Soliloquy In A Cell
Nothing seems to be anything but a total miscarriage lost in the stigma of pronouncing due process. ‘Branded’ Sank’s scars depress a prisoner of society.
“A good man can be reduced to irrationality.”
“I know, Sank, it’s obvious charisma. As the old cliché goes, you can’t fight city hall,” says the bearded dome agreeingly.
“Yeah, I fought ‘em, I acted propria persona.”
“Look and see where you’re at now. You fool.”
“It was really a matter of professional vs. paraprofessional.”
“You mean you, the fool, fell in the spy-counter spy trap. Agent US. the weak,” Red splinters in reply.
“I did try to defend myself. I saw them testify before. Even if Darrow did say ‘a person as his own lawyer has a fool for a client’ I had to do it. Not just that I was up against the bench. Originally I had the public defender, the state’s attorney and strategy to contend—“
“I know, they brought a couple beers at the club the night before. Traded a case, here and there.”
“Five minutes before the commencing of trial he walks in, introduces himself, and announces he has a deal for me which I just cannot turn down. Two-to-six years in the state pen.”
“Whoope-e-d-o-o!” bloats Red from diaphram.
“Yeah!” I agree.
“Hey! Montana, get Slim and Hard-on. We’ve got us a new fish on the gallery. Cell twenty-two.”
“You some kind of lawyer?” drawls a westerner.
“No, not really, I just defended myself in court.
“What you get busted for?” the lanky one uttered.
“Delivery and possession.”
Then comes a bombardment almost simultaneously giving little time for answers.
“Bring any with you?”
“No, that’s dead.”
“Bureau of Investigation or Metro?”
“IBI, Ogilvie’s goon squad.”
“How much time?”
“No, there’re stacked.”
“You been busted before?”
“Yeah, not this type of charge. I did time at P…”
“I knew it, I always remember a face.”
“What you say they give you this time?”
“They’ll aggragate it. You’ll do about twenty-four months.”
“Hon, I wanna talk to you,” a Negro asked very sarcastically.
“Who you ridin’ with?”
“What do you mean, a…”
“You know, who’s representing you?”
“Move on, boys, move it.”
“You too, Robinette.”
“Yea! In a minute, Mr. Sebbs. Talking to my homey. Haven’t saw him for a couple years.”
“Talk to him on the yard.”
“Well! See you, later.”
“If you need anything I’ll get it.
“Mr. Sebbs! Mr. Sebbs! Dat guy was pickin’ em up an’ puttin’ ‘em down so fast, he fal out.
“So what, Bizzy?”
“Boss man, you got a bloody pulp down nar. Git on dat d’tail,” he urges as the attention is diverted to the end of the gallery.
Alone, Sank sweats. “Dammit,” he shouted angrily, slamming his head against the opening in the bars, clutches them as if he’s going to tear the steed of steel out of the macadam.
The rendition is overbearing. Court reconvenes within his mind. Escape is but as impossible as the fantastic which brings him to the cellblock. Sees himself as William Kunstler screaming “a total miscarriage of justice.” Russell Little turning to the reactionary jury and iterating “death insects that prey upon the people.” Aristotle philosophizing “deliberative, statesman, deals, communal interests, affords, less room for trickery—leasing judge (audience) by play of emotions” Russell Means howling “deal standards of justice.” Sank atrociously convicted while Connally’s lawyer asks “Have we reached the point in our society where scoundrels can escape punishment if only they inculpate others?” Initials reign CIA, FBI, DEA, FDA, ATF, IBI, NRA, and MEG. Satiric; nostalgia. Watergate and spy coverups never died. Angola.
The prosecutor’s strategy in condoning to almost an unfair way of doing, even with the scandal of the taint I Washington. “Here these guys are sneaking around pretending they are drug users and are really police trying to get evidence to stop it. It is not proper? I disagree. There is nothing wrong with this and this may be the only way to control the problem. Sank sinks in as he knows the goods are against him. All of a sudden, he claims he has been entrapped. The police, here, are credible. So the only other person left to point the finger is the informer. A person he claims psychologically kidnaps. Like a robot, a puppet. He had no will of his own. Controlled drug induced state. In some way he was forced to sell to the agents. Who is supplying who? He was in the business and he was willing to commit the crimes. All they were doing was giving him the chance to commit the crimes he was planning to do anyway. And he sank.”
“We, the jury, find the defendant, Sink Sank, guilty if possession of controlled substance, Count I,” and “We the Jury, find the defendant, Sink Sank, guilty of delivery of controlled substance, Count II.
THE COURT: “Very well, then.
Judgement of conviction is entered on Count I and II and the verdicts are accepted by the court.
Mr. Sank, please approach the bench.
The only way I can characterize the offenses here are that of seriousness. It is not my desire to make an example of you but I do think that your past record of criminal convictions, together with the complete lack of any contrition that you might have for those past criminal acts, indicate to the Court that something more severe is going to be required than what has previously been the case.
Accordingly, I am going to sentence you to a term of…”
In a sunken rage said Sank, “Verdict: Absurd! Guilty: Absurd! Sentence: Absurd! Tediously the theatre cuts directions with no transition into the dissolve of subdue light. The images are gone. A loud voice, a marred profile. Blank expression. The scene has not changed. The same ten feet by six feet by eight feet cell. A bed hanging on the wall on the left. A sink and a toilet hanging in the back right corner.
I say, “Dammit, what happens to the spirit characteristic of the American Bicentennial? The coalition of revolution? The concepts of innocent until proven guilty? The constitutional deminsions?
A map of a plot was laid. Gratis free drugs were distributed. A measure of gratitude and obligation was felt along with confidence gain. Hypothetically, we have a cover to buy from those willingly engaging.
Once a criminal, always an inside man, celebrating freedom lost (what for) in my life, preying upon my human right with axiomatic perjury and jibe.
A coalition of dichotomic emptiness is around. If you remain here, your eyes will row accustom to the light. Then you will be able to distinguish between seasons. You will be able to see the cockroaches in your cell while you also see rats and rats rant with men. For then you will realize you are not alone. Look! A consortium of extreme bona fide murder and death and unhappiness and old age awaits you. Credo quia ab-sur-dum ‘est.