06 Nov 07

Parting Advice from T-Bone (2)

“I’m more likely to be hanging out at the library than at a club with women like that,” I said.
“You think people don’t do drugs at libraries?” T-Bone said. “At the Phoenix library these two guys started talking to me about Civil War history. We continued the discussion at a coffee shop. We were having an intense enlightening conversation. The next thing you know one of the guys goes, ‘I wanna do a line to wake up.’ So I leave 'em to it. I get in my truck and keep going. They weren’t my type of people. They were brainiacs like you. And if you are going back to university, so many people do drugs there, it’s unreal. It’s part of college life now to do glass to stay up.”
“I know.”
“You need to understand some simple things. All kinds of challenges are gonna come at you – bam! - ’cause you’re back out there again.”
“I’m not gonna worry about it. My mum’s more worried than I am.”
“That’s ’cause she loves you. You’re getting out, the weather’s gonna hit you, your mom’s face, your father’s face, your sister, the smell of the house, memories, memories good, memories bad, you’ll think about stuff that happened here – the American women – and your gonna miss that. There’s gonna be times when you feel bored, lonely, incomplete, and those are the moments when you’ve gotta make the right choices. In your little town there’s not gonna be a whole lotta things going on on the surface.”
“I know, but I intend to go back to university.”
“For what?”
“Creative writing.”
“You’re an intelligent man, you don’t need a professor to teach you something you already know how to do.”
“I need refinement.”
“And practice will bring you that. Find some interesting characters to write about. You’ll be like Dickens.
I’ve come to realise, patience is the key when you first get out of prison. You have to develop things, build things slowly. There’s people who are positive and negative that are going to be coming into your life – some will be sneaky, some will be outright. If they catch you in certain moods and situations and you make a bad choice, you will fall. It doesn’t matter if they’re in a stretch limo or a Mini Cooper, you hafta be able to size them up and make the right choices in every situation you are in. When I first got out, I thought I’d changed from my old ways, but I went back to it in a different way. There’s levels of stupidity. You think, Well, I’ve changed. I’ll do it this way now. I’ll go to the clubs, but not get in the mix. I’ll just get a drink, say hello to a few people and leave. But then you fall right back into it.”
“My focus is on writing, not clubbing.”
“So you’ve made a conscious decision that that’s what you’re gonna focus on in your life?”
“If you’re set with that then you can’t deviate if things go south.”
“I won’t, I’ll persevere.”
“You never know what tomorrow will throw at you. There are levels of intensity you’ve gotta go through, like being a Royal Marine set on defending England. Or the guys with the bearskin caps that stand there without blinking. It takes a special man to be able to do that – English focus – and you have that in your blood. You have ability, just apply it. Apply the positive you’ve learned; the negative, get rid of it. Stay focussed on your objective. Don’t allow small-minded people to come along and bring you down. With a mind like yours, you’re gonna make money, but challenges will arise. And don’t forget to sit down with Mom and Pop.”
“I won’t.”
“I know you won’t go back to your old ways because if you do then you’re gonna have to deal with me.”
“I’m gonna miss ya, man.”
“I’m gonna miss you too. L ’n’ R, my friend.”
“L ’n’ R and God bless you.”
Through Yard 1’s perimeter fence, I shook one of the biggest hands I’ve ever seen - the hand of T-Bone.

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
07 Nov 07

Cell Search

“Attwood,” said a female officer, “step outside of your cell in your shower shoes. You have been chosen to have your cell searched.”
“OK,” I said. I stepped out onto the run and continued to read my book.
Two guards entered my cell: the female and a male.
“Oh,” the female said, nose raised, sniffing the air, “so you’ve been smoking in your cell.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Like I can’t smell the smoke,” she said.
“It comes through the vents,” I said.
“Yeah, right,” she said.
I felt a flush of irritation and thought, No matter what I say I’m just another lying inmate to her, so I’d better say nothing at all.
“When did they move you from D run?”
“The last time I was on D run was on Yard 4.”
“I’m talking about Yard 1. You’re the one always hanging out on D run.”
Here she goes again, I thought. “I think you’ve got me confused,” I said.
“No. I remember seeing you always hanging out on D run. You were over there all of the time.”
“I stay in my cell reading and writing.”
Her face pinched with disbelief. I stayed silent.
“Where’s your TV at?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have one?”
“No. Like I said, I read and write all day.”
“Aren’t you getting out soon?” the other officer asked.
“Next week,” I said, and immediately the guards looked at each other with the same expression that said, He’s getting out next week so he must have sold his TV.
“So you don’t watch TV, eh?” she said, smiling knowingly.
“No, I don’t. I try not to waste my time,” I said.
“You’ve been down long enough to get a TV.”
“I don’t have one by choice.”
“Hmm,” she said. “It must be inconvenient to have us come along and disrupt your day.”
Why is she provoking me? I thought.
“What, are you tongue-tied now?” she said.
I ignored her. They eventually left my cell. Then, antagonising all of the prisoners and a few guards who knew I didn't have a TV, she had every cell on the yard searched for the TV set of mine.

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

06 Nov 07

Parting Advice from T-Bone

“One of the things,” T-Bone began, “you need to do is to sit down at the table with Mom and Pop and learn who they really are as human beings.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“How long have they been married?”
“Nearly forty years.”
“Can you imagine all the ups and downs they’ve been through over the years? Yet they are still together. They are successful people. Learn how they did it, so you can grow and obtain wisdom and knowledge and understanding. You’ve been through some things in the States and you didn’t connect with your family in the right way. I’m telling you as a man, you need to sit down with them over a cup of tea. Do you have the guts to do it?”
“I hope so.”
“And when you’re talking with them, if your heart doesn’t jump with pride, honour, and astonishment then you’re empty inside ’cause what they’ve done takes strength.
You also need to stay away from chicks who are party girls, and to focus on one woman. What are you gonna do if you meet some chick in a flimsy little outfit, a fishnet dress maybe, and she’s five-seven, nicely built, up on heels and with plenty of makeup on, and she has a bunch of X, and she comes to you and says, ‘Bring your pretty little butt over here, Jonny?’ You have to make a choice. She’s mesmerizing. She’s tantalizing. She’s sexy. Her breath smells like cinnamon and jasmine. Her bed is perfumed with myrrh and aloes like the harlot in Proverbs 7. Are you gonna go for the temptation that leads you down the path of destruction?”
“Are you gonna allow her perfume and drugs to seduce you, to take you to the demonic realm?”
“I’m out of that lifestyle.”

To be continued…

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
4 Nov 07

The Royo Romance (19) Continued

Click here for Part 18.

I introduced Barry to Royo Girl, and said, “So how are your sons doing?”
“Jay just got a ticket for peeing in public.”
“Oh no!” I said.
“A two-hundred-and-thirty-three-dollar ticket.”
“What happened?”
“He went into a Circle K to use the bathroom and they wouldn’t let him, so he went around the corner and peed right in front of an unmarked cop car.”
Royo Girl and I laughed.
"That's an expensive pee."
The conversation got round to showers.
“Are the showers in here," Barry asked,"a column with a bunch of showerheads coming out and everyone’s running around naked?”
“No. They’re tiny cubicles with doors you can shut. Half of them don’t work, and they’re full of bugs. But at least there’s privacy, unless someone opens your door.”
“Has that happened to you?”
“Oh, yes. On Yard 4, Xena and George and Frankie were always trying to barge in the shower with me. And you see men going in the shower with men.”
“What?” Barry said.
“I can’t begin to describe all the stuff that goes on in here. There’s people who have sex with shampoo bottles in the shower, the bottles get stuck, and they end up at Medical.”
“I imagine you’ve seen it all,” Barry said.
“I’ve seen or heard enough.”
“And have you still not gone with a cheeto?” Royo Girl asked.
“No. But Xena was demanding a parting kiss before I leave, and when I told Kat, Kat said, 'We can go one better than that'.”
Watching Royo Girl and I talk, Barry suddenly said, “You two would be perfect for each other.”
We both blushed, but I felt more happy than embarrassed. Then I felt proud.
“He’s too wild,” Royo Girl said.
“But you’re the perfect calming influence on me.”
“I think she would be a good influence,” Barry said.
Turning to Barry, Royo Girl said, “He needs to focus on himself.”
“I’d rather focus on you.”
Flustering slightly, Royo Girl said, “He sometimes acts like I’m being mean or something.”
“I like it when you put me in check. I would thrive if I were with someone like you. Don’t be fooled, Barry, she has a wild side too. She has a tattoo on her tailbone.”
“They call them,” Royo Girl said, “tramp stamps these days.”
Barry and I laughed.
While they joked about tramp stamps, I examined the tattoos on Barry’s arms: a band of barbed wire, flames around seven skulls, and a green dragon below a moon.

