A typical day in solitary?

    It has evolved through the years.I've been on Texas nefarious death row solitary confinement since Nov.1999.It has fluctuated over time.When i was younger,i would arise around 6am to see who was working the area i was being housed for that day.Because who was working actually had a lot to do with the mood i and others would be in.If we had some asshole officers that day then i would be more edgy  and serious.Not talkative.This ever-changing persona was actually a defense mechanism unconsciously,in a pantomime way alerting those in a different colored uniform,''Dont fuck with me,and i wont fuck with you."Cause the reality was from 2000 till 2004,Polunsky unit's administration and staff were really wicked.Officers was attacking inmates,and vice versa.

    If we had ‘convict officers',or compassionate officers who just wanted to do their jobs and go home, then i(and others) was more relaxed.We smiled.We laughed.We conversed with officers as if theRe was no prejudiceness or implicit bias barriers between us.And on these days i would spend hours working out doing many different exercises.I wasn't doing this to build muscle mass to flaunt.No.I punished myself in this form to relieve all the stress and anger that boiled inside of me.And it was the only way i could tire myself out enough to capture two to three hours of sleep,if.

    They use to have three working shifts for officers when they had a lot of officers to work.This was cut down to two shift which has become permanent shifts for officers due to staff shortages.So you have a first shift and a second shift.Most of the day-to-day operations are done on first shift;whereas second shift just has to pass out mail,if there is any;and do 30 minute security checks-using bright flashlights,that they will shine into your face if asleep to make sure you are,“Alive''.It's a concept that i have never understood-logically.And have only challenged as just another form of psychological antagonism, that cause sleep-deprivation;and a behavior imbalance amongst the men.I mean,we are sentenced to be murdered via execution if all appeals fail.So why is there some hard-pressed desire to make sure we are,“Alive?" I mean,i am no rocket scientist;so the same state that is trying to kill you,is also wanting to keep you alive?Talk about fallacy.

    When i was younger,and a bit more aggressive and immature-still;this flashlight practice would mess with me.Cause me to get up and argue with officers.They telling me they doing their job.I'm telling them to go fuck themselves.And within this back and forth;i would later realize that i was the only looser within this verbal-homicide,for i was the one with the spiked blood pressure levels,and the inability to return to a calm and or resting state.Whereas; the officer would go home,and think nothing of another pissed off 'inmate'.

    When i first arrived on death row,i had little experience in reading and writing.And one reason why i had the time to focus on my anger instead of peace,is because i had no distraction.Every feeling was combative,which i didn't know it then-but it was actually a product of this solitary environment,that was actually labeled AG[gravated]SEG[regation]...fitting.So if someone wrote me a letter saying,"I know you dont want to be there,but just chill.“Being so aggressive towards anyone and anything,i interpret it to read,"You put yourself there.So deal with it."Which caused my mind to erupt like a volcano,where my mouth would spew lava-like words that cut.I mean,it didn't matter-everyone could get it from my baby-mommas,to siblings,to friends who wanted to help me,lawyers, relatives,guards....it did not matter.And what actually mattered,was the one thing no one could truely see:I was struggling big time.And was on a crash course with a depression that nearly drove me to a few attempted suicides in here.I wrote the judge asking that my appeals be dropped-instead i was brought back to the county jail for a month just to 'cool off’.

    Here's the moment you,the reader,may feel i am about to tell you about some religious saving grace that brought me through,right?

    Not even.

    Exonerated and former death row inmate,Anthony Graves,was my neighbor.And i struggled with spelling words,and kept asking him to spell this word for me and that word.I was writing a letter to my dad,and it became so therapeutic,that what started out intending to be a two-page letter had quickly turned into a ten-page letter.Graves was curious and asked to read what i was saying.I have always been a open-book kinda guy,who had little shame on the facts of a situation."It is what it is",was a motto of mine.So i sent it to him.When he read it he said,"Man,this was so riveting it should become a book."How my words was like a Coming To Jesus moment for me,was seen as a book to him,never registered.He did tell me i needed help with spelling and how to properly form a sentence,and if i was willing he would allow his publishing friend,John Pizer,to aid me.

    And that was my introduction to writing.The moment people began to tell me to Shut up and write.