Why does her happiness
cause so much pain
The pain she feels for the
love she can’t have
The pain he feels for the
times she leaves
The pain she feels knowing
others get hurt
The pain he feels from
the years to do
Why is this love so strong
Why can’t he forget her
Why can’t she forget him
Why can’t they stay happy
Why can’t he give her
what she needs
Why does it always happen
that the pain
seems to never end
Why can’t I break away
must I always be slave
to his love, these feelings
that never seem to end
Why do they believe in happy-ever-after
they have short time together
and life turns apart
Oh, but those moments
are worth all the pain.
Write to me:
Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


I know your name, you who hides behind
the disguise of tears.
I watched you as you slept and from the
corner of my eye. I saw the confusion.
Why do you want my attention? A
physician I am not, a provider I can be. But why?
If only to return. Turn i sto say… I know.
From the darkest shadows, I’ve been!
Whitout logic, feelings, or appreciation of the real
facts, I saw you feel.
Most striking at first this appearance of
sudden illumination, the hearts imagination,
issueing a rash dismessa, valueing my feelings of
past experience.
I’ve been struck, and as a sample of one,
I can report… I was moved by your anticipated
Performance of mindless chatter, the concept that
explains your very being. I kneel to the motive
of your madivess.
Bound by the data of time, without thinking,
we reserve what we accept.
What about time, has anyone seen it recently?



Just Faith

His salvation rescued me.
My sins are gone. My soul is free.
But i've hurt people my Lord.
There's thing that i must make up for.
For the pain that i've beset,
please show me how to pay my debt.
From high up in His judgement seat,
He pointed earthward, toward my feet.
Into a great pit i did stare.
His booming voice said, "JUMP IN THERE."
Deep in the pit, no light nor sound.
The very thought made my heart pound.
If that's the way,Lord, i will try.
But promise me that i won't die.
The pain i've caused i so despise.
I spread my arms and closed my eyes.
I put my faith in God above.
I bent my knees and gave a shove.
I dared not think where i might land.
Then on my arm i felt His hand.
I opened my eyes and there i stood
on solid ground and all was good.


A call to prayer

Hello and peace be with you. In this tome of uncertainty
our President along with the leaders of our world are
experiencing a number of gritical situations at home
and abroad. From the economy to peace in the middle
east the never ending array of problems they face
require that wise and knowledgeable decisions be made.
I am sure that the decision making process used is a
difficult one. Please pray with me that God willgrant
our leaders the wisdom and understanding necessary to
govern our countring and lead us to a time
of peace and proaperity.

May God Bless you in all you do.

Write to me:

Daniel Larson - F40838
310-1-9L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Follow me

Each day I must take up my cross
and walk to Calvary.
I sacrifice my self to Him.
A servant for to be.
My old self must be crucified and die to sin each day.
If I’m to walk as Jesus walked then that’s the only way.
He’s with me on the road each day to guide me patiently.
He says, “I’ve walked this road before. You need just follow me.”
If I will give my life to Him
He’ll give it back to me.
I treacle the worthless for the best and live eternally.
The precious gold we love on Earth and hoard in our abodes, cannot compare to Heaven’s best.
It’s used to pave the roads.



Rams Rule

The 2000 Super Bowl champions beat with determination the Tennensee Titans "get your smashon!"

write to me
Jonathan Marino J84807
310-2-27L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Your picture

I sit here every night,
your picture by my bed.
Dreaming of the future,
fantasies of you, and I, run through my head.
For you are truly beautiful,
and your letters hold so much.
I long to meet in person,
to feel your tender touch.
To look into your eyes,
and behold the soul within.
But for now, I just have your picture,
and all that I pretend.
I have faith, dear, because I know,
sometimes dreams come true.that is why all my dreams,
are solely filled with you.
Now all these words I put on paper,
You may have heard before.
That’s because anyone can use them,
as they are words and nothing more.
What you have to look for,
is how they are meant instead.
These words I tell your picture,
That hangs beside my bed.

