The Voices of Avenal Prison

1980 Chevy Top-off K5 Blazer Rock Crawler. Hand-made model in 1/12 scale.

2011-11-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

It took 800 hours, during a span of 11 months, to shape popsicle and tootsie pop sticks into this unstoppable rock crawler.

It is a genuine "Made in Prison" article, assembled with rudimentary toots like fingernail clippers.

This model sold for $ 400.

Made with:

popsicle sticks
tootsie pop sticks
wood glue
paper clips
home-made pain (some acrylic)

Tools used:

fingernail clippers
paper clip "screw drivers"
sand paper

All my models are one-of-a-kind (1 of1) and never duplicated. They range from $200 to $500.

Please write me via snail mail for question or comments (I am a lifer with 20 years in):

Anthony Eidson J83424

330-2-58 UP

P.O. BOX 9

Avenal, CA 93204 USA

1930 Ford 5 Winow Coupe Hot Rod. Hand-Made model in 1/12 scale.

2011-11-08T07:36:00.000-08:00

It took 623 hours, during a span of 6 months, to shape popsicle and tootsie pop sticks into this classic hot rod.

It is a genuine "Made in Prison" article, assembled with

rudimentary tools like fingernail clippers. This model sold for $ 250.

Made with:

popsicle sticks
tootsie pop sticks
wood glue
paper clips
home-made pain (some acrylic)

Tools used:

fingernail clippers
paper clip "screw drivers"
sand paper

All my models are one-of-a-kind (1 of1) and never duplicated. They range from $200 to $500.

Please write me via snail mail for question or comments (I am a lifer with 20 years in):

Anthony Eidson J83424

330-2-58 UP

P.O. BOX 9

Avenal, CA 93204 USA

His Tragedy

2011-02-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

Here
the medical crimes timeline
and all the reports.

She wanted him as her own because
of sex and wealth,
but new that ihs heart already belonged
to someone else.

So she developed a plan, also made
up a story
that would take ihs freedom and steel his
lover's glory.

She told police ie beat her and they
realized her storybwas fake,
but being prejudiced, they convinced her to
transform domestic violence into rape.

Because of this woman, a perverse trial
and crooked D.A.,
the innocent Carlo Parlanti is in
prison today.

He never did wrong, still life threw
him a curve,
another case in the court of law
where justice wasn't served.

Carlo is God's child, so there will
come a day
that God's wrath will rain on all who
took years or his life away.

Right now the evil doers are the ones
ahead in score,
but even though he lost the battle,
Carlo will win the war.

Write to me:

David Johnson AE9005
310-2-32L Po Box 9
Avenal, CA 93204
USA

Angel

2010-09-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

Jonathan Wayne Parks

Carlo and Katia

2010-05-08T04:55:00.001-07:00

Frankie Hernandez

Relentless

2009-03-21T10:05:00.000-07:00

Relentless: Don't move, don't give in, give in... give in...no. Some people think it0s about being tough, being hard. Though character comes only from having suffered more than maybe the next guy. A man might go through something really retched, and having survived is then tougher than he was before, Being hard comes form being I have hardened, It doesn't really seem desirable to be tough or hard, but I must survive. I have determined to persevere and not to give up in spite of the pain that keeps coming back over and over. That's the only real reason I can go on at all. It is because I know that it stops even if for a time, it stop hurting for a while and life shines in like sunshine through the living room window. When the pain comes, it smashes me. I fight it knowing that I will last longer that it does. Everything changes, feelings change, situations change, pain changes. It is a matter of perseverance. Relentless perseverance. The pain rages against the inside of my skull like huge waves crashing upon the rocks. It is a storm inflicted by unknown forces of nature that cannot be stopped. I fight but I cannot hope to abate the pain. No, I fight for my dignity. I fight to keep the hope that promises relief. Other men and women have failed in this same fight, I know. I do not condemn them, nor do I pity them. They made their choice. All things considered, the choice was not unreasonable. In my own situation, I have withstood 24 years of the mist exquisite pain known to medical science. That is often how th medical journals describe the Cluster Headaches that assault me. They come in cluster: as many as three days for up to five days running- I want to brag that I have accomplished something that is difficult, but the truth is that I have only managed to hang around longer that the pain. I cannot say anything in particular will definitely bring about the pain, and I'm never sure how long it will last. All I know is that it will get better! If I just stay with it, and not give up, then the pain will go away. That is my hope. So, I persevere. I think a lot of people have gotten by in the same way. We all just keep on going. Having survived, we are thought ones we don't have any medals hanging out our chests. There are no certificates, awards or plaques for us to show.Our continued existence is our testimony. We are relentless. When forces completely beyond our control force terrible pressure upon us, we don't relent, we will remain when they have done with us. I don't know if other s feel the same4 way I do about this, but it wears me down. I feel so tired at times that it is almost like I could just let slip the grip I have and wonder if I wouldn't just slide into the abyss. Have stood at that edge, and felt as if my grip had slid to the very edge of my finger tips. It was as if I was balances in one timeless moment were the choice was altogether one way or the other. I could go in only one of just two directions. I have always leaned. Pushed, clawed and dragged towards the relentless condition of my life. I have stood at the edge, looked in, and I know what is my character. I'm relentless.

What if God got blinked?

