WALK WITH ME into the raw, candid, complexities of my everyday [real life] experiences of the triangulated
contradictory wars between “DECEIT, VERACITY and DURATION!”
This composition of thoughts merely reflects a wink of the emotional/ psychological pain endured with each
step made through desolate paths, while making sense of my quest. The excerpts of pained-poetic
perspectives were exhumed from the very depth of my now present existence!
The noxious afflictions upon me day in and day out aren’t isolated only to me or others from the despaired
Ghettos of America! Tomorrow it can be you, your family members or friends consumed by the e.g.
Covert unbridled gargoyle of greedy prison politics, especially without thorough social, political, economical
and class awareness, “you are vulnerable!”
Being amidst the downpours of catastrophe, one only can be defeated or transcend with mental and spiritual
rewards.
Destiny is not a guarantee to anyone, but it’s only the eclectic quest towards universal truth about ourselves
(as individuals, race or society), the world or a particular circumstance.
Leon Benson, “03”
I now undauntedly present:
Vicarious: “Desolate – Revelations”
by Leon Benson 10-28-2003
”Hey! What’s happening L.B.?” a familiar voice erupted from behind me. When I turn to face the vibrant vocal
cords, there stood a 6’1’’, late 20ish dark-complected brotha, sporting an all gray and black RocaWear sweat
suit and enough “BLING BLING” to be seen from the outfields of the earth’s smogged atmosphere. A thick
platinum necklace hung to his upper abdomen supporting a diamond encrusted “448” emblem!
I couldn’t recall his name, but I still replied with friendly sarcasm, “I’m trying to be like you Big Baby!” as a
smile donned on my face.
To my surprise, the young brotha said, “All jokes aside, I’m trying to be like you fo-real! Look at this estate you’
re living in L.B! And this top of the line party you’re hosting celebrating the start of “Gravity 448
Entertainment”; you Big “O”, C-E-O you!” the brotha explained with so much inspiration the hair on the back
of my neck stood at attention!
At that second, we both spontaneously laughed like we were Siamese twins, and ceremoniously embraced
with a handshake and brotherly hug! We parted our ways in the room, but as I walked away, I was
overwhelmed with a sense of mystified bewilderment about what was supposed to be my estate and
success! So I stopped and glanced around the immaculate setting, laced with some of the most beautiful
people in the world; then a scene from one of the B.E.T episodes of “HOW I’M LIVING” came to mind! This
visual rapture was short-lived by the immense bass and melody pumping through the crowded room! The hip-
hop group OUTKAST song hypnotized the dancing people….. (I LIKE THE WAY, I LIKE THE WAY, I LIKE THE WAY
YOU MOVE)…flows so suave through the speakers. And I felt the groove of this Y-2-K 70’ish sound in the
depth of my sternum!
As I melodically made my way through the function I was bombarded with an entourage of loving embraces
from family and friends I hadn’t seen in ”it seemed like” lite-millennium years!
“Hey nephew! What’s up?” “That’s my cousin!” “Naw, that’s my Baby!” “Keep doing the damn thang L.B.!”
“Give me a hug?” “Give me some suga?” “Come show me some love?” “Yeah, sun keep shining!” “That’s my
guy!” “You tha sh*t! L.B. you got gravity!” “I knew you were going to make it!” “You’ve grown all up now!”
“You’re one handsome caramel-completed black man!” “OH, let me bite them jaws!” From all the love, I was
intoxicated in solace!
Then a tantalizing aroma hit my shot gun barrel nostrils, “my Queen Mama’s homemade banana pudding,” I
thought aloud! So I proceeded to the kitchen to find the source of the desired aroma, when I was nearly
tackled to the emerald floor by two out-of-control midgets! I caught my balance, only to
find it was my 7 y/o daughter Koby and my 6 y/o son Leon giving me hugs! So I knelt down to hug them both
on the same level playing field.
Reflecting back to how I was myself as a child, especially to when I did something wrong or was unsure about
asking my parents a question, I would always hug or kiss my parents before I delivered the bad news about
my conduct in school or elsewhere, as well as when I asked the most profound question! I felt the laws of
heredity at work here, you know, “the redwood leaves don’t fall far from the tree!” So I pulled them from deep
in my chest and asked, “What’s wrong with you kids?”
