21 May 08

From Two Tonys (Letter 5)

Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Claims all his victims "had it coming."


5-5-08

Hey pal from across the pond,

I received your letter of 4-20-08. It’s always good to hear from you.

Hey! Thanks for the pics of your lady friends, Posh Bird and Cat Eyes. Good lookers both. You sly dog you. Playboy of the Misty Isles. You go boy, but make sure you hone your video picking skills so Posh Bird don’t slap you around. Love is strange. Start off right, not on shaky ground. Listen to me, I’m such a success at love and marriage. 3 exes, and I can’t count the bimbos. Yeah, I’m one to give advice on relationships. Ha. You do what you got to do. Just don’t let no lady whimp you out. (Enough said.)

Now to answer Floyd’s question. Once again, we all change. If I ever got out – which I won’t – I like to think I’d do the right thing and stay out of trouble. And I probably would not seek to harm no one. I fantasize about fishing trips and ball games and playing with my grandsons at the park. But that’s a nice normal fantasy. Reality is this. That ain’t going to happen. Neither is me getting out and putting my hack defense attorney’s (who sold me out) grey matter on the inside windshield of his car. Which is also a fantasy of mine. But I choose to fantasize about my grand kids. It’s easier on my hate goiter (which is shrinking by the way due to my reading of good books and thinking straight). Thanks to you. You’ve helped me. Along with my age, mellowing thoughts, and love for my family.

Look, Shaun, I’ve detected a few of your readers’ responses in your blog, a sort of, oh, poor old Two Tonys, he’s sad and never getting out, poor old Two Tonys. Well that sucks. I did my thing out there. It’s done. Like what my son-in-law said when I first met him in a prison visitation room, “Hey, it is what it is.” I can do this time but only what I’ll be alive to of it. I can’t do it all. But I’ve got to do what I can. And I like doing it feeling good.

Let me tell you about today. I just got back from breakfast. At 5:30am I went to rec. It was still dark out so I walked 15 laps. That’s 2 miles at a good fast clip. Now it was dark when we went out and the sun hadn’t come up yet, and as I’m walking my laps, here comes the sun over the landfill area garbage dump. Man was it nice. I stopped and just watched it rise. I can understand a rice farmer on the Nile Delta 5000 years ago, tending his fields in the dark and all at once here comes this bad fucking sun. No wonder they worshipped it. It was a natural high. So I got all inspired by myself. There was about 10 guys out that early but I exercised alone. I did a 9:30am workout. Push-ups. Squats. Back arms. I even sprinted 40 yards a couple of times.
Now get this. As I’m at my workout station, these two schmucks are walking laps and as they approach me, they’re having a discussion and talking so I can hear them. Now one has a 5 o’clock shadow with plucked eyebrows, thinks he’s Gidget with a ponytail. A real swisher. The other is a big lanky guy who years ago they put me in a cell with and he lasted 10 minutes and pushed the buzzer for the C.O. and told him he didn’t want to live with me, so they took him out. So anyway, he’s now a Christian. So he’s telling this Gidget freak how much he loves mankind, loud so I can hear.
“Yes, I love all people and I tell them. I don’t care who they are or what they did, I’ve got love for everyone.”
I said to myself, Don’t let these scumbags ruin your morning, and I got my head right and went on with my workout. My hate goiter subsided.
Look, you know I did 5 years in that fucking lockdown hole CB8-2. Cold chow. Roaches. Mice. Indifferent C.O.s. Feces throwers around you. No, now I consider my options. You, Shaun, taught me that.

I just left the chow hall. I had French toast, scrambled eggs, cold cereal, fried potatoes, 2 oranges, 1 biscuit, 1 milk, syrup, coffee. Good rap at the table discussing Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel and the pervert Pope Julius II.
I just got out of a hot shower. I’m writing you, then I’m going to the Wachovia golf tournament. I’ll bust open a rahmen beef soup a little later. Or maybe I’ll open a tuna and break out a bagel.
My daughter is happy and married to a great loving husband and father. My grandsons are healthy and loved. Hey, bro, there’s blokes laying up in cancer wards, burn wards.
Shaun, if I allow myself to get all sad and on the woe is me bullshit, then I’m a weakass motherfucker.

I got that graveyard shift sanitation job. I go out at 10pm and pick up trash with 4 other guys. I see this as part of my journey. It is what it is.
Yeah, you can let Avuncular Floyd know that if fate should move its huge hand and I got released I probably would not bother anyone. But then if a motherfucker really asks for it and he’s got it coming, fuck yeah, I’ll try to show him how the cow eats the cabbage. That option is always open. Options, that’s what it’s all about. Take nothing off the table. People respect that or at least they should.

Hey bro, this Obama lame can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. He’s fucking up. I thought this asshole had a shot but he’s making me think he’s only human. He’s got some fools for handlers like that whacked out preacher Wright. He needs to be smitten with the plague, or a good steady rainfall of frogs, or the Nile turn to blood, or how about a good locust invasion. Something to get this asshole’s attention that God is angry. I mean like pissed off enough to let Hillary or that hack McCain win. Only time will tell. But God and Ophry want Obama for prez and they know what’s best for the masses, the great unwashed. Maybe if Obama wins he would grant me a pardon, and I could get hooked up with a job as a greeter at Harrod’s or Wal-Mart’s. And perhaps work my way into the gun department, so I could show blokes the wonders of a 2 inch snub nose Colt. Hey! I can dream can’t I?

Give my L&R to Mums and Dad and Sis and you be a good guy. No wild parties.

Hey bro, don’t misconstrue what I just wrote. I don’t think I’m institutionalised. It’s just that I’m a realist. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, so I’ve got to accept it and make the best of a bad situation. Much as a cancer patient does or a car wreck victim. Only my situation is self inflicted due to bad choices and not considering options and penalties. But so what. I should do this time sad and sniveling?
If you recall one time I told you about that asshole I took out down in Tucson, and after I was found guilty and called back to court for sentencing, the guy’s wife gets up acting like a loving victim and goes on about never wanting me to have a happy day again or to smell roses and all that bullshit, and that I should suffer. Well, if that dope dealing broad had a video camera on me today she’d be pissed. I ain’t got no roses to smell but fuck it. I’ll smell some aftershave and make believe it’s roses. Yeah, to quote our beloved asshole of a president, “Bring it on.”

Hey friend, seriously, how are you doing out there? Are you happy? Are you working? I know you’re staying out of trouble, you’re too smart not to. What about old friends? Is Wild Man around? I enjoyed your pics and I’m happy you’re gone from this shithole.
I talk about you to a lot of these guys. Some know you, some don’t. But when your name comes up it’s all in good recall. Believe me, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, you did your time textbook style. No drama. I was and still am glad to say, Yeah, Shaun! Yeah, he’s a friend of mine.
So you stay strong out there. Watch for those curve balls life will throw at all of us. Just a little advice from an old lifer who was a tough guy for 20 seconds and an asshole for 112 years. Options, always consider your options.

Oh yeah, tell Richard I really enjoyed his books, specially Into Thin Air. Its’a mystery why people want to suffer on that mountain. I guess the answer to that mystery is because it’s there. He was very thoughtful in sending them to me. A good bloke as you Limeys say.

I enjoy your letters. You and your readers feel free to ask me questions about anything. Life’s journey. Religion. Pride. Prejudice. Politics.

Hey bro, enjoy yourself and don’t forget in the turmoil of life’s struggles it’s good to stop and smell the roses or in some cases – the aftershave.

“You’re my horse even if you never win a race.”

Two Tonys


Coming next: Two Tonys' friend, Warrior, introduces himself to us.


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

19 May 08

From T-Bone (Letter 4)

T-Bone - A deeply-spiritual and massively-built African American. A prison gladiator with more stab wounds than Julius Caesar. A good man to have on your side.


5-6-08

Hello,

My literati friend, how have you been, man? I’ve been hoping to hear from you these past weeks, and I must say it is good to know that you are applying yourself to doing what is right: writing.

I’ve been moved as you can see and it’s a blessing in a lot of ways.
Hey Shaun, do you remember that a-hole I had to put hands on? Well, when I got to Buckeye he sent this young chump to try me. I asked the guy to take it to shower 1 and I put it on him in about 17 seconds. He moved out that same night and tried to have his people send me some ends (money). I told him no.

