Tuesday, 31 May 2011

Cum and no money

I like tattoos.

From a young age i always knew i was going to
get a lot of shit done, this is largely down to my brother.

His tattoos were about a thousand trillion times better than most peoples 
shit i had ever seen.

In the ends we grew up in,
a lot of simple minded folk aquired ULTRA bate tattoos,
usually while they were still in high school.

Bulldogs wearing boxing gloves, blob-like tribal designs, panthers, dragons,
you get the picture.

After witnessing all of these dimwits utterly obismal scarifications,
and knowing, thanks to my brother, what a good tattoo looks like,
i made the conscious decision to wait until i turned eighteen to get

Over the years that followed,
i got two sleeves done. One based on a character from Shogun Assasin/Lone wolf and cub,
and the other based on the anime Hokuto no ken/fist of the north star..

..but one arm had a little space left.

Back when i was living on my own in Queens in 2009,
i was missing my brother a lot.

It had been a good while since i had seen him,
and despite him driving me up the fucking wall most times
he is in my presence, annoying the hell out of me, rinsing all my shit
and being a bras cat (the list is endless)he is my brother and i love the
idiot regardless of the ludicrous fuckrie we got into..

At this time we were not in as good contact as one would
have hoped, i did hear from him now and again over email,
but still it wasn't enough.

We were both having a hard time dealing with certain shit
in my life, mainly being in a foreign country, running out of money
and finding it very hard finding work, and when i was in a bad way
he really helped me giving me positive advice and just being there for me.

I wanted to let him know that wherever i am in the world,
including being locked in this fucking dungeon, he is never far
from my mind and thoughts.

My office messenger job was throwing some extra hours my
way, with overtime coming in all over the shop too, for the first
time in my life i actually was saving money


After a few micro seconds of contemplation, the decision was

I would get a tattoo.

Why the fuck not.

I found a really good tattooist by chance while fuckin' around on
facebook, who was based in Nanuet.

i THINK that's upstate New York?

I forget.

It seemed like a bit of a mission to go up there to get it done,
but i love missions, so after a couple months saving, planning,
i was good to go..

When i get tattood,
i usually go out drinking the night before.

It's BEYOND retarded.

This type of idiotic tomfoolery has only ever left me feeling mad fragile
the next day..

..Having an extremely annoying buzzing sounds in your year and a guy scraping
away at your arm with various needles for hours at a time while hungover is
not the most enjoyable of experiences i can tell you..

..but i'm not the most intelligent of individuals either..

..So the night before, i got drunk.

Real drunk.

Not good.

I awoke the next day to a fucking ANIMAL headache,
and an extremely limited amount of time to get my ass
out of bed and on the road.

With only a few hours sleep under my belt,
a brainshattering hangover and armed with
a bottle of cold water to keep the ever-present
vomit that kept creeping up my throat on the train
at bay, i made my way to the city..

It was a beautiful day.

I had to get on a few different trains
to bop down to Nanuet.

The journey was super chilled, luckily i had good music to listen to
on the way there..

My hangover
seemed to disappear for a few hours while i stared
out the window at the passing scenery wondering what
the fuck i was even doing on a train in New Jersey in
the first place..

The journey required me to jump in a cab for twenty minutes
after the train too..LONG..i recall the cab driver who took me to
the shop having a striking aroma of sweat mixed with dog urine
and vinegar, and baring an uncanny resemblance to that guy who gives
John Candy and Steve Martin a lift in 'planes trains and automobiles'..

"Her first baby came out sideways, she didn't scream or nothin'"

Once i finally arrived, it was time to boogie.

The tattooist was tooo safe, and the
atmosphere in his shop was beyond chilled.

In short, the place was a fucking cotch.

I had sent him flicks of my sleeve weeks before
my appointment so he could work his design into the
overall look of the sleeve..

When he first put the design on, i thought it looked fucking huge..

..and most importantly, i didn't think i'd have the bread to cover
the time it would take to do it!

He assured me that we would work something out,
and that if it took longer than expected he wouldnt charge
me any extra..which was nice of him!

So with that, he got to work!

As i said,
the dude was safe as fuck.

We were catching fuckrie for most the time i was in there,
and the time flew by like it wasn't a ting..

..One story he told me was too jokes..

At the old shop he used to work at,
one day some really scrawny guy came in asking about
whether they would tattoo his dick.
 The tattooist who was in the shop at the time told him
straight up, if he was going to be tattooing this guys cock
it would be a minimum charge of 500 dollars, no matter what
he wanted on there.
 The potential customer agreed, made an apointment and
a few weeks later turned up to get his penis tattood.

