Table of Contents

DedicationAcknowledgements ForecastPart 1- Soul Storm Thunder in the Minds Sky ...retrospection ...the phone call A Helluva Thought Where you at God? Unconditional Phonies Existential Purgatory Lightning Strikes the HeartPart 2- An Eye for (Winds) in a (Sail) The Lee from Blurry Vision Unlikely Connections Compression Chamber i of the StormConclusionAftermathNotesCentList Justice FundBooklet Catalog FlyerFreedom Flyer-

To Kasey Schoen & Dakarai Fulton may your storms be weathered with peace & understanding wherever you may exist.

These are the chants of my struggle Uttered from the voice of my pain, Composed before an audience of doubters While realizin a world so vain, The canvas of my soul are the pages While battlin the enemies of love, Adversity upon adversity are the words Written in the inks of my blood, -Lee Bently 448

Acknowledgements
Salutes to Keith Anderson of Word Impact magazine in the US (wordimpact@excited.com); Leesa Taylor of Freeleon.com in Aus. (liljay20202000@yahoo.com.au); Jack Anderson of The Legal Corner of the U.K. (thelegalcorner@live.co.uk); Joanne Royston of the Abolition U.K. (info@abolitionuk.org) Steven Willet of the U.K. (mahlergood@yahoo.co.uk); and Philip and Ariel of the future (unrebelde@riseup.net) in the U.S. Thank you all and other for taking the time outta your hectic schedules to make this creative writing available to the world public. Kudos!

The Forecast
Image: The Twista Poets have their weaknesses but they also Have a tough side. When they find themselves in adverse conditions, it spurs on their ability to survive. If there is nothing else to rely on, they can get through by chanting poetry. The hand might be Too weak to wring a chickens neck, but it is still strong enough to wield a pen. And so while this mass-deliberation process was deciding to punish me, I was even more actively writing poetry.
-Zhang Xinliang, GRASS SOUP, 1993

STORM WARNING! STORM WARNING! STORM WARNING! STORM WARNING! Evacuate: every man, woman, and child! Immediately pack your vehicles with at least forty-eight hours worth of food and water supplies. Drive to the nearest highway exit and dont look back! And those without transportation, you must immediately find a storm shelter nearest to your location; if you cannot, take refuge within your basement or hall closet...i repeat If you cannot find a storm shelter, take refuge within your basement or hall closet! STORM WARNING! STORM WARNING! STORM WARNING! STORM WARNING! Im sure youve experience such an interruptive broadcast of your regular t.v. and radio programing for a STORM WARNING of a pending tornado, thunder and lightning storm or hurricane. These broadcasted messages deliver to a complacent society an overwhelming sense of caution, until that particular storm has passed. Here, too, I suggest the reader to proceed with the same caution. This is the forecast of storm filled pages to come, that represent an adverse, yet potentially passionate, journey through the darkest valleys of my soul, amid the most violent emotional down pours a human being can endure: fear, anger, indignation, revenge, grief, hopelessness and loneliness. Which all at once struck my reality like sudden thunder bolts from the peripheral back drop of an unsettling past, that shackles me in the present. This unlikely epic begins at Part One Soul Storm, a typical day awakening to being held in a compressive feeling, Carlisle, Indiana, isolation chamber. My indignation had already aroused me into a seemingly hardened prisoner. Indignations not toward the cruelty or pain i suffered per se, but towards the socio-political blasphemy attached to it: Im falsely convicted! So it should be understood, that transgressions foul winds were already tumbling against the cores of my being, from every angle, before i woke. Therefore, to have heard tragic news from over the phone 2

that greatly stagnated my quest to exoneration only tilted my temperament scales to that of a hell storm! And like the butterfly effect (the phenomenon where by a seconds localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere (e.g. the notion that a butterfly fluttering in Iraq could change the weather in America). I, too, experienced visceral- storms caused by events from a faraway society involving people I had never met. At this point, after hanging up the phone, I was left alone in an isolation cell with no one to rely on. While in isolation, there was no encouraging words from family and friends, it was me and my bleeding soul. And like Zhang observed while in a Chinese labor camp between 1957-79: If there is nothing to rely on, poets can get through by chanting poetry. I, too, had to do the same. Minutes after the phone call, I could only write my immediate thoughts down. Whatever I felt I wrote. I pulled no punches. I became the psychopompos of the storms of my soul. After an hour or two, I finished writing the original manuscript before falling asleep from mental and emotional exhaustion. Once I awoke, due to the loud, abrupt sound of a guard slamming down the cell-doors food slot, I was still wounded from the news earlier, but I felt much better. However, when I read what Id written, my own words stung like grabbing at the stem of a thousand throned rose. Like a drunk, one whose intoxicated by the cognac of anger, will speak the raw truth of their thoughts and feelings. Often times the truths revealed under such impassioned circumstances are inflammatory toward anyone (in listening or reading distance). I knew that some of the things I wrote would offend or inflame particular readers, although, it was nothing directed toward anyone outside the scope of my circumstance. So I didnt change a word, and wanted the world to feel my pain. By early 2007 I published the entire transcript of i of the storm on www.myspace.com/freeleonbenson. Here is one response i received from a friend: March 13, 2007 To Leon: Well I know its been a while since youve heard from me. Just 3

so happens I was browsing on your MySpace page yesterday and I noticed your anger flowing through your writings. Which i must say were very interesting...as usual. Ive been thinking about you pretty often. After reading your latest though, I dont exactly know how to approach you. It almost seems like you dont wanna be involved with anyone that cant help your case. And I must say I can understand where you are coming from. But I notice that you are speaking about females that claimed to be in love with you, and so on, for it to end because of all the constraints of you being locked up. I hope that didnt come off to you like I was looking for some kind of romantic fairy tale ending. And you must take into account that Ive never tried to deceive you in anyway. I really took heed to the line in one of your poems. Where you were saying something about if thoughts could kill and what you would do to the selfish people. Do you think Im selfish? You know I understand that you are in a position that almost seems like theres nothing else you can do, because you are so limited in resources and communication. Also I understand that there are times when you are feeling frustrated and angry. But you should really tone down that attitude thats being conveyed to people reading your page. Have you ever thought that your aggression could possibly create a barrier for someone who really wants to help you? For some strange reason your writings have really imposed on my feelings. Because in a sense it seems like they are a bunch of hidden messages within. Nevertheless, i still appreciate your friendship. I hope to hear back from you; Ill be looking for the opportunity to get your response. Take care of yourself and try not to be so stressed. Yours Truly, Kenya Because of who this response came from, I really took heed to her criticisms. So I had the i of the storm blog taken off my page. The last thing I wanted was to come off like a poetic-polemicist and undermine my own strives toward liberation. Consequently, the i of the storm manuscript has laid obscure from the publics eye for years since and I didnt intend to share the piece with anyone again. 4

 However, after years of contemplation I decided to present the writing here today. Although I edited and revised parts of the writing, I did not change the bold honesty of it. Because to do such would have watered down the sincerity of thoughts at the time and the seriousness of the circumstances that produced them. Indeed, I make fair warning that my poetic expressions are still bold and inflammatory, even blasphemous to some. But these words are not reactionary. Like Malcolm X once said When people get angry, theyre not interested in consequences. When they get angry, they realize the condition that theyre in that their suffering is unjust, immoral, illegal and that anything they do to correct it or eliminate it, theyre justified. When you develop that type of anger and speak in that voice, then youll get some kind of respect and recognition, and some changes. Here today, like when my words were written, I realized that my unjust conditions needed to change. And the storms that emerged from these conditions are a justifiable chant for that change. Therefore, if any content shocks or inflames you, dont stop reading amid the journey. Push forward, and discover many unique perspectives that can be caught in the hands of your understanding, like rain drops. In one instance of my existential vulnerability in the writing, I gaze up at the isolation chambers ceiling and demand answers from God. Only to realize the deep contrast between the insignificance of my rage and situation, and the vastness of the universe and possibility that was ever more omnipotent. Still, I couldnt help but wonder: why in such a vast world, would God mandate that I be shackled to such a place, for unjust reasons, with no escape? If you possess the fortitude and inner-strength to endure the cosmic clashes of thunder and lightning of my Soul Storms, youll make it to Part 2 An Eye for (Winds) in a (Sail). At this juncture, youll see the storms calm; where I personally begin to see wins in a cell. These wins are the answers and new questions gained at the end of my journey. The sun will shine through the grey clouds again and rainbows will appear to signify a new start. At the end of these rainbows lies the treasures of spiritual enlightenment to be 5

gathered. However, if youre foolish enough to look for the myth of material gold at the end of these rainbows, then youll continuously suffer the worst storms afflicted on mortals: self-stupidity and ignorance!. My reason for sharing i of the Storm was not for what I could gain from it, but in what good it could give back to the world. However, i of the Storm doesnt offer itself with absolute proofs and results; nor is its contents easy to approach. Like an unknown part of the universe, it is waiting to be discovered by you. Although I adhere to many scientific notions, I dare not disregard the power of human interpretation of anyone or anything, let alone the adaptations that can be drawn from herein. In essence, to one person i of the Storm will read as clear as a summers blue sky; to another, as enigmatic as dark clouds hiding the sun; and to a third, as blurry as driving at night, in a rain storm, without headlights or windshield wipers. It depends on the person of what they can adapt to their experiences and life. Therefore, if you happen to be a person who cannot find inspiration and enlightenment in reading it; then pass this book along in the world for the benefit of those who can find its meanings helpful in their storms. Before opening the following pages to the violent winds that are beyond F-5 or category 5s scale readings: know, that Im not a meteorologist in the conventional sense, but heed this forecast. Who can better advise you of my soul storms than myself? Leon Benson Carlisle, Indiana, August 2009

Part I

Soul Storms
I wanna go outside, in the rain It may sound crazy But I wanna go outside, in the rain, Once the rain start falling on my face I know Ima see a better day, Right now I think Im dying Because of you Im crying, -The Dramatics, IN THE RAIN, 1970

They shouldve shot me when I was born Now Im lost in the muthafuckin storm -Tupac Shakur, THUG LIFE Vol 1, 1994
1

THUNDER IN THE MINDS SKY F-2

Its 6:17 AM, a typical morning on August 29th, 2006, while in my eighth year of awaking to the morbid sights of a prison-cell. Ive not lost my mind only because Ive been blessed to have develop the fortitude and equilibrium amid my incarceration. Everyday its a new battle to shake off the heavy foot of oppression. But, as I slowly raise up from this paper thin foam-mat thats spread over a concrete 7

slab of a bed, and walk to the sink to wash my face and brush my teeth, unusually pleasant thoughts fill my mind like a champaign glass. I start to exhale with anticipation, while looking in the stainless steel mirror bolted in the wall just above the sink. This mirror threw back a distorted image of my face like that of carnival mirrors. So when I smiled after brushing my teeth, my teeth transformed into mini elephant tusks from out the sides of my jaws. I chuckle at the silly image before whispering to myself, Man, man, man... I cant wait to get on the phone and holla at Amy. I just know she got some good news for me! Then I begin to reflect on how my circumstances came to exist:

Amid a misty summers night, on August 8th, 1998, in the hour of 3:45-50AM, the thunderous sounds of gun shots pulsated from a dim-lit, downtown street corner of Indianapolis, Indiana. When the smoke cleared, a 25 year old Kasey Schoen, was found in the drivers seat of his 1998 black Ram truck: shot to death! At the time, I was inside an apartment building, hanging out in the back stairwells. Although it was late, there were a lot of movement among the buildings residents in the hallway and in and out the back door. This was due to the illicit drug activities precipitated by my crack-cocaine dealing. I was feeling buzzed from the amounts of alcohol Id consumed through the night, so Id become somewhat complacent in conversation with the people around me. Out of the several people in my immediate surroundings, only Timothy Gaither, like myself, was not a crack user. When we heard the shots while in the building, it sounded like lightning had struck several times, right outside the building. This caused everyone to pause for a second or two. But soon after, everyone went back to what we were doing before. Because gun shots were a normal occurrence in the area: locals of the urban, high crime area were desensitized to it. I left the building about an hour after without a clue that someone had been murdered two blocks away as a consequence of 8

Retrospection

the gunshot sounds. Then, six days later, August 14th, 1998, I was arrested for the shooting, although I had absolutely no involvement in the crime. What prompted my arrest was a speculation that I mightve did it by a local male dope fiend. And while I was detained at police headquarters, detectives placed my photo in a photo lineup, where a female (alleged) eyewitness picked me as the lone-assailant she saw commit the shooting. Obviously, because I was from another state (Flint, Michigan) and sold drugs in the same area the crime occurred, it made me an easy scapegoat for an overzealous police investigation and prosecution. Subsequently, on July 8th, 1999, as a result of a jury trial, I was found guilty of murder and sentenced to 60 years in prison. It was an abortion of justice, but I adamantly maintained my innocence from day one. However, I received a bum deal all around the board. Especially from my hired attorney and private investigator (PI). Although an eyewitness to the crime, Dakarai Fulton, gave police a statement and positively identified another person committing the shooting, just days after my arrest. This witness wasnt brought to trial to testify on my behalf. My attorney, PI and the state all claimed that Fulton couldnt be located. But to add tragedy to irony, it was discovered years later that Fulton was in the custody of the State in work release months before and after the trial (and the work release center was located on the same street the crime occurred, a block away). Although the states attorney had an incentive to withhold Fultons whereabouts, what was my attorney and PIs? Because they couldve picked up the phone and called the citys custody records and found the witness (which is mandatory investigatory procedure to locate witnesses for cases). However you look at it, foul play was clearly involved from the start. By the time of my arrival to prison, I was determined to clear my name. And, with my last finances, I hired a new attorney to appeal my false conviction. However, since the Appeal Court at this stage only dealt with procedural errors from the trial record, my appeal attorney couldnt mention the existence of the exonerating witness outside of that record. As a result, on February 15th, 9

2002, my Direct Appeal was DENIED. This court decision pushed me into deep despair, especially while coming on the heels of my step-fathers death in January 6, 2002 and grandfathers death February 4, 2002. On top of this, I was being held in an isolation cell in the security housing unit (SHU) of Wabash Valley Correctional Facility. Here I was systematically locked in a cell 23-24 hours a day, hand cuffed and shackled every time I left the cell, and only allowed to use the phone 20 min per week. All for an assault on a guard and rioting charges (I wasnt involved in). Since 2001, Ive been subjected to prison within prison & injustice within injustice while held in the SHU. Prison officials have erroneously labeled me as a security threat the past five years. Despite the harsh magnitude of the circumstances, I didnt lose belief in myself or the greater good in people around the world. My confidence remained that I would overcome my challenges, because truth was on my side. Although, I had the limited tools of a pen, paper, a few books and vision, I fought on from an isolation cell. No doubt, my task was difficult because I was learning (law, organizing, inter-prison politics, myself, etc.) as I went along. One of the biggest things I had to overcome in this lowly situation was pride. After my appeal was denied, I was out of money. And because I never had to ask anyone for help like this before, I was initially ashamed to do so. However, I knew I had to go public about my case and ask for the help I needed. By December 2002, with the last $100 to my name, I bought internet space on www.prisonpenpals.com, where I posted a sincere declaration of innocence article with four photos of myself. On January 24, 2003, I had to file a pro se, Post-Conviction Relief Petition to further appeal my erroneous conviction. Because I was poor, the court appointed the public defenders office to my case. However, the defenders office backlogged my case until they were done representing cases that were filed before mine. It would be three years before the public defenders office would work on my case despite the no brainer of my case, i.e. once Fulton was brought forward Id automatically receive a new trial. In the meantime, I then had a local Indianapolis supporter, Leda Grace, searching for Fultons whereabouts. Unfortunately, her 10

son was killed by tragic circumstances, and the grief she felt snowballed into depression, therefore greatly crippling her efforts on my behalf. It seems that immediately after Leda fell back, I started receiving responses in the mail from my online article. Most responses were from females, of all ages and nationalities, from different parts of the world. But few were genuinely interested in my plight for freedom, than they were in looking for vanity strokes from a male prisoner. Fortunately, as the years passed I came into contact with several genuine supporters. Ironically, most were from foreign countries: Leesa Taylor of Australia, Sigrad Davies and Sussanna Klatt of Germany, and Siohban of the U.K. But I encountered a few genuine U.S. Supporters too: Carla Andrews (RIP) in Indiana, Takenya Jones of Louisiana, Keith Anderson of West Virginia, and Robert Lee and LaShanti Overton of California. Yet, I did not have a supporter able or close enough to Indianapolis to do the leg work needed to locate the vindicating eyewitness. Then in June 2006, I received a letter from Amy Montgomery of Indianapolis. She responded to my online declaration with compassion and eagerness to assist my plight. From my correspondence networks things started coming together like magnets and bolts. In July 2006, after conducting many unsuccessful internet people searches, Takenya finally found the current address for Fulton in Indianapolis. When I received this news I was elated. I told Amy of the address. And come to find out her best friend stayed across the street from Fulton. Amy became more excited than I about the discovery! Fortunately, Amy had a Notary Public stamp registered with the State of Indiana. Therefore, whoever signed documents or statements in her presence and she signed and notarized them, those documents become certified and recognized as legally valid in the court of law. I needed to get an affidavit in Amys possession. With no more time to waste, I drafted an affidavit for Fulton to sign, tailored from his initial statement to police. I sent it to Amy to type up. 11

 By the beginning of August, Amy visited Fultons address with the affidavit for him to sign. But she was unsuccessful in finding him home. The address was correct because Amys best friends husband was friends with Fulton. She went to Fultons address several more times in the days to follow, but couldnt catch him at home. I felt that it was only a matter of time before she caught dude home and had him sign the affidavit. All my hard work would finally pay off!

