Edited to add Johnathans memorial site at www.myspace.com/axis_axis and Daves article which is at http://www.zwire.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17741098&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8.... Which he is getting hate mail over, so if you like it, maybe tell him that you did. djmaass@sacurrent.com. I think he has balls to offer a different perspective in a mostly conservative state.

http://www.zwire.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17721491&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/crime/stories/MYSA011407.01A.moore_sidebar.305bd0e.html
http://www.courttv.com/facing_death/johnathan_moore/interview_ctv.html
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/metro/stories/MYSA011807.01A.execution.1bedc02.html
"If I know anything at all
It's that a wall is just a wall
and nothing more at all
It CAN be BROKEN DOWN"-Asatta Shakur

"This is a love story like every love story I had always known, Like no love story I could have ever imagined. It's everything beautiful-Bright colors, candle scented rooms and lavender amethyst. It's everything grotesque, disfigured. It's long twisting wounds, open and unhealed, nerves picked raw, exposed.
This is a love story. It's a breathing document of possibility, hope, and connection. It's a gathering of spirit, reclaiming of dreams. This is a story desperate to hold itself together. This is a story with patches in the knees.
This is a love story. My story and thousands of other womens love story. It's a story thats known, documented, photographed, videotaped, audiotaped, filed, photocopied, watched over, studied, questioned, researched and noted. This is a love story, one we keep close, sheltering it from judgement.
It's lovers denied at family visits and office parties. It's secret glances at polaroid pictures. It's whispered names. This story is hidden behind metal detectors, electronic doors, and steel slamming against steel.
This is a love story, one not generally discussed in polite or even public conversations but if theres one thing that I know about myself, it's that I hate secrets. That secrets mean shame and I am not nor will I ever be ashamed that I am a girl that has loved someone and that someone has loved me"-Asha Bandele

The morning awoke with an ice storm, skies clouded and sparkling icicles hung from every rooftop and tree branch in sight with air so cold that you could see your breath in Texas. The morning awoke with fear, saddness and pain. It awoke with anxiety, anger, strength, tears and love.The roads were too icy to carry me 300 miles away to spend my last full day with my condemned boyfriend. Roads and schools were closed off. accidents reported sullenly on the flashing TV screen. Later when a few roads opened up and ice began to melt, The three of us, Johnathans father and best friend huddled into the car to make the trek to look into our loved ones eyes one more time. We would have to stay in a hotel overnight near the prison death chamber that they had prematurely transported him to to die.We slipped through the ice with determination, buying alcohol when we checked into the hotel, trying to drink ourselves away from reality which was that somebodies best friend, son, brother and boyfriend would be executed the next evening.
Me and his best friend who had seemed like such strangers to each other just days before were now eternally bonded over this tradgedy. We had too much anxiety to sleep so we laughed and cried and talked about life and death and hope and darkness and light. We stared at the clock. We dreaded the end. We wondered, Was he scared? Was he cold? Could he sleep? We worried. We consoled each other. We were sisters finishing each others thoughts and sentences, Exchanging tears, denial, hope, and strength.
The morning came and we hustled to the famous walls unit in Huntsville. The walls unit looked like a city squat with boarded up windows and ugly red rotting brick. If it wasn't for the watch towers where guards were stationed with a pistol in hand, just in case someone might attempt freedom, one might not even recognize it as a prison. One by one we were belittled and treated horribly by the guards and finally we held out our hands for the metal detectors and were allowed inside. First went his father, Then his best friend, and then me. I walked down the hall anxious and fast to a small cage covered mostly with a metal mesh gate and some plexi glass. His smile was big and beautiful as I sat down and searched his eyes. "Look" he said "No bullet proof glass this time". I smiled and immediately held my hand up to his through the metal gate. This was the first time that our cells would rub off on each other and we were able to touch. His hands were big and warm and the connection felt good. I pressed my lips against the gate and we kissed and exchanged breath. For a moment I forgot about the gate, The guards, The glass, and the cage. For a moment we were just two people sharing affection and madly in love. The background clouded out and it was just the two of us, free from the confines. A guard dragged me back to my seat and then I was back again, looking at him through a cage. "Did you sleep last night?" I asked him. "I had to" he responded "They confiscated all of my property." "Why?" I asked him. "Something about finding a razor blade" he answered. I flashed back to when I was still visiting him at polunsky unit and we were using sign language to discuss escape plans. We would meet in Canada, where even if they found him, Canada refuses to extradite death row inmates. It was a dream that got me by from day to day. It was a dream he often spoke of vividly of us wandering through the woods together, on our way to freedom. "And what if it fails?" I had asked him that day. He put down the phone for a second, took his shoe off, lifted up the soles and underneath he pulled out a shiny razor blade that had been taped to the bottom. He then put his finger to his lip, motioning for me to be quiet. I couldn't. The gravity of the situation exploded at that moment and I broke down in tears. "I wish that I could get you out of here" I cried, putting my hand up to the wretched glass. "Baby" he had said calmly "It would be better than going the other way" he said referring to the lethal injection, "and it would save the state millions" he added. Just months earlier, his best friend Michael was on death watch with him and said that he would refuse to let the state take his life. One night they had stayed up all night getting drunk on hooch, Johnathan would go back and forth from partying with Michael to writing me a letter. It was cryptic and I shook when I read it.
"Dear Lily, It's 2:10- Me and Michael have been up partying all night. It's his last night. -It's 4:00,The party is winding down.- It's 4:06, Michael is telling me goodbye. -It's 4:10, I can hear him gagging and coughing.- It's 4:21,I see blood through the hole in the wall.- It's 4:30, I am puting my hand up against his wall.-It's 4:32, I told Michael that I love him.-It's 4:38, I can't hear any noise or movement anymore.-It's 5:00, a guard came by to do checks and then ran for help. -It's 5:20, The guards are putting Michael on a gurney and shaking their heads, There is blood all over the sheet that is covering his body.-It's 5:23, they are pushing Michaels body down the hall.-It's 5:25, I'm alone in my cell, My best friend is gone."
Michael Dwayne Johnson had broken a razor off of a shaving razor and slit his own throat with it. Left on his cell wall was a message to the world written in his own blood reading "I didn't do it". I imagined the determination one might have in order to slit their own throats with a shaving razor until they are dead. I imagined Michael having to dig deeply again and again across his neck with that tiny razor until he had punctured his throat enough to gag on his own blood and die. I thought about how much that goes against our human survival instincts. "Are you scared?" I had asked Johnathan after the tears stopped flowing. "Not with you here" he smiled. I tried to forget about that hidden shiny razor and that most likely my man would die but now I was here with him on his last day and plan A and B had both failed. I held onto his fingers through the metal mesh gate and kissed him again. The guards just shook their heads this time as we continued to kiss, hungry and beautiful even though our love was being displayed and studied like lab rats by hard white eyes surrounding us. "Give me some of your fur" he said. He called my hair fur and my hands paws. He had nicknamed me chinchilla early in our frienship that had evolved so quickly to love. I ripped out a piece of my hair for him and passed it through a small hole in the gate. He delicately put it in his mouth. "Did you just swallow that?" I asked him. He nodded, "Now I have a piece of you inside me" He said. "I hate this" I told him "and why is Jennifer going to be there" I asked coldly reffering to the dead cops widow. "She's got a right to be mad, baby, Don't hate her, Hate the prosecutor, Hate the state, Hate the justice system but not her"
I knew he was right. I just felt like she was doing to me what she had hated so much that Johnathan did to her. I felt like she was hypocritical for telling all the newspapers that she wasn't interested in revenge but that she was going to be there to watch my man die. Johnathan looked down at his watch. Taped to it was a small picture of us. Time ruled him, down to the seconds. "Hey, Let's just live in this moment" I told him "I'm here with you now." He nodded unconvincingly. "I had a dream about you" he smiled. "Oh yeah?" I asked smiling back at him. "Yeah" he said "You've become my fantasy girl big time, If I was out there with you, we'd have a bunch of stinky little Lily's running around" I laughed at the mental image. "I want you to have this necklace" he said pointing to the golden hammer on a chain he always wore around his neck "and my watch, I want you to have them, and make sure Devon gets one of my shirts."He added. "Okay" I promised.
"Times up" the guards interrupted. "Fuck you" I shot back at them with tears in my eyes, ignoring them I turned back to Johnathan "You might get a stay" I told him "They even talked about it on the news, They said because of the weather you might get a temporary stay of execution..." He looked down again. "Dont bet on it, baby." he said. "Maam, it's really time to go" the guards said. I climbed up on to the chair to kiss him one last time but couldn't quite reach his lips, then there were guards grabbing my arms, escorting me away as I cursed them. Tears welled up in his eyes and he punched the cage that encased him. "I love you" he yelled at me as I was being dragged away "I love you" I yelled back. I got back into the car and broke down. The whole world was collapsing around me.
Then the witnesses, His best friend, Me, His dad, and brother went to whats known as the hositality house which is run by self righteous christians, where the chaplain would brief us on what to expect as a witness to an execution. There was a memoriam on the wall which included pictures of every person that had been executed in Texas in the past two decades or so. The last picture was of Carlos Granados who had been executed just a week earlier. I remember seeing his whole family in the visiting room, talking through the telephone to him with soft voices and hopeless eyes.
The chaplain sat us down. I curled up next to Devon and she put her arm around me. We both cried as the chaplain described the procedure in gruesome detail.
The phone rang and it was Johnathan. "That was some good kissing, furry" he said after I answered hello. A smile spread across my face hearing his voice. "Yeah, it was" I said. We bullshitted for a while. I forget everything we talked about. I remember asking him what he thought happened after death. "I'll find out" he answered nonchalantly. The phone was passed around. I went into the bathroom to cry. The phone was eventually returned to me. "I have to get off the phone soon" he said and then paused "I want you to know that you came into my life at the perfect time and I couldn't have asked for a better girl in my corner, without you I would have died lonely." I was still crying. "Don't cry baby, I love you" he said. "I love you too" I said. "We're in this together now." He said reciting the lyrics to the song that had become ours "None of them can stop us now, we will make it through somehow. You're the queen and i'm the king and nothing else means anything" He sang to me. "Yeah" I said. "I've got to go" he said. My heart shattered. "No" I said. "I have to sweetie" He said. "Promise me that we will see each other again" I said. "We will" he answered. "No" I said "I mean after tonight. Do you believe that we will meet again?" "Yes" he said. "And you really believe that? You are not just saying that" I asked frusturated. "I believe it" he said "Take care of my dad and Devon and Walt, okay? Stay in San Antonio until ya'll are all okay" "Okay, I promise" I responded. "And stay off the drugs, you are a valuable human being" I promised again. "I love you" he said and then silence at the end of the line. I cradled the phone and cried. That was the last time that Johnathan Bryant Moore heard my voice. There was a knock on the door. "Lily, it's time" The chaplain said. We shuffled into the van and rode back towards the death chamber prison. Johnathans brother held my hand. Devon looked back at me "Lets not say anything in there" she said "Let's not give these reporters anything to talk about. Think Jackie O." I thought of Jackie O with her jet black hair and dark sunglasses after Kennedy was assasinated, always so cool, calm, and collected even with annoying paparazzi constantly stalking her, following her, trying to get her to show emotion, trying to get her to break.
I felt like I might throw up when we arrived. The chaplain escorted us past reporters, cameras and dozens of police officers who stood to the side who thought that this was justice. I glared at the cameras. "Jackie O" Johns brother reminded me.
