Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Towers Jail in Phoenix

Postcards from Long Island (5)

Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested this year. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He is writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Towers jail.

12-16-2008

Shaun,

On the front page of yesterday's paper, Joe Arpaio is charging us $1.25 for meals! He was quoted saying "it costs me $2 a day to feed them, so I'm giving them a bargain." What a scumbag!

Do you remember me telling you about the federal judge that finally ruled on the lawsuit against Arpaio [Graves v. Arpaio]? I was able to get the transcripts from the ruling. They’re extremely long with a lot of obscure legal verbiage. However I’m going to list for you on the following postcards the rulings that Arpaio must comply with by Jan 9th. Some of them he has already, reluctantly, complied with.

Before I go any further, my daughter turned 1 year old on Dec 4th. She’s beautiful and it’s beginning to look like I’m not going to miss too much of her life. I’m in such a better place mentally and spiritually. This year has opened my eyes to a lot of things. Believe it or not a man named Father Thomas comes and sees me once a week and has helped me tremendously.

Here we go with some of the court ruling…

It has to be therefore ordered, adjudged, and decreed

1) Only 2 people per cell in Towers jail, not 3.

2) Housing temperatures do not exceed 85 degrees.

3) Provide cleaning supplies to all cells.

4) Provide functioning and sanitary toilets and sinks.

5) Pre-screening for segregation issues.

6) Ready access to medical and mental health care needs.

7) Prescription medication without interruption.

8) One hour of rec at least 4 days a week.

9) Provide food that meets the U.S. Department of Agriculture Dietary Guidelines for Americans.

10) Inmates in psychiatric unit are visually observed.

11) Maximum Towers jail population is 880. Up until recently we had 1500 people triple bunked.

12) Efforts made to eradicate rats and mice.

That’s pretty much all of the highlights. This place is still absolutely miserable, but it’s getting better. Now we’re dealing with the blatant retaliation from the officers. They’re being forced to do all kinds of extra work, so of course we’re being locked down and put on restriction for any little thing. For example, our last round of restriction was for 96 hours for excessive linen in our cells. Basically, extra towels and boxers. Excuse me for wanting to change boxers more than once a week! Or maybe use a fresh towel every once in a while.

Take care, Shaun

Your friend,

Long Island


You might think that the erratic behavior of Joe Arpaio, the brutal televised death of Robert Cotton and cover up by the MCSO, the scathing rebuke of Arpaio's management of the Maricopa County Jails by the U.S. District Court in the Graves v. Arpaio decision, the raid on Mesa City Hall resulting in the arrest of a handful of cleaning ladies, and his continued abuse of his authority would continue to drive his poll numbers into the ground.

You would be right.

Thanks to these events and others, recent polls show that Joe Arpaio's approval ratings with the public are now well below the 50% level for the first time in his 16 long years as Sheriff.


Our friends inside appreciate your comments.

Email comments and questions for Long Island to
writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

Shaun P. Attwood

'Toughest Sheriff' takes act to small screen
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HOLLYWOOD, California (CNN) -- Reality television featuring law enforcement officers on the beat is nothing new. A show featuring a lawman who makes jailed inmates wear pink underwear and uses actors to trick suspects, however, is a new twist.
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Maricopa County, Arizona, Sheriff Joe Arpaio -- whose showy brand of justice has raised charges of discrimination and civil-rights abuses while making him a hero among fans of his tough-on-crime attitudes -- will star in "Smile: You're Under Arrest."
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The show, which premiers this weekend on Fox Reality Channel, features Arpaio and other officers using elaborate ploys crafted by comedy writers and carried out by professional actors to arrest suspects with outstanding warrants.
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In one, a suspect is invited to a fake fashion shoot and told he's going to become a supermodel, according to Fox Reality's Web site. In another, a suspect is tricked into what he thinks is a job as a movie extra and, after a staged argument between the film's "director" and another actor, gets promoted to the starring role.
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"It's kind of fun to show how stupid they are and, as I say, the looks on their face," Arpaio, 76, said of the suspects wanted for DUIs, drug charges, missed court dates and other offenses.
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But Arpaio's critics aren't amused.
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They say they fear the show will give the controversial sheriff positive publicity, ignoring what they call a darker side to his 16-year tenure as top lawman in the county that includes Phoenix.
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"It's going to celebrate a sheriff that's frankly scaring this community, a sheriff that has seen violent crime increase significantly in his county, a sheriff that is racially profiling the Latino community, and I doubt that the show is going to reflect that," said Paco Fabian, spokesman for the immigrant-rights group America's Voice.

In a statement on the group's Web site, Fabian calls Arpaio a "modern day Bull Connor," comparing him to the public safety commissioner in 1960s Birmingham, Alabama, whose use of attack dogs and firehoses on civil rights demonstrators made him a symbol of racial intolerance.
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Dubbed "America's Toughest Sheriff," Arpaio makes many of his county's 10,000 or so inmates live in tents. He reinstituted chain gangs -- including crews for women and juveniles -- banned smoking, coffee and movies in his jails and, most recently, moved to require all inmates with money in their jail accounts to pay for their own meals.

And then, of course, there's the pink underwear.

"They were stealing the white underwear, smuggling the underwear out of the jail," Arpaio told CNN. "So you know what? Give them pink. The other reason is they hate pink. Why would you give the 10,000 inmates the color they like?"
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Earlier this year, the mayor of Phoenix wrote a letter to the U.S. attorney general's office, asking the FBI and the U.S. Justice Department's civil rights division to investigate Arpaio's aggressive illegal immigration crackdowns. Mayor Phil Brown wrote that Arpaio's sweeps show "a pattern and practice of conduct that includes discriminatory harassment, improper stops, searches and arrests."

The letter came after Arpaio, who had already been the target of hundreds of lawsuits, launched a series of what he calls crime-suppression patrols in largely Latino neighborhoods. Critics say the patrols use racial profiling to unfairly target Hispanic drivers and pedestrians, while Arpaio says they have resulted in the deportation of hundreds of illegal immigrants, including some with criminal records.
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"We are the only ones cracking down on the state's human smuggling law," Arpaio said.
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Fabian said America's Voice is considering putting pressure on companies that advertise during Arpaio's show. Either way, the series offers another moment in the spotlight for a lawman who has never shied away from it.
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"I'm not going to brag," Arpaio said, "but there isn't anybody in the world who doesn't know who this sheriff is."
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Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.
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Shaun P. Attwood

Christmas Card Made By Warrior
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From Warrior (Letter 4)
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Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce. He writes some of the best prison-fight stories on the Internet.

12-9-08

Shaun,

Merry Xmas & Happy New Year. I wish you and your loved ones the best this holiday season.

First let me say thank you for the opportunity to write, explore and be heard. Thank you for the inspiration as I observe your coming success. Thank you for all your help with me to improve my writing, and for being a true genuine person.
You are a skilled writer and I know you’ll take your talent far. What we can envision, we create. What we create knows no bounds. If we see it, we bring it forth. Our inner energies make it so.

The holidays so far have been OK. It has been a bit crazy though for some of the other guys. The absence of family, along with everything else associated with the holidays, has created some volatile personalities. It always happens, toward the end of the year, like that. There were actually four riots last month alone. One has to be strong in will and mind in these times.

I was laughing at what you wrote about the extreme clowns. The funny thing is that I’ll bet there are dudes here with swazis on their dicks. Talk about being committed to a belief – ouch!

As the year closes, we reflect on the past events and imagine what the New Year may have in store. Hopefully, we’ve all grown wiser as individuals as we learn to master ourselves. It’s a time to appreciate who and what we have in our lives, not the lack thereof. As we try to bury old hates and frustrations, we should do so with open hearts and minds.
Life is so short, so live it unrehearsed. We want to be able to look back on life with no regrets, and to know we gave living everything.
In the end we must be good to each other, the world, and ourselves. This is the essence of character, the measure of a good life.

I believe this New Year will bring us more opportunities and recognition with the stories we have to offer. We’re a new flavor in the literary world – exposing what’s going on in America’s prisons. With our incarceration rate so high, it’s a flavor the world really needs right now – so lets keep writing!

Sincerely,

Warrior
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Yes, Merry Christmas everyone! Here's to a successful New Year!
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Our friends inside appreciate your comments.
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Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

Shaun P. Attwood
23 Dec 08

Petition Against Sheriff Joe Arpaio

America’s Voice has started a petition demanding that the Honorable Michael Mukasey, Attorney General of the United States Department of Justice, investigate Sheriff Joe Arpaio for gross civil rights violations in the name of immigration enforcement.

If you are a U.S. citizen and wish to sign the petition click here.

