I sometimes have a fantasy involving portable shadows. More than ever these days when I try to trap shadows to experiment with the spectrums I end up taking deep breaths. Heres how it usually goes. I look down and down looks lower than the usual down. I see dark areas on the ground and have to decide if these are real: the dark areas under my eyes are just so much darker. Im getting older. I use to be able to drink mercury to calibrate my silver levels before I’d try, but now I get heartburn. I use to walk through the wading pools that gather, and find tiny lights at the bottom of them to put in my bag I got, but nowadays my feet get waterlogged and I get stung by the jellyfishes who swim in their own light.

But whenever I have this fantasy I remember that my cousin is coming in august. He’s lived in the shadowplane for so long that he’s nearly pass-through able. He’s coming because my baby daughter was born about a year and a half ago and he hasn’t seen her yet. Shes my only favorite light. Me and my fiancé found her soul sitting out there on the runway when were coming down last time we went to outer space. Her name is Judyta. She will always be climbing on my arms and asking me questions without words- about how our family lives all over the place- where are they and when will they come see her?

Specifically once she said (w/o using words) “I wanna meet our grandparents a lot. Don’t they live in Fiji? Wheres Fiji?

“Well honey, first of all we cant go to Fiji anymore. We were banned when we spilled soy sauce in the public library. Second of all, they don’t live in Fiji. They live in Fuji."

“Where? "

“In Fuji. They live in cameras.”

“I saw pictures of them, is that what you mean?”

“Yes babyta. We can only see them if we take pictures with Fuji cameras.”

“Why not daddy?”

“Because they died honey.”

“Why? D’they die?”

“Because the government still makes people die honey.”

“So… howcome they’re still in the cameras?”

“Because the Fuji corporation got the rights to souls. From the soul spectrum- the FCC took it over… it’s a little complicated. Your only 1.”

“Im not a baby. What’s the Government?”

“Yes. You’re still a Babyta Judyta.”

So. I want to carry shadows. And my cousin lives among them, He has a lot of properties. A lot of old houses and haunted hotels. He knows all about shadows. He shares a lot of their properties too- like how he changes where he is based on the sun going down etc…

So Ill ask him. But I know whats gonna happen. He’s gonna tell me about 40% lies. He’s always done that. Like Granpa did.

So. I’m still gonna have to get peer review for when I publish my research. That’s fine. The problem is Im not much of an academic. I work for an architectural consulting firm. My specialty is designing dark areas. Always dark areas. Deep down or locked always. Wherever no ones gonna even see them. So why does it matter? Because its federal law? Who knows? The inspectors fuck with the owners of the property. That’s about as far as I get into it…. Its just we have to do it before we submit the plans, and thats my job.

Designing the insides of nothing.

Judyta loves candy from the mountains. I’m gonna ask my cousin to go over Galaga pass to get some on his way here. I gotta remember to put that on my calendar. Im not that good at remembering things but, giving candy to little ones is among the morst important things. That’s why dentists are persecuted in our country.

They immigrated here from Europe just like everyone else but they get a raw deal here, everbody hates them.

I have lobbied for abolition of dentist oppression laws, but I love my sweetheart so I did it half-assed. I know, that in the next life, the meek dentists will inherit the earth with all the other meek service providers, so its ok.

I got one of those lazer pointers from my fiancé for Hannukah. You ever played with one of those? My cats love it and my dog is vehemently against it. Its needed for my research so I keep it. (And secretly think its like the coolest, most important invention of the last 10 years, the one before that being the smoke machine, and before that the drum machine.) I point the lazer deep into the areas Im traversing and see who’s there. I sometimes hear laughing and giggling (because lazers tickle ghosts). It doesn’t really tell me anything though. I have to rely more on my Night Vision lenses than anything because… well, I don’t really understand why but it seems that in pitch black the structural elements of the building become more formless. The lazer wont tell me the depth of the place I’m in, rather it will tell me where the furthest wall would be if the room were properly lit.

And it’s the same with me. My face doesn’t look the same in deep darkness as it does in light… so it doesn’t work the same. I don’t see the same things with my same eyes. My glasses become unnecessary and my heartbeat changes my ability to perceive things without fear.

Fear is the reason I’m doing all this. As the government use to say “The unknown is the only thing we have to protect ourselves from. So we must venture there. And put an end to it.” Now adays we have the shitty politicians, like Blagojevich and the like, who preetymuch spend all their time hanging out around unknown elements, immoral and dark and scandalous. But I bite my lips and go out there into where I fear, for people. People like my little candy eater. And other people like her.

My fiancé looks at me when I come home and have all that darkness on my shirts, and she knows it’s a good thing rather than anything. She works in retail, where theres always a lot of light. But she still spends a lot of time delving. And I know Judyta will too. I don’t know why, I just know.

Blood on the laundry. Face it.

There are days when you wake up in the morning, and those you don't.
When the business of your dream is far too urgent. And those days when you do open your eyes, wake up with your hand on your dick and your tongue rough from last night (vomit or blood sucking, who knows? who remembers?).
You know its time to actually change. Today gets to be a special one. A researsal for opening night. The day you actually see clearly, after all the foul air and fog has cleared. No more coughing or working. No more sitting down when its time to dance.
But not yet. First you have to come up with a transition plan. Finances and feasibility. Estimates. Rolling around on the rug. Wasting more hours while the planes fly over head and the icecream truck passes by.
Its ok. Tomorrows the day.
Then you wake up that fateful day. And you answer the phone. And it's the dream. You are needed, there can be no proxy. And out of duty you go back. To the frown womb, the bomb horn. The foible. The fax mask, the ask tell and the cask of montiado. The Tasks and objects that need no logic to be true.
And then its 48 hours or so and you wake up again. And your pants are on the floor. And the saxophone you stole from your neighbor's kid is on the chair. And you ask for courage from the winds that blow through your apartment, and they respond. "Hell no."..

is this poetry or physics?
http://boomeria.org/physicslectures/forces/forces.html

(or... ?)

There are spices interwoven among alive things and through them. Although they are rare they are there without apology everywhere. Things like lightning before thunder. Things like things the uncorked wine smelled like. Things like things he found while gathering rhubarb once. And this time he would have enough jar room to capture them.

He opened the bottle. At this point in his life he had run out of ideas and the air was slowly getting old. The rum he drank soured a long time ago and the arms he swung around were tired from all the seasons he’d seen. The murder rate had gone up again and there was another war. The car he’d bought used earlier that month was ok except for the brakes so the way he’d have to drive around almost required clairvoyance. So he’d been working out ways to keep himself alert during certain hours. But the rains were here and his mind falling out.

I thought I heard him say once that he went to a doctor who told him the voices on the radio were all in his head. And when he saw people changing the volume he had to convince himself they were doing something with its own significance that he would never quite understand.

The Oldsmith Company had a strange history. During the Civil War it produced binoculars made entirely out of glass. When the Wright brothers first flew Oldsmith began building airports on islands long before any flights above oceans were attempted or dreamed of. During prohibition they brewed up an entire liquor and medicine empire down in miles in the mines they had acquired from the federal government during the first Great War. Soon it was being said these medicines were making the blind see and the lame walk.

He wanted miracles and all he got were the near formless technologies Or came up with. Imprecise phenomena there was no other category for. Individual storage for particular molecule structures. These prisms somehow allowing for ultraviolet exist in vacuums (which broke every law of optics and generated a new previously unrecognized type of heat.) Organized antigravity horticulture. Escalators which could carry near celestial weights. Supersolid plastics permeable to only specifically programmed gases or liquids, at specifically programmed times in specific environments.

