Johnny Walker Blue & Life Without…

by Joe Labriola

The water from the tap is brown again today.  The Department of Correction’s personnel tell me that this brown water is safe to drink.  I suppose that is why they all bring water in from outside and do not even wash their hands in this brown muck.  There is something inherently disgusting about water that you must first chew before you can swallow.

Do not worry about the smell of the water – that too is safe.  What works for me, when my tongue is swollen from thirst, is to first turn out the lights in the cell so I don’t have to see the color of the water.  I haven’t died yet so perhaps brown is the new clear.

They have made the grievance process so convoluted that getting an issue brought to the correct desk is a feat of Herculean proportions.  If you are lucky enough to be heard by a suit, you get a reply letter that generally goes: “Thank you for your letter.  We are aware o the problem and are currently investigating it further.  I hope this addresses your concerns.”
The “investigation” goes on for thirty years with no reasonable disposition to meet your satisfaction.  This letter is designed to shut you up while the problem goes unresolved and eventually gets worse.  What alternative does that leave us?

We have no other choice but to drink it.  We can go for weeks without eating, but we cannot go without water for more than three days.  I have been so dehydrated that I drink water from strange places.  In Ten Block, when they would periodically shut the water off for days because someone was “ripping out,” I would drink from the toilet bowl.  I used to wash my clothes in it, so why not?  Plug your sink up with toilet paper and keep it filled with water when the water returns to clear.  You can’t put it in containers, not even coffee cups.  Simple things like Styrofoam containers from breakfast or an empty soda bottle from the trash (if you’re luck enough to find one) will be confiscated during a shakedown.

I am (or I used to be), a connoisseur of scotch whiskey.  Blindfolded, I could tell the difference between Glenlivit, Ambassador 25, or Johnny Walker Blue.  Today, blindfolded, I can tell you the prison the water came from by its taste.  Sometimes it has the same caramel color as scotch.  When it does, I close my eyes and pretend.

Joe Labriola is an inmate at Massachusetts Correctional Institution, Shirley.

Life Without…

life without… being categorized, scrutinized, and
ostracized through barbe wire, is a converging meniscus
view.  Will I ever be seen clearly again or simply destined
to wander aimlessly in this 6×8 container?

life without… an opportunity to rectify a mistake involving
loss of life, after 40 summers gone by.  The misery caused
by my hand has been transferred into a gift of service
toward others, but will it ever be enough!

life without… hope as court appeals falter and relationships
fade, while authorities demand another ounce of flesh and
proclaim “You’ve come a long way, however…”

life without… community, ability to travel beyond
restricted areas or welcoming new family members, though
accepting life one day at a time until the journey concludes.

life without … parole eligibility as one life is viewed more
valuable than another because varying degrees of killing a
human being does warrant an array of sanctions, ranging
from decorum to death row.

life without… the struggle continues!

by Arnie King
Bay State Correctional Center, Norfolk
www.arnoldking.org, throughbarbedwire@yahoo.com