America’s Voice has also compiled the following:

FACT SHEET:
Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Notorious Record

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2,700 Lawsuits Filed Against Arpaio
Between 2004 and 2007, 2,700 lawsuits were filed against Sheriff Joe Arpaio in Federal and County Courts – 50 times the number of New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston combined. [Phoenix New Times, 6/10/08 and 12/7/07]

Arpaio Prioritizes Immigrant Sweeps Over Serving Felony Arrest Warrants
During an interview by the Arizona Republic, the interviewer pointed out in a question, “You get criticized by local law-enforcement agencies for not serving felony arrest warrants, shirking that responsibility in favor of immigrant sweeps, which requires manpower and other resources. Mayor Phil Gordon says you have created "a sanctuary county for felons" and that you have "40,000 felony warrants stacked on (your) desk." Why not go after the "real" criminals and actively serve outstanding arrest warrants, which local agencies see as a county obligation and responsibility?‟” [Arizona Republic, 4/27/08]

Study Finds Arpaio Targets Latinos
The Arizona Republic examined Arpaio's arrest logs from eight of his notorious and high-profile sweeps. The study “showed that deputies arrested more Latinos than non-Latinos during each of the operations; that even when the patrols were held in mostly White areas, deputies arrested more Latinos than non-Latinos; and that deputies arrested Latinos in greater numbers than non-Latinos following minor traffic violations.” [Arizona Republic, 11/24/08]

Mesa Police Chief: Arpaio’s Approach Hurts Community Safety
Mesa Chief George Gascon thinks “a wedge is being driven between the local police and some immigrant groups. Some law enforcement agencies are wasting limited resources in operations to appease the public's thirst for action against illegal immigration regardless of the legal or social consequences… If we become a nation in which the local police are the default enforcers of a failing federal immigration policy, the years of trust that police departments have built up in immigrant communities will vanish.” [New York Times, 7/31/08]

Phoenix Mayor Asks US Department of Justice to Investigate Arpaio
The Mayor of Phoenix, Phil Gordon, “wrote a letter to U.S. Attorney General Michael Mukasey asking that the Justice Department's civil-rights division and the FBI investigate Arpaio's immigration crackdowns. He alleged that the sweeps included "a pattern and practice of conduct that includes discriminatory harassment, improper stops, searches and arrests.”” [Arizona Republic, 11/24/08]

Members of AZ Legislature Support Mayor’s Call For Federal Probe of Arpaio
According to the AP, some members of the Arizona Legislative Latino Caucus are supportive of “…Phoenix Mayor Phil Gordon‟s call for a federal probe into…Arpaio‟s recent crime sweeps in Hispanic neighborhoods. Lawmakers [said] the sheriff's tactics are tantamount to racial-profiling and reflect poorly on all Arizonans, regardless of their ethnic heritage.” [AP, 4/18/08]

Arpaio Stages Phony Murder Plot Against Himself, Accused Released for Wrongful Imprisonment, County Pays over $1 million to Settle
In 2004 a man was released from prison after being wrongly accused of plotting to kill Arpaio. Evidence suggested that Arpaio‟s office staged the plot and the County agreed to pay over $1 million to settle the case. The County‟s insurance policy paid an additional un-released amount. [Phoenix New Times, 10/28/08]

AZ Jewish Leaders Decry Arpaio’s Racial Profiling
According to the East Valley Tribune, AZ area rabbis “…said they found it distressing that it appears that people are being profiled and detained ... on the basis of their race and ethnicity, and that this policy is creating an environment of fear and intimidation in the community among both legal and illegal immigrants. "We feel that this policy can only lead to the further dehumanization of individuals and groups of individuals in our community"… Arpaio may be acting within the law, they said, but his actions are not consistent with America's founders "who passionately believed in the value of freedom and justice for all.” [East Valley Tribune, 4/18/08]

Arpaio Advocates Forced Labor
The Washington Post reports that Arpaio favors forcing jailed immigrants to sleep “in tents and feeding them bologna sandwiches,” Arpaio said. [Washington Post, 5/20/06]

Arpaio Proud of Increased Fear in Immigrant Community
“Some undocumented workers say they are afraid to drive because of Arpaio's crackdown. Others say they are considering leaving the state, which, advocates say, could hurt the economy. Arpaio said that indicates his crackdown, aimed at deterring illegal immigration, is working.” “If you say they are leaving, I have accomplished my mission,” Arpaio said. [Arizona Republic, 10/17/07]

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

Shaun P. Attwood
21 Dec 08

Fighting For No Good Reason (by Shane)

Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs financed by burglaries. The medication in prison caused him to suffer a period of spontaneous ejaculations. Shane is the author of the blog Persevering Prison Pages.

I could sense something was wrong as soon as I took my tray from the chow hall’s serving slot. It was an eerie feeling that heightened all of my senses. Knuckles white, I gripped my tray and headed to the second table from the back wall of the dining room, scanning the crowded room for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing.

Setting my tray down next to Saint’s, I sat. “Wassup?” I asked Saint, a self-proclaimed Christian warrior friend. Although saved by the crucifixion of Christ, Saint had no qualms about throwing down with anybody. He was in fact a fighter.
“Mexicans have beef with the blacks,” he whispered with a head gesture towards a table with two blacks seated at it.
Looking around inconspicuously, I spotted two guys talking, both from separate tables along the back wall. Shot-caller tables. A Mexican and white guy. This isn’t good, I thought.
White and Mexican shot-callers conversing in public meant something could jump off before a private meeting. That always made me nervous.

Picking at my lunch, I spied the two STG [Security Threat Group] heads turn back to their respective tables and converse with their tablemates.
A white boy left the table, leaned over and whispered something to a youngster at the table behind the one I was at. The leader abruptly turned and left the chow hall.

The youngster, a lanky tattooed longhair, stood with his empty tray in hand, looking pointedly at the guard standing sentry at the chow hall exit. The guard and longhair exchanged knowing looks, and subtly the guard left the chow hall locking the exit.

As the long hair walked towards the discard-tray slot, a path that passed by the table with the two black men at it, I whispered “Heads up,” to Saint.
Saint didn’t react.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one watching, because as soon as the longhair neared the black table, both black guys stood up and went after him. After the first volley of punches landed, the longhair went down.
In slow motion, I saw a fluid wave of whites and vatos move across the room, before the longhair hit the floor, to engage the two blacks.
Another table of blacks stood, causing Saint to stand and throw his empty tray at one of them.
As Saint made a beeline for the closest black guy standing, I stood and looked around the room. Locking eyes with a light-skinned young black a couple of tables away and still sitting, I thought, Don’t do it. Don’t get up. Stay sitting. I watched him, waiting for any indication he planned to get involved.
Suddenly, an explosion of sparks clouded my vision and I staggered to my right, catching my balance by grabbing the nearest table.
Quickly regaining my bearings, I saw who had blindsided me and attacked. The thin dark black guy tried to sidestep my charge, but I extended my elbow, catching him in the mouth with my solid forearm.

In the pandemonium, food trays had landed on the floor, leaving a slick mess everywhere.
Trading glancing punches, I decided to take him down. Grappling with him, I managed to get him in a partial chokehold from behind. If not for his right hand caught in the hold, he’d have been fast asleep.
Walking forward, I laid him on top of the table, released his neck and punched him hard in the right side. Drawing back to punch him again, I felt somebody grab my arm. Spinning around, I threw a hammer-fist punch, connecting with flesh and bone. Somebody fell.

It was the sound of keys and yells of “Break it up! I’ll gas you! Break it up!” that snapped me out of fight mode.
There were a dozen guards now moving throughout the chow hall breaking up fights.
Seeing the longhair on the floor next to me, I helped him up and we headed for the now open exit, which was packed with guys trying to get out before gas was used.
“Why’d you hit me for?” the longhair asked, his face bloody and bruised.
The guard who’d locked the chow hall earlier was standing sentry again. He ushered us through, but stopped a black behind us with a bloody nose.

The yard was locked down for two days but no disciplinary tickets were written and only two guys went to the hospital. A black and a Mexican.

I never learned what the beef was, and it never came up again. Probably best I didn’t know because it’s usually not a good enough reason to fight over. However that’s how life is inside: fighting for no good reason.

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Shaun P. Attwood
From Xena (Letter 4)



Xena - A transsexual giant and Wiccan priest. The charismatic leader of Cult Of Xena (COX). Tattoos include a wasp on Xena’s penis and ant trails running up Xena’s legs. Recently cut off a testicle and almost bled to death.

12/05/08

Dear Shaun,

I am filing a lawsuit in order to force the State of Arizona to allow me a sex reassignment surgery. My goal is to leave prison as a female. No one has ever tried this before me. I’ll be the first! I am also having my name changed and filing two other lawsuits of which I will not disclose at this time.

I was thinking since my breasts are getting larger, I could utilize them by attaching sandpaper within my cleavage and using it to sand down the Popsicle sticks we use to make our boxes. In this way I could use my hands for gluing and cutting. Of course, the downside would be wood dust inside my belly button. That always sucks!