It was his job to market and sell things that couldn’t even be scientifically proven to exist.
Ideas are easy to make others salivate for but not if you can’t give them a flavor they have already tasted. At that time in history the rest of the world was still observing things using Newton and Einstein eyes.

Put the raw data next to something grateful for its presence near it. Put all the tools on the ground and pretend all you know is grace and symmetry.

The maze was easy but it was filled with extended doom. They left behind instructions to follow and little pills to for him to take. He always had to bring himself to swell up a certain courage to swallow these little reminders. He was better at blind faith for completely huge unknowns, like: what am I going to do in this new country, how am I going to survive in the future… rather than these little immediate tests every day.

Marcus, his boss, he only met a few times. When he saw him he was wearing a bandaid right in the middle of his forehead. He knew, through rumor, Marcus would inject some substance directly into his frontal lobe through that little hole right in the middle of right above between his eyes.

The adventure and the mystery. Murdered astronauts. Markets for thoughts. Ligers and Tapirs. Hundred year parties. Too out there to ever come back from.

There are territories where spices are found not used in local cuisine although they and their holistic qualities are well known. We do so we travel there.

Some leathery earwigs crawled in.

The elegant gardians of culture get very afraid when the economy takes a nose dive. They live, academics, nonprofit human rights advocates, musicians and performance artists, off of the cream money. Overflow money that financial institutions and corps redirect to simultaneously genuinely bouy up the humanities and use for charitable tax writeoffs. Give and you shall receive.
But please. When the shit hits the fan artists are fucked. Artists already precarious relationship in capitalism is more or less destroyed and they have to go work on shrimping boats.
Wish we were france right? Sit and sip wine all day and then the government sucks the artist dicks? I don’t know if that’s exactly how it works but that’s what I hear at least. What the fuck are we gonna do in this country right now? Ask the fed to save our asses? Ask obama to institute more lending from abroad? I want to see the glory of the apocalypse like everyone else but not yet por favor.
Bloodgin out.

sugar eaters who beleive they leak blue booger soot but in fact bleed poppy blood

Lola and Jack. Kind of like Jack and Diane except Lola is latina, not from the midwest, unlike Jack who hales from Chicago. These two go around the miami streets looking for trouble, Jack running away when he finds it. The street kitties look on with feigned boredom. For a while it was too hot for these two to have fun in the streets, now its too rainy. Dont worry doggies, your day will come soon enough.

I love how Jack is embarrased of the camera and Lola is basically vogueing.

