Bleed Me If You Love Me
Fortunately it has been many decades since sleeping on concrete floors, and I’ve have (mostly) objectified those 5 year in a max. security prison (Louisiana), still reverberations of some aspects of the experience have been popping up since I just began writing on Medium.
The note from T. Bell re donating blood lit my mind up like a (small) Christmas tree. The recollection of the ‘inmate blood bank’ which siphoned off oceans of plasma from men too poor to buy toothpaste returned in a flash.
Every week, on Wednesday, the line of black and white zombies rapped around the control building like a massive Black Snake dozing in the sun. Same faces, each with a favored arm, if they could still find a vane to hit.
I seem to recall the inmates were paid $7 per session, which was provided only in commissary script, not $$. The ‘regulars’ were mostly ‘old things.’ That’s convicts who’d been down for decades and had zero support off the streets. That few dollars was all they had to live on: the allotted food was so poor the hogs were known to reject it. That’s pretty bad!
It seems the ‘sources’ would have to wait two weeks between ‘drains,’ with the rumor going around each draw was being sold in the free world for $40 to $50 … no one knew for sure. I can say it was a system-wide operation that sucked blood from thousands of inmates in a half dozen prisons and camps state-wide, just like clockwork.
For those having to be involved in this was a mark of desperation and shame; only those on dead bottom would participate, on top of the the long menu of defilements that come with prolonged human captivity.
So, Tamkya, please, you must forgive me for not being too happy with the thought of you, me or … her offering up our veins to the highest bidder. Plus I strongly sense (my keen intuitive nature) you’d really grow in emotional and social stature with a red heart and “I Love Mom” proudly displayed for the world to behold.