The name of the drawing I’m sending you is “Moon Nymph.” The feathers are 13, the number of moons in one year. I don’t know how to draw water and I suck at landscapes. I am better with people and animals. The spear in the water is the symbol of masculinity, and the circle with the cross in it is the symbol of earth. She dances in water, which is emotions and purification. The volcano is strength and purification. The moon is emotion. She hides with her towel that which I find distasteful in myself. She is how I envision myself in the future. She is me, a self-portrait, a dream…

Joe Arpaio is sheriff again. It seems that Arizona is a state where if you are corrupt, you might as well be in law enforcement otherwise you’ll go to prison. Arizona loves corrupt law enforcement!

I am doing horrible here. This place really sucks! However I am trying to utilize my time as best I can. I purchased a language set (A Living Language) for Spanish. I am trying to learn. I am also waiting on Latin and German. I hope that some day I can visit Europe. I want to be able to converse with the people there.

I hope you like everything I send you. I am going to try and be more of a friend and write more.
I am truly sorry about the death of your literary agent. It seems I don’t know the best of times to write my frustrations. I believe the next world is a more beautiful place than this one.
I love and miss you. You are my friend, and you will always be my friend.
You are always in my thoughts and dreams.
Tell your mum and father I say hi and I send my love!

Love

Xena

---XXX---

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Shaun P. Attwood
16 Dec 08

Mass Hunger Strike At Arpaio’s Jail

Phoenix Local News:

Inmates to buy own meals, hunger strike to protest

PHOENIX – Tough economic times, according to Sheriff Joe Arpaio, prompted him to start charging the inmates for their meals.

He says his plan will save close to a million tax dollars. The meal charges do not start until January but inmates at the Durango Jail and Tent City went on hunger strike to protest the new fees Monday morning.

Maricopa County inmates have long complained about jail food. Inmates say when inspectors are there, portions and quality are fine, but when inspectors leave it becomes inedible.

Needless to say, the sheriff's new plan to have inmates pay $1.25 a day for their two meals is not going over well behind bars. One man, who 3TV will only identify as Frank is just out of jail. He says starting yesterday the inmates are boycotting their meals. He tells 3TV, “It's something they have to do to show they're upset."

The hunger strike, which is expected to last from one to three days, is earning the inmates little sympathy from the sheriff.

Sheriff Arpaio tells 3TV, “If they don’t want to eat, that's their problem, not my problem."

The money will come from the inmates' personal accounts, created from cash they had on them when they were arrested and money sent in by family members.

The sheriff says crimes committed by inmates came at a cost to society so charging for meals will help them start to repay their debt.

"I’m not changing the policy,” the sheriff explains. “If they don’t eat we'll save more money won't we?"

The sheriff says he now plans to go to the legislature and get permission to start charging inmates for their beds.

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Shaun P. Attwood
14 Dec 08

Stoicism (by Two Tonys)

Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Left bodies from Tucson to Alaska, but claims all his victims "had it coming."

What the fuck’s up with these dudes that go and climb Mount Everest? Let’s take a look at that.

Number one, they’ve got dollars – I mean big fuckin’ dollars. It takes more than chump change to climb Mount Everest. You’ve gotta take time off your hustle. Then you’ve gotta get your gear – that’s expensive. Then you’ve gotta get your airfare, your travel expenses – not cheap. Then you’ve gotta hire a guide, then Sherpas, then oxygen tanks, and tents.
The cost hasta be up there. In the over-one-hundred-grand range. But that probably ain’t shit to mosta those fools.

Here’s what I don’t get but I’m startin’ to focus in on. Me and you – let’s say – are a coupla silver spoons layin’ around and one of us says, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go to the most inhospitable environment on the planet. A place where it’s below freezin’. Where nothin’ can grow. Where the wind’s blowin’ gale force. Where the slope is almost straight up. Where we can’t breathe without oxygen tanks on our backs. Where just the act of puttin’ one foot in front of the other is pain. Where we’ll sleep in a little tent and eat MRE’s cooked on butane burners. Where we’ll suffer for days, and pay one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand minimum to do so – but when we come back and belly up to the bar we can say we did it. No, it’s not Monte Carlo or Cancún or the South of France for us. We’re gonna suffer and have fun doin’ it. There it is in a nutshell.

Now I ask: where the fuck is the fun in that? Does that sound like fun to you? That wouldn’t be fun to me. Doesn’t that then mean that the fun is in their minds?
It’s like the great Bard said, “There is no happiness, no sadness.” They do not exist. It’s in their minds. Their minds tell them they’re on an adventure. A challenge. A struggle. That’s their reward.
And while they’re psyched up like that they’re free of those fuckin’ prisons called conditioned minds.

Now I ask you: can a person who’s just been diagnosed with cancer develop the same frame of mind? Or a person who’s just been given a life sentence or two? Or sent to the hole to suffer?
I think they can and some do. They know it’s pain comin’ but they feel a sense of reward by endurin’ the pain.

Now this train of thought opens up a whole buncha shit – from suicide bombers to organ donors. Criminals. Heroes. It’s a line of thought that sorta mystifies me.
Look at poor ol’ OJ Simpson. He’s so rich in material, yet so poor in brain thought. He’ll be out on parole in six years or even earlier if he kicks down some baksheesh to the right appeals court judge. How do you think he feels now on his little journey which is a slam dunk for guys like us?

I like to think I’m strong in mind. That I could take a dose of Abu Ghraib or the Guantánamo Bay prison – just to see wassup. But I don’t know about that waterboardin’ shit or hangin’ by the thumbs. To endure that you have to be committed real strong to what you’re in to.
But imagine what a trip to endure that adventure, that challenge, that sufferin’ – to climb that Mount Everest, and to come out and belly up to the bar. Now that would be strong and rewardin’ – for some people.

My point is: life is one of those things you can enjoy while you have it regardless of whether you’re strugglin’ to put one foot in front of the other in a snow storm on Mount Everest or layin’ on a bed with tubes in your nose in a hospital or layin’ on a cell floor in the hole readin’ a Time mag or even hangin’ from a waterboard in Abu Ghraib – you can be one bad motherfucker and that’s your reward. Doin’ it.

We’ve all got our own Mount Everests to climb. I guess some are just higher than others dependin’ on our states of mind.
Look at poor ol’ OJ. His mountain is just a little old hill to us. But not to him. To him it’s almost unclimbable. And therein lies the meat of the whole thing. It’s all in the mind of the beholder.

I say, “It ain’t no thang but a chicken wang.” Let’s do it. Let’s make the most of whatever the world throws our way – ’cause sooner or later we’re all gonna die.

Our friends inside appreciate your comments.

Email comments and questions for Two Tonys to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

Shaun P. Attwood
13 Dec 08

Postcards from Long Island (4)

Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and rearrested this year. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He is writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Towers jail.


12-5-2008

What’s up my friend?

There’s finally been a rather promising development. My attorney feels he can get a decent plea. We got a new prosecutor, which set us back a few months, but we’re getting what we want. There’s a lot more details I can’t share with you right now, but things are looking a lot better.

What’s going on? When is the book coming out? Send me a paperback copy please!

Much love,

Long Island

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Shaun P. Attwood

11 Dec 08

The Royo Romance (Part 28)

Royo Girl - An intelligent and attractive criminology graduate who used to visit me in prison. Whether her interest is based on love or she is writing a thesis on my criminality is an open question. She recently visited me in England.
Click here for Part 27.

Royo Girl has delivered on her promise and provided an account of the time she spent in my hometown.


Prologue

I look at the date today and can hardly believe that over a month has passed since my holiday in jolly, old England. On one hand, time has gone by incredibly fast making it feel like only a week has gone by. On the other, it feels it has been ages since I last saw Shaun.

My Arrival in Weirdness

Let me begin by telling you how funny it was watching Shaun struggle with my suitcase all the way from London to Widnes. I told him that he didn’t have to take the larger, heavier suitcase (which he affectionately began calling “The Beast”), but he was a true gentleman and stated he was taking the case for me. Shaun and I had to pick it up to carry it down the tube stairs. He then had to push past people to get the dang thing on the train, and then go on the urine filled elevators to get to the appropriate side for his mom to pick us up at Runcorn station. What makes this all the funnier is the fact that I had carried the case, with the smaller case inside it making it even heavier, all the way from the airport to the hotel by myself. My poor, little delicate Shaun!

My first day in the town of Widnes was nice and quiet. Shaun’s mom came to pick us up and I immediately had to begin adjusting to a slightly more northern accent. Once we unloaded my cases from the car, Shaun and I took a walk through part of the town. It was beginning to get dark, but he took me up some unlit hill [Pex Hill] anyway. He reminisced about his childhood days and the things he used to do up on the hill, which were, as per usual, deviant in nature. Upon our arrival back at his house, we had a nice family dinner and then watched Layer Cake (which is definitely a movie worth watching, especially if anyone likes Daniel Craig).

Unlike my own family, who will wake you up at the butt crack of dawn so that everyone can help do the fun, outside chores, Shaun’s family let me sleep in until noon! I found my jetlag really annoying as I felt it was cutting into how much I could fit into a day’s activities, but Shaun doesn’t wake up until ten anyway. (Lazy!)

When I eventually did get up and get ready, Shaun’s mom had already made me a cup of tea and coffee and cut me a piece of cake for breakfast. Shaun and I made our way to Liverpool for a few hours. I was super excited to be in a part of England that I had never been to before. Unfortunately, we didn’t spend too much time there. I was able to see the cathedral, go shopping for the Halloween/birthday party, and have a good meal at a local café. The evening was spent “having an Indian” (I love that very wrong sounding English phrase) and toasting champagne to my 40 year old buddy.

The next day was very similar except we went to Manchester and I had the pleasure of going to Gay Street, aka Canal Street. Shaun and I went for a drink at Queer Bar, where Shaun seemed to be enjoying himself a wee bit too much. Hmmm… We saw an ad for a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at one of the gay bars on the street and we decided to go. Of course, we drove all the way back for dinner with Shaun’s parents and then back for the showing at 10pm. It was my first time to such an event and it was pretty entertaining.

Finally, I convinced Shaun that I wanted a tour of Widnes itself. I wanted to see where he had grown up. I wanted to see the place that I was actually visiting and not just the surrounding areas. And on the fourth day, he gave into my demands much to his own dismay. We went to the town center first, where my camera ran out of battery (Of course). I bought more batteries at a local newsagent, which should also be known as the local swindle shop because none of the four batteries in the pack worked. I was told by the shopkeeper when I returned them that my camera must take a special kind of battery – try again, my friend. It just takes double A batteries that work.

Next, Shaun took me to Spike Island, West Bank and I have an awesome picture of the River Mersey and some huge, nuclear looking plant [Fiddlers Ferry Power Station] off in the distance. Although it is a bit of an eyesore, it is a very prominent marker of the Industrial Era still left in the modern world. Shaun tried to convince me that I should pretend to feed the hungry looking swans for a picture. I was not so easily fooled.

Given my company, how could we not go to the Widnes church and cemetery? Farnworth Church was small, but impressive given that it had been around for centuries. We walked around the outside of it and then back into the cemetery section. Shaun defiantly posed on one of the graves and I respectfully walked around them. We walked a bit further in and noticed three hooligans sitting on a bench. Our presence most likely disrupted their activities, but they didn’t seem to mind too much. Shaun boldly asked them when the church was open. After they responded, my tour guide felt compelled to notify them that I was an American, which inspired a few jokes and the unavoidable question (even from a band of young hooligans) of who I was going to vote for in the pending election. My response then and now is that I don’t talk about politics.

In the evening, Shaun dragged me to his BodyCombat class at Halton Leisure Centre. I was pensive to say the least, especially when looking at his gleeful face as he talked about how excited he was to take me to it. I knew he couldn’t wait to see me struggle in the class and possibly die at the end of it. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t do too badly and was super energized afterwards. HAHAHAHA. His plan backfired.

After Shaun and I showered and ate back at his parents, we went for a night out on the town. He took me to Hammy’s favorite pub, The Ring O' Bells. Shaun introduced me to some people he knew and we ordered our drinks. I ordered a lager and he ordered a cider J We stayed for a bit there and then meandered onward to some other pub [The Horse and Jockey], of which I have ashamedly already forgotten the name of. We chatted with the McMullens, a comical, older couple for at least a good hour. I should have known at the church that Shaun was planning on parading me around as the American in Widnes to see who he would get a rise out of. It eventually worked at the local chippie/kebab house. The man behind the counter didn’t seem to be impressed with us and then one of the customers started slagging off Americans. I have to admit that it was funny as all of the people in the chippie looked a little uncomfortable. However, Shaun forgot that I was no foreigner to being a foreigner and his experiment to see what kind of tense situation he could create was not going to work. The night ended quickly after we gorged on unhealthy foods from the chippie.

That’s all for now. I am going to write a separate entry for my account of Shaun’s party, which I will try to do soon.

Royo Girl

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Shaun P. Attwood










10 Dec 08

Zucchini (Part 7)

This series came about because many of you requested I blog what prisoners get up to sexually. If you take offence to sexual content you may not want to read on.

Max - A car-jacking Chukchansi Indian who entered prison as a teenager and went home to Las Vegas in 2007. His sexual adventures in prison include trading semen to an old pervert for commissary items.

Part six left off with Cindy mounting Log, and Max at the door trying to leave the cell.

“That’s when Log says, ‘Max, grab the hot-sauce bottle. We’re gonna need some help doin’ this,’” Max said.
“So do you help them out again?” I asked.
“I clown Log. I say, ‘Why you need the bottle, making a tamale?’ Log says, ‘You know what time it is. Help us out. Grab the bottle, Max.’ I grab it and say, ‘I don’t know what you expect me to do with this, but I ain’t down to play your reindeer games.’ Log says, ‘It’s fun to play reindeer games.’ I say, ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’ Then Cindy busts out with, ‘Max, just put the bottle in my mouth, and pinch my nipple.’ I say, ‘I ain’t doin’ nothin’, but I do give the bottle to Cindy. The girth on the bottle is huge, and Cindy’s pretty small.”
“Is the girth on this bottle bigger than the shampoo bottle they used?”
“Yeah, ’cause they’ve specially moulded it. So Cindy’s still ridin’ Log. I don’t say nothin’. I just go to the door. I’m about to walk out when Log says, ‘Hey, don’t open the door.’ So now I’m stuck, dude. I don’t wanna get ’em busted, but I don’t wanna get busted in there either. Log gets off.”
“Off?”
“Not off Cindy. He comes, dude. Cindy says, ‘Are you done, baby?’ and hands the bottle to Log, and says, ‘As soon as you pull it out, shove the bottle in there.’ I’m standin’ at the door, dude. I’ve got to leave. This isn’t good for my spirit. What kind of karmic repercussions am I gonna have for witnessing this event? It’s getting’ weirder and weirder. So Log pulls out, and shoves the bottle in Cindy’s ass. I’m lookin’ outta the door window tryin’ to figure out an escape. The last thing I need is to get busted, or have any rumours start – ’cause you know how rumours are in prison – the female C.O.’s won’t even look at me no more. Log and Cindy are really messin’with my heterosexuality. What are the limits to watchin’ shit? Then Cindy says, ‘Can I suck your dick now, Max?’ And Log says, ‘It’s time for you to man-up and get your issue, dude.’”


Does Max resist or is he about to get “turned out” by Log and Cindy?

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Shaun P. Attwood
07 Dec 08

Visited by Shaun (by Andrea)

Andrea - A 28-year-old Scottish woman writing from a maximum-security prison in England. She suffered years of domestic violence, and was arrested for the attempted murder of her most recent boyfriend after he punched her in the face. She pled guilty to wounding, and is scheduled for release in 2010.


It’s been nearly one week since I met Shaun, but it feels like it was only yesterday. I feel like I met one of the most genuine men in my life.

I had only seen a few pictures of Shaun beforehand, but seeing him in person, well that was a different story. He looks so innocent, but we all know that looks can be deceiving (in a good way). I tried to piece him together in my mind, knowing what Shaun has done in the past and the way he is now, and I couldn’t manage it. It’s hard to believe how well he has changed his life around. It’s proof that you can really do it if you want to.

Shaun gave me advice to deal with my anger. That advice has been taken. If I can do what Shaun has achieved it will be worth going through anger management and domestic violence counselling. It’s not going to be easy, but with the help and support of Shaun I know I’m strong enough to do it.

In the two hours that we were together, there was a lot of laughing going on, and we talked through the whole time. It was a natural feeling.
We talked about various things, things about the both of us, which I thought was really nice. The funny thing for me was I was able to talk to him and not feel tense in any way. I don’t think that I could fault him during the visit.
I don’t know what Shaun’s views are of me, but I felt something between us, like there was some kind of connection. I’m not sure what, but there is something.

Shaun was open with me, and able to tell me that I have issues to deal with. He mentioned talking to a shrink, but I’ve done that, and I was told that my head is fine. Obviously, it’s not. If I was just being myself with Shaun, and he was able to point out a few things about me, what’s to stop anyone else from doing the same? I know Shaun knows now I won’t stop until my problems have been dealt with. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that Shaun has given me the kick up the arse that I was needing. So thank you, Shaun!

Anyway our visit was only for a short time. I wish it could have lasted a little longer as we did seem to have a good time together. I think that we clicked and there is chemistry between us.

At the end of the visit Shaun gave me a hug, and you know what? I didn’t want that to end!

One thing I do know for sure is that I would like to get to know Shaun better. He’s made me believe that I can come out of prison a better person. He’s made me believe that I can trust men again. For the first time in many years I was able to hold a guy in my arms and not feel scared. And that means the world to me.

Since returning back to prison reality, I’ve applied to see counsellors for anger, domestic violence, and also, the hardest for me, victims of rape. I’ve only really got one full year, so my aim is to give myself the best chance I possibly can. It’s not long. I know that I have it in me to do well, and I can’t let prison life get me down anymore. The way I see it is this is my last chance, and I won’t be doing it for anyone other than myself. If I’m not happy, I can’t make anyone else happy. I have the strength to do it. I’ve actually realised that instead of using my strength negatively, I can turn it around in a more positive way

The only way is up for me now.

Shaun, thank you for being here, and I’m glad to be part of Jon’s Jail Journal.

Andrea

Click here to read Andrea’s previous blog entry.

Our friends inside appreciate your comments.

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Shaun P. Attwood
04 Dec 08

There’s Some Shit a Man Ain’t Meant to See (by Warrior)

Warrior - Serving fourteen years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce.

Standing in front of my cell, having come off work, I waved to the female control officer to open my door. I hadn’t really noticed her until that day. She was a lot better looking than the masculine C.O.’s I was used to. In prison, you learn to appreciate every variety of the female species.

She popped my cell open. I entered and locked my door.
City Boy was lying on his bunk, TV on, but engrossed in a book: Terry Goodkind’s Temple of the Winds.
I sat on the steel desk, resting my feet on the accompanying steel stool, and began to relay the day’s events.
“Off work early, huh?” City said.
“Yeah, but I gotta tell you some shit,” I replied.
“Oh yeah?” City sat up, giving his full attention to what I was about to say.
“Check this out. I’m at work, right. My boss sends me around the corner to the walk-in fridge to get some shit. I can’t even remember what the fuck I was supposed to get ’cause the shit I walked in on just threw me through a loop. Guess what I saw?”
“Ah, shit, man. What the fuck did ya see?”
“I’ll give you a hint. There are some things a man shouldn’t see. Guess?”
“Fuck you, man! Jus’ spit the shit out.”
“OK, OK, I’m stallin’, right. Thinkin’ nuthin’ much, I reach the walk-in, open the door, and see Joe and Alexis straight fuckin’ kissin’.” Alexis’ real name was Alex. “What! Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
“No bullshit, man! And it wasn’t no peck-type shit. Like that shit matters. These two had their tongues buried deep down each other’s throats. The cold shit is, these two didn’t stop. They jus’ kept at it like I wasn’t there.”
“What kind of sick twisted shit is that? I knew that motherfucker got turned out by Alexis! Fuckin’ knew it! Didn’t I tell you I caught them two givin’ each other come-fuck-me eyes?” Roaring with laughter, City Boy clapped his hands. “I’m gonna give Joe so much shit!” City Boy had a twisted sense of humor. He took pleasure in torturing guys with mean jokes that almost crossed the line to where they’d want to fight, but they never did. He loved to test a man’s resolve.
“That ain’t all, man. Alexis was sittin’ on top of some crates, Joe was in front of him with Alexis’ legs wrapped around him like a chick. You’d swear that these two were at the park or some shit. I wasn’t the one kissin’ that fag, yet I felt dirty. Man, I tell ya, there’s some shit a man ain’t meant to see.”
“Hey, man, that dirty feeling is a good thing, brother. It tells you, you still all man.”
I laughed. “Hell, yeah. Good observation.”
“I’ll never understand that shit. Some cats do dope, some clique up with the gangs, some get a fag. I don’t know about the resta these cats here, but I’d rather take another twelve stickings than one stab from another man’s tongue.” City lifted his shirt to display the seven-inch surgery scar in the center of his stomach along with the twelve surrounding stab wounds.
“I hear that, bro. You know though, dudes get lonely and are susceptible to that shit. But wait, doesn’t Joe have a chick that comes to see him?”
“Lonely my ass!” City said. “I’m lonely but you don’t see me chasing some queer. He does have a chick too. She comes to see him every week, sends him money, looks out for his sorry ass.”
“Damn, that’s crazy. Alexis ain’t no slouch. I hear that motherfucker got an I.Q. of 180 or 200. That fucker knows how to prey on a fool. Besides, back in 2000, in The Walls, that fucker chopped his dick and balls off you know.”
“Oh yeah? I heard that shit. I didn’t know if it was true or not.” City said.
“Yeah, that fucker’s a eunuch,” I said. “No dick. Sportin’ a straight Rottweiler tail. You gotta be twisted to cut your own dick off. That fucker’s got more courage than me. Then he flushed that shit down the toilet.”
“Whoa! Fuckin’ A.”
“A crazy world we live in here, huh, dawg?” I said.
“Yeah, bro. We ain’t doin’ life, so we one of the lucky ones,” City said.
“Next time I walk in on them kissin’, maybe they’ll shave first. All that facial friction from stubble had me thinkin’ the were gonna spark a fire.”

Email comments and questions for Warrior to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity. Our friends inside appreciate your comments.

Shaun P. Attwood
25 Nov 08

Visiting Andrea

4:41pm

I am sat in the car park outside of the maximum-security prison in Southern England housing Andrea, one of the two women sharing their prison experiences with us at Jon’s Jail Journal. I have pre-booked a two-hour visit commencing at 5:30pm.
Except for the bars on the windows and the razor wire coiled along the rooftops, the tall white buildings look like cheap apartment blocks. The sky is murky, but I can see a few silhouettes of prisoners in the windows – they remind me of the prisoners I lived with who used to watch the visitors car park from their cell windows and announce whose visitors were arriving long before the guards.

It’s almost a year since my release and it feels peculiar to be going inside a prison, something I never imagined doing again. I’m excited to be meeting Andrea, but also a little nervous.
I’m here because through corresponding with Andrea, I’ve felt increasingly drawn to visit her. She’s relatively new to the prison system, and in her letters she expresses some of the same thoughts, feelings, hopes and fears I had when I was a new prisoner, so I relate to what she’s going through.
I was blessed to have family and friends visit me, so I know how emotionally uplifting visits can be for prisoners. Sitting and chatting with a visitor was the best form of respite I had.
I am also curious to see how the visitation room and procedures differ in England.

It’s almost 5pm and I have to check-in thirty minutes before the visit. I was told by staff to bring a few things. A valid visitation-order slip. Photo ID: either a passport or a driver’s licence. A recent utility bill or bank statement. Up to fifteen pounds for a voucher to spend at the visitation-room shop. A one-pound coin as a deposit on a locker to put my car keys in.
Off I go then…

The visit with Andrea went extremely well.
At the reception station, a tall young guard took my photo, scanned my index fingerprints, and patted me down.
Ten minutes later, an equally polite young guard – “This way, sir.” “Through that door, sir.” – escorted me to the women’s side of the prison.
In the visitation room, a guard scanned my right index fingerprint, affixed a red bracelet to my right arm, and told me to proceed through the turnstile.
The visitation room – the size of a small warehouse – was mostly empty. I didn’t like the tiny tables, each surrounded by four plastic chairs firmly bolted down and coloured differently for prisoners and visitors. In contrast to the lively and often chaotic visitation rooms I experienced, this place had the atmosphere of a library. Too impersonal.

In America visitors are allowed pencils and paper, so hoping to jot down some of the dialogue with Andrea, I asked, “Am I allowed a pen and paper?”
The butch female at the guard station said, “What’s it for?”
“To take notes.”
“Definitely not.”

Andrea is classified as a maximum-security inmate because she was arrested for attempted murder and convicted of a violent crime. So I sat there curious to see the face of this near murderess. I didn’t have long to wait.
I was immediately struck by her innocent looks. She has long brown hair. Big warm eyes. Thick lips. A dazzling smile. She’s a former bodybuilder and in excellent shape. The only things suggesting a darker side were her tattoos. A large panther on her left arm. Scotland The Brave and a skull’s face on her left.

In a quaint Scottish accent, she confessed how nervous she was. But immediately, the conversation flowed naturally, with frequent bursts of laughter. We traded prison stories and contrasted our experiences and environments. She said my tales of cockroaches, red death and the general mayhem at Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s jail made her feel somewhat lucky.

One of the funniest things she told me was about the male prisoners. In her prison, the males are housed in an adjacent unit. When she first arrived some of the males caught sight of her. Word must have quickly spread about her looks because she was inundated with mail from the men. She felt like she was being stalked through the mail system.
This couldn’t have happened where I was at because prisoners in Arizona are not allowed to write to other prisoners.

Like me, Andrea has done drugs. As a consequence, during periods of her life, she’s lost control. She says she’s using prison time for introspection and doesn’t want to repeat her past mistakes.
If she’s truly changing, she’ll be successful at whatever she applies her mind to. Behind her angelic appearance is an extremely tough woman.
I asked her if she’d like my new boss to consider her speaking to audiences about domestic violence, and she said she would.
She could use her experiences to do good. She has a lot of potential.

I've asked Andrea to write her version of this visit.

Click here to read Andrea’s previous blog entry.

