Page 2 of 2 FirstFirst 12
Results 16 to 20 of 20

Thread: Tale of the White Elephant

  1. #16
    Registered User Steven Hunley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    Location
    San Diego Calif.
    Posts
    1,725
    Blog Entries
    15

    response to response

    Quote Originally Posted by edwardwilson View Post
    Really Amazing, Keep up the awesome work!
    Thank you, Edward Wilson. And so...


    With all this time on my hands, and my inborn inflated sense of grandiosity, I compare myself with others, and come to the conclusion that as bad as I imagined being locked up could be, there are parts of it that have merit, one of them being, you have time to think. Plenty of others have taken advantage of being jailed or imprisoned. Which others?

    These others:

    Ken Keysey, Bill Burroughs, Dostoyevsky, Mallory, Jean Genet, Oscar Wilde, Verlaine, Solzhenitsyn, Voltaire, Cervantes, O. Henry, Trotsky, M.L. King, Thoreau, Malcom X, John McCain, Marco Polo, Nelson Mandela, Jack London, and two of the Marx brothers. Don't laugh.


    Being locked up, away from the hurly-burly outside, gives you time to reflect. How you got here, what changes you must make to your life to insure this never happens again. You’re alone and in charge of your fate, you reckon, not when this short observation time in prison ends, but when you finish your sentence.

    “This 90 day observation is only the preview,” I tell myself. “The main attraction will last longer. Right now I don’t know how long, but I’ll be sentenced, and then start the real time, wherever they send me.”

    For once in my life I decide to take responsibility for myself. It’s a first step for me, one of the dregs of society at this point, to make positive changes in my life. Wipe the slate clean and start over. Society will give me another chance…I hope, since I’ll be an X-con to them. X-con is a label I won’t care to wear, I won’t like the fit. X-con or Angel, which will it be?

    ©StevenHunley2019

    https://youtu.be/gFflgIlutmA Gregg Allman LIVE - "I'm No Angel" | Back to Macon, GA

  2. #17
    Registered User Steven Hunley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    Location
    San Diego Calif.
    Posts
    1,725
    Blog Entries
    15

    Continuation of Story

    So that’s in the future, but when in the future? That will be up to my new daddy, the judge. Hope he likes my report card from this marvelous institution. Maybe Judge Daddy will let me pass to the next grade and matriculate in San Diego. If not, I’ll probably stay in LA County and rot here instead. Learning uncomfortable life-lessons has never been easy for me, a man of little self-examination. You must know your own materials with certainty, your strengths, your weaknesses, before you can forge them together to make substantial changes. With a proper set of tools and resources, a man can set out to explore new horizons, make new discoveries, even discoveries about the deepest recesses of his hidden interior.

    Myself is the unknown land, the blackest spot on the map, the darkest corner of my being, the one I’ve never probed. Why are the places closest up the last to be explored? Is it because we think we already know them? How wrong can we be about ourselves?

    Like Huck Finn, I figure it’s time I lit out to explore the wandering river that is me and come up with some answers, and if not answers, questions worth asking.
    And then there’s Divine Power to consider. Is it with me on this one? If not, can I do it on my own? I’m humbled by the idea of Divine Intervention, but feel responsible for my own course and destination, barring nature itself, and its random interventions. Freewill puts us in charge. We are all handed trials and tribulations, but it’s how you handle them that counts.

    In the end I didn’t find out anything about the report they sent back to San Diego, whether it was good or bad or ugly. But the results were reflected in the sentencing, its length, and where I would be sent. Later I would dream about what happened in court in my typical twisted fashion, and along with that, the sleepy night-night dream version of the bust that led up to it.

    The Bust

    And you take your time
    And you do your crime
    Well you made your bed
    I made mine.” Lil’ Wayne

    Two loud knocks were heard on my door. Bill the Tree-trimmer answered, and not one or two, but seven men pushed past him in a hurry, all total strangers. The only one that talked to me directly was busy reciting something. I’d heard this piece before on Dragnet. It was the Miranda Act. It started with, "You have the right to remain silent," and went on from there. I suspected I might be in trouble.

    Two men were F.B.I. Two worked narcotics. Two were sheriffs and the other bozo was there, as he explained later “just for fun.” From the other room he heard one of them, the Bozo that was there 'just for fun', shout, "Bingo!"

    I suspected I was in worse trouble.

    When they put me in the back of the car I had a sneaking suspicion my world was about to change in a big way. For once in my life I was right.

    I was mad, sad, and disappointed. All this trouble and they never even took out their big bad guns.

    Six months later I was sent up.

    The courtroom, when I got to the courtroom, was like every other courtroom. That is to say; dull. So I’ll waste no words to describe it. They led me in wearing my county blue jumpsuit and on my wrists were gun-metal blue bracelets, a matching pair, attached to each other so I couldn’t lose them, and you had to notice that they perfectly matched my eyes. They insisted I wear them not for fashion, but to prevent me leaving the proceedings if things got too dull, or if I decided to bolt, which is much the same thing.

    The judge was a woman judge so I’ll say nothing about that other than I got on with women but we already know that. She found me guilty, of that fact she had not the slightest doubt. So that just left the sentencing.

    “I find you guilty as sin,” she announced from on high, “and remand you to the custody of the California State Department of Corrections for…” here she hesitated, and I took up the slack.

    “If it please, Your Honor, “Give me a break.”

    “I will give you a break, and enough time to consider your collection of exotic mind-altering substances and where they brought you. You stand before me as if I were your Mother. Our society and legal system have placed you and I in these rolls, but at the same time you expect me to be impartial. Moms are never impartial. Other countries have different laws than in the United States. Those substances are illegal here. It’s as simple as that.

    “Nine months.”

    Bap, Bap, went the Tough Love Gavel in her murderous hand. You could hear it all the way out in the hall.

    ***
    continued…maybe.

    ©StevenHunley2019

    https://youtu.be/u0n4eMGXAyk Kevin Rudolf - Let It Rock ft. Lil Wayne

  3. #18
    Registered User Steven Hunley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    Location
    San Diego Calif.
    Posts
    1,725
    Blog Entries
    15

    Continuation of Story

    So that’s in the future, but when in the future? That will be up to my new daddy, the judge. Hope he likes my report card from this marvelous institution. Maybe Judge Daddy will let me pass to the next grade and matriculate in San Diego. If not, I’ll probably stay in LA County and rot here instead. Learning uncomfortable life-lessons has never been easy for me, a man of little self-examination. You must know your own materials with certainty, your strengths, your weaknesses, before you can forge them together to make substantial changes. With a proper set of tools and resources, a man can set out to explore new horizons, make new discoveries, even discoveries about the deepest recesses of his hidden interior.

    Myself is the unknown land, the blackest spot on the map, the darkest corner of my being, the one I’ve never probed. Why are the places closest up the last to be explored? Is it because we think we already know them? How wrong can we be about ourselves?

    Like Huck Finn, I figure it’s time I lit out to explore the wandering river that is me and come up with some answers, and if not answers, questions worth asking.
    And then there’s Divine Power to consider. Is it with me on this one? If not, can I do it on my own? I’m humbled by the idea of Divine Intervention, but feel responsible for my own course and destination, barring nature itself, and its random interventions. Freewill puts us in charge. We are all handed trials and tribulations, but it’s how you handle them that counts.

    In the end I didn’t find out anything about the report they sent back to San Diego, whether it was good or bad or ugly. But the results were reflected in the sentencing, its length, and where I would be sent. Later I would dream about what happened in court in my typical twisted fashion, and along with that, the sleepy night-night dream version of the bust that led up to it.

    The Bust

    And you take your time
    And you do your crime
    Well you made your bed
    I made mine.” Lil’ Wayne

    Two loud knocks were heard on my door. Bill the Tree-trimmer answered, and not one or two, but seven men pushed past him in a hurry, all total strangers. The only one that talked to me directly was busy reciting something. I’d heard this piece before on Dragnet. It was the Miranda Act. It started with, "You have the right to remain silent," and went on from there. I suspected I might be in trouble.

    Two men were F.B.I. Two worked narcotics. Two were sheriffs and the other bozo was there, as he explained later “just for fun.” From the other room I heard one of them, the Bozo that was there 'just for fun', shout, "Bingo!"

    I suspected I was in worse trouble.

    When they put me in the back of the car I had a sneaking suspicion my world was about to change in a big way. For once in my life I was right.

    I was mad, sad, and disappointed. All this trouble and they never even took out their big bad guns.

    Six months later I was sent up.

    The courtroom, when I got to the courtroom, was like every other courtroom. That is to say; dull. So I’ll waste no words to describe it. They led me in wearing my county blue jumpsuit and on my wrists were gun-metal blue bracelets, a matching pair, attached to each other so I couldn’t lose them, and you had to notice that they perfectly matched my eyes. They insisted I wear them not for fashion, but to prevent me leaving the proceedings if things got too dull, or if I decided to bolt, which is much the same thing.

    The judge was a woman judge so I’ll say nothing about that other than I got on with women but we already know that. She found me guilty, of that fact she had not the slightest doubt. So that just left the sentencing.

    “I find you guilty as sin,” she announced from on high, “and remand you to the custody of the California State Department of Corrections for…” here she hesitated, and I took up the slack.

    “If it please, Your Honor, “Give me a break.”

    “I will give you a break, and enough time to consider your collection of exotic mind-altering substances and where they brought you. You stand before me as if I were your Mother. Our society and legal system have placed you and I in these rolls, but at the same time you expect me to be impartial. Moms are never impartial. Other countries have different laws than in the United States. Those substances are illegal here. It’s as simple as that.

    “Nine months.”

    Bap, Bap, went the Tough Love Gavel in her murderous hand. You could hear it all the way out in the hall.

    ***
    continued…maybe.

    ©StevenHunley2019

    https://youtu.be/u0n4eMGXAyk Kevin Rudolf - Let It Rock ft. Lil Wayne

  4. #19
    Registered User Steven Hunley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    Location
    San Diego Calif.
    Posts
    1,725
    Blog Entries
    15
    Looking back at it now, the reason I probably picked a fire camp instead of a road camp was because I imagined I could save something or someone to make up for the one person I lost.




    Fire Camp

    Camp Morena was no joke. It was formerly constructed to inter the Japanese in WW2. The work was hard work and for that they fed you better than in county. There was no fence, and if you wanted, you could always take a late-night hike back to civilization. Most of the men didn’t though. They were low-risk prisoners. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

    The daily routine was this:

    You’d wake up and go eat. Because you were working they’d feed you pretty good. That was a plus. Plus being out in the open was good too, even if you were on a work crew. Even if it was one hundred and two in the shade, it beat sitting around in county. Then the crew formed up and you would put on work clothes and boots and jump on a green forestry bus, which was run by a ranger from the Department of Forestry. The corrections officers would stay behind in the camp. Then you’d go out and work on a road, or practice cutting line to get in shape for when there was a fire. In California during the summer there are plenty of fires.

    But before the fires they worked on the international firebreak. As they wound up the mountain behind Mount San Miguel they could see the skyline of San Diego in the distance. The paved road took about an hour to get there. After that was a fire road that was nothing but dirt. That took longer as it wound up and around. When they reached the top they got out and grabbed their tools. Then, when their canteens were filled, they started cutting brush. The blazing sun baked them mercilessly, while sweat trickled down their dust-covered faces leaving brown lines. After a while,

    “When are we getting a break?” Raymundo asked me.

    “Right before lunch… maybe.”

    The crew kept working. More sweat was required.

    “It’s hot,” one said.

    “No ****.” said another. Cussing is common among men working, or working men, either one.

    I looked up and saw a red-tailed hawk circling in the thermals looking for food. White puffs of cumulus appeared over the mountains to the south. They were Mexican clouds. Carlos took a time out and leaned on his Pulaski, a cutting tool. He looked down at San Diego in the azure fairytale distance.

    “Look there,” he said grinning, “Fun City.”

    “I’ll be there in a month.”

    “Me too.”

    “We should meet and have a few Coronas.”

    “Yeah Homie, that would be good. We’ll do that.”

    Of course we were both lying. It was what we did to pass the time. We’d made plans on how we’d meet when we were on the “outs”

    The ranger’s bullhorn sounded announcing lunch. The crew let their tools lie where they were, in the dirt.

    When the forestry ranger did the count, two men were missing. Two Mexicans. You could see Mexico from the firebreak. That’s why they called it the international firebreak. It split the land between the two countries. Dude remembered at breakfast that the two Mexicans, who had been sitting together, were laughing when the assignment was announced. And when the canteens were being filled, they were careful to get their fill. Obviously they had taken a hike. I knew the ranger had figured it out when I heard him say, “F***.”

    The ranger went into the bus and got on the radio to the camp. An exercise in futility was what it smelt like to him. There was no way in Hell the correctional officers could do anything about it. The paved highway was an hour away, and the dirt road another. The two Amigos had taken a hike home. But what was worse, they’d taken upon themselves the responsibility to release themselves from custody. I guess they figured today was their release date. It’s said that Mayans were great mathematicians and Aztecs had their own calendars. Maybe it was just a bad translation of their calendar into ours. The last thing I heard the ranger say when he got out of the truck was,

    “Damn Mexicans. Those two banditos got no respect for the law.”

    The only thing I could think of was that line Alfredo Bedoya gave Humphrey Bogart in the movie “Treasure of Sierra Madre”.

    “Badges? We ain’t got no badges. We don’t need no badges! I don’t need to show you any stinking badges!”

    Maybe the Mexicans had seen the movie too. That night there was no desert after dinner.

    Go figure.


    continued…maybe.

    ©StevenHunley2019

    https://youtu.be/4OcM23Hbs5U The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (6/10) Movie CLIP - No Stinking Badges (1948) HD

  5. #20
    Registered User Steven Hunley's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    Location
    San Diego Calif.
    Posts
    1,725
    Blog Entries
    15
    Looking back at it now, the reason I probably picked a fire camp instead of a road camp was because I imagined I could save something or someone to make up for the one person I lost.




    Fire Camp

    Camp Morena was no joke. It was formerly constructed to inter the Japanese in WW2. The work was hard work and for that they fed you better than in county. There was no fence, and if you wanted, you could always take a late-night hike back to civilization. Most of the men didn’t though. They were low-risk prisoners. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

    The daily routine was this:

    You’d wake up and go eat. Because you were working they’d feed you pretty good. That was a plus. Plus being out in the open was good too, even if you were on a work crew. Even if it was one hundred and two in the shade, it beat sitting around in county. Then the crew formed up and you would put on work clothes and boots and jump on a green forestry bus, which was run by a ranger from the Department of Forestry. The corrections officers would stay behind in the camp. Then you’d go out and work on a road, or practice cutting line to get in shape for when there was a fire. In California during the summer there are plenty of fires.

    But before the fires we worked on the international firebreak. As we wound up the mountain behind Mount San Miguel we had a beautiful view of the skyline of San Diego in the distance. The paved road took about an hour to get there. After that was a fire road that was nothing but dirt. That took longer as it wound up and around. When we reached the top we got out and grabbed our tools. Then, when our canteens were filled, we started cutting brush. The blazing sun baked us mercilessly, while sweat trickled down our dust-covered faces leaving brown lines. After a while,

    “When are we getting a break?” Raymundo asked me.

    “Right before lunch… maybe.”

    The crew kept working. More sweat was required.

    “It’s hot,” one said.

    “No ****.” said another. Cussing is common among men working, or working men, either one.

    I looked up and saw a red-tailed hawk circling in the thermals looking for food. White puffs of cumulus appeared over the mountains to the south. They were Mexican clouds. Carlos took a time out and leaned on his Pulaski, a cutting tool. He looked down at San Diego in the azure fairytale distance.

    “Look there,” he said grinning, “Fun City.”

    “I’ll be there in a month.”

    “Me too.”

    “We should meet and have a few Coronas.”

    “Yeah Homie, that would be good. We’ll do that.”

    Of course we were both lying. It was what we did to pass the time. We’d made plans on how we’d meet when we were on the “outs”

    The ranger’s bullhorn sounded announcing lunch. The crew let their tools lie where they were, in the dirt.

    When the forestry ranger did the count, two men were missing. Two Mexicans. You could see Mexico from the firebreak. That’s why they called it the international firebreak. It split the land between the two countries. Dude remembered at breakfast that the two Mexicans, who had been sitting together, were laughing when the assignment was announced. And when the canteens were being filled, they were careful to get their fill. Obviously they had taken a hike. I knew the ranger had figured it out when I heard him say, “F***.”

    The ranger went into the bus and got on the radio to the camp. An exercise in futility was what it smelt like to him. There was no way in Hell the correctional officers could do anything about it. The paved highway was an hour away, and the dirt road another. The two Amigos had taken a hike home. But what was worse, they’d taken upon themselves the responsibility to release themselves from custody. I guess they figured today was their release date. It’s said that Mayans were great mathematicians and Aztecs had their own calendars. Maybe it was just a bad translation of their calendar into ours. The last thing I heard the ranger say when he got out of the truck was,

    “Damn Mexicans. Those two banditos got no respect for the law.”

    The only thing I could think of was that line Alfredo Bedoya gave Humphrey Bogart in the movie “Treasure of Sierra Madre”.

    “Badges? We ain’t got no badges. We don’t need no badges! I don’t need to show you any stinking badges!”

    Maybe the Mexicans had seen the movie too. That night there was no desert after dinner.

    Go figure.


    continued…maybe.

    ©StevenHunley2019

    https://youtu.be/4OcM23Hbs5U The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (6/10) Movie CLIP - No Stinking Badges (1948) HD

Page 2 of 2 FirstFirst 12

Similar Threads

  1. Shooting an Elephant?
    By Juliett in forum Orwell, George
    Replies: 2
    Last Post: 02-18-2013, 06:57 PM
  2. The Elephant
    By Delta40 in forum Personal Poetry
    Replies: 15
    Last Post: 12-18-2010, 07:16 PM
  3. Tale of The White Witch…
    By Father in forum Personal Poetry
    Replies: 6
    Last Post: 01-07-2010, 09:03 PM
  4. Elephant Boy
    By Zagor26 in forum Personal Poetry
    Replies: 1
    Last Post: 06-10-2007, 09:15 AM

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •