Again, I'm so sorry for the long delay in replying. I'm truly glad the transcription and link to your book were helpful, and your appreciation for the encouragement goes both ways—your writing and your voice are powerful, and it's an honor to support that in any small way. I haven't had a chance to dive into your book yet, but it's on my list, and I'll definitely share my thoughts once I do.
I checked out your YouTube channel (DustyVisionTV) and subscribed—I'm looking forward to catching an episode of Doing LIFE in prison with Perrie, This Ain't It! I'll post it on Facebook and X/Twitter! It sounds like a powerful platform for sharing real experiences behind the walls, and I'm excited to hear more from you there.
Thank you again for your openness and for continuing to create and connect despite everything. You're doing meaningful work, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
Take good care of yourself, Perrie, and I hope to be in touch again soon.
I'm so sorry for taking way too long to reply. Thank you for your patience and for the kind words.
Your writing really does uplift—it's clear you put heart into every line with the hope of lifting someone else up, even from where you are. That intention comes through powerfully and inspires. I'm grateful you share it.
Your voice matters, and the fact that you're using it to encourage others despite everything speaks volumes about your strength.
Take good care of yourself as best you can, and please know there's someone thinking of you and holding space for better days ahead.
I'm so sorry for the long delay in getting back to you. Your letter has been on my mind, and I'm truly grateful you took the time to write such a warm, heartfelt note. It means a lot to know my words reached you and that the appreciation felt genuine on both sides. Your poetry is powerful, and it deserves more than a quick "like"—it's the kind of writing that sticks with people and makes them think.
I'm keeping you in my prayers every day, especially that prayer you asked for: may you be blessed to be exonerated from this wrongful conviction, and may justice finally come through for you. Please know I'm holding that hope close.
A couple of quick questions, if you're comfortable answering when you can:
Are you still in administrative segregation right now? I'm praying with everything in me that you're not—that you've been moved to a less isolating place.
Also, are there any updates on your case? Has anyone new (lawyer, organization, advocate) stepped in to help fight the wrongful conviction, or is there any movement at all?
You're not alone in this fight—I'm still here, still reading, still sharing your blog with friends and others who care about prison reform and innocence work. Your voice matters, and so does your freedom.
Take good care of yourself as best you can, and please write back whenever you're able. I'm rooting for you every step.
With sincere respect, solidarity, and ongoing prayers,
First off, I'm so sorry for the long delay in replying—life got away from me, and I hate that it's taken this long to get back to you. Your letter has been sitting in my inbox, reminding me to respond, and I'm truly grateful you wrote it.
Thank you again for your sweet words about my comments; it means a lot to know they reached you. I'm Lisa, and I spend a lot of my time advocating for the rights of incarcerated people, pushing for real prison reform, supporting people who’ve been wrongfully convicted, and working toward the complete abolition of solitary confinement. I believe it's inhumane and counterproductive, and the United Nations has it right: any stay in solitary confinement beyond 10 days meets the definition of torture. What you described—five months in solitary with no incident report, no hearing, purely as retaliation—is exactly the kind of abuse that drives me to keep speaking up. It's unfair, it's wrong, and it should never happen to anyone.
As for how I came across your blog, honestly, I don't recall the exact path anymore—maybe a shared post on a reform page or a recommendation from someone else on Between the Bars—but the moment I read your original letter, it stopped me. It was so well written, clear, and powerful that it captured my full attention right away. Your voice cuts through in a rare and important way.
I see that you haven't written since 2024. I hope that you've been released. If not, I hope my letter finds you.
Please know that your words matter out here—they help people understand the reality behind the walls and remind us why change can't wait. If there's anything specific you'd like to share or any way I can amplify what you're saying, just let me know.
Wishing you strength and brighter days ahead (and hoping 2026 is treating you kinder than 2023 did). Take good care of yourself.
I'm doing well, thank you—and I'm so sorry for taking this long to reply. Your note really brightened my day when I finally saw it, and I'm grateful you took the time to reach out again.
A little about me: I'm in Indiana, and I spend a lot of my time advocating for the rights of incarcerated people, pushing for meaningful prison reform, and supporting the wrongfully convicted. I'm also an abolitionist when it comes to solitary confinement—I believe it's cruel, counterproductive, and should be ended entirely.
That's what originally drew me to Between the Bars: hearing directly from people inside, in their own words, about what the system is really like. It cuts through all the noise and statistics and reminds me (and hopefully others) why change is so urgent.
I'd love to hear more from you whenever you're able. One subject I'd genuinely enjoy reading about is how people inside maintain small acts of humanity and connection—things like the little rituals, kindnesses, friendships, or even quiet moments of dignity that help you hold onto who you are despite everything the system tries to strip away—those stories feel powerful and hopeful to me. They show that even in the hardest places, people still find ways to be human, and I sincerely hope this applies to you. If that resonates or if you have your own angle on it, I'd be honored to read whatever you feel like sharing.
Thank you again for your patience and your openness. Take good care of yourself, and I hope to hear from you when you have the chance.
Dymitri! I am only now just seeing your response, so I hope this reaches you...
And yes, haha —the irony is real: here we are, years later, passing notes like it's the world's slowest game of telephone! But seriously, I did see this, and your words hit me right back. Knowing that something I wrote reached you and brought even a tiny bit of that "warm puppy" happiness means the world to me, too. You're not just shouting into the void—people are listening, caring, and rooting for you out here.
Keep sharing whatever's on your mind, whenever you can. Your perspective cuts through the noise in ways most folks never get to hear. It matters, and so do you.
Stay strong, take care of yourself as best you can, and know there's at least one person thinking of you and hoping the days get a little lighter.
There is very sad truth in these words. Beautifully stated, it points to the deep disconnect between the criminal justice system and any sense of rehabilitation, penitence, repentence, and even common sense. Justice, giving what is due, is not a description of the American prison system. It is daunting to consider culture does not consider reform to be a priority. I say a prayer right now for you that your sanity is preserved. The attached art work is a visual representation of the futile frustration of navigating a profoundly broken system. Aside: Will you give me permission to reuse your art work on my blog if I credit you?
Dymitri, I wrote you a long, detailed snail mail on December 29, 2025. Perhaps longer than may be entertaining, but you asked a few questions that weren't quite ideal in their possible use as cannon fodder for the masses. Another comment from this reply to my post. Speaking of that fella we both knew, "Whispers," it seems to me that your long-time troll has given up on your persecution. Although you always took their pestering with grace, you also know that I did not! What a blessing to not have that noise. Sigh. Humans are complex, mentally and emotionally. I remain, John
Is language a weapon? Recently, we had a conversation about the use of the word ‘offender’ in relation to systemic bias towards those convicted of a crime or those who admit to doing something via a plea agreement. Is offender a different word from inmate or prisoner? Yes. It is closer to analogous with the words convict or felon; words that also carry negative connotations.
This type of word appropriation is currently being employed in conservative media and the current administration with the term “illegal immigrants.” Why do I find this objectionable? It’s a broad term that encompasses various types of aliens residing in America. These include criminal aliens, formerly legally admitted but expired visa holders, non-citizens admitted for humanitarian relief under programs canceled by the current administration, and undocumented aliens (who may have entered the country decades ago when borders were more fluid). Similar to the word “offender,” using a blanket term like “illegal immigrants” conveys judgment and righteous indignation, regardless of the circumstances that led a human being deserving of respect and justice to seek refuge in a country that once served as a haven for the destitute, the persecuted, the harassed, and the needy. Criminally accused aliens, in my view, should be treated in the same way as criminally accused citizens. This does not guarantee justice, but it is the best America can do.
“One Bad Apple (Don’t Spoil the Whole Bunch, Girl)” - George Osborne
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…” - Emma Lazarus
“You know that life really takes its toll, And a poet's gut reaction is to search his very soul.” - Dee Dee Ramone
Dymitri, I updated the transcription with paragraph breaks. I know philoosophy and sociology is your gig. But I had a big smile seeing an admitted agnostic quoting a reverend. Explain how that happened...I assume organically?
I need to include you, brother, on a conversation I've been having with multiple people, an editor and someone inside. As I considered where to post my musing, it seemed to go along with the idea of brainwashing. The conversation follows as such:
RSS
Again, I'm so sorry for the long delay in replying.
I'm truly glad the transcription and link to your book were helpful, and your appreciation for the encouragement goes both ways—your writing and your voice are powerful, and it's an honor to support that in any small way. I haven't had a chance to dive into your book yet, but it's on my list, and I'll definitely share my thoughts once I do.
I checked out your YouTube channel (DustyVisionTV) and subscribed—I'm looking forward to catching an episode of Doing LIFE in prison with Perrie, This Ain't It! I'll post it on Facebook and X/Twitter! It sounds like a powerful platform for sharing real experiences behind the walls, and I'm excited to hear more from you there.
Thank you again for your openness and for continuing to create and connect despite everything. You're doing meaningful work, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
Take good care of yourself, Perrie, and I hope to be in touch again soon.
With respect, gratitude, and solidarity,
Lisa ("EndSolitary")
I'm so sorry for taking way too long to reply. Thank you for your patience and for the kind words.
Your writing really does uplift—it's clear you put heart into every line with the hope of lifting someone else up, even from where you are. That intention comes through powerfully and inspires. I'm grateful you share it.
Your voice matters, and the fact that you're using it to encourage others despite everything speaks volumes about your strength.
Take good care of yourself as best you can, and please know there's someone thinking of you and holding space for better days ahead.
With respect and appreciation,
Lisa ("EndSolitary")
I'm so sorry for the long delay in getting back to you. Your letter has been on my mind, and I'm truly grateful you took the time to write such a warm, heartfelt note. It means a lot to know my words reached you and that the appreciation felt genuine on both sides. Your poetry is powerful, and it deserves more than a quick "like"—it's the kind of writing that sticks with people and makes them think.
I'm keeping you in my prayers every day, especially that prayer you asked for: may you be blessed to be exonerated from this wrongful conviction, and may justice finally come through for you. Please know I'm holding that hope close.
A couple of quick questions, if you're comfortable answering when you can:
Are you still in administrative segregation right now? I'm praying with everything in me that you're not—that you've been moved to a less isolating place.
Also, are there any updates on your case? Has anyone new (lawyer, organization, advocate) stepped in to help fight the wrongful conviction, or is there any movement at all?
You're not alone in this fight—I'm still here, still reading, still sharing your blog with friends and others who care about prison reform and innocence work. Your voice matters, and so does your freedom.
Take good care of yourself as best you can, and please write back whenever you're able. I'm rooting for you every step.
With sincere respect, solidarity, and ongoing prayers,
Lisa ("EndSolitary")
First off, I'm so sorry for the long delay in replying—life got away from me, and I hate that it's taken this long to get back to you. Your letter has been sitting in my inbox, reminding me to respond, and I'm truly grateful you wrote it.
Thank you again for your sweet words about my comments; it means a lot to know they reached you. I'm Lisa, and I spend a lot of my time advocating for the rights of incarcerated people, pushing for real prison reform, supporting people who’ve been wrongfully convicted, and working toward the complete abolition of solitary confinement. I believe it's inhumane and counterproductive, and the United Nations has it right: any stay in solitary confinement beyond 10 days meets the definition of torture. What you described—five months in solitary with no incident report, no hearing, purely as retaliation—is exactly the kind of abuse that drives me to keep speaking up. It's unfair, it's wrong, and it should never happen to anyone.
As for how I came across your blog, honestly, I don't recall the exact path anymore—maybe a shared post on a reform page or a recommendation from someone else on Between the Bars—but the moment I read your original letter, it stopped me. It was so well written, clear, and powerful that it captured my full attention right away. Your voice cuts through in a rare and important way.
I see that you haven't written since 2024. I hope that you've been released. If not, I hope my letter finds you.
Please know that your words matter out here—they help people understand the reality behind the walls and remind us why change can't wait. If there's anything specific you'd like to share or any way I can amplify what you're saying, just let me know.
Wishing you strength and brighter days ahead (and hoping 2026 is treating you kinder than 2023 did). Take good care of yourself.
With respect and solidarity,
Lisa ("EndSolitary")
I'm doing well, thank you—and I'm so sorry for taking this long to reply. Your note really brightened my day when I finally saw it, and I'm grateful you took the time to reach out again.
A little about me: I'm in Indiana, and I spend a lot of my time advocating for the rights of incarcerated people, pushing for meaningful prison reform, and supporting the wrongfully convicted. I'm also an abolitionist when it comes to solitary confinement—I believe it's cruel, counterproductive, and should be ended entirely.
That's what originally drew me to Between the Bars: hearing directly from people inside, in their own words, about what the system is really like. It cuts through all the noise and statistics and reminds me (and hopefully others) why change is so urgent.
I'd love to hear more from you whenever you're able. One subject I'd genuinely enjoy reading about is how people inside maintain small acts of humanity and connection—things like the little rituals, kindnesses, friendships, or even quiet moments of dignity that help you hold onto who you are despite everything the system tries to strip away—those stories feel powerful and hopeful to me. They show that even in the hardest places, people still find ways to be human, and I sincerely hope this applies to you. If that resonates or if you have your own angle on it, I'd be honored to read whatever you feel like sharing.
Thank you again for your patience and your openness. Take good care of yourself, and I hope to hear from you when you have the chance.
With respect and solidarity,
Lisa
And yes, haha —the irony is real: here we are, years later, passing notes like it's the world's slowest game of telephone! But seriously, I did see this, and your words hit me right back. Knowing that something I wrote reached you and brought even a tiny bit of that "warm puppy" happiness means the world to me, too. You're not just shouting into the void—people are listening, caring, and rooting for you out here.
Keep sharing whatever's on your mind, whenever you can. Your perspective cuts through the noise in ways most folks never get to hear. It matters, and so do you.
Stay strong, take care of yourself as best you can, and know there's at least one person thinking of you and hoping the days get a little lighter.
With respect and solidarity,
Lisa ("EndSolitary") <3
This type of word appropriation is currently being employed in conservative media and the current administration with the term “illegal immigrants.” Why do I find this objectionable? It’s a broad term that encompasses various types of aliens residing in America. These include criminal aliens, formerly legally admitted but expired visa holders, non-citizens admitted for humanitarian relief under programs canceled by the current administration, and undocumented aliens (who may have entered the country decades ago when borders were more fluid). Similar to the word “offender,” using a blanket term like “illegal immigrants” conveys judgment and righteous indignation, regardless of the circumstances that led a human being deserving of respect and justice to seek refuge in a country that once served as a haven for the destitute, the persecuted, the harassed, and the needy. Criminally accused aliens, in my view, should be treated in the same way as criminally accused citizens. This does not guarantee justice, but it is the best America can do.
“One Bad Apple (Don’t Spoil the Whole Bunch, Girl)” - George Osborne
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…” - Emma Lazarus
“You know that life really takes its toll,
And a poet's gut reaction is to search his very soul.” - Dee Dee Ramone
I need to include you, brother, on a conversation I've been having with multiple people, an editor and someone inside. As I considered where to post my musing, it seemed to go along with the idea of brainwashing. The conversation follows as such: