15 Nov 07
Release (5) letters to parents
I spent the eve of the day I was supposed to be getting out talking to friends at Yard 4. During field rec I went down there and paced back and forth outside of Yard 4’s perimeter fence. While we talked, guards yelled, "Keep moving along the track Yard 1.” Yard 1 is not supposed to talk to Yard 4 (as a drug-transaction-prevention measure).
For most of the time I talked to Jack whose mentorship resulted in my first short story "Pee Tested" being submitted to Writer’s Digest and winning the Honorable Mention that raised my confidence and eventually led to this year’s spurt of short story writing. Meeting Jack has been a privilege and an honour, and I intend to help him in any way I can. We hope to co-write a serial-killer novel. I’ve barely blogged anything about him, but behind the scenes he’s been a massive influence on my development as a person and a writer. It’ tragic that such a brilliant mind is stuck in here. I wish I could help him get out, but he has four natural life sentences. I feel a pang, a strange hurt leaving him behind.
I said goodbye to Shane too. How rough he had it in his formative years, and how well he’s turned out. I hope he sticks with blogging. He has a following now, and it’s great that he’s experiencing the feedback and fun of blogging that I’ve experienced. He’ll be out in a few years.
Slingblade trundled across Yard 4, and I yelled, but he didn’t respond. I wanted to say goodbye, and to assure him I’d try to get some organisation or other interested in helping him get out. He should have been released two or three years ago.
Slope came to the fence, happy after reading the latest comments on his Slope and Xena blogs, “I think your readers are starting to like me a little bit. Maybe 'cause I’m a little rough around the edges.”
“And then some!” I said, “or as we say in England: you’re as rough as a bear’s arse.” I had to re-pronounce bear’s arse three times before he understood what I’d said. He replied with a string of hillbilly obscenities that I could barely understand. He’s got a big heart, and I hope he does well if he gets out on parole.
Although Two Tonys wasn’t there, some huge Chicano came to the fence and said, “Hey, do you write to Two Tonys?”
“Yes. I will be. Why?”
“Tell him Chicano Bullet sends his love.”
“OK.”
“Thanks.”
And no Xena to say goodbye to. Word is Xena flashed the wasp at the suicide prevention aide working the hole, traumatising said aide.
There’s no field rec until Tuesday now, so there won’t be another chance to say goodbye to anyone else on Yard 4.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
14 Nov 07
Release (4) letters to parents
Four More Days
It’s just after lunch. No sooner had I hid a cheese sandwich smuggled back from the chow hall in my a/c vent and a banana (traded to me by a Jewish-diet-receiving Chicano gangster for some sugar and jelly) in my food-smuggling jacket, than Officer A, who’s been on the rampage all week searching cells and doling out disciplinary tickets, stopped at my door.
“Did you get your release sorted out?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s set for Tuesday not Friday though. I’ve got to do an extra four days.”
“That’s four more days to enjoy our delicious food, to think what put you in prison so you don’t come back, and to enjoy the company of your friends here.”
Kat, in line for CO3 H’s office, turned around and said, “Oo yeah! Jon,” and wiggled his body.
Looking at Kat, Officer A said, “There you go, Jon.”
“Indeed,” I said.
“At least you’re not in a prison in England, I imagine they’re worse.”
“Some of them are like dungeons built centuries ago. They cut prisoners heads off and put them on sticks outside the prisons.”
“They don’t still do that do they?”
“No,” I said, and laughed. “But they did back in the old days.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Four more days is no biggie,” I said.
“That’s four more days of his life he’s never gonna get back,” a prisoner yelled.
“At least it’s not four more years,” the guard said.
“I think I’ll survive,” I said.
When the guard left, Kat entered my cell and said, “With Xena in the hole, I’ll be stopping by tonight to discuss this parting kiss with you.”
Before I could object, Kat spun on his heels and glided away down the run.
2pm
Just before the swing shift arrived, the prisoners made an attempt to get rid of Officer A (her offences now include going into cells when the occupants are absent and reading personal mail). Apparently, she went walking the runs while leaving the control-room door open – a major security violation, as from the control room all of the cells and gates can be opened. The open door was swiftly brought to the attention of CO3 H, who signed a kite written by the prisoners describing the incident, intended to be read by the Captain. However, full of themselves for being about to get one up on Officer A, the prisoners went and bragged about it to her partner, Officer M. Before the kite had reached the Captain, the plot unfolded, and Officer A fessed up to the Captain and perhaps secured her position and reign of tyranny here. Officer A will probably start retaliating tomorrow with more cell searches, tickets, and confiscation of property.
“She’ll be goin’ on a killin’ mission tomorrow,” sighed my neighbour, Black Nine.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Release (4) letters to parents
Four More Days
It’s just after lunch. No sooner had I hid a cheese sandwich smuggled back from the chow hall in my a/c vent and a banana (traded to me by a Jewish-diet-receiving Chicano gangster for some sugar and jelly) in my food-smuggling jacket, than Officer A, who’s been on the rampage all week searching cells and doling out disciplinary tickets, stopped at my door.
“Did you get your release sorted out?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s set for Tuesday not Friday though. I’ve got to do an extra four days.”
“That’s four more days to enjoy our delicious food, to think what put you in prison so you don’t come back, and to enjoy the company of your friends here.”
Kat, in line for CO3 H’s office, turned around and said, “Oo yeah! Jon,” and wiggled his body.
Looking at Kat, Officer A said, “There you go, Jon.”
“Indeed,” I said.
“At least you’re not in a prison in England, I imagine they’re worse.”
“Some of them are like dungeons built centuries ago. They cut prisoners heads off and put them on sticks outside the prisons.”
“They don’t still do that do they?”
“No,” I said, and laughed. “But they did back in the old days.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Four more days is no biggie,” I said.
“That’s four more days of his life he’s never gonna get back,” a prisoner yelled.
“At least it’s not four more years,” the guard said.
“I think I’ll survive,” I said.
