Post by CCADP on May 19, 2005 10:01:28 GMT -5
THE BRINKS OF INSANITY
By: Gabriel Gonzalez
Time and time again, I have been asked the question: “What is death row like?” But truthfully, no matter what I say I can’t paint the image of death, rage, anger, love, sadness, and hope together all iun the same breath. The only thing that death row reminds me of is simply life itself, but with unbearable pain amplified to a towering level where its depths may never be known. However, to say life isn’t painful would be an unconscious statement, so how and where do I begin?
For many years now I have been living with this thought, forever alone with the idea of death whispering sweet nothings in my ear. As I lay down to sleeo each night and when I awake, I only realize with more certainty than the previous day that, if there was a hell, it could no means get any worse than this—Death Row. Like the flames of hell lick at one’s soul, the coals of death row burn with a constant battle between a thirst for life and a thirst to quickly see it pass you by.
Once upon a time the years seemed like decades ago rather than one coming decade alone. I was a man like any other’ Young, innocent, and hungry for adventures. I had as many dreams as there were minutes, but before my eyelids could blink twice, like the Phantom of the Opera, I had disappeared momentarily somewhere in a place that was similar to purgatory.
I am still a young man, but with all the innocence gone, dreams fleeting in the wind, and my once adventurous mind now fixated on one idea. I am held hostage, my body trapped in a steel cahe, and my brain searching for abounding knowledge that seems surely to lead me down a path of insanity. Try as I will, I separate myself from the madness around me that reeks with sick twisted souls, innocence trapped in a living nightmare, and life itself being taken as fast as a river falling off an endless cliff.
At the deepest point in my eager search for understanding of complete chaos, I am disturbed; Count time—get your ass up and stand at the door with your ID’s up in hand!” a guard yelled down the run. And as soon as he approached my cahe and asked for my number, I looked blindly as if he wasn’t there at all. “Inmate! Your number!” the guard yelled again. He stood silent for a moment as I looked at him, and I responded, “I don’t have a number but I’ll give you my name,” I said rather coldly. This time neither the heavy tread of his boots moved forward or anything, but instead he asked me, “Are you okay?” Seeing his uncertainty at that moment, I shook my head and he continued his count.
Like a haunting ghost that roams the halls of the dead is just how I perceived that guard as he left. Other prisoners responded rapidly to a number in place of their names, and the thought sickens me to think my life has become merely a number to the system—nothing more. We are caught in its lifeless grips like that of a corpse being driven into a nonsexist state, but I refuse to succumb. So if separating myself from my environment means to live in the consant state of anger, so be it. I have seen blood silently run from cages next door to me because a human being was put in these inhumane conditions and could not deal with his isolation and humanity. His sukence was too loud and he killed himself. I have seen prisoners viciously beaten damn near to death by prison guards for simply standing for his dignity as what he is; A HUMAN BEING! I have heard the screams and cries of ones insanities locked in these cages like animals 23 hours a day. And as I sit here at my desk where I am writing right now, I realize that this is a world none of us were meant to live in.
Often I have been jolted awake, chased by thoughts that are not who I am as a person, so I am consciously awake in the reality of my surroundings—hell. If anything in the world can be hell, I believe it is man’s creations in many forms. For death row prisoners, the system traps an emotion that never escapes and that emotion is hopelessness, which eventually compounds other emotions together which can only destroy people. The most common result is to exact vengeance. So not only does this feeling become genuine, society teaches it as a whole when they use it to punish. And like a great man once said: “Vengeance should only come from an individual, if ever any punishment left in God’s hands altogether.” However, society is poised between the two, and it is amplified here on death row. Prisoners forget who has confined them here, and for whatever reasons, they focus that newly found aggression at each other.
I believe in God and I pray for the answers every day to make the right decisions, but I often fall from the graces of God because of my thoughts, if not my actions that paralyze my heart from its natural beat. Those who judge us claim that the death penalty is necessary, because life in prison won’t suffice. When any man or woman enters these begging halls of redemption, what can possibly be left except bitterness and anger? We are treated like savage beast that are soon to be slaughtered by public opinion, if nothing more, and then executed.
In truth, society is paranoid with each other, and it shows in all aspects of prison, not just death row. Our lawgivers speak of philanthropy, progress, humanity, justice, and claim it all in the name of God! How it sickens me to hear such things, to support such things, and to accept it like that of a faithful dog. I WILL NOT!
Bending his ear to the words of the devil is where we’ll find our politicians—who do nothing in the name of God, but instead for self gain and profit while at the same time trying to abolish God from the law of the land, and even this world. So if you wonder how such places death row are created, look there and you will find the creator of hell. Some of us fight to remain who we are, and in the process grow into the best people we can possibly be, but we can only hope it isn’t all for nothing.
Moreover, let it be clearly understood that many men here are sick by nature. They have done things which are sick, detestable, and immoral. Actually, I speak of myself because I am considered one of these men. I, just like many others confess not to be any of these things. I consider myself to be a man of many principals, visions, and seek my actions to be righteous in all that I do, yet is there a place for such a man on death row—I FEAR NOT. Death row is no place for any man to remain caged like some animal and totally isolated in a permanent solitary. In the racist South, the name of the victim has a Black face and can easily be found dead hanging from a dirty white sheet in some backwater town. Although race does play a larger role in the death penalty than people would like to believe, as well as class, people of all color are added to the long list of those waiting to become victims by various states’ state-sanctioned murder: Execution!
The tales of life are no different than death row, maybe those condemned to die on death row obviously are more deserving of detestation, but its increased barbarity only reinstates the code of justice by bloodshed. So if I am repeatedly asked, “What is death row like?” I can only say it is the part of the world we live in, without the joy. It is everything all together in an explosion—complete chaos.
As I will always try to separate myself from the chaos, sadly, I must understand it and feel it in order to survive its rugged course. This is not by choice, but in order to survive the grips of hell itself, I have to cut through the steel bars with my mind and heart in order to become the free man I am fighting to become. I live the life I was given, but I try not to accept my fate and let this world live in my mind. So, if I am to escape it all, I live if the brinks of insanity.
By: Gabriel Gonzalez
Time and time again, I have been asked the question: “What is death row like?” But truthfully, no matter what I say I can’t paint the image of death, rage, anger, love, sadness, and hope together all iun the same breath. The only thing that death row reminds me of is simply life itself, but with unbearable pain amplified to a towering level where its depths may never be known. However, to say life isn’t painful would be an unconscious statement, so how and where do I begin?
For many years now I have been living with this thought, forever alone with the idea of death whispering sweet nothings in my ear. As I lay down to sleeo each night and when I awake, I only realize with more certainty than the previous day that, if there was a hell, it could no means get any worse than this—Death Row. Like the flames of hell lick at one’s soul, the coals of death row burn with a constant battle between a thirst for life and a thirst to quickly see it pass you by.
Once upon a time the years seemed like decades ago rather than one coming decade alone. I was a man like any other’ Young, innocent, and hungry for adventures. I had as many dreams as there were minutes, but before my eyelids could blink twice, like the Phantom of the Opera, I had disappeared momentarily somewhere in a place that was similar to purgatory.
I am still a young man, but with all the innocence gone, dreams fleeting in the wind, and my once adventurous mind now fixated on one idea. I am held hostage, my body trapped in a steel cahe, and my brain searching for abounding knowledge that seems surely to lead me down a path of insanity. Try as I will, I separate myself from the madness around me that reeks with sick twisted souls, innocence trapped in a living nightmare, and life itself being taken as fast as a river falling off an endless cliff.
At the deepest point in my eager search for understanding of complete chaos, I am disturbed; Count time—get your ass up and stand at the door with your ID’s up in hand!” a guard yelled down the run. And as soon as he approached my cahe and asked for my number, I looked blindly as if he wasn’t there at all. “Inmate! Your number!” the guard yelled again. He stood silent for a moment as I looked at him, and I responded, “I don’t have a number but I’ll give you my name,” I said rather coldly. This time neither the heavy tread of his boots moved forward or anything, but instead he asked me, “Are you okay?” Seeing his uncertainty at that moment, I shook my head and he continued his count.
