The Time Stretcher

Hotep,

There are distinctive situations where casual conversation can be an effective method for gauging another person’s state of mind.  Right?  Well, in a penitentiary setting, casual conversation is normally a segway into a prolonged discussion with the likes of someone intent on killing your time.  This brand of inmate is better known as the “Time Stretcher.” No need to look at your watch because the “Time Stretcher” makes all time endless.  Real talk.

Just try to imagine being trapped in an elevator with talk radio Jock, Rush Limbaugh.  Okay.  Now imagine this same episode and Rush doesn’t have access to prescription painkillers.  That’s the Time Stretcher I’m speaking of.  The conversational lush with the insatiable appetite for the nearest wandering ear.  Na mean?

No matter where you go in the penitentiary (Death Row, G-Pop, the prison hospital or the Bing) you just can’t escape the verbal clutches of this vociferous individual.  The Time Stretcher knows no boundaries when it comes to the dismal practices of complaining about the obvious.  SMH.

The Time Stretcher will complain about the frigid temperatures during the winter months.  Then turn around and complain to the unit manager about the heat being too high.  The Time Stretcher constantly bickers with others concerning television programming.  He/she will even have the audacity to grab the remote; turn to a specific show; then retire to his/her cell to maybe, read a book.  Or, in some instances; take a nap – while the television program entertains an empty dayroom.  Believe me People, I couldn’t make this stuff up. 

No serving of food is sufficient for the Time Stretcher.  I hear this all of the time: “These ain’t enough eggs.” “Put my eggs in the big slot” (of the food tray).  Or, the all time classic complaint about the juice from one food slot bleeding into another.  This particular complaint has the potential to incite a prison riot.  I mean, all are legitimate culinary gripes if you were being served at a local restaurant.  Time Stretchers have a tendency to forget they’re in prison. 

It’s always the same people complaining.  Sometimes it’s like having a pot dropped over your head, and a wooden spoon is pounding the rhythm of the Star Spangled Banner into your ear drums.  You know the tune so well, but you just don’t want to hear it in that capacity.  Feel me?

One of the most common traits of the Time Stretcher is a willingness to share their knowledge of any and everything concerning the penitentiary.  They can tell you how everything works – from the hydraulic system inside the officer’s control station, to the water lines running throughout the prison.  If this was the movie, “ShawShank Redemption,” that 411 would probably be relevant, but since it isn’t; I see it for what it is: simply another way for the Time Stretcher to become acquainted with your ear canal.  SMH

Some Time Stretchers are exclusive with particular cellblocks.  Others will leave no eardrum uninterrupted.  Audio terror is what the Time Stretcher lives for.  So, he/she utilizes the method of “Blockhoppin” (regularly moving from cell block to cell block) to infect the sound waves of anyone who may not have had the excruciating experience of being vocally subdued by this particular individual.

You’d have to wonder: what does the Time Stretcher do when the doors are closed, and the only two ears to burn are their own?  I guess they just look forward to the next day like anyone else in this box.  You may be looking forward to a new day, but the Time Stretcher is looking forward to feeding on your time.  No doubt.

Hold Ya Head,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Black in the Box, Volume 3: Black on Black

Hotep,

December 21, 2k12 marks another positive milestone in my personal life.  That’s right, the so-called expiration date of the Mayan calendar.  The scheduled date to the end of all days was nothing short of a blessing for me.  I mean, from the hours of 11am to 2:35pm EST, my mind was at ease, and the deepest part of my soul was on full display.  A mere few hours of evading the daily turmoil and strife that surrounds me; a much welcome change of pace.  Ya heard?

“Beautiful” is the word that best exemplifies this short but sweet escape from the racism that shackles my physical existence.  The only way 12/21/2013 could’ve been any sweeter, was if this wall – that I’ve lived behind for nearly two decades – was no more than a blemish in my rearview mirror; a precursor sharing the holidays with my fam.  Feel me?

The penitentiary environment has a unique was of eclipsing the warm feelings manifested by the holiday spirit.  The hostility that chills the walls of this box is nothing more than a slight breeze blowing through the mane of a lion; it rarely shakes me.  Na mean?

But, there are times when my days may feel like the storm of the century.  The fact that I’m garbed with the love and support of people I’ve known all of my life, makes the chances of my heart being frost bitten, a non-issue.

The stories of my parents – well into their golden years – serving Meals on Wheels warms my heart the way a steamy cup of hot chocolate does my insides, on the coldest of days.  The excitement in the voice of my Nyse when she speaks of receiving her Bachelor’s Degree, in Web Design, this coming spring fills me with 500 degrees of emotion; an explosion of happy feelings is inevitable.

Recently, I received the news that my home girl/editor Rochelle, has been named “Top Female Talent of Central, East and West Africa.”  That’s what’s up!!  I mean, our connection has been a gift that never loses its relevance.  To know that she’s making a positive difference in the homeland of my ancestors is another example of the term “Black on Black,” not being linked to something negative.  Keep doing what you do, Ma.

I’ve given three different connections, to me that reveal, “Black on Black,” as a term of endearment.  Now, prepare yourselves for the sudden drop in temperature as I share the sub-zero effects of “Black on Black,” within a penitentiary setting, so button up.

If there’s one thing the history of American slavery has taught us; it’s the psychological impact of self-hate-indoctrinated by slave masters – has a congenital effect.  From our ancestors, to today’s newborns, it was the strategy of the slave master to play one black against another. 

You see, race can be a factor when a C.O. has a grave dislike for a prisoner; even if the prisoner and the C.O. are both African-Americans.  I’ve witnessed black C.O.’s insight confrontations involving black prisoners, while in the safety of their control station, as a means of settling a grudge with another African-American.  SMH.

Inside of the box, the C.O. is the authority figure.  This particular brand of insidious contempt (in-house racism) is the primary reason why assaults and murders are taking place in prisons, across the U.S.

So, to this type of C.O., that’s yakking it up with his buddies over a cold beer about his chess moves at work, The aphorism: “Everything ain’t always black and white,” holds true.  Sometimes its simply, “Black on Black.”  Word is bond!!

Doing What I Do,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Black in the Box, Volume 2: Mann on a Mission

Hotep,

If you’re reading this, I’m sure you ingested the knowledge of last week’s post, “3 Minutes 2 Death.” My cuzzo, Jasmine, has truly set the tone for the 2k13 version of Black in the Box.” I originally ran the idea, to use this piece, by my editor/homegirl months ago.  Using this piece was always a priority; it was just a question of when it would be released to the masses.

This year’s goal was to change the tone of “B.I.B.,” while upholding the high degree of knowledge, traditionally spoken during this celebratory month of Black history.  I think the literary flow of a young black woman embracing her newfound independence does just that.  Na mean?

Jasmine’s expression is a realization of how the H.I.V. virus has impacted her generation.  We have Earvin “Magic” Johnson to thank for the deliverance of what can now be seen as a primitive mind state.  Long gone are the days of societal ignorance influencing the stigma of H.I.V. being exclusive to homosexuals.  Magic’s phenomenal recovery has opened the eyes of scientists and political savants around the world.  When asked what advice he’d give to someone diagnosed with this disease, Magic has 3 words: “Take your meds.”

On that note; I’d like to tell you about a person I see every day – going toe to toe with the H.I.V. virus.  I promised to protect his identity, so I’ll just refer to him as “Lazarus.” A name tethered to the biblical character whose life was restored after dying.  What you’re about to learn will help you understand why the name Lazarus is relevant for this particular individual.

In 1995, Lazarus was a free man.  He told me he was diagnosed in July of 95.’ “I was shocked.  I felt let down because I was infected through a blood transfusion.  Three months after the blood transfusion, I was informed I had contracted the H.I.V. virus.” Wow! SMH.

Living with this disease for 17 years could be considered a curse, but Lazarus prefers to look at the glass as half full.  “When I was first diagnosed, the medication wasn’t available at that time, for me to feel like I could live what might be considered a normal life.  I figured I’d be gone in 4 or 5 years.  Then in October of 95’, my doctor informed me that three clinical drugs that were still being tested, could be made available to me: AZT, 3TC – which is now Epivir and DDI.  These medications kept my condition stable.”

There’s nothing definitive about Lazarus’ physical appearance that screams: H.I.V. positive!  He’ currently taking a medicinal cocktail that corrals the virus into his HDAC cell.  This cocktail consists of: Selzentry, Issentress, Epivir, and Aptivus – boosted with Norivir.

The experimental cancer drug, JQ, is projected to remove the H.I.V. virus altogether.  JQ, is still a couple of years away from public access, but Lazarus will continue to fight the good fight until it becomes available.

I also spoke with him about the Alabama Department of Corrections’ decision to segregate H.I.V. positive prisoners.  “People with H.I.V. are already going through enough.  I remember how I was looked at when I initially came to prison.  Segregation isn’t good for morale.  People suffering from this virus need to keep a high morale.  If the prison system spent more time educating prisoners about this disease, there would be no need for segregation.”

When this Rap Session concluded, Lazarus gave me a pound, then thanked me for the opportunity to be heard.  His final thoughts will forever be his legacy.  “H.I.V. has gone from a terminal illness to a chronic ailment.  Take your meds.  If you skip more than three continuous doses, the virus becomes resistant and the meds lose their potency.”

John 11:4

Stay Up,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2013 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Black in the Box, Volume 1: 3 Minutes 2 Death

It was last Friday night and baby it was that night.  That night all my insecurities would be taken away, the night I proved my love… more and the night he …took more, but listen that was ok because I was determined to make this night different. 

I got in my sexy black dress.  You know the one where every inch of your curves are shown affection?  The one that you were told to keep in the back of the closet and only pull out for special occasions. 

Well, this night was one of those “special occasions.”  We went to the movies and got dinner and guess what?  He paid this time!  I can believe it, I told y’all this was a “special occasions.” 

So he said to me, “Baby since I treated you tonight, you gotta do the same for me.” I wasn’t gonna let my man down so you already know what I had to do.  I made that night different and so did he. 

We became one for a whole…3 minutes!  Yes, 3 minutes, but those were the best 3 minutes of my life and that’s when I realized he loved me, he really loved me.  He loved me so much that instead of me making that night different, he did. 

He gave me a black box with a red ribbon on it.  I just knew that he was asking me to marry him and baby I had everything planned out in my head.  We were getting married in New York City in a big cathedral or maybe on the rooftop like Beyonce and Jay-Z. 

I fell so out of touch with reality that I didn’t even open my box.  So I came back and took off the ribbon slow and lifted up the top of the box and guess what was inside?  3 little letters that stood for every minute we became one. 

In this box laid my soul. 

In this box laid my heart. 

In this box laid our future together. 

In this box laid the 3 letters, H.I.V. 

How could he do this to me?  This night, this night was supposed to be different, it was suppose to be a special occasion, but instead it was just 3 minutes 2 death.

By Jasmine Vaugh

Copyright © 2013 by Jasmine Vaugh

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Check it out Blogosphere,

February 7^th is National Black HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (http://www.nationalblackaidsday.org).  Take a moment to make sure you take care of your business. 

Keep it 100

MannofStat