I enjoyed the company of Barry. After sharing hugs, he left half an hour before the end of the visit.
“Did you put Barry up to that?”
“To what?”
“To saying we would be perfect for each other?”
“I didn’t even know he was coming. He must have formed his own opinion. Do you disagree with what he said?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I feel there is something between us. Something I can’t put in words.”
“But you put it into words on the blog.”
“Last time I let my feelings for you flow, you backed off. You don’t want a fawning man, you want someone who's tough.”
“But not too tough. Did you really say those things to T-Bone you blogged?”
"Yes. T-Bone knows how I feel about you. He’s encouraged me all along, even when you backed off he said you were coming to see me because you love me and we’d end up together somehow.”
“And how do you feel about me now?”
“Look what happened last time I laid my cards on the table. I’m not going to act like that again. I just hope we meet in England, and see what happens. I gave you my heart once, and I even blogged it.”
“I feel my intentions have been misconstrued at the blog.”
“I know you have good intentions and maybe you intend to visit me in England.”
“That’s not a maybe. I will – eventually.”
“And then what?”
“Who’s to say what the future holds. We will always be good friends.”
“Say we become more than that?”
“Why live in hypothetical worlds?”
“Good answer, but it doesn’t have to be hypothetical.”
“I knew you would say that, and that’s not quite what I had in mind.”
“Visitation is over!”

We stood up, and embraced. I was captivated by the scent on her neck and the softness of her skin. Her lips found mine with a passion I had not expected. The kiss seemed to confirm her feelings for me - or was I imagining things? I broke off the kiss but still held her close. We kissed again with the same passion and my mind wobbled. The second kiss crushed any doubts I had – and as I write this two hours later I’m still full of excitement.

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
21 Nov 07

Moved to Florence

Jon has been moved to Florence (Not in Italy!) immigration holding centre. He is expecting to be there for three to four weeks. He has asked us to post his address for anyone who would like to write to him. He couldn't say goodbye to his friends at Santa Rita, and he is feeling quite lonely, but happy to be on his way home soon.

Shaun Attwood # A75693747
SPC Florence
3250 N. Pinal Parkway Ave
AZ 85232.
05 Nov 07

Wild Man

The closer I am to getting out, the more I'm thinking about when I first arrived at the Madison Street jail.

“Where they taking us?” Cody asked.
“The Horseshoe,” Wild Man said. “We’ll be stuck in filthy holding cells for days while they process us.”
“Why they call it The Horseshoe?” Cody asked.
“’Cause you go in at one end, and work your way round the cells in a horseshoe shape,” Wild Man said. “They kept me in there for a week one time ’cause I wouldn’t tell them my name.”

The van parked in a subterranean lot. A transportation officer allowed the women out first. The thirty or so male arrestees waiting to go inside the jail stopped heckling the prostitutes in the line and focussed on my female friends:
“Ooh, babies!”
“Nice ass!”
“Show us your titties!”
“Come and play with the bad boys!”
“This way, honey!”
“With those boobs, I’m surprised you ain’t got two black eyes!”
Shuffling toward the men, the women cowered. The last woman out of the van was Wild Woman.

From inside the van, Wild Man watched his fiancée. Other than an eyebrow reacting – one shot up and stayed up, while the other didn’t budge – he seemed unperturbed. But I knew that particular eyebrow formation meant he was about to do something in character with his name.

In a Liverpudlian brogue that sounded as if she were hawking phlegm, Wild Woman scolded the men, who responded by turning up the volume of their chant, “Show us yer boobs!”

“Get out of the van!” a transportation officer yelled.