2009-03-21T09:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like a bit of a freak. I guess I don't mind because I keep acting the part, but how I can help it? I'm the way I am, at least at the moment. I try my best, or at least I do want to even id it seems like I could somehow do better. My jokes often fall flat, my cute quips flounder. People half smile and mumbled: “OK...” Oh, I don't think of it as utter rejection. It does seem like something less than total acceptance either. My ego has come to a place where I am OK with me and how I affect people, but I don't want to alienate anyone. After all, I do like people. Oh, there are so many disappointments, out on the whole, I would have to say that I'm more in favor of compassion than I am supportive of disassociative behavior. Certainly, this place makes dependency and bitterness a real problem. Someone gets down, and it has an impact on everyone around them. That's one of the reasons I try to avoid the pity party. Perhaps most people would not put it that way. I guess the normative view might be to say that is important to engage a pro social behavior for the common good of the members of the particular social unit... OK that language might be normative of a sociologist or something.
Great, I can't really guess at what a normative statement might really sound like just at the moment. Given enough time, I believe I could at least fake it. I don't know , I just fell like something of an outsider.. That's fine in prison. I don't want to be with the in-crowd here. I have managed to move in and through these cycles with a very comfortable level of acceptance. We all get along just fine, but I don't want to be anyone's homie. I don't want to be triple help. Let them be cool. I'll just do my own thing and be happy. It does work for me. I fell love and compassion for people, even the challenging one. Compassion is not always the first response, but it can come later even if I must grab hold with but hands and drag it to the front of my soul. It can be difficult to be accepting of other when it seems as if they y be less accepting of themselves. No Problem: love 'em anyway. There are some really, really unattractive people. I don't mean they look ugly, I mean that they act ugly. I'm learning o be less critical that way. As I treat people the way I want to be treated , and fell good about it, I become more and more comfortable it is the way I feel about myself and how I fit into the world. It really doesn't matter how they act, it is more about what I do that makes me feel comfortable about my little place in the world.

Oh God

2009-03-21T06:13:00.000-07:00

I repent for the things I'v done and should have done

for the things I've said and should have said

for the things I've thought and should have thought.

Thank you Lord for Your blessings yesterday

Please bless today and make it holy

Please help me live a holy life today

Amen

All she has

2009-01-16T06:45:00.001-08:00

A poor old woman, once there was.

Her husband long since dead.

She worked her fingers to the bone

To keep her family fed.

She labored for each meal they ate.

And daily did she strive

To scant produce what they need most

And keep them all alive.

No Bible did she ever own.

From sermons that she’d heard,

Though sometimes they’d no food to eat,

She fed them with the Word.

She early rose each Sabbath morn.

And walking while she’d sing.

She trod a mile in worn out shoes

To make her offering.

She didn’t stop to think of what

Tomorrow held in store.

Through tears she prayed, “I love you God.

I wish I could give more. ”

Some rich folk, showing their disdain

and overflowing pride,

laughed when they saw the woman put

her last two cents inside.

Each week she gives all that she has

Because she loves the Lord.

And since she gives all from the heart

She earns a grand reward.

Kapoe.

The Battle

2009-01-16T06:36:00.001-08:00

Listen to me my friends,

And the story that I tell.

I’m sure a few of you,

Have a story just as well.

Mine is about the woman,

Whom I took for my bride.

How she turned my love to pain,

No matter how hard I tried.

Now I’ve stood up in battle,

Never daunted always proud.

Even in my losses,

The lord knows I never cowered.

But when my woman let me,

It dropped me to my knees.

I begged her for mercy,

My voice heard only by the breeze.

Her weapon was my love for her

And with this she blinded me.

She then tore my heart out

Cast my soul into the sea

No counter attack,

No time for a retreat.

I knew not of the battle,

So I was already beat.

So I say to you my friends.

Before you live love a try.

Remember my story

And if you should lose as I.

The pain of love will haunt you

Until the day you die.

Write to me:

Clinton Everett

J-76643 310-1-19U Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204
USA

Why?

2008-11-15T08:38:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Raymona

2008-11-15T08:33:00.000-08:00

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?

Thanks
Paulie

Just Faith

2008-11-11T08:19:00.000-08:00

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.
"NO PROMISE WILL I MAKE TO THEE.
HAVE FAITH, WHAT HAPPENS' MEANT TO BE."
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.
He said," MY SON, I'VE CLEARED YOUR SIN.
WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, NOT WHERE YOU'VE BEEN."

Kapoe

A call to prayer

2008-11-11T08:14:00.001-08:00

Greetings
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
USA

Follow me

2008-06-23T08:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Kapoe

Rams Rule

2008-06-22T17:35:00.001-07:00

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
USA

Your picture

2008-06-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

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
USA

The King

2008-06-20T11:05:00.001-07:00

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

I forgive me

2008-06-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

A
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.

Dave14

Another Chance

2008-06-18T08:12:00.001-07:00

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.

Amen

Kapoe

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

2008-06-09T01:30:00.000-07:00

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

310-1.12U

The king of cardboard is:

Ernie Gutierrez F37883

310-1-14L

Any moment

2008-06-07T04:43:00.000-07:00

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.

Kapoe

Look over me

2008-06-07T04:33:00.000-07:00

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

USA

Wandered

2008-06-07T04:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Thanks.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

I Love you

2008-05-17T08:58:00.000-07:00

Crude Art

The least of men

2008-03-20T09:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Kapoe

Greetings

2008-03-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

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

USA

Raiders

2008-03-18T04:36:00.000-07:00

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 www.sports-zoo.com 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

USA

Bookmark For Katia

2008-03-18T04:16:00.000-07:00

A call to prayer

2008-03-12T11:20:00.000-07:00

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

USA

Sweet Dreams

2008-03-08T07:28:00.000-08:00

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.

Kapoe

Life in Avenal

2008-03-06T05:14:00.000-08:00

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

Tears

2008-03-04T06:23:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Big Country

2008-03-01T10:21:00.000-08:00

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

Mother's heart

2008-02-29T04:26:00.001-08:00

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

2008-02-28T07:08:00.000-08:00

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.

Fear,

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

USA

Eternal friends

2008-02-28T06:45:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-28T05:12:00.000-08:00

Sitting;

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

USA

For Katia

2008-02-27T08:24:00.001-08:00

These moments

2008-02-12T12:11:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Crimes against the State

2008-02-12T11:49:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-12T11:12:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Custom Chopper Art

2008-02-11T09:10:00.001-08:00

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 http://www.sports-zoo.com/ 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

USA

Talk to me

2008-02-06T03:32:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-02-05T08:39:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Stinken, Thinken

2008-02-05T08:14:00.000-08:00

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

USA

My Dad's flowers

2008-02-04T07:23:00.000-08:00

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

USA

You wonder why

2008-01-31T05:08:00.000-08:00

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

USA

All or none

2008-01-31T04:43:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-31T04:32:00.000-08:00

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

USA

My angel

2008-01-29T16:26:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-29T14:24:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Cowboy

2008-01-28T07:36:00.000-08:00

Write to:

Richard Arcinega - B82619

Building 310

Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

Usa

On turning fifty

2008-01-28T07:31:00.000-08:00

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

USA

To Carlo & Katia

2008-01-26T09:38:00.000-08:00

Thanks for everything

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

Pregnant woman

2008-01-23T05:37:00.000-08:00

Write to me:

Richard Arcinega - B82619

Building 310

Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

Usa

I'll never be normal

2008-01-23T05:05:00.000-08:00

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

today

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683

310-2-61L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Image of a man

2008-01-23T04:15:00.000-08:00

Write to me:

Richard Arcinega - B82619

Building 310

Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

Usa

Mondatory safetybelt, helmet laws

2008-01-16T05:33:00.000-08:00

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

USA

Not even my worst enemies

2008-01-16T04:20:00.000-08:00

The subtitle of this blog already announces that our main intention has always been to carry to the other side of the barbed-wire the voices of Avenal prison, not just their complaints.
Here inside there are so many stories, talents or even simply handicrafts that finding a space for them is already a monumental task. But this doesn’t mean that we can’t sometimes find a story so surprisingly unfair as to compel us to forego the subtitles …
In short, I resisted the temptation to “complain”, to tell my nightmare, but I will make an exception for Daniel!
Daniel is one of the latest to join the group of collaborators to this blog and you probably have already read some of his “calls to prayer” born inside a heart that, believe me, has room for Christian feelings. While chatting with him about his medical mishaps, I learned about one episode that to define as inhuman would be euphemistic. In the beginning, the story sounded so outlandish as to even undermine my trust in Daniel’s sincerity.
It took copies of his diagnosis and hospital discharge for me to believe in the truthfulness of this nightmarish claim and as a result I have decided to publish these documents to guarantee you the same opportunity for verification.
Daniel’s jaw had been fractured in three places in an “accident”. It took 18 days before somebody decided to take him to a hospital where he could undergo the appropriate surgical procedures. Unfortunately, at this point, his jaw had to be broken again before being wired to heal properly.
What you will not read in the hospital’s documents is the account of those 18 days: the useless daily visits to the infirmary to ask for painkillers; the hunger endured in silence; the desperation in facing so much needless pain.
Daniel could surely describe in greater detail the horror of those three weeks. What I can tell you instead is that these types of episodes are far from rare at Avenal State prison.
If you don’t believe me, all you have to do is search the local or state newspapers and you’ll find all the evidence you need about the recurring episodes of bad medical care that are distinguishing characteristics of this prison.
In a couple of trimesters Daniel will be able to leave this desert and, together with the other “guests” of Avenal, I will ask him to keep in mind his mishap and to fight with renewed strength to obtain clarity and justice, not only to receive some material compensation for the pain endured during those days or to be able to afford the therapies necessary to try and recover some feeling in that portion of his face permanently anaesthetized by the surgery, but above all to help those who will keep living daily in poor health. Care: all of us!
I secretly hope that this testimony of such guilty disinterest will cause some indignation inside your hearts and, if that ‘s true, I plead with you to leave a comment to this posting if for no other reason than to help us convince Daniel to fight a battle that I am not really sure is only “his”.
I would also like to humbly ask you to help him with addresses, contacts or resources that could be helpful to file a lawsuit and above all, to spread the knowledge of this story; for this I will close these few lines with Daniel’s address instead of mine.
I hope that in some future nobody, not even my worst enemies, not even the people who have destroyed my life locking me up inside this hell, will have to face this type of torture …

Carlo Parlanti

Write with comments and resources to:

Daniel Larson F40838
310-1-9L
PO BOX 9
Avenal , CA 93204 USA

Lovely

2008-01-15T13:46:00.001-08:00

Richard Pulido V87716
310-1-5M Po Box 9
Avenal, Ca 93204
USA

Los Angeles Lakers

2008-01-12T08:41:00.000-08:00

They are a very powerful basket ball team with a momemtum the size of a Tzunami.

I was inspired to create sports art by the massive following of sports fans who truly appreciate our national past times.

The sports industry is a wonderful sports zoo with 50 thousand tamed human at a single event who can transform into wild animals raging with joy with a touchdown or a basket scored.

Write to me:

Jonathan Marino J84807

310-2-27L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

If I only knew

2008-01-12T07:55:00.000-08:00

If I knew all the answers

what would I say

probably couldn't stop smiling

for it would be a better day.

The answers we don't have

but know that they are there

with proper thoughts and actions

they shall go

from there to here.

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683

310-2-61L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

But, how do we punish them?

2008-01-12T07:29:00.000-08:00

"Punish [pun'ish], V.T. 1. To subject to pain, loss, etc. As a penalty for some offense or fault. 2. To inflict such a penalty for (an offense or fault). 3. To treat harshly."

Oh, that statement carries so much fear

why do we need to punish?

Do we, as human beings, really believe

that punishment works?

Some where along the line

we lost track of the goal

our society becomes better

through education, not torture.

Each of us wants to be, the best we can be.
Each of us has been given a map

each of us want to do what's right.

Each of us starts off stuck in a trap.

I did something wrong

I was slapped on the ass

I did something wrong

there goes my favourite toy

I did something wrong

I'm sent home from school

you get the picture,

but do you know,

what was learned?

Punishment teaches pain and loss

it teaches to treat harshly

when I make the rules.

I shall,

teach people the rules.

When I go some where,

I will,

learn their rules,

and I will not feel pain.

Correct my behavior

don't beat me,

into submission

punishment only works

while it's happening

only then,

to a a certain degree.

It teaches me nothing,

but the price to pay.

my behavior shall be my own

no matter what you say

I learned that to take a cookie

will get me slapped on the hand

so, if the cookie is good

it's worth the punishment.

Then comes a time when you punish

just to punish

when it becomes easier to punish

than to correct

you do not understand

what is being done.

By now, I decide how much paint

I will accept

empowered by my rage

that I hold deep inside.

I forgot what I did

to be punished like this

Oh, I changed long ago

but, the punishment still continues

the dust has collected
the pain has pealed

this corner hasn't changed

since I was a child.

No longer wild

no longer lost

but still being punished

for the trouble I have caused

I did have it coming

I wasn't very good.

But how do we forgive them?

Write to me:

Norman Wayne Whillote C29683

310-2-61L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

My wish for humanity

2008-01-12T05:32:00.000-08:00

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men". Luke 2:14.

This to me is one of the most, if not the most glorious salutations ever heard by mankind.

"An entire multitude of the heavenly host praising God" and at the same time letting all of mankind know that they themselves were the object of His good will.

There are so many implications in this wonderful salutation: it seems to be some type of summation of all his promises to mankind.

There are so many of these scriptures that we just read right through, so I just thought I would remind you today that you are the very object of God's good will.

May God bless you and keep you in His good will this year.

Write to me:

Daniel Larson - F40838

310-1-9L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Oakland Raiders

2008-01-12T04:46:00.000-08:00

I dedicate this Oakland Raiders drawing to the millions of "Black Hole Soldiers" who truly know loyalty!

I was inspired to create sports art by the massive following of sports fans who truly appreciate our national past times.

The sports industry is a wonderful sports zoo with 50 thousand tamed human at a single event who can transform into wild animals raging with joy with a touchdown or a basket scored.

Write to me:

Jonathan Marino J84807

310-2-27L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

The real Christmas plot

2008-01-09T12:27:00.000-08:00

Until not long ago I have been convinced that my father was the one of the angriest persons in the world with clergy. Toward the end of his education, in an extreme attempt to help him, my grandmother Clara forced him to endure a couple of years of tough Salesian discipline inside the Maria Luigia boarding school of the king, if I am not mistaking, somewhere near San Lazzaro di Savena.
Now I discover that there is somebody angrier than him with God's representatives on earth and that, according to him, did not really exist: Jesus.
In 2002 a court in Viterbo, Italy, after examining the undeniable evidences of Jesus’ non-existence that the plaintiff published in a book, dismissed the case although it was forced to admit that there is not enough evidence to state that the Messiah did in fact exist. Now, after five years, the entire story ended up in front of the Human Rights court in Strasburg that will have to decide if the fundamental dogma of Christianity it's all but a sophisticated story manufactured by clergy. After going into the argument in depth, I discovered that all the evidence of the non-existence of Jesus collected by the plaintiff was collected in a book that he published on his own; it looks like no publisher wanted to shoulder the responsibility to print this type of material; at this point I started having serious doubts about his motives.
Isn't it obvious how this person is looking for free publicity, or better cheap publicity, for his publication?
I am sure that Dan Brown, who has dominated the publishing scene of the recent past with his controversial stunts, is right now eating his own hands for not being the author of such a smart book and related publicity stunt. Thinking along these lines, I still reached the conclusion that it is in the right of everybody to report an injustice when they see it.
I am, however, still perplexed when I hear somebody talking about the unequivocal after the dust of 2000 years has settled in. I am not even convinced that it is possible to undeniably prove any of the other historical facts that carry such a date. Maybe I should drill down into the topic a little bit more and purchase the book that collects this unequivocal evidence.
And here it goes: the publicity stunt has been successful, at least with me. But then I have another doubt, a juridical more than an historical or theological one: to abuse somebody's belief one needs to know the “truth” unless one is a victim of the same illusion, assuming of course it is an illusion.Nobody can accuse me of professing the existence of someone if I am honestly convinced of it.

Even assuming that the evidence collected can really prove something this fact would simply transform the clergy into victims, like the rest of us, of a huge plot planned thousands of years ago and not for sure into ill-intended charmer of the masses.
I think that I will not purchase the book but I will follow closely the rest of this story.
I am really interested in discovering how to report something similar to the Human Rights court in Strasburg. In the near future, I want to expose to the public the real Christmas plot and I want to sue my parents for having taken advantage of my gullibility and for having professed the existence of Santa Claus.
I am already collecting evidence of a plot that has international ramifications under aliases like "Babbo Natale", into a book that I will publish soon.
My parents are for sure more guilty than the poor priest from Viterbo since they have always known that Santa Claus does not exist.

Write to me:

Carlo Parlanti - F25457
350-2-58X PO BOX 9
Avenal, CA 93204
USA

San Francisco 49ers

2008-01-06T12:29:00.000-08:00

They have a massive following of true fans globally and detain 5 super bowl victories.

I was inspired to create sports art by the massive following of sports fans
who truly appreciate our national past times.
The sports industry is a wonderful sports zoo with 50 thousand tamed
human at a single event who can transform into wild animals raging with
joy with a touchdown or a basket scored.

Write to me:

Jonathan Marino J84807

310-2-27L Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

In harm's way

2008-01-04T10:53:00.000-08:00

Thoughts on "Harm Reduction" as one strategy in recovery for the addicted:

In Camus' "Myth of Sisyphus", the gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of the mountain, whence the stone would fall back on its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor. Sisyphus became the futile laborer of the underworld. The absurd hero. More so is the recovering person who adopts a strategy of "Harm Reduction", (HR), in the often uphill road to recovery.He is doomed much like Sisyphus to repeat the hopeles process into relapse.Indulging fancifully in a strategy of HR is playing a too-often deadly game of acquiscence, of compliance, giving in to the belief that the recovering person is less than at his best... a core problem in an addicts already addled mind.

Overcoming addictions, whether drug, alcohol, gambling, or overeating always requires accepting and living in a greater truthfulness. At the heart of every addiction is an anesthetized old hurt, seeking to be released. Some chemical or self-destructive behavior reinforced the lie and made it more difficult to correct. Accepting the painful truth, rather than running from it, is the begining of sobriety. Nothing less succeeds.

