Fishkill Correctional Facility is haunted by more than just ghosts.
A seven-inch piece of my hair was recently inducted into the one-of-a-kind crime exhibition New York artist Joe Coleman has spent much of his life assembling.
Whenever you go to the prison yard, there's always a chance you won't make it back. I would know: I spent ten years inside and learned how to weaponize everything from magazines to cigarette filters.
In my time as a prisoner in New York State, I always heard dark rumors about Clinton Correctional Facility.
I estimate that I've spent more than 100 hours in handcuffs being shuttled from prison to prison. I've seen a lot of things on those trips.
What it's like to observe a ritual celebrating escape and hope among murderers, anti-Semites, and faux converts just looking for a holiday gift box.
Corned beef and cabbage were served on St. Patrick's Day every year I spent in prison, a testament to the racial politics of the prison-industrial complex.
A lot can change when you spend 123 months behind bars.
Each holiday season, NYC sidewalks host fresh faces from Quebec, young bohemians hocking Douglas Firs to wealthy locals.
Cologne, toothpaste, and industrial solvents all provided cheap thrills for Soviet citizens.
The margins, the twilight, the fringe of society—that's where the present first rolls over into the future, and this column aims to report from there.
They ran meds before breakfast, so I used to see the back of Ronald DeFeo Jr.'s head every morning before the sun was up.