My friend, I want to address this issue the person named Dirtos has with me because of my love and respect for you! As anyone knows who has ever done time or knows someone who has, it is essential to convey the truth and truth means facts! The fact of the matter is that we both have been down some extremely rough roads, and seen and heard some mighty nasty things, but we’ve also had some so called good times, or experiences and to whoever is reading this wake up! – when you care about someone you express your concerns, and from experience, going to bars and/or clubs leads to habits, and Shaun has just got out of the joint, and I am advising him to not get into drinking and/or people who want to hang out in places where there’s drinking and carousing. I consider Shaun more than just a friend and that bond I have with him has him in a position to where all he has to do is call me, and I’ll be there for him.
Case in point. On the yard I heard this big fat guy say Shaun’s a fag, and that he was going to Shaun’s cell to take his ass and whatever he had in there to eat. I didn’t tell Shaun or anyone else. I reacted and caught the guy in a pod, and put the guy in a situation so to speak….
I didn’t have to hurt the guy but I would of if he didn’t understand, or should I say come to respect us.
In other words, when he disrespects Shaun he disrespects me. The fat guy is an addict, and the power of love is what sent me to deal with the asshole!
So Dirtos, I don’t have issues with dope, but I do with anyone who tries to harm my friend, and I’ll also have an issue with my friend if he tries to harm himself by doing dope or carousing. Honor is what makes friendships, along with love, and I honor my friends.

Things here are as usual, my friend, sitting, waiting, doing time, you know!

I am still waiting for you to hook me up with a 40ish or 50ish woman! Make sure to let her know that I am strong and not into playing games.

Thank you for sending the blogs!

Say hello to your people and you, you just stay strong and keep up the good work.

Strength & Honor – Each one, Teach one!

T-Bone


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

16 May 08

From Frankie (Letter 4)

Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hitman and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me applying antifungal ointment to the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail, where he was held on murder charges he subsequently beat.

4-30-08

Englandman,

It’s about time that I heard from your hairy ass. I was really getting upset at you.

As for Cat Eyes, just being from Canada is a plus cuz I hear the women there are freaky and kinky….Yes! Yes! Yes! She’s got my approval. Can you imagine doing yoga with her naked? Mercy!

Now let’s talk about Noelle. Yes! She is my favotite cuz of the things she says, you can tell she’s gots a big heart and she’s beautiful people. I will answer anything she wants to know.
As for getting my life on track, yes, I’m going to and that alone means a lot to me. What I want for the rest of my life is to settle down and work and enjoy life. I’m a simple guy and easy to please.
My dream is to become a counselor and help the youth. My testimony would be straight facts about gangs and prison life and if I could help one kid then I did my job. A lot of people get second hand information from books but getting the real deal from someone that lived it will open these youngsters eyes.
Noelle, I hope you don’t mind me asking but I need a pen pal like you. I’m not a bad person and there’s a lot more to me that you’ll get to know if you want to write.

As for JL, I apologize for what I said. I have no right disrespecting you and I am sorry.

Frankie is becoming a softy. I’m tired of living the vida loca.

Chris. There’s so much that you don’t know but you have all the right to voice your opinion, but here’s some facts. Englandman is my friend. When Englandman wouldn’t give his booty up he broke my heart but now we have a good friendship. What I say now is nothing to do with intimidation, it’s just joking. Yes, I’m well respected in prison and I would never disrespect others. Me and Shaun met at the Madison Street jail in 2003. I was coming over to play chess through his window and he was rubbing cream on the sores on his hairy ass. Mercy! We became very good friends. I’m the kind of friend that protects my friends and I’m loyal to them. Yes, a lot of people look at me like I’m this big time dude but in reality I’m a nice caring dude. Personally Shaun knows me real well.
Chris, I also apologize to you for what I said last time.

Stay up Englandman, take care my friend,

My love, Mr. Frankie


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

14 May 08

From Shane (Letter 1)

Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane self-medicated with illegal drugs financed from burglaries. The medication in prison caused him to suffer a period of spontaneous ejaculations.

Shaun,

Greetings from the land of saguaro cactuses and blue-haired snowbirds.

Speaking of Herr Arpaio, I watched a program called Crystal Darkness a while ago. It was on crystal meth in Arizona and aired on all of the network stations during prime time television. If not for Arpaio’s appearance in it, it would have been a good – but severely sugar-coated – look into meth. Once again, Lil Joe managed to get in the spotlight and come across as a pompous ass. Shoulda included the MCSO’s [Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office] more than ample torture and death stats on meth addict inmates. That’s a deterent!

Shane vs ValueOptions is still under the appeals court jurisdiction. Yeah, I continue to lay in wait. Like a mangy alley cat stalking a sewer cockroach!

