The people who run prisons in California have decided to change this prison from a Level III general population prison, to a protective custody prison. Therefore they’re moving regular prisoners, mainly to Old Folsom. Others will be transferred to Level II or Level IV prisons somewhere else in this state.
The state prison department has already changed D yard of Pleasant Valley State Prison to a protective custody yard. Now warders are in the process of turning this yard (A yard) to a PC yard. For the moment, B and C yards have been spared.
I don’t know yet if I’ll be bused to Old Folsom or to one of the remaining general population yards here. I have been both to Old Folsom and New Folsom before. Both spots had a big lack of programs and stayed on lock down. There was a lot more racial tension there, with more dangerous riots.
Though a higher level prison, New Folsom was better for me than Old Folsom. Old Folsom has a tiny yard for thousands of people, where someone can get stuck and/or killed with knives and stepped on and rolled over many times before warders noticed. New Folsom, though full of riots at the time, had a bigger yard, about ten times bigger than Old Folsom's.
Whatever happens, I’ll be cool and make do and the best of the situation. The busses are already rolling out to other prisons.
There is a new director of prisons in California, a woman who used to be the warden at San Quentin. I heard her speak of how much she believes in programs and rehabilitation. She said any warden that does not want to close prisons is not a good warden. We shall see how real this new director of prisons in California is.
Writing Class
Both classes have been canceled with all the transfers going on. One of the guys is going to Soledad where he wanted to go. Two other guys are going to Old Folsom. Wherever I end up, perhaps I’ll start a new class.
I remember when I got moved from San Quentin to Folsom. It was horrible to leave Judith’s group back at San Quentin. I wanted to quit writing and acting, and quit the arts all together. I just wanted to fall back into silence and silent ways, and just study life myself and read and watch what nature I could.
There were no programs at either Old or New Folsom, so I ended up in the library where I met this white guy named Pat Nolan who turned out to be cool and a poet. We ended up becoming friends, and I told him about all the programs back at San Quentin. Pat was a clerk in the library and he had access to all the masterpiece classic literature I liked reading.
Finally a writing class was started at New Folsom. Pat, who is dead now, convinced me to join the writing class run by a fine, free, wise poet, Dianna Henning. It turned out to be a cool group. I learned a lot. I learned how to do annotations on poems and other technical things about poetry and writing in general.
The groups are long gone from there now. Pat ran a poetry class there before he died in prison. But, who knows, perhaps a poetry/writing group can be created anywhere.
Stay Real Section
I want to say what’s up to my little brothers Bobby and Matt Marquez of Fresno, California, who I met in the visiting place a few weeks ago. I also want to let you know that to stay in school is cool! To read and write is cool. To go to the library. Poetry, songs, stories are cool. To write in a journal is cool. All those things are full of realness – to be yourself is cool. It is okay not to drink, smoke or hang out in no-good crowds. It is cool not to bang! It is cool not to do that. So, brothers, keep your heads up creating and growing, reading and writing.
And hello to my friend, Professor Katie and her class back at Appalachian State University.
Bird Stuff
I saw the first spring baby sparrow two days ago. The baby bird flew straight towards me. Must have been his or her second or third attempt at flying. Seems like the first lost baby birds of spring always come towards me. Anyway, I figured our spirits were in tune as the baby bird landed by my feet near the light pole next to the black domino table. A couple of guys around the table saw the baby bird, too. The tables are all segregated by race or gang. On the other side of the light pole is one of the Bulldog Mexican gang tables.
But as the baby bird landed and I got ready to pick him up, he seemed kind of tired and fearful. I wanted to encourage him to fly away quickly.
An inmate appeared saying, “I’ll take him.” I looked at the guy. He wasn’t from this area of the yard.
“What are you going to do with the bird?” I asked.
And he said, excitedly, “Keep it!”
I started to say something else, but changed my mind. The guy had a baby gopher in one hand and the baby sparrow in the other. I said nothing. I do not understand how someone living in a cage chose to capture and cage up another being.
The Cats
Both the white cat and the black cat have had their litters. I saw one of the kittens of the white cat with powder blue eyes, not much bigger than a fluffy little ball of yarn, playing with its big sister from last autumn. I heard there is more than one kitten. I have only seen one. Word is all of the black cat’s kittens died. It was her first litter, and the black cat is really shy and distant towards people and other cats.
Closing Thoughts
We are looking forward to hearing from people who want to become Peace G. members, who believe in spreading peace, love, realness, forgiveness and creativity, people who will walk in their own shoes.
Stay Real, Spoon
