Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Transfer of samples of work

This is what I've posted from a story I've started about my life around the time I went to Jail. Though originally posted as I wrote it I'll post it in pseudo sequence here.

--------- 08 Feb 2009   "Spoiler Alert: I get out of Jail"
I was ashamed. I was so ashamed I almost didn't call any one. I weighed out the option of just roughing it in jail for a night and dealing with Plymouth in the mourning. Seeing as how I would have to call some one for cash at that time any ways I figured I would just suck it up and call my dad. I should warn you I'm terrible at bad news phone calls, as demonstrated with the 10+ voice mails I left when the garage was on fire, all of which sounded along the lines of;
"(insert family member here), the garage is burning down. No ones inside and I've called 911, I'm sorry. Bye."

his wasn't a garage fire though. I was about to be put into a cell and all I could think was, "Oh god." Keep in mind that it was 12am or so and my dad wakes up for work at 4am. 
"Dad, it's John, I'm at the Novi police station. I need 550 dollars."

I'm about a page and a half into this story. Not sure how long it's going to end up or if it's going to be spun into something way beyond my control. We'll see!

--------09 Feb 2009 "Spoiler Alert: I'm not in Novi any more"
  With that she shut the door behind me and locked the door. It’s alarming how quickly your brain goes into panic once you hear the key turn and the clerk walk away. This time around I couldn’t even remotely see a clock. The window faced the row of doors to the other cells. Some one was sleeping, wrapped in their not-quite-blanket and the other was empty. I had to race like a piss horse but the all metal toliet was right in front of the door and I get stage fright pretty easy. I sat down on my blanket despite the maybe fifty degree tempature. For some reason I really didn’t want to be the guy sitting in a jail cell, hunched over and staring at the ground with a look of pure defeat.
I might sprawl out from this in both directions, writing a book of pseudo memoir. 
Writing a book AND putting out an album by fall. Totally do-able, right? amirite?


--------10 Feb 2009

“Did you get in a fight?”

        “No, but I really have to piss.”

                I finally used the bathroom that was located in the lobby. The civilian lobby. The lobby where the doors weren’t locked. The bathroom where you could shut the door behind you. The toilet that had a seat and a sink with soap. I used the facilities and looked in the mirror. “By god…” I really did look like I had been in a fight. My face was beat red, bloodshot in certain places. My hair was a mess, I’m sure it looked as though some one with anxiety problems had just been through getting arrested and booked twice. There were scratches down my arms that I didn’t remember getting, a few to the point of bleeding slightly. I was a wreck, emotionally, physically and man did I need a I cigarette. We left the station and started walking to the car where Travis, Emily’s boy friend was waiting. Emily was the first to break the silence.

                  “So what happened?”
I have like a three song soundtrack constantly playing in my head when I'm at my parents house. 2 dollars if you can guess one of them.

My dollars are imaginary, don't say I didn't warn you.