I don't have much in the way of hard-fast BELIEFS. I'm more Engineer than Philosopher. We don't have beliefs we've just got PROBLEMS and GOALS. But in order to work the problem to reach our goals we've got to steal MODELS and ASSUMPTIONS from the scientists.
An assumption is like a belief in that we arbitrarily use them as a starting point. They require faith to be useful. The difference between them is that a belief is arbitrarily regarded as true, while an assumption is only regarded as useful.
Ok so there's my disclaimer and an explanation of the semantics I'll be adopting for the following answer to your question.
I assume there's a purpose to existence. I assume that there is a certain way for me to live my life that will aid in this purpose. Stories throughout history depict that those who are happiest are those have lived with purpose. I have found only corroberating evidence for this (most of it coming from my gut, aka intuition). Therefore my plan is to live life, as best I can, in fulfillment of my purpose.
Because reports from people who are not me about "how to live life" do not completely agree, I assume that it is up ultimately up to ME and my intuition to interpret the information I get from the world and those around me.
Finally to the question at hand... Neither logic (reason) nor my intuition lead me to believe that I will experience an existance remotely similar to this one after I biologically die. What happens to my material remains is easily extrapolated. What happens to my "consciousness" is unclear because it's properties are not understood. At this time my expectation is that my consciousness as an individual human named Matt will cease.
Life, however, will continue after my life. Life will have been influenced by my life, physically and systematically. Therefore it can be said that my after-life is the effect I've had on Life after me.
Perhaps I will remain a disembodied consciousness and get to witness it. Perhaps I'll be an embodied consciousness in some sort of "place" that could be described as Heaven (or Hell for that matter). That remains unlikely, however. We have "places" in this life and the elements of this life are what define them. Once I have left this life it doesn't make sense for the concept of "place" to carry over. And so I take a figurative interpretation to the history's descriptions of afterlife, God, and the soul.
And I look at Life, and the universe as we know it, without time. Regarded as a whole, the universe is infinite. When I cease to be an individual consciousness stuck in the middle of a finite timeline, the perspective shifts (with or without "me") to that of the infinite, timeless, whole.
Infinite, timeless, whole. Everything that is was and shall be. THAT sounds a lot like God to me.
So for now I assume that I, just like you, are actually a fragment of God. Savoring that seems to lead to enjoyment, conflicting with that seems to lead to suffering. Even though our biological processes will stop, the universe (God?) is eternal and so is our existence as part of it.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
So, I just watched Garden State.
Of course we fawn over Mathilda, but that was pretty much just an enjoyment on par with a very (very) good piece of candy. Like Dove chocolate, for all my fellow middle-aged women out there: SO truly excellent for an instant, but then gone, and certainly of no nutritional value. (Enjoy it for what it instantaneously is... any more will only get you fat and sad).
Ergo, I've always only kinda felt like I should be in love with Natalie Portman.
Well now of course I am.
But, yes, her character is 100% cliche. Quirky, exciting, unconditionally-loving miracle messiah girl who shows up just when the depressed protagonist needs her. Well ain't that a bitch for what it says about me, the very specific audience member, now enamoured.
Oh well. Does this kind of thing actually happen? I reckon best bet is certainly not to count on it, but not to rule it out all the same (no reason to commit to a cold harsh reality).
Ergo, I've always only kinda felt like I should be in love with Natalie Portman.
Well now of course I am.
But, yes, her character is 100% cliche. Quirky, exciting, unconditionally-loving miracle messiah girl who shows up just when the depressed protagonist needs her. Well ain't that a bitch for what it says about me, the very specific audience member, now enamoured.
Oh well. Does this kind of thing actually happen? I reckon best bet is certainly not to count on it, but not to rule it out all the same (no reason to commit to a cold harsh reality).
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Communion Pt. 1
I'm not an outgoing person but I like crowds. Just being amongst humanity is enough to comfortingly remind me it's still there and I'm a part of it.
