Saturday, 30 April 2011

Alex you forgot to put your address u bellend

I have had a very long day today,
it has left me depleted of any energy 
once posessed..i'm shattered.

One's feeble attempts to unwind are most unsucessful.

 Drinking coffee on my bed,
listening to some jazz or soul usually does the trick, but it depends on how much
my patience has been tested by the various different forms of moronic
neanderthals i am currenty imprisoned with. I'm affraid the next level of retardation i have
had to wade through today, is too much for my crude cup of coffee to combat at the moment.

 It's a good thing this blam filled blog bollocks isn't hand written,
as right now my paws are shaking like vegas dice, and i'm finding
it extremely difficult holding my pen still to write without it looking
ultra retarded and arthiritic. Maybe i do have arthiritis?

 Lack of sleep,
stress and consuming little to no water all day,
followed by this biblicallly strong mug of coffee, isn't the
smartest idea. But i need it.

 I was awoken early this morning,
and spent most of my day sitting in various holding cells and 'bull pens',
surrounded by gentleman that spoke little to no English. Or just didn't
want to make conversational pleasantries with this young Englishman
in their immiediate presence.

.. In short, going to court is LONG!!

 The holding cells have heavenly bright lights,
the air is ultra dry, the only place to sit on is a flat
metal bench which puts your ass to sleep in no time,
and you are stuck there for around five to seven hours.

 Sometimes you might run into a familiar face down there,
or perhaps just meet someone you never would have crossed
paths with, had you not been subjected to appear before
an honourary member of the American Judicial System..

 Today i bumped into a Cuban guy i had met on the 'attorney conference'
floor, who had gone into great depths to explain to me how he was 'set up'.

 When i asked him how, he went on to explain that one of his freinds had
asked him to hold a briefcase with a kilo of coccaine in, and as he didn't own
the briefcase, it was a complete injustice that he was being charged with
posession with intent to distribute..


 There are a lot of people here for re-entry. As in being deported,
then sneaking back into the country..
 The more times you do it, the more jailtime you get each time
you are caught.

 One gentleman i spoke to said he walked TWO DAYS through the desert
to get here, almost died in the process, and is now looking at
four years in prison for his efforts.

 The reason he came back, risking his life and his freedom,
knowing he faced definite jailtime if caught?

 He has a wife and two little girls that live here,
and had been deported with no hope of being allowed to
return. Legally.

 Considering the motive behind this young mans crime
was the need to be close to his family, placed in his shoes,
what would you have done?

 The short trip back to the jail was a fairly rowdy
experience today if i do say so myself..

 I was one of the last people to be seen in court,
so was being taken back on my own. Or so i thought.

 As i approach the lift, cuffed and shackled like Turkish
Hannibal Lecter, i spot a MONSTER of a 'man'..

He's real fucking angry too.

This guy's arms are so big, that he LITERALLY has three pairs of handcuffs on. One on
each wrist, and one in the middle linking them up. He is so hench he can't
actually put his arms fully behind his back. Swear down.

He's screaming at the US Marshals.

Despite their stab proof vests
and assorted weaponry, THEY look scared.


 The island he is so politely reffering to is Rikers Island,
most people are petrified of going there, one of my freinds in here
said his 18 days on the Island was harder than TWO YEARS in MCC..and this
guy before me is DEMANDING to be taken there..



"Don't worry sir, we will get a Correctional Officer to box it up for you"


"Look it's too late to take you back today"


..and with that, spins around and stares at me with death streaming
from his nostrils..

I am being looked at as the 'shit' that apparently needs to be 'fucked up'.



The whole journey back he keeps repeating

 During this time i am doing everything in my power to get the US Marshals attention..

Winking, nodding, waggling eyebrows, quiet yelps of "yo, yo!"
ANYTHING to signal to these guys something along the lines of

:( !!!!

..Po Po got the hint..about fucking time too!!
As soon as they took the many pairs of handcuffs restraining this
extremely aggravated indivudual, he starts pacing my way, luckily one
of the US Marshalls grabbed me by the arm and got me the FUCK out of there..

 I get back to my unit to find a nice postcard from a freind in Germany,
and a buddy from back in the ends..much appreciated :D

 I collapse onto my concrete slab of a mattress,
and many hours of bollocks and pointless fuckrie go past,
until now..

..So here i am.

 Same time, same place, same coffee, same hyper loud snoring
coming from my cellie below, same feelings of seclusion, isolation,
abandonment and slowly overshadowing my brain like the spaceship
from Independance Day..

 Oh well. Another day down.
Perhaps tomorrow will be somewhat better?
Here's hoping.

i typed this the next day.
it wasn't.

Dumb shit

I've had stretched ears since i was in high school.

I think i was around 13 or 14 when i got them done.
My brother was the inspiration for me to get them, he had them before anyone else
so i got them, just like tattoos, his were better than most people so i got them too,
he was always the guy that i looked up to for inspiration..the div..but he's my div.

 I've had many different sets over the years,
metal rivets, neon blue, wood, ones with clubs, spades, stars,
all kinds of silly bollocks.

 I had a nice pair of wooden ones that i flossed for a good
period of time, until my Turkish masterbation fanatic landlord in
Maspeth threw them in the trash. I couldn't find them one day,
and it was beyond obvious that he was to blame..
 I found him sprawled on the couch, stoned.
Upon describing them to him, his eyes lit up and he said
he knew exactly what i was talking about..i then explained
that they were my 'ear rings', and that they were (i lied) expensive.
 The dribbling moron then turned white, lost his grasp of the English language
and denied all knowledge of ever seeing them in the apartment..


 In June 2009,
i dated a girl from Forest Hills in Queens. She was a chef at some poncy
seafood restaurant by the West side highway. I would go meet her in the
meat packing district after we had finished work.
 We would go get drunk in various majorly overpriced bars,
she'd get coked up, then we'd jump in a cab back to either my tiny Turkish yard,
or her parents ULTRA hench Home Alone sized megamansion..

..Were she would repeatedly fail to get some dick.

Don't get me wrong, she was reasonable pretty.
Big jugs. Fat ass. Big blue eyes..i definitely thought she
was worth a couple quick jabs, if i didn't i wouldn't have made
the effort to meet her in the first place! Mans approached her
in some bar off Bleeker street, and spat a load of ludicrous blams
to her in my best Prince Harry accent about how i didn't know the
area, and enquiring where she got all of her obismally bad Amy Winehouse-esque
tattoos (i don't think i worded it to her that way).

I understood that she worked in a fish restaurant. I also understood that it's hard work,
you sweat and perhaps she can't shower at work or clean up properly. After hanging with
her for a while though, on days when she DIDN'T have work, it became apparent that
this girl either had a festish for not washing, or she critically needed to see a gynacologist.

She stank.
Hence no dick.
From me anyway.

To make a long story short,
we were knocking around together for a few months, split up, i started putting
the Turkish bone on her best freind, we moved in together and eventually got married..

Before me an the chef split, she gave me a pair of white plugs to replace the
ones that my landlord has flushed down the toilet/thrown in the bin/stuck up his ass.
Up until my arrest, i was flossing them.

 Being faced with a bunch of gun clad screaming Americans who thought that my apartment
was a scene from Call of Duty=Turkops, telling me i was under arrest pointing a shotgun in my face,
my thoughts were not on my appearance at that i didn't put my plugs in before they
carted my ass of to jail..

on this rainy boring Saturday,
i got very bored. So bored infact, that
i decided to make some plugs. This wouldn't be the first time i
attempted this utterly pointless exercise..

 The last attempt involved me getting a bone from some 'fried chicken' we had
for lunch, boiling itm scraping out all the bone marrowish nastyness shit inside,
then spending hours cutting it to size with a flimsy disposable razor.
 Finally, i sanded down the edges with a nail file. Voila!

 Approximately three hours work.
Turned out the bone was too small, and they didn't fit.

 I still have them though,
they sit on my shelf as a reminder of how bored i was that day..They actually
look nothing like plugs, people routinely mistake them for some kind of voodoo dice,
like the ones King Willy was shakin' in Predator 2 before he merked..

..Todays attempt was more succesful.
I used the lids to a couple biros, cut them up,
and filed them down as i did before with the bone..

These ones fit. But i look like i have two pen lids in my ears.
I DO have two pen lids in my ears, who cares though?

My cellie.

"Kid, that ain't the look in prison. Take that dumb shit out your ears"


Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Count this

It's time for stand up count.
This happens three times a day. While we are locked in
our cells, two Correctional Officers go from cell to cell, making
sure all the inmates are in their appropriate cells, and are
accountable for.
 Pretty straight forward bullshit.

 The guard on duty, depending if they are safe or not,
will usually bang on the window when passing to say hello..

My cellie recounts a story from when he was over
at the infamous island..Rikers island..

 It's count time.
In some of the buildings there, the doors just
have a hole in them, no glass. So you can stick
you arm/head through.

 Some guy a couple cells down from my partner decides
count time is as good as any to start jerking off, so pulls
his dick out and starts furiously masterbating.

 As the female guard comes closer and closer
to his cell, the guy starts shouting..

"count this BITCH! count this,
count this DICK!"

 She gets to his cell,
pears in, sees him wanking, and cool
as a cucumber spits straight on his dick and walks off..
..followed by screams of



Pure blamries

i seem to have developed some very strange,
possibly unhealthy habits.

 One of these being making obnoxiously strong, large cups of coffee before we get
locked in for the night, and staying up as late as possible..

..It's got to the point that i look forward to it all day.

 inhaling biblical amounts of caffeine then purposely
starving my brain of sleep, leaves me feeling pretty
bugged the fuck out..

 It's like i'm half awake, in a very calm, dreamlike state..

When i do this, my predicament does not seem so scary.
 My goals appear much less distant and unreachable..

Things just don't seem so bad.

 My regrets evaporate.
Negative thoughts are effortlessly brushed aside,
and the pain i carry around on my shoulders is momentarily lifted..

..I feel almost numb. In a good way :)

Some things are harder to shake than others..

 When i think about my marriage,
what it meant to me and the exciting future i had imagined
for the two of us,
 travelling the world, experiencing everything this life has to offer together,
different adventures in different countries,
 and eventually starting a family together,
all of the progress i think i have made in the last few months
instantly falls apart,
 i am back to square one, and it's time to start from scratch.

 Is it better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all?

I'm unsure.

 Sometimes i feel asif it was all a dream.
The places i passed through, the situations i got myself into,
emotions i shared, impressions i left along the way..did it all actually happen?
The fact that i'm sitting in this shithole, stuck in pergatory,
it did.

If i was given the choice to wake up at the beginning of 2009, before i got on the plane to New York City,
 and all of this had simply been a dream,
instead of being in my current situation, one foot in the fucking grave,
recollecting memories that bring me great happyness and fullfilment,
but also great sadness, heartache and pain,
would i take it all back?

..I'm also unsure.

What i am certain of, is i need help.
I need help letting go of the emotions i am somehow still holding on to,
i need help cutting all attachments to this idea that the person i married had the capability or any intentions
of being there for me, or had/has any idea of what the actual concept of love marriage and commitment is all

I need to move forward.

I've been reading a lot of books since my arrest. I read a really interesting book about buddhism and the Dhali Llama
not too long ago. A very dear freind of mine was kind enough to send me some more books by David Icke,
and while flicking through one earlier this evening i came across something that really spoke to me,
and perhaps gave me a bit of clarity..

"True love does not always give the reciever what it would like to recieve,
but it will always give that which is best for it. So welcome everything you recieve
whether you like it or not. Ponder on anything you do not like and see if you can see
why it was necessary. Acceptance will then be much easier."

Saturday, 23 April 2011

soup an crackers

It's late.
 I'm sitting crossed legged on my bed, staring out the window..

 I took a shower before we got locked down for the night.
The water was very hot, and the pressure was high as left
me feeling relaxed and relieved a lot of the stress that was on my mind..
 You can't buy sponges or anything to actually clean yourself with in here,
so i took it upon myself to cut a chunk out of the foam they use to buff
the wax off the floor with, and fashion it into some kind of crude body
scrubbing tool..
 I think i took a layer of my skin off with it, but FUCK do i feel clean!
I'd put money on the fact that my cock an balls are the cleanest up in this
motherfucker right now..

 My hair is pretty short.
I got it cut about a week ago, people assume i have a visit or something, which
i don't, i just do it for my self esteem..I like to look good :) My beard is getting pretty
hench though, i might have to lop it off tomorrow, depending on how bored i am..

 The weather outside is really nice.
It's raining. Bigtime.

 I can just make out the thunder crashing down outside..
The rain is battering the pavement like there's no tomorrow,
and the wind is moulding the falling dropelts of rain into all manner
of shapes and patters as it hits the sidewalk..

 The last night i was free it rained just like this.

..I was making my way home from a night out with a freind in Williamsburg,
as soon as i got out of the G train subway station, the heavens opened..

At the time i was flossing a recently purchased New Era dome, so decided
to wrap that up in my jacket and take the full force of the downpour on my bonce..

..I remember every part of that journey back to my old apartment like it was yesterday..

 The streets were completely empty, and deathly silent.

Looking back,
it was almost like i was aware something wasn't quite right.
 Considering how much i had lost the plot though,
if someone would have told me what was going to transpire in the next
24 hours, i most likely wouldn't have believed them anyway..

 I remember by the time i got back to my yard,
i was completely drenched.
 After peeling my soaking wet clothes off and neatly hanging
them in the shower to dry off, i put some vegetable soup on the
cooker to make myself grub to warm me up..
 The wife was already conked out asleep on the futton. Upon hearing
her husbands arrival and attempts to warm up my poor mans dinner,
she remembered that she was pissed off that i had chosen to go out
instead of staying in and getting high..Bless..

 A couple minutes of negative banter later,
and my soup was ready for consumption..
 I sat down with my vegetable soup and plate of crackers, watched about half
an hour of the shady copy of Desperado i had downloaded earlier that day,
and consumed my last meal as a free man..

..I don't think the coffee and donuts i was given while
being interogated the next day counts..

..Ever since that day, September 19th 2010,
i have been here. The same building, same view,
same pathetic pointless pergatorious 'existence', if you
could call it that.
 It sucks.

 Various inmates keep giving me the same advice,
"all you need to do is maintain Timmyboy, live, survive,
and you will come out of this into a life better than anything
you've ever known"
 It's a good sale, i've give em that much :)
Somedays i belive them.
 Others, i find it harder to swallow..

 Despite not seeing her since the day of my arrest,
and not hearing from her directly since October, my thoughts
still wander to my 'wife' and my marriage..
 I NOW know that you can't change people.
I know that she never could have been the partner i was looking for.
 I knew her past, what she was used to and what type of person she was..
..But i took a chance. I went with my emotions instead of my intellect..I looked
for the best in her and ignored the rest. I thought i was right,
and everyone else was wrong...

..Despite now knowing all of this,
i still feel a lot of pain. Being ripped apart from someone
i loved that much, has been more than traumatising for me.
 Her behaviour since then, no matter how cowardly, somehow has
had little effect on me.
 I acknowledge that she clearly wasn't the person that i thought i was marrying.
I am aware that she doesn't hold the same values as me on life, love and marriage.
 But i still somehow have trouble giving up that spark of hope and faith in her that kept
me with the broad thoughout all the bullshit...

 Before i sleep each night, i pray.
I pray that i get another chance. I was handed the world and everything i had ever wanted,
but my hands were dirty and i dropped it. I pray that i am given a second chance, i won't fumble
the ball this time, i'll take it and run with it, never forgetting what can happen when you start slipping..
 I pray for wisdom and strength to get me through this nightmare in one piece.
I pray for peace of mind and serenity on the things that are out of my control and that i can't change.

i pray for her.
I pray that she is surrounded by positive people, that she is leading a healthy,
happy lifestyle and that someday she will acknowledge that her treatment of me,
our marriage and the value of my life,
was wrong.

..I guess only time will tell..

Wednesday, 20 April 2011

Mixed Doubles?

..Mans cant sleep for shit.

 Due to some problems downstairs (as in downstairs in this building, not my penis or asshole)
the shop that we get all of our products from, hasn't had any deliveries of coffee in around..

A while.

 Today though, they have re-stocked..

:D :D :D

 I've been drinking the strongest Columbian coffee all fucking day,
i think this is my fourth or fifth cup, it's like crack. Except cheaper, and i don't have
to burn my fingers lighting it :O !

..By the way, it's three in the morning..

 I'm frantically scanning the radio for some merk bars or beats,
but there isn't fuck all to my taste being blasted on this piece of shit..

 I glance out the window,
and i'm treated to the sight of a very rain soaked New York City..

..I miss the rain.

 It's been a hot minute since i've felt rain drops on my skin,
the thought of being outside right now in this downpour,
as always, is very fucking appealing indeed..

 When i moved to Maspeth, Queens,
my fat blob cunt of a cousin gave me a crappy pair or ultra bras trainers, possibly the only
thing he did do for me, the fat piece of shit wanker that he was..
 Anyhow, that obese piss smelling hoggle of an individual
is making me lose my train of thought..

..Trainers, yeah. i'd use them joints to go running in..

 Going for long ass runs in the rain was always fun,
especially with some decent tuneries to jam too on an
epic thunderstorm or downpour it's really dope going for some
epically uphill jog :D

It looks real peaceful outside.

The street below is completely empty.

 The warm glow of the street lamps are reflecting off the shimmering pavement..
..It's really nice!

 The beautiful view,
caffeine in my system and my overactive imagination
is preventing my exhausted mind and boy from some well needed rest..

Some nights i find my cellies snoring theraputic,
almost like waves crashing onto rocks.. helps me to drift off to a better place,
filled with freinds, loved ones and good people..

Tonight is not one of those nights..

Monday, 18 April 2011

Jamaican Curry

I'm on my tier,
it's the middle of the day, yet the cage door leading to all our cells is locked the fuck down.

..No one has been violated, robbed or boyyed..'s chicken day.

 i've got plans for my piece of bird,
man's blagged his way nto the Jamaican shower
Cartels whip today!

 I've been watching these guys merk the fuck out
of chicken for time now, and as i'm cool with them, they've set me in the
whip for todays Jamaican Curry..

 I grab my piece of bird, dodge all the vultures
circling me for my poultry piece of hairy roadkill,
and hand it to the chef..who spends the next few
hours marinating the FUCK out of my chicken with
all kinds of next level herbs and spices..

 As always,
on chicken day the kitchen is uber rammo.
 When someone is cooking for me (for free) i usually
stand close by incase they need some kind of help preparing
our meal.
 Whether that is chopping up some vegetables, helping mans multitask,
grabbing spices, herbs and ingredients from peoples cells on a secret squirrel flex,
or just 'holding them down' (keeping an eye out for the po po)..

 My freind B is also cooking.
I'm currently doing some work for him, he wants me to sketch his baby mothers name
and his daughters name in bubble problemo :D
 The shit he is marinating his bird in smells fucking BANGING!

"What you got in that bowl B?"
..I was looking for a more specific answer to my question..
"err, what kind of flavours?"
He swiftly turns around, flossing an ULTRA screwface..
"N****R!...look, Q, tell this n****r what's in that bowl.."
Q extends his arm, his fist almost touching my nose, with his hand tightly clenched.hethen slowly
opens his hand, one finger at a time, like a blooming flower..He looks me dead in the eye and
in a very loud robotic monotome voice shouts

..I head back to my cell.

 It's a couple hours until my Jamaican Curry turns up,
but fucking hell was it worth the wait!!
 I don't usually like hot food, but this guy absolutely smashed it!
Thre was just enough spice to leave my tongue tingling, and i can
taste all the different vegetables, spices and ingredients..
 It's quite a spectacle too, me and these three other Jamaican dudes
crammed in this tiny cell, yammin all this curry down with next to no
room to manouvre..
 Everyone is talking in pattwa too..

"Timmy do you understand?"

..I just nod my head and keep munching the ultra dope
food that i have been licky enough to have been given.
 Not everyone is lucky enough to have a meal cooked for them,
let alone one as ludicrously sick as the one i'm currently inhaling..

 The fact that this guy has put the work in,
marinating the shit out of my once cruddy piece of chicken,
is something that i am very grateful for and appreciate,
a lot.

for the people that didn't remix their bird,
the prison is resembling a baron wasteland, scarce of any
remnants of food, and it's turning into survival of the fittest..

..i overhear on my way back to my cell..

 iF NOT,


Thursday, 14 April 2011


The outside world.
My view of it has not changed for a while now,
 from this poxy fucking window anyways..

 I was the same sheep going about their business
every bloody day..

..Scuttling back an forth to work,
breaking their backs to make money for people they
despise, who in turn despise them, until they croak.
 Picking peanuts out of dog shit with your front teeth
would surely be a more meaningful existence..

 One thing that has changed,
is the season. I believe it is now spring..

..Gone is the blanket of snow carpetting the streets below,
everything is clear, the sun is shining,
 and you can shove it all up your ass for all i care.
Considering where i am, none of it matters to me.
 I couldn't give a flying fuck what season it is,
it makes no difference to me, it's all irrevelant..

..It's all the same..

Nothing changes in here..It's groundhog day, but without Bill Murray an the creaseries..

..Same faces, idiots, dickheads,
food, clothes, sights, smells, experiences,
thoughts,'s all the same.

 It wasn't always this way..

 Around this time last year,
things were very different..

 I'd just finished my job as an office messenger.
The thought of taking some time off to explore my new turf
and soak up some of the local culture around my yard in Bushwhick
was very i did.

..This was a very hazy period of my life..

 I was very proud of my yard.

for the price, considering the location and size,
we were getting bumped.

despite its minimal space, paper thin walls and liberty
taking rental price,
 for a young couple like ourselves,
it was perfect :)

 As a messenger for an Audio Visual consultants,
i had been rushed off my feet running around the city
carting speakers, mixers, laptops and all kinds of silly
bollocks all over the place..but was happy doing it.

..But that was done and dusted.

It was time to kickback and jam,
an i was perfectly versed in how to achieve this task,
with flying colours.

 Since christmas i had been meaning
to pick up some new garms,

my parents were kind enough to send me some 'genuine fake' shirts
and jeans from Turkey, which got the ball rolling..
 On top of that,
spending some time with my girl in our new apartment and picking
up some fly shit to deck it out with was an exciting prospect..

I had the impression that i had all the time in the world.
 Clearly, that was not the case..

 I was in no hurry to get fuck all done,
other than indulge myself, to the fullest..

 I've always been a huge Supernintendo fan.

 My collection of Snes games in England
was truly of Biblical proportions, and moving
to New York just gave me an excuse to start
from scratch.

No problemo.

 Since moving to New York,
i've stopped watching television.

 By choice.

I really don't see the point.
 If there is a program or movie that i want to watch,
i'll do it online, or simply download it. it's quicker, i get to
watch exactly what i want, insted of wasting my time watching
endless drivel just because it's on an i have nothing else to do..
The telly our yard was flossing had no cable/digital bollocks, and was
purely rinsed on snes games..up until it prolapsed..

Someone actually believed the crude jokeries written on the side
and picked it up the next day thinking it worked..
 If that was you, sorry champ :)

 A quick bop to the local pawn store,
and in no time the rinse-a-thon/pure tiger uppercuts continued..

 This chapter of my life was rather unproductive,
but on a purely material level it was kind of jokes.

 I was clowning.
Most of my days were spent waking up to fried bacon
and blowjobs,

followed by a hazy day spent sketching,

smoking vastly unnsesecary quantities of cannabis
and hanging out on my fire escape..
Living in Bushwhick was such a crease,
at any time of any given day,
as long as you keep your eyes open,
there is always someone, somewhere,
 pulling pure fuckries..

 For a while,
i was pretty content.
 I was a horny 25 year old Englishman who
had made it all the way to New York City.
 My days were consisting of burning through
bottles of KY Jelly and weed with my wife,
racking paint, munching pure garbage (that includes the wife)
and generally running around on pure joketime..thinking real
life couldn't catch up with me.

All of the things i had learnt in Maspeth and Coney Island
were slowly being drowned out by sex, weed, alcohol and
an empty chick who simply told me what she thought i
wanted to hear..that i was happy and doing well in my life.

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Mr Wop

I'm sitting at the computer writing an email, an some dude i know comes and asks me if i'm writing to a chick. I
say yes, an he replies "i got some wild shit for you son" and runs off..when he returns, he has a piece of paper with
this shit written on it..
"son this'll get you mad pussy" he claims..

Lassette recieves a threatening message on her answer machine, she brushes it off as someones idea of a joke. But the sinister calls keep coming-each more terrifying than the last, and she can't ignore them any longer. Finally she hires a hunky bodyguard named Mr Wop to protect her. The moment Mr Wop and Lassette meet, sparks fly. Even though their attraction is intense, Wop vows to ignore his urges because he wants to keep things professional. After someone breaks into Lassettes house, trashes the place, Wop brings her back to his nearby houseboat where she'll be safe for the night. Lassette finds it hard to sleep, though knowing that Wop is just across the hall. In the middle of the night she pays him a visit with some naughty thoughts on her mind..
 Wop let out a breath, stared at his closed door. As much as he hated to admit it, his growing attraction toward her was also keeping him up. She was staying in the guest room on the houseboat, and all he wanted to do was walk in and kiss her. No, he reminded himself! It would ruin his focus. Besides, there was too much at stake right now for him to take any foolish risk. But when he heard the door to her room open, her footsteps stop just outside his door his heart beat faster.
 Temptation-greater than anything he had ever experienced beforem overtook him. When his door opened, he leaned up on an elbow, staring at her. Her long flowing red hair shone in the moonlight, her beautiful eyes sparkled, Wop could see the outline of her full breast beneath her thin cotton tshirt. At that instant, Wop knew she would be harder to resist than he had thought. He yawned, attempted to act disinterested..
"what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be sleep?"
Lassette smiled, stepped closer to Wops bed
"Oh..i get it" he said, hoping she'd leave before he did something he'd regret. He decided to play it cool,
"still a little uptight from today, are you? Figured a roll in the sack with a sexy ass bodyguard might take the edge off? sorry,
last time i checked that wasn't part of my job description"
Lassette stepped further towards him. In spite of what he said, she sensed the desire between them. He wouldn't be able to hold out while she was around.
"You're a lousy liar" she said
"i think you want to spent the night together as much as i do"
Before Wop could protest anymore, Lassette slowly pulled her shirt over her head, let it drop to the floor.
 Wops pulse raced as she crawled across the sheets on her hands, knees an straddled him,
all golden limbs, honey coated nipples.
"I'm a big girl now Wop" she whispered,
"I don't need you to protect me tonight, i just want you"
Before he knew what he was doing he leaned forward to kiss her. His mouth on hers was rough and greedy..
 With each dip of his head, each exquisitely tender caress of his lips, Wop drew out the urgency until Lassette was
delirous with arousel. Lassettes hands drifted down his muscular back, then lowed to squeeze his butt, Wop delved further in with his tongue, matched the rythm of his hips as they rocked against hers. He could have kissed her like that forever, just playing with her soft lips, swallowing her lusty sighs. He paused, then trailed his fingers up her ribcage, cupped on a supple breast in his hand. her breath caught as her nipple hardened against his touch.
"you're gorgeous Lassette" he whispered,
before he lowed hes head and pressed his mouth to her flesh. he flicked his tongue against her breast, when he moved his hands along her body, she trembled with anticipation, parted her things in a wanting invitation for him to touch her there. Ever so slowly, he peeled her panties off, then teased her by trailing his hand up the sides of her thighs.
 Finally, he slipped a finger inside her, and she released a cry. Her body writhed while he stroked her, bucking against his hand, moaning her pleasure. Soon he slid down her body, let himself taste the part of her he'd been craving most. He licked, sucked, deep, made a long pass along her pussy with his tongue, felt her hands caress the back of his bald head. He teased her with luscious licks until she was all but screaming. At last, Wop crawled back up her body, taking his time to linger and nuzzle. It took everything Lassette had to wrap her arms around my neck and pull my mouth to hers for a lazy lingering kiss. Minutes later, she seductively stoked my dick, slipped off my boxers, Lassette sucked Wops dick like it was a lollipop...She was starving of sweetness..Up and down the shaft, around the head, down to the balls, even lingered around his asshole. Wops body throbbed with need as he said..
"i can't wait anymore"
He parted her legs, entered her in one slow stroke. The pressure she'd been feeling started anew, taking her even higher than before. All she could do was think of him inside her, filling her so full she could barely absorb the pressure. She felt like she was flying as he banged that dick into her, over and over again. Deep. Hard. So absolutely strong. She no longer knew where her breath ended and his began, and when he thrust on final time, lifting her with him, taking her along, she no longer cared. All that mattered was the mind-blowing sensations at that moment. When his body collapsed on top of her, she welcomed his weight. She held him tightly against her, loving the heat of his body, satisfied with the steady cadence of breathing. He didn't want her going anywhere now. She could sense it in the way he buried his face in her hair, breathed her in. Lassette didn't know where this would lead, but she knew she was falling for this sexy n****r in her arms..Word.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

We gotta bop our way back to Coney

 Coney Island was a cool place..for many reason.

Firstly, it was grimey as FUCK. Mostly consisted of project buildings, dirty old bodegas (corner shops), liqour stores and for some reason there were shitloads of mental institutes, that had crazy people just wandering around outside all times of the night..You have the boardwalk, that stretches all the way down to the fairground..that one from the Warriors with the Wonderwheel..

 The beach was a fucking dive, pure chunks of glass and needles all over the place! Most times i would venture out from the building i was staying in, which was a project building that usually smelt of piss and faeces, i would get asked if i wanted business by many of the local prostitutes lining the streets..Nice! I'm from out of town so i didn't really get it at first, i'd be walking and would just hear someone go 'psssst', look over, an some 'woman/spunkbucket/brass' is standing in a dark sometimes would flash me a titty! Not a nice mid 20s titty, i'm talking a mid thirties floppy pancake titty..not so nice!

 For a writer, especially an English one, Coney Island is the fucking shit. As soon as i pulled up in those ends, i noticed that it was bombed to FUCK..Seeing a grimey place like Coney Island covered in JA throwups and the rest of the XTC lot, it was very inviting..JA literally had the place on lock, tags everywhere..most of them crossed out, but who the fuck cares.


 The building i was staying in was not the nicest of pads. Entering the building you usually saw some vomit somewhere, and could expect it to stay there for a few good days to ferment..The actual apartment WAS nice, my cousins wife is a really nice lady and she took me in and looked after me like i was her son, which i am very grateful my cousin was a big fat loser. The dude looks like Butterbean if he had a stroke.

 The mental homes that lined Coney Island were very disturbing. In America they don't have a healthcare system like ours, so if you get old and crazy, they usually just leave you to your own devices, to walk the streets or become a homeless person, or sling you in one of these mental homes to decay even further..The dudes in there would shout and spit at you as you walk past too, i ain't gonna lie it was scary going past those places late at night, looked like about 200 sloths from the goonies could've jumped me at any moment..

 The amount of mental people on the subway is epic. They come in all shapes and sizes. I recall one time sitting on the subway and seeing this Chinese lady who had wraped toilet paper all over her arms, had nails like LoPan from Big Trouble in little China, and covered her seat with toilet paper before she sat you do..

..So, inspired by how fucking BOMBED Coney was, i set off into the city to get some paint..Getting on the train at Stillwell was cool, there was a HUGE OS Gemeos mural painted there, as amazing and epic as anything i've ever seen of theirs..


 After a few hours in town, i was stocked for a few nights fun. Had got me a few Montana blacks with my nice free student loan money, and some Krylons..when in Rome..

 My cousin had said he used to write 'back in the days'..if only i had a pound for every New Yorker that has told me this. Especially in Jail, every single guy claims he used to 'bomb the trains', and knew Seen and Tkid and all the rest of them..yet when u ask them to bust a handstyle or throwup, they either refuse, or their hand dribbles out some kind of scribblefest that only an arthiritic blob could spawn..Nice one mate.

 So, my cousin agreed to 'take me out bombing'. I didn't need his help to do this, not in the slightest. But i wasn't in London. I was in New York. And i was staying in a very dangerous part of New York, and my cousin had guns...So...

 I pack my bag full of paint, he gets his strap, we roll a couple of blunts and out we go...first just going along the boardwalk, i'm catching reaches here an there casually while we bun this crappy weed down..bombing while smoking a blunt is certainly NOT FUCKING ADVISED, especially somewhere u don't know, especially somewhere that your 'host' has deemed worthy enough to carry a strap around. I was in prangville Tennessee...

 There was one spot i had my eye on. It was a huge yard that was filled with school busses, but all of the outside of it was covered in throwups..mostly of NY bombing legends, JA and the man's had to catch a throwie on here. I pointed it out, cousin was keeping an eye out, so off i went...

 About halfway through painting this throwup, there was a hole in the fence...and while my hand is RIGHT next to that whole, some fucking HUGE K9 sticks his head through the hole, almost chomps my arm off, and starts barking like a motherfucker. It did cross my mind to just fill in this dogs face with matt white, but i decided to just ignore it and keep painting..this dog is making such a fucking racket, it's not helping to calm my nerves...that and the police car that keeps circling the block. But i wrap things up, and keep it moving...

 We get back on the boardwalk, start to head back, and out of nowhere are confronted by the biggest Polish guy i have ever seen. Think Zangief, if he was a fisherman. This dudes fingers looked like..well, looked like he had hench dicks for fingers. And he was holding a fucking HUGE Rottweiler. This thing could've been mistaken for a Bear on a leash. My cousin has his hand on his waist, which to me, is not a good sign. The dude starts talking to my cousin about dogs, and my cousin keeps repeating..

"man, tie your dog up."

The guy doesn't listen.

"you need to tie your dog up"

He still doesn't listen. I'm starting to really get prang now. I can see my COUSIN is getting nervous too. And he has a gun..But finally the guy ties the dog up, and has a rather strange conversation about his dog and how he feeds it horse feed that has steroids in it..Nice.

 We get back to the yard at about 3-4am, and unsuprisingly there is some fresh barf in the corridor..I don't really give a fuck, i'm just happy to actually be back there in one piece. My cousin is a big guy (and a fucking wanker i might add) and looks like he can handle himself, and man's is usually strapped on road..but as we smoke the last blunt of the night, he calmy leans over to me and says..

"Hey timmy, that guy could've killed us, you know"

..Great news, thanks for that.

Thursday, 7 April 2011


..Just finished writing some letters.
 I always send a few sketches out too, so just wrapping them up n all..
Mans don't have access to plain paper, so if there's heads out there wondering
why i sent them a sketch on the back of a random email, no need for ponderations,
that's why :)

Chad, keep an eye out for the postman!

 Today has been as long as Larry Davids balls.
We don't get no mail on Sundays, or the weekend at all
for that matter..
 I always look forward to that time of day when call the
mail out..
 It's usually around six in the evening, after they have collected
up all the trays from 'chow'..
 Most of the time i'm not actually expecting anything, and don't
get jack diggedy squat either! least it's SOMETHING to look forward to though,
you get me!

When i do get mail,
it makes me very happy! :)

It doesn't really matter what the subject or topic of the letter
is about, thinking about how someone has taken the time out of
their day to send me something, it's really nice..
 Whether it's an old freind that i have lost contact with over
the years, a writer sending me some dope outlines, a freind from
the UK hardcore music scene,
 to new freinds that i have made since my incarceration in this
fucked up situation i find myself jamming in.
 The type of personal contact you get from a hand written letter,
cannot be underestimated..

 When i recieve a letter from someone i don't know,
from a country or place i ain't been to,
 it leads me to many thoughts. Thoughts such as wondering
what type of place where they when writing to me? At work?
Probably. Free Shipping :p

 When i am having bad days,
which is more often than not, a letter is like a little reminder
from the universe, a little hand on my shoulder,
saying in a comforting voice
"See? You're going to be ok buddy :)"
 Especially when it is from someone i didn't previously

 Being in prison is extremely detrimental to your self esteem
and self worth, i have spent countless nights staring out through
the bars in my window to the street below,
 pondering all kinds of stupid monkey shit.

if i'm a good person, why has this happened to me?
if i'm a good person, why was i hanging with the people i did pon road?
 Most importantly,
if the person that i trusted most in the world, someone that i shared my
soul with, someone that i promised to spend the rest of my life with..and
even more importantly, promised to be by my side through thick and thin,
can so easily abandon me in a situation as fucked up as this one,
 what kind of fucked up world am i living in?!
Or WAS i living in?

 For whatever reason,
people i have never spoken to before have felt the need to write to me.
 Whether it's just to say hello, tell me about themselves or just let me know
that there are people out there reading my story..
 It gives me faith. Not in god, myself or that i will get any kind of justice,
but faith in people.
 Whether it's a teacher in Belgrade, a bar worker in Nevada, writers in New York
or a student at University, it's contact with the outside world.
 It's a little reminder.

 You'd be suprised how much a small letter from a stranger,
telling you that there are people out there you've never met, who
are thinking about you, can change your outlook on life,
yourself and your future.


Press Play.


Eto Muttwa

It is one in the morning.
 snow is falling outside.

 I'm sitting on my rock hard bed, on my waifer thin fleabitten mattress,
listening to some Brazillian jazz. Attempting to ignore the putrid smelling vapours
that are waffting upstream from below..
 My man has been on the boiled eggs today.

 Apart from that,
everything in the jail is quiet, serene and calm.
 No one is shouting,
arguing, fighting, swearing or any of the other monkey shit you
can expect to hear every second of every waking hour in this brain crumbling
pergatorious dump.

 All the drug dealers, gang bangers,
pirates, contract killers, street hustlers, mobsters and drug overlords
are all tucked up in bed..and like myself,
are dreaming of former glories and better days. I'm sure they'll come,
eventually, it's all a matter of when..

 My radio is busted.
Only one of the tinny headphones works, IF i hold the wire with pinpoint
accuracy at a certain angle. There's a dude that fixed them for a tuna, i'll
hit him up tomorrow..he claims he used to write too, so usually gives me discounts
and sets me pens n shit..
 flicking through the radio stations,
i have accidently come across some ultra garbage. It's a song by Rhianna,
singing about how she 'pulled da trigger' and 'shot a man down'. In a jamaican accent.

This epic display of retardation is way beyond my meager vocabularies discriptionary

 My cellie has just awoked from his slumber to kindly inform me that the one and
only David Icke is on the radio in the next few minutes! live!!

 I just finished reading his DOPE book 'Children of the Matrix' (SAFE JOSH),
i recommend anyone and everyone pick it up..
 The man is a genius among Lizards :D
Right now Dave is spitting all kinds of multi-dimensional shape shifting bars about
extra terrestrial reptillian dynasties, next level frequences, spiritual vibrations,
holograms of the flesh and all kinds of extra-terrestrial blams..
 He is explaining that the universe is an electrical grid, the sun is a projector of
information and draws its energy from the rest of the planets in the solar system,
 and how we are on the cusp of a new truth vibration


 To anyone American that might be reading this,
David Icke is doing a serious of 9 hour lectures in LA in the coming weeks,
i'd kill to see it (to the prison officials that read all my emails i'm joking)

 He finishes his talk by reminding us that we are all part of one multi-dimensional,
infinite consciousness. Dope.

if anyone feels like sending me any David Icke books, safe!