Michael Gurstein on Sun, 17 Jan 1999 23:17:18 +0100 (CET)

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<nettime> No Subject (fwd)

---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Sun, 17 Jan 1999 09:06:44 EST
From: Bob Auler <BobAuler@AOL.COM>
To: Multiple recipients of list FOP-L <FOP-L@VM.CC.PURDUE.EDU>
Subject: No Subject

a seventeen year old kid, prairie-born and no father anybody can find.  he
works the usual american third world jobs at sandwich shops for booze and dope
money.  his mother oozes militia paranoia.  she tells him it's not really the
u.s. government, that we have been living under the war powers act since
roosevelt.  that the black helicopters are coming to enforce the dictates of
the new world order.  harmless paranoia, little festules of alice in
wonderland politics.  not.

he runs with a claque of equally disposable kids.  drinking party one town
away.  arrest.  court appearance.

he stands his ground; nathan hale.  moses with the tablets finding the gang in
front of the golden calf.  he tells a country judge that the good old u.s. no
longer exists and that the court is illegal and that it has no power over him
because he is legally dead, and is a citizen of the state of illinois, nothing
beyond it.


he goes on to ask if the flag behind the bench is a flag of admiralty, since
we are now ruled in this land by illegal admiralty courts.  he files
handwritten pleadings on lined notebook paper, more similar to notes passed in
school than legal papers.  whatever words of defense--or more exactly,
counterattack--get him charged with "simulating legal process."

they grow weary of this juvenile pettifogging.  back to the slam.  wait for
your bond.

the jailer orders him to shower.

but...the shower is full of adult criminals!  i don't wanna go in there with

listen kid, if ah tell yooo t' bend over an' take it up th' ass, that's what
you're gonna do!!

so he bonds out and blows off the next court appearance.

his home county deputies find him at an apartment full of miscreants
celebrating nothing in particular.  pound in the door.  mace him in the
presence of his girlfriend.  a couple of whacks for the principle of the
thing.  now he's on the floor, thrashing like a felled animal.  handcuffs
behind the back.  pull him up and out and throw him into the back seat of a
squad car.

one mile later, still handcuffed behind his back, there's a gunshot and a .22
derringer is found in the back seat.   one shot has entered his right temple
and has shattered, severing both optic nerves and whatever other hard wiring
that used to connect up his right ear, his sense of smell and his sense of

mom demands an investigation.  sheriff says we don't need one.  kid shot

he doesn't die, goes back to the farm to find himself charged with kicking a
cop while maced and with discharging a firearm.  case drags on and still lies
there unresolved to this day.

meanwhile he finds a more conventional nut who has a law license.  sues the
sheriff.  county.  screw 'em all.

nobody will leave him alone.  followed by cops hoping to prove the blindness
is a sham.  pestering him, questioning him, lying in wait at the edge of the

time drags on and he gets deeper into the web of closure and distrust.  gee, i
can't imagine why.

in the third year, the suit is languishing for lack of witnesses.  dead stop
at you did i didn't.

all hell breaks loose when his mother is arrested for soliciting an undercover
state cop (wonder how he just wandered into her presence?) to murder both
local judges, three prosecutors, two probation officers and a tow truck
operator.  with some mystical substance which will kill if you put it on door
handles.  she supposedly offers, for this wave of civic improvement, the sum
of a non-functioning '86 chevy and a cow.

she is jailed, waiting trial 4 months later when some agent of the bacterial
conspiracy decides to set up housekeeping on one of the bullet fragments or a
piece of the shattered bone in his head.  bacterial meningitis.  lying on his
death bed, both lungs full and kidneys failing.  desperate measures.

writs to extract her long enough to be shackled (lest she find some '86 chevy
to use to do harm to others) and dragged to his bedside for the shrieking and
hollering and accusations which come straight from the backwoods.

a scenario for some hbo trash?

huh uh.

real life.  my case.  kid's name is cody burch.  covenant hospital, urbana,

welcome to surrealism in the flatlands.


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