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(How to Lose Yourself Just Enough to Find the Truth) The courtroom is a stage that denies it’s a stage.The script insists it’s nonfiction.The actors swear under oath. But make no mistake: the trial is theatre – sacred, structured, and dangerous. The bailiff calls “All rise,” and we do, obediently, as though waiting for the
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Justice gets great press. Poets call it divine. Statues hold it blindfolded. Protesters chant for it. Superheroes allegedly fight for it, though you’ll notice none of them ever have to argue a motion to compel. But here’s the truth that makes law students twitch and philosophers sigh:Justice isn’t a feeling. It’s a filing deadline. It’s
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By Brian S. Brijbag, Esq. There are regions that shape stories.And then there’s Florida, which doesn’t just shape them — it inhales them, spins them around, wraps them in alligator skin, and sets them loose on I-75 wearing flip-flops and holding a Publix sub. Florida isn’t just a setting.Florida is a genre.And once you write theatre here,
Brian Brijbag 