Koby spoke first, seeming to always beat her brotha Leon to the verbal punch, “We don’t want you to leave
US again, Daddy!”
“What do you mean, Koby? I would never think about leav….”
“The police might put you in jail again for a long time,” Leon expressed so candid he cut my words short!
“Wait, wait, wait! Both of you kids listen to your father? I’m not getting put into anyone’s jail and I will never
ever leave y’all! I promise! You hear me?” I conveyed to them in an earnest fatherly tone. They nodded their
little heads in agreement. So I hugged them both again for good measure…..”
“SHAKE DOWN, SHAKE DOWN, SHAKE DOWN”…..“SHAKE DOWN ON ONE RANGE”….
My eyelids popped open only to see a very unfamiliar place, totally opposite from my estate, me holding my
kids at my record company release party with family and friends only seconds before! “What in the hell is
going on; where am I?” I thought to myself.
My entire body instantly started to feel numb; my heart immersed into my rib cage with every beat (like a
police battering ram plunging into the doors of the ‘wrong Harlem residence’ killing 57 y/o Alberta Spruill from
cardiac arrest on 5/16/03) because of the surprise, is somewhat the shock I felt!….
”SHAKE DOWN, SHAKE DOWN, SHAKE DOWN…”
The consolidated voices seemed to intrude closer and closer from afar, as the haze of my disoriented
thoughts formulated from a dreaming state into a cognitive state. The mural of my happy ever after dream
was shattered like a mirror in a million pieces, only to reflect/project a million reasons of how/why I should be
familiar with the unjust nightmare my open eyes submerged so deep into!
…..”Sirens! Flashes of red and blue strobe lights engross my thoughts to an August, 14, 1998 night !
I was arrested for a misdemeanor “probation violation,” only to be charged with murder by Indianapolis
detectives L.A. Van Buskirk and Alan Jones after I arrived at the police station. “A CRIME I DID NOT COMMIT!”
….
…..I was forced to be confined in a filthy Marion County Jail for 11 months to await a trial that wasn’t mine. On
7/5/99, the day of trial, I remember looking across the defendant table into the eyes of Christy Schmitt, a then
28 y/o Caucasian women, thinking to myself, “I’ve never seen or met this lady my entire life! What does she
got against me?” She made an in-court identification of me as the man she saw perpetuating death on an
8/8/98 night! Though she consciously said I was a light-complected African American and the person who
committed the crime was dark-complected, the
prosecutor audaciously declared, “Let the courtroom reflect for the record, the eyewitness has identified
Leon Benson, the defendant, as the man she saw murder Kasey Scheon!”….
…..I’m looking at crime scene photos of a bloody corpse of a man I had nothing against, photos of a nefarious
crime, photos of a man I’ve never seen or met while he was alive in my entire life!!!….
…..After going through the two day trial procedure, I was left in a holding cell with a view of the outside world
through a small 3x3 window, as jurors deliberated my fate! I thought of prison movie escapes, my love,
clubbin, holding my young children, eating at the Outback Steak House, going shopping for new clothes,
having sex with four women, f**k the world, listening to the latest hip-hop CD, how the judge’s face looks
funny and how messed up it would be to live in prison for a hundred years! But my mind
reasoned that I would be exonerated, “the justice system works, especially if you are innocent,” and that I am!
….
..…Sheriffs took me back into the courtroom; the jury wasn’t in the courtroom yet. As they filled the panel
seats, not one juror made eye contact with me. The bailiff was laughing lightly, while several of the victim’s
family members that were observing the trial were laughing out loud as if to say, “We know something you
don’t know!”
…..The jury read the verdict: “We the Jury find the defendant Leon Benson for the crime of murder….GUILTY,
GUILTY, GUILTY”
…..Applause and hurrahs erupted in the courtroom, celebrating the demise of my liberation! There were
obscenities propelled towards me as Sheriff Deputies escorted me away from the courtroom to a hell that
wasn’t owed to me!
……At a sentencing hearing held 8/19/98, the victim’s mother testified about her loss and hurt about her
youngest son. “I felt where she was coming from, I truly did, but I’m the wrong man,” I thought. She then
rejoiced that I would be going to prison, but should suffer a fate worse than her son did! I looked into her
eyes while she sat on the stand in hopes to expose ‘the truth of my soul’ to her, but a vindictive glare blinded
the epiphany I intended to give her!