When the guard left, Kat entered my cell and said, “With Xena in the hole, I’ll be stopping by tonight to discuss this parting kiss with you.”
Before I could object, Kat spun on his heels and glided away down the run.
2pm
Just before the swing shift arrived, the prisoners made an attempt to get rid of Officer A (her offences now include going into cells when the occupants are absent and reading personal mail). Apparently, she went walking the runs while leaving the control-room door open – a major security violation, as from the control room all of the cells and gates can be opened. The open door was swiftly brought to the attention of CO3 H, who signed a kite written by the prisoners describing the incident, intended to be read by the Captain. However, full of themselves for being about to get one up on Officer A, the prisoners went and bragged about it to her partner, Officer M. Before the kite had reached the Captain, the plot unfolded, and Officer A fessed up to the Captain and perhaps secured her position and reign of tyranny here. Officer A will probably start retaliating tomorrow with more cell searches, tickets, and confiscation of property.
“She’ll be goin’ on a killin’ mission tomorrow,” sighed my neighbour, Black Nine.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
14 Nov 07
Release (3) letters to parents
I do appreciate all of your blog slog, and that you've tempered some of my excesses and perversions with your editing skills. My mind is such that my prose is prone to going beyond left field, not as much as it used to, but still it manages to go there somehow and I don't even notice it at the time. You've given so much of your time, typing it up, editing and dealing with my emails, what will you do when I'm in charge? I understand your qualms about handing it over. It's safe with me. Honest! Ha! Ha!
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Release (3) letters to parents
I do appreciate all of your blog slog, and that you've tempered some of my excesses and perversions with your editing skills. My mind is such that my prose is prone to going beyond left field, not as much as it used to, but still it manages to go there somehow and I don't even notice it at the time. You've given so much of your time, typing it up, editing and dealing with my emails, what will you do when I'm in charge? I understand your qualms about handing it over. It's safe with me. Honest! Ha! Ha!
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
13 Nov 07
Release (2) letters to parents
Today has been a day of conflicting emotions. Thanks for putting in the calls necessary to get the wheels of bureaucracy turning. I am insanely happy that my release was finally confirmed this afternoon, and I have been scheduled to be picked up by Immigration this Friday. This morning C03 H. told me, “Your release is confirmed,” at which point my heart leaped, and he then added, “but you’re not actually down as being scheduled for release,” at which point my heart sank again. Getting released isn’t easy.
The prisoners who knew I wasn’t scheduled for release (because word came back from the prisoner clerks privy to these things) have been placing bets on whether or not my release would go through and what day they expected me to get out or whether I’d be stuck here until my next release date. Some still doubt I’ll get out on Friday. Others have been shaking my hand offering congratulations and asking for my mailing address in England. A few people who have barely ever talked to me before, have come to my cell, struck up a conversation, and then at the end of it have asked me something like, “By the way, have you decided who you are going to give your sunglasses to when you leave?”
Departing prisoners shower their friends and neighbours with gifts in the form of personal property before they leave. Everything from my orange sportswear down to my pencil sharpener must go. People started asking me months ago. The first was Too Tall after my tumbler and lid, an item that has served me well for smuggling meals out of the chow hall (when I’ve had to postpone eating due to my work-outs with Iron Man). Then came Red after my chess set, and numerous people after my dictionaries.
Part of me, although my soul is full of joy, still doesn’t believe I am about to leave this prison. That part of me will not be satisfied until the guards in the control room tell me to roll up. Upon hearing those winged words and having that last bit of doubt dismissed, I’m sure my excitement will ratchet up several levels above how I’m feeling right now.
I’m going to miss my friends on Yard 1. Weird Al’s sarcasm. Working out with Iron Man – a truly strong man who’s added some new dimensions to my life. I’ll miss Xena, who is in the hole and out of reach of the parting kiss some of the blog readers were hoping for. Kat came by yesterday and while shaving my back suggested we go one further than what had been proposed with Xena. Don’t worry, I didn’t, as Xena likes to say, "pitch a trouser tent." Almost six years in now and I’ve not (like Frankie predicted I would at the five year mark) gone with any cheetos.
Weird Al just came in and said CO3 H wants to see me.
“I’ve got good news and bad news, which do you want first?” CO3 H said.
“The bad,” I said, my heart sinking again.
“You are not getting out on the 16th.”
“What?” Panic setting in now.
“The good news is that you’re getting out on the 20th. Immigration needed seven days notice, the 16th only allowed for four.”
“Well, at least I am getting out. I guess I can hang out for another four days.”
Do you see how things change by the minute around here? It’s madness. Anyway, it’ll give me a little longer with my friends here, and the 20th will arrive in no time at all. It’ll also give me a chance to finish the book I just started: Mario Puzo’s The Godfather Returns.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Release (2) letters to parents
Today has been a day of conflicting emotions. Thanks for putting in the calls necessary to get the wheels of bureaucracy turning. I am insanely happy that my release was finally confirmed this afternoon, and I have been scheduled to be picked up by Immigration this Friday. This morning C03 H. told me, “Your release is confirmed,” at which point my heart leaped, and he then added, “but you’re not actually down as being scheduled for release,” at which point my heart sank again. Getting released isn’t easy.
The prisoners who knew I wasn’t scheduled for release (because word came back from the prisoner clerks privy to these things) have been placing bets on whether or not my release would go through and what day they expected me to get out or whether I’d be stuck here until my next release date. Some still doubt I’ll get out on Friday. Others have been shaking my hand offering congratulations and asking for my mailing address in England. A few people who have barely ever talked to me before, have come to my cell, struck up a conversation, and then at the end of it have asked me something like, “By the way, have you decided who you are going to give your sunglasses to when you leave?”
Departing prisoners shower their friends and neighbours with gifts in the form of personal property before they leave. Everything from my orange sportswear down to my pencil sharpener must go. People started asking me months ago. The first was Too Tall after my tumbler and lid, an item that has served me well for smuggling meals out of the chow hall (when I’ve had to postpone eating due to my work-outs with Iron Man). Then came Red after my chess set, and numerous people after my dictionaries.
Part of me, although my soul is full of joy, still doesn’t believe I am about to leave this prison. That part of me will not be satisfied until the guards in the control room tell me to roll up. Upon hearing those winged words and having that last bit of doubt dismissed, I’m sure my excitement will ratchet up several levels above how I’m feeling right now.
I’m going to miss my friends on Yard 1. Weird Al’s sarcasm. Working out with Iron Man – a truly strong man who’s added some new dimensions to my life. I’ll miss Xena, who is in the hole and out of reach of the parting kiss some of the blog readers were hoping for. Kat came by yesterday and while shaving my back suggested we go one further than what had been proposed with Xena. Don’t worry, I didn’t, as Xena likes to say, "pitch a trouser tent." Almost six years in now and I’ve not (like Frankie predicted I would at the five year mark) gone with any cheetos.
Weird Al just came in and said CO3 H wants to see me.
“I’ve got good news and bad news, which do you want first?” CO3 H said.
“The bad,” I said, my heart sinking again.
“You are not getting out on the 16th.”
“What?” Panic setting in now.
“The good news is that you’re getting out on the 20th. Immigration needed seven days notice, the 16th only allowed for four.”
“Well, at least I am getting out. I guess I can hang out for another four days.”
Do you see how things change by the minute around here? It’s madness. Anyway, it’ll give me a little longer with my friends here, and the 20th will arrive in no time at all. It’ll also give me a chance to finish the book I just started: Mario Puzo’s The Godfather Returns.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
8 Nov 07
Release (1) letters to parents
It's hard not being able to phone you just when I need to keep you up to date with my release. Luckily I can phone Barry or Sue-O to email you messages. I've applied to get the 520 phone number back on the list, but I'm hoping to be out of Santa Rita before they process my request, in which case I'll be calling you on the 520 number from Immigration.
I saw the counselor yesterday and the day before, and he said that my release has not been processed at this unit yet according to his computer screen. Apparently, Time Comp does its thing, then sends the release package here, and these people have to process it. Other prisoners are telling me to have someone call down here, so it gets done. I’m going to e-mail you the info via Sue-O.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Release (1) letters to parents
It's hard not being able to phone you just when I need to keep you up to date with my release. Luckily I can phone Barry or Sue-O to email you messages. I've applied to get the 520 phone number back on the list, but I'm hoping to be out of Santa Rita before they process my request, in which case I'll be calling you on the 520 number from Immigration.
I saw the counselor yesterday and the day before, and he said that my release has not been processed at this unit yet according to his computer screen. Apparently, Time Comp does its thing, then sends the release package here, and these people have to process it. Other prisoners are telling me to have someone call down here, so it gets done. I’m going to e-mail you the info via Sue-O.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
07 Nov 07
Dear Mum & Dad
In a letter from Jon:
T-Bone’s parting advice moved me greatly, especially when he emphasised how I need to talk to you two when I get home and to get to know more about you as human beings. I agree with him wholeheartedly. Some talks are in order. He also pointed out that Mum’s stress over me adjusting to freedom is grounded in love. I know this, but I don’t want you, Mum, to wear yourself out with worry. I’ve caused you enough heartbreak, and couldn’t be more ashamed of the hurt I’ve caused you. I want to do whatever I can to lessen your burden.
I'm concerned about Mum’s dreams of me with drugged-up eyes. The partying I did produced a disaster for all of us. It did not produce the endless fun I’d imagined. It produced imprisonment and a chain reaction of emotional damage to the people who love me the most. There’s no way I can allow the set of circumstances that led to that disaster to ever happen again. I did drugs because I felt inadequate. I was unhappy with my sober self and drugs brought out an alter ego that attracted people like crazy. This persona took over because I lacked the strength of character to be myself. That’s not the case anymore. My character has strengthened, and I’ve become who I am. I no longer feel the need to impress people by acting like a loon. I am happy with who I’ve become. And this transformation is probably the biggest benefit I’ve received from incarceration, and the reason I no longer feel that I need to take drugs to compensate for something I lack in a natural state.
It’s my hope that your feelings of worry will be assuaged if you try focussing not on my past, but on the person I have become, the real me, the me that’s entering the world confident he will not repeat the past disaster, or let anything prevent him from pursuing a positive, healthy, and happy lifestyle.
With love, Jon
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Dear Mum & Dad
In a letter from Jon:
T-Bone’s parting advice moved me greatly, especially when he emphasised how I need to talk to you two when I get home and to get to know more about you as human beings. I agree with him wholeheartedly. Some talks are in order. He also pointed out that Mum’s stress over me adjusting to freedom is grounded in love. I know this, but I don’t want you, Mum, to wear yourself out with worry. I’ve caused you enough heartbreak, and couldn’t be more ashamed of the hurt I’ve caused you. I want to do whatever I can to lessen your burden.
I'm concerned about Mum’s dreams of me with drugged-up eyes. The partying I did produced a disaster for all of us. It did not produce the endless fun I’d imagined. It produced imprisonment and a chain reaction of emotional damage to the people who love me the most. There’s no way I can allow the set of circumstances that led to that disaster to ever happen again. I did drugs because I felt inadequate. I was unhappy with my sober self and drugs brought out an alter ego that attracted people like crazy. This persona took over because I lacked the strength of character to be myself. That’s not the case anymore. My character has strengthened, and I’ve become who I am. I no longer feel the need to impress people by acting like a loon. I am happy with who I’ve become. And this transformation is probably the biggest benefit I’ve received from incarceration, and the reason I no longer feel that I need to take drugs to compensate for something I lack in a natural state.
It’s my hope that your feelings of worry will be assuaged if you try focussing not on my past, but on the person I have become, the real me, the me that’s entering the world confident he will not repeat the past disaster, or let anything prevent him from pursuing a positive, healthy, and happy lifestyle.
With love, Jon
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
06 Nov 07
Parting Advice from T-Bone (2)
“I’m more likely to be hanging out at the library than at a club with women like that,” I said.
“You think people don’t do drugs at libraries?” T-Bone said. “At the Phoenix library these two guys started talking to me about Civil War history. We continued the discussion at a coffee shop. We were having an intense enlightening conversation. The next thing you know one of the guys goes, ‘I wanna do a line to wake up.’ So I leave 'em to it. I get in my truck and keep going. They weren’t my type of people. They were brainiacs like you. And if you are going back to university, so many people do drugs there, it’s unreal. It’s part of college life now to do glass to stay up.”
“I know.”
“You need to understand some simple things. All kinds of challenges are gonna come at you – bam! - ’cause you’re back out there again.”
“I’m not gonna worry about it. My mum’s more worried than I am.”
“That’s ’cause she loves you. You’re getting out, the weather’s gonna hit you, your mom’s face, your father’s face, your sister, the smell of the house, memories, memories good, memories bad, you’ll think about stuff that happened here – the American women – and your gonna miss that. There’s gonna be times when you feel bored, lonely, incomplete, and those are the moments when you’ve gotta make the right choices. In your little town there’s not gonna be a whole lotta things going on on the surface.”
“I know, but I intend to go back to university.”
“For what?”
“Creative writing.”
“You’re an intelligent man, you don’t need a professor to teach you something you already know how to do.”
“I need refinement.”
“And practice will bring you that. Find some interesting characters to write about. You’ll be like Dickens.
I’ve come to realise, patience is the key when you first get out of prison. You have to develop things, build things slowly. There’s people who are positive and negative that are going to be coming into your life – some will be sneaky, some will be outright. If they catch you in certain moods and situations and you make a bad choice, you will fall. It doesn’t matter if they’re in a stretch limo or a Mini Cooper, you hafta be able to size them up and make the right choices in every situation you are in. When I first got out, I thought I’d changed from my old ways, but I went back to it in a different way. There’s levels of stupidity. You think, Well, I’ve changed. I’ll do it this way now. I’ll go to the clubs, but not get in the mix. I’ll just get a drink, say hello to a few people and leave. But then you fall right back into it.”
“My focus is on writing, not clubbing.”
“So you’ve made a conscious decision that that’s what you’re gonna focus on in your life?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re set with that then you can’t deviate if things go south.”
“I won’t, I’ll persevere.”
“You never know what tomorrow will throw at you. There are levels of intensity you’ve gotta go through, like being a Royal Marine set on defending England. Or the guys with the bearskin caps that stand there without blinking. It takes a special man to be able to do that – English focus – and you have that in your blood. You have ability, just apply it. Apply the positive you’ve learned; the negative, get rid of it. Stay focussed on your objective. Don’t allow small-minded people to come along and bring you down. With a mind like yours, you’re gonna make money, but challenges will arise. And don’t forget to sit down with Mom and Pop.”
“I won’t.”
“I know you won’t go back to your old ways because if you do then you’re gonna have to deal with me.”
“Yikes!”
“I’m gonna miss ya, man.”
“I’m gonna miss you too. L ’n’ R, my friend.”
“L ’n’ R and God bless you.”
Through Yard 1’s perimeter fence, I shook one of the biggest hands I’ve ever seen - the hand of T-Bone.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Parting Advice from T-Bone (2)
“I’m more likely to be hanging out at the library than at a club with women like that,” I said.
“You think people don’t do drugs at libraries?” T-Bone said. “At the Phoenix library these two guys started talking to me about Civil War history. We continued the discussion at a coffee shop. We were having an intense enlightening conversation. The next thing you know one of the guys goes, ‘I wanna do a line to wake up.’ So I leave 'em to it. I get in my truck and keep going. They weren’t my type of people. They were brainiacs like you. And if you are going back to university, so many people do drugs there, it’s unreal. It’s part of college life now to do glass to stay up.”
“I know.”
“You need to understand some simple things. All kinds of challenges are gonna come at you – bam! - ’cause you’re back out there again.”
“I’m not gonna worry about it. My mum’s more worried than I am.”
“That’s ’cause she loves you. You’re getting out, the weather’s gonna hit you, your mom’s face, your father’s face, your sister, the smell of the house, memories, memories good, memories bad, you’ll think about stuff that happened here – the American women – and your gonna miss that. There’s gonna be times when you feel bored, lonely, incomplete, and those are the moments when you’ve gotta make the right choices. In your little town there’s not gonna be a whole lotta things going on on the surface.”
“I know, but I intend to go back to university.”
“For what?”
“Creative writing.”
“You’re an intelligent man, you don’t need a professor to teach you something you already know how to do.”
“I need refinement.”
“And practice will bring you that. Find some interesting characters to write about. You’ll be like Dickens.
I’ve come to realise, patience is the key when you first get out of prison. You have to develop things, build things slowly. There’s people who are positive and negative that are going to be coming into your life – some will be sneaky, some will be outright. If they catch you in certain moods and situations and you make a bad choice, you will fall. It doesn’t matter if they’re in a stretch limo or a Mini Cooper, you hafta be able to size them up and make the right choices in every situation you are in. When I first got out, I thought I’d changed from my old ways, but I went back to it in a different way. There’s levels of stupidity. You think, Well, I’ve changed. I’ll do it this way now. I’ll go to the clubs, but not get in the mix. I’ll just get a drink, say hello to a few people and leave. But then you fall right back into it.”
“My focus is on writing, not clubbing.”
“So you’ve made a conscious decision that that’s what you’re gonna focus on in your life?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re set with that then you can’t deviate if things go south.”
“I won’t, I’ll persevere.”
“You never know what tomorrow will throw at you. There are levels of intensity you’ve gotta go through, like being a Royal Marine set on defending England. Or the guys with the bearskin caps that stand there without blinking. It takes a special man to be able to do that – English focus – and you have that in your blood. You have ability, just apply it. Apply the positive you’ve learned; the negative, get rid of it. Stay focussed on your objective. Don’t allow small-minded people to come along and bring you down. With a mind like yours, you’re gonna make money, but challenges will arise. And don’t forget to sit down with Mom and Pop.”
“I won’t.”
“I know you won’t go back to your old ways because if you do then you’re gonna have to deal with me.”
“Yikes!”
“I’m gonna miss ya, man.”
“I’m gonna miss you too. L ’n’ R, my friend.”
“L ’n’ R and God bless you.”
Through Yard 1’s perimeter fence, I shook one of the biggest hands I’ve ever seen - the hand of T-Bone.
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
07 Nov 07
Cell Search
“Attwood,” said a female officer, “step outside of your cell in your shower shoes. You have been chosen to have your cell searched.”
“OK,” I said. I stepped out onto the run and continued to read my book.
Two guards entered my cell: the female and a male.
“Oh,” the female said, nose raised, sniffing the air, “so you’ve been smoking in your cell.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Like I can’t smell the smoke,” she said.
“It comes through the vents,” I said.
“Yeah, right,” she said.
I felt a flush of irritation and thought, No matter what I say I’m just another lying inmate to her, so I’d better say nothing at all.
“When did they move you from D run?”
“The last time I was on D run was on Yard 4.”
“I’m talking about Yard 1. You’re the one always hanging out on D run.”
Here she goes again, I thought. “I think you’ve got me confused,” I said.
“No. I remember seeing you always hanging out on D run. You were over there all of the time.”
“I stay in my cell reading and writing.”
Her face pinched with disbelief. I stayed silent.
“Where’s your TV at?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have one?”
“No. Like I said, I read and write all day.”
“Aren’t you getting out soon?” the other officer asked.
“Next week,” I said, and immediately the guards looked at each other with the same expression that said, He’s getting out next week so he must have sold his TV.
“So you don’t watch TV, eh?” she said, smiling knowingly.
“No, I don’t. I try not to waste my time,” I said.
“You’ve been down long enough to get a TV.”
“I don’t have one by choice.”
“Hmm,” she said. “It must be inconvenient to have us come along and disrupt your day.”
Why is she provoking me? I thought.
“What, are you tongue-tied now?” she said.
I ignored her. They eventually left my cell. Then, antagonising all of the prisoners and a few guards who knew I didn't have a TV, she had every cell on the yard searched for the TV set of mine.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Cell Search
“Attwood,” said a female officer, “step outside of your cell in your shower shoes. You have been chosen to have your cell searched.”
“OK,” I said. I stepped out onto the run and continued to read my book.
Two guards entered my cell: the female and a male.
“Oh,” the female said, nose raised, sniffing the air, “so you’ve been smoking in your cell.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Like I can’t smell the smoke,” she said.
“It comes through the vents,” I said.
“Yeah, right,” she said.
I felt a flush of irritation and thought, No matter what I say I’m just another lying inmate to her, so I’d better say nothing at all.
“When did they move you from D run?”
“The last time I was on D run was on Yard 4.”
“I’m talking about Yard 1. You’re the one always hanging out on D run.”
Here she goes again, I thought. “I think you’ve got me confused,” I said.
“No. I remember seeing you always hanging out on D run. You were over there all of the time.”
“I stay in my cell reading and writing.”
Her face pinched with disbelief. I stayed silent.
“Where’s your TV at?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have one?”
“No. Like I said, I read and write all day.”
“Aren’t you getting out soon?” the other officer asked.
“Next week,” I said, and immediately the guards looked at each other with the same expression that said, He’s getting out next week so he must have sold his TV.
“So you don’t watch TV, eh?” she said, smiling knowingly.
“No, I don’t. I try not to waste my time,” I said.
“You’ve been down long enough to get a TV.”
“I don’t have one by choice.”
“Hmm,” she said. “It must be inconvenient to have us come along and disrupt your day.”
Why is she provoking me? I thought.
“What, are you tongue-tied now?” she said.
I ignored her. They eventually left my cell. Then, antagonising all of the prisoners and a few guards who knew I didn't have a TV, she had every cell on the yard searched for the TV set of mine.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
06 Nov 07
Parting Advice from T-Bone
“One of the things,” T-Bone began, “you need to do is to sit down at the table with Mom and Pop and learn who they really are as human beings.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“How long have they been married?”
“Nearly forty years.”
“Can you imagine all the ups and downs they’ve been through over the years? Yet they are still together. They are successful people. Learn how they did it, so you can grow and obtain wisdom and knowledge and understanding. You’ve been through some things in the States and you didn’t connect with your family in the right way. I’m telling you as a man, you need to sit down with them over a cup of tea. Do you have the guts to do it?”
“I hope so.”
“And when you’re talking with them, if your heart doesn’t jump with pride, honour, and astonishment then you’re empty inside ’cause what they’ve done takes strength.
You also need to stay away from chicks who are party girls, and to focus on one woman. What are you gonna do if you meet some chick in a flimsy little outfit, a fishnet dress maybe, and she’s five-seven, nicely built, up on heels and with plenty of makeup on, and she has a bunch of X, and she comes to you and says, ‘Bring your pretty little butt over here, Jonny?’ You have to make a choice. She’s mesmerizing. She’s tantalizing. She’s sexy. Her breath smells like cinnamon and jasmine. Her bed is perfumed with myrrh and aloes like the harlot in Proverbs 7. Are you gonna go for the temptation that leads you down the path of destruction?”
“No!”
“Are you gonna allow her perfume and drugs to seduce you, to take you to the demonic realm?”
“I’m out of that lifestyle.”
To be continued…
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Parting Advice from T-Bone
“One of the things,” T-Bone began, “you need to do is to sit down at the table with Mom and Pop and learn who they really are as human beings.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“How long have they been married?”
“Nearly forty years.”
“Can you imagine all the ups and downs they’ve been through over the years? Yet they are still together. They are successful people. Learn how they did it, so you can grow and obtain wisdom and knowledge and understanding. You’ve been through some things in the States and you didn’t connect with your family in the right way. I’m telling you as a man, you need to sit down with them over a cup of tea. Do you have the guts to do it?”
“I hope so.”
“And when you’re talking with them, if your heart doesn’t jump with pride, honour, and astonishment then you’re empty inside ’cause what they’ve done takes strength.
You also need to stay away from chicks who are party girls, and to focus on one woman. What are you gonna do if you meet some chick in a flimsy little outfit, a fishnet dress maybe, and she’s five-seven, nicely built, up on heels and with plenty of makeup on, and she has a bunch of X, and she comes to you and says, ‘Bring your pretty little butt over here, Jonny?’ You have to make a choice. She’s mesmerizing. She’s tantalizing. She’s sexy. Her breath smells like cinnamon and jasmine. Her bed is perfumed with myrrh and aloes like the harlot in Proverbs 7. Are you gonna go for the temptation that leads you down the path of destruction?”
“No!”
“Are you gonna allow her perfume and drugs to seduce you, to take you to the demonic realm?”
“I’m out of that lifestyle.”
To be continued…
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
4 Nov 07
The Royo Romance (19) Continued
Click here for Part 18.
I introduced Barry to Royo Girl, and said, “So how are your sons doing?”
“Jay just got a ticket for peeing in public.”
“Oh no!” I said.
“A two-hundred-and-thirty-three-dollar ticket.”
“What happened?”
“He went into a Circle K to use the bathroom and they wouldn’t let him, so he went around the corner and peed right in front of an unmarked cop car.”
Royo Girl and I laughed.
"That's an expensive pee."
The conversation got round to showers.
“Are the showers in here," Barry asked,"a column with a bunch of showerheads coming out and everyone’s running around naked?”
“No. They’re tiny cubicles with doors you can shut. Half of them don’t work, and they’re full of bugs. But at least there’s privacy, unless someone opens your door.”
“Has that happened to you?”
“Oh, yes. On Yard 4, Xena and George and Frankie were always trying to barge in the shower with me. And you see men going in the shower with men.”
“What?” Barry said.
“I can’t begin to describe all the stuff that goes on in here. There’s people who have sex with shampoo bottles in the shower, the bottles get stuck, and they end up at Medical.”
“I imagine you’ve seen it all,” Barry said.
“I’ve seen or heard enough.”
“And have you still not gone with a cheeto?” Royo Girl asked.
“No. But Xena was demanding a parting kiss before I leave, and when I told Kat, Kat said, 'We can go one better than that'.”
Watching Royo Girl and I talk, Barry suddenly said, “You two would be perfect for each other.”
We both blushed, but I felt more happy than embarrassed. Then I felt proud.
“He’s too wild,” Royo Girl said.
“But you’re the perfect calming influence on me.”
“I think she would be a good influence,” Barry said.
Turning to Barry, Royo Girl said, “He needs to focus on himself.”
“I’d rather focus on you.”
Flustering slightly, Royo Girl said, “He sometimes acts like I’m being mean or something.”
“I like it when you put me in check. I would thrive if I were with someone like you. Don’t be fooled, Barry, she has a wild side too. She has a tattoo on her tailbone.”
“They call them,” Royo Girl said, “tramp stamps these days.”
Barry and I laughed.
While they joked about tramp stamps, I examined the tattoos on Barry’s arms: a band of barbed wire, flames around seven skulls, and a green dragon below a moon.
I enjoyed the company of Barry. After sharing hugs, he left half an hour before the end of the visit.
“Did you put Barry up to that?”
“To what?”
“To saying we would be perfect for each other?”
“I didn’t even know he was coming. He must have formed his own opinion. Do you disagree with what he said?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I feel there is something between us. Something I can’t put in words.”
“But you put it into words on the blog.”
“Last time I let my feelings for you flow, you backed off. You don’t want a fawning man, you want someone who's tough.”
“But not too tough. Did you really say those things to T-Bone you blogged?”
"Yes. T-Bone knows how I feel about you. He’s encouraged me all along, even when you backed off he said you were coming to see me because you love me and we’d end up together somehow.”
“And how do you feel about me now?”
“Look what happened last time I laid my cards on the table. I’m not going to act like that again. I just hope we meet in England, and see what happens. I gave you my heart once, and I even blogged it.”
“I feel my intentions have been misconstrued at the blog.”
“I know you have good intentions and maybe you intend to visit me in England.”
“That’s not a maybe. I will – eventually.”
“And then what?”
“Who’s to say what the future holds. We will always be good friends.”
“Say we become more than that?”
“Why live in hypothetical worlds?”
“Good answer, but it doesn’t have to be hypothetical.”
“I knew you would say that, and that’s not quite what I had in mind.”
“Visitation is over!”
We stood up, and embraced. I was captivated by the scent on her neck and the softness of her skin. Her lips found mine with a passion I had not expected. The kiss seemed to confirm her feelings for me - or was I imagining things? I broke off the kiss but still held her close. We kissed again with the same passion and my mind wobbled. The second kiss crushed any doubts I had – and as I write this two hours later I’m still full of excitement.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
1 Nov 07
My Plan
From a letter to my parents:
I have just finished reading a Solzhenitsyn bio that I started two days ago and couldn’t put down. It’s as if fate has stepped in just before my release and strengthened my commitment to making a go of writing.
My suffering can’t compare with what Solzhenitsyn had to endure, yet he rose from prison to spearhead the literary elite of Russia. Death called on him so many times: on the front fighting the Nazis, in Russian prisons, and then in the form of cancer. Reading about the odds he overcome has inspired me. From prison he was exiled to Kazakhstan where he knew no one, and he ended up lodging in a corner of a kitchen in an old couple’s house.
As for me, I have your loving home to go to. He set strict limits on his social life and gave writing his all. He funnelled his prison experiences into fiction in such an honest and compelling way that his book about Ivan Denisovich caused a revolution in Russian writing. This quote really touched me:
“The writer’s tasks concern more general and eternal questions – the secrets of the human heart and conscience, the clash between life and death, and the overcoming of inner sorrow.”
