Hindsight by M. Jackson

You know contrary to my many notorieties, in hindsight, the disposition of my own reality is something I've come to live with. One would call it the flip side of the coin, b.u.t then again, they aren't me. Consequently, from the skin I wear proudly. The sacrifices I hold dearly, in hindsight I don't ponder towards doubt. Only implement knowledge of self directed towards change. Never the less, I wonder if they know. Know that as a man I was suppose to vow to do whatever it took to grant those I love care about safety. Food in their belly, and clothes on their backs. In hindsight, the expectancy of credit was never my motivation. Raiser of kids not my own, father to seeds now grown. Less than a memory, only remembered by the title society gave me, GANGSTA. Easily forgotten is the intentions of the strong willed. Before it became the educated mind. As lyfe imitates art, amd art imitates lyfe. Our picture is painted by time's brush. Called to duty we teach, that the game you so call offered your loyalty to. Retrospectively, isn't a game at all. Doesn't love you back. In hindsight I wonder if they know. That it was once said: "There's two dates on your tombstone and everybody is going to read them, b.u.t the only thing that's going to matter is the time in between". Who have you forgotten due to lyfe's circumstances? The time in between to reflect on their worth is now, or are you that selfishly hindsighted.

Voice And Arm by M. Jackson

Most essential blessings, through provided grace by gravity and math. Not limited too blindly on the focus of religion, b.u.t direly aimed at the righteous perspective and empathy of my fellow Brothers (the Arm). My Black Diamonds out there in the concrete, Sisters (the Voice). Be as it may, situations arise as majority annointed have succumbed to the reality, that the American Dream is ultimately the American Nightmare. Myself included, no exception to the rule. Like so many before me. In a time when sexes race to mix, and the attack on urban safety and choice burdens the elderly heart. The man, original and decreed will always remain his rightful position. The Arm. Whereas contrary to popular trend and fad, the strength of comfort, direction and to build and protect. Has been placed in the back of the conscious closet like an old button up. There's no more enchanting than the "Voice" of Blackwomen. Her words speak dreams and admirations, at times when positions don't seem pivotal. The problem is we (the Arm) have failed to listen to the candor of her tone. Failed to seek the melody of her treble. How far away have we strayed when we ignore the "Voice" that spoke console to the lyfe of our young in abscence of our presence. We the "Arm", need to get back to our strength. Rebuild the muscles that once clenched the righteous Black fist. Get back the respect we have leased to the confession and settle of the same sex virus that subconsciously infects the mind of our young. For too long we have asked the "Voice" to hinder to our catfish like survival for steriod of lyfe, giving praise to the dead presidents that don't deserve it. Our Voice has the divine tendency to speak things into existence. Her, the Voice, is a keen reflection what we've taught her. The neglect she has endured. Speaking from vision and perspective, wordlessly, b.u.t in action, from a million or more "Arms". Still strong and capable. Outstretching to the free availibility of presence. Asking the universe to get back to it's understanding. Honor your "Voice", and excercise your "Arm".

by Black King Lyfe Allah

Peace to Man, Woman and Child,

While waiting in line for chow, some brothers decided to skip the line and advance to the front. I asked my self how come these individuals did not have enough patience to wait their turn. Which borned another thought of: How will these people survive in the free cipher if they have not acquired patience in the injustice cipher? Allow me to help you travel through my reasoning via my train of thought.

Most of us that were arrested were put in cuffs and placed in the back seat of a police car, waiting on the officer(s) to get the story together before transporting us to the precinct. Once at the precinct, we have to sit in a cage (holding cell) until the police fills out their paper work. Now, depending if you are in New York City, or an area that operates differently, you go either to the county (outside of NYC), or to Central Booking (NYC). Going through Central Booking can take days before you see a judge, until then you involunteerly become apart of musical cells --> go from holding cell to holding cell, before reaching the quarters behind the courtroom. In the case of the county transport, you are forced to endure the agony of processing, which may takes hours, depending on the volume of prisoners coming in. Once this is done, you still have more hours of waiting for a bunk assignment. There are those of us that are blessed enough to be able to afford bail, yet and still with being bailed out there is a process of waiting. 

Okay, we have been arrested, processed (or bailed out), and given a bunk, so the wait is over now, right? Emphatically not! It is just transferred to another realm, waiting to go before a judge again, and the whole prelimnary process. If either side, defense or prosecutor, puts in for any continuances, the wait is even longer. Let us skip through the entire legal dance of "proving beyond a reasonable doubt", and get straight to the inevitable conviction, the wait is over NOW, right? Not even! 

How long will it take to get transported to prison? In Ohio, it takes weeks, if that long. B.u.t in New York, it can take up to months. More waiting. The Department of "Corrections" has us in custody, making us wards of the state, so the next step is to get through the processing stage on a state level. After this we have to wait to go to our institution which can take any where from days to months. Okay, we are finally at the institution we are assigned to do our time ... b.u.t now we have to go through the whole orientation situation and be placed in an ordinary dorm/block. Now the wait is finally over! Except for the greatest wait of all: WAITING TO GO HOME!!! 

You have been enlightened to all the waiting that we do as convicts, from arrest to bidding, and one would think we have developed the virtue of patience. However, that is not always the case. In fact, that is often not the case, just look at the recidivism rate in this country. If we had the amount of patience expected of someone going through all the waiting spoken of in this entry, we would not keep coming back to this hell of incarceration. We would not lose focusness when we do not find employment within the first few weeks of release. We wouldn't get sidetracked whenever lyfe throws obstacles before us, like irrational baby mamas, frienemies, pressures of the hood, et cetera. 

So in essence, "correctional" facilities do not help us develop patience. It is like anything else with getting what you can out of your bid: it is on the individual to refine themselves and acquire the degree of patience necessary to remain in the free ciphee once there. Any ideas? Peace.

Black King