Reset Button. (part I)
You want to talk about sanity and Bigelow? Cappadonna’s Bigelow. The dude who couldn’t put shit in to the miracle machine so took all the broke-ass pawns off prowl duty and started a revolution in the no-revolution zone- Columbia hights DC. Man was on some one flew over type shit. Fuckin, ugly, poor and crazy. You can’t stop a force like that.
So there he was. At the zoo. That way he could dip in and out of all the different animal houses, conduct each branch of operations designated with a genus and species and in the shadows where only lizards or monkeys could eavesdrop conspiracy.
That way. That way was the only way that summer I think. You heard all about the wheels of destiny right? Well that was where Bigelow came in- he was a man in the right place at the right time. DC was a ghost town around then. This was like ‘90 or something. We should of took pictures it was so awesome. And over. Things are terrible now. Worse than they was before all this.
Yeah so destiny right? The kingpin before Bigelow was prairie road joe. He was a cold hearted mutherfucker. A Asshole hobo machaveli. The only people on these streets who could import product at that time had to be hard-cut but this guy was a fucking nightmare. 44 murders in as short of a time he was on top. However. We were served. The hustlers and junkies were like edamame. And anyway the blood dried fast it was pretty hot and dry that year.
Anyway Prarie road set it up where we’d have to do the worst things imaginable to get our take and our point across at the same time. The machine was oiled with bloody ghastly examples. This was about getting to the core. raped rape. Murdered death and burned arson. Fucking Chaos in the air like that you think the machine would’ve broke down. But it didn’t. Not at all. For two years this city was lit up. Only the wildfire had to be stoked. That’s where Bigelow found his way in. He was like the last ditch effort of the less favored go to guy of Prarie. Praries ace was this nigga Papa. Papa don’t preach right? Yea so Papa aimed his gun one day at the dude who corporate sponsored Prarie’s junkie picnics Alvaro. Jr. Alvaro is Harmony’s boy you know him right? Yeah this dude was his dad. Papa’s Sucker.
Anyway, apparently Papa’s sucker target was Prarie’s herloom. Hernius Rorch the III- the previous previous Don. Dude had hooked up the hood with extracurricular money by running his fingers through the hair of pretty much most of the upstanding citizens council- those last standing after the second-to-last terraform that is... Hernius Rorch was a practical man but he wasn’t really all that practical cuz he practically brought down the whole empire when he exacted revenge on Rilke- (Who, although he was Bigelow’s granddad, had nothing whatsoever to do with the rest of this tale so don’t worry your little head). You see- much like Prarie and much unlike Bigelow, Hernius seemed to eventually exact revenge on every god damn party who came to the table. Rilke was just the most beloved at the time.
Things get turned upside down every so often. When your standing on the top you can have your head submerged in the shit fast and vice versa. When your standing in the middle you pretty much keep company with the same, fare the same, you stay aaight I guess. Well this was Bigelow’s vantage when Pappa popped Alvaro that fateful day. It was pure mayhem after Prarie found out hearsay from Leo. (Harmonies’ uncle Leo- yeah. That piece of shit.) This kid Pretzel, Leo’s Preacher Arimis’ usher, came up on Alvaro’s remains right where they dropped. And like manna from heaven the hood ate this news up and spit it out in the form of Leo’s bugleboy ass.
Preety soon, with things already being so overheated, wintertime came and froze off all of the edges of the operation. The seasons, as they change, need trappings to show themselves in. So you know the difference. That’s one of the reasons D.C. was corpulent in this shit: Things stayed fresh.
Enough of that natural selection bullshit, the point is back then, the thug army responded to powershifts. Things worked clockwork and high stakes as they should. All that’s happening right now is time is passing.
The NNO- new normal order- may have brought the law but were bored as fuck in this town. We need a new golem to split the atom. Some kind of explosive magic spread through the street at furious velocity. Untill then like standing water we wait. It Drives a man to do things like driving over to his best friends house and braking in and taking a piss all over the hallway rug.
Dixie Christian was the bitch who took pause whenever right after he offed someone to give them their last rights. If he did it in the presence of a man of the collar or even a deacon he would make them do it under duress.
Mr. Ashen fingers owned and regularly stalked the part of town around the rotted out niketown, like by the old highscale riverwalk. You could almost see the rich ghosts walking their dogs. He quite a few up-to-no-good establishments but none knew about each other’s configuration in his scheme so they warred within. I don’t know why but he liked it that way.
Jixie and Dixie were best friends, lovers and partners when they started out out of east boston. The jew who perjured for jixie was Meineke. Meineke took pains over dixies items that needed burning or burying. Jixie knowing he was so meticulous.Bigelow’s sin was he never let on that the thousand or so losers in his army were never trained. So he always had to fix countless breakdowns of the engine with other losers and fill the gaps. It took more fuel than the city’s wells ever had.
So blood leveled things like it always does.
There was a standard among samurai and penitent men alike that would never be true to these armored men. The NNO was staffed and mobilized by bigelow after the winter ‘72 he returned with lessons from all seven seas. It was easy because now his words were so sharp. He murdered in sermons and songs. The power of these multiplied, propagating through waves of gossip. All the things they said he could do and could have done.
“Bring me people as evil and porcelain fragile.” “Bring me their bodies to Frankenstein.” “After the rain there is fungus. I am the rain. ”
So as the porch boys and their old daddies were simmering out here that year the violence actually ended.
However,
The reunion of epic enemies arrives once every equinox. The uprisings ending only with the start of new ones. Fresh faces in the martyrs wake. New names we forget soon. Except for The Diamond.
The Diamond was a man but he was a rock. Ask his followers about the explosions he stood through. Keeping his eyes open through the smoke, he could see many things we couldn’t. The Diamond was cut from his years in a group foster home but people used to spread crazy shit about him. He was an underground bounty hunter. He was blind up until the age of 34. The story most crazy: He was mole for the Germans. The whole time acting out of the jurisdiction of the Vatican. Getting messages over the wire from some secret faction that held meetings down in the catacombs.
The Enemy had his name legally changed from Frederico Ameche. (to “The Enemy”) What a fucking weirdo. He used to Drive a forklift around town that he had somehow stenciled to look like an evil yellow elephant. It looked totally ghetto but you try standing your ground when enormous steel tusks slowly grind closer. He wasn’t as ugly as the rest of these insane street angels and not nearly as insane so there was always one or two laughing women around when he made his moves out in the open.
The Enemy fought the Diamond in an abandoned business park outside of Atlanta. There were silos overlooking the field from the north and south and each imagined he was being watched by sentinels. The ground was scarred. Scored bare by from some long-ago blast. There used to be a tanning factory here................. (... more later)

Every day is a deciduous tree
a slug is a peace beast
a bat is a crash course
form fitting like drivers ed
damn American apples hippies and seeping sugar from the stitches of flour bags
sugar god couldn't wallow in it what he would have
could he?
Every year is another sun

Trust intent
Intended that the invade the trust principal for the comfort, maintenance and support of the widow
Power of beneficiary to enjoin trustee for waste of assets
Bonds 25% of trust corpus
Land 25% of trust corpus- testator intended the land be sold “as soon as possible” fair market value
Stock in team- 50% of trust corpus “retained by trustee”

A testamentary trust is a trust created by a testator where the trust res is transferred to the trustee at Testators death. A trust is created when the settler evidences a present intent to create a trust, here that was expressed by testamentor in his will
For a trust to exist there must be a settlor giving a trust property to a trustee for the benefit of a beneficiary. The trustee has legal title of the trust res and the Beneficiary holds equitable title. The trustee is a fiduciary of the beneficiary.
This is a Private testamentary trust- it was the settlers intention that the trust res be retained and used for the benefit of one ascertainable party. The widow is the ascertainable beneficiary and the her children are the remaindermen

The bonds and the common stock are income generating

Has trustee breached an express term?
Has trustee breached an implied duty?

Is there friction and hostility between the trustee and the beneficiary?

The trustee has a duty to strike a fair balance between all classes of beneficiaries- a fair balance between the “income beneficiary” and the remaindermen who are entitled to the corpus at termination of the trust.
the remaindermen want higher retention of value while the widow wants current yield of profits to come to her-

The trustee can properly exercise only such powers as are expressly or impliedly conferred on her.- (impliedly being those that are appropriate to achieve the proper investment, management and distribution of the trust property and that are not forbidden by the terms of the trust)

Trustees have imperative powers and discretionary powers
Imperative powers are those which are expressed in the trust as a particular act or duty
Discretionary powers are those conferred on the trustee to exercise in good faith discretion in administering the trust
Here LMB had the imperitive or manditary power to sell the land as soon as possible
Land 25% of trust corpus- testator intended the land be sold “as soon as possible” fair market value
As such LNB has breached its mandatory power under the trust and can be compelled by widow to sell the property and (get FMV at a reasonable time after testators death?)

Prudent Trustee Rule- Uniform Prudent Investor act requires that the decisions of the trustee “in her discretion” satisfy the Prudent Trustee Standard- she must invest as a prudent investor would- and exercise reasonable care, skill, and caution in making investment decisions-
Here- the trustee is a bank- and as such is held to have special skills and held to a higher standard as banks are in the business of investment decisions- as such lNB is held to a higher standard of prudent investing-
Investment is measured by the “overall return”


Stock in team- 50% of trust corpus “retained by trustee”
Trustee has sold more than 5000 shares- reducing the trust corpus percentage to 25%
Income in trust assets goes back to trust- here the dividends 10% dividend is part of the value of the stock
Further the value of the stock involves both the inherent fair market value and the ownership value that the beneficiary has in the Semitor corporation- Trustee has now reduced this amount to a 1/6th interest in the corporation- a siginificant decline in ownership and corresponding control of the corporation.

Widows remedies
If the trustee comits or is about to commit a breach of his trust duties the court can enforce several remedies including
Specific performance of the trustees duties, an injunction against the trustee from committing further breaches, compelling the trustee to pay $ or restore property and suspending the trustee.
Here the court could order specific performance of the land sale term and
Enjoin the sale of the stock-
Compel the trustee to return the value of the common stock back into the trust res amounting to 25% including any funds gained by the sale- (did this amount go back into the trust?)

Effect of her writing to trustee- to sell the land
To retain the stock

Removal of trustee
A court may remove a trustee on request of the settler upon certain grounds
commission of a serious breach of trust,Lack of cooperation among trustees that substantially impairs trust administration,Unfitness, unwillingness or persistant failure to administer the trust or
Substantial change in circumstances so that removal is in the best interests of all beneficiaries.
Here, widow will argue that Last N B has committed a serious breach of trust in the

Allocation of receipts and expenses between principal and income?

The term that the trustee is in “sole discretion” to invade the principal for the support of the widow.
In florida law the effect of tying the trustee’s discretion to this standard is that the widow can compel the trustee to make a distribution from the corpus that is necessary for her support

Trustee has a duty to keep the property productive-
If the land declines in value from the construction of a shopping mall next door the trustee has violated his duty of trust.

Have you ever heard the saying
"Every day above ground is a good day"?
I think the coal miners daughter (from all those country songs) made that up to piss off her dad.

you can touch it like you can touch dust. it comes off on your fingertips and isn’t there anymore

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury

A young woman's life ends in a senseless Suicidal accident, And a man whose life is on the line because he is being blamed for it.

Why? Because her death was a result of his deliberate, planned actions?

Of course not

You weren’t presented evidence of this.

Ok- so why then, because she was shot by his gun? Because he was closest to her at the time she died? Meybe, meybe because

he was the closest person who could be blamed for this?

No-

This was an accident waiting to happen, an accident she had been prepared for… this was a culmination of Trudy Doyles hopeless attempts at suicide and self destruction…

Yes. Ladies and gentleman

This trial is not about presented in terms of justice- its about trying to make sense of a chaotic event.

But-We are in a court of Justice. A place to dedicated to what is rational and what is right

What this means is that we must find the truth – “not the closest easiest answer.”

The prosecution is telling you that this man deliberately murdered his girlfriend,

Ladies and gentleman-

Were it not for the chaotic emotions of Trudy Doyle, we all wouldn’t be here trying to make sense of this

But today were doing this all wrong-

Were putting a man on trial for murder for his attempts and ultimate failure to save his girlfriend-

And convicting him for murder wont serve justice- it would rather be a deprivation of justice.

-----------------
John diamond Loved Trudy Doyle. He knew she was troubled so he made plans to change his and her lives, to move out to California in the hopes of brighter days together. He made sacrifices for her…

And instead of peace and harmony, his life with her was tense and confusing, and ended in a brutal disaster

John diamonds life changed after he met this girl. He will never be the same.

Before all this John Diamond was Dedicated police officer with a very good record

He met Trudy after he was getting out of his failed marriage-

He was more happy after he met her. In fact he -He had asked her to marry him- and had decided to resign from the police force and move to California with her-

What does this all mean?

-he loved her – enough to plan his life around her.

