Marcus Birro i Expressen när han kommenterar Adrian Mutu´s kokainmissbruk när denne spelade för Chelsea. Birro nämner inte med ett enda ord att stjärnornas knarkande drar in de ungdomar, som har dessa knarkande superhjältar som idoler, att tycka det är rätt att ta kokain. 

Snarar raljerar han med smarta ordvändningar och det verkar som om han tycker det är okey att ta kokain.

"Många snackar om att superstjärnor tar droger. Tydligen handlar det mesta om att inte bli upptäckt." skriver han, för att i nästa utgång skriva "Fiorentinas första halvlek mot Liverpool i Champions League för en tid sedan är den bästa halvlek jag sett ett italienskt fotbollslag spela sedan Milan körde över United på San Siro den där regniga kvällen guldåret 2007."

Ett ganska tydligt uttryck för vad Birro anser vara strålande fotboll av knarkande spelare.

Birro snackar om kokain som en krydda, Birro är kanske inne i egen förnekelsefas? Kanske dags  drogtesta personal på skandalblaskan Expressen

Sluta snacka skit Birro.

exkriminell

Sluta snacka s…

Historien är underlig med anledning av att det inte finns någon automatik i att en utlänning som valt att sitta av  straffet i Sverige ska friges efter två tredejedelar. Utvisade på livstid kan få sitta av hela straffet i fängelse även om de skött sig.

Hon har varit en plåga för sina medfångar på Hinseberg och hon kan nog skatta sig lycklig att Kriminalvården vakat över hennes säkerhet.

Vem ska vaka över henne när hon kommer hem till sin lägenhet i Belgrad, Serbien?

exkriminell

Häxan Plavsic släpps

Nu verkar det emellertid som om hela historien får ett lyckligt slut då Erik Olsson krupit till korset och inlett förhandlingar med familjen.

Att bedragerskan, för det har visat sig vara en kvinna i 30 årsåldern, härjar runt och blåser studenter på 100 000 tals kr är ju helt och hållet en polisiär historia numera.

exkriminell, hälsar till Mudas och önskar dem lycka till i fortsättningen

exkriminell

Del 4 kriminell etik kontra …

Han gömmer sig bakom "fastighetsmäklarlagen" Paragraf 4 i denna lag säger bland annat "…får bestämmelserna i denna lag inte frångås till nackdel för en konsument som köper en fastighet huvudsakligen för enskilt bruk eller som säljer en fastighet som han har innehaft huvudsakligen för enskilt bruk".

Lagen skyddar köparen lika mycket som säljaren alltså. Och då är det status Que igen. Varken köparen eller säljaren har gjort något fel. jo säljaren naturligtvis som inte betalar tillbaka pengarna, men det kunde ju vilken barnunge som helst begripa att en människa som sitter häktad för bedrägerier inte kommer att betala tillbaka pengarna.

Hela den här osannolika historien grundar sig i att den där mäklaren inte ville gå miste om sitt feta arvode på 105 000 kr. Han var snål så han skrek när han tänkte på den förlust han skulle göra på att inte affären skulle gå i lås.

Nej, den mäklaren har väl gjort sitt i branschen och Erik Olsson med för den delen. Det finns väl ingen vettig människa som vill göra affärer med dessa herrar i fortsättningen.

Jo, förståss, bedragarna kommer att ha en utmärkt partner i dessa herrar, här kan de blanda in både fastikhetsmäklaretik i den kriminella etiken och  blåsa på så länge det håller.

Exkriminell

Kriminell etik kontra mäklares del 3

Här har man medvetet betalat ut pengar till en icke kreditvärdig person och sedan dessutom tagit betalt för "servicen". Att affären dessutom enligt mäklaretik har gått rätt till bekräftar ju hela bluffen.. Familjen Muda är rättslösa.

Ägaren av mäklarbyrån gör sig oanträffbar och proffessorer och andra lagvrängare förklarar än en gång att familjen Muda helt enkelt har blivit blåsta.

Jag menar ska de nöja sig med ett sådant besked. Nej en rejäl omgång stryk skulle han ha den där så kallade mäklaren och sedan ska hans arbetsgivare, eller den firma han arbetar för, betala tillbaka hela summan plus ett rejält skadestånd.

Hade det varit i den värld jag lämnat hade skulden efter ett sådant här "jidder" ha stigit med ett par hundra procent. Plus omgången med stryk.

exkriminell

Den kriminella etiken … del 2

När inte lagstiftningen räcker till för att skydda familjen Muda, som blivit blåsta på 515 000 kr, och man börjar snacka om mäklaretik och annan skit för att skydda bedragaren. Då börjar jag i mitt stilla sinne att undra om inte den kriminella etiken ute i de kretsar där jag tidigare hade min vardag, i alla fall är att föredra.

Där tog man med sig ett par elaka, gick upp till bedragaren, slog in dörren och tog tillbaka pengarna. Snabbt och smidigt och alltid utan någon form av ytterligare våldsamheter.

Dessutom spred man ryktet att den där bedragaren skulle "folket" akta sig för, sedan var denne märkt i kretsen som en opålitlig.

I vårt samhälle är naturligtvis inte detta förfaringssätt att rekomendera, men reflektionen flög hastigt genom mitt, å familjen Mudas vägnar, upprörda sinne.

Jag hoppas den skenhelige kriminelle får sig en anständig läxa och fattar att; man ska inte ge sig på hederligt vanligt folk.

exkriminell

Reflektion om kriminell etik kontra mäklares

Det kontorlandskap jag kom in till visade sig vara runt. Korridoren sträckte sig utefter kontorsrum både till höger och vänster. De administrativa delarna av landskapet var koncentrerat till höger och de allmänna utrymmena och förråden låg till vänster.

Det första jag såg var ett stort kassaskåp, det gick en larmtråd från skåpets baksida. Därefter, ett par steg bort, ett låst brandsäkert dokumentskåp. Jag bestämde mig för att söka efter nycklar till de båda skåpen, men först ville jag se vad det övriga kontoret hade att ”bjuda” på.

Jag började promenaden runt hela kontoret, vid vissa dörrar stannade jag till , lade märke till vad just detta kontor hade för administrativ funktion. Där var revisionsavdelningen, med chefens namn på dörren. Där var kontorets chef med dennes namn, där var säkerhetsavdelningens kontor med med denna avdelnings chefs namn. Jag tittade in i respektive kontor och lade på minnet vad som fanns att titta närmare på, lite senare.

När jag gick där och spankulerade fick jag plötsligt höra att någon öppnade dörren till kontorskomplexet, jag hörde några röster och kikade hastigt runt den rundade korridoren.

AjAj, då. Inte bra, det var vakterna och de hade delat på sig. Hur jag än bar mig åt skulle jag bli upptäkt. Jag hade som jag såg det fyra alternativ för att försöka klara mig ur knipan.

1. Jag kunde försöka dra järnet, försöka springa ner en vakt och snabbt ta mig ut. Dåligt val. Jag är inte någon våldsam figur.

2. Jag kunde försöka ta mig ut genom ett fönster. Mycket dåligt val, jag var på 5:e våningen. Risken att trilla ner o slå ihjäl mig var inget alternativ.

3. Jag kunde försöka bluffa mig loss. I vilket fall skulle jag torska, men här fanns en mikroskopisk chans att klara av bluffen.

4. Jag kunde försöka gömma mig. Dåligt alternativ, hade inte en aning om vart i så fall och dessutom knappt om tid.

Jag beslutade mig för att satsa på alternativ 3.

Sagt och gjort, jag gick in i den kombinerade bastun, duschen och toaletten, låste dörren, tände ljuset, klädde av mig och började duscha.

Fortsättning följer

 Vid de Rövarhistorier som publiceras i denna blogg sker berättandet i jag-form. Detta är en teknik för bättre balans och närvarokänsla i berättandet.

exkriminell

Sedan, en lag där det blev kriminellt att vara påverkad av någon form av narkotika. Det är en bra lag, den finns kvar, den är preventiv och visar klart att knark är kriminellt. 

Sedan en lag att kriminalisera sexköp, återigen en bra lag. Det är inte OK att utnyttja svaga människor som är offer för omständigheter.

Sedan kom lagen om fildelning, en fruktansvärd lag som inte är till för att skydda medborgarna i riket. En lag som kom till genom hot från Stormakten Kapitalet. Tre miljoner människor fildelar i Sverige. Tre miljoner människor som riskerar miljontals kronor i böter för att de använder en tjänst som finns tillgänglig på nätet. Tre miljoner kriminella i riket över en natt.

Jag menar att respekten för lagar undergrävs bara därför att Lagstiftaren ska hålla sig väl med de multinationella kapitalintressena.

Hur jävla fel kan de bli?

Sverige, duktiga p…

Påsken 1992, Bjarne Kärrskatt och jag bodde hos Stickan i Marieberg, vi gjorde rätt för oss genom att bryta och ge honom godset för försäljning. I gengäld fick vi bo hos honom och han försåg oss med det tjack vi behövde för att orka drifta. Maten fixade sig från dag till dag.

Jag hade kollat in OKs huvudkontor vid Hornsberg som ett lämpligt mål för en liten snabb rajd, påsken kunde vara en lämplig helg för just detta bryt. Vaktpassen på helgerna hade jag noterat vid tidigare rekognoseringar och jag skulle ha fyra timmar på mig om jag gick in strax efter vaktens runda.

Bjarne var ute på ett annat uppdrag så jag bestämde mig för att ta detta kontor själv. Sagt och gjort, på långfredagsmorgonen petade jag upp entredörren och gled snabbt in i byggnaden. I entreérnas dörrar är larmet ställda för att utlösas efter tre till fem sekunder om man går in utan nyckel. Därför gick det snabbt att öppna, kliva in och dra igen dörren.

Sedan hissen upp till det våningsplan där OKs kontor var beläget, vid den entén fanns en kortläsare och en sifferkod. Eftersom jag varken hade kod eller kort fick jag kortsluta läsaren och öppna kodplattan. Under siffrorna finns små dioder som har en svagström kopplad till sig. Dessa dioder signalerar till läsaren att rätt kod är slagen. När man vet vilka siffror och symboler det är frågan om monterar man ihop skiten och provar sig fram.

Efter en liten stund klickade det till i låset och jag var inne.

Nu började själva brytet, ett snabbjobb som skulle ta högst en timme. På den tiden hade jag räknat med att få med kontorets handkassa, kontorets matkuponger och eventuellt, om jag skulle ha tur, ett gäng företagscheckar.

Alltså ett hyfsat snabbjobb som jag skulle kunna klara mitt uppehälle på under nåra dagar kanske en vecka. Under den tiden skulle jag kunna spana ut nåt annat bryt som jag eventuellt skulle kunna ta när bytet var på upphällningen. Så trillade dagarna på för en liten småtjyv som också var nöjd med att kunna hålla näsan hyfsat ovanför ytan.

Men ibland går det inte alls som man planerar, OK brytet utvecklade sig i stället till ett helgarbete, som sträckte sig från långfredagen ända fram till måndagen-annandag påsk. HåHåJaJa.

Fortsättning följer

exkriminell

1. Det är klart TV4 gör detta för tittarsiffrorna. Reklamintäkterna stiger naturligtvis vid denna typ av program.

2. Socialt ansvar? knappast. Skulle TV4 bry sig om hur det går för ungdomarna? Nej, de räknar pengarna. Skulle vara intressant se hur kontrakten mellan TV4 och de medverkande är utformade?

3. Realistiskt? never. Serien är inspelad på ett nerlagt fängelse. Vilket? jag har setat på flera gamla av denna typ men kunde inte placera detta? Miljön är helt annorlunda på de nyare fängelserna. Mycket värre på de nya.

4. En bättre idé hade varit att spela in på ett häkte, men då hade dramaturgin inte kunnat hållas uppe. Men ”Blanka” i Uppsala hade varit fint. Då hade ungdomarna nog blivit avskräckta. Blanka är ett sterilt häkte, där ser man knappt någon annan människa, där råder isolering.

5. Här vilar ett stort ansvar på KRISarna som ska vara de tuffa gossarna. Kan de få de unga att gå med i Unga KRIS har de gjort sitt jobb.

6. Ska bli intressant se hur de sköter sig??

KRIS Kriminellas Revansch I Samhället

Och, vart fan är TV-apparaterna som numera är standard i varje cell? Men inte på häktesavdelningar där restriktioner gäller.

exkriminell

Tungt ansvar …

I have no idea why my family turned out to be criminals? Some morals and values might be twisted depending on your upbringing and in my case I believe that if my parents were more responsible I might have been able to live with them longer, resulting in better grades at school and me not having shit loads of depth from surviving on student loans half my life. In the end most sane people know what’s wrong and if you do break the law you know it and it’s not your mums fault. I don’t blame my parents for any stupid thing I’ve done.

Not all things was bad living at house no 32 and having hippies for parents. Music was something that should be enjoyed and I had no restrictions in enjoying it. My mum had a good stereo and some record collection and she happily gave me money when I discovered record shops and wanted to increase the collection. My first favourite track was the Beatles ”She loves me”. It was at house number 17 and I listened to that record fanatically. By the time we moved to house number 32 my sister that lived downstairs with her mum at house number 32 had discovered Alphaville and those melodies caught on with me immediately. She was my musical guide for some time from now. She used to record tapes from a radio station called Trax every week . And it was the beginning of 80’s heavy metal that started to be my favourite music, in particular Motley Crue. I listened to other bands and I had a lot of records for a 7- 8 –9 year old in the 80’s. My top bands were Accept, Wasp, Iron Maiden and of course Motley Crue.

I was obsess with Vince, Mick, Tommy and Nikki and I thought that I was their biggest fan and my love was the maximum one can have for a type of music and I still do think that, in a more humble way. I would say that without that band I probably would have a different view on music. It was Nikki that was the bass player and that sparked my interest in the bass and listening to baselines in heavy metal music is rather challenging, as everything is midrange with heavy guitars and squeaky voices. But this thought me how to separate the instruments and analyse the music. I looked like Vince, or at least I tried to with my long blonde hair with lots of volume. But, if I had dark hair I would have gone for the Nikki look as he was my idol. I saw them live twice but I never got a chance to meet them. Still when I think about their albums I get the same feeling of being a dedicated fan. Anyway, I got to meet KIZZ though, when I was too young to remember. That’s great I get to meet one of the biggest bands in the world and I have to be too young to appreciate it. I remember being told that I was going to meet them and that I just started to hear about this band we had the destroyer album but I didn’t like it when I listened to it. Than I remember being backstage in a bar with my uncles friend that worked with the band. And I do remember some hairy guys but not their faces, maybe cos they ware makeup on stage, and I remember the paper plates with the autographs. It took a few more years before I started to appreciate 70’s rock. I was brought up on rolling stones, Lou reed, some bob marled, rod Stewart and lots of other random tracks from different artists. My dad’s music was Jimi Hendrix and he named me after him. As I too love Jimi these days I also love my name. He also listened to Swedish political music and it helped me spark my political interest.

Later on in school I realised that there are a lot of different music that also sounds good. This didn’t go down well with my metal friends that I liked some tunes by some synth group. But this synth music triggered all these tight drum and percussion rhythms and sweet synth leads, how can one not like that?

When I reached my teens I started to buy electronic music and mixed LP’s and I started mixing my own tapes with dance music. Still loving Motley Crue and still went to another of their concerts when I was 13. but the dance music was something else and also the metal scene had become too political. Motley Crue V Guns’n’roses V poison V hairspray V glam rock V lipstick. I thought it was about riffs and solos? Dance music was about dance and 4/4.

Before I discovered the music that would take control over my life, change me as a person and become my best friend giving me immense happiness. I was in to the only thing that was available at the time. 90’s dance music. Technotronic, klf, 2 unlimited and so on. I was in a quite established gang no mostly Latinos and Iranians and me. I had a bit of a beard and was very left wing in my attitude, I read about Castro and che Guevara and talk ed about the revolution all the time so I was called Che. At this time the Latino gangster films were popular so we adapted our attitude and dress to those films. Beige chinos, white t-shirt and shirt with only the top button done. I was the first one putting on a hair net and our language was a mix of Swedish Spanish English and Farsi. Our main focus was to go clubbing and dominate wherever we went we didn’t tolerate any outsiders and we were fast in showing them who were in charge. If larger groups of boys turned up or if we travelled to another city the police had to be called in most of the time to stop ppl from being hurt. Except for that the police used their batons to hit us on the lags to clear the area. This music focus slowly turned towards a new style of music. Not dance at all. Straight edge. It was hard core punk music with very political messages about human right, vegetarianism. It was mainly a skate/snowboard style of music. But as me and some of my other friends were cross cultural in this since, Vatos locos Latino gang member that also snowboarded. We had access to this music and these parties too. We started listening to this straight edge music while training tkd and it gave us adrenaline and energy to train harder. This all changed when my friend who I lived with had visited another tkd player down in south of Sweden. He came back with a tape with goa trance. This was completely new and the year must have been 1994. I had one listen to that tape and I was hooked. All other music seemed fake, shallow, unworked and pointless in comparison. It didn’t take long until this music had taken over all the sub cultures in KD. It was only the commercial clubbers that still listened to the Euro trance, the straight edge ppl and now the goa trance ppl. I went to my first goa trance party in gbg and some friends took some lsd on the way down. I didn’t take drugs then, as my main focus was still tkd. But when we got to the club I was amassed. It was in a old warehouse no official signs no big windows with promotions. From the outside it looked grimy and unwelcoming and like nothing was going on there. The bouncers opened the big warehouse doors and I heard the thump of the kick drum and the smoky light coming through the drapes. The club was all about the dance floor and the dj. Every one faced the dj booth every one was friendly ppl carried jars of water and shared. Pretty girls carried plates of fruit that they distributed. There was no attitude problems and ppl gave way with a smile if you tried to walk past. I stood there for a few minutes listening to the music and observed how ppl danced. Then I stared copy what I had observed and the movements just worked with the music and I had found my true culture. Later when things got too much in kd I moved to Stockholm. There was a club in sthlm that made the headlines in the news papers frequently. Docklands. It was officially a club where children went to take drugs and the subculture there was harmful to the youth. In reality it was the best psytrance club in Europe at the time and the atmosphere was the same as I had experienced in gbg same friendliness. No alcohol served no fights yes there were some ppl taking drugs. But according to my experience from years of clubbing there were no more drugs there than anywhere else. And in the big commercial clubs in the city ppl took cocaine and ecstasy, in these Psy clubs ppl too lsd and ecstasy. The amount of fights and problems required police attention I seen in the commercial clubs was not seen in the Psy clubs. The police choose to come to these clubs on their own initiative. They were never called in due to some incident. Docklands created such a huge debate that the music and subculture was tried to be banned and a special unit at the police was created for this purpose they were called the rave commission. They stopped ppl playing Psy trance on their car stereo, they practised harassment and terror tactics. This is my personal experience with the rave commission.

My firs encounter was in sthlm while I was waiting in a cue to see a band from Israel called MFG. When I had paid and was about to enter the door a man stepped in front of me showing his badge telling me he was from the police and that he wanted to talk to me. There was a lot of ppl around and he was very polite. I might ad no that up to this point I had never taken any drugs. He led me down a corridor to a room. He opened the door and pushed me in the back in to the room. In the room was another 4 or 5 officers. Some of who I was to meet frequently over the next year or so. They surrounded me and the office who had led me in to the room put a flash light in my face. Now they started asking me questions like where is the drugs, what have you taken where did you buy it from and accusing me of selling drugs and telling me they knew everything about me so I might as well confess. And if I didn’t they would take me away from there and leave me in the middle of nowhere. These accusations, questions, demands and threats came from all directions and I was not given a chance to answer to any thing. Meanwhile the cunt with the flash light told me that yes he could see that I was on drugs. As I didn’t take drugs and as I was a student and had years of experience in studying human physiology and I was confident in my self I started laughing at them and told the guy (interrupting the surround accusations) that he did his examination wrong and if I did take any drugs he would not discover it by his methods.. he didn’t listen and when they realised they could not break me they told me that they would keep an eye on me and let me go in to the party.

So over the next year as soon as they spotted me or my brother or my friend they would shout stop police then separate us searching us and do the usual threats of how they could fuck us over. Eventually the politicians won and the club closed but the party scene just moved t other locations and still moving around. The next summer I was rather tired of Sweden and I had a friend that had moved to Italy so I wend down to visit him. He smoked a lot of hash but I was not interested as I believed I could not smoke as I had some asthma. He suggested that if I wanted to get stoned and I did he could make some tea for me. So I agreed he made a cup of tea with a chunk of hash that would today make me 3 pipes worth. While I was waiting for the delivery and the making of the tea I had 2 bottles of Chianti and some very nice pasta on his balcony over looking the mountains of perugia. When the tea was ready I downed it. I was probably never going to be that stoned ever again on hash. And it was brilliant and respect to my friend cos he took well care of me. I remember him leading me down a alley in to a bar where he I knew every one. He wanted to introduce me to a girl he thought I might hit it off with. If you have any experience with drugs you know that sometimes your alert and awake and can talk and giggle and then…. ZZZAANNNGGG your gone to la la land again for a bit. So here I was sitting at the bar the girl gave me cold drinks to keep me hydrated and refreshed. Then I came to it. She was very pretty. She was standing right in front of me and smiled. And I lifted my had pointed at her and burst out laughing my face off… she knew the score and didn’t take much offence but I had blew my chanced quite frankly. Then about a minute later I looked at the guy next to me and said “ OK SEE YOU IN A BIT” and boom I was gone again. I came to it again in another bar but this one was too crowded and busy so I could not handle it so I had to wait out side for a bit. Then apparently we had been to some party and some other bars but I had no memory of any of it. On the way home I started feeling sick. The red wine was not a good mix with the hash so when we got back to the flat I puked up for some time then my mate cleaned me up and tucked me in to his bed. There I hade the maddest hallucinations that I was in a cave and all I could see was woman’s legs. We talked for some time and he recorded the conversation and then I passed out.

When I came back to Stockholm I girl from my previous uni had tried to get me in bed for some time and as I was about to move to uk I didn’t have anywhere to live so I accepted her invitation. Some times I don’t know what’s wrong with me and it happened a few times before. I have a fairly nice girl trying to make me like her and I let her suck my dick but when it comes to actually fucking her I stand there with the dick touching the pussy but I cant bring my self to putting it in. and what does the girl do.. keep sucking my dick. This one did that twice and the most extreme case was in kd this one must have serviced me for about 14 hours and during that time I almost fucked her twice but the thought of putting my dick in this slag made me sick.

Anyway. I moved to the UK a few weeks later.

The End of episode number 1. Later on we might come up with the episode from England.

the autour is the son of former criminal father

exkriminell

Jag har själv i verkligheten varit vittne till samtliga illustrationer som visas i filmen. Dessvärre är det alltför vanligt att många av våra medtrafikanter är riktigt vansinniga.

Ha en trevlig helg; And take it easy out there!

My mum has a brother, I don’t like him. I can’t trust what my mum has told me about him. But I know that he didn’t care about his mum, when she was dying he only came on to the funeral to collect the money. After that he left everything for my mum to sort out. She gave her money to my sister and the things my grandma left for me; I was told that my mum’s brother took. It doesn’t matter really it’s just stuff, but what is important is how one is going about things. My mum’s methods are wrong from a moral point of view and he is a dickhead. I hope I don’t have to face him again, and if I do I hope that he doesn’t talk as I will probably put him on his arse.

My grandma used to live in the south of Sweden when we lived at house number 17 and 32. I and my mum were down there to visit occasionally. We used to go to Denmark from there for day trips. My mum used to take me to the Zoo and the amusement park. I liked those trips a lot. We also went to Christiania, a hippie ‘free zone’ in Copenhagen. I don’t remember much of that, but I do remember that a huge guy tried to sell me hash. I also remember that we went to a Pub that was so full of smoke that you couldn’t see the next table. My mum bought some hash before we left the free zone. Another time when we were visiting my grandma, they had an argument after I went to bed. Later that night the guy who later would break our kitchen windows with his fist, came to my grandma´s house. I don’t know what he was doing there because it’s quite a distance between grannies’ home and were we lived. Anyway, I was pretending sleeping and I heard my mum and the guy talking about starting taking drugs again. I would hear her admitting to have taken drugs before, but I would only hear her admitting to being a junkie two more times. Once when she again didn’t know I was hearing and once when she didn’t have no choice.

My grandma was clever with her money. She invested in properties and she had cash flow from pension as she used to work as a pharmacist. She dated artists (painters) when she was younger and after she got divorced, she again had two relationships both with artists. She had some nice paintings in her house, abstract art. I liked it and it inspired me. She used to take me travelling. We went to Spain, Belgium, France Denmark and Germany. I liked France the best as she showed her full potential in the country she loved and she showed me all the good art related sites.

Later she moved to Karlstad were we lived. She bought a flat in an upcoming area and she would buy another four properties in this area. She died in hospital of cancer. I came back from UK for three months to stay with her during this time.

When I was about four years old, I started to visit my dad on my own. My parents had a divorce when I was too young to remember. I can’t remember if there was a gap of a few years before I saw him again after the divorce, it feels like it was. Anyway, my first memories of my dad were good ones. I visited him at a drug rehabilitation place. We went on camping trips with his mates, travelling by canoe and sleeping in tents. We lighted up campfire and grilled food every night. Being in the wilderness automatically licenses me to carry a knife; witch is a big thing when you’re out in the wild with your dad. On this trip we survived on whatever we could get from the river and dad’s rucksack. It was one of my favourite holidays.

I began my interest in weapons in my early age, collecting weapons as a kid. It started with knifes, my uncle gave me nice knifes from Finland, the Mecca for knife users. I had a lot of different knifes, one Rambo survival knife, renown in Sweden for its sharpness and red wood handle, I had one bowie knife, one stiletto, one butterfly and a whole range of knifes of different sizes with no particular fame, but often with a nicely decorated holster. The knife collection expanded with other weapons like whips, ninja stars, and nunchuks a sword and an African spear and revolvers. I got the African spear from the guy that renovated house number 32.

My dad met his new wife to-be at that rehabilitation place. Some time later they moved to the north of Sweden and I started to visit them there on my own. I had to take a 40 min flight to Stockholm, then change flight to the final destination another hour or so away. I liked travelling on my own and I always had nice air stewardess who took good care of me. I had to ware a A4 sized plastic thing around my neck with all my details, in case I got lost. After a while I was a familiar face to the flight crew. I liked it at my dad’s new place. I fast made a lot of friends. Some older guy thought me games how to get kisses from girls. He taped bin liners over a big slide in a children’s playground, and then invited boys and girls to the exiting new event in the evening. As it was all dark inside the slide the girls were a bit nervous to enter. The warm summer evening created a nice romantic atmosphere so a hug and a kiss made the girls feel better and we all had a good time with this slide tunnel. It only worked as a treat one evening by the way. This older boy also showed me Rambo and other films. He was a good friend to me even if I was that young. There was another family that lived across the street from my dad. The boy in that family was hanging around me and my other friends but I don’t have any particular memory of him except that he was always there and

he had a sister. This sister had a friend and she became the first love of my life and she had long dark hair. That is sadly all I remember about her appearance. However this feature has been an important trait in the choice of other girlfriends later in my life. The strongest memory of time spent with this girl was when I was about to see her for the last time. Me and my dad was at some friends of his house and the two girls were there. We didn’t do much at first but closer to the time when it was time to say goodbye the girls decided that we should play in the dark. Basically the lights were switched off and the door to the bedroom we were in was closed and a duvet was thrown over me and my girl and another duvet over the other girl and a boy. Then we did what came natural in our own private space. I got my first kiss there, about 10 minutes later we left and I never saw that girl again. This traumatised me for many years. About 7 or 8 years later we had a new girl in our class, it was the friend to my first kiss. Our friend ship had faded away and I tried to talk about her friend but it didn’t lead anywhere. I tried again a few years later but she was not interested in sharing any information. Not even my dad or his second wife showed any interest in my questions. And when I couldn’t find any info on the internet either I finally gave up, this was about 3 years ago. Not that I think it would be amazing to meet up and talk about old memories I just wanted to find out what happened to her.

To be continued, the author is the son of former criminal father

exkriminell

My aunt lived a bout 20 min walk away from house number 32, we used to have Christmas there every year. She makes nice food, cookies, pies and sweets, I used to raid her cookie storage a lot. She didn’t visit a lot either but I spent quite a lot of time at her home, she has two boys and she never had a negative impact on my life ever. There is nothing special to write abut her at this time. This writing isn’t necessarily only about negative or bad things, even if it might appear so. But the fact that I have nothing so say about her now, is rather a good thing. She is just a good person with good spiritual values and with good taste in music and food. Her partner had a big influence on me in my political stand point. Even if he made it impossible to agree with him on any point, the general direction was the same for me as for him, as for my whole family in-fact. We are all socialists really; we all have socialist’s values. My aunts partner drank too much and I think from my point of view that this was the only bad thing in that side of the family, otherwise I think that my two cousins were very lucky. They are also good characters and I respect them a lot. The only person I had real disputes with was my aunt’s partner and I think it was political. If I wondered of in my political ideas, he was quick to discuss it from a hardcore working class point of view. Obviously my experience was limited to my age so I had nothing to argue back with, but I had integrity and I was not afraid to stand my ground and sometimes it ended in big arguments. These days I recognise my self in him in the way I see things. It’s funny how it turns out. As a family we have some other things in common except for being known by the police, being socialists and hippies. We can all cook great food and we all have good music taste.

When I was 15 years old I started training Taekwondo. I loved it from day one. It involved lots of training camps and one camp was in Russia.

I had a good relation ship with my first real girlfriend, we were going out for almost two years. She broke my heart once, after she came back from her confirmation camp some guy had chatted her up and she fell for it. She was confused for a few weeks but in the end she picked me. I think that gave me a big confidence boost, but I lost some respect for her after what happened and less than a year later I broke up with her. However she was a good girlfriend and I liked her family a lot. I had finished school and applied to collage. I was accepted to do a nurse qualification but I had to wait one term for my place. In the meanwhile I started working as PE teacher at my old school. I had no problem getting the job, even if I was only 16, as I had such good grades in the sport leadership class. I worked hard and made my own money that I saved to be able to go to the Russian training camp. The job involved teaching gymnastic techniques holding outdoor and indoor event, and coaching in regional championships in various games. I loved that job. However when the time had come to pay for the training camp I found my bank account cleared. My mum had taken all the money I saved. I never brought it up why she did it. I was very disappointed that I couldn’t go. But her finish boyfriend gave me some money so I could go in the end but it was bare minimum just to cover the basics. I had saved up so I would have lots of pocket money there but now I didn’t have any pocket money at all while in Russia.

I would stick with Taekwondo for a long time and it helped me a lot both in terms of keeping me occupied and getting my stress out of the system, but also in terms of the support I´ve got from our coach and other members of the club. It became like a new family and I will always be grateful to that club and the people there for supporting me.

One day when I came back from college my key wouldn’t open the door. As it turned out my mum hadn’t paid the rent for some time, so we had now been evicted. It was talk about me moving to a foster home or letting the social services take me. But my aunty offered to let me live with her. I lost all my material stuff as it was confiscated and sold to pay for my mums dept.

That year I stayed at my aunts was tough. It was good living arrangements and I got along well with my cousins and my aunty is an excellent mother. But I ended up in problems at college threatening and arguing with teachers causing major disturbances. They tried to give me counselling but it didn’t help so I was suspended and had to re take one year. The scholar situation as well as the gang situation, in combination with my trying´s to get a gun and having problems with the social services and no contact with my parents and on top of that, having to move out from my aunty in the end proved to much for my mental capacity and I started to think about suicide. The closest I came was holding the blade to the wrist but my escape thought was that I could not do this to the guy who had taken me in letting me stay at his flat. I have never considered that option again but that moment was very low and depressing. I had some girls but no relationship at this time. But I was soon to meet the best girl I ever meet to this date. Looking back she is the girl I should have married and I was the one who dumped her, big mistake but that is how faith is. I live here in England now, married with a daughter. She still lives in Karlstad, with a boyfriend and two kids with different fathers, I pray that she is happy and have a good life she deserves the best.

When I lived with her I was training tkd 6 days a week. I was keeping stolen goods for my thief friends and I had lots of money from selling stuff and stealing stuff. I dumped the girlfriend and stayed in that penthouse apartment for some time and having some random girls around. I regret all that now. When I had to move my grandmother bailed me out and bought me a flat in a new developed posh part of town. I got in to another relationship with a girl that turned out to be psycho. When I lived at this address, it was that time when I had the issues with the MC gangs and when I got my elf to the gun.

A friend and I went to Stockholm to try to get some weapons. We go some maze and a telescope baton and a replica pistol. When we took the train back to Karlstad, I had the pistol in my inside pocket on my bomber jacket. In front of me, was a middle aged lady? She was looking rather uncomfortable, sitting next to my friend and in front of me. Anyway, when I leaned forward at on point the gun fell out of my pocket and landed right in front of her feet. The woman’s jaw just dropped, then she looked at me, I could only smile and shocked my head in disbelief. My friend tried to suffocate his laughter. The woman left the carriage and there were luckily no complications from this.

After I dumped my existing psycho girlfriend, I was taken on by a social worker at the youth unit. This unit I actually trusted and they seemed to care, then I really tried to calm my self down. In Sweden at that time it was popular to spend tax money on problem kids in form of travelling and trips. I was sent on one of those trips and it involved counselling sessions in the evening and house arrest from afternoon to mid morning.

Daytime could be spent with some activity, in our case snowboarding.

After this I had enough of my criminal activities and intents, so I got rid of the gun, got another girlfriend and spent all my time exercising. After getting more serious about taekwondo competitions, I moved in with my friend so we could spend all our waking hours talking, watching and training. We went to Denmark, Norway, France and Spain to train. This sport activity brought some local fame and some more respect. We got VIP passes to the hottest clubs and the bouncers were fairly lenient with our behaviour. This resulted in boosting the street confidence, and demanding more respect, getting more friends resulting in more fame, and so on. One example of bigheaded actions: One night I was pissed as hell in the hottest night club, as a VIP I could come and go as I pleased in any condition and in any clothing. I decided I needed a burger so a stumbled out of the club and headed for McD. I sat down there on my own eating my burger, and then suddenly, I was hit on my shoulder by a half eaten burger. I decided that some one had thrown that at me on purpose, and this someone needed a beating. I stood up and scanned the restaurant, diagonally behind me a saw about 5 lads sitting. I decided that it was all of them that threw the burger, so I walked over to them declared that I will smash all their faces, if not first tell me who threw the burger! They denied the accusation and stood up to leave. I called them pussys for leaving and not telling me who threw the burger. They got in to a car outside and I followed them out and threw my coke in the back window of the car. This pissed them off majorly and all of them came at me at once. I know I kicked the first one that came up to me and I know I gave someone a low kick but the next thing I remember is that I am lying on the hood of the car laughing my face off and the bouncer from McD is telling the guys to clear off. I had some pain in my jaw the next day so some one must have hit me but I can’t remember any of it. By the way, it was easy to get girls and we got lots of attention, we did a underwear catwalk show and we were on TV, as one of the guys just made it to the national team. Later that guy fucked my girlfriend, and after that life in Karlstad didn’t worked out so I moved to Stockholm.

to be continued, the author is the son of former criminal father

Exkriminell

Ever since I was a young kid at house number 17 I always wanted to learn new things, how things worked, why things were like they were. I don’t think I realised then that it was a spiritual thing. I was just interested. My mum gave me a series of books. They were science books for children. They were called “how does it work” followed by a topic. I had one about Tellus, one about mechanics and one about human body. I loved those books, specially the one about the body. I think it put me on an academic journey that is still continuing today. At school we had the choice of choosing language, cooking and “home chore class” something, and sports leadership. I picked French cos my blood sister studied French and my grandmother loved France and she spoke some French, she was really proud when my sister past the finals. So I thought I go down the same route. Yes sure, I just wanted to strangle the teacher, not that she was a bitch or any thing. Just that I didn’t get to know her. She walked in to the classroom going bonjour class, over enthusiastically, and I thought “oh my god”, and then she was going on. I only lasted 80 min of that, and then I changed to Sport leader ship. That was a good choice. I stared that class, the grade system was 1-5 and the teachers told me that if they could give me a 6 they would. For reference I was in the 8^th year out of 9 at the time. My friends started to talk about confirmation; I didn’t know what it was cos my family are from the hippie culture so we didn’t talk about mainstream spiritualism. Anyway, everyone in my year had received an invitation. My mum didn’t tell me about this or I didn’t receive one, this pissed me of, cos again I had to be different from every one else. I was baptised in the central church when I was 1 year old so I was registered. I went to the local church and told them that I was to be confirmed too. I only did it to rebel, If they didn’t invite me but I have the right I should do it anyway even if they don’t like me or judging me. I joined and didn’t miss a session. I didn’t learn anything but there was a camp included and all the fit girls was doing the confirmation too so I paid more attention to them. The priest was cool. Not dry at all. Young and fit and I think all the mums loved him. I liked him too. There fore it was rather embarrassing when he found me in bed with one of the girls at the camp. He was cool about it, al he said was “Clarke go to your room” and the day after he arranged a meeting with all of us trying to explain that all of us need to behave. None of us listened as we were talking and ignoring him. Then he shouted, in Swedish equivalent to, “Shut the fuck up”. We did, but that quote became a catch phrase and lost its power. I got my confirmation. I didn’t feel like I achieved anything spiritually or politically.

My dad has one brother and one sister. I like them very much

My grandfather was from England everyone loved him, I did too. I have always felt like an outsider in almost everything including my family. Maybe because there was nothing “normal” going on at house number 17 or 32 so people didn’t want to come around. I had to go to my family if I wanted to see them. My grandpa only came to visit two or three times, as I can remember, and it was on “not taking of the jacket” terms. I don’t think my grandmother ever visited, but she had bad health so I completely understand. I visited her a lot. She was nice to me and I liked being there. But when my cousin came to me to tell me that she past away I didn’t really feel anything. The same with my grandpa, I wanted to be upset and I wondered what was wrong with me. I do wish that my grandfather was still alive now when I live in UK, maybe we would have a stronger connection and maybe then I would have cried on the funeral. I miss him.

My uncle was a wild one, his reputation even affected me with the police and mothers having daughters I was interested in. Every time the police questioned me the first thing they would always say was “Jimi, are you your uncles son”? I would say no, knowing what’s coming next, “ok, so you are your father’s son”? I say yes and they would look at each other or fill the younger generation copper in on the history, then pull a facial expression saying you little shit do we have to deal with you from now on. First time I thought it was cool that they knew me even if I didn’t know them. I was questioned for something I hadn’t done and I thought I was being helpful and polite in order for them to get to the bottom of the crime they were investigating. But as soon as I said my name I had already lost. So that just reminded me of the axe incident and I concluded that coppers are arseholes and its better not to show any kind of need to help them. I later found out, from a member of the Tae Kwon Do club, he also was involved in youth programmes and running a gym. The police had told him that they had been using the resources from the spy department following me and keeping records since I was living at house number 32. They had told him that I was a lost cause, and that he should not bother too much with me. This was three years after I moved from house number 32.

But it was not only the police I had to deal with. Some mums didn’t like me either, as soon as they heard my family name. I was on the bus once with a friend, then I spotted a very cute girl and she got of at a rich area. I really wanted to talk to her, so my friend and I got of after her and followed her to the house and rang her doorbell. Her mum opened the door. I asked to speak with the girl and she said. “I recognise you what’s your name”? “Jimi family name” with a smile. Are you your uncle’s son? She asked. I was thinking “what the fuck man” and my friend were laughing. After concluding that I was my dad’s son I could speak to her daughter. It turned out that the mum was an old girl friend to my uncle and obviously her heart was broken and she didn’t want the same thing happen to her daughter. The same thing happened again a few years later a girl was all over me. She took me home, I was in her bed and her mum had asked her whom she was with. Jimi so and so, she said. Then the girl told me that her mum doesn’t allow any of that family in her house. But all respect to my uncle player. He’s got a couple of kids, a girl who has three of her own kids now, a son whose about 20 years, and a teenager son here in England.

author is the son of former criminal father

to be continued

exkriminell

By this time I had no contact with my mum and I was working on renewing the reputation of our family name to the next generation of coppers.

My own lack of respect for the law started as early as when I was six years old. When I think back on this picture now, it’s a weird feeling of pride for where I’m from. Kronoparken had the reputation of being dangerous and people from other parts of town didn’t go there and later when we were teenagers we were not allowed go to other “nicer“ parts outside town. If we got spotted they called the cops on us. Anyway I remember one day me and my friend, the one that moved to Gothenburg, decided to trash a car that no one had used for a few weeks. My mum’s boyfriend had already taken the petrol from this car. So my friend started to jump the roof in on this car and I took a metal spear from a building site from across the road and rammed it in to the windscreen. At that time a car drove past. Nothing happened but when I see this picture I have to laugh. Welcome to Kronoparken! You can take the kid out of the ghetto but you can’t take the ghetto out of the kid. It was mainly normal games we played as a kid. It was very popular to pick over ripe “fruit” from the rose bushes and throw them at windows, spray concentrated garlic extract through letterboxed in to people’s apartments and go to the posh area and steal fruit, tools, bikes and anything else that they left outside after dark.

I think I was acting as a currier out of my knowledge. One evening my mum asked me to go up to her friend and drop a bag of. The friend’s nickname was the robber, cos he did armed robberies. In the bag was a landline phone. This was before the time of mobile telephones. I’m convinced now that there were drugs (heroin to be specific) under the cover on that phone. I know there is space as I’ve seen it opened before and those guys in that flat didn’t have a landline. When I left their flat there neighbour stuck his head out saying, “Dear little boy, what are you doing in that flat?” I said “nothing”.

A few years later my friends and me found that some storage rooms had the same locks and that our flat keys could open some of these locks if you fiddled a bit. And we managed to get in to a storage room for the local council. We started a club there where we played with fire. We had a logo that we wrote with glue and then lit the glue so our club name was in flames. When the glue burned out it left a burn mark with our club name. Later on we moved on to burning containers with paper. The next few summers were exiting in Kronoparken. We could get alcohol easy. You could go out at any time, day or night and it would always be someone out. There were a lot of arsonists around and the fire brigade were there almost every weekend.

We also found out from a gang in the next suburb how to get in to and start any Opel car with a simple bicycle lock key. We did that a few times but this gang had already established a name for them self’s so we hadn’t much interest.

It was not the firs time I set fire to things. I have a sister that is not my sister by blood but I known her my whole life and we were neighbours during my first 16-17 years. She always took care of me as a sister. We set fire to her mums flat once. The whole building burnt down. My mum was sleeping in the room where the closet was. Her mum was sleeping in a different room. First we started to burn the edges on a stack of magazines and then we turned to the big teddy bear. It only took half a second before the whole teddy bear was on fire and then another 30 sec for the rest of the closet to spark up. We didn’t dare to wake my mum up so we crawled very quietly to where here mum was sleeping and woke her up very gently. By the time her mum got to wake my mum up my mums hair was on fire. I was on my mums arm and my sister on her mum’s arm they were running out from the house bare foot in the snow as the windows exploded. They only had their night guans on. We went to the neighbours across the street and called the fire brigade. My sister and me were running around the neighbour’s house making noise like sirens on the fire truck.

We started drinking early. It was easy to get spirit as home made vodka is made in a lot of houses and stealing from drunk parents is easy. I was drunk first time when I was 1 years old. I had half a can of lager when my parents were not watching. But then I was dry until I was 12 lol, just joking. Iv had been to a party with some of my older friends. They were 14-17 years. I got really pissed there and I grabbed a few cans and went back to central Kronoparken. There I shared the drink with my other friends. At about 10:30 I was passed out on the street. I could not move so my friends dragged me home and put me to bed. All I remember from the journey home was my toes on my trainers dragging behind me. From that day there was a lot of drinking for the next 10 years. I started hanging out with older friends more and I also started getting attention from 16-17 year old girls when I was 12-13. When I was 13 I had a fling with my sisters best friend. She was 5 years older than me. We had been to a party one night and when we got back I didn’t want to go home so I slept in-between my sister and the friend. She came on to me and we started to touch each other and she started moaning and turning. I was shit scared that my sister should wake up and I was too young and felt too insecure in front of a 5 year older woman so I didn’t try to have sex with her even if that is what she tried..

. I had friends with cars at this time so a lot of time was spent in a car drinking and driving around I didn’t sleep much for a while and was drinking a lot and I was only 13 so my mum started to think that I was on drugs. I was not on drugs ever.

My sister moved to Stockholm and I visited her sometimes. She started to take me to nightclubs there and my friends became even older. One time I was in a club. I had a lot of hot shots (Galliano and coffee toped with whipped cream) before the club so I was quite drunk when I got in. the guys bought me pints. I was only little then so it didn’t take long before I was passed out in the toilet. The bouncers found me at closing time and chucked me out. I was 14 years old pissed like hell. I could not see 2 meters. And I didn’t know where my sister lived. The bus driver would not let me on the bus. A guy paid for a taxi if I would let him sleep on the sofa at my sisters. We managed to find the way but my sister told him to fuck off. I had the worst hangover ever the day after. If I moved a muscle I threw up.

to be continued

author is the son of former criminal father

Mums boyfriend number two at house number 32 moved out. He was to be replaced with boyfriend number three, who’s name was Osmo Vallo.

The mafia factor peaks when this guy moves in. Our family name was since a long time renowned throughout the legal system in Sweden. I’m only the 2^nd generation in Sweden. My father and his brother, from the first generation did a good job establishing the name on the crime map. Now this guy from a Finnish well-known criminal family moved in. I liked him, he was nice and not violent to my mum. However his involvement in the heroin trade didn’t make my life easier. He and my mum left me for long periods on my own, with no money and no food. Many times I had to eat crisp bread as my only meal and sometimes I got food from our neighbours. I was about 14 yeas old by now and had my first proper girl friend. Her family took me on holiday with them. While we were gone their house was burgled and we had to come home a few days early. I didn’t think much about it then, as some one being burgled was normal. I had burgled people’s storage places myself since a few years back. But thinking about it afterwards I can’t help but thinking that my mum’s boyfriend was involved. My girlfriend’s family lived in the posher area and obviously my mum knew where we were and how long we would be gone. The boyfriend told me stories sometimes about fights, encounters with the police and tricks of the trade. He told me that if I fight someone with a knife and I would be stabbed, I don’t have to worry as it only burns a bit.and I will probably not die. And by the way, the guy that stabbed me could be found and been taken care of later. One time, he and my mum was in a car with another friend. The friend was later described to me as a nice guy who didn’t do any harm, “he only burgled and used amphetamine” that’s all. Anyhow, the police stopped them. The copper happened to be an archenemy to my family and he had been on our case for years. They had to line up against the car. The copper pulled his gun and placed it on the ribs of the nice friend and pulled the trigger. Basically he murdered the guy in front of my mum and her boyfriend. As the guy that got shot didn’t have any power in the world of crime the cop didn’t have to face any consequence from his “family”. There was no charges against the copper. From other stories I heard, it seem to ad up to that the copper tried to provoke the boyfriend to take action against the police so they had something to either arrest him for or better kill him for. Another time my mum and the boyfriend was stopped by the police they had another unimportant friend with them in the car. The police made the friend strip naked in the middle of the street and lie down on the ground, face down. Then one of the coppers jumped on his back. This time both my mum and the boyfriend protested, resulting in the coppers beating the boyfriend up with their batons. He showed me the burses when he got home and also told me about the shooting of the other friend. Despite all this, when my mum and the boyfriend was at home it was good. Not any junkies on the sofa. No young girls trying to help their mother home cos she’s to drunk to walk on her own. We had money and the house number 32 was rather peaceful. But I new something was not right. I didn’t see anything going on. They talked about business and when the boyfriend’s brothers were visiting they were always speaking in finish but the picture was straight out of a mafia film so there was no question about what was going on. But their was never any physical evidence. That’s why the police hated them, as there was never any evidence. However, by now I had 15 years experience with criminals so I knew what to look for and when to look. Eventually I found evidence of heroin. That’s how I know that this was the boyfriends business. I also knew what it looks like and in what ways to use it. Some years later the police finally caught up with the boyfriend and killed him in cold blood with “normal” people as witness. They let their two German Sheppard police dogs on him, then beating him up while the dogs were biting of chunks of flesh from his body, and finally strangled him to death. This happened at the estate of Kronoparken and the coppers were freed from all charges.

By this time I had no contact with my mum and I was working on renewing the reputation of our family name to the next generation of coppers.

Authour is the eldest son of former criminal father

exkriminell

Anyway lets back up a few years

My mum was dating another idiot while in house number 32. He did karate as well and was developing his own philosophical style. He also wanted to practise and then he used to punched me in the face. When my mum half enthusiastically asked why he was doing that? He said; that I should be prepared. This guy had a history of mental illness, and later on he ended up running about in animal skin and makeup, talking to aliens. But before he reached that stage, he managed to turn our flat in to a smoking den. Frequently beating up my mum and kept us under constant treat and pressure. One morning before school I was having my breakfast. He was in the living room next to the kitchen. I was facing the door so I could see in to the living room. But he was standing to the right in there so I could not see him. He called my mum in there, there was no shouting but I could tell that the situation was not good. Then I heard his fist hitting my mum’s head and she fell to the floor. The only thing I could see, was her leg and her high heel shoes through the door. He, the idiot, left the flat quietly. I couldn’t finish the food and´, I didn’t cry. All I did was to take my bag and leave the flat to go to school. I think that particular idiot is dead now, if not – I hope he is really suffering in his illness.

Eventually after many other violent events and drunken nights in house number 32, he finally left, only to be replaced by an even worse “boyfriend”!

This guy was a proper hash head, and my mum had to supply him with the smoke. I know because I went with her, many many times to pick it up from her dealer friends.

At this time I could not bring friends home, in fear that the flat would be full of people lying on our sofa, either being too drunk or too high to move. Or the flat would smell of cannabis. Or my mum being in bed, and that she might come to open the door half naked. And I had enough with the kids from the posher areas, and their patronising parents as it was. I could see how they looked down on my mum. The worst was when we got food vouchers from the welfare office. Then we filled the shopping trolley with what food we needed. After that, the shop manager took us in to his office where the groceries was added up, and then put it back into the trolley. When counted, we had to walk past the cues with the food, without paying to leave the shop.

I started to hit other students at school during this time. Not unprovoked but I had zero tolerance for comments, or disrespectful behaviour to me, or to people I considered being victims of bullying. I never had problem with kids with the similar background as myself, only with overprotected spoilt boys with their big mouths. And I didn’t have any problems with girls, they all loved me. Later on when we reached puberty, they would all try to get a piece.

During the final years in school we had camping trips and school trips where we had to sleep in tents. In my class we had the fittest girls at school, they all had boyfriends in years above or that had finished school. On one of the trips one of these girls made it clear that she wanted me to stay in her tent. But, in that tent were two other girls. I didn’t object and when I went over to their tent late at night, after the teachers were asleep, I slipped in to her sleeping bag and started cuddling her. She was lying in the middle, and for some reason the girl to the right also wanted her share. I started feeling her hands all over me. then she pushed the first girl off me. So I thought, what to now? Then disided, I just turned around and slipped in to her sleeping bag instead, then that girl and me had a proper smelly and wet session. A few weeks later we had another camping trip and the girl who had invited me, tried again. This time she had borrowed a tent from some one else to make sure we were to be alone so I did visit her in the tent. However I could not do anything as her boyfriend were about 5 meters away and he would have killed me and I could not have done anything about that so I had to let this one slip through my fingers. I still regret it to this day, as this girl was the prettiest girl in the history of that school. But it was with great satisfaction I spotted the girls with their boyfriends later. The boyfriends were ok with me but they still had the attitude that I’m older and cooler that you. But I knew better. Anyway I ended up having my first proper girlfriend later. She was extremely good looking and all the boys tried it on, but she wouldn’t have them, I´ve got her too.

At house number 32 it was all getting worse. One evening when I was home alone someone knocked on the door. When I opened, this man that I know I knew my mum, stood there with his hand inside the jacket. He asked to see my mum but I told him she wasn’t at home. He demanded some money he claimed she had borrowed. It was only about £10 and when I could not give him the money he pulled out an axe and raised it. He threatened to use it if she didn’t pay. I was in chock and he walked off. The police came but made it out to be my fault and my mum got pissed off and thy left. The guy got away with threatening a boy with an axe, but it made the news at least. Another day, my mum was yet again beaten blue, I ran down to a couple that lived in the next block. They were friends with my mum and the man in that family had a reputation of dealing with people physically. Neither the police or security companies confronted this guy, but he wouldn´t go over to our flat to put an end to what was going on. After that I confronted the boyfriend one night when my mum was on a pickup mission. I told him that what he is doing has to stop but he was not paying any attention to me. The TV was on so I took the remote to turn it off. He told me that if I did what I was about to do I would regret it. So I turned the TV off. I ended up being thrown around the flat for a bit and then while I was on my back with him holding me down with his fists on my chest and throat he told me that basically me and my mum would suffer if I pulled a stunt like that again. One day my mum broke her leg when she fell of a chair while hanging up new curtains. A few weeks later we would do our last trip to Gothenburg together. My friend and I were playing a game on the new Nintendo console, when I overheard my mum telling my friends mum that the boyfriend had beaten her up. He had slashed her head through a door and kicked her leg so it got fractured. Later I confronted her about this, and I could tell from the reaction that things would change soon.

We moved in to a new flat in the next block. It was a nice place newly renovated by a friend to my mum that lived there before us. I liked him and his family. He used to be a UN soldier and a security guard. I did Karate at this time and he used to do karate too so we practised sometimes. He told me stories about his wild nights out and people he knocked out with bottles. Sometimes the people he beat up were from the social class that made my life less good so he became a bit of a hero for me. They also had money, only cos he was working doing business. His wife was fit and they had a Doberman that liked me. I watched the dog a lot and we spent a lot of time with them. It was a good time. Then they moved and we moved in to their flat in house number 32. Later he lost the kid and girlfriend to alcohol, the usual stuff.

Life in house number 17 would turn out to be comparatively brilliant to life in number 32. My best friend Dan lived in the tower block on the next street. We grew up together from before I can remember and spent all the time together. When we were about 8 his mum moved to Gothenburg (gbg). His mum, long-term friend to my mum, was a heroin addict but she had a stable boyfriend and not too much violent incidences in her home. She also managed to keep a job. But occasionally she flipped out running about screaming and shouting. Her son was a wild one. I was quite quiet and reserved. But he was full of energy and wanted to be heard. He was born on my predicted birthday and I was born 3weeks late on his predicted birthday. He had an older brother that lived with their dad in Gothenburg. When they moved my life was quite empty. My mum and me visited them frequently but it would end in a huge argument and my mum stopped visiting them. I kept going to gbg quite frequently I got interested in martial arts there as all the kids I was hanging out with trained some sort of martial art and it was for the purpose of beating ppl up and fight in general. A few years later I had established a group of friends there and at this time we also carried weapons, knifes, teargas, telescope batons and nunchuks, the gang, my friends, had already started hanging out in parks beating up gay men or ppl they thought were gay at least, and committees a few robberies. My first visit to the park with them was intended to rob and harm someone with the motive that he was going to be gay. I hade a knife that you pushed the blade out from the handle. One of the guys liked it and asked if he could carry it and I took his telescope baton as a trade for the evening. We all were clothes suitable for kicking and fighting and running and we were all warmed up and stretched so we could kick ppl in the head. After about 20 min looking for a victim we got stopped by the police, a van with 5 officers. The guy who carried my knife got arrested, they confiscated the rest of the weapons and I got a warning that if they saw me in gbg again I would be arrested. By this time I had a girlfriend in gbg so I visited almost every weekend. But the intention to rob and fight ppl slowly turned to burglary and vandalism instead. Every weekend we tried to break in some where or steel some thing. Mostly cigarettes and things that could be sold easily. The last few times I visited gbg the focus had turned to drugs. I was not interested in taking drugs at this time as I had started training Tae KwonDo (tkd) in Karlstad and it was going well. However I brought with me from gbg the drive and ideas of crime and burglary. For a few years it was a fine line between committing crimes and taking that rout on a more serious level and training tkd and trying to get an education. I think thanks to the tkd club and some of its members I managed to stay away from major problems. I was involved in some gang activity causing some issues in the city doing some burglary, steeling things and keeping stolen gods but at the same time social services had their eyes on me and I believe that they really did care at this stage. Their unit was called the youth unit and some of the staff there was really good to me.. some were proper arseholes and pushed me in to vandalism and threats to premises and staff. One member of staff fell in love with me and when she couldn’t see me any more she was crying. All I was thinking then was what the fuck are you insane woman?? I was in the process of getting a gun then and I managed to get a replica that I was going to use to rob and scare the shit out of some one. All I really wanted to do was to put the gun in some knobs face and make him piss him self the money would only be a bonus. That summer the violence in Karlstad vas incredible… every weekend there was fights and ppl bleeding on every street and that is no exaggeration. And biker gangs got involved and skinheads from whole Europe came to Karlstad to cause problems and to fight.

I was standing next to my mate who threw a brick at one biker members face. Only minutes before I tried to kick him in the head but he pulled a blade in my face so I had to retreat The problem with that was that that gang wanted to be part of hells angels so they had to do something about that situation. One of my friends ended up with a shotgun in his face and I had two of them making it clear to me, with ppl around, that we should back the fuck off. I think that I got away with a warning cos of my surname. My mum knew all the bikers and my sister (non biological) knew ppl from another big respected mc gang. I don’t know for sure that my family reputation saved my arse but it sure seem like it as my friends had weapons pulled at them.

to be continued

author, the eldest son of former criminal

This is the story  my eldest son tells about growing up in a family environment with heavy violence, illicit drugs and criminal people, all around him. When I first read it I was shaken, I was chocked and I whished, for the first time in my life, I could change history. But I cant, hopefully this story can help someone change their way of behaviors. The story starts in the mid 70s, in Sweden.

Kronoparken, in the newly built estate area. The red house blocks were a poor attempt to improve the image of this suburb. There were some “normal” people living there but the image and reputation is made by the people that are seen and heard. Alcoholics, junkies, thieves, robbers, drug dealers, murderers and a lot of other incompetent parents. We lived in house number 17. I smoked a cigg first time when I was about 4ish, I didn’t like it and I think that is why I don’t smoke tobacco today. I was always showing interest in cigarettes so my mum said do you want to smoke? Smoke then, here. She showed me what to do. I thought I was going to die so I lost interest in cigarettes. I don’t know, what else do you learn from having parents and family socialising with members from all these excentric professions? How to make a good pipe with nicely crumbled hash and the right amount of tobacco? How to forge a identity card? That your mum is getting enough sex? Or when she is about to get a good beating? How to hide drugs and take drugs, where to buy it, whos got it and how much does it cost? Or that the police and social service is not on your side, ever? I think being able to compartmentalize feelings of terror and shame, was one of the biggest lessons to learn as a pre school child.

Those Hippies, just don’t want to stop partying. Having kids doesn’t change anything. But the party is only a good experience for so long. When the drug and alcohol consumption continues, while a “boyfriend” isn’t let in one night and in rage, standing outside the kitchen, smashing the windows in with his hands. The Kid is crying and screaming with fear, knowing that if this man manages to get in, his mum will not recover for a long time. Again, and yet again the kid have to go to the shop, post office, or where ever, with his mum being Blue in the face. All events like this do not lead to a change in lifestyle. It only leads to learning how to swallow it and face the same people and similar situations over and over again.

We only lived in that flat for 2 or 3 years. But during that time our family established it self in this place as People that have/can get the drugs, and where there were always something going on. If I look back now thinking about it, if I was a neighbour to these people, I know what I would think. Fucking space wasters, get a job and that the social service should take their kids.

My sister was apprehended by social services before I was born, she is 9 years older than me. Someone found a syringe outside our door and reported it. She had to move to a foster home and I didn’t see her much. I missed her a lot. We don’t have much contact but I always feel close to her when I meet her. I feel like she doesn’t see me as a family member and that she sees me as part of the family that abandoned her. I wish it wasn’t like that and I think I tried to make efforts with her but it’s a one-way thing so I feel like im beginning to give up a bit. But people always feel more important than they are. Events that happen in our life’s mean fuck all to other people. Only the people intimately involved in ones life might be affected and or concerned or involved. But if your not that tight linked then you can live or die doesn’t matter. It seem like a harsh comment and emotionally incorrect and something that one wouldn’t agree on but realistically from an ego point of view, you would like to have more of an impact on other people in good and bad ways. Think about it with your own people that you call family/friends when was the last time they visited you, rang you, did something good for you just cos they cared or wanted to show how much they care about you. There is usually one or 2 that meet the standards and bless them but most people suck! The ones that don’t, love them the rest love them too and don’t let it get to you. Now when was the last time you called, visited or did something for someone except your best friend or the person you want to fuck! (Yes ! it wasn’t a “?” it was a statement) Before her, my sister that is, my mum was pregnant with a son, but he died during birth. I don’t know why. It makes me sad thinking about that I could have had a sister and a brother while growing up taking care of me. But I did it my self I guess. I don’t know the details of the life my mum had then and what happened. Only that she lost a lot of blood and they managed to save her but not the baby. Or perhaps these stories Im telling you now are just fabrications and lies as so many other things are, anyway its what I was led to believe happened to my siblings but maybe the reality is a lot worse. Its already quite bad so I cant see why the story actually should be any more positive in its nature.

To be continued:

author, the eldest son of former criminal father