The prison blog of an Orwellian unperson. As shown on National Geographic Channel's Banged Up/Locked Up Abroad episode Raving Arizona.
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
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
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
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
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. – feels like a cliché, 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 – cliché 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
From Frankie (Letter 11)
Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hitman and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me rubbing antifungal ointment on the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.
Nov 11-2008
Englandman My Friend,
Don’t let your panties get all in a bundle. I only asked if you didn’t want to write me no more cuz in one of your letters you said you write over 20 people.
Another thing, you seem to be forgetting who wears the pants in this relationship. Don’t you ever talk any caca on paper to me again. Ha ha!
As for me, ya sabes [you know] everything is all the same in here. Nothing changes but the days and date.
Anyway, I came out real good on my sentencing. The judge even told me that if he could give me lesser time that he would cuz he felt 4½ was a lot of time for what I got busted with and 4½ was the less offered to me. I was real happy with it cuz they gave me back time which only leaves me a couple of years to do.
I also got my time comp and my release date is a couple more years which ain’t nada. Yeah! I will walk right through them especially now that I was moved to a pod full of cheetos [transsexuals]. Damn, I have never seen so many in one pod. It’s like I party and I’m cumming all over their mouths.
My friend, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Get closer so I can apologize. I’m going to kiss you in the back of the neck and poke you in the butt at the same time while I’m saying sorry.
As for the guy from your hometown I met in prison, he himself couldn’t believe that I knew someone from your hometown. Anyway, I left him at SMU [a supermaximum prison in Florence] but he should be here soon. He goes by the name of Sic Boy and he’s real good people.
My friend, I want you to understand something, just cuz you’re in England doesn’t mean that I can’t reach you…as always, I’ll dee-cide! Yes, I can reach you with my new friend Sic Boy, he has family there. In fact his mother was over here last month on vacation. I know he’s from there cuz he was telling me about a lot of things there. He was asking his mom where your street’s at.
Anyway, he’ll be here soon and I’ll take notes so you’ll know what’s up.
So how did everything go with Royo Girl? I hope you stepped up to the plate and handled that cuz I would hate to read in the Internet that you couldn’t handle her. And don’t try telling me you had sex all night and didn’t get much sleep cuz if you did stay up all night it was only cuz you were watching movies..
If you take the letter R off Royo, it leaves Oyo Girl. Look and see what oyo means in Spanish. Tell her she don’t need to go that far. I’m a lot closer and I’m real good in what I do and she will love every bit of it.
Ain’t nothing changed, Royo Girl still gots to go through my approval and she better be looking hot.
Plus you need to start taking pictures so that I can have them in my photo album, not no computer copies. So stop being lazy and look out for a homie.
It would be nice if you do start work traveling the country speaking to youngsters. That would be nice and lots of pictures. Que no?
What’s this BodyCombat class that you’re taking?
I also seen Xena. She looks okay but I only talked with her for a few minutes.
On my next letter I’ll write you a story in which some piece of shit threw shit on me at SMU.
Well, my friend, don’t sweat the small things cuz Frankie is happy with what he got. Plus he’s got big nuts and can handle it.
Take care and as always say hello to your familia…
Much love and respect,
Mr. Frankie!
Email comments and questions for Frankie 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. My friends in prison really enjoy reading your comments.
Shaun P. Attwood
Fox Reality Channel to Air Sheriff Arpaio’s Reality TV Show in December.
Article in Phoenix New Times:
Say you're sick of Sheriff Joe Arpaio's aged, authoritarian blowhole? So much so that the mere sight of his flaccid turkey neck and oily pate causes the sudden need to blow chunks and an insatiable desire to kick a puppy in the nads?
Well, the nudniks over at the Fox Reality Channel are eager to bottle that Joe fatigue and sell it to an unsuspecting nation, with their latest dumbass reality series Smile...You're Under Arrest! This surefire Emmy-bait features penny-ante busts performed by Sheriff's Office goons. Suspects with outstanding warrants are suckered in by promises of modeling gigs, movie extra roles, and whatever else it takes to get them in a spot where MCSO doughnut-chompers can nab 'em without putting their beige-covered asses in harm's way.
If you think you've heard about this pathetic hunk o' televised merde before, you have. Over a year ago, the local press reported that Fox TV was shooting the pilot with the help of our corrupt, publicity-addicted top constable and his slavish minions.
Apparently, it's such a genius piece of programming that Fox is airing the first episode in this three-part series a couple of days after Xmas, according to a press release issued this week. A three-parter, huh? Sounds like a real winner, boys.The irony, of course, is that there are 40,000 felony warrants outstanding in Maricopa County because lazy-ass Joe and his tribe can't get it up to do their jobs. For some reason, I'm guessing that little factoid won't be mentioned anywhere in the Fox broadcasts.
