A Prisoner Voice
Medical Abuse
Date:
December, 2004
Location of Prisoner:
California
Dear PARC,
I hope my letter, find your spirit and health well; and your holidays rewarding with happiness.
How am I? I am mentally, emotionally, and physically in torment, and deterioration, and suffer unimaginable, and punishing retribution of pains.
My current condition is :
1. I sit and sleep in my wheelchair 24 hours and I have been like this for 3 years and 8 months.
2. My last bath was April , 2004, and I have visible dirt discolored skin, and foul odor.
3. My cell is in the most unsanitary inhumane filthy condition condition with feces, urine, trash, maggots and flies.
4. I stay sick because of the filth, and cannot clean because the inmate has to clean their cell on their own.
5. For 3 years, and 8 months, I have been denied all outdoors and indoors recreational exercise.
I need help to get my story out and told.
Sincerely,
XXX
Necropolis
Date:
January, 2011
Location of Prisoner:
Flordia
Greetings,
I am currently imprisoned in a Fla DOC facility. I find myself in an everyday struggle. I send my appreciation to PARC and all my brothers and sisters fighting through this struggle too. Please continue the struggle and support the struggle. All my life has been a struggle and now I'm within necropolis/prison.
I'm alive walking deadman, pay attention to the walking dead. Rose from the graveyard, these dungeons crowded lives walking dead. Non-existing only death, for I'm not the first or last to arise out the grave. Arise walking deads perceive terminology and come ablaze. Out of sight, out of mind, excluded from society and vanished to the pen. Executing classified thugs, outlaws, ex-cons with paid crimes they re-run over again. Career criminals, habitual offenders, habitual violent offenders, 3-strikes, 10-20-life. Denotes these animals aren't tamed lets rid us of this threat and create laws that punish them for life.
Prison, cages, jails, dungeons, lock-ups, pens, confinement, detentions. Exist for the wicked yet I'm relating to the rational that try to co-exist civilization. Cast you to a cell, feed 3-meals per slave, hatred sparks like fire that ignites. I pledge a legion to the walking dead in necropolis throughout America. My brothers keeper's become bone of my flesh within the struggle of this circle. Numbers become identities, calendars mark the years, days pass by multiplying in numbers.
Surrender is a tragedy, remember all your peers under every lies a man that's buried under.
The Realist