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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Courage is not the absence of fear, but the realization that there is something more important than fear! Joaquin Phoenix
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Until now it has not seemed necessary to mention that in the jailhouse, way back on the day of my arrest, John Hummel had asked me how much money I had access to: what my assets and resources were, in other words. He said he was doing that to assess whether I qualified for a Public Defender, based on my standard of income. So I told him about my credit line and my savings, and he told me I did not qualify— but he offered his services as a lawyer nonetheless, at market rate. I doubt there’s anything improper about that, and it is not exactly to the point anyway. But other questions arose as a result. One was whether he then told Mark Fisher that I had money, such that he could be sure to levy a charge that would be more expensive to defend— as Clayton later told me those people were wont to do. Secondly, I wondered whether he then related what I had said to the Cop regarding Corissa: in other words, I wondered whether he ratted out my admission that there had been inappropriate contact— and thus confirmed for them the veracity of at least some sexually-related charge.
After all, shouldn’t an attorney have been more circumspect in terms of what he wanted to know— as even Clayton had been, so as to preserve deniability for himself, and thus avoid compromising my defense through an excess of information?
This is all mere speculation, of course. So why am I impugning the reputation of a man I have no real basis on which to impugn? I’m not impugning it— I’m admitting that I don’t know. But since I met with a lot of dishonesty and corruption in Kanab, it’s easy to suspect such a thing. Besides, John did do a couple things that struck me as suspicious: showing up so conveniently, for one; being overly chummy, as I have also said; and failing to contact my family, as he promised he would do. Yeah, I know, I know: normal, proper, probably this, probably that, and he probably just forgot— or he just got too busy.
All that being said, if all the charges against Leon were to get dropped, my plans would have been waylaid anyway. And I agreed with Jim Scarth that the chances of having them all get dropped were pretty good— a result that would bring me no satisfac-tion at all. But if Leon did go to trial, then much of what I envisioned could still have come to fruition. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have resulted in the shove up Eric Lind’s backside that I had hoped it to be. That couldn’t happen anymore, under any circum-stance. Damn! But I could still expose and discredit him— in the pages of this book. And I could still prove be the reason that he quit, as I have said before.
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Eric Lind’s resignations nullified a delicious scenario I’d been fantasizing about. In that fantasy I testify on the side of Leon’s defense, and during the course of that trial the facts that I had preceded Corissa up the hill and that she’d followed me outside the library and asked to drive my car become publicly admitted at last—and put on the record, so that I can use them towards petitioning for a new trial.
That admission comes about— in this fantasy— in response to my claim that Cora obviously still doesn’t know everything that happened, unless she knows that those things are true too— and that if she doesn’t know those then she certainly can’t dispute my newly remembered claims. In other words, Cora can’t refute my assertion that on the hill Corissa ratted out the prosecutor — and told me what he was telling her to say.
A small problem was that Cora never did say she knows everything that happened— but only that she did keep getting closer to the truth.
A lot of potential complications flowed from that scenario— too many. But I’ve said enough: and perhaps I didn’t have it all perfectly worked out anyway. No matter what, regardless of the outcome, at the very least prosecution would be embarrassed by my testimony— since I would be publicly revealing their dishonesty and greed.
But with Eric Lind out of the equation, that would be a far less satisfying result.
Such a testimony need not have hurt John Hummel in any way, though— as long as he coughed up that exculpatory evidence before the fantasy trial. That’s because all the improprieties that I would testify about would only impugn his predecessor.
On the other hand, John Hummel deserved to take one in the shorts regardless.
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Another important consideration that flowed from that new state of affairs was that in the event that I were to secure a new trial, and ask for a Public Defender, at least I wouldn’t have had to worry about it being John Hummel! I didn’t even think he could take over the oversight of my Plea-in-abeyance— because if something about the terms of my PIA were to generate a dispute, could he be allowed to make the Prosecution’s arguments against me… or oversee the plea…?
Meanwhile I still hadn’t started my counseling, so I was anticipating a communi-qué from Wally: an “Are you crazy?” type of lambaste… and from the stress I felt like I was going to have a stroke. So the race was on, between the stroke and the heart attack.
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DECEMBER 02, 2006:
I got another angry Wally e-mail that I’ve been expecting. I’m so sick of him. At least he did answer one of my questions, though— but one I had not even asked. He said that it would be the Prosecutor who would file a complaint with the court saying I have not complied with my terms. I’d been wondering how such a thing would work: whether it would be the Prosecutor or the Judge who would pay attention to such a thing.
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My heart weighs a million pounds today. Fortunately my arm does not hurt. That’s what they say happens before a heart attack: that the arm hurts as well. I’ll bet you’re wondering why I’m not doing anything about it if I really fear I’m gonna’ have a heart attack? The answer is that I don’t wanna’ do anything about it. Just let it be fast.
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Have I blasted that SOB Lind yet for thinking he cold just waltz away from his elected position of public trust— at his itsy-bitsy convenience? What unmitigated scum!
Next question: when Lind and Huntington left office, what recommendations did they leave behind them, regarding me? It’s possible that they left none, in a zeal to wash their hands… or Lind might have recommended Hummel nail me to the cross, if he can.
Maybe I should write John Hummel another letter too— reminding him that we still have an Attorney/Client privilege, telling him that I am going to seek a new trial, and asking how that event would complicate our relationship.
Maybe I should do even more than that: maybe I should call on him to investigate my claims about what Corissa did— and call on him to petition for me to have a new trial, upon ascertaining the veracity of what I claim. And more: I can suggest that he has a special obligation in this case, for having been on both sides of it… I can remind him about all the things I told him in the jailhouse, including the claim Corissa made about her father… I can suggest that his unique position gives him unique obligation on behalf of this case. I can (cheekily) suggest that that rare kind of integrity might behoove him toward his self-expressed goal of an ascent to a Judge’s chair.
I’d say that it must be tempting for him to subpoena me as a witness in this case in view of what I was told by Corissa. Finally, I can ask if there is a legal principle whereby I can demand to be a witness. So yes— I think that I must write John Hummel too!
This just keeps getting weirder and weirder!
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I must write Wally too— to ask him to stop sending me angry messages. While I’m at it I can give him a blow by blow as well: about all the things that he did that he shouldn’t have. I’m mad at him. He just wants me to be a good-boy Johnny, from this point on. Oh, how convenient for him— again!
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I did write both those letters, during those first days of December, and sent them off. Both appear in their entirety the Appendix of this work. I did that because I don’t want to bludgeon you with all my letters, and especially those I consider repetitious in content of that which I’ve already rendered— even if they are not necessarily repetitious in tone. But it is also because they are quite lengthy that I deemed it better that they appear in their entirety there. That way you can skip them and still say you’ve read my whole book, if you are of that mind.
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I also wrote and sent my quarterly report. Here’s some excerpts from that:
Well it’s time for my quarterly report to the justice system of Kanab. This is, of course, the report I am required to submit, which tells the Court where I am living, where I am working, how and whether I am fulfilling the requirements of my plea-in-abeyance agreement, and how, overall, I am doing.
From there I segued into an exegesis about the problems with my counseling requirements, and asserted that I had finally found a local therapist that I intended to see.
I enumerated my reasons for having made that selection:
1) For lack of the actual altered recommendation, as I was promised I would get.
2) For need for this type of counseling, lest I go insane. The other type of counseling is included with the package, and will be dealt with to the extent that it is needed.
3) Transportation concerns- especially in the dead of an enormous winter. I have no car.
4) Cost. My debt is more enormous than the winter itself, and my income small.
I went on:
“(As to)…the heretofore unaddressed question of how I am doing. The answer is
lousy”. I live with a benign rage that each day threatens to consume me….
…You want to know how I’m I doing? Poorly. Three years ago I had money, credit, health, hope, and joie de vivre. Three years ago every trajectory in my life was upward. Then I fell onto a misdemeanor offense which for which my life has been destroyed. It seems that a diseased evil psychopathic Prosecutor was more interested in crossing his little arms and tucking his fists behind his scapulae and listening to himself make tough deals than is prosecuting either in proportion to what the evidence supported, or to what the reasonable person would believe had occurred. So now every trajectory in my life in downward. I believe that the State of Utah has extracted from my life far, far more than is human, reasonable, defensible, or just. Thus the rage.
Continuing, I declared:
I have made no secret of the fact that I still believe with every fiber of my being that I was railroaded; that the circumstances did not even indicate the b misdemeanor “Unlawful Detention”, let alone this “(Attempted) Kidnapping” which I was compelled to plead to.
I know I’m not supposed to write all this stuff. I fully understand that the court wants me to couch my feelings in configurations of “responsibility”, and to unfurl lots of lovely sounding phrases resonating with declarations about my “responsibility”— and to thereby sanction the attitude— convenient to everybody else— that this far out of proportion to reason prosecution emanated from my actions, and my actions alone, and that therefore every combination and permutation of everyone else’s responses to it can be laid at my feet. But that is pure baloney. Responsibility extends— both morally and legally— to those consequences which are foreseeable, and which are reasonable too.
I went on and on, including this:
Nobody has to continue reading this. And one thing I definitely do not want is another angry reply from my Lawyer, reminding me about this, that, and the other…
How am I doing? I’m incensed, outraged, livid, and burning up—every day.
Drawing to an end, I expressed this:
So there you have it gentlemen: a man who blames everyone but himself, if that is how you want to characterize it.
That in mind, I do not know what you are all going to do, but I know what I am going to do: I am going to continue seeing a Therapist who I believe can give me what I am needing now…
P.S. Please do not anybody send me any hostile letters until at least January…
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Take a deep breath if you need to.
Now here are excerpts from the letter I sent to John Hummel:
Dear John,
…I am writing you as a one time prospective client who, having divulged and discussed certain matters with you regarding a criminal case, believes that you are still bound by certain ethical considerations. And it is within the bounds of that framework that I make my appeals today.
Next I reminded him that I had made claims to him when he’d visited me in jail:
My claims to you at that time were that the young lady involved in the case— the “victim”, Corissa Mumford— had followed me outside the Library as I was heading for my car and, catching up to me, asked me if she could drive it. Another of my claims to you was that, behind the water tower where I was apprehended, I had bolted up the barren hillside by myself, and that Corissa had shrieked, and indicated both her desire to come with me, as well as her inability to climb the hill by herself (unassisted, that is).
Not surprisingly, I suppose, I went on and on.
To cut to the chase, and to restate that which I’ve already expressed, I am calling upon you— John Hummel— to immediately repudiate the legacy of your evil predecessor, Eric Lind. I remember that when we met you told me that you aspired to a Judgeship, and it seems to me that towards that end— and as much still when you get there— that you will want to be able to boast of a record of integrity, and of a commitment to truth and justice. So it is on that vein that I call on you to cough up the missing exculpatory evidence, and to engender the process whereby I can at last reopen this case and get a fair trial.
I understand that the Leon Wilson case has yet to go to trial, so it seems to me that you will have an opportunity to talk to Corissa and her mother Cora again. At that time, and along the lines of establishing their own veracity, you might want to ask them again about all this I say to you today.
There I expostulated upon my beliefs with respect to that. You’ve heard it all.
When you do ascertain the truth of any of what I say, John Hummel, I call upon you to do the right thing with it…
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After that I wrote another short note to Dr. Pingitore, rescinding permission to talk to anyone besides myself about any aspect of my case…
By doing all those things I was aware that I might well have gotten myself into trouble. Conversely, I may have sustained a victory there.
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Remember I told you I had misplaced some of my notebooks. Pondering that enormous loss, and everything inside them that I could no longer prove, some disturbing implications finally congealed:
No one else was privy to Dr. Pingitore’s verbal recommendation;
No one else was privy to Wally’s claim that he had to be done by 2:30 (though we could check to see what time the flight he took back home was);
No one else was privy to the (disputed) claims I made to Dr. Pingitore:
I cannot prove which tapes Dr. Maram actually played for me;
No one else was privy to the events that took place between Corissa and myself;
Clayton probably believes he had a privilege with the Prosecutor when that Prosecutor threatened the “No, no…”— and might never have to admit it;
Many of my claims about the preliminary hearing are unsupported by the record;
No one else was privy to the jailhouse conversation between Hummel and myself;
No one else heard Stuart Nixon tell me that 90% of men respond to teen-agers.
No one else heard Zack say he thought my letter raised some legitimate points;
And having lost my journals I couldn’t even prove I wrote that I’d wanted to kill myself, on the morning of the crime! Nor did I have Leslie’s corroborations for things that were not recorded in the preliminary record— if indeed, she’d recorded any of those missing things.
I was sure I’d think of other stuff to add to that list. But do you see where I am going with it? My point is that it is easy for everyone concerned with this to say that this “criminal” (me) is a “liar”! Or even worse, that this psychotic (me) is “delusional”!
There’s amusement in all that losing-my-mind stuff too: I sent parts of the first draft of this book out to several friends—for them to read and comment upon. But in my newly unfolding insanity fantasies— or whatever they are called— they all contacted me to ask why I’d sent them a pile of blank papers.
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Maybe I should discharge Wally, and take over my case myself. Maybe that would necessitate a judgment by the court about my mental competence to do so! Ha! Then I’d find out then whether I really have gone insane!
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So you see that the first days of December were extremely fertile for me.
Meanwhile work at Salt Creek was going somewhat the same as usual then. I see that I have not mentioned it for some. I might have neglected to mention it entirely, too, had I not been reminded of it in a passage I have re-discovered from my daily journal:
“God give me the strength to not spit in the hostesses’ eye before I crack up completely— ranting and raving, as they come take me away.”
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CHAPTER FORTY
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12-05-05
Zack was a different person today. He told me that he could neither write a letter to the court for me nor continue seeing me. In fact, he said he was compelled to refer me somewhere else: to Dr. Warren, who is a specialist in Dillon.
(That didn’t stop Zack from billing me for the hour, though— even though he went into it knowing we were through!)
I remembered the name Dr. Robert Warren because his name had appeared in the list of PS evaluators Wally sent me right after the trial. I’d even phoned him, back in March to get some estimates. That’s how I knew it would cost $1250. But when I went back to California— not certain I’d be back, I threw all that stuff away. I’d forgotten his name in the interim.
I don’t think he’s in the phone book here (in Breck) anyway, because I believe I would have recognized his name as I looked through the Psychologists/ Psychiatrist’s listings. Hell: even Zack himself—a mental health professional— had not been able to readily establish Dr. Warren’s phone number, or even where he worked— except to learn that his practice is in the nearby town of Dillon, which was what I remembered too.
Zack espoused the point of view that the Judge is obviously not on my side. I wonder why would he think that? No, I am not being ironic— for I’m not sure of that at all. He also agreed it was strange that the D.A. has resigned.
After that Zack asked me what I was afraid of— with regards to that counseling.
I will say this for Zack: he at least clarified for me that the biggest issues people will be looking at are why I went of with Corissa so soon— regardless of what I thought of her age— and why I had so little that self-preservation instinct as we scrambled up that hill. And I’ll grant that those are good and valid questions too— but ones for which I have answers: that the former was the result of an “acute dissociative episode”, and the latter was exactly what several people have averred: a lack of “common sense”…
But let me point out that neither of those are psychosexual issues!…Furthermore, all that PPG diagnosed “coercion” stuff was bullshit. (Hardly a clinical or critical rebuttal there, I concede, but valid to my way of thinking, nonetheless.) I repeat myself, though, huh?
What is more, I still defend my taking a hike with Corissa as an appropriate response. It may not be the response that most people would have chosen, nor even a response that most people understand. But it is nonetheless a defensible response, and it flows from a capacity for heroism that I will not be psychoanalyzed out of!
So what am I afraid of, Zack, with respect to my counseling? Well it’s not the truth that I’m afraid of. No, it is their predatory misrepresentations of the truth that I fear: the things that for lack of having recordings of, or witnesses to, have lent them-selves to misrepresentations, lies, and denials. Must I really clarify these things again?
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I don’t believe I will have run afoul of my PIA unless I’ve failed to commence this counseling by March 1st. To say this once again, nothing in my agreement or my recommendation said anything about a starting date. Nor did anything in it say anything about completing that counseling requirement in this country!
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What does it mean that the counselor can make other recommendations?
Dr. Pingitore already tried to tell me where I must live, which seemed well beyond his ken. So does that mean that those recommendations may also include things like retaking the PPG; taking the ABEL anyway; or taking a lie-detector test? Or how about coming in for clinical sessions eight times a month? Can they even tell me what sort of car I must drive?
I also wonder what “cooperating” entails? I have a bad feeling about that too: I
suspect it means supplanting my claim that I was helping Corissa with another claim that allows the whole psycho-legal convolution to pretend that it was justified in all its machi-nations. In other words, “cooperating” means “admitting” that I really aimed to do Corissa harm. Damn those bastards! But I’ll bet that I am right!
And I’ll bet that their corporatized phrase for not wanting to be dragged through all their bullshit is called “afraid to take the counseling”— or “having something to fear”. Bastards! But by casting me into this pit I say the “State” misrepresented its half of the bargain. More than ever I want to void the deal now.
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In addition to scrolling down from AK to land on K, Judge Mower could have
scrolled down from the FSA and landed on the SAM. You know that by now, I have no doubt— since I have asserted it a dozen times…And he could have kept the AK alive, by doing it. So why didn’t he? Why would he have scrolled down on one side but not the other? It’s the million-dollar question, really.
Oh, I could speculate to many conclusions, but none of them are convincing. A couple speculations, however, are highly suggestive. But maybe the answer is that by scrolling down on the detention side (the left side) and arriving at the K, that he was deliberately keeping alive a felony charge for that same old reason: the “control” thing. Had he reduced the whole thing to just UD, I could have split from the state— never to return…
That could explain the inconsistent scrolling. But in doing what he did, as I saw it— and by supporting it with that atrocious definition— he effected several other things, accidentally or on purpose. One was that he freed the prosecution of the obligation to turn over the exculpatory evidence that I was still waiting for.
Yes, I’ve said that, but now I’ll quickly make certain I’ve explained it. You see, if merely being with Corissa constituted a detention, then the facts of her following me outside to ask me to drive my car— and her expressed desire to accompany me up the hill— did not count as exculpatory evidence any longer. Evidence of her initiative would not contradict a detention, by Mower’s definition
The second thing he did informs my brand new realization. It is that by defining detention in that way, he indemnified Mark Fisher against a false arrest. His definition made Mark correct in maintaining that I couldn’t go anywhere with anybody younger than eighteen— even though he’d blown it utterly when he’d arrested me for CK.
Both those consequences had enormous significance to me.
One other thing to consider here, before we move on, is that by charging me with
a felony perhaps the judge had somehow dissuaded Eric Lind from re-filing charges— or from filing SAM. I don’t know why that would have happened, though— it’s really just speculation without any good evidence behind it. But the fact cannot be denied that Eric Lind did not re-file charges— and given his diseased zeal to screw me one must wonder why that was. What went on behind the scenes?
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Whaddayamean, little voice, that his definition of detention was the price I paid for having Judge Mower dismiss the more serious charges? Do you mean to suggest that the Judge struck that bargain consciously— as a sort of compromise? No, that view does not hold, because Eric Lind could have re-filed the charges… Or he could have re-filed SAM, built his AK from that, and benefited from the Judge’s ridiculously light definition as well. And that triumvirate of circumstances would have been even worse for me. By that outcome then the Judge would have handed Eric Lind my 1st degree conviction…
So the only way the Judge’s definition could have been designed to help me is if he knew in advance that Eric Lind would not re-file those charges later…And he couldn’t have known that, right?…
Right? But why didn’t Eric Lind re-file these charges?
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12-06?-05
Am I running afoul of my PIA? I say no! I did not agree to furnish documentary proof that I had started my counseling— I merely agreed to authorize my Counselor to report on my progress- every six months.
Upon further scrutinization, I see that Dr. Pingitore’s recommendation didn’t even say that I had to follow the recommendations of my psychosexual counselor— but only that that counselor may make them to me. Yes, that’s thin ice there, I‘m sure— but there has to be some sort of limit to what that psychosexual counselor can recommend! Other-wise he can consign me to “meds”; refer me to yet another specialist; and tell me I must follow that specialist’s recommendations too… etc. etc., and ad- fuckin-infinitum… such that the whole thing can easily become just an enabling plank for all manner of de facto specialist’s regulations— all of which will pick my pocket, to be sure!
I see that I keep repeating myself. The descent continues…
Anyway, I have some new ideas:
1) Tape record every conversation/session I have with the PSC, but do not let him tape record them. That’ll keep ‘em honest— and probably piss them off!
2) Let the PSC write a letter of “commencement” to the court, then immediately rescind permission to discuss me in any way— until six months have passed.
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A fortuitous departure from the legal distraction was the wonderful pledge by Maggie, at Salt Creek, that she would deal with my “Hostess” problem. She confided that they didn’t plan to use her at night anymore! Hallelujah!! That, after being so angry last night that I could hardly sleep!
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Back to my morass of legal speculations, I had to ask myself this: ”What if Dr. Warren refuses to work with me? Well why would that happen, you might ask? Perhaps because I insist on tape-recording our conversations, for example— or because I refuse to come see him six times a month; or because I “resist” his “recommendations”; or because I do not give him permission to blab every single thing I say or do to the court.
But why shouldn’t I keep him honest by recording the sessions myself? Consider all those things I made a list of earlier— that I alone was privy to. I can’t let that sort of circumstance become true of my counseling too. And there’s another reason: if indeed I’ve been so remiss owing to my lack of self-preservative instinct, then protecting myself by recording this stuff should demonstrate that I’ve amply developed that capacity now!
If Dr. Warren refuses to “cooperate” with me, then perhaps I should write Dr. Pingitore another letter— asking what it is he means for me to do now?!
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I called Dr. Warren and made an appointment. He said he’d call Dr. Pingitore before our meeting and request the report. Then we’ll take it from there. But I’ve decided I must carefully circumscribe the conditions of his contact: to let him request a copy of my recommendation, and to let him ask Dr. P. why he changed the thing— but no more.
In other words I am reluctant to let Dr. Warren ask Dr. Pingitore whether it is okay for us to have sessions only a couple times a month. First, I believe he would say no. Secondly, he’s made his recommendation already— without any mention about the “frequency” of sessions. So as far as I‘m concerned, that waddling Viennese professor must not be given yet another chance to alter and constrict my terms… Fuck him.
One promising thing that came out of my telephone discussion with Dr. Warren was that inasmuch as I am not in the Colorado system, that he has more flexibility in how often I can see him. (Ha! I hadn’t thought of that) The standard six sessions a month (for $320) thing that he “offers” is in fact really just a response to the Colorado law, which mandates those terms.
I’d say that that is very encouraging but my bet is that it is not. At best I suspect he’ll try to require I come to see him “only” four times a month— and charge $250, or so.
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I purchased a small tape recorder that I can conceal in my backpack— heh heh heh— while I record every word our good Doctor Warren says. It’s time to start protect-ting myself. And maybe that’s the point of all of this: maybe this is all a metaphysical moral lesson to start protecting myself— against predators like Pingitore, Fisher, Lind, and Maram.
Did I just say that? Yes I did, and for the very first time. It had not even occurred to me to characterize them that way until the words fell off my electronic pen: that these people are just a bunch of fuckin’ predators. Oh wow!
And for the sake of protecting myself, I should suspect nothing less of Dr. Warren
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Either I was really intending to hurt Corissa or else my behavior in going on the hike was so utterly foolish as to require psychoanalysis— and no other scenario can be entertained by these people. Either way, everything that was done to me by them in response was justified, and everyone is exonerated— except for me, of course. And by either of those motives— along with my concomitant future “admissions”— Kanab is indemnified against a civil action. Fine. But I say that the inability to even conceive the merits of my chosen option says a lot more about the people who cannot conceive it than it says about me. It shows they are at best myopic, and at worst cowards, and weaklings — that even after hearing the explanation that they still cannot understand.
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Heh heh heh, I nefariously chuckled: I had another delicious idea! Originally I had thought that every time Eric Lind attempted to prosecute anybody on any charge that I should make a point to be there for the defense— to educate the people about his evil tactics…to have the jury shake their heads in utter outrage and consternation about his ways. Not that I knew how the door would get opened to my testimony anyway.
Unfortunately his resignation put a stop to that self-satisfying plan. But then I
realized that it should not be only Eric Lind whose docket I could haunt: that I could haunt David Pingitore’s docket too— should he ever be called to be an expert witness… And I could haunt Wesley Maram’s as well.
Perhaps I can also make myself available to people who have been adversely assessed via these PS machines, and via these “evaluations”. Maybe my experience can serve to discredit a wide range of such predatory usurpations. Usurpations? Well perhaps that isn’t exactly the right word. But it sure does sound good here. And there has been a predatory usurpation here anyway: a usurpation of truth and of channels for redress for all the bullshit they perpetrate.
Maybe these people are just too close to what they do— and they therefore cannot see the truth: that’s the charitable view to take of them, at least. But that doesn’t alter the fact that they destroy people’s lives. And I don’t believe innocent error is the case anyway. I believe, rather— as I have said repeatedly— that these people are predators…
Anyway, wouldn’t it be great if I could make a living doing that: flying around the country, appearing for Defense….
Of course, it wouldn’t be long before they’d crowd me out of the equation, by using exclusively the ABEL. They’d say “Mr. Burton, isn’t it true that you haven’t even taken this kind of test?…
Ah, but maybe I could just go ahead and take that test too, entirely on my own motivation!… But the problem with that plan is that if I were not legally mandated to take it, the assessor wouldn’t be clued in advance about what it is they are supposed to find!
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I’m angry about the Eric Lind situation. By quitting he fucked up so many of my plans. It’s as if his time on earth was ordained— as a platform from which to screw me. And he did. He got to screw me and then walk away— while my rage had to endure.
