12 Dec 05

Bleeding Eyeball (Part 4)

“Is it gettin’ any better?” Odd Job asked.

“Yeah,” I said. "I've been applying the eyedrops four times a day."

“Lemme see it then.” I showed her my eye.

“Thank goodness. It’s almost healed. So the eyedrops helped?”

“Yeah.” I saw a new side to Odd Job. A caring Odd Job.

“I dunno why we didn’t get the eyedrops earlier. We put the order in and pharmacy said they never received it. A buncha freakin’ rigmarole, I tell ya. That’s great. Yer good to go.”

Although I knew I was inviting trouble, I couldn’t resist asking Odd Job about my cold sore.“Have you got anything for this cold sore?” I asked in a timid voice, bracing myself for her reply.

“That ain’t no cold sore! It’s vitamin B deficiency. Buy yourself some vitamins from the store.”

“Alright. Thanks for the advice.”


Final Futures Trading Results: Farewell Long Island

Long Islands release is imminent. I'll miss him and the hand-drawn stock charts and pics of Alan Greenspan with which he decorated our humble home.
His charts mystified guards and visitors alike and made people wonder what type of wizardry we were up to.

A year ago, Long Island knew little about trading, yet after a short apprenticeship he was able to turn his hypothetical $2000 investment in futures into $10,875.
Over the same period mine rose to $10,182.
Our returns - in excess of 400% - by far exceeded the performance of professionals. He also doubled an investment in stocks over a shorter period.
Long Island has a talent for trading. I’ve taught him various angles on the market and as I’m writing this blog he’s studying two textbooks I procured: Principles of Corporate Finance by Brearly and Myers and The Analysis and Use of Financial Statements by White Sondhi and Fried (thanks Surrah!).
Long Island wants to pursue a career in finance. His intelligence and natural charm make him good stockbroker material. I wish him the best of luck reintegrating with society and I hope that he updates me about his progress from time to time.

Message to Long Island: The road to success is perilous and you will experience many psychological ups and downs. Hard work and keeping your wits about you will enable you to achieve your goals. People facing death sentences have risen to be presidents and kings. The only thing that can hold you back is yourself. Everything you need to succeed is in your mind - so unlock your potential and realise your dreams.

06 Dec 05

Question Time

Merle0341 asked how I blog from prison.

I am unable to post entries online because I do not have Internet access. Hand-written blogs are snailmailed to my family, without whose help this blog would be impossible.

Kathleen asked about spiderbites at Arpaio’s jail system.

I didn't get bit but I witnessed many who did. The jail’s policy was not to treat insect bites, so many became infected. It was left to inmates to squeeze the pus out - an activity that provided entertainment for some. I attended several such events and helped gather toilet paper and salt. With skin and eye infections I wasn’t so lucky. I had bleeding bedsores, fungal skin infections and pink-eye infections. During the summer months, the cells we were in acted like clay ovens. Slow roasting in pools of our own sweat most of us developed skin infections.

Clancy asked if I’ve watched Prison Break on TV and if prison racism has affected me at all.

By choice I do not own a TV. Long Island said “Prison Break is on Fox, it’s a good show.”Prison racism is sad, especially when the Internet is bringing people closer together around the world. Prison racism seems to be a control mechanism: firstly, inmates divided are easier to subjugate, secondly inmate-enforced racial segregation enables a minority of gang leaders to develop power structures which gives them control over the majority. I try to avoid mindless racism.

Paul asked if I follow penny stocks, if I’ve heard of CMKX and what I think of naked shorting.

Penny stocks are mostly money-spinners for brokers, insiders and market makers and generally money losers for the public. Naked shorting can be lucrative for experienced investors but those positions should be watched diligently due to the risk of short squeezes. I’ve made money naked shorting penny stocks on days they release hyped-up news stories, especially UQM. I haven’t heard of CMKX and I couldn’t find it in Investors Business Daily.

Valerie in Atlanta, GA, asked if I’ve ever read novels or just stuff to improve myself.

I've eased up on reading nonfiction recently largely because my family, friends, blog readers and Two Tonys introduced me to books written by contemporary authors whose styles I enjoyed. Thanks to readers I’ve discovered Tom Robbins and John Kennedy Toole. Thanks to Two Tonys I’ve begun reading books by Tom Woolfe, Kurt Vonnegut and John Updike. Wolfe’s A Man In Full made me laugh more than Don Quixote and is now my favourite novel. I’m spellbound by Updike’s prose, which approaches Proustian perfection at times. Haruki Murakami writes in an enjoyable dreamy style.

Christmas Eve

Happy Christmas and a Wonderful New Year to all readers

Can I just take this opportunity to thank everyone who read the article in Cosmo and took the time to email or write a comment?
Jon does not have access to a computer - we forward all emails and comments to him and I am sure he will be busy in the New Year replying. He has already received some and they have ensured a happy xmas for him.
I am keeping the blog going while our parents are in the US visiting Jon and have not had time to respond individually to comments.
Karen, Jon’s sister

Did T Have It Comin'?

Merry Christmas readers!

Did you know that the practice of celebrating Christmas on the 25th of December began in the Western Church in the fourth century? The festival celebrating the birth of Jesus was a Christian substitute for the pagan festival held on that date to celebrate the birth of the unconquered Sun.
Did you know that this Christmas Two Tonys stopped by and told me a story?

It wasn’t A Christmas Carol, it wasn’t The Grinch that Stole Christmas, it wasn’t Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Two Tonys described in detail how he came to murder his friend T. A crime that contributed twenty-five years to the triple digit sentence Two Tonys is serving for violent crimes.
“Who was T?” I said.
“My buddy from the joint,” Two Tonys said.
“I rented a house near where my daughter lived and T came and lived with me.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was a scary Cossack lookin’ motherfucker. His face was pinched up, and his slanted eyes gave him an Asiatic look - as if he was from the Russian fuckin’ steppe. He had a lotta tats.”
“Was he dangerous?”
“He was a stabbin’ shootin’ motherfucker - always stabbin’ someone in the joint. Extremely fuckin dangerous.”
“What happened between you guys?”
“He got out of the joint and moved into my place with fifteen cents in his pocket. I gave him two hundred dollars and hooked him up with a job. Back then, I was fuckin’ some bimbo - Missy, a sexy redhead - and T asked if he could fuck her. I told him: ‘Sure, but remember she’s a fuckin’ bimbo. Whatever you do, don’t go fuckin’ fallin’ in love with her.’ So what happens? He’s been in the joint fuckin’ punks his whole life. He went from two-holers to a three holer and fell in love.
“The three of us went to a weed house, Chubby’s - another guy we were gonna kill at one time -and Chubby spanks Missy’s ass. T freaked out and started yellin: ‘That’s my woman. I’ll kill you motherfucker. Don’t ever touch her again.’
“So time goes by and I come home one night and T, Missy and an Indian dude are moving my stuff into storage because the Indian dude is gunna cook - they were setting up a meth lab.
“That was too much. I told ‘em: ‘Get the fuck out! This is my house!’
“T flipped and yelled at me: ‘Don’t disrespect me in front of my woman! Don’t disrespect me in front of my friend!’
“At that point I thought of the Art of War - the words of Sun fuckin’ Tzu: never underestimate your opponent. T was a dangerous motherfucker. If things had escalated he would have killed me right there and then. I backed off but I knew there was no other way to get him out of my house: I had to kill him.
“I told him I had a deal for us in Prescott - a store to rob. I had the perfect spot in Prescott to whack a motherfucker - right under the freeway on a one-way road that formed a U-turn. There’d be no flash of the gun. It was perfect to do a killin’. T tells me he wants to take Missy with us to Prescott. Okay, I realise I’m gunna have to whack ‘em both.
“I tell him: ‘No guns. We’ll pick up guns when we get there.’ But I had an extra gun stuck in the back of my pants. We go out to the car and I immediately know somethin’s up because Missy sits in the back and the three of us always rode together up front.
“Her sittin’ in the back was a red light. As a killer livin’ in a killer society, out of the ordinary shit like that is a red fuckin’ light - a warnin’ going’ ding-ding-ding.
“I’m ridin’ sittin’ with my back to the door watchin’ these two motherfuckers and we pull in at a store. I notice him reach to his side, pull out a gun and put it under his seat. I asked him why he’d brought a gun and he said: ‘I just forgot to leave it behind.’
“So he’s in the store, and she gets panicky in the back of the car and runs out and joins him. I’m watchin’ em argue and I later found out she was tellin’ him: ‘Kill him. Kill him now.’
“He gets back in the car with a bag in his hand and passes the gun to her under the bag. He opened a Coke which fizzed and asked: ‘What’s wrong?’ because I jumped.
“I told him: ‘I gotta pee.’ Then I got out and left the door ajar, so the dome light would stay on. That way I would see them but they couldn’t see me. When I saw her pass the gun to him, I knew it was on. I took the safety off my nine millimetre and I nailed him - bam! He did a little twitch thing behind the wheel and looked at me. Then I put another three in him - bam - bam - bam! I knew in my heart of hearts they were gunna off me. I looked over at her and pulled the trigger but the gun jammed.”

“How did it feel when you shot him?” I asked.
“I savoured the moment. I was relieved the gun fired. He looked at me for a second - but when you are doing somethin’ like that a second is an eternity. He had a killin’ comin’. I wanted to kill the motherfucker. It had been buildin’ up ever since he moved in, spending my money, disrespectin’ me. He was out for himself.”
“Have you seen Chicago or Unforgiven?” I asked.
“Unforgiven - yeah. Chicago -no.”
“Is that were you got ‘He had it comin’ from?” I said.
“No, the first time I heard it was Abe Reles from Murder Inc, an old Brownsville Jew mob. They were questionin’ Abe Reles and he said: ‘They all had it comin’ which is true because people do stuff to get ‘em killed. If I get killed its because I have it comin’. In the killin’ business you don’t just go out and kill someone for no reason - who needs the fuckin aggravation? If someone’s gettin’ killed they’ve either killed someone, fucked someone’s wife, stolen somethin’ or really pissed someone off.”

Do my readers think T “had it comin’”? Was this murder an act of self-defence or a premeditated slaying?

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

Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

5 December 05

Bleeding Eyeball (Part 3)

I was called to the Medical Unit.
“So ya had an appointment last week and ya stood us up did ya?” the original nurse said.
“I was here. The male nurse didn’t have a clue what was going on. He told me I needed to see you again.”
“Has it got worse?”
“Yeah.”
“Lemme see it then.”
I showed her my eyeball, and asked, “What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t freakin’ know what’s wrong with it. Maybe ya ruptured a blood vessel or somethin’. Did you get the eye drops?”
“No.”
“We ordered them. I guess pharmacy never sent 'em.”
Outside, I noticed an old-timer in the throes of an asthma attack. His face reddening.
“He’s not gonna freakin’ croak on us out there is he?” the nurse said to a guard.
The guard opened the door.
Seeing the door open, the old-timer shuffled toward us. He looked suddenly happy - perhaps he thought the doctor was ready to see him.
“Hang in there,” the nurse said.
The guard closed the door in the old-timer's face. The old-timer panted and wheezed and looked devastated.
“The doctor’s ready to see ya, Jon, come with me,” the nurse said.
As I was ushered into the doctor’s office, I felt like James Bond being escorted by Odd Job to see an illusive supervillain. I was greeted by the flailing arms of a black doctor. Before I knew it his fingers were all over my face.
“Let me see your left eye...hmmm. Now your right eye...hmmm.”
He pounced from eye to eye. He yanked the skin around my eyes back and shone his torch at my eyes.
“And your left again...Now your right...And your left...And right...Left...Right...” His fingers danced on my face.
I saw Odd Job grinning before she vanished from my peripheral vision.
“Does it hurt? he said.
“It aches when I switch in and out of focus.”
“Did you get the eye drops?” he said.
“I never got the eye drops."
“Make sure he gets the eye drops,” he nodded to Odd Job.
“What do you think’s caused it?” I said.
“Many things,” he said.
“Headstands perhaps?” I said.
“I don’t think so, when you get the drops, put one in your eye four times a day,” he said, and then rushed away. He settled near a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and buried his arms in it.
Odd Job shot me a time's-up nod.
“You’ll get the eye drops soon and I’ll schedule you for a check-up next week,” Odd Job said in a tone that indicated she couldn’t wait for me to be in her clutches again.
Outside, the old-timer was bent over. He looked ready to die.

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

Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

2 December

Literature and Schlongs

The evening meal was spaghetti. I gave mine to Weird Al and sat down next to Two Tonys.
“I appreciate you introducing me to Tom Wolfe books,” I said. “A Man in Full is now my favourite work of fiction. There’s not many contemporary authors who hold my interest.”
“Average authors are churning out junk food. Compared to their hamburgers, Tom Wolfe’s books are Beef Wellingtons,” Two Tonys said.
“My parents have been trying to get me reading more contemporary fiction. They sent me some Stephen King novels. I enjoyed reading the Shawshank Redemption.”
“Stephen King’s running a fuckin’ McDonald’s franchise,” Two Tonys said. “He’s pumpin’ out books like he’s makin’ quarter pounders. It took Wolfe eleven years to write A Man in Full. Wolfe’s so fuckin’ good he’s got a war going with those other authors - Updike, Irving and that fuckin’ thug Mailer. They’re jealous of his skills.”
“What do you think of Tom Robbins? My parents are trying to sway me away from him because my blogs started getting too surreal after I read three Robbins books back-to-back recently. The other author to knock me out of orbit like that was Proust.”
“I’m not familiar with this Robbins guy. I’ll tell you something though - he’s got to get up real early in the fuckin’ morning to sharpen his pencil to be in the same league as Tom Wolfe.”
Repo joined our table. “I seen Xena coming out of the shower,” Repo said. “That girl’s got a big-ass schlong. Ever notice that shit?”
“What is it with you?” Two Tonys said. “We’re over here trying to have an intellectual fuckin’ conversation about books we’ve read and you’ve gotta come along and talk about schlongs. Have you got some kind of fuckin’ fetish for talkin’ about schlongs and ass-holes when I’m eating?”
“But it’s true,” Repo said. “I’ve been down a long time and I’ve noticed that gay guys have bigger than average schlongs.”
“Listen, I’ve been down twice as long as you and I’ll be honest with ya, I’m not in the habit of checkin’ out men’s schlongs. And the fact that you’re bringin’ schlongs up while I’m tryin’ to converse with my British friend, I’m findin’ insultin’. You wanna talk about schlongs, sit at a fuckin’ chomo or sex pervert table. This table’s for crimes of integrity - like homicides for motherfuckers who asked for it.”
“How about asses? I saw Xena’s ass as well.”
“Hey Repo, you know my reputation. I don’t fuck with these fags - now or never. I don’t look at men’s asses. It’s a case of each to his fuckin’ own.
“I can imagine takin’ you to a fancy joint like the Four Seasons. The maitre d’ gives us a choice table and you wanna talk about the Guatemalan bus boys ass or the shape of the maitre d’s trouser trout. That’s why I can’t ever envisage takin’ you to a five-star restaurant, Repo. You’re strictly McDonald’s - drive-thru material.”
“This spaghetti sauce looks like some marines took a shit in it - straight fuckin’ Panama water,” Repo said.
“That’s because o’ your sick fuckin’ mind - it’s stuck on schlongs and shits and ass-holes. Come hot-dog day, you’re gonna be seein’ the hotdogs as schlongs and cockheads. You’re stuck on phallic fuckin’ symbols.”
Just when I thought the conversation couldn’t warp any further, Xena joined our table.
“Hey guys! Who wants a table dance?” Xena said.
“Me and my Brit friend don’t, but Repo’ll take you in a private booth. He’ll meet you at your cell later on.”
“I was just tellin’ the fella about your big-ass schlong,” Repo said.
“Not that I asked for that info, 'cause, to be real honest with ya, I don’t give a fuck if you’re hung like the incredible fuckin’ Hulk. All we’re tryin’ to do is have an intelligent conversation about literature."
“Two Tonys, are you sure you don’t wanna see my swingset?” Xena said.
“No, I don’t care to...but if the day ever comes when I do, I’m hopin’ you motherfuckers will snuff me out by smotherin’ me with a pillow first - like at the end of One Flew Over A Cuckoo’s Nest. After that I’ll meet you motherfuckers in hell, 'cause that’s where we’re all headin’.”

