New York Prisoner 63906054

No contract, take my word

2012-03-04T04:24:00.000-08:00

I'm standing next to a group of four guys..

All in here for drug charges..

They're all rapping along
to some fucking garbage that's spewing out of Hot 97..

You can clearly see they are into this absolute horse shit,
singing along to the lyrics of Drake, Rick Ross, Two Chainz..

The list of moronic rappers is endless..

The lyrical content of most these cock smokers is usually nothing
more than grandios claims of drug dealing, catching bodies and more
often than not their effortless avoidance of the Federal Government..

Now call me pessimistic..

But considering most these kids and i say kids as a lot of them are under 21,
find themselves in the tricky predicament of looking at mandatory sentances
ranging from 5-15 years in prison for a few grams of crack coccaine..

To me..

Personally..

..it doesn't seem very likely that the rappers these kids are idolising and clearly
imitating spend their time shotting bricks of coccaine then making recordings
of said crimes to be played on the radio, to millions of people,
which INCLUDE thousands of Federal Agents all over
the United States..

:/

Perhaps i'm wrong..

Perhaps i'm just incredibly naive..

Perhaps i'm becoming pessimistic in my old age (26)..

Perhaps Drake (former child actor)
DOES have solders "that come up from the hit" for him..

Perhaps Rick Ross (former Correction Officer)
DOES sell crack off his iphone and when you buy four,
he kindly fronts you five more..

:/

Times like now..

To be specific i'm talking about as i put thoughts to paper..

I feel like i'm getting old..

Instead of viewing these rappers as merely entertainers,
bozos, clowns, pushing tried and tested methods of controversial
subjects and rebelious personas to sell their records,
I find myself instead seeing a generation of young men
in prison with their lives irreperably damaged, due to their attempts
at mimicking a lifestyle that simply does not exist, they are being lied to,
by individuals that have no interest whatsoever in the effect that their
bogus lyrical content and imagery have on the average impressionable
young man that finds themself in a hard situation looking for a way
to make some money..

They are completely oblivious to their responsibilities as being in
the spot light, they are looked at as role models and should be trying
to put out some kind of a positive message..

But then look where i find myself..

Who cares if you're making money right?

Who the fuck cares if you're selling a load of bullshit and you're phony as fuck?

Who cares if you're advocating a way of life you know nothing about,
that inevitably ends in jailtime?

Being a role model?

Being genuine?

At this point you're probably agreeing with me..

Yes Timothy..

You are getting old..

Spaghetti garlic oil

2012-02-11T12:50:00.000-08:00

**Spaghetti Garlic Oil**

"Teemmy you gatta onderstand, any fokin' jail you go to you can make-a diss, no prablem!"

------------------------------

*Ingredients*

-Sardino or Macaral
-Butter
-Salt + Pepper
-grated cheese

--------------------------------

Take da spaghetti deez bozos give you for dinner,
rinse it, then put it in da bowl.

Cook mac for five minutes in microwave,
adding oil from the mac packet ana some garlic.

Put six pieces of butter on de pasta,
reheat for two minutes then dump-a da cooked
mac on the pasta, mix it trough!

Then put all the pasta an mac, all togeder now,
into the fokin' microwave.

Take it out, salt an a pepper,
an a liddle bid o grated cheese.

Mangia!

Unarmed Combat

2012-02-11T12:48:00.000-08:00

I like to run.

Fast.

Always have.

Long distances? Steep hills?

No problemo..

I've taken this and tried to apply it to my bid.

We got roof?

I'm running..

Sub zero temperatures? Rain? Snow?

Again..

I'm still working on trying to get my body fat as low as possible,
hence all the running..

One day someone decided to physically stop me in my tracks,
pull his shirt off an flex an obscenely roided bicep in my face..

Timothy let knowledge be born..

"..i don't want to look like you.."

His proud toothless grin quickly morphed into an uneducated offended gurn..

"This what a n****r 'POSED to look like MOTHERFUCKER!"

:/

There was an audience.

I had no choice but to shoot back.

"This what a motherfuckin' CRACKER 'posed to look like, quit jerkin' my motherfuckin' rec.."

He returned fire.

"YOU EVER BEEN TO WAR WITH A N****R!?"

I'm out of ammo.

"My n****r, you's in the terrordome, you goin' to war you gonna need some motherfuckin' grenades"

Perhaps he has a point..

I have this desire to workout at the crack of dawn when i get out,
somewhere high up.

Roof top in London, mountain in Turkey,
doesn't matter..

I can picture it pretty clearly..

I'm wearing a vest,
my prison issue glasses an quite possibly sporting
a long beard..

I'm sporting a few more tattoos,
after all i'm planning on getting my hands, knuckles,
wrists, palms, neck and feet done upon release..

I imagine the London skyline,
grey, grimey an covered in a thick cloud of smoke..

I can taste the morning air..

It's cool, crisp air that i can feel entering my lungs like
a glass of cold ice water on a hot summer afternoon..

I see the my breath leaving my body,
like a cloud of thick smoke that takes with it all the dust,
dirt and horse shit i've had to inhale the last few years..

I can feel each bead of sweat dripping from my forehead,
each individual muscle stretching and expanding,
the gravel underneath my knuckles as i lift my chest from the floor,
it's a very vivid image that i carry with me..

The accuracy and realistic expectations of this fantasy are questionable.

But it's a nice image never the less..

"Only in the darkest of night can you see the stars" - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr

I was listening to mambo

2012-02-11T12:42:00.000-08:00

It's very late.

There's a lot of condensation on my window,
so much so i can't see anything.

Not the street below..

The pavement..

Trees..

Buildings..

Hookers..

Nothing.

I can just about squeeze my fingers
through the bars on the window.

My fingertips relish the cold touch of the glass,
sometimes i try drawing shapes or words and watch
the drips of water run down the window pane..

I can't see anything out the window,
but it's okay though.

Faint blurry lights somehow make their way upto my cell,
golden light from the street lamps below.

Sometimes i try to imagine the view outside might have changed,
asif i'm on some kind of boat that's docked in a small town somewhere..

I'm lying on my side.

One arm is at a right angle supporting my head,
the other clutching my blue biro pen.

My eyes are squinting at the paper,
reading glasses in the dark is not a good look.

My ultra nerd prison issue glasses are not a good look
in any situation but that's besides the point.

My mum and dad sent me a couple pads of paper (thankyou x)
so i'm doing my best to put them to good use.

It's hard right now as the page is barely lit
and my attempts to manouvre it to catch a bit more
of the street light below is not working very well..

The shaky hand holding my head has given up..

Relocated..

Taken up a new, less responsible vocation,
clutching the top of the page as i move closer
to the pad to get a little more clarity.

My words are becoming increasingly mumbled,
almost undecipherable, as they leak from my brain
onto the paper.

Things often pop in and out of my head
at this time of the morning.

If i don't write them down,
they rarely come back to me.

For some reason if i manage to catch the thought,
i always feel better about it in the morning.

Asif the act of writing it down,
making the decision to blindly dig through the piles of paper,
magazines, cumrags and letters at the end of my bed instead of just going the fuck to sleep,
has some kind of significant importance or validity..

I guess that's upto you to decide.

I drawed this on New Years Eve 2011

2012-02-11T12:26:00.000-08:00

Turkish Blues

2012-02-11T12:18:00.000-08:00

Suleyman

2012-01-21T08:40:00.000-08:00

Tanha

2012-01-21T08:33:00.000-08:00

Toy Story 4

2012-01-21T08:31:00.000-08:00

More licks

2012-01-21T08:29:00.000-08:00

Kiroshi

2012-01-21T08:01:00.000-08:00

Two tunas each.

One in advance.

Shadenfreude

2012-01-21T07:27:00.000-08:00

Make some coffee and light a cigerette..

Enjoy

x

The hapless Monk

2012-01-05T11:16:00.001-08:00

One lovely spring day, a monk was out on his begging rounds
when the beautiful wife of a wealthy businessman, recognizing the
monk as susceptible to temptation, invited him into her home.

There she engaged him in a spirited conversation..

When the monk finally realized that too much time had passed,
he went to the door only to discover that it was locked.

"Please"
He asked..

"would you open this door?"

"not just yet"

The woman said..

"I will let you out of the room only if you do one of the following,
Kill the goat who is tied up outside the back door, have sex with me,
or drink this jug of wine"

The monk tried to think his way out of this dreadful situation..

As a peaceful Buddhist, he couldn't resort to violence against the
imposing women in order to fight his way out of the house.

Killing a goat would mean breaking the precept against killing..

Having sex would be breaking his monastic vows of chastity,
here it would also mean adultery, which is sexual misconduct
and stealing as well..

The peturbed monk decided that the least offensive thing he could
do would be to drink the wine, which would harm no one but himself..

So he did..

Not accustomed to strong spirits,
the hapless monk got very drink, which quickly weakened all of his resolve.

By then, he was so hungry and lacking in mindfulness that he killed the goat,
and while it was cooking, he and the woman had sex.

Thus all his pure vows were lost...

Solidarity

2011-12-30T12:21:00.000-08:00

Ok so the festive period is almost finished,
Christmas is in the bag and a couple days from now
it'll be the new year..

This past 12 months have not exactly been ideal for me,
given the choice i somehow do not think my time would have been
allocated to being locked in a maximum security jail in the company of
heads so retarded that when they stand up to piss,
they piss on their own balls..

but FUCK..things don't always pan out quite how one would've hoped..

FUCK it.

Onwards and upwards!

Certain situations in my daily routine give way to periods of extreme clarity,
awareness of my surroundings and ultimately peace of mind.

Today for example,
after shooting a load of kids into a cumrag,
i thought back to last year when i was in the exact same place,
how i was thinking, what i was feeling, what type of shape i was in
and most importantly how i invisioned myself a year down the line.

One's view of prison,
especially from the confines of BEHIND the bars,
is usually a somewhat depressing image accompanied by violins
and other neeeext bateness..

Early on into incarceration you can't help but dwell on were you are,
how long you have been here, what you might be missing out on,
how long all this mess is going to take to sort out and most importantly
what things are going to look like in the near future.

It sucks!

When i thought about what i would look like in the future,
my mind would conjour up an image similar to those statues of Jesus you see
were he's pure skin an bones, pale, mashed up staring up at the sky with glazed over
bloodshot eyes..

Looking at myself now, compared to this biblically questionable image of the (white? Caucasion?) son of god,
to my suprise i am not in such dramatic circumstances..

Someone told me very early on into my bid,

"My n****r, things will only get better"

It was hard to believe.

Especially when the person telling me came in here thinking he would
get a deuce and subsequently got his head blown off
in trial.

Dude got got sentanced to 20 years!

:/

but still..

he was actually right..

Every single aspect of my life HAS improved
over the last year.

I managed to get myself sober..

ULTRA sober..

Not by choice but still..

It's actually a very weird feeling having this much mental clarity,
compared to my mindframe before my arrest i actually feel like
i might possibly possess some kind of intelligence.

But don't quote me on that..

Recently someone asked to see some flicks,
i think he was requesting for what is commonly known as 'freak flicks'
but sadly i don't posses any (that are fit for public consumption) so i showed him
a bunch of my photos that got snapped just before i got banged up abroad.

He didn't even believe that the flicks of me
was the same person, even going as far as asking me,

"yo who's that fat dude"

:/

He had a point though.

The amount of weight i have lost is stupid.

When i raise my arms,
i can see the outline of my ribs.

Not sure if that's a good thing,
but it's better than counting mad rolls of purely unadulterated Turkish lard..

...

What i'm failing to eloquently put forward to you
is that no matter how dier you might think your circumstances might be,
things WILL get better.

Trust me.

Success OR defeat,

Nothing lasts forever..

I have to let you know how much Your support
has meant to me over the past 15 months.

The books that got sent,
photos in the mail, bread donated to the Timothy Guvercin is broke as a joke fund,
postcards, magazines, shouts on websites, pieces, panels, tattoos, sketches,
even trips across the Atlantic to spend some a little time with me..

You might be thousands of miles away,
but i don't feel alone.

Your compassion has got me through a very difficult year in my life
and i would like to say thankyou.

One important lesson that i have learnt in here
is that i am at my most content and spiritually at peace
in life when i help people.

I want you to know that if there is anything i can do for you,
whether it's listening to your problems, offering some kind of
advice, anything at all, all you have to do is reach out and i will
do anything i can for you.

I don't want you to think that i would ever see your problems
as less important or irrevelant because of my current circumstances,
that simply is not the case.

You are never alone.

There is always someone out there who has faith in you and
knows that you can make it through whatever
you are going through in life.

Peace

x

Bunkie, look! Mouse everywhere!

2011-11-30T13:37:00.000-08:00

When and Where do i jerk off

2011-11-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

Practice Practice Practice

2011-11-30T13:23:00.000-08:00

Chill out..

2011-09-24T16:13:00.000-07:00

Handstyles are big in New York..

Throwups, tags,
dubs, etch bath..

Shit was nice..

Security cameras are almost non existant,
especially on the subways..

Most of the stations are made up of
white tiled surfaces..

Streets were nice too..

Whether it was heads from back in the ends,
big names from famous crews around the world
or man dem i hadn't yet got familiar with,

My ends was poppin'..

When it got to the point where my visa expired,
i tried to keep my head down..

lay low..

Chill out..

Dick wad...
Every once in a while,
a writer would come stay at my yard..

after a few days of hitting a couple spots

they'd breeze..

Usually leaving me with some extra paint lying around the place..

This was before i had a decent means of getting hold of paint,
so with a few good tins laying around, i'd go drop something..

Somewhere..

Press Play

8==>

Back to the Office

2011-09-18T09:40:00.000-07:00

Press Play

Working in the city..

It had plenty of movement,

variation,

It was deep..
There was this one client i used to love dealing with..
She was a real sweetheart..

Her company was located right by the water,
by the west side highway if i'm not mistaken..

I'd get the call,

stop burning DVD's,

an skank out the door..

The walk to her office,
i'd easily stretch the 20 minute walk
into a 40 minute stroll..
No problemo..

No matter when i arrive,
she was always too busy to see me anyway..
Again..
No problemo..
I'd grab some coffee an
go sit on the waterfront..

Cotching on my jaes,
breathin' in the crisp clean air,
i'd let my feeble mind wander..
press play

What shall i cook for dinner?

Where am i going this weekend?

What shall i wear?

Real meaningfull shit..
If my brain would begin to focus
on a topic of actual importance or meaning,
my phone would start ringin'..

Time to get my ass back to the office..

Get some work done..

Tough times..

Press Play

pirched, tip-toed

2011-09-14T15:15:00.000-07:00

After a year of co-habitating inside a pathetic excuse for a toilet,
with (almost) no fights, arguments, punch-ups or falling outs,
things between me and my cellie are still sweet..
Not everything,
infact, hardly anyone gets on with their bunkie as
well as me an boogs kick it..
It's unsuprising to learn that getting thrown in the deep end,
sharing a cell with a heavily seasoned felon, i'm somewhat
de-sensitised to a lot of shit, it's hard for me to get offended,
embaressed or shocked by shit that goes down anymore..

Waking up to the sight of a naked 240 pound black man
washing his shitty ass in the sink?
It's a minor..
Things have got to the point where if i'm busy
doing something in the cell an he runs up in the joint,
pulls his draws down an without a moments notice starts
shooting pebbledash down the toilet, i rarely bother leaving the room..
I'll just sit there sketching..
He'll squat there shitting..
Like it's the most natural thing in the world..
During the times we get locked in the cell,
if i get the hankering to drop a couple chocolate logs
down the shitter, even with Boogs in the cell,
i'm going to shit.
Comfortably..
Whenever i feel a brown assasin trying to claw its way
out of my asshole an the door is NOT locked, as a standard,
i put up the shit sign..
My cellie does not..
This leads to me breezing around the unit
telling random people,
"Yo my cellie wants to talk to you, he's in the cell"
Never ceases to amaze me how many man fall for
that shit, an end up getting the image of some next
hench dude straining out a shit burned into their retinas..
Earlier this week, my man tried to get me back..
Picture this if you will..
I'm pirched, tip-toed, shaking out a luke-warm scatty lion bar,
an i hear heads talking on the other side of the door..
There's about ten guys all sitting around a big table
sippin' juice playing poker..
My boy Mac turns up looking to place a game of chess..
"Yo where's the Chess pieces Boogs?"
"They're in the cell my n****r, go in an get 'em"
Mac is apprehencious,
he's had many foul tricks played on him in
the last year, including someone sending a
correctional officer to his cell knowing that he's
inside jerking off..
He smells that somethin' ain't kosher..
"Where's Timdog?"
Everyone at the poker table KNOWS i'm
in there, either taking a shit, or shooting
a load of kids down the toilet..
"Silly n****r's on a legal visit, go in an get the pieces"
Dicks..
I know he's about to come in..
I'm sitting on a metal throne of shit clouded in fecal matter,
naked, clutching a copy of London Handstyles staring at the door..
I know he's about to open the door..
Yet for some reason i don't even bother saying anything..
He turns the handle a few times,
this is the standard procedure to check if someone is taking
a shit or jerking off, kind of like a warning before you open
the door..
I still say nothing..
So Mac busts the door open,
an is greeted with the sight of me sitting there,
smiling, shitting, naked..
Cool as a cucumber..
"What's up Mac?"
Before he slams the door,
i lick off a trumbone style baritone
fart, which is amplifyied by the steel
of the toilet..
"YOU'S A FOUL N****R SON! BOTH OF YOU STUPID N****R'S! YOU KNEW HE WAS IN THERE!"

swollen shoulders

2011-09-07T11:18:00.000-07:00

It was cold when i woke up today..
The air conditioning doesn't turn on til the early hours,
most days when i wake up it's fuckin cold in the cell..
My toes felt like icicles..
It makes sense to sleep facing the door.
Go figure..
Most the man dem are on
the tier this morning though..
I'm safe..
I pull my crusty quilt across a very tired, swollen
pair of shoulders, turn over and
gaze out the window..
It's grey..
Wet..
Miserable..
Reminds me of London!
(in a good way)
I'm half asleep..
Thoughts are drifting in and out
of my head with relative ease..
What to do today..
Work out?
Roof?
Sketch?
Jerk?
..I recognise one of the civillians below..

Strutting next to her attorney,
she crosses the street below, pulls out a cigarette,
then quickly scuttles out of sight..

It's been almost a year since i've seen her..
I'm pretty high up..
You can't get a particularly good look
at someone's face from up here..
Yet from the way she shook her lighter,
to the swing of her arms as she walked,
i knew it was her from a mile away..
Peering out of my cell at the shiny wet street beneath me,
watching this person casually stroll past the building her
husband is temporarily imprisoned in, without a care in the world,
was a well needed reality check for Timmyboy..
This was not the girl i happily married at City Hall,
nor was it the wife who promised to stand by me
throughout this ordeal..
"Timdog, my n****r, it ain't a matter of right or wrong,
it's about decisions people gotta live with.."
I hear that..

Time to work out..

Complete piece of shit..

2011-08-26T13:21:00.000-07:00

There's some NEXT old Puerto Rican dude on the unit.

Man's in his sixties,
walks with a cane an speaks
next to no English..

Yet has quickly built up
a reputation as being a
complete piece of shit..

I don't get it.

I got no problems with
the old codger.

Ever since he came in the unit,
i help him carry his chair up an
down the stairs,
in turn, nearly every day he comes
to my cell, with a mouth of pure gums
an no teeth, an calls out,

"JIM!"

An busts me a handful of sweetener packets
to help feed my habit of chain-guzzling ultra
sweet mugs of coffee..

Late last night,
he couldn't find his chair..

A regular situation..

You're surrounded by thieves,
stealing your chair is a fucking MINOR!

SO...

Gramps is goin' from cell to cell looking
for this dusty old chair..

Despite reassurance from me and my cellie
that we WILL get him another chair,
this dude is on a mission to find that
motherfucker..

He fails..

Now he's PISSED..

For whatever reason,
he awakes today, convinced that our new neighbour,
some young Spanish dude, is the culprit.

Why?

I do not know.

Dude has no chair.

He doesn't watch tv.

An he's a cool guy,
don't cause NO problems..

Gramps ain't hearin' that shit..

He spends most of today continually
berating this poor kid for his clearly
non-existant role in the great chair
heist..

Dude snaps..

Our man spits a 16 bar Spanish cypher
that has the whole tier crying with laughter..

One of the older dudes translated it for the
non Spanish speaking audience..

"I DIDN'T TAKE YOUR FUCKIN' CHAIR OLD MAN,
MAKE SURE YOU FIND IT YOU WRITE COCKSUCKER ON THE BACK,
MOTHER FUCKER!"

Right

2011-08-22T13:32:00.001-07:00

This is ridiculous..

I need to sleep..

The spaniards next door are having some
kind of early morning karaoke session,
singing a the top of their lungs
in Spanish...

They're weird guys..

I asked one of them
for some cake one day, ever since,
they have brought me cake..

Everyday..

I just assumed they were being freindly
as i never get up early in the morning..

My cellie was suspicious..

"Either there's poison in it or that Spanish n****r wants you to fuck him"

Right..

Not quite sure i agree with either
of those ridiculous conclusions..

still..

I started to refuse their daily offerings of cake,
'til i realised they where giving it to my cellie instead..

I reminded him of his theory..

"My n****r! I was testing it for you!"

Riiiiight..

Prick.

House of God

2011-08-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

Every Saturday..

Two o'clock..

Protestant church..

Church is a good place to go,
whether you're religious or not..

It's not only nice to get a little bit of movement,
travelling to a different, unfamiliar part of the prison,
but it's a place where you can meet up with your buddies,
co-defendants and possible enemies from other floors..

You can go there to worship too..

It's not like any 'house of God'
i've ever been to in my life..

Firstly..

It's split into different sections,
catering for all the different gangs and crews
populated in the jail.

Secondly..

There is a NEXT hench guard at the door.

Thirdly..

It's never, ever boring..

Most of the congregation are ultra hench
convicts, covered in an assortment of differently
retarded body and facial tattoos.

They have come to church for business,
and business purposes only..

Finding out information..

Exchanging messages from different inmates..

Organising financial transactions..

Material transactions..

You name it,
they are doing it..

No matter what church i go to or whatever
religous house i might be in, and i've been in a few,
i'm always respectful of other peoples faiths and beliefs..

Sadly not everyone shares the same views as me when
it comes to respecting their fellow brothers faith..

Most heads spend the majority of their time in religious
services laughing, shouting, basically on pure joke time..

There is a tonk air vent in the middle of the room,
as inmates routinely use the vents as make-shift telephones
to speak to heads on different floors, the pastors sermon is
frequently interupted by random shouts from inmates trying
to contact manz..

"YO! YO! NINE NORTH! YO D, YOU READ? MY N****R D, WUD UP SON?"

It's hard not to laugh..

Especially when the person on the vent is
getting more and more frustrated..

"YO MY N****R! MOTHERFUCKER WHAT THE FUCK YOU PLAYIN' AT N****R!
SEND DOWN MY MOTHERFUCKIN' BREAD YOU BUM ASS N****R! I KNOW YOU CONSCIOUS!
BITCH ASS N****R!"

The pastor is Chinese.

He speaks in a very, very thick accent.

All in all, he's a really good guy,
i have a lot of respect for him.
His bars always seem to have some kind of
direct relevance to whatever it is i might be
currently going through, he's a top boy player
in the game..

Man's patient too..

During yesterdays cypher,
he was talking about the many puported
miracles Jesus is believed to have performed..

"Jesus did things you can never do!"

"He turned water to WINE! You can NEVER do this!"

..People in the back of the room start to crack up laughing..

"NO! I'M NOT TALKIN' ABOUT HOOCH! STOP LAUGHIN!"

Everybody in the room is now purely creasin'..

"NO! IT'S NOT FUNNY! STOP LAUGHIN! MAKIN' HOOCH IS BAD!
JESUS MADE WINE NOT MOONSHINE, IT'S NOT FUNNY!"

By this point,
the whole congregation is pissing themselves,
falling about laughing..even the pastor has a smirk on
his face..

As with most religions,
the Protestant church in this prison has
sections of worship dedicated to singing..

Always a sight to behold..

BARE tattooed, greazy looking dudes,
getting mad emotional holding their arms out
singing at the top of their lungs, sometimes even
flailing them around into the rest of the congregation
in an attempt to convey the impression that they are
under some kind of magical spell..

While in the middle of a particular hymn,
some will spontaneously start shouting,

"AMEN! GOD IS GOOD!"

Or even take it all the way to the hilt,
busting out their own bars in a spare
of the moment soprano solo..

I should really go to church more often..

It was a really nice way to spend a couple hours,
i felt a lot more relaxed up my return to my unit..

Most importantly, i got to see my buddy T
who got moved to another floor!

Press Play
Can you put the tune 'never can say goodbye' by Isaac hayes)

He's doing well.

Nothing new to report.

Said he misses me whingin' to him
about my problems..

Poor sod..

He really bore the brunt of the
depression-era Timothy Guvercin..

Manz also really helped me when i was in
a bad spot, cooked me meals, gave me much needed advice,
generally being one hell of a good freind when i needed one..

I should definitely go to church more often..

Jump on it

2011-08-20T08:42:00.000-07:00

This morning i woke up to purely unadulterated fuckries..

I was in deep sleep..

Having an excruciatingly detail-orientated dream.

Very convincing.

The central revolving theme was circulated around
me penetrating vaginas with a titanium strength
Turkish sword sheathed in spicy sujuk..

It was purely DeeP..

My cellie get's up ultra early each morning.

Being the kind man that he is,
he likes to wake me up.

'Just for jokes'

:/

Today he slammed his hand down on my bed
and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"BUMBACLUT PUSSYCLUT TURKISH BOY!!!"

I sat upright and clocked him
standing next to my bed,
smiling.

It's hard to be mad at him when he's smiling.

Even when he asks me to purchase some shit on credit,
under the premise that he will be taking care of the debt
with the bread he's just been sent..

..I purchase the shit, it's consumed, then at around one AM
when the doors are locked he turns around to me creasing,
revealing that he never had the money in the first place.

Standing there with his arms stretched out, smiling,
it's hard to be mad at him.

A cup of coffee, some jokes and nut scratches later,
the 'cute' (for prison standards) guard comes down to the tier..

I'm lying in bed.

Chillin'.

"Yo son, G up my n****r, im'a plug you in kid!"

"What?"

Before i can process what the fuck he's talking about,
he calls the chick over to the cell..

"Good morning miss,
check out Romeo over here.."

She curiously slinks over to the doorway..

i've been on a purely Governator-like workout regime recently.

This is my first chance to show it off to a 'real' woman..

Before she clocks me, i sit up.

Pull the covers down to my waist and turn onto my side.

One arm behind my head.

PURELY posing like a motherfucker..

My cellie throws a line,

"God Damn, look at this silly Clark Gable lookin' motherfucker!"

She starts to crease.

"Where the FUCK this n****r think he at, the Waldorf?!"

i'm laughin' too, but joke time is over..

Time to spit some bars..

"Good morning miss! I bet you wish you could be in bed at this time of day?"

(Patting the space next to me on the bed)

She turns bright red,
then quickly mumbes,

"Em, yep! You should listen to your cellie though! Time to get up!"

I am up.

By that i mean my penis is erect and ready to
spit Turkish venom in her face..

No time for web slinging though,
as she disapears quick fast in a cloud
of perfume and Estrogen
I look over an clock my cellie beaming from ear to ear..

"Dog, you killed it! MY N****R!"

Inspirations

2011-08-20T08:37:00.000-07:00

Sittin' on my bed,
dangling my feet off the side,
i'm bored.

Real fucking bored..

For some reason i like my toes,
but right now, they're looking a bit worse for wear..

.........

The elevators are apparently broken.

Apparently.

This has prompted the guards to lock
us all on the tier..

People are running around screaming,
banging on the tables, kicking the doors,
generally being as irritating as possible.

Me choosing to sit in my cell
instead of joining in the spastication festivities
apparently makes me "bugged the fuck out".

Right..

I am surrounded by limitless,
breathtakingly inspirational people..

They ask me amazingly thoughtful questions..

Why do i work out..

Why do i sketch..

Why do i write..

Why do i read..

Why do i spend most of my time alone
and SPECIFICALLY not in their company..

The answer,
i don't want to be you..

You motivate me to better myself..

You are the ultimate tramps that any person
questioning their self-worth can compare themselves to,
and feel good..

Just looking at your ultra retarded mashed up face
reminds me that things could always be worse..

.............

Holy SHIT i'm bored..

I'm hungry too..

Discipline, i need to stay disciplined..

"Silly n****r ain't got no weight to lose"

There might be some morsel of truth
to the eloquently put statement above..

I'm by no means fat or in need of such
rapid weight loss that i'm currently undertaking..

But i could be better,
so why the fuck not..

That's the type of time i'm on at the moment,
if there is a part of my life i can improve,
i'm doing it..

Sketching, writing, working out,
reading, whatever it might be,
i'm trying to stay busy and productive..

It's working too..

It has a positive effect on others too,
the people i give a flying fuck about anyway..

The ultra deformed hyper tramps
are happy sipping dog piss, chewing on chunks of dog shit
and watching 'Basketball Wives' followed by 'Jersey Shore'..

Fair play to 'em..

Breeze

2011-08-15T12:54:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep for shit..

Man's clinging onto the cross hatched bars
of the window, hoping that the cold steel
might cool me down.

It's not.

Finger tips an toes are curled around
the metal rivets poking out the wall
an corners of the window.

That ain't doin' shit either..

There's a faint glow
coming from the street.

Layin' on my side, I'm lookin' up at my arm.

All these pushups on my knuckles have had
a definite visual impact on my body,
the veins lining my forearms are looking hench,
backlit by the golden glow of street lights below..

I'm conscious of each an every
individual bead of sweat leaving my body.

Each one slowly rolling down,
til i wipe it away with my only clean t-shirt..

I'm eyeballin' a makeshift washing line.

It's a couple inches in front of my bonce.

I had to rock it when the dryer packed up
on me a few weeks back..

A couple strands from it have unravelled,
an i find it capturing my attention..

Even though my breaths are short,
each time i exhale this little piece of cotton
sways from side to side, asif there is
a breeze in the room..

Bar me talking breeze,
there ain't shit..

Air sometimes sneaks through the cracks in the window,
but not tonight.

My fingers are pressed against the glass,
but don't feel a thing.

None of the leaves on the trees are moving.

Everything is still.

The jail is pretty silent.

Still, I can't sleep.

My window is dirty as hell,
I really should pay someone to clean it..

..I've got a spare tuna under my bed..

Might as well put it to good use instead
of turning it into 'smoked salmon'.

Times like now are difficult for me..

I ask a lot of questions..

I ask MYSELF a lot of questions..

Especially when i don't see something as being
fair, equal or i don't have a proper understanding
of how something has come to be.

At times like now,
i find myself questioning things that at this time of night,
are simply better off left the FUCK alone..

It's too hot..

I'm sweating..

I'm tired..

And i still can't sleep...

just like the constant beads of sweat running down my forehead,
the questions come cascading down..

I can't actually focus on one subject..

With so many floating around,
it's impossible to give my full concentration to anything,
let alone come to some kind of
meaningful, intelligent solution..

Everything and anything is up for critique
in this early morning sleep deprived exercise in self evaluation..

Wanna know something i think about a lot?

Fatherhood.

I'd like to think i'd make a good dad someday..

But before that familiar road goes any further,
i'm'a knock that shit on the head.

Fast..

Some things are better off left alone.

At least until tomorrow..

BB

2011-08-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

For fuck sake..

Sometimes,
you just have to laugh.

What other choice do i have?

As long as you look at it the right way,
any situation can be turned into a crease..

I might be sittin' in a stinkin' jail cell,
away from life, civilians and freedom,
but fuck, sometimes it's funny as hell..

Real talk, i don't think i've laughed this much in years..

Everybody knows they ain't goin' nowhere
for the time being, so why not make the most of it?

Of course,
nobody wants to be here.

Nobody wants to be surrounded by pure sausage,
forced to consume rotting dog flesh.

No human being aspires to be treated as live-stock,
but while in this predicament, why not make the most of it?

Whether your time is spent in a shallow puddle of self pity and misery
or learning, growing, maturing and getting yourself physically and mentally
ready for the next chapter in your life,
it's up to you..

Neither path will get you out any quicker,
but one of them will certainly help make
the time easier..

Right now,
we're locked the fuck down..

..Which is dry,
we're supposed to be out, it's getting late and
this is the time when we get to make phone calls,
send emails and do a little evening shmoozing before
getting locked in for the night..

All you can hear is 60+ inmates kicking and punching their doors,
shouting at the top of their voices at the guards..

"OPEN THE DOOR YOU FUCKIN' BUM BITCH!"

"AHHHHHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAH!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

The guard is running around trying to catch people hurling insults,
shouting back,

"GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP YOU STUPID FUCKS!"

I'm sitting here,
witnessing all this ultra stupid fuckrie with
little interest in participation..

I could be annoyed,
i wanted to take a shower, check my emails
and make a quick phone call..

Or i can sit here,
relax, accept the realistic premisre that we ain't
getting out for shit tonight and continue laughing at the bald,
toothless croan in the opposite cell.

He's voicing his frustration, as usual,
by headbutting the window screaming,

"YOU FUCKIN' BUM BITCH, I WOULDN'T LET YOU
WALK MY FUCKIN' DOG! BITCH!"

My cellie is lying on his bed,
calmly reading a book..

"Yo timdog, 97.7 FM, this that N****R, freaky Teddy Pendergast"

Word.

Turkish Chops

2011-08-07T11:11:00.000-07:00

When i first got to New York,
a contact i had in Seattle introduced me
to one of his boys in Williamsburg,
Brooklyn.

This guy basically showed me the ropes,
was someone to drink with, and in turn,
would use my accent to pick up chicks..

"Yo my boy London just got into town, you girls wanna show him
some American hospitality?"

We had some drinks at his yard one night,
and i was blessed with the good fortune to be
introduced to his room mate.

A Girl.

A very cute girl.

She'd been to England.

As it happens,
not far from my old ends..

In no time,
i had transformed into the
mayor of Chirpsville Tennesse.

Before i ask for her number,
i'm told we have to leave..

Safe..

As we breeze down the block,
dude turns to me with the Gucci face..

"Yo, i saw what was goin' on in there bro"

"I'm goin' to tell you know bro, she has oral herpes"

"Bollocks!"

Didn't buy it.

Dude was blatantly cock blocking.

..still, what if mans weren't chattin' breeze?

Up until this point,
his credibility had not yet disapeared down
the shitter.

For the time being,
i took his word an put shit on the back burner..

A few months passed..

Things where going really good for me.

I was in the best shape i'd been in since i was a yout,
had a job i really enjoyed, my own yard,
i was actively painting as much as possible,

Shit was sweet as fuck!

What better what to celebrate
my life coming together than taking
a hot chick out for some drinks?

I hit her up,

She's down,

We set a date.
The plan was to link in Williamsburg
and grab a few cheap drinks at the various
dive bars dotted around the place..

Day before we're supposed to link,
she proposes we have a few 'pre-game'
drinks at her spot before we hit the town.

Sounds harmless enough?

Why the fuck not..

I finish work,
after a quick run and a shower
i throw on a new shirt, some jeans an my
still relatively fresh lookin' crepes an duss
out the door..

Bus ride later,
i'm outside girls yard.

I'm also late.

Nothing new..

I'm cotching on the stoop finishing my beer,
an girl appears at the doorway smiling..

She looks fucking amazing.

From the cute way she has done her hair,
the ridiculously buff dress she's flossin',
to the bracelets, bangles an jewellery,
girl had put the effort in.

Looking back,
to think she'd made all that
effort just for my Turkish chops..

Girl came an sat next to me on the stoop,
lit a cigarette an we talked about how both
our days had panned out, while i finished
the last of my brew.

We make our way up to her place.

Thankfully her room mate ain't in the ends tonight..

She gives me a little tour of her room,
we make our way to the living room an she grabs a
bottle off the top of the fridge..

In her soft spoken voice,
she asks me to pour us a couple drinks,
an lights a few candles..

Now.

I've always been extremely naive/stupid when it comes to
clocking when a girl is feelin' me.

For some ulta retarded reason,
i always seem to think 'they're just being nice'.
It wasn't until the following day when i
described the previous evenings fuckrie,
that my freind pointed out,

"Dude. She invited you to her place. Told you to
pour some shots, then lights some candles?
How motherfuckin' stupid are you holmes?"

A few licks of peach brandy later,
i'm feelin' the funk an we're ready to hit the town..

Arm in arm,
we make slowly make our way a few blocks
down the road..

I'm flossin' some fresh garms,
i've got a gorgeous chick on my arm, it's summer
and i'm in New York City..

Life was good..

We get to the joint,
grab a booth, pick up some beers, shots,
an site opposite each other.

Most of the time i'm with this girl,
our eyes are locked on one another.

I couldn't help it..

The booze was slowly starting to creep up on me..

Before i left my stinkin' Turkish shithole of a yard,
i had filled up a new bingo marker full of ink.

The more shots i punished,
the more this motherfucker was drummin'
away like i had jumanji in my pocket..

In my slippery state,
i'm attempting to scan the bar..

Who works here..
Who is bar staff..
Who is security..

In a few seconds,
ultra slippy, dripped out,
all too familiar letters are
regurgitated all over the table.

Girl looks at me an smiles..

"You've been wanting to do that for, like, half hour right?"

She asks if i mind her
coming to sit next to me.

No problemo.

The evening seemed to be going pretty well..

Hours pass, an i start to get thirsty for a reload.

It's girl's round,
i suggest that she grabs us a couple more
beers an shots.

She replies,

"Why don't you finish my beer first?"

"Err..nah, i'm good. I don't like that type of beer."

She looks at me sideways..

"It's the same beer you've been drinking"

Fuck.

FUCK.

What the fuck to do?

With each minute that passes,
girl is getting more and more suspicous why
i won't drink her beer..

I can't exactly blurt out "Cos i heard u got oral herpes"
and at the same time, even though he was a royal tool,
i wasn't going to throw her room mate under the bus..

The atmosphere is getting beyond uncomfortable,
an i'm running out of time to submit my poorly constructed
excuse to this increasingly upset girl,
who by the way, just swiftly removed her hand from my leg..

*drum roll*

"I have a germ phobie. I don't drink from other people's glasses"

That was it.

That was the best i could come up with.

Did it work?

Did it fuck.

The night crashed and burned..

We didn't link up for a good few months
down the line.

The next time we did,
it was at some kind of even celebrating
a play she had put together.

I really wanted to go show
my freind some support, an i managed to drag her
Adderol laced room mate along..

We turned up very late..

Very drunk..

So much so,
i completely forgot about
our last linkadges an the
BEYOND sour ending..

So much so,
her room mate offered me his
beer to taste, most likely on purpose,
and without thinking,
i did..

In front of her.

She just looked at me sideways..

"I thought you didn't drink from other people's glasses?!"

Eating is not Cheating

2011-08-07T10:51:00.000-07:00

It's way too hot..

It's not good..

I'm cotching here cross-legged on my bed,
listening to T-pain and Christ Brown..

Why, i do not know..

Climbing onto my solid slab of matress,
i clocked my cellie.

He's lying on his back,
wearing nothing but his boxer shorts,
one hand down fondling his balls..

Singing..

The song finishes, he stops singing,
an tells that he once sang this tune to his wife,
in front of his whole family..

"Timdog, my n****r, trust me, this is one o' them
'Shit she found out i was chating' joints!"

Bless..

I just made some munch.

Nothing epic,
cup of tea an about a thousand crackers
slobbered with peanut butter.

It ain't much, but it'll do..

A hot cup of tea probably wasn't the
wisest of beverages to whip up at almost
midnight..

But as i am a feeble minded individual,
posessing very limited intelligence at the best of times,
i'm happy as a pig in shit,
sitting here doodling away in a pair of sweaty shorts,
listening to this..

This guy's bars are beyond incredible.

Boasting about how 'when he gets caughts'
by the FEDS,

"WE GON' GET THA BIGGEST CHARGE!"

I'm sitting in a Federal prison, facing Federal charges,
hearing 'Wacka Flocka Flame' dribble pathetically whack
bars about how the FEDS are after him,
and that this predicament is worthy of boasting about..

Dude..

It's gonna lead to hostages

2011-08-07T10:48:00.000-07:00

I am currently being held at MCC.

It's in Manhatton.

Just by Pearl street.

I can see the front of the court
from my shabby, bogey-coated window..

This is a pre-trial facility,
you are held here until your (eventual) conviction..

At that point,
you are dispatched to your designated prison.

They come in different 'levels',
depending on the severity of your crime,
the amount of time you have been allocated
and your criminal history,
or 'rap sheet'.

Camp.

Low.

Medium.

High (penitentiary)

Max

Super-Max.

Most the inmates are heading to a max.

I sat down with a few of my freinds
who have already done time in different
penitentiaries across the country,
an heard what they had to say..

"I seen a n****r get beat the fuck up for a jelly"

A dude i work out,
before his first bid thought that he was
ready for a maximum security prison..

"I told my n****r's, yo, i know how to use my knife, it ain't nothin'.."

"they told me, a'ight, you's nice with a blade, but can you wrestle a n****r for 5 minutes for his?"

"After that, i started workin' the fuck out, hard body my n****r"

Not only are you in a facility were everyone has been
sentanced, so don't give a fuck about their behaviour or record,
but most are facing MAJOR time.

Others,
are never going home..

"I seen a n****r get slapped cos he asked a n****r 'yo, you watchin' this?'"

"He slapped the shit outta that n****r!"

Unlike this facility,
once at your designated prison you
can go outside for exercise/recreation everyday..

"If you ain't the creative type, you don' know how to make
knives or stash boxes, you fucked from the get go kid!"

Before going outside,
you have to pass through a metal detector.

To combat this,
inmates will have their metal knives for when on their units,
and plexi-glass knives for the yard..

In Federal Penitentiaries,
knives play a serious part of daily life..

"n****r be forcin' you to BOOF knives kid!"

Whether it's simply carrying a banger with you at all times,
or having a razor blade hidden in your mouth, you need to be prepared for anything..

One day M was sitting in his cell,
and his cellie suddenly ran into the room,
throws a knife on the bed, an screams,

"WHA'S UP N****R!

Without thinking,
M grabs the banger, jumps to his feet,
an gets ready to fight..

His cellie clocks M's reaction an laughs..

"A'ight n****r, i just wanted to see where you was at.."

..M is stuck.

He ain't sure whether this guy is jokin' or not!

His cellie pulls his shirt up..

Revealing a vast array of knives and stabbing weapons..

He dashes them all in a heap onto the bed,
an turns around smiling..

"You gonna kill me or what n****r!"

...

Shake downs..

When the powers that be take it upon themselves
to go through our cells, searching for any type of
contraband or illegal substances..

Its ain't a ting..

A big group of goons run in,
scream at you to get out the cell,
throw you out if needed,
then play Finders Keepers
for a few hours..

Minorisms!

Shake down in a Max?

Different story..

Without any specific reason,
well, most likely for intimidation purposes,
the guards will come in the dead of night an
tear your cell upside down..

"These n****r's come through an wile the fuck out!"

They come in full riot gear,
complete with shields, bats, tear gas,
tooled the fuck up!

Refusal to comply?

"My n****r, you better have a squad of thorough n****r's
that's ready to go all the way son, cos there ain't no going back!"

These ain't no regular police..

"They got n****r's on top of n****r's! I'm talkin' bout the mother fuckin' poh-leese!"

Man dem roll with body armour, weapons, in numbers..

"I ain't sayin' you can't take em..but n****r..shit...it's gonna lead to hostages..escape..shiiiit!"

Birthday Beateries

2011-08-04T11:47:00.000-07:00

So so..

First birthday in jail..

Good times!

:/

How did i spend it?
What happened?
Inmates reactions?

Well..

..Most of the day was spent in a medication-induced slumber,
sleeping the day away..

..Didn't tell anyone it was my born date,
so no food or particularly special treatment.

Fuck it..

I had an extra bag of coffee sitting in my locker
that wasn't gettin' any younger, so after making a
nice cup of tea i swapped it for a little
banana pudding cake..

Me, this little cake, a medicated hangover
and my cup of tea toasted my 26th birthday in my cell,
to the sounds of Stevie Wonder..

It was grand.

The highlight of the day,
all the super safe emails i recieved wishing
my furry chops a happy birthday!

Much appreciated!

Big-ups to all the London an Australian man dem
reading this bullshit!

Safe!

It's now Tuesday,
an since then i've recieved a LOT of
books, emails and letters in the mail..

Other than my brother from another mother; Josh

most of the books i recieved had no names on..

Haunted,
Thirteen,
A million little pieces,
David Icke - Truth Vibrations,
London Handstyles..

The last one definitely made my day,
was really cool to see a few familiar faces,
nice one Sadam an Hoover!

If you sent me an email, Bread,
letter or a book, it was more than appreciated,
Thankyou!

It was real nice to know there is a few people out
there who was thinking about me on my birthday,
an wanted to let me know.
Thanks again..

Tim
x

ps.
If you sent me one of them books,
bus' an email with your adress on an
i'll have something nice on its way
to you soon..

Et dc

2011-07-31T14:47:00.000-07:00

I spend a good quantity of time lying on my bed staring at the ceiling..

Sometimes i listen to music.

A lot of the time, i don't.

I just think..

It saddens me to think how many people might have been
in the same skiddy situation as i am,

Imprisoned in this very cell,

Staring at the same view.

It's far from clean..

Plastered in random splodges above me are
the skelletal remnants of naked women..

At some point,
this must have been someone's little piece of paradise..

A utopian masterbationary spread of breasts,
butts, thighs and hot, moist vaginas..

Now it's just ripped up random pieces of paper..

There's a green piece that looks a bit like a duck,
who has been decapitated while airborn..

To the left,
a long sharp-edged blob.

Reminds me of that crusty stealth bomber
Decepticon's head from the second Transformers movie..

Also dotted around the ceiling,
random shit inmates have scratched,
daubed and scrawled..

Most of it is in Spanish.

I ain't got a fucking clue what any of it means..

" D I O S S
Loque para el hombre es imposible, para 'dios' es posible!
Buscalo para que tedes cuente la grandioso que es!
Si sios no lopuede quien lo vas a ponder!"

To the right,

"Caerse esto permitido pero levanse es una obligacion!"

No clue..

If you do,
let knowledge be born!

Since i got flung in the cell,
the ceiling and walls have had a
few new additions.

No reaches.

Well.

Not many..

Freinds of mine that have done bids back
in the Big Smoke told me that if you ever go to jail,
don't hit no reaches.

They said If you do,
one day you might be seeing them again..

Not likely in my predicament.

But still..

Other than sloppy reaches,
Quotes and advice that get me through each day.

Some, from books i've read.

Others, jewels of wisdom that have been dropped on me
from random inmates..

Or my Cellie..

"TAKE INITIATIVE!"

Pretty self explanitory..

Worrying myself into an early grave
ain't going to fix shit. The only thing i can do,
take initiative an get the shit that is in my control,
done. Shit that isn't in my control, isn't my problem.

"Your attachments are the source of all your problems"

"wisdom is avoiding all thoughts that weaken you"

"Never make your happyness depend on an attachment
to Any place or Any person"

Most of them,
Wayne dyer bars..

"If you can let go of all your attachments,
your spirit will be the guiding force in your life.

Then as a spiritual being, you can observe your body and be
a compassionate witness to your own existence"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIziDnmUSAM

Word!

I made a list just before Christmas last year
of things i wanted to do everyday.

A daily routine that would keep me busy
and productive, not just in a constant state
of vibrantly aggressive masterbation..

Around the time i made it,
it lasted about a day, but nowdays,
most of these things do actually get done.

MOST of them..

There is one addition someone decided to add
that ain't part of my daily routine..

See if u can guess which one..

Wake
Pray
Meditate
Exercise
Clean
Create
AnD EaT A DiCk

pricks..

Utterly Fantastic

2011-07-26T15:05:00.000-07:00

Another day down.

As i sit cross legged on my bed,
i survey my all too familiar surroundings.

The cell is a mess.

Despite it being a glorified public lavatory,
one tries to keep it in a somewhat orderly
fashion.

It certainly ain't no fresh pad, condo,
apartment or any other typical living
quarters that you might inhabit, but
for now it is all i have at the moment,
and i try to keep things tidy,
organised and presentable.

At this very moment,
it's seen better days.

An anonymous baffoon knocked my shelf down earlier
today, sending plastic cutlery, stamps, bottles of vitamins and
sugar packets all over the fuckin' gaff.

i havn't bothered to pick them up.

In front of me sits my bag of clean laundry.

It's stuffed into my pillowcase,
as i don't quite have the funds for a 'proper'
laundry bag.

Man's gotta make do.

My boy dropped it off before we where
abruptly locked down a few hours ago,
due to someone getting humourously
slapped up on the floor..

My clothes are still warm from the dryer.

I just put my shorts on, now my dick is warm.

It feels good.

I should probably take my clothes out and fold them
instead of sitting here scribbling away.

That would be way more productive,
but i want to enjoy this penis warming sensation
a little longer.

It feels somewhat similar to having your balls cupped.

Which is nice.

Considering i jerked off earlier today,
i really shouldn't be feeling this horny.

Jerking off in prison requires expert timing.

Me and my cellie have such a rapour,
that if he's shitting and i need to get something
out of the cell, i just go in and get it.

An vice versa.

It's got to the point where knocking is a thing
of the past..

..Which can lead to problems if you're not shitting...

You get me.

Example.

It'd been about a week i hadn't jerked off.

It was time to deplete my rapidly rising semen levels.

My cellie was nowhere to be seen.

I assumed he was at work, so put the 'shit sign' up.

This consists of wedging a t-shirt or towel over the
glass with a toothbrush or spoon.

Classy.

A brief terminator style scan of the room revealed two
possible sources of visual stimulation.

A celebrity gossip magazine and a copy of Vogue.

In no time at all,
i swiftly unsheash a length of Turkish Sujuk and begin
the laborious process of milking ones member.

Oh how the mighty hath fallen..

..In less than a year i've gone from a lifestyle consisting of
unadultered daily doses of blowjobs and butthole to masterbating
once a week in a prison cell over a picture of Jessica Alba buying a coffee..

In between me strangling this one eyed Turkish snake while
squeezing my balls, i hear someone approaching the door.

Amazing.

I'm about ten seconds away from firing off millions
of kids and now someone is fucking banging at the door.

"YO! TIMDAWG! YO!"

Utterly fantastic.

"YO TIMDAWG YOU SHITTIN?"

Fuck.

FUCK.

I need to think FAST.

If i say yes, he's going to come in the cell.

If i say no, he's going to come in the cell.

FOR FUCK SAKE!

I'm too close to cumming to even consider
whacking my gun back in the holster, i've
got to say something..

"errr...gimme a minute?!"

"THIS FREAK N****R ALWAYS BEATIN' HIS MOTHER FUCKIN' MEAT!
TIMDAWG! HURRY THE FUCK UP, STUPID N****R!"

Cum is reluctantly shot.

Anti-climax of biblical proportions.

I need to get the fuck out of jail.

picturesque utopia

2011-07-26T14:56:00.000-07:00

It's a Sunday.

Not that you can tell, mind.

As one might imagine,
the difference betweem the days is barely recognisable
in a situation as amazingly fortunate as the one i am
currently being held against my will in.

On the weekdays,
at least we are given a little glimmer
of the outside world, in the form of mail.

In theory anyway.

Mine never comes,
if it does it's weeks or possibly months late,
and when i send shit out it either turns up months
later, or simply disapears.

Great stuff.

Other than that,
it's the same shit,
day in day out.

Staring up at the ceiling while laying
on my bed is one of my most exciting
hobbies i've got.

I'm pretty good at it too.

Whoever might be reading this,
picture the nearest toilet to where you
are at this very present moment.

Now,
imagine being forced to 'live' in the confines
of that toilet for at LEAST two years.

Y
E
A
R
S

To make matters even more enjoyable,
cut that space in half as you're sharing
it with another dude.

Take this picturesque utopian setting,
and now transport it to a foreign country,
thousands of miles away from anyone that
gives a flying fuck about you,
can help you,
give you advice
and come and see you.

Welcome to my world.

Some days i feel like i'm on the cusp of completely
losing my fucking brain in here.

Staring up at the ceiling with my headphones blaring jazz
music and a bladder full of coffee, i find myself fighting a
constant battle with my over-active imagination..

I think about what i will do when i am eventually free,
where i will go and the various things i will be sticking
my penis into.

That naturally leads one to thoughts of time,
how long to go, how much time has passed,
which then transcends into the same old spiral
of mulling over how utterly DISGUSTING it is that
i am being punished for other people's actions,
while they escape jailtime altogether..

..and other healthy thinking habits of
a similar caliber.

My cellie has just come into the cell,
and predictably wants to take a shit.

The door isn't locked,
it isn't close to lockdown.

I don't even bother to leave the room.

What the fuck is the point.

"The n****r who's shittin' don't give a fuck,
the n****r who ain't leavin' the room don't give
a fuck, nobody gives a fuck"

No shit.

straight

2011-07-21T12:35:00.000-07:00

people make jokes about me in here.

Me included,
this place is full of pricks so it's to be expected.

"Timdog when you came in the jail,
surrounded by all these n****rs, you was
shakin' like vegas dice!"

Yeh.

Yeh, i was, it wasn't exactly your everyday
fucking situation..

One doesn't think that circumstances could take such
a swiftly downward turn in a mear 24 hours.

I was not expecting it,
nor had i thought about what i might do if one day
i was sleeping soundly in my apartment and find myself
woken by Secret Service agents wielding shotguns,
didn't plan for that one.

Just as i hadn't done any research into
what i might do if i found myself flung
head first into a maximum security federal
prison.

Wasn't prepared,
definitely wasn't schooled for this type
of a jam.

One of my Jamaican brethren has a fondness for pointing
out that i allegedly look more stressed than anyone in the unit,
and has crowned me the coveted title of..

"Most worried man in the jail"

..Pussyclat.

Do i not have reason to be worried or stressed?!

It's a yes and no answer..

If i'm focussing on how terrible this predicament is,
how badly i fucked up a lot of things over the last few years
and that my immediate future seems to be situated behind
these grey prison bars,
then yes i should be stressed.

On the other hand,
If i just accept my situation for what it is,
a temporary stopping point in my life to sharpen up,
focus on bettering myself physically and mentally,
continue planning my future, stop acting like a pussy
and simply hold my big Turkish balls an staunch this
fucking bullshit chapter of my life out until its
inevitable conclusion,
then no i have absolutely no reason to be worrying
or bitching about being in this jail.

Yes and No.

It all depends how i'm feeling on any given day.

Today i'm going to say no.

It's all good.

I ain't sweatin' shit.

I can do this.

Life is good.

I look great.

I feel great.

I have support.

The heads that love me show me each
and every day.

The heads that don't clearly didn't have
love for me from the beginning,
so they can royally fuck off.

Straight.

Still..

I'm talking all this cad shit now..

It's more than likely i will wake up tomorrow
in a funk, convince myself that the world is over,
the girl who completely deserted me is ACTUALLY
my soul mate and should've had my kids,
and in short act like a pussy..

Place your bets!

Goalasimo

2011-07-21T12:33:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time,
in England, i used to play football
In short,
i was obismal.

Like a dog running after a laser pen,
i just ran around the place not really knowing
what the fuck i was doing.

I was so shit it got to the point
that i would just observe, rolling joints from a distance.

Lame?

Very.

I now play football again.

Being raised in England,
one makes the assumption i would be good.

That'd be a negative.

The standards in the prison are so bad,
people actually do seem to believe that i am a somewhat decent 'sarcur' player.

This ain't no normal game of football though..

-------------------

Prison Football:

A mix of standard 4-a-side, mixed martial arts and thai boxing.

There are NO fouls.

If you knock someone down, pick em up.

If you don't, be prepared to put em up cos you're gonna be rockin'.

Winner stays on,

ten minutes each match,

first goal wins.

-------------------

We have 'recreation' every other day of the week.

Most of the time it's just basketball,
but on Wednesdays and Sundays,
football.

Today is Wednesday.

I got woken up just before lunch,
to the sight of Burgers and Chips..

That was the 'official' explanation for the dry donkey tongue
sandwhiched between two green, damp, mould-ridden pieces
of liver flavoured bread.

For a salad we were told to pick up some brown pieces of lettuce,
green tomatoes and packs of solid mayonaise,
that happen to taste like Cathedral City Cheese,
out of a dumpster filled with dead, sodomised rodents.
In protest,
i threw my hamburger on the floor and stamped on it,
bare foot, to the amusement of the large crowd amassed in my vicinity.

After watching me stomp out my meal with dirty bare feet,
someone actually asked me

"You gon' eat that?"

I get ready for Rec as quickly as possible,
the officers in charge of taking the inmates up have a tendancy
of sneaking into the unit, whispering that it's rec time and running
away before anyone can get ready in time.

After an ultra quick dump,
i brush my teeth and grab my cup to fill up with ice on the
way out the door.

It has a cool Spiderman sticker
on the handle, someone living in Serbia
sent it to me a while back, safe for that!
The line of inmates awaiting transport to the roof is epic proportions.

The sun is shining,
this is the closest thing we get to being outside
so it's no suprise that everyone is going up today..

In the elevator,
everyone is smiling, cracking jokes.

Most of the inmates attitudes change rather drastically
when they find out it's 'Soccer Day' today, they came up
here thinking they were going to play basketball..

Tough shit.

It's not basketball, it's football today,
so fuck off next door.

Mugs.

8===>

I walk out onto the jailhouse roof.

I can't help squinting my eyes,
the sun is damn bright today.

My eyes are not used to the natural light
beaming through the cage above me.

It takes a few minutes to adjust to the
drastic difference in exposure..plus i been
wearing this hyper nerdy specs recently..

I can feel the heat beaming onto my skin.

I take deep, slow breaths, filling my claustrophobic
dirty lungs with cool summer air.

After a few sets of push-ups,
sit-ups and other silly bollocks, i'm ready to play.

To my dismay,
my fellow players have formed some kind of
cock smoking, cum snorting alliance against me.

Sick of losing,
all the best players have got together,
leaving me with the rejects and ultra mugs.

Safe.

Despite my fierce, relentless determination,
ankle twisting footwork, feeble attempts at organisation
and untold amounts of wasted energy running up and down
the pitch trying to defend the goal and correct all of our mistakes,
we're losing every match.

Pathetically.

The ball is being given away, effortlessly,
goals are being let in and all my 'team mates'
can say is,

"Sorry Jimmy"

:<

I'm playing with a 6 ft tall Dominican kick boxer,
that had to be told he can't use his hands to shoot,
a 5 ft tall Mexican who seems terrified of any contact
with the ball,
and an Italian who is absolutely terrible, but is sporting
such a jokes cheesy grin on his bonce that i can't even
begin to get mad at him..

After the third embaressingly bad loss,
i'm about to bun it off an go work out..

Out of the shadows,
a couple of dudes stand up from the surrounding benches
an step to manz...

They want to form a new team..

Apart from my brother straight outta Newburg,
most of my team is made up of non-English speaking
players.
Considering the motley crue of bozo clown-cake motherfuckers
i was rolling with previously, this shit is looking bonafidingly promising.

We got me,
my buddy from Newburg.
a new, older Israeli gentleman,
and a Columbian..

I'm playing defence,
Israel's in goal and Columbia and Newburg
are up front, shit is poppin' OFF!

We win TWO games back to back,
both goals sneaky little set-ups from
Columbia finished by toe-punts off of
Newburg.

Third game is a draw.

Time out.

We take a breather.

It's SCORCHINGLY hot outside,
i'm sweating like a paedo in a kids playground,
so throw my t-shirt to the side.

The sight of my tattoos leads to a few whispers between
the older Spanish dudes.

"El Diablo! Ci! Ci! timoty El Diablo!"
Ok.

Time to finnish these FUCKS.

The superstar team is good.

Real good.

Their main striker is an incredibly muscular Dominican,
who's special move is running into people full speed.

Even so, we're playing ultra dope,
we got these cum-snorters
on the run..

All is going well until some dude,
that i JUST HAPPEN to owe a load of shit to this week an didn't pay,
boots the ball straight into my bollocks.

His debt was instantly paid in full.

Manz tries to front like it weren't a ting, u get me..

TRIES to front..

My legs are shaking, my stomach is fucked and
i feel like i wanna barf chunks all over the pitch.

..Mug..

I shake it off,
an get back into the mix.

We're runnin' tings.

Bigtime.

Then the same bozo boots the ball high up into the air..

Time instantly slows down..

Silence fills the air...

Everyone on the roof pauses to watch the ball fly majestically through the air
in slow motion..

..It lands directly on top of the cage housing the guards,
that just so happens to be covered in razor wire,
which in turn instantly pierces the ball.

The whole roof lets out a joint sigh of disapointment
at this utter baffoons idiotic manouvre.

Don't get it fucked up though,
we kept on playing!

The ball might be deflating more and more by the second,
but that ain't stoppin' the match,
fuck that.

Our determination pays off,
Newburg boots the now deflated pigs bladder into the goal
last minute, insuring our team finishes Recreation as
the winners..

BO!

fly English shit

2011-07-18T14:20:00.000-07:00

All the guys i have been working out with have started to flake.

Each gives relatively poor excuses for why they can no longer
'get that money'.

Brasscats.

Amusingly,
i still ain't slacking.

Each day they but it off,
i work out on my own.

"Check Timdog, thas my n****r!
Gettin' that motherfuckin' money!"

Word.

Today, After chow,
i made my way down to F Tier to see what's poppin'..

It's a Saturday.

We usually work out on weekdays,
but i'm bored.

Puttin' some work in is as good a use of
one's time as any i guess.

The tier is ultra rammed,
everyone is jammin' down there chatting shit,
playing cards, dominoes, usual bullshit..

I'm carrying a matt.

I use it to do planks,
and pushups on my knuckles.

"AWWW SHIT!
Timmboy's come to get that motherfuckin' money!"

I start my warm up.

25 pushups,
followed by ten pullups,
ten times.

I used to struggle doing pullups when i first came here.

I had lost a shitload of weight in a VERY short amount of time,
plus i hadn't really done any heavy lifting since my days as an
office messenger, lugging speakers and untold other crap
and Manhatton..

I used to purposely carry things by hand.

We had a cart,
i just didn't like using it.

My boss didn't clock why i would opt to carry
heavy equipment by hand.

I'd come back from jobs red faced, sweatin my balls off,
i could've comfortably rolled the crap around on that cart,
but manz was tryin' to get in shape!

You get me!

The closest thing i came to lifting weights after that job,
was after many a night out, carrying my drunken wife up
the three frightfully steep flights of stairs in our Bushwhick
apartment building, upto to our smokey little yard on the
top floor
After a few months in here,
i started to eat at least a meal a day,
take vitamins everyday (pronounced vit-a-mins, not vite-a-mins)
and spend time on the roof breathing fresh air and
soaking up some of the suns beautiful goodness.

Slowly, i was starting to look and feel healthier.

Pushups helped give my arms what one can only describe as
microscopic, hollow, atom sized particles of muscles.

They looked like pimples.

One on each arm.

The more work i put in,
the more these miniscule muscles started to grow.

In no time,
i was able to lift single grains of rise, a pube,
sweetcorn, paracetamol, eventually graduating
to weights of CONSIDERABLY larger and heavier
proportions.

An orange peel, lip balm, even a plastic fork.

Reak talk.

Now i can do pullups with relative ease.

I finished todays warm up quick fast.

By now, i'm aware i will not be joined by anyone else.

I dont particularly care.

Everyone is standing around spittin' bars to Hot 97.

It's keeping me amused for now,
plus they're throwing the odd motivational
comment my way every few minutes..

"Check this Turkish n****r here!
This n****r's goin' back to England lookin'
like motherfuckin RAMBO!"

Soon, the conversation turns to mockery.

Mainly focussing on how polite i am when requesting
a product, question, querie or favour from my fellow
incarcerated dribbling neanderthols.

"Yo, Yo, check this, 'excuse me do you possible have any sugar',
thas what that n****r Tim asked me"

" 'would you happen to know who is last for the computer' haha that
n****r Tim's stupid yo!"

My reply?

"The thing you fail to realise, everytime i'm polite i always get what i want. I win, you lose."

I'm confronted by ten fulled grown (apart from mentally) men sporting puzzled,
confused looks on their faces.

One by one,
gradually, they understand what i said, and that politeness has been blagging
me all of their shit for almost a year.

Luckily,
before it sinks in,
the annoying female guard turns up.

She takes it upon herself to join in the conversation.

"You're always pullin' that fly English shit Guvercin"

"Yeah, an it always works. Especially on you."

Her asshole shaped face starts winking at me.

Instantaneously, homegirl transforms into what looks
like a bulldog chewing a mouthful of scorned female wasps,
drenched in vinegar and fermented tramps urine.

"Some somethin' funny Guvercin, ask me somethin' stupid soundin' in English,
ask me if i have any grey poupon"

All the inmates stop what they're doing,
turn and wait for my response.

I crack my knuckles.

Drop to the push-up position.

Pause, then reply.

"i don't do requests. I ain't a clown here to amuse you"

An continue my workout..

..followed by the sound of her hoofs clip cloppin' on the floor
as she gallops away sportin' the Gucci face,
and a squadron of baffoons fallin' around laughin', stomping
their feet on the freshly waxed floor..

The guys spittin' bars in the corner paid it all no mind..

Legendary Peanut butter joint

2011-07-17T12:17:00.000-07:00

Today is the fourth of July.

As an Englishman,
especially one being held against his will in an American prison,
surrounded by such breathtakingly intelligent, culturally diverse, open minded clientelle,
this has about as much meaning and emotional value as a tissue
full of freshly shot semen.

To celebrate this day,
the inmates have arrange a chess tournament.

At this very moment,
i'm watching a stick-up kid from Philly locking horns
with a Columbian Coccaine smuggler.

As you do.

Sitting next to them is a Nigerian gentleman know as either
'The Black Cat' or 'Vibes Killer'.

He's known for suddenly appearing behind people
while they are playing cards, chess, checkers, dominoes,
then they lose.

Despite correcting him every day for the last two months,
he calls me Jimmy.

"Hey Jimmy woz good"

When he thinks he is winning an any chosen sport,
everytime he moves a piece he mutters to himself

"moose on tha loose"

He's a weird guy.

Blatantly the type of guy that would arrange to
do a drug deal on a pier at 2am, have you robbed at gunpoint,
then chopped into pieces.

It's safe to say i don't trust him.

He just won,
and is now laughing like a maniac.

As i finished my workout earlier,
they gave out ice cream.

What a sight.

90 'fully grown men' scrambling to the kitchen
just for a pathetically undersized pot of boiled
puss flavoured sludge.

The hero of the hour?

One of my partners.

He managed to bum-rush the kitchen,
and returned to our tier with a whole box,
we got like four joints each,
it was jokes!

People where chanting..

"S** for president! S** for president!"

In one of the first cells on my tier,
is a dude known as Big B.

He's a super morbidly obese gang banger.

We get on very well.

He's a good guy,
a stereotypically jolly fat kid.

Last night before we got locked in,
he came to my cell looking for my cellie.

He was elsewhere.

I on the other than was putting together a very crude
sandwhich.

Two slices of bread,
on one a slab of peanut butter,
the other a unhealthy dose of Nutella,
whack em together,
Voila!

Tramp sandwhich!

Big B felt the presence of food.

"Whatcha makin!?"

I told him,
and he just got uncontrollably excited.

I offered to make him a sandwhich of his own,
but before i could get my Ramsey on and put his
joint together the guard appeared to lock us in..

As my door was closing,
i dashed my own sandwhich out like a frisbee..

Of course he caught it.

In his eyes,
his life depended on it.

If women and children were in the way,
they would've got stomped for that sandwhich.

"THANKS TIMMBOY!!"

Off he waddled to his cell,
licking his lips, holding that shitty sandwhich
like it was his best freind in the whole world.

About an hour ago he asked me

"Hey Timmy, can you make me another one of
them Legendary peanut butter joints?"

Either he genuinely thought a dollop of Nutella
and peanut butter wedged between two slices of
bread that are teetering on the brink of being
stale is a legendary sandwhich,
or he's just ultra hungry and is gassing me up
so i'll make him some food..

I have nothing else to do.

He's clearly hungry.

Why not.

Tonight was pretty cool......

2011-07-17T05:29:00.000-07:00

Just after we got locked the fuck down,
faintly in the distance i could hear some
kind of comotion a'gwarn.

As the noise grew louder,
i could hear the guard squarking at the
inmates 'not to play with their lights' or
we'd stay locked down for the whole evening.

I didn't get it.

Moments later,
a large crowd appeard on Pearl Street, blowing
whistles, banging drums, royally kickin' off!

As soon as they're in sight,
the surrounding cells turn into the drum n bass room at Fabric,
complete with their own Turkish operated strobe light.
The crowd below starts to point up,
which sends the strobe into maximum overdrive,
banishing the putrid stench of bordom that had been
lingering in the air like one of my cellies boiled egg
infused farts for the last few hours..

After what seems like about five minutes of pure stroberies,
the crowd below starts to chant in unison..

"YOU ARE NOT ALONE! YOU ARE NOT ALONE!"

There have been a few big cases that have gone to trial recently.

And lost.

The well-wishers below are most likely here to show
some support to the someone who just got handed a
rather lengthy, possibly undeserved jail term.

Whatever the case may be,
seeing those people standing out in the rain, representing,
doing something positive to instil hope into someone
that has found themselves in a situation as bad as this,
was really cool and heart warming.

It definitely made me feel a hell of a lot better about
being in jail on a bloody friday night.

The last thing that they sang before leaving was,

"We'll be back! We'll be back!"

I hope so.

It's easy cos you're beautiful

2011-07-14T12:58:00.000-07:00

It's pouring with rain outside.

Thick, heavy rain.

Every couple of minutes thunder is booming,
it's really nice outside.

Summer showers.

I miss them.

People are running around outside trying
to find cover from the storm,
desperately trying to evade the
falling rain.

I'm locked up in this dump,
staring out the bars of my cell at the
downpour, wishing i could be out in the street,
and people out there are doing everything to
shelter themselves and escape the rain.

They'll probably go home an complain about it too..

Unbeknownst to them,
here sits a man a stones throw away,
holding his nuts, praying for the day he is lucky enough
to get caught in a summer shower..

Nevermind..

This cell is fucking boiling.

Wearing only a pair of shorts and semi-retarded facial expression,
i'm actually trying NOT to look out the window.

What's the point?

There is no inspiration to be found.

No awesome sights to behold.

Only irritation in its purest form.

Trust me,
no enjoyment is to be found staring at
unreachable females, lets get that
established first and foremost.

I understand that the chick across the street
has a seriously dope rack, hourglass figure and
long sexy hair.
I comprehend that it's more than likely she's
flossing one hell of a cute coochie under that
slutty suit she's wearing..

..but what good is it to me in here?

Nowt.

Staring at shit like that doesn't make my
time any easier, if anything it just makes it harder.

Literally.

8====>

Now we have that Firmly established,
what else is there worth eyeballing out
my porthole style view of this world?

I'm certainly not one to laugh at other human
beings inability to choose fresh garments.

Pointing out freshly flossing individuals is an
astronomically stupid waste of time.

It's akin to a double leg amputee flicking
through sneaker magazines.

Not a worthwhile practice.

So what can be gained from staring out of your prison window,
into a busy street filled with beautiful women, huge breasts
and amazing weather,
all in a city that you will never legally be able
to step foot in for the rest of your life without risking
being thrown in this very same facility for an ANOTHER
extended period of time?

Fuck knows.

Doesn't stop me from looking,
penis in hand, furiously masturbating for an answer..

la-la-la-la-la

July 13th 2010

2011-07-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

Today would have been my one year wedding anniversary.

Not quite how i thought i'd be spending it,
surrounded by cartel bosses, gang bangers and
perpetually sweating, conniving, snivelling weazels,
but it is what it is..

I had a lot of trouble finding the right ring..

Press Play

I spent a good few days running around the diamond district
in Manhatton, all to no avail.

Most of the stores i went in, if my arms were not covered,
i'd get spoken to like pure riff-raff.

A scallywag.

These utter mugs would sarcastically smirk when i told them
my price range, what i was looking for or chuckle when i asked for prices.

Returning to their store with a super soaker filled
with piss would've wiped that smile away
REAL quick.

Prices aside, nothing actually took my fancy.

I wanted something unique and tasteful,
something with meaning behind it,
not just a rock with a hefty price tag.

So i sent a kite to Turkey..

One day, girl wasn't feeling very well and we were very hungry,
so i took a walk to Williamsburg to pick up some dinner.

Curry.

:D

I was waiting outside the restaurant listening to
some Stevie Wonder, probably a joint off Talking Books,
an noticed the opposite building to where i was pirched
had a dope looking roof.

I made my way upto the top floor, an opened up the fire escape..

I was right.

This place was dope.

It had couches, barbeques, chairs, all kinds of shit,
and the view was really nice..

Months passed,
then one day i woke up and said to myself,
i'm going to propose.

That simple.

Well..the slurpy blowjob from the night before was more
than likely a contributing factor, but that's besides the point..

Before i left to go pick up girl from her job,
i quickly dashed to the store to get some candy.

Press Play

Strawberry sour laces and tropical skittles.

Girl loved sweets.

I would hide packs around the yard.

Under fitteds, in draws, on top of shelves,
in cupboards, anywhere i could think of.

"Yo can you have a look under that fitted
for my wallet?"

:)

Girl's job was only a few blocks away,
she worked in the kitchen of some bar making
burgers an chips.

Chips.

Not fries, chips.

The food was ultra rude,
and was the definitive reason i was
carrying so many spare tires
upon my incarceration..

After meeting her outside an giving her a kiss,
she handed me a very strong cup of Jack an Coke,
an we shared it on our short walk home together.

I open the door to our apartment building,
and suggest she checks the mailbox..

"How did they get there!?"

We get upto the apartment,
it smells like a mixture of incense and cannabis..

At least it was tidy..

Around lunchtime i had smoked a joint,
put on some Al Green, yellow washing up gloves,
and cleaned the yard from top to bottom.

By that i mean most visible places in the yard.

Press Play

The bedroom was full of clothes, and since we broke the bed
not much time was spent in there anyway.

Working in a kitchen leaves one rather fragrant and greasy.

Time for a shower..

The 9 months we lived in that apartment,
we didn't own a kettle.

After i put girl in the shower,
i threw some water in a pan and put it on to boil.

Minutes later,
i've made us some tea.

We sit down, drink some tea and talk
about how her day went.

I tell her we should go out tonight,
and to dress up real nice.

i'm in a new fitted, a fresh pair of jeans and some new sneakers.

Girl has put on a really pretty dress, her favourite beat-up old boots
and has her hair done really nice.

She looks beautiful..

Time to go!

I thought it would be nice to start the evening off at a
particular bar in Williamsburg.

We had gone to this place a few times when we first
started dating..

When i was living in Maspeth,
for a long time i felt very isolated.

I didn't know anyone,
was staying in a strangers home in what can
only be described as ultra skiddy living conditions,
and spent most of my time on my jaes.

Things changed when i met the girl.

I started to look forward to leaving work
and returning to my tiny rented room.

I had someone to share it with.

After work we would head to this bar,
then jump on a bus back to mine.

Of all the things that crappy room didn't have,
we had eachother.

It meant a lot having her there to share
that period in my life..

..After knocking back many tequila and beers,
we leave the bar and start walking towards Bedford Avenue.

Since coming to New York,
i hadn't eaten steak in over a year.

For some reason i really fancied a steak that night.

Perhaps i was thinking of my father, who knows,
either way it resulted in me taking girl to a swanky restaurant,
and ordering a steak.

As the meal was wrapping up,
i felt i had enough courage to dun the dance
i had set out to do that night.

Press Play

Payed the tab,
bombed the bathroom,
and left.

I took a quick bop down the road and eyed up the entrance
to the rooftop..

I noticed someone leaving,
so dashed through the door before it closed.

Girl followed.

We made our way up the stairs to the top floor.

The whole staircase was completely bombed to fuck,
as we climbed to the top, each floor got a new addition.

..nice to think that those reaches might be still there..

We busted open the fire escape,
and strolled out onto an empty roof..

Heads just left.

There was still smoke rising from one
of the barbeques and the smell of beer, bourbon and
lingering wafts of bullshit still hung in the air..

I jumped over a fence onto the adjacent building.

Girl followed.

I took her by the hand and walked to the corner
of the roof, overlooking Bedford Avenue..

It was a hot summers evening.

Bright lights from dive bars and bodegas below,
passing taxis, drunk idiots shouting in the street,
i remember it clearly..

She stood there smiling at me.

Girl looked beautiful.

Same wide-eyed way she smiled
at me the first night we got together.

Girl always stood with her feet pointing inwards.
It looked goofy as hell but for some reason i thought it was cute.

Looking down at her beat-up old boots,
i saw those silly feet staring back up at me.

The roof was dirty as hell,
caked in a thick layer of black muck
which was now imprinted onto my jeans
as i got down on one knee.

I dug deep into my jeans' pocket,
all the while holding her hand telling
girl how much she meant to me..

Despite how the broad turned out,
it's a memory i will always treasure.

It was perfect.

Eh! Abdula!

2011-07-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

I miss my father.

There is no one like him in the world.

You can always spot him in a crowd.

Everybody is rushing around,
but my father moves at his own pace.

According to him, the world can wait.

The last time i set eyes on him,
he was leaned against the lamppost on Pearl Street,
opposite the window of my cell.

Chillin'.

Flossing a fitted.

:D

It's obvious we are father and son.

The only differences between the way i look now and how he looked at
my age, is i have blue/green eyes.
Due to my skin not being cooked under a Turkish sun for most of my upbringing,
my complexion is also little lighter.

As of this moment,
my dad resides in Turkey with my mother,
grandmother,
and my dog.

His name is Fred.

I miss spending time with my dad.

Before my now infamous trip to the Big Apple,
i'd go to Turkey once a year.

The pace of life there is relaxed.

VERY relaxed.

Good food.

Beautiful weather.

I think when i have children i will
call it my home for a good few years..

Press Play

Most of my time there is either spent exploring
on a moped with a bag full of paint, or with my dad.

He likes to take me with him on his daily bops
around town.

This usually consists of nothing more than meetings with
his business partners, Friends and associates.

NONE of them speak English.

Apart from being able to tell someone to suck a donkeys dick,
which shockingly isn't as helpful as one would imagine,
i can't speak, write or understand any Turkish.

I know it involves a lot of waving your arms around
in an angry fashion, pointing at people aggressively
and tutting very loudly, but that's as far as my knowledge
of the Turkish language goes

Spending your whole day standing around while everyone
talks a language you don't understand, is very boring.

I'll give them this much,
the few loose words of broken English
my dad has taught his Friends is pretty
on point.

"Timmy, you want a chai?"

That means it's time for some tea.

"Timmy, you want a weed?"

That means it's time for a hench zoot of Turkish mersh.

Even though i find days like this incredibly boring,
i know it makes my dad happy having me there.

I get the feeling,
even though i am covered in tattoos
(because of this, people in Turkey assume i've been to jail. How ironic),
i do not have a career and have spent most of my life
chasing after things that most people see as an utter waste of time,
i think my dad is proud of me.

So i do it to make him happy.

He's a cool dad.

I can be sitting in his yard in Turkey and he'll just appear at the door
in a cloud of vanilla flavoured cigar smoke and spit

"Timoty, get your paints and a weed"

What will follow, who knows.

My father doesn't usually have any type of plan.

This time last year,
i was looking forward to my parents coming
to visit me an the Mrs.

I knew they were very proud of what i had achieved
in the last few years.

Moving to New York,
getting myself a good job, a nice apartment,
not to mention getting married.

I was very excited to show them the life
i had built myself, and introduce them to
their new daughter in law.

Press Play

:(

That didn't quite pan out!

Nevermind.

I guess i'll just have to go pay them a visit instead.

50 Dent

2011-07-10T11:55:00.000-07:00

The tier is pretty empty.

On the weekends,
the powers that be pacify the inmates for
the evening like children, by showing a movie.

Appreciated,
but no thankyou.

I'm waiting for my food to settle,
then i'm going to do some exercise.

Ten sets of pushups, pulls, nothing
remotely impressive.

Until then, i'm organising my photo album.

It's mostly photos of family, special freinds (you know exactly who you are)
and a few shots that i like from my time in New York and overseas.

Thanks to one of my old buddies, i have some re-arranging to do
and some very nice new additions to add to my collection..

I started writing graffiti in around 2003.

For the first few years,
i more or less only painted on my own.

I'll be honest, back then, i used to drink.

A lot.

Regularly.

I'd pack a bag full of beer and paint,
and wouldn't come home until i had emptied
the bag or the sun had come up.

This resulted in two things.

The first being a shitload of throwups in a very
short amount of time, mostly on shop shutters.

I've always had a thing for painting fill-ins on shutters,
i'm not quite sure why either.

I guess it's fun,
you're trying to listen for approaching footsteps, cars
and clock whether the people who live above the shop
in question dun start throwing shit out the windows
or turn Superprick and try catch mans..

Sometimes they try and do that.

It's long.

Oh,
the second thing that resulted in this beer and aerosols combination, i turned into a fatso.

It wasn't cool.

I looked like i was expecting.

After a short period of time,
most of my ends was covered in very sloppy throwups
and bone crunchingly slippy reaches.

Practically all of my freinds i used to hang around with loathed graffiti.

Anyhow.

One of my freinds who i used to regularly, brutally violate at pro evo (8-0)
told me about a freind of his that writes and had been asking about me,

I'd heard of him, seen him up,
dude was about his business.

A week or so later,
we linked up and it was all go from there.

The years that followed,
me and this guy would paint as much as possible,
whenever possible.

I was ULTRA toy when i met him,
and i feel like in the years we spent painting
together i learnt a lot from this guy.

He's a good dude,
and i'm proud to call him on of my freinds.

Earlier this week,
i'm waiting for the daily disapointment fest
that is the 'mail call'.

"GUVERINOH"

That means me!

I skank over to this barely coherant hairy faced
excuse for a woman and beaming up at me from
her greasy pube-clad hands i see a letter flossing
a name that instantly makes me smile..

I open it up to find a really nice letter,
some DOPE sketches and a stack of flicks that
now take pride of place in my photo album.

Thanks buddy.

keep em coming.

Abraham Putin

2011-07-07T15:36:00.000-07:00

Another day is drawing to a close.

I just waved goodbye to the guard.

she closes the door to my cell,
signifying another day down.

She's a nice lass..

Whenever i do something wrong,
i quickly put on my most polite Ye Olde London town
chimney sweep accent..

"Sorry m'lady!"

Shit like that.

"Silly, that fly English shit don't work no more"

It clearly does.

My body is sore as hell,
one might come to the conclusion that i've been brutally beaten
with cricket bats for a considerable
amount of time..

Just to clarify to my freinds, family and goons, i havn't.

It's the result of the Herculian workout
the man dem have me doing every morning.

Each day it gets harder.

Anytime they sense i am in anything
remotely close to being pain-free,
they make me do double. Or Triple.

"Do it for the queen, motherfucker"

"Look at this bitch ass n****r, tweny' more motherfucker"

Ssafe.

I chopped my beard off today too.

It looks really good.
My spanish barber was cutting my hair,
and my Jamaican buddy Cash Money walked
by spouting..

"Teem, you look like Abraham from de bibal, hahaa!"

There an then, i decided to cut it off.

Ever since,
almost every inmate in the unit has felt
the need to comment on my freshly shaven
bonce.

Mostly good.

Cash Money's verdict?

"Moch better B, you look like Vladamir Putin!"

:/

The guard likes it though.

She said i look like a Calvin Klein model.

Bosh Some Garys

2011-07-05T12:51:00.000-07:00

Another day down.

It's almost midnight.

I'm sitting on my bed listening to some obscenely rubbish
R n B.

I like to take a shower just before we get in,
it helps me to relax and wind down after a day
of pure bullshit.

I washed my blanket and bedsheet today too.

I think we have an inspection tomorrow,
if you're shit ain't spick and span,
they throw you in solitary confinement.

Situations like that,
one tends to avoid at all costs.

I got bored earlier this week,
and in a moment of madness,
decided to cut up most of my clothing.

Now all my tshirts have no sleeves,
and i am sporting a pair of sweat pants
which resemble a pair of the incredible
hulk's shorts.

Pure rudeness.

Today hasn't been to bad to be honest.

The only low point was having to call one
of my freinds who is currently in Paris.

Today is shop day,
and my account was dryer than my sex life.

I was expecting a few pounds from someone but it didn't
materialise in time, and things where looking critical,
so in a last ditch attempt to save me from a week of pure
beef i called my buddy to see if she could save the day!

By the time i had paxed my way through untold goons to get
on the blammer, it was pretty late.

I think it was about 4am where she was,
and i woke her up.

I'm sorry.

x

Other than that,
today has been pretty hassle free.

Managed to get on the computer and send some
slippery mispelt emails to a few unlucky souls
dotted around the globe,
which was nice!

I woke up in a bit of a funk today though.

It's only natural, given the obvious.

Luckily for me,
i was blessed to be able to make a cup of tea
and read some really good advice and inspirational
words from a good freind that had the positive effect
of putting me back on the straight and narrow.

Thankyou!

x

Most of the questions i have in life,
i already know the answers to.

One of my flaws, however,
is that i doubt myself.

Smoking an unadulterated amount of trees over
the last few years definitely added to this.

Since i've stopped smoking trees,
my confidence in my actions, potential and
ability to make intelligent, thoughtful decisions
on my life has slowly returned..

..but it never hurts to get a second opinion

Chaps, Chain

2011-07-03T10:54:00.000-07:00

When i write,
i'm usually in my cell.

When we've been locked in,
i'm sittin' crossed legged on my bed,
sippin' some coffee.

Or in the afternoon,
again, sippin' on some coffee.

I drink a lot of coffee..

I ain't in the cell today though.

I was.

My cellie just ran into the room,
covered in sweat.

Bursting through the door,
without saying a word,
he shed his jumpsuit and leaped through
the air onto the toilet.

So i left.

Now i'm sittin' on my tier.

It's suprisingly quiet.

A lot of people have left for Jumaah prayer,
the majority of the remaining inmates are mostly
Spanish, and are tucking into their lunch.

These guys do it BIG.

whenever i walk past their cells,
someone is always preparing some
kind of next level munch.

Spicing meats, mixing sauce, chopping vegetables,
layering cakes, marinating chicken,
all kinds of shit.

I don't have the patience.

Cooking in here is a lot of effort,
in many ways.

To get a spot in line on the microwave
is BEYOND long.

In short,
if i'm gonna be mixing it up with someone,
it isn't going to be over a spot on the microwave,
just so i can nuke some bullshit that ultimately
is going to produce project molten shit from my
asshole in an hour or so..

Lau dat.

I've jumped in the Spanish whip a couple of times though.

Then i learnt my lesson.

Basically,
if you're not Spanish, they will ask you for most of the ingredients
for your meal, AND theirs, in advance.
Then when the meals are cooked,
you are handed a pathetically small portion of food in return.

Not cool.

This happened twice.

Then i learnt my lesson.

So did they.

They did this shit to one of my partners a
couple weeks ago.

He didn't take it lightly.

After hearing from an unknown source that
they pull this bamboozlidge type of fuckrie
on the regs, he went Rambo, punched up the chef,
and Stole all his bowls
peeeeeeeeeeeer-rick!

Non stop working

2011-07-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

it ain't all it's cracked up to be.

This prison bullshit.

'jailing'

'doing time'

'doing a bid'

'bidding'

I want you to know,
it really really fucking sucks.

Late at night,
while my cellie is snoring away like a sedated rhino,
my thoughts wander.

I can't sleep.

I stare out the window at the empty street below.

The jail is completely silent,
i feel like the only person awake for fucking miles.

I hate times like this.

There is no one around to talk to me,
make me laugh or smile, no tv or any kind of visual stimulation,
no one to help me take my mind off the obvious.

It's not a good feeling.

Isolation.

I've felt this way for quite a while now.

Looking out my cell window into the quiet street,
knowing that i am thousands of miles away from anyone
that gives a fuck about me, really sucks.

Really.

Not being able to sit face to face and talk to someone
i know, ask them for advice on matters as incredibly serious
as the situation i find myself in, is not easy.

It takes its toll on you, i feel weak,
like my bones have hollowed due to stress.

It's not a good feeling at all.

The rare times i get some kind of good news,
i'm not quite sure how to take it.
So much of my time is spent either praying for guidance
or for things simply not get worse, when a bit of good news
finally trickles through it isn't really good, i don't actually feel like something
positive has happened, more a brief sense of relief..

..Like some of the pressure has slightly dropped, or that
i have one less thing to worry about off the list..

I'm going to try and take my mind of things.

There isn't much food in the cell,
so i'm going to improvise.

I have crackers, some nutella. Bosh.

At the moment, i'm making notes.

A lot of notes.

Which is a first.

Most of my time in high school was spent smoking weed
and catching jokes instead of studying.

Most of my time in college was spent smoking weed
and drawing graffiti instead of doing course work.

While i was at University..

You get the picture.

Most teachers i have had in life have given
me the exact same report.

"He has great potential, but doesn't use it"

Like a moron, i thought that was a good thing.

That was my reasoning for the times
that i didn't make the effort,
the fact that i knew i had the potential,
i didn't have to use it.

"I know i have it, that's good enough"

Real clever.

I never put my all into school work.

Never did the best i could.

i basically didn't really give a fuck.

Things seem to have changed,
now the stakes have been so catastrophically raised..

The situation i am in now,
it isn't quite a bullshit test i need to pass or a certificate
that i can win, some kind of shitty course to graduate from.

This is my fucking life at stake.

I don't have the option to just sit around and hope for the best.

I have to do EVERYTHING in my power to fight this shit,
because if i don't, nobody will.

The consequences of failure are so serious,
i can't even consider defeat.

There won't be a second chance.

So for the first time in my life,
i'm putting the work in.

Bigtime.

Planning.

Every single part of my life at the moment, i make notes.

Then plans are put together,
lists are made, ideas are noted down,
shit is getting done.

Well.

As my cellie told me a long time ago,

"it's not the outcome that's important in life, it's the effort you put in."

..i am doing absolutely everything in my power
to fix the problems i am currently faced with in life.

If in the end i don't get the result i was hoping for,
in whatever part of my life that might be,
at least i will know that i truly did my best.

I will be able to hold my head up high knowing
i did all i could, and be at peace.

Fat Cow

2011-06-30T15:25:00.001-07:00

Some of the guards here are not too bad.

They are respectful,
professional and generally do this like of work for one
reason and one reason only.

To get paid.

Others are not so cool.

The worst,
by far the worst guards we have,
are the ugly females.

Not because they're ugly..

These women have clearly little to
no male attention in their lives.

Now they're surrounded by a shitload of
men who are absolutely catting for some pussy,
(even if the owners face looks like an inverted asshole)
these chicks start bugging the fuck out.

They ain't used to the male attention, get a complex
and forget that if most of the guys in here were on the street,
they wouldn't throw cum in their face.

Me included.

I go out of my way NOT to run after these purely ugly ducklings,
in turn avoiding any possibiliy of inflating their already astronomically
misguided ego's.

Press Play

"If a dude in jail ain't checkin' for you,
you KNOW you ain't shit"

Real talk.

Enjoy the cake

2011-06-29T04:30:00.000-07:00

So it's almost July.

Two things to look forward to..

My one year wedding anniversay,
and on the 31st July it's my birthday.

Joy.

One might come to the assumption that
considering my 'killer an gorilla' murderous surroundings,
no one gives a fuck about your birthday.

Negative..

It all depends on your status in the prison.

I've seen people have substantially dope meals
cooked for them, feasts that have taken a seriously
long time to prepare, which is really nice!

I've also seen people presented with birthday cakes
that are mostly comprised of stool softener and laxatives.

Also nice.

A couple months back,
it was a guys birthday that is pretty
respected/feared in the jail.

A large proportion of the inmates in here run around
after this guy like bloody slaves, doing everything he asks,
and in turn he publically abuses, humiliates and violates
them on a daily basis.

It's jokes.

Anyhow,
He's in his cell, brushing his teeth.

They baked him a cake for his birthday,
and had some kind of extremely retarded
plan of giving him birthday beats as a desert.

One of them boots his door open,
and shoves his freind, shouting

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!"

The guy flies straight into R,
who spits toothpaste onto the floor.

"You n****rs plannin' on givin' me beats yeh?"

They both smile.

Before either of them can actually answer,
he grabs foolio number two and starts smashing him,
head first, into every surface in the cell.

Sink.

Toilet.

Walls.

Table.

Corner of the bed.

Everything.

With brute force.

Then with one mighty lob, the guy goes
flying out the cell an splats onto the wall.

R Steps through the doorway,
still with toothbrush an toothpaste in his mouth,
and stars at the other bozo who is frozen..

..Then quickly places the cake on the floor, mutters

"Yo enjoy the cake"

..and runs off the tier.

I asked him later that day why he didn't go in first,
and also why he didn't help his freind.

He shrugged his shoulders, stared at me blankly and said
"Don't get it fucked up, i'm smarter than the average bear"

Fair play!

Come the 31st of July,
think of me.

Press Play

By the looks of things i'll either be fighting numerous goons,
hiding in my cell or shitting white hot,
softened stool.

Good times.

He chain-smokes dicks

2011-06-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

I'm locked in my cell.

It's real bate.

My cellie is snoring away below me on his bed,
he doesn't give a fuck.

I do.

It's the middle of the day, they should have let
us out over an HOUR ago for chow.

They didn't.

I'm trying to occupy myself listening to tunes
and sketches, but after the one gwillionth variation
of a throwup i know i'm not painting for at least A BLOODY YEAR,
it get's a tad tedious.

I want to check my email.

At this time of day, due to the time differences and this
email system being a COMPLETE PILE OF SHIT, i usually
get a couple emails around now.

I checked earlier, i didn't have none.

As you might imagine, that was fucking dry.

Moving on!

The cell is really hot.

I've resorted to flossing only a pair of very small shorts,
and a t-shirt that i crudely tore the arms off.

Rude.

My cellie got me some African Pride for my
hair and beard the other day.

You know what's coming right?

It's only a matter of time..

I'm not the only one annoyed by this libertarionist
lockdown of doorinary pisstaketions..

My fellow inmates are not happy.

They're letting it be known,
in the form of punching, kicking and
running shoulder barging their doors.

The guard keeps screaming at everyone to
shut the fuck up.

Good luck with that scrap.

I'm really, really bored.

When i get this bored,
i do really stupid shit.

Like spontaneously shaving my facial hair into
new, possible utterly retarded combinations.

My beard is long, MAD long, the longest it's
ever been, by a long shot.

Someone said i look like 'Captain Morgan' the other day.

I told him he looked like he chain-smoked dicks.

My cellie just farted,
and it fucking stinks.

Subsequently,
i am now writing with a t-shirt tightly bound
around my face.

He's now taking a piss, with his back turned to me.

Farted again.

Joy.

The guard has now opened the door..

With precision timing,
non-fecally fragranced, stale air is flowing through the room
like diarrea in an incontenant mans pants..

Time for chow.

My day is getting better and better.

I'm expecting the type of feast the likes man hath never fathomed,
something similar to that next level yamdown in Hook, except without
that fat kid that makes MC's wanna resort to violence..

Ain't happening.

We've been given a bread roll, some lettuce, what looks like
tuna that has been steamed in a tramps asshole and some soap.

The icing on the cake?

My cellies tray has a cockroach in it.

A live one.

The guy in the cell opposite to me isn't keen on his food either.

He is bald, has many missing teeth,
is a methodone addict and has numerous
chunks of flesh missing from his face.

"If my wife ever fed me some shit like this, i'd slap the shit out of her"

:O

"An i ain't slapped that bitch in 35 motherfuckin' years."

Give it to her like THIS my G

2011-06-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

A couple days ago,
i'm sitting by the computer typing away,
and i feel someone tap me on the shoulder.

It's my freind H.

He's about 6 foot tall,
Puerto rican, and i fuck with him on the regs.

My dude usually blags me a spot on the computer
when the line is rammo.

He's a nice guy.

"Yo Timmy, what you doin' my n****r? Writin' to one o' them fly-ass London bitches?"

He's clearly bored and looking for attention.

"Erm, yeah, yeah i am. Why, you got some woman advice for me?"

His eyes light up.

"My n****r! If you wanna tell the girl to go fuck herself,
you gotta give it to her like THIS my G.."

Press Play

He then proceeds to sing this song.

Loudly.

One hand placed in the middle of his chest,
the other reaching high in the air in a very
dramatic fashion.

Everyone is watching.

Laughing.

He finishes the song,
but he ain't done yet.

"Yo Timmy, i'm tellin' you my G,
if you wanna tell her she's a bird, you know she's a bird,
she knows she's a bird and you know she knows she's a bird,
you tell her like THIS.."

Press Play

Joker.

Singing is pretty common in this unit.

Most people can't sing, but try anyway.

My cellie CAN sing.

Well.

Press Play

He has a very, VERY deep voice.

Closest thing i could liken it to is the late, great,
Isaac Hayes.

I find his singing very relaxing.

Late at night,
the inmates are all locked up in
their cells and tucked up in bed.

The guards are sitting in the bubble,
flicking through confiscated copies of
Buttman Magazine.

The jail is quiet, serene and peaceful.

The only sound you can hear,
is the silky smooth voice of my cellie,
crooning away into the night.

He's sending all the gangsters, murderers.
gang bangers and drug dealers to sleep
on a cloud of pure soul.

Press Play. This is his favourite.

Word.

Sometimes i think i can hear people
in the distance faintly singing along.

Either that, or someone's getting raped.

Documentaton

2011-06-24T11:37:00.000-07:00

Before i left South London,
i was not in posession of a working camera.

One of my good freinds kindly offered to spot me a camera before i departed
for the States, asking for one small favour in return..

"Make sure you take shitloads of flicks"

No problem.

After a week or so on American soil,
i got to work.

I made a conscious effort to always carry my freinds camera with me,
snapping anything and everything that took my fancy.

As time passed, I was starting to look at things in a different light.

Everything seemed to have more significance, and all of it was worthy of documenting.

For some reason i had a strong urge to capture this chapter
of my life in as much detail as possible.

Previously insignificant moments of my day to day life

now had new meaning, and i wanted to capture every piece,
for what reason, i do not know.

I'm just glad that i did.

Although looking back at them in my current
delapedated situation can be painful and somewhat
difficult, it is a reminder of the life i had led.

The choices i made.

It reminds me of the limitless possibilities
at my fingertips once upon my inevitable release..

Chomp on the hammer

2011-06-22T11:51:00.000-07:00

Being in jail is fucking bate.

I'm surrounded by ignorant cock smoking retards that
constantly polute my precious breathing space with their foul,
fecal infused breath.
They force me to relenquish the precious little
moments of the time i have left on this earth answering border-line
retarded questions such as..

"where is Paris in England?"

and

"how do you spell mhmm?"

There is some form of temporary salvation from
this brain destroying shithole, in the form of visitations..

I've been lucky enough to have some people jump on planes to come
and keep me company for a few hours.

This usually consists of catching
jokes, eating some biscuits, my visitor getting groped, my penis profusely
ejaculating into my brown standard-issue prison jumpsuit, me getting
groped by my visitor, then with a sticky ectoplasmic hand i wave them
farewell as they return to the human realm, leaving me in the demon realm
waiting for the Chojin.

Long.

On a serious note, i love getting visits.

:)

The thought of spending some time with another human being that i
know has made the effort to travel all the way just to see how i am doing,
knowing that someone gives that much of a fuck about me,
makes me very happy and my time in here way more bareable.

To those that have made the effort, i love you all, thankyou.

x

It's always a fucking creasefest on the dancefloor,
you never know what the fuck you are going to see or hear.

..The standard of conversational pleasantries exchanged between
the magnificent stock of male cattle imprisoned in this institution and the
high class amazonian godesses accompanying them on their 'bids' is always
something one can marvel at and really aspire to, such a magnificent
level of class and respectability..

"Fuck you talkin' bout n****r,
i ain't fuckin' your mother no more,
tell that fat bitch to holla!"

Word.

I have a potential visit coming up.

My partners in the unit have been dropping jewels of wisdom on me,
with the intent of passing down the knowledge on how i can maximise
this opportunity for female contact as much as humanly possible..

"Yo son, first cut a hole in your jumpsuit."

..Sounds promising..

"You can get a bitch to jerk the bone on the sly, no problem Kid"

As you can tell, i'm getting advice from the best.

The cream of the crop.

I'm talking about dudes that have actually managed to FUCK on
the visitors floor, in front of a room full of wives, grandmothers,
children, great grandmothers, like it ain't a ting. U get me.

Pure. Jokers.

However,
despite me and my ever erect Sujuk's insatiable craving for any
type of female contact, i am still trying to carry myself with some of
the class and dignity i was was known for pon road..

..this doesn't go down well with my 'killer and gorilla' buddies..

"N****R, you wanna be down with a pack of silverbacks, you
gotta start acting like a mother fuckin' baby gorilla, shit.."

"N****r, a fly English motherfucker like you could easily
get a blowjob on the dancefloor"

Yeah?

"for real my n****r, you just gotta be fly about it,
sit under the camera and just let everyone know
'yo, no disrespect but you don't want the kids to see this'"

"Trust me dog, once a minute she chomps on the hammer for like, ten seconds, whatever"

If coming to a federal holding facility to keep
an Englishman company for an hour sounds up
your street..

..or you fancy your chances chomping on a Turkish
hammer in front of a visiting room full of children and grandmothers..

write to me.

Timothy Guvercin
63906054
MCC New York
150 park row
New York, NY
10007

8====> - - - -

working in the shitty

2011-06-22T11:25:00.000-07:00

I loved working in the city.

From the time i got up in the morning, to opening the office,
running around the city all day then heading home after a long day,
i really enjoyed my job.

Most jobs i've had in my short time on this earth,
i usually habitually take the piss and turn up late everyday.

For some reason,
this never happened while i was working as an office messenger
in Manhattan. I guess it was the first job i've ever had that i truly
gave a flying fuck about.

I'd get off the train at 42nd street and actually
be happy to arrive at work.

After a quick stop to yoink my daily sugar supply
from one of the many unfortunate local cafe's,

it was time to start delivering some shit.

I think the secretary had a soft spot for me. I had told her
how i didn't really have much dough, and back when i first started
the job i was eating about a meal a day at BEST, so whenever she was in,
i wasn't going anywhere until i'd eaten a proper breakfast.

The business was located on West 37th street,
and most of my deliveries were based around central
Manhatton.

Our biggest,
or should i say the most business that came in,
was from the Conde Naste Publishing,
which required yours truly to dash between their
many different locations dropping off and collecting
all manner of utterly useless, unimportant and meaningless
documentations..

..But i enjoyed it...

I was always on my feet,
moving from one building to the next,
rinsing the English accent on as many
of the interns at Vogue, Architectual Digest
and GQ as possible

I was a wide eyed 25 year old,
living his dream in the big city.

Nothing seemed out of reach for me.

Speaking of reaches,
as i was always on the move, i constantly spotted
anything new that had been blammed around the city,

a lot of nice shit was happening on the streets of New York City,

I just tried my best to keep my eyes open to capture it all..

Im Good

2011-06-18T09:57:00.001-07:00

It's a thursday night.

There is some kind of basketball game on,
so most of the inmates are sitting in front of
the televisions in a brain decaying trance, dribbling
away in a stereotypically ultra spasticated fashion,
only stopping to scratch their shitty, cling-on infested
rusty assholes, then with the same peanut clad skiddy
excuse for a finger, picking pieces of liver and raw
fish retinas out of their cavity ridden, hollow black teeth.

I'm good thanks.

Instead of sitting around to witness this bizarre, mass fecal
ingesting ritual, i've taken residency in the pathetic excuse
for a toilet that is my current residence.

It's raining outside.

Proper raining.

As the lightning flashes and the thunder booms,
just a meager few feet from where i am huddled
on my bunk,
i imagine how fucking beautiful it would be to
actually stand in the street and FEEL this storm
that has me captivated on this merky Thursday
evening in New York City..

Being kept in this scatty dungeon full of
fucking retards is bad enough, but after nine months
of not being able to go outside in the rain, i'm starting
to fucking lose the plot.

Staring out this bullshit excuse for a window at the world
passing me by, i can now fully sympathise with dogs that
get locked in cars or kept in houses for excessive amounts
of time, and have no other choice other than to patiently
wait for someone to take them outside so they can politely
empty their bladder. urinate.
Like my canine brethren,
i know if i flip out in here my current owner will get pissed off,
and it'll only take longer.
I guess i should just do what a dog would do in this situation,
go and take a shit somewhere in protest.

"Them n****r's be shittin' by the frige, trying to hide the motherfucker,
dog's be straight violatin' son"

Word.

It wasnt cool

2011-06-13T14:38:00.000-07:00

My day was certainly eventful.

Someone got killed in the unit.

No jokes.

The motherfucker got his dome smashed against the wall
of a cell, and of all the places for this unlucky soul to lose
his life, the beating took place in MY fucking cell.

Great.

To add insult to injury,
i was given the grim task of cleaning the splattered blood
off our once pristine egg-white walls.

It wasn't cool.

At the very least,
i did my best to prevent the guys demise,
but sadly his fate was well and truly sealed.
I did managed to delay his skull shattering
fatality until sunrise though..

Many times over the past few months,
this cock-strong habitual liberty taker has
violated protocal, running up into the castle
and inhaling as much yamadacious munch as
possible before getting chased the fuck out.

Last night, however,
his luck finally ran out..

It's about three in the morning and i'm asleep.

A deep sleep.

I'm dreaming too,
and my dreams consist of ultra realistic fantasies
of putting my Turkish dick to good use on all kinds
of exotically fictional pussy.
Just as penetration commences,
i am woken by the sounds of shouting,
and screaching.

Joy.

The utopian image of freedom,
pussy and pleasure have been swiftly
replaced in the blink of an eye by prison,
the smell of poo and my cellie shouting at the top of
his lungs..

"FUCK YOU N****R! I GOT YOU NOW MOTHERFUCKER! WHAT! WHAT!:

I reluctantly peer over the side of my 'bed',
and staring back up at my with his legs stuck
on the mousetrap is Topo Gigio.

"NOW WHAT MOTHERFUCKER!"

*sigh*

Despite him racking untold little niblets
from my food, i don't want to see this
little guy get merked.

He's looking up at me.

:(

There is no way i can get him out of this
jam, no fucking way!

The poor fuck knows what's coming his way too.

For some reason i feel like i should at least TRY
to bide this guy a little time to attempt escape
from the jaws of death..

"c'mon man for fuck sake, leave it til the morning"

It worked,
my cellie farts and goes back to sleep.

I've done my part,
thanks to me he's now got a few hours to
try and get the fuck out before judgement day.

I hope he uses this little time wisely..

Morning comes,
and i peek over hoping to see an empty mouse trap,
with a little thankyou note for my devine intervention..

Instead,
this silly sod is now spread across the whole trap.
Clearly, the more he tried to wriggle out and free
himself, the more body parts got stuck.

Oh dear.

Press Play

I can't remember what happened after this,
i'm pretty sure it all worked out ok in the end though.

Probably.

Yo

2011-06-13T14:23:00.000-07:00

Yo

What did you wake up to today?

Anything live?

A naked chick?

Some nice breakfast?

A fryup perhaps?

Some hot pussy?

I hope something good.

The image that got barbarically scarred into
my still quivering, half functioning eyeballs this morning.
was anything but 'live'..

As i kissed the little taste of freedom i get every time i sleep goodbye,
i was confronted by a sight that would terrify most men in my position.

Timothy Guvercin woke to the sight of a naked 220 pound
six foot tall african american.

At first i couldn't understand what the fuck he was doing,
it looked like he was washing his leg,
and in his other hand had managed to get hold of a
large pair of coconuts..

Negative.

He was actually standing there, bollock naked,
soaping up his cock and balls.

Not cool.

Really not cool.

Don't get alarmed though,
i'm not about to start describing some next level nightmarish
bum raping scenario that one might fear being incarcerated in
a maximum security federal holding facility, nono,
far from it.

There was no need for me to reach for the assorted mass of
crude weaponry stashed in arms reach, this situation requires
nothing to fear, or the need to defend one's honour (and asshole)
with brute force.

It's only my cellie.

He's washing his penis in the sink,
and thought it rude to disturb my slumber,
so didn't bother waking me up.

Bless.

To make matters worse,
a couple seconds after i clock him standing there,
another inmate busts open the door, looks at me,
looks at my cellie standing there naked with a soaped
up hammer, and completely unfased asks if we have any
sugar, like it ain't a ting.

An in all fairness, it ain't.

Just another day.

On a serious note though,
i feel a part of me died today.

In the early afternoon, i made a cup of coffee.

I put a wee bit too much milk in it, and sadly,
it didn't quite agree with my digestive track as
well as one would've hoped.
My breakfast consisted mostly of a rather arrogantly
large bowl of strawberry (gimme a break) oatmeal,
again, comprised mostly of milk.

This totally ingenious combination could only lead to
one thing, and one thing only..

..an aggresively turbulent exercise in secreting scatty
logs down the toilet canal, at top speed.

I knew this epically biblical battle with a milky shit
demon was inevitable, but my stubborn Turkish side of
me told me to try and staunch it out as long as possible, hoping
the delay might have some kind of magical solidifying effect on
the molten stream of hot shit awaiting to erupt at any moment.

..made it about half way through lockdown,
before reluctantly submitting..

I did it.

I shat in front of my cellie.

The gates of Mordor opened,
releasing a hellish shower of diaria,
a meager five feet away from where
my cellie was sitting.

he pointed at me.

Laughed at me.

He was laughing at a broken man,
pirched upon a gleaming metal throne,
looking down at the shattered pieces of what
was left of my dignity and self respect, which
where now sprawled across the floor in tatters.

Amazing.

Barry Slater

2011-06-06T15:54:00.000-07:00

Barry put together this amazing book
go check it out here http://barryslater.blogspot.com/

Happy Mothers Day

2011-06-04T02:49:00.000-07:00

Everybody has their own hustle in jail.

Whether it's making garments,
fixing radios, constructing shelves, loan sharking, playing cards, loaning out porn,
cutting hair, washing clothes, cleaning cells, cooking/preparing food, making cards,
writing letters, typing emails, the list is endless..

Some people are incredibly talented at their chosen craft,
creating masterpieces of work, the like of which the world
hath never seen..

..On the other hand,
some people clearly used to smoke a lot of crack in the street,
and it has left them burnt the FUCK out.
Crack and 'angeldust', which i was kindly informed is apparently 'embalming fluid',
used to stop dead bodies from decomposing.

These people smoke it.

Nice
Anhow,
a couple weeks back i was scavenging around the baron post apocalyptic wasteland
known as F tier for some sweetener, and i bump into a mysterious fortune teller dressed in rags..well,
not really. He was dressed in some extremely shabby garms, but he weren't no fortune teller.

It was my buddy Cash Money

This extremely burnt out individual is about five foot tall, and looks and sounds like a
Jamaican version of Yoda.

He usually shouts my name whenever i am in his vicinity.

Not my real name.

Timboktwo, B, Timclaat, Teem, Tim Daggy dag etc..

He has made astronomically accurate statements concerning
ones appearance and demeanor.

One can only marvel in the presence of such inbridled intelligence and
eye for detail this humorous individual has been blessed with..

"timdag ain't no pussyclaat whiteboy"

Everytime he sees me after i've had a shower and combed my hair,

"Yo B, you look like Hitler! "

Not so sure about the second statement..

So..

I ask him for some sugar, and my pattwa spitting bredren happily
obliges.

..but before he hands it over, lets me in on a secret of biblically epic proportions..

"Yo B, you seen ma cards mon?"

"Nah man"

"Come to da lab !"

This was his mothers day card.

I bought it on the spot.

Two batteries and a stamp.

To my mother,
Happy belated mothers day!
even though you are a pain in the ass and drive me up the fucking wall,
i'm sure i'm an even bigger one, and the insane situations i get myself into (they don't really get much more fucked that this)
are always down to my own actions and behaviour, not yours.
I love you dearly,
i know i can act like a complete idiot at times and have problems accepting fault, but i'm only human. Not only that, i'm a turkish human, and we all know how stubborn they can be (DAD)
Despite my many flaws, you did a beautiful job raising me.
I love you and dad very dearly, you are the best
parents i could ever have dreamed of being blessed with,
and i wouldn't change you for the world.
Your idiot son
Timothy
xxx

A note from a recent visiter

2011-06-01T14:15:00.001-07:00

I'd known from day one there could be some kind of issue or that something somewhere along the line could go wrong and the visit would fall through, but it would be rude not to visit Tim while I was on the eastcoast with my other half for a holiday largely funded by my redundancy package. Weeks in advance I'd been sent the forms so I could be approved to visit him, I'd filled them out and posted them back then heard... nothing. Neither had Tim. I checked the night before we left for New York just to make sure, so with a will and a prayer boarded our flight holding on to "When he finds out, he'll let you know."

It's 10pm and I'm staring out the window of our hotel room on the 23rd floor of the Trump Plaza, Altlantic City. I can't see shit. America's in the middle of the worst start to hurricane season in it's history, TV is nothing but death and upside-down houses buried in piles of other houses, all I can see from the window is thick grey soup. It's like Stephen King's The Mist out there, there would be no way of telling if we were on the 23rd or ground floor if it were not for the occasional light from a building side advert screen bellow us and the emergency lights on a helicopter pad. We should have gone to Florida. It's late on a Wednesday, I've just dragged my girlfriend's impossibly heavy luggage to our room and I can't wait to hit the free drinks and shit some money away on slots. Lou's in the bathroom having a post drive shower and I absent-mindedly meander the internet and checking emails on my dog while we've got free wifi. That's when I find it, I've been approved, I need to be at MCC in New York at 11am the next morning. Fuck.

Skipping over leaving at 5am, how Atlantic City Grayhounds are full of the broken hearted and hungover at dumb o'clock on a Thursday morning and how my journey through NYC to the MCC was event free and breezy, we can get to the meat and chips. I'm the first to arrived at the MCC and standing outside on a beautiful, warm New York lunchtime I'm regretting the hooded leather coat I'm now dragging around. The guards are firm but human, they crack the occasional joke and one returns with their lunch of giant pizza boxes and calzones. I fill out the day visitor form and read over the many signs about what's acceptable and what's not. I was warned in advance not to wear anything with a logo or slogan on it, no hats, 'designer alterations' to clothing (including rips in jeans) etc. There's also an entire section of signs here about women and what's acceptable, boiling down to no flesh on display, nothing figure enhancing or suggestive, etc. As others arrive, there's a nice atmosphere. Plenty of family or women with kids (two women are sent away to get changed, one asks what's wrong with what she's wearing to be told "Oh honey, it's all wrong!") and after a wait outdoors we're allowed in to the reception area where we have our bags x-rayed and receive our locker keys to dump everything we're not taking in with us. We are then drug tested via a pocket swipe system like they use at airports and go upstairs to the visiting area. There's a couple of vending machines but I forget to bring $1 bills to get snacks for me and Tim because I'm an idiot. A guard asks if I'm on my own, I reply I am and she tells me to take a seat inside and wait for Tim. The room's got a limit of thirty odd people and is empty aside from a ring of plastic school style chairs around the outside of the room and a trash can in the middle. I'm sitting on my own watching families meet and dudes in prison grab bounce babies on their knees.

Ten mins later Tim comes in. I've not seen the guy in years but it suddenly feels like it's been months. He hug and the first thing I say is that he's looking good, cos he is. He's looking healthy and within moments of sitting to talk it's clear he's in a good place of mind. The dude's positive, relaxed and as funny as ever. He tells me the entire story from back to before he even moved to NY and I let him know what I've been doing the past couple of years. It's kind of surreal, but can't be half as weird as it is for him waking up each day in prison. He tells me loads of hilarious stories that haven't made the blog yet and I tell him about our time up and downtown. As I didn't bring any $ we both watch everyone else drink orange sodas and eat crisps slightly enviously. After an hour or two the visitors are ushered out except me and I'm the only civi left in a room of prisoners, who aside from Tim are assembled infront of us waving through the window behind us at their loved ones. It's humbling. Tim tells me we've been given additional time because he's only had one other visitor and cos I've come from England. We make use of the time talking about music and how he sometimes gets people to play tunes to him down the phone as he's severely limited in selection inside, tattoos and how two members of my old band are now good inkers, graf, magical Jamaican spices and how they make everything delicious, the limited availability of sneakers in prisons, how everything you'll eat or drink in America is really fucking sweet, you know... the usual shit mates talk about. Time goes too quickly though and before I know it we're shaking hands, hugging and then I'm waving to him from the otherside of the window like the guys before me were.

When I leave I spark a snout and get a shit coffee in Tim's honour and think about how he said he was returning to his cell to consider what happens to today's chicken. Then it starts to piss down as the storms catch NY. Time to get a Grayhound back to Jersey and get shitfaced on free gin.

Anyone reading this who's local, can or is visiting NYC should hit newyorkprisoner@hotmail.co.uk up and get the forms. Even if you're unfamiliar with police, prisons and prisoners and feel reluctant or scared, don't be. Everyone there's human and acts like it. Even the cops and guards who were totally decent to me and much better than their British counterparts. Infact much better than the airport police who later that week decided after putting me through the body scanner that my metrocard and zip in my back pocket looked like a concealed gun and rushed four guards over to make me empty paper from my pocket under threat of getting gatted.

Listen... its not long

2011-06-01T13:56:00.001-07:00

I have a tremendous amount of time on my hands.

Time that i try to use as constructively and positively as i can.

Every other day, i work out.

This is good for me physically and mentally, it keeps me in good shape,
and keeps my mindframe and train of thought on the straight an narrow.

There isn't a day that goes by that i don't spend a good few hours
hunched over in my cell, sweating, contorting my hand and wrist in
a zoned out haze of concentration..sketching.

Feeble attempts at twisting familiar letter combinations
into new charicatures and shapes, knocking out birthday cards for a couple
tunas, most days i will try to create something.

i have been spending an increasing amount of time in solitary company
up in the castle.

Some of this time is sadly spent very unproductively,
rehashing past events, thinking about all the things and people i took
for granted, horse shit like that.

It's almost like a form of torture, it just leaves me feeling
miserable and imbolised.

Great stuff!

i'm only human.

I make mistakes.

There is no point in me living in a constant state of regret and imobolisation.

It helps no one.

Not me, nor the people i didn't appreciate or treat them how they deserved.

All i can do is try to be a better person, and i am trying.

Time alone in my cell also yields positive results,
i think about my behaviour and try to re-evaluate the way i
communicate with people, particularly my closest freinds and
family.

I am under a fucking ridiculous amount of stress,
and regrettably have been taking it out on those
closest to me.

I am sorry.

I feel exhausted by this whole ordeal.

i find myself snapping at people that care
about me, who are only trying to help me and get
me the fuck out of this EPIC toilet.

Considering the amount of people that ran the fuck out
on me when i needed them, i should be showing the ones
that represented how grateful i am for their unconditional
support of me and my Turkish balls.

They are not obliged to help me.

They don't owe me a motherfucking thing.

Sometimes i wonder why they have so much faith in me,
what it is i have done to deserve their love and support.

Replying to one of my recent idiotic, childish outbursts,
one of my freinds asked me the question..

"Why do you keep fucking up?"

Who knows

There is no question as to whether i am the one who fucked
up all the things that i was lucky enough to be blessed with in
my life, whether it was my life in the terror domre, my jobs,
my freedom, or even my marriage.

i fucked it up.

As a man, I must take responsibility for my actions.

Each day that passes, i am trying to more forward and
better myself as a person.

Don't get it fucked up, i'm not a bad guy, i just know
that i can and will be better.

i make very spontanious decisions, sometimes
they don't work out quite as well as i had planned.

No shit huh.

I can't answer the question as to why i keep fucking up,
nor can i answer why after all my fuckups, people are still
around and want to be part of my journey through life.

Whatever the case may be,
i know what it is i need to do to improve,

One of those things,
is i need more patience.

Being held INDEFINITELY in a maximum security
holding facility in New York City seems the place where
i have been destined to expand my capacity for patience.

I'm far from perfect,
i have many flaws, but i want to let the people in my life
know that i'm working on them, i am trying.

Please bare with me.

Like everything else in my life right now,
it's a work in progress.

Cum and no money

2011-05-31T14:47:00.000-07:00

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
tattood.

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

:O

After a few micro seconds of contemplation, the decision was
made.

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..

Jokes!

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.

Joy.

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.

Nice

Tunes

2011-05-29T08:55:00.000-07:00

-----------------------------------------------

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 :)
Peace
Tim
x

-----------------------------------------------

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
UNCLE MURDER - WARNING
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

Boogie!

2011-05-23T13:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Lastly,
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
NY
10007
USA

New York Prisoner 63906054

No contract, take my word

**Spaghetti garlic oil**

Unarmed Combat

I was listening to mambo

I drawed this on New Years Eve 2011

Turkish Blues

Suleyman

Tanha

Toy Story 4

More licks

Kiroshi

Shadenfreude

The hapless Monk

Solidarity

Bunkie, look! Mouse everywhere!

When and Where do i jerk off

Practice Practice Practice

Chill out..

Back to the Office

pirched, tip-toed

swollen shoulders

Complete piece of shit..

Right

House of God

Jump on it

Inspirations

Breeze

BB

Turkish Chops

Eating is not Cheating

It's gonna lead to hostages

Birthday Beateries

E*t * d*c*

Utterly Fantastic

picturesque utopia

straight

Goalasimo

fly English shit

Legendary Peanut butter joint

Tonight was pretty cool......

It's easy cos you're beautiful

July 13th 2010

Eh! Abdula!

50 Dent

Abraham Putin

Bosh Some Garys

Chaps, Chain

Non stop working

Fat Cow

Enjoy the cake

He chain-smokes dicks

Give it to her like THIS my G

Documentaton

Chomp on the hammer

working in the shitty

Im Good

It wasnt cool

Yo

Barry Slater

Happy Mothers Day

A note from a recent visiter

Listen... its not long

Cum and no money

Tunes

Boogie!

Spaghetti garlic oil

Et dc