Sunday morning and I just hit the local Starbucks with my mom. Well, not really, but in my land of make-believe, I can go anywhere. Who says we ever grow up?
…More like me leaned on a pay-phone with a plastic coffee cup in one hand. The other hand holds my cheat-sheet, which is a small notepad with the topics we will try to discuss in our short 15 minutes of talk time. …Which is never enough.
That’s crazy in itself, since as a free man I never called any of my family.
The phone is cradled on my chin, and I’m crossing off topics as we get done with them. First I have to find out how all my brothers and sisters are. Then we branch out from there. For a quick minute, there is uneasiness until I hear Mom say all is good. Personally, my biggest fear is that someone I love dies and I'm not able to say goodbye and pay my respects. That’s probably a prisoner’s #1 fear.
My grandfather passed away two Christmases ago, and I had to deal with that on my own. …Talk about dark days! Whew!
Back to the phone - Mom is telling me the low-down. I hear her take a drag from her cigarette and exhale. Mom, you still trying to quit? OK, I’ll stop. Not really – I’ll ask again next time we talk.
Mom didn’t smoke my whole life until I came to prison. The day she found out my appeal was denied, Mom picked up a pack for the first time in 25+ years and once again began puffing. Normally I wouldn’t say anything – you know, pot and the kettle – but I did quit last August, so I’m coming up on one year now.
After Mom catches me up on family news (and after her cigarette), she goes and signs on to J.J.
One more thing that strikes me as funny. I have to call 3 or 4 times in rapid succession to wake Mom up. She was out drinking last night with her friends. Oh, the irony!
Mom says there is a new art piece and a guest post by Ester. Why my sister is considered a guest writer, I don’t know. This is more her project than it is even mine. I love to read my sister’s posts. Come on, Mom, let’s have it!
I love the way Ester writes. She hooks you in. Her descriptions of the blog as a project was wonderful. Mom read me her piece. I enjoyed it. Yeah, we could keep the stamp-man in business, that’s for sure. I use a book of stamps every two weeks, if not more. (Sorry, Scottie! And thanks to your mom – yeah, you both are contributing to this project as well. Much love!!)
Mom says she loves the art of the love-birds. I catch hell for doing that kind of art back here. Lately, I have done love-birds, flowers, and butterflies, and the most recent was a fairy. Even my dorm sergeant came by (all my officers come by to see my latest art). He says, “Uhh… Smith, you OK?” I laugh. I’m quite secure in my manhood. Besides, after you see Tinkerbell, tell me I can’t draw one bad-ass fairy!
(Copyright M.S. 2011)
I don’t like ruts. Been living in deep ruts for years before prison. Today, I hate them. I don’t even want my art to begin to look the same. I do feel I have created my own ‘style.’ But why put a skull in every piece I draw? So say hello to the butterflies and fairies J
Besides, I figure I need to be comfortable drawing anything, really. Who knows what someone may want when they walk into my shop? Plus it’s fun. Taking something ordinary and adding my own style to it. That’s what makes something unique.
Mom and I talk about all of this stuff on the phone, and then some. My list has been checked off and the coffee drained from my cup. Now I have to pee. Not now! My 15 minutes are nearly up and my Mom is telling me about someone she ran into the other day at the beach.
Mom says a beautiful, pregnant woman walked up to her and told Mom she reads J.J. (that was Mom’s description). Turns out I remember this woman, and I’m sure she remembers me. I just think it’s cool how many of you are listening to me. People have begun to come up to my mom and my sisters and mention J.J. …Makes me smile! Then again, we are from a small town.
While I have your attention, there’s a band in Northern Michigan called Controlled Burn. My brother is the bassist in that band. For the life of me, I can’t get him to read this blog. How about we reach out to him? Somebody out there sees that Controlled Burn is playing some local bar… stop in and look up their bass-player. Just say, “Wazz up?” Show some love and when he asks who the hell you are, just tell him you’re a friend of his big brother. (ß Big brother is always watching!)
Or, just for fun, tell him you’re D.E.A.! That would probably make a funny post for you. Yeah, do that and we’ll give you a guest post! For real!
Bottoms up, boys and girls!
And congratulations to the beautiful pregnant woman from Higgins Lake.
(OK, so some of this is a little out of date, but still relevant :) Mike worried when I told him I was almost running out of material and within 10 days, I had another huge stack of pieces to type up, so this kind of got lost in the shuffle. Enjoy!)
"…Just like that, another holiday weekend went by.It was a good weekend for me.A few friends and I put together a softball team.We won the first game and so we advanced and then we lost the second.Still, as I stood there rooting on my team, something dawned on me.The team was made up on men who were black, white, and Hispanic.…Many races and different crimes.Once upon a time, we were all bad men.
All I saw was Seymour on second, Mark on first, Rev was pitchin’ and “Smoke” was in left field.These are my buddies.While we were on that field, we all had one thing in common.We had freed our minds.
We all need this, but some days it’s hard to find behind these walls.These days, I’m a writer.I tend to keep an eye out for things to write about.This just seemed like something worth sharing.
Our lunch was the best I have eaten since I came to prison.They gave us so much food!…A hot dog and a hamburger, a piece of corn on the cob, a brownie and a slice of watermelon.That’s the first time I’ve had watermelon since I came to prison.It was so good!We all walked away from that meal holding our bellies.Nothing went to waste.People were sharing, trading – it’s really quite comical sometimes.Bottom line: The day was a success.One of my best ever.A day to remember, for sure.
Later in the evening, the New York fireworks were on TV.Absolutely beautiful.I love to watch things explode!
Even as a boy, I would go and spend all my money at the firework stand.My dad would always say the same thing: “What a waste!There goes your money…up in smoke.”
No, Dad, it was not a waste.Just more memories for me to pull up on a rainy day.
…Like the time me and my brother Aaron had purchased a whole brick of Black-Cat boomers.We wanted them to last forever. Perhaps due to Dad's constant bitching, we lit them one by one.
"Never attempt to light firecrackers in a closed container," kids.
The problem was that you have to remove the slow-burn fuse to light them individually.What you’re left with is enough gun powder to blow off fingers and a short-ass fuse!…A dilemma me and Aaron know all too well.
Luckily, we both still have all our fingers, and laughs for a life-time!
I’m not saying money up in smoke is a good investment.I’m not saying our Dad was a major party-pooper…
What WAS I saying, anyway?
Right!The New York fireworks on TV…
(Photo by Ken Goldfield for News, found at NY Daily News)
Crazy, the things that run through my mind.I sat there and listened to the music and watched the beautiful explosions, the reflections they made off the water (their fireworks are done from boats on the Hudson River).
At one point, I got to thinking about what the holiday means.Independence Day.It made me think.Here I sit, in prison, watching the show on TV.However, one day I will sit out there and watch the show again.As a free man, that will be MY Independence Day.
The thought struck me so hard, it was emotional.Not in a bad way, but just realizing what “freedom” really means.People through history have given their lives for our freedom.One day, I too will be free again.
Do you ever realize how blessed you are to be free?
Something many of us take for granted – myself included.Not so much lately!JBut you get my point.
These days, I’m making my “to-do” list. …Stuff I want to do after I am released.I just added one more.I have never been to New York city, and I want to go.Not just that, but I want to go on Independence Day and watch those same fireworks.
Just because I can.
One small difference – I will be free then.That’s why I have to go.I want a room overlooking the bay, a few close friends to share the memory with.I’ll once again see the color and reflection off the water, and I will raise my glass in a toast to freedom.…To my very own Independence.
I’m sure that will be a very emotional time for me as well.Hell, maybe I could invite my dad.…And maybe not.
Just now I realized what would make the moment perfect; A few good men who know about the struggle.The struggle to be free.Free from drugs, free from walls and chains.Guys I can look in the eye and communicate a lifetime to, without speaking a word.And there are some women out there who have the same story to tell.My brothers and sisters.The real Hooligans!
Whatever you are going through…
Whatever you just declared yourself free from – my hat is off to you.You’re not alone.We’re men and women all over the country.Stay free, my friends!"
Since J.J. started, I have tried to take the time to thank each one of you for stopping by to check us out, both Ester and myself.
In a very short time, numbers have grown by leaps and bounds. One thing I hear over and over is how people appreciate my bluntness. …Which brings me to the point at hand.
Not long ago, Ester ran a piece called Dark Days. That piece was brutally honest and really showed how this place can get to you. At the time I wrote that, I was deep in a hole.
Bear with me for a moment….
I am a 32-year-old, tattooed prisoner who spent the last 15 years of my life as an addict to street drugs. I talk shit about my life and Ester brings it to you on Jailbird. I laugh and refer to all of us as Hooligans. Yeah, you al are a lovely bunch of Hooligans.
Just three days after Dark Days dropped, letters of support and encouragement came in from all across the U.S. That’s not joke! People I have never met, or barely know, took the time to show me some mad love.
You guys really reached out to me. Here I am, trying to reach out there, and when push came to shove, the Hooligans reached in here and picked me up. This shout-out is for you. You know who you are, and each one of you is awesome!
One comment really hit me. I made a comment in Dark Days about the people who hauled ass on me. An old friend said, “Let them go! Replace them with people who love and truly care about you.” When your letters began to roll in, I realized that I already have.
Sure, there’s gonna be some haters, but hell, stick around long enough and the Hooligan crew might just win you over J
Maybe you just started coming by. Perhaps you are not sure what to think of this blog. It all started with just my immediate family and a few friends. Today, this project has Hooligans all across the U.S. and even farther. Many of the people who read just don’t leave comments. I wonder at time just how many readers there really are. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. The people who are here are incredible.
Thanks to ALL of you. I felt such love the other day as I sat and read your beautiful letters. Some of you sent jokes and made me laugh. Others spoke heartfelt words of encouragement. You are an incredible bunch of people. I am unable to read other blogs (ha! …Or even this one!), so I’m not sure how they work.
That’s why I’m taking time to tell you all this. If you are a part of this project, you are a part of something big. J.J. has picked up some truly wonderful people J
Please remember to tell Ester thanks. This would not be possible if it weren’t for my kick-ass sister (really – it’s weird for me to type this stuff up. Michael, do you think I can’t hear you talking about me? I’m RIGHT here! Hell-o!? Ha ha!)
Much love to you sissy, and a big Thank You to the Hooligan crew. You truly are a lovely, one-of a kind bunch!
-J.J.
P.S. EThoma, thank you from both of us for the stamps! I am sure Scottie appreciates your generosity too! XOXO-Ester Jean
Holy canolie, guys, can you believe it's been like, one post after another this week? Yeesh! I'm a busy little lady!
Here's what I've got for you today: be sure to check out the updated Jailbird drawing NO WORRIES, Angie E.! Yours is still a go!) And I have another surprise for you! Well, more of a blessing in disguise for me, and more work for you than you're gonna like today. Are you ready for it? Do you think you can handle it?
Well, I have to admit I had a crazy, crazy. crazy night at work. ...You know, the kind where you contemplate drinking at 8 a.m.? ...Yes, that kind of night at work. So what I decided to do as my birthday present for myself is to post scanned pictures of Mike's post instead of typing up the post for today. Isn't that awesome?? Haven't you just been dying to see his handwriting and spelling errors in real(ish) life?
Yes! You have! I just knew it! SO here's the deal-io. All you have to do is read cursive handwriting. (Really? That's all I have to do so that you can go chain-smoke cigarettes and get drunk at 8 a.m. on your pathetic 27th birthday??) YES!!! I knew you would all agree that this was my best idea. EVER.
Seriously, I feel like a big ol' cheering genius right now. I hope you enjoyed reading all that as much as I enjoyed not typing it. Next time will be typed, I promised. I'm not getting lazy permanently, just for today I need a minute. And a beer. XOXOX!!! -Ester Jean
Michael asked me to draw another name for the custom artwork giveaway, so I painted my face and talked on camera for 2 minutes before I realized the camera wasn't recording. Here's what I came up with after that:
...OF BOTH THESE INCREDIBLE PEOPLE--QUEEN ESTER AND J.J. My children are far more advanced than me. Ester has given me "supervisory" status on this blog but I cannot figure it out!! Michael sent this to me to post prior to Ester's birthday so all of you could have an opportunity to wish her the best, the most, the finest, etc. But all I can manage to do is put it up as a comment to this post and Ester---this is your mother speaking: YOU MUST PUT IT IN THE MAIN BODY OF THE BLOG BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT YOUR BROTHER WANTS. (Ester is laughing hysterically.) FROM MICHAEL: COULD I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE? Last year, in October, I spoke to my sister Ester. I told her about this idea I had. My idea was simple. We would put my art and silly stories up on her Facebook where her friends could read about my life. That sounds simple enough. However, as you all know, Ester's big brother's life is FAR from simple. Ester could have said, "no-thanks!" As you can see, she did not. Instead she laughed her silly laugh, and said, "sure bro---let's run that shit." So, on November 8th of 2010 I sent Ester the memorial piece for my friend Kimmy (K.I.S.S.) and a small packet of my random thoughts. I believe it was about a month later and Ester posted Kimmy's Memorial. You now know the project as "Jail Bird", or "J.J." I draw the pictures and write the stories, but Ester brings them to life for you the reader. Many of you are fully aware of all this. I am in prison. Aside from Ester making this blog possible, there would be no J.J. So please...I don't think I ask much of you guys. This time I need to pull in all favors. My sister Ester is the shit. She has brought me a ray of sunshine by doing the J.J. project with me. So please listen. Show my sissy some love!! July 21st is her birthday!! Maybe you read the blog but don't leave comments. Perhaps you don't see why your comment would make a difference. Let me tell you, it does. Right now I am asking each of you to show Ester your love. If we have ever gave you a laugh, made you smile, gave you a reason to think, hell, maybe we pissed you off!! Tell my sis Happy Birthday (smile). Jail Bird has just passed the six month mark and all I can say is WOW! I had no idea J.J. would become all this in such a short amount of time. Ester, Happy Birthday!! We both had a laugh in the beginning. I remember telling you if no-one even reads this at least we will get to know each other better. And today you know FAR more about me than any sister should have to know about her brother (smile). The best part sissy...you see all these cool people who DO hang out with us. Not only have we grown closer, people actually read this stuff. People from other countries! Ester I am blessed to have you as my sister. Your faith in me has given me faith in myself. From the bottom of my heart, Thank You. Much Love to you, Your big brother--MS
Ester, you’re only my sister on paper. You’re more like my editor, manager, wing-man… fuck it – can I just say Best Friend? You realize that, right? I listen to you talk, see the way you live and view life, and I realize we’re two peas in a pod. We really are about the same, well, aside from the fact that you have boobs and I have a dick, but you know what I mean…. Do you ever read stuff I write and think, ‘That’s just how I feel?’
I do that all the time when I read how you write. Blows my mind, Ester, when I stop and realize how much we are alike.
Oh, yeah, not that I figure it would offend you, but sorry for mentioning boobs and dicks. Then again, fuck it – you’d say the same thing and no apology is necessary.
Should I write another post for you in this? Eh. I don’t feel like it. How about we just chat – you and me? Besides, such a nice, uplifting conversation we’re having here!
Are we like totally scarring people for life, or what? Do other people talk like this? I can see sweet fuckin’ Candy… “Oh, you two are so silly! I love you both!”
Don’t we have the best fans?
Where else can you talk mad smack and people love you despite it? …Or FOR it?
Ester, what have we done, sister? We are corrupting the country. Ha! Truth is the country is already corrupted. Most people just keep it under wraps. You and me – screw it – let’s talk about whatever. OK, I’m tired of talking about dicks.
Know what I want to talk about now? Softball!! (Where did that come from?)
Click on the link or photo to read a sweet post about baseball in San Quentin Prison
Yeah, there’s a change in the tide for ya. My big holiday weekend. My options? Jack off or play ball. Ha! What’s the difference? Really? Bats and balls either way! It’s a win-win situation. Only men would think up such a game, then turn it into America’s favorite pastime. WTF?
So me and some buddies made up a team and played ball. If I recall, I said way back when that our bat is chained to home plate. Yeah – security reasons. This is not a small chain either. No, this is one of those logging chains, like you could pull a school bus out of a ditch with this kind of chain. This chain is a man’s chain. Ten feet of steel chain.
…Securing an aluminum bat to home plate. Whoever thought this up was a frickin’ genius. Why hit the bastard with an aluminum bat when you could wrap a 10-foot logging chain around his neck and strangle him? My god, who thinks up that crazy shit anyway? Oh, yeah – they must work for the state.
So we played ball! Surprisingly, we actually won the first game. We advanced to play a second game the same day. We lost. My luck never holds out past 3 innings (sounds like something she said! …Yeah, beat you to the punch!).
Why does talking about baseball sound so much like talking about sex? When you’re in high school, your buddies ask, “So, did you make it to first base or second?” Then you become an adult and… well, not much changes. You still play with balls. Only difference is you find out baseball isn’t only played with first and second base, but there’s a third base too. Ahh, the joys of being an adult.
So we played two games, won one and lost one. But it was fun. One of those rare moments when you forget where you are and realize you have a smile on your face. Every person of every color are all together, cheering each other on.
We could have been free men at a park on the street. I’m a writer. I see this stuff and my smile gets even bigger. Whether these guys realize it or not, we just freed our minds! Priceless! It’s a good day to be alive.
During the first couple of years Michael was in prison, I likely sent him only a handful of letters. He kept writing, and I kept setting his letters aside. When he found out I was a blogger and lived half my life in cyber-space, he jumped at the opportunity to propose this idea to me – this blog project. I didn’t know what to think. Does he know the internet is forever? I had no idea that this project would blossom into a part-time [unpaid, thus far] job, an up-and-coming graphics company, and a way to connect with people all over the world. I also had no way of knowing that it would create a real relationship with my brother to replace one that was practically non-existent before.
Here’s the deal. When someone has his own blog, he thinks, ‘Hrmmm, I think I will write something today’ and clickety-clack on the keyboard, hit “post” and he’ll read the comments later.
This is why we call it a “blog project” instead of just a blog: I get out of work, go to the post office, check the mail, get mail from Mike, read it, make a note on the envelope about what’s inside of it, later I’ll type up the piece, look up pictures to go with the post, copy and paste the typing from a word-processor to the blogger form, upload the pictures, edit the post, post the post, post the link to the blog on my Facebook page, post the link to the post on J.J.’s Facebook page, keep coming back to respond to comment and questions, copy comments and questions, paste comments and questions in a letter for Mike, monitor Facebook for goodies left on my wall and J.J.’s about his posts, look for new followers, check on our stats, do lots of copying and pasting and screenshots so he can get the feel for what everything looks like, write and let Mike know what the hell is taking so long for this to post or that to post, research whatever the hell screen-printing is and how much it costs and who all does it and who can offer me the most bang for my buck, spend a few hours studying the process to apply for a trademark (legal jargon! FUN!), apply for trademark… um… Shall I move on?
I also sink a good little bit of dough in printer cartridges for sending him updates, which arrive at the prison in big fat packages for everybody to get excited about. …And the stamps….
I got a letter from Michael just today, in which Scottie wrote directly to me for the first time. He writes this darling, full page of sweet encouragement and what a difference I am making, then at the very bottom in this tiny, tiny block lettering, it says, “P.S. By the way, could you please send Mike some stamps ‘cause he’s using the shit out of mine.”
Stamps are a hot commodity and boy, oh boy, can we go through some stamps!
This is a project because nobody is making money, nobody is profiting in a material way [yet!]. This is a beautiful thing. …Well, to me, of course, and to Michael. We certainly know there are plenty of people who don’t approve of Michael’s liberty to exercise freedom of speech while he is incarcerated, and Michael wouldn’t have that freedom except through me (well – I’m sure he’d find a way if it weren’t for me, just patting myself on the back there…). So I’m a bad guy too, if we are just paying attention to the haters.
There is another way Judicious Jailbird has changed my little part of the world.
I started this job. A real life job, not the “project.” …And we do the whole get-to-know-co-workers thing. That’s always a shy, peculiar sort of experience. I am particularly shy because I just dropped out of college, so I’ve got that going for me. And on one of many smoke-breaks I take with a co-worker of mine, we’re talking about the future, talking about college, talking about jobs that don’t require college, etc. You know – smoke-break kinds of things. And at one point I felt on the ledge. At a jumping-off point. …That split-second when you’re about to open your mouth to say something, but you’re suddenly unsure if it’s OK to say.
She asks something like, “What do you do in your spare time?”
“My brother is in prison. And we are working on a blog project together.”
First, who the hell is expecting to hear that? Second, who admits they have a brother in prison?
This girl.
(I'm kinda vain - has anybody caught onto that yet? Good. Moving on...)
This might not sound like any kind of an issue to you, reader, because you’re sitting at home or at work or at a local coffee shop or in a grass hut somewhere reading a prisoner’s blog. But to, you know, other people, this might just make them take a step back and go, “Say, what?”
Say what, indeed.
So my jumping off point here, and the start of a good change in my life, was openly talking about having a brother in prison. …And loving him. …And caring about sharing his voice and his great skills in artistry.
Know what I hear 80% of the time? “Oh! Wow! My husband [father, brother, son, uncle] is/was in prison!”
I wonder how often people talk about their family members and loved ones who are locked away. I wonder how often people feel safe talking about that. There’s a weird feeling when you’re about to tell somebody. How does that reflect on me? I mean, I’m not in prison. I didn’t get caught do anything wrong. But what are they going to think of me/my family/my loved one if I admit that this is for real? …That this is a real part of my everyday life?
I loved that first day when I took a leap, and I got a positive response, an interested, curious response, a response that opened a doorway for talking about something it’s kind of taboo to talk about in polite society.
Since then, I have received messages from people who talk about their loved ones who have been or are still incarcerated. I love getting those messages. I love being one person they might feel safe talking to. The funny thing is that once I opened up about it, so did my friends.
Ever go to the lake with a group of friends late at night, when it’s been dark and cool, and the water sets a deep chill through your toes right when you step in? You know that feeling when the first person, without consulting anybody, without warning, dives in head first? It makes you feel OK to go ahead and dive in yourself.
Our loved ones don’t need extra shame from judgmental people on the outside. They’re doing their time. They are still our brothers, your fathers or sons, your friends or husbands. They also face the futures - the planning, the credit card applications, the job hunting, the goal-setting, birthday parties – we all do. They are still here. They don't need to be hidden.
My brother blesses me with long letters filled with pages of encouragement. We talk business, we talk about our goals and dreams, we talk about the future, home-buying, job-hunting, college classes, current and future children, we talk about sex, friends, marriage, our parents and siblings. I write to Michael almost every day, and he gets every part of every rollercoaster-ride day I’m having - my sarcastic, cussing, bitchy sense of humor, every complaint my mind comes up with about my job or money or whatever is going on in my world…. He doesn’t try to advise me unless I ask, he doesn’t tell me what I should be doing, doesn’t guilt me when I have huge gaps in between posts, he just keeps writing page after page of encouragement, on top of writing posts for J.J. and drawing artwork and keeping in touch with friends and family.
He built this for me with his bare hands:
*(Isn’t that nice?)
I want to challenge you to do something. Do you know anybody [other than Mike] who is in prison? I do. Is someone you love behind bars? Have you told anyone? Will you try? …Try with the most casual tone you can muster up, as if you’re saying, “I’m going to lunch with my husband and getting a cheeseburger.” Or “I had my annual check-up yesterday and it didn’t hurt a bit.” Or “My brother is in prison, and I’m working on a blog project with him.”
Hey there, everybody! Michael and I are currently experiencing a delay known as change of address, where I moved before I changed my address and didn't have time to send him my new one. Right now he is likely experiencing returned mail and calling Mom in a panic. ...The other thing that means is that I think I have run out of pieces! How did that happen? Well, I finally caught up. The last piece I received from Michael was dated 6/26/11. Yikes! But when I went back to look at my secondary mailbox, I found a little piece I had not yet posted, which coordinates nicely with what he sent on June 26, which is this:
(This piece, dated March, 2011): "Yeah, my high school expelled me. You can't see me, but I'm raising a middle finger high in the air and wavin' it around 'cause I just don't care. Nah! Really, I do.
I went back and now have my G.E.D.
I hold a Masters degree in being a prick - uhhh... whoops! Since coming to prison, I have become a certified personal trainer. Now I can teach you how to be a prick too. Damn, where does all this shit come from?
My job here is 'house man.' I clean sinks and mop the floors. Does that count for anything? Can I call myself a janitorial technician? OK, maybe that's pushing it a little. I just see these really cool commercials for the Marines. Like - "Join the Marines - just think of the things you can put on your future resume. The doors of opportunity will literally fall open for you."
So I'm just trying to picture my future resume. Come on, now, quit laughing! This isn't funny. I cut grass here sometimes - can I say I'm a landscaping engineer?
About the only thing I've got going for me... I could finally pass a piss-test!
Jokes aside, I'm once again a school-boy. I have my G.E.D. and now I am taking a couple other courses. Credit & Debt Management, Small Business Set-Up, and Personal Finances. Soon to start Creative Writing. But, as you all know, I'm already pretty creative with my writing.
My resume will look like shit. I doubt I could pump gas, and I don't care anyway. This is why I will open my own business. Still, I am proud to be furthering my education. So if you're thinking I spend my days watching TV in the A.C., drinking cold sodas, you're on the wrong channel. There is no cable TV here, no A.C., and the food sucks. The best thing they offer is a few classes, so I'll take advantage of that.
I'll always make time for this project, so stay tuned! Who knows what kind of crazy bullshit is headed your way? You keep reading, and I'll keep writing.
Once again, thanks to each of you for making J.J. what it is. I continue to be amazed by how far you have all helped me carry my voice. You all help to lighten the load I carry while I do this sentence. Many, many thanks, and much love,"
"So, I seriously thought I died and went to heaven. …At least for the past hour.
One of my buddies came up to me and said “Put your radio on 101.5!” For the past hour, the featured band was my all-time favorite (and Ester’s all-time favorite!), Pearl Jam. Not only that, but all songs were recorded live. …Just like being at a concert. Three of us, all zoned out, rockin’ to one of the greatest grunge bands from the ‘90s. We would look at each other occasionally, just nod. Each of us was far away. I could tell by the look on my buddies faces that they were front and center stage. “Yellow Led-Better, Elderly Woman, Better Man, Alive…” - wow – they were playing them all.
There are so many bad-ass, HAWT pictures of this band, but I had to pay homage
At one point, I looked over at my buddy Lance and said, “I’m 16 and wearing a flannel again.” He just smiled. Anyone who grew up with me and was a friend of mine knows Pearl Jam is my favorite. In high school, I wore a flannel, wore my hair like Kurt Cobain, and always had a guitar nearby. Even through years of drug abuse, music remained dear to my heart. There are a few of you who have heard me play and sing. After the right amount of beer, I am not too shabby. That’s when you’re drinking beer J
One of the things prison took from me was the ability to play music. Notice I didn’t say they took music from me. That’s the beauty of music. It stays in your heart and soul. Nobody can take that away from you.
So, like tonight, from time to time, we escape through the music. Priceless.
Isn’t it amazing how music brings back memories? Good ones and bad…. To this day, I hear certain songs and remember a certain car I had. Along with a woman I was with, a place I lived, someone I loved long, long ago.
Music is probably a prisoner’s best friend. I have different programs I listen to. Right now, I’m sitting here, laughing at my buddy H.A. Perhaps you remember my big, rowdy biker buddy. Well, today is Saturday. Saturday nights are honky-tonk Saturdays for him. …All that old country stuff. He zones out. H.A. is lying on his bunk, tapping his toe to some song saying, “She got the gold mine, I got the shaft.”
Across the room, I see Scottie. He’s listening to some new-age techno stuff. From the way he’s moving, he thinks he’s at the club. I was telling one of my pen-pals the other day about music and its effects on me. If I listen to techno to this day, I start thinking about DJs, colorful lights, glow-sticks and eating ecstasy. Yeah, I should probably stick to my honky-tonk Saturdays with H.A.
One of my best memories as a kid was the time my dad and our Uncle Carl took me and my brother Aaron to see the Doobie Brothers. That was long ago - I was a little boy - maybe 8 or 10. Since that concert, I was hooked. There is nothing like a live show. My dear Uncle Carl passed away last year, while I've been down. Whenever I hear the Doobie Brothers, I think of that drive from our house to Pontiac, Michigan. If I recall, we went to Pine Knobb. God, it was so long ago.
(If he was 8 or 10, this is the ticket... I [Ester] even remember when the boys went to this concert,
because we weren't even allowed to listen to rock and roll! It was a pretty big deal!)
Then there’s the time when our family went on a vacation. Dad bought a motor-home. He declared we were all going to Florida. I was the oldest, and talked him into letting me bring a friend. That would be my friend who smoked that first joint with me. Yeah, that one. And we had plenty of that stuff, and some other stuff with us. One of our overnight stops was in Biloxi, Mississippi: casino town. My first country show was on that stop. Aaron Tippin was playing some craw-dad festival. My buddy and I snuck out of the camper, into the concert, and the cops brought us home at the end of the night. We would have been about 16 then. …My first taste of country music. I don’t remember any of his songs, but the chicks were hot as hell!
(Sorry - should I have googled "Country girls?")
A few years later, my brother and I were in Florida visiting our grandmother. They had just had all those bad wild-fires in the state. It would have been 1997 or 1998. The band Sevendust gave a benefit concert in Daytona Beach for all the fire-fighters that came down to throw water on the flames. So we went.
I think our intentions were good. After all, I’m an angel, you know. But shortly after the show started, some cool-looking surfer dude came up and asked me if I wanted a hit of acid. Of course, I said yes. Until then, I had never tripped. So after a half-hour, the guy comes by again. I say, “Yo! Let me get another hit man.” He gives it to me, I stick it under my tongue and he does one of those Cheech and Chong things to me… “WOAH, dude – you just took a lot of acid!” Get real, man. How harmful can two pieces of paper the size of a pencil eraser be?
Welcome to my world a half-hour later: It’s raining turkey legs. Yes, you just read that right – turkey legs. Maybe you have been to see Sevendust before, but if you haven’t, let me explain. This is a very intense band. They draw a crowd of heavily pierced, tattooed, crazy-dressing, gothic people.
…In other words, a bunch of freaks. Let me tell you, I wasn’t the only one trippin.’ There was a concession stand selling big-ass turkey legs for a buck a piece. The band starts, mosh pit is going balls to the wall, and then some dude chucks a drumstick [turkey leg-version, that is] into the air. That fucker started a movement, man. In a couple of minutes, the turkey legs are all bought out, and they are all flying through the air.
Maybe you’ve seen a harmless beach ball batted around the arena at, say, a Jimmy Buffet show. Well, this is not a Buffet show! This is a Seven-fuckin’-dust and we’re throwin’ turkey legs! …And I’m trippin’ balls! No shit. There were a lot of turkey legs flying through the air, but I saw thousands of turkey legs. Then it starts to really rain. I’m now seeing purple, green, and pink turkey legs. Then I start to swim in turkey legs. I’m wasted. That was Sevendust, and I was 18 then.
That same year, I went to Ozzfest. One of the best line-ups they have ever had. This was my first time seeing TOOL. To this day, TOOL is The Shit. This is the first concert where I saw people just walking around naked. The stage behind TOOL had a gigantic toilet. I’m talking an exact replica of a toilet that stood like 30 feet tall.
(I'm sorry - were you trying to eat breakfast?)
It even flushed during their set. They all came onstage wearing brief underwear. They stole the show, since Ozzy was so drunk he couldn’t even stand up. I still love Ozzy. My cousin was with me – one of our crazy-ass times together. She’s an Ozzy fan. I won’t say her name on here – she would kill me – but she turned me on to 80s rock’n’roll. I will forever love her for doing that.
I’ve been to a shit-load of live shows. I love concerts. But the 80s stuff is so cool. Those dudes can really put on a show. To me, they mean rock’n’roll. Well, except for the time someone dragged me into KC and The Sunshine Band. With a name like that, I should have known better. And I probably just offended somebody by saying that – whoops!
My point is, at 50+ and fat as hell, ol’ KC should not be wearing leather pants is all. That’s OK, it did something for the woman I went with, and we had sex in the parking lot after the show. …Or maybe it was in the bathroom? Can’t remember.
It’s great to see all these 80s bands firing back up. Not long after that, I went and saw Danzig. Ha! Every time OI think of them, I think, “Mother, tell your children not to….” OK, I’ll stop. That was a great show, but that audience was full of satan-worshippers for real! Like, swaying back and forth and stuff. Kind of freaky. Not my thing.
(That’s also what I found in the search results for Danzig images,
Now Motley Crue! Yeah! Do I have some 80s rockers out there? Thanks to my cousin, I got to experience:
(W.A.S.P.)
(Cinderella)
(Motley Crue)
(Scorpions)
(Oh my gosh, Ester had to take a laughing-fit break after that 5-minute Google search.
NO KIDDING.)
Maybe this is sparking some memories for you as well. I get excited just remembering the shows I’ve seen. I’ll forever remember Blackie Lawless and the show they put on. Now there’s a dude who can rock leather pants at any age. His voice cuts through a room full of people and will reach your spine and make in tingle. What happened to music that touches you like that?
Lately it’s been country music that touches me deep down. Don’t even call me names, cause I can hold my own, and country dudes are some of the baddest dudes I know. From time to time, I listen to honky-tonk Saturdays with H.A. It’s peaceful l – makes you want to put your arms around your girl, pull her close and watch a sun set. Can’t say I ever feel like throwing turkey legs while I’m listening to Keith Urban or Brad Paisley. I do feel a lot like that “Stupid Boy” Keith sings about. I can relate to Garth Brooks when he speaks of his “Friends in Low Places.” God knows I have some. …Seems there is a country song for every occasion.
Don’t worry! I didn’t go all soft on ya! I still bang my head to Disturbed, Godsmack, and Nonpoint. Can’t exactly work out to country, and who wants to hear about that dog that ran away – or was it that woman who ran away? I forgot, but if it was country, then something probably ran away.
I guess bottom line is I have a lot of love for music. Music makes you feel. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do – make you feel."
"Since coming to prison, I read books.A LOT of books.
The other day, Scottie gave me a book, Stephanie Meyer's Twilight.This book is not my normal reading material.It’s a love story with a bite!
Have we all seen these movies? ...2 hours of intense stares and panting...
The girl, Bella, is totally in awe of Edward.It could be love, but she is clearly smitten by him.It’s sweet and made me think.
To this day, I can’t honestly say I have ever been ‘smitten’ by a woman.I have loved, but not to the degree that I melted.In other words, fully and completely surrendered my heart to someone.Is that the difference between love and head-over-heels in love?
On the street, I was absorbed by an all-consuming addiction to drugs.I wouldn’t allow anyone to come between me and being high.I really went through hell to become the man who sits here today.Being locked up, I am unable to have a physical relationship with a woman.The relationship I have is on paper.My girl reads about all of my failures in life much like you all do, on J.J.
I’m rambling for sure, but my nature is trying to understand things.When it breaks, I want to fix it.
However, there are many things I don’t understand.Like women, and matters of the heart – they confuse me.
At some point, we’ve all been in a relationship that felt like ‘the one,’ only to find out that over time, two hearts have grown apart.Back here I realize how helpless I am to reach the world out there - In a physical sense, of course.…Which at times makes me wonder: How long can someone hold on to the idea of two people being together when there is no physical contact?People grow apart every day and they live together!These are the things that eat at me.For this reason, having relationships through the fence is truly bitchin! J
I know for sure when I get out, I’m opening a tattoo and art studio.Then I’m buying a Harley.These are things I am certain of because they are not matters of the heart.They are special interests of mine.Then again, a woman is too!I love falling asleep next to a woman, waking up, eating breakfast and planning the day.
I guess I am kind of weird.When I was married, I was a dog.My wife became a comfort blanket.I knew she would be home when I got there.…Whenever I got there.Seems like when I have a ‘live-in’ woman, it works better for us both.First, I’m faithful.There is no ring and it feels like it could end at any time.Just pack a bag and walk away.Yet, in this “freedom,” I choose to stay and work at it.
Women are different, I get that.Maybe you want that security.My mother didn’t raise me this way.She wouldn’t be impressed with my take on this.Then again, Mom surprises me sometimes.She is very wise and understanding.What works for one isn’t right for another.
Personally, I like waking up, rolling over, looking at that woman next to me, and choosing her all over again.She may never even know the things that run through my mind, but I do.Is that love?…Watching her sleep softly and realizing there is nowhere you would rather be than right there next to her?
Three years ago, I woke up next to a woman.I looked at her sleeping and kissed her cheek, then headed off to court, not knowing then that I would never wake up next to her again.Maybe I would have held onto the moment a little longer.Not because love was involved – what we had was nice and comfortable, peaceful and honest.It felt right at that time in my life.
I broke her heart that day.Looking back, I felt something too.Maybe it was the realization that she was free to go.Realizing she would move on and my life would go on pause.Then again, maybe it wasn’t pause at all.Maybe my life started that day."
