by : Raymond Rainbow Martinez # 000768

On the first article I wrote for the LHP I established the fact that I am not a member of anything. It may sound ironic to you that I do believe I unity. But only if it's voluntarily because I don't like to feel obligated to fill a certain quota or carry a certain amount of responsibility.

Nonetheless, I do feel morally obligated to contribute a few articles to the LHP I guess it's my conscious and principles spurring me to write. If I didn't have a conscious I probably would be laying down apathetically on my bunk reading a novel.

I don't know what it is about Terrible Terrell but most of the time I don't feel like doing anything. With the centilation blowing cold air into my cell, I like to just stay in bed covered up reaching a good novel and whenever I do get up, I get up only because it is chow time. And it just rubs me wrong when someone knocks on the wall of my cell just to bum a shot of coffee and to make my foul mood even worst, the bum doesn't have a coffee pot. So he would appreciate it very much (he say) if I would heat him some water.

Of course I heat him some water. I always do. It is part of living in death row.

Being that the LHP is our (death row inmates little paper, I'm intrigued as to why so few of us contributes articles when we practically get people catering for us, printing this paper for us while we sit here in our cells smugly eating chips.

Did Terrible Terrell put our souls on ice to the point where we feel uninspired? It's almost as if we feel no motivation, no inspiration, no obligation. We have become desensitized to the point where we no longer respond by showing our appreciation to the people trying to keep us alive. Still, I find it hard to believe that only apathy, desolation and resignation dwells in our hearts.

How can I contribute something to the LHP when there is nothing in my heart but emptiness? And there is a dullness in my – pardon me, but can you please explain where the soul is located?

Well, if a doctor (any doctor) went looking for your soul and cut your body open, searching for your soul he could not find it.

Why not?

Amazingly, I was asked this question by a young convict not long ago while I was on the day room.

“Because,” I said “your soul is invisible. Sorta like a spirit, you can't see it with your eyes nor under a microscope nor can you touch the soul with your hand nor by using any kind of electronic extra sensory devices”.

And because nobody is able to see what we have stored in the depth of our souls, our eyes have become the windows of our souls for those who care about us. They stare and peer into those windows hoping to see what we have harbored in our souls.

What do my beloved sister or my 87 year old father see in my eyes when ever they come to visit me? Do they see a blank? Do they see my apathy, desolation and resignation?

How can I put a little warm light in the cold dark soul of mines?

I don't know. If I know the answer, my soul would be blinking with lights like a carnival.

What is the soul? To be completely truthful about it, I don't know that either. I've heard people claimed that someone had soul because he or ahe could sing pretty. But I have always been under the impression that the soul is the immaterial part of the human being, often regarded as immortal or it can be the moral or emotional or intellectual nature of a person.

Don't let Terrible Terrell put your soul on ice. Get up and write an article for our little newspaper. And thank you for reading my article.

By Raymond Rainbow Martinez # 000768