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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Trauma

Some Things Better Kept Between Two or Few…but I’ma Share this Even if it isn’t Alright with You

June 21, 2022 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Hey Lauren,

Thank you for your concern, your genuine reaction and heartfelt connection are always appreciated.
Even the guilt and shame you seem to always express, I get it, it’s selflessness and needed to personally identify with the pain of those who don’t look like us, but you are one of those who need not feel this way, because you try to understand, and for that, I am so thankful.

Thankful you don’t try and act as if you know, nor force words that you may not have altogether
it’s annoying when I hear so many expressing opinions to what they are not studied on and only telling the narrative of their own emotional prejudice and bias, unbeknownst to their selves of course.

so dig…

those who don’t know, will do what they do
because it’s all they know
those who know a bit won’t do enough
because they don’t know enough to do anything more
and those who know
either impose themselves on those who don’t
or empower those who don’t
and the pendulum swings,
as the energy depicts progress and it’s process

when we struggle for identity
all we can do is react emotionally
not realizing that the emotion has no solution
it only proposes an opportunity to recognize something is wrong
if we live in the emotion of what’s wrong
evading culpability and discomfort
than we are doing just as we are programmed to do
by those who know
and yet impose themselves on those who don’t
because the emotion becomes the bait
controlling what one can and does imagine

those who don’t know
and don’t know enough
are prisoners of the moment
many moments separated
so separated that they can’t see in the moment that it is the same moment to come
because no solution has been found
and to stay in the emotion is prison, so those who don’t know evade the emotion prematurely for self-preservation without realizing a solution
because to care, is a full-time job

and it doesn’t matter who you are and how much you know
it’s not hard to be sick of being sick and tired
and that’s by design

don’t worry for my being by whatever truth you need to share
I’m free even if I’m not out in August
truth, real truth, has no preference nor condition
it just is
I’m not in a prison of fear, nor would I want anyone to imprison themselves by fearing for me
I want your truth just as much as I want to share mine and realize more

as a reaction to the hate crime and cowardly mass shooting of black people in buffalo, I called a rally together on the yard, white, black, brown, etc, and spoke and performed a spoken word piece, I spoke of history, truth, love, what oneness is and means, where separation and racism came and comes from, how hate is embedded and fed upon, how we are puppeteered by our emotions, conditions, classes, colors and illusions of separation and incomplete education, and how we as prisoners have an opportunity to contribute to change and to walk courageously in truth etc.

racial remarks and presumptions were whispered outside, but it amassed 30ish people out of short notice, and people came to me asking me if IMA do it every Sunday, I finally said yes, I’m going to try and get some money so I can at the least buy pops for everyone that comes, I’m doing it again this Sunday
but the message last time was, I don’t fear losing my final for staff wanting to see this as something else, we each have something we claim we’ll die for and therefore live for, mine is no longer a hood but truth, my sons have to grow in this world, so yes I want to go home but I am my name and my message and a father, those are not separate things, and so I will speak and do what my soul calls me to do without fear

I cried given the spoken word peace, I was angry the previous day, but I turned those emotions into something, no white fragility, no white man nor his system nor structure can imprison any aspect of me but my body, I live on by what I give, in that I receive it all the same and it passes on and never dies
this is the energy of my ancestors, the ancestors of us all, their energies is what fuel us to be-to learn adapt grow and evolve- from what was into what will be

courage will never again be my lacking
nor fear my undoing and foundation
when I saw that, a call was imprinted upon me with an even deeper realization than I knew before, and I am alive for such a time as this…as we all are

my music, poetry and opinion mean nothing if I can’t stand in the oven and wait for the coast to be clear, I can’t wait on white people to save me, nor a perfect circumstance to benefit me, my time is now and always will be, but I do people and the message a disservice I am not as equally ready to spread and share truth and awaken white people as I am my own, because change doesn’t come from just reaching look-a-likes, but those whose ignorance does the most damage by unifying us at the core/essence of our being