As this is only a three-parter, no doubt producer Scott Satin (that's "Satin," not Satan) will be looking for more reality show spinoffs from Joe's jails. Here's one there's already footage for: Smile...You've Just Been Murdered by a Member of the Aryan Brotherhood! Channel 5 scored the video of that beat-down of MCSO inmate Robert Cotton. And now, New Times has secured footage of the naked body of Juan Mendoza Farias, who went into Joe's medieval hell-hole for a DUI and ended up -- you guessed it -- stiff as freshly cut pine.
Thing is, the video footage, which was recently released by MCSO lawyer Michelle Iafrate, isn't complete. As New Times scribe John Dickerson wrote in a recent blog post:
The video ends before Farias was shoved by 11 guards into another jail cell. There, about 11:08 p.m. according to incident reports, the guards pinned Farias facedown, with his hands cuffed behind his back. They eventually noticed that he wasn’t breathing. When they rolled him over, the mask covering his mouth was filled with blood. Guards initiated CPR on Farias between 11:15 and 11:20 p.m., according to written incident reports.
None of that – the entire purpose for the records request and lawsuit – was in the footage provided to New Times.
But maybe Scott Satan, sorry, Satin, could secure that missing footage from his buddy Sheriff Joe. I'll betcha Joe'd be willing to part with it as long as he can get his decrepit, wrinkled puss on cable for a few minutes.
Better even than Smile...You're Dead in Joe's Jails! would be the reality series, Smile, Joe, You're Being Hit with a Big Ole Indictment by Arizona's New U.S. Attorney! But we'll have to wait for Barack Obama to get sworn in, and a new Justice Department for that one to get filmed.
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
Real Prison Fight: Warrior v Big E. (by Warrior Part 4)
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.
Part 3 left off with Warrior defeating Big E. with a chokehold.
Holding his throat, Big E. hacked. He gave me a dirty look, then stormed out, back to his cell.
I’d noticed his left eye was bloodshot from a popped vessel. His upper lip was bloody, and he was bruised around his eye sockets.
I began to leave as well, but Gangster stopped me: “Hey, loco, you gotta wash the blood off.”
I hadn’t realised how badly cut I was. Blood was trickling out of my cheek onto my chest. I touched the gash, and blood covered my fingers. “Fuck!” I went to the showerhead and turned on the water. I rinsed myself off, shook JJ’s hand, and then headed to my cell with Gangster in tow.
The C.O. hadn’t noticed a thing.
I entered my cell, and reached for my mirror to assess the damage.
Gangster sat on my bunk, all excited. “Damn, dawg! That was some down-ass shit! Where you learn all that! That some UFC shit right there!”
“I use to mess around and fight my brothers a lot growing up.” I didn’t want anyone to know I knew a thing or two, so I tried to downplay it.
“Nah, you bullshitting. That’s some Bruce Lee shit right there!” he said.
To change the subject, I said, “How does my cheek look?” I was cut below my right eye, a good half inch. It was starting to bruise into a black eye. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I said jokingly.
We both laughed.
“It’s deep, huh?” I said.
Gangster rose to take a look. “It looks like it needs stitches. Hey, at least chicks dig scars.”
“Fuck, man! Hey, homey is there any superglue around here?”
“Nah, what for?” Gangster asked.
“It’ll close the cut.”
“No shit!”
“Yeah. Long as it ain’t too deep. What about Band-Aids? You got some?”
“Yeah, I’ll go get ’em.” Gangster got up to retrieve them.
“Hey, do you got some of that state-issue Freshmint toothpaste too?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring that too.”
“Aiiight.”
Gangster returned with everything.
I broke apart a disposable razor blade to cut the Band-Aids into little butterfly strips. I cleaned then closed the cut. Then put a smidge of toothpaste where I thought I’d bruise.
“What’s the toothpaste for?” Gangster asked.
“It lifts the color out of the bruise.”
“Right, right.”
I fixed myself as best as possible. When I find myself battered and bruised, I always tell myself it could be worse. This time was no different.
Gangster and I chatted for a little bit. Then he went to his cell.
I caught up with Gangster later that day at chow. He said the fight was the talk of the yard. I’d earned not only respect, but the reputation as a good fighter. I also found out that Big E. was so upset about losing, he wanted to go a second round with some steel (shanks), but a couple of OG’s stepped and told him to take his beating like a man, and if he made a move on me again, his ass would feel steel. Big E. humbled himself after that.
I always reflect on the day’s events as each one comes to a close. On this day, I laid on my bunk, mirror in hand, staring at my wound. All I could think about was how when I was younger, all I wanted to do was to continue in martial arts to be a cage fighter.
Then I remembered something I heard somewhere, exactly where I can’t recall: Always be careful what you wish for because it just might come true.
Not always how we imagine though, everyone can vouch to that.
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
From Warrior (Letter 3)
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.
10-27-08
Shaun,
Hey, man…I just received your letter. It’s good to hear from you! I am glad you are OK and thriving.
Good luck on the new job. Man, that’s cool that you’ll travel telling your story, dissuading kids from drugs. I am happy to hear that! You’re giving back to society, and that’s what life is all about. It’s our responsibility to make a difference, especially when we are blessed with the mental faculties to do so. To hear that gives me more hope for myself. I have to thank you for that.