What else do we know about this couple?

He knew that she was worried about strangers in the truckstop café so he

- Taught Trudy to defend her self- specifically he taught her to disarm people coming at her with weapons.

-in fact at one point he gave her a gift of his pistol. A gift he would later regret and take back.

What does this all mean?

- he was concerned about her and was searching for ways to protect and help her

What do we know about their relationship?

It was troubled-

* They had a few good weeks together before he found her succumbing to a large dose of sleeping pills she had just injected.

He found her and force fed her milk and olive oil to get her to expel the pills in her system.

This was when he found out about her previous suicide attempt.

- this is when he decided to take back the gun, and to always keep it unloaded

in her presence.

After that- he was determined to "save her" and make their lives better-

Means- it was a troubled, crazy

- their short relationship together was a series of him coming up with ways to mend her,- and her rejecting his attempts- trying to hide herself away from the world.

But really I think John Diamond was trying to win a losing battle. And He failed.

*she, like John Diamond had a failed marriage

* She probably didn’t feel the same about john diamond as he felt about her.

-------------------------------------------

How did she commit suicide?

On the night of Dec 1st.

John Diamond had gone to the truckstop café to talk to her After her shift- they had often met up at this time.

He waited while she talked to other waitresses

when she got up to get cigarettes – she walked to the front of the

John confronted her in the vestibule and asked her to go away with him-

No witnesses that you've heard today have been able to directly testify to what was said or the exact chain of events, but we know that there was an emotional exchange between the two-

She said "no"

She grabbed his gun- he reached for it to disarm her, and within moments

she was dead.

John never left her side. He waited their,

Shocked destroyed

When we think about this w/ common sense

Why would he sit, huddled their waiting by someone who he murdered?

If you believe the Prosecution, This guy tried to murder someone in plain view,

*after just leaving his forwarding address w/ the nita police department.

Does this sound like actions that were deliberate, planned intentions ?

Of course not- these are really someone trying desperately to act practical and hopeful in really hopeless circumstances.

Ladies and gentlemen- your common sense will tell you that The prosecution has failed to prove that John Diamond Committed murder

(Weaknesses--)

*Yes, John Diamond was desperate to find ways to cure her of her self hate.

Right after he had brought her home from the hospital after he 2nd suicide attempt

He held his gun up to her head and said that “as long as he was around she wasn’t going to be the one to kill her self- it would be him.”

* He’s not a psychiatrist, and it is true not the most sensitive way to cure suicidal depression- but he did this out of the tough love

He just was trying to scare some sense in to her- while probably still shaken himself from the ordeal of coming back from the hospital.

*John diamond also was horribly mistaken in failing to remember to unload his gun before he met up w/ her that evening. There was a lot on his mind and this mistake- though it proved fatal- was in no way a deliberate, planned action

He should have taken her to get treatment-

*Yes, the bullets were from John Diamond 'gun, and he was standing at close range-

But were not disputing this-

We know that she was able to pull a gun away from someone coming towards her with one, and we know that she had played this game w/ john diamond before- so we can guess that she was prepared for this

----------------------------------------------------

The prosecution has really presented to you with “the closest, easiest answer”

The prosecutions wants you to convict this man for the deliberate murder of Trudy doyle- but in fact none of the witnesses to the event, conclusively testified that he was the cause of this events.

Beth kelly,- Joseph Foster- Estelle mason- all told you descriptions of the events from inside the café diner room.

*none could hear into the vestibule, nor see the faces and hand gestures of Doyle and Diamond

- hindsight.

Sgt John Madden- told about what he saw of the event after word he too neither saw nor heard the exchange between the 2 leading up to trudy’s death.

- he did on the other hand see ∆ waiting silently by her side.

And Dr. James peirce. Another witness speculating and forming opinions after the event.

- told about the direction of the bullets and the cause of death, but his testimony in no way could reach the events which

None of the Prosecutions witnesses have presented evidence of John Diamond’s “deliberate” “willful” murder.

All they saw and heard was an emotional exchange

And all they heard was 2 quick shots

------------------------------------------------------

Ladies and gentleman

Im not asking you not to feel sorry for this girl. She was obviously had a horrible chemical imbalance- that should have been treated.- like all suicides

She leaves this world with a lot of questions unanswered and pain in her wake

- but I want you recognize the consequences of her actions

I repeat this wasn’t murder- this was a chaotic, split second failed attempt to save a life.

This is something that he will never be able to change. John diamond will forever be blaming himself for his failed attempt to prevent this girls death. You don’t have to watch this man be pushished any further than he already is internally.

This man is Innocent of the charge of murder. And as you go in to the jury room to deliberate, Im sure that you'll find a verdict of not Guilty is the only virdict that Justice and logic compel

Thankyou very much

“Someday well all make sense to each other”. I sigh.

“and when will that be?” she answers.

“Whenever we all tell each other”. I ask.

“Tell each other what?” she knows.

“What we all mean” I meant to say.

What I really said was much more rude.

Archetextures of the last time,
taken for what they are will never quite be what they could be.
And you yourself will never be a millesecond ahead or behind your destiny.

A tale:

As you approach the moat of centipedes and cockroaches you notice a shining message in a bottle floating at the top.
Decifered
It declares war on your stronghold
and immeadeatly and painfully you notice an arrow shot through your chest
which is itself adorned with a message
heralding the dawn of a bloodless revolution.
You are its one casualty, martyr and ironically, idillicly as you drift off to die, your last thought is that your a monarch butterfly flapping its happy lil wings.

aw.

1. Dead levity in a deluge of dead letters living testaments to their homesick authors' duty to tame meaninglessness though wit.

2.being crushed by nostalgia for the dawn of time is a very modern way to die. Kids these days dont get the upper body strength afforded from a healthy dose of byzantine witchcraft worldview.

1+2= 3

3 days untill Im done with this.

Torts final > go crazy > sleep maybe > fly on a plane yes> see chicago through the edens expressway> see chloe

The sun thing goes hunting for sport

And at its core it feels alive while stalking

the bright line walking made moot by thoughts of being

Bored

when locked up in clear cold -cocked mockery

(ahem: mayhem ensues along the scenic route….)

Cockled and shackled in the wrath

Blotted and bottled in the black ash of middle night

Happy and able and babbling about nutrients

Too many hunter’s sons and not enough sun hunters

so I guess instead of bless

…. its time to eat chopped wood and chop wood and eat hot food and feel not good

before befriending satisfaction fore

the blood bubble goblet spills blood drops on our fable-tops

And I wont let the coal get ashen black like a memory lick

Salt pours out

lets get severed from the eye lid’s business…

I don’t take any of this to mean that the rye means to pry

But I don’t need to surmise from your eyes

that the bride means to rise before the slice weds the bottom loaf

Poof

holes in cobblers workings should carry the moonlight in to the trap

Muddled alacrity for other reasons than no.......

I trap the quick lightning and it bugs me like an itch in hell for a second of eternal nuisance and

I gather that rather than ask for aid in the old séance I sense its better to let it bitter and wither on the tongue before I open my mouth in the presence of souls fooled by our games who breathe urgently that their names,

silently lost on the journey,

should get crossed from the list of guesses

before they go and for get what they were

and they begin to blurt them…

and we misunderstand them so bad and I breathe one of them in out of an accidental urge

Now, I know there’s no need to eat fate

so far so good,

But what of when the false buffet is buttered by the art of dark summoned sour

hospitality propped up by the staples of pardoners out on the prowl?

The shroud of the hardening hour is like bleary eyes barely seeing arteries through squints

and things are thin

Not as they should be

Not as they should get

What are we saying here?

That now we are called cannibals when we breathe ghosts or that we could go for some animals right about now?