Michael D. Morris whispers to me, as the other business professionals take their seats around the conference table at The Umstead Hotel and Spa in Cary, North Carolina. It seems Morris has his work cut out for him this morning, given that these industry professionals are on time and focused on the agenda.

Morris begins making his case to the tough and shrewd executives, who proceed to bombard him with a flurry of questions that cast doubt on his ideals, his products, his business plan and his sanity.

About an hour and thirty minutes later, however, the executives seemed to think differently. Now they are talking about contracts, partnership opportunities and setting up dates for more meetings. It seems like a strange turnaround to me, but on the drive back to Raleigh, North Carolina, Morris doesn’t seem all too thrilled.

Having already seen Morris in action on multiple occasions, I understand him completely and I understand his frustrations. Uncompromising investors, confused customers, incredulous business owners and partners, - Morris has an uncanny ability to convert them into active and interested supporters. And although many of them aren’t so quick to sign contracts and checks, some are so close in doing so.

Morris, the Founder and CEO of Phamous Models, is pitching his plan to infiltrate, to conquer and to control the arts and entertainment industry. Phamous Models is divided into five divisions: Films, Modeling, Music, Publishing and Merchandising, which also includes a non-profit organization called, “We Will Never Forget” Foundation for The Child Abused and The Neglected.

In 2011, he has racked up close to 75 deals and he shows no sign of fatigue. This in spite of the fact that his company began as a mid-size start-up operation in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and now competes against some of the most successful and the most reputable names in the entertainment industry, including Time Warner and Sony Music Entertainment.

Still, watching Morris work his prospects is to understand that even a great product or service doesn’t sell itself: It takes an even greater visionary and salesman to create the desire to buy and overcome a blizzard of hurdles and obstacles. “If you had 100 business meetings in a month, the one you’ll remember is Morris’, says Usha, the product development manager at a prestigious Los Angeles based manufacturing firm.

“He takes ideas that are unfamiliar to us and the market and paints a vivid, detailed picture of how successful it will be with the right talent, discipline and loyalty,” says Calvin, the CEO of a prominent art gallery in lower Manhattan that caters to the most demanding art collectors in the world, puts it even more simply: “He is probably the most ferocious businessman I know right now.”

Another afternoon, another meeting.

Today’s meeting is taking place in an extravagant conference room at The Mansion on Turtle Creek in Dallas, Texas. Morris, 27, is wearing a white t-shirt with the words “PHAMOUS” in the middle of his chest and a pair of navy blue Prada jeans, matching a pair of blue and white Prada running shoes. He looks more like a college freshman than an accomplished businessman.

Today’s prospect is in the fashion merchandising business, in which many executives are expected to wear a suit or something appearing more casual.

He is meeting with Alejo, who works closely with the Alumni at the prestigious Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. FIDM develops graduates for the global industries of Fashion, Visual Arts, Interior Design and Entertainment. One of their educators has connections in Shanghai and is interested in doing business with Morris, because of his uncanny ability to turn creativity and products into profit.

Alejo finally arrives. He’s friendly with a cool and calm demeanor. He is wearing a brown suit with a gray power tie. Morris immediately get’s him talking about a recent fashion show event in Madrid, but it’s not exactly small talk: The topic is what designers were present, what celebrities were present, which models were most talked about after the event, what companies made the most impact and which models made the most money; and that line of conversation quickly, and not coincidentally, leads Alejo to answer all his questions.

It’s barely twenty minutes into the meeting before Alejo is enthusiastically talking about a new marketing and promotional campaign for a potential client. The client recently designed for Prada.

Alejo responds enthusiastically, explaining his client is considering ways to generate her own power instead of depending solely on the fashion industry.

That sparks even more enthusiasm from Alejo.

Even though the meeting started an hour ago, it’s the first time he’s mentioned his company. He starts by dropping the names of several European companies and modeling agencies with which Phamous Models has business relationships, and he ticks off some of Phamous Models' executives, board members and advisors, including a retired VP and the Chairman of an exclusive advertising firm. Then he provides a brief rundown how the costs of the plan designed by his company stack up against the major players in the industry.

Morris gives quick insight of how his plan will work. “The specifics are somewhat boring,” says Morris. “Give me two days and I’ll have a representative from the company send you all the detailed information.”

This is Morris’ excuse for follow-up contact.

“The big question you’ll get from your customers,” he continues, “will be price, quality and availability.” And that just happens to be Phamous Models’ strong point. He goes on to describe how the more conventionally designed modeling agencies don’t offer enough diversity to compete in the “new market”. Companies like Uno and Traffic Models don’t offer enough diversity in their talent.

Later, outside The Mansion, I see Morris leaning up against the wall, drinking a bottle of Bling H2O. In the meeting and in his conversations with me, he seems distant but relaxed and confidant. This isn't the first or will it be the last time I see him like this.

But knowing him, he won't rest. He will probably be trying to do business with every businessman there.

They say kings are born, not made. That appears true, says his longtime childhood friend, Sara, who oversees his International Public Relations. Morris, she says, probably got his insatiable appetite to do business from his mother - a graduate from The University of Kansas, who successfully ran a chain of day care centers in Milwaukee, Wisconsin for over twenty years.

After Morris graduated from college, he realized that there was no real job security in America. He felt that in order to survive, you had to look at what gifts and talents God gave you and use them to create business and financial empowerment.

Shortly after college, Morris went to visit his mother in Orlando, Florida and decided that is where he wanted to build his kingdom. He created Phamous Models, an image and marketing company that specialized in creating “industry buzz” for people in the arts and entertainment industry.

Phamous Models crawled forward until 2007, when Morris decided to implement selling products for his clients. He set out to control and to dominate the arts and entertainment market with a set of “rules” and a code of ethics similar to a military strategist. His ambitious aura is addictive.

Not that ambition alone can move a product or idea in the direction set forth by its visionary. Far more important is the ability to think realistically and critically, says Tara, a former computer software engineer. “You can teach a person the basic fundamentals of business,” Tara says. “But only an illustrious businessman can look at a scenario and analyze the positives and the negatives and come to a glorious solution that will have a beneficial impact on all parties involved. Morris creates opportunities others can see.”

Morris is a rare example of that combination of ambition and analytical problem solving, say those who have worked with him. “Whatever he needs to learn, he consumes it and thinks about it, and he's going to relay it back to you with a lot vivacity, honesty, and credibility,” says Baasim, a venture capitalist associated with Sequoia Capital. Thomas, whose is crafty and skillful financial advisor, with a client base throughout Europe, says, “Morris connects with people not only on an intellectual and emotional level, but on a level that's not attainable by most companies.”

We've barely cleared security at Dallas/Ft. Worth International Airport when Morris' phone starts ringing. The call is from Savannah, a member of Phamous Models International Board of Advisors. Morris explains to me she doesn't like to text and use emails, which means he gets a lot of calls from her.

Savannah is calling to provide last-minute intelligence on a company that can help them infiltrate the West Coast without detection. Morris looks at me and says, “I love her intelligence and tenacity. She is always prepared and punctual.”

Morris cuts the call short as Baker walks up and greets us.

Urbane and friendly, Baker walks us to Bangkok Orchid. Baker orders Grilled Beef Skewers. Morris orders nothing.

Morris is hoping Baker will become a high end investor for Phamous Models. His support would be an impressive one. It will help open so many doors in the European market, and Morris needs all the allies he can get. Europe, unlike the United States is more open to new ideals. But attacking the European market with Phamous Models would be highly profitable and challenging. Morris has no fear. He just needs Baker to have the same emotion.

Morris seems relaxed and undaunted. But given that the meeting is likely to be a quick one, he get’s right to the point: If the UK embraces Phamous Models, it will gain in excess of 10 million dollars in 2 years. But we have to be aggressive, fearless and work as a team, says Morris.

Baker listens gracefully, but it's clear he's not impressed, and he apologizes for the time being short.

Unfazed by the comment, Morris changes course and drives a different point: Most companies don't accept nor understand the international market and the needs and wants of its consumers, there are many consumers in the UK that share the same fate. With your help, Phamous Models could create a lot of jobs and new opportunities.

Bingo. Helping the people angle seemed to have ignited Bakers’ interest. “This would be a sweet product for developing countries, says Baker. “People need new inspiration. The timing is right. And the money is there.” When will you be back in Texas? Baker asks. He wants him to meet with some key people from Germany.

Baker is tough. But Morris has seen tougher. Take those four wary executives on that fiery hot day in Miami. Morris is proposing that the company partner with Phamous Models-and invest $600,000. “You have an insane business mind,” one of the executives snaps.

An executive asks why the company even needs Phamous Models. It already controls most of the fashion market in Los Angeles and New York and is perfectly capable of coming up with its own innovative designs and products. “We should be collaborating not competing,” Morris suggests calmly. “We're moving fast and we're going to be involved in different markets, and we need to figure out fast who are partners are.”

The executives snicker. They point out that Phamous Models may be buoyant and strong, but the process isn't. “We can get it done by June 2011”, Morris says

This leads to a moment of silence and some exchanged glances. Then the executives issue a barrage of technical questions about product development and marketing plans. Morris gives the floor to Victoria, Phamous Models’ Director of Merchandising and Licensing, whom he has brought along in anticipation of the meeting taking this turn.

Victoria was the captain of the debate team at Princeton and has worked with several merchandising firms in Paris and New York. Victoria immediately proceeds to bury the executives in details. Morris sits back and enjoys the show, which goes on for about 35 minutes.

Sensing the executives are feeling a bit less cocky, Morris stands up and speaks. “We have excellent connections with suppliers and manufacturers that are quick and efficient,” he says. “We have publishing connections who see us as allies. It’s all about being a team. Teamwork wins the championship.”

No one speaks for several seconds. Then one of the executives clears his throat. “Okay. I see your angle,” she says. “How much will we get back? And when?”

He reaches across the table and gives her a knuckle bump and says with a smile, "Let's make it happen."

"This audio book was like an anthropological study of another culture. it was amazing in the amount of pointless violence, but the overall lesson was the humans bring order to their environment by any means necessary, by gangs or grouping together in prison to guard and educate each other, by starting a "new" family, by sharing philosophies. It was very interesting, and pretty well written."

I am a survivor of war…. let me tell y'all somethin' about the streets… the streets is war. Ain't no different from Vietnam or any other war. You had yo' pigs. Snitches. Bitches. Spies. Soldiers. Traitors. Allies. Enemies. But the fucked up thing was…you could never tell who your true friends were. Your so-called 'friends' turn into enemies unexpectedly…without formal notice.

Your enemies looked just like you. Ain't that fucked up? Same niggas you pissed in the bed with as a youngin'...was the same niggas that'll murder you or have you murdered. Like Judas did Jesus. Like Brutus did Caesar.

Same niggas who ate at yo' kitchen table every other night...same niggas that called your mama… mama…was the same niggas that'll take the stand and testify against you. How fucked up is that? The ones you break bread with are the ones you need to watch.

I learned a long time ago that the ones you love are the only ones that can hurt you. But I never could understand how people can treat strangers better than they treat the ones they know and love.

The streets was school. Fuck a classroom! My classroom was the alleys, the pool halls, the playgrounds, the liquor stores, the house parties in the hood. Back then, teachers wasn't teachin' niggas shit. They wasn't teachin' niggas how to survive in the ghetto. The ghetto was a warzone. The teachers weren't armin' us with the knowledge and the skills to stay alive in the ghetto. How is knowin' who discovered America gonna stop me from catchin' a stray bullet? Feel me? That's why I didn't dig school. I went out of obligation to my mother. Who really wanna listen to a teacher when you broke with hunger pains?

The streets was my school. The winos, the hustlas, the pimps, the macs, the dopefiends, the drug dealers. the prostitutes, the police were my teachers. I sat down and learned. Perfect attendance.



I'd hang around grown niggas. Habitually. I wanted to learn from niggas who already been through the street life. Not niggas goin' through it. Wanted to know what mistakes were made. Didn't want to repeat 'em. Enhancin' my hustle so to speak.

If I was plannin' on doin' somethin', I wanted to first figure out all the things that could go wrong. I never thought about the good first. Fuck that! That's how niggas get caught up. How not to get caught was the first thing I wanted to figure out.

Hustlin' on the streets is a gamble. Just to stay alive is a hustle and gamble in itself. It's like shootin' dice. Like bettin' on a football game. There is a possibility you might lose. But you can't give up before you even start. You have to suit up every day just like how a ball player suits up for every game. You still have to go out there and play hard, even though there is a possibility you might lose. You feel me? You can't be afraid of failure. You only fail when you don't try.

That's how the streets is. But the main thing is not to panic in any situation. Think before you react. Plan first. Like I said before, it's like shootin' dice.

Havana, an old Cuban hustler I used hang around with always told me, “Si viviendo, ganando" (If you livin'...you winnin.)



When you in these streets, you gotta be about that money! Fuck what niggas and bitches be talkin' about. Be about that money! Fuck thinkin' about dyin'. We are all born to die. But in the meantime, get that money!

Information and money rules the universe. Put both of them together, you'd be invincible. The game isn't a game. Gotta understand the difference. You in this shit to win. Not to lose. You just can't live for the day. For the moment. You have to live to see tomorrow.

Most people don't think about the future. They don't think about leavin' behind money and property for the next generation. All they think about is bitches, clothes and impressin' niggas and other bitches. Fuck that shit!! Leave somethin' behind for the next generation. Give them a fresh start. That's what white folks do. They work hard all their lives. Save that dough. Educate they kids about the value of money and the responsibilities of havin' it. Then when they finally do die, the money is passed on. And that's why white folks stay on top of the world. They leave their wealth behind to the next generation. What do we do? The complete opposite. Instead of spending thousands of dollars on rims for a depreciated vehicle, invest that money in your seeds education or future businesses. Feel me?

If you make $10, put aside 7. Live off the 3. Don't fuck with what you have saved. Before you commit a crime, be smart. Already have your bail money and the green for your lawyer. Quit doin' shit ass backwards!

When you in the game, you have to watch what you say around people. Keep your thoughts in your head. Don't write anything down. Keep yo' buisness off the phone. No paper trails. Never do dirt where you live. Never let anyone know where the castle is. Have a safehouse.

I've seen a whole hoods get shut down and bosses get indicted because of a snitch. I've seen crews get divided over jealousy and pussy. Niggas can't hold they weight. Get pulled over for a misdemeanor. Scared to go and do time in jail. Make a deal with detectives. Tell 'em yo' business. Next thing you know, you in an orange jumpsuit.

When the detectives ask you questions, better act like you retarded. You know nothin'! Know matter how many times they hit you upside the head. You know nothin'!!



And keep your woman out your business. Never let a female know how you make your money. I don't give a fuck how long she been down with you. Or how much she say she love you. Or how much you think you love or trust her. You can't trust nobody but yo'self!

Women are emotionally imbalanced creatures. I've seen it too many times. It's easy for a female to say she'll never snitch when she's never been put under that kind of pressure. Of course, she'll say I won't say nothin'. But let them pigs get her in that room with them lights in her face. Let 'em smack her up a few times. Let 'em threaten to take her kids. She's gonna crack.

In this game, you gotta fuck with a female with no kids. Women with ‘crumbsnatchers’ are liabilities. You want to be with a female that's an asset. No kids. Legit occupation. Good credit. Don't get emotionally attached. You gotta be able to leave at any moment. Feds might be sniffin' around. You gotta leave. You can't risk gettin' caught because you are in "love". Fuck that!! You'd be a stupid muthafucka!! You won't live that much longer.

And never make any kids with a female that's in the game with you. Kids are prey. I seen too many "kid 'nappin's." The quickest way to make a muthafucka act right is to snatch somethin' he loves. His bitch. His kids. His mama.

When you in the game, never expose what you love because what you love will be covered in blood. Next thing you know, yo' son and daughter is in the trunk or tied up somewhere and some niggas are askin' for ransom. You can avoid that. Be smart.

"Vultures come in packs disguised as doves and will shed your blood in the name of love." - M.D. Morris

In times of peace, muthafuckas will say they love you, they'll say they'll die for you and all that bullshit. But in times of war and danger, what how many will flee like cowards and leave you stranded on the island of love?



It's good to make friends with old enemies. You keep them off-balanced. It's good to be friends with muthafuckas that been in jail or you got some dirt on. If you know a muthafucka that got 6 bodies on his chest. Be his friend. You know a muthafucka that robbed a bank. Be his friend. Feel what I'm sayin'?

Before you get yourself attached to anything or anyone, see how it responds under pressure. People can pretend for a long, long time. You'd be sittin' in the County like, "I thought he was my friend." You can avoid that kind of shit.

You really don't know yo' friends like you think you know 'em. Your friends are good at hidin' their envy and jealousy. Human beings are good actors and actresses. Sometimes better than the ones you see in the movies.

Before I declared somebody my "friend", I had to know everything about 'em. I had to know who his bitch was...where she lived...who his kids were...what schools did they go to...where his mama lived...where he lived...where he worked at. Get the picture! Cuz if that muthafucka ever cross me, I knew where to strike. And when I strike, I'm comin' for what you love most. Family and love ones. I'm killin' everybody! I could never accept malicious attacks on my life.

Remember...love is an emotion that cannot be trusted. To love anyone, to love anything is to be vulnerable. And when you become vulnerable for too long, your vulnerablity will be visible and someone will be plottin' your demise.

Sometimes you gotta be like...Fuck love! Cuz sometimes love is what gets you killed or locked away in prison for life. Watch your friends! They are undeclared enemies....



Now…State prison was like the concentration camps for all prisoners of war. War of the streets. Street soldiers caught behind enemy lines.

State prison is hell. Fucked up ass food. Potatoes. Every meal has potatoes. Pussy ass Correctional guards!! It's fucked up how The Department of Corrections can give all these white boys and white bitches from the ‘burbs’, fresh out of high school the authority to regulate and control an inmate's life on a daily basis. Fuck that shit!



The system is designed to break down your soul and mind. It's about permanent reform. They try to make you believe there is no hope for the future. They try to make you believe you will never get out until you submit to their reform. You will never accomplish anything if you do get out. And you will eventually come back "home".

But what the Department Of Corrections fail to realize is that in prison we learn to better criminals.



We use their books to strengthen our minds.



We use their weights to strengthen our bodies.



We use their law libraries to beat our cases. Get our time modified. We switch the game. We go to the Parole Board and pretend to be reformed. Get out and be worse than ever. But this time, when we commit a crime, it'll be hard for us to get caught. Society will pay for the sufferings State prison cause our minds and souls. Innocent people will become victims.

Waupana State Prison. We dealt with them pussies!

How you gon' tell a nigga with 25 years on his chest, he can't go to Rec.? He can't use the phone. He lost his visiting priviledges. Is you crazy? This is an inmate's only lines of communication to the outside world and you snatch it from 'em like that. Like I said, is you fuckin' crazy? Lotta C.O.'s was gettin' raped. Gettin' stabbed. Shit like that.



What the Department Of Corrections don't understand is these correctional officers aren't soldiers. It's suicide. This ain't the Revolutionary War where you have farmers fightin'. This is State prison. You better have guards in there that understand the mentality of a convict. Besides, these young muthafuckas are already scared.



Imagine a woman being surrounded by 100 inmates in a unit. And don't be pretty with a nice body. It's only a matter of time until you get raped. Some inmate is in his cell devisin' a plan to get some of that pussy. And you don't even know it. And these inmates just ain't rapin' guards. They rapin' men too. Men are too full of pride. Who he gon' tell?



I remember this one crazy ass racist name Lawrence. Got out and raped this C.O.'s wife and nine year old daughter, because he had him sent to the hole for being too loud in the dayroom. The C.O. fucked up his chance to go home that year. He had to do 48 more months.

What these D.A.'s, lawyers, Judges and prosecutors don't realize is that your whereabouts are public record. We can pick up a book and find out where you live. You ain't hard to find. You gotta remember, we live in a place that harbors grudges and hatred. Inmates don't forget shit!!

Of all the joints I been in, the inmates ran 'em. Weed. Prostitution. Coke. Heroin. Whatever you wanted, I got it for you. And the guards helped me.

Correctional Officers are just like regular people. They are hungry and corrupt. They makin' 9 or 10 dollars an hour. That's probably $75 a day after taxes. That ain't no money for a man to bring home to his family everyday. So if you offer 'em…say $500 to have a blind eye to certain shit that doesn't involve him, he'll be a stupid muthafucka not to take it.

That's how it went down where I was at. Some I paid. Some I exhorted. Some I threatened. I didn't give a fuck! It was all about survival. Power. Money.



In the joint, money is more powerful than on the outside. I didn't spend my money on stupid shit like kicks and clothes. Stupid muthafuckas be in the joint tryin' to win a fashion show. Tryin' to get the newest Jordans. Fuck that shit!! I spent my time and money on books and influencing people to do what I wanted them to do. I could have you killed for a dime bag of heroin. I could have you raped for a carton of Ports. Feel me? State prison is no different from the outside. Money is power. But there's rules. Gotta know the rules if you wanna survive. Gotta hold ya own. When it's time to throw down, you better throw the first blow.



Murder...

I come from a time and place when you killed for a real reason. It wasn't like these youngin's growin' up now. Kill a nigga cause he stepped on yo' shoes. Or cuz his bitch smiled at you at an after hours joint.

Like that nigga Funny. His bitch was flirtin' with this nigga at an after hours spot. DeMarco Hopkins. Later on, the nigga DeMarco was sittin' in his ride, rollin' up a joint. Funny walks over to driver side and let off six shots. Head and chest. Killed the nigga right there. Now he somewhere with 50 plus on his chest. And that bitch is doin' more than flirtin' now. Stupid muthafuckas!



These youngins growin' up now are fucked up in the head. Watchin' too many mob movies. Thinkin' that shit is real life. Listenin' to too much rap music. These young cats now are too emotional. Too impatient. They get into drama at a club. Go to the ride. Get a strap. And kill a muthafucka in front of 50 witnessess. Get life with no parole. Dumb ass niggas!!

Not me. I'm a master of my emotions. Patient. Murder is delicate. Gotta be smart. If you don't want to get caught, have a plan first. Havin' a pistol doesn't stop you from gettin' shot. Remember that! Plot, plan, organize and execute. Once you in range, that's when you take aim and shoot. Boom!!



.38 Revolver. Best murder weapon. Leaves no shells on the ground. Tell no one!

"Stand up for what you believe in, even if you the only one standin'." - M.D. Morris

A lot of real muthafuckas I came up with died in the line of duty. Raccoon. Goeya. Jazzy. Yola. Just to name a few. Died on the battlefield. Died for what they believed in. Died for a reason, a cause.



Most of these young cats now don't believe in nothin', that's why they dyin' and goin' to jail for nothin'. Niggas out here dyin' over a street name or a block they don't even own. Niggas praisin' and worshippin' gang leaders in the joint like they God. True, I used to gang bang. But then I woke up. How can I worship and follow a man who is in jail like me and not follow and worship Jesus Christ?

If you gon' die for somethin', die for somethin' that is yours. Not for somethin' that is somebody else's. The person you are willing to die for has to had sacrificed something or equal value in order for it to make sense. If a "sacrifice" is made, more than likely, an act of betrayal won't occur. Their fate is tied into your fate. Feel me?

Back when I was cliqued up with my niggas, it was about love, honor and respect. It was about poor, ghetto niggas comin' together to find ways to get money and get out the hood. These youngin's today is cliquin' and flashin' gang signs cuz it looks cool.

I did a lot of dirt and I'm probably responsible for a lot of people being covered in dirt. Under the circumstances, I hope Jesus forgives me. If not, fuck it!!

Shit...we live in an immoral world. And sometimes you have to be immoral to survive. You tell me, what the fuck was I suppose to do? Sit and wait to be killed. Just let someone take what was mine. Take what I built. Fuck that!



What people don't understand is when you in the ghetto, you have to learn and know how to survive. Either you a predator or the prey. Either you hunt with the lions or walk with the lambs. You have to choose… death or life. Ain't no different from the animals in Africa.

I did what I had to do to survive. Whatever it took to hold onto my manhood, my beliefs and my "family"…I did that shit! Respect is everything. And respect is derived from violence. Ain't that what this country was built on? So that's what people respect. Violence.

All I wanted to do was make money, live good and give back to the hood. But in life, there's always the unexpected. Now matter how much you plan, if it's not meant to be, it won't. That's how the universe rotates.

When you are a king building a kingdom, you can never be soft or too compassionate. You have to be able to kill over what you've built. Have to be ruthless to stay in power. Your allies, your soldiers, your enemies don't fear or respect a sensitive, indecisive leader. Everything you do has to make sense. Has to be justified. This is real life on the streets shit. Muthafuckas are like vultures, flying above yo' head, waiting for you to slip. Waitin' for that opportunity to swoop down and take what's yours. You gotta be careful. Watch what you wish for. Each accomplishment you make has a new set of rules. Gotta think. Gotta be patient. Money rules the world. It influences all.

I am a survivor of war. And if the survivors don't tell what happened, then nobody will ever know we were ever here. Nobody will ever know what we fought for.

This is my story…

Official music inspired by the book/film, "I Did It My Way: The Prelude" Coming Soon.

For more information on the author, M.D. Morris go to http://www.facebook.com/mdmphamous today!