Please keep me posted on how your attempts to get your books published are going. I read what you sent me recently from your autobio. That was really good. I was impressed. My cellie and I are the biggest readers in our pod. He read it and said you have good skills. He was impressed too. You’ve improved since the last sections you sent me. You captured the moments, feelings, and texture of each event. I thought I was in the county jail with you. I could picture everything.
I’m going to do what you suggested, play with sentences and practice restructuring them. I’m going to check out some Pulitzer Prize winners like you suggested too. I need to improve on capturing details. I dig the way you express the details. I appreciate all of you advice and guidance on the writing craft. You know your stuff, so I take it as a compliment when you mention I am coming along. When you get your first mentor session, I’ll mentor underneath you. A mentor with a mentor. Ha ha ha.
I wouldn’t mind submitting one of my stories to a contest or a magazine. How would I go about something like that?
As for me, I’m cool. I was in a little dark cloud for a minute. My girl split on me. I had to shake it off. Hey, it happens, as that’s life. I’m doing the Internet thing too right now. I jumped on two pen pal websites, and MySpace. Trying to keep my pen busy with some needy, crazy, jealous, overbearing cuties to write. Ha ha ha. Can’t live with ’em or without ’em right.
I’ll get at Xena and show her your autobio chapters. Xena’s a trip ain’t she, cool people though. I’m sure you heard about the home surgery. I was in the pod when Xena did that. I’ve seen some crazy things in my day, but that right there wins the cake hands down.
Other than the usual monotony, I’m just trying to study all the basics in writing. I’m trying to relearn the fundamentals. Reading a lot too.
Well buddy, I’m glad you’re well and doing excellent. Hunt that “Rhinoceros Success.” It’s your time to shine. We’re proud of you this way. Create your legacy.
I wish you and your loved ones the best.
Keep your head to the sky.
Love & Respect,
Warrior
Jose in San Diego wrote:
Warrior,
This is Jose in San Diego. How much time are you down and how much to go? I am piquing interest in your current situation. Are you more into self-preservation in terms of growing spiritually, or do you still tow the line and put in work? Do you handle your own number now or still roll with the car? After so much time, I would think you changed and decided to lay down the sword as you stated. I walked that linea before, and I gather that you are taking into consideration what the veterano Doc and Shaun have told you. Also, do you have a wife or a lady and kids waiting on you? I wish you the best and cuidate.
Jose in San Diego
Warrior responded:
Jose,
I’m doing 14, 8 down already. About 4 to go, give or take a year.
As to whether I’m into self-preservation in terms of growing spiritually or tow the line and put in work. Nowadays it’s about me growing spiritually, mentally, emotionally. Instead of being the toughest guy on the block, I’d rather be the smartest or wisest. But I still have to pick and choose my battles like everyone else, and if I have to put in work, I won’t hesitate. I embrace, understand, and accept what I have to be here, that’s reality. I do my own number now. Unfortunately, when you do your own number, you battle carloads. But I’d rather stand alone as a man, than amongst a herd of jackasses.
I have kids, but no lady.
L & R,
Warrior
To read From Warrior (Letter 2) click here.
Coming next: Warrior V Big E. (Part 4)
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
Keystering for the Aryan Brotherhood (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.
When I was fifteen, I lived in a little dive of an apartment complex in Arizona. My next-door neighbors were a twenty-six-year-old woman named Tori, and her two toddlers.
I’d partied with her and the tattooed biker types that often hung out with her. I didn’t care for them much, but Tori was nice and her parties got me free crank and beer.
One day Tori invited me into her place, closing the blinds and locking the door. At first, I thought she’d done this in order to get me high, as this was her routine whenever she shared a bowl of meth with me. But this time was different.
“Shane, will you go with me to visit a friend in jail?” she asked in a whisper.
“Sure, but what’s with the paranoia?” I asked, gesturing at the door and blinds.
Tori pulled out two quarter-roll-sized packages shaped like bullets. “I have to bring these in to him,” she said slightly embarrassed, holding one up for me to see.
Having been in juvy [juvenile hall] before, I knew what they were and where she had to hide them.
“One’s weed. The other’s half heroin, half crank,” she said.
Grabbing the bullet, I looked it over. The contents had been packed tightly into a rubber balloon, then put inside two condoms and tied off, and the excess condom snipped off. Judging by the size, weight and how solid they were, the contents had to be worth a lot in the jail system. Especially the one with the hard drugs.
“Where’d you get this much dope?” I asked.
“It’s not mine. I’m just dropping it off…but…I need you to go with me. I’m not doing it alone.”
“I don’t like it, but I’ll go.”
She hugged me, relieved.
Desperate to be accepted by people around me, and wanting to be needed and depended on, I hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to do this for her. In the back of my mind I thought this might get me closer to getting into her pants too. She was average looking, but had an attractive figure, and I knew she slept around. In my mind, I may have had a chance - not likely!