These Russian literary geniuses (including Tolstoy and Chekhov) seem to have a knack for penetrating the human soul and portraying it in an uplifting way in their prose. Not that I could come anywhere near the genius of these great writers, but I’ve tried to go in that direction and as I continue my writing should mature.
Anyway, I learned a lot more from this bio than I can convey in this letter – especially how I need to have a disciplined work ethic, like I had when I began stockbroking. I’m used to a monastic life, so you locking me in the garage and feeding me meagre meals won’t be a problem.
I don’t intend to succumb to the temptations of my former life. I need to be with people who will have a positive influence on my life. I would like to use the knowledge I’ve gained to help with prison reform, help young offenders or speak to youngsters about my involvement with drugs and how I ended up in prison.
I’ve certainly undergone the “impoverishment and devastation” that according to Thomas Mann, constitute the preliminary conditions to serious writing. And Solzhenitsyn claimed: “Good literature arises out of pain.” I would like to expose injustice through my writing. I’m willing to make the necessary sacrifices. I’d be happy to accomplish a fraction of what Solzhenitsyn accomplished.
With your help, I just need to follow through on the opportunities that continue to come my way, and to keep myself emotionally stable.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
My Plan
From a letter to my parents:
I have just finished reading a Solzhenitsyn bio that I started two days ago and couldn’t put down. It’s as if fate has stepped in just before my release and strengthened my commitment to making a go of writing.
My suffering can’t compare with what Solzhenitsyn had to endure, yet he rose from prison to spearhead the literary elite of Russia. Death called on him so many times: on the front fighting the Nazis, in Russian prisons, and then in the form of cancer. Reading about the odds he overcome has inspired me. From prison he was exiled to Kazakhstan where he knew no one, and he ended up lodging in a corner of a kitchen in an old couple’s house.
As for me, I have your loving home to go to. He set strict limits on his social life and gave writing his all. He funnelled his prison experiences into fiction in such an honest and compelling way that his book about Ivan Denisovich caused a revolution in Russian writing. This quote really touched me:
“The writer’s tasks concern more general and eternal questions – the secrets of the human heart and conscience, the clash between life and death, and the overcoming of inner sorrow.”
These Russian literary geniuses (including Tolstoy and Chekhov) seem to have a knack for penetrating the human soul and portraying it in an uplifting way in their prose. Not that I could come anywhere near the genius of these great writers, but I’ve tried to go in that direction and as I continue my writing should mature.
Anyway, I learned a lot more from this bio than I can convey in this letter – especially how I need to have a disciplined work ethic, like I had when I began stockbroking. I’m used to a monastic life, so you locking me in the garage and feeding me meagre meals won’t be a problem.
I don’t intend to succumb to the temptations of my former life. I need to be with people who will have a positive influence on my life. I would like to use the knowledge I’ve gained to help with prison reform, help young offenders or speak to youngsters about my involvement with drugs and how I ended up in prison.
I’ve certainly undergone the “impoverishment and devastation” that according to Thomas Mann, constitute the preliminary conditions to serious writing. And Solzhenitsyn claimed: “Good literature arises out of pain.” I would like to expose injustice through my writing. I’m willing to make the necessary sacrifices. I’d be happy to accomplish a fraction of what Solzhenitsyn accomplished.
With your help, I just need to follow through on the opportunities that continue to come my way, and to keep myself emotionally stable.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
30 Oct 07
Interview with a Homey who found Jesus (2)
“With the Blood language I picked up, when you talk, you know, you drop the C on a lotta stuff. If it starts with a C you replace it with a B, for instance, a cigarette would be a bigarette, and a homey is bicking back not kicking back. When you see a Crip walking, sporting all blue, you’d say, ‘That cat’s all watered down. That fool’s all flued up.’”
“Would you attack him?”
“Sometimes, and sometimes not. If you’re driving by and you see a Crab [Crip], one of your homies sticks his head out of the window and says, ‘Whattup, Blood. Where you from?’ If he responds with his hood, he’s disrespecting, so you start disrespecting back till the fool gets hands put on him.”
“How badly do hands get put on him?”
“We usually beat them down and run off. Once he’s on the ground and can’t get back up, we spit on him and jump in the ride.”
“Can girls be homies?”
“She’s your homegirl.”
“How does she join?”
“A man is either born in the hood or jumped in. For a girl, she can be born in the hood or jumped in if there’s enough girls to jump her in, or she gets banged in.”
“Banged in?”
“Everybody has their turn with her.”
“And she knowingly enters into this?”
“If she wants to get into the gang she knows what she’s doing. I’m gonna keep it real though: I haven’t witnessed it.”
“What other slang do you have for girls?”
“You’ve got hoes, bitches, breezies.”
“Oh boy, sorry I asked.”
“These are girls you’re messing around with and don’t give a damn about, you know, you’ll bring you’re homies in and let your homies hit it.”
“Don’t you think words like bitch are a little harsh?”
“It’s like when you talk to a pimp, he’s gonna call his girls bitches, hoes, whatever.”
“Say you fall for a woman?”
“Then you don’t bring her around your homies, and if you do, it’s only homies you trust.”
“What do homegirls do?”
“If you call up your homegirl, she’ll bring homegirls. If she’s for the hood, you ain’t gonna disrespect her, you’re not gonna call her no ho. But don’t get me wrong, some girls in the neighbourhood are known as neighbourhood hoes.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
Interview with a Homey who found Jesus (2)
“With the Blood language I picked up, when you talk, you know, you drop the C on a lotta stuff. If it starts with a C you replace it with a B, for instance, a cigarette would be a bigarette, and a homey is bicking back not kicking back. When you see a Crip walking, sporting all blue, you’d say, ‘That cat’s all watered down. That fool’s all flued up.’”
“Would you attack him?”
“Sometimes, and sometimes not. If you’re driving by and you see a Crab [Crip], one of your homies sticks his head out of the window and says, ‘Whattup, Blood. Where you from?’ If he responds with his hood, he’s disrespecting, so you start disrespecting back till the fool gets hands put on him.”
