By OG SoulJA Loc
L. D. Dorsey IV
# 999359 ff-73
Your entering the miasma, the chaos, the place prudence – has shown me
it’s best to keep us a secret ...
A place each individual posesses, fileld with all the bad, the good, the
joy, the pain, memories and ideas, stadily evolving, changing, luminated
in areas, but darkness prevails in the recesses.
Enter the mind of a man, murderer, living
just to die! Subsisting on
Texas Death Row ...
I’m 26, I know first hand about fear,
previlant yet hidden here, to fear
is to be weak.
I know cowadice, courage, resolve, suffering,
cruelty, pain and
comradeship. I’m also a man that knows death! Fucken up ain’t it ? Most
26 years old feel they’ll live forever. I don’t hold that illusion „we“
all lose it eventually. But normally in installments, over years, seems
I, lost mine all at once. In a span of a few seconds. An 11 year old,
witness to the destruction that bullets inflict on flesh, I passed then
from my childhood to manhood and now to a remature middleage. I know
death, here I’m faced with it daily, among my kindred condemned, forced
to live among „ourselves“ seeing in each others eyes, the reflections of
„our“ infinate maddness, hatred, anger and angst. Even the lonliness and
sadness that prevaes „our“ rages.
The inmplacable limits placed on „our“
subsistence, most of „us“ here
are very peculiar creatures, „young shoulders“ and „old heads“.
Damn I rant, all in an attempt to convey
the ambivilance of „our“
reality, „our“ mutal condemnation. Joy mixed with pain. Here „our“ will
to live (in some) is hightened in porportion to „our“ close proximity
with death. So „I“ feel „we“ feel elation as extreme as „our“ collective
dread, hatred and despondency. We all are intimate, „our“ inimacy comes
from „our“ collective suppression and „our“ date with the Texas Death
machine. A mutual communion between men. „Ours“ is a band which can’t be
broken by word, boredom or divorce. Not even by the big „I“ itself, „we“
live on in stories of „our“ esploits, in the minds and hearts of loved
ones and „our“ brethren.
A simple devotion, selfless, a sentiment
of belonging to each other.
It’s one of the only decent things I’ve found in my conflict with the
state. We’re banded and fused by our eventual murders, sharing of „our“
daily dangers, fears, the ugliness of „our“ confinement, soridness of
our existence. Cause this isn’t life. The degradation of watching each
other anticipate the long walk ride to „our“ deaths, „our“ impatence and
inability to prevent „our“ sentence. All this and more has drawn „us“
closer. A mutual comradeship, a partial affirmation of life and a small
avenue to at least preserve a vestige of humanity – wild considering
most of us are here for henious savagery. I also found it strange how my
Death Sentence has tempted me time and again to revert to sociopathic
violence. Then too they say „a man with nothing has nothing to lose“
what’s scary, because I lack the reasons to restrain or refrain from my
natural inclination to destroy without hesitation or remorse whatever
poses a potential threat to my life. The nature of the system creates
countless enimies who just by nature of their job becomes my adversary
add to that the general mistreatment acts by the oppressor that are
criminal but „who“ and where we are makes it alute, as by the nature of
my past acts. I’m less a man. I’m very familar with the devil that lives
within, that and the circumstances I’m forced to exist in make continued
ruthlessness a necessity, „our“ oppressors rarely if ever show
compassion or mercy and with my history and not expecting any, I’m
losing my inclination to stop. What the state of Texas alledged in my
brief about my contempt for life and a prediliction for violence is
becomming true. May death sentence has made me worse. No reason to
conform, no incentive. Either way I’m promised death!
Leading to the conditions, I am not
one to passivly accept whatever
circumstances may send my way. For the last year or so I’ve forced
myself to tolerate ceaseless harrassment and daily depravation. I feel
as a man to conversate now is pointless. The administration needs
demonstration. I don’t advocate protest because protest arises from
belief that I can change things, „our“ collective demonstrations have
influenced events to a degree at the cost of bruises and blood shed.
Seems all „our“ oppressors overstand is violence which explains their
overwhelming force, 5 men assult teams, chemical agents (gas), sensory
depravation. The TDC answer to everthing – but guess what. It’s not
working! The natives are restless. „our“ objecting has done little if
nothing. Must „we“ up the ante to be treated with decency?
My rhetoric will not ressorect those
who have died before me nor those
who will die after me. All I can do is encourage some not to die
passively even at the risk of other deaths.
„You“ can help stop this circle of violence.
Make a stand. Contact TDC
officials, outside agencies. Otherwise the internal bands will break and
although there aren’t many more like me, there are some. Stop it before
damage is done.
That said, just as I came I now shall leave
Celer silense and mortalis
Leon Dorsey, IV # 999359
3872 FM 350 South
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