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.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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
Florence
AZ 85232.
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
Florence
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.
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
The Royo Romance (19)
Click here for 19B.
The 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.”
“Good.”
“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?”
“Yes.”
“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
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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,
Jon
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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,
Jon
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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.”
“Stuff?”
“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.”
“OK.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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.”
“Stuff?”
“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.”
“OK.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
25 Oct 07
The Royo Romance (18)
The Royo Romance (18)
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.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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?”
“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?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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?”
“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?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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."
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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."
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
12 Oct 07
Psychotherapy with Dr. T. (5)
“I’m comin’ out of my cage
An' I’m doin’ just fine”
- Killers "Mr. Brightside"
“To live, to err, to fail, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.”
- James Joyce A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
“You look happy,” Dr. T. said.
“Yes,” I said, beaming with excitement.
“My release was finally processed last week. I should be leaving here next month. Do you have any advice for me when I get out?”
“Get some therapy set up.”
“We have the National Health Service in the UK, I’ll see if I can continue therapy with them."
“And look how revved up you are right now. Your enthusiasm is worrying me. You need to slow down, pull yourself back. Don’t allow yourself to ascend up into the clouds.”
“But I’m so close to getting out. I’m sincerely happy to be alive.”
“But when you get overwrought like this you’re apt to making stupid decisions. There’s enthusiasm, and there’s giddiness, and you’re almost giddy.”
“Feeling happy hypomanic is one of the best feelings in the world.”
“I have two dogs at home and one of them nearly got herself euthanised.”
“Why was that?”
“Because she was bounding around with over-excitement, jumping up on people and grabbing their arms with her forelegs. That’s how your excitement is coming across right now. Your emotional side has taken over. The rational side needs to be running the show. If the rational part is in control then you’ll stop and think before you make decisions. You’ll ask yourself: does this make sense? Does this lead to trouble? What is the downside?”
“As far as the bigger picture is concerned, I feel that my prison experience has enabled me to do that.”
“Then you should be able to stay out of trouble and not end up back in prison.”
“I’ve got a plan for when I get out. I’m determined to live the disciplined life it requires. When I came to the U.S. I worked long hours on the phone as a stockbroker, and now I intend to make a similar commitment to becoming a writer.”
“So what’s this plan you have?”
“To maintain a strict writing discipline. To write daily, and not to be swayed by the pleasures of my past. I recently read a Solzhenitsyn biography, and he wrote for so many hours a day, not allowing any interruptions. And the odds against him succeeding were overwhelming. If he could get out of the Gulag and accomplish so much by maintaining such a discipline, then I’m ready to take on the world.”
“Take on the world! There you go again. Why do you feel the need to take on the world?”
“That’s just the way I am.”
“But isn’t that what got you into trouble in the past?”
“I have this manic energy, and in the past I got into trouble because I used it in a negative way, that ended up with me being sent to jail. But if I use the energy in a positive way, I can do well and avoid trouble. That’s my goal. I was way too immature before. I feel that my experience has tempered me somewhat, although I recognise I am still immature in certain ways. I’ve tried to eliminate those immaturities that led me to prison, while maintaining a spontaneous spirit, in the sense of how Jung recommended we try to harness the energy of our inner child.”
“But when you’re too spontaneous, consequences suddenly arise that you hadn’t thought about.”
“That’s been the story of my life, and the hardest lesson for me to learn. When I say I’m ready to take on the world, I mean I’m excited to pursue the plan I’ve formulated to achieve my long-term goals. When I think how close I am to employing everything I’ve learned while in prison to the purpose of succeeding in the outside world, I’m thrilled.”
“Well don’t get so thrilled that you’re like my dog jumping up on a visitor with a look that says, ‘Let me chew on your arm, please.’” Dr. T. held up her hand, pressed her forefinger to her thumb, and said, “I’m telling you, she was this close to getting euthanised.” Her emphatic voice and widening eyes seemed to suggest that I too could end up euthanised if I didn’t temper my excitement.
“I’m not averse to chewing on someone's arm.”
Dr. T. laughed. “Well, I truly wish you luck out there.”
“And thank you for all of the sessions. I’m going to be all right on the outside.”
“As you’re pursuing these grand plans of yours don’t forget to pull yourself back from time to time and to ask yourself whether what you’re doing is going to lead to trouble.”
“I certainly will!”
“Good luck then.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Psychotherapy with Dr. T. (5)
“I’m comin’ out of my cage
An' I’m doin’ just fine”
- Killers "Mr. Brightside"
“To live, to err, to fail, to triumph, to recreate life out of life.”
- James Joyce A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
“You look happy,” Dr. T. said.
“Yes,” I said, beaming with excitement.
“My release was finally processed last week. I should be leaving here next month. Do you have any advice for me when I get out?”
“Get some therapy set up.”
“We have the National Health Service in the UK, I’ll see if I can continue therapy with them."
“And look how revved up you are right now. Your enthusiasm is worrying me. You need to slow down, pull yourself back. Don’t allow yourself to ascend up into the clouds.”
“But I’m so close to getting out. I’m sincerely happy to be alive.”
“But when you get overwrought like this you’re apt to making stupid decisions. There’s enthusiasm, and there’s giddiness, and you’re almost giddy.”
“Feeling happy hypomanic is one of the best feelings in the world.”
“I have two dogs at home and one of them nearly got herself euthanised.”
“Why was that?”
“Because she was bounding around with over-excitement, jumping up on people and grabbing their arms with her forelegs. That’s how your excitement is coming across right now. Your emotional side has taken over. The rational side needs to be running the show. If the rational part is in control then you’ll stop and think before you make decisions. You’ll ask yourself: does this make sense? Does this lead to trouble? What is the downside?”
“As far as the bigger picture is concerned, I feel that my prison experience has enabled me to do that.”
“Then you should be able to stay out of trouble and not end up back in prison.”
“I’ve got a plan for when I get out. I’m determined to live the disciplined life it requires. When I came to the U.S. I worked long hours on the phone as a stockbroker, and now I intend to make a similar commitment to becoming a writer.”
“So what’s this plan you have?”
“To maintain a strict writing discipline. To write daily, and not to be swayed by the pleasures of my past. I recently read a Solzhenitsyn biography, and he wrote for so many hours a day, not allowing any interruptions. And the odds against him succeeding were overwhelming. If he could get out of the Gulag and accomplish so much by maintaining such a discipline, then I’m ready to take on the world.”
“Take on the world! There you go again. Why do you feel the need to take on the world?”
“That’s just the way I am.”
“But isn’t that what got you into trouble in the past?”
“I have this manic energy, and in the past I got into trouble because I used it in a negative way, that ended up with me being sent to jail. But if I use the energy in a positive way, I can do well and avoid trouble. That’s my goal. I was way too immature before. I feel that my experience has tempered me somewhat, although I recognise I am still immature in certain ways. I’ve tried to eliminate those immaturities that led me to prison, while maintaining a spontaneous spirit, in the sense of how Jung recommended we try to harness the energy of our inner child.”
“But when you’re too spontaneous, consequences suddenly arise that you hadn’t thought about.”
“That’s been the story of my life, and the hardest lesson for me to learn. When I say I’m ready to take on the world, I mean I’m excited to pursue the plan I’ve formulated to achieve my long-term goals. When I think how close I am to employing everything I’ve learned while in prison to the purpose of succeeding in the outside world, I’m thrilled.”
“Well don’t get so thrilled that you’re like my dog jumping up on a visitor with a look that says, ‘Let me chew on your arm, please.’” Dr. T. held up her hand, pressed her forefinger to her thumb, and said, “I’m telling you, she was this close to getting euthanised.” Her emphatic voice and widening eyes seemed to suggest that I too could end up euthanised if I didn’t temper my excitement.
“I’m not averse to chewing on someone's arm.”
Dr. T. laughed. “Well, I truly wish you luck out there.”
“And thank you for all of the sessions. I’m going to be all right on the outside.”
“As you’re pursuing these grand plans of yours don’t forget to pull yourself back from time to time and to ask yourself whether what you’re doing is going to lead to trouble.”
“I certainly will!”
“Good luck then.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
10 October 07
The Future of Jon’s Jail Journal
Some of you have asked about my post-release plans for this blog.
I intend to keep posting the progress of the blog characters. Most of them – including Xena and Two Tonys – have agreed to provide written updates, and my friend Jack, a brilliant writer on Yard 4, has agreed to provide accounts of what’s going on on Yard 4, including tracking the blog characters. Some of the regulars (including Frankie, T-Bone, and Weird Al) are scheduled for release in 2008 or 2009, and I hope to follow their progress.
There are hundreds of blogs not yet posted for various reasons: my parents felt them too risqué, or they may have caused problems for someone if they had been posted when written. I’ve also written many stories, including Two Tony’s life story, and short stories incorporating the blog characters.
Some of you are wondering how I’ll fare post release. Will I achieve new successes? Will I do drugs again and go to the devil? Will anything come of my relationship with Royo Girl? How will I cope in England after being away for sixteen years? Especially living in my parents’ garage!
I intend to blog my progress, and to seek out new characters – especially the colourful and the downtrodden. I’m sure Aunt Lily will be blogged. Reading D.H. Lawrence recently brought to mind ways I can portray my hometown of Widnes, Cheshire.
I want to continue to use the blog to help prisoners and to expose injustice. I shall continue to answer your questions and to write about anything you care to suggest. I’ve tried to answer many of your queries at My Space, so I may continue to do that or I may merge that function back into the blog.
With only a short time left to go can you imagine how excited I am? I can’t wait to meet some of you in person or over the Internet. What a journey you’ve helped me get through! And how much has been accomplished due to your support! Thanks for your kindness! Yes! And for helping me demonstrate that prisoners are indeed members of the human race.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Future of Jon’s Jail Journal
Some of you have asked about my post-release plans for this blog.