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

Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

23 November

Bleeding Eyeball (Part 2)

Just when I had abandoned all hope of the doctor ever seeing my eye, I was called to the Health Unit.
Soon, I thought, I'll have the doctor's diagnosis and I'll know what is what.
Expecting to be greeted by the doctor, I swaggered into the Health Unit. But both the doctor and regular nurse were absent.
"Why are you here?" a Chicano nurse said.
"The nurse said my eyeball's bleeding and I'd be called to see the doctor."
"Let me see."
I stretched the skin away from my eye.
"It's...not...bleeding...exactly," he said in a slow voice as if he were falling asleep.
"Huh?" I said.
He read the latest entry in my medical file, and said,"Did you get the eye drops?"
"What eye drops?"
"You were supposed to get eye drops but it looks like the order wasn't processed. The nurse isn't back till Tuesday, so I'll reschedule you to see her on Tuesday, OK?"
"What about scheduling me to see the doctor?"
"He's not here and I don't know what the nurse wants to do with you."
"I'm confused. The nurse said my eyeball's bleeding and I might have to see the doctor. Now you're telling me it's not bleeding exactly. I'd like to know what not bleeding exactly means and what's causing the redness of my eyeball?"
"Let me see."
He stared at my eye again. "I'm not a doctor, but it looks like irritation...perhaps."
Was, I thought, I causing him irritation, perhaps.
"It doesn't look too bad...at least...nothing that should cause you to lose your sight."
Convinced that nothing good was going to come from furthering the conversation, I said,"OK, thanks for your help."

At lunch, I explained what had happened to Shane and Weird Al.
"His eyeball's not exactly bleeding, perhaps." Shane said.
"My shit doesn't exactly smell bad, perhaps."Weird Al said.
"The US justice system doesn't exactly work right, perhaps," Shane said.
"Orange isn't exactly my favourite colour, perhaps," Weird Al said.
"Alright fellas, that's enough exactlies and perhapses for today," I said, sensing they were itching to get many more out.
"The US didn't exactly bomb Nagasaki, perhaps." Weird Al said.
"Perhaps he meant it's not exactly bleeding in the context of where he's from. Maybe he's used to seeing eyeballs squirting blood," Shane said.
"Don't worry, I've heard that DOC Medical has acquiesced to British demands for eye care by enlisting an illegal alien Mexican to hand paint a rock eyeball. It should be very lifelike," Weird Al said.
"In the meantime we can use egg whites, switching them when they start to smell really bad," Shane said.
"You might as well give up studying Chinese. You'll be blind before you ever master the language," Weird Al said.
"Very funny," I said.
"Are your parents training a seeing-eye dog for when you get home?" Weird Al said.
"I'll put them on that right away," I said.
"I'd also like to recommend that you walk to the chow hall with your eyes closed counting the steps, so you don't get lost when you go blind - which should be anytime soon," Weird Al said.
"You guys are terrible," I said.
"Getting medical service in here is terrible," Shane said.
"He's right, haven't you seen the tombstones at the prisoner graveyard in Florence?
The epitaphs read: I told you I was sick" Weird Al said.

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

Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Thanks from Jon’s parents

As we prepare to fly to Tucson tomorrow (Thursday) to visit with our son for Christmas, we’d like to take the opportunity once again to thank all the readers of the blog for the emails, books, letters and tapes. We are constantly surprised and gratified by the kindness of strangers, who now, we feel are friends.
Our daughter, Karen, will be posting blogs while we are away. She has just had an article about our situation and the affect on the family published in the January edition of Cosmopolitan magazine. In the article, she says how, as a family, we have become closer because of what has happened. One thing that is certain is that Karen’s unflagging love and support has kept us sane throughout.
Best wishes to everyone
Derick & Barbara Attwood

20 November 05

Pyschotherapy With Dr Allen (part 3)

“Do you know what schemas are?”
“No.”
“Schemas are core beliefs that are the essence of you. They’re what’s in your heart and soul – what you believe about you and the world. Are you familiar with Freudian analysis, and the id, ego and superego?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should get an easy grasp of transactional analysis. With transactional analysis, three ego states are identified: the child, which is impulsive and likes to be taken care of; the parent – the caretaker or superego – which is where I suspect your anxieties stem from; and the adult – the rational and balanced thinker – the stabilizing force between parent and child.
Your drive to succeed – the ‘I have to do this, I have to do that, to get where I’m going’ – comes from the parent, the superego. To address the anxieties you are experiencing, a compromise must be found in the adult. You need to balance the parent out in the adult world. You have a need for relaxation and pleasure, for good mental health, which you are not addressing if your parent is making you believe that you ‘have to get this done, and have to get that done’ to achieve your goals. Let me take a guess: you probably spend seventy percent of your time working towards your goals, and thirty percent on relaxation and pleasure?”
“More like ninety percent plus on my goals, and ten percent or less on pleasure.”
“It’s worse than I thought then.”
“Like we discussed previously, I enter years of all-absorbing work, and the pressure builds up so much that I end up partying hard and entering a slump.”
“If you don’t modulate that, you’re going to run into the same problems. Instead of rising up rapidly in terms of success, and then having a massive need for play at the crest of your wave, you should try to obtain your goals more slowly, by letting steam out from time to time on the way up by engaging in pleasure and relaxation. It seems that you’re stuck on the beliefs coming from the parent state.”
“I can see what you’re saying is true, but, I don’t want to achieve my goals slowly. Part of my goals are the time parameters I set. I view the road you are describing as mediocre performance. I allow for pleasure when I’m beginning to feel unhinged. Isn’t that the cost of doing business? Wasn’t it Nietzche’s overwhelming use of his cognitive skills that contributed to his insanity?”
“That’s your schema. Unless you change that belief, and let out steam gradually as your stress builds, you’ll have the same problems that you’ve had in the past.”
“So how do I change that schema? I don’t understand where it comes from. I just have a permanent overwhelming feeling that I must spend all my time working hard to fulfil my destiny.”
“We need to go deeper into your psyche to find out what has shaped your core belief system.
But sadly, that might not be possible because I’m being assigned to work other prison yards, and may not be able to continue these sessions.”
“Not again. Just when I thought Dr. Bernstein at Buckeye was making progress, he got axed. Now the same’s going to happen with you?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but this might be our last session together.”

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

Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

18 November 05

Bleeding Eyeball (Part 1)

In the Health Unit a battleaxe of a nurse was scowling at the three Health Needs Request forms I had submitted. “So you’re the one fillin’ out all those forms, and havin’ officers call down here every day complainin’ about a pink-eye infection?” she said.
What could I say? I was the one. Not wanting to start an argument I remained silent.
“Let’s see it then,” she said.
I stretched the skin away from my eye.
She looked and said, “That’s not pink eye, your eyeball’s bleeding.” She allowed her diagnosis to settle in for a bit. Then she said, "How did your eye suffer trauma? And don’t lie to me, I’ve got a built in bullshit detector. The truth is for your own good.”
“I haven’t suffered any trauma. I’ve been doing daily handstands for eight to fifteen minutes. They make my eyes go red. That’s all I can think of.”
“Headstands,” said a second nurse who I hadn't seen sitting out of view in a separate room. “It could be the headstands.” She rose, and headed in my direction. Confident that she was coming to examine my eye, I stretched the skin again, but, disappointingly, she walked right by and stopped at a filing cabinet. She filed some papers and approached me again. When she got close I swivelled my head, exposed my eyeball, and said, “Look!” She slowed down but did not stop. She looked at my eye momentarily, and said, “If there’s no gunk, and your eyelids aren’t red, it’s not pink eye. The ocular pressure from headstands may have caused some bleeding.”
“Does it hurt?” the other nurse asked.
"It aches occasionally.”
“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being excruciating pain, what is it?”
“About a two.”
“It’s only a two. Did you hear that?”
“It’s only a two,” the other nurse echoed from the adjacent room.
“It’ll self-heal. No more headstands for a while. If the doctor wants to see you, we’ll let you know.”

Over lunch, I told Shane and Weird Al about my trip to Medical.
“By the time the doctor is notified, your eye will have fallen out. But don’t worry you’ll get a good DOC fake eye. I’ll start looking for round rocks on the rec yard for you,” Weird Al said. “Expect to be blogging with one eye from now on,” Shane said.
“You might as well warn your readers that you’ll soon be blogging in Braille.”
“I’ll know not to expect any sympathy from you two, if I lose my eye.”
“To enjoy the full experience of DOC you really should lose an eye or two.”
“And aquire a deadly disease or staph infection.”

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

Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

16 November 05

Shanksville

Yard 4 has been locked down (no rec or showers) for two-and-a-half days because some shanks were found in a porter’s closet.
“I don’t get this lock-down shit, man. Someone was stabbed in the face in Yard 3 last week, and those fools didn’t even get locked down – they were out playin’ softball all day,” Long Island said into the vent, to our young Chicano neighbour, Flaco.
“I saw a jura [guard] find a big-ass shank behind our building this morning – the piece went from his hand past his elbow. It was huge,” Flaco said.
“I guess they’re trippin’ 'cause there’s some table legs missin’. A cop said the ADW thinks there’s more shanks on the yard,” Long Island said.
“Aw shit, here comes a shitload of juras to toss our houses,” Flaco said.
Fifteen guards – a dozen uniformed, wearing rubber gloves, and three CO3s in plain clothes – began searching D run's cells.
The jingling of keys announced our turn.
A brawny guard with a neat moustache entered our cell. He placed his arms akimbo, putting his massive arm muscles on display.
“I’m gonna strip you guys out one at a time. One of you wait outside,” he said.
Long Island exited.
I gave the guard everything I was wearing. Shrinkage commenced – my reproductives expressed discomfort by puckering up.
“Put your arms in the air.” He inspected my armpits. “Open your mouth. Good. Now fold your ears forward. OK. Now raise your balls. OK. Turn around, bend over, and spread 'em.”
I pitied the guard for having to examine dozens of behinds that hadn’t been showered for three days.
“Show me your feet. Alright. Now get dressed.”
“Alright.”
“Is there anything in here that shouldn’t be in here?”
“Of course not.”
“Where’s that accent from?”
“England.”
“What the hell are you doin’ in here?”
“It’s a long story. Stockbroker gone wild.”
“Stockbroker – is that what all the charts on the wall are about?”
“Yeah. The Dow Jones, NASDAQ, the S&P 500, gold and oil. I’m teachin’ my celly how to trade.”
Outside, I joined the crowd of inmates watching the guards search their cells. Nearby, a Chicano guard with slicked-back hair and a pronounced dimple was digging up soil with a shovel, looking for buried shanks. None were found in the search, but contraband was confiscated. Guards took water bottles (used for weight lifting), cardboard backs from writing pads (used to block air vents), empty pens (for making tattoo guns), and a TV from a two-man cell that had three TVs in it.
“Alright, Dog 11 return to your cell.”

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Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood

Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

12 November 05

Question Time With Ogre

Alba asked if the conflict over my Cheerios between Ogre and Druid was resolved?

Just when it was looking as if there would be bloodshed over my cereal, the move from Buckeye to Tucson occurred, and now I no longer have breakfast with Druid or Ogre.
Yard 4 is split into four buildings: A,B,C, and D. Other than early-outs lunch, or when there are poor chow turnouts such as spaghetti nights, A eats with B and C eats with D.

I live in D. Ogre lives in A and Druid is in B, but they do not sit together or talk to each other. I usually sit with Shane and Weird Al , and sometimes with Xena. Presently, Weird Al is the beneficiary of my cereal.

JC asked why Ogre is in prison. I put the question to Ogre and he revealed the following about accidentally stabbing his wife:

“How did the accidental stabbing of your wife occur?”
“I’d been up for days on tweak [crystal meth] workin’ on my boat. I was on my bed, naked except for a towel wrapped around me, cleanin’ my nails, when some of my wife’s friends stopped by to buy a couple of ounces of dope. The dope was hidden in my boat, and I didn’t really wanna get it, so my wife started yellin’ at me, ‘If it was your fuckin’ friends you’d be out there by now!’ So I said, ‘Fuck you bitch’ and threw my Gerber knife at the dresser, but it missed and stuck in the side of her knee through her pants. She pulled it out, and there was a little fingernail-size hole. It was gushing blood, and a little bit of meat came out. I pushed it back in, and we had fun making butterfly stitches. Her friends buyin' the dope wanted to call the cops, but my wife said she was alright, and we partied all night long. That was on April the 11th, 2003 in Lake Havasu.

After that I thought everythin’ was all good. We took a trip to L.A. with her daughter because I was gonna donate a kidney to Brian Davidson – the owner of Hot Boat Magazine – and they had to run tests on my blood at Cedars Sinai in Beverly Hills. We did more dope and then took off for L.A. I missed the appointment, so we stayed the weekend, and I gave seventeen vials of blood on Monday. By now I hadn’t slept for a week, and I’m fucked up worse because of losing so much blood, and my wife hadn’t slept, and we get in a fight over Taco Bell.
Her kid wants to go to Taco Bell, and there’s no Taco Bell in Beverly Hills. The kid's in the back screamin’. I’m tryin’ to drive, and my wife attacks me, so I stopped, grabbed her, and threw her out of the truck, but she gets back in. Shit just got crazier after that. I’m drivin’ home, my wife’s flippin’ out, and I start hallucinatin’. The first troll I saw - "
“Troll?” I said.
“Yeah, troll. Look, it’s made my nipples hard just thinkin’ about it. The first troll was at the side of the road, puttin’ a chain on a bicycle, goin’ he-he-he-he. It was an evil little bastard.”
“What did the troll look like?”
“About two foot tall, wearin’ a green flannel jacket, with long brown hair.
Drivin’ home the trolls started rippin’ up those yellow lines that are painted on the roads – tryin’ to trip my truck up.
Back in Lake Havasu, there’s trolls everywhere, destroyin’ cars, and I imagined – it seemed real at the time – that our neighbours were screaming and yellin’ at the trolls.
My wife took off. I went lookin’ for her at her dad’s house, and he called the cops. I was seein’ trolls everywhere. I hadn’t slept for over a week by now.
I’m drivin’ home past a cop. He looks at me, hits his lights and does a felony stop. ‘Driver, pull the keys out, put your hands in the air’ – all that shit. I asked him why I was being arrested and he said, ‘For assault and battery of your wife.’ I told him, ‘She ain’t chargin’ me, that was over a week ago,’ and he said, ‘She doesn’t have to charge you, her dad did.’
So I got busted for no reason, and she got busted for drugs, and they threatened to take her kid away if she didn’t testify against me, so she did for one and a half hours, and I got sentenced to five years for aggravated assault.
I’ve lost two wonderful marriages because of crystal meth.”

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Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood


Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

08 November 05

Feeding Time

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Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood


Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.

06 November 05

Friends

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Copyright © 2004-2005 Shaun P. Attwood


Jon’s book wishlist – he is allowed used or new books as long as they are sent direct from publishers such as Amazon.