Marion: the gates of hell


I Heard You Were in Marion

I heard you were in Marion...
That you had walked past the gates of hell.
Not of your own free will, of course,
But shackled and cuffed,
Chained and roughed,
Tagged and dragged
Into the belly of the beast:
Child of Alcatraz.
Disguised as an office.
Camouflaged with trees
To please
The architects of hell.

It doesn't matter
Who sent you there or why;
It only matters that you're there --
A pearl amongst the swine.
And the swine are your keepers
Moreso than your brothers.
The losers are all weepers
Crying for their mothers.
It doesn't matter what you did
To get there...
No one deserves such a fate.
No one has created
A crime so great
As Marion.

Someone called me the other day...
Said they'd looked the other way
When men armed with the colour of law
Pinched you with a hateful claw.
But they won't help you;
They won't even try...
For what they've done
They need to hide.
So they'll just sit back and joke
About their friend who walked the rope
To Marion.

It must be hard confronting such power;
Being afraid to take a shower.
Defending your manhood
While swallowing your pride;
Witnessing all of the victims who've died...
So many defendants
Have given their lives
Because someone called
Their politics "crimes".
How long would the judges survive
In Marion?


So-called "humanitarian" groups
Oblivious to all the Roman salutes
Scream out for justice in lands afar
And turn a deaf ear on their own country's war.
Fearing to battle the monster, though urged
They choose to take on those minimally purged
Africa's easier, so they say ---
Than incurring the wrath of the U.S.A.
So another day passes
As they twiddle their thumbs
And the citizens grow
Increasingly numb.
They must be deaf
And they must be dumb
To not feel the pain
As they chew their gum.
Today it's him
And tomorrow it's us.
In the marbled floors
In God they trust
At Marion.

The conveyor belt moves a little bit faster
The inmate's hand throws the slop on the tray
That will represent dinner for his brothers today
For slaves serve slaves in this modern dungeon.
If this makes you sick,
Stick around for the luncheon:
Stale bread with saliva and roaches and mold
Very hot coffee, served very cold.
Fresh peanut butter from World War II
Fruit is forbidden, vegetables, too.
Eat quick or be beaten
Move quickly or die.
Life is cheap in the Government's eye
Better not vote
If you don't vote right.
Your Uncle knows every step that you take
Your Uncle knows every move that you make
Try to lash out, and you'll do it alone
Better watch out what you say on the phone
Lady Liberty died long ago
Now she's the main attraction to show
The way to the immigrants
Who flock to her crown
As she carefully shows them
The way out of town.
She'll sell you a ticket
But her price is quite high
Tell her a secret, tell her a lie.
She might treat you well
Till she gets you inside
There's always room
After you're tried
At Marion.

Some people think I'm wasting my time
Writing about people suffering inside
So few listen
And so few care
So few help
They don't dare
For sticks and stones
May break their bones
But sure death comes from Truth alone.
Exposing the misery
Of a foreign general
Who exists in a cell as small as a kennel
Exposing the torture
Of a man who sold drugs
To the president, hidden in Persian rugs.
Describing the corridors
Electronically locked
The cameras watching
The guns fully cocked
Psychological torture inflicted
Dissident diabetics neglected
The beatings
The routine rapes
The bribes the guards discreetly take
The knife pulled from the cold cadaver
Lying on the marbled floor
To be used on someone else once more
How can I ever ignore
The pain they made me suffer before
When I washed dishes on a blood-stained floor
At Marion.
******************************************************

Marion: the gates of hell


The Octopus

Today I saw a stranger in the mirror:
A tired, grey-haired, balding old man.
But I should have known him,
For it was me!

It seems like yesterday
I saw a young, handsome man in the mirror;
A heartbreaker,
A ladies' man,
Every woman's dream.
It's amazing how pain can age a person.

I was a happy, young, aspiring composer;
Cool and calm,
Humourous and witty.
And then I made a mistake:
I told the truth about the Octopus.
And my life hasn't been the same since.

Life is so short.
I see that more every day.
But the Octopus made mine even shorter.
God damn the Octopus!
The weight of his clumsy tentacles
Squeezes the life out of artists
And makes martyrs of poets.

I sacrificed my childhood for my music.
I was told that practise makes perfect.
But a musician is expected 
To play beautiful music
While the world around him
Crumbles and rots.
Today we have no Mozarts,
Wagners or Beethovens.
They're all strangled before they bloom
Lambs can't live in a lion's den.

Ask the Octopus. 
He grows stronger 
As he sucks the blood of his prey,
All the while pretending to be their friend.
He has become an icon
To the empty souls who dream
Of living in his garden.
They think they know it 
Even before seeing it.
Some see it with blinders.
Some see it for the lair it really is,
But often it's too late, 
And like too many others,
They are snuffed out
Before they can tell the truth.
There is no room for truth in his garden.
He thrives on lies.
He lives in a disguise,
Squirting his magical ink
To cover up his mortal sins. 
***************************************************

Marion: the gates of hell



My Country

I thought I knew my country
The country they call America.
They taught me all about it 
In the many schools I attended
All those years ago.
I stood there blindly
So many times
Saluting a flag
That I thought was mine.
Pledging allegiance
As if it was
A living god
Or master
How odd.
**************************************************

I tried to serve my country
The country they call Milk and Honey
I learnt all about it
From the many books I read
So very long ago.
I sat there innocently
So many years
Listening intently
Being all ears
Don't drop out of school,
I was told.
You won't get a job;
You'll die in the cold.

I worked hard for my country
They country they call El Norte
I slaved like a dog
Trying to get ahead
Like everyone else. 
I laboured constantly
Too many years
Having patience
Holding back tears
We're all equal
I was assured
All of your problems
Are going to be cured.


I fought hard for my country
The country they call the Promised Land
I turned the other cheek
Like all my other friends
Trying to be a Christian
Like everybody else.
I battled infinitely
What seems like eternity
The many enemies
Who'd stick a sword in me
Commies and hippies
Were out to destroy
This good, young, innocent
All-American boy.

I believed in my country
The country they call the Land of the Free
I kept a closed mind
Like they expected of me
Trying to be a hero
Like all the other fools
I defended eternally
What seemed like Nazi Germany
The many traitors
Who'd write me traitor's letters
About the real America
And all its injustices
Wanted to convince me
Of something other than...

But I believed in my country
The country they call the United States
I kept my mind closed tight
I fought the truth like they taught me to
Trying to get a piece
Of the pie they said was mine
I pursued the riches
Like all the other ants
I protected myself
From the truth they tried to hide
The many heroes
Who'd have to die
In the real America
Because of all its injustices
Wanting to brainwash me
That it was something else

I finally found my country
They country they call the Great Satan
I opened my mind
I saw the truth they tried to hide
Trying to lie
And promise me all
They failed miserably
I finally saw
I guarded myself
From further attempts
To make me be
One of them
In the real America
The only room
For a true Democrat
Lies in a tomb.

*******************************************

Marion: the gates of hell


Survival of the Smartest

The only man who could survive this hell
With his mind intact and his body well
Is someone who can play the devil's game
And beat him at it, all the same.
I know a lot about the devil.
I've been in here with him so long
That sometimes I almost
Forget who I am.
But all of that Catholic education
All of that talk about sin
From those wild-eyed nuns
With the  Irish chins
And the octagonal glasses
And the million pins
Will never let me forget
When the moment's here
What happens to us
When the devil's near.

I remember a classmate
Named Paul White
Who always wanted to cheat
(You know the type)
And one day he asked me to write
An essay for him overnight
With the title chosen by the
Square-chinned nun
Who bore a strong resemblance
to Attila the Hun
The title was to be
(What else?)
"Why I Love Jesus"
She thought it good for our health.
I decided to have some fun
With this scoundrel and cheat
I'd write all about Jesus
And he'd get beat

So it started like this,
I'll never forget:
"I love Jesus Christ
I love Him because he's a tuff god
He scares the hell out of me."
The essay continued,
Read aloud by the nun
And I continued
To have my fun
Until she determined
The author was me
And condemned me to hell
For eternity.
I think of those things
While I'm sitting here now
Cold and naked
Without soap or a towel
It keeps me from going
Completely insane
Like the guard outside
With his long rubber cane.

******************************************
Marion: the gates of hell


Yankee Justice

Imagine this:
You are at home 
Sitting at your dining room table with your wife, 
Who is six months pregnant, and your children. 
Your baby daughter is sitting in her high chair, 
Which you have pulled up very close to the table 
To make her feel a little more part of the family. 
It is a cold winter night and your fireplace is roaring. 
You had a long day at the office 
And drove several hours through a blizzard 
In order to get home in time for dinner. 
You're all so glad to be together in your comfortable home. 

Suddenly, your front door bursts open. 
Several strangers, wearing business suits, 
Who resemble stereotypical Chicago gangsters 
Come rushing in towards you, 
Aiming guns at you and your family. 
Your small daughter, 
Whom you have gone to great lengths to shelter 
From any violent television programmes, 
And has never even seen a picture of a gun before, 
Becomes hysterical: 
Screaming, crying, her little face turning bright red, 
Tears streaming down her terrified face, 
Which is smeared with her mashed peas. 

Some of these men grab your pregnant wife 
And baby daughter out of their chairs 
And drag them across the room. 
Some of them grab you and rough you up 
In front of your horrified wife and baby daughter. 
Then they handcuff your hands behind your back 
As tight as possible, 
Until you can feel your blood circulation being cut off. 

Several of these thugs begin to search your home, 
Aimlessly throwing your precious belongings all over 
As they aggressively hunt 
For what you can only logically assume to be your valuables. 
You watch as they take the last existing photos 
Of your cherished mother, who has been deceased
Since you were a child. 
Your wife watches 
As they take her treasured teenage love letters 
Sent to her from other boyfriends 
And begin to read them aloud in front of you.

Finally, these violent mobsters identify themselves
As being agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. 
The F.B.I. 
You ask them what's going on. 
They say you're under arrest. 
You ask for what. 
They refuse to answer. 
You ask them if they have a warrant for your arrest. 
They say they don't,
But that they don't need one, 
Adding they can get one any time they like. 
They ask you to waive your rights, 
Beginning with your right to silence. 
When you intelligently refuse to give up your precious rights, 
They become combative and bludgeon you more in front of your 
family. 
So much for sheltering your innocent little daughter 
From violent television programmes.

You are told that they are going to take away
Everything you have in the world: 
Your house, 
Your bank accounts, 
Your business, 
Your cars, 
Your private correspondence, 
Your family photos, 
Everything. 
Then they take you away, 
Out into the dark night, 
Into the blizzard you were so glad to come in from 
Just a few moments earlier. 
Away from the most precious thing in the world to you: 
Your family.

You are eventually taken to a military air force base, where, 
With hands cuffed, 
Legs shackled, 
And waist chained, 
You are forced at gunpoint to board an aircraft 
Which in such a state of disrepair 
That you wonder if it will really get off the ground. 

After the airplane crash-lands in a distant state, 
You are taken to a maximum-security prison, 
Where your business suit is exchanged 
For a ragged prison jumpsuit. 
The guards happily divide up your fine clothes and jewelry 
Amongst themselves. 
You are put into a tiny, filthy cell 
With a grisly, foul-smelling, garlic-chewing man, 
A Spanish-speaking murderer from Cuba 
Who has been imprisoned for many years in your country. 
You spend every minute of the day 
Defending your life and your manhood from this maniac.
For the next several weeks, 
You are transported on other equally unsafe planes 
To several other prisons all around the country.

Finally, you land at a military air force base near Chicago, 
And are driven to a high-rise prison in the middle of the city 
And taken to the twentieth floor. 
Most of the prisoners are mafia hit men, 
Columbian cocaine kingpins, and big-time drug dealers. 
Murder, violence, perversion and disease is everywhere. 

Even though you have a serious back problem 
Which you have been under doctor's care for many years for, 
You are assigned a top bunk called a "rack", 
Which is really nothing more than a metal slab 
With a two-inch plastic mat on it. 

You finally get the use of a telephone, 
And discover that your pregnant wife and child
Were thrown out of your home during the blizzard, 
Causing them to contract pneumonia. 
The F.B.I. took everything of value you and your wife had. 
Having nowhere to go and no money, 
They travelled all the way to Georgia 
To live with your mother-in-law. 
The F.B.I. has visited everyone you know, 
Terrorising them and warning them 
Not to assist you in any way, 
Even suggesting that they change their telephone numbers
To avoid your calls. 
You try to find an attorney to represent you, 
But, without any money, no one will accept your case. 
They're all too afraid to seek the return of your assets, 
Even though they admit they were unlawfully seized. 

The F.B.I. visits you and terrifies you, 
Telling you that your pregnant wife will soon be arrested 
And your unborn child will be born in a prison 
And taken away from you. 
You will never see her. 
Your white daughter will soon be given to a black foster home. 
Her whereabouts will not be made known to you. 
You will spend the rest of your life in this terrible prison...
Unless you are willing to "cooperate" 
By telling everything they want to know about your friends. 
Some of the things they want to hear they already have written 
down. 
They just want you to say that you said them, 
Even though you really didn't. 
You refuse, and confidently wait to be freed. 
But you aren't. 

Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. 
You are starving. 
Your thick brown hair quickly turns entirely grey, 
And most of it falls out. 
Wrinkles and lines emerge on your face. 
You develop pneumonia and are refused medical care. 
You miss your wife and daughter. You worry about them 
constantly. 

Having no money, 
You are forced to accept the services 
Of a court-appointed attorney 
Who immediately begins trying
To scare you into pleading guilty 
To crimes you couldn't possibly have committed. 
He tells you nothing but lies 
And uses every trick in the book to try to break you down. 
Every day you see more and more 
Of your fellow inmates receive lengthy prison sentences 
For refusing to "cooperate", 
For refusing to plead guilty to crimes they often aren't guilty of. 
You begin to realise that your attorney is
Working against you, 
With the same people who brought you to this place. 
You realise that this man is your enemy, 
That his only job is to get you to plead guilty. 
You can never get justice with him. 
This causes you the greatest depression.

You grow weaker by the day. 
The food you are given is unfit for a pig: 
Moldy "hashed brown potatoes which resemble spinach; 
"Hamburgers" with maggots crawling in them; 
Coffee with cigarette butts in it. 
Your family's mail is withheld from you. 
You are told that no one is writing to you 
Because they don't care about you, 


That you're completely forgotten, 
That your wife is sleeping with other men, 
That soon your wife and daughter will be taken away, 
As you were told when you were first taken away. 
You have to fight for your life and manhood constantly, 
At all hours of the day and night. 
You do not dare to sleep deeply. 
You can only sleep lightly for a few minutes at a time. 
You cannot believe that you are in the United States of America. 
You feel like a foreigner in a Third World prison.

Then, your second daughter is born. 
But you can't see her. 
The F.B.I. won't let you visit her. 
Your attorney refuses to even ask the judge 
To release you on bail. 
Time passes. 
Nothing develops except more depression
And worsening health. 
As anyone would, you begin to feel forgotten, 
Alienated, despondent. 
There seems to be no solution. 

Then, one day, your attorney comes to you
To explain that your infant daughter, 
Whom you have never even seen, 
Is dying of a spinal meningitis. 
She only has a few days to live. 
The F.B.I. and U.S. Attorney 
Have agreed to let you visit her on her dying bed. 
You'll be taken to court in a few minutes 
To get the judge's formal approval. 
You are torn to pieces. 
You can feel your heart bleeding with sorrow and grief.

You are quickly taken to court. 
The judge asks your attorney why you are there. 
He answers: "To enter a plea, your honour". 
In other words, to plead guilty. 
You ask your attorney what is going on. 
He says that the F.B.I. and U.S. Attorney 
Told him at the last minute that they had changed their mind; 
That the only way they would permit you
To visit your dying daughter was 
If you pleaded guilty. 
He tells you that he just spoke 
To your good California attorney friend 
On the telephone 
And that he wanted to relay the message to you 
That you should do as you're told and plead guilty; 
That if you refused, 
You'd spend the rest of your life in prison 
And feel guilty about not seeing your daughter before she died. 

You look around. 
The F.B.I. agent, U.S. Attorney and your attorney 
Are smiling at each other 
Like the closest of friends 
Who are about to receive something 
They've worked very hard together for.  
It is obvious that you will never get any justice in this court. 
You simply cannot stand any more pressure. 
You are so worn down. 
You have no strength left. 
No energy. 
No hope. 
You're in the worst health. 
The prison doctors have told you you're dying. 
You could cry right there in the court room, 
But you have no tears left. 
You have cried until there are no more. 
You tremble. 
Your hands are shaking so much you have to hold them behind you.
What would you do? 
If you think about that for a few minutes, 
I think your answer will be that 
You would see no choice but to plead guilty. Exactly as I did. 

But I wasn't guilty. 
And my newborn daughter wasn't dying. 
And I didn't get to visit her. 
In return for my "cooperation", 
I was transferred to the worst prison on earth: 
Marion. 
None of my assets or my innocent spouse's were ever returned. 
I was never even provided with a receipt 
Indicating they had been seized. 
Not only was I refused early release on parole, 
I was refused my right to apply for parole. 
I was also refused my right to serve the final portion 
Of my sentence in a halfway house. 

After my release, I was on five years' probation. 
Probation was used as an instrument to harass, 
Intimidate, control and further punish me 
WIth the intention of eventually returning me to prison 
On an even longer sentence for a technical violation. 

I was unlawfully exiled three thousand miles 
Away from my family, whom I had dreamed of reuniting with. 
I was unlawfully forbidden to travel anywhere 
Outside of San Diego County, even to visit my family. 
I was prevented from accepting gainful employment. 
Things got so bad that I was finally forced 
To move to Switzerland 
In order to prevent losing my freedom again, or even my life.

There is a term to describe what happened to me. 
It's used all over the world: 
"Yankee Justice". 
It refers to an evil, unfair system of injustice 
Which allows the guilty to go free while the innocent suffer. 
How many men do you think would refuse to plead guilty 
If they were in the same position, 
Under the same set of circumstances that I was? 
An attorney friend told me 
That any man with the slightest intelligence, 
Love for his family, 
Or survival instinct 
Would have done the same thing that I did. 
What would you do?
You should think about this, 
For someday you just might find yourself 
In the same position I was in. 
It can happen to anyone. 
If you wouldn't want to be in such a position,
If you wouldn't want one of your loved ones 
To be in such a position, 
You should become active 
In working to change this system. 
Write your Senators and Congressmen today. 
As they say, 
"The life you save...may be your own".

****************************************************

Marion: the gates of hell


How Much Did They Pay You?

How much did they pay you
To ruin my life?
To cut out my heart
With a rusty knife
To shatter my dreams
And batter my soul --
To leave me stark naked
In a cold concrete hole

How much did they pay you
To turn your head?
While the hungry sharks
All got fed
While they stole and plundered
and ignored my rights
Conspiring and plotting
Both day and night

How much did they pay you --
Just what was your share?
To make a young man get such grey hair
To aid in corruption
And unspeakable crimes
To take for themselves
All that was mine

How much did they pay you?
(Tell me the truth) --
To keep your silence
As they divided their loot
As they brought their terror
To my family and friends
With you eagerly tying
All the loose ends

How much did they pay you
To distort all the facts?
For leaving the room
While they whipped my back
For abandoning ethics
To which you had sworn
And all you'd been taught
Ever since you were born

How much did they pay you
For telling those lies?
For ignoring my children
And their pitiful cries
For manipulating me
As I grew so weak
That I couldn't stand up
On my own two feet

How much did they pay you
For standing there mute?
Disregarding the dandruff
Adorning your suit
Never filing a motion
Or making a fuss
Having orgasms as
I was put on the bus