I intend to keep posting the progress of the blog characters. Most of them – including Xena and Two Tonys – have agreed to provide written updates, and my friend Jack, a brilliant writer on Yard 4, has agreed to provide accounts of what’s going on on Yard 4, including tracking the blog characters. Some of the regulars (including Frankie, T-Bone, and Weird Al) are scheduled for release in 2008 or 2009, and I hope to follow their progress.
There are hundreds of blogs not yet posted for various reasons: my parents felt them too risqué, or they may have caused problems for someone if they had been posted when written. I’ve also written many stories, including Two Tony’s life story, and short stories incorporating the blog characters.
Some of you are wondering how I’ll fare post release. Will I achieve new successes? Will I do drugs again and go to the devil? Will anything come of my relationship with Royo Girl? How will I cope in England after being away for sixteen years? Especially living in my parents’ garage!
I intend to blog my progress, and to seek out new characters – especially the colourful and the downtrodden. I’m sure Aunt Lily will be blogged. Reading D.H. Lawrence recently brought to mind ways I can portray my hometown of Widnes, Cheshire.
I want to continue to use the blog to help prisoners and to expose injustice. I shall continue to answer your questions and to write about anything you care to suggest. I’ve tried to answer many of your queries at My Space, so I may continue to do that or I may merge that function back into the blog.
With only a short time left to go can you imagine how excited I am? I can’t wait to meet some of you in person or over the Internet. What a journey you’ve helped me get through! And how much has been accomplished due to your support! Thanks for your kindness! Yes! And for helping me demonstrate that prisoners are indeed members of the human race.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
05 Oct 07
My Sister’s Wedding
Today it was great to hear my parents describe my sister, Karen’s wedding. Karen married Andrew, a press photographer, who almost didn’t make it after a close call with the Taliban in Helmand, Afghanistan, while on assignment just a couple of weeks before the wedding. The wedding took place at St. Bede’s Church where I once served as an altar boy, and where I planned to marry Claudia, my ex fiancée.
On the day of the wedding I was happy for my sister but I also felt sad as I imagined the ceremony and the celebrations occurring without my participation. I was reminded of how I’ve let my family down – my absence being a consequence of my behaviour. Karen seems to be going from strength to strength - and her successes are perhaps reducing the stress of my incarceration on my parents.
At least I’m almost free. It just remains for me to get out and to emulate Karen’s successes.
Karen and Andrew are now on a honeymoon including a safari in Kenya, and stays at Tanzania and Zanzibar
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
My Sister’s Wedding
Today it was great to hear my parents describe my sister, Karen’s wedding. Karen married Andrew, a press photographer, who almost didn’t make it after a close call with the Taliban in Helmand, Afghanistan, while on assignment just a couple of weeks before the wedding. The wedding took place at St. Bede’s Church where I once served as an altar boy, and where I planned to marry Claudia, my ex fiancée.
On the day of the wedding I was happy for my sister but I also felt sad as I imagined the ceremony and the celebrations occurring without my participation. I was reminded of how I’ve let my family down – my absence being a consequence of my behaviour. Karen seems to be going from strength to strength - and her successes are perhaps reducing the stress of my incarceration on my parents.
At least I’m almost free. It just remains for me to get out and to emulate Karen’s successes.
Karen and Andrew are now on a honeymoon including a safari in Kenya, and stays at Tanzania and Zanzibar
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
02 Oct 07
The Royo Romance (17)
The Royo Romance (17)
To Royo Girl:
Of course I agree with you that we should continue as we are. As much as I fantasize about you being my ideal marriage partner I realise there are plenty of factors working against us ever having a successful long-term relationship including your obsessive-compulsive tidiness. I am a mess-maker at heart, but somehow I seem to know where everything is. I can’t live with someone who gets tense whenever some little thing gets out of place. My ex-wife Amy solved the problem by hiring maids, but I don’t think I’ll be able to afford a cleaning service out of unemployment benefit. You say I don’t listen well and you are right – but that’s because I get swept away when you are present, and that’s a credit to the effect you have on me. So don’t expect me to start listening well anytime soon.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
30 Sept 07
From Suicide Prevention Aide to Tailor of Prison Panties
“What’s big and white and drips from the sky?” Xena asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“My kingdom come.”
“Oh boy,” I said. “What’s new with you?”
“I got put on thirty days LOP [Loss Of Privileges] and lost my suicide prevention aide job for callin’ a sergeant a bitch.”
“Do you miss your suicide prevention aide job?” I asked.
“No. I had to look inside people’s windows, which I really hated.”
“Do you have a job now?”
“My new job is makin' panties.”
“Good for you. Do you have orders?”
“A few.”
“Including Slope no doubt?”
“I think the redneck would put the panties on his head, fall asleep at night, and get in trouble when the graveyard-shift cop puts his flashlight to the window. But what’ll really fuck Slope up is when they find the bra around his ankles. He’ll say it’s a rubber band to keep his feet from kickin’ 'cause rednecks are always runnin’ from somethin’ in the middle of the night.”
“A reader asked me to ask you whether her and her prison boyfriend will stay in their relationship. She’s stressed and worried.”
“If she becomes Cult of Xena she’ll never have to worry about that again. You know why? In COX we don’t have relationships – we are relationships!”
“Any messages for COX members?”
“Be spontaneous, girls and boys. Especially you girls with the thing between the package. And you boys: as long as you got big breasts, you show 'em off. Stay fabulous and drink lots of water – 'cause it keeps you ample."
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
From Suicide Prevention Aide to Tailor of Prison Panties
“What’s big and white and drips from the sky?” Xena asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“My kingdom come.”
“Oh boy,” I said. “What’s new with you?”
“I got put on thirty days LOP [Loss Of Privileges] and lost my suicide prevention aide job for callin’ a sergeant a bitch.”
“Do you miss your suicide prevention aide job?” I asked.
“No. I had to look inside people’s windows, which I really hated.”
“Do you have a job now?”
“My new job is makin' panties.”
“Good for you. Do you have orders?”
“A few.”
“Including Slope no doubt?”
“I think the redneck would put the panties on his head, fall asleep at night, and get in trouble when the graveyard-shift cop puts his flashlight to the window. But what’ll really fuck Slope up is when they find the bra around his ankles. He’ll say it’s a rubber band to keep his feet from kickin’ 'cause rednecks are always runnin’ from somethin’ in the middle of the night.”
“A reader asked me to ask you whether her and her prison boyfriend will stay in their relationship. She’s stressed and worried.”
“If she becomes Cult of Xena she’ll never have to worry about that again. You know why? In COX we don’t have relationships – we are relationships!”
“Any messages for COX members?”
“Be spontaneous, girls and boys. Especially you girls with the thing between the package. And you boys: as long as you got big breasts, you show 'em off. Stay fabulous and drink lots of water – 'cause it keeps you ample."
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
27 Sept 07
Yoga Classes?
Seeing a group of guards gather outside of my cell I feared I had been targeted for a cell search.
“Jon, we have a question for you.”
“OK,” I said, wondering what trouble I was in.
“If we can get a yoga class going for the Yard 1 prisoners would you be willing to teach it?”
“Absolutely, I’ve already been teaching yoga to some of the guys, and more guys are asking to join.”
“We’re gonna put in a proposal for a yoga class and there’d be a turn out for you to teach it in a room off Yard 1.”
“Great! The rec room we’re using now has no air conditioning.”
“And you’re not supposed to be using that room anyway.”
“Well, some guards say it’s OK, and some guards boot us out.”
“Also, we know you’re going home soon, so who do you think would be good to take over when you’re gone?”
“Iron Man. I’ve been teaching him for months, but you’d have to ask him yourselves.”
“Well, we’re gonna put this proposal in 'cause we feel yoga will do the guys some good.”
“It’s a positive thing. I’d love to teach it. I just hope the idea gets approved.”
“Alright, thanks, Jon.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Yoga Classes?
Seeing a group of guards gather outside of my cell I feared I had been targeted for a cell search.
“Jon, we have a question for you.”
“OK,” I said, wondering what trouble I was in.
“If we can get a yoga class going for the Yard 1 prisoners would you be willing to teach it?”
“Absolutely, I’ve already been teaching yoga to some of the guys, and more guys are asking to join.”
“We’re gonna put in a proposal for a yoga class and there’d be a turn out for you to teach it in a room off Yard 1.”
“Great! The rec room we’re using now has no air conditioning.”
“And you’re not supposed to be using that room anyway.”
“Well, some guards say it’s OK, and some guards boot us out.”
“Also, we know you’re going home soon, so who do you think would be good to take over when you’re gone?”
“Iron Man. I’ve been teaching him for months, but you’d have to ask him yourselves.”
“Well, we’re gonna put this proposal in 'cause we feel yoga will do the guys some good.”
“It’s a positive thing. I’d love to teach it. I just hope the idea gets approved.”
“Alright, thanks, Jon.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
25 Sept 07
Lurch
One of my neighbours, Lurch, a giant with learning difficulties, is serving time because he accidentally shot and paralysed his young friend. Thanks mostly to a public defender who worked against him and a prosecutor who charged him with all kinds of offences, he was sentenced to twenty years. In prison, members of the Aryan Brotherhood wielding socks filled with padlocks almost killed him.
Lurch allowed me to read his court documents and letters. Saddest was the letter from his mother to the judge. Also, I noticed some sentencing errors in his paperwork. He’s eligible for release several years before the prison calculation, so we’re going to see the counsellor to try and bring his release date forward. I'm also going to write a short story about Lurch.
Can you imagine how many more Lurches and Slingblades there are stuck in the prison system for want of help, their stories never heard?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Lurch
One of my neighbours, Lurch, a giant with learning difficulties, is serving time because he accidentally shot and paralysed his young friend. Thanks mostly to a public defender who worked against him and a prosecutor who charged him with all kinds of offences, he was sentenced to twenty years. In prison, members of the Aryan Brotherhood wielding socks filled with padlocks almost killed him.
