B69) В Россию с любовью

Я был поражен тем, у меня так много хитов от людей в России. Я так любопытно, что это обращение?


Я собираюсь посетить Россию в один прекрасный день

B67) Hearts and MInds

"When you got em by the balls their hearts and minds will follow"

 

B64) I shutter to think....

 

What if I won my appeal. What if won at trial. What if I exposed the lies told against me by the detective? What if I proved what happened that day at the airport. What if my conviction had never existed or been vacated. What if I won a record setting law suit against the state and all parties involved in my wrongful prosecution and imprisonment.

Money. Lots and lots of money if only the truth would have come out.

So much good came from prison ------------------------------------- for me. I shudder to think about life had I not spent six years in prison. What if my spiritual ephapiny never happened.

I shudder to think...

B63) Some of my appeal facts

He lied. At my trial the detective who arrested me lied on the witness stand. It's called perjury punishable with up to five years in prison. The detective who arrested me at Sky Harbor International airport Perjured himself in order to secure a conviction against me. Even though I was the defendant in the case I was stunned at what the detective testified to.

There were two detectives at the airport. Only one showed up for the trail. Why is this? Why didn't my lawyer put both on the witness stand?

He lied because of me? This goes to show you how low his moral threshold was. Break the law to enforce the law. It's hypocrisy.

Please keep in mind I was guilty. I had weed in my luggage. But there are rules. Laws. If the cops don't uphold the laws, what good are they?

When I heard the lies It was obvious they were trying to hide something. When the prosecutor does not want the truth or facts muddying up his , her or their case, then you know somethings wrong.

The courts exist for facts. They are seeking the truth.

The end does not justify the means

I was arrested at Sky Harbor International Airport. I believe it was early afternoon. Could have been late morning. I checked my luggage at the ticket counter up front. With my boarding pass in hand I headed to the gate. It was a convenient coincidence to find my boarding gate next to one of the airport bars.

I need a drink. I was so nervous. Still after all these years I was nervous. On the outside I was calm and happy. All was right with me and the world. On the inside, my guts were in knots. My heart was racing like the engine at the Indy 500. Living in this duality comes at a price. You don’t realize the price until you are standing there with the bill in your hand. ---

It’s too late.

You own it.

I grabbed a vodka rocks and headed to the giant window in front of the plane I would soon board. I stood there watching and looking attentively for my suitcases as the baggage handlers loaded suitcase after suitcase. Bingo. There they are. Whew. One of the luggage guys loads my marijuana filled suitcases into the cargo hold.

Whew. Wow. Okay. Good. Good. Good.

That’s over. That’s the rough part. They would have busted me by now if they were going to bust me at all. I can relax. Such a relief. I do relax. I can let my guard down now, at least for the flight. I will begin to feel the panic again as soon as the wheels touch the ground at chicago’s O'Hara international airport.

Sometimes its better to be lucky instead of being good.

As I sat there at the bar I felt like I dodged a bullet. I get it. I know it. I do realize it. My name is Chip Knight and I just dodged another bullet. This is what I thought as I sat there. I could relax for a few hours. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I was sitting at the bar relaxing and enjoying how fucking smart I am. I want to make a declaration.

“My name is chip knight and I’m a genius with more guts than brains. I can do anything”

I turned around in my bar stool to see who was tapping on my shoulder while in my euphoria.

It was a cop.

Yes.

I am not kidding.

All I could see was the badge. All I could feel was the beginning of the depth of my stupidity. I could see it and I could feel it. It had no end. There was no bottom. I was in free fall into the depths of Hell. With the ground rushing up at me I froze in time, right there. With that hellish feeling. I had to look away. All I could see coming was a ghastly and wretched sight.

Instantly I have a new declaration:

My name is chip knight, I am the stupidest man on the planet.

It’s horrifying how fast things can change.

I was arrested and put in handcuffs. The police officers took my boarding ticket with attached luggage reciepts. The cops inlisted the help of a baggage handler to go into the plane's carho hold and retrieve my luggage.

Accourding to the cops my luggage never made it to the plane. According to the cops, I was arrested at the ticket counter.

The baggage handler is the person that can testify as to what really happened on that day. My appeal was based on finding that luggage handler. That man could free with me his testimony.

B62) Court appointed lawyers (part 1)

The detective perjured himself during my trail. I can prove this on appeal. This is the reason for the  appeal. When I prove the detective lied on the witness stand I get to walk. Not only will I be freed, I get to sue the detective, personally (his car his house his monies would be mine). My trail lawyer told me when the cop went outside the bounds of the law in his efforts to catch me he opened his self up personally for criminal and civil damages. I can sue him and the police department for their illegal actions.

Years I was investigate. Time and time again they came close. Eventually they got me, at the airport. They had an informant giving them info on my travel plans. Was the informant my wife?  As it turns out I did not know my wife as well as I thought.  The cops were waiting for me. No one else knew I was on my way to the airport. It doesn't matter at this point.  If one of us had to go away I'm glad it was me. I'm very okay with it. My wife would not have been able to overcome something like prison. Years in prison. It would have destroyed her. Prison made me stronger. It awakened the sleeping giant within me.

It did not matter that the person testifying against me in front of the grand jury was my wife's best customer.  The time for this to matter has long passed. It was not the beginning of the end for  it was the end the end. The only thing that mattered in the end was who would be with our daughter? I much preferred it being my wife.


It's all my fault. I should have quit. I knew I was a target. I was under investigation. I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop myself.  I needed my drug, my fix. The work. I was addicted to the  work. I needed to stay busy like a drug trafficker does. I needed the adrenaline rush. I needed more. more. more god dam it! I want that fucking drug coursing through my body. Through my bloodstream. Adrenaline. I need adrenalin. I love adreanline. I want more. More. More.

I want

I need 

More.

More.

More.

To be right on the edge of living and dying. To be right on the edges of freedom and incarceration.

I'm all in.

I'm playing for all the marbles.

Back to the point:
Years I was investigate. When they finally got me red handed they fucked it up. The cop had to lie about what he did at the airport when he arrested me. All that work done, hours spent, money spent, manpower. Lots and lots of effort and the only path to a conviction for the prosecutor was to have the detective perjure himself.


It's comically stupid.

After the jury found me guilty of possession of marijuana my trial lawyer turned to me and said:

"I'm sorry. The conviction will never stand on appeal. I will testify as to my mistakes when in court for your appeal. 

I should have stood up immediately and told the judge what my lawyer said. To put it on the record.

She looked exhausted . Her tired and over worked incompetence cost me a conviction. I believed her when she said she would file the Rule 32 and testify. She did file the Rule 32. She did a great job at that. She was great at filing simple motions. Things got tricky when it was time to do your job and be a lawyer defending me. 

It was the night before the trail. The public defender stopped by the jail to have a pretrial conference with her client.  We began going over the facts of the case. She was going by the "story" the cops told her. My own lawyer never prepared a defense based on the truth and facts.  It was horrific news on the eve of the trail. My lawyer had not prepared a defense based on the truth and facts.

The trail did not go well.

Fact: The typical prosecutor has half the caseload of the typical public defender. That's not fair to the public defenders and it's especially not fair for the defendants. Because of the Constancy involved with utilizing the public defenders office.

My court appointed trail lawyer filed my Rule 32 (appeal for ineffectiveness of counsel). When the day came to be in court my trail lawyer/public defender nowhere to be found. My Public Defender was not good to her word. She decided I would pay for her incompetence. Me alone. She would never be held accountable for her incompetence as my lawyer.

When the day came to be in court for my appeal, for my Rule 32, guess who was absent? My trail lawyer, the public defender. The only advice my state appointed appeal lawyer had for me:

"Be a man and do the time"

Can you imagine a criminal defense lawyer saying something like that to a client. 

"Be a man and do the time"

He did not care about the facts of my case and appeal. He did not want to be a man and do the job he was paid to do. I had a path to freedom and my state sponsored appeal lawyer says:

"Be a man and do the time"

My state appointed appeal lawyer was not the least bit interested in the merits of my case or helping me in getting my conviction over turned.

I told my state appointed appeal lawyer:

"My trail lawyer told me she would testify as to her mistakes during my trail. Where is she"?

My state appointed appeals lawyer said to me:

"Why should your trail lawyer (the public defender) tarnish her reputation for you"

I responded:

"Because she made mistakes before my trail and during my trail resulting in my conviction. Isn't that enough of a reason? It's about responsibility, Isn't it? Isn't the determining of responsibility the reason for our criminal and civil courts?  I'm being held responsible for my actions. Why shouldn't my public defender be held accountable for her actions. Why shouldn't the detective that perjured himself during my trail be held accountable for his actions?

"Why shouldn't you be held accountable for your actions as my lawyer "

I said to my state appointed appeal lawyer"

Why should my trial lawyer not be held responsible for her action. Especially when her actions and gross incompetence lead to my conviction and a ten year prison sentence? Why am I made to be held accountable but no one else but all around me it? 

My appeal lawyer continued on with more of the same. His argument was:

"Be a man and do the time"

What an asshole my appeal lawyer was. He never envisioned I would end up a computer scientist after I got out of prison. He never imagined I would become a college professor, an IT consultant with a security clearance. None of those people ever thought I would end up with a credible voice that traveled round the world and back again on a daily basis.

Why didn't my appeal lawyer "be a man and do his job"? He was paid for his services then acted like an incompetent asshole.

With respect to the individuals utilizing the public defenders. Such a high percentage of those being represented by the public defenders consist of the poor. It's the poorest that society has been deemed "not worthy or of no value". It's the poorest of the poor in our society most often going to trail with a public defender. Time after time the people needing the most help are those getting the least help.

B61) " I can do five years standing on my hands " : he said...

Maricopa County Court. 1992

I was sitting in the jury box shackled to four or five other residence of the Maricopa County Jail.  I was listening to the judge. He sentenced four or five people back to back. Along with watching the sentencing I get to watch an equal number of motions being argued. Some lawyers get all riled up for their client. They show passion. ---- Not my state appointed lawyer.  Zero passion, zero enthusiasm and even less competency.

I watched the subtle changes in the judges demeanor as a variety of different lawyers argued their cases. I was back in court on a procedural motion. Nothing of consequence from my awesome legal team on this day. Still I sat there paying attention to the judge and the lawyers. 

I watched the difference in lawyers with respect to how they dressed. I never did see a prosecutor wearing two thousand dollar suit or a five hundred dollar sport coat. The prosecutor at my trial showed up every day, all five foot six of him. He showed up with a pock marked ache scarred face, a suit from K-Mart and a bad attitude. The worst part about this guy, he hated me.

Sitting through a meriad of court dates. Stuck in the court room for hours one end and I'd watch. I became keenly aware of how the prosecutors and defense lawyers conducted themselves. I  noticed how the prosecutors and defense lawyers reacted to each other while in front of the judge as well as watching them when not in front of the judge. There's a big difference.

I noticed how the lawyers interacted with the court's administrative staff. Some lawyers seem to piss everyone off.

There was a gentelman being sentenced. The judge gave him five years. 

The veteran defendant said to the judge after hearing his sentence of five years,

“Hell judge. Just five years. I can do five years standing on my hands”

The judge responded immediately:

“Well, lets make it ten years then. This will give you time to get back on your feet”

The judge swung his gavel producing a crisp sharp smack. It was done. Take that smart ass. The convict looked as if he just taken a bullet to the heart. Everybody hearing that looked stunned in disbelief at what the judge said and did.

It was perfect.

The bailiff called the next case.

And the world kept turning...

B60) Waiting on the jury

Maricopa County Courthouse, Phoenix Arizona; 1993.

I went on trial for possession of marijuana. This was the marijuana found in my luggage at Sky Harbor airport 1992.

The chairs in the court room are very comfortable. They are unlike any chair I ever sat in. The chairs I refer to are the chairs for the lawyers. I bet the judge’s chair is the most comfortable of all. The chairs in the jury box were not bad. They were definitely a step or two down from the lawyers chairs and probably more than a few steps down from the judges chair in quality and comfort. When you get stuck in one of those for hours you begin to appreciate how comfortable they are.

My trial did not last a day. When it ended I was taken down stairs to wait while the jury was out deliberating. No more comfortable chairs. I was given a sack lunch and put in a cell with two other inmates. One of the guys was not too social. I can’t recall much about either of them. What I do remember is being asked if I wanted to get high?

What an odd question to ask someone in a jail cell. Get high in jail while the jury was out deliberating on my drug charges?

“Of course I want to get high”

If ever there was a time needing an altered state of consciousness it was this time. Right now

When the offer came I wasn’t sure what drug he had but I said yes?

What happened next was as shocking as it was disgusting. Dude went over to the toilet. Dropped his pants. Sat down. Reached into his anus and pulled out a balloon of crystal meth.

OMG

I never expected this. I don't know what I was expecting when I heard the offer to get high? Unsocial guy was quick to weigh in with his commentary on what was going on.

“You gotta be kidding me. Stuck in this fucking place with this mother fucker”

He said to himself loud enough for all to hear.

Dude sat there on the toilet preparing things. He came over with a couple of lines cut out on his legal pad. He handed me a paper straw and I snorted a line.

“Hello”

I think I’d been in the jail for six months to that point. No drugs or alcohol in my system. The speed hit me like a freight train coming down out of the high Sierras.

Doing crystal meth in Sheriff Joe Arpaio jail while waiting for the jury to come back with a verdict on my drug trial. The irony did not escape me. Sheriff Joe Arpaio has only the best crystal meth in his jail. He must be so proud!

The jury came back fast. I did not get an opportunity to eat my bag lunch. For some reason I lost my appetite. I was taken back upstairs by the guard sent to fetch me. the guard remarked about my energy and attitude, considering the circumstances.

“You seem to be in too good a mood for someone in such dire straits”

“It’s the crystal meth I did down stairs” I told her (lady guard).“It put me in a good mood”

She stopped dead in her tracks. She made me stop too.

I said “I’m just kidding” with a smile. “What do you think, guilty or innocent”?

We began moving again. The deputy said in all seriousness

“Guilty as charged”

Yes indeed. I was found guilty as charged. My sentencing would not happen for another month.