Wild Man stooped out, stopped on the top step, and unfurled the physique of a bear. He cocked his head back, targeting the men over his Viking’s beard. “If you don’t pack it in and leave my woman alone, I’ll have any of you when we get inside those cells.” He pointed at The Horseshoe, and grinned. “If you think I won’t, just keep it up and see what happens.” Wild Man laughed in a way that said he really knew how to hurt someone. That shut up most of the men.
“You, get down those steps!” a transportation officer yelled. "Fuck you, pig!” Wild Man said, and stepped down.

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

4 Nov 07

Royo Romance (19)
Click here for 19B.

In the prison visitation room.
“I read some of the nasty comments people have made about me at your blog,” Royo Girl said.
“What nasty comments?” I asked.
“That I’m leading you on, and I’m not a good person.”

“But you’ve gone out of your way so many times to visit me and bring some happiness into my life.”
“There were some comments on my side.”
“I put my own comment on anonymously.”
“Nice one," I said, laughing. "I’m glad you stuck up for yourself.”
“How’s your release and deportation arrangements going?”
“I’m due to be picked up by immigration on the 16th of November. They’ll take me to a holding centre. Either Florence or Eloy. I hope it doesn't take them too long to put me on a plane for England.”
“So are you prepared for freedom?”
“Yes. But my mum’s worrying about how I’ll adjust"
"That's only natural. Your folks have been through a lot."
"Yes, But I’m not phased. I can’t wait to embrace the world. I feel the best I’ve ever felt in my life.”
“But are you prepared for both sides?”
“What do you mean?”
“The positive and the negative.”
“Like what?”
“Like how people are going to respond to you.”
“I’ve not tried to hide who I am. People can respond however they wish to respond.”
“People may be wary of you coming from prison.”
“That’s on them. Prison has made me who I am today. I am happy with who I’ve become.”
“I think prison has made you a better person.”
“Thanks,” I said, pausing to admire how she looked with her hair in a headband.

Suddenly, a guard summoned me to his desk.
“Did you know you have another visitor?” he said.
“No,” I said.
“Well,” he said, looking over at Royo Girl, “I can stop the person from coming in if you’d like?”
“Let’s not do that. Let’s find out who it is.”
“OK.” He made a call and ascertained it was Barry from Tonopah (the father of my ex fiancée, Claudia).
“Let him in,” I said.
Barry entered and we hugged. The ex-biker had lost a lot of weight due to medical problems, including seizures.
“Thanks for coming Barry. I didn’t expect this. I have a visitor right now, so come and join us.”
“You have a visitor?”
“I just wanted to surprise you. Where’s the visitor at?”
I pointed to Royo Girl.
“Then maybe I shouldn’t stay.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s great to see you. But near the end of the visit I’d like to get some kissing in.”
“With me?”
“We’ll have to save that for another occasion.”
“In that case I’ll leave before the end.”

Visit continued/…

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

03 Nov 07

Interview with a Homey who found Jesus (3)

“What do homies get up to?”
“It’s just like everybody else – we ain’t aliens.”
“You go to bars?”
“Go clubbing, house parties, go party at your own house.”
“Doing drugs?”
“There’s a lotta cats getting high offa weed. Some cats sniff coke. Some cats do shrooms. Most times you’ll catch a cat smoking bud, getting budded.”
“How do homies support themselves financially?”
“Some get jobs. We normal people too – we gotta eat. You can hustle for yours, get out there and grind. Some slang. Some cats in the neighbourhood will move some stuff if they have to – you gotta do whattya gotta do.”
“What tunes do you listen to?”
“You got Damu Riders, Mack 10 is a Blood, but we listen to a little bit of everything. Some cats listen to the Blood-supported rap more than anything. Here’s some Damu Riders:

Whatchoo gonna do when you get out of jail?
I’m gonna kill some Crabs
What do you consider Crabs?
Fags with flue rags.

And here’s a saying that goes:

I gotta fluebird on my shoulder
Should I kill it?

I used to have a burned CD of some of the stuff.”
“Is there anything you’d like to say before we finish?”
“I want people to understand that I’m doing this blog witchoo right now to show people we ain’t all hardheads. Sometimes it’s just a way of life. For me, I made some bad mistakes, you know, and I’m not necessarily proud of them. When I get out, I’m not gonna continue that lifestyle. I’ve found better ways to live my life. It’s not all about going out there and tripping over a colour, or a block you don’t even know. And for cats trying to get into gangs I’d say it’s not worth it. It might be cool for a minute, but after a while you wanna look for a better way of life – but the way out of a gang can cost you your life or put you behind these walls for a long time. I’ve given my life to Christ, and that’s a major turnaround for me. It’s opened my eyes. I realise there’s homies out there I wuz kicking it with who aren’t alive today. I’m alive today and I realise Jesus Christ gave me a second chance at life 'cause when I entered prison I wuz looking at a lotta time.”
“Alrigh,t Fat Boy, thanks a lot.”

Flue is a derogatory term for blue, the colour worn by Crips
Crab is a derogatory term for Crips – used by Bloods
Bud is a marijuana cigarette

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
1 Nov 07

My Plan

From a letter to my parents:

I have just finished reading a Solzhenitsyn bio that I started two days ago and couldn’t put down. It’s as if fate has stepped in just before my release and strengthened my commitment to making a go of writing.

My suffering can’t compare with what Solzhenitsyn had to endure, yet he rose from prison to spearhead the literary elite of Russia. Death called on him so many times: on the front fighting the Nazis, in Russian prisons, and then in the form of cancer. Reading about the odds he overcome has inspired me. From prison he was exiled to Kazakhstan where he knew no one, and he ended up lodging in a corner of a kitchen in an old couple’s house.

As for me, I have your loving home to go to. He set strict limits on his social life and gave writing his all. He funnelled his prison experiences into fiction in such an honest and compelling way that his book about Ivan Denisovich caused a revolution in Russian writing. This quote really touched me:

The writer’s tasks concern more general and eternal questions – the secrets of the human heart and conscience, the clash between life and death, and the overcoming of inner sorrow.”

These Russian literary geniuses (including Tolstoy and Chekhov) seem to have a knack for penetrating the human soul and portraying it in an uplifting way in their prose. Not that I could come anywhere near the genius of these great writers, but I’ve tried to go in that direction and as I continue my writing should mature.

Anyway, I learned a lot more from this bio than I can convey in this letter – especially how I need to have a disciplined work ethic, like I had when I began stockbroking. I’m used to a monastic life, so you locking me in the
garage and feeding me meagre meals won’t be a problem.

I don’t intend to succumb to the temptations of my former life. I need to be with people who will have a positive influence on my life. I would like to use the knowledge I’ve gained to help with prison reform, help young offenders or speak to youngsters about my involvement with drugs and how I ended up in prison.

I’ve certainly undergone the “impoverishment and devastation” that according to Thomas Mann, constitute the preliminary conditions to serious writing. And Solzhenitsyn claimed:
“Good literature arises out of pain.” I would like to expose injustice through my writing. I’m willing to make the necessary sacrifices. I’d be happy to accomplish a fraction of what Solzhenitsyn accomplished.

With your help, I just need to follow through on the opportunities that continue to come my way, and to keep myself emotionally stable.

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
30 Oct 07

Interview with a Homey who found Jesus (2)

“With the Blood language I picked up, when you talk, you know, you drop the C on a lotta stuff. If it starts with a C you replace it with a B, for instance, a cigarette would be a bigarette, and a homey is bicking back not kicking back. When you see a Crip walking, sporting all blue, you’d say, ‘That cat’s all watered down. That fool’s all flued up.’”
“Would you attack him?”
“Sometimes, and sometimes not. If you’re driving by and you see a Crab [Crip], one of your homies sticks his head out of the window and says, ‘Whattup, Blood. Where you from?’ If he responds with his hood, he’s disrespecting, so you start disrespecting back till the fool gets hands put on him.”
“How badly do hands get put on him?”
“We usually beat them down and run off. Once he’s on the ground and can’t get back up, we spit on him and jump in the ride.”
“Can girls be homies?”
“She’s your homegirl.”
“How does she join?”
“A man is either born in the hood or jumped in. For a girl, she can be born in the hood or jumped in if there’s enough girls to jump her in, or she gets banged in.”
“Banged in?”
“Everybody has their turn with her.”
“And she knowingly enters into this?”
“If she wants to get into the gang she knows what she’s doing. I’m gonna keep it real though: I haven’t witnessed it.”
“What other slang do you have for girls?”
“You’ve got hoes, bitches, breezies.”
“Oh boy, sorry I asked.”
“These are girls you’re messing around with and don’t give a damn about, you know, you’ll bring you’re homies in and let your homies hit it.”
“Don’t you think words like bitch are a little harsh?”
“It’s like when you talk to a pimp, he’s gonna call his girls bitches, hoes, whatever.”
“Say you fall for a woman?”
“Then you don’t bring her around your homies, and if you do, it’s only homies you trust.”
“What do homegirls do?”
“If you call up your homegirl, she’ll bring homegirls. If she’s for the hood, you ain’t gonna disrespect her, you’re not gonna call her no ho. But don’t get me wrong, some girls in the neighbourhood are known as neighbourhood hoes.”

