The Law of Jihad

We're separate, but we are whole. The law enforcement scene is mean, but judiciary can be worse. So much brain fucking, so little time, Line Deputy. Your Harvard Law degree will mean everything around me, but for now, do as I do, wrip it up and store in your brain. Then, at an appropriate time, we can choose your name. I am extremely exhausted today, and I am hoping to feel better tomorrow for my Great Aunt Jenn's wake. I wrote a short piece and I will read a bit of an autobiography with my mother. I just hope to stay away from tears. That is so embarrasing, publically. It is hard to tell, but I feel like I pushed the correct inboxes yesterday. I did not speak of you, but I did speak of Muncie, a bit. Things stored in my memory maze came up to be known by land of the lost (attorneys at large). I still see the baby blue of your eyes today, on the day you and I met. You stood against the wall and just stared at me for like fifteen seconds before you did speak. I thought that you were grand, in every land, at that very moment in time. Just so you know, Ruth Ginsberg (Current Supreme Court Justice at that time) came to meet me in Indy at The Columbia Club. Judge Collins thought it was funny that the Indy Cop brute squad had beaten and locked me down two weeks before. Ruth assumed that they had actually killed me in Muncie and that they were just false reporting, heinously. There was no record of my arrest because none of the arrests were real, but the torture certainly was. In the jail, I read the article about Ruth, in the Indy Star, and they said that she had crocheted black gloves on. Now I know that my grandmother, Virginia, crocheted them for her to give to me. Complications of birth records are Ruth's thing. That should have been taken care of that day, but now I know that TODAY is the RECKONING.