Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Bops

Last summer i had gotten myself into
a right fucking state of affairs..

 Sitting around my yard,
rinsing super nintendo games,

consuming epically pointless amounts of weed,
japanese/mexican/italian take away food and going
drinking and partying all the time had left me seriously
lacking focus on my life,
 and what it means to me.

 I was feeling paranoid,
and despite the fact that i had made i to New York,
was living in a sick apartment, had no money worries,
an ever growing collection of fitteds, sneakers,


and other material horseshit, my self esteem was at an
all time low.
 It really shouldn't have been,
i mean for fuck sake, i had just gotten married!?
July 13th 2009,
at City Hall just off of Broadway,
Timothy Ozer Guvercin attempted to make an honest woman
out of his partner..if you clear all the bullshit out the way,
to be deadly honest, he was trying to make a whore a housewife..
..and predictably, as you all know, failed miserably! :)
 Motherfucker never had a chance..

 As the months that followed rolled by like the endless sheets of rolling paper
getting rinsed, it became evident that i was not going to get the encouragement,
support or inspiration that one would hope to come from ones life parter/spouse/wife/better half..
 Even so, i simply couldn't give up and accept my fate,
to spend the rest of my days glued to the Maury Povich show,
 it was time to pull my socks up and fix the fuck up..



 From my experiences in Maspeth, i knew exactly what i needed to do
to get myself back on track. First step=start exercising!
 Now, this wasn't quite as easy as in queens.
In Maspeth i could go wherever the fuck my turkish balls pleased, at
any time of the day or night..




..it ain't going down like that in Bushwhick. 'son'..

 Never the less, after a couple of days jogging random
directions around my ends, once again i had my bearings,
and knew where to go, and more importantly, where the fuck
NOT to go..
 
 My ends was covered with reaches,
so it was always worth bringing my budget camera out, even
just to the local store..



 After a while i got bored and decided to
walk from my yard in Bushwhick, up into Manhatton..
 The bop was quite far, but on a nice day, with some tunes,
it was a cool way to spend the day..



 I'd usually do this bop on my own,
at first, not out of choice mind you..I tried to drag
the 'Mrs' along, to no avail.
 Despite my best efforts, the former Mrs Guvercin
was more than content spending her days parked in front of endless
episodes of Judge Judy, surrounded by rolling paper,
KY jelly lubricant, smalls bags of cannabis and takeaway menus..



Bless her cotton socks :) x

 One thing about rolling on your jaes,
you can take your time. You ain't in no hurry. I would
take full advantage of this, bopping down different roads,
side streets and wherever i thought looked interesting..doing so,
you never know what kind of shit you might bump into..


 From my yard in Bushwhick, it was one straight road to get to the city..



 We was just by the elevated JMZ train line,
one of them overground train lines..



..I'd simply walk under that until i got to the Williamsburg bridge..



 Bopping on foot,
or even sitting on the train, you can't help but notice that the rooftops and
building leading up to the bridge are completely battered with reaches..

 
 
 Once over the bridge, you're slap bang in the Lower East Side.
In the city, the scenery is always changing.
 New reaches, buildings, murals, you name it..
Most of my life in New York City,
i would take my camera everywhere i went on road.
 There is always something interesting happening,
no matter where you live, you've just got to make sure
that you are out there to see it..



Sunday, 27 March 2011

Break Him Up

Ok,
 so it's a quartre to three in the morning.


 I was just about to turn the light out and go to sleep,
when out the corner of my eye, i spot the mouse..


 He spots me,
and quickly decides to run for cover..under my cellies
bed. His usual escape plan..
 As i can't sleep,
tonight i am tempted to alert my partner to the unwanted
guest taking residence under his sleeping quarters..
 I've been drinking a lot of coffee today,
and i'm sure that watching him trash the cell trying
to catch
 "That sneaky n****r"
Would be rather amusing..
 Last time he thought he saw Topo Gigio, i was awoken
to the sight of him swinging the broom around like the star
wars kid, wrecking all the shelves and making a biblically epic mess..
..swearing profusely. The broom must have touched every single
surface in the cell.
                         To no avail.
"That sneaky n****r's buggin if he thinks i ain't gon break him up"

 I'll be honest,
the sight of a mouse getting 'broken up' is not something i want to see.

 I witnessed a 7 foot tall individual,
who has more than a striking resemblance to Kimbo Slice,


stamp in a very big rat in the kitchen a few weeks back..
..The only thing that made that incident funny was the huge grin gleaming
from underneath his beard. Other than that it was pretty mank seeing a
splatted rat in the middle of the kitchen floor..Just a crumpled mass of hair and blood..

 On that note,
i think i'll just go to sleep..i personally don't got no beef with Topo Gigio,
 
he can take up his grieviences with my cellie another day..
 Hopefully when i'm not in the cell..as of right now, i don't really feel the
need to pull a Don King and inititate a battle royale at three in the fucking morning..

Monday, 21 March 2011

Oatmeal or Cereal

At this point in my life,
while residing at MCC in New York City.
I rarely get up for breakfast.

 What the fuck is the point.

Given the choice of getting up at around six in the
morning to grab some ultra fishy oatmeal or a pack
of dry ass cereals,
 to staying asleep where i am still free and can dream
of better days and happier memories..
 It's an easy decision.


 Back when i was 'pon road in Brooklyn,
my start to the day was anything BUT healthy..
 Most mornings were started with a cup of coffee
and a zoot, followed by a call to the local diner for
some omellettes and other assorted bollocks.
.

 Failing that,
mans would fryup some eggs and bacon, followed by
another zoot and a cup of tea of coffee on my fire escape.

 This extremely unhealthy lifestyle led me to getting in very bad shape..
and in general, completely lose focus on my life and what makes me happy.
 I was living a life of excess,
surrounded by empty cats that didn't genuinely give a fuck about me,
and were only along for the ride..

 My life in Maspeth,
Queens, was certainly a far cry from the self indulgent cycle i had
found myself in up until my arrest..

 Maspeth was a very chilled, quiet place to live..
..Too quiet for my tastes,
but at that time in my life it was exactly what i needed.
 From the moment i was dropped at my new residence, i was very isolated.
I remember my first meal there, the only thing that was in the fridge,
Cookies and Beer :D

Once i had got settled into the room i was renting in this very strange apartment,
finished scrubbing the kitchen to get rid of all the ants that had also taken residence,
mans needed to focus.
 I had managed to get all the way to New York, and despite my dwindling funds and
lack of job opportunities available, i knew that if i didn't do everything in my power to make the
most of this opportunity, i would regret it for the rest of my life.

 First off,
I needed a routine. A positive, constructive routine at that.
 As i didn't have a fucking clue about where i was or how to get anywhere,
every morning i would go for a run.
 Just pick a direction, and go.
If i got bored in the evening, i'd go for another run..Why not? It was good
for me to be exercising all the time, it definitely helped motivate me and
keep my focused on the bigger picture..
 
This helped me to get my bearings and learn the ends i was in..plus i was getting in really good shape too!

 Around this time i had very little money at my disposal.
My food intake was extremely minimal, i'm talking one meal a day..and lots
of bottles of water! After many, many days of eating either bacon, eggs, or
bacon AND eggs,

 I had to learn how to cook something. Anything.
Armed with my laptop and a very crappy internet connection usually
only used for downloading music, movies or porn,
i decided to google how to cook spaghetti..(seriously)
 Once 'mastered',
this was my main meal for a very, very long time! I'd make a
hench pot of the stuff, an yam it over the space of a couple
of days..It was mad basic, sauce, chopped tomatoes and a
couple of spicy sausages, but it tasted fucking good
never the less!
 
 I did at one point attempt to make a vegetable stew..
..despite my best efforts, and it looking pretty fresh,

it tasted harrowingly foul.
 Sometimes i would eat my meals in the garden. It was
a shithole but as the weather was nice,it was cool chilling
there with a beer an a slice..

..if my memory is correct,
i think the vegetable stew got fed to next doors dog 'pookie'..
he seemed to enjoy it,
still!



Snail Mail

I've been recieving a few letters and books recently,
it's always nice to hear from heads, whether i know you or
not, it's really touching to know that there are some people
out there who care about me and what is happening to me..
 ..or mans who find great amusement at the mental picture
of me being locked in a room while a 260 pound man shits
his guts out. Daily.

 Either way,
your support means more to me than you could ever know,
Keep it Coming!


 To Gabrielle, Si Dee, Amanda,
Sebastian, Areti, Jim & Danielle, Lyne Batch, Tom Ed,
Hollie, Jake, Jennifer, Alex G, Boris, Keely, Liz, Joe
& Ed, and the dude from Kingston,
Much love!
 Your letters made me smile, brightened my day, and
if only for a moment helped me forget my bullshit situation,
chill the fuck out and reminded me that there's good people
out there,
Still
X

enough

Sunday, 20 March 2011

Michael angelo batio radio

 I try to listen to music in here as much as possible.
Music has alwauys been one of my passions..
..Whether is was playing in a hardcore band, helping to organise shows,
touring with bands, making merchandise or simply travelling to different countries
for festivals,
 music has always played a big part in my life.
Shortly before my arrest i was actually in the process of becoming a DJ at
some bar in Williamsburg..but then po po coming to kick mans door
in royally fucked tht plan up, you get me!




 It would've been a mixed bag,
Dubstep, Grime, Funk and electro tunes..

Mostly shit i would like to hear..who knows whether people would've
been feeling it, and to be frank,


Who the fuck cares..

 The readio does not cater to my musical needs.
I like heavy music.


 to my knowledge, there is no radio station in New York City
that can cater to my musical palet.
 When scouring the radio waves for something deep, along
the lines of these bangers,



 I am fraught with disapointment.
The heaviest thing you are likely to hear is either one of the three
Metallica tunes they play, or Rage against the Machine. BRAS!

 In the last few weeks, i have been lucky enough to catch
a couple dubstep bangers. I THINK it was on 91.5 fm, some radio set
called 'mo-glo' or something..either way, it's been DOPE to hear some
dub step!
 Reminds me of being back in the anal discharge filled cespool,
known as Croydon, catching a set by Skream at some nextman bar..
Good Times :D !!

 Dubstep is actually about in New York..Grime, most certainly not.
Despite hours upon hours scouring the radio waves for any traces
of showerman ridims,
 I have found nothing. I don't expect to either.

 There are a few good hip hop stations out there though..

On Thursdays (i think) at around midnight, there is a deep set
on 89.9 WKCR FM called 'rapcats' which is usually pretty good!
 Mostly very chilled out beats that end up sending me to sleep..


 I've said it once and i'll say it again,
I dont think New York/America is ready for grime.
 I'd hate to think what kind of biblical crime epidemic would
happen if the next shady cats in here where to be exposed to
absolutely shower bars like this coming out the radio..


Word.

Thursday, 17 March 2011

you're gonna be finished

Some days,
Time passes well for me in MCC..
 Other days,
like today, it really really doesn't..

 I have re-arranged my paperwork,
sent emails, made my bed, tidied my cell and replied to my most
recent letters..
             ..Now what....

 Recently i have been spending way too much time in my cell, and
it has has certainly had a very negative effect on my state of mind.
 My cellie tells me if i'm thinking of 'hanging up', i should make a scout
knot..then re-assures me that he would visit my grave every year,
pour hennesy on my tombstone, smoke a woolie (crack and weed in a blunt)
in my memory
"..and all that dumb shit, i'll even do you a nore sketch every year on your birthday dog!"
 How touching.

 I think it's best if i go for a walk around the unit...


 First stop is the computer area..
Despite their super budget antique software and exterior, the computers are always
in use, and as i approach them i can easily make out through the thick clouds of
gusty bullshit that gets spewed out in this unit every hour by the numerous shit talking
wastemen i am housed with,
 the 'computer goblins'..
These ugly, deformed individuals spend most of their waking lives hanging around in the
shadows, waiting for people to walk away from the computer line..
 If you are unlucky enough not to be hip to these ultra spastics wasteman games,
you can expect not only your spot in the line to be gone, but a whole new
line to be formed, mostly made up of these greasy frog-like motherfuckers..
 In my personal experience, i have found that if you shout/threaten one of them,
they all scatter back behind the rocks and crevices that they spewed out from..
 I've just used the computer, no fuckries for me.
For now.

 My freind J is waiting in line, so we shoot some shit..
We didn't always used to be cool.
 I recall one time when i first came in the unit, i walked upto
him and without me needing to mutter a single word, he screwed
up his face and shouted
"N****R, i don't fucks wit you!"
 Now, it seems, he goes.
I'd like to think that is down to me parring off a few dickheads,
and generally 'getting down with the program'..but in reality,
my 260 pound african american brother probably had something
to do with it..
 J seems to think that i have 'Dragonball Z' tattoos. I have told
him he is wrong, where they actually come from, but he still
thinks that i am wrong.

 Suit yourself J!

"Yo timdog,
what you think of this man..I wanna get FAME down my arm,
it means 'For All My Enemies', what you think man?"
..sounds live mate :S

 Time to move on i think..

(can u put the song 'what you see is what you get' by the dramatics)
 Due to me owing various shady cats money for various items,
my locker is next to empty.
 Couple soups, packs of oatmeal,
that's about it i'm affraid.
:(
 I'm hungry.
For now, a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal cookies is
going to have to do..
 I make my way to the kitchen to heat up my poor excuse
for a meal.
 My timing couldn't possibly be worse..

 It's eight o'clock. We get locked in at eight thirty, so the kitchen
is absolutely rammed with mans trying to cook meals, heat up various
exotic beverages or just stand around doing FUCK ALL..

 I spot my dude N at the front of the line,
so try to make some moves..
"N****r, you gonna have to wait like all these other bitch ass n****rs"
..and fail.
 Despite N's initial reaction,
i wait around for him to finnish cooking his meal..and it pays off,
i manage to skip the whole line and heat my shit up, way before the twenty angry
people who where in line..Thanks to N standing next to me staring at them
all, occasionally shouting
"SAY SOMTHIN!"

..as i'm only heating coffee and a couple biscuits, no one seems too
bothered anyhow. Especially as i offer them all a biscuit.
 I get back to the cell just in time to see my partner and one of his dudes
going through a copy of 'smooth' magazine..
"Cubana Lust just has the biggest, fattest, juiciest, roundest ass man..god DAMN!"

 They spot me at the door doing my best to check out their
magazine on a secret squirrel flex..an get busted
"This n****r, man! This n****r's a dirty n****r!"

:D

"Timdog, son,
you get you some black pussy, you're gonna be finished man"

:O

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

That's doo doo right there

Just when you think you've seen it all..

I'm standing in my cell talking to partner, when B walks in..
 I like B, he has the kind of happy smile plastered all over his face that you'd expect to see on a child
skankin' into toys R us..
 His demeanor is similar to that of a dog that has just been let off his leash in a big park,
he's pure haps.

 We exchange some witty banter back and forth, before my dude just casually says
"gentleman"
..and in one swift motion, pulls his pants down, sits on the toilet, and without warning instantly
starts peppering the back of the toilet bowl..starting with a biblical splat, followed by a spray
of machine gun fire..
 Naturally, we vacate the premises..

 As his shitting was so instantaniously impromptu,
mans forgot to put up the 'curtain'..
 Meaning anyone that walks past the cell, can openly
see this 260 pound, now naked, african american man purched on the toilet
like a throne, filling it with nutty goodness..

 We take full advantage of the situation on hand..

Anyone who is unlucky enough to wander onto the tier gets told,
in a stone faced, deadly serious voice..
"Yo, he wants to talk to you man"
 Then watching them get closer and closer to the door,
before the eventual scream..
"YOU NASTY N****R!!"
 The best being my Nigerian buddy,
who upon seeing him falls backwards with his arms flailing in the air, shouting at the top of his lungs..
"WAAAAHAHAHA! You big black nasty n****r!!!"
 After a while my partner starts to get very annoyed at being watched,
firstly shouting
"FUCK YOU N****RS, EVERYBODY COME LOOK AT THE GORILLA IN THE  ZOO HUH? OK..

..Then out of nowhere,
a piece of toilet paper completely caked in shit gets flung onto the window of the cell..sticking to the glass..

 At this point,
a very VERY respected inmate walks past, sees us all falling around laughing, clocks the shitty paper
smushed to the window of the cell, and just looks to the floor shaking his head in utter disapointment..

Sunday, 13 March 2011

Longville tennesse

I have had a very stressful day today.
 Not quite sure how to shake it off...

 I've had a shower, shave and a shit..
That was my old hangover technique. Doesn't work quite as well
in a prison environment when no (decent) alcohol is at your disposal..
 Certainly hasn't helped today.

 I just feel tired.
I'm tired of all of this. My body and brain just feel exhuasted from being
here and dealing with all this bullshit everyday. Most of my waking life is spent
rehashing my case..what could happen..Best case scenarios..and the worst case..

..In less than six months i feel like my entire life has just fallen apart.

People have always told me that they see me as being 'strong', but at this
point i feel anything but strong. Seriously.

 Sitting here staring at the steam rising off my cup of coffee (mostly milk, creamer and sugar),
i feel very sad thinking about how my life could've turned out had i made a very few select different
choices in the last year..
..Pointless thinking like that, i know..But if you are ever
unlucky enough to find yourself sitting in a cold jail cell with only a cup of coffee to keep you warm,
things don't quite look so Rosey.

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Grandma!

One thing about this FUCKING DUMP,
you hear a lot of stories. Most of them are either real fucking grimey,
or splatter-your-pants funny, or about people taking MAJOR fucking liberties...
 Here's one .....
 It's late in the evening..
The daily fuckries are starting to wind down..The inmates of MCC
have spent their day running around screaming, playing card games,
messing around and generally acting like a bunch of hyper 5 year old children..
..and now it's naptime!

 I've spent most the day sketching,
so instead of acting like a 'pooped' toddler,
i sit back with my partner, a cup of coffee ('corfeee')
and shoot the shit..
 He creases up laughing as ge starts to tell me a story..
"Son, i been around some dirty n****rs man.."

 He's up in Florida doing a bid..
Another New Yorker (yoiker) he is with, is owed some money.
 Not much, perhaps a couple hundred dollars..
..But that's not the point.

..In jail, when you owe someone money, or anything at all for that
matter, you pay it back. Fast.
 "this is jail, not yale"
Everything is different in here, it doesn't work like on road. As you have had
everything else in your life taken away from you, your 'respect' is the most
important thing to you. It is the only thing that actually means anything, that
has any value..and if someone tries to take that from you..you have to do
something about it..

 Something as meaningless as me borrowing some coffee off a dude,
can potentially turn very, very nasty.
 Say for example i tell the gentleman that i will repay him tomorrow..
..and i forget...Simple mistake right? On road, yeh.
 He might not take it as a mistake. He might take it as i have purposely
not paid him back, trying to play him as a mug..and then spends the next
few days brewing (no pun intended) thinking of how he is going to get
me back..
..Before you know it, i've got more holes in my chest than a string vest! (oorrh oorrh)

 SO..
The guy is owed some money. He's fucking pissed off too. The dude he lent it to
not only has paid other people back the money he owes them, but keeps fobbing him
off with bullshit excuses everytime he 'politely' asks for it back..he's basically playing
the guy for a bellend, taking pure liberties..
 'Peaceful negotiations' have failed..



 They live on opposite sides of the unit..
..but this dude is on a mission..
He sneaks all the way into mans ends, runs up in his cell, and sticks a knife to mans throat,
telling him to pack up ALL his belongings..and steals everything.
..i mean EVERYTHING...
Clothes, food, letters, legal papers, hygiene, everything that this guy has in his cell..

 Later that day, my partner gets back to his cell and sees all the new shit sprawled out
all over the floor..

"AAHhhh man, you didn't?!"

"FUCK that n****r man, i gave him plenty of chances, shit!"

"fuck...ok fuck it, what'd you get?"

"EVERYTHING, N****R! Even got pictures of his grandma :D"

..Then proceeds to hold up the stolen picture of grandma..arms folded, in a coffin..:O !

"DAAAAMN son! This. N****r. Is. Going. To. Kill. You. Seriously,
i'm telling you son, he's sitting over there right now plotting to kill you, i'm tellin you!"

"Fuck that n****r, man, he ain't going to do shit..bitch ass n****r, i even got flicks of his wife n kids :D"


No bigger


here are a few ways to waste ones days away in this fucking
dickhead filled shithole..
 Scratching your balls and jerking your dick to american gossip
magazines DOES eventually grow tiresome..when that happens,
play some chess!

 I used to play chess in primary school, but i stopped abruptly
when i got my snes/super nintendo..

 Because of this,
i am more than a little rusty. It is a game of patience, class, sophistication
and planning ahead..
 Sadly, due to years of rinsing games like Gears of War, religously,
i am used to playing games in a rather different style..

..Running into a warzone, spraying all my firepower as fast as possible in a suicidally
epic, apocaliptic run for glory, is NOT how you with at chess.
 Trust me on this one. I've tried. Many, many times, to no avail.
For now, i just sit back and watch more experienced players..which is always entertaining..

 It's late in the evening, about ten minutes until lockdown, and i'm sitting in my cell with
my cellie, and one of his partners comes bounding into the cell, like a very happy dog..

This dude, i'm really cool with..which is definitely a good thing..

 The 'man' in question looks like a cross between one of the grimiest
orks from Lord of the Rings, and The Thing from Fantastic four..
 He has been shot,
stabbed, electricuted, hit by a car, poisoned, bitten by dogs, thrown
out of a 3rd floor window, hit in the head with a baseball bat,
and legend has it he was thrown out of a plane..
 This guy looks like he has been through many wars,
and DIDN'T live to tell the tale..
 Looking at him, he just looks caked in layers of crime..

"The n****rs straight twisted!"

 He also has a gambling problem.
I have been given strict instructions to, no matter what he says,
never let him in the cell or give him anything without my cellie being
there..
 He 'borrows' things, then gambles/loses them, and you end up chasing
him forever to get them back..
 On the days he manages to get in the cell, he instantly starts scanning
all the shelves, terminator style, pricing up our belongings..trying to figure
out what will get him the most poker chips..until i shoo him out the room
like a stray dog..

 So what has he come to the cell for?
To play chess of course :D
 For five tunas..
Which to be frank is a ridiculous request ten minutes from lockdown, but my cellie is bored,
so the challenge commences!
 I'm on my bed overlooking the battleground,
the challenger sitting below me..the back of his head resembles one of them pug dogs..
 

Everytime he makes a move, he either says
"Get jiggy widAT n****r!"
or obsessively repeats
"Hit that bitch widda Wane train!"
All the while, laughing extremely loudly, just like pee wee herman..

 My cellie holds up a pawn..
"Look, you got a pawn brain, no bigger than this pawn..silly n****r"

..He talks too soon! His punishment?
N takes his queen!
"HAHAHA I GOT YO BITCH!"

 The pressure is mounting, as N seems like he has my dude lock stock..
"Check n****r, Check n****r, watcha gonna do about that n****r!"
 I ain't even involved in the game, but the pressure is getting critical..
So much so, i relieve some in the form of a load fart..

 Both players spend the next few minutes accusing each other of licking off the stray shot,
that echoed off into the cell like a shotgun blast in an empty warehouse..

"Why would i be farting?
Why?"

No one accuses me,
so i just keep quiet..

N's lead seems to be fading, my dude has made some serious moves and he knows it..
..He takes N's queen, shouting
"FOOL ASS N****R WANNA PLAY WIDDA TRIGGERS!"

 It looks like he has the game in the bag..but he is overly confident,
and in one fall swoop, lands himself in checkmate..
 Not only has he lost the game and his/OUR five tunas, but for the remainder
of our time before lockdown, we have to endure N running up and down the tier
doing his pee wee herman laugh insanely loud, screaming..
"SIIIILLY N****R!!!! SIIIIIILLLLLYYYY N****R!"
 again and again and again and again and again...

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

Go get your bird


 It is comissary day today!
By that i mean the habitual load guzzlers downstairs deliver
our items from the shop today..
 In the grand scheme of things, the items at
our disposal are fucking BUDGET and overpriced,
but hey it gues you something to look forward to, and in a
way makes you feel a little bit more human..
 ..If that makes sense..
 
 Considering most the people in here are PROPER criminals, career ones at that,
it's not suprising that the majority of heads are fucking LOADED..Their lockers
are always stocked to the brim with everything and anything on the comissary
listen, even strangely, the 'douche messengel' ..
:O !

 When they return from the line, most are clasping three to four bags stuffed
full of goodies..

 As you can probably gather by now, my situation differs GREATLY from the
majority of gentleman in this fine establishment.
 Firstly, i'm no career criminal. Far from it.
I'm used to working minimum wage jobs and surviving on the bare minimum.
 Any money i have had on my books, is down to kind people that have love for me..
..not an afluent family or a 'safehouse' full of dirty money stashed somewhere..

 Todays/this weeks items are,
regrettably, not for me.
 I am in debt. Which requires payment.
I must add that this is self-inflicted debt due to me ticking items off
my various associates/cronies in the jail, not the other
'gimme all your shit every week' kind of debt. Nonono.

 So, all of the items i have purchased, 38 dollars worth to be precise, what
luxuries do i have to spoil myself with this week?
 Sweets? Crisps (NOT chips)? Pepsi? Chocolate?
Better than all that monkey shit, i have..a pack of batteries and some stamps.
:(

 At least i knew i wasn't getting anything, no need for disapointment..
A couple weeks ago, i was kindly sent some buckeroonies from my Drongotastic brother
in Australia, so decided to 'spoil' myself with a load of pointless, unhealthy items,
guaranteed to turn my fecal discharge into a white hot lava stream of biblical proportions. :D
..It didn't quite go to plan..
 Instead of delivering me all the necessary items to turn my shitter into a cannon capable
of firing a Turkish Mr Hanky all the way back to the big smoke, i got a bill for
77 bags of plantain chips.

 I open the comissary bag, and there is only toilet paper and laxatives. Safe for that.
 
 My locker at this very moment in time has around four dusty packs of oatmeal in.
After some serious scrapadges of the remnants of my jar of Nutella, i head off to the
kitceh to nike this putrid pot of stomach bile, that i've somehow convinced myself is not
only worthy of consumption, but is going to taste 'banging'.
 My timing couldn't be worse.
It's chicken day today. I slept in.
Despite my cellie kindly waking me up, i didn't bother going to collect my 'bird'..
..It was either get out of my warm 'blanket' that resembles a string vest to go collect some undercooked, bloody, fox urine soaked piece of chicken, or go back to sleep..
..I dream often. Mostly of being outside. Mostly of getting laid..So my decisions was made.
 Bad decision.

Making decisions using my penis,
instead of the wonderfully under developed brain i was blessed with,
is exactly how i ended up in jail in the first place..
 Considering i had MANY opportunities to share my time with classy women,
from good backgrounds, that were all doing positive things and going places with their lives,
 Timothy Guvercin took it upon himself to get married to a broad that was unemployed,
and had found her true calling in life smoking weed, sucking dick, getting butt fucked and
obsessively watching the Maury Show..


..You can imagine how proud my parents were
 The moral of the story?
Use your fucking brain. If i would have done that, not only would
i more than likely not be on jail right now, an be in some kind of other
situation that doesn't involve being locked in a room with a man squeezing
out a turd every day, but i would also have a piece of chicken.
 That piece of meat would have,
in turn, guaranteed me entry into one of the various 'whips' that
are in full effect up in this kitchen..
 When you are in a 'whip', it means someone is cooking for you.
Despite there only being two microwaves in our unit,
the kitchen is exploding with colours, smells ands flavours..
..Like that scene from Hook with all them fucking annoying little kids
making all that NEXT LEVEL munch..there is even a big, fat, round individual
standing in the middle of the kitchen with a big golden sword shouting 'bangarang' ;)
 The only difference being he ain't a pre-pubescent kid, he's a 40 year old Puerto Rican
who looks uncannily like Patrick from Spongebob..really..that or a spanish uncle fester..
 The food these guys are whipping together smells so fucking banging!

..And i'm standing there with my fucking BATE bowl of oatmeal/anal discharge..i feel
like hanging up.

Day and Night!

I havn't really been working out recently..
I seem to have injured my right wrist.
 No, i do that with my left hand.
Anyway, without the prospect of hot water, working my Turkish balls
into a sweat doesn't seem like the brightest of ideas..
 Lame excuse,
granted, but when your conditions are fucking cold, having a cold
shower really ain't all that appealing to me..

 My lack of exercise has left me feeling weak,
and that is not a giid combination in this DUMP.

 My small, raki soaked Turkish brain is used to that 'feel good' rush i get from working out. It has

kept me upbeat and positive.
 Without it, it is all too easy for my mind to wonder..
..Usually in a negative direction.

 Once that happens, i start acting like a moron.
I stay in my room, stare out the window at the 'civilised world' below,
dwelling on all the 'what ifs' in the world, opening the doors to all
those imobolising thoughts that follow.
..I need to get back on it.

Sunday, 6 March 2011

My son works on Broadway!

I had a few various jobs that kept me afloat while i was running
around New York..
 None of them paid well, but i really didn't give a flying fuck..As long as i had
enough money to pay my rent, food and a little booze money, i was happy.
 Occasionally i would save up some dough for the odd tattoo or shirt,
but nothing overtly extravagant..
   Most of my work was found on Craigslist.
 I would scan that site looking for any kind of cash-in-hand work,
sending 15-20 emails a day to all types of people..Manual labour,
handing out leaflets, data entry, dish washing, bus boy work, anything
and everything that paid! I was just desperate to stay here, and that needed
cash..
 ..One day my persistance finally paid off.

 It was the summer of 2009 and i had just finished my job as a busboy
at a Turkish restaurant in Williamsburg.
Despite it being ball-bakingly hot outside, i was going to all the local bars and restaurants, handing out
resumes, in a long sleeve black shirt..After all, the firs timpression one makes is very important, and when a
potential employer sees you are heavily tattood with exploding heads and manga characters,
it ain't always a good look u get me!

So..

I'm all dressed up and ready to go and hand out these crudely written, uncheckable, bullshit filled resumes,
and i recieve a phone call..
 It is from a gentleman who says he is following up an email i sent him about some office messenger work.
To be honest i don't remember sending the email, but that's not the point..he asks if i can come in for an
interview the following day.

..I look at the shitty crumpled resumes in my hand, and quickly make a decision..

"I can come and see you now if possible?"

..He pauses.

"Sure! Why not!"
 
 I think this split second decision was a wise one, as i started working as an office messenger
the following morning :D



 Timothy Guvercin was now an office messenger at an audio visual consultancy, in the heart
of Manhatton! It was a small business. There were only 5 employees, including me and the owner. We mainly rented equipment to various magazines, Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Architectual Digest etc. when they needed to do boardroom meetings an such. Most of the firms business was located through the Conde Naste Publishing building.



 It didn't pay very weell, but i was working two blocks from the Empire state building, i got to dress in fly garms everyday, free travel, company phone..and around Christmas 2009 i was appointed to deliver many bottles of champagne, that may or may not have reached their destinations along the way :D



 All in all, this job kept me afloat and without it my adventure in new York would not have been possible, so i'd like to
say a thankyou to my old boss for taking a chance with me..

 It was a job i thoroughly enjoyed, i got to do a lot of exploring around the city everyday,



kept me in shape and i was easily the happiest i have ever been. I was healthy, self sufficent
and 'somewhat' legitimate..I don't think i have ever been as happy as i was back then, i hope
one day i can return to that same level of happyness that i was at back in the fall of 2009..

Thursday, 3 March 2011

War like Iraq

I'm having trouble sleeping.
I really shouldn't be. A guard that eerily resembles a stroke ridden Vin Diesel
woke me up at some god forsaken hour for a 'legal visit'..
 Waste of time. My attorney thinks i'm stupid. Good luck with that 'bro'.

..Anyhow
some reggae just came on the radio! Reggae always makes things better..











 See :) ?
Most music on the radio here just makes me extremely annoyed. No matter
how hard i was flossing on road, while sitting here in pergatory, i do not want to
hear things like..


 Seriously. You can keep ALL that shit thankyou very much..
 What i would give to listen to some fucking Grime up in this bitch!?
It's been almost HALF A FUCKING YEAR now since i've heard any :(
 I guess all situations need to be looked at in a positive light though,
i can bank that if i was skanking around the jail listening to shit like this











 I'd probably be in solitary confinement right now..
What for?
"Mr Guvercin slapped man off the phone, tried to call guys,
kicked the HDTV from the stand then flipped the matress an searched for the cash..
 an officer tried to stop him but Guvercin went mental an sent him to the dental.."
 I should probably just go to sleep...

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

Tramp




 Out of all the people in here,
you can tell just by looking at people what they're in for..
 You can tell the mobsters apart from the street dealers, the drug barons from the gang bangers,
and the drug mules from the career conmen..
 Then there are one or two individuals who just look like fucking perverts..
..The type of person that if they were in a lineup for a crime they didn't commit,
they'd get picked out anyone just for looking neeeext creepy! Man's just got that fiddler look about them..As S put it
"The type of N that'd hide in a tree or some shit"

..If you recall, i mentioned a certain 'serial jerk off artist'..

 So..We have a new female guard on duty..
The young lady (for prison standards) ain't too bad on the eye. That's my opinion.
 Other people decided to take their evaluation one step further, proclaiming..
"I bet she got a pussy as good as a government cheque, cash that mother fucking anywhere son"
..Indeed.
..Eitherway, she's a sweet girl. She usually blushes everytime i go talk to her..Saying that,
i do extra ham it up whenever i go see her..to the point where this fuckrie gal dem probably thinks i
toke it up with Prince Harry, Way down the road..Bless :D


 I come back from showering this girl with pure London brs, and the creep smiles at me and says..
"That dirty cracker, she wants someone to climb up her doo-doo hole"
..errr seen! :S

..I think the least amount of interaction with this preying mantis looking motherfucker, the better,
so just ignore him an skank on back to my cell..

 A couple days later, i'm chilling in the cell, and my guy N runs up in the room..
"Yo, you gotta come check what this nasty creep n****r is doin' son!!"
..To be honest, i don't particularly want to see what he is doing. I can imagine. But as N has
felt the need to run to my cell and tell me in a very excited 5 year old manner, i may aswell entertain the dude..
 We get to the bottom of the stairs, i look up, and see this motherfucker standing in his cell,
with his hand down his pants, openly jerking off. Swear down. This fucking TRAMP is going on SICK!
 To the un-trained eye (not to say i'm trained in recognising motherfucking perverts wacking off) he looks
like he is having a very violent altercation with a weasel..the battle ground being his pants..and he's winning.
..Big time. This dude is on the brink of a double flawless victory, accompanied by a fatality..Weak pathetic Fool!