being comfortable being uncomfortable is the new comfort, change happens at that crossroads, because courage lives there
as I spoke that day and in my piece, I know great white people, and I also know great people, you fit both those categories, the limited one and the limitless one, thank you for your being, energy, and heart
I love you
and thank
I am constantly becoming
because of sacred souls and gigantic spirits such as yours
you are the Moon
and I am but a tide in the waves of your heartfelt energy
the empathy you exude is the envy of angels and god’s alike
and I hope to emit but a portion of it as I continue to grow into who I am
Man Father Son King god-I Am
WayOfLife

Filed Under: Inside, Love, Mercy, Spirit, Trauma

Waking Dreams (Spoken Word)

June 18, 2022 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I have a dream that I had a dream I sleep!
bout the many different ways I can get killed as a fella…
or felon
however you identify with either dwelling
you see
this world don’t want me to succeed
or exceed
unless it is in need
but not in the way that I breed
unless they can snatch the rights of those women that bear my seed
whom are as bare as my seed
in the commission of our deepest deeds
and ‘they’
can be advantaged by their greed
by the hearts us poor lonely and lowly wear on our sleeves
day to day as we grieve
in one way of another by the many ways we bleed
in one way or another
for another
or an other
pain is how a pariah or parasite feeds
imposed on by a powerful leech
seethe
nibbling on my being every waking moment like how a toddler teeth’s
thieves
so whatever I may achieve
may be lived brief
sheesh
because as sure as I soweth, so I shall reap
deep
beneath sights unseen
reach
beyond sights I see
preach
…don’t preach
teach
peep!
I need to peel off visuals you see
but not genes
just whatever it seems you see and seek
each week
beyond biases which peak your feats each week
preach
…don’t preach
teach
peep!
each week you seek that which makes you more weak each week
ease
preach
…don’t preach
teach
peep!
you lunge you jump you leap but seep in creeks made deep because you sleep on feet in feats you deem to be out your reach and hide what leaks from eyes yet bleed for sights you see that seem so sweet yet sleep to sights unseen but dream to peek and peak at new heights you reach!
preach
…don’t preach
teach!
peep
so let me peel back this thing you see called color
preach
…don’t preach
teach
peep
now I can rise and not sink in the same sink my thoughts I think which sink in the same sink I’ve sunk from rinse waters not drunk made mud from dirt my hurt in a place as dark as where I’m from

my son bleeeeedsssss!
his dad pleadssss!
have mercy pleeeaaasseee!
my God seeeeee!
that my dream is my deepest fear!
that I outlive my kids in the same world I’m trying to get free to yet stay free from after all these years
pleeeeaaasseeee!
because you may have more influence than I!
ten years, and I haven’t even heard as much as my son’s mind
and still dream to hear my son’s cry
just so I can say I’m here, daddy’s here, daddy’s home, whether it be ego or heart or both
that I would die for a chance to be there during one of my son’s many lows
before life deals them or I a fatal blow
that would threaten to turn me into the very insatiable and unstoppable monster this world thinks I am and bred me to be
yea yea
beating on my chest like king Kong, you got nothing on me!
lil Wayne speaks, feed me rappers or feed me beats!
either way IMA eat
yea yea!
cuz there’s nothing no more, I’m lost without me!

what do I mean?!
my son said he looks in the mirror and sees me, my oldest sees me but hurt by that truth, so either way, if I lose them I lose me
fruit of my loins, if I lose myself I lose them
either way, I still lose me
and I been losing it or me for years in the dream of sleep you see?!
if you see beyond the sights you see into the unseen seen and seams and scenes we reap!
preach
…don’t preach
teach!
retweet
repeat!
peep!
and I been losing it or me for years in the dream of sleep you see?!
if you see beyond the sights you see into the unseen seen and seams and scenes we reap!
so if I stay sleep this dream will be!
you see?!

what do I fear???
I fear for my sons and I fear for their father
our father, who art in…never mind, why bother
because he has too much to do, than to be bothered
by three different versions of toddlers
two of which may be more mature spiritually and closer to him than that of their father
age is nothing but accumulated turmoil and metaphysical fodder
the math says,
two sons and a father plus a father
which is really two kids, one toddler, and one father
I’m the toddler if you follow
fodder is bullshit, please follow
how am I supposed to direct my sons in a world to which they see farther
believing because I developed more years to which I see and think then by process of elimination
despite many processes eliminated
due to pigmented discrimination
reservations
circumstantial incrimination
my ego’s artificial insemination
being too inorganic to authentically see that I’m in the matrix
amidst coveting illusions chauvinism misogyny and women hatred
but I’m supposedly smarter!

demented thoughts, toxic emotions harbored
induced deadly imaginations
attacking my future with my past’s presence hoping to be vindicated
I need ventilation! (gasp!)

from all this guilt that enters like dry and raw penetration
emotional rapist!
every minute anchored
by limits and anger
and hope is too intimidating with all the pain I’ve Eric Garnered!

far cries from honor
yes sir’s and yes your honor-trauma
farces I’ve chartered
farces are lies, a word used to keep with the rhyme
before the competition for your attention or the opposition of distraction begins to rise
my partners all parted, blame their dishonor
death over anything less and yonder

this is a long way off from a parable of why should my sons heed the lessons of their father
same sentiments of the godless
fuck thought, fuck answers, flared nostrils
color power!
back to the departed father
you remember, it’s me, the toddler
why should a toddler preach
…don’t preach
but teach
lessons of the father
as a father
reflect on that with those who have platforms preaching religions who have yet to empty their closets
yet fill up their wallets
I keep getting sidetracked on all this fodder
when my lessons may do nothing but breakthrough their armor
and I’m telling myself I’m bettering them, steadying my emotions amidst my lowest devotions
readying them by my experiences as they may be getting destroyed by my karma
our father!
in my attempts to create harmony
will my words be a healing agent or just be more harmful
that’s why this is but a sleepy dream
so my death isn’t from being unconscious

Filed Under: Trauma

No Choice

June 12, 2022 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

pro-choice
or
pro-life
to have to
make a choice
is no freedom
nor real choice at all
it is force!

it is the imposition of control!

we live in a world
where women and children
are not nurtured
nor esteemed
only used as pawns
for toxically masculinized
Anglo dreams

in today’s world
it is truly a matter of consequence
and reflection
to want to not only bear a child
but to see it into this world
when culture, family and values
have been demolished
and are up for sale
now as destructive to one’s being
and livelihood, than at any time in history

rights morals values and character
are as fluid as the amniotic state
and placenta of the woman’s womb
yet in contrast
vastly more unstable and chaotic

ironic our resources quake
war ravages our world
global relations deteriorate by the day
hate rises like trapped heat
along with disease and inflation
and threatens our way of life
as our lowest class expands
and suffers all the more
making the American Dream more hot air
and the cost of living, thin air
that we see to restrict the woman’s inherited
and inalienable rights for control
of her own being and body

what class or color
of people primarily
seek abortions?
what is their quality of life
what political advantages are served
whose agenda is being fulfilled?
who is being pitted against one another
what rhetoric is hiding the true concern and nature
what pawn is being used to substantiate these beliefs
who is not being fully considered
nor respected

how convenient
a country that loves to be experts
experts of non-experience
but of judgement and pontificating
only further oppressing the rights promised
the being, guilt and identity
of its people
creating more anxiety than promise

ahhh I have so much to say
so many ways to phrase what I have to say
so many better ways to say it
rather gentle or crude
and it still doesn’t get to the root
of how sickening this habit is
because it is the same pattern
rife all throughout our country
and this world
its institutions, and their systems
of beliefs, theories
and perspectives
which is downright
chauvinistic manipulative and oppressive

Filed Under: Culture, Trauma

Cold-Hearted

June 11, 2022 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

to survive
to preserve
to conserve
what had to stand the test of time
to be unearthed
I had to go into the freezer
holding intact my nerve
keeping resolve
of what was reserved
I stayed cold
until I could finally thaw
soaking up the warmth
claiming all I deserved

Filed Under: Trauma

Proof in the Pudding

June 10, 2022 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

we are blindly normalizing our destruction
acting as if we can’t see beyond what our present moment is telling us
merely reacting to keep with the conversation
and to not appear like some privileged or uppity couch philosophizing Nostradamus, prophetizing doomsday in the horizon
while headlining its very clothes day in and day out, piece by piece
unwilling ourselves to see the body that is being covered
which is our way of life-freedom and liberty-
being stolen plagiarized sold and destroyed more and more by the second
having polite to coarse discourse about our falling sky
and failing reality and its duplicitous doctrines
just to appear civil and give the implied illusion of shared and valued space and voices to affirm a freedom which has truly long been cast and lost
unless of coarse you sound speak and look a certain way
with no real requisite methodology for reconciliation
because we are truly troubled and trifling in our trivial trials and turbulent trepidations
and rife with comforts and contradictory notions which we’ve lived for so long with no real temporal consequence besides overly enforcing punishments through an injustice justice system which compensates for the very issues it creates and decrees yet can not solve
holding to laws that have only succeeded in population control and reinforcement of property protection
chomping at the bit to label the unable as criminals and the antisocial or the misfits as felons, inmates, prisoners and convicts
and the status quo keepers, whom question nothing at all or just enough to not forego their own freedoms as “law abiding citizens”
now in route for answers, only panic anxiety frustration and blame can soothe the soul
as if the self-righteous sanctimonious grand gesturing of “pointed fingers,” actually aid and ail our confluence of afflictions, concoction of convictions, conflicting affiliations, and conventional conservative and corrupt associations–all which constitute assimilation and appropriation–
yet it does nothing but create more pretense for nonsense and more fences to defend as to take more offense or hide one’s intent insofar to not appear to blatantly offend
but I say we have become nothing more or less than pretenders and offenders that are offensive and all always on edge defensively
almost praying to be offended just so we can sound off and have our illusion of a voice and strong will as if we’ve just been waiting to judge and point out differences as to seem so much different or “better than” instead of equal and “greater with”
we are separatists acting inclusionary
we are segregationists and exclusionary, calling ourselves “One Nation”
America, a melting pot of ideas languages and cultures, built by this very fabric, now we are like the child that turns its back on their parent after they suffered you into this world lovingly, no longer wanting the very reason that we exist to be any longer and ignorantly not seeing how that disconnect or desire for it all the while is killing us
these institutions and their principles are failing and falling, and we are going down with it because just like these faceless–yet projecting and implying a color gender and religion–and name-filled institutions and doctrines, our morals are failing and falling having truly been founded upon selfishness and individualism
our conduct and constitution has really created amorality, making more way for circumstantial and privileged immorality which is more incentive than consequential
the proof is in the pudding, don’t be in denial, take a bite

Filed Under: Trauma

Lunar Elapses

June 8, 2022 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

as the sun sees it
we’re but talking echoes
and empty shadows
projected onto the moon

and I’ve always felt stuck
between a star
and a rock’s place

Filed Under: Trauma

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Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is a collection of Russell Wardlow’s prose and poetry written entirely behind bars. Through writings on family, spirituality, freedom, love, justice, redemption, and vulnerability, Russell seeks to show the humanity and hope of individuals like himself who are incarcerated.

Read More

  • Whose Mind is it Anyway June 30, 2022
  • Objects June 30, 2022
  • Same Thang, Different Name June 30, 2022
  • Optical Ill-lusions June 30, 2022
  • Hollow Symbols June 30, 2022

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