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Shaun P. Attwood
01 Dec 08

Extreme Clowns

If you want to cure stage fright, do a performance with some extreme clowns.
The gig at The Deaf Institute in Manchester was insane. It was on the top floor of a packed nightclub. The dance floor was full and there were also theatre-style seats at one end of the room. The clowns danced their way in and didn’t stop dancing. I hid on a balcony to distance myself from the clowns, so it would look better when they dragged me on stage.

Shortly before we were scheduled to go on – at the peak of my nervousness – most of the clowns disappeared. A search party found them frolicking in local bars.

The gig started with Dirty Honky introducing his fellow clowns, and sending them out to the audience to smell for scum. They sniffed people with their pig snouts and eventually settled on me. I was surrounded and escorted onto the stage.

Dirty Honky asked me who I was and where I was from. When I disclosed I had been in prison in America, everyone cheered and a woman ran to the front of the stage, unbuttoned her blouse and displayed her breasts. The clowns threw water on her.

We acted out scenes from my incarceration. I was raided by SWAT, strip-searched, and clothed in a black-and-white top and boxer shorts with a fake behind. The clowns threw things at the audience, including human teeth – the clown Baron Von Dirtshwine had hundreds of teeth. The audience threw things back. By the design of these naughty anarchist clowns, it descended into chaos several times, and the clowns jumped into the audience.

For the final scene, I dropped my soap in the shower in the presence of Kunst Bride, a female clown posing as an Aryan Brother. She’d been wearing a regular strap-on all night, and she now emerged with a massive white strap-on with Swastikas on it. The play ended with her Trident missile of a strap-on spraying tomato ketchup all over my fake behind.

Sheer madness. I loved it!

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writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

Shaun P. Attwood
29 Nov 08

I'm in a Play Tonight in Manchester

I am going to be on stage tonight at the mercy of extreme clowns who have put together a short play based on their uniquely-warped interpretation of my prison experiences.

Here are the clowns:

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=lfD5kYk5CMY&feature=related

If you viewed that link, you can see I'm getting into something that may leave long-lasting psychological damage. In the prison shower scene, I drop the soap and have to bend over to pick it up. The female clown, Kunst Bride, will be wearing a strap-on. I just pray they go easy on me. In handcuffs, it's going to be hard keep my clothes on and defend my honour.
I hope to have pics and video footage I can put on the Internet.

I figured this was the best way to conquer stage fright before I start my job speaking to audiences of youths.

It's at the The Deaf Institute in Manchester. There are a few acts, and I’m expecting to be on with the extreme clowns around midnight.

Here’s the info for anyone interested in attending:

The UK’s Premier Ladies’ Organ Quartet - The Sisters of Transistors

Extreme clowning and anarchic play, courtesy of the Dirty Honky Frathouse. Starring Alexis Milne, Richard Shields, Sue Fox and writer (and ex-convict) Shaun Attwood.

DJs Jayne Compton, Debbie Jump and Dolly P & The Beacon of Hope.

The Deaf Institute
135 Grosvenor Street
Manchester
M1 7HE
Tel: 0161 276 9350

http://www.thedeafinstitute.co.uk/

Doors 10 – 3 am £5/6

WE ASK YOU TO COME TO THE GIG IF YOU DARE! Strictly transgressive content.

The Sisters of Tranistors are an organ quartet performing surf symphonies, baroque disco and horror film sound tracks.

The Sisters of Transistors, Graham '808 State' Massey's latest musical project, has been much-touted of late. And much of said touting has been done by Simian Mobile Disco's James Ford, who picked them as his Favourite New Band in the NME and featured them on Simian's recent Fabric mix.

Alexis Milne - Dirty’s Frathouse
"My experience within the Graffiti art movement was one of ritualized anarchy and rebellion, which provided an outlet for powerful, destructive emotions. Clowns have traditionally had a license to push boundaries and express human paradox in a social arena, which is why I have chosen to explore the clown alter-ego in performance."
http://www.thefuturecanwait.com/2008-alexis-milne-artwork1.htm

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Shaun P. Attwood
28 Nov 08

Question Time With A Blood (Part 4)

Bones of the South Side Posse Bloods is serving sixteen years for leading a gang, assisting a crime syndicate, kidnapping and aggravated assault.

LX wrote: I worked as a volunteer math tutor at an inner city school before and I was struck by how much stock those kids put into the hopes of becoming a professional athlete. I think it's sad and very indicative of the hopelessness and disenfranchisement of ghetto culture. They don't realize how unrealistic it is that they could become a professional athlete (the odds are overwhelmingly against any individual). They don't have many realistic role models that appeal to them and their culture.

Bones responded: It’s obvious that your work as a volunteer tutor has given you a spectator’s view of life in our communities. And I’m not sure that limited view affords you the real depth of what we are living through. Yeah, maybe my hopes of becoming a professional athlete spoke of hopelessness to you, but how do you tell a young man born in the hood not to dream as big as he can. If you believe my hood lacks role models, please accept my invitation to become one. Like one of my role models said, “From the cradle to the grave, life ain’t never been easy living in the ghetto!” – 2 Pac

Anonymous wrote: Regarding Bones: Once a sociopath, always a sociopath. Time and place don't matter.

Bones responded: Yeah, maybe you’re right, maybe I am mentally ill or just unstable. But the judge didn’t think so, because instead of sending me to a mental hospital he gave me sixteen years. But I’m trying to change somewhat.
Or maybe it’s just that I wasn’t born with a golden spoon in my mouth! Because where I grew up gangs have been around for years and it was either punk or get punked, whup ass or get your ass whupped, kill or get killed. This is the real world I live in! How about you? You probably grew up with a maid and a chauffeur.


Dirtos wrote: As for me, I'd be totally up for getting a bullet in my gut for the road and pavements and houses where I live. It's a lovely road, it lets me drive on it and park my car on it, the pavement lets me walk on it, the houses protect me from the wind and my own house keeps me warm at night because I can go in it. Big up to my hood, it's keeping it real, and has been representing for the last 300 years. Bring it on all you haters.

Bones responded: Dirtos, don’t pull my chain and be sarcastic about the gang life.

Bones wrote:

Before I leave I’d like to say a few things.
First, to those people that have never been in a gang or lived around gang life. You may think we are sociopaths and are not normal or live normal lives, but what is normal or a normal life to you? Is that someone who goes to school, gets a high school diploma and goes to college for a degree? Then gets a job as a doctor, governor or becomes a senator?
Then as time goes on we come to find out what they can’t hide anymore.
Like a doctor, who instead of saving people who are dying, kills them because of the color of their skin.
Or the mayor involved in a sex scandal with hookers or a drug smuggling ring.
Or the governor having sex in public restroom and not with his wife but with other men.
Or how about the multimillionaire businessman from a good family, well educated, with a big house, white picket fence, wife and kids, who gets busted molesting kids.
Is this what you consider a normal person?
Other peoples’ lifestyles are no different than ours, they just hide things better.
They arrested a police officer in Phoenix that had worked for the police department for 26 years, for having child pornography in his house. So he was probably molesting kids too. How would you like that officer to take your kids out in a police car? Showing them what’s right and wrong.

And let me give my opinion to anyone that claims South Side Posse Blood Gang.
Once you join a gang it’s something you join for life not for a few years. I’ve seen a lot of gang members that put in major work for their hood all of a sudden decide to get out of it after several years, just to hear that they caught two in the chest and one to the head while they were with their wife and kids.
Remember other gang members don’t forget the pain and grief you caused them when you were gang banging several years ago. Yeah, there are always consequences for your actions, so think before you act.
So if you ain’t down for taking ass whuppings and giving ass whuppings or doing prison time maybe for the rest of your life, or putting in work for your hood by making worm food out of people, then stay out of the gang!
I ain’t talking to the wannabees that were quick to get in the car and drive off when the shit hit the fan. I’m talking to you down-ass Bloods that was quick to swing and blast on fools.

I would also like to give my opinion on the way Posse members are nowadays. I hear you guys are strong but not as strong as you could be. And that’s probably because you got 7st, 35th Ave, 7th Ave, 10 st…South Side Posse groups fighting with each other. All of you need to put your differences aside and unite as one. If you guys can do that, you’ll see that other hoods will think twice before messing with that South Side Posse Blood gang like the way we sued to do it back in 1987-89. I remember that when all the homies “all small groups” used to roll to events like Cinco de Mayo, car shows, nightclubs and house parties, no one really wanted to fuck with us. And when someone did, they usually ended up getting medical attention.
Yeah, that shit was fun. A lot of people say the EME [Mexican Mafia] didn’t like us because of the drive-by shootings and yes the fact that we were mostly Mexicans claiming a black thing, Bloods. Well it is what it is and it’s a change of the times.
But my personal opinion is that the EME didn’t like us because we didn’t play by their rules, they saw us as a threat to them, and realized we were becoming so big that there was not one gang that could stop us in Phoenix.

And to all of the homies that are locked up or been locked up or going to be locked up. Yeah, it’s cool to be down for your race whether it’s the Raza, black or white in prison. But remember the hood you are from and where your loyalty is supposed to be at.

