Reseña del libro "Year Two in a Texas Prison: Residuals of Substance Abuse (en Inglés)"
YEAR TWO IN A TEXAS PRISON Cowboy, a meth freak, says he fought his wife's insulter fairly at first. That is, until the devious culprit (to hear him describe the man), started to get the best of him. In simpler terms, the man was apparently beating the shit out of Cowboy. In any event, Cowboy says he knows how to take a beating as well as any man (and he is thoroughly full of shit I may add. For if he could take a beating fairly like any man he would have done so). Prison administrations like to say that what convicts do best is lie. I can tell you, that is absolute bullshit - the truth is they can't lie worth a shit! All convicts have ever offered me in the way of tales is kaleidoscopic dreams of their preferences as opposed to their realities. Realities which can also be readily stated as cheap-assed psychopathic lies intended to project airs of arrogance and authority and non-truths. In any case, this is what really happened. The insulter or whatever, perhaps Cowboy's whoring wife deserved it (I've seen her pictures - she looks like a real slut). So, maybe the fight shouldn't have happened in the first place. But, it did! And cowboy couldn't stand to see his wife watch him get the shit beat out of him by the gladiator who was hammering her the last time he did a prison stretch so he did what comes naturally to guys like he and I, he picked up a tire iron and clobbered the guy half a dozen times. Cowboy is now in prison with me doing bible studies, I may add it is an honorable change of pace. And the once gladiating Adonis is in a wheelchair for life, cross-eyed from one of the bonks his cranium suffered at the hands of the crazy Cowboy, and babbling about his pre-puberty lifestyle and the extent of his love for Popeye's girl, whose name I think is Olive Oil. Perhaps I will never understand much about what makes us humans tick. Here we are, Cowboy and I, studying the word of God like two cherubim's in a balcony choir. What we are at the moment is all that is meaningful when it comes to describing life. Certainly all he is and all I am consists of our respective physical conditions in time - and that time is now - the present. Whether we would like to count misdeeds or good deeds is immaterial. Whatever they may have been, good or bad, they are now unmistakably forever gone and no longer exist in time. And so, it stands to reason that mankind is worthy of emotional and tangible forgiveness. That is to say, with few exceptions, man should not be incarcerated for the entirety of his earthly time. I have given a big part of my earthly life to a great deal of acts unknown to those which prefer hearing of noteworthy works for the good of man. Today I find myself dedicated to shedding the substance abuse incurred mental illnesses I so often sought. The part I find the strangest is that I cannot take the credit for my change of heart. So much I am sure that left to my personal choices and own devices I would rather glory in the mischief of evil over the tranquility of peaceful innocence.
