ALL Writings are copyright by the authors – Updated June 23, 2023

I received a text this morning from Phillip Vance Smith ll with a link to his latest writing:

Lost in Transit: Digitization of Mail Expands Surveillance Beyond Prisons

I received a letter back in April, I am just getting to; this is a piece of it:

“Hi, my name is Harold Brothers Jr. I am 31 years old. I’m currently incarcerated in county jail in a small town in Sequin Texas. I’m writing this letter to see if you can possibly help me find a pen-pal.

To be honest, I’m lonely, I really don’t have any family and I need somebody to talk to again.”

Harold Brothers Jr, So#09359-01, Guadalupe County Adult Detention Center, 2615 N. Guadalupe St., Sequin, Texas, 78155

I received this writing with a short letter from Andrew A SEASON IN THE ABYSS: Finding Light in a Dark Place.

A SEASON IN THE ABYSS

Finding Light in a Dark Place

John Milton said, “The mind is its own place and, in itself can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.” Indeed, it is the mind that matters. The Stoics teach us that it is not circumstances but rather one’s inner state that is of most importance.  On a related note, Tolstoy said, “There are no conditions to which a person cannot grow accustomed…”. What do you do when life takes you down a dark road and circumstances seem overwhelming? You change your mentality, which is exactly what I was forced to do.

I was taken into police custody in February of 2006. In November of that same year, I was given a life sentence and officially began my time in prison. Prison in my State rarely resembles the worst of Hollywood stereotypes, but its bad enough – especially when you have no release date.

It can get much darker if you indulge in feelings of bitterness, self-loathing, rage and despair. I’ll never forget two lessons I learned early on. I was sitting with a buddy of mine when he pointed at a guy near us with a pathetic, miserable look on his face and said, “That is someone who thinks about the wrong stuff!” Another time someone I had been talking to looked at me and told me straight up: “You’re a complainer.” I did not want to be a complainer, and I did not want to be that guy who stewed in thoughts of self-pity. What does it mean to find the light?  It means a life suffused with meaning, an abiding sense of peace and positivity, and a feeling of being connected rather than lost in isolation. Prison is very interesting because it can lead you both ways; certainly, you can find yourself drawn deeper into the abyss, but it provides a unique opportunity to rise up and become stronger.

“How hard, how cruel, this process of becoming a man,” wrote Albert Camus. I had so many issues to work through when I started, and I couldn’t stay stagnant lest I got stuck in that place of darkness and turmoil. Life teaches you many lessons automatically, but you must put in the work as well. It is a slow excruciating process that requires diligent effort and a hard spirit of perseverance. I realized early on that family is very important. My parents have been great! I have talked to my Mom nearly every day, and I don’t know what I would have done without those conversations. You can’t rely on other people to get you through, but it certainly helps to have outside support. I get letters and reading materials. I have phone calls and visits. People support me financially. I am constantly aware of the love and concern they have for me – I am extremely grateful for it, and it is a great boon to me in a life that can often contain great struggle.

A new level of adversity to prison life was added when I hurt myself lifting weights.  Because I was so obsessive, and because I did not understand the nature of my physical condition. I made it worse by working out more. The pain became so invasive that most of the time I just sat there, as still as possible. It hurt to read, it hurt to write, and it hurt to do other daily activities tht other people take for granted. I had to humbly request assistance and even pay people to do certain things for me. The experience of living with severe pain forced me to consider life from a new perspective and recalibrate my thinking. The mind-body connection comes into play strongly: if you’re stressed and depressed, you feel worse. Don’t talk about it, don’t fixate on it, don’t feel sorry for yourself. I don’t wish chronic pain on anyone, but it will change you-for the better if you respond correctly. I am better at handling anxiety; I have learned to accept reality with fortitude rather than complain about it. In short, I abide by the motto of my Scottish ancestors, Clan Lindsay, and “Endure Boldly”  (translated from the Latin- Endure Fort).

Nearly every man here wants a female companion, they can be hard to find. Additionally, it can create more problems than it solves. I was blessed to find a young woman (on prisnpenpals.com) who needed me as much as I needed her. Years ago, an astute therapist pointed out that I had an issue with feeling unlovable (I knew family loved me, but they are supposed to love me). When my pen pal wrote me and told me unequivocally that she loved me, it was a game changer. Something hard and icy melted inside, eliminating an obstacle to my personal growth. It wasn’t long before I had a “conversion” experience where I felt light bursting through me and I knew I was no longer an atheist. Tha put me on a new trajectory that gives me context for my decision- making as well as strength and inspiration as I face life’s challenges. It was challenging, and quite painful, when the woman in question told me recently that she needed to move on with her life. I was able to handle it, however. I miss our interactions and I don’t understand why she couldn’t take time for me; nevertheless, I’m not bitter. Instead, I am grateful for the time we had together (acquaintances to romantic partners to loving friends), and I am thankful for the gift she gave me.

It is now 2023, and I’m doing much better both mentally and physically. I’m not depressed like I used to be. My stress levels are lower; things that used to worry and upset me do so muc less. I have a great relationship with my family – they are proud of my progress and enjoy the new, more pleasant version of me. I write poetry, I meditate, and I listen to music on my recently acquired tablet. My spiritual life is vibrant and helps me greatly with life’s ongoing struggles. The lyrics of Metal Church are apropos:  “I know these are the badlands/Somehow I’ll find my way.” These are indeed the badlands, and the way ahead can appear dark, but I discovered a Light that shines within.     © Andrew White 2023

I received this writing in a email in response to JJ’s writing (scroll down to 11/30/22) “Letter from J.J. – Magpie:

I was surprised on Christmas Eve (2022) with this letter from Inside Death Row:

Valerie,

Thank you, so very much. Even though you do not celebrate the season we appreciate your recognition of us at this time. I’m walking around and I’m talking to Paul right now he says,thanks for the kind words .have a Happy and safe holiday season. Now I’m talking to Mario he,s engaged in activity so I’ll speak for him He say Tell Valerie Hello. I’ve found Jason and Rrome Alone they say hello and wish you well. 

Now I’m talking to Fernando as he hasn’t written yet but he is one of the Christian brothers who does celebrate Christmas and he says, hello you’ll be hearing from me soon.

 As well as Big Mac the the other Christian brother who will be doin the segment with us Mac says, Thank you Valerie and have a great New Year. 

J.J. is gonna type on his own message…Hi Ms Val! Hope all is going well for u. I’m looking forward to working with u on the podcast. I directed people to ur site and got a few compliments, and some for u as well.

Again, hope all is well… Jj

Hello and thank you for thinking of me!

~Marcus

I’m waiting on the last guy who came to us on Death Row he is coming over now he says : May Allah bless you in your endeavours. We Thank you for all you do 🙂

And heres  Rodney: I made it to the party. There’s no way I could miss a group shout out to you. Merry Christmas to and Happy New Year.

OK that’s  almost everybody I think. Thank you so much and we all appreciate You.

Terrance. 12/24/22

This writing was received the end of Nov. 2022, but it will begin the year off.

A Little Story ( R ) 

Allow me to finesse these words to your ears

This little story goes back about 35 years

A boy was born healthy and strong

He was nurtured and loved

But at around 6 something went wrong

A series of evil people and events entered his life

This young healthy happy boy plunged into strife

At 7 he was setting fires and killing cats

At 10 he was running away from home

And sleeping in little shacks

At 12 they sent him to a mental ward

And some grownups told him he was insane

So the thoughts and tendencies of a schizophrenic mind

Only got worse in this boy over time

He was led to believe he was dumb and broken

At 15 he fired a gun at someone when no one was lookin

At 16 he was a drug dealer and his child was born

At 17 he was a juvie in jail 

What started life as a happy healthy boy

Now rotted in a cell

At 19 he went to prison for robbery

Did 2 years got out and went to Hawaii

He lived the best 6 years of his life on an island

No more meds no more doctors no more cryin

At 27 he moved back home

Wanted to be a dad to his little girl

They were inseparable

She was his world

By 32 he had a good job, motorcycle, nice car

A house with little apple trees in his backyard

His daughter was a happy healthy girl

But at 15 years of age

She was seeing her last days in this world

Something happened to that boy that became a man

Some say his past caught up w3ith him

Seems like he was destined to snap

His mental foothold being dragged down in quicksand

Now at 35 that man is sitting on death row

He destroyed his world after he sold his soul

He tries to think about what went wrong

But all he knows is his child is gone

Then one day this man turns to Allah and becomes Muslim

For the first time in life he has peace and comfort

He may not have his house, his motorcycle or his car

But he has it all in Allah whose presence is never far

So he spends his time praying and writing poems

Hoping maybe he can inspire someone to never stop going

No matter what you’ve gone through in life don’t give up

Hold on to faith and avoid the corrupt

What happens to ones magnificence

When they fall prey to

The whisper of the most intelligent

Persuasion of insignificant words 

Meant to activate the mind into coercion

Yet unbeknownst to them

Its subversion

Or simply put

We are enslaved by the mind

To think that life is limited

To a sense of time

Directly influenced by the rewind of our thoughts

Our regret is our fuel for what’s next

And yet we sit

Trapped by the constant wave of Do’s and don’ts, can and wills

Until your mind strikes a deal with the whisper 

You now no longer have control and

Time is moving so fast while your moving too slow

And you combust

No longer you yet you just reversed into a life

That whispers a lie

And you die

But because your magnificence

You only die on the outside

And you live on no longer prey to the whisper

His slick songs and easy poems.

You can be no longer trapped

By the persuasion of a false tongue

Because there is light

That’s right

No longer where you thought you’d be.

JB 11/29/22

Below are writings from 2022

2022

Sorry, but Paul’s writing was taken down. To find out more about Paul and his writings visit: Death Qualified

Updated: JJ, Paul and George

Please remember to look at the UPDATES page (updated 12/16/22)

I’d like to know if anyone knows the significance of the links being in red? If you do, email me and you may win a copy of my book “Notes from the Peaceful Sociologist”! prisongram@prisonpod.org (Added 11/14/22)

Letters

I’d like to thank Terrance for first writing to me, and then getting others to listen to the podcast, and to write me their stories. I do not want any conflict with the programming I am doing on the Prison POD podcast that is available in the jails and prisons through Edovo. The New (2nd) podcast will start in January, possible as a YouTube podcast. “Inside Death Row: NC” will be a separate production altogether and available on all platforms to educate people on abolishing the Death Penalty. After several episodes are recorded, then I may submit them to be considered through Jail Education Solutions. This second podcast is to bring awareness to the people living on Death Row.

12/14/22 From Terrance:

These are a few of my favorite things

Hot griddled pancakes and honey thick as molasses

Creme filled red peppers and crushed ice in glasses

All of the songs Whitney Houston did sing 

These are a few of my favorite things

Fresh milk in the morning and a cold moonlit night

Puppies a howlin’ and planes that zip outta sight

Wonders of adventures tomorrow may bring 

These are a few of my favorite things

Three cheese lasagnas and Californian red dinner wines

Tall sassy ladies with smiles that do shine

The roar of the crowd when the game’s last buzzer rings

These are a few of my favorite things

“When the dog bites, when the bees sting

When I’m feeling sad 

I simply remember my favorite things

Then I don’t feel soooo bad!!!”

(In The Sound of Music, Richard Rodgers wrote the music and Oscar Hammerstein II wrote the lyrics to the song “My Favorite Things.” – Last paragraph)

12/14/22 – Poems by JJ

12/14/22 – Desert Trek – JJ

Walking through the desert of lost souls

I want to cry, if only to taste my own pain.

But the tears are all dried up

And the acid-trail of scorched Flesh

Leave scars that all can see.

While trying to heal your wounded spirit

Revelations of who you were

Sparkled like diamond

Amid the arid desert sands.

Like Icarus of old,

You flew to high

Leaving your wings scorched and singed

Your spirit bereft of solace

You became an angel in exile

In the oasis of your mind 

Believing a thinly-veiled myth

That you deserve nothing

Humanity had to offer

The longer we walked

 The more you revealed

Of you battered soul

And slowly, but with steps sure and true

Healing began, if only for  you.

JJ

Hidden Truths

When walking in the night

Dark shadows dancing to and Fro

I go where I know not

Only knowing I must go.

When truth and lies

All mix together

In a witches brew of poison,

Truth scalds the roiling cauldron,

Only to die an ignoble death.

It seems as though I’ve lived my life

Balanced on the knife-edge of redemption,

Only to see it granted to others. 

I find myself out of options:

So now I soldier on,

Waving my flag of truce, 

Hoping I reach my destination

And find a little truth.

JJ

12/14/22 – Deafening Silence – JJ

I can still hear your voice

But your silence is deafening.

It speaks words I refuse to hear.

Your voice echoes inside the dark halls of my soul.

Why do you maintain this silence, this distance?

I long to speak your name, but I am unable to do so

Without being reminded of your silence, your deafening silence.

Does my memory exist inside your heart

Or is it a demon long since vanquished?

I yearn to exorcize the ghost of your memory

Yeat am defeated time and again.

Now it is this deafening silence I need to destroy,

Before I am reduced to madness.

JJ

11/30/22 – Letter from J.J. – Magpie

10/11/2022

“I go by my initials, J.J. I am 53 yrs. old & have been locked up 32 years, having been arrested October 13, 1990. I can not claim to be innocent or wrongly accused. I can say what happened those many years ago was tragic and not my desire, but I was there and I participated. I have co-defendants, yet I’m the only one on Death Row.”

Through a really random event, I was introduced to a young lady in Germany. She’d wrote a guy here, but he was already in a relationship, so he gave me her letter. I wrote to her, explained the circumstances, and we immediately hit it off, becoming friends, then something more.

Her name is M. She is 29 years old and works as a social worker, working in a sort of halfway house for troubled teens. There’s 8 rooms for teens, and it’s open to boys and girls. They have drug problems, have been mistreated at home, are criminal-minded and or have mental health issues. A stressful job in my opinion, but one she went to college to get her degree in, and again going to college to further her studies.

As I said, we wrote to each other, The turn-around for mail in Germany and back is longer than I like, but thankfully we can now use TextBehind, Tablet texting, and telephone.

So, as we got to know one another we started to grow closer. I admit to having been smitten from the start, and I can’t put my finger on one thing and say “That’s” why I love her. It’s everything as a whole.

I eventually asked for photos to be exchanged and she is just gorgeous. I loved her before I ever got a photo, but it deepened when I saw her.

Then she got a Skype account, getting a U.S. phone number. That way the cost would be something I could afford, if not as often as I wanted, at least often enough that we’ve gotten to know each other on a deeper level than I’ve ever known someone.