Lurch allowed me to read his court documents and letters. Saddest was the letter from his mother to the judge. Also, I noticed some sentencing errors in his paperwork. He’s eligible for release several years before the prison calculation, so we’re going to see the counsellor to try and bring his release date forward. I'm also going to write a short story about Lurch.
Can you imagine how many more Lurches and Slingblades there are stuck in the prison system for want of help, their stories never heard?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
23 Sept 07
I’m A Teacher
I’m a teacher now. In August I chanced upon one of the most coveted jobs on the yard. It entails helping prisoners study for their GED exams. As there is no air-conditioned room to hold a class in, I do house calls. I spent the morning helping Too Tall change percents to fractions and divide fractions by fractions. Teaching him gave me a feeling of well-being. The opportunity to influence some prisoners’ lives in my own small way is appreciated.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
I’m A Teacher
I’m a teacher now. In August I chanced upon one of the most coveted jobs on the yard. It entails helping prisoners study for their GED exams. As there is no air-conditioned room to hold a class in, I do house calls. I spent the morning helping Too Tall change percents to fractions and divide fractions by fractions. Teaching him gave me a feeling of well-being. The opportunity to influence some prisoners’ lives in my own small way is appreciated.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
21 Sept 2007
The Double Murderer – Final instalment
Magpie continued to talk big to people on the yard about how he was going to "smash" me, but he never came to my cell or “called me out.” I was told not to go to his cell because of the cameras and because it would make me look like the aggressor. Sick of Magpie boasting but doing nothing about it, some heavyweights on the yard told him: “Handle your business or go and squash it.”
“England, we need to talk,” Magpie said, entering my cell.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Look, man, I didn’t mean anything running my mouth the other day. I’m like that with everyone.”
I just looked at him.
“Look, England, I like you. That’s why I clowned you. I know it made you mad, so I apologise.” Magpie held out his hand.
Wary of a sucker punch, I approached him sideways, and shook his hand. “Alright, I accept your apology,” I said. “But you’ve got to realise, because you shanked two prisoners to death, when you’re clowning or threatening someone like me, people wonder what you’re gonna do next. You’ve got a reputation.”
“But that was years ago. I came in the system a youngster, a short-timer. Back then killin’ them dudes was something I had to do. Now I’m almost gettin’ out. I don’t wanna cop no more time.”
“I know you’ve been down a long time. Are you gonna make it out there, man?”
“How am I gonna make it? I’m a junkie. Someone from parole came to see me and they told me I’m institutionalised. I’ve got money - my father owned a business. But I’m a junkie, man. What am I gonna do?” His look suggested he was hoping I would say something helpful.
Suddenly, my ill will toward him died, and I tried to imagine how three decades of prison had affected him. How sad it was that he felt he was getting released only to come right back. “You’ve just gotta try to stay off the shit, Magpie.”
“I’ve been doing heroin my whole life.”
“It’s gonna be hard, but try to find other things to do. Travel the country. Go all the places you’ve always wanted to see.”
“If I come to England will you show me around? I’m serious. I’ve got the money.”
“If you get round to it, you can find me online.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Double Murderer – Final instalment
Magpie continued to talk big to people on the yard about how he was going to "smash" me, but he never came to my cell or “called me out.” I was told not to go to his cell because of the cameras and because it would make me look like the aggressor. Sick of Magpie boasting but doing nothing about it, some heavyweights on the yard told him: “Handle your business or go and squash it.”
“England, we need to talk,” Magpie said, entering my cell.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Look, man, I didn’t mean anything running my mouth the other day. I’m like that with everyone.”
I just looked at him.
“Look, England, I like you. That’s why I clowned you. I know it made you mad, so I apologise.” Magpie held out his hand.
Wary of a sucker punch, I approached him sideways, and shook his hand. “Alright, I accept your apology,” I said. “But you’ve got to realise, because you shanked two prisoners to death, when you’re clowning or threatening someone like me, people wonder what you’re gonna do next. You’ve got a reputation.”
“But that was years ago. I came in the system a youngster, a short-timer. Back then killin’ them dudes was something I had to do. Now I’m almost gettin’ out. I don’t wanna cop no more time.”
“I know you’ve been down a long time. Are you gonna make it out there, man?”
“How am I gonna make it? I’m a junkie. Someone from parole came to see me and they told me I’m institutionalised. I’ve got money - my father owned a business. But I’m a junkie, man. What am I gonna do?” His look suggested he was hoping I would say something helpful.
Suddenly, my ill will toward him died, and I tried to imagine how three decades of prison had affected him. How sad it was that he felt he was getting released only to come right back. “You’ve just gotta try to stay off the shit, Magpie.”
“I’ve been doing heroin my whole life.”
“It’s gonna be hard, but try to find other things to do. Travel the country. Go all the places you’ve always wanted to see.”
“If I come to England will you show me around? I’m serious. I’ve got the money.”
“If you get round to it, you can find me online.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
19 Sept 07
Literary Classics
Thank you to the individuals and prison-book programs who have sent books recently, including:
The Divine Comedy by Dante
Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
The Iliad of Homer
Stories of Anton by Chekhov
Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence
Reading the classics, it is interesting to note how earlier authors influenced later authors. For example, how Homer influenced Dante and James Joyce. How Charles Dickens, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy and Anton Chekhov influenced Franz Kafka. And less subtly, how William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald influenced Mario Puzo, Tom Wolfe, Joyce Carol Oates and Annie Proulx.
I’ve discovered an excellent resource for prisoner education: The Great Courses – lectures on tapes offered by the Teaching Company (www.TEACH12.com).
A kind reader recently sent (from the Teaching Company) Masterworks of Early 20th – Century Literature taught by Professor David Thornburn of Massachusetts Institute of Technology. This course has transformed my understanding and appreciation of Modernist fiction, and introduced me to some authors I hadn’t read much of including Virginia Woolf, Vladimir Nabokov, Rudyard Kipling, Ford Madox Ford, Joseph Conrad, and Isaac Babel. It’s enabled me to enjoy books I previously found awkward, including those by D.H. Lawrence and William Faulker. The Teaching Company provides a way to get top university lectures into prisons.
Some of you have asked whether it’s still OK to send books so near to my release. As I read the books immediately and donate them to the library, I’m going to keep the wish list running until the end of October, so people are welcome to send books until then. Over the last three years, thanks to your help, the prison library has received hundreds of books, books that shall continue to educate and entertain prisoners long after I’m gone.
Addendum
Displacing Ivan Ilyich, Count Fedor Ivanych Turbin (from the story “Two Hussars”) is now my favourite Tolstoy character. The Count’s swashbuckling made me laugh hard. Anna Karenina pales in comparison.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Literary Classics
Thank you to the individuals and prison-book programs who have sent books recently, including:
The Divine Comedy by Dante
Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
The Iliad of Homer
Stories of Anton by Chekhov
Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence
Reading the classics, it is interesting to note how earlier authors influenced later authors. For example, how Homer influenced Dante and James Joyce. How Charles Dickens, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy and Anton Chekhov influenced Franz Kafka. And less subtly, how William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald influenced Mario Puzo, Tom Wolfe, Joyce Carol Oates and Annie Proulx.
I’ve discovered an excellent resource for prisoner education: The Great Courses – lectures on tapes offered by the Teaching Company (www.TEACH12.com).
A kind reader recently sent (from the Teaching Company) Masterworks of Early 20th – Century Literature taught by Professor David Thornburn of Massachusetts Institute of Technology. This course has transformed my understanding and appreciation of Modernist fiction, and introduced me to some authors I hadn’t read much of including Virginia Woolf, Vladimir Nabokov, Rudyard Kipling, Ford Madox Ford, Joseph Conrad, and Isaac Babel. It’s enabled me to enjoy books I previously found awkward, including those by D.H. Lawrence and William Faulker. The Teaching Company provides a way to get top university lectures into prisons.
Some of you have asked whether it’s still OK to send books so near to my release. As I read the books immediately and donate them to the library, I’m going to keep the wish list running until the end of October, so people are welcome to send books until then. Over the last three years, thanks to your help, the prison library has received hundreds of books, books that shall continue to educate and entertain prisoners long after I’m gone.
Addendum
Displacing Ivan Ilyich, Count Fedor Ivanych Turbin (from the story “Two Hussars”) is now my favourite Tolstoy character. The Count’s swashbuckling made me laugh hard. Anna Karenina pales in comparison.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
From the summer of 2006.
An Irreversible Path to World War?
“Einstein,” I said to Two Tonys, “in a letter to Freud, indicated that war comes about when politicians aided by munitions makers and other war profiteers brainwash the masses via schools, the media, and the church. Freud agreed, and replied to Einstein that the ruling class use the illusion of nationalism to harness the destructive instinct of the masses.”
“Our destructive instinct is natural,” Two Tonys said. “According to my buddy Schopenhauer: man is the only animal which causes pain to others without any further purpose than just to cause it. The working class are sendin’ their sons and daughters to get maimed and ruined in the Middle East so rich motherfuckers like the owners of Boeing, Raytheon, Remington, and General Electric can get even richer.”
“It’s a dangerous game to play in this age of nukes,” I said. “The last world war came about from a big power, Nazi Germany, gobbling up its weaker neighbours. I don’t see much difference between the Nazis conquering Czechoslovakia and Poland, and the Bush clique invading Afghanistan and Iraq. Hitler created national security justifications for his aggrandizement. Bush used 9/11 as a pretext although the attackers were mostly Saudi Arabians linked to his financial backers, the bin Laden family, who he allowed to hurriedly leave the US after the attacks.”
“Politicians are trained to say whatever it takes. They’ll get up in Congress, and advocate bombin’ and shellin’, and the destruction of another race, when nothing’ is further from the truth.”
“I’m reading,” I said, “annual reports of defence manufacturers – Cobham, Umeco, Chemring, Meggitt, Ultra Electronics – and the common theme is that business is booming because of our peace-keeping missions. The peace our politicians talk about equals more bombs. And it’s not only the defence companies, look at Exxon Mobil’s recent $10 billion quarterly profit, one of the highest quarterly results for any publicly traded US company ever, and Royal Dutch Shell’s $7 billion. It’s clear who Iraq’s oil was seized for - and it wasn’t for the good of the public who are getting gouged.”
“Don’t forget Halliburton,” Two Tonys said. “That’s Cheney’s baby, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Dubya works there when he gets out of the White House.”
“The difference between the Nazis and the Bushites is that the Nazis, especially Goebbels, did a successful propaganda job on the public, and during their first four years they were actually an economic success, whereas here we’re teetering on the brink of economic disaster, and the government is conducting a war against the will of a good section of the public. Lafayette said that when the government violates people’s rights like this, insurrection becomes the most indispensable of duties. I’m not advocating the government be overthrown. I’m bringing that up to get your opinion.”
“The unwashed of America have been dumbed down,” Two Tonys said. “The average citizen has two cars, a TV in each room, a PC with Internet access, his daughter tap dances, his son plays soccer, he goes to church on Sunday, his workin’ life is invested in a pension. The average American has too much to lose. He ain’t gonna grab a pitchfork, run down the street, charge the castle, and guillotine the king his dukes and earls. He’s got a Saturday afternoon barbeque to go to, where he’ll drink Bud Light and talk about the game.”
“If the public is being manipulated into world war,” I said, “ - the world war that Churchill predicted would be over the world’s resources – is there nothing we can do about it? Are most of us as oblivious of the coming death on home soil as the Germans were when the Nazis began expanding? The passivity of the average American is astounding. Even Thomas Jefferson wrote that a little rebellion is as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical.”
“The closest thing here in the US was the Vietnam crisis,” Two Tonys said. "The country was on the verge of rebellion. That younger generation now have the things I just described. They got haircuts, got jobs, and rebellion now means smokin’ some weed every now and then. They are gonna do somethin’ though: they’re gonna elect Hilary Clinton.”
“But will that change anything?” I said. “Both parties answer to the same corporations and lobbyists. It’s an illusion. Left and right in the two-party system are shades of the same thing.”
“They need to dress members of Congress like racing car drivers, showin’ who’s sponsorin’ them,” Two Tonys said. “Imagine Condi Rice negotiatin’ for peace in the Middle East, emblazoned with logos of Boeing, Hughes, Citicorp, and Bank of America. The public’s gonna hafta wake up. The CEOs of these companies are rippin’ and tearin’ heads off, and shittin’ on people’s jugular veins.”
“If the German people had stopped the Nazi leaders maybe millions of people wouldn’t have died. My hope is that the current US aggression – as acknowledged by Milton Friedman in the Wall Street Journal – is reined in by legitimate means before the rest of us have to live with the consequences.”
I am interested in readers' comments on this subject. Before anyone brands me a leftist, I would like to point out that I have little faith in politicians of any party. My conclusion is based on my studies of economics and history. The Israel-Lebanon conflict seems to be part of the escalation. Is it any wonder that Iran wants into the mushroom-cloud business when a superpower is gobbling up its neighbours? What happens when China, Russia or India stop in to protect their resource interests around the Caspian? Isn’t Blair’s idea of sending a stabilisation force to Lebanon just a euphemism for the kind of Western expansion in the Middle East that’s stirring up the Moslem's, solidifying the Moslem Brotherhood, and leading us closer to resuming the ages-old war between the Christian and Moslem civilizations? When explosions start happening in American malls, will anyone stand up and blame the foreign policy of aggression implemented by our politicians?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
An Irreversible Path to World War?
“Einstein,” I said to Two Tonys, “in a letter to Freud, indicated that war comes about when politicians aided by munitions makers and other war profiteers brainwash the masses via schools, the media, and the church. Freud agreed, and replied to Einstein that the ruling class use the illusion of nationalism to harness the destructive instinct of the masses.”
“Our destructive instinct is natural,” Two Tonys said. “According to my buddy Schopenhauer: man is the only animal which causes pain to others without any further purpose than just to cause it. The working class are sendin’ their sons and daughters to get maimed and ruined in the Middle East so rich motherfuckers like the owners of Boeing, Raytheon, Remington, and General Electric can get even richer.”
“It’s a dangerous game to play in this age of nukes,” I said. “The last world war came about from a big power, Nazi Germany, gobbling up its weaker neighbours. I don’t see much difference between the Nazis conquering Czechoslovakia and Poland, and the Bush clique invading Afghanistan and Iraq. Hitler created national security justifications for his aggrandizement. Bush used 9/11 as a pretext although the attackers were mostly Saudi Arabians linked to his financial backers, the bin Laden family, who he allowed to hurriedly leave the US after the attacks.”
“Politicians are trained to say whatever it takes. They’ll get up in Congress, and advocate bombin’ and shellin’, and the destruction of another race, when nothing’ is further from the truth.”
“I’m reading,” I said, “annual reports of defence manufacturers – Cobham, Umeco, Chemring, Meggitt, Ultra Electronics – and the common theme is that business is booming because of our peace-keeping missions. The peace our politicians talk about equals more bombs. And it’s not only the defence companies, look at Exxon Mobil’s recent $10 billion quarterly profit, one of the highest quarterly results for any publicly traded US company ever, and Royal Dutch Shell’s $7 billion. It’s clear who Iraq’s oil was seized for - and it wasn’t for the good of the public who are getting gouged.”
“Don’t forget Halliburton,” Two Tonys said. “That’s Cheney’s baby, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Dubya works there when he gets out of the White House.”
“The difference between the Nazis and the Bushites is that the Nazis, especially Goebbels, did a successful propaganda job on the public, and during their first four years they were actually an economic success, whereas here we’re teetering on the brink of economic disaster, and the government is conducting a war against the will of a good section of the public. Lafayette said that when the government violates people’s rights like this, insurrection becomes the most indispensable of duties. I’m not advocating the government be overthrown. I’m bringing that up to get your opinion.”
“The unwashed of America have been dumbed down,” Two Tonys said. “The average citizen has two cars, a TV in each room, a PC with Internet access, his daughter tap dances, his son plays soccer, he goes to church on Sunday, his workin’ life is invested in a pension. The average American has too much to lose. He ain’t gonna grab a pitchfork, run down the street, charge the castle, and guillotine the king his dukes and earls. He’s got a Saturday afternoon barbeque to go to, where he’ll drink Bud Light and talk about the game.”
“If the public is being manipulated into world war,” I said, “ - the world war that Churchill predicted would be over the world’s resources – is there nothing we can do about it? Are most of us as oblivious of the coming death on home soil as the Germans were when the Nazis began expanding? The passivity of the average American is astounding. Even Thomas Jefferson wrote that a little rebellion is as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical.”
“The closest thing here in the US was the Vietnam crisis,” Two Tonys said. "The country was on the verge of rebellion. That younger generation now have the things I just described. They got haircuts, got jobs, and rebellion now means smokin’ some weed every now and then. They are gonna do somethin’ though: they’re gonna elect Hilary Clinton.”
“But will that change anything?” I said. “Both parties answer to the same corporations and lobbyists. It’s an illusion. Left and right in the two-party system are shades of the same thing.”
“They need to dress members of Congress like racing car drivers, showin’ who’s sponsorin’ them,” Two Tonys said. “Imagine Condi Rice negotiatin’ for peace in the Middle East, emblazoned with logos of Boeing, Hughes, Citicorp, and Bank of America. The public’s gonna hafta wake up. The CEOs of these companies are rippin’ and tearin’ heads off, and shittin’ on people’s jugular veins.”
“If the German people had stopped the Nazi leaders maybe millions of people wouldn’t have died. My hope is that the current US aggression – as acknowledged by Milton Friedman in the Wall Street Journal – is reined in by legitimate means before the rest of us have to live with the consequences.”
I am interested in readers' comments on this subject. Before anyone brands me a leftist, I would like to point out that I have little faith in politicians of any party. My conclusion is based on my studies of economics and history. The Israel-Lebanon conflict seems to be part of the escalation. Is it any wonder that Iran wants into the mushroom-cloud business when a superpower is gobbling up its neighbours? What happens when China, Russia or India stop in to protect their resource interests around the Caspian? Isn’t Blair’s idea of sending a stabilisation force to Lebanon just a euphemism for the kind of Western expansion in the Middle East that’s stirring up the Moslem's, solidifying the Moslem Brotherhood, and leading us closer to resuming the ages-old war between the Christian and Moslem civilizations? When explosions start happening in American malls, will anyone stand up and blame the foreign policy of aggression implemented by our politicians?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
12 Sept 07
The Royo Romance (17)
In a letter from Royo Girl:
I find your affection for me endearing and it is mutual to a certain point. My affection for you, however, is more rooted in a deep friendship than a future relationship. I know you know this, but I don’t think that you listen very well. We will just have to continue as we are. I should feel guilty for that and I do, but not enough to have not said it.
I am sorry that I didn’t come this past Sunday. I will be at the next visit that is a weekend day. Until then, bye Jon.
Much love
Royo Girl
PS sprayed with Victoria’s Secret Perfume
9 Sept 07
The Double Murderer (Part 4)
Iron Man rushed into my cell, and said, “Jon, listen up: that motherfucker Magpie was just over on A run saying how he’s gonna kick your ass over that shit in the kitchen – the beef you had with him.”
“He’s always running his mouth,” I said.
“This shit is serious. This guy’s already stuck two people in the joint and they’re both dead.”
“What should I do about it?”
“This is what you gotta know about Magpie and what you gotta do: he’s got a steel rod in his left leg, his legs fucked up.”
“From what?”
“He got shot by the guards a while back. As soon as he walks in your cell you gotta feint with a left jab and then do a front snap kick to his left thigh as hard as you can.”
“Wait a minute. I’m about to get out. I don’t want to get in a fight and lose my release.”
“Fuck all that! Would you rather get out in a pine box? Whatthafucks wrong with you, man? Your life’s in danger and you’re worried about not getting in a fight.”