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
28 Oct 07

Dear Mum (Part 2)

Thanks for the birthday card and kind words. I received loads of cards. Please thank the blog readers for sending them. I’ve been re-reading them today, my birthday, and they’ve cheered me up. Next birthday I’ll be celebrating with my family.

I appreciate the motherly and protective concerns that you expressed in your last letter. I know that you worry because you care for me, but I think you are worrying a bit too much, and this is what is making you ill.

Max wrote from Las Vegas saying how well he is doing there, and how the things he had worried about before getting released didn’t even come to pass. You are concerned over how I’ll cope with freedom, but, like Max, I have a family and a home to go to, all of which will make rehabilitation easier. Many prisoners are released and have to survive on their own. For me coping applies to being in prison and dealing with daily hazards, such as striving to maintain health and sanity. I’m leaving all that behind and the coping skills I’ve learned in here will help me on the outside.

You are worried about my intention to isolate myself and concentrate on writing. You interpreted this to mean that if I’m around certain people, I’ll be tempted to get involved in the kind of things that led me to wearing pink boxers, and so to avoid temptation I’m going to cut myself off from everyone. I know you want the best for me, but your interpretation is wide of the mark. I don’t intend to cut myself off from everyone. I need to talk to and meet people. I hope, if I’m lucky, to go out on some dates. The shutting myself off you mentioned refers to my commitment to a disciplined routine, which I’ll need to further my writing.

Your concerns apply to the former me. My immature self had his wild-partying-oats-sowing days. Those days are long gone, and I’ve been forced to change and mature in prison. Such wild behaviour is far removed from my present persona. I’m driving myself forward and all the temptations in the world will not stop me.

You claim I’m unbalanced – ah! – you’ve got me there. Unbalanced, I am. But bipolarity can provide the energy needed to excel at things many people would give up on. Don’t worry, I intend to take breaks and have some fun, but I have no desire to revisit the excesses of my former life. And nothing or no one could ever influence me to do so.

You are also trying to soften the blow of my reckless behaviour by rationalising it away on the influence of my friends. But the truth is I chose those friends and chose to behave in that way.

My heart is now in the right place, so stop worrying because the former me no longer exists. Try to be happy for the new me who has so much to look forward to when he gets home.

Love you loads,


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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
27 Oct 07

Interview with a Homey who found Jesus (1)

“What’s a homey?” I asked.
“Well,” Fat Boy said, “a homey is slang for like a friend. When the word homey came out it was like somebody who’s down for you, like somebody who was real – know what I mean? – and now homey is used real loosely, like towards an acquaintance.”
“Which homies in Tucson did you hang out with?”
“A lot of the people I kicked it with were from different hoods – all Bloods though. There’s Edith Street Posse Blood Gang, South Side Posse Blood Gang, Southpark, Western Hills, and Vista Blood that split up into two rival gangs: South Side Familia and Rocka Familia.”
“What does blood mean to you?”
“Blood is thicker than water. Bloods hang tight to each other. Everywhere we went we wuz always in groups, you know, rolling in packs.”
“Can anyone be a homey?”
“No. When a cat you know comes through you don’t necessarily call him your homey. A homey is someone you know for a minute [a long time] who’s down for you, who’s not gonna run when the stuff hits the fan.”
“Say some beef pops off, you know, a cat from another hood is running his mouth, you know, and he’s got his boys, and you’re rolling with yours, and you know that each one of those dudes with you is gonna scrap with you if they have to.”
“Why do beefs pop off?”
“Maybe a rival gang member doesn’t like the colour you’re wearing. There’s a lotta cats that hate for any reason: the ride you’re driving, the gang you’re rolling with, the girls you’ve got with you. Or they might see you flashing money, pulling out a wad Then you’ve got cats who once they get drunk they wanna get stupid. A cat may not like what you said.”
“Let’s talk about the slang you use.”

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
25 Oct 07

The Royo Romance (18)

Click here for Part 17.

From Royo Girl:

There has been a lot going on recently, which I would prefer to tell you in person. I would love to come visit you while you are still at Tucson prison. You can also call me if you want to, here is my telephone number. I will figure out when I can come see you to explain all. Until then….

To Royo Girl:

I was delighted to receive your letter as previously you’d said that the food visit would be your last visit to this prison. Naturally, I can’t wait to see you and to hear what’s been going on in your life. It sounds like you have something important to tell me, and you certainly have roused my curiosity.

My sister was recently married and I’m enclosing my favourite picture of her special day. Her happy face says it all. The handsome groom looks like he’s moving in for a kiss as she explodes in delight. It’s to be hoped that I can make a woman so happy some day.

Missing you loads. Can’t wait to give you a hug and a kiss.

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

20 Oct 07

To Kiss Xena?

“My friend, Barry in Tonopah, told me someone commented on a Royo Girl blog that I should get a kiss from you before I’m released,” I said to Xena.
“Listen, honey,” Xena said. “I’ll give you a big ol’ kiss. I’ll slip some tongue down your throat too. And while I’m at it, I’ll slip my panties in your pocket so you have something to remember me by when you get out. That way you can tie my panties to the corner of your pillow, so when you go to sleep at night you can smell my taint."
“Taint my ass. The only problem is the panties are gonna look like a gunny sac. I can’t help it, I have a big package. I used to tie myself off to the side of my leg, but my leg would always fall asleep. I had problems with my knees once and I realised it was 'cause every time I jumped out of bed my penis would slap one knee or the other. The only good thing about it is: I am never weaponless. Everyone knows Xena carries a big glove.”
A passing female guard said, “ That’s a lotta info there, Xena.”
“I’m,” Xena said, “gonna give the Brit plenty to remember me by – including a kiss. Royo Girl ain’t got nothin’ on this.” Xena spanked his behind.

Is granting Xena a kiss the right thing to do on the eve of my release? And what kind of kiss do you recommend?

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

Birthday Thanks

During our weekly phone call to Jon he said to thank everyone who sent him birthday cards, which are still arriving daily.

Thank you for reading the blog and for all your support for Jon. Writing the blog and your response to it has helped maintain Jon’s sanity over the passed five and a half years, and has helped us cope with having a son in prison.

