By Sol Wachtler
Riding down the manhattan limited-access highway in November of 1992, Sol Wachtler used to be New York’s leader pass judgement on and inheritor obvious to the hot York governorship. all of sudden, 3 van a great deal of FBI brokers swerved in entrance of him—bringing his automobile and his criminal occupation to a halt. Wachtler's next arrest, conviction, and incarceration for harassing his longtime lover prompted a media feeding frenzy, revealing to the realm his struggles with romantic attachment, manic melancholy, and drug abuse.
In this, his legal diary, Wachtler finds the stark truth at the back of his vertiginous fall from the heights of the criminal institution to the underbelly of the legal justice approach. Sentenced to a medium safety felony in Butner, North Carolina, Wachtler is stabbed via an unseen assailant, berated by means of felony guards, and time and again put in solitary confinement with out clarification. in addition, as a prisoner he confronts firsthand the inequities of a method his judicial rulings helped to build and befriends the kind of humans he as soon as sentenced.
With unflinching honesty, Wachtler attracts on his detailed event of residing existence on each side of the bench to color a chilling portrait of legal lifestyles interwoven with a no-holds-barred research of the shortcomings of the yankee felony justice procedure.
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Additional resources for After the Madness
51 ................. 17510$ $CH1 09-16-09 10:24:23 PS PAGE 51 XL Like conquerors, unable to return, in a foreign country, I see myself in every thing, the heart vast, like a third-world country, inaccessible, I contract, I dilate, one step into death, and return, I accept, I decline, she trusts me with signs, which I interpret, when her eyelashes bat, lover, whose look kills, her speech has the secret of fire, in solitude, after obstacle, earthen walls, sepulcher for the old world, which the sun enamels, the musician changes key, the migrants dance, morning birds, in a meager spring, fistfuls of insects, in the voluptuousness of the distant land.
36 ................. 17510$ $CH1 09-16-09 10:24:19 PS PAGE 36 XXVII On the page of the sacrificed animal, the mihrab sings in the interior, the fire, that is devouring in my breast, is a twilight, fed by the evening musk, the moon jostles the branch, the seed splits the face, the fruit breaks open, the star bores into a tomb, pain is a book, which grips my skull, the sun leaves my belly, the sky reddens the shadows, the stage is empty, the crown breaks, the corners murmur, on a crystal floor, the wind brushes the craftsman, who gathers a fistful of sand, his hands crumble, the stone turns, in this yellow world, desire is a dome, that collapses, in the fog of fever, my sweaty body, back again in the desert, covets the solitude of the two sisters, whom my senses, clothe, in white.
17510$ $CH1 09-16-09 10:24:15 PS PAGE 27 XX And you who wander, don’t proceed quickly, pay court to rest, time is fixed in the track, stop there, look closely at the wrinkles of the relief, straighten your sleeves, listen to the sharp cry, knead the silt that fashions bodies, how I would like to set foot, in that which happens to thought, but the foot does not follow, scold the voice, the singing exercise is corrupted, if it doesn’t inspire song, change direction, turn to the right, on the banks of the valley, you will find her again, in silence, in dialogue, in rupture, in return to silence, around a people, who await nothing, engraved in the heart of misery, would I be a stranger, among the goitrous, led astray on the red soil, from such a high valley, where water streams, among the green shocks of hair, at the boundary of earthen castles, with eagle niches, alone in the country of mules, in search of the unknown woman, who spells my name, on the threshold of departures?
After the Madness by Sol Wachtler