“I see what you’re saying. Don’t get me wrong: if he does come to my cell and attacks me, I will be forced to defend myself. You don’t think he’ll come at me with a shank do you?”
“Listen, you’re not understanding what I’m saying. All this about him coming in your house and you being forced to defend yourself, get that shit out of your mind, OK? Are you hearing me? If he comes in your cell, you attack him the minute he walks through that door. He may be carrying a shank. It’s not like he’s coming over for high tea, England.”
“If I’m unarmed, how do I fight against an armed man?”
“Like I already told you - ”
“Kick him in the thigh?”
“If someone comes at you with a shank, you get a hold of their arm and break their fucking wrist. Let me show you. Stand up and come at me like you’ve got a knife.”
I went at him and he grabbed my arm, twisted it and almost snapped it.
“See,” he said, “how I gained control of the situation?”
“Yes.”
“But like I said: go for the left leg, he’s got a steel rod in there. If he can’t stand, he can’t fight.”
“I’ve got a feeling this might escalate and mess up my release.”
“If this guy comes to your cell with murder in his heart then whatever happens, happens. You’ve gotta let the chips fall where they may.”
“I guess this is just part of being in prison.”
“Yeah. It’s survival man.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Double Murderer (Part 4)
Iron Man rushed into my cell, and said, “Jon, listen up: that motherfucker Magpie was just over on A run saying how he’s gonna kick your ass over that shit in the kitchen – the beef you had with him.”
“He’s always running his mouth,” I said.
“This shit is serious. This guy’s already stuck two people in the joint and they’re both dead.”
“What should I do about it?”
“This is what you gotta know about Magpie and what you gotta do: he’s got a steel rod in his left leg, his legs fucked up.”
“From what?”
“He got shot by the guards a while back. As soon as he walks in your cell you gotta feint with a left jab and then do a front snap kick to his left thigh as hard as you can.”
“Wait a minute. I’m about to get out. I don’t want to get in a fight and lose my release.”
“Fuck all that! Would you rather get out in a pine box? Whatthafucks wrong with you, man? Your life’s in danger and you’re worried about not getting in a fight.”
“I see what you’re saying. Don’t get me wrong: if he does come to my cell and attacks me, I will be forced to defend myself. You don’t think he’ll come at me with a shank do you?”
“Listen, you’re not understanding what I’m saying. All this about him coming in your house and you being forced to defend yourself, get that shit out of your mind, OK? Are you hearing me? If he comes in your cell, you attack him the minute he walks through that door. He may be carrying a shank. It’s not like he’s coming over for high tea, England.”
“If I’m unarmed, how do I fight against an armed man?”
“Like I already told you - ”
“Kick him in the thigh?”
“If someone comes at you with a shank, you get a hold of their arm and break their fucking wrist. Let me show you. Stand up and come at me like you’ve got a knife.”
I went at him and he grabbed my arm, twisted it and almost snapped it.
“See,” he said, “how I gained control of the situation?”
“Yes.”
“But like I said: go for the left leg, he’s got a steel rod in there. If he can’t stand, he can’t fight.”
“I’ve got a feeling this might escalate and mess up my release.”
“If this guy comes to your cell with murder in his heart then whatever happens, happens. You’ve gotta let the chips fall where they may.”
“I guess this is just part of being in prison.”
“Yeah. It’s survival man.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
8 Sept 2007
The Double Murderer (Part 3)
The only way to diffuse the situation was to go back to my cell. As I left, I said to the guard, “I’ve got to go home, my mental-health problems are kicking in and I don’t want to snap and end up with more prison time.”
“Mental-health problems?”
“Yes. I have a few personality disorders. I was issued a waiver from an ADOC doctor exempting me from kitchen duty, but CO3 Wilcox rode roughshod over it because you guys are so desperate for kitchen workers.”
“Show me the waiver.”
I showed him the waiver, and he said, “Well, this doesn’t mean much to me. If you go home I’m gonna hafta write you up for refusing to work.”
“That’s fine. It’s the least of two evils right now. I have no choice but to do what will cause the least harm.”
“You’re on report then, Jon.”
Later that night, Magpie stormed into Weird Al's cell, and said, “I got your friend mad today.”
“I’m mad at you,” Weird Al said, “ 'cause he got a ticket.”
“I never did anything.”
“You fucking liar.”
“Well, all he did was write shit down.”
“It’s ain’t none of your business what he does. You got my friend a ticket.”
“Well, I’ll go over his cell, and kick his ass right now.”
“You ain’t gonna do a thing.”
“Why, what are you gonna do?” Magpie yelled. “Are you gonna kill me?” Are you gonna kill me? Are you gonna kill me?”
“I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“I’m gonna go kick England’s ass right now,” he marched out, hysterical.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Double Murderer (Part 3)
The only way to diffuse the situation was to go back to my cell. As I left, I said to the guard, “I’ve got to go home, my mental-health problems are kicking in and I don’t want to snap and end up with more prison time.”
“Mental-health problems?”
“Yes. I have a few personality disorders. I was issued a waiver from an ADOC doctor exempting me from kitchen duty, but CO3 Wilcox rode roughshod over it because you guys are so desperate for kitchen workers.”
“Show me the waiver.”
I showed him the waiver, and he said, “Well, this doesn’t mean much to me. If you go home I’m gonna hafta write you up for refusing to work.”
“That’s fine. It’s the least of two evils right now. I have no choice but to do what will cause the least harm.”
“You’re on report then, Jon.”
Later that night, Magpie stormed into Weird Al's cell, and said, “I got your friend mad today.”
“I’m mad at you,” Weird Al said, “ 'cause he got a ticket.”
“I never did anything.”
“You fucking liar.”
“Well, all he did was write shit down.”
“It’s ain’t none of your business what he does. You got my friend a ticket.”
“Well, I’ll go over his cell, and kick his ass right now.”
“You ain’t gonna do a thing.”
“Why, what are you gonna do?” Magpie yelled. “Are you gonna kill me?” Are you gonna kill me? Are you gonna kill me?”
“I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“I’m gonna go kick England’s ass right now,” he marched out, hysterical.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
05 Sept 07
Odds & Ends
Phoenix has had thirty-one days of 110 degrees or higher. Guards and prisoners are spending most of the day indoors – except for Iron Man. Citing my imminent release, Iron Man is justifying us working out harder than ever. So far my injuries have been limited to a torn chest muscle (it felt like I had a nail stuck in my chest for two weeks, and when I sneezed it felt like I’d been shot in the chest), and some heatstroke following a thirty-minute run at midday – what Iron Man calls endurance training.
A swarm of honey bees descended on the yard, panicking prisoners, and attached itself to the chow hall, causing the exit to be closed for two days. Toads, horned lizards, and rattlesnakes have been appearing. Over the weekend, rattlesnakes bit six people in Tucson. But affecting us most are the flies. The chow hall is teeming with them. They land on my food and tickle my hands as I eat. One dived into my rice, and wallowed in it as if it were a pig. A guard hung a fly strip from the ceiling in the chow hall, and many fly corpses are now stuck to it.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Odds & Ends
Phoenix has had thirty-one days of 110 degrees or higher. Guards and prisoners are spending most of the day indoors – except for Iron Man. Citing my imminent release, Iron Man is justifying us working out harder than ever. So far my injuries have been limited to a torn chest muscle (it felt like I had a nail stuck in my chest for two weeks, and when I sneezed it felt like I’d been shot in the chest), and some heatstroke following a thirty-minute run at midday – what Iron Man calls endurance training.
A swarm of honey bees descended on the yard, panicking prisoners, and attached itself to the chow hall, causing the exit to be closed for two days. Toads, horned lizards, and rattlesnakes have been appearing. Over the weekend, rattlesnakes bit six people in Tucson. But affecting us most are the flies. The chow hall is teeming with them. They land on my food and tickle my hands as I eat. One dived into my rice, and wallowed in it as if it were a pig. A guard hung a fly strip from the ceiling in the chow hall, and many fly corpses are now stuck to it.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
03 Sept 07
Two Tonys on Friedrich Nietzsche
Woman is unspeakably more wicked than man, also cleverer. Goodness in woman is really nothing but a form of degeneracy.
“What kind of shit is that! Is Nietzsche sayin’ women are tradin’ vaginas for rabbit meat 'cause they can’t go huntin’? That they’re layin’ in caves pregnant boilin’ up rabbit guts? Things have changed, brother. How’re you gonna tell me that Margaret Thatcher is weak? Look what she did to the Falklands. She sent her Limey sailors, and they pulverised the Argentinians - left ‘em floating in the South Atlantic Ocean.”
The thought of suicide is a great consolation: with the help of it, one has got through many a bad night.
“No question about it. I’ve been down and gloomy, and spent lonely nights in dark places after doin’ terrible things, and I’ve thought, ‘Man, if this happens, here’s what I’m gonna do.’ If I get cancer, am I gonna lay up in this cell, rottin’ away an inch at a time, with some quack Venezuelan DOC doctor tellin’ me to take two aspirins and kite him in the mornin’. Fuck that! There ain’t many motherfuckers on this planet whose minds haven’t thought about suicide.”
Without music life would be a mistake.
“I’ve got my Walkman and my new CL10 headphones. All music ain’t for me though. Don’t give me no country and western with some hillbilly whinin’ about how some granny got drunk and ran over him in a pickup truck. Don’t gimme no rap with egotistical ghetto stars singin’ about their bitches big booties, how much jewellery and money and dope they’ve got, and how they’re drivin’ around in Benzes with a bottle of Crystal in one hand and a crack pipe in the other. Gimme Schubert’s Ave Maria. Gimme Handel’s Messiah. Gimme Strauss’s Thunder and Lightning - anyone who doesn’t like that is a fuckin’ animal, sacrilegious. Nietzsche was right: life needs music.
The weak and defective shall perish.
“Should the little chunky Lebanese boy on a stretcher, full of shrapnel manufactured by Dubya and Rummy’s war contractor buddies be allowed to perish? I took my glasses off and got all teary-eyed when I saw that on CNN. Who in their right mind would follow what Nietzsche is sayin’ here other than that Nazi clique? And look what it got them: chompin’ down on cyanide caps.”
