My eyes, my brain seek out escape routes wherever I am sent.

The part of me which wanders through my mind and never sees or feels actual objects, but which lives in and moves through my passions and my emotions, experiences this world as a horrible nightmare.

That is how prison is tearing me up inside. It hurts every day. Every day takes me further from my life.

This world is nothing. An illusion. Death is the release.

I've wanted somehow to convey to you the sensations - the atmospheric pressure, you might say - of what it is to be seriously a long-term prisoner in an American prison.

One morning I woke up and was plunged into psychological shock. I had forgotten I was free.

Paranoia is an illness I contracted in institutions. It is not the reason for my sentences to reform school and prison. It is the effect, not the cause.