“I want to totally transform myself tonight. I want to go to the next level,” I said.
“Well, for *you*, the next level is probably hangover!”
“Oh, that’s not very nice. Oh!”
“You know what’s horrible, don’tcha?”
“What?”
“The only way to get to the next level is by your own work. And that’s not easy. Most folk don’t make it. And those that do, usually don’t tell.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I think they lose interest, once they go to the next level, you know? Do you explain to the ants once you’re bringing the exterminator in, huh? You think butterflies go back and hang around with coccoons? I don’t see no butterflies hangin around caterpillars. Once you get on to the next level, you lose interest in this one. It’s like once everyone got out of jail, they promised to send LSD-spiked fruit in to us. And no one ever did. When *I* got out, *I* promised to send drug fruit. But once you’re out, that don’t matter no more. They’re *gone.* You’re on to other shit.”
– Smith & Lady
It took me a few years to move on. Soon as I got out in 2004, I sent a Greek-English Interlinear New Testament to my friend Scot as promised (nowadays you can’t send food into prison, spiked or not). I also packed up some books I didn’t want, to send in to their Horizon Interfaith program. Six months later, I sent a few dozen Christmas cards (and a few Hanukkah and Eid cards) to guys behind bars. In 2008 I sent 1 Christmas card; in 2009, none.