..He's sitting in the chair looking mad awkward with his dick
out, the tattooist grabs his dick and as soon as the needle touches
his cock, the guy starts cumming everywhere and runs around the shop,
leaving the tattooist with a handfull of semen and no cash..


Anyhow..back to me in Nanuet..

Four hours later, the dude was done dunnin' the dance.

I didn't really get a good look at the piece until i got home,
i was in a mad hurry to get back to the city..

The train i was on actually broke down,
and i ended up having to get on a coach back to Manhatton..

A coach that was full of screaming children.


Hours later,
i was finally home at my Turkish yard..

After a quick shower,
which included but wasn't limited to cleaning my
arm of dried blood and ink, followed by scrubbing my dick
and balls, i threw on some live garms and got ready
to head out the fuckin' door..

I was more than pleased with this new brotherly orientated
addition to my arm, despite first thinking it slightly resembled
a very large cabbage, after a couple hours i had made my mind
up that it was, in my opinion, ultra deep.

pure haps.

..And on a next hype,
which was a good thing considering i was heading out the door
to meet a seriously cute chick from england!

After a week or so, the piece healed up nicely.


Sunday, 29 May 2011



Wud up Wud up
I put together a load of tunes,
if you're bored you can listen to some shit that i find palatable.
type em in on youtube, even if you've heard them before, lemme know what you think :)


Artist      -     track

King curtis - memphis soul stew
james brown - turn it loose
Aretha Franklyn - say a little prayer
Curtis Mayfield - so in live
Ohio Players - Skintight
Blackbirds - walkin' in rythm
Al green - mercy mercy me
Sly & family stone - are you man enough


Dj Vadim - the terrorist
pharcyde - she said
snoop dogg - 187 on undercover cop
dogg pound - what would you do
gangstar - royalty
souls of mischief - 93 til infinity
j dilla - two can win


sworn enemy - fallen grace
bulldoze - the truth
megadeath - take no prisoners
irate - vendetta
dying fetus - indisious decrepency
pantera - 5 minutes alone
caliban - assasin of love
bun dem out - soldados


kooks - oh la la
bloc party - here we are
fleetwood mac - rianon (spelling probably wrong)
asobi seksu - thursday
steve miller band - fly like an eagle
the strokes - someday
black keys - next girl
jimmy hendrix - red house
radiohead - lotus flowers
queens of the stone age - go with the flow


slew dem sidewinder part 1
slew dem sidewinder part 2
slew dem sidewinder part 3
slew dem sidewinder part 4

Monday, 23 May 2011


Press Play

Today is my cellie Sha Boogie's Birthday!

I am blessed to have this dude around.

If i need advice, he is always there for me.

He keeps me out of trouble, and in turn,
keeps trouble away from me.

When things are looking bleak,
he always turns up right on time to make me laugh,
smile, and remind me that things really ain't all that bad.

when i am talking negatively or start to lose focus on the big picture,
he tells me to shut the fuck up and gets me back on track,
quick fast.

He is a kind, loyal person who everyone respects.

People go to him for advice around the clock, and ask
him his opinion on their isssues, which they value greatly.

In short,
it's my brothers birthday today,
so show the Boogster some love!

Eric Manson 01558112
MCC New York
150 Park Row 
New York 

Two Tunas

Saturday Night.

Just passed midnight.

Trying my best not to wake my cellie up,
got a t-shirt draped over the light in my cell so
it ain't too bright. Despite his claims in the past that
'N****R, i can sleep with the SUN turned on motherfucker"
..It's nice to be considerate.

 The cold cup of coffee i'm occasionally sippin' on
is just about keeping me awake, alert and focussed. When
i'm tired and drink coffee, it seems to help me twist these
stupid letters that i get paid in tunas into all kinds of
fabulously toyish shapes and combinations.

 I just finished a sketch for someone's wife's birthday,
up next is a crude character and an outline for my buddy
who just had a little baby boy.

Depending on who the sketch is for, the price may very.

If you're my freind, it's free.

Doing something for someone i like is always a minor,
plus if i can create something for for a mate that will
make them happy, my good deed for the day is done.

"Yo son, my girl's gonna give me MAD head when she sees this"

I do what i can.


If you ain't a compardre/partner/associate/freind and i don't like you,
pay me two tunas in advance, i'll pretend to listen to what you want and
you will get what you're given. An you better be happy about it too.


At the moment,
my pubetastic bollockian sketches seem to be in high demand,
whenever i hand them over upon completion, nearby gang members (bloods)
usually correspond with detail orientated comments,
of the most critical fashion.

"Yo son, England is NICE yo! Timdog the nicest n****r up in here"

Why thankyou :)

I've mentioned before that there are a few habitual liars in here that
claim they 'used to paint back in da day'.

To be honest,
these guys are straight up a billion times better than me when it
comes to characters, colouring and all round artistic abilities.

These are PROPER jailhouse artists.

I've seen these mandem do all kinds of crazy shit,
for example, using packets of jailhouse kool aid to colour
their sketches in.


Around 99.9 per cent of the lettering that gets aborted from my
fingers is straight outlines, and are done with either black of blue
ball point pen.

Force of habit i guess.

I would never colour sketches in when i was on road,
it seemed pointless to me as i knew most of the shit i
was sketching was going to get painted at some point,
so why waste time colouring away with pencils or pens when
the end result is going to be done in a completely different

Hence me seeing no point in going further than the outline.

Fascinatingly retarded justification for my extreme lack of
patience, right?

It's been around nine months since i painted a piece,
throwup, dub etc.

I think that's the longest i've ever gone without
dropping something since i started painting.

Something tells me ,
courtesy of the United States Federal government,
this ain't gonna be changing anytime soon.

My cellie just farted.

I agree.

Purely shackled

Man i feel fucking tired

 In the last few minutes,
managed to blag myself some powdered milk, coffee, sweetener and a little bit of milk,
been craving a decent cup of coffee all day. One of my freinds ticked me all of the above ingredients,
 He's a really good guy.

Had a kid recently,
and today was the first time he got to hold his newborn son,
it made me feel good hearing that bit of news..

Press Play

How was my day?


Since five in the morning,
most of my day was spent waddling around with my hands
and legs shackled like some kind of crazed public masterbating
sex offender.

 The cuffs were REALLY fucking tight too,
they've been off for about an hour and a half now,
yet my throbbing tomato tinged wrists are still really
fucking choppy, swollen and red.

The reasoning they gave was that someone had tried
to escape or pull some kind of fuckrie recently, so now
when you are being moved around the neighbouring facilities
they handcuff your feet together,
wrap a big ass chain tightly around your waist and lock
that with the pair of handcuffs on your wrists so you can't
raise your hands at all.


I heard a couple of the Correctional Officers joking to themselves,
saying that the person must've been real stupid to try and escape as
there are so many doors and security checkpoints, they'd never make
it out.

I put in my two cents.

"Maybe he tried to jump out of a window"

They found this very funny,
explaining to me that considering how high up we are, you would
never survive the fall so what would be the point..

"If you spent one fucking day in the conditions that i have you would understand.
Jumping out the window is still getting out. It's still freedom, you're still getting out
one way or the other. Plus you're doing it YOUR way, you're making a decision with
YOUR life. Makes perfect sense to me, the guy wanted to be free, and took the

They hushed the fuck up.

Then tightened my handcuffs even further.

I'm an idiot.

But i guess i can't complain.

Things could always be worse.

Ain't had no mail in a few days,
think it's been about a week actually.

To anyone that's reading this, Press Play.

Sunday, 22 May 2011

Special Moves

Once upon a time,
i used to play in a hardcore band.

 Ever since the year 1999,
i've been knocking around the hardcore scene
in London.

 My brother play in a few different bands
here and there, one of them in particular
used to play the Pressure Festival in Germany.

 This was always a good excuse for some overseas fuckrie,
bopping to foreign lands for a week of slippyness an decent music.

 One year,
i got introduced through a mutual freind to a Norwegian
writer, from the UL crew.

 After that initial linkadge,
me and this dude would link up at the festival every year,
miss all the bands apart from the ones i travelled over with and
have seen a bzillion times, and paint.

Good times.

 Back in 2009,
i get an email from my buddy, asking if i'm
coming to the festival this year.

 I inform him that i am currently
residing in Maspeth, Queens, not London.

He books a flight.

Weeks later,
my man is standing on my doorstep ready to
put his UL stamp on New York City..

We didn't spend much time in my yard.

After a quick meal, it was time to boogie.

  There is shit to be done.

I find us a cheap bar to jam in for a few
hours, throw back some shots, an see how the night unfolds.

 Our first night out,
i just wanted to show homeboy a bit of the city,
get pissed up an possibly eye some spots for later.

The paint stayed at home.

It was probably for the best.

 When i lived in Maspeth,
it was always a mission coming back from the
city. But when you're drunk and with a freind,
who the fuck cares.

After a couple days being shown around,
acquiring paint and food, it was time to get busy.

Usual plan.

Grab drinks, go paint, more drink, paint.

I like shutters,
and i had a few in mind this evening.

One of them was opposite a very shitty looking bar.

We could only make out a few old crones in the back
of the place, sipping dirty glasses of pissy wine, so assumed
the place must have been closed.


Despite it being no later than 1030pm,
i decided it was time to dun the dance,
you get me.

I'm about halfway through filling in this
two toned piece of garbage when i hear a voice
calling me, in a distinctly European, broken accent..

"Duuude! Duuude!"

It's homeboy.

I turn around,
and i'm greeted with the sight of about six of these old
grave dodgers standing at the window of the opposite bar, smiling,
watching mans paint.


I put my tins away in my bag,
an come back a few slippery hours later to finish
it off, minus the crowd of old codgers.

The next few hours are spent walking around Brooklyn,
hopping into bars, necking shots, then heading to the spots
we'd scoped earlier in the week.

 The night was calm,
streets are empty, everything is peaceful.

I glance over at my freind,
and i laugh to myself..

I'm an Englishman,
rolling with this Norwegian bredren,
that i met in germany, and now we're
running around the streets of Brooklyn,
New York City.

Life's a motherfucker.

 His last few days left, we spend chilling,
getting flicks of the assorted daubings scrawled
over the past week, and reminiscing on past Fuckrie.

My dude leaves.

Our reaches stay up for a while,
but the memories of times like these will
always be with me.

Good times.

Tuesday, 17 May 2011


What a LOVELY day it is today!!

 I arise from my deathly slumber to the
smell of fresh fecal particles and Columbian Coffee

My cellie is the best.

Considering he's clasping hold of MY bag of coffee,
the burning question is, is he making me a cup too?

"what the FUCK do i look like,
Butler Benson? An you're King Arthur up in this motherfucker?
..FUCK outta here N****R.."


Onwards and upwards!

I slept through lunch,
i was having some crazy dream that involved fucking some chick,
and compared to reality, i deemed sleeping more important than
feasting on some testicular matter shaped into some kind of burger
or patty..A cup of tea and biscuits will do for now.

I'm trying to lose weight anyway,
i've built up a shitload of muscle but i still have some weight
to shed, my cellie is always full of encouragement..

"Don' worry kid, you'll turn all that fat into dick in no time"

No bullshit..

i head back to my cell, sit on the chair i blagged
from my last visit, and relax with my brew..

that was the plan, until some discombobulated
nincompoop took it upon himself to boot the cell
door open, screamin..


Tea and biscuits start scattering..

"Silly N****r!
Boogie ain't gonna let no one run up in
the spot, ESPECIALLY the castle!"

The dude then proceeds to talk pure blams,
mainly involving prison politics and possible
beef about to erupt..

My cellie is completely unfazed.

"I ain't no psychologist,
i'm just a live n****r, an i know
what shit's headin' for.."

At that, i take my leave..

As soon as i hit the floor,
i'm somehow drawn towards my Jamaican freinds,
who at this moment in time, are playing table tennis.

They offer to teach me.

Why the fuck not.

 The dude i am playing against seems to have
extremely little patience with the 'ras claat' noob
everytime we start to get a decent rally together,
he smashes the ball towards the direction of my
hench Turkish nose, at approximately a squillion
miles an hour..


Each time he does this,
it's followed by people shouting..


My freind who makes cards (prepare yourself, one's in the post) refers
to this particular shot as a 'mash shot', and tells me i'm not ready
to 'bus' one just yet..


I'm quickly getting the hang of this shit.

Press play

The pace of the game is getting faster, but i
ain't slackin'.

Man's standin' his ground.

..All the while i'm preparing to skyrocket this fuckin'
ball at this dude..

I just have to time it perfectly.

Then it comes!

My oppoent hits the ball and it bounces high up into the air..

..Everybody pauses in suspense..

This is my chance,
i'm takin' the motherfucker..

I gracefully rise through the air like Sagat,
ready to tiger the FUCK out of this ball CUNT of a ball..


The ball goes fucking FLYING through the air,
hitting the dude in the chest, then bouncing
all the way to the back of the tier behind him..


..The crowd erupts..


Even my card making bredren puts in his two cents..

Tim'a bus da mash shot already mun!"


My opponent was less than impressed,
reffering to me for the rest of the game as a 'pussyclat'
and winning by a considerable amount.

Dickhead min!

Sunday, 15 May 2011


My first night in New York..

 I had made FULL use of Brittish Airways policy of
free booze on the plane, and accompanied by some gymnast from
upstate New York sitting next to me, got pretty slippy on the way over..

 Once i'd touched down at the airport,
off to the arrivals lounge to go find my bald bastard of a cousin.

I see him.

He's clad in a leather jacket, sweating profusely. The jacket is
clearly buckling from the untold rolls of fat trying to escape, his
face is covered with secretions of lard and grease..

 A short car ride later and we
are in my temporary residence of Coney Island..

 He made me swear in the car not to tell my father how shady
the neighbourhood i was staying in was. This was a re-occuring thing
with this big fat Bozo, asking me to lie to people for him, or straight
up just lying to me like it was just a ting.

Top Geezer.

I first met his wife that night,
she was a very sweet lady. I could tell from the word go that she
was a good person, fuck knows what she was doing with that slob! After
a nice meal and some conversational pleasentries, fatso asks me if i blaze.
 After hearing my response, we're in his prickmobile heading to the Bronx
to go pick up..

 He wanted me to meet his freinds.

I obliged.

but regret followed shortly.

..I found myself standing in a dingy stairwell,
surrounded by the most pathetic bunch of goons i have
ever had the misfortune of being in breathing distance of.

 To say these guys looked like the gang that can't shoot
straight would be a compliment to these utterly dillusional

Wannabe gangsters, take note.

 A small amount of low grade marijuana,
a small firearm, a small vocabulary and
a microscopic penis does not make you a
'real G'.


 After a few blunts go round,
this one particular deformed baffoon rolls up a king L sized
blunt and passes it to me, and the dribbling idiot manages to
string together what i presume was his attempt at verbalising
in the english language..

"yo England yuz gatta smohk awl o this kid"


He's chewing gum.

Y'know, that new type of gum that's just come out.

The one that smells of dog shit.

I take the blunt from his fecal stained fingers,
grab a street fighter and spark and it..

My guess was this was some kind of initiation
ritual to officially become a twat.

I think i failed.

I was jetlagged, tired, still a bit pissed and already
real fucking high..Mandem clock i was flossin the jedi,
there was no way i was going to finish it,
so me and the blob take out leave..

The journey back is long. REAL long.

Fatso pricks decides to take the scenic route,
which i didn't mind had he not have bored me half to
death talking all kinds of next level bullshit for at
least two fucking hours instead of just concentrating
on keeping his fat fingers on the steering wheel..
 He's chatting all these blams about the rest of our family.
Basically most of my fathers side of the family are real pieces
of shit, excluding my father. They all run around stabbing each
other in the back and complaining how bad everyone is, yet
do nothing other than repeat the same appaulling behaviour
 This fat cunt keeps saying how 'we' are different,
and how 'we' need to set an example to the rest of the family,
that there is no loyalty and 'we' will show the rest of them..

Fucking idiot.

 I heard this same speach from each one of the three
cousins that i am blood related to in New York.

 None of them speak to each other,
they're all borderline retarded, hate each others
guts and are simply three peas in a pod. Their
lives are spent bitching about each other, being
nasty, selfish, horrible people, and can't seem to
understand that is the reason they only attract
negativity to their lives.

it's just a shame they're all way too stupid to see it.


we arrive back to the yard. I'm tired,
i crash the fuck out. I needed rest,
a new chapter in my life was about to start..

Thursday, 12 May 2011


 Since coming to prison,
i have rediscovered my faith in a higher power.

 I wouldn't say that i am Christian,
Muslim or any other type of specific organised
religious follower, but i certainly believe that
there is a higher power that we all answer to.

A force that created us, that we are all a part of.

 Most of my adult life,
i have not been religious.

To be honest, i had a lot of anger and pent up aggression towards
most types of organised religion, in particular Christianity,
and i felt i had a very good reason.

I was raised as a Christian.

With my mother and siblings i went to
church every Sunday.

 One day on the way to church,
something terrible took place that changed
my families lives, my future, personality and
the way i look at life and other people around me.

 No more than five minutes away
from the church we attended in Putney, we got
into a car accident.

I almost died, and my sister Rachel sadly passed away.

This had a devastating effect on me,
my brother and my parents.

It is something that i will carry around with me
for the rest of my life, and i never forget.

 In the years that followed after the accident,
i still attended church.

If i'm honest, mainly
to hang out with my buddy Jack.

We'd go back to his after church and rinse his megadrive,
or go back to mine and play my SuperNintendo. Games like these bad boys...

 As the years went on and i got older,
i began to blame my creator for what happened that day,
and built up an unhealthy amount of anger and hatred towards
the religion that i had followed as a lickle yout.

My reasoning..

"If God exists, and he is supposed to love you,
how the FUCK could he let that happen, of all places,
on the way to church?"

 I would often repeat that question to anyone who
spoke to me about religion, ignorantly taking their inability
to precisely answer my question as some kind of clarification
of my ridiculous theory to what happened.

 In reality,
i think the people i spat this unanswerable question at just
didn't want to say anything that might upset the clearly angry
and confused young man standing before them.

 It is only now,
that i understand the true nature of what happened that day,
and the years that followed.

 When i first came to jail,
as you can imagine, i was fucking terrified. My life seemed
over, everything was falling apart at the seems.

I was a desperate man.

The only thing i could think to do was pray.

It didn't work..

..or so i thought.

I was praying purely from desperation,
i didn't know what the fuck else to do!?
 Plus, my options were pretty limited.

My freinds and loved ones were trying to find out
where the fuck i had disappeared to.

 The only person who knew was my 'wife',
who was either lying to people about my whereabouts,
or straight ignoring these peoples attempts by my loved ones
to contact me. People where growing more worried and concerned
by the day..

Things just seemed to get worse and worse.

 I almost gave up completely,
i felt like my prayers were as useless as my creator was on
the day of the accident, but then it hit me like a ton of bricks..

My creator has always been there for me.

Even back then.

At the time of the accident,
two doctors just happen to be jogging by when it happened.

 I went through the windscreen, and had it not have been for them, i wouldn't
be here, tapping away in a typically moronic fashion, sporting my retarded
facial expression when i type, somewhat similar to Patrick from Spongebob..

I know now that being in this jail is merely a pitstop for me
and my story in life.

A chance to fix the fuck up.

The life i was living was not meant for me.

I was spending my time surrounded by shallow
people, who were not good for me.

I had entered into marriage with a girl who is the complete
opposite of me, and never could have been the partner
i was searching for.

How did i end up married to someone so different to me?

Beer, blowjobs, butthole
and me being way too trusting.

It was all a lesson for me.

 I truly believe my creator took me out
of that unhealthy, unhappy life i was trapped in,
and has bigger plans for me.

 In my prayers,
i pleaded for some kind of divine help,
for my marriage to work out..

..and it is working out, for the best.


 Not how i expected,
but that's life. it's full of suprises,
you just need to stay positive, except change and
remember, today, like any other day in your life, you
are only responsible for the effort you make.

Not the outcome.

As long as you do what you know in your heart is right,
everything else will fall into place.

If something is out of your control,
it defies lofic to worry about it.

It's retarded.

Prayer led me to all these conclusions.

I asked for help,
and everything i asked for i have recieved.

except for my freedom, but in time
that'll come too.

Until then, you can do something today that
will help speed that process along..

Wednesday, 11 May 2011

they'll do

There are some situations and incidents that are so hard
to believe, i don't bother writing them up.
 Unless you are there to actually witness the daily fuckrie a gwarn
in MCC, it seems rather far fetched to say the least..
 For instance,
earlier today i wanted something sweet to go
with my coffee. Some cookies, a granola bar,
banana cake, a honey bun, you get the picture..
I ain't got shit, so I had to improvise..

At that moment my freind M walked past.
 He's over six feet tall, bares an uncanny resemblance to
Kimbo Slice, and his voice is somewhat similar to the late
Isaac Hayes.
A couple days ago i gave him a box of crackers.
"Yo M, beg you hook me up with something to munch with my coffee"
"No can do Timdog, i owe like Pooki"
"Nah i ain't hearing that mate, go get me something,
make some moves, my coffees getting cold"
"Ok, Ok i got you Timdog.."
I return to my cell and go sit down on my bunk.
 Moments later, my freind arrives with (someone elses) pack
of Oatmeal cookies, grinning from ear to ear..
"Yo, these joints do?"
"Yeah, yeah they'll do man, safe"
As he takes his leave, one of the new dudes in the unit is standing
outside my cell, looking absolutely mystified as to how this young
white looking englishman is ordering around this monster of a man..
I just smile and offer him some cookies.
Dun know.

Sunday, 8 May 2011

go check out this interview i did with the guys over at platform magazine



i got some letter today in the mail saying something about someone tried to send me some bread through the mail,
if you're in the states and you want to do this, it's got to be money orders, and sent it to

Federal Bureau of Prisons
Timothy Guvercin
P.O BOX 474701
Des Moines

Or through Western Union like this

Call 0800 833 833 say you want to do a 'quick payment' to a prison - the company name is FBOP DC then give my surname Guvercin and number 63906054

To whoever sent me that bread, i really fucking appreciate it! The note i recieved said something about Beograd 3 for the address or something..but yeh thankyou for making the effort! Bus' me an email if that was you..
Even though i didnt actually recieve it,
the thought was there and it meant a lot :)


one last thing

Being surrounded by all manner of different people,
from all sorts of different walks of life,
i hear a lot of funny stories.

Here's one


This happened to my freind S when he was 19,
and had just started selling product seriously..

..Picture this..

It's a grimey hotel in Mexico..S and his freind B have
invested in 200 pounds of trees, and are waiting for their
driver to turn up..

..All the precautions have been taken care of..

 The car used to transport the product is sitting in the parking lot.
It's pretty battered. They bought it at an auction a week before the trip,
and changed the lock on the drunk (boot) so only they (not the driver) can
get to the 200 pounds hastily jammed in there earlier that day..

 The driver arrives,
he's young, was recommended by a freind last minute. The description the
freind gave was "he'll do it, this kids hungry".
 The three musketeers sit in the dingy hotel revising their plans so everyone
is crystal clear on how this shit is going down..

S and his freind are going to be following the car close behind, while the 'driver'
tales the lead. They tell him that at some point they are going to pass through a small
town, when this happens, they will get to an intersection with four exists.

 "Take the 3rd. Not the 1st, 2nd or 4th, the 3rd exit"

 It's 2am.
The two car convoy is approaching the said intersection..

S notices the car in fronts brake lights have gone on. Again, they flicker on.
 Clearly, the kid forgot which exit to take, so S hastily overtakes to take
the lead, gets off at the 3rd exit, and the 'driver' follows..

Out of nowhere, cop lights flash on.

They're pulling over the driver.

 Naturally, S carries on driving, then ANOTHER set of lights come on,
signalling S to also pull over...

..He parks up in a closed petrol station..

The cop swans over and takes B out of the car to start questioning him,
and do a standard background check..

S shoves the key to the trunk into the tapedeck, and rams a tape in after it..

The cop comes back for S, takes him out the car and starts questioning what
the fuck he's doing in the middle of nowhere at 2am..
 He says they're driving to California, and had been at his grandmothers house in
El Paso, Texas.
 The cop asks if he knows the other car, as it seems a bit odd that both cars are
driving so close together, in the middle of nowhere, and don't know each other..
 S and B both deny any knowledge of the 'driver' and his car..

..The cop tells them to wait here while he talks to the other officer who is questions the 'driver'..

..S and B watch the cop walk over to his buddy and exchange information..

..He comes strolling back with a smirk on his face..

He asks S if he's sure he doesn't know the other driver, as he's also heading
for California, which is more than a coincidence. S denies any knowledge of
him, as does B.
 The cop peers down into his notepad..

"You sure neither of you gentleman know this guy?"

"no sir."

"Ok guys..
you have no outstanding warrants, everything seems
to check out. Before i let you gentleman leave and carry
on with your journey, i have on last question for you"

"errr ok"

"Why is that man's car registered in your name?"

:O !

..and with that, the officer calls for backup.
Another patrolcar pulls up. That's three. They thoroughly search
S and B's car, and find nothing. Then they head over to the 'driver',
in no time at all they figure out that the trunk has had its lock replaced..

..Ten minutes later, a jeep Cherokee pulls up. S turns a pale shade of white,
as he realises they most likely have a locksmith in the car. A female officer
steps out, with a strange pipe in her hand. She makes her way to the back of
her jeep, but instead of pulling out a toolbox, they hear a dog barking..A sniffer dog.

The dog leaps into the 'drivers' car and is sniffing the shit out of the front seats, ashtray,
everything. His owner is tapping every piece of the car, signalling to the dog which spots
to sniff..she takes the dog in the back seat..his head is embedded in the seats, but it finds
nothing..She then takes it out of the car and to the trunk, his nose is pressed against the
seal of the trunk, and S and B are sweating buckets (AS U CAN IMAGINE)..but it finds nothing..

After half an hour, the cops have no choice but to let the men go. And the driver. And the 200 pounds of weed in the boot..

gimme some

So we're locked in the cell.

As usual, instead of using the toilet before we
are locked down, my cellie waited until the door was locked
and i'm in the cell to take a shit.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

 I'm listening to some tunes on the radio,
with my sweatshirt pulled over my face in a vain attempt
to blog some of the toxic smog billowing from the toilet only
a few feet away from where i sleep..

"whad up dog?"

 Instantly something is telling me he's doing something weird.
We usually talk while he's shitting, but my spider sense is tingling and i
know that he's doing something or planning on doing something foul..

"Check out them dudes on the scaffolding"

 I know there is no scaffolding outside. For fuck sake i look out the same
window at the same street every day, there is no scaffolding.

..Foolishly, i turn my head to look out the window..

 As my head turns back, out of my peripheral vision i spot something
next to my bed. I know what it is without directly looking at it.
 Right next to my pillow, and the cup of tea i was enjoying,
is a piece of toilet paper with a massive chunk of shit on it.

I'm lost for words.

 He on the other hand is crying with laughter,
stamping his feet on the floor with joy like a small child..when he stops
laughing, he's like

"Dog that ain't nothin', i got my brother so bad one time, check this.."

 His brother comes back from the store, has bought a drink and a big sandwhich.
He eats half, and leaves the other half in the fridge for later.
 My cellie comes home, and notices the sandwhich. He's hungry. Without a second
thought, he empties the contents of the sandwhich into two pieces of bread, all the guts,
meat, cheese, lettuce, everything, and yams it down leaving only the bun in the fridge.

 He then decides to take a shit. He tells me he 'catches the shit' with some toilet paper as
it's being squeezed out his ass, then takes it into the kitchen, puts it in the sandwhich.
 Brother is nowhere in sight, so he goes outside to look for him, an finds him playing
in the street..

"Yo lemme get of that sandwhich"

"nah i'm saving it!"

"fuck that, im'a go eat it now"

 An with that he runs back to the house, pretending that he's going to eat the sandwhich..
His brother chases up to him, an runs to the kitchen to eat it first..

 Thinking he has the upper hand, he takes his time making a nice cold drink with ice,
gets a plate ready, and goes to grab the sandwhich out of the fridge. He opens it slowly,
and instantly knows something is up..unwrapping the foil, he smells it, an throws the
sandwhich across the room screaming..


"Look at this bitch ass n****r tellin' on me!"


 Mum comes into the kitchen and realises what
has happened

"what the FUCK is wrong with you!?"


Wednesday, 4 May 2011


I'm on a next hype.

I've just made a hench mug of coffee,
it's bare late, and i'm bouncing off the fucking walls.
I think i'm pissing off my cellie.

"Did you ever take ecstacy in the street?"

"erm yeah"

"That's probably why you're so bugged the fuck out :D"


These late night coffee sessions have actually
done me a hell of a lot of good recently..
 In this sleep-deprived, caffeine fuelled state, it seems
like i am able to open up my brain to new, positive,
healthy conclusions to my thoughts. I look at things differently.

I read somewhere that if you change the way you look at something,
that which you were looking at also changes..this is true.

For instance..
I spent so much focusessed on that girl and how she treated me.

So much time, energy and heartache was spent trying to figure out
how she could abandon me in a situation as fucked as this,
merely two months after vowing to be by my side
for the rest of our lives..but i understand now.

 Over the seven months i have been in here, many people have
told me the same advice again and again..

"Yo, you're fuckin' lucky to have got out now kid,
she did you a favour!"

 It wasn't until recently that i fully
understood what they meant or how that made sense.
There's that saying, something about you can lead a horse to water,
but you can't make it drink.


I understand now.

These dudes where right,
she DID do me a favour.


Well, she has shown me through her actions who she is.

Opening my eyes to reality, and i appreciate it more
than she could ever know.

 I was shown what her true definition of marriage, love and commitment

How important it was to her.

What being married meant to her, and how much she valued me and my life.

My thoughts,
feelings and definitions of marriage evidently
differ greatly from my 'spouse's.

 Of course it is majorly fucked up to find out so harshly in a situation
as bate as this,

but fuck it,

at least i found out!

 It's evident that i didn't know this girl
as well as i thought.

I didn't know who she truly was.

For that i can only blame, if anyone, me, myself and i.

When it comes to the core principles of who you are,
what you judge to be right and wrong, me and this girl
are polar opposites. No matter how hard i think about it,
imagine different scenarios, things never could have worked.
God forbid a child would've been involved..

The girl didn't stand by me as my wife.

She didn't love and support me when i needed her,
ultimately it wasn't in her nature to do these things,
and i understand that now. We are different people.

The greatest thing two people
can have on this earth is an understanding,

It feels good.