From day one of this blog project, I have covered literally dozens of topics. Love, lust, romance, hurt, pain and betrayal. There have been more posts than I can truly remember.
Not long ago I wrote about my own break down. A day I was overcome with emotion because I thought too hard about life out there. I talk about myself. But what about the people who love me? What about my brothers and sisters? What about my mother? What about my woman? My woman quietly told me today that she feels alone. Most days I have a quick response. Seems I can pull a spontaneous response out of thin air. But today? Not so much.
Many of my buddies from back here have their wives, mothers and girlfriends reading this blog. You are a quiet bunch. But today I'm thinking of you. Do you have a loved one behind bars? Do you miss them? Do you wish you could talk to someone about it, but you find people are so judgmental you find it easier to keep it to yourself?
When my lady told me she felt alone today, my heart fell. I'm doing my part...this isn't about me not loving her best. No, this is about the lack of support she receives from the people out there. And, this is what breaks my heart.
When I came to prison, the dozens of people I called 'friend' fell to one, maybe two. I had to realize they were not my true friends. It used to bother me, but now I see it differently. They were not true friends.
Here in prison we have a crew of guys called Forever Brothers. My brother Scott who went home is my forever brother. My lady asked me the other day what we are. She asked if we were a gang of some kind. This made me laugh. I'm not in a gang. So, I explained to her what we are to each other. One day I may get into a jam. A tight spot. I love my blood brothers more than anything. So if things ever were to get dirty, I would send them home. Where they are safe. And then I would call my 'forever' brothers and we would handle the shit. That's what Forever Brothers are. Rock solid friendships emerge out of this bad situation we find ourselves in.
Today, my lady, my Queen, feels alone because people can't understand why she wakes up every day and chooses a man who lives on the other side of a fence from her. I can't lie...I wonder the same some days. But that's me. I'm the guy with his hand on the glass. What's your excuse?
When you take someone as a friend, do you draw lines? Like...I'll be your friend under 'normal' circumstances....we can shop, do happy hour, and take our kids to the pool. BUT!! I don't do high stress situations...no deaths, divorces and absolutely no incarcerations. That's no friend. To you ladies who have a man behind bars, keep your chin up. If you decide to stay beside your man, God bless you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And if they do? Seriously weigh the value of them in your life.
A woman who stands beside her man gets my full respect. A fair-weather friend gets no respect from me. You ladies should form an alliance....Forever Sisters. There's a saying...."Blood is thicker than water." Is sure is. But, that doesn't mean shit. Blood also clots, congeals, and in time scabs up. Unlike water, which looks for the path of least resistance, and gets going. When the going gets tough, the tough get going....they don't scab up.
Brothers and sisters is not about race or religion, it's a state of mind. Where are you?
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
A Taste of Tattood Hooligan Designs
So, if you have kept up with all this fine reading material, then you now know that Tattood Hooligan is officially trademarked! J.J. has been busy burning through the ink pens drawing a future retail line. Here is a piece that you may see again some day.....
Thursday, March 22, 2012
CHAOS
So, dudes came by while I was drawing this. One after another and each one would ask me, "What is that?" I would reply with, "You tell me." This tripped them out.
People like directions. How to install the DVD player. How to get to a certain destination. When I draw, people want me to tell them what it is. As if I told them what this art is, they would immediately understand what it is.
This is your brain on drugs. This is Spiderman's dick. This is an alien's spine.
Enjoy Chaos. In other words a complete mind fuck. You tell me.....what do you see.....how's that?
People like directions. How to install the DVD player. How to get to a certain destination. When I draw, people want me to tell them what it is. As if I told them what this art is, they would immediately understand what it is.
This is your brain on drugs. This is Spiderman's dick. This is an alien's spine.
Enjoy Chaos. In other words a complete mind fuck. You tell me.....what do you see.....how's that?
Monday, March 19, 2012
Still Standin'
Where does the time go?
I ask myself this quite often. Not that long ago I was a kid. Even in my mid-twenties I was still young and dumb. During that time, I was put on felony probation. After serving only a portion of that probation, I was violated and was given a court date. That day in court a judge gave me 12 years in the Florida Department of Corrections.
Today I am 33. I have been in prison for four years now. That first year was hell for me. That silly, gullable boy became a hardened man. Now, I try to walk the line. Hard enough to survive my life here, yet soft enough to hear my family when they need me. Live "in" this world, but not become infected by it. Some days are easier than others.
Since I came to prison, my mother and I began to have Saturday morning coffee together. Mom tells me how my three brothers and three sisters are doing. We solve problems. I tell her I'll be home before she knows it. I will be. Ain't nothing but a thing.
I do this time, it doesn't do me. I'm gonna eat these 12 years like Captain Crunch. Pass the milk please.
This blog started just over a year ago. People thought my idea was far fetched. My sister Ester gave me a chance. We made this thing. Put some water on a seed and it will grow into a flower. Don't water the seed, and you will never find out its fruit.
On top of Jailbird, Ester and I started another side project. The Tattood Hooligan. Our idea with J.J. is that it will be a help project....to uplift people. I know....don't you feel uplifted? HA!
I need to go further. My career as a drug dealer needed to end. It's time I go legit. So we applied for a trademark on Tattood Hooligan. We were just notified that the application has been processed, and a year later, we have secured the trademark. We are officially the Tattood Hooliganz!
Perhaps you have noticed my recent art now includes the trademark. We are entering art contests and beginning grassroot marketing. So, J.J. is the community outreach project. The Tattood Hooligan will be tattoo art, graphic art, retail line with the art, and more. You will continue to see more of the Hooligan signature because it is now officially ours. I hope you continue to enjoy the art, along with my ranting and raving. I'm a hard one to shut up. Even from this side of the fence. I speak my mind.
The other day I asked my woman to read me the full definition of the word Hooligan....after all, it is our part of our trademark. You can read the definition, but it's a rebel. A person who will not conform. Somebody that will go against the grain. That's me all the way. Did I hear a "hell yeah!?!?" Don't tell me I'm the only one with balls.
We are here to stay. I'm going to speak my mind, and grow as an artist. Thanks for coming along for the ride called "My Life". You won't always agree with me. My views are my own. But, I'm able to sleep in peace at night. I paid of all my debts. I owe no man anything. And....if you feel I owe you? The checks in the mail. :)
I ask myself this quite often. Not that long ago I was a kid. Even in my mid-twenties I was still young and dumb. During that time, I was put on felony probation. After serving only a portion of that probation, I was violated and was given a court date. That day in court a judge gave me 12 years in the Florida Department of Corrections.
Today I am 33. I have been in prison for four years now. That first year was hell for me. That silly, gullable boy became a hardened man. Now, I try to walk the line. Hard enough to survive my life here, yet soft enough to hear my family when they need me. Live "in" this world, but not become infected by it. Some days are easier than others.
Since I came to prison, my mother and I began to have Saturday morning coffee together. Mom tells me how my three brothers and three sisters are doing. We solve problems. I tell her I'll be home before she knows it. I will be. Ain't nothing but a thing.
I do this time, it doesn't do me. I'm gonna eat these 12 years like Captain Crunch. Pass the milk please.
This blog started just over a year ago. People thought my idea was far fetched. My sister Ester gave me a chance. We made this thing. Put some water on a seed and it will grow into a flower. Don't water the seed, and you will never find out its fruit.
On top of Jailbird, Ester and I started another side project. The Tattood Hooligan. Our idea with J.J. is that it will be a help project....to uplift people. I know....don't you feel uplifted? HA!
I need to go further. My career as a drug dealer needed to end. It's time I go legit. So we applied for a trademark on Tattood Hooligan. We were just notified that the application has been processed, and a year later, we have secured the trademark. We are officially the Tattood Hooliganz!
Perhaps you have noticed my recent art now includes the trademark. We are entering art contests and beginning grassroot marketing. So, J.J. is the community outreach project. The Tattood Hooligan will be tattoo art, graphic art, retail line with the art, and more. You will continue to see more of the Hooligan signature because it is now officially ours. I hope you continue to enjoy the art, along with my ranting and raving. I'm a hard one to shut up. Even from this side of the fence. I speak my mind.
The other day I asked my woman to read me the full definition of the word Hooligan....after all, it is our part of our trademark. You can read the definition, but it's a rebel. A person who will not conform. Somebody that will go against the grain. That's me all the way. Did I hear a "hell yeah!?!?" Don't tell me I'm the only one with balls.
We are here to stay. I'm going to speak my mind, and grow as an artist. Thanks for coming along for the ride called "My Life". You won't always agree with me. My views are my own. But, I'm able to sleep in peace at night. I paid of all my debts. I owe no man anything. And....if you feel I owe you? The checks in the mail. :)
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Laid II Rest
Recently, you have seen a lot of new art inspired by extreme sports and magazines. Today, a piece arrived in the mail that came from J.J.'s heart. Laid II Rest is significant to the old life J.J. lived: ten years of drugs and crime. Now he lives a life in prison. Since prison, J.J. has become clean, reconnected with his daughter, and has an amazing relationship with his mother and siblings. J.J. discovered his artistic talents and found love. Everyday J.J. rolls on. On to a better life. His old life has been Laid II Rest.
Monday, March 12, 2012
I Feel
Dirt floor poor?
Yeah...been there before
I ain't no stranger
Walked with danger
Felt the pain
My life a stain
On the wall of life.
Done the deed
Committed the crime....
In another world
I do the time
With a bullet in my hand
I stand....
Alone. Far from home.
No longer a stain
I felt the rain
Washed away the pain
Today I feel
Bone of steel
I'm standin' tall
Fuck it
Fuck you....Fuck it all.
I saw the light
In a dream last night
You were here
And as I drew you near
Your lips brushed mine
And I long for the time
When dreams become real.
Because I feel.
Yeah...been there before
I ain't no stranger
Walked with danger
Felt the pain
My life a stain
On the wall of life.
Done the deed
Committed the crime....
In another world
I do the time
With a bullet in my hand
I stand....
Alone. Far from home.
No longer a stain
I felt the rain
Washed away the pain
Today I feel
Bone of steel
I'm standin' tall
Fuck it
Fuck you....Fuck it all.
I saw the light
In a dream last night
You were here
And as I drew you near
Your lips brushed mine
And I long for the time
When dreams become real.
Because I feel.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
We Salute You
Welcome to Chu-Lai, Vietnam. The year is 1970.
Flying as tail gunner, sitting behind an M-60 machine gun was one of the most dangerous places to be. Technology wasn't what it is today and a door gunner literally sat hanging. His feet out of the chopper while flying over tree level. Dropping hand grenades from a moving helicopter into enemy bunkers was also the job description of a door gunner.
That was only one aspect of the battle a Vietnam-Vet faced. When they came home, they face a whole new form of opposition. These men were mere kids. Fighting a war they were drafted into. Only to come home and be spit at. Literally.
As you sit here reading this, you know I was never in "Nam". What I am is in prison. The other day at mail call, I met my friend Norm who reads the same blog you do. You met Norman the other day. He was in Vietnam and lived to tell his story.
He tell me about the war, while I tell him about prison. We share war stories. Norman knows all too well how it feels to wake up far away from home in a place you don't want to be. That's the life of a prisoner, and a deployed soldier in some forsaken war zone.
In order for me to get a clearer picture of what these veterans faced, I went to a man who sleeps only a few bunks away from me. He too fought in Vietnam. Many years ago he was a young man fighting in the same war Norman fought.
Two soldiers who have became a major part of my life. Norman greets me at mail call with stories of his younger days. He helps keep me sane in my own battlefield. Many days the battlefield of my mind. At the same time he does this, the soldier on this side of the fence helps to free me.
Meet Joe. Mr. Joe has become my legal counsel, and recently helped me file papers in the courts to try to adjust my sentence.
Two soldiers. One war. Both came into my life and are helping me. They fought many years ago in the same war. Today, once again, they both have something in common. They may no longer be fighting for the service, instead they are fighting to help the next generation.
No matter when my freedom comes, I will never forget. I will never forget the soldiers who fought for our country. And today fight for me. I give a personal salute to the two gentlemen who fight for me. Thank you to the both of you. Cheers to freedom...for our country and our minds. Thank you Mr. Norman Nephew and Mr. Joe Magnotti. Thank you both for being on my team. Two men with much wisdom and knowledge to pass on. If a younger generation will only listen.
Flying as tail gunner, sitting behind an M-60 machine gun was one of the most dangerous places to be. Technology wasn't what it is today and a door gunner literally sat hanging. His feet out of the chopper while flying over tree level. Dropping hand grenades from a moving helicopter into enemy bunkers was also the job description of a door gunner.
That was only one aspect of the battle a Vietnam-Vet faced. When they came home, they face a whole new form of opposition. These men were mere kids. Fighting a war they were drafted into. Only to come home and be spit at. Literally.
As you sit here reading this, you know I was never in "Nam". What I am is in prison. The other day at mail call, I met my friend Norm who reads the same blog you do. You met Norman the other day. He was in Vietnam and lived to tell his story.
He tell me about the war, while I tell him about prison. We share war stories. Norman knows all too well how it feels to wake up far away from home in a place you don't want to be. That's the life of a prisoner, and a deployed soldier in some forsaken war zone.
In order for me to get a clearer picture of what these veterans faced, I went to a man who sleeps only a few bunks away from me. He too fought in Vietnam. Many years ago he was a young man fighting in the same war Norman fought.
Two soldiers who have became a major part of my life. Norman greets me at mail call with stories of his younger days. He helps keep me sane in my own battlefield. Many days the battlefield of my mind. At the same time he does this, the soldier on this side of the fence helps to free me.
Meet Joe. Mr. Joe has become my legal counsel, and recently helped me file papers in the courts to try to adjust my sentence.
Two soldiers. One war. Both came into my life and are helping me. They fought many years ago in the same war. Today, once again, they both have something in common. They may no longer be fighting for the service, instead they are fighting to help the next generation.
No matter when my freedom comes, I will never forget. I will never forget the soldiers who fought for our country. And today fight for me. I give a personal salute to the two gentlemen who fight for me. Thank you to the both of you. Cheers to freedom...for our country and our minds. Thank you Mr. Norman Nephew and Mr. Joe Magnotti. Thank you both for being on my team. Two men with much wisdom and knowledge to pass on. If a younger generation will only listen.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Fade to Black
A few months ago my friend and brother Scott went home. He finished his sentence and returned to the free world. I called him tonight.
Scott told me about freedom. How good it feels to be free. I smile. My friend has a job, works hard, and loves this. I hear pride in his voice when he tells me he had a long day and just got home. We spent our phone call catching up. Scott already know what we do here. I want to know what he does out there. On top of a good job, he is busy being a dad, and is now dating a cool chick. After catching up, Scott took time to encourage me. That's my dog.
He told me my time will come before I know it. Before long, I will be a free man myself. I'll be damned if he didn't put my head in the clouds.
These 15-minute calls fly, and very quickly our call was over. After my call to Scott, I called my woman. She was in the check-out lane at the grocery store. She asked how my call to Scott went. I was excited to fill her in. I felt good. I'm explaining our conversation, she's asking me a question, there is background noise here and I'm struggling to block it out. She's asking me a question and at the same time the automatic teller at the check-out lane begins to scan items. I hear all of this. And....my brain freezes.
I mean my train of thought drives out of the station and I'm left standing on the platform...alone. I'm so lost I can't even explain how I'm feeling. No words will come. I can't remember what I was saying. My girl is asking if I'm OK. I'm everything but OK.
My world consists of two reck yards a day, and three meals a day. I am given the next day's schedule each night at 9 p.m. I have a job. I clean showers. My whole life is planned out for me. My life is what we call the "pound". The compound. A five-acre field with fence surrounding it. Whatever I need and have to deal with is in this fenced area. This is my life.
Tonight my life went over the fence and behind a shopping cart. I met an automatic teller and had a fucking melt down. I felt helpless. Like a deer caught in headlights. I was lost. I tried like hell to pull myself back, but my lady caught me. Perhaps she heard the tear that slowly ran down my cheek and splashed on the floor. I try so hard to be a rock. Most days I am. Today, I realized I handle this world back here, but faced with a daily task of your world...I fell apart.
My woman caught me. She took my hand and held me. How does she do that anyway? Usually, I try to fix the world. Make people around me happy. But today, I feel like Humpty-Dumpty. My lady talked me back and I am going to be fine. We all are.
Even if my lady has to put post-it notes on my forehead, I'm gonna make it. I came too far to ever turn around. Perhaps my wife will need to pack me a lunch along with the kids. I have a bright future to look forward to even it it's a homemade Hormel honey baked ham sandwich. Can I just ride the bus to work too?
Tonight, while Scott was telling me something I heard his girlfriend scream from the passenger seat. I ask Scott if everyone is OK. He answers me that they are just fine...he just flew through a red light...no big deal. We both laughed. His girl did not. Guess he's still getting used to life out there too. That's comforting. At least we both have good women to babysit us. I'm better now. Back to my stoopid self. I'm out. PEACE!
Scott told me about freedom. How good it feels to be free. I smile. My friend has a job, works hard, and loves this. I hear pride in his voice when he tells me he had a long day and just got home. We spent our phone call catching up. Scott already know what we do here. I want to know what he does out there. On top of a good job, he is busy being a dad, and is now dating a cool chick. After catching up, Scott took time to encourage me. That's my dog.
He told me my time will come before I know it. Before long, I will be a free man myself. I'll be damned if he didn't put my head in the clouds.
These 15-minute calls fly, and very quickly our call was over. After my call to Scott, I called my woman. She was in the check-out lane at the grocery store. She asked how my call to Scott went. I was excited to fill her in. I felt good. I'm explaining our conversation, she's asking me a question, there is background noise here and I'm struggling to block it out. She's asking me a question and at the same time the automatic teller at the check-out lane begins to scan items. I hear all of this. And....my brain freezes.
I mean my train of thought drives out of the station and I'm left standing on the platform...alone. I'm so lost I can't even explain how I'm feeling. No words will come. I can't remember what I was saying. My girl is asking if I'm OK. I'm everything but OK.
My world consists of two reck yards a day, and three meals a day. I am given the next day's schedule each night at 9 p.m. I have a job. I clean showers. My whole life is planned out for me. My life is what we call the "pound". The compound. A five-acre field with fence surrounding it. Whatever I need and have to deal with is in this fenced area. This is my life.
Tonight my life went over the fence and behind a shopping cart. I met an automatic teller and had a fucking melt down. I felt helpless. Like a deer caught in headlights. I was lost. I tried like hell to pull myself back, but my lady caught me. Perhaps she heard the tear that slowly ran down my cheek and splashed on the floor. I try so hard to be a rock. Most days I am. Today, I realized I handle this world back here, but faced with a daily task of your world...I fell apart.
My woman caught me. She took my hand and held me. How does she do that anyway? Usually, I try to fix the world. Make people around me happy. But today, I feel like Humpty-Dumpty. My lady talked me back and I am going to be fine. We all are.
Even if my lady has to put post-it notes on my forehead, I'm gonna make it. I came too far to ever turn around. Perhaps my wife will need to pack me a lunch along with the kids. I have a bright future to look forward to even it it's a homemade Hormel honey baked ham sandwich. Can I just ride the bus to work too?
Tonight, while Scott was telling me something I heard his girlfriend scream from the passenger seat. I ask Scott if everyone is OK. He answers me that they are just fine...he just flew through a red light...no big deal. We both laughed. His girl did not. Guess he's still getting used to life out there too. That's comforting. At least we both have good women to babysit us. I'm better now. Back to my stoopid self. I'm out. PEACE!
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
hardDrive, hardKnocks & hardTime
[Note this was written about 2 weeks ago.]
Sitting here with Lou Brutus and HardDrive. Another Saturday night in Department of Corrections. Red Light Kings are singing about a bullet in my hand. I have no bullet in my hand. What I have is a pen in my hand. Some time back I traded my gun for a tube filled with ink. At times my pen is as dangerous as a gun. Words truly are a mother fucker.
So, I see Mr. Brutus stopped by the Jail Bird and showed some love. That put a big smile on my face. I had his Facebook comment printed and mailed in to me. Then showed it to the guys back here in lock up. HardDrive made even more fans back here. Thanks Lou!
I crossed a personal milestone last week. No, getting myself off five times in one week was fun.....but I am referring to my 100th piece of art! There aren't 100 pieces on the blog yet, but I have 100 pieces out there floating around. Probably stuck in someone's kitchen drawer under all that junk we spoke about a while back. They also make a fine paper airplane. None-the-less, there are 100 numbered pieces of my art out there.
On an average, I put 15 hours into each piece. That's a lot of time spent pushing a pen across paper. If I had put that kind of time into my woman, I wouldn't be divorced, and I would no doubt have 15 kids instead of just one.
I wouldn't trade my daughter for the world, and I wouldn't have found the love of my life if I wasn't divorced. Well, the reason I'm divorced is because I found the love of the week a few too many times during my marriage. Can I make a joke about that? I'm sure a dude just laughed somewhere. But, some woman just cringed. Not my woman.
My wedding song was by Edwin McCain I'll Be Better When I'm Older. Problem was...I was 19 years old when I got married. That was a lifetime ago and I did indeed get better when I got older. I just wasn't so good back then. Kind of like a green tomato. Leave it on the vine until it turns red....it's not ripe yet. Or, pick it while it's green....put it on the windowsill and see if it ripens on its own.
It only took me 10 years on the shelf to get my shit straight. Good luck to the woman who marries that 19 year old dude. Hope that works out for you.
My brother asked me the other day why my ex-wife's name is still tattooed on my arm. I told him to remind myself to never do that again. No. I will get married again. But the whole tattooed-name-thing? Totally bad luck.
That 19 year old kid grew up. He now has a 14 year old daughter. It took some time, but Edwin McCain was right...we get better in time. I'm four years sober from drugs and madly in love. I have a smile on my face even though I'm still a big hop-and-a-skip from freedom. My heart and spirit are free. Right now, I have a concert to get back too.
Hey Lou!! Let's get this shit rolling! Can I get some Pantera Cowboys from Hell?
Sitting here with Lou Brutus and HardDrive. Another Saturday night in Department of Corrections. Red Light Kings are singing about a bullet in my hand. I have no bullet in my hand. What I have is a pen in my hand. Some time back I traded my gun for a tube filled with ink. At times my pen is as dangerous as a gun. Words truly are a mother fucker.
So, I see Mr. Brutus stopped by the Jail Bird and showed some love. That put a big smile on my face. I had his Facebook comment printed and mailed in to me. Then showed it to the guys back here in lock up. HardDrive made even more fans back here. Thanks Lou!
I crossed a personal milestone last week. No, getting myself off five times in one week was fun.....but I am referring to my 100th piece of art! There aren't 100 pieces on the blog yet, but I have 100 pieces out there floating around. Probably stuck in someone's kitchen drawer under all that junk we spoke about a while back. They also make a fine paper airplane. None-the-less, there are 100 numbered pieces of my art out there.
On an average, I put 15 hours into each piece. That's a lot of time spent pushing a pen across paper. If I had put that kind of time into my woman, I wouldn't be divorced, and I would no doubt have 15 kids instead of just one.
I wouldn't trade my daughter for the world, and I wouldn't have found the love of my life if I wasn't divorced. Well, the reason I'm divorced is because I found the love of the week a few too many times during my marriage. Can I make a joke about that? I'm sure a dude just laughed somewhere. But, some woman just cringed. Not my woman.
My wedding song was by Edwin McCain I'll Be Better When I'm Older. Problem was...I was 19 years old when I got married. That was a lifetime ago and I did indeed get better when I got older. I just wasn't so good back then. Kind of like a green tomato. Leave it on the vine until it turns red....it's not ripe yet. Or, pick it while it's green....put it on the windowsill and see if it ripens on its own.
It only took me 10 years on the shelf to get my shit straight. Good luck to the woman who marries that 19 year old dude. Hope that works out for you.
My brother asked me the other day why my ex-wife's name is still tattooed on my arm. I told him to remind myself to never do that again. No. I will get married again. But the whole tattooed-name-thing? Totally bad luck.
That 19 year old kid grew up. He now has a 14 year old daughter. It took some time, but Edwin McCain was right...we get better in time. I'm four years sober from drugs and madly in love. I have a smile on my face even though I'm still a big hop-and-a-skip from freedom. My heart and spirit are free. Right now, I have a concert to get back too.
Hey Lou!! Let's get this shit rolling! Can I get some Pantera Cowboys from Hell?
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