Later in the day, we drove to the jail. I was surprised with how well she’d cleaned up. In a short loose skirt, tight white T-shirt, makeup, perfumed, and hair all done up, she was a beautiful woman.
Entering the jail visitation room, I was nervous. Inmates littered the large room, sitting with their visitors, vending-machine food and sodas on all of the tables, which had thick Plexiglas tops.
There was one deputy watching over the room. No cameras. I was amazed at the lack of supervision.
Sitting across from Tori and an inmate in his early twenties, I could see how nervous she was by the way she kept rubbing her hands as if they were cold.
“Did you bring it?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Tori just nodded a yes.
“Give them to me one at a time under the table,” he said, moving his hand onto her inner thigh.
As his hand moved up between her legs, lifting her skirt up, exposing her, I looked into her eyes. She was embarrassed, and so was I.
Looking into his eyes, he seemed amused.
It was over in a few seconds. He now had both bullets.
“Go get me some food. I gotta use the can,” he told her, getting up and walking to a small bathroom to insert the bullets inside his rectal cavity.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I told her, “He’s a dickhead.”
She got up and bought him a couple of items from the machines. I could tell she was bothered a lot.
A few minutes later, he returned. Leaning in, he kissed her, then ate the food she had bought him. Devouring the food as if he hadn’t eaten in months, I didn’t understand that hunger - until I experienced jail food.
The entire visit was awkward. The little conversation he had with Tori, or me, revolved around him and his legal problems. He’d been busted with a gun as a felon and charged with Prohibited Possessor. He explained his innocence and how he was set up by the cops. I didn’t believe him. Nor did Tori.
An hour after entering the visitation room, the deputy came to the table and informed us that the visit was over.
The inmate kissed her again, this time hugging her closely and grabbing her behind. Shaking my hand, he told me, “Take care, youngster.”
Later that evening, Tori explained the guy we’d met was a mule for the Aryan Brotherhood. That she’d never met him before, but her dealer told her to do this to write off debts her ex-boyfriend had run up with him and the prison gang. Doing ten years for aggravated assault, her ex was in a prison where the Aryan Brotherhood dictated which members of the white race lived or died. This was long before the Aryan Brotherhood leaders were rounded up as a Security Threat Group and locked-down in the supermaximum prison in Florence. She was told his drug debts were passed on to her, and if she didn’t pay her life was in danger. Scared, she’d agreed.
It was that easy to find a mule and even easier to keyster it in. The tidy profit probably fuelled an already-raging fire but the cost was immeasurable. The experience seriously rattled Tori, to the point of depression and weeks later a suicide attempt that resulted in her being hospitalised and her babies taken away from her.
Yeah, the cost was tremendous.
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.
Shaun P. Attwood
Arizona Aryan Brotherhood
Here's the latest information on the Arizona Aryan Brotherhood as collected by the Arizona Department of Corrections.
Membership - Approximately 386 members
Racial make up - Caucasian
Prison Criminal Activity - Narcotics, Extortion, Assaults, Homicides and Gambling
STG (Security Threat Group) specific tattoo/symbolism will usually be the words "Aryan Brotherhood" or the letters "AB"
Trends
Recruitment of the most influential Skinheads. Eradicating their ranks of sex offenders & members who have not B.I. Increase recruitment to load up our lock-up facilities. Talk of infiltrating defectors and PS housing to assault inmates. Challenge the validation process in court. Terrorist type retaliation against ADC staff.
AB By Laws
OATH
I swear my loyalty exclusively to * * * . To protect the family and promote it's goals with the resources available to me at all times. I will honor the family laws, bringing respect to all kindred through my actions. My life is this and this is for life, my oath being given it shall not be broken.
COUNCIL
1 There will be a council consisting of (3) kindred. This council will reside where the largest concentration of family exists.
2 The council will establish and maintain the direction of the family by receiving input from kindred and enforcing the will of the majority . All major issues will be determined by majority vote conducted by council, no minority may control the direction of the whole.
3 The council will address all issues brought before it, including but not limited to, finances, grievances and disciplinary issues and resolve them in the light best suited to promote the goals of the family as a whole.
4 The council will control and determine how family funds are to be utilized.
5 Sub-councils may be established in other areas as needed for organizational purposes but must respect the direction established by the council.
6 Any councilman may be impeached by vote.
KINDRED
1 All kindred must swear their loyalty exclusively to the family, placing no thing before it in his priorities. No one shall be acknowledged as kindred until such time as he has read these laws and sworn his oath.
2 These laws are to be known to kindred only.
3 All kindred must conduct themselves by example at all times exemplifying the best qualities our folk have to offer: intelligence, loyalty, pride, righteousness and strength.
4 Kindred must continually strive to promote the goals of the family no matter where they are, inactivity will not be tolerated on any level.
5 Kindred shall assist each other in any way possible but no kindred shall exploit this generosity in any way.
6 No kindred may act in any manner to bring shame, disgrace or contempt to himself or family.
7 No kindred may act to diminish any other kindred in his person or possession except as a lawful sanction.
8 Kindred shall never disrespect or criticize each other in public.
9 Kindred shall not disagree in public unless absolutely unavoidable.
10 Kindred have a responsibility to communicate with each other in order to stay appraised of current goals and issues.
11 No kindred shall give information/disinformation to any outsider which can be harmful to family in any way, if situation is not definite, no information shall be given at all.