Jon’s parents

14 Oct 07

The Exorcism

“Did I tell you about the time I was exorcised by the Assembly of God church?” Two Tonys said.
“No,” I said. “This I’ve got to hear. How did that happen?”
“A wannabe gangster by the name of George Furagie, who claimed he was a drummer in a band workin’ for the Campisi family, moved to Tucson. The Campisis were a deadly mob outta New Jersey. He starts hangin’ out at my restaurant in a black suit, black shirt, white tie, and hair all sprayed down lookin’ like he just stepped outta The Godfather. I can tell that when it’s time for some Mobster nitty-gritty he ain’t got no heart, but I let him play his game. He’s as enthusiastic about me as if I were Frank Sinatra, so I figure I can use him for some lightweight this-and-that.
Unknown to me, also in Tucson at that time – late ’79, early ’80 – is a Russian-Jewish killer, Ira Peznick, formerly of the Campisis but now in the Witness Protection Program. There’s a book about Peznick called To Drop A Dime. The Campisis wanna kill this guy.
I’m in my restaurant, and I hear sirens, and see ambulances and fire engines at the nearby Shell gas station. The fire department are workin’ on a guy who’s had a heart attack.
Later on Furagie comes in and says, ‘You’re not gonna believe this. I pulled up at a red light down the street here, and I look over, and I see this guy that looks familiar. He’s standin’ and starin’ at me and I’m starin’ at him, and we go our separate ways. The guy drives three blocks, pulls in the Shell gas station right here, has a heart attack, and gets out yellin’, ‘Call the police. They’re after me! They’re after me!’ It was Ira Peznick, and he thought I was out to get him.’
Is it possible? I don’t know. But Peznick’s heart attack was all over the news with witnesses quotin’ him sayin’, ‘They’re after me!’ Arizona is a hot area for Witness Protection. Sammy the Bull was placed in Arizona.
Now I go to the joint and Furagie comes and visits me.
I get out in ’85. Furagie’s in Tucson, sellin’ cars, and he’s got a Chicana wife. And I’ll be damned if he hadn’t turned into a born-again Christian. He’s in at the deep end of the religious pool, and his wife is too. He shows me his house and picks up an ocotillo cactus skeleton in the shape of a cross. He says, ‘Look what we found. This is God talkin’ to me. We found it when we were lookin’ to buy the house. It was a sign we should buy it.’ He invites me to stay with them. I’m a little wary but I say OK. He tells me he gets up early every mornin’ to go to a prayer meetin’, and he asks me to come. He’s so enthused. I say, ‘Fuck it. Let’s go.’
At 5 am we’re up and on our way, and he has a flat tire. Furagie says, ‘See what Satan did?’ I say, ‘What?’ He says, ‘He gave me a flat tire. Satan’s always workin’ tryin’ to upset me and mess up my schedule.’ He’s as happy as can be fixin’ the flat tire. He’s happy-go-lucky, carefree, whistlin’ like the flat was the best thing that ever happened to the motherfucker in the whole world. I’m thinkin’ of poppin’ the goofy motherfucker in the head, puttin’ him to sleep, puttin’ him outta his misery.
Back on the road to the church he tells me, ‘The reason I joined the Assembly of God is 'cause a church member told me that the Lord had spoken to him and told him that a drummer was being sent from the east to join the congregation.’
There’s ten guys at the prayer meetin’. Hardware store people, chiropractors, shit like that. I don’t know what to do. I sit down and they surround me in a circle. They start prayin’ and puttin’ their fuckin’ hands on me. When they start talkin’ in tongues – skoobydawackeeballamackasallikodo - I realise I’m being exorcised. And they’re all talkin’ in different tongues.
I’m thinkin’: Whatthafuck has Furagie done? Howthafuck did I get myself in this situation? I’m fresh outta the joint and Furagie’s house is a good crash pad and the grub is good but by tryin’ to save a few bucks, I’ve fucked myself. It’s six in the mornin’ and I’m at the Assembly of God church surrounded by a bunch of holy-rollin’ motherfuckers prayin’ for me to cast out the devil like I’m Attila the fuckin’ Hun. But I can’t hate 'em. They’re not tryin’ to pick my pocket or sell me nothin’. They’re just tryin’ to bring me into their flock. I guess that’s the bottom line with these motherfuckers: get a guy in your flock.
After ten minutes, I’m getting’ pissed off: Let’s get this over with. I wanna giddthafuckouttahere. This goofy motherfucker Furagie has got me trapped down here with a buncha religious fanatics still talkin’ in tongues outta the side of their necks. On the way home, I’m gonna put Furagie’s head in a cholla cactus and make sure the needles stick in his fuckin’ eyeballs.”
“Did you give him the cactus treatment?”
“No. I just say, ‘Hey George, whatthafucks up with that? Why take me down that road? I didn’t as for that.’ He says, ‘Look, even if I’m wrong, it ain’t hurtin’ nothin’. It’s changed my life.’ I tell him. ‘Well it ain’t for me. And your life ain’t about shit anyway. You’re a car salesman, that’s all you are.’”
“What became of Furagie?”
“I stopped my buddy Louie Marconi from beatin’ him up, and I never saw him again. He’s probably one of those sorry-asses who send Jimmy Swaggart money. Swaggart’s with Assembly of God. He keep’s gettin’ caught with naked prostitutes, but his flock keep forgivin’ the sick motherfucker, and sendin’ him even more money. Swaggart’s in de bizz-ness. Bein’ kept rich by sad motherfuckers like Furagie."

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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood