lawyer to defendant: 'and here on this piece of paper, is this your handwriting?'
defendant: 'yes'
lawyer: 'please read it to the courrtroom'
defendant: 'kone foto nai'
lawyer: 'is it or is it not true that this is an al queda code phrase for 'tomorrow is zero hour'' ?
defendant: 'no, that is not true'
lawyer: 'well, then please tell us what it means'
defendant: 'i don't know, it's a faustus song'
lawyer: 'and who is faustus? some subversive, anti-establishment, anarchist cult, affiliated with al queda??!?'
defendant: 'no, they're just a rock band on sauce records'
lawyer: 'oh. i see. you know, i ordered 'minor dwarf source- the war concept' form them online a while back'
defense lawyer: 'I OBJECT. the prosecutor is leading the witness'
judge: 'mr. prosecutor, please stick to your line of questioning'
lawyer: 'but your honor, they're starving away our girls'
judge: '....it never comes.'"
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this is the subset of what goes on in my head that is fortunate enough to make the treacherous journey through the nerves in my neck, arms, and hands, down through my fingertips and onto the keyboard, through the wires, the computer, and the network, across the country on fiber optic lines, finding a permanent home in the electric memory of some server in san francisco.
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