The truth has the power to heal, to protect, and to guide. Living in the truth is living free and at one' s best. The simple fact is that using even "just a little" dope like smoking a joint (for the recovering alcoholic or heroin addict), playing slots insteand of a full-fledged poker game that is so popular today (for the problem gambler), creates neurological short-circuits that devolve into mental, physical, and spiritual distortions. It is in direct opposition to the clear-eyed reality check that recovery requires.

Recovery's enemy is tension. Using "just a little", or substituting a seemingly less harmful chemical or behavior, blocks clarity and increases tension. Familiar goals are snatched away, distorted or lost. Undesirable physical sensation begin to stir. Mentally, a biochemical change is taking place awakening hard-to-resist cravings, pangs, and longings. Spiritually, call it the treacherous soul, a disconnect is taking place. A calamity is being born. A loss of meaning occurs creating again a condition of tension that the addict (sex, alcohol, food, drug, etc.) sought to relieve from the onset.

To any person with long-term recovery, to any effective therapist or 12-step sponsor, such thoughts evoke a feeling of dread for good reason. This "disease of addiction" (aptly considered by the American Medical Association in 1976), a condition to be treated, often results in death. I am one such unfortunate witness many times over. My favorite tennis partner who was a brilliant law student and pianist, a successful businessman, and most recently two distant family members (last month), are among the non-living now, as examples. I dare say anyone close to these issues have known addictions dire consequences. It is serious enough not to be meddled with by half-stepping the recovery process. HR is just that.

The whole process of recovery is beyond the scope of this essay but I would be remiss if I didn't include some discussion of the three components to be addressed for the recovering person. A "whole" human being, perhaps call it the "self-actualized" or "self-realized" person is the goal of recovery. Comprising this troika of the complete human being is the physical self (body), the mental self (mind), and the spiritual self (soul). HR interferes with the integration of these three components. Those of us in recovery or treating addictions have come to understand at the deepest level, that the obvious focus on healing initially involves the well-being of the body and the mind. However, a less measurable, a harder-to-grasp principle is one of the roles of spiritual healing in recovery. Its vagaries are less scientific, less definable and measurable, therefore, less advocated by scientific types. Make no mistake; addiction is a spiritual malady yet a spiritual opportunuty to heal. HR is contraindicated as, using even a little, or participating in old destructive behaviors in small doses, interferes with the natural healing mechanism. Spiritual healing, this healing aspect of our selves, takes the most time, requires the most work, and is the most frustating to grasp. It also, as a reward, results in the greatest relief the long-suffering addict can know.

Within the oft-baffling realm of spirituality there are secrets of energy, creativity, the rhythm of existence and their compelling interconnection that awakens an inner voice bringing a magic to traditional wellness approaches. It requires sobriety for these connections to take root for the long term.

Harm reduction may appear as a short-term, harmless relief to the stress of life, but it is a dangerous precedent never to be offered as an option in recovery. My experience tells me as I sit in a prison cell that it would be safer to snatch a salmon from the jaws of a grizzly bear. Give the matter a kiss goodnight.

Write to me:

Michael Geffner K91323

310-1-71L

PO BOX 9 AVENAL,

CA 93204 USA

Thoughts

2007-12-27T07:10:00.000-08:00

I really have to ask myself what could I do to find an answer to the equation of life?

If I contemplate this amazing equation, I always find myself spinning around the fact that human beings have been put on earth to love each other it really doesn't seem so difficult to understand. Because there is no emotion that can satisfy a soul as much as love; love is the strongest word in the entire vocabulary!

Is there maybe something more meaningful?

Or that is more important than love? I don't believe so.

Because Christ himself said that what he asks of as is love; love for him and love for all human kind.

I believe that love is the solution to the equation of life!

Locked up in prison as I am, without relatives or friends alive in the world out there, and living immersed every day inside the hate that thrives in here, I find myself in front of the perpect example of what life should not be!

I don't think somebody really wanted me to learn some thing from this complete lack of love, but here I am.

Therefore, here is a little thought that I want to give to you that are reading this and to myself: let's try to restart from love, from our home first and walking together with "him" in the world, at work, with friends and strangers and let's see if by pure chance this is the best solution...

I am sure that it is...

God bless you and

peace be with you all

Daniel Larson F40838
310-1-91

PO BOX 9 AVENAL,

CA 93204 USA

From Carlo to Katia, by Norman

2007-12-26T16:30:00.001-08:00

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

O God why (Teshuvah)

2007-12-21T04:45:00.000-08:00

O God why have I forsaken You

My sins are great. My sins of the world

Even greater are my sins of the spirit

I have travelled so far away from you

And the moment I asked you welcom me back

You gave me all I had lost and more

You put me in a place of honor

Men offered me power and prestige

I desire none of it

Only to be close to you

To praise you and love you

To have you ever present in my lifeIn you I am fulfilled.

O God teach me your ways

I am like a young boy with limited Knowledge and experience

Teach me to walk on your path

To listen to you to do your good deeds

Keep me from temtation open my mind

So that I see evil and do not invite it into myself

Show me how to rebuke wrong actions and thinking

Show me how to fill my life with throughts of you

My life is ever at risk taech me to be safe

My soul is ever at risk protect me lord

Take away negative throughts

Do not invite thieves in to my home

Protect my family bring them all good things

May we all leam to love lord

With all our heart, soul, might and mind

May you always reside in our heart.

O God forgive my trasgressions

Teach me to live according to your ways

Take away my evil inclination

Be gracious unto me

Shine your light on me and my family

Be kind and merciful.

O God I need you always

Without you I am less than dust

My spirit was dead until you revived me

My life was drunk with the word of passion

Now I am awake praising you always.

Lord lift up your eyes and your servent

I who have labored many years in foreign fields

To no avail for I lost all that was precious

Now I ask to come back and reside in the land of my fathers

To pray at the altar of my Grandfather

To cry as I learn the suffering of my people

To be consumed with grief at their death and destruction

To lie naked in front of you hiding nothing.

And when I return to my God

What will he keep from me

What will he deny me

Fore he has said he will place

Everything in my hands

I rejoice that I've woken up

Removed the shackles from my hand and feet

Chosen to walk in the ways of rightesness

God lives in me and I in him

Thank you God for your grace and divine providence.

May the lightof God shine through me

2007-12-20T16:12:00.001-08:00

Every day i will look for opportunities to:

be kind,

lift someone's spirits,

do something good,

make a bad situation better.

I am light in the darkness

2007-12-20T16:09:00.000-08:00

No matter what:

I have done in my life,

people think of me,

my situation or where i sleep at night,

my future looks like.

Sofy

2007-12-20T15:14:00.001-08:00

Write to me:

Daniel Woodward T56711
350-1-65U
Avenal CA 93204
USA

The screaming man moans

2007-12-18T04:32:00.000-08:00

There is a man here who has been screaming for two weeks now... Continuously.

He's been locked in some perpetual nightmare or agony, howling at any time that I take to stop and listen.At breakfast, listen... You can hear his unearthly ballad.

At dinner, his sceeching voice sounds counterpoint to the count clearing horn blowing in the distance.

At 10:00 pm during the istitutional alarm check, his shrieks join the bells and sirens.

I was up as always at 3:30 am as his screams ejaculating unformed curses at the god who allowed him to live with this infinite pain in this unending hell.

Again, up till dawn, I finally closed my eyes as they were tired orbs. The demon and devils were tearing at my flesh, gnawing at my abused liver, dining on my soul.

Still up, the midday sun beat a tatoo through the narrow window on my face. I lay for a moment, caught between pseudo-sleep and consciousness in that netherland of half dream, half awake... Basking in the peacefullness of silence before the implication of that quietude struck me with full

force.

I struggled to hear as it sent chills straight to the core of my being...

It seems that the sceaming man has lost the will to fight anymore...

because now, the screaming man moans.

Write to me:

Michael Geffner K91323

310-1-71L

PO BOX 9 AVENAL,

CA 93204 USA

Prison is a place

2007-12-01T02:47:00.000-08:00

Prison is a place where the first prisoner you see looks like an all-American college boy and you're surprised. Later you're disgusted because people on the outside still have the same prejudices about prisoners that you used to have...

Prison is a place where you write letters and can't think of anything to say. Where you gradually write fewer an fewer letters and finally stop writing altogether...

Prison is a place where the flame in every man burns low. For some it goes out, but for most it flickers weakly, sometimes flashes brightly, but never seems to burn as it once did...

Prison is a place where you find grey hair in your head or find your hair starting to disappear. It's a place where you get false teeth, stronger glasses and aches and pains you never felt before. A place where you grow old and worry about it...

Prison is a place where you hate through clenched teeth where you want to beat, kick, and scratch and you wonder if the psychologist knows what they're talking about when they say you actually hate yourself...

Prison is a place where you learn that nobody needs you that the outside world goes on without you...

Prison is a place where you can go for years without the touch of a human hand, where you can go for months without hearing a kind word. It is a place where your friendships are shallow and you know it...

Prison is a place where you hear about a friend's divorce and didn't even know he was married. It is a place where you hear about your neighbor's kids graduating from school... and you thought they hadn't started yet...

Prison is a place where you're smarter than the parole board because you know which guys will go straight and which ones won't. You're wrong just as often as the board members are, but you never admit it and neither do they...

Prison is a place where you wait for a promised visit. When is doesn't come, you worry about a car accident. Then you find out the reason they didn't come. You're glad because it wasn't serious... and disappointed because such a little thing could keep them from coming to see you...

Prison is a place... or is it an attitude?

Write to me:

Sergio Contreras - C65663

350-1-53L

PO BOX 9AVENAL,

CA 93204 USA

Katia

2007-11-07T09:34:00.000-08:00

Write me

Richard Arciniega - B82619

Buoilding 310

Po Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Light as a feather

2007-10-19T09:46:00.001-07:00

Light as a feather, I stand,

and as I turn to see back at the treacherous
path I have walked,

astounded I am at the near miss of pit falls that have
been set before me.

Now, in an atmoshere of mystery and intrigue surround my effort to
proceed.

I must get to the end of my journey,

so that I can see the smile of the
ones I love.

My heart yearns for the moment of ecstasy as my tears well up from pure
joy at the sight of my dear little one.

Let my conviction be deepened further at the realization of being.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Awakened

2007-10-14T09:01:00.000-07:00

Torn between horrors I am, the mysteries of life I seek,

but the veil before my eyes often as thick as a smoke filled room,

separating me for the moment.

I have set myself against what is lurking in the shadows.

I am ascending above ignorance and have not accepted the limitations and the illusions of the human enviroment.

To rule the desire within me to learn,

grow and teach,

by word and example.

I must understand what I am to obey.

I awoke with a plan fully formed in my mind,

as though my sleeping brain have been working on it all night.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Virtues

2007-10-13T08:32:00.000-07:00

In the shadows I stand as I observe the coming and going of my surroundings. The spirit that permiates throughout the air, is ignored by the majority of the danger it possess! When the sun is high and the masses are about, I am able to hear the chaotic energy voice it's call to me. Dangerous this energy so strong, but I harness what little I can handle. Gleaming in the gloom, are instruction in the form of a single-word commands. Listen, hear, patience, kindness, fortitude, quietude, humility, courage and respect, the list goes on. Arrested I am!

