The Madman's life

 What if you were able to understand diferent language dialects just a bit better? Based on a switch in you brain that different countries can controle? The action trigered by enterance, a crossing of boarders. As if speaking a language to be heard. The sensation in your wars. The perspetive of your eyes. Languages of other countries. History forever evolved in a difference of dialects.  Hyms, haws, physical expressions, a colection of jestures sean, felt, herd with all sences. Examen the moment of a word.  What if your life was written by a different set of words that you just dont understand? Maybe youve met others. Maybe you subcantiously connect with some just a bit more dynamicly based on these unknown expressions.  That conection built on action and reaction, a push and pull of sorts to the cosmic order of life. The subcantious construction building inter nations, nations within a socioty of diolects and conversaciones. What if youve met the resemblance of a pe...

 "He short my mom in the face first and then shot by stepbrother in the stomach when he cameo threw the door. I was sitting there and saw it all". His dad now searving life in prision for morder. Had come home with a shotgun in a rafe shooting his mom point blank in the face when she opened the door. Then turned on his stepbrother when he tried to interviene. Tim 10 at the time, now 19, was watching tv on the couch when his world fell apart. We stood there fishing lines dangling in the water, taking in the emaculent view before us. A puddle side lake nesseled at the foot of a cascading valley in the high sierras.  A vast and beautiful rocky mountain range streching across California, full of lakes and wild life. High above the city of Indipendance ay 13,000 ft. The air a bit thinner and crisp. The fading tree line evident of the change. Snow holding brush and growth, the snell of pine and nature all around. Bolders visible as the sun warms the Valley. Patches of grass muddied...

 My hands firmly gripping the steering wheel holding the donut. The round about I travel around and around. No destination, no goal, I hadnt even packed. The new car smell lingering in my nostruls. The esquisit sound system elegantly blasting salsa from Porto Rico threw its Boes. Everything you would expect from a high end luxsary sedan. The staple of success at $80,000. The  Mercedes-AMG C63 Coupe sid around the round about with ease.  Weaving in and out of the stagnant traffic around me. As it was on that 4th of July 2020. I never would have imagined the perdicament I the found myself in. It was just that easy.  I walked down the bulivard  un the middle of the day, leaving my hostel behind. I didnt have a plan. Sterling a car want on my agenda. It kind of just happened. I knew IT would start and it did. I has semen the Mercedes, for a moment a few days earlier, out on display along the bulivard, when I walked past it to check out the other cars in the sho...

Id like to paint a picture. In my cell there functions a society, a society developed in the barrios of Colombia. We have a list on the bathroom wall that consist of names of the men behind the walls. My name does not change. Others come and go but mine stays the same, a list, a rotation. This is a social dictatorship an economy driven buy drugs Marijuana, cocane, tusi, etc is brought in, 100 g coke here, 250 g Marijuana there, bags of others. A controling patty finances and funds the minions that wrap and package for sale and distrabution. Along the way in our socioty of 18 men. The product is cut, lost stolen and sold by the constituants with in these walls. The police already extracted there cut as product passes from hand to hand, from freedom to opression. From A - Z inflation. So black to the list, the list of inmates that come and go. It flucuates, inmates, there transition unknown, some short some long, mine without measure. A reality holden from the world behind these bars. A ...

 Theres a fear to writing. Putting your thoughts to papper, making it a perminant reality. My grammer is atrotious but its all i have at a time when I have nothing. From the stroke of a pen your thoughts spill out. Mine are jumbled, upside down and misspelled, words to page. But they still work as broken as they are. A story in bits and pices is still a story non the less. Our lives the dame. A moment of imagination does not become an event of reality until we put one foot in front of the other.

 This Life is a work of fiction. Names, charters, places and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are usted fictionaly. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or  persons, living or dead is concidental. The seasons change in front of me, threw the bars, the black steal bars I live behind, my home. My home and theirs, the home of others, coming and going. My sentance 7 years, theres diferente. The decision was made, a New Mercedes 63 AMG coup my entrance fee, my share in a 15' x 15' concrete box. Its a constance here un Envegado as we watch threw the steal door. A door made of steal slats 4 fingers wide. A breze cools the concrete cell during the heat of the day. 18 men, 18 angry irational souls. There is no change in their world behind bars,  just a constance. Most young, 18 - 35, a badge of honor coming from barrios of Colombia. A daily ration of foods comes threw the bars,  we clean, we live. A daily evolve of sydistic pearsonalities. The futur...