Sometime we’d talk for a couple of hours at a time, but usually just an hour or so, but talking several days in a row. She’s able to deposit money in my phone account to augment what I’m able to add to it, so we both “pay our way” so to speak.

She also got on my Tablet Contact Page. We text alot. I’m actually amazed at the things we’ve shared. Some of the subjects and things are traumas from our pasts that few, if anyone knows about. We’ve cried and laughed over these things, One important thing she shared with me, and I have her permission to mention it, was an incident that occurred between her and her brother, a molestation that happened when she was 11 years old. Ms. Valerie, my heart broke when I heard the pain that’s still with her, the violation she experienced. It affected me so much that I wrote a…Fable, I guess you’d call it. It was meant to acknowledge her experience and try to allow some healing to take place.

So, I wrote it and read it to her on the phone. We were both crying by the time I finished. No one had ever done anything like that for her, hadn’t seemed to care like I did, and that really touched me in a way that defies description, but also in a way that…well, was transcendental. And she said it did help.

On May 11th of this year, 2022, I called her. I’d debated with myself about this, but I finally told her that I loved her, that I’d been in love with her from the start. She already knew, and I felt she loved me as well, and she said SHE DID! I was so nervous about telling her, but it was really obvious anyway, but putting it into words made it more real. And to hear her say she loved me as well, that was an amazing moment.

All was well and great, until it wasn’t. Where before, we each had a “wake up” text for each other waiting, every morning, ond day in August the texts were sporadic. I already felt like she liked a guy she’d mentioned a lot, and truth be known I wanted her to be happy and I wasn’t there to do that. So one day she texted me and said she’d gotten close to that guy, and wanted to see if they could make a life together. My world shattered, Ms. Valerie. Shattered.

All I got was the text, saying I should go on as before, like I never knew her. We’d had an agreement that she wouldn’t ghost on me, wouldn’t leave me wondering what happened. And she kept her promise, but I couldn’t stop loving her, couldn’t imagine being without her.

So, she didn’t drop the Skyp# or remove contact from my tablet, but she wouldn’t talk on the phone and her responses to my texting were cold and impersonal. She even took my name. There was no greetings or salutations, just a bit of data, here and there. And I refused to give up, and accepted what I could get. I knew there would come a day when she would find someone, but I thought I’d always have a place with her.

A few weeks later we finally talked. I didn’t like it, but I did my best to support her. I still loved her and didn’t try to hide it, but it darn-near broke me. I didn’t have a mental breakdown, per se, but I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t handling it well. It caused problems with the guys here, as they saw me slowly melt down and change into someone I’d not been before. Then it happened. That guy finally showed his true colors. He knew he couldn’t have sex with her unless her told her he loved her, but all he was after was sex, and then he wasn’t able to…perform. Then he told her it was over. That broke her. Literally, she had a breakdown. She’d thought they were gonna build a life together, and he was only using her.

We talked on the phone amidst her breakdown. Out of all people she could’ve talked to, she asked me to call her, and I did. It was really bad, and I was scared fro her. She acted out in ways I didn’t expect, but she finally got in touch with her Mom and got herself back.

We started talking again and we are now back together again. We’re still building, still growing, and as crazy as this sounds, I feel we’ve grown closer, in some odd way, ‘cause we were both hurt and we both still loved each other. It took a while before she could say it again, that she loved me still. She asked me to be patient with her, and give her time to come to terms with things, so I didn’t rush her, but I still made my position known, often.

I have several pet names for her. One is Ms. Honey-Sweet, as her name, in German, means honey and sweet. Also, when she was a young girl, she adopted a baby magpie and raised it until it could fly away on its own. It would follow her around and she’d hide food for it to find, so it could survive on its own. So, I call her my Little Magpie, or just Magpie.

I have a chance to get off The Row. I expect it to happen. That gives me and my Magpie hope for the future. Not False hope, but real, honest hope-We’ve come through the fire, been burned but remained true to ourselves, even if she dumped me by a text..

She’s a good girl that’s been thru lots of trauma, but so have I. I have complex PTSD< OCD and depression. I’m on meds, as is she. She means the world to me, but I’m sure to lose her again one day.

Whether I get out or not, there’s a large age gap, of 24 years. That’s not a small thing, but it’s something I’m preparing for, mentally. I have to.

We’re back to calling a lot, texting a lot and sharing even more of our lives with each other. I’ve written some of my best poetry on account of her. Both prior to, during and post break-up. Whether we last another month or until I get off The Row, I’ll always love My Magpie and always want her to be happy. When it comes time for her to move on, if and when she does, I’ll still want her to be happy and have a fulfilling life.

So that’s my Magpie story. Hope you find it interesting, and know that I’ve not really put it into words like this before. Not to this extent.

Again, if you wanna get in touch, I’m quite willing to correspond, however you wish. And again, I appreciate what you do and what you stand for. Take care.  JJ

J.J. is a poet; I hope to have some of his poems soon.

10/23/22 (Added 11/09/22) – Letter from Marcus –

Hello, my name is Marcus and I’m a death row prisoner in Raleigh N. Carolina . In 2007 a friend of mine and fellow death row prisoner Eric took his own life by hanging himself inside of a janitor’s closet; he wasn’t discovered until hours later. The next morning we were notified by guards what he had done. My friend ended his life because he could no longer endure the monotony of everyday with no prospect of growth, the ever growing separation of his family and the amazing sense of despair being here has on all of us.

We were both kids, coming here at 19 years old; scared because neither of us had never been to prison before nor had we really been in trouble before so every story we’ve ever heard became a magnified reality. We were angry because we were depicted as monsters to a “jury of our peers’ ‘, which turned out to be a bunch of white people who lived nowhere near our communities. We were ignorant kids/teenagers, misguided and immature; who knew nothing about the value of life because we so little of it ourselves. We needed help, instead we were both condemned to death without given a chance at reform.

The Death Penalty is supposed to be reserved for the worst of the worst of cases but do you know that the majority of the guys on N. Carolina’s death row are/were drug addicts, drug dealers, drunkards, mentally ill, domestic violence, perpetrators and teenagers.

Does this sound like the worst of the worst? To deny a chance at rehabilitation is a miscarriage of justice.

The Death Penalty in N. Carolina is used as a political tool, a play by politicians and public office holders to voice during their campaigns that they’re “tough on crime.”

I am by no means condoning any crimes committed or absolving anyone of responsibility; I believe in accountability but I also believe in change, in growth, and the chance to do both.

Since my friends death I have joined a caretakers program here at Central Prison that allows me to healp and assist those suffering from mental illness and while that program has been shut down due to COVID I still help with the mentally ill and I have also become an orderly to help with the disabled. I’ve completed numerous programs/classes and I’m currently pursuing goals such as my own podcast, giving speeches and writing a memoir.

Basically I’ve grown up. I’ve matured and I’m so sorry for every tear drop I’ve ever caused. I know that every life has value and now, including my own.

Thank you,  Marcus

George (10/17/22) updated/finished 12/01/22

As a professional writer and poet, I often interact with people on the outside to engage the public for book-related events, interviews, etc. One question I get asked a lot is “What’s it like on Death Row?” = or some variation of it. I’ve been asked it so many times over the years it became the seed idea for a book, on which I collaborated with a College Professor. It’s called “Bone Orchard: Reflections of Life Under Sentence of Death” and was recently published. It seeks to answer that question, capturing the multifaceted experience living with a death sentence, what makes it distinct from serving time with a release date.

Thing is, much of life here is as mundane and indistinguishable from life anywhere else, whether in prison or out of it. I want to share an experience with you that speaks to the universality of humanity. It’s about gratitude.

Five or six months ago, around my 41st birthday, I was feeling a bit glum, despondent. It seemed like several things in my life were going wrong. The hot water in my sink was broken, I’d had a fight with my neighbor, a bunch of my mail was damaged when I got it – or had disappeared before it could reach me. I found my joy leaving me, and I felt grumpy and discontented.

One night I read a poem called “Love”. I can’t remember the author’s name. For about six weeks, I think, he took time every day to write down one thing he loved from his day. Basically the poem was the weeks-long-list he’d created over that period, and it included a little of everything, big and small. He loved the flavor of this food, he loved chatting with his friends, he loved the way that person looked. And so on.

By the end of the poem, I was near tears at the simplicity and beauty of it, and my spirit was convicted because I realized I’d been ignoring the countless blessings and pleasures of my life. I’d taken them for granted. I’d also be preoccupied with the handful of distractions. So the next morning, while I did my daily devotions and Bible study, I opened in prayer as usual – but this time I decided to just thank God for everything. I started naming specifics, like, Thank you, God, for the delicious cereal this morning; thank you for getting my lazy butt out of bed to exercise; thank you that my sciatica isn’t too painful this morning…

Well this went on for about ten minutes, but I realized two things. The first, I noticed by item number ten, was I felt joy flooding my soul! I understood right then about CHOOSING to focus on what I was grateful for, it switched my mood from gloomy to joyful: we have the power to choose our moods, or at least influence them.

The second thing I noticed was that the list was going on and on…meaning, I was grateful for A LOT of things. I decided to do what the poet had done. I would keep a sort of “gratitude journal” for six weeks, to cultivate an attitude of gratitude. I wanted to restore my joy. Remember, joy is a distinct part of my personality, so I was setting out to restore myself to myself.

And it worked! Everyday I’d write down a few things from the day I was grateful for, and not only did my prodigal joy move back home in my heart, but I discovered that i was now LOOKING for the good, the positive, the daily miracles in the world around me rather than zooming in on the dark, negative, and broken. It’s not that I quit seeing those things, I just chose not to focus on them.

And, at the end of the six weeks, I reviewed my list and felt inspired to pick out ten things to use as a poem, similar to the one I’d read that so profoundly impacted me. Here’s what I came up with:

Ten Things I Love

1) Routinely waking up a 4a.m. while the prison sleeps.It’s as if the concrete softens when foamed in silence.