Shane vs ADOC is turning into a monster. It has the potential to turn into a huge sticky mess of hep C all over ADOC. Will I break weak and settle? Hmmm…I’ll get back with you on that. Ha. I’ll tell ya this much…three words will help with my decision: attornies, mania, and MONEY (not to be confused with “money”).

Pixie [a lady who discovered Shane through his blog] and I are getting along great. She visits. I call. We write. Shaun, it’s nice. No, it’s perfect! We are great together. It’s love. She’s crazy about me and I’m just crazy. Ha.

As you’ve been encouraging me for years, I’m continuing to write. Mainly on my blog lately. ADOC [Arizona Department of Corrections] and MCSO have been snooping online and reading my entries. It became obvious that I had drawn attention to myself and what I've been writing on my blog when ADOC and Herr Arpaio (MCSO) IP addresses began to appear on my statcounter, yet they only read and read, leaving no comments or questions.

ADOC spent hours there. This troubles me. Not so much for my own safety, I'm used to the abuses of power and can fight back, but my friends and loved ones suffering any repercussions because of me scares me. Terrifies me! Arpaio is a powerful man with no qualms about directing those powers at anybody for any reason he dreams up. Ask anybody who has politically opped him. He's dangerous. He's a political terrorist. Take away his media coverage and financial backing, and what is he? He's simply an old man with a bitter outlook and extremist ideals. Other than religion, what's the difference between him and Bin Laden or the late Saddam? They all fight dirty and cruel.

As for ADOC, and their employees I've blogged about: well, my blogs speak for themselves. If I didn't believe it or consider it factual, it wouldn't be on my blog as such. Do I worry that the ADOC people I write about will retaliate? Sure, but if they do... they do. They had better only keep it against ME! (Not a threat, simply a notice of sorts - for future use if necessary.)

I won't change what or how I write, but I will be paying very close attention to my blog visitors and the behaviors of those I write about who work around me. I might also add that many regular readers of my blogs are media, attorneys, civil rights activists and prisoner rights organizations. It would be very stupid for anybody to retaliate and certainly would draw a large oppositional frenzy.

I have about 4 years left in here. Maybe two, if my criminal appeal is successful. I will have a new life waiting for me. I've spent far too much time behind bars, high, crazy and alone in this world. Now I'll just lay down and relax. With my own Pixie by my side...of course.

Weird Al, Iron Man, Kat and all of your other Orangemen friends are doing well and say “Hello.”

Finally, in closing, WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS THE GOTH MIDGET PORN?

Shane

PS Posh Bird vs Cat Eyes? Just remember that a French-Canadian Pussycat will always beat an English Hen. Cat Eyes and Posh Bird. I saw the pics, and they both seem great prospects, but which one could you live without?

To read Shane’s blog, Persevering Prison Pages, click on this link: http://shannoninprison.blogspot.com/

Shane welcomes you comments and correspondence.


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

12 May 08

Gemma

The train to Manchester was shrinking in the distance when I arrived at the station. To avoid the sun I sat in the shelter. I was staring at the multitude of compressed bubblegum spots on the grey tarmac when two young Scousers (Liverpudlians) benched themselves next to me.
“’Scyuze me, mayte. Doo ya know what time the next train iz?”
“Ten to four,” I said.
“’Ey, mayte, where’er yer from?”
“I just got back from America.”
“Fuckin’ ’ell. Why’dya wanna do that?”
“They booted me out for raves and Ecstasy.”
“You musta done a lotta Ecstasy den. Me mayte ate three-hundred pills once, and he ended up shittin’ ’em out whole.”
“The’re gonna end up callin’ the bizzies [police] on them,” said the other Scouser, referring to the two high-schoolers sword-fencing with sections of drainpipe on the station roof. In blazers, shirts and ties, more high-schoolers invaded the platform opposite, where they swore at each other or into cell phones.
An express train swooshed past, leaving a wave of swirling litter in its wake.

“Anyone just get on the train?” asked the blue-uniformed inspector.
“I did,” I said. “I need a return to Manchester.”
“Eight pounds ten, please.”
“I’ve got a tenner.”
“Do you have the ten pence?”
“I think so. Yes.”
During the forty-minute journey, I wrote a letter to Frankie.

In the café at the Cornerhouse waiting for Gemma, I sipped a Leffe Belgian Ale shandy and wrote letters to T-Bone and Slope.
“Would you like me to take your picture?” I asked the French party of four at the next table whose camera timer was misbehaving.
“Yes. Thank you.”