Clinton Everett
J76643 310 – 1 – 19U
Avenal, CA 93204


The King

Write me
James Denzin F73718
310-1-44U Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


I forgive me

I Know my heart (breathe in)
And I forgive me (breathe out)
I know my soul (breathe in)
And I forgive me (breathe out)
I know my life (breathe in)
And I forgive me (breathe out)
I know my mind (breathe in)
And I forgive me (breathe out)
back to A

Forgive my self ends the self-destructive inner conflict.
I become my own best friend. If anyone is going to understand and love me it has to start with me. While saying this I picture Angels surrounding me, filling me with God's love. I feel acceptance and inner peace.


Another Chance

Dear God, forgive my foolish pride.
May I learn from my shame.
I blew another chance to day
to glorify your name.
Dear Lord, please help me be prepared.
Implant it in my heart.
That I be poised with shield in hand
to face each evil dart.
Please keep your light before my eyes
in every thing I do.
That I might stay upon the path
I choose to walk for you.
Put so much love within my heart
that I can’t even see the paths to which the devil points
that lead away from thee.
May all my step be placed by you
and not by foolish pride.
That all may see your guiding hand
And you’ll be glorified.




The day I bought a cardboard brief case (Ernie the king of cardboard)

I would have never thought I’d live to see the day in which I would buy a cardboard brief case for my documents; instead , here it is!

To tell you the truth it is not really a brief case but more something like an elegant box. It’s made of sturdy cardboard, thin at the same time (I think it is the one from the shipments of the prison Industry Authority). It stands on its own , just like a briefcase, and it even has a semi-circular hollow , on one of the long sides, to let you grab folders and magazines with ease. On one of the short sides it has two protruding pockets, rigorously made of cardboard, one for pens and pencils and the other , tiny , for eraser and pencil-sharpner the finishing is so meticulous that even the outlines that normally would show the cardboard wavy veinin(?) have been covered with small stripes of paper obtained from the same raw material. Every thing patiently glued and even refined with sand paper to smooth (???) the unavoidable breaks.

The name of the craftsman that gave life to this creation is Ernie and he is a carpenter in his normal life; it’s easy for me to believe also that he is a good carpenter after seeing what he manages to do with simple cardboard.

I am writing on a “made by Ernie” notepad; I have seen him saw and glue curious coffee tables, sturdy television shelves , elegant boxes for chess pieces or simple trash cans.

Everything the prisons severity denies us Ernie creates out of nothing : out of cardboard.

I am an excessively neat individual , almost anal in my precision somebody would say, and that must be the reason why the other day Ernie approached me with his project.

Maybe he saw me struggling in my attempts to keep my papers , documents and magazines organized while trying to book quickly one of the few available tables.

The luxury of order would cost me two dollars but it become a full deodorant after I saw Ernie performing his magic on the briefcase for an entire day (all of three dollars at the current market value).

Ernie is a drug-addict and once, while talking to me, confessed without a shadow of embarassement that he loves his drugs; maybe he will get high again after leaving this place.

For sure after seeing those hands holding the cardboard I cound’t avoid thinking that there must be a better way: Ernie would fit so well drinking a glass of Chianti with a couple of folks I know back in Borgo a Buggiano . J

How can I explain to you the joy one can feel in keeping organized four pieces of paper after living three years with half his stuff in bags like an homeless person?

For sure Wayne did not need any explanation (he is the same guy of the suicidal poems on this blog); as he read the joy in my eyes he started drawing on the brief case fake labels with the names of prison and airports of my four year long night mare.

This way on top of the order given to me as a present from the king of cardboard I can also imagine myself breathing the stuffy air of those airport terminals that now a days I almost have trouble remembering.

At least until next inspection …. L

Carlo Parlanti F25457


The king of cardboard is:

Ernie Gutierrez F37883



Any moment

He could show up any moment.
Unexpected as a thief.
God only know exactly when.
Our time here could be brief.
What He comes upon the could?
Will you be ashamed to see Him?
Or will you make Him proud?
Will it be the very moment
that the tempter draws you in?
Then in the twinkling of an eye
He'll find you in your sin.
We must live every moment
as though it were the one
the trumpet blast will fill the air
and we will meet God's Son.
Be constant in the Saviour’s work
until He intervenes.
And that is how He'll find you.
That what "Be ready" means.


Look over me

During this long night
I stand alone.
Will it ever end
Will the godness mother
grant me another season
another day
a love without end.

The cold rips to my very soul
embers of a fire long gone cold
alone I came
alone I must stand
the mother looking over
this man that I am.

Norman Wayne Willhoite C29683
310-1-17L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Wandering through the jungle of my mind.
As I stand in the center, by myself,
playing it safe, just watching everything, for
beauty and simplicity is all around me.
Awakened by my surroundings, even
in the most ordinary things, I am able to
see the patterns, even in chaos there is order.
We are what we think, all that we are, arises
with our thoughts and with
our thoughts, we make the world, and in this
world, to be a mighty warrior, one must yield
and conquer himself, through discipline and
respect for oneself and for others.
For the uncontrolled there is no wisdom.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259
350-1-55y Po box 9
Avenal, CA 93204



The least of men

I asked myself, why would the Lord,
in perfect deity,
waste a moment or a thought
on a failure like me?
On my own I'm nothing good.
I've ruined and I've squandered.
One disappointment to the next
through my vain life I've wandered.
But our dear God in Heaven
still wants me for His son.
He looks at me as perfect,
no matter what I've done.
My failures make me realize
the grace my God has shown.
They ingrain in me the knowledge
that I'm nothing on my own.
There are heroes in the Bible
that everyone admires.
Some cowards or adulterers.
Some murderers or liars.
God made of them the noblest
of men the world has know.
By working through the least of men
the Father's power's shown.



Hello and peace be with you. This week I would like to talk about a Dave. Dave Morgan Osborne and her colleagues at "Loving Hearts ministry" reach out to many prisoners; by doing so they touch many hearts with the good news of our risen Lord. These servants of the Lord are truly responding to the calling of Christ in their lives and are dearly loved and highly esteemed by me and many of the brethren. Their efforts to hourse, feed and care for the prisoners and the poor are exemplary and I feel that they are well worthy of our praise and prayers. So please join me in prayer this week for the Lords blessing of prosper to touch every aspect of their ministry and that He will continually expand and furnish this ministry by meeting all of it's needs above and beyond what they feel they might need. While we are at it let's pray that the Lords blessing be on all of the small ministries that are pleasing to Him.

May Gods Love and peace be with you.

Daniel Larson - F40838
310-1-9L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204



Another couple of gift for all those millions of Raiders' fans, "get your look on"!
A few other drawing by Johnny Marino. Johnny is also trying to set up his own web site at but for the moment you'll be able to check out his production here on Avenal Voice.If you would like Johnny to draw a custom piece for you, please write him explaining in your own words what you would like...
Write to me:
Jonathan Marino J84807
310-2-27L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

Bookmark For Katia


A call to prayer

This is my very first writing of this type and I hope to turn it into a weekly effort; every week I would like to indicate a person or perhaps a group of people and yes quite possibly a religious group that I feel really needs our prayers at the time; I hope that after reading this you will go directly to pray for them, putting them first and then afterward you'll go about your day shining with the light of His glory in your life.
I want to thank you for your support and invite you also to write me with comments and suggestions for prayers: I will write back and I will pray!
Now for my call to prayer for this week I would like to ask you to pray with me for all those in China that are in prison for sharing the word of Christ with their fellow men; let’s pray for their release and for God to give them His grace and strength, to them and their families that live in these terrible times.
Right now in China this is a terrible problem and the only way to fight it is with prayers first: the lord will lead the way for whatever will come next.

God Bless

Daniel Larson - F40838
310-1-9L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Sweet Dreams

I kiss you every night my love
at though we're miles apart.
I drown upon your special love
that overfills my heart.
I hold you tight and whisper to you
all about my love.
And as I lay there in your arms
I thank the Lord above.
For the woman that He's given me
is more than I'd hoped for.
And I would have to be a fool
to even dream for more.
I tuck you in and kiss your lips
and sing you off to sleep.
I pray to God that I will always
have your love to keep.
As I sit there and I watch you sleep
I can't help feeling proud.
Your beauty, grace and elegance
make my heart beat aloud.
It's sad to think that in the morning
this sweet dream will the day
I won't have to pretend.



Life in Avenal

Life In Avenal So I’m sitting here with Carlo chatting about blog contributions and the contributors who are doing such a great job blogging. These guys donate hundreds of hours of their time for us to all benefit from this cause. Not that our time isn’t important, and it’s not like we don’t have a lot of it to waste, but for inmates to donate theirs to this effort if absolutely awesome. One thing though rings true about these contributions: They come from the warped eye of Avenal’s finest. We live in this “Black Hole” of a prison where the conditions are rude, crude and for most, socially unacceptable. Inmates here are subjected to some of the harshest conditions of living, anywhere in the prison system’s 33 wonderful bus stops. This place is commonly referred to by inmates as “Tell-it-all Avenal” meaning the usual standards need not apply here. Not many other yards will you find persons unafraid to run straight to an officer and start pointing people out. Usually the mere act of pointing itself, even if it is innocently intended is Bad – Very Bad.. But not here. But getting on track here – Conditions. Living Conditions – YUK. Broken plumbing, cold showers, bathroom swamps, Valley fever, scabies –infested laundry, no vitamins in the diet, no laundry access for personal clothing, even though it is recommended by officers to purchase sweats for the cold winters, and shorts for the blistering hot summers, and not to mention beanies, socks, extra underwear, tank tops and thermals for the ever changing seasons here. This is our life.

Wizard of Avenal



Salty water, held inside,
that breaks loose,
from the pains we hide.

Joy so overwhelming.
Pleasure too immense.
Dam gates open,
begining their flowing.

During moments of Joy
never dreamed would come true.
At times of pleasure,
never thought, were meant for you,
smiling at their treasure.

Tears come with sadness.
Tears come with joy.
The souls way to measure,
ones pain and ones joy.

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Big Country

write to
Tony A. Gant V87769
310-1-23L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA


Mother's heart

All my life you're tried to help.
You sought to point the way.
I've been too smug to benefit
from all the things you say.
I'm so sorry that I would not hear.
I thought I was so smart.
Now I know I was a fool
that broke his mother's heart.
For every tear you've lived through.
I'll live in shame until the day
I make it up to you.
Every word you've ever said,
through all your love and wisdom,
echoes now within my head
while I sit here in prison.
You never turned your back on me
no matter what I'd done.
I know now just how blessed I am
that God made me your son.
I know you've done these things in love.
It wasn't on a whim.
For God reminds me, all these things
I also said to Him.


Rages Hold

This is a story
I’d like to tell
'bout how I came,
to live in hell.

Life had just begunbut, end
ed just as fast
was it much of a life
with all the mental strife?

Oh, the freedom
that never came
the soul snatcher stopped
that was the aim.

Other deaths
mad begunin this game
no one won.

What was taken
can not be returned,
at the point of knife
or the taking f a life.

confusion, an’ self-doubt
did not go away
by what i did, that day.

Rage taking control
directing me oddly
not right away
but, very slowly.

Fear and shame
kept rage in cheek
wanting something back
not to cause a wreck.

It came out slowly
little at a time
first drugs, an’ alcohol,
and sexual grime.

Nothing filled the space
nothing gave it back
nothing erased the memories
of the soul being snatched.

Killing the monster did not help
releasing the rage
destroyed so many live
swith a grave and a cage.

It gave nothing back
it took more away
mothers cried
as so many died.

Now, that it is ending
it's more controlled
exposure is the unbinding
releasing ragas old.
Write to me:
Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

Eternal friends

Won't you let me introduce you
to my most precious Friend?
He knows of your beginning
and all that makes you sad.
He wants to fill your heart with joy.
More than you've ever had.
Before He had became my Friend
I was His enemy.
But that could not keep Him away
because He still loved me.
He knows that you don't trust Him now.
He hopes that you will see
the evidence before your eyes
of change He's made in me.
He knocks upon your heart's front door.
He pleads, you let Him in.
He knows that when you open it
your new life can begin.
You'll never find another friend
that loves you oh so true.
Before the day that you were born
my Friend had died for you.

Trying to matter

with a table of captives.
Some just their souls others their whole being.
All trying desperately to matter.
Coming together;
all are here for different times
some haven't even committed their crimes
all are human
with thoughts and fears
all have hearts that have cried many tears.
Finding release;
access to the web
from prison walls.
The ability to write and paint
on virtual walls.
Freedom of the spirit. The releasing of the mind.
These are the things that get lost doing time.
Needing to matter doesn't stop with one's crime
having a voice is a wondrous find.

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204



These moments

Second mean so much,
minutes counted like a touch,
these moments spent together.

Waiting for what seems like years,
hearing a broken voice,
watching a trail of tears.

Doubts created by the miles,
a voice distant and silent,
trust returns with smiles.

Faith is the key,
for this binding that we see
between he and she.

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

Crimes against the State

A man that lived some years a go
in great and distant lands
was sent to prison in this youth
with chains upon his hands.
They'd sentenced him to life that day
for crimes against the state.
He found the strength to thank the Lord.
Accepting this his fate.
Hard labour now a way of life
in rain or heat, or snow.
Still everyday he asked the Lord
to help his spirit grow.
The bread and water they received
was hard and dry, and cold.
But eagerly they'd wait for it
and then scrape off the mold.
So many men died everyday.
But no one noticed it.
Except the men who dug the graves.
Ten men in every pit.
To sick and hungry men in pain,
he answered every call.
He almost died himself because
he always gave his all.
He never learned his lesson though.
His crime he never ceased.
The crime he was imprisoned for
was that he was a priest.
I think of this and i feel shame.
It makes me love God more.
For He saw fit to put me here.
I've much to thank Him for.

Innocence lost

What did I do?
Was I bad?
I feel so ashamed,
but yet, I'm mad.
Wanting your love,
hating you as well,
after all these years,
I'm still scared to tell.

What did you take,
that I need back so bad?
My life's been destroyed,
first by you, then by me.
Wanting to destroy you,
wanting to be free.

Oh, thought I was fine,
then one day went left.
Things being done,
weren't the best.
Surviving this life is the test.
Now that it's over,
'cause I'm stuck in a cage.
I feel sorry for you,
'cause the way you behaved.
I understand some reasons,
for what was done.
It didn't start with you,
but life stopped this run.

My rage took control,
and now it's gone.
Tho', confusion’s still there,
what went wrong.

Write to me:
Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Custom Chopper Art

Owning and riding a custom chopper has become exciting life style for many in the US, "it mounts in saddleback".

A few other drawing by Johnny Marino. Johnny is also trying to set up his own web site at but for the moment you'll be able to check out his productions here on AvenalVoice.If you would like Johnny to draw a custom piece for you, please write him explaining in your own words what you would like...

Write to me:

Jonathan Marino J84807
310-2-27L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Talk to me

The sad man sits there by his phone.
without his kids he's left alone.
They're grown and busy with their life.
A house, a child, a car, a wife.
He leaves a message, sometimes two.
I sure would like to talk with you.
Day after day, the phone won't ring.
Then when it does, they want something.
Thanks for the cash, but I can't stay.
Because I've got big plans today.
So on his knees, he starts to pray.
Dear God, I need your help today.
I love my kids so desperately.
But they've no time to talk to me.
I gave then everything I could.
I gave them love. Their life's been good
but now they're busy on their own.
Forgetting all the love I've shown.
"You pray to me, your kids to blame.
Yet you are guilty of the same.
I know just how you feel today.
That's how I feel when you don't pray.
I filled their lives so you'd be free.
And you'd have time to talk to me."


Yo, over here!

Talkin', but I'm never heard,
Screaming turns your head.
You miss so many words,
I'd be better off dead.

You see your vision,
of a boy child.
He's neat, he's clean,
smart and mild.

Not a young man struggling,
needing and wanting understanding.
Not a young man struggling,
with these emotions unwinding.

Telling you my pain,
you deny that it's real.
You're driving me insane,
as you tell me how to feel.

I'm not him,
I'm not her.
I have a personality,
that's all alone.

