TABLE OF CONTENTS
Thanks, Tori
During the first year of what’s now my decades long unjust imprisonment that began in the early 80s, a dam burst in some deep reservoir of my mind, released a powerful ebb and flow of artistic expression and creativity. The powerful stream of consciousness flooded my small, cloistered cell on Pennsylvania’s death row, and I was flying… flying, on some imperceptible plane of osmosis. Characters and scenes and images and bright kaleidoscopic colors swirled about me.
I indelibly etched the word fragments on ink-splotched copious notes that were scattered all over the floor. I’d made a self-discovery as a writer.
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