Also, to all Posse members, remember Posse is Posee no matter what your group you’re from, 35th Ave, 19th Ave, 7th Ave, 3rd Ave, 7th Street, 10th Street, 16th Street Posse etc. Because to another gang it don’t matter to them what Posse you’re from, whether it’s streets or avenues. Because if they see you flamed up, they don’t care what group you’re from, they’re going to try to take you out.
So don’t divide your strengths, increase them.

B-up to all true Red Riders. South Side Posse for life. Shouts out to Chapo, Bartman, Laz, Chris Para, Jerry Gilmet, Joey V, Robert, Jason Moore, Ramon Bernal, Michael Gabriel Robles, may all of you rest in peace. And to those who have fallen representing the hood that I don’t know, may they rest in peace. In my eyes you guys didn’t die for nothing. S.S.P 4 life Blood!

B-up Doggs

Bones

P.S. You Bloods need to stop doing major drugs and start stacking your chips and counting your bread. I know I am.

Click here for Question Time With A Blood (Part 3)

Email questions or comments for Bones the Blood to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity. Our friends inside appreciate your comments.

Shaun P. Attwood
26 Nov 08

What Comes Around (by Shane)

Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs financed by burglaries. The medication in prison caused him to suffer a period of spontaneous ejaculations. Shane is the author of the blog Persevering Prison Pages.

“Back up to the trap and put your hands out,” the sergeant told me.
I backed up to the tray slot built into the door, hands behind my back. The sergeant handcuffed me.

The sergeant was there because just minutes earlier a guard had a called for assistance to remove me from my cell. The guard had said he’d kick my ass if I didn’t want to listen to him. In response to his shameless attempt to provoke me, I told him to “pack a lunch.”

After ensuring I was cuffed tightly, steel cutting into my wrists, the sergeant removed me from the cell. Walking me down a hallway toward the cellblock’s backdoor, he told me, “Come on tough guy,” and yanked on the cuffs sadistically.
“Take these cuffs off, and I’ll show you a tough guy, you bitch!” I barked, hiding my pain under anger.
He led me outside, into a fenced area used for lockdown recreation. He slammed me face first into a chain-link fence, and punched me in the side.
“That’s it? That’s your best?” I asked him.
After ten minutes of beating me – bruises on my sides and arms, face scratched from the fence – he took me back to my cell.

After his shift ended, I went to Medical to document what had happened.
I also told the lieutenant that the sergeant and I had a conflict and I would not be treated that way again.
The lieutenant said he would “look into it.” Meaning he’d do nothing.

The next day, not ten minutes after the sergeant came on shift, he arrived at my cell. “Cuff up!”
“No! Come on in and cuff me up!” I yelled back at him.
“I’m giving you a direct order to cuff up!” he yelled, outraged.
“I’ll cuff up, just not for you! Where’s your back-up ’cause if you’re coming in this cell you’re gonna need it!” I yelled, pacing, my face hot, palms sweaty and ready to rock ’n’ roll.
He walked away from my cell door, radioing for back-up.
Satisfied I’d made him sufficiently angry, I watched him go down the stairs. I readied myself.

Minutes later, he returned to my cellfront. “I’m giving you a direct order to cuff up,” he said calmly, his eyes seething.
Looking over his shoulder, I saw four guards clad in black, with helmets and pads on their knees and elbows.
Shit, he’s got the tactical security team with him.
He smiled at me, a sinister grin that angered me. Little did he know I was ready for them.
Key in my door. A pepper-spray canister at the trap. Ready to suddenly storm my cell after spraying me.
His eyes widened when he saw me tie a damp shirt around the lower half of my face and step back away from the door ready to fight.
In one fluid motion, the sergeant opened the trap, fired his pepper spray and tried to rush into my cell. In slow motion, I watched the stream of spray leave his canister, hit the transparent sandwich wrap I’d stretched and taped over the trap and deflect back into the hallway, at the exact same time the door began to open inward.
Realizing his mistake, but far too committed to enter my cell to stop, he smashed his face into the door, as I front-kicked it shut.
They coughed cussed, and stumbled around on the other side of the door. Then as the noise faded away, I approached the door cautiously, spying them all staggering down the stairs.

Twenty minutes or so passed by uneventfully, except for the “Fuck ’em up, Shane,” or “Get yours, youngster,” occasionally shouted through the pod of fifty convicts. “Here they come again, Shane!” a lone voice of an Aryan Brother shouted.
As I ran to the door, I saw the same tactical team led by the same sergeant trying to sneak up to my cell. I knew they’d get me this time.
Opening the trap, they grabbed the wrap, pulling it out. They sprayed me in the chest and stormed my cell, the sergeant leading the charge.
First in the door, first on the floor – the sergeant caught my first punch on the cheek and went down. Before I could gloat over knocking him out, they were on me.
A riot shield on top of me and two suited-and-booted guards on top of that, I could barely make out the sergeant’s unconscious form. There were other guards on top of him, who’d tripped and piled up.
Eyes watering and burning, chest on fire, coughing, and completely immobile, I was ziptied and dragged to the hole.

There was a brief investigation locally, and they threatened to charge me. I threatened to sue. I was asked to take a polygraph. I asked to speak to an attorney. An “attorney” was called and asked to speak to me. When I asked who it was I was speaking to, the attorney revealed he was a county prosecutor. I agreed not to sue, if they agreed not to file charges. They didn’t charge me. I sued, but I didn’t know what I was doing and my case was dismissed on procedural issues.

That sergeant never bothered me again.
It was fun till you got knocked the f**k out, eh, Sarg?

Email comments on Shane’s story to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity. Our friends inside appreciate your comments.

Shaun P. Attwood
23 Nov 08

Mentored (Part 1)

Thanks to the Koestler Trust, I am now being mentored by Sally Hinchcliffe, a published author with an MA in Creative Writing from the University of London, taught by Julia Bell and Russell Celyn Jones.

My first session with her went extremely well. Now that I have a professional pointing out the errors in my writing and coaching me on getting published, I am confident of making progress.

After reading the draft of my autobiography, Sally offered a variety of advice. She said I need to rethink the structure of the book, as running the jail story in the odd chapters and the stockbroker/rave story in the even chapters is too confusing. She wants me to remove any characters and anecdotes that do not further the story, with a view to the book totalling 125,000 words or less.

She provided detailed feedback on Chapters 1 to 5, which some of you have read. She wants me to provide more background on the main characters such as Wild Man. To add more of my thoughts, feelings, motivations, and reactions, so I’m not so much a bystander. To describe things using all five senses, particularly the sense of smell. To provide more details about the environment, especially the prison buildings and cells. To simplify my prose and stop trying to be “showy,” for example, getting rid of all of my references to the classics, which she calls “cultural name-dropping” – we had a good laugh over that one. To increase my paragraph size – difficult for me as I find large paragraphs cumbersome. To stop italicising my thoughts because italics are better used for emphasis.
She asked me to summarise the book in one sentence. I replied, “It’s the story of my rise, fall and redemption.”
She asked me to write a brief synopsis, and recommended I read these two memoirs, Lucky by Alice Sebold and A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and these two prison memoirs, Forget You Had a Daughter by Sandra Gregory and A Life Inside by Erwin James.

When I told Sally about my high hopes of getting published as soon as I got out of prison, she said that if I am seeking immediate results, I need to find another occupation. Getting published takes years and my book must be presented in the right way because I only have one shot with each publisher, and in its present format my story would be rejected.

Our friends inside who are aspiring writers – Jack, Shane, Warrior – have asked I keep them posted on what I learn from my mentor. So I’m providing the first two pages of my autobiography, with my mentor’s constructive feedback in bold, in the hope it will be of benefit to them, and anyone else studying writing. Other than the specific points in bold, she asked me to insert more of my thoughts and feelings, and to try and write some bigger paragraphs.

Chapter 1

“Tempe Police Department! We have a warrant for your arrest! Open the door immediately!”
The stock quotes flickering on the computer screen lost all importance as I rushed to the peephole.
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Wearing only boxer shorts, I dashed to the bedroom. “Claudia Wake up! It’s the cops!”
“Tempe Police Department! If you refuse to open the door, we will use force to enter!”
Claudia scrambled from the California king, her long blond hair tousled. “What should we do?” she asked, anxiously straightening her pink pyjamas.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
“Open the door! This is your last warning!”
We searched each other’s faces.
“Let’s open it,” I said.
Claudia clung to my arm. We hastened to let them in and – boom! – the door leaped off its hinges.
Pointing submachine guns, a small army of SWAT blitzed through the doorframe, and fanned out with military precision. Рfeels like a clich̩, also, how did having guns pointed at you make you feel?
“Get on the fucking ground now!”
“On your bellies now!”
“Hands above your heads!”
“Don’t fucking move!”
Crushed by hands and feet, I could barely breathe. Cold steel snapped around my wrists. I was hoisted like a puppet onto my feet.
As they yanked Claudia up by the cuffs, she pinched her eyes shut; when she opened them, tears spilled out.
– make into a longer paragraph, save the short ones for when you need them

“I’m Detective Reid. You’re a big name from the rave scene, English Shaun. – why did he tell you this? How did it make you feel? I’m sure this raid will vindicate the charges.” Detective Reid was a tall burly man with long scraggy hair and an intimidating presence. His gaze probed my inner self.
Dazed by shock, my mind struggled for an appropriate response. “There’s nothing illegal in here.”
He smirked knowingly, then read my Miranda and consular rights.
I wanted to put my arms around Claudia to stop her trembling. “Don’t worry, love. Everything’s going to be alright.” I said, concealing my fear.
“Don’t fucking talk to her! You’re going outside!” Detective Reid took a dirty T-shirt from the hamper and threw it at me. “Take this with you!”
“I’m exercising my right to remain silent, love!” I yelled as they pushed me out of the apartment.
“I told you not to fucking talk to her!”
Yelling over each other, they shoved me down the stairs.
“Stand by the stairs and keep fucking quiet!” Detective Reid left me guarded by a policeman.
The punishing heat of the sun rising over the Sonoran Desert soon engulfed me.
They locked Claudia into the back of a Crown Victoria. It sped off with my girlfriend of one-and-a-half years. – exposition, best either done explicitly or left out altogether
Police in state uniforms, federal uniforms, and plain clothes swarmed our Scottsdale apartment, their eyes burning with a mechanical zeal for Рclich̩ the administration of justice.
Every so often, Detective Reid and a short bespectacled lady conferred.
Neighbours gathered:
“What’s all this about?”
“Some kind of drug bust.”
“Drug bust up there!”
“I know. They seemed so quiet.”
“You never can tell these days.”
– did you really hear them say this? It needs to be explained somehow?
Sweat streamed from my armpits, trickled from my crotch. I thought about Claudia. What will they do to her? Will she be charged? – don’t italicise thoughts, unless you want to emphasise an important thought
Detective Reid approached me. “What’s in the safe, Attwood?”
“A coin collection and documents like my birth certificate.”
“You’re full of shit! Where’s the key?” Detective Reid asked, the hostility in his voice increasing. “You might as well just give the drugs up at this point.”
“The key’s on my key chain, but it needs a combination as well as a key.”
“What drugs are in it?”
“None.”
“Don’t play games with us, Attwood. Don’t force me to call a locksmith.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“We’ll soon see about that.”
I was about to volunteer the combination, but he whipped out a cell phone, and dialled a locksmith.
“Get in the back of that car over there,” said a policeman in his late forties with a rugged face. He looked the type not averse to taking a detour on the way to the police station to teach certain criminals a lesson.
New to manoeuvring in handcuffs, I fell sideways on to the back seat.
He threw a pair of jeans at me – how can you put jeans on in handcuffs? Need to explain more what happened and secured the door. In the driver’s seat, he donned Electra Glide in Blue motorcycle-cop sunglasses, mouthed a stick of gum, and blasted a hard-rock radio station. Tapping the wheel, he bobbed his head slightly as he drove.
The sense of being on the road to losing my liberty increased my dread and helplessness.
“Looks like we’re gonna be waiting outside,” he said, parking near Tempe police station.
Sealed in the Crown Victoria for what seemed like an eternity, I mulled over my predicament. Cuffed. Cramped. Sweaty. – good
“Bring him in,” someone radioed.
He parked by a mobile police unit, and escorted me to a man sat at a desk.
“Fill this out.”
NAME, DATE OF BIRTH, SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER, HOME ADDRESS, OCCUPATION, WORK ADDRESS…
“I’m exercising my right to remain silent,” I said.
“You must fill this out, or else we’ll book you in as a John Doe, and you don’t want that.”

Here’s my revised version of the first two pages, incorporating her feedback.

Chapter 1

“Tempe Police Department! Open the door, we have a warrant for your arrest!”
The stock quotes flickering on the computer screen lost all importance as I rushed to the peephole – it was blacked out. Boots thudded up the outdoor stairs to our Scottsdale apartment.
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Wearing only boxer shorts, I dashed to the bedroom. “Claudia Wake up! It’s the cops!”
“Tempe Police Department! Open the door! We have a warrant!”
Claudia scrambled from the California king, her long blond hair tousled. “What should we do?” she asked, anxiously fixing her pink pyjamas.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
“Open the door! This is your last warning!”
We searched each other’s faces.
“Let’s open it,” I said, figuring not letting them in would make matters worse.
With Claudia clinging to my arm, I was hastening to let them in when – boom! – the door leaped off its hinges.
Toting submachine guns, a small army of SWAT blitzed through the doorframe. I froze in place. Terror-struck. In an instant, they surrounded us like a mechanical hand. Accompanying every gun aimed at my body was an avid squint behind tactical goggles. I braced myself to be shot at any moment.
“Get on the fucking ground now!”
“On your bellies now!”
“Hands above your heads!”
“Don’t fucking move!”
As I dropped to the floor, they fell upon me. Crushed by hands and feet, I could barely breathe. Cold steel snapped around my wrists. I was hoisted like a puppet onto my feet. As they yanked Claudia up by the cuffs, she pinched her eyes shut; when she opened them, tears spilled out.
“I’m Detective Reid,” said a tall burly man with long scraggy hair, and an intimidating presence. “English Shaun, you’re a big name from the rave scene. I’m sure this raid will vindicate the charges.” He had a condescending look in his eyes, and a self-satisfied edge in his tone of voice, as if he were savouring a moment of great triumph. He seemed dangerously childish.
Dazed by shock, I fumbled around for an appropriate response. “There’s nothing illegal in here.”
He smirked knowingly, then read my Miranda and consular rights.
I wanted to put my arms around Claudia to stop her trembling. “Don’t worry, love. Everything’s going to be alright,” I said, concealing my fear.
“Don’t fucking talk to her! You’re going outside!” Detective Reid took a dirty T-shirt from the hamper and threw it at me. “Take this with you!”
“I’m exercising my right to remain silent, love!” I yelled repeatedly as they pushed me out of the apartment.
“I told you not to fucking talk to her!”
Yelling over each other, they shoved me down the stairs. They briefly removed my cuffs, so I could slip the T-shirt on.
“Stand by the stairs and keep fucking quiet!” Detective Reid left me guarded by a policeman.
The heat of the sun rising over the Sonoran Desert soon punished me.
They locked Claudia into the back of a Crown Victoria, which sped off.
Police in state uniforms, federal uniforms, and plain clothes swarmed our place.
Every so often, Detective Reid and a short bespectacled lady conferred.
Neighbours assembled, fascinated, saying things like:
“What’s all this about?”
“Some kind of drug bust.”
“Drug bust up there!”
“I know. They seemed so quiet.”
“You never can tell these days.”
Sweat streamed from my armpits, trickled from my crotch. I thought about Claudia. What will they do to her? Will she be charged? Tired of being outdoors, I worried about where they might take me.
Detective Reid bounded down the stairs, his air of triumph gone. “What’s in the safe, Attwood?”
“A coin collection and documents like my birth certificate.”
“You’re full of shit! Where’s the key?” he asked, raising the hostility in his voice. “You might as well just give the drugs up at this point.”
“The key’s on my key chain, but it needs a combination as well as a key.”
“What drugs are in it?”
“None.”
“Don’t play games with us, Attwood. Don’t force me to call a locksmith.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“We’ll soon see about that.” He sounded desperate.
I was about to volunteer the combination, but he whipped out a cell phone, and dialled a locksmith.
“Get in the back of that car over there,” said a policeman in his late forties with a rugged face. He looked the type not averse to taking a detour on the way to the police station to teach certain criminals a lesson.
New to manoeuvring in handcuffs, I fell sideways on to the back seat. I straightened myself up, and he threw a pair of jeans on my lap.
In the driver’s seat, he donned Electra Glide in Blue motorcycle-cop sunglasses, mouthed a stick of gum, and blasted a hard-rock radio station. Tapping the wheel, he bobbed his head slightly as he drove.
The sense of being on the road to losing my liberty increased my dread.
“Looks like we’re gonna be waiting outside,” he said, parking near Tempe police station.
Sealed in the Crown Victoria for what seemed like an eternity, I mulled over my predicament. Cuffed. Cramped. Sweaty.
“Bring him in,” someone radioed.
He parked by a mobile police unit. He uncuffed me, told me to put my jeans on, and escorted me to a man sat at a desk.
“Fill this out.”
NAME, DATE OF BIRTH, SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER, HOME ADDRESS, OCCUPATION, WORK ADDRESS…
“I’m exercising my right to remain silent,” I said.
“You must fill this out, or else we’ll book you in as a John Doe, and you don’t want that.”

Click here for Mentored Part 2.

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below. To post a comment if you do not have a Google/Blogger account, just select anonymous for your identity.

Shaun P. Attwood