But truth, cher ami, is a colossal bore.
- narrator, Camus' The Fall
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    dear reader/listener/viewer/enjoyer/co-conspirator:
    lest i be judged for it, i inform you now that this project continues to be a scratch pad, a space for experimentation

    in other words, enjoy what you find here, and feel free to participate, but try not to take anything personal, and don't believe that this project presents an accurate view of me or my life

    this is a window, certainly, but one that hasn't been cleaned in quite some time

    your view may be foggy, obscure...you may see things that aren't really there...

    --harold

    want some background music?
    please consider downloading my most recent music podcast.

    and yes, i love my mom and my dad;
    they've always been good to me, no matter what impression you may have received here

    they never locked me in a cellar or anything
     
    highlighted post from the archives: me rambling about a new job (from two years ago)
    i recently messed with the archives, so they may not work correctly, but you may take your chances:
    December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 November 2007 February 2008 March 2008 May 2008

    i once was an active member of the

    association of music podcasting

    musicpodcasting.org

    along with these fine music podcasters:

    all florida indies - bing futch
    audio gumshoe - rich palmer
    audio popcorn - krash coarse
    aural icebergs music cast - tiffany rapplean
    capital rock show - bucket aka jason
    darkhorse radio - alan carr
    ears to hear - jill lawton
    eclectic mix - george l smyth
    homegrown podcast - nic treadwell
    indiefeed - chris macdonald
    le jazz affair - sal calfa
    rubyfruit radio - heather smith
    sober cafe podcast - gracie hollombe
    sundown lounge - larry winfield
    tempo of the down - harold (that's me!)
    the darkcompass podcast - rowland cutler
    the fabrications podcast - matt macfarlane
    the phill(er) - phill ramey
    the radiozoom podcast - john bollwitt
    thepillarcast.com - jon tucker
    uc radio podshow - michael yusi
    zaldor's world - les zaldor

    ¡the text on this blog wants to leap out of its borders!

    this is...

    something that happened

    somethingthathappened.com
    		stories by harold j. johnson, in various formats - including text, audio, video, and podcasts
     
     
    Thursday, February 22, 2007  

    (Not autobiographical:) What It's Like to Read Poetry in Prison




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    2/22/2007 03:39:00 PM (0) comments





    Friday, February 16, 2007  

    One thing you gather when you spend more than half a week in jail is a renewed sense of perspective.



    (Quick aside: I just Googled around for a good prison adage to apply here, but I wasn't able to find one relevant enough to insert in my post without it seeming forced. In fact, at the time of this posting, a search for "prison adage" returns only about 29 results. I find it somewhat remarkable that only 29 web documents contain the phrase...Perhaps more prisoners need to blog?)



    Obviously, incarceration is not intended to be a fun experience; prisoners are, after all, being confined in order to punish them or, at the very least, curtail their unlawful behavior. But fun is a relative concept; what's floats one fellow's boat may instead choke another bloke's goat.



    A nuclear blast: flood of light, scorched eyes, scritch-scratch on vinyl, a shout in the chaos, it's the jailer's commands, Everybody Up, scritch-scratch, scritch (Oh, the mattresses), people are moving (I think I'll just sleep in), a jostled leg, an inmate's voice It's breakfast, getupman followed by the jailer I said ev-err-ee-bah-dee up!!! Scritch-scratch-zlit, Line up single file, anyone's still on a mattress noh-bah-dee gets breakfast...



    I'm in the top bunk, for a few seconds I look down unclear about my circumstance, the concrete below seems perilously distant. Noh-bah-dee gets breakfast. Nobody wants to be the one who screws it up for everyone else. Not here, not in Dangerland. I take an unsteady leap (Where are my shoes?), I stumble into the line (Am I cutting in front of someone?), my head is caving in, too much rum, I'm collapsing in dizziness and nausea, suspicious of my stomach. Urine on the floor soaks through my socks. (Where are my damn shoes?)



    Later I find, some of the inmates seem to think this is all some kind of fun, an amusing diversion, a Festival of Humiliating Delights. A "vacation", one fellow described it. Others seemed (acted?) proud of their incarceration, the time they'd end up serving in Twin Towers. It's hard to tell who's real, who's bullshitting. Facing real time, what else you gonna do? Cry about it? Probably too dangerous for that in here. Act tough. Be tough. Or suffer, more than you can imagine. What's not to like about life in Hell? I want to cry but I'm too afraid.



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    2/16/2007 09:30:00 PM (0) comments





    Thursday, February 15, 2007  

    I never would have expected I'd spend time in jail. Ever. Not me. Yet there I was, for four days and nights, through President Lincoln's holiday weekend.



    It happened at a Chili's, of all places. Not some seedy dive, a backalley bar. It didn't happen in a strip joint, or in a Red Light District. It happened in a friggin' Chili's, which makes it all the more humiliating.



    A weekend of hell. Then a full day in court, a release without explanation. When inquired, the officer showed me the red stamp on my paperwork: Rejected, all charges.




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    2/15/2007 05:05:00 PM (0) comments





     
     

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