Uncivil Law

See you, affront your eyes, a highlit scale in form the legals lost: the hundred year deny. The standing statue holds their fail, unbroken in distruth. Now add each tier, the ninety nine percent forgo, one side ignore, sessile convenience, incense of ease. Shall Cromwell now recur? This bride of parliament ignores the scales, for pence, to concentrate on cleaning rules. As life is born to red rotating death; as crime takes history to wrench and war, to strife and sex, the maid of law is shining grime. Look. Burn the rot. Wipe clean the Darwin glass. The nation's moved. Catch up with us: run fast.

Black box analysis, not aeroplanes dropping hard, investigates complexity, should you cannot look internal or too much there is to see. You won't understand a crab's desire by breaking it's life with a rock through it's shell, chasing tracing counting neurons veins cells. No, leave it be; see it sense, see it do. Compare theory, results. If crabs contradict theory, theory is wrong. If justice contradicts ideal, justice is wrong.

Right justice requires good law and balanced judgement. Good law's of parliament; that's another row. Courts must balanced judgement. In 2001, in English civil law, in every money case but for one per ton, defence was barred. For law to have right justice, all practical ways to express must be accepted; to welcome any simple means to say. The phone is simple. Messaging is easy. The net is practical. It's quick to make the phone secure, as do the banks. The net is cheaper than a day unworked and drove to lick a judge. Civil law was broken when phones became 'most have' fifty years ago. Not everyone mobiles, faxes, emails. Not everyone is fixed abode, yet the law presumes. Good systems have redundancy to reinforce talk. Alternatives may work, may copy word, should other methods fail. If civil law had right justice, all sides would be heard. Other forms of talk, ubiquitous, have been ignored for fifty years; ninety nine percent abandoned by broken rules. Fifty years, ninety nine percent. This is more than rot. English civil law's corrupt.

Apocryphal, perhaps, but in nineteen eighty two, or thereabouts, the computing press, they sadly found computers had become the most complex of systems created by mankind. Moore's law, the computing rule of thumb so far observed by the crash of history, predicts processor power doubles every eighteen months. Consequentially, computers have become ten thousand times as complex as twenty years ago. English law has not. Yet computer systems, now ten thousand times more complicated than English law has ever been, do not need a flock of nerds advising any mundane man on ways to prose, telling them which click to where, or how to mouse. Computer systems are simply used, no expert stammers round. Hackers, not crackers, are only sought when something new is grown, changes are band-aided, errors are dissolved. Law, that such a simple system needs heards of clever beagles when merely used, condemns itself.

Anecdotally, on the net, in mailing lists, or usenet news, its quick to rant a hate, or flame a sniper shout, insulting people somewhere else whose discarded words have made you rile. But on the net, in chatting space, it's hard to turn away apologising balm, the cleaning up of conversation mess as natter lines are questioned and reworded. In conversation your draft asserts are chopped before they set entrenched. When you stand on written notes you arm yourself trenchant, there is no sneering chuckle to put you back to right, you guard a silly place which then becomes attacked in splots of acid lines, and more retreats, and more defend, and more attack; its all more time. If a problem's for resolve, use a conversation. If a problem's for exploit, use a written down. Who likes the writ and word? Who charges by the hour?

Those who shape, if their choice is A or B, a very balanced either or, and B delights their wallet, and A does not, they'll go with B. If A, then mercenary colleagues could irate. If B, fair thinkers will make no fuss. This choice may fall just once a year, but climb the centuries and minor moves have shaped the ways: so now it's a folding note bordello. Their union, rich and sneerful, moons the TUC, and teflons at economists who prove monopoly means dreadful damage done. Here is where cold Thatcher air need blow, a "Legal Relations Act", perhaps.

I received a citation (I think that means a summons) from a Scottish court post case. No preceding email remarked its existence. No phone call heard my defence. No court report. No phone number on the citation for me to seek what's happened. No email address. No fax number. No web address. No courtesy. I fear the Scottish system is as broken as the English.

A summons grudges defence, accepting aggressors might only be imperfect Gods. But I have one that tells me I shall plead guilty, and how to pay. It does not accept the aggressors might be broken. It chants incorrect. The court admits no phone, how do I check its not another a junk con? The aggressor, the self belief perfection, the local council, haven't done the work.

Democracy, at least, enables change of government without a smash of life or thing. When we vote, we own the result; we choice the politicians, we choice the consequences. If a cornered state has to make some nasty act which angers many citizens, and if these tumult people do not believe they own, and if the politicians fail to salve the anger, opinion may coagulate about some other means to reparate the state, like revolution, revolt, or coup d'etat. This is risk, destruction, like when a rag hysteria incites a pride of fools, lit to shrieking fear, to lynch a children's doctor. So politicians flurried when forty percent ignored last year's election. A state, civilised, must pre-empt non-ownership of hard choice. Our courts are not elected, but we can meter consent by black box counting voluntary attendance, which is why the only one percent of defended civil money ruts is so dangerous. There is no demonstrated consent to rule, which risks something unpredicted coagulating anger into violent attack on justice, democracy, stability.

I'm worried by the construct of parliament, supposedly independent of judicial ways. It needs to be able to cure a justice mess. The courts for sure maintain their free to act. But legals are the largest pack amongst MPs. A member's job is insecure, the plebiscite can like to vote opponents in. There'll be MPs who keep their outside skills alive. Because they act in parliament on politics, they don't have time to train for change that's taken place while they're away. The lawyers-once have strong appeal to keep the justice system they know so well unchanged, and, like train spotters in an always shunting goods yard who cannot see the stretching railway for the wagons, they'll not decide to fix a mess that haven't noticed happen yet. Yet justice is one wheel of the Reliant Robin state, the three hot air tyres need separation to function well. The executive part-neutered parliament by whips enticing power. Justice part-neutered parliament by colonisation. Parliament requires a rule that legal lads, both girls and boys, should be denied election unless their justice membership be eternally revoked.

So what to do when faced with courts believed corrupt? The arguments of lawyers are reputedly superb, their clever prose can talk a jury into saying: "The Birmingham Six, they did it". It helps was fixed the evidence; of course, no advocate would aid in that. But corruption burns the soul. Once you've broken conscience, it doesn't quietly rust. Though strangers may not see, your smile will reflex tick like you're a timer bomb approaching detonation, never able calm. And you'll have no reparation, you can't uncorrupt your past: it's not like borrowed money which can always be repaid. The soul demands you ignore, avoid, corrupt. But if you stay away the aggressors, agents of the credit pushers, or local clockwork men, or someone on a vampire trip to legal steal your property, will win. You'll lose your things; better be a cynic adverati. Which is more important, possessions, or your soul?

The nineteenth century: schools for the rich, doctors for money, only properteers vote, and civil justice is bought. The twenty-first: the state schools all, doctors all, adults vote, and civil justice is bought. My bones, my worthless political bones, suggest a year, or few, for civil law corrupt to media aware. Five more, and "something must be done", then ten to "burn it out; start again". So twenty for the system to accept that fairness isn't fashion. That's too long: there's a must for plans to have a system new should democracy be startled. Right justice requires good law and balanced judgement. Go, beagles, go; write, and ready make.

This piano is always played. Slowly, slowly, it loosens pitch; the drifting keys flex a growing dissonance. But the pianists do not hear; they are exercising, ever exercising, as the tone declines along the octades. We, we summonsed, we hear their scratching clash. We see the schadenfreuderern, hillocks in the audience, mirthed. Enough. I have hired the sphinx's amplifier, speakers the size of pyramids, and the rasta DJ. They're on the way.