I ate ribs with my fellow man (and women). Lots of them (fellows and ribs... more-so fellows). Imagine a mile-long mesquite cloud hanging over a city street and thousands of people frolicking in it; minstrels set up every couple of blocks to keep the passers'-by heads bobbing in time and to enhance the savoring and socializing of those who stay and sit; thousands of choice swine slain and slaughtered for the many-days' feast.
What other word is there for this but sacrament?
We watch TV. We surf the web. We work in cubicles. If we are POLITE we remain still and silent at the movies, on the train, in the elevator, at church, on the street. Are we really ready, as a species to follow this progression of convenience to it's oh-so-efficient-but-"oh-my-GOD" conclusion as a bunch of brains in vats with our entertainment on demand?
Stuff like this says we're not. We must join together. We must be in the same place with a mass of humanity for some shared event. Some fun we can have in the presence of witnesses. They saw it too, they felt it too, and what's better is they saw me enjoying it right with them. We're all in this together afterall, it seems.
It get's me excited to marvel in awe at the precocious whimsey of the meta-organism of which I am a part. It's always a good thing to check in with that Something-greater-than-yourself.
I ate ribs with my fellow man (and women). Lots of them (fellows and ribs... more-so fellows). Imagine a mile-long mesquite cloud hanging over a city street and thousands of people frolicking in it; minstrels set up every couple of blocks to keep the passers'-by heads bobbing in time and to enhance the savoring and socializing of those who stay and sit; thousands of choice swine slain and slaughtered for the many-days' feast.
What other word is there for this but sacrament?
We watch TV. We surf the web. We work in cubicles. If we are POLITE we remain still and silent at the movies, on the train, in the elevator, at church, on the street. Are we really ready, as a species to follow this progression of convenience to it's oh-so-efficient-but-"oh-my-GOD" conclusion as a bunch of brains in vats with our entertainment on demand?
Stuff like this says we're not. We must join together. We must be in the same place with a mass of humanity for some shared event. Some fun we can have in the presence of witnesses. They saw it too, they felt it too, and what's better is they saw me enjoying it right with them. We're all in this together afterall, it seems.
It get's me excited to marvel in awe at the precocious whimsey of the meta-organism of which I am a part. It's always a good thing to check in with that Something-greater-than-yourself.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Ode to the Muppets
I was very excited to hear a little bit ago that a sequel to the Dark Crystal was in production and set for release in 2007-2008 (directed by Genndy Tartakovsky who created the awesome Samurai Jack). I perused a few Jim Henson fansites and forums in hopes of learning more and found this ambiguous phrase, "[Jim Henson Co.] being 'Muppet-free.'"
What the hell did that mean? Luckily I stunted some Google-fu* and found what it meant.
Awhile back, Disney bought everything Muppets from Jim Henson Co. Now, the company has lots of muppet/puppet categories such as movie muppets (goblins from The Labyrinth) or the Sesame Street crew. But, the Muppets were a huge part of the magic of Jim Henson.
So, Kermit is now owned by Disney.
On one hand, this is a good thing. Jim Henson Co. can now work on other products, such as the sequel to Dark Crystal. The Muppets franchise was probably huge and weighty, and when combined with Sesame Street it probably took most of the resources of the company. Now Jim Henson Co. can make Labyrinth manga (sigh).
The other hand is that much of the Muppet magic is gone. Kermit is selling cars. Miss Piggy is fighting Jessica Simpson over pizza. God knows what Gonzo is doing (probably porn). It just isn't the same. Disney owns Mickey Mouse and Friends. Isn't that good enough?
It strikes even further because Kermit was one of my role models to enlightenment. His attitude towards life is one I would love to emulate. But, now he is in it for the green, and it aint easy being green.
It is a sad, sad day. I would've much rather Jim Henson Co. expand or form another company or something instead of selling it to a corporate monster. My stuffed Kermit that watches over my bookshelf will never look the same. Thanks Disney. Thanks a lot.
*The art of using a Google search in a masterful way.
