My name is Edo. I'm not going to use my real name, because there's enough damning shit about me on the Internet using my real name. I'd rather any future employers not dig it up.
For the last four years, I've been very quiet. I used to blog pretty much every day; that died down because of legal counsel telling me to Not Talk about the elephant in the corner. It's still pretty irregular.
It ends now. As of 12:40 EST this afternoon, I have nothing to lose by blogging. So ladies, gentlemen, and motherfuckers: here's everything you ever needed to know about my life, in a nutshell.
On the morning of Thursday, November 20, 2003, I was at the demonstration against the Free Trade Agreement of the Americas. There's a two-minute gap in my memory, at the end of which I found myself face-down on Biscayne Boulevard with several police on my back. I was arrested and spent, more or less, the next 36 hours in jail.
When I was released, vomiting and miserable, my friends took me to the ER at Jackson Memorial Hospital. After several hours in the lobby, I was led to a gurney, where I woke up the next afternoon in the ICU. I spent three days there, in and out of consciousness, and another six days in the Neurological Ward on the ninth floor.
After I was released from the hospital, I filed a case against the Miami-Dade Police Department. It was at that time that my lawyer counseled me not to talk; and so I simply stopped writing, because the injury was all there was to talk about. The only thing that I could say that was in any way mine, something worth listening to that made me anything more than another digital echo. My blogging, and all of my writing really, has suffered for it.
As of yesterday afternoon, though, there is no more case. I'll print out what my lawyer emailed me, sign it, and fax him a copy, and my appeal will be retracted.
When I first met my lawyer, I told him, very honestly: "All I want out of this case is a new guitar." I'm not even going to get that.
More on this tomorrow. Tonight I need sleep.