For female inmates at the King County Jail, tiny pencils are tools of self-reflection.
At a recent creative writing class at the King County Jail, co-teacher Jay Thompson asked students to list the "25 things you will never do." It was a simple writing prompt, but responding seemed like tempting fate.
I was a visitor to the class, so I joined in. We all picked up the tiny, perennially dull golf pencils that are the only writing instruments King County Jail inmates are allowed to use and scratched out our lists.
As we took turns reading our replies, participants laughed at some entries and nodded in sober recognition at others. Dreams, wishes, promises, vows and admonitions echoed about the room.
Thompson later told me the opportunity for reflection is perhaps the most important thing the weekly writing class can give students. Every week, by way of encouragement, he and co-teachers Michael Hood and Alice Howey compile students' work into a collection called "The Golf Pencil Review." Students get copies to keep and share.
In October and November, Deshar Perantie was a student in the creative writing class at King County Jail taught by Thompson, Hood and Howey. Students chose to write on the theme of "the wisdom of the streets," and the teachers guided the students through revision of their initial drafts. Seattle author and University of Washington professor Shawn Wong chose Deshar's piece for publication in Real Change.
The Wisdom of the Streets, by Deshar Perantie
The wisdom of the streets is many things, from a choice to advice. I've heard a pimp say, "Never fall for a ho" and a ho say, "Never fall for the trick." I had the dope man tell me, "Make a choice. In the game, everyone is one or the other -- business or pleasure." That was before we became both.
When you sell dope yourself, you can't date someone else who does, at least not the same drug, because it becomes a daily fight: who "stole" whose customer, who's making the most sales, and eventually who moves further up in the chain. I learned that when it comes to the game, you only move up or down, never over. When you're running the streets, you're chasing the lifestyle. Meanwhile you put on a front, saying it's the money.
Everyone wants fast cars, money, hos, and power. A ho in the game is more than a prostitute, there are bag hos and side hos. My best friend is a prostitute who's struggling to move past the title of her past. My oldest friend is a bag ho, she does whatever just for a dope sack. I know a side ho who's only a pretty girl used for a distraction when you're hitting a lick. (A lick is a comeup, or a job so to speak.)
To be part of the street life means you're active in the crime life. We each have our own hustle, from petty theft up to armed robbery. Everyone has their own comfort level; the most common and glamorized hustle is drug dealer, but even that has different levels in itself. For example, I started out selling pot, dime bags at first, slowly moving up in weight. Once I discovered meth was much more lucrative, I jumped product and started small, until I was able to climb my way to big weight. I realized that with crime of any sort, the more you crave success, the more levels you climb; you start adding other crimes to aid you in your current role. I needed transportation, so I stole cars to get to my customers. Crime is like a parking garage, multiple levels and each linking to another.
The shittiest fact is, street life will always mean jail time at some point. I mean, nothing in life is free, so why should crime be? If you're in the streets, it's often a sign that you have an addiction. Your drug of choice isn't always a substance or narcotic. Don't for one minute misconstrue the meaning of a drug. I've battled my addiction to crime for years; I even abuse drugs like meth to cover my crime craves. When you commit crimes you have to come to terms with the fact that one day, you could be a resident at a prison. Everyone has lost a friend, a loved one, or a close friend to prison. Most have lost many over the years.
Most victims of the lifestyle have smoked or shot our dreams and ambitions away long before we realize we're actually victims and no longer in the power position. I was 19, had a full-time job, had my own place, was going to college at night, and still selling drugs. I had to use meth to stay awake and keep my hustle on track. I had smoked all that was important to me away within a few years. I had dreams of being a graphic design artist and moving away. But one day in October 2005, I woke up and had lost my job, my man had been arrested, my car was broke down, and I was being evicted. That was my go-hard point 'cause I had nothing to lose.
A common mistake made by most of us is to get to be doing too much, get cocky, and return to the scene of our crimes. We feel like nothing is impossible, or that we're too smart or skilled -- we get sloppy and get booked. The real wisdom of the streets is catching yourself before you hit rock bottom and making the choice to change. If you are going to change, it has to be for yourself 'cause if you change for someone else, it just means you're a pawn in someone's game and you no longer know the stakes at risk. Too many of us fail to catch ourselves soon enough and we end up giving up. Those who get lost in the dark alleyways of street life are the ones who end up killing people for petty reasons, or end up killing themselves. The wisdom of the streets is to love and believe in yourself, 'cause if you don't, why would anyone else? Don't fuck it all off, cause someone, somewhere, still cares. The streets always have streetlights: find yourself one and wait for daylight.