What the hell did that mean? Luckily I stunted some Google-fu* and found what it meant.
Awhile back, Disney bought everything Muppets from Jim Henson Co. Now, the company has lots of muppet/puppet categories such as movie muppets (goblins from The Labyrinth) or the Sesame Street crew. But, the Muppets were a huge part of the magic of Jim Henson.
So, Kermit is now owned by Disney.
On one hand, this is a good thing. Jim Henson Co. can now work on other products, such as the sequel to Dark Crystal. The Muppets franchise was probably huge and weighty, and when combined with Sesame Street it probably took most of the resources of the company. Now Jim Henson Co. can make Labyrinth manga (sigh).
The other hand is that much of the Muppet magic is gone. Kermit is selling cars. Miss Piggy is fighting Jessica Simpson over pizza. God knows what Gonzo is doing (probably porn). It just isn't the same. Disney owns Mickey Mouse and Friends. Isn't that good enough?
It strikes even further because Kermit was one of my role models to enlightenment. His attitude towards life is one I would love to emulate. But, now he is in it for the green, and it aint easy being green.
It is a sad, sad day. I would've much rather Jim Henson Co. expand or form another company or something instead of selling it to a corporate monster. My stuffed Kermit that watches over my bookshelf will never look the same. Thanks Disney. Thanks a lot.
*The art of using a Google search in a masterful way.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Yit-chit Embarks
Here's a bit of convoluted nonsense in episodic format. Enjoy!
1
Yit-chit emerged awkwardly from the cool clay walls of the hole and heaved himself out onto the the soft damp grass. The mattress he rested upon was so green he was sure it would wipe off on him like paint. He couldn’t check, however, because he was hypnotized by the white wisps in the nitrogen-blue space above him, enveloping him. The clouds were so thin they were almost invisible, he mainly relied on his intuition to just know they were there and a part of it. The sky stared back at him, patiently, reminding him that it had all the time in the world and to his business it paid no never-mind, no how.
So he did lay there, but didn’t think at first. He didn’t doze either, he just took in the situation. He was in the earth no more. He was prone on it instead. It was comfortable but he could detect already the soil’s dampness, no longer kept at bay by the blades of grass, seeping into his linen breeches, maneuvering the short purple fur of his posterior. It was pleasant here, for a time, just staring awe-struck at the infinite blue while lounging caressed in the loamy field. But to remain here, devoted to this arrangement, would lead to mushrooms growing on him and mites chipping away at his substance until he too was loam to finally be munched on by the soft supple grass as it merrily aspirated.
That may be a kind alternative, for the grass at least, but it was a charity that Yit-chit decided he was unable to currently tender. If he was base bits of matter, he would not be capable of the things he assumed he was about to do. So he laboriously bent and flexed and leveraged himself up onto his legs. It was at this time that the horizon came into his perception. The grassy plain flowed out in all directions, undulating in cyclical hills and dells. He wriggled his toes in the grass. The grass was obligingly fettered. He supposed that grass like this would be around for many miles, but to this grass he was going to have to bid farewell. Over one of the hillocks to his right he saw something darker green, and coarser, but further away.
As he turned the stark openness of the environment enveloped him like a heavy wet blanket. He lurched on his spindly legs and reached for a wall or rock to clutch but there were none, and he toppled. As it happened he toppled towards a gully and, therefore, he rolled. But his instincts disapproved of this form of locomotion and so his limbs were jutted outwards in the least-streamlined configuration he could conceive. His dubious progress was summarily halted and he once again found himself reclined on the grass, once again faced with the sky who’s eternal visage tried quite determinedly not to look amused or piteous.