“How badly do hands get put on him?”
“We usually beat them down and run off. Once he’s on the ground and can’t get back up, we spit on him and jump in the ride.”
“Can girls be homies?”
“She’s your homegirl.”
“How does she join?”
“A man is either born in the hood or jumped in. For a girl, she can be born in the hood or jumped in if there’s enough girls to jump her in, or she gets banged in.”
“Banged in?”
“Everybody has their turn with her.”
“And she knowingly enters into this?”
“If she wants to get into the gang she knows what she’s doing. I’m gonna keep it real though: I haven’t witnessed it.”
“What other slang do you have for girls?”
“You’ve got hoes, bitches, breezies.”
“Oh boy, sorry I asked.”
“These are girls you’re messing around with and don’t give a damn about, you know, you’ll bring you’re homies in and let your homies hit it.”
“Don’t you think words like bitch are a little harsh?”
“It’s like when you talk to a pimp, he’s gonna call his girls bitches, hoes, whatever.”
“Say you fall for a woman?”
“Then you don’t bring her around your homies, and if you do, it’s only homies you trust.”
“What do homegirls do?”
“If you call up your homegirl, she’ll bring homegirls. If she’s for the hood, you ain’t gonna disrespect her, you’re not gonna call her no ho. But don’t get me wrong, some girls in the neighbourhood are known as neighbourhood hoes.”
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
28 Oct 07
Dear Mum (Part 2)
Thanks for the birthday card and kind words. I received loads of cards. Please thank the blog readers for sending them. I’ve been re-reading them today, my birthday, and they’ve cheered me up. Next birthday I’ll be celebrating with my family.
I appreciate the motherly and protective concerns that you expressed in your last letter. I know that you worry because you care for me, but I think you are worrying a bit too much, and this is what is making you ill.
Max wrote from Las Vegas saying how well he is doing there, and how the things he had worried about before getting released didn’t even come to pass. You are concerned over how I’ll cope with freedom, but, like Max, I have a family and a home to go to, all of which will make rehabilitation easier. Many prisoners are released and have to survive on their own. For me coping applies to being in prison and dealing with daily hazards, such as striving to maintain health and sanity. I’m leaving all that behind and the coping skills I’ve learned in here will help me on the outside.
You are worried about my intention to isolate myself and concentrate on writing. You interpreted this to mean that if I’m around certain people, I’ll be tempted to get involved in the kind of things that led me to wearing pink boxers, and so to avoid temptation I’m going to cut myself off from everyone. I know you want the best for me, but your interpretation is wide of the mark. I don’t intend to cut myself off from everyone. I need to talk to and meet people. I hope, if I’m lucky, to go out on some dates. The shutting myself off you mentioned refers to my commitment to a disciplined routine, which I’ll need to further my writing.
Your concerns apply to the former me. My immature self had his wild-partying-oats-sowing days. Those days are long gone, and I’ve been forced to change and mature in prison. Such wild behaviour is far removed from my present persona. I’m driving myself forward and all the temptations in the world will not stop me.
You claim I’m unbalanced – ah! – you’ve got me there. Unbalanced, I am. But bipolarity can provide the energy needed to excel at things many people would give up on. Don’t worry, I intend to take breaks and have some fun, but I have no desire to revisit the excesses of my former life. And nothing or no one could ever influence me to do so.
You are also trying to soften the blow of my reckless behaviour by rationalising it away on the influence of my friends. But the truth is I chose those friends and chose to behave in that way.
My heart is now in the right place, so stop worrying because the former me no longer exists. Try to be happy for the new me who has so much to look forward to when he gets home.
Love you loads,
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
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
27 Oct 07
Interview with a Homey who found Jesus (1)
“What’s a homey?” I asked.
“Well,” Fat Boy said, “a homey is slang for like a friend. When the word homey came out it was like somebody who’s down for you, like somebody who was real – know what I mean? – and now homey is used real loosely, like towards an acquaintance.”
“Which homies in Tucson did you hang out with?”
“A lot of the people I kicked it with were from different hoods – all Bloods though. There’s Edith Street Posse Blood Gang, South Side Posse Blood Gang, Southpark, Western Hills, and Vista Blood that split up into two rival gangs: South Side Familia and Rocka Familia.”
“What does blood mean to you?”
“Blood is thicker than water. Bloods hang tight to each other. Everywhere we went we wuz always in groups, you know, rolling in packs.”
“Can anyone be a homey?”
“No. When a cat you know comes through you don’t necessarily call him your homey. A homey is someone you know for a minute [a long time] who’s down for you, who’s not gonna run when the stuff hits the fan.”
“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.”
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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.
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
20 Oct 07
To Kiss Xena?
“My friend, Barry in Tonopah, told me someone commented on a Royo Girl blog that I should get a kiss from you before I’m released,” I said to Xena.
“Listen, honey,” Xena said. “I’ll give you a big ol’ kiss. I’ll slip some tongue down your throat too. And while I’m at it, I’ll slip my panties in your pocket so you have something to remember me by when you get out. That way you can tie my panties to the corner of your pillow, so when you go to sleep at night you can smell my taint."
“Taint?”
“Taint my ass. The only problem is the panties are gonna look like a gunny sac. I can’t help it, I have a big package. I used to tie myself off to the side of my leg, but my leg would always fall asleep. I had problems with my knees once and I realised it was 'cause every time I jumped out of bed my penis would slap one knee or the other. The only good thing about it is: I am never weaponless. Everyone knows Xena carries a big glove.”
A passing female guard said, “ That’s a lotta info there, Xena.”
“I’m,” Xena said, “gonna give the Brit plenty to remember me by – including a kiss. Royo Girl ain’t got nothin’ on this.” Xena spanked his behind.
Is granting Xena a kiss the right thing to do on the eve of my release? And what kind of kiss do you recommend?
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Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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."
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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."
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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.”
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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.”
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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
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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."
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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.”
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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?
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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.”
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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?
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
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.”
Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below
Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood
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