2) Filling my clear tumbler with scalding water, scooping in dusty coffee, then watching it bloom through the water. Like the emotion I feel when my girlfriends laughs at my jokes.

3) When my buddy Kenny(whose dementia makes him unsteady as hell) suddenly buckled at the knee, I caught him just inches off the floor. In front of witnesses.

4)When I called my elderly mother, I honestly thought my sister had answered – s o strong, steady, and wrinkle-fee, her voice.

5) The perfectly shaped handprints on the floor of Cliff’s cell. He has ratcheted out so many push-ups in the same spot, his palm sweat has black stained the gray cement.

6) Remembering how respect washed over our prison chaplain’s face her first day, when she borrowed my Bible to locate a verse and discovered my underlines, highlights, and notes covering every single page.

7) When I saw white dust all over the navy blue apron draped across my chest during a haircut, I thought it was baby powder, not gray hair.

8) I am still grateful for the tingly feeling in my belly that signals a great poem idea…though it also means I need to poop.

9) I love how loopy time is. Despite being in prison seventeen years, freedom feels as fresh as yesterday. At the same time, it feels like prison is all I’ve ever known.

10) The euphoria triggered by late-afternoon light. It has a mystical, dreamlike quality. Rocks spew water and walls crumble at a word in light like this. It reminds me: anything is possible.

Talib Abdul (Joshua) – October 14th, 2022

Hello, my name is Joshua (Muslim Talib Abdul). I am a new inmate on Death row in North Carolina. Another inmate said I should write you and listen to your podcast. 

This is a short little piece that I hope can inspire people in prison and out. I write short stories and poems and hope to always find a way to get the best part of me out there. 

Thank you for what you do. Talib

Wow, death row. I never thought growing up that I would end up here. But here I am. The new guy on death row. As of now I’ve only been here about 4 months. I could tell you all about how I don’t deserve to die and that I just needed help but the truth is I’m here and this is my reality.

Some may wonder what it’s like to be the new guy on death row. Some may think that the new guy would be “tried” and that I shouldn’t drop the soap (hahaha), the the reality here in North Carolina couldn’t be more different than the stereotypes perpetrated by tv and Hollywood based on places like San Quentin or Huntsville. It’s kind of funny to me because I’m one of the youngest guys here at 35 years old, whereas, the average age around here is probably 45 yrs old, maybe more. It has been one hell of a surprise to see that these men here are so laid back and easy going compared tot he wild and crazy life on regular population. These guys just want to live, Palin and simple.

The first night here on the row I came on the block just before count. The doors locked me in and I didn’t even unpack. I had a brand new pencil, for those of you who know you understand I got my hand around the sharpest object I could grab in the spur of the moment. I nervously waited for the door to pop (open) so somebody come come to my room and try me. I just got sentenced to death row and I decided I wasn’t going out like a punk. But as the days went on and no one ran down on me I learned a lot about the men in this pod and on death row all together. People would try to give me things (food, pens, pencils, stamps etc. etc.) but I would always politely decline. I’ve learned one the past four months that these men are really just good men trying to help the new guy because they know what it is like with a death sentence. They genuinely cared and just wanted to help.

Acceptance is the key to successfully navigate a situation like this. Accepting that I’m on death row doesn’t mean I give up but how does on handle a poor situation without first excepting it for what it is. The best way for me to live and progress while being on death row is to stay healthy mentally, spiritually and physically. I do this by reading books, writing stories and poems. I do this by accepting Islam, which has truly been the best thing I’ve done with my life, and I do this by exercising daily.

I have no family, no outside support, nobody to rely on but myself so I live for the most life. I prepare myself by being close to Allah (SWT) and living the way the Prophet Muhammad (s) (and his Ahl-ul-Bayt) have instructed me to live. For the people reading this who are in prison or have been to prison or have family in prison then you know about respect among convicts. You treat people with respect and a strong calm you get some in return, but if you cause problems then you get problems.

As the new guy here I still have a lot to learn and I’m slowly but surely getting settled in my routine of everyday. As a matter of fact I’ll end this letter here because the clothes on my clothes line are dry and need to be folded (hahaha for those who know). My story doesn’t end here, not now, not yet. I refuse to give up hope. For now, I’m still alive and be it Allah’s will I’ll wake up tomorrow and improve upon today. 9/27/22

*Please note: This letter was written with i, i’m etc. with lower case letters. Due to spell check correcting it over and over again, I let it correct it. I did not want to change the original way it was written.

Mario – 10/03/22

Hello, My name is Mario. I’m African American. 54 yrs old. On death row in N.C. since 10/17/2007. incarcerated since 12/19/2003 soon to be 19 yrs.

I was introduced to you death row podcast by another death row inmate TC who I consider a big brother and also a fellow Christian brother who attends worship service and bible study with me here on the row.

Todays 9/29/22 Thursday. I was just introduced to your death row pod cast 9/28 by TC but I just watched your podcast on the death penalty today. #17 and #1 introduction, and also #9 Letters (#9 I think) I enjoyed them all and plan on continuing to listen and learn as much as I can and take advantage of what you are offering.

I aint gonna lie Valerie, I hate listening to anything without being able to see a face. I prefer putting a face to whomever speaking but I’m just now learning what a podcast is all about, as they didn’t as far as I know, have all this in 2003, my last year out in society.

Anyway, let me tell a little about myself so you and what ever audience, you will be speaking to will know something more detail detail and personal about Mario (me).

Firstly, I’m a African American male, 54 yrs old, born in 1968, in a small town in rural North Carolina.

Little hole in the wall, rural country town, that’s very small. We didn’t even have a traffic light, no strip malls, shopping stores, nothing like that.

We apparently preferred to remain secluded and hidden and it was o.k. with me too.

My family and I live within the city limits , ups on a hill, the loudest, craziest and most unorganized of all the blacks in our town.

We are known as the Hell raisers, the crazy ass family that drink, do drugs, raise hell, and break the law all the time.

My family and I had a very bad reputation in my town and we was all very known for that as well as stayed in trouble with the Law, as they was constantly called to come up on the Hill where my family from my Mothers side of the family resides.

As it was my great grandparents who owned the land, which was one time a lot of acres. Not sure what there story was, as I only met my great grand mother as a 8-9 yr. old child, and she never talked about anything pertaining to her upbringing, or her parents. As a matter of fact, she never ever complained or spoke ill against no living soul that I can recall, and she impressed upon me and I gravitated towards her. She seemed the only normal and caring adult on the Hill, that was relatable and balanced and she was the Matriarch of our family. She lived to be 88 yrs old & passed in 1977. I was 8-9 yrs old, the saddest day my life, her passing.

After my grandmother passed, Momma and Me and My 3 brothers bounced around from town to town. There was always problems with in our household of some sorts.

Momma did the best she could, I suppose, as it couldn’t be easy raising 4 hard headed boys alone (my brothers and I).

Fast Forward to Presence – NOW.

Since my incarceration 12/19/2003, this has been a very long and strenuos journey, a lot of highs and lows (lows). This journey being on death row here, has taken me places mentally and spiritually, that had I not been here on death row, I would’ve never ever had the chance to have experienced these things.

Some good. Some very very bad, and I’ve had to heal from all the stress, suffering eternally, that I’ve had to endure as a result of having to deal with what has put me here since 12/19/2003.

I’ still living with a lot of regret, hurt, pain, shame, and mental torture from having to live with what put me here.

Trying to better understand, how, why this shameful and cruel and heinous violent crime was a result of My doing. A man who has never been arrested for any kind of violence, ever. Who wouldn’t hurt a dear whenever I went hunting with my friends. Who couldn’t hurt the will animals in my yard, everyday destroying my property or when the neighborhood guys would fight me, or try and hurt me. I condone violence, all those years and would never allow hatred to live in my heart or thoughts to rule my life ever, but I still ended up in prison, death row of all places, for the rest of my nature life. Who would’ve thought that, not me, or anyone who knew “Me”, that’s never who I’ve been, ever.

While I’ve been here 19 years soon to be, I’ve worked on me, my attitude, my anger behind it all, my depression & anxiety that’s almost caused me to give up on life, as I saw no point living caged up like an animal, in a criminal system, that’s broken, and only make your life worser that what it is & miserable. Constantly with all the many personalities around Me, Officers & Inmates. I had to either forgive myself and find a purpose for my life, or give up and die from pain and hurt and shame and guilt and the disgrace I put on my Momma and grandmother, brothers and rest family, which I am truly sorry.

I finally after years of depression & Bipolar and anxiety and stress from it all, I finally reached out to God to help me live again, to set me free from all the pain and sorrow that was in my heart, thoughts and that has caused me not to care about myself. I felt what was the point. I’m in Prison. Nothing good comes out of prisoners.

I was wrong. What I finally learned is you make the best with what you got, and that why not start in prison, to change my thinking, behavior, attitude about life.

I’ve started to go to church, bible study, started my own bible study, took classes, visit psychiatrist and psychologist, doing talk therapy as I call it. I try and make people around me better by mentoring and counseling whomever I can. I share foo with the have nots. I try and inspire and encourage as many as zi can, to show there there not alone.

I ain’t no saint, but I’m working on myself, I feel I owe it to so many people that I’ve hurt to change from the inside out, and do something about my condition instead of just watching & complaining about it and doing nothing.

I’m not where I exactly want or need to be just yet. However, I’m not where I used to be neither. Amen. God is good all the time and without the Love and Mercy of God, and his forgiveness, I would’ve never made it this far. All praises are due to God.

This is My Story (parts of it)

Sincerely, Mario 10/3/2022

Rodney – 9/24/22

“No Monsters Here”

This place isn’t at all like I thought it would be. I expected it to be dark and gloomy and full of sadness and it is, but those things are actually undertones, existing just beneath the surface. However, on the surface there is an unwavering pursuit of life, for even the least hopeful among us spend each day living, and that surprised me. Though convicted a monster and sentenced to death, I found no monsters here. Now, I expected to be confined to a cell twenty-three hours a day with one hour out for recreation. I found myself assigned to a bunk in the day soon area of a cell block designed to house sixteen people. You see, due to overcrowding, only 15 cells were occupied and the remaining cell was reserved for myself and the other three men who were assigned to bunks as well. I had been used in similar conditions prior to this point, but being among some of the presumed worst criminals in the country, this had me feeling a bit dry. The prospect of sleeping out in the open among other convicted murderers didn’t dit well with me at all, but there was no avoiding it. Well, actually there was. I could’ve expressed my discomfort to custody staff and they would’ve provided me with a cell. But, that accommodation would have come with the classification of “protective custody”. Now, to have that label was more unappealing to me than sleeping the bunk out in the…( this letter was sent text message, and they are only allowed so many characters; each time this happens I will add…)

Page 2…open. Stange, but it was. So, I pushed aside my apprehensions and adjusted to my new environment. After all, other guys were sleeping out on bunks. I reasoned, if they could do it, so could i. Words can’t truly express the experience of my first day on death row. It was surreal, sort of something of the “Twilight Zone”, where you find yourself someplace you don’t belong and you have no idea how you got there. That’s what it was like for me. Although not quite as harrowing as on might expect, I liken it to a nightmare, only there is no escape from it because there is no waking from reality. Well, though fear wasn’t a factor of the equation, I processed my predicament with caution should any trouble come my way, but it didn’t. To my utter amazement I met men who had developed a community of kinship predicted by their shared condemnation. Here, race, creed, and religion merged in the brotherhood of those living in the shadow of death. In this, there was no hostility as I was welcomed into the fold of the said living dead. Now, the process of getting a cell was one of a waiting list that was in constant rotation.Whenever someone got an infraction, upon their release from solitary confinement, they list their cell to the next person in line on the bunks. this is how I eventually got a cell, about six months after I got on death row. Being in a prison cell can be a daunting experience, especially for someone who is claustrophobic… (Page 3)…Fortunately, I’m not. Nor am I bothered by the stifling aloneness the solitude of a cell imposes. With nothing but impenetrable walls of concrete and a small window that doesn’t open, one must have a fair amount of mental fortitude. For while there are no monsters here, there are demons; monsters of the psychological kind that are both merciless and inescapable. Unbidden, memories come alive like Lazarus from the grave; memories you thought long forgotten or had forgotten you even had. Traumatic childhood memories tucked away in your subconscious. Embarrassing or shameful memories willed into un-remembrance. A cell will draw them from those hidden places in your mind for you to face. In my youth I had heard many “war stories” about prison and the myriad of situations one might face. But, the humiliation, the regret, the anguish; no one mentioned anything about this psychological suffering, and actually, I can understand why. Few people are willing to bear the torment of having their mind turned inside out because that’s what being alone in a cell is like. One of the few, I confess my struggle. I have spent many days and nights alone in my cell reflecting upon my life. Everything I can remember has been remembered with startling clarity, Deeply humbles by this predicament of being on death row, I have faced myself in the mirror searching for a monster, yet it remains unfound. Nor among the other men here have I seen anything monstrous. Now as…(Page 4)…as far as I know, this is the only death row unit like this in the country. Unlike other death row units, we are allowed out of our cells from 7AM to 10:45PM. During this time we can socialize in a day room area where we can play tabletop games and watch television. We also have the privilege of going outside for an hour a day where we can play basketball, workout, or simply walk around stretching our limbs and getting some fresh air. Surprisingly, in this open environment with men who are considered the worst of the worse, there is a remarkable level of humanity that exists here, We share meals. We pray together. We celebrate birthdays and the birth of grandchildren. We mourn the loss of loved ones and console each other. It’s like one big family. And sure, there are arguments and the occasional though rare, fight. However, brotherhood and a genuine sense of community take precedence over conflict. And though we all aren’t the best of friends, you are more apt to see expressions of compassion than contempt. In that, I would say we are rather unique. Yet people would have it be believed that we are the wretched of the Earth, unworthy of the air we breathe, beyond being redeemed, but we eschew those condemning labels. With each breath we take, breaths those who support capital punishment would have be our last, we strive to rise above this abyss into which we have been cast. Of course it could be said that it is only out of desperation to… (Page 5)… save our lives that our humanity has become a priority with us. To that I say this: The man who smiles with joy at the commercial of a toddler at play and says “Go ‘head little baby”, or the man whose eyes get moist every time he watches and episode of “This is Us”, or the man who hears that the mother of a fellow prisoner has died and his heart aches as if the loss were his own. These things and more happen here. Unrehearsed and unfiltered, these actions epitomize humanity and are evidence that there are no monsters here. 9/24/2022

To listen to stories from Death Row : Death Row Gambit