Very soon, Yit-chit had repeated the standing procedure and this time stood with a little more ingenuity: arms and legs further apart, torso just at a slightly lesser elevation than before. He established himself in a stable format and saw to dusting off his pants and vest, and dislodged the particles of dirt that had worked its way under the fur of his arms, neck, and feet. He plucked a piece of straw from between his small horns that had been dangling between his eyes and tickling his nose. With that irritant removed he felt much more focused and prepared to take a forthwith approach to his embarking. He leaned forward and pushed himself through the air, focusing particularly on pushing his feet against the ground since his arms swam impotently through the surrounding gases. He soon found them useful, however, for maintaining his body in a sort of gyroscopic bearing of upright. Before long he had trudged up the nearest hill and could see quite a ways.
Right in front of him, however, not two furlongs away he saw a blue man. The man stood quite still and seemed very solidly put there. His meat was wrapped around his bones much thicker than Yit-chit’s and he had no hair whatsoever, though he did wear clothing. The man’s pants and shirt were smooth and looked like they could be made out of skin, rather than woven fibers, and he had some sort of extra part to his pants that apparently completely wrapped around his feet. The man’s clothing was brown, while his skin remained quite blue (not as blue as the sky… darker and a bit cooler) as he and the not-a-little-wobbly Yit-chit silently regarded each other. The silent man leaned on an implement. It was a wood grained shaft with a sizable hammered-flat slug of metal at the top. It was an axe, though the full meaning of such a thing would not soon be reckoned by Yit-chit.
“Hello,” said Yit-chit to the man after he had fully realized and accepted the fellow’s existence. The blue man nodded in acknowledgment. Yit-chit looked around and at the sky and then back at the man. A flurry of activity had not resulted from the exchange, and yet the possibility of such did not seem in any way restricted by it either. Yit-chit opted to continue pursuit of conversation. “What is this place?” he asked and involuntarily squinted his eyes and nose in an expression of curiosity.
The man looked at Yit-chit until the question was completely asked and then he looked down at the ground (otherwise without extraneous motion). For a moment he remained and then he returned his attention to Yit-chit. “It is a world,” he said with certainty, “a world here that you are now in.” His reply was definite.
Yit-chit understood that his question had been answered and felt no need for futher debate at that time. He looked in the direction of the coarse dark green area and saw it was quite large if far away. A bit of brown separated it from the grass that swam up and around it. “What is that?” he asked and gestured one of his fingers in the direction of the object of his query.
The blue man watched Yit-chit point and looked at the distant forest. He then looked back at Yit-chit and his dirty pants and bare, purple, furry feet. He looked at the gully behind Yit-chit. In a voice that was equally innocent and deliberate, he asked Yit-chit, “Where do you come from?”
Yit-chit let his pointing-arm drop to his side and breathed a bit. He looked back at the direction from which he had toddled and then to the blue man. He did the pointing thing again but with less accuracy and said, “I came out of a hole. I was underground. I… I don’t remember what was down there.” He found the urge to scratch the back of his neck, even though it didn’t itch. As he did he concluded that, “I wasn’t supposed to be there, though. That’s why I came up here.”
It was plain to see that the blue man considered these words and thought a bit about them before he spoke again. “I see,” he said eventually. “That,” he said, as he pointed (much more efficiently than Yit-chit had) with one hand while the other held still the axe, “is a forest. It is unlike the plains on which we now stand and speak, but there are similarities.”
Yit-chit nodded with gratitude for the morsel of knowledge, though he could not deny a pang for more. “What is it like?” he asked.
“You can see,” replied the blue man. “I am going there and you can go with me. I will be wary of danger while we are there, so that you may be free to see what the forest is like.”
“Very well!” said Yit-chit, feeling more than a little comfort in companionship (which was of course its primary purpose). “I will follow you,” he added, “since it would seem you would be the more skilled of the two of us at going from here to there.”
In response the man lifted his axe and started walking towards the forest while carrying it. Yit-chit followed behind him and kept up well enough.
1
Yit-chit emerged awkwardly from the cool clay walls of the hole and heaved himself out onto the the soft damp grass. The mattress he rested upon was so green he was sure it would wipe off on him like paint. He couldn’t check, however, because he was hypnotized by the white wisps in the nitrogen-blue space above him, enveloping him. The clouds were so thin they were almost invisible, he mainly relied on his intuition to just know they were there and a part of it. The sky stared back at him, patiently, reminding him that it had all the time in the world and to his business it paid no never-mind, no how.
So he did lay there, but didn’t think at first. He didn’t doze either, he just took in the situation. He was in the earth no more. He was prone on it instead. It was comfortable but he could detect already the soil’s dampness, no longer kept at bay by the blades of grass, seeping into his linen breeches, maneuvering the short purple fur of his posterior. It was pleasant here, for a time, just staring awe-struck at the infinite blue while lounging caressed in the loamy field. But to remain here, devoted to this arrangement, would lead to mushrooms growing on him and mites chipping away at his substance until he too was loam to finally be munched on by the soft supple grass as it merrily aspirated.
That may be a kind alternative, for the grass at least, but it was a charity that Yit-chit decided he was unable to currently tender. If he was base bits of matter, he would not be capable of the things he assumed he was about to do. So he laboriously bent and flexed and leveraged himself up onto his legs. It was at this time that the horizon came into his perception. The grassy plain flowed out in all directions, undulating in cyclical hills and dells. He wriggled his toes in the grass. The grass was obligingly fettered. He supposed that grass like this would be around for many miles, but to this grass he was going to have to bid farewell. Over one of the hillocks to his right he saw something darker green, and coarser, but further away.
As he turned the stark openness of the environment enveloped him like a heavy wet blanket. He lurched on his spindly legs and reached for a wall or rock to clutch but there were none, and he toppled. As it happened he toppled towards a gully and, therefore, he rolled. But his instincts disapproved of this form of locomotion and so his limbs were jutted outwards in the least-streamlined configuration he could conceive. His dubious progress was summarily halted and he once again found himself reclined on the grass, once again faced with the sky who’s eternal visage tried quite determinedly not to look amused or piteous.
Very soon, Yit-chit had repeated the standing procedure and this time stood with a little more ingenuity: arms and legs further apart, torso just at a slightly lesser elevation than before. He established himself in a stable format and saw to dusting off his pants and vest, and dislodged the particles of dirt that had worked its way under the fur of his arms, neck, and feet. He plucked a piece of straw from between his small horns that had been dangling between his eyes and tickling his nose. With that irritant removed he felt much more focused and prepared to take a forthwith approach to his embarking. He leaned forward and pushed himself through the air, focusing particularly on pushing his feet against the ground since his arms swam impotently through the surrounding gases. He soon found them useful, however, for maintaining his body in a sort of gyroscopic bearing of upright. Before long he had trudged up the nearest hill and could see quite a ways.
Right in front of him, however, not two furlongs away he saw a blue man. The man stood quite still and seemed very solidly put there. His meat was wrapped around his bones much thicker than Yit-chit’s and he had no hair whatsoever, though he did wear clothing. The man’s pants and shirt were smooth and looked like they could be made out of skin, rather than woven fibers, and he had some sort of extra part to his pants that apparently completely wrapped around his feet. The man’s clothing was brown, while his skin remained quite blue (not as blue as the sky… darker and a bit cooler) as he and the not-a-little-wobbly Yit-chit silently regarded each other. The silent man leaned on an implement. It was a wood grained shaft with a sizable hammered-flat slug of metal at the top. It was an axe, though the full meaning of such a thing would not soon be reckoned by Yit-chit.
“Hello,” said Yit-chit to the man after he had fully realized and accepted the fellow’s existence. The blue man nodded in acknowledgment. Yit-chit looked around and at the sky and then back at the man. A flurry of activity had not resulted from the exchange, and yet the possibility of such did not seem in any way restricted by it either. Yit-chit opted to continue pursuit of conversation. “What is this place?” he asked and involuntarily squinted his eyes and nose in an expression of curiosity.
The man looked at Yit-chit until the question was completely asked and then he looked down at the ground (otherwise without extraneous motion). For a moment he remained and then he returned his attention to Yit-chit. “It is a world,” he said with certainty, “a world here that you are now in.” His reply was definite.
Yit-chit understood that his question had been answered and felt no need for futher debate at that time. He looked in the direction of the coarse dark green area and saw it was quite large if far away. A bit of brown separated it from the grass that swam up and around it. “What is that?” he asked and gestured one of his fingers in the direction of the object of his query.
The blue man watched Yit-chit point and looked at the distant forest. He then looked back at Yit-chit and his dirty pants and bare, purple, furry feet. He looked at the gully behind Yit-chit. In a voice that was equally innocent and deliberate, he asked Yit-chit, “Where do you come from?”
Yit-chit let his pointing-arm drop to his side and breathed a bit. He looked back at the direction from which he had toddled and then to the blue man. He did the pointing thing again but with less accuracy and said, “I came out of a hole. I was underground. I… I don’t remember what was down there.” He found the urge to scratch the back of his neck, even though it didn’t itch. As he did he concluded that, “I wasn’t supposed to be there, though. That’s why I came up here.”
It was plain to see that the blue man considered these words and thought a bit about them before he spoke again. “I see,” he said eventually. “That,” he said, as he pointed (much more efficiently than Yit-chit had) with one hand while the other held still the axe, “is a forest. It is unlike the plains on which we now stand and speak, but there are similarities.”
Yit-chit nodded with gratitude for the morsel of knowledge, though he could not deny a pang for more. “What is it like?” he asked.
“You can see,” replied the blue man. “I am going there and you can go with me. I will be wary of danger while we are there, so that you may be free to see what the forest is like.”
“Very well!” said Yit-chit, feeling more than a little comfort in companionship (which was of course its primary purpose). “I will follow you,” he added, “since it would seem you would be the more skilled of the two of us at going from here to there.”
In response the man lifted his axe and started walking towards the forest while carrying it. Yit-chit followed behind him and kept up well enough.
Just Shutup, Pt. 2
a.k.a. STFU Donny!
So the detective finally gets enough probable cause to arrest Donny, BUT NOT BECAUSE OF DONNY'S REFUSAL TO ANSWER QUESTIONS! (I will not even touch probable cause, a whole blog could be written on those two words. For now just take probable cause to mean "a reasonable belief that a crime has been committed.") What has to happen next?
When someone is arrested, the law requires that the prisoner is given a Miranda warning. A typical warning is as follows:
You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions, or make any statements.
This education of rights is very interesting because it goes against the old adage "ignorance of the law is no excuse." In this case it is an excuse and many confessions and heaps of evidence have been excluded from a prosecution because of a failure to give a Miranda warning.
If Donny is not given a Miranda warning practically nothing he says can be used against him. He can confess, explain where the drugs are, name names, etc., and the law acts like he said nothing. Furthermore if Donny confesses at the behest of police questioning and is then later given his Miranda warnings, the warnings "clean the slate" so to speak. The law still acts like Donny never confessed! This prevents officers from "beating" out a confession that circumvents the Miranda requirement.
If that weren't enough evidence that is gained from information violative of a Miranda warning is often voided as well. Let's say the detective does not give Donny his Miranda warning. Donny explains that Tito is the neighborhood drug lord and he has 20 kilos of cocaine in a nearby dumpster. The detective checks out the dumpster and finds the drugs. This evidence cannot be used against Donny or Tito in this manner. The law makes sure that the Miranda warnings are a gate, not a speed bump to swerve around.
Well now that you, avid reader, have a slight understanding of the Miranda warning's power, what should Donny do when he is given his Miranda warning?
First, a police officer can continue to talk and reasonably question Donny after the Miranda warning is given. Badgering out of the question, but guilt trips, etc. are allowable. This is in the hope that Donny will "waive" his Miranda rights (a very stupid thing to do). If Donny says "I invoke my right of silence," or a similar iteration, no more questioning is allowed for a reasonable period. Furthermore, let's say the first question the detective asks after the Miranda warnings is, "Have you sold drugs?" Donny replies by invoking his right to silence. Nothing can be inferred from this, no evidence can be taken from this, and it is as if the question was never asked for court purposes.
The most powerful thing Donny can do is immediately ask for a lawyer. If this happens the detective can do nothing until Donny sees his attorney. If he even questions Donny whole swaths of evidence may be voided and the detective may get in trouble or set Donny free. The attorney, later showing up, will then counsel Donny to shut up and all will be well.
The reason Donny wants to keep his Miranda rights is bargaining power. If he waives his Miranda rights thinking now that he is being good they will go easy on him, he loses out. If he says nothing until his attorney can plea bargain with the prosecutor, Donny might get a much better deal. Especially in Donny's situation where the cops really want the drug dealers, not the friend of one.
The right of silence when questioned outside a courtroom is not one to simply throw away. Police officers do excellent jobs, but their interrogation powers are very limited. Now, the best deal would be for you, avid reader, to not break the law. But if you do, just shutup.
So the detective finally gets enough probable cause to arrest Donny, BUT NOT BECAUSE OF DONNY'S REFUSAL TO ANSWER QUESTIONS! (I will not even touch probable cause, a whole blog could be written on those two words. For now just take probable cause to mean "a reasonable belief that a crime has been committed.") What has to happen next?
When someone is arrested, the law requires that the prisoner is given a Miranda warning. A typical warning is as follows:
You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions, or make any statements.
This education of rights is very interesting because it goes against the old adage "ignorance of the law is no excuse." In this case it is an excuse and many confessions and heaps of evidence have been excluded from a prosecution because of a failure to give a Miranda warning.
If Donny is not given a Miranda warning practically nothing he says can be used against him. He can confess, explain where the drugs are, name names, etc., and the law acts like he said nothing. Furthermore if Donny confesses at the behest of police questioning and is then later given his Miranda warnings, the warnings "clean the slate" so to speak. The law still acts like Donny never confessed! This prevents officers from "beating" out a confession that circumvents the Miranda requirement.
If that weren't enough evidence that is gained from information violative of a Miranda warning is often voided as well. Let's say the detective does not give Donny his Miranda warning. Donny explains that Tito is the neighborhood drug lord and he has 20 kilos of cocaine in a nearby dumpster. The detective checks out the dumpster and finds the drugs. This evidence cannot be used against Donny or Tito in this manner. The law makes sure that the Miranda warnings are a gate, not a speed bump to swerve around.
Well now that you, avid reader, have a slight understanding of the Miranda warning's power, what should Donny do when he is given his Miranda warning?
First, a police officer can continue to talk and reasonably question Donny after the Miranda warning is given. Badgering out of the question, but guilt trips, etc. are allowable. This is in the hope that Donny will "waive" his Miranda rights (a very stupid thing to do). If Donny says "I invoke my right of silence," or a similar iteration, no more questioning is allowed for a reasonable period. Furthermore, let's say the first question the detective asks after the Miranda warnings is, "Have you sold drugs?" Donny replies by invoking his right to silence. Nothing can be inferred from this, no evidence can be taken from this, and it is as if the question was never asked for court purposes.
The most powerful thing Donny can do is immediately ask for a lawyer. If this happens the detective can do nothing until Donny sees his attorney. If he even questions Donny whole swaths of evidence may be voided and the detective may get in trouble or set Donny free. The attorney, later showing up, will then counsel Donny to shut up and all will be well.
The reason Donny wants to keep his Miranda rights is bargaining power. If he waives his Miranda rights thinking now that he is being good they will go easy on him, he loses out. If he says nothing until his attorney can plea bargain with the prosecutor, Donny might get a much better deal. Especially in Donny's situation where the cops really want the drug dealers, not the friend of one.
The right of silence when questioned outside a courtroom is not one to simply throw away. Police officers do excellent jobs, but their interrogation powers are very limited. Now, the best deal would be for you, avid reader, to not break the law. But if you do, just shutup.
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