…..Then Kasey Scheon’s sista-in-law testified to give the judge more reason of why I should get the maximum
prison term possible! Her ploy was reading a poem she claimed her daughter wrote:
13th The Terrible, The Terrible Day
No one understands how I feel, I feel like nothing is even real….
I wish, I could see him on someone’s birthday, though I know there is no possible way….
I don’t know, how to explain, [Leon Benson] the guy that killed him should be slain….
I miss him so much, he’s only been gone 1 year 1 month and a day, why [Leon Benson] kill Kasey, not one person
can say….
I want to see his happy smiling face, though he can only look over me from the space….
It’s not fair what Leon done, why did it have to be Jacky’s baby son?….
I want it to be a dream, a dream, when I wake up, it will all be the same…..
I cry and cry, I can’t stop, I cry so hard, I want to drop….
I know wishing won’t bring him back, because bring Kasey back is the power I lack….
So I sit in front of my door, cry and cry lots and lots more….
That’s all I have to say about this terrible terrible day…..
This poem was read to the courtroom verbatim and as this woman stepped off the stand the entire courtroom
was dead silent!
I was very disturbed by this poem that was wishing my demise for a
crime that wasn’t mine, and I witnessed this fallacy passed to a child and another generation, as so many
historical pseudo-seeds have been planted only to grow into trees that bear the poisonous fruit of its roots!
….
…..Other victim family members expressed the same vindictive cords. I couldn’t believe this was actually
happening to me, “Somebody change this channel,” I thought.
…..Then testimony was presented on my behalf asking the judge for mercy on my prison duration.
First, my children’s Mama, Cassandra Bluitt, took the stand. Probably the most hurt person in the world next
to my Queen Mama. Emotionally Cassandra pours her heart out pleading and declaring my innocence to the
courtroom. She confronted the very rude family members of the victim, “All y’all people giving US a hard time
and Leon is innocent!” I looked at the overcrowded courtroom only to see 3 black dots of support standing
out amongst all the white faces! In tears, Cassandra spoke about how I was from Michigan and had so little
support in Indianapolis. Also she said, “Me and Leon have 2 kids together, a 3 y/o daughter named Koby that
looks like me, and a 2 y/o son named Leon, that looks like him! It’s so sad y’all convicted an innocent father,
who’s kids always ask for their Daddy, and I don’t know what to tell them now, especially after singing a song
to them we made up called, “Daddy’s Coming Home”! Unfortunately “Papa Didn’t Make It Home!” Towards
the end of her testimony, Cassandra felt so defeated and helpless by what she had witnessed take place that
she wished death on yourself for what was happening to me, as do many blacks feel when all the answers run
out and frustration perpetuates inner-city violence against each other. I reflect upon Cassandra’s testimony
that day and my respect for her illuminates!
…..My Queen Mama, Yvonne Buford, testified in an earnest fashion! Telling the courts, “God knows my son
didn’t commit this crime! When I called detective Alan Jones months before trial, he told me, he didn’t
believe my son committed this senseless murder,” she conveyed. Damn, look at my Mama on the stand crying
and drowning in pain for me, all becuz of lazy detectives and a persistent victim’s family,” I thought as I
watched her ask for mercy on my behalf. Her voice is still engraved in my thoughts, “My son isn’t the type of
man that would just kill someone for no reason!” (You sho are right Mama!) I felt hopeless to have my Queen
Mama experience so much worry for a crime I didn’t commit.
I took the stand in turbulent ambivalence. One thought wanted to throw a chair at the judge and stump the
male family members of the victim that disrespected my Mama! On the other hand, this was the
time to plead my last words to a courtroom that embezzled my liberation! (E.g. either way, how could I lose?)
But my Queen Mama made me promise to be a gentleman, and that was the least I could do
not to pour more pain on her heart.
First I told the judge, victim’s family and whoever could listen, “I AM INNOCENT OF THIS CRIME,” as I
stared at the entire courtroom audience. “My trial lawyer let this disastrous event be afflicted upon
me when there was an eye witness who seen someone else commit the crime against your son, brother or
cousin.” I directed to Kasey’s family. “Ya’ll got to look into this injustice, for real, before I
bring it back on appeal. Before I bring the case back, it is all going to be seen, because the truth is out
there!,” I said in a threatening tone.
“My friends and family who support me dropped down $25,000.00 for an appeals lawyer on my behalf, because
they know, I’m INNOCENT!” I spoke in bold confidence. Then with compassion I said, “I truly don’t know
why God let me go through some of the things in life! But it’s
hard, it’s really hard for me, and I know it’s hard for the victim’s family. I know it is! I know! But I’m not the
killer. I’m not a murderer!”
The judge cynically interrupted my verbal veracity ooze, “Mr. Benson, I want you to have your full right of
allocation, but I’m sure not retrying your case. You were found guilty at trial by a jury!”
We never could compromise; I wasn’t trying to hear that judge’s nonsense. “And I’m not guilty!” I finally
stepped down to face a mortal Armageddon.
The judge sentenced me to 60 years in prison….
An immortal bullet shot through my remaining existence, spiritually assassinating a part of my life forever. My
mind begun to flash as far back as I could remember in my life time, then fast forward to
the present second beyond! E.g. I saw myself as a young helpless child playing in the dirt, through grade
school up until the point I dropped out, seeing my children born, the hay-days of the Ghetto, the smiles, the
cries, so many friends’ demise, to now….standing in a courtroom. Then I saw myself as an old, old man with
blinding white hair!
Then I had visions of (green corroded pennies) for a reason I didn’t understand then at 23 y/o. But
subconsciously the mind picks up covert “signs and symbols” (the penny is brown and worth one cent, the
least of all United States currency, while bearing the engraved head of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th U$
president, who supposedly emancipated slavery during the Civil War. Only to have the heads of the ten cent
dime, five cent nickel and 25 cent quarter turn their backs to the brown penny. The penny is the Africans.
The silver/white U$ government turned their backs on the Africans then, and now me as I felt the woes of
injustice)….
“How long would it take to gain my freedom? AmeriKKKa, why me? This doesn’t happen in real life,” my
soul spoke to my mind! I literally felt my life being vacuumed from my body. The umbilical cord
connecting me to loved ones and society was being slowly severed. The Leon Benson, the world once knew
and loved was eradicated by a nefarious smart-bomb never to be seen again, only for my relics to be
conceived again through the razor walled womb of the beast! “And for what reason?” I asked myself. “A
fallacy/lie/untruth,” I answered my own question.
……Collaged colors of scorching liquefied emotion spiraled more past thoughts to splash the inner chambers
of my brain! “HOW DID I GET LIFE; LIFE; LIFE,”….by R&B group KC and JoJo, played on the radio of
an Indiana State transport van, carrying me and eight other shackled and handcuffed prisoners to the
injustice systems final destination next to physical demise. I thought to myself, “How ironic to hear that song
on my way to prison with life on my back!” As fast as the van raced down the expressway to reach its
destination wasn’t the lite-speed velocity I wished to undue this living nightmare. When the van finally
approached the prison’s barb-wire fences and gates, all nine prisoners within the vehicle fell completely
silent. You could almost hear the inhibitions and preconceived notions of the men that never experienced
this ride before. I had a fear of becoming a real killer, having to defend myself in a confrontation against a
guard or a prisoner and then hear the HATERS say, “I TOLD YOU, LEON IS A MURDERER!” The shackles
of my thoughts were broken when the transport officer that was driving said, “Welcome to Wabash Valley
Correctional Facility, your home for the next 300 years!” ‘Hahaha’, he laughed in a gloating way to the other
officer in the passenger seat. “If the gates that separated the prisoners from driver weren’t in that van, I
would’ve tried my best to head butt him in his mouth for thinking it’s a joke,” I thought. The gates opened,
and the van passed through, and almost immediately the gates closed behind the van! Clink, Clink. At that
point that sound symbolized an even deeper laceration to the lifeline connecting me to the world I once
knew, as I gazed at the horizon of a penitentiary drizzled with a future of obscurity! My once supernova view
of love, life, friendship, justice and humanity will forever be suffocating under the eclipsing silhouettes of
INJUSTICE!
…..Tidal waves twice the height of Lady Liberty, from as far away as the Bermuda Triangles of my soul, washed
more noxious recollections of the broken arms of elapsed time, to the mnemonic mazed shores behind my
eyes. Only to see myself as one Ghetto child of thousands before me, consumed by the nefarious beast of
AmeriKKKa’s injustice system!!!
Now I bear the pain from the duration and distance that has perpetually weakened my desperate grasp with
family and friends. I believe for the most part, most of them still love me, but prisons are designed to
complicate all relationships between the prisoner and the world. E.g. personal mail is read by the
administration, access to phone calls once per week, non-contact behind a thick Plexiglas with no
intercom/phone leaving the visitor and prisoner screaming to communicate. Most prison camps are in
remote areas of the states or country, making it immensely difficult for family and friends to travel due to
financial or transportation problems. And the long drawn-out Appeal Court process tires people from waiting,
and they move on with their lives. Then it’s those shallow minded individuals who simply write you off as a
guilty prisoner that deserves everything that happens and
they turn their backs on you. Most of those individuals that behave this way when people are imprisoned
weren’t right to begin with, and they merely exposed their hearts. The dwindling support from society in one
form or another leaves me in a crystallized state of desolation, in an already steel, cold concreted and callous
environment. “AND FOR WHAT REASON?”…..
The loss of my step-father and grandfather just a month behind each other, only to lose an uncle in the same
year of 2002 shakes the foundation under my feet. Losing my grand mamma in 2001, countless friends, and
never being able to pay my last respects. Then the never easing fear of the possibility that death may claim
the lives of more loved ones while I lay in limbo under the oppressive foot of a lie. The chaplain has become
the bearer of bad news, because it’s the only time he seems to come to my door. So now whenever I see the
chaplain walk the ranges my entire body tenses up in hopes he does n’t stop and says, “You had a death in
your family!” ….“AND FOR WHAT REASON?”…..
February 15, 2002, only a week after my grandfather’s death, the counselor stopped at the S.H.U./ hell cell I
was confined in and presented me with a legal letter from the Indiana Court of Appeals. After waiting 21
months for my first direct appeal verdict I anxiously ripped open the envelope, only to read, “THE STATE of
INDIANA - VS- LEON BENSON DIRECT APPEAL DENIED!” Pain seems to come in all types of flurries! I
could only tell myself, “Life ain’t fair, Life ain’t fair,” and go to sleep to escape the madness of my life! …..
“AND FOR WHAT REASON?”…..
Not wanting to believe what I had just read after opening a letter from my lover who promised she would
always be there for me. Only to say, “I’m not saying I found other man, but I can’t take the pain of your
incarcerated circumstance any longer! And life goes on, but you are not forgotten; love you always innocent
man!” I felt the umbilical cord completely “SNAP” apart from the world. I felt scorching fish grease frying my
heart! Betrayal and loneliness drowned my thoughts and I began to cry, but no tears fell from my eyes. If
there was a way to forecast the tears in my soul, it would’ve been the biggest and deadliest hurricane known
to man! No matter how I may appear on the outside and say I don’t care, the fact remains that love from a
woman, spiritually and mentally, does preserve the heart and soul. This has defeated many men, pushing
them into homosexuality, subjecting them to AIDS/HIV, and feeling like the world doesn’t give a fuck so why
should they care about themselves?! For the record, I would never allow myself to fall beneath my moral
constitution and desire another man sexually in any form or fashion. Straight up! But my heart has turned
into stone from let down after let down, broken promises, and disappointment after disappointment. So I now
distance myself from anyone as an internal and external defense mechanism. “I gotta stay focused, I gotta
keep on, keep on because only the strongest survive!…..“AND FOR WHAT REASON?”…..
The time I’ve been away from my two children is a devastation within itself! The only perception they have of
me is in prison, and this has affected the social development of their young psyches tremendously. My then 5
y/o son Leon became so frustrated he said, “I want to beat up the police!” Ambivalently I told my son not to
think that way about law enforcement, knowing as he knew, the police helped put me in prison. Then my
daughter Koby expressed over the phone to me one day, “Daddy, why won’t you come home? We can pick
you up. Do you love me?” I was at a loss of words at this child's directness. So to bring comfort to her
disappointment in me because of the system, I said, “I will always love you Koby, and don’t you ever think
anything different! OK? And I will be home, but it might not be as fast as we both want. So please, wait
patiently! OK?” “OK, Daddy”, she said with new enthusiasm. After I hung up the phone I felt like I betrayed
my own child, but it was the most realistic explanation I could give her at the time! A part of my children’s
mind is incarcerated.….“And for what reason?”…..
Everyday antics by the prison staff/administration have become immensely frustrating. I’m forced to live in
harsh conditions made by prisoncrats controlling:
-When and what I eat
-What I wear
-How I wear it
-When I shower
-Monitors my phone calls and mail
-Overcharges me for commissary products
-Search, destroy and confiscate my personal property at will
-As a grown man I have no privacy. I merely exist in a glass house for external administration eyes to view at
any time. This is a humiliating and inhumane life, especially when punk ass prison guards perpetuate
unwarranted complications!
-Not to mention the bogus medical treatment, so sickness and disease in this closed environment is
rampant. So it’s beyond important that I stay healthy by watching what I eat, and vigorous exercise not only
keeps me disease free, but also sucka/busta free. All of this is enough to make any man bitter and vindictive
at the end of the day…..“And for what reason?”…..
Gangsters, killers, robbers, hustlers, schizophrenics, homosexuals, imposters, rapists, racist correctional
officers and snitches, all make up the inhabitance of the metallic and concrete jungle (e.g. Death Valley!). So
there is always a thick haze of ominous in the air of the prison environment and a never easing sense of
sporadic confrontation at any given moment. The thought of me taking someone’s life or losing mine
protecting myself harshly collides with the reality of being falsely convicted. But it’s almost impossible not to
cut my feet on thorn covered floors, so I walk anyway and precariously stump my foot with every step I take.
“Because I have come too damn far and have a hell of a distance to travel to tippy toe for anything or
anybody!..... “AND FOR WHAT REASON?”…..
Losing my life in a prison confrontation is the least of my worries at this point of my incarceration.
Because the most tremendous atrocity is that of lost time and observing my life flash down the cryptic
commodes of the forgotten! And the fear of never fulfilling my dreams and aspirations; never holding a
beautiful woman in my wings; never being able to watch my children engender into productive adults; never
being there for my kids defining moments; never enjoying the company of my Queen Moma and the rest of my
loved ones on souldays/birthdays and other special occasions; never traveling outside the United States to
experience other cultures, never getting the chance to rebuild the black community after I unconsciously
help destroy it for many years; never walking in the park free from shackles and handcuffs; never swimming
in the ocean; never showing the youth the right direction; never putting my best 50 rap bars on a CD; never
driving a car; never just walking down the block; never standing in the rain; never making passionate love;
never writing poetry about beautiful experiences instead of the dire ones; and I fear never being able to
expose to the world that I’M INNOCENT! All consolidate into agonizing drops of blood that fall perpetually on
the cortex of my soul, gradually dismantling my existence drop…by…drop…by…drop…(rain on the window
pane). All the while I languish in a prison cell 23 hours a day…..“AND FOR WHAT REASON?”…..
“A CRIME I DIDN’T COMMIT!!!”
“SHAKE DOWN, SHAKE DOWN, SHAKE DOWN!”…..
The coliseum voices now sounded like lion roars next to the bass of my ear drums. This is enough to propel
my consciousness from the historical entranced state into the full mundane reality of actually where my life
was at the moment and exactly why! I stood up slowly from the foam mat that
lay over the concrete slab of a bed and slowly caught my breath, wiping the beads of sweat away from my
forehead. From the back of the cell, I looked straight ahead through the new-aged holey prison S.H.U. cell
door, and it felt like I was in the very mouth of the beast piercing through its teeth!
“I LIKE THE WAY YOU MOVE!”….is seeping from my MAC-5 headphones plugged into my clear speakerless
RCA 13’’ color T.V., so I turned the volume down to make sense of the commotion on the 12 celled S.H.U.
administration segregation range! E.g. what I just experienced was an anxiety attack. This isn’t particularly
out of the ordinary in my real twilight zone of a life. This is the psychological shock of waking up in prison
everyday and being that you are innocent, it’s the worst!
I hear dogs barking as the staff are trying to sniff drugs. I have nothing to worry about in that regard, but I
examine the inhumane 12x8 living space for any facility contraband to save myself a trip in front of the
oppressive imbeciles in petty prison kangaroo court. While completing the situating of my possessions, I
saw two handcuffed prisoners escorted by prison guards in fatigue uniforms to the shower cell for a strip
search, then back to their cells one by one. Then the prisoner next door to me was escorted to the shower
cell. The guards searched his dwelling with the drug sniffing mutt.
The thought of refusing to cuff-up crossed my mind, but I recognized I’m in a ‘no win’ situation. And I didn’t
need to give anxious pigs a chance to injure me while I’m defenseless. After locking my neighbor back in the
cell next to me, two pigs stood in front of this cell and asked me to strip down to my boxers. They could
probably feel my irritation, as one pig commented on my tattoos. But I ignored them, and stuck my hands
behind my back through the cupboard to be handcuffed! Click, Click! “110!!” they yelled to the control pod to
open the cell door. Once in the shower, the cell door closed by control of the pod officer. I stuck my cuffed
hands through the cupboard and the guard uncuffed my wrists and said, “Bend over and spread ‘em!”
“Damn,” I thought, “If only this guard could look behind my eyes and feel a fraction of the pain and rage I’ve
felt since this vicarious nightmare was afflicted upon me, he would probably melt like the creampuff punk he
really is!” I glared into the eyes of this guard, who was asking a man to stoop to this level of humiliation and
voyeur anticipation reflected back from the windows of his soul. Then I concisely snapped the waistband of
my boxers to my body and looked at him like, “Tell your Mama to bend down and spread ‘em!” He paused for
a second, nodding his head in approval, and I responded back in bull sighs!
Once back in the cell, there was dog hair on the bed sheets and a wet dog scent hung in the air like a dog
pound. My photos and other possessions were scattered all about the caged room and my calendar was
amongst the clutter. As I picked the calendar up to tape it back on the wall, my eyes scanned it for the date,
August, 14, 2003! I dropped the Prison Legal News calendar to the floor. “I’ve been incarcerated for 5 years
to the date,” I said to myself aloud in whispering tone. I couldn’t believe it’s been half of a decade since I’ve
vicariously worn the gravity of a 60 year murder conviction on my shoulders. I’ve endured hells
unimaginable to the normal man. Once this conviction diminishes in the keen eye of justice and I’m
exonerated, the scars caused by this act of farfetchedness will still decorate my soul like 4th degree skin
burns! A crime I didn’t commit made a pain that will be with me until my demise!
Though my life is vicarious, it exposes the reality of AmeriKKKa’s injustice system and how this noxious
mechanism systematically devours the lives of young black males, as well as other socially and economically
deprived people, at an alarming rate. Designed by the likes of e.g. James Crow Esquire = the maintenance of
racial inequality through covert processes of structural and institutional racism compared to his outdated
cousin Jim Crow = the overt manifestation of racial hatred by individuals in white society! “James Crow
Esquire has been adamant 40 years after the beginning of modern civil rights movements.” James Crow
Esquire has methodically managed to veil the eyes and psyches of U$ society! (I can no longer be deceived
because I surely recognize the vernacular of this covert James Crow injustice….L.B.)
After five years of enduring this atrocity beyond mental and emotional comprehension, I stand on the Libra
scales of (defeat or transcendence) and like the great sociologist (W.E.B. DuBois, 1868-1913) conveyed in
1903, a century ago, (But when to earth and brute is added to an environment
of men and ideas, then the attitude of the imprisoned group may take on 3 main forms:
1. A feeling of revolt and revenge,
2. An attempt to adjust all thought and action to the will of the oppressive group,
3. Or finally, a determined effort at self-realization and self-development despite the environing opinion.
(The Soul of Black Folk) and the gravity of “transcendence” chose me, because I took on the incarnation of
form number three. I made a determined effort at self-realization and self-development! Painful experiences
in our lives often challenge us to change or grow because of the tragedy compelling us, only to ask
ourselves the question, “Why?” and we then proceed to change or grow! So the turbulent wind of false
imprisonment challenged my inertia (3rd eye/ mind) to become conscious and recognize the (ShangHai)
methods of the social, political, economical, educational and psychological Y-2-K slave ships destined for
ignorance and self-destruction!
