't ring a bell, it's probably because this epic grade of television was before your time. I guess I should feel old, huh?


My 43rd birthday is literally days away. Seven years from the half century mark. Some days I'll wake up and it's hard to believe I've been around this long. I thought reaching my 21st year was a major accomplishment. So you can probably imagine how I feel about my upcoming born-day.


I'm a very active soon-to-be 43 year old. I lift weights and do my 'Kunta Kinte Thing' (running) regularly. Just recently I stepped back onto the b-ball court, after a one year hiatus. I feel like I'm 19 years old when I'm running up and down that court, breaking ankles and draining game winning jumpshots. The recognition that comes with it is addictive. Na mean?


Yesterday (7/9/11) I strained my left Achilles tendon, while cutting to the basket. It was a scary moment, indeed. I've never felt anything like it. I heard something pop, on the back-side of my ankle. I turned around to see if I had been kicked. Then I saw no one behind me, but the guard, strapped with a shotgun on the tower. Being kicked went way down on my list of assumptions at that point. Feel me?


I declared a medical emergency, which led to me being chauffeured to the hospital in a wheelchair (Good look Sarge). While rolling up the tunnel, I began to see my life as a reality show. The initial episode would begin with me speaking to the doctor, as he's examining my injury. Of course, the producers might not be fond of my language during this particular episode. I'm grateful for the doctor's favorable prognosis, but he was handling my foot like a steering wheel deprived of power steering. SMH.


The cameras could monitor my everyday interactions and follow my court proceedings. I mean, why not? Controversy is what brought so much attention to the Jersey Shore reality show, right? So, what could be more controversial than death row? Snooki couldn't tell you what it's like to not hear your name during mail call. She can't explain the empty feeling a prisoner endures when his/her visit is cancelled. And, she definitely wouldn't know what it's like to have your appeal denied shortly after your Dunn has been executed. Word is bond!


My physical conditioning is the best it's ever been. So, I rarely feel my actual age, but prison gets old fast. One year or 16 years, prison life just isn't for me. Wisdom is spawned by life's experiences. So, when the youngstas refer to me as “Old Mann,” it's more of a compliment than an insult. I'll wear the “Old Mann” title with pride, but don't ever tell me that I can't do something because I'm old. Believe me, I'll gladly accept that challenge and prove to you that the only thing getting old concerning myself is the concrete and steel that surrounds my existence. Ya heard?


I'm on One,

MannofStat
Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann