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able of Contents

Dedication-AcknowledgementsForecast-Part 1- Soul Storm-

Tunder in the Mind’s Sky-

...retrospection-...the phone call-A Helluva Tought-Where you at God?-Unconditional Phonies-Existential Purgatory-Lightning Strikes the Heart-

Part 2- An Eye or (Winds) in a (Sail)-Te Lee rom Blurry Vision-Unlikely Connections-Compression Chamber-

i o the Storm-Conclusion-Aermath-Notes-CentList Justice Fund-

Booklet Catalog Flyer-Freedom Flyer-



o

Kasey Schoen& Dakarai Fulton

may your storms be weatheredwith peace & understanding wherever

you may exist.

Tese are the chants o my struggleUttered rom the voice o my pain,

Composed beore an audience o doubtersWhile realizin’ a world so vain,

Te canvas o my soul are the pagesWhile battlin’ the enemies o love,

Adversity upon adversity are the wordsWritten in the inks o my blood,

-Lee Bently 448



Acknowledgements

Salutes to Keith Anderson o Word Impact magazine in the US([email protected]); Leesa aylor o Freeleon.com in Aus.

([email protected]); Jack Anderson o Te LegalCorner o the U.K. ([email protected]); Joanne Royston o the Abolition U.K. ([email protected]) Steven Willet o the U.K.

([email protected]); and Philip and Ariel o the uture([email protected]) in the U.S. Tank you all and other or

taking the time outta your hectic schedules to make this creativewriting available to the world public. Kudos!



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Te ForecastImage: Te wista

“Poets have their weaknesses but they alsoHave a tough side. When they nd themselves

in adverse conditions, it spurson their ability to survive. I there

is nothing else to rely on,they can get through by

chanting poetry.Te hand might be

oo weak to wring a chickens neck,

but it is still strong enough

to wield a pen.And so while

this mass-deliberationprocess wasdeciding to

punish me,I was even

more actively

writing poetry.”

-Zhang Xinliang, GRASS SOUP, 1993



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“SORM WARNING! SORM WARNING! SORM WARNING!SORM WARNING!”

“Evacuate: every man, woman, and child! Immediately pack

your vehicles with at least orty-eight hours worth o ood and wa-ter supplies. Drive to the nearest highway exit and don’t look back!And those without transportation, you must immediately nd astorm shelter nearest to your location; i you cannot, take reugewithin your basement or hall closet...i repeat “I you cannot nd astorm shelter, take reuge within your basement or hall closet!”

“SORM WARNING! SORM WARNING! SORM WARNING!SORM WARNING!”

I’m sure you’ve experience such an interruptive broadcasto your regular t.v. and radio programing or a SORM WARN-ING o a pending tornado, thunder and lightning storm or hurri-cane. Tese broadcasted messages deliver to a complacent society

an overwhelming sense o caution, until that particular storm haspassed.

Here, too, I suggest the reader to proceed with the samecaution. Tis is the orecast o storm lled pages to come, that rep-resent an adverse, yet potentially passionate, journey through thedarkest valleys o my soul, amid the most violent emotional downpours a human being can endure: ear, anger, indignation, revenge,grie, hopelessness and loneliness. Which all at once struck my real-ity like sudden thunder bolts rom the peripheral back drop o anunsettling past, that shackles me in the present.

Tis unlikely epic begins at “Part One Soul Storm”, a typi-cal day awakening to being held in a compressive eeling, Carlisle,Indiana, isolation chamber. My indignation had already arousedme into a seemingly hardened prisoner. Indignations not towardthe cruelty or pain i suered per se, but towards the socio-politicalblasphemy attached to it: I’m alsely convicted! So it should beunderstood, that transgression’s oul winds were already tumblingagainst the cores o my being, rom every angle, beore i woke.

Tereore, to have heard tragic news rom over the phone



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that greatly stagnated my quest to exoneration only tilted my tem-perament scales to that o a hell storm! And like the buttery eect(the phenomenon where by a second’s localized change in a com-plex system can have large eects elsewhere (e.g. the notion that a

buttery uttering in Iraq could change the weather in America). I,too, experienced visceral- storms caused by events rom a araway society involving people I had never met.

At this point, aer hanging up the phone, I was le alonein an isolation cell with no one to rely on. While in isolation, therewas no encouraging words rom amily and riends, it was me andmy bleeding soul. And like Zhang observed while in a Chinese

labor camp between 1957-79: “I there is nothing to rely on, poetscan get through by chanting poetry”. I, too, had to do the same.

Minutes aer the phone call, I could only write my imme-diate thoughts down. Whatever I elt I wrote. I pulled no punches. Ibecame the psychopompos o the storms o my soul. Aer an houror two, I nished writing the original manuscript beore allingasleep rom mental and emotional exhaustion.

Once I awoke, due to the loud, abrupt sound o a guardslamming down the cell-door’s ood slot, I was still wounded romthe news earlier, but I elt much better. However, when I readwhat I’d written, my own words stung like grabbing at the stem o a thousand throned rose. Like a drunk, one whose intoxicated by the cognac o anger, will speak the raw truth o their thoughts andeelings. Oen times the truths revealed under such impassionedcircumstances are inammatory toward anyone (in listening orreading distance). I knew that some o the things I wrote wouldoend or iname particular readers, although, it was nothingdirected toward anyone outside the scope o my circumstance. SoI didn’t change a word, and wanted the world to eel my pain. By early 2007 I published the entire transcript o “i o the storm” onwww.myspace.com/reeleonbenson. Here is one response i receivedrom a riend:

March 13, 2007o Leon:

Well I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard rom me. Just



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so happens I was browsing on your MySpace page yesterday and I noticed your anger owing through your writings. Which i must say were very interesting...as usual.

I’ve been thinking about you pretty oen. Aer reading your

latest though, I don’t exactly know how to approach you. It almost seems like you don’t wanna be involved with anyone that can’t help your case. And I must say I can understand where you are coming rom. But I notice that you are speaking about emales that claimed tobe in love with you, and so on, or it to end because o all the con-straints o you being locked up. I hope that didn’t come of to you likeI was looking or some kind o romantic airy tale ending.

And you must take into account that I’ve never tried todeceive you in anyway. I really took heed to the line in one o your po-ems. Where you were saying something about “i thoughts could kill” and what you would do to the selsh people. Do you think I’m selsh? You know I understand that you are in a position that almost seemslike there’s nothing else you can do, because you are so limited inresources and communication. Also I understand that there are times

when you are eeling rustrated and angry. But you should really tonedown that attitude that’s being conveyed to people reading your page.Have you ever thought that your aggression could possibly create abarrier or someone who really wants to help you?

For some strange reason your writings have really imposed onmy eelings. Because in a sense it seems like they are a bunch o hid-den messages within. Nevertheless, i still appreciate your riendship. I hope to hear back rom you; I’ll be looking or the opportunity to get your response. ake care o yoursel and try not to be so stressed.

Yours ruly,Kenya

Because o who this response came rom, I really took heedto her criticisms. So I had the “i o the storm” blog taken o my page. Te last thing I wanted was to come o like a poetic-polem-icist and undermine my own strives toward liberation. Conse-quently, the “i o the storm” manuscript has laid obscure rom thepublic’s eye or years since and I didn’t intend to share the piecewith anyone again.



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However, aer years o contemplation I decided to presentthe writing here today. Although I edited and revised parts o thewriting, I did not change the bold honesty o it. Because to do suchwould have watered down the sincerity o thoughts at the time and

the seriousness o the circumstances that produced them.Indeed, I make air warning that my poetic expressions are

still bold and inammatory, even blasphemous to some. But thesewords are not reactionary. Like Malcolm X once said “When peopleget angry, they’re not interested in consequences. When they getangry, they realize the condition that they’re in that their sueringis unjust, immoral, illegal and that anything they do to correct it or

eliminate it, they’re justied. When you develop that type o angerand speak in that voice, then you’ll get some kind o respect andrecognition, and some changes.”

Here today, like when my words were written, I realizedthat my unjust conditions needed to change. And the storms thatemerged rom these conditions are a justiable chant or thatchange. Tereore, i any content shocks or inames you, don’t stop

reading amid the journey. Push orward, and discover many uniqueperspectives that can be caught in the hands o your understanding,like rain drops.

In one instance o my existential vulnerability in the writ-ing, I gaze up at the isolation chamber’s ceiling and demand an-swers rom God. Only to realize the deep contrast between theinsignicance o my rage and situation, and the vastness o theuniverse and possibility that was ever more omnipotent. Still, Icouldn’t help but wonder: “why in such a vast world, would Godmandate that I be shackled to such a place, or unjust reasons, withno escape?”

I you possess the ortitude and inner-strength to endure thecosmic clashes o thunder and lightning o my “Soul Storms”, you’llmake it to “Part 2 An Eye or (Winds) in a (Sail)”. At this juncture,you’ll see the storms calm; where I personally begin to see winsin a cell. Tese wins are the answers and new questions gained atthe end o my journey. Te sun will shine through the grey cloudsagain and rainbows will appear to signiy a new start. At the end o these rainbows lies the treasures o spiritual enlightenment to be



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gathered.However, i you’re oolish enough to look or the myth o

material gold at the end o these rainbows, then you’ll continuously suer the worst storms aicted on mortals: “sel-stupidity and

ignorance!”. My reason or sharing i o the Storm was not or what Icould gain rom it, but in what good it could give back to the world.However, i o the Storm doesn’t oer itsel with absolute proos andresults; nor is its contents easy to approach. Like an unknown parto the universe, it is waiting to be discovered by you.

Although I adhere to many scientic notions, I dare not dis-regard the power o human interpretation o anyone or anything,

let alone the adaptations that can be drawn rom herein. In essence,to one person i o the Storm will read as clear as a summer’s bluesky; to another, as enigmatic as dark clouds hiding the sun; and to athird, as blurry as driving at night, in a rain storm, without head-lights or windshield wipers. It depends on the person o what they can adapt to their experiences and lie.

Tereore, i you happen to be a person who cannot nd

inspiration and enlightenment in reading it; then pass this book along in the world or the benet o those who can nd its mean-ings helpul in their storms.

Beore opening the ollowing pages to the violent winds thatare beyond F-5 or category 5’s scale readings: “know, that I’m nota meteorologist in the conventional sense, but heed this orecast.Who can better advise you o my soul storms than mysel?”

Leon BensonCarlisle, Indiana, August 2009



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Part I

Soul Storms“I wanna go outside, in the rainIt may sound crazy But I wanna go outside, in the rain,Once the rain start alling on my aceI know I’ma see a better day,Right now I think I’m dying Because o you I’m crying”,-Te Dramatics, IN HE RAIN, 1970

“Tey should’ve shot me when I was born

Now I’m lost in the muthauckin’ storm”-upac Shakur, HUG LIFE Vol 1, 1994

HUNDER IN HE MIND’S SKY F-2

It’s 6:17 AM, a typical morning on August 29th, 2006, while in my eighth year o awaking to the morbid sights o a prison-cell. I’ve notlost my mind only because I’ve been blessed to have develop theortitude and equilibrium amid my incarceration. Everyday it’s anew battle to shake o the heavy oot o oppression. But, as I slowly raise up rom this paper thin oam-mat that’s spread over a concrete

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slab o a bed, and walk to the sink to wash my ace and brush my teeth, unusually pleasant thoughts ll my mind like a champaignglass.

I start to exhale with anticipation, while looking in the

stainless steel mirror bolted in the wall just above the sink. Tismirror threw back a distorted image o my ace like that o carnivalmirrors. So when I smiled aer brushing my teeth, my teeth trans-ormed into mini elephant tusks rom out the sides o my jaws. Ichuckle at the silly image beore whispering to mysel, “Man, man,man... I can’t wait to get on the phone and holla at Amy. I just know she got some good news or me!”

Ten I begin to reect on how my circumstances came toexist:

RetrospectionAmid a misty summer’s night, on August 8th, 1998, in the

hour o 3:45-50AM, the thunderous sounds o gun shots pulsated

rom a dim-lit, downtown street corner o Indianapolis, Indiana.When the smoke cleared, a 25 year old Kasey Schoen, was ound inthe driver’s seat o his 1998 black Ram truck: shot to death!

At the time, I was inside an apartment building, hangingout in the back stairwells. Although it was late, there were a lot o movement among the building’s residents in the hallway and in andout the back door. Tis was due to the illicit drug activities precipi-

tated by my crack-cocaine dealing. I was eeling buzzed rom theamounts o alcohol I’d consumed through the night, so I’d becomesomewhat complacent in conversation with the people aroundme. Out o the several people in my immediate surroundings, only imothy Gaither, like mysel, was not a crack user.

When we heard the shots while in the building, it soundedlike lightning had struck several times, right outside the building.

Tis caused everyone to pause or a second or two. But soon aer,everyone went back to what we were doing beore. Because gunshots were a normal occurrence in the area: locals o the urban,high crime area were desensitized to it.

I le the building about an hour aer without a clue thatsomeone had been murdered two blocks away as a consequence o



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the gunshot sounds.Ten, six days later, August 14th, 1998, I was arrested or

the shooting, although I had absolutely no involvement in thecrime. What prompted my arrest was a speculation that I “might’ve

did it” by a local male dope end. And while I was detained atpolice headquarters, detectives placed my photo in a photo lineup,where a emale (alleged) eyewitness picked me as the lone-assailantshe saw commit the shooting.

Obviously, because I was rom another state (Flint, Michi-gan) and sold drugs in the same area the crime occurred, it mademe an easy scapegoat or an overzealous police investigation and

prosecution. Subsequently, on July 8th, 1999, as a result o a jury trial, I was ound guilty o murder and sentenced to 60 years inprison.

It was an abortion o justice, but I adamantly maintainedmy innocence rom day one. However, I received a bum deal allaround the board. Especially rom my hired attorney and privateinvestigator (PI). Although an eyewitness to the crime, Dakarai

Fulton, gave police a statement and positively identied anotherperson committing the shooting, just days aer my arrest. Tiswitness wasn’t brought to trial to testiy on my behal. My attorney,PI and the state all claimed that Fulton couldn’t be located. But toadd tragedy to irony, it was discovered years later that Fulton was inthe custody o the State in work release months beore and aer thetrial (and the work release center was located on the same street thecrime occurred, a block away). Although the state’s attorney had anincentive to withhold Fulton’s whereabouts, what was my attorney and PI’s? Because they could’ve picked up the phone and called thecity’s custody records and ound the witness (which is mandatory investigatory procedure to locate witnesses or cases). However youlook at it, oul play was clearly involved rom the start.

By the time o my arrival to prison, I was determined toclear my name. And, with my last nances, I hired a new attorney to appeal my alse conviction. However, since the Appeal Court atthis stage only dealt with procedural errors rom the trial record,my appeal attorney couldn’t mention the existence o the exonerat-ing witness outside o that record. As a result, on February 15th,



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2002, my Direct Appeal was DENIED.Tis court decision pushed me into deep despair, especially

while coming on the heels o my step-ather’s death in January 6,2002 and grandathers death February 4, 2002. On top o this, I was

being held in an isolation cell in the security housing unit (SHU)o Wabash Valley Correctional Facility. Here I was systematically locked in a cell 23-24 hours a day, hand cued and shackled every time I le the cell, and only allowed to use the phone 20 min perweek. All or an assault on a guard and rioting charges (I wasn’tinvolved in). Since 2001, I’ve been subjected to prison within prison& injustice within injustice while held in the SHU. Prison ocials

have erroneously labeled me as a security threat the past ve years.Despite the harsh magnitude o the circumstances, I didn’t

lose belie in mysel or the greater good in people around the world.My condence remained that I would overcome my challenges,because truth was on my side. Although, I had the limited tools o a pen, paper, a ew books and vision, I ought on rom an isolationcell. No doubt, my task was dicult because I was learning (law,

organizing, inter-prison politics, mysel, etc.) as I went along.One o the biggest things I had to overcome in this lowly

situation was pride. Aer my appeal was denied, I was out o money. And because I never had to ask anyone or help like thisbeore, I was initially ashamed to do so. However, I knew I had togo public about my case and ask or the help I needed. By Decem-ber 2002, with the last $100 to my name, I bought internet space onwww.prisonpenpals.com, where I posted a sincere declaration o innocence article with our photos o mysel.

On January 24, 2003, I had to le a pro se, Post-ConvictionRelie Petition to urther appeal my erroneous conviction. BecauseI was poor, the court appointed the public deender’s oce to my case. However, the deender’s oce backlogged my case until they were done representing cases that were led beore mine. It wouldbe three years beore the public deender’s oce would work on my case despite the no brainer o my case, i.e. once Fulton was broughtorward I’d automatically receive a new trial.

In the meantime, I then had a local Indianapolis supporter,Leda Grace, searching or Fulton’s whereabouts. Unortunately, her



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son was killed by tragic circumstances, and the grie she elt snow-balled into depression, thereore greatly crippling her eorts on my behal.

It seems that immediately aer Leda ell back, I started re-

ceiving responses in the mail rom my online article. Most respons-es were rom emales, o all ages and nationalities, rom dierentparts o the world. But ew were genuinely interested in my plightor reedom, than they were in looking or vanity strokes rom amale prisoner.

Fortunately, as the years passed I came into contact withseveral genuine supporters. Ironically, most were rom oreign

countries: Leesa aylor o Australia, Sigrad Davies and SussannaKlatt o Germany, and Siohban o the U.K. But I encountered aew genuine U.S. Supporters too: Carla Andrews (RIP) in Indiana,akenya Jones o Louisiana, Keith Anderson o West Virginia, andRobert Lee and LaShanti Overton o Caliornia. Yet, I did not havea supporter able or close enough to Indianapolis to do the leg work needed to locate the vindicating eyewitness.

Ten in June 2006, I received a letter rom Amy Montgom-ery o Indianapolis. She responded to my online declaration withcompassion and eagerness to assist my plight. From my correspon-dence networks things started coming together like magnets andbolts.

In July 2006, aer conducting many unsuccessul internetpeople searches, akenya nally ound the current address or Ful-ton in Indianapolis. When I received this news I was elated. I toldAmy o the address. And come to nd out her best riend stayedacross the street rom Fulton. Amy became more excited than Iabout the discovery!

Fortunately, Amy had a Notary Public stamp registeredwith the State o Indiana. Tereore, whoever signed documentsor statements in her presence and she signed and notarized them,those documents become certied and recognized as legally validin the court o law. I needed to get an adavit in Amy’s possession.With no more time to waste, I draed an adavit or Fulton tosign, tailored rom his initial statement to police. I sent it to Amy totype up.



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By the beginning o August, Amy visited Fulton’s addresswith the adavit or him to sign. But she was unsuccessul in nd-ing him home. Te address was correct because Amy’s best riend’shusband was riends with Fulton. She went to Fulton’s address

several more times in the days to ollow, but couldn’t catch him athome.

I elt that it was only a matter o time beore she caughtdude home and had him sign the adavit. All my hard work wouldnally pay o!

Te Phone Call Tree hours aer I woke, a guard nally brought me thephone to the cell. It’s thirty seven minutes aer nine o’clock, Ishould’ve had the phone at 9am. But I’m too excited about my callto complain today. I can almost hear Amy say, “Leon, I got Daka-rai’s adavit signed!”.

Excitedly I dialed her number. Te phone rang twice beore

she answered and the recorded operator spoke “You have a collectcall rom, “LB”, my previously recorded voice shouted”. An Oend-er at Wabash Valley Correctional Facility. o reuse this call, hangout, but to accept this call, press one!” the recording continued.

Te call went through “Holla, Holla Holla!” I said greetingher being humorous.

“What’s happening Leon?” she replied in a lowly, sad like

tone. Instantly I elt something was wrong.“Are you a’ight?” I asked compassionately.“Nah. I have some bad news to tell you!”“What is it?”“It’s Dakarai. He’s in a coma stemming rom a drunk driving

car accident!”“What! Where you hear this at?” I asked in the awe o disbe-

lie and surprise.“When I went to his house yesterday, his next door neigh-

bor, a black lady, told me about the whole thing!”“Tis sounds suspect to me. Tat chick is probably lying or

dude so you’ll stop coming to his house looking or ‘em! Shit, yourriend’s husband probably gave dude the ups o why you were look-



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ing or ‘em?”“Wait a minute beore you start snappin’ Leon. I thought

the lady was lying too. So i called every hospital in Indianapolis.And come to nd out: Dakarai’s in St. Elizabeth’s ICU hanging on

lie support. His nurse told me the drunk driving car accident oc-curred on August 3rd 2006. Which le him with a lung collapsed,subarachvoid-brain-hemorrhage, type III odontoid racture, rightemur racture, and right tibia racture! Basically, he may end upbrain dead!” she explained to me in a regretul voice.

At this point, Amy conrmed my worst ear. Tis news si-lenced my words. But thunder echoed in my mind. My blood pres-

sure is high; my blood eels like tsunami waves sweeping throughmy body and crashing on the shores o my heart. I’m so riddledwith raw emotion, mostly anger, I start seeing red spots.

“Leon are you there?” Amy asked, beore I responded in asluggish sigh “Yeah!”.

Amy tells me she will continue to ght by my side attempt-ing to comort my agony. Beore long, the 20 minuet phone call

ended. But the psychological and emotional pain still ogs my atmosphere.

I wanna curse, punch and kick the world. But it won’t do meany good. Because I’m surrounded by an isolation chamber madeo concrete and steel.

“My anger and rustration is justied. Everyone knew how important Dakarai Fulton was in proving my innocence. Yet it hadtaken me eight years to nally nd people dedicated enough to ndhim, only or him to wind up on his death bed when they knockedon his door!”

With how bad my luck has been in this entire ordeal, Iwonder i super natural orces were at play? Although I’m not areligious person, my spirituality is limited to the acknowledgementthat a God, supreme being or divine power exist.

“What do I do now?” I ask mysel aloud. “Now will I betrapped in prison orever, or a crime I didn’t commit? Why theuck I gotta go through all this shit?”

Tere’s no one to answer my questions in this empty cell.So I direct them toward the blank ceiling. My rustration burns



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through my veins. Ah, how bad I want to exact my wrath on every-one responsible or the rage I now eel. I can no longer be humbleor patient. Something has got to give. But what?

Obviously I’m the only person immersed in the eye o

this storm and no one else. I have to deal with the pain and de-eat. I can’t rely on nothing or no one to do this or me. For thesethoughts, I sit on the stool in ront o this steel desk that’s moldedin the wall o this cell. I pick up this pen in my le hand and look at it’s transparent casing: “It’s hal ull o red ink!” I take the penwith my right hand and look down to the desk at a note book withempty pages. Without another second’s thought, I begin to splash

the words o the tremendous thunderous, echoes o emotions I eelinside, onto the pages.

With each pen stroke, it’s a battle or control between my subconscious and conscious mind. I’m entranced by the indigna-tion. Te ollowing are the inks o my blood:

A HELLUVA HOUGHF-10

All I see is red: I’m going or broke! Te last time themid-west (IN, IL, MO) experienced a tornado as immense as theone I’m unleashing here, was March 3, 1925 when 689 people waskilled.2 Because or too many years, I’ve been made to eel like abrown autumn lea uttering aimlessly in the tornado winds o injustice and desolation. But today my soul will utter the entire

world with a single invective-thought:If my thoughts could kill?

Tey’d destroy babies in the womb,who’re destined to kill brothas like me in courtrooms,

they’d turn the procreatin’ thoughts o their parents lust,into nooses that’ll choke their minds so tight

“Teir brains a bust!”

If my thoughts could kill?Tey’d make the pot o gold,

that’s alleged to be at the end o every rainbow,



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“Into a big pot o shit!”Where a red, white and blue leprechaun

would be to orce eed to death,

any ool greedy enough to chase myth,opposed to giving the golds o humanity to their ellow human by giv’em a li!

If my thoughts could kill?Every time my heart ached

rom underneath the steel cards lie has dealt me,a diabolical person would all deadamid an act o cruelty,

anybody preachin’ hypocrisy would choke on every lie rollin’ o their tongue,

the smiley ace o a phony riend

would melt to the boneand every coward would be orce to die

“ten thousand times alone!”

If my thoughts could kill?Tey’d make the heavens the ground you walk on,

causin’ every unrighteous step to be burnt by the sun,they’d tear down every brick o this isolation cell,

“while the world’s upside down it’ll rain hell!”,on all you muthauckers who put me here to die,

now may the blood o my every teardrown all y’all’s asses when I cry:

If my thoughts could kill?By now the corpses o those who’ve wronged mewould pile higher than any mountain on earth,

and I’m using them as decomposing-esh-steps to climb



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til I reach the moon or certain,only to draw these last lines o poetry

across its surace:

If my thoughts could kill?Tey’d kill hate

injustice, dishonor, greed,envy, deceit, racism

poverty, war, and disease,

and this would completemy thought’s long killin’ list,but would I be killin’ mysel?

o think such a world would ever exist.

As you can see, I’m trying to hold mysel together. But my disappointment in the circumstances are spilling me apart, likemercury to the touch. When does it end? Te past eight years o my alse imprisonment has been hell on earth. I eel like Sisyphus3,because every time I progress the boulder o justice up the moun-tain toward the heights o exoneration, it only rolls back down andobscure my path. Making my quest much more dicult than it’slast step. Te continuous blows o deeat raining down on me haspounded my morale into the abyss.

Are these death blows coming rom heaven? Right now Ican look into the eyes o the sun without blinking and demand toGod “Just let me die already. At least then I’ll nally be ree and ateternal peace! I you’re not willing to allow me death, then where’syou’re divine intervention?”

Still, I hear no answers. Tis only creates mighty winds

o my rage, which pushes the sails o my wrath to the ceilings o heaven.

Where you at God? F-10

People have told me that I’ve some nerve to believe in Godwithout being religious. But God is a conceptual matter, as opposed



17

to being as scientic matter, and involves a aith-based system o belie. As a consequence, despite what religion people share, poten-tially every person has a dierent idea o what or who God is, i heor she, in act, believes that God exists.

Tough I have a scientic materialist approach to lie, Idon’t believe in the Big Bang Teory, per se ,as I do that a Supremebeing was behind the creation o the universe. Te universe is tooimmaculately ordered or it to have exploded into existence romnothing. Up to this moment, however, I believed God allowedhumans ree will o their lie choices and our lives were not pre-des-tined. But the unique combination o events in my lie at this point

has me questioning ate.“I lived the street lie no doubt, it wasn’t my choice: I was

born in it! Maybe i I tried harder I could’ve went a better route?But isn’t eight years o alse imprisonment too long a punishment?Isn’t my suering redemption enough, when history shows therehave been men who’ve died wealthy, ree and o old age aer mur-dering millions? I God controls my ate, why in such an immensely

vast universe, would this God mandate that I be shackled to such aplace or unjust reasons, with no escape?”

I God has made my lie pre-destined to a lowly prisoner,like Noah allegedly cursed the Canaanites (Gen. 9:24-27), then Imust address my disappointments toward him too, this morning.And as a real man, I must conront such and unair God. What Ihave to say shouldn’t be shocking, because it’s believed by many that God knows and see all, including our thoughts. Ten it shouldalready know I’m going to say this:

“God has the plan!”As everyone like to say,but yo plan ain’t or me

I I have to continue to dieby awakin’ in this nightmare another day,

“God loves all his children!”As my Mama told me.



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“But where the love at?”Because I’ve experienced hellor most o my lie on earth,

I better close my eyes to see the loveBecause when their open all I see is hatein the orm o a prison curse,

“God is a good God!”As the preacher preach.

How good are you?I divine people are killed everyday while wolves are leading the sheep,

without disguising their teeth,How good are you?

o have allowed the one person

whose testimony would ree me in court,

to end up hal-deadon lie support,

“Good GOD!”

When will I nd lightat the end o this dark tunnel?

When are you gonna be good to memy amily and Kasey Schoen?,

who should be in heaven next to youexplainin’ to you that or his murder

“I’m not to blame!”

“GOD!”Since you haven’t been good to me

I want to you to know that



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“Whenever I pass rom this world”and ascend into heaven,

“I’ma kick yo ass every day!”

like you’ve kicked mine everyday on earth.And I’ma keep you rom your son tooJust like you did me rom mine.

And yo hommie Satan, Hades, or Sethor whatever people call’em these dayz

will get it the worse;

because that ooldoes all your dirty work.Now that my heart is cold

rom the many years o dyingwithin the dark, winters, o desolation,

when I get ahold o you Satan

i’ma stick an icicle so ar up your assthat ita cool you o or an eternity!”

“GOD!”I you believe

what I’ve told you this morning

was wrong?Ten continue kickin’ my ass on earth.

But one day I’ll see you in heaven.“And payback’s a mutha!”

But by chance“I you understand my indignation?”

Ten stop whoopin my ass down here.And maybe,

“Just maybe!”I’ll consider orgivin’ you

beore I reach Heaven!



20

No one is sae today! But i my Mama were in the roomwith me now, in reaching distance, she would’ve pinched repen-tance outta me. Nonetheless, my own Mama couldn’t detour my

boldness today. And I damn sho’ care less what anyone else has tosay. Although, I believe many people o religious aiths would bemad at me or calling God out! I’m willing to call them hypocritesi the claim to have never done the same thing.

I’m sure many people called God out in their thoughts, atleast once in their lie time? oday, I merely had the stones to writemy thoughts down. I care little what anyone else thinks. Tis is my

personal relationship with my God.But I beg an answer to my ollowing question, to whom-

ever read these words in the uture: “I you believe in your God somuch, why care about what someone else think o you, i they knew you called God out in a moment o justied indignation?”(Ten gotell somebody you know a time you called God out!)

Nonetheless, although I really don’t believe in the aerlie

such as heaven or hell, i those realms exist, I gotta ass whoopin’coming when I make it to heaven. I there’s a heaven, I believe I’llmake there. I God is an all knowing God, he’ll understand my bee and anger toward him. Whatever the case maybe I’m willing to takeull responsibility or every action I’ve took in my lie, like a realman should. What about you?

UNCONDIIONAL PHONIES F-10

I must laugh. I am deeply amused at how some people whoproclaim to be righteous, religious ollowers, will try to take thehigh moral ground against my words toward the heavens. However,the same people who’ll turn their noses in the air, are the sameones who’ve not been genuine with their God or the people around

them. Tey don’t have a grain o unconditional love in their hearts.Yet they’ll go to church, mosque, or synagogue every sunday, torepeatedly wipe their asses clean rom all the bad deeds they com-mitted the past week.

Such people, described above, are the akest on earth. I youconsciously do bad deeds to reap whatever benets, only to turn



21

around and ask your God or orgiveness as an escape goat o re-sponsibility, then your repentance isn’t genuine and you intend ondoing more bad deeds when the chance presents itsel. So I’ll callpeople with such character aws “conditional phonies”...or should I

say “unconditional phonies?” Unconditional phonies it is then.Believe you me, I’ve encountered unconditional phonies

in all contexts o lie, especially amid my alse incarceration. Tesewankstas put on acts o realness and concern in your ace, as longas they can benet rom you. “Shame on these ake bastards!”

An old school associate o mine, Richard, tells me o thesetypes o people all the time. And in my recent correspondence with

Raael Vasquez, o www.prisonwriting.com, I explained to him thereason I’ve not received legal assistance I’ve needed the past eightyears. Subsequently, I wrote a poem in my letter to Vasquez. I got itmemorized---I think?

Well, I dedicate this to all those phony bastards out there:

“If I were already rich!”

You’d oer me more money,“I I were already educated!”You’d wanna teach me something,

“If I were already famous!”You’d wanna expose me more,

“I I already had a nice home!”Tat’ll be the only timeYou’d invite me into yours,

Why is it when I had everything I neededY’all oered me all the help?

But now that I’ve nothing but injustice“You unconditional phonies only oer me death!”

Indeed death is what unconditional phonie will oer youin your time o lowliness. Beware o people around you that dem-onstrate the described behavioral symptoms. Tese types are hard



22

to identiy sometimes. Because they hide behind the smoke andmirrors o our own vanity or ego. Tey’ll atter you to no ends or apiece, i not all, o your material possessions, talents and/or mind.

However, once you can’t be o any benet to them, they will

abandon you without warning. Leaving you high and dry. I’ve expe-rienced these demons o the esh rst hand. All those muthauckaswho were in my ace when I was “ballin’ outta control” are nowhereto be ound now: “Everybody with you when you have cash/butdisappear when you’re doing bad!”

Such is the way o our world.I you possess a shine about yoursel, people will try to get

into your circle. And like Sponge Bob, they’ll absorb your light tilyour lamps are dimmed to a pitch. Tese people are takers. Andthey have no intention o putting back to restore balance. Since un-conditional phonies will orever exist, you must be able to identiy them in advance and nip’em in the bud, or end up like me: “tangledin a web o lies, while the unconditional phonies that abandonedme look on in blood lust, as the venomous spider o injustice and

lost time, slowly makes its way to devour my lie lying in limbo!”I should’ve paid closer attention when upac rapped: “My

hommie told me once, don’t you trust them other suckas/they actlike they yo hommie but the phony muthauckas/and even i I diddie young who care?/all I ever got mean mugs and close stares.”

EXISENIAL PURGAORY F-9

One o the main reasons my blood is boiling over in the ink o my anger, stems rom my uture looking more blurry than Da-karai thoughts in his coma-state. Will I be ree? I don’t know now.It’s like I have one oot in this prison cell and the other in society.‘Better yet, it’s like Ive one oot in this prison cell and the other inthe graveyard!”

Not only does my introspections tell o my physical limboamid prison, but o my thoughts and spirituality as well. Te eel-ing is extremely unsettling to the cores o my soul. Where do I gorom here? I’ve already lost eight years o my lie or a crime I didn’tcommit. How much longer will I remain suspended on these webso seclusion?



23

It’s crazy how the lives and decisions o complete strangerscan so arbitrarily aect your ate sometimes. In my situation, a casto unknown actors, created a play script that unbeknown to me,ascribed to my involuntary participation or a theatrical conclu-

sion o tragedy. Peep: “Kasey Schoen decided to drive into a roughneighborhood at night and to stop and talk to some dude on astreet corner (or reasons unknown). And that dude on the cor-ner decided to shot Kasey to death beore running. All the while,Dakarai witnessing it, who later reported the event to the police.But the police decided not to pursue Dakarai’s eyewitness accountand instead accepted other witnesses’ contradictory accounts that

made me out to be the dude doing the shooting on the corner. Teprosecutor and judge decided to try me or Kasey’s murder despitethe logical evidence o my innocence. Because my trial attorney andprivate investigator decided not to thoroughly search or Dakarai’swhereabouts or the trial, the twelve jurors without having a chanceto evaluate Dakarai’s eyewitness account, decided to nd me guilty.And or eight years Dakarai decided not to be involved in coming

orward on my behal’ then on Aug. 3rd, he decided to drink anddrive and ended up in a near atal car accident. Now because o allthese strangers’ decisions, it’s a possibility I’ll never be able to provemy innocence”.

Damn! It seems like time is slipping rom my grasp. Whilethe world is moving on without me. I can’t begin to ully explainthis tumultuous hurt I’m enduring at this instant.

Te whirl winds o the circumstances has my sense o ex-istential direction in a vacuum. It’s like aer I heard the news overthe phone today, that I was blind olded, then spun into a cyclone.Beore being stopped and directed to pin a path in the directionto a brighter uture. But the dizziness o the spin has blurred my uture to an unseeable road. Where do I go rom here? I don’t know.All I can say is this:

“WHY ME?”rapped so deep in the shadows

“O this cold hole”Tat I can’t see my next step,



24

Tat’ll give my uture“BREAH!”

o breathe me into the winds o reedom

Like wings o a birdsoarin’ high in the sky,But my thoughts“Are shot down!”