Blonde Gemma arrived in silver ballet pumps with bows. And in one pump, a broken toe.
“Nice shoes,” I said.
“Moda in Pelle.”
“How did you break your toe?”
“I went arse over tit in work. I felt like a right idiot. I couldn’t go to the gym last night, so I may be a lard arse next week.”
“You speak funny.”
“Everyone makes fun of me for it. Instead of mojo, I say morejore. I have double-u’s in the middle of words. Like schoowel and cowert.”
“Cowert?”
“A cowert of law.”
I laughed.
“For the blog, can we go over how you found out about me?”
“In Cosmo. Someone gave it me ’cause it had a pair of shoes in it she thought I’d like. I was just flickin’ through it ’cause I was bowerd – let’s be honest Cosmo is no Vogue is it? – and I read your article and I thought it was really sad. I logged onto your blog, then I sent you some books – like fower – and we started writing.”
“What’s your job title these days.”
“Media Research Executive for Bauer.”
“And you’re working toward a PhD in what?”
“Film theory.”
“Can I use Broken Toe as your blog name?”
“No! Call me The Girl With The Nice Hair And Nice Shoes.”
“That’s way too long. For the record, how many pairs of shoes do you own?”
“Loads. Like tonnes.”
“Over one-hundred?”
“Probably.”
“Wow! My impression of you is you keep yourself really busy.”
“I’m nonstop doing things. I go to the gym, watch films. I like shopping – that relaxes me. I only sleep for about six to seven hours.”
“What about reading?”
“I like Jane Green, Marion Keyes, Sophie Kinsella, Adele Parks and Anna Maxted. Comedy and chick lit. I have all my geeky film books as well – film theory and criticism. Martin Scorsese, I love his films.”
“Me too. What about chick flicks?”
“Chick flicks are great because they replicate fairy tales, they require no thought you can just sit back and enjoy. They're full of hope and romance. Silly really but I think most girls love a bit of romance. Speaking of chick flicks, what’s happening with you and Posh Bird?”
“She dumped me for some guy she met at the gym.”
“I know that. But haven’t you got back together yet?”
“It’s irreconcilable. She got mad at me for posting about the gym guy.”
“Did you love her?”
“We’d only gone out for a few months.”
“How did it feel when she dumped you?”
“It hurt. One week she’s telling me she really likes me and mentioning when she wants kids and how many she wants, and next thing I call her to make sure we're still going to the pictures and she tells me she met someone at the gym. Iron Man’s going to have a good laugh at this. I promised him I’d sign up for the gym as soon as I got home. See what I get for being a slob?”
“If she didn’t want to see you then fair enough, but she should have had enough respect to come and see you about it rather than simply saying on the phone she’d met someone at the gym. I think she treated you with a total lack of respect. I bet if the shoe was on the other foot she wouldn’t like it.”
“I don’t think she disrespected me at all. It’s her prerogative to do what she feels will make her most happy. We’d only gone out for a short while and it was on again off again the whole time. She'd warned me about her cold snaps of the heart: she told me a boyfriend of hers was so in love with her he transferred university to be with her and she immediately dumped him and dropped out of that university.”
“Bloody hell!”
“I kind of respect that in a way though. She looks sweet, but she’s a toughie. I’ve had to outsmart some tough people in my time, but Posh Bird ran rings around me. Anyway, it’s a lesson learned. I now know the perfect time to tell a woman she’s beautiful is when she’s sweaty and minging at the gym. I had a run of bad luck after she dumped me. My literary agent was hospitalised and is fighting for her life, and Liverpool University rejected me because I have no credentials in literary analysis. Anyhow, it’s all better than being in prison."
"What's going on with Royo Girl?"
"She's trying to get to England in September. But isn’t it time for us to go and watch the movie you picked?” (My Brother is an Only Child. An Italian movie with subtitles.)

Counting the seats at the cinema in the Cornerhouse didn’t take long.
“I’ve never seen such a small cinema. Only fifty-seven seats, eh?” I said to the usher, a little man with a miserable face.
“Yeah,” he said, “but we don’t sell the seats for two of them.”
“Which two?” Gemma whispered. “Let’s sit in them and be naughty.”
“Which ones?” I asked.
Scrunching his face, he said, “The end ones, so you don’t strain your neck.”
Strain your neck in this miniscule theater? I thought.
“I think he’s making this up,” Gemma whispered. “He’s just messing with your mind.”
“He sounds serious, but you’re probably right.”
More people arrived. Three bespectacled professor types. A lady in black with a bulging backpack. A nodding and smiling hippy wearing a baseball cap, his dilated eyes radiating over-friendly vibes. A group of women; as the largest of them sat down, she displayed a dolphin’s smile of a buttock crack hanging out of the back of her pants workman style.
The commercials played and Gemma speed-texted.
“How do you do that so fast?”
“You’ve gotta be efficient when you’re as busy as me. I can text without looking.”
Set in late-Sixties provincial Italy, the movie was about the political and emotional development of two brothers: a fascist and a Communist. I enjoyed the action and conflict.

A portly Italian with slicked-back silver hair seated us at a candlelit table at Cocotoo, a restaurant built into a railway arch. Pink satin drapes belonging in an Ottoman’s harem quarters separated the restaurant into different sections. I could almost taste the basil, garlic and oregano in the aromas drifting from the open kitchen. Magnificent chandeliers were hanging from an arced ceiling painted with skyscapes and replicas of the Sistine chapel frescoes. Gemma ordered fillets of sea bass grilled and served with lemon juice and olive oil, plus rocket leaves and shavings of parmesan cheese, cherry tomatoes and a balsamic dressing. I ordered margherita and patatine fritte, which loses all of its romantic flavour in the English translation: pizza and chunky chips. I even had the cheek to ask for brown sauce.
“I hope your guy put those frescoes up faster than Michelangelo did,” I said in a serious tone.
In an Italian accent and proud tones, the waiter said, “The guy working on it told us it’d take six months. Three years later he was still working on it.”
Apologizing for the lack of brown sauce, a waitress placed some green and black olives on the orange-copper-brown-black marble tabletop.
“Do you not eat fish?” Gemma asked. “Now there’s no rat parts in the food, can’t you try some fish?”
“I used to live off fish ’n’ chips, but I don’t even eat fish these days. It doesn’t appeal to me.”
Over dinner, prison questions flowed from Gemma.
“I don’t understand how there’s so much drugs in the prisons. How do they get it all in?”
“Mostly keystering.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s packed in balloons or condoms. The vistors insert them into their bodies, take them out during the visits and the prisoners insert them into their bodies at visitation. Women visitors have two places they can insert them, and men one. A prisoner who can store a lot inside himself is called a mule. He’ll get paid by the gangs to receive drugs through visitation. Sometimes the packages burst and the mule dies of an overdose or is hospitalised.”
“It’s such a different world.”
“Guards bring them in too.”
“Guards!”
“It only takes one corrupt guard to flood a prison with drugs.”
“How do the prisoners arrange that with the guards?”
“Various ways. Sometimes they seduce female guards. I know of two instances at the Madison Street jail. One guard was having sex where they keep the cleaning supplies and bringing heroin and crystal meth in. A nurse there got arrested for it. Gangs organise sex and payments for male guards outside of the prison. Sometimes guards are seduced and blackmailed. If you think about it, the prison-industrial complex is a pyramid scheme, and the guards are only one tier up from the prisoners. They don’t make much money, they’re not the most qualified people in the world, so they’re easy prey for these crafty gang members. It’s so bad now, America’s prisons are basically dens for people who use drugs intravenously. For up to eighty, ninety percent of the prisoners I was housed with, each day revolved around injecting drugs or getting more drugs into the prison. If you don’t do drugs you’re considered lame and treated with great suspicion.”
“How do they pay for the drugs?”
“The dealer may be paid in store items, you may have someone put money on his books, or street-to-street.”
“What’s street-to-street?”
“Street-to-street means your friends on the street pay his friends on the street, so the money doesn’t even have to enter the prison system. You should hear some of the stories prisoners make up to their family members and friends as to why they need to pay some stranger hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars. Which reminds me, another way prisoners get drugs in is they put up ads at writeaprisoner.com, get women writing to them, develop relationships, sometimes even marrying them, and then sweet-talk them into keystering drugs in to visitation. Books, legal mail, and food visits are also other ways.”

“Why don’t I drop you off at the Piccadilly station as there’s more trains go from there,” Gemma said later on.
“I’m going to prowl the night scene for a bit first.”
“Well, Chinatown and the gay area are right over there,” she said as we hugged goodbye.
The busiest area was Canal Street. Sandwiched between a row of bars and the canal was such a crowd I could only wend my way through in slow motion. Captivated by the atmosphere, I grabbed a stool and jotted things down. Drag queens in Disneyland princess outfits and purple wigs. Rasta in a blood-red shirt, a Russian ushanka hat and dreads to the small of his back. Old man in a cowboy hat of white fleece. Playboy Bunny ears adorned with flashing coloured lights on a young woman in an Adidas tracksuit. Poker-faced Asian lady selling pink fuzzy cowboy hats. The clickety-click of high heels announcing the arrival of another horde of mini-skirted sozzled women ploughing through the crowd one sexually-aggressive stride at a time. Shaved-headed bouncers in black clustered around entrances, arms folded. Man in sandles and shorts singing and dancing on his own down a side-street. Further down the side street, a man peeing on the wall. Butch lesbian couple holding hands, hair in crewcuts. Street-kid promoters doling out flyers. Black man in gangsta garb holding hands with a white transsexual with long brown crimped Eighties hair and a hooked nose. Youngsters peddling roses and glowsticks. Fresh-faced yuppies raising pints and cell phones.

At 11:15, I arrived at the station just in time for the last train home at 11:20. I didn’t see my hometown on the timetable, but I saw Warrington, so I headed for Platform 14. A long walk to find out it was the wrong train.
I dashed to the front and couldn’t find the train listed anywhere. I asked an employee how come my train had bermuda-triangled.
“The last train you want doesn’t stop at Piccadilly, only at Oxford. You’ve missed it. It’s 11:22,” said the Indian in blue.
Hoping the train was delayed, yet half hoping it wasn’t so I could take more notes on the nightlife of Manchester, I ran for a cab, jumped in, and said, “Get me to Oxford Station as fast as you can.”
At 11:27, I arrived at Oxford Station. The timetable showed it had been delayed. I walked through three carriages to find a vacant seat.
“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” asked a brunette in a lowcut dress with an adorable spattering of freckles on her shoulders and back.
“That’s fine.”
We chatted. She said she was an ex-air hostess now working in recruitment. I told her a bit but not too much about America. Her stop came after ten minutes or so.
The skinhead sat in the opposite window seat squinted at me and then snorted a line of cocaine off a credit card. His girlfriend, tanned and in a miniskirt, did likewise, and they both joined hands and garbled a song.
I got off the train to much jungle music and flashing of coloured lights. In the lone house between the station and Farnworth Cemetary, a ravey party was in full swing. I felt the pull of the music. It almost whirled me around.
The wolves howled.
I ignored them.


There will be no blog "Month 5" as I've covered so much ground in this blog.

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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

11 May 08

Podcast

To hear the podcast of yesterday's Desert Politics show click on Attorneys Michael Manning and Joel Robbins. The podcast runs for one hour and I come on half way through it.

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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

New Times Article

Emergency preparedness: how to survive in Arpaio’s jails

Thu May 08, 2008 at 01:47:02 PM
By John Dickerson

The best way to avoid rancid “mystery meat” in Arpaio’s jail is to claim you’re Hindu and need a vegetarian diet. That’s precisely what inmate Shaun Attwood did. He lists this and other gems of jail survival on his blog.

If you're steering clear of the slammer, you can print the tips and mail them to your incarcerated loved ones. If they can't make bond, these tips might keep them from bonding undesirably with other inmates. Besides, you never know when "America's Toughest Sheriff" might arrest innocent folks like yourself (or say the owner of a newspaper) for no good reason.

Other Maricopa County jail tips include wrapping a towel around your face during riots (because everyone gets maced) and being the last to sit in the cafeteria on your first day (so you don’t get pummeled or sit at another race's table).

New Times named Attwood’s blog the “Best Prison Blog” in 2005. Since then, more than 400,000 readers have visited his online journal. New as of today is the video version of Attwood’s jail survival tips, available here on YouTube.

You can learn more about his life now on his personal Web site.

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10 May 08

Radio Broadcast Today

Today Todd Landfried of 1480 KPHX out of Phoenix is broadcasting my YouTube video (How to Survive Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Jail System) on his radio show Desert Politics. He has invited me to call in to discuss the video with today's guests, Michael Manning and Joel Robbins, two attorneys who have filed the most lawsuits against Arpaio, who are also going to be discussing their cases. One of them filed the New Times case against Arpaio.

The one-hour show airs at 1pm in Arizona (9pm in England). If you wish to listen to the show live, here's the link: http://www.1480kphx.com/DynamoPages.php?PID=22

I should be coming on the air at about half way through the show.

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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood