I haven’t kept a journal in years, but if I did, “not in jail” represents how Saturday’s entry would have read. In a life marred by legal abuse, “not in jail” subordinates all other news, which is anyway bound to be scant. (My most recent calendar is from 2015, and the battery in my wall clock needed replacement since before I hung the calendar.)
A stint in county lockup was a prospect I’d faced for over two years—a stay that would have been indefinite if I’d been stubborn enough to defy the court’s mandate and assert principle and fact.
A criminal contempt proceeding to determine whether the court could justify my incarceration for unlawfully prohibited speech had been slated for Thursday and Friday of last week. (A since disgraced judge, Carmine Cornelio, issued an order against me in 2013 that violated the First Amendment and that I was alleged to have flouted.)
The trial was vacated this month by a signature I was as familiar with as my own, that of EPA adviser Tiffany Bredfeldt, a married woman who had accused me serially over the decade since 2005, when she was routinely to be found outside of my house at night (minus her wedding ring). She testified in 2013 that she was in the care of a psychiatrist…because she’d suffered grave trauma over the intervening years as a result of my talking about her conduct. In 2016, she submitted a “Victim’s Impact Statement” to the court that atomized her tribulations. She nonetheless consented to dismiss 12 years of claims of terror with the swipe of a pen, because the law was no longer on her side, probably, and because mounting attorney fees (possibly a swimming pool’s worth) were a steep price to pay for a vicious self-indulgence.
(Three other legal actions coordinated with a friend of Bredfeldt’s, Jennifer (Oas-)Terpstra, one of which also menaced me with jail time, were dismissed in 2016 and 2017, and the latter case inspired the chief magistrate of the Tucson municipal court, Tony Riojas, to remark that “people come in and…say things that are just blatantly false.”)
According to conventional lights, breathlessly policed by liberal social justice advocates, having to fight a bad verdict for two years while plaintiffs who have chronically misled the court gloat and advance their careers, a parent succumbs to cancer by starving to death, and a vista of concrete stained with human waste looms in the foreground is nothing compared to a sock in the eye. Or being flashed or groped—or even just allegedly flashed or groped.
This is to say that conventional lights are blazingly dim.
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*Men I’ve corresponded with who’ve also been targeted by high-conflict plaintiffs haven’t been so “blessed.” The victims named in these posts have all served time behind bars based on judicial error and/or outright fraud:
- Larry’s Story: Restraining Order Abuse and the Neighbor from Hell
- A Man’s “Tasty Little Balls…What a Treat!”: On RAINES v. ARISTEO, Free Speech, and Censorship
- The “Nightmare” Neil Shelton Has Lived for Three Years and Is Still Living: A Father’s Story of Restraining Order Abuse
And the lives of at least two of them, Bruce Aristeo and Neil Shelton, have been irreparably despoiled.
Posted on July 23, 2018
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