By an arsenal o lies,And I’m startin’ to gag

Inhalin’ this hell-hole’s aroma,Because the truthTat can deliver me to reedom

“Is in a coma!”

“WHY ME?”

Forced to slowly lose my visionsDue to the death grips

Te hands o timeHas around my throat,

Te conict o the past and utureIs slowly sinkin’

My present’s boat,“It’s hard to cope!”Because I’m tired

O guessing,What my tomorrows will bring?

And what parts o my pains

Should be lie lessons?,While I interpret

the tongues o tic-tocs,“MUHAFUCKA SOP!”,

My lie is adin’



25

oo astFrom the dally

O your

“Watch!”

“WHY ME?”Blind olded

Upon the compass o purgatory Slidin’ down the sands

O the hour glass,Something in the pastwon’t let me pass,

I’m tormentedBy lie passin’ me by,

But no longer

can I cry,Just another y-guy

INANGLED,Upon the secluded websO an isolated rectangle,

Why have I been chosen, whether by ate or arbitrariness,to suer these hardships? I am teased by the prospects o what my lie would’ve been. Tese kaleidoscopic thoughts produce a grie I’ve never experienced, outside the death o a loved one. From theplains o this existential purgatory I’m orced to witness the mul-tiple deaths o my uture. Tereore this grie and loneliness I eelare a thousand-old!

LIGHNING SRIKES HE HEAR F-10

Indeed, my grie is paramount. Especially to the possibility o never spending time with my loved ones again. And thoughts o extinct aairs o the heart between me and an aectionate queen allsend re bolts through my chest.



26

Just the other day I was reading through a bunch o oldletters, and I ran across several letters rom women, who, convinc-ingly, proclaimed to have loved me. Some women knew me beoreprison, and others I met during the course o my incarceration. But

they all have disappeared rom my lie, because the prison doorsdidn’t open soon enough or them. I can’t blame them. I was aplayer in the aairs o love out there and I broke many hearts. So Ican’t complain now.

Yet, to see sexy kiss prints and smell the residues o expen-sive perumes rom the letters, has me “sick about it”. All those cut-tie pies out there in the world, who’d love to be in my arms under

dierent circumstances! But I suppose this will never happen. Now I’m getting this strange thought o being an old ass man, lookingover these same letters in the uture, with grie lled eyes, wonder-ing what could’ve been o me and any o these angels at some point.

A re bolt has struck my chest again. Te pain orces my mind to reect on the treasures o lie I may be orever cheatedrom having:

“I’m supposed to have”...Been able to kiss her lips

Under the moon and starsWith the inspiration

Only known to artists.Kissin’, Kissin’, Kissin’

Away the painEvery lost and sorrow,

Knowin’ i she embraceMy aection

It’ll bring us both

“Fulllin’ tomorrows”,

“I’m supposed to have”...Been able to hug herDeep into my heart

And she experience the drum o heaven.



27

Feelin’ her embraceEntices me to hold her longer

Lettin’ her know my love is real,

Makin’ her past hurts disappearShe’ll realizeTat my hugs heal,

“I’m supposed to have”...Been able to make love with her

In ways she never imagined,In the remotest places o the world.Where my hands would rake the

Fertile soils o her so esh,As I plant the seeds

O my love and aection

Within the earth core o her womb,Drizzled with the sweat

O our passions.Tat’ll harvest a bond

Between us,As uniquely use as black pearls and diamonds

And solaced,“As embracin’ reedom!”

Aer decades o bondage,

“We supposed to have”...Been able to make children together;

ravelled the world,by car, boat, or plane;

Danced on warm evening sand;Laughed over elegant dinners

Or even over



28

A single slice o cheese cake,While sittin’ on the steps

O the Fox Teater;

And cryin’ togetherIn joy or grie,While kissin’ each other’s tears away

No matter the occasion,O soul libation.

“But i suppose!”None o this I long orwill ever happen now?

Te lightning won’t let up. It’s striking much deeper into my heart. As I reect being an old man without my supposed lover, Idrop the love letters. And picked up the letter with the hand writing

o my two children. What will be their uture without me?Te rain is pouring and I’m not outdoors. At the moment,

my daughter Koby is ten and son Leon is nine. And I’ve been inprison 86% o the little lives on earth. Te only conception they have o their Pop is a man in prison who sometimes speaks to themover the phone and sends them letters.

I ear my seeds’ lives will be orever damaged due to my ab-

sence. Earlier I pointed out the irony in how the lives and decisionso complete strangers can arbitrarily aect an innocent lie. Well,my decisions as a parent to participate in the street lie, subjectedme to the case o a alse criminal accusation. Tus, I’ll always eelresponsible or any hardships that aict the innocent lives o my children, as a result o my choices. I suer a parent’s guilt.

It’s a possibility that I’ll become dead to them, with moreyears o me lost rom their lives. Tis pain hurts me more than any I’ve experienced thus ar. And makes me holla out, “Koby and Leonyour Pop loves you! Don’t orget about me, I’m not dead. I’m alive!”

No matter what, remember this:



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“I wish!”ime was orever slow,

Lightnin’ strikes my heart

being considered a no show,

Te haters will tell you:“Yo Pop won’t make it home”,

But don’t believe ‘emI’m with you even when you alone,

We are orever bondedby the power o the below and above,

KEEP ME ALIVETrough your love,

“Believe me!”I’m more than just the man

In the pictures,Although it’s hard to believe

I’ve missed you,

“I’ll never die!”Close your eyes,

And whisper:Trough my lie

My Pop ree 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 Tugz-n-Harmony, AR OF WAR, 1997

Look into my eyes... As they water,

From the thoughts o reality,

Body shivering as i cold,Heart pounding with ear.Looking into my eyes...

You’ll see the painsO livin’ in such a cruel world,

Te dreams that suddenly have been shattered,Tis heart that’s been broken,

And halway mended.Look into my eyes...

You see a child,



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Swimming in his own tears,With a soul that’s long been lost.

Look into my eyes...

And eel my tears,With the touch o your hand,

Now I ask you:Can my teardrop

Really turn into a rainbow?

Where there’ll be a pot o gold at the end, And I’ll be granted one wish.

Why do we cry? -William “OJ” Johnson, INERNAL BLEED-

IN’, 2003

HE LEE FROM BLURRY VISION F-7

Te tears I’ve cried are invisible, but i you look into my eyesyou’ll see the raging hurricane o loss, grie, wrath, disappointment

and hopelessness. My vision is so blurry that nothing is clear. Whenwill this storm end?

Although my tears are invisible, it doesn’t mean I’m notcrying inside. o suer in silence, out o pride, are the worst tearsto cry. Because they’re internal and drown the man’s soul. While heastly dies on the inside, no one can hardly tell rom looking at himon the outside.

All these years I’ve been dying inside o prison with eachtic o time. While society seems not to give a uck. But, while I’mhere, I don’t wanna be smothered by my own pain. Te winds aretoo much though. It seems I can’t nd an internal pivot (or lee) toshelter my mind rom the storm. What can I do?...

...I start to calm my breathing with techniques I learned



32

practicing yoga. And then an enlightening thought crosses my mind o a passage rom the ancient Hindu epic poem called Bhaga-

vad Gita (Song o God):“When a man dwells in his mind on the object o senses,

attachment to them is produced. Fromattachment springs desire and rom desire comes anger.

From anger arises bewilderment, rombewilderment loss o memory; and rom loss o memory,

the destruction o intelligence androm the destruction o intelligence he perishes.”4

“Hmmm!”...It’s dawning on me that my grie and angeris coming rom my material desires o reedom. Opposed to my desire in the ulllment o reedom, which is spiritual, and can beobtained anywhere. My vision has been blurred o the bigger pic-ture. Basically, this morning I’ve been wallowing in the blood o my own sel-pity, which has caused the initial psychological wound Isuered 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 (orlee) to shelter themselves rom the initial violence o a lie-stormor deeat.5 Because the mind, when controlled by the urry o oursenses, loses its intellect and direction, like a hurricane pushing arow boat out to sea rom its destination---the shores o enlighten-ment, peace and reedom.

Tereore I must detach mysel rom material desires o my own emotions. Tis will be hard to do since indignation swells inthe wells o my heart. Now I must practice what I preach: Avoidingthe winds o peril, in the nature o determination and talent, withdivine balance. Tis is my method derived rom Lee Bently 448.

Tus ar, my own mind has been my thunderous oe. It’stime to make it my ally again and quiet the storm. Mao se-tungonce said “In shallow men the sh o small thoughts cause muchcommotion; in magnanimous oceanic minds the whales o inspira-tion cause hardly a rue.”

My thoughts began shallow this morning, but I must re-



33

member: It isn’t what happens to us, but it’s how well we respondto it. Plus, magnanimous means: being very orgiving or generous,especially toward a rival or someone less powerul than onesel.Tereore, I must be magnanimous toward my rivals o injustice

and misortune. By controlling my internal tears and providing my-sel the appropriate shelter rom their storms. Tis shelter is within,by nding calm or stillness o mind.

In so doing, my blurry vision is becoming more clear by the second. As I detach mysel rom the mega-re bolts o my ownsenses; I’m realizing this situation involves more than me. Tere’remany other people that have been aicted by the same continuous

storm.Te Bently’s windshield isn’t as obscure with red spots any-

more. I’m beginning to see where I’m going and upon which pathI’m traveling. Like windshield wipers, it’s time I wipe away my owntears. Te winds are still strong, but I can see enough to readjust my

UNLIKELY CONNECIONS F-5

As the Blood in my Eye all to this page in the orm o ink rom my pen: my mind becomes more clear! I recognize that thereis another human being out there in a coma, hanging on to lie sup-port. Dakarai Futon is a person I don’t recall ever meeting. I I did, Ididn’t know him by Dakarai.

However, I’ve thought o his name every day I’ve awakenin prison. And I wonder i he ever thought o me and the lie I liveunder the weight o alse imprisonment? Probably not, as much asI’d like to believe.

What’s ironic though, when I rst heard the news o thisstranger being in a coma, I elt the grie like he was a close riendor relative. He’d probably never have a clue how much my physicalreedom was in his hands?

Court records say he’s 29 years, and I assume he had a loto lie ahead o him beore his unortunate accident. I hope he pullsthrough or him and his amily’s sake. Although i he dies, then in away part o me does too.

sails toward the destination o my choice.



34

Without a doubt, I want him to pull through or the sakeo what’s humane. But I’d be telling a bold aced lie, i I said I don’twant him, to also recover, or the sake o my exoneration. Whatconnects him and me is the umbilical cords o irony. We’re like

meta twins conjoined at the berth o a past event: Kasey’s murder!And i my meta-twin doesn’t pull through, my physical ree-

dom may die as well. It’s hard not to be overwhelmed by the unairprospects...but such is lie.

Only i Dakarai could hear me now chant or him to pullthrough. Maybe my spiritual winds can deliver to him this message,due to our unlikely connection?

“ Dakarai, Dakarai, Dakarai”We’re twin brothas,

rom dierent muthas,Yet connected

By and invisible umbilical cordTat links us to a past,

And presently eeds us dierent painsHow long will it last?

“ Dakarai, Dakarai, Dakarai”Te pain we experience

Is very dierent but rom the same line,Mine comes in the orm

O alsely doing time,And yours comes with the aches

Like a rotten tooth,O a guilty conscious

“O knowing the truth!”

“ Dakarai, Dakarai, Dakarai”I it’s true o what’s believed

About twins spiritual connection,Ten you’re hearing my words today



35

On your way back to conscious-resurrection,o make amends,For both our lives:

“We Meta-twins!”

Te victim, Kasey Schoen, is already dead. I don’t wannaanother person connected to this circumstance to die. Dakarai,bruh pull through! You’ve got a lot o lie ahead o you---especially i you got kids. Whether by ate or arbitrary circumstances, we con-nected.

COMPRESSION CHAMBER F-4

It seems that the storms o my circumstance are wearingthin, as I detach mysel rom my senses more. I’m slowly startingto see more options, that I hadn’t beore, that are within my imme-diate grasp. Tese are the options that can make my uture muchbrighter than the gloom caused earlier by the news.

O course, I’ve said some critical things outta anger today.But I’m only human at the end o the day. What would you do i you were me? How much can one man take beore he snaps?

Oen times we don’t know our limits until we’re placedunder the pressure. But when I compare my situation to other indi-

viduals’ in the world, I realize some are twice as worse as mine. Yetthose individuals are remaining strong. Displaying unimaginableeats o ortitude. And this is humbling me.

Nonetheless, I’d love to believe that all the hardships I’ve ex-perienced are to prepare me to overcome something much greaterin the uture. At least I hope this pain today will guarantee me ahappier tomorrow. But don’t we all?

Whatever the case, I’ve never given up on mysel thus ar

and don’t plan to now. I’m starting to eel a sense o pride. In thestrength and wisdom I’ve been blessed to receive in the course o my storms. It’s said that bad situations brings out the best or worstin us.

Honestly, I can admit that I’ve never witnessed my worst orbest thus ar. But, my best attributes exceed and continue to exceed



36

my worst. I’m learning to perorm better under pressure. But whatother choice do I really have than to allow mysel to be completely crushed by the compression chamber o unjust circumstance?

“I’ma get mine!”In this world regardless,

“Pressure bust pipes or make diamonds,”Now you know why

I’m the hardest,And steadily shinin’,

Don’t look too longMy illumination is blindin’,

What’s unny is it always beenWithin the soul o my reach

So I had to look within to nd Lee,So many years in the storm

It elt like I was dyin’,Te pressures rom the struggleBurnt like a sh when it’s ryin’,

Like today I seen all redmy heart lt with violence,

I even plugged my earsand I still heard the sirens

Yet I’m growin’rom a dusty coal

to what you see now a diamond!

i OF HE SORM F-3

As I continue writing out my thoughts, I’m gaining a re-enorced understanding that we must never run rom our ear, painor losses. But instead, we must walk toward them and immediately embrace them. Because i we don’t deal with any adverse situation



37

in a timely and healthy manner, then they’ll deal with us when weleast expect. Avoid these winds o peril by not running rom them.

Te key: is to turn our ears, pains, or losses into strengths.For example, by me candidly expressing mysel here today, I’m

slowly reversing the bad momentum into my advantage. Not only to overcome my immediate mental distress, but to gain strengths Ididn’t have yesterday. And this is my win in a cell, like (wind) in a(sail) pushing me orward.

Tink about it, like a hurricane or tornado, we can’t controlthe urry o unexpected lie-storms. However, we can control ourresponses to them. And the response isn’t to run rom them as it is

to embrace them.For instance, when a tornado spontaneously hits your area

with no avoidable option o escape, it’ll be oolish to try to run orto board up the windows and doors o your house to withstand thepower o F-5 winds. However, i you embrace the orce o the torna-do by opening all the windows and doors o your house and allow the wind pressures to reely pass through the structure, it’ll prevent

a lot o property damage in the long run.Te same holds true with me embracing my current lie

storm. By riding the momentum o the circumstance, I’ll prevent asmuch harm to my being as possible or the long run. And ultimate-ly turn these negative orces into a positive ones.

Lie isn’t one continuous storm, it’s broken into sequenceso smaller ones. It’s best you handle each as they come. For thesestorms are inevitable to our lives as long as we live. Now, i youclosely observe yoursel and others throughout society and theworld, you’ll notice: we’re either entering a lie storm, leaving out o one, or, like me, standing within the the eye o the storm!

oday I’ve learnt that we must become one with our stormsor end up conquered by them instead o transcending them. Sobelieve me when I tell you:

From the darkest nightzComes the brightest dayz,

Even reedom can be oundWithin the desolation o a cage,

Or sunshine



38

Within the darkest cloudsO grey:

“i of the Storm!”

Hurricanes and tornadosBlow down liquor stores and churches,

And sweep innocent livesInto grave yards and hearses,

Wherever these violent winds blow

Tey destroy houses and trucks,But these same windsCan be used to build us up:

“i of the Storm!”

“My Pain!”

I know you elt my hurt“Like Rain!”

When I cried you could smell the dirtO time that has buried me

Like a orgotten seed,Underneath a prison’s oor

Where I’ve grown like a tree,WHOSE BRANCHES

Now extend ar beyond,Vulnerabilities amid lie’s circumstances

Into BEARIN’ ARMS:“i of the Storm!”

Although the stormsBegin rough and destructive,

Tey oen endWith new beginnings o production,



39

Prospectiveand Lie,

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 or taking the time out to listen to me this morning. Now the

rest o my day looks much clearer. But this was a small win in a cell.Because tomorrow it’ll be a new struggle to stare down the eye o my storms. I’ll gure something out, because I’ve had to all theseyears anyway. Like today, my storms have been weathered alone,but I’ve always had my paper and pen to curve new prospects outtamadness.

More importantly, there is a young man out there ghting

or his lie in a hospital bed. For the sake o what’s universally divine and humane, I hope that he regains his consciousness---even i he never regains the courage to come orth and set me ree. Also, Isend my condolences to the Schoen amily, or they’re still amid thestorm o loss.

And i nothing was gained rom my written venting session,I’ve learnt the importance o listening more closely to the winds o

my storm. In so doing, the directive words o resolution was heard.A lot o resolution was ound today through my bout with

this circumstance. Mainly, that no matter what, I must remainocused and determined in my journey. While accepting that at any given moment, lie can always become worst than ever imagined:even me never making it outta prison alive. However, I’m contentwith the understanding that the uniorm laws o the universe will

never allow truth to totally die. Because that same truth, in somelie time or another ,will be allowed to be rediscovered.

Meanwhile, I can only do whatever is within my power andposition, to compel the acceleration o that re-discovery process.And accept the things that’s outta my control, no matter how di-cult it is to accept.



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An old Ghana proverb says “I you wish to spoke to God,speak to the wind”! And I’ve done more than speak to the windsthis morning---I called it out! In this course, I spoke to my DivinePower and our dialog is ar rom over. I won’t rest until I’m exon-

erated. Even i I’m hurled into the, ascent or descent, o anotherexistence beore this injustice is resolved. Te very indignation o my soul will call out and tremble heaven and hell like unimaginablecosmic thunder and lightning, until my deserved justice is deliv-ered!

I there’s an aerlie such as heaven and hell, it would still bea tragedy i the truth was revealed aer my death. By then, the truth

would be useless to me, in my opinion. Tereore, I must old thewings o this thought, or the struggle that lies ahead o me, outsideo this scroll, is too vast than I care to know. However, I better getto it beore it gets to me.

i o the Storm,Leon Benson

August 29, 2006



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AFERMAHOVERSAND: Here in theaermath o the lie storm

another warning is revealed.Aer passing through the winds

o peril, your very mind canbe lost in the urry i you’reso careless to turn back. As

long as you keep orward anddo not look back, you’ll escapethis danger. But there’s a as-cination in standing still anddwelling on the peril aicted

and/or overcame. However, such vain narcissism and sel-pity

brings misortune. It leadsto a new wind o peril, and

unless you nally resolve andorward your quest withoutpausing, you’ll all victim to

the same peril you once escaped.

-Lee Bently 448, I Ching Adaptation, 2009



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“WE ARE EIHER ENERING A SORM, LEAVING OU OFONE, OR SANDING IN HE MIDDLE OF ANOHER”:

Obviously, aer composing i o the Storm the tragic pros-pects caused by the car accident induced coma, o an exonerating

witness did not cease. In act, the incident only precipitated evenmore dicult processes o struggles or me than beore. Although,writing out my thoughts and emotions were cathartic, it could notresolve the aiction o the reality I aced: possibly being trappedbehind the walls o alse imprisonment the next 52 years. Rather,this sel-imposed art therapy was the initial mitigator o a desolaterevelation.

Te real battles existed outside o my written reuge, in there-occurring thunderous thoughts o: “Without Fulton’s 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 Indiana’s mostoppressive, notorious isolation unit?”

And in order to objectively attempt to accomplish my aims,I couldn’t allow the disappointment o losing a key eyewitness to

hinder my progress. (Basically not to cry over spilt milk). However,this became extremely dicult to overcome because it put me in aparadox o sorts: existing in prison while trying to overcome thisdisappointment which essentially, was one o the reasons, I am stillin prison.

So my grapples were internal: psychological, philosophical,and spiritual. Tereore, it dealt with my cathexis (the over concen-tration o mental energy on a particular thing, person or event toan unhealthy degree) o my disappointment. And to move orwardrom this unhealthy thinking, I had to develop the ollowing adap-tive coping strategies:

1)Recognizing my power reside in the present. Although Isuered a great loss, I couldn’t let it dene the rest o my lie andstruggle or reedom.

2) Acknowledging the pain, but not becoming xated on it.In order to see my ull potentials to progress.



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3)Using the lessons o my storms to help me make wiserdecisions and orm a better structure in my present circum-stance.

4)Putting aside the selsh aspects o my hurt, and supportothers through my wisdom, as they ace lie storms. (Tis includesboth those in society and prison).

While incorporating these strategies throughout the monthsto ollow (up to present), I was able to continue orward in my quest without pausing, without the stagnation o sel-pity. For sev-

eral months, I kept tabs on Fulton’s progress in the hospital, but heremained in a coma state.

At that point, I began to study the law with a passion anddiscipline I hadn’t beore. And I discovered many errors o ineec-tive assistance o trial and appellate attorneys in my case. I present-ed all these compelling legal issues to the Public Deender attorney working my second appeal, post-conviction relie. However, this

“public pretender” tried to undermine my case by not acknowledg-ing the legal errors I directed him to illustrate in my PCR petition.And as a result, on July 20, 2007, I kicked him o my case andcontinued on pro se (legally representing mysel).

Tis was an enormous leap or me, because I’d never rep-resented mysel in court beore. It put a lot o pressure on my shoulders, but I reused to allow the tumblings woes o ill-intendedpeople to sabotage me again. I took on the responsibilities o my legal aairs (researching the case laws, ling motions, composinglegal arguments and preparing to present my case in court); writingbooklets and online blogs about my case to bring on public sup-port and awareness; writing online blogs about the ill-conditionso the SHU to bring public support and awareness to the plight o all prisoners subjected to isolation units; and organizing undraiserprojects in an attempt to raise enough money to hire a good attor-ney to take over my case. Because o these immediate responsibili-ties, I lost my tab on Fulton’s condition. Honestly, I accepted that hewould probably never ully recover rom brain damage and wouldnever come orward on my behal in court.



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While allowing doors o attachment to disappointmentto close, the windows o new opportunity began to open. First, inJune 2008, I heard rom my biological brother, Roderick, whom Ihad lost contact with or 7 years at that point. He responded to my

online articles posted by Leesa on a website she designed or my reedom campaign. My brother and I started to renew our detachedrelationship.

Secondly, on July 28, 2008, a “brotha o the struggle” andellow SHU prisoner, Lester “Jagun” Bufin, yelled rom his celldirecting me to turn my t.v. to channel 7 news (New York). Where asegment was showing the development o new scientic technology

in “vision and distance” analysis (particularly in testing the reli-ability o eyewitness identication 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 o the New York Innocence Project backed. All this appliedto the misidentication o my case. So I copied down all the inoI could rom the program and mailed it to supporters, Keith and

Leesa, or them to contact Edwards and the Innocence Project andretrieve more details.

Surprisingly though, the next day, July 29th 2008, I andy other SHU prisoners were randomly transerred to WestvilleControl Unit (another isolation unit) in Westville, Indiana. Whatprompted such a move was the renovation o several SHU ranges.

While at WCU, Darell Edwards wrote me rom a New Jersey prison with relevant copies o 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, usingthe new scientic vision and distance analysis, it showed that thealleged eyewitness in his case could not identiy anyone rom a dis-tance past 110 eet (even i were day light and the witness had 20/20

vision). Tis was the break through I’d been seeking in my case oryears. Beore long, the Innocent Project (NY) sent me the entirepublished “vision and distance analysis by Dr. Georey Lous o the University o Washington. Keith acilitated this discovery. Aerreading the ino, I decided to include it in my PCR petition. I sentmy gratitudes to the brotha Edwards and the Innocence Project.



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Moreover, I encountered another prisoner at WCU whoselegal knowledge (knowledge period) exceeded my own by a hun-dred old. His name was Lokmar Y Abdul-Wadood, he was 25years my senior and had, unortunately been incarcerated the past

37 years straight. I told this brotha o my case and plight, and herequested to look at my trial transcripts and PRC petition issues.About a month later, he sent me my legal documents back, includ-ing a handwritten PCR petition he had composed. It includedissues I’d originally raised, but also our extra legal issues o ones heound. I was impressed by his work to say the least. But when I o-ered to pay Lokmar rom my legal und, he declined. He said “LB,

I merely perormed the will o Allah, plus I couldn’t take money rom another poor prisoner!” And all I could do is extend to himmy sincerest gratitude.

“In these spontaneous eats o progress, I realized that thepower o a ew humane individuals can create whirl winds andblow any obstacle (including unconditional phonies) away rom thepath to truth and justice!”

With no warning, on November 26, 2008, I and about thirty prisoners were transerred back to the SHU. Although WCU wasoppressive, compared to the SHU, it was a walk on grass with bareeet.

Aer arriving back in the SHU, I was made to be withoutmy personal property (legal papers, mailing and writing materi-als, t.v., hygiene products, etc) or 2 ½ weeks due to (lazy and/or

vindictive) property ocers. Tis stagnated me greatly in preparingto Amend my PCR petition 60 days beore my, then, hearing Feb19,th 2009. Amid this idle time, I requested a prisoner rom an-other range, who was a detail worker, to nd me something to read(anything). I was going stir crazy in that cell. And the next day therange worker brought me two ime magazines (issues 11/10/08 and11/17/08). I read them rom cover to cover. And in the November10th issue, I read ime’s “op Inventions o 2008” where I discov-ered the ollowing:

“English physicist, John Bond, has developeda technique or analyzing nger prints on a guns



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ammo even i it’s been wiped clean. Sweat corrodesmetal, so Dr. Bond applied an electric charge and ne

carbon powder to shell cases’ corroded part,revealing a nger print. Police are already using

the our-month old technology to reopencold cases. [pg 88]

In a mental ash, my mind connected the ino with the verecovered bullet shells in my case. In 1998, the police nger print-ing expert couldn’t recover the prints rom the bullet shells. Withthe use o Dr. Bond’s new technology, the true perpetrator’s n-

gerprints could be recovered rom the bullet shell evidence in my case. With no time to waste, I borrowed a pre-stamped enveloperom another prisoner (a guard passed it to me). But, I orgot all my addresses and didn’t have my address book or help. Only address Icould remember was that o a supporter, Holly Rodriguez o Wash-ington. So I mailed her a letter explaining that “I needed Dr. Bond’scontact ino because his new technology could help exonerate me”.

Later I ound out that Holly passed my request on to Leesa,who then ound Bond’s contact ino. And on December 10, 2008she emailed Bond requesting assistance on my behal. Lo and be-hold, Dr. Bond responded to Leesa stating his willingness to use hisnew ngerprint technology to test my evidence---ree o charge! Iwasn’t aware o this until I received a letter rom Leesa, on Decem-ber 21, 2008.

Because o this new development, I had to le or a con-tinuance on my pending (2/19/09) court date and I led a petition“For a new orensic Visualization Fingerprint testing o Five Bul-let shells” with the court. And the court granted both o my mo-tions where: 1) a discovery hearing to evaluate the reliability o Dr.Bond’s testing methodology, was set or August 19, 2009 and 2) TePCR was continued to December 18, 2009.6

I marched into 2009 with a condence I hadn’t elt in allmy years rom everything I done and inected anyone in my rota-tion. Indeed, the divine winds were at my back, pushing me up themountains o my quest.

And with donations rom (my sister) Valerie Buord, Steven



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Willet and Sigrid Davies to my legal und, I was nally in a positionto hire an attorney to take over my case (while considering all thework I’d already completed on my own). Also, my bother Roderick hired Dr. Lous to work on the identication aspects o my case. As

a result, Dr. Lous composed an Adavit strongly illustrating thatby scientic act, the alleged eyewitness in my case identicationwas unreliable.

By April 2009, an Indianapolis attorney took interest in my case. Due to my past experiences, I approached this lawyer withpre-caution. Tereore, a correspondence o business courtshipensued til August 31 2009. Tis attorney proposed a “ee agreement

contract” to represent my PCR or a at $5000 plus any o his out o pocket expenses. Tis was my price range. And because I ound nodisciplinary inractions on his legal career, I responded and he wasin consistent rotation with me the past 4 months: I became con-dent in him.

However, once he received a $5000 check I sent him onSeptember 2, 2009 (I got all my check and certied mail receipts)

he never made an appearance on my case and didn’t respond to my letters since.

Recently, I’ve called on, ellow prisoner, Dayon Miller’sMama, Minister Ruth Hayes o the Indianapolis Chapter o theNAACP to go to the lawyer’s oce and pick up my $5000 check.I’ve yet to hear word back on this in a week since I initiated theprocess.

Ten the totally unexpected occurred! I received letterrom Leesa with an email enclosed. Te email came rom a person,claiming to be Dakarai Fulton posted August 19, 2009 (ironically,the same day I appeared in court or a discovery hearing where thecourt seemed to be willing to allow Dr. Bond to test my evidenceor nger prints; the ruling will be made by October 21, 2009). Ittook Leesa until late September to get word to me, because she was,understandably, skeptic that the emailer was really Fulton. Te per-son claiming to be Fulton wrote the ollowing email:



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From:Fultono:[email protected]: Wed., August 19, 2009, 12:49 AM

Hi, this is Dakarai Fulton, I just want to make (sic) avail-able or Leon (Detroit) Benson, because o the act that he’sbeen doing unjust penetentary (sic) time or a crime he didn’t commit.So here’smy email address. Te reason or coming orth at such alate date is rst being scared to get involved with a case o such magnitude. Te I had a (sic) accident, and yet, I remember the

inncident (sic) like it happened yesterday and Detroit’s been

doing time since that time, which has been close to 10 years now. But how do you give a man back 10 years o his lie? You can’t.

But just as the Lord has blessed me with another lie, I must do what I know is right, because this **** is wrong. And I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to spend time in jail, especially or a crime he/ she didn’t 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 o transpiring. Detroit, you’ll behome soon dude. Can you make sure that he reads this please.

Aer I rst read this, I was overwhelmed with many emo-tions. But I had to compose mysel and continue to be ocused withthe other irons I had in the re (so to speak). Plus, I was skepticthat the email was authentic too, without a better conrmation(especially aer Leesa replied to the email as ollows and I’ve yet tohear directly rom this Fulton):

From:Leono:FultonSent: uesday, August 25 2009, 10:40pm

It’s like this, there’s enough inormation online or just about

anyone to contact this email address and claim to be Fulton. I you’re who you say you are, then just contact Leon Bensondirectly yoursel. Write him a letter and give him your address so hecan contact you i need be. He don’t have email access. Can you pro-



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vide a contact number or Leon to call you at? An address or phonenumber? An email isn’t going to do it I’m araid.

Sincerely,Leesa

Still, no response rom this alleged Fulton7 in the email. Iwouldn’t be surprised i the money incident with the lawyer andthis email was connected through nearious designs. Nonetheless,I’ve initiated the search or Fulton’s hospital records to see i he hasin act recovered rom the coma(which would be great) and beenreleased rom the hospital. Hopeully all will be in my avor soon.

MORAL OVERSANCEMy reason or sharing this aermath, was to show that my

lie-storms hasn’t ceased; but more importantly, that I’ve not lookedback to the ones I’ve been victorious over or deeated by.

I’ve merely accepted the perpetual ux o these storms. And

as I’ve shown, these storms are arbitrary in essence, bringing to theshores o our lives an aermath o ortune, misortune or a blindo both. However, depending on the groundedness o your mentalpivot (or lee), will determine your interpretation, henceorth, thedirection you travel thereaer. Tis direction can erroneously leadto rebirths o the same storms or objectively to brighter paths toenlightenment and progress.

As an example, amid the continuous ux o my storms,aermaths, storms, etc., although I’ve progressed a lot, I’m still inthe same physical position I was in in 2006. My motto is the same:“I better get to my struggle beore it get to me!” I can’t predict whatwill happen by the time I reach that courtroom December 18 2009.But I know “truth never dies, it’s only rediscovered”. And I’ma con-tinue to accelerate that re-discovery process o truth in eorts o my

reedom campaign. Never look back!Gotta keep it moving.I you have not already, become one with your storm with

great humility, while orever accepting: “WE ARE EIHER EN-ERING A SORM, LEAVING OU OF ONE, OR SANDINGIN HE MIDDLE OF ANOHER!”

Heed, when I share with you:



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Crystallized perilwith every longin’ whispered,

REFLECIN’

Over depleted treasure mapsOnly to discover yester-years“Shattered mirrors!”

Te narrow pathwayso your journey are travelled alone,

MIRACUOUSLYsome persevere the desolate storms,“What doesn’t kill you”

“Only make you strong!”

Although pain and rain invokes sadness

Embrace them both,For what rain storms bring

o the soils o the earth,PAIN SORMS

Brings to our soulsAs indications or internal growth!

Well, I must again go, but I thank you or your duration.Te silver lining o my struggle is so bright, I can almost hear thehell storm o hatred rom my adversaries, all the more, will makemy victory that much better. So, be waiting to salute me on theother side o the rainbow. I’m up.

A divine wind,In the Struggle,

Leon BensonOctober 15, 2009



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Share your comments with LB at:Leon Benson #995256P.C.F4490 W Reormatory Rd

Pendelton, Indiana46064Email: [email protected]

For ino regarding LB’s reedom campaign and how to become asupporter in his ght or reedom, go to:

www.reeleon.comwww.myspace.com/eeleonbensonwww.adspread.com/leonbenson.htmlwww.acebook.com/leonbenson



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Notes

1) Te Fujita (or F) scale create by .Teodore Fujita, is used toclassiy tornadoes. Te F scale uses rating numbers rom 0-5, based

on the amount and type o wind damage:

Rank Wind Speed Damage StrengthF-0 40-72 MPH Light Weak F-1 73-112 MPH Moderate Weak F-2 113-157 MPH Considerable StrongF-3 158-206 MPH Severe Strong

F-4 207-260 MPH Devastating ViolentF-5 above 261 MPH Incredible Violent(see Te World Almanac: And book o Facts 2005 p.188)In regards to the F-scale ratings seen on the side o each subtitle,throughout the text: it is or gurative use o rating my emotionaldistress. Tereore, you’ll encounter incredible ratings that exceedthe normal F-scale ratings; which signiy the visceral or almost

unexplainable distress I was experiencing at a particular point o the writing

2) Ibid. p 205 (ISBN 0-88687-938-8)

3) In Greek Mythology, Sisyphus the son o Aeolus, was pun-ished in Hades (or underworld, like prison) or his misdeeds in lieby being condemned to the eternal task o rolling a large stone tothe top o a hill, rom which it always rolled down again.

4) S. Radhakrishnan (1993) “Te Bhagavad gita” verse 2.62-63(ISBN 81-7223-087-7)

5) L. Benson (2007) “Blessings in Disguise: Soul Survivin’”Word Impact.

6) As o Nov. 17th, 2009, I had to withdraw my PCR Peti-tion due to the unairness o court rulings and an attorney stealing$1000 o my unds. Presently, in 2011, I’ve hired an Indianapolis



attorney named Brent Walke to head my PCR case.

7) It turns out that the emailer was in act Fulton, and on Oc-tober 29th, 2009, he signed an Adavit on behal o my innocence.

Amy nally was able to present him with the adavit to sign. Shehardly could believe that it all took place aer all.

i of the storm layout print

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