My tears do not phase you,
as you tell me that you care.
Always trying to come to you,
but you are never there.

The day has come,
I'm no longer there.
Your tears do not phase me,
because, I'm tired of yelling,
"Yo, over here!"

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

Stinken, Thinken

Because of the chronic over crowding,
a typical building of the Avenal's prison offers
14 toilet bowls for few less than 400 inmates.
The bowls are arranged in groups of 3 or 4,
few inches from one another in open spaces
and inmates place garbage bins on some of them,
to recover a minimum of privacy (an impromptu divider);
this, in addition to the frequent break-downs due
to over use, reduces the number of available bowls
to an average of 6 or 7...
One every 50 people!!!

Write to me:

Israel Gowan T60283
310-1-43L PO BOX 9
Avenal, CA 93204


My Dad's flowers

Recently my Dad passed away and I didn't get to see
him before he went.
I did get to talk to him on the phone for 15 minutes;
because that's all you're allowed: you see,
I am a prisoner.
My life is now behind walls and chainlinks
and razor wire fences.
My Dad loved gardening.
Yes; flowers, trees and anything you can imagine,
my Dad grew.
What I'm trying to express is my love for my
Dad and my family.
I'm here and my "pop" is gone but he's forever
in my heart.
I would like to share a picture that my mom sent me:
some of the last things my Dad grew.
Dad, we miss you, but you are thought of every day.

Write to me:

Israel Gowan T60283
310-1-43L PO BOX 9
Avenal, CA 93204


You wonder why

Oh, the tears that we cried
when the towers fell
Oh, the anger we felt
as they rang the bells

Did you ever stop to wonder why?
What would push a person
to became a bomb
from the ground or sky?

When do we scream freedom
or demand human rights
when it fits our interest
or helps us to sleep at night

Are we that vain?
Are we that slow?
Are we that ignorant?
do we live that low?

We sit back and watch
we say that we care
but we do nothing
we don't even stare

Lives mean nothing
lest they are our own
American interest is the cry
Human interest should be the tone

We turn our heads
when AIDS kills them all
when they are starving
we get dressed for a ball

Others in this world
see it differently
name all the dictators
that American made to be

People who are suppressed
see the red white and blue
on the sock and boot
standing on their chest

We need to watch closer
What is done in our name
because this world of ours
is playing a deadly game

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

All or none

So many men within these gates
proclaim this is the end.
They never more will pass this way.
For Jesus is their friend.
They'll say that they have seen the light
and that they now believe.
But if that friend is not their lord,
their own hearts they deceive.
Even though His precious word
abounds within your head,
if he doesn't own your heart
you're still among the dead.
He can't be tricked. He knows your thoughts.
It's he that made your soul.
Don't think you can deceive him
to ascertain your goal.
If he doesn't guide your steps,
your foot is bound to slip.
And your religion is in vain.
You sail a sinking ship.

Coming back

Stripped naked
sent away
taken from those
who mean the most

Close enough
to see
feel and hear
just like a ghost

Not there when it matters
not there when it counts
missing all the moments
like tied to a post

Life passes by
as you're stuck in the past
you're no longer there
no longer in the cast

Now near the end
there's a calmness and joy
yes, fear has returned
as these last moments pass

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


My angel

I remember well, when I was small.
One way God's love was shown.
He sent to me an angel, kind.
He was my very own.
When I fell down, he broke my fall.
When lost or scared, I heard him call.
Each time I said my nightly prayer, he was beside me, kneeling there.
If I had faith, he'd never leave.
Nor abandon, nor deceive.
But as I aged, I grew apart.
I slowly pushed him from my heart.
I soon forgot that he was there.
Too busy for my life to share.
My pain and failures brightly shown.
I couldn't do it on my own.
My life dragged on till I got saved.
His Holy Ghost, God gracious gave.
My heart, that day, filled with rejoice as I listened to His guiding voice.
He reminds me of a dear old friend.
This time I'll listen till the end.

A call to prayer

I would like to shed some light on a problem
we have here at Avenal State Prison.
I know that weare inmates, and are all guilty of some
type pf crimebut our families are not guitly of anything
other than lovingus. Unfortunately at visiting they are
still treatedharshly, and sometimes forced to wait for
hours and oftenhumiliated and made to feel wrong.
No matter what, ourfamilies should not be mistreated.
Maybe this is happeningbecause of the overcrowding
here at Avenal State Prison,I really dont know for sure.
So please fain me in prayerso that this type of treatment
will stop.
May God bless your life.

Write to me:

Daniel Larson - F40838
310-1-9L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204



Write to:

Richard Arcinega - B82619
Building 310
Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

On turning fifty

How the time flies. Seems like one minute you're graduating high school, the next minute you're married with kods. The excitment of landing a job with a good company becames a daily grind, and after twenty years of work, family, fun, lows, highs, you turn fifty. Age fifty to many is the last great adventure, to others a the start of that final slippery slope, to others a milestone made irrilevant by ominous times ahead; that best describes me.
Turning fifty was kind of dull for me. Yes, the office folks surprised me by decorating/trashing my cubical.There were yummy pasteries and cards lamenting my inpending need for Viagra. All great stuff, but over shadowed by the knowledge that my life as I knew it would soon end.In two months time I would be in the custody of the California Department of Correction (CDC).
Think about the last time you passed by a prison. You see the razor wire, the guard towers, the prisoners in blue or orange. You get this sick feeling like you're just driven past a terrible traffic accident. What comes to mind is, "god forbid I ever wind up there". Well I was going; oh what a feeling.
How does a fifty years old, once law abiding, citizen, close out his life? It's a desperate, relentless, but futile effort to keep his life from breaking apart. Family, friends, work are all lost, save for a few hangers on.
It's like pulling a plant out of the ground. The roots that tie him to family and community rip, snap, and tear until he is pulled loose of society. The experience was extremely traumatic, and for those left behind have become a constant burden on my heart.
In CDC I would start a process where by I would transition from a solid citizen and tax-payer to a third class subject and a tax-burden. It starts by being demeaned and stripped of dignity.Having always respected authority, and having that respect reciprocated, I was taken aback by the callous and sometimes sadistic treatment by correctional officiers.
I was told on no uncertain terms that I was "property of the CDC". I soon found out that as property I did not matter, and it didn't matter if this property was damaged.
The CDC is huge. They have lots of property like myself jammed into cell blocks as tight us can be. I turned fifty three years ago; I was a family man, with a good career, a golfer, a friend, and a citizen.
I'm now CDC property #V4xxx6.

For Broonzy write to:

Carlo Parlanti - F25457
310-1-12U PO BOX 9
Avenal, CA 93204


To Carlo & Katia

Thanks for everything

Norman Wayne Willhoite C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Pregnant woman

Write to me:

Richard Arcinega - B82619
Building 310
Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

I'll never be normal

I'll never be normal
In a picket fence
Kinda way

Survived the darkness
Seen the ugly
Felt the monster's breath

Caged in a mind
From traumas past
Fighting to be free

Afraid to let go
Scared to attack
Pleasure creates shame

I'll never be normal
But that's okay
It doesn't define me

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204

Image of a man

Write to me:

Richard Arcinega - B82619
Building 310
Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204


Mondatory safetybelt, helmet laws

Accountability is the corner stone of a nation's moral fiber. Every time it is shown, where a seat belt or helmet is the cause of death or injury, in any way, the state should be held responsible for the action, it imposed upon its citizens. How can a nation hold its people accountable if it shall not answer up for its own transgressions? Free will should not be placed under the authority of anyone, except for the person in possession of it. There should be no law protecting the citizens from themselves. Who shall be responsible when these laws do not work? A people cannot be held accountible for something that is no longer within their power. The great fathers established a nation opposed to tyrannical rule, and placed this nation into the hands of the most trusted, those of the governed. We, the people need to exercise our control with a wholesome discretion, and educate ourselves that we may make informed decisions. It is the responsability of those we place into power to inform us in a truthful, factual manner, not to control us with fear, or treat us as though we cannot govern ourselves because we can, and did by placing them in office. Tyranny starts with rules protecting us from ourselves.
We are free people, not drones to a system.

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683
310-2-61L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204