BAPTISM
1 Baptism is the priority goal for all kinfolk. They must seek baptism at earliest opportunity, failure will result in major sanction.
2 Until such time kinfolk are baptized they shall not be permitted to initiate progeny, hold any position of authority or vote on any matter involving major sanctions.
PROJECTS/BUSINESS
1 All projects/business will be conducted on a need to know basis.
2 No pacts or business shall be honored within the family or with outsiders unless the terms are compatible with our law.
3 No business shall be conducted by any folk, including kindred, without contributing to the family. This contribution shall be the maximum allowable percentage of the interest, without causing bankruptcy, up to 25%.
4 Any business financed by family funds retains 75% of the interest in that business and may pay individual(s) 25% interest to maintain that business.
PROGENY
1 Kindred shall only initiate progeny to promote the goals of the family.
2 Kindred shall initiate only (1) progeny at a time but may adopt another kindred's progeny based on location convenience.
3 Kindred are responsible for the actions of their progeny.
4 Abuses of this privilege will result in sanctions.
5 Kindred must make his progeny aware of his responsibilities immediately upon birth, the progeny must commit to these responsibilities.
6 Progeny must, whenever opportunity presents itself:
-Check out, orientate and evaluate the potential of all folk in his area.
-Cache toys for immediate availability to kindred.
-Initiate businesses or projects to stimulate capital for family.
-Send $25 a month to lockdown.
-Support kindred under any circumstance.
-Follow any order by any kindred.
-Be prepared for baptism.
7 Progeny life is a minimum of (2) years.
8 There may be a baptism prior to completion of progeny term to be applied upon successful completion of term.
9 Upon completion of successful baptism which is directly related to family interest with sufficient immersion, consideration for progeny as kindred will be based on a demonstration of ones ability to promote the goals of the family.
10 No kindred will be recognized except by completion of responsibilities and majority vote.
SANCTIONS
1 Sanctions will be imposed on any kindred who fails to uphold their responsibilities. Appropriate sanctions will be determined on a case by case basis and will be applied as consistent as possible.
2 Major sanctions will be imposed for the following: a) Treason or betrayal. b) Any act committed where a reasonable person should have known would cause substantial harm to the family. c) Kindred who use the family to promote personal agendas. d) Kindred who participate in homosexual acts. e) Kindred who suspend a baptism based on financial, personal or lockdown considerations.
3 Minor sanctions shall be imposed for violation(s) of law which may include but are not limited to: fines, restitution, loss of privileges, skin ups or other appropriate actions, to be determined by majority and enforced by the council.
4 A person is no longer recognized as kindred immediately upon finding of guilt of major sanction charge.
AMENDMENTS
1 Amendments to these laws may be adopted by the council as needed to promote the changing goals of the family.
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
From Otis
Born into and raised by the Outlaw Biker Gang, Otis is an ex car thief, forger, and crystal-meth addict. The tattoo around his neck reads: SORRY NO GOOD RUTHLESS MOTHERFUCKER.
Toward the tail end of my incarceration, we became good friends and I wrote several short stories based on his most disturbing prison experiences, including the story I recently won a prize for “Amazing Grace.”
Oct 24 2008
Dear Shaun,
Congratulations on your success with “Amazing Grace.” I’m really glad that my horrific experiences opened some doors for you. Those experiences have kept many of my physical, emotional and psychological doors closed for so long. Who would have thunk that out of all of the stories you collected mine helped.
As for me I’m using these last two months I have left to get my thoughts and emotions in check. I want my heart and head working as a team.
I gave away my idiot box and I’m focussing on studying for my Waste Water Grade#1 Exam upon release, which is 1-12-09.
And I’m enrolled in another pre-release class focussing on interview skills and techniques. I will have a team of employment specialists pointing me in an employment directly best suited for my career in waste water treatment.
I was accepted finally in the best halfway house in Tucson, Casa Santa Clara. My parole officer is Angela Wilson who works with and is in charge of paroling Casa Santa Clara. I will also be enrolling into Pima Community College as a full time student, along with working full time/part time, which Primavera Services will help open doors of employment. Then I have to sell myself as an employee. Also DKA will help with employment. My goal is wastewater treatment operator trainee for the county or private industry. But I will also look into the mining industry here in Tucson, which needs mining effluent treated.
Do any of your readers have information on mining or wastewater stuff here in Tucson? I’ll take any positive feedback and constructive criticism. I have completely no one out there to help me now that’s not still engaged in criminal activity. In order for me to make it and succeed, I’ve got to completely let that way of life go for good. Period. I have one positive contact in the free world I correspond with. That’s you. I have to start from scratch on meeting and making new friends and networking new contacts out there when I get out. Also can I use you as a reference when I get out and get a job?