Like a haunting ghost that roams the halls of the dead is just how I perceived that guard as he left. Other prisoners responded rapidly to a number in place of their names, and the thought sickens me to think my life has become merely a number to the system—nothing more. We are caught in its lifeless grips like that of a corpse being driven into a nonsexist state, but I refuse to succumb. So if separating myself from my environment means to live in the consant state of anger, so be it. I have seen blood silently run from cages next door to me because a human being was put in these inhumane conditions and could not deal with his isolation and humanity. His sukence was too loud and he killed himself. I have seen prisoners viciously beaten damn near to death by prison guards for simply standing for his dignity as what he is; A HUMAN BEING! I have heard the screams and cries of ones insanities locked in these cages like animals 23 hours a day. And as I sit here at my desk where I am writing right now, I realize that this is a world none of us were meant to live in.
Often I have been jolted awake, chased by thoughts that are not who I am as a person, so I am consciously awake in the reality of my surroundings—hell. If anything in the world can be hell, I believe it is man’s creations in many forms. For death row prisoners, the system traps an emotion that never escapes and that emotion is hopelessness, which eventually compounds other emotions together which can only destroy people. The most common result is to exact vengeance. So not only does this feeling become genuine, society teaches it as a whole when they use it to punish. And like a great man once said: “Vengeance should only come from an individual, if ever any punishment left in God’s hands altogether.” However, society is poised between the two, and it is amplified here on death row. Prisoners forget who has confined them here, and for whatever reasons, they focus that newly found aggression at each other.
I believe in God and I pray for the answers every day to make the right decisions, but I often fall from the graces of God because of my thoughts, if not my actions that paralyze my heart from its natural beat. Those who judge us claim that the death penalty is necessary, because life in prison won’t suffice. When any man or woman enters these begging halls of redemption, what can possibly be left except bitterness and anger? We are treated like savage beast that are soon to be slaughtered by public opinion, if nothing more, and then executed.
In truth, society is paranoid with each other, and it shows in all aspects of prison, not just death row. Our lawgivers speak of philanthropy, progress, humanity, justice, and claim it all in the name of God! How it sickens me to hear such things, to support such things, and to accept it like that of a faithful dog. I WILL NOT!
Bending his ear to the words of the devil is where we’ll find our politicians—who do nothing in the name of God, but instead for self gain and profit while at the same time trying to abolish God from the law of the land, and even this world. So if you wonder how such places death row are created, look there and you will find the creator of hell. Some of us fight to remain who we are, and in the process grow into the best people we can possibly be, but we can only hope it isn’t all for nothing.
Moreover, let it be clearly understood that many men here are sick by nature. They have done things which are sick, detestable, and immoral. Actually, I speak of myself because I am considered one of these men. I, just like many others confess not to be any of these things. I consider myself to be a man of many principals, visions, and seek my actions to be righteous in all that I do, yet is there a place for such a man on death row—I FEAR NOT. Death row is no place for any man to remain caged like some animal and totally isolated in a permanent solitary. In the racist South, the name of the victim has a Black face and can easily be found dead hanging from a dirty white sheet in some backwater town. Although race does play a larger role in the death penalty than people would like to believe, as well as class, people of all color are added to the long list of those waiting to become victims by various states’ state-sanctioned murder: Execution!
The tales of life are no different than death row, maybe those condemned to die on death row obviously are more deserving of detestation, but its increased barbarity only reinstates the code of justice by bloodshed. So if I am repeatedly asked, “What is death row like?” I can only say it is the part of the world we live in, without the joy. It is everything all together in an explosion—complete chaos.
As I will always try to separate myself from the chaos, sadly, I must understand it and feel it in order to survive its rugged course. This is not by choice, but in order to survive the grips of hell itself, I have to cut through the steel bars with my mind and heart in order to become the free man I am fighting to become. I live the life I was given, but I try not to accept my fate and let this world live in my mind. So, if I am to escape it all, I live if the brinks of insanity.