So long as the priest, that professional negator, slanderer and poisoner of life, is regarded as a superior type of human being, there cannot be any answer to the question: “What is truth?”
“When I turn on the TV set and see a fuckin’ ass-hole like Robert Schiller of the Cathedral of Tomorrow sittin’ there in his big glass palace in elaborate robes, takin’ people’s money, tellin’ his flock what is right and wrong, I see a high-class motherfuckin’ flimflammer, a snakeoil salesman. From Schiller to Billy Graham to the guy in Vatican City who used to ride with the Nazi Youth Group, they’re all fuckin’ scammers. They’re not interested in truth. They’re interested in de bizz-ness.”
Live dangerously. Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius.
“In the navy, I lived on the USS Vesuvius for three years, seven months, and ten days. Vesuvius is the volcano that destroyed Pompeii, Herculaneum and Stabiae. They found bodies of motherfuckers sat at tables and layin’ in bed who had died quickly 'cause a pyroclastic cloud swarmed their lungs. There’s somethin’ to be said for livin’ dangerously. And I’m not knockin’ employees of Wal-Mart, Sears or KFC. It’s not easy goin’ into a heavily armed hotel room at two in the mornin’ and blowin’ a guys face off, but it gives you a feelin’ of livin’ on the edge. Look at Pat Tillman the Arizona Cardinal, an NFL player, a college grad. He gave up a multi-million- dollar contract to join the army, went to Afghanistan to fight the Mujahideen, and got his ass blown off by friendly fire. Some say it was patriotism, but I say it was for fuckin’ excitement.”
It was subtle of God to learn Greek when he wished to become an author and not to learn it better.
“You’ve gotta be a stupid motherfucker to think God wrote the Bible. But for the motherfuckers with eighty-year sentences, comin’ through the prison gate, shattered motherfuckers – especially young one, the Bible gives 'em somethin’ to lean on. I don’t think for one second that Pope Benedict XV1 goes to bed believin’ God wrote the Bible or that the walls of Jericho tumbled down or that Moses turned the Nile into blood and had it rain frogs. Of course the Pope doesn’t believe that cos he’s in de bizz-nezz. The Bible’s a hormone-releasin’ remedy for the blues.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Two Tonys on Friedrich Nietzsche
Woman is unspeakably more wicked than man, also cleverer. Goodness in woman is really nothing but a form of degeneracy.
“What kind of shit is that! Is Nietzsche sayin’ women are tradin’ vaginas for rabbit meat 'cause they can’t go huntin’? That they’re layin’ in caves pregnant boilin’ up rabbit guts? Things have changed, brother. How’re you gonna tell me that Margaret Thatcher is weak? Look what she did to the Falklands. She sent her Limey sailors, and they pulverised the Argentinians - left ‘em floating in the South Atlantic Ocean.”
The thought of suicide is a great consolation: with the help of it, one has got through many a bad night.
“No question about it. I’ve been down and gloomy, and spent lonely nights in dark places after doin’ terrible things, and I’ve thought, ‘Man, if this happens, here’s what I’m gonna do.’ If I get cancer, am I gonna lay up in this cell, rottin’ away an inch at a time, with some quack Venezuelan DOC doctor tellin’ me to take two aspirins and kite him in the mornin’. Fuck that! There ain’t many motherfuckers on this planet whose minds haven’t thought about suicide.”
Without music life would be a mistake.
“I’ve got my Walkman and my new CL10 headphones. All music ain’t for me though. Don’t give me no country and western with some hillbilly whinin’ about how some granny got drunk and ran over him in a pickup truck. Don’t gimme no rap with egotistical ghetto stars singin’ about their bitches big booties, how much jewellery and money and dope they’ve got, and how they’re drivin’ around in Benzes with a bottle of Crystal in one hand and a crack pipe in the other. Gimme Schubert’s Ave Maria. Gimme Handel’s Messiah. Gimme Strauss’s Thunder and Lightning - anyone who doesn’t like that is a fuckin’ animal, sacrilegious. Nietzsche was right: life needs music.
The weak and defective shall perish.
“Should the little chunky Lebanese boy on a stretcher, full of shrapnel manufactured by Dubya and Rummy’s war contractor buddies be allowed to perish? I took my glasses off and got all teary-eyed when I saw that on CNN. Who in their right mind would follow what Nietzsche is sayin’ here other than that Nazi clique? And look what it got them: chompin’ down on cyanide caps.”
So long as the priest, that professional negator, slanderer and poisoner of life, is regarded as a superior type of human being, there cannot be any answer to the question: “What is truth?”
“When I turn on the TV set and see a fuckin’ ass-hole like Robert Schiller of the Cathedral of Tomorrow sittin’ there in his big glass palace in elaborate robes, takin’ people’s money, tellin’ his flock what is right and wrong, I see a high-class motherfuckin’ flimflammer, a snakeoil salesman. From Schiller to Billy Graham to the guy in Vatican City who used to ride with the Nazi Youth Group, they’re all fuckin’ scammers. They’re not interested in truth. They’re interested in de bizz-ness.”
Live dangerously. Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius.
“In the navy, I lived on the USS Vesuvius for three years, seven months, and ten days. Vesuvius is the volcano that destroyed Pompeii, Herculaneum and Stabiae. They found bodies of motherfuckers sat at tables and layin’ in bed who had died quickly 'cause a pyroclastic cloud swarmed their lungs. There’s somethin’ to be said for livin’ dangerously. And I’m not knockin’ employees of Wal-Mart, Sears or KFC. It’s not easy goin’ into a heavily armed hotel room at two in the mornin’ and blowin’ a guys face off, but it gives you a feelin’ of livin’ on the edge. Look at Pat Tillman the Arizona Cardinal, an NFL player, a college grad. He gave up a multi-million- dollar contract to join the army, went to Afghanistan to fight the Mujahideen, and got his ass blown off by friendly fire. Some say it was patriotism, but I say it was for fuckin’ excitement.”
It was subtle of God to learn Greek when he wished to become an author and not to learn it better.
“You’ve gotta be a stupid motherfucker to think God wrote the Bible. But for the motherfuckers with eighty-year sentences, comin’ through the prison gate, shattered motherfuckers – especially young one, the Bible gives 'em somethin’ to lean on. I don’t think for one second that Pope Benedict XV1 goes to bed believin’ God wrote the Bible or that the walls of Jericho tumbled down or that Moses turned the Nile into blood and had it rain frogs. Of course the Pope doesn’t believe that cos he’s in de bizz-nezz. The Bible’s a hormone-releasin’ remedy for the blues.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
1st Sept 07
The Royo Romance (16)
The Royo Romance (16)
From letter to Royo Girl:
Thanks for coming to visit me. I had fun and hope you did too. You brought just the right amount of food. It was delicious.
Again we had good chemistry, but rather than babble on, I’d like to express how you made me feel with a quote from Tolstoy’s love story Anna Karenina:
“But what struck him like something always new and unexpected was the look in her sweet eyes, her calm and sincere face, and her smile, which transported him to a world of enchantment, where he felt at peace and at rest, as he remembered occasionally feeling in the days of his early childhood.”
It’s uncanny that I just read this quote.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
31 August 07
The Double Murderer (Part 2)
Being bipolar, my moods can change at a multiple of a normal person’s rate. When I lose it, I lose it. Although outwardly I had remained calm in the face of Magpie’s threats, inwardly, I was about to explode. There are cameras in the kitchen, and I suspected Magpie of trying to get me to throw the first blow – an act that could have led to additional charges and another prison sentence.
If he attacks me, I thought, I’ll be forced to defend myself. In the meantime I’ve got to ignore him, and try to stay calm.
I was led outside by Cage Fighter, one of the toughest men on the yard, a pro wrestler who works out endlessly.
“Look”, Cage Fighter said, “Magpie just came and complained to me about you. But you know what?”
“What?” I said.
“He’s full of shit. He tried the same tricks with me when I was in the clipper room. Look man, you’re about to get out, don’t let him get to you. Whatever he says, let it slide off your back.”
“OK. I’ll try. Thanks.”
Sitting on the crates, Magpie said, “England, people are complaining about you. That you’re not a team player, that you work too slow. The head white shirt's here today. He’s gonna get you.” He pointed at the kitchen supervisor, a Nigerian the inmates call Blood Diamonds.
“I already had it out with him over the gloves.” I turned to Blood Diamonds, and said, “Where’s my gloves at?”
“I’m gonna get you them. I’ll go order them right now.”
“Yeah, right. It’s been three days already.”
Blood Diamonds walked away to talk to another nonprisoner Nigerian.
I looked at the maintenance workers trying to fix the dishwasher, which was gas-powered, and was prone to exploding.
“I don’t know why it’s doing this exploding stuff,” said one of the prisoner maintenancemen.
The grey shirt (a supervisor) said, “It introduces the gas before it ignites it.”
When the maintenance crew had left, Magpie started up again. “You ain’t gettin’ gloves. You ain’t gettin’ shit.”
I continued to ignore him and started writing.
“I’d better not find out you’re puttin’ shit on the Internet about me, dude. I’ll scalp the rest of your head off. You think you’re crazy, you’ve got two crazies in here, motherfucker. I’ll show you some shit you ain’t never seen.”
He stood up, walked up to me, and we stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. He walked away, and I started to pace up and down.
“Look at England, “ Magpie said, “he’s tensing himself up to come and beat this Indian down.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
The Double Murderer (Part 2)
Being bipolar, my moods can change at a multiple of a normal person’s rate. When I lose it, I lose it. Although outwardly I had remained calm in the face of Magpie’s threats, inwardly, I was about to explode. There are cameras in the kitchen, and I suspected Magpie of trying to get me to throw the first blow – an act that could have led to additional charges and another prison sentence.
If he attacks me, I thought, I’ll be forced to defend myself. In the meantime I’ve got to ignore him, and try to stay calm.
I was led outside by Cage Fighter, one of the toughest men on the yard, a pro wrestler who works out endlessly.
“Look”, Cage Fighter said, “Magpie just came and complained to me about you. But you know what?”
“What?” I said.
“He’s full of shit. He tried the same tricks with me when I was in the clipper room. Look man, you’re about to get out, don’t let him get to you. Whatever he says, let it slide off your back.”
“OK. I’ll try. Thanks.”
Sitting on the crates, Magpie said, “England, people are complaining about you. That you’re not a team player, that you work too slow. The head white shirt's here today. He’s gonna get you.” He pointed at the kitchen supervisor, a Nigerian the inmates call Blood Diamonds.
“I already had it out with him over the gloves.” I turned to Blood Diamonds, and said, “Where’s my gloves at?”
“I’m gonna get you them. I’ll go order them right now.”
“Yeah, right. It’s been three days already.”
Blood Diamonds walked away to talk to another nonprisoner Nigerian.
I looked at the maintenance workers trying to fix the dishwasher, which was gas-powered, and was prone to exploding.
“I don’t know why it’s doing this exploding stuff,” said one of the prisoner maintenancemen.
The grey shirt (a supervisor) said, “It introduces the gas before it ignites it.”
When the maintenance crew had left, Magpie started up again. “You ain’t gettin’ gloves. You ain’t gettin’ shit.”
I continued to ignore him and started writing.
“I’d better not find out you’re puttin’ shit on the Internet about me, dude. I’ll scalp the rest of your head off. You think you’re crazy, you’ve got two crazies in here, motherfucker. I’ll show you some shit you ain’t never seen.”
He stood up, walked up to me, and we stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. He walked away, and I started to pace up and down.
“Look at England, “ Magpie said, “he’s tensing himself up to come and beat this Indian down.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
29 August 07
T-Bone's Stress
“British Crumpet,” T-Bone said. “Wattup wanker!”
“Wattup T-Bone!” I said. “How’ve you been doing?”
“Same-ol’ same-o, just a different day. Maintainin’, campaignin’. Dealin’ with people who don’t have strong minds.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Dealin’ with homies who think they’ve gotta act tough. Wannabe tough guys with gangbanger mentalities. If any of these gangbangers walked down an alley alone and met a seven-foot-tall five-hundred-pound dude who demanded their wallet, they’d give it up. They’re only tough when their homies are with them. Then, when they act tough around someone like me, and they get their butts kicked, everyone starts sayin’, ‘You’re bigger than him, it’s not fair.'”
“It sounds like the homies have been stressing you out.”
“I came real close to mud-stompin’ a homey.”
“Mud-stomping?”
“Yeah. Makin’ him a puddle of mud. Faeces and blood combined. You know what I’m sayin’.”
“Yeah. So just one homey pissed you off?”
“No. Quite a few of them.”
“So how are you handing that stress?”
“I don’t have stress.”
“We all have stress.”
“I’m not a wanker though.”
“Well maybe you should be.”
“I miss our conversations, man. With some of the dudes in here it’s like talking to a stone.”
“That’s why you should talk to people you have good chemistry with.”
“True that. Well, I gotta go. Love you, brother.”
“Touche.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
T-Bone's Stress
“British Crumpet,” T-Bone said. “Wattup wanker!”
“Wattup T-Bone!” I said. “How’ve you been doing?”
“Same-ol’ same-o, just a different day. Maintainin’, campaignin’. Dealin’ with people who don’t have strong minds.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Dealin’ with homies who think they’ve gotta act tough. Wannabe tough guys with gangbanger mentalities. If any of these gangbangers walked down an alley alone and met a seven-foot-tall five-hundred-pound dude who demanded their wallet, they’d give it up. They’re only tough when their homies are with them. Then, when they act tough around someone like me, and they get their butts kicked, everyone starts sayin’, ‘You’re bigger than him, it’s not fair.'”
“It sounds like the homies have been stressing you out.”
“I came real close to mud-stompin’ a homey.”
“Mud-stomping?”
“Yeah. Makin’ him a puddle of mud. Faeces and blood combined. You know what I’m sayin’.”
“Yeah. So just one homey pissed you off?”
“No. Quite a few of them.”
“So how are you handing that stress?”
“I don’t have stress.”
“We all have stress.”
“I’m not a wanker though.”
“Well maybe you should be.”
“I miss our conversations, man. With some of the dudes in here it’s like talking to a stone.”
“That’s why you should talk to people you have good chemistry with.”
“True that. Well, I gotta go. Love you, brother.”
“Touche.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
27 August 07
Happy Shitting
“Imagine,” Two Tonys began, “you’re a young gung-ho twenty-one-year old right outta boot camp. Your job – or so Bush’s shills tell you – is to fight insurgents and terrorists. You’re a front-line trooper. Chest out. Eyes alert. They tell you you’re on a mission for your country. You find yourself in a stinkin’ back alley in a Humvee with six of your pals. It gets dark, and you’re in the bowels of Sadr City. It stinks. It’s loud. And all at once – bang! – three of your pals are dead and you wake up in Walter Reid hospital minus your asshole, your balls and part of your leg. You’re in no pain 'cause they’ve got you doped up real good on morphine. But they tell you you’ll never take a good healthy shit again. It’s all about the colostomy bag on your side from now on. If you’re lucky, you might walk some day – with a prosthetic leg. Now, as you’re recoverin’, you’re watchin’ CNN news, and your mind – fucked up as it is – thinks, Hey, maybe we’ll be on the news. Perhaps a decent mention of our sacrifice. So you scope in on the news. Maybe old Wolf Blitzer will show a picture from when you still had an asshole and balls, or a picture of your pals. But guess what the lead story is? Not only Blitzer’s but on all the other fuckin’ channels. Guess what it is? It’s Paris fuckin’ Hilton - again - this time on her way to jail, and what kind of fuckin’ cell she’s gonna have for twenty-three days. It’s about her toothpaste, and whether she’s gonna be allowed Wet Wipes or Charmin fuckin’ toilet paper to wipe her ass with or - heaven forbid! – be forced to use L.A. county jail one-ply. Fuhgeddabout your asshole. It’s back in that alley in Iraq with the blood of your three pals. But who gives a fuck? Your dead pals and your missin’ asshole ain’t worth a fuck to the news mooches slobberin’ all over their selves to get the drop on who’s givin’ Paris a snatch search, or which bulldykes are lookin’ to turn her out. Fuck your missin’ asshole, it’s all about poor Paris. Wolf and all those other newscasters couldn’t give a rat’s. They wanna sell insurance, cars, condos. You might getta mention in your hometown, as long as it don’t interfere with the real lead story. Yeah! You’ve been had. The realisation brings on a bowel movement. It’s not your fault, but you’ve been had. Happy shitting!”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Happy Shitting
“Imagine,” Two Tonys began, “you’re a young gung-ho twenty-one-year old right outta boot camp. Your job – or so Bush’s shills tell you – is to fight insurgents and terrorists. You’re a front-line trooper. Chest out. Eyes alert. They tell you you’re on a mission for your country. You find yourself in a stinkin’ back alley in a Humvee with six of your pals. It gets dark, and you’re in the bowels of Sadr City. It stinks. It’s loud. And all at once – bang! – three of your pals are dead and you wake up in Walter Reid hospital minus your asshole, your balls and part of your leg. You’re in no pain 'cause they’ve got you doped up real good on morphine. But they tell you you’ll never take a good healthy shit again. It’s all about the colostomy bag on your side from now on. If you’re lucky, you might walk some day – with a prosthetic leg. Now, as you’re recoverin’, you’re watchin’ CNN news, and your mind – fucked up as it is – thinks, Hey, maybe we’ll be on the news. Perhaps a decent mention of our sacrifice. So you scope in on the news. Maybe old Wolf Blitzer will show a picture from when you still had an asshole and balls, or a picture of your pals. But guess what the lead story is? Not only Blitzer’s but on all the other fuckin’ channels. Guess what it is? It’s Paris fuckin’ Hilton - again - this time on her way to jail, and what kind of fuckin’ cell she’s gonna have for twenty-three days. It’s about her toothpaste, and whether she’s gonna be allowed Wet Wipes or Charmin fuckin’ toilet paper to wipe her ass with or - heaven forbid! – be forced to use L.A. county jail one-ply. Fuhgeddabout your asshole. It’s back in that alley in Iraq with the blood of your three pals. But who gives a fuck? Your dead pals and your missin’ asshole ain’t worth a fuck to the news mooches slobberin’ all over their selves to get the drop on who’s givin’ Paris a snatch search, or which bulldykes are lookin’ to turn her out. Fuck your missin’ asshole, it’s all about poor Paris. Wolf and all those other newscasters couldn’t give a rat’s. They wanna sell insurance, cars, condos. You might getta mention in your hometown, as long as it don’t interfere with the real lead story. Yeah! You’ve been had. The realisation brings on a bowel movement. It’s not your fault, but you’ve been had. Happy shitting!”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
25 Aug 2007-09-09
The Royo Romance (15 B)(food visit continued)
The Royo Romance (15 B)(food visit continued)
Click here for Part 14.
“I’m just checking,” Royo Girl said.
“It’s not such a bad thing to check on actually,” I said. “The longer I’ve been down, the more I’ve found out about how many people do mess around in here. It’s easily the majority, including some of the biggest, baddest prisoners. My sex drive has decreased. But I think it’s because I'm not around women. It’s every prisoner’s worst nightmare to get out of prison to discover they’re sexually ruined. Hopefully my reproductives are in good working order."
“Oh yeah,” she said.
“I’ll find out soon if a certain someone follows through on her idea of deflowering my re-virginity.”
“My idea!”
“OK. Maybe it was a joint idea of ours.”
“Huh! But I will be in England for certain other reasons when you are due to be released.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“So are you nervous about getting out?”
“The only nervousness I had was when I worried about not getting out. I can’t wait to get out. I’m filled with excitement. There’s all kinds of books and stories I’ve drafted that I want to re-write and start submitting. I see all kinds of opportunities ahead of me. I’ve got family and friends supporting me. It’s the poor guys in here like Midnight who have nowhere to go and no family or friends, and are released with fifty-dollars gate money, that have good cause to be concerned. How can I fret when there are so many people in Midnight’s situation? Last time Midnight got out, the police even took his gate money. These guys are turned loose with next to nothing, expected to make their way in the world, and end up taking the easiest route to feed and cloth themselves: committing crimes. Nearly every blog character I’ve written about who has been released has come right back.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Hell no! I’m going to focus on becoming a writer. And if I make money from that I’ll use it to trade stocks online. That way I’ll be able to stay at home with the good woman who helps me settle down.”
“You’re too wild to settle down. You’d grow bored with someone like me.”
“That was the old me. The kind of stuff I used to laugh at – watching plays, listening to concerts, reading books other than stock market books – that’s all stuff I don't mind doing now. I still want to have fun, but I’ve realised fun is a state of mind. When you’ve had your life taken away, you are up to try anything. And there’s nothing wrong with partaking in the funnest thing in the world: making love. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“We’ll see about that.”
I kissed Royo Girl goodbye, and joined the inmates waiting to be strip-searched in an outdoor cage.
“We saw you mackin,” a homey called Fat Boy said to me.
“Englandman’s not lost his touch,” said Big Vato, one of Frankies compadres, a massive man with a bald, tattooed head.
Fat Boy pointed at me and said, “Homey’s got G-A-M-E. England’s a pimp. A mad pimp.”
The cage quickly filled with food talk and gasses passed.
“Burp. Someone call me a fuckin’ ambulance,” an Aryan Brother said, rubbing his belly. Fart. “Isn’t burpin’ good manners in England?”
“I think you’ve got the wrong country, mate,” I said.
“Maybe it’s Germany.”
“Today sure beat motherfuckin’ state food.”
“Whatchu eat?”
“Lobster, steak, shrimp, some Mexican food. Every fuckin thang.”
“I had chile rellenos, fried squash and zucchini, chefs salad, and homemade pear pie.”
“I ate Chinese. Shrimp fried rice, sweet and sour pork, egg rolls. That motherfucker had octopus.”
“Octopus!
“Yeah. Octopus in wine sauce.”
“I had linguine, brownies, a fruit salad, a spinach salad with jalapeno ranch dressing and kolacy.
“Whathafucks kolacy?”
“It’s a shortbread cookie with…like…er…apricot, peach, and prune preserves on top, covered with powered sugar. From Czechoslovakia. It’s Bohemian.”
“Y’all some fine-dinin’ eatin’ motherfuckers. Gimme a pound o’ bacon and some homemade hash browns and I’m one happy motherfucker.”
The kolacy man added, “And for ice cream I had Vanilla Heath Bar and Cherry Garcia.”
“I had Rocky Road ice cream,” Lurch said.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
23 August 07
Encounter With a Double Murderer
I had been put to work in the kitchen. There were no dishes to wash, so I put two crates at the foot of a wall and sat down.
Magpie, a chunky Indian who has stabbed to death two separate inmates, came up to me and said, “I put those crates there. That’s my seat.”
I ignored him.
Magpie looked at the youngster we were working with in the clipper room, and said, “Tell him whose seat that is.”
The youngster said nothing.
“I always sit there in the corner. Look, England, I can see that we’re gonna bump heads already.”
I started to take notes.
“You can’t be writing shit down in here. And if I find out you’re using my name, I’m gonna fuck you up.”
“I’ll write whatever I want to write. Everyone knows I never use real names.”
“Well get off your ass, man. That’s my seat.”
“I put those crates here.”
“I’m telling you now, that’s my corner. I've got that corner. That’s where I sit. I can see it now, I’m gonna have a problem with you. I’m not bullshitting you, I’ll put you in the garbage disposal head-first.”
I ignored him.
Holding a scraper with a long blade, he came at me and and said, “Now talk some shit, England.”
To be continued.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Encounter With a Double Murderer
I had been put to work in the kitchen. There were no dishes to wash, so I put two crates at the foot of a wall and sat down.
Magpie, a chunky Indian who has stabbed to death two separate inmates, came up to me and said, “I put those crates there. That’s my seat.”
I ignored him.
Magpie looked at the youngster we were working with in the clipper room, and said, “Tell him whose seat that is.”
The youngster said nothing.
“I always sit there in the corner. Look, England, I can see that we’re gonna bump heads already.”
I started to take notes.
“You can’t be writing shit down in here. And if I find out you’re using my name, I’m gonna fuck you up.”
“I’ll write whatever I want to write. Everyone knows I never use real names.”
“Well get off your ass, man. That’s my seat.”
“I put those crates here.”
“I’m telling you now, that’s my corner. I've got that corner. That’s where I sit. I can see it now, I’m gonna have a problem with you. I’m not bullshitting you, I’ll put you in the garbage disposal head-first.”
I ignored him.
Holding a scraper with a long blade, he came at me and and said, “Now talk some shit, England.”
To be continued.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
21 August 07
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
19 August 07
Dear Mum
After reading your blogs, I was so moved, that I’ve stayed up way past bedtime writing this. I hope it makes sense, and that I don’t sound like I'm preaching to you.
I created the situation which has caused you pain and suffering for the past five years, and you know how sorry I am. But your therapist is right: my incarceration is almost over. This is a period for celebration. How you choose to look at it will determine how you feel. I’m also at fault for your anxiety in the sense that I’m prone to offloading my anxieties on you. The fact that my venting upsets you is apparent from your writing; so, I must set about doing my best to temper my rantings. I shouldn't be transferring my anxiety to you. Until I read your blogs, I didn’t realise how much you were being affected. Although I should have, and I apologise for my insensitivity.
Having been through various treatments and therapists since I’ve been in here, I can see that your therapist was slowly laying down steps to guide you toward more positive thinking. You may not realise it, but learning to deal with your anxious thoughts will accelerate your personal development and you’ll became stronger.
Try looking at some positive facts about my incarceration. I haven’t been shanked, raped, or had my nose flattened. It’s been the education of a lifetime. I feel as if I have shed the excesses associated with my former immaturity. The situation has not only brought our family closer together, it has also brought us closer to many kind people around the world. I’m not emerging from this now, sadly, as so many others emerge, addicted to hard drugs, infected with diseases, institutionalised, unemployable. I have so many plans for my future, which will make you proud.
I’ll try not to pass my worries on to you as part of a pact whereby you agree to think about these positives when you feel the worries coming on. From your therapy, you've learned that how you think determines how you feel. Anxiety exists for a reason - to make us act. Accept some anxiety, allow it to pass, but don’t allow it to escalate into neurosis.
As you condition your mind to think positively, you’ll unlock the happiness within you. Perhaps the horrible things you’ve experienced or thought about have put you on the path to freedom, a path along which you’re learning to surrender your negativity. What’s going to happen is going to happen – irregardless of how you view it – so don’t add any more to your burden.
So what if there are some delays in my release – I’ll deal with. Don’t worry that I’ll give up. What I’ve endured so far has made me strong. Any extensions are more time for learning and personal growth. So please work on worrying less, and maybe you’ll find peace of mind. It sounds simple, I know, but it's not easy. It takes practice and determination – you can do it, Mum.
Sorry for the pain I have caused. I love you and couldn’t wish for better parents. Your support has kept me from insanity. The future will be my opportunity to show you what a better person I’ve become.
All my love,
Jon
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Dear Mum
After reading your blogs, I was so moved, that I’ve stayed up way past bedtime writing this. I hope it makes sense, and that I don’t sound like I'm preaching to you.
I created the situation which has caused you pain and suffering for the past five years, and you know how sorry I am. But your therapist is right: my incarceration is almost over. This is a period for celebration. How you choose to look at it will determine how you feel. I’m also at fault for your anxiety in the sense that I’m prone to offloading my anxieties on you. The fact that my venting upsets you is apparent from your writing; so, I must set about doing my best to temper my rantings. I shouldn't be transferring my anxiety to you. Until I read your blogs, I didn’t realise how much you were being affected. Although I should have, and I apologise for my insensitivity.
Having been through various treatments and therapists since I’ve been in here, I can see that your therapist was slowly laying down steps to guide you toward more positive thinking. You may not realise it, but learning to deal with your anxious thoughts will accelerate your personal development and you’ll became stronger.
Try looking at some positive facts about my incarceration. I haven’t been shanked, raped, or had my nose flattened. It’s been the education of a lifetime. I feel as if I have shed the excesses associated with my former immaturity. The situation has not only brought our family closer together, it has also brought us closer to many kind people around the world. I’m not emerging from this now, sadly, as so many others emerge, addicted to hard drugs, infected with diseases, institutionalised, unemployable. I have so many plans for my future, which will make you proud.
I’ll try not to pass my worries on to you as part of a pact whereby you agree to think about these positives when you feel the worries coming on. From your therapy, you've learned that how you think determines how you feel. Anxiety exists for a reason - to make us act. Accept some anxiety, allow it to pass, but don’t allow it to escalate into neurosis.
As you condition your mind to think positively, you’ll unlock the happiness within you. Perhaps the horrible things you’ve experienced or thought about have put you on the path to freedom, a path along which you’re learning to surrender your negativity. What’s going to happen is going to happen – irregardless of how you view it – so don’t add any more to your burden.
So what if there are some delays in my release – I’ll deal with. Don’t worry that I’ll give up. What I’ve endured so far has made me strong. Any extensions are more time for learning and personal growth. So please work on worrying less, and maybe you’ll find peace of mind. It sounds simple, I know, but it's not easy. It takes practice and determination – you can do it, Mum.
Sorry for the pain I have caused. I love you and couldn’t wish for better parents. Your support has kept me from insanity. The future will be my opportunity to show you what a better person I’ve become.
All my love,
Jon
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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