This goal of mine to start fresh with a clean slate to build on is coming upon me fast. And I will hit the ground running.
Well good luck buddy. I’m really proud of you. You’re a shining example of what a successful person can do upon release if you try hard and never give up.
Talk to ya soon.
L & R
Otis
To read the previous fight story from Otis click here.
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
Andrea is a 28-year-old Scottish woman. After suffering years of domestic violence, Andrea was arrested for attempting to murder her boyfriend. The attempted murder charge was subsequently dropped to wounding and she was sentenced recently.
Andrea is writing from a women’s prison in England.
13 October 2008
The keys entered my cell door at 6:30am. My shaking hands picked up my bags, and I walked through the prison to the reception for my final strip search. As the guards sealed my belongings, my nerves were at a high point.
I sat and had my morning coffee, but my stomach was unfit for eating breakfast. It was churning.
By 7:30am I made my way to the “sweat box” (a big white prison van) and sat down. I could barely breathe. All I could think was, This is it, which repeated over and over in my mind.
As it was a 2 ½ hour journey to the court, I decided to have a nap, as I never slept the night before. Before nodding off, I prayed to God:
Oh Lord please hear my voice and answer my prayer.
I know I have committed a terrible crime and deserve to be punished for just a little longer.
Oh Lord, I am so sorry and just wish to put things right.
Lord I pray for a sentence of no longer than 3 ½ years.
Oh Lord, please answer my prayer.
Amen.
Then I drifted off to a silent sleep.
I arrived at the court around 10:15am.
As my wrists were cuffed, I started to have cold sweats. I was taken to a cell, uncuffed and then to a visit from my barrister.
“How are you?”
“Good, but very nervous.”
He started to discuss my case, and then mentioned a sentencing range of 4 to 7 years. The latter being an extended sentence.
I felt like I had swallowed my heart.
My only relief was upon hearing that my medical, psychological, and probation reports were all in my favour.
He then says, “OK. I’ll see you soon and good luck.”
At that point, I said to myself, I bloody need it.
I returned to the cell, put my head down on a pile of magazines and fell asleep.
The door opened.
“It’s time!” an officer said, and cuffed me.
Slowly, I walked to the courtroom. I paused at the door, took a deep breath and then walked in to looks from the reporters, prosecution and judge.
“Are you…?”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
They started to talk about my crime, making me out to be a right animal. I had expected this.
I looked at the faces all around, all looking at me in disgust.
My barrister took his stand.
It was then my years of receiving domestic violence were spoken about, and the faces soon changed. I was relieved to see faces of sadness and not disgust. My injuries were disclosed (not that I was in a bad way). I had only suffered two cuts to my throat and as per normal another black eye, but I was used to all of that.
By this time my nervousness had gone and I felt somewhat happy with myself.
Ten minutes later, I was sentenced to 40 months in prison. I smiled in relief and said, “Thank you,” to the judge.
It was the worst but best day of my life. My prayer was answered. Justice was done, I believe.
Since returning to the prison I have been happy – well as happy as one can be considering.
I have received my release date: 23rd February 2010. But I can apply for tag curfew in October 2009 and be on licence till 25th October 2011.
Your comments for Andrea are mailed to her and appreciated.
To read Andrea’s first letter from prison click here.
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
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.
Part 2 left off with Warrior preparing to fight Big E. in the Octagon (Shower 1).
I went downstairs and sat in a blue plastic lawn chair that the barbers use when cutting hair. JJ plugged the hair clippers into the wall, and I pretended to cut my hair. I glanced at the officer in the tower, who was fiddling with some paperwork, wondering how serious he took his job. Does he pay attention to every detail or just want to do his eight hours and go home?Picking up on this, JJ said, “Hey, homes, this chota [cop] don’t care ’bout shit. You ain’t gotta sweat notheen.”
“Right on,” I replied. Now I knew I could handle my business and not worry about going to the hole again if we were caught fighting. One less factor my mind didn’t have to waste energy on.
“Orale, you’re done,” JJ said, then waved at the officer in the control tower. JJ pointed at me, then upstairs to an open shower, then made a motion as though he were washing his hair, to let the officer know I was going to rinse off.
The control officer nodded his approval.
“Peep game. Go upstairs like you gonna shower. When you hear me, pop cell 25, give it a coupla minutes. I’ll whistle and that means he’s ready and waiting.”
I’ve always thought of myself as a quick learner. In prison or when doing drug deals, you have to be. There’s no room for error, especially when your safety or life is on the line. I knew that many fights were arranged like this when guys in prison felt disrespected and needed to “handle their biz.” A routine I was now familiar with on that yard, one I’d never forget.
I rose from the chair and headed to the upstairs shower. Passing cell 25, my peripheral caught sight of Big E. staring out of his cell door, like an animal waiting to be fed. I went into the shower and closed the door. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself as I felt the anxiety and adrenaline kick in. I cracked my neck from side to side and started to shadow box in order to warm up and get into battle mode.
“Pop 25!” JJ yelled.
A few seconds later, I heard the cracking of Big E.’s cell door.
My anxiety heightened. I could hear my mind start to panic about all the what-ifs. What if he knocks you out? What if he breaks your nose? What if he tries to stab you? I shook my head as if to shake those thoughts off like drops of water. Get a hold of yourself! I told myself. Assess the situation. OK, he has you beat on size and weight, so close the distance, fight tight. If you fight close he can’t use his power. Take him off his feet, and you know you can dominate him. Most of these guys are just street fighters. Your experience gives you the advantage. OK, I had my game plan. I was as ready as I could ever be.
What was only no more than four minutes seemed like an hour. Staring at the shower door, I sparred and stretched. I couldn’t help but notice all of the graffiti scratched into the stripping paint on the shower door:
WEST SIDE PHOENIX
CHUCO LOVES SAD GIRL
FUCK D.O.C.
IF YOU’RE READING THIS I DISTRACTED YOU FOR A FEW SECONDS HA HA HA
That last one made me laugh. I’ll never forget it. Then I heard the whistle.
Opening the stall and stepping out, I noticed several other guys out of their cells. Gangster being one of them. Some guys from another pod had heard about the fight and snuck over to watch. A few acted as though they needed haircuts, others acted as though they were looking for cleaning supplies.
I was sure half of them were wondering how badly I’d be beaten up by Big E., and the rest hoping I’d be the one to humble him.
Everyone locked in their cells were at their cell-door windows. Even the ones who couldn’t see were stood by their windows as they didn’t want to be the last to know who the winner was.
Walking the gauntlet of stares, I headed down to the handicapped shower.
JJ and Gangster stopped me before I went in.
“Hey, homes,” JJ said, “if a cop comes, we gonna yell trucha [watch out]. You vatos break it up and come out one atta time, so you don’t get busted.”
“Yeah, we’ll keep the cop distracted. We’ll cover you two. ,” Gangster said, then whispered to me, “Fuck this fool up, dawg.”
I went into the shower. A large area. Tan tile shielding the floor and walls. Its dimensions reminded me of a boxing ring.
Big E. was at the opposite end, waiting, shirt off, shorts on, shoes tight, his whole body covered in ink.
We started after each other, but before my hands could get up, he caught me with a series of jabs: left, right, left. I stumbled back, but he didn’t knock me down. His reach was longer than I had anticipated, my instincts yelled, Catch up, or he’s gonna drop you!My fists were up and I threw three back, then followed with a cross that knocked him back. I tried to follow with an uppercut, but missed as the cross I just landed had saved him by moving him out of range.
Picking up the pace, the severity of the situation invaded Big E..
We exchanged blow for blow for what seemed like minutes, but was really only seconds.
Every time I was hit, I saw stars. I knew he did too. It was now a war of attrition. We were like two Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots waiting for the other’s head to fly off first.
Beginning to dominate the battle, I felt my pace gaining, giving me confidence.
Suddenly, Big E. hit me with a perfect uppercut that busted open my right cheek. Stumbling back against the wall, I felt blood pour from my face.
Big E. grabbed me in a headlock, which told me one of two things: he’s tired or tired of getting hit. Either one was fine with me.
I baited him into thinking he had the headlock tight. My instincts were screaming he was going to try and hip toss me. All street fighters do that with their headlocks, then pin you down and punch you out cold. He went for the hip toss. I knew I had him then. Tucking my chin down, I twisted my head out as he went for the toss.
Big E. ended up tossing himself on the floor as his body spun. As he hit the floor, I ran to pounce on him like a moutain line would a wounded deer. He was quick for a big guy and on his feet almost as fast as he fell.
I was faster though, and got on his back to get my “hooks in” – a technique where you wrap your legs over your opponent’s as you’re behind him, in order to initiate a rear choke.
Balancing me on his back, Big E. was strong. I couldn’t initiate the choke as he was hunched too far forward. So I grabbed his neck with my left hand and started attacking his temple from behind. He opened himself up enough to complete the choke. I went for it. It was over.
“OK. OK. OK,” Big E. gasped.
Gangster and JJ ran in.
“Alright, alright! That’s enough!” JJ said.
I let Big E. go.
Gangster had the cheesiest grin on his face.
I couldn’t help but smirk in return.
Big E. rose to his feet.
I was cautious not knowing if he would try to rush me unexpectedly.
Gangster and JJ stepped between us.
“Orale! Yaestufas! [That’s enough!]” Gangster said.
Holding his throat, Big E. hacked. He gave me a dirty look, then stormed out, back to his cell.
I’d noticed his left eye was bloodshot from a popped vessel. His upper lip was bloody, and he was bruised around his eye sockets.
Click here for Warrior v Big E. Part 4
Shaun Attwood
From Xena (Letter 3)
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.
10/3/08
My dear friend Shaun,
I need to write to you. I know it’s been a long time.
I’ve been upset with you and your literary agent. I don’t like the fact that she had you refer to us transgender people as the opposite gender of how we feel we are. I was offended. I still am after having read the blogs several times. Referring to my sisters and me as “he” and “men,” which we are not. I know that your blog readers know that prisons are not dual sexed. We do not have men and women doing time within the same walls. And yet how the blogs were written truly undermines the integrity of my identity. So yes, I am mad!
Other than that, you’re my friend and I love you anyway! I miss you. I hope that some day we can speak with one another face to face.
I love you!
Xena
XXX
Coming tomorrow: Warrior v Big E. (Part 3)
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Shaun P. Attwood
Sheriff Arpaio Wins Re-election
PHOENIX (AP) -- Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio -- who embraces the "Toughest Sheriff in America" title -- rolled to victory in his fifth general election on Tuesday.
Arpaio was facing what was considered his strongest re-election challenge in years from Democrat Dan Saban, a former sheriff's deputy, Mesa police officer and Buckeye police chief.
But Arpaio beat Saban 56 percent to 41 percent with 80 percent of the precincts reporting.
Saban failed in an earlier effort to wrest the office in the state's most populous county from Arpaio, who's known for his tent city jail, where he outfits prisoners in pink underwear, feeds them green bologna and has them work on chain gangs.
In the past year, Arpaio has gotten headlines for crime sweeps that target illegal immigration, which resulted in scores of arrests after traffic stops and other minor infractions. Arpaio's office turned any arrested illegal immigrants over to federal authorities for deportation.
The tactics brought outrage from some quarters but support from residents upset about the government's failure to deal with illegal immigration.
Arpaio has been in office for 16 years and never faced a major re-election challenge.
How many more unsentenced inmates will the Arpaio regime murder now he has another four years?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Shaun P. Attwood
Women in Prison: From Lifer Renee (Letter 4)
As a teenager, Renee received a sixty-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, she is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona.
Oct 1, 2008
Dear Shaun,
Hi. How are you? I hope all is well.
I am sitting here because we are locked down yet again due to a shortage of staff, which seems to be the set pace for things.
I finally received a better job. It’s great, only I haven’t been working because they have no work for us at this time. Go figure. Being locked down drives me nuts. All I really want to do is sleep.
You asked what I think of chow. Oh that made me laugh. I can not eat in the kitchen. I’ve seen them pull a cockroach out of the soup and keep serving it. I’ve seen the trays on the yard and the pigeons eating out of them. Raw chicken lying about not covered up. It grosses me out.
I am not skinny because I have good genes. I told my friend a long time ago that I only eat to sustain life. There is no enjoyment in it. Now with DOC’s “Heart Healthy Menu” they’ve cut back the servings, so if I wasn’t starving before I really am now.
You asked about relationships in here. Ha ha! They’re crazy! There are open gays, LURES (lesbians while incarcerated), bisexuals. There are butch broads, but they are usually the most feminine if you get to know them. Shaved heads, no makeup, trying to look like boys.
Mostly what will happen is a butch broad will get with a feminine girl, then they adopt some kids and kind of build a “family,” which is creepy to me, but is what happens.
A lot of the relationships pop off with the newer girls, they think it’s cute or the thing to do. A lot of the relationships are dysfunctional. Usually, one of the girls ends up being used as a punching bag.
I’ll tell you a story about a couple I knew a long time ago.
I met C. while working state issue. We used to dress out the new intake girls. She used to talk them up, flirt, play games and leave them hanging.
S. came through intake and she did the same thing with her. I really couldn’t understand why they all fell for C.’s line of crap. Maybe because I knew it was game.
Time goes by and me and S. become friends, and her and C. are together.
C. started to beat the holy crap out of S. all the time. S. stayed in the relationship because she “loved” C.
I was always a friend to S.. We actually ended up living together for a short time and the violence I saw in that relationship between those two was unreal.
Years go by, life goes on, and they get out and go their separate ways.
While working maintenance, I saw S. again in intake. I asked her if she was still with C., and she said no.
She started laughing, and said to me, “That bitch got her karma. She’s with a man who beats the crap out of her.”
C. had actually called S. to pick her up because her boyfriend beat her up so badly.
At first, I felt like, Well, that’s what she gets, but then I felt sorry for her because nothing was really learned. How’s that for ironic and karma?
No, drinking alcohol is not very yoga healthy. My discipline with staying sober is hard. At first I broke weak a lot. Honestly, I realized I would rather have a donut, soda or cup of coffee instead of a fix. It was just pointless. It wasn’t any fun when I really thought about it. I mean, really, who wants to be twacked out of their mind, lying still in your bed all night, playing like you’re asleep, so the cops won’t see you?
I’ve learned that if you can think one step ahead to the possible consequences of your actions it will help you make a better decision in the moment.
Besides, right now I have set a goal. I need $750 to possibly retain legal assistance. The choice right now is easy: a fix or what I really need.
I find though when I have urges, if I can distract myself it goes away, although it was not always like that. Live and learn.
Well, Shaun, I’ve got to go to school. I will write more later.
Always,
Renee
To read Letter 3 from Renee click here.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Shaun P. Attwood