Nov. 1, 2018

Rant to Rave

From The Unseen Face Of America A Prisoner Rant To Rave by Linniell Phipps (author's profile)



Did you see me being pulled out of the patty wagon, nearly dead, in some far off place, in a county of the state of Washington?

I knew that I wouldn't survive the transfer without sustaining some kind of severe injury that will take a helluva long time to heal. But in this game, you never know! I just may never know! I just may never recover from this wound.

I couldn't walk without assistance. I was having a seizure, in diabetic shock. Nearly passing out. Falling away into darkness. It's okay. I've conditioned myself to not being afraid of slipping away. And never returning... Just let me go. It's okay. I'll only go to a better place.

It's hard being a negro in this country.

It's even harder being a negro in this world who still believe in love. Shall they hurt and seized what is dear to me... as they've always done?

I would love to show you what the cells I'm currently housed in look like. Corrosion, rust, mold, crystallization. Around the window beil. Brown, green water. Be careful of the food you eat, what water you drink.

The entire Monroe Correctional Facility Complex was built on top of a natural gas deposit and whatever natural resource. It's an area that's in habitable. It should be condemned. Under the housing regulation, the facility I'm living in now would be considered condemned. Each of the prisoners here fear the day—the time, the moment—to when we will be restricted of the air to breathe. For whatever rhyme or reason, I wake up at night screaming. Gas... gas... gas...

Linniell Phipps 718276
P.O. Box 514
Monroe, WA 98272



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