Three hours after I woke, a guard finally brought me the phone to the cell. Its thirty seven minutes after nine oclock, I shouldve had the phone at 9am. But Im too excited about my call to complain today. I can almost hear Amy say, Leon, I got Dakarais affidavit signed!. Excitedly I dialed her number. The phone rang twice before she answered and the recorded operator spoke You have a collect call from, LB, my previously recorded voice shouted. An Offender at Wabash Valley Correctional Facility. To refuse this call, hang out, but to accept this call, press one! the recording continued. The call went through Holla, Holla Holla! I said greeting her being humorous. Whats happening Leon? she replied in a lowly, sad like tone. Instantly I felt something was wrong. Are you aight? I asked compassionately. Nah. I have some bad news to tell you! What is it? Its Dakarai. Hes in a coma stemming from a drunk driving car accident! What! Where you hear this at? I asked in the awe of disbelief and surprise. When I went to his house yesterday, his next door neighbor, a black lady, told me about the whole thing! This sounds suspect to me. That chick is probably lying for dude so youll stop coming to his house looking for em! Shit, your friends husband probably gave dude the ups of why you were look12

The Phone Call

ing for em? Wait a minute before you start snappin Leon. I thought the lady was lying too. So i called every hospital in Indianapolis. And come to find out: Dakarais in St. Elizabeths ICU hanging on life support. His nurse told me the drunk driving car accident occurred on August 3rd 2006. Which left him with a lung collapsed, subarachvoid-brain-hemorrhage, type III odontoid fracture, right femur fracture, and right tibia fracture! Basically, he may end up brain dead! she explained to me in a regretful voice. At this point, Amy confirmed my worst fear. This news silenced my words. But thunder echoed in my mind. My blood pressure is high; my blood feels like tsunami waves sweeping through my body and crashing on the shores of my heart. Im so riddled with raw emotion, mostly anger, I start seeing red spots. Leon are you there? Amy asked, before I responded in a sluggish sigh Yeah!. Amy tells me she will continue to fight by my side attempting to comfort my agony. Before long, the 20 minuet phone call ended. But the psychological and emotional pain still fogs my atmosphere. I wanna curse, punch and kick the world. But it wont do me any good. Because Im surrounded by an isolation chamber made of concrete and steel. My anger and frustration is justified. Everyone knew how important Dakarai Fulton was in proving my innocence. Yet it had taken me eight years to finally find people dedicated enough to find him, only for him to wind up on his death bed when they knocked on his door! With how bad my luck has been in this entire ordeal, I wonder if super natural forces were at play? Although Im not a religious person, my spirituality is limited to the acknowledgement that a God, supreme being or divine power exist. What do I do now? I ask myself aloud. Now will I be trapped in prison forever, for a crime I didnt commit? Why the fuck I gotta go through all this shit? Theres no one to answer my questions in this empty cell. So I direct them toward the blank ceiling. My frustration burns 13

through my veins. Ah, how bad I want to exact my wrath on everyone responsible for the rage I now feel. I can no longer be humble or patient. Something has got to give. But what? Obviously Im the only person immersed in the eye of this storm and no one else. I have to deal with the pain and defeat. I cant rely on nothing or no one to do this for me. For these thoughts, I sit on the stool in front of this steel desk thats molded in the wall of this cell. I pick up this pen in my left hand and look at its transparent casing: Its half full of red ink! I take the pen with my right hand and look down to the desk at a note book with empty pages. Without another seconds thought, I begin to splash the words of the tremendous thunderous, echoes of emotions I feel inside, onto the pages. With each pen stroke, its a battle for control between my subconscious and conscious mind. Im entranced by the indignation. The following are the inks of my blood:

A HELLUVA THOUGHT F-10

All I see is red: Im going for broke! The last time the mid-west (IN, IL, MO) experienced a tornado as immense as the one Im unleashing here, was March 3, 1925 when 689 people was killed.2 Because for too many years, Ive been made to feel like a brown autumn leaf fluttering aimlessly in the tornado winds of injustice and desolation. But today my soul will flutter the entire world with a single invective-thought:

If my thoughts could kill? Theyd destroy babies in the womb, whore destined to kill brothas like me in courtrooms, theyd turn the procreatin thoughts of their parents lust, into nooses thatll choke their minds so tight Their brains a bust! If my thoughts could kill? Theyd make the pot of gold, thats alleged to be at the end of every rainbow,
14

Into a big pot of shit! Where a red, white and blue leprechaun would be to force feed to death, any fool greedy enough to chase myth, opposed to giving the golds of humanity to their fellow human by givem a lift! If my thoughts could kill? Every time my heart ached from underneath the steel cards life has dealt me, a diabolical person would fall dead amid an act of cruelty, anybody preachin hypocrisy would choke on every lie rollin off their tongue, the smiley face of a phony friend would melt to the bone and every coward would be force to die ten thousand times alone! If my thoughts could kill? Theyd make the heavens the ground you walk on, causin every unrighteous step to be burnt by the sun, theyd tear down every brick of this isolation cell, while the worlds upside down itll rain hell!, on all you muthafuckers who put me here to die, now may the blood of my every tear drown all yalls asses when I cry: If my thoughts could kill? By now the corpses of those whove wronged me would pile higher than any mountain on earth, and Im using them as decomposing-flesh-steps to climb
15

til I reach the moon for certain, only to draw these last lines of poetry across its surface: If my thoughts could kill? Theyd kill hate injustice, dishonor, greed, envy, deceit, racism poverty, war, and disease, and this would complete my thoughts long killin list, but would I be killin myself? To think such a world would ever exist.
As you can see, Im trying to hold myself together. But my disappointment in the circumstances are spilling me apart, like mercury to the touch. When does it end? The past eight years of my false imprisonment has been hell on earth. I feel like Sisyphus3, because every time I progress the boulder of justice up the mountain toward the heights of exoneration, it only rolls back down and obscure my path. Making my quest much more difficult than its last step. The continuous blows of defeat raining down on me has pounded my morale into the abyss. Are these death blows coming from heaven? Right now I can look into the eyes of the sun without blinking and demand to God Just let me die already. At least then Ill finally be free and at eternal peace! If youre not willing to allow me death, then wheres youre divine intervention? Still, I hear no answers. This only creates mighty winds of my rage, which pushes the sails of my wrath to the ceilings of heaven.

Where you at God? F-10

People have told me that Ive some nerve to believe in God without being religious. But God is a conceptual matter, as opposed 16

to being as scientific matter, and involves a faith-based system of belief. As a consequence, despite what religion people share, potentially every person has a different idea of what or who God is, if he or she, in fact, believes that God exists. Though I have a scientific materialist approach to life, I dont believe in the Big Bang Theory, per se ,as I do that a Supreme being was behind the creation of the universe. The universe is too immaculately ordered for it to have exploded into existence from nothing. Up to this moment, however, I believed God allowed humans free will of their life choices and our lives were not pre-destined. But the unique combination of events in my life at this point has me questioning fate. I lived the street life no doubt, it wasnt my choice: I was born in it! Maybe if I tried harder I couldve went a better route? But isnt eight years of false imprisonment too long a punishment? Isnt my suffering redemption enough, when history shows there have been men whove died wealthy, free and of old age after murdering millions? If God controls my fate, why in such an immensely vast universe, would this God mandate that I be shackled to such a place for unjust reasons, with no escape? If God has made my life pre-destined to a lowly prisoner, like Noah allegedly cursed the Canaanites (Gen. 9:24-27), then I must address my disappointments toward him too, this morning. And as a real man, I must confront such and unfair God. What I have to say shouldnt be shocking, because its believed by many that God knows and see all, including our thoughts. Then it should already know Im going to say this:

As everyone like to say, but yo plan aint for me If I have to continue to die by awakin in this nightmare another day, God loves all his children! As my Mama told me.
17

God has the plan!

But where the love at? Because Ive experienced hell for most of my life on earth, I better close my eyes to see the love Because when their open all I see is hate in the form of a prison curse, God is a good God! As the preacher preach. How good are you? If divine people are killed everyday while wolves are leading the sheep, without disguising their teeth, How good are you? To have allowed the one person whose testimony would free me in court, to end up half-dead on life support, Good GOD! When will I find light at the end of this dark tunnel? When are you gonna be good to me my family and Kasey Schoen?, who should be in heaven next to you explainin to you that for his murder Im not to blame! GOD! Since you havent been good to me I want to you to know that
18

Whenever I pass from this world and ascend into heaven, Ima kick yo ass every day! like youve kicked mine everyday on earth. And Ima keep you from your son too Just like you did me from mine. And yo hommie Satan, Hades, or Seth or whatever people callem these dayz will get it the worse; because that fool does all your dirty work. Now that my heart is cold from the many years of dying within the dark, winters, of desolation, when I get ahold of you Satan ima stick an icicle so far up your ass that ita cool you off for an eternity! GOD! If you believe what Ive told you this morning was wrong? Then continue kickin my ass on earth. But one day Ill see you in heaven. And paybacks a mutha! But by chance If you understand my indignation? Then stop whoopin my ass down here. And maybe, Just maybe! Ill consider forgivin you before I reach Heaven!
19

 No one is safe today! But if my Mama were in the room with me now, in reaching distance, she wouldve pinched repentance outta me. Nonetheless, my own Mama couldnt detour my boldness today. And I damn sho care less what anyone else has to say. Although, I believe many people of religious faiths would be mad at me for calling God out! Im willing to call them hypocrites if the claim to have never done the same thing. Im sure many people called God out in their thoughts, at least once in their life time? Today, I merely had the stones to write my thoughts down. I care little what anyone else thinks. This is my personal relationship with my God. But I beg an answer to my following question, to whomever read these words in the future: If you believe in your God so much, why care about what someone else think of you, if they knew you called God out in a moment of justified indignation?(Then go tell somebody you know a time you called God out!) Nonetheless, although I really dont believe in the afterlife such as heaven or hell, if those realms exist, I gotta ass whoopin coming when I make it to heaven. If theres a heaven, I believe Ill make there. If God is an all knowing God, hell understand my beef and anger toward him. Whatever the case maybe Im willing to take full responsibility for every action Ive took in my life, like a real man should. What about you?

UNCONDITIONAL PHONIES

F-10

I must laugh. I am deeply amused at how some people who proclaim to be righteous, religious followers, will try to take the high moral ground against my words toward the heavens. However, the same people wholl turn their noses in the air, are the same ones whove not been genuine with their God or the people around them. They dont have a grain of unconditional love in their hearts. Yet theyll go to church, mosque, or synagogue every sunday, to repeatedly wipe their asses clean from all the bad deeds they committed the past week. Such people, described above, are the fakest on earth. If you consciously do bad deeds to reap whatever benefits, only to turn 20

around and ask your God for forgiveness as an escape goat of responsibility, then your repentance isnt genuine and you intend on doing more bad deeds when the chance presents itself. So Ill call people with such character flaws conditional phonies...or should I say unconditional phonies? Unconditional phonies it is then. Believe you me, Ive encountered unconditional phonies in all contexts of life, especially amid my false incarceration. These wankstas put on acts of realness and concern in your face, as long as they can benefit from you. Shame on these fake bastards! An old school associate of mine, Richard, tells me of these types of people all the time. And in my recent correspondence with Rafael Vasquez, of www.prisonwriting.com, I explained to him the reason Ive not received legal assistance Ive needed the past eight years. Subsequently, I wrote a poem in my letter to Vasquez. I got it memorized---I think? Well, I dedicate this to all those phony bastards out there:

If I were already rich! Youd offer me more money, If I were already educated! Youd wanna teach me something, If I were already famous! Youd wanna expose me more, If I already had a nice home! Thatll be the only time Youd invite me into yours,

Why is it when I had everything I needed Yall offered me all the help? But now that Ive nothing but injustice You unconditional phonies only offer me death!
Indeed death is what unconditional phonie will offer you in your time of lowliness. Beware of people around you that demonstrate the described behavioral symptoms. These types are hard 21

to identify sometimes. Because they hide behind the smoke and mirrors of our own vanity or ego. Theyll flatter you to no ends for a piece, if not all, of your material possessions, talents and/or mind. However, once you cant be of any benefit to them, they will abandon you without warning. Leaving you high and dry. Ive experienced these demons of the flesh first hand. All those muthafuckas who were in my face when I was ballin outta control are nowhere to be found now: Everybody with you when you have cash/but disappear when youre doing bad! Such is the way of our world. If you possess a shine about yourself, people will try to get into your circle. And like Sponge Bob, theyll absorb your light til your lamps are dimmed to a pitch. These people are takers. And they have no intention of putting back to restore balance. Since unconditional phonies will forever exist, you must be able to identify them in advance and nipem in the bud, or end up like me: tangled in a web of lies, while the unconditional phonies that abandoned me look on in blood lust, as the venomous spider of injustice and lost time, slowly makes its way to devour my life lying in limbo! I shouldve paid closer attention when Tupac rapped: My hommie told me once, dont you trust them other suckas/they act like they yo hommie but the phony muthafuckas/and even if I did die young who care?/all I ever got mean mugs and close stares.

EXISTENTIAL PURGATORY

F-9

One of the main reasons my blood is boiling over in the ink of my anger, stems from my future looking more blurry than Dakarai thoughts in his coma-state. Will I be free? I dont know now. Its like I have one foot in this prison cell and the other in society. Better yet, its like Ive one foot in this prison cell and the other in the graveyard! Not only does my introspections tell of my physical limbo amid prison, but of my thoughts and spirituality as well. The feeling is extremely unsettling to the cores of my soul. Where do I go from here? Ive already lost eight years of my life for a crime I didnt commit. How much longer will I remain suspended on these webs of seclusion? 22

 Its crazy how the lives and decisions of complete strangers can so arbitrarily affect your fate sometimes. In my situation, a cast of unknown actors, created a play script that unbeknown to me, ascribed to my involuntary participation for a theatrical conclusion of tragedy. Peep: Kasey Schoen decided to drive into a rough neighborhood at night and to stop and talk to some dude on a street corner (for reasons unknown). And that dude on the corner decided to shot Kasey to death before running. All the while, Dakarai witnessing it, who later reported the event to the police. But the police decided not to pursue Dakarais eyewitness account and instead accepted other witnesses contradictory accounts that made me out to be the dude doing the shooting on the corner. The prosecutor and judge decided to try me for Kaseys murder despite the logical evidence of my innocence. Because my trial attorney and private investigator decided not to thoroughly search for Dakarais whereabouts for the trial, the twelve jurors without having a chance to evaluate Dakarais eyewitness account, decided to find me guilty. And for eight years Dakarai decided not to be involved in coming forward on my behalf then on Aug. 3rd, he decided to drink and drive and ended up in a near fatal car accident. Now because of all these strangers decisions, its a possibility Ill never be able to prove my innocence. Damn! It seems like time is slipping from my grasp. While the world is moving on without me. I cant begin to fully explain this tumultuous hurt Im enduring at this instant. The whirl winds of the circumstances has my sense of existential direction in a vacuum. Its like after I heard the news over the phone today, that I was blind folded, then spun into a cyclone. Before being stopped and directed to pin a path in the direction to a brighter future. But the dizziness of the spin has blurred my future to an unseeable road. Where do I go from here? I dont know. All I can say is this:

WHY ME? Trapped so deep in the shadows Of this cold hole That I cant see my next step,
23

Thatll give my future BREATH! To breathe me into the winds of freedom Like wings of a bird soarin high in the sky, But my thoughts Are shot down! By an arsenal of lies, And Im startin to gag Inhalin this hell-holes aroma, Because the truth That can deliver me to freedom Is in a coma! WHY ME? Forced to slowly lose my visions Due to the death grips The hands of time Has around my throat, The conflict of the past and future Is slowly sinkin My presents boat, Its hard to cope! Because Im tired Of guessing, What my tomorrows will bring? And what parts of my pains Should be life lessons?, While I interpret the tongues of tic-tocs, MUTHAFUCKA STOP!, My life is fadin
24

Too fast From the dally Of your Watch! WHY ME? Blind folded Upon the compass of purgatory Slidin down the sands Of the hour glass, Something in the past wont let me pass, Im tormented By life passin me by, But no longer can I cry, Just another fly-guy INTANGLED, Upon the secluded webs Of an isolated rectangle,
Why have I been chosen, whether by fate or arbitrariness, to suffer these hardships? I am teased by the prospects of what my life wouldve been. These kaleidoscopic thoughts produce a grief Ive never experienced, outside the death of a loved one. From the plains of this existential purgatory Im forced to witness the multiple deaths of my future. Therefore this grief and loneliness I feel are a thousand-fold!

LIGHTNING STRIKES THE HEART F-10

Indeed, my grief is paramount. Especially to the possibility of never spending time with my loved ones again. And thoughts of extinct affairs of the heart between me and an affectionate queen all send fire bolts through my chest. 25

 Just the other day I was reading through a bunch of old letters, and I ran across several letters from women, who, convincingly, proclaimed to have loved me. Some women knew me before prison, and others I met during the course of my incarceration. But they all have disappeared from my life, because the prison doors didnt open soon enough for them. I cant blame them. I was a player in the affairs of love out there and I broke many hearts. So I cant complain now. Yet, to see sexy kiss prints and smell the residues of expensive perfumes from the letters, has me sick about it. All those cuttie pies out there in the world, whod love to be in my arms under different circumstances! But I suppose this will never happen. Now Im getting this strange thought of being an old ass man, looking over these same letters in the future, with grief filled eyes, wondering what couldve been of me and any of these angels at some point. A fire bolt has struck my chest again. The pain forces my mind to reflect on the treasures of life I may be forever cheated from having:

Im supposed to have... Been able to kiss her lips Under the moon and stars With the inspiration Only known to artists. Kissin, Kissin, Kissin Away the pain Every lost and sorrow, Knowin if she embrace My affection Itll bring us both Fulfillin tomorrows,

Im supposed to have... Been able to hug her Deep into my heart And she experience the drum of heaven.
26

Feelin her embrace Entices me to hold her longer Lettin her know my love is real, Makin her past hurts disappear Shell realize That my hugs heal, Im supposed to have... Been able to make love with her In ways she never imagined, In the remotest places of the world. Where my hands would rake the Fertile soils of her soft flesh, As I plant the seeds Of my love and affection Within the earth core of her womb, Drizzled with the sweat Of our passions. Thatll harvest a bond Between us, As uniquely fuse as black pearls and diamonds And solaced, As embracin freedom! After decades of bondage, We supposed to have... Been able to make children together; Travelled the world, by car, boat, or plane; Danced on warm evening sand; Laughed over elegant dinners Or even over
27

A single slice of cheese cake, While sittin on the steps Of the Fox Theater; And cryin together In joy or grief, While kissin each others tears away No matter the occasion, Of soul libation. But i suppose! None of this I long for will ever happen now?
The lightning wont let up. Its striking much deeper into my heart. As I reflect being an old man without my supposed lover, I drop the love letters. And picked up the letter with the hand writing of my two children. What will be their future without me? The rain is pouring and Im not outdoors. At the moment, my daughter Koby is ten and son Leon is nine. And Ive been in prison 86% of the little lives on earth. The only conception they have of their Pop is a man in prison who sometimes speaks to them over the phone and sends them letters. I fear my seeds lives will be forever damaged due to my absence. Earlier I pointed out the irony in how the lives and decisions of complete strangers can arbitrarily affect an innocent life. Well, my decisions as a parent to participate in the street life, subjected me to the case of a false criminal accusation. Thus, Ill always feel responsible for any hardships that afflict the innocent lives of my children, as a result of my choices. I suffer a parents guilt. Its a possibility that Ill become dead to them, with more years of me lost from their lives. This pain hurts me more than any Ive experienced thus far. And makes me holla out, Koby and Leon your Pop loves you! Dont forget about me, Im not dead. Im alive! No matter what, remember this: 28

I wish! Time was forever slow, Lightnin strikes my heart being considered a no show, The haters will tell you: Yo Pop wont make it home, But dont believe em Im with you even when you alone, We are forever bonded by the power of the below and above, KEEP ME ALIVE Through your love, Believe me! Im more than just the man In the pictures, Although its hard to believe Ive missed you, Ill never die! Close your eyes, And whisper: Through my life My Pop free and alive,

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Part II

An Eye For (Winds) In A (Sail)

Look into my eyes, And tell me what it is you see... -Bone Thugz-n-Harmony, ART OF WAR, 1997 Look into my eyes... As they water, From the thoughts of reality, Body shivering as if cold, Heart pounding with fear. Looking into my eyes... Youll see the pains Of livin in such a cruel world, The dreams that suddenly have been shattered, This heart thats been broken, And halfway mended. Look into my eyes... You see a child,
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Swimming in his own tears, With a soul thats long been lost. Look into my eyes... And feel my tears, With the touch of your hand, Now I ask you: Can my teardrop Really turn into a rainbow? Where therell be a pot of gold at the end, And Ill be granted one wish. Why do we cry? -William OJ Johnson, INTERNAL BLEEDIN, 2003

THE LEE FROM BLURRY VISION F-7

The tears Ive cried are invisible, but if you look into my eyes youll see the raging hurricane of loss, grief, wrath, disappointment and hopelessness. My vision is so blurry that nothing is clear. When will this storm end? Although my tears are invisible, it doesnt mean Im not crying inside. To suffer in silence, out of pride, are the worst tears to cry. Because theyre internal and drown the mans soul. While he fastly dies on the inside, no one can hardly tell from looking at him on the outside. All these years Ive been dying inside of prison with each tic of time. While society seems not to give a fuck. But, while Im here, I dont wanna be smothered by my own pain. The winds are too much though. It seems I cant find an internal pivot (or lee) to shelter my mind from the storm. What can I do?... ...I start to calm my breathing with techniques I learned 31

practicing yoga. And then an enlightening thought crosses my mind of a passage from the ancient Hindu epic poem called Bhagavad Gita (Song of God): When a man dwells in his mind on the object of senses, attachment to them is produced. From attachment springs desire and from desire comes anger. From anger arises bewilderment, from bewilderment loss of memory; and from loss of memory, the destruction of intelligence and from the destruction of intelligence he perishes.4 Hmmm!...Its dawning on me that my grief and anger is coming from my material desires of freedom. Opposed to my desire in the fulfillment of freedom, which is spiritual, and can be obtained anywhere. My vision has been blurred of the bigger picture. Basically, this morning Ive been wallowing in the blood of my own self-pity, which has caused the initial psychological wound I suffered to be ripped open wider. And this caused internal bleeding or temporary insanity! Ironically, I just wrote Blessing In Disguise: Soul Survivin two weeks ago, where I spoke about one needing a mental pivot (or lee) to shelter themselves from the initial violence of a life-storm or defeat.5 Because the mind, when controlled by the flurry of our senses, loses its intellect and direction, like a hurricane pushing a row boat out to sea from its destination---the shores of enlightenment, peace and freedom. Therefore I must detach myself from material desires of my own emotions. This will be hard to do since indignation swells in the wells of my heart. Now I must practice what I preach: Avoiding the winds of peril, in the nature of determination and talent, with divine balance. This is my method derived from Lee Bently 448. Thus far, my own mind has been my thunderous foe. Its time to make it my ally again and quiet the storm. Mao Tse-tung once said In shallow men the fish of small thoughts cause much commotion; in magnanimous oceanic minds the whales of inspiration cause hardly a ruffle. My thoughts began shallow this morning, but I must re32

member: It isnt what happens to us, but its how well we respond to it. Plus, magnanimous means: being very forgiving or generous, especially toward a rival or someone less powerful than oneself. Therefore, I must be magnanimous toward my rivals of injustice and misfortune. By controlling my internal tears and providing myself the appropriate shelter from their storms. This shelter is within, by finding calm or stillness of mind. In so doing, my blurry vision is becoming more clear by the second. As I detach myself from the mega-fire bolts of my own senses; Im realizing this situation involves more than me. Therere many other people that have been afflicted by the same continuous storm. The Bentlys windshield isnt as obscure with red spots anymore. Im beginning to see where Im going and upon which path Im traveling. Like windshield wipers, its time I wipe away my own tears. The winds are still strong, but I can see enough to readjust my sails toward the destination of my choice.

UNLIKELY CONNECTIONS

F-5

As the Blood in my Eye fall to this page in the form of ink from my pen: my mind becomes more clear! I recognize that there is another human being out there in a coma, hanging on to life support. Dakarai Futon is a person I dont recall ever meeting. If I did, I didnt know him by Dakarai. However, Ive thought of his name every day Ive awaken in prison. And I wonder if he ever thought of me and the life I live under the weight of false imprisonment? Probably not, as much as Id like to believe. Whats ironic though, when I first heard the news of this stranger being in a coma, I felt the grief like he was a close friend or relative. Hed probably never have a clue how much my physical freedom was in his hands? Court records say hes 29 years, and I assume he had a lot of life ahead of him before his unfortunate accident. I hope he pulls through for him and his familys sake. Although if he dies, then in a way part of me does too. 33

 Without a doubt, I want him to pull through for the sake of whats humane. But Id be telling a bold faced lie, if I said I dont want him, to also recover, for the sake of my exoneration. What connects him and me is the umbilical cords of irony. Were like meta twins conjoined at the berth of a past event: Kaseys murder! And if my meta-twin doesnt pull through, my physical freedom may die as well. Its hard not to be overwhelmed by the unfair prospects...but such is life. Only if Dakarai could hear me now chant for him to pull through. Maybe my spiritual winds can deliver to him this message, due to our unlikely connection?

Dakarai, Dakarai, Dakarai Were twin brothas, from different muthas, Yet connected By and invisible umbilical cord That links us to a past, And presently feeds us different pains How long will it last?

Dakarai, Dakarai, Dakarai The pain we experience Is very different but from the same line, Mine comes in the form Of falsely doing time, And yours comes with the aches Like a rotten tooth, Of a guilty conscious Of knowing the truth! Dakarai, Dakarai, Dakarai If its true of whats believed About twins spiritual connection, Then youre hearing my words today
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On your way back to conscious-resurrection, To make amends, For both our lives: We Meta-twins!
The victim, Kasey Schoen, is already dead. I dont wanna another person connected to this circumstance to die. Dakarai, bruh pull through! Youve got a lot of life ahead of you---especially if you got kids. Whether by fate or arbitrary circumstances, we connected.

COMPRESSION CHAMBER F-4

It seems that the storms of my circumstance are wearing thin, as I detach myself from my senses more. Im slowly starting to see more options, that I hadnt before, that are within my immediate grasp. These are the options that can make my future much brighter than the gloom caused earlier by the news. Of course, Ive said some critical things outta anger today. But Im only human at the end of the day. What would you do if you were me? How much can one man take before he snaps? Often times we dont know our limits until were placed under the pressure. But when I compare my situation to other individuals in the world, I realize some are twice as worse as mine. Yet those individuals are remaining strong. Displaying unimaginable feats of fortitude. And this is humbling me. Nonetheless, Id love to believe that all the hardships Ive experienced are to prepare me to overcome something much greater in the future. At least I hope this pain today will guarantee me a happier tomorrow. But dont we all? Whatever the case, Ive never given up on myself thus far and dont plan to now. Im starting to feel a sense of pride. In the strength and wisdom Ive been blessed to receive in the course of my storms. Its said that bad situations brings out the best or worst in us. Honestly, I can admit that Ive never witnessed my worst or best thus far. But, my best attributes exceed and continue to exceed 35

my worst. Im learning to perform better under pressure. But what other choice do I really have than to allow myself to be completely crushed by the compression chamber of unjust circumstance?

Ima get mine! In this world regardless, Pressure bust pipes or make diamonds, Now you know why Im the hardest, And steadily shinin, Dont look too long My illumination is blindin, Whats funny is it always been Within the soul of my reach So I had to look within to find Lee, So many years in the storm It felt like I was dyin, The pressures from the struggle Burnt like a fish when its fryin, Like today I seen all red my heart filt with violence, I even plugged my ears and I still heard the sirens Yet Im growin from a dusty coal to what you see now a diamond!

i OF THE STORM F-3

As I continue writing out my thoughts, Im gaining a reenforced understanding that we must never run from our fear, pain or losses. But instead, we must walk toward them and immediately embrace them. Because if we dont deal with any adverse situation 36

in a timely and healthy manner, then theyll deal with us when we least expect. Avoid these winds of peril by not running from them. The key: is to turn our fears, pains, or losses into strengths. For example, by me candidly expressing myself here today, Im slowly reversing the bad momentum into my advantage. Not only to overcome my immediate mental distress, but to gain strengths I didnt have yesterday. And this is my win in a cell, like (wind) in a (sail) pushing me forward. Think about it, like a hurricane or tornado, we cant control the flurry of unexpected life-storms. However, we can control our responses to them. And the response isnt to run from them as it is to embrace them. For instance, when a tornado spontaneously hits your area with no avoidable option of escape, itll be foolish to try to run or to board up the windows and doors of your house to withstand the power of F-5 winds. However, if you embrace the force of the tornado by opening all the windows and doors of your house and allow the wind pressures to freely pass through the structure, itll prevent a lot of property damage in the long run. The same holds true with me embracing my current life storm. By riding the momentum of the circumstance, Ill prevent as much harm to my being as possible for the long run. And ultimately turn these negative forces into a positive ones. Life isnt one continuous storm, its broken into sequences of smaller ones. Its best you handle each as they come. For these storms are inevitable to our lives as long as we live. Now, if you closely observe yourself and others throughout society and the world, youll notice: were either entering a life storm, leaving out of one, or, like me, standing within the the eye of the storm! Today Ive learnt that we must become one with our storms or end up conquered by them instead of transcending them. So believe me when I tell you:

From the darkest nightz Comes the brightest dayz, Even freedom can be found Within the desolation of a cage, Or sunshine
37

Within the darkest clouds Of grey: i of the Storm! Hurricanes and tornados Blow down liquor stores and churches, And sweep innocent lives Into grave yards and hearses, Wherever these violent winds blow They destroy houses and trucks, But these same winds Can be used to build us up: i of the Storm! My Pain! I know you felt my hurt Like Rain! When I cried you could smell the dirt Of time that has buried me Like a forgotten seed, Underneath a prisons floor Where Ive grown like a tree, WHOSE BRANCHES Now extend far beyond, Vulnerabilities amid lifes circumstances Into BEARIN ARMS: i of the Storm! Although the storms Begin rough and destructive, They often end With new beginnings of production,
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Prospective and Life, Why you think the Sun Now is shinin so bright: i of the Storm!

IN CONCLUSION F-2

Whomever or wherever you may be in the universe, thank you for taking the time out to listen to me this morning. Now the rest of my day looks much clearer. But this was a small win in a cell. Because tomorrow itll be a new struggle to stare down the eye of my storms. Ill figure something out, because Ive had to all these years anyway. Like today, my storms have been weathered alone, but Ive always had my paper and pen to curve new prospects outta madness. More importantly, there is a young man out there fighting for his life in a hospital bed. For the sake of whats universally divine and humane, I hope that he regains his consciousness---even if he never regains the courage to come forth and set me free. Also, I send my condolences to the Schoen family, for theyre still amid the storm of loss. And if nothing was gained from my written venting session, Ive learnt the importance of listening more closely to the winds of my storm. In so doing, the directive words of resolution was heard. A lot of resolution was found today through my bout with this circumstance. Mainly, that no matter what, I must remain focused and determined in my journey. While accepting that at any given moment, life can always become worst than ever imagined: even me never making it outta prison alive. However, Im content with the understanding that the uniform laws of the universe will never allow truth to totally die. Because that same truth, in some life time or another ,will be allowed to be rediscovered. Meanwhile, I can only do whatever is within my power and position, to compel the acceleration of that re-discovery process. And accept the things thats outta my control, no matter how difficult it is to accept. 39

 An old Ghana proverb says If you wish to spoke to God, speak to the wind! And Ive done more than speak to the winds this morning---I called it out! In this course, I spoke to my Divine Power and our dialog is far from over. I wont rest until Im exonerated. Even if Im hurled into the, ascent or descent, of another existence before this injustice is resolved. The very indignation of my soul will call out and tremble heaven and hell like unimaginable cosmic thunder and lightning, until my deserved justice is delivered! If theres an afterlife such as heaven and hell, it would still be a tragedy if the truth was revealed after my death. By then, the truth would be useless to me, in my opinion. Therefore, I must fold the wings of this thought, for the struggle that lies ahead of me, outside of this scroll, is too vast than I care to know. However, I better get to it before it gets to me. i of the Storm, Leon Benson

August 29, 2006

40

AFTERMATH
OVERSTAND: Here in the aftermath of the life storm another warning is revealed. After passing through the winds of peril, your very mind can be lost in the flurry if youre so careless to turn back. As long as you keep forward and do not look back, youll escape this danger. But theres a fascination in standing still and dwelling on the peril afflicted and/or overcame. However, such vain narcissism and self-pity brings misfortune. It leads to a new wind of peril, and unless you finally resolve and forward your quest without pausing, youll fall victim to the same peril you once escaped. -Lee Bently 448, I Ching Adaptation, 2009

41

WE ARE EITHER ENTERING A STORM, LEAVING OUT OF ONE, OR STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF ANOTHER: Obviously, after composing i of the Storm the tragic prospects caused by the car accident induced coma, of an exonerating witness did not cease. In fact, the incident only precipitated even more difficult processes of struggles for me than before. Although, writing out my thoughts and emotions were cathartic, it could not resolve the affliction of the reality I faced: possibly being trapped behind the walls of false imprisonment the next 52 years. Rather, this self-imposed art therapy was the initial mitigator of a desolate revelation. The real battles existed outside of my written refuge, in the re-occurring thunderous thoughts of: Without Fultons testimony, how would I be able to convincingly prove my innocence in court? And how would I be able to do such, while held in Indianas most oppressive, notorious isolation unit? And in order to objectively attempt to accomplish my aims, I couldnt allow the disappointment of losing a key eyewitness to hinder my progress. (Basically not to cry over spilt milk). However, this became extremely difficult to overcome because it put me in a paradox of sorts: existing in prison while trying to overcome this disappointment which essentially, was one of the reasons, I am still in prison. So my grapples were internal: psychological, philosophical, and spiritual. Therefore, it dealt with my cathexis (the over concentration of mental energy on a particular thing, person or event to an unhealthy degree) of my disappointment. And to move forward from this unhealthy thinking, I had to develop the following adaptive coping strategies: 1)Recognizing my power reside in the present. Although I suffered a great loss, I couldnt let it define the rest of my life and struggle for freedom. 2) Acknowledging the pain, but not becoming fixated on it. In order to see my full potentials to progress. 42

 3)Using the lessons of my storms to help me make wiser decisions and form a better structure in my present circumstance. 4)Putting aside the selfish aspects of my hurt, and support others through my wisdom, as they face life storms. (This includes both those in society and prison). While incorporating these strategies throughout the months to follow (up to present), I was able to continue forward in my quest without pausing, without the stagnation of self-pity. For several months, I kept tabs on Fultons progress in the hospital, but he remained in a coma state. At that point, I began to study the law with a passion and discipline I hadnt before. And I discovered many errors of ineffective assistance of trial and appellate attorneys in my case. I presented all these compelling legal issues to the Public Defender attorney working my second appeal, post-conviction relief. However, this public pretender tried to undermine my case by not acknowledging the legal errors I directed him to illustrate in my PCR petition. And as a result, on July 20, 2007, I kicked him off my case and continued on pro se (legally representing myself). This was an enormous leap for me, because Id never represented myself in court before. It put a lot of pressure on my shoulders, but I refused to allow the tumblings woes of ill-intended people to sabotage me again. I took on the responsibilities of my legal affairs (researching the case laws, filing motions, composing legal arguments and preparing to present my case in court); writing booklets and online blogs about my case to bring on public support and awareness; writing online blogs about the ill-conditions of the SHU to bring public support and awareness to the plight of all prisoners subjected to isolation units; and organizing fundraiser projects in an attempt to raise enough money to hire a good attorney to take over my case. Because of these immediate responsibilities, I lost my tab on Fultons condition. Honestly, I accepted that he would probably never fully recover from brain damage and would never come forward on my behalf in court. 43

 While allowing doors of attachment to disappointment to close, the windows of new opportunity began to open. First, in June 2008, I heard from my biological brother, Roderick, whom I had lost contact with for 7 years at that point. He responded to my online articles posted by Leesa on a website she designed for my freedom campaign. My brother and I started to renew our detached relationship. Secondly, on July 28, 2008, a brotha of the struggle and fellow SHU prisoner, Lester Jagun Bufkin, yelled from his cell directing me to turn my t.v. to channel 7 news (New York). Where a segment was showing the development of new scientific technology in vision and distance analysis (particularly in testing the reliability of eyewitness identification in criminal cases). And this new technology was being presented in a legal petition to New Jersey High Court, by an innocent prisoner, Darell Edwards, who Barry Scheck of the New York Innocence Project backed. All this applied to the misidentification of my case. So I copied down all the info I could from the program and mailed it to supporters, Keith and Leesa, for them to contact Edwards and the Innocence Project and retrieve more details. Surprisingly though, the next day, July 29th 2008, I and fifty other SHU prisoners were randomly transferred to Westville Control Unit (another isolation unit) in Westville, Indiana. What prompted such a move was the renovation of several SHU ranges. While at WCU, Darell Edwards wrote me from a New Jersey prison with relevant copies of his petition that applied to my case. Leesa had contacted him and requested he write me. And he did, in a genuine and compassionate way. In his legal petition, using the new scientific vision and distance analysis, it showed that the alleged eyewitness in his case could not identify anyone from a distance past 110 feet (even if were day light and the witness had 20/20 vision). This was the break through Id been seeking in my case for years. Before long, the Innocent Project (NY) sent me the entire published vision and distance analysis by Dr. Geoffrey Loftus of the University of Washington. Keith facilitated this discovery. After reading the info, I decided to include it in my PCR petition. I sent my gratitudes to the brotha Edwards and the Innocence Project. 44

 Moreover, I encountered another prisoner at WCU whose legal knowledge (knowledge period) exceeded my own by a hundred fold. His name was Lokmar Y Abdul-Wadood, he was 25 years my senior and had, unfortunately been incarcerated the past 37 years straight. I told this brotha of my case and plight, and he requested to look at my trial transcripts and PRC petition issues. About a month later, he sent me my legal documents back, including a handwritten PCR petition he had composed. It included issues Id originally raised, but also four extra legal issues of ones he found. I was impressed by his work to say the least. But when I offered to pay Lokmar from my legal fund, he declined. He said LB, I merely performed the will of Allah, plus I couldnt take money from another poor prisoner! And all I could do is extend to him my sincerest gratitude. In these spontaneous feats of progress, I realized that the power of a few humane individuals can create whirl winds and blow any obstacle (including unconditional phonies) away from the path to truth and justice! With no warning, on November 26, 2008, I and about thirty prisoners were transferred back to the SHU. Although WCU was oppressive, compared to the SHU, it was a walk on grass with bare feet. After arriving back in the SHU, I was made to be without my personal property (legal papers, mailing and writing materials, t.v., hygiene products, etc) for 2 weeks due to (lazy and/or vindictive) property officers. This stagnated me greatly in preparing to Amend my PCR petition 60 days before my, then, hearing Feb 19,th 2009. Amid this idle time, I requested a prisoner from another range, who was a detail worker, to find me something to read (anything). I was going stir crazy in that cell. And the next day the range worker brought me two Time magazines (issues 11/10/08 and 11/17/08). I read them from cover to cover. And in the November 10th issue, I read Times Top Inventions of 2008 where I discovered the following: English physicist, John Bond, has developed a technique for analyzing finger prints on a guns 45

ammo even if its been wiped clean. Sweat corrodes metal, so Dr. Bond applied an electric charge and fine carbon powder to shell cases corroded part, revealing a finger print. Police are already using the four-month old technology to reopen cold cases. [pg 88] In a mental flash, my mind connected the info with the five recovered bullet shells in my case. In 1998, the police finger printing expert couldnt recover the prints from the bullet shells. With the use of Dr. Bonds new technology, the true perpetrators fingerprints could be recovered from the bullet shell evidence in my case. With no time to waste, I borrowed a pre-stamped envelope from another prisoner (a guard passed it to me). But, I forgot all my addresses and didnt have my address book for help. Only address I could remember was that of a supporter, Holly Rodriguez of Washington. So I mailed her a letter explaining that I needed Dr. Bonds contact info because his new technology could help exonerate me. Later I found out that Holly passed my request on to Leesa, who then found Bonds contact info. And on December 10, 2008 she emailed Bond requesting assistance on my behalf. Lo and behold, Dr. Bond responded to Leesa stating his willingness to use his new fingerprint technology to test my evidence---free of charge! I wasnt aware of this until I received a letter from Leesa, on December 21, 2008. Because of this new development, I had to file for a continuance on my pending (2/19/09) court date and I filed a petition For a new forensic Visualization Fingerprint testing of Five Bullet shells with the court. And the court granted both of my motions where: 1) a discovery hearing to evaluate the reliability of Dr. Bonds testing methodology, was set for August 19, 2009 and 2) The PCR was continued to December 18, 2009.6 I marched into 2009 with a confidence I hadnt felt in all my years from everything I done and infected anyone in my rotation. Indeed, the divine winds were at my back, pushing me up the mountains of my quest. And with donations from (my sister) Valerie Buford, Steven 46

Willet and Sigrid Davies to my legal fund, I was finally in a position to hire an attorney to take over my case (while considering all the work Id already completed on my own). Also, my bother Roderick hired Dr. Loftus to work on the identification aspects of my case. As a result, Dr. Loftus composed an Affidavit strongly illustrating that by scientific fact, the alleged eyewitness in my case identification was unreliable. By April 2009, an Indianapolis attorney took interest in my case. Due to my past experiences, I approached this lawyer with pre-caution. Therefore, a correspondence of business courtship ensued til August 31 2009. This attorney proposed a fee agreement contract to represent my PCR for a flat $5000 plus any of his out of pocket expenses. This was my price range. And because I found no disciplinary infractions on his legal career, I responded and he was in consistent rotation with me the past 4 months: I became confident in him. However, once he received a $5000 check I sent him on September 2, 2009 (I got all my check and certified mail receipts) he never made an appearance on my case and didnt respond to my letters since. Recently, Ive called on, fellow prisoner, Dayon Millers Mama, Minister Ruth Hayes of the Indianapolis Chapter of the NAACP to go to the lawyers office and pick up my $5000 check. Ive yet to hear word back on this in a week since I initiated the process. Then the totally unexpected occurred! I received letter from Leesa with an email enclosed. The email came from a person, claiming to be Dakarai Fulton posted August 19, 2009 (ironically, the same day I appeared in court for a discovery hearing where the court seemed to be willing to allow Dr. Bond to test my evidence for finger prints; the ruling will be made by October 21, 2009). It took Leesa until late September to get word to me, because she was, understandably, skeptic that the emailer was really Fulton. The person claiming to be Fulton wrote the following email: 47

From:Fulton To:leon_dwayne_benson@yahoo.com Sent: Wed., August 19, 2009, 12:49 AM Hi, this is Dakarai Fulton, I just want to make (sic) available for Leon (Detroit) Benson, because of the fact that hes been doing unjust penetentary (sic) time for a crime he didnt commit. So heresmy email address. The reason for coming forth at such a late date is first being scared to get involved with a case of such magnitude. The I had a (sic) accident, and yet, I remember the inncident (sic) like it happened yesterday and Detroits been doing time since that time, which has been close to 10 years now. But how do you give a man back 10 years of his life? You cant. But just as the Lord has blessed me with another life, I must do what I know is right, because this **** is wrong. And I wouldnt want my worst enemy to spend time in jail, especially for a crime he/ she didnt do. I googled (sic) my name and came upon all this and my body just got goosebumbs, that I still have. Which signals to me that something exonerating is in the realm of transpiring. Detroit, youll be home soon dude. Can you make sure that he reads this please. After I first read this, I was overwhelmed with many emotions. But I had to compose myself and continue to be focused with the other irons I had in the fire (so to speak). Plus, I was skeptic that the email was authentic too, without a better confirmation (especially after Leesa replied to the email as follows and Ive yet to hear directly from this Fulton): From:Leon To:Fulton Sent: Tuesday, August 25 2009, 10:40pm Its like this, theres enough information online for just about anyone to contact this email address and claim to be Fulton. If youre who you say you are, then just contact Leon Benson directly yourself. Write him a letter and give him your address so he can contact you if need be. He dont have email access. Can you pro48

vide a contact number for Leon to call you at? An address or phone number? An email isnt going to do it Im afraid. Sincerely, Leesa Still, no response from this alleged Fulton7 in the email. I wouldnt be surprised if the money incident with the lawyer and this email was connected through nefarious designs. Nonetheless, Ive initiated the search for Fultons hospital records to see if he has in fact recovered from the coma(which would be great) and been released from the hospital. Hopefully all will be in my favor soon.

MORAL OVERSTANCE

My reason for sharing this aftermath, was to show that my life-storms hasnt ceased; but more importantly, that Ive not looked back to the ones Ive been victorious over or defeated by. Ive merely accepted the perpetual flux of these storms. And as Ive shown, these storms are arbitrary in essence, bringing to the shores of our lives an aftermath of fortune, misfortune or a blind of both. However, depending on the groundedness of your mental pivot (or lee), will determine your interpretation, henceforth, the direction you travel thereafter. This direction can erroneously lead to rebirths of the same storms or objectively to brighter paths to enlightenment and progress. As an example, amid the continuous flux of my storms, aftermaths, storms, etc., although Ive progressed a lot, Im still in the same physical position I was in in 2006. My motto is the same: I better get to my struggle before it get to me! I cant predict what will happen by the time I reach that courtroom December 18 2009. But I know truth never dies, its only rediscovered. And Ima continue to accelerate that re-discovery process of truth in efforts of my freedom campaign. Never look back!Gotta keep it moving. If you have not already, become one with your storm with great humility, while forever accepting: WE ARE EITHER ENTERING A STORM, LEAVING OUT OF ONE, OR STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF ANOTHER! Heed, when I share with you: 49

Crystallized peril with every longin whispered, REFLECTIN Over depleted treasure maps Only to discover yester-years Shattered mirrors! The narrow pathways of your journey are travelled alone, MIRACUOUSLY some persevere the desolate storms, What doesnt kill you Only make you strong! Although pain and rain invokes sadness Embrace them both, For what rain storms bring To the soils of the earth, PAIN STORMS Brings to our souls As indications for internal growth!
Well, I must again go, but I thank you for your duration. The silver lining of my struggle is so bright, I can almost hear the hell storm of hatred from my adversaries, all the more, will make my victory that much better. So, be waiting to salute me on the other side of the rainbow. Im up. A divine wind, In the Struggle, Leon Benson October 15, 2009

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Share your comments with LB at: Leon Benson #995256 P.C.F 4490 W Reformatory Rd Pendelton, Indiana 46064 Email: leebently448@gmail.com For info regarding LBs freedom campaign and how to become a supporter in his fight for freedom, go to: www.freeleon.com www.myspace.com/feeleonbenson www.adspread.com/leonbenson.html www.facebook.com/leonbenson

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Notes 1) The Fujita (or F) scale create by T.Theodore Fujita, is used to classify tornadoes. The F scale uses rating numbers from 0-5, based on the amount and type of wind damage: Rank Wind Speed Damage Strength F-0 40-72 MPH Light Weak F-1 73-112 MPH Moderate Weak F-2 113-157 MPH Considerable Strong F-3 158-206 MPH Severe Strong F-4 207-260 MPH Devastating Violent F-5 above 261 MPH Incredible Violent (see The World Almanac: And book of Facts 2005 p.188) In regards to the F-scale ratings seen on the side of each subtitle, throughout the text: it is for figurative use of rating my emotional distress. Therefore, youll encounter incredible ratings that exceed the normal F-scale ratings; which signify the visceral or almost unexplainable distress I was experiencing at a particular point of the writing 2) Ibid. p 205 (ISBN 0-88687-938-8)

3) In Greek Mythology, Sisyphus the son of Aeolus, was punished in Hades (or underworld, like prison) for his misdeeds in life by being condemned to the eternal task of rolling a large stone to the top of a hill, from which it always rolled down again. 4) S. Radhakrishnan (1993) The Bhagavad gita verse 2.62-63 (ISBN 81-7223-087-7) 5) L. Benson (2007) Blessings in Disguise: Soul Survivin Word Impact. 6) As of Nov. 17th, 2009, I had to withdraw my PCR Petition due to the unfairness of court rulings and an attorney stealing $1000 of my funds. Presently, in 2011, Ive hired an Indianapolis 52

attorney named Brent Walke to head my PCR case. 7) It turns out that the emailer was in fact Fulton, and on October 29th, 2009, he signed an Affidavit on behalf of my innocence. Amy finally was able to present him with the affidavit to sign. She hardly could believe that it all took place after all.

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