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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..

                                                                     

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pirched, tip-toed



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

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..

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Right

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

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

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!"