We walked into a small wardens office where reporters were assigned name tags and told which side of the execution room they could stand in like a bunch of sick voyeurs. There would be two rooms. One where the victims family could watch and one where we could be. A phone rang. A false hope came over me that maybe the governor was calling and would put a stop to this maddness. Instead it was the warden, saying they were ready for us. When they opened the door for us to step in, we huddled together in the front with reporters behind us. I could have never prepared myself for what I saw. My mans arms were strapped down and stretched out, a tube already in his vein, a white sheet covered him up to his chest. It looked kind of like the crucifixtion of jesus. It hurt me to see him so dehumanized, unable to move but still shaky. His last moments recorded and watched. He turned his head and looked into my eyes. I unzipped my hoodie to show him that I was wearing his prison shirt in solidarity with him. He nodded at me. They asked if he had any last words. "Yeah" he said speaking into the microphone positioned just above his mouth. He looked to the other side of the glass where the wall seperated. "Jennifer, where you at?" he asked searching for the eyes of the woman he had left widowed twelve years ago. His lip quivered. "I want you to know that i'm deeply sorry for your loss, It was done out of fear, stupidity, and immaturity and I didn't know the man for but ten seconds before I killed him and I didn't realize what I had done until years later in prison" he went on to apologize, wish her well. He paused and then looked at me. I knew he couldn't hear me but he read my lips as I mouthed "I love you". He mouthed it back. "Lily" he then said addressing me "You stay off the heroin and the methadone" he said "Thats what you do" and then "I love you dad, devon, walt."..."Quit the self destruction, Lily" He said again, a single tear slipped down from underneath his glasses and then "Okay warden, I'm ready." Devon held me tightly as I felt maybe I couldn't stand anymore and felt faint. She was whispering the hail mary incessantly. First was the anasthesia. He started to say something again and then his mouth froze as the drugs took over his body. The second drug collapsed his lungs and we all heard a harsh exhale as that happened. The third stopped his heart. It seemed it took an eternity for him to die. I pressed my hand up against the glass and cried "No" over and over again as I watched the man I had fallen so deeply in love with be crucified and murdered. His eyes were still open. Blood suddenly filled the tube and we gasped as all color faded from his flesh. I felt an amazing energy come over me in a wave as he died. I felt him die. A man in a long dark coat came to check his pulse and confirmed him dead at 6:12 pm. They pulled a sheet over his head and opened the doors. The four of us held hands and walked outside into the cold night past the cameras. I saw the dozens of uniformed officers waving blue glow sticks. Days earlier we had joked that we hoped their bus would flip over on the way here but there they were, in freezing weather with freezing hearts celebrating our loved ones death.
We all shieled each other from the press and went back to the hospitality house to make cremation arrangements at the funeral home. Me and Devon sat in the car in silence, looking out the window at the icy starrless sky. "I think he's okay" she said finally looking back at me "I think he's with Bobbi" she said reffering to his mother who was a wild survivalist tattooed woods woman who rode motorcycles, had a garden, had native blood,believed in spirits and opened her home and heart to stray animals and children. Devon had once told me a story of a time when some of Johnathans friends had showed up unannounced and were met by Johnathans mother at the door with a shotgun aimed, barefoot in her nightgown. "What the fuck do you want?" she had asked. Later his friends had joked that that was the kind of woman they wanted. I am told that depression eventually killed her, when they locked her son up, she was never the same. She was held in contempt of court for biting a baliff and telling the jury that they were full of shit at her sons trial. I wish that I had gotten a chance to meet her but she's come to me in visions and dreams and I felt her carry me when I couldn't walk. If there is another side, I hope they are there together, laughing and holding hands.
Most nights I can't sleep. I awake suddenly and sweaty with the same sad dream that replays where Johnathan is there strapped down in the execution room behind the glass and I just want to touch him one more time but I can't.
But other times I am overcome with the strength to go on, to "stop living accidentally and start living on purpose" as Johnathan would say and I will, for him, for me, for us, for the 19 year old kid with one gun in his hand and one to his head who had to make a reactionary decision, for the man that he had grown into and that I had fallen in love with, with the years worn under our eyes from two lives of passionate mistakes that were able to find love and hope when it seemed impossible.

Love, Lily

"Well they gotta kill what we found
Well they gotta hate what they fear
Well they gotta make it go away
Well they gotta make it dissapear.
The farther I fall, I'm beside you
As lost as I get, I will find you
The deeper the wound, I'm inside you
Forever and ever I am a part of you"-NIN

Johnathan Bryant Moore-R.I.P.
P.s. Thanks to all the girls and members for your support and encouraging words, when I have more time, I will respond to you all individually.
If theres any way that any one can save the court tv clips of him, specifically the one of him talking about how fun it was to hang out with a bunch of "messed up kids" in laurel ridge and the one where he talks about why he tattooed my name on his knuckles, that would be rad. I'm not sure if theres a way to do it, but if there is and someone can save them for me, I'll love you forever.