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

We're all a little emigrant

2007-10-13T04:23:00.000-07:00

History books are full of the most famous ups and downs of migration waves; some grow and develop silently inside the national sphere like the "dust bowl" migration, famous for being featured in one of steinbeck's masterpieces, that during the years of the great depression in the United States took hundreds of thousands of farmers from the middle west to California; others explode noisily crossing the country and even continent borders like the recent "european assault" that is becoming the last hope for so many desperate african people.To be completely honest nobody can avoid finding somewhere in the past of his own family some kind of migratory move; the history of civilization is also the history of human migration: at the and we're all a little bit emigrant. Somehow the large migratory waves are always generated by some bipolar effect like disaster-hope; on one side we have a push often consisting in a real threat to the life of an entire population like hunger, poverty, genocide, ect. on the other side a catalyst for hope in a better future (or at least less dangerous) like the American dream of the past century or the European one of the current.And it is this bipolarity that gives birth also to all the problems associated with the largest migratory waves; yes because the owners of that "dream wellbeing" are really determined defend it from to emigrant usurpers. In the United States illegal immigration is a fellony punished with three years of prison. Somehow the legislator with stars and stripes must have not noticed that for a starving poor mexican the "threat" of three years of room and board in a us federal prison is not exactly an efficient deterrent; in fact the migratory wave hitting southern us is stronger than ever. But it is not the migration on itsself that represents a danger for the wellbeing of the population "invaded", it is rather the possible excess that unfortunately pair off with these waves. The migration in itself is activally positive because, for istance, it helps enormously the exchange between mature cultures; recent studies have demonstrated that the development of separated communities is maximized thanks to exchanges limited by volume and time, like it happens during migratory waves. It looks like this model is more efficient not only of communities that are completely separated, but also of communities in continuous contact, the so-called "global communities". The migration in its own is positive because, for example, it is often the answer to an excess of "cheap" labour opportunities inside the receiving ecomony; now a day in Italy there is a chronic lack of basic and support hospital personnel and all of a sudden countries from eastern Europe are ready to fulfill this need; in Italy we even have agencies whose business is to recruit this personnel and train them in the Italian language and hospital techniques and help them complete the immigration process. In California there is an even more chronical lack of farming operators to fulfill the needs of the "garden of the USA" and Mexico is promptly satisfying this lack of personnel, even temporary or seasonal. Another example: in Unites States and Europe we lack programmers and designers to answer the explosive growth in internet systems and sites in India, South Africa and some Eastern European countries are more than happy to fulfill our need. In short what we should fight is not the migration wave, but the lack of organization that comes with it; lack of organization that grows bigger the larger the migration is, so big that it defeats any systematic control. It is in such movement that the growing desperation produces the "hope dinghies", and fills the hospitality centers until they look like prison; it changes the immigrant from a person looking for a job into a hopeless survivor that would do anything to avoid sure death.We've all been emigrant, in one period of history or another, and keeping this thought in mind we should give up trying to stop something that is a natural part of human civilization and development and we should try to understand and organize it as best as we can in order to avoid as much as possible the degeneration that is the real enemy, for us and for the immigrants themselves!

Write to me:

Carlo Parlanti - F25457

350-2-58X PO BOX 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Hidden pain

2007-09-18T14:36:00.000-07:00

The beauty that lies beneath all the hurt and pain, suffered at the hands of
those who professed to love and care, is taking much effort to rise to the
surface.

As exhausting as it is to hold fast to a thin thread of hope, for a future worth
living for.

For gray has been the day of yet and with dreaded antisapation of tomorrow, I
am.

At the wake of night I find my solace, in the dark recess of my mind,
contemplating coloring my thoughts with love, honour and respect, for that is
who I am.

Challenging it has been to beautify the images of my mind.

Contradicting are my desires, as the facts are against me.

I must find an avenue to a safe path even though it may be narrow, for
simplicity brings contentment.

All about evil lurks, behind a smile, who knows? A laughter maybe masking dark
intent. So ware of the man who fakes a limp.

For beauty seen from afar, is genuine, so approach at an angle, slow but true,
for the image you see, is a reflection of you.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Letting-go

2007-09-15T19:33:00.000-07:00

I can see your mind, through your eyes, and despite the exhaustion and your tears of frustation, the spirit of nobility you do have.

I'll venture to say, that time has given urgency to your steps, and with sweeping determination, you can build a future worth living for.

Hear me, a note of caution I give you.

With effort you must push the memory away, lest it consumes you with grief and anger.

Don't kneel before anyone and plead ignorance! For you well know what must be done. You are enslaved to memory, dark as they maybe. Shine a light on them and they go away.

My own fear shamed me, but no longer. I have ignited with intent, and within the peaceful seams of my heart, lies this flame, ever burning...which is love.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Reflection

2007-09-14T03:14:00.000-07:00

Hey Paulie, I know you have been affected.

I know you've been in a galaxy, in which you were exposed to hurt, pain, sadness, hunger and thirst.

I know you have seen the clashes of all sorts of substance abuse, physical and sexsual abuse.

I know you have seen the begining of life and ending of it.

I know you have experience to have plenty and to be in want.

I know you have been near death on numerous occasions. You have seen loved ones dead and loved ones dying.

I know you have heard the cries of others and of your own.

I know you have been slashed at, shot at, and I know you have had your share in cutting and shootings and hitting your targets.

This is the happy curiosity, that you were not alone. I was with you all along...yes, the one before you in the mirror.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Rise

2007-09-10T13:48:00.000-07:00

Now you must cast down your laziness, he who rests on down or under cover, can not come to fame.

He who desires or in want must surround himself with those who have...to have.

Explain yourself with action, for the lack of words is sufficient for me.

A just request, is to be met in silence, by the act.

How can you say, what is to be, if you only see, with one eye?

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Avenal State Prison Art

2007-09-09T08:18:00.000-07:00

Nature

2007-09-09T06:08:00.001-07:00

Write to me

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

Tear drops

2007-09-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

To see in the eyes of one who can not speak, but words I hear out loud as the life blood stains his surrounding.

In the stains of others I've become that surrounding, and the words of my mouth is what I heard, from the eyes I've seen cry. The child of a mother is who that was.

Never can be effaced from my memory, the images of my eyes. The words of their crys and the reflections of my own as a reminder, always to be unknown.

Utterly unable to decide. I have a horror of a river of tears now.

I recall his many qualities, his patient temper, his industry, his cheerfulness and tender love for me.

I can not express my feelings or describe the vastness of my loss.

What I have done...is done!

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Cucui

2007-09-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Ehi you, you smiling, tell me, I'd be glad to have something to smile about.

Funny, what memories come to you for no good reason.

For a moment i was a child, sensitive to the touch, always ready for a good
story.

Tales of the dark, gruesome and insane. I'll never forget them, for I was
terrifield for days after, expecially at night.

The dark and the shadow people wait patiently for me, as if they had eternity.

Strange as it may seem, I'd always felt this chill, that would freeze my heart.

The hair on my arms would stand on and, yes...on my neck too.

At the ready, are the willing, to pull me under my bed, and my closet would
always welcome me in.

I never saw the face behind the big green eyes.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

The depth of pain

2007-09-04T07:02:00.000-07:00

In the depth of pain I have plunged, the moment the meeting of conception
was made.

Why would life be granted in innocence and death followed by guilt?

These are troubling thoughts of mine and questions that disturbs me so.

I have looked deeper into the realm of exsuses and have come up with
irrational hope.

My voice is filled with contempt on this matter.

I have never been able to trust words offered so effortlessly. I am accustomed
to insincerity smoothly delivered to me, but matters of the heart is what is
sought, difficult to express, I am, for much more is at stake.

In haste I accept the pain of loss, so that distance can take root.

Rather than say so, I'll ask another question.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

On-call

2007-09-02T15:10:00.000-07:00

I have been put into a position that can turn my hands red at will and to have that
responsibility is very burdensome and weighty.

I have little refreshment as they put me to the question with a thousand sudden
demands.

Now what can this mean? Am I now a banished man? I well know that I am followed with
deep interest.

I am on my own, for the world and death and the inhumanity of some, parted us forever.

I have decided my defense against these robbers, must be my solitude.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Bound

2007-09-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

Allow me to bind you with my rope of words, as I
arrest your attention and hold you captive.

I'll kiss you and render you speechless, as if you
were gagged.

Don't wiggle, turn or twist, for understanding, for
the cords of my words will only tighten.

Look into my eyes and see that I mean no harm.

Surrender to your captor and say: that you will be
his lady, so that I can say, that I'll be your man.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Mama

2007-09-01T19:42:00.000-07:00

Panic ruled my mind for a moment as hot coals of a little girls cry, for her mother...my mother!Always will be missed the tender love she had for me.

A courageous woman full of fright and held at bay, by her submissive role.

I gave her my word, she made me promise, to be the keeper of my brothers, this I will!

What good would it do to say "I love you"? I wish for better words, but there are none.

In desparation I am, lent not by design. The thought that my mother is gone, brought limitless tears and crushed me with heartache.

Life seems desolate, but not meaningless.

For yesterday is the day, that had pushed today into tomorrow, and this I live for, that my mother's sacrifices will not be in vain.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Time

2007-09-01T06:52:00.000-07:00

Afraid of aging, I am.

As the decadence of my body and mind races forth, I can't help but wonder, what one as old as he thinks.

As he already passed on to me what needs to be? Is he waiting for reassurance from me, that I have learned, so that I can go and teach?

I walk with him in silence, knowing I am being taught.

The source of his work, overwhelms me with addiction, for the rest of my life.

Questions of many, answers assured.

Step by step, I'll take with him. If he ever decides to speak to me, I hope he says; I have achieved.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Pre-judged

2007-09-01T06:21:00.000-07:00

I no longer see the warmth of friendship and affection, once displayed to me.

The concealment of truth is revealed through the dart of your eyes and posture, so close them and speak, for then, I'll know the true nature of your heart.

As one nears out of darkness, I've become aware through the dramatic and terrible experiences of the past few years.

I was quite overcomed and taken a back, and would have fallen, if I hadn't been lying down!

The memory of what I saw caused a weakness in the very fiber of my being - a sensation like the steam of hot water infusing my limbs and paralyzing my heart.

So it is with reverence approaching awe, that my pursuit of truth is done, with unrelenting courage and diligence, influence by a flicker of light, given by others and shunned by some, for a brighter future.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Image of the heart

2007-08-27T15:30:00.000-07:00

Image of the heart is what it gives, so through hard
work and redirected passionate questioning, it
continues simply extending the grand tradition of
misleading.

Eager I press, as I have been taught by my
surroundings, to test more.

For perception of the invisible, is time bound, and
keeping me in this certain blindness, which allows
seeing of other sorts, what I can not accept as
being.

First I must describe what I am looking for,
instruction in the art of seeing I have and through
my squinting eyes I search.

I have I longing to see beyond what my usual sight
tells me. In an alter state I am.

I grasp at the heart that led me astray and as I
looked into the mirror and seen its face, now that
it's bound and being interrogated, it can not run.

I must get the doors wide open and walk through.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

In grim thought

2007-08-26T06:38:00.000-07:00

It hurt to see some of the scenes, I come across, when you hear like I do...in
my mind!

At times I seem like a man set in stone, except that a tear was sliding silently
down from each eye.

Accumulated in me are volumes of knowledge of the sadness of others, caused
by those who were not foreseen with the seed of evil, in yet their unformed
human minds.

I have eye-witnessed and can testify to the ferocity, that seemed in born,
unsteady to the extreme they are.

In grim thought I sit, for pleasure is not to be.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

V-76259

2007-08-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

In my world there is not joy, I'm not sure if I had lost it or if it was stolen?

In the temporary safety of distance, I'll seek it.

In this world there are many holes and in one of these, I'll be.

Always a sparkle that catches the eye. Isn't that a wonder?

I'd let out a troubled sigh, when I first had heard, and with sour recognition I gave a weak and empty smile.

For where I go, I must face. So the sooner started, the sooner finished! That I have learned.

Upon my arrival I had noticed, that psychologically calculated, were the mood altering colors.

Paralysing dread of occupying such a place, filled me.

The icy realization prickled my flesh, that now I have become a number.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA

Deep thought

2007-08-23T14:57:00.000-07:00

As I was brought out of my gyration, I had to stop and get my composure as the world around me kept spinning.

With my eyes closed, I do not speak and in this darkness, reality is found.

One must stop and take time to listen to nothing, to hear everything.

And in this realm of peace and tranquility, a smile is formed.

Extended to you is an invitation to a journey of darkness, where so much light illuminates.

Write to me:

Paul Lara V76259

350-1-55y Po box 9

Avenal, CA 93204

USA