I'm pretty sure some of you recognize me by now.
I'm the guy from Reno who keeps posting about his criminal case, court records, constitutional rights, and whatever new procedural absurdity I've discovered this week.
And I get it.
From the outside, it probably looks like some dude who lost his mind, became obsessed with the legal system, and now spends his free time arguing with judges on the internet.
Fair assessment, given the available advertising.
But there's something I haven't explained very well.
I don't actually want to be doing any of this.
I was an electrician. I worked construction. I understood that world.
If something was wired wrong, you could test it. If a junction box was buried behind drywall, you could open the wall. If someone insisted the circuit was fine, you could hand them a meter.
Nobody's résumé changed the voltage.
Then I ended up in the criminal justice system.
And I discovered that when I asked seemingly ordinary questions about procedures, deadlines, evidence, and decisions, getting a straight answer was considerably harder than I expected.
So I started reading.
Then I started researching.
Then I started learning how to use AI because I didn't understand half the terminology and couldn't afford to have somebody explain everything to me.
Then I started building software to organize the records.
Then I started catching mistakes in the AI.
Then I started building tools to catch those mistakes automatically.
Somewhere along the way, I went from barely knowing how to navigate a computer to maintaining a GitHub account full of legal research tools, evidence-analysis systems, document processors, and software experiments.
None of this was the career change I had planned.
And my criminal case still hasn't gone to trial.
That's the ridiculous part.
I started trying to answer one question: What exactly is happening to me, and what does the law actually require?
Nearly four years later, I'm developing software to help answer that question systematically.
But here's why I keep posting.
I'm trying to find out whether what I'm seeing makes sense to anybody outside my own head.
Not whether you like me.
Not whether you automatically believe me.
Not whether you think every judge is corrupt or every defendant is innocent.
I want somebody to look at a document and tell me what it actually establishes.
If I'm wrong, show me.
If there's a statute I'm misunderstanding, point it out.
If the court's reasoning is correct, explain the part I'm missing.
I've changed arguments before. I'll change them again.
What I can't do is accept that something must be correct because the person saying it has a law degree, a robe, or 30 years of experience.
I wouldn't accept that from an electrician standing in front of a smoking breaker panel, either.
And I don't think that's an unreasonable standard.
For example, I filed a federal civil-rights lawsuit. It was dismissed without prejudice under a jurisdictional doctrine called Rooker–Feldman.
I've since learned that my original complaint had real drafting problems. I mixed claims, remedies, and requests that should have been separated.
I can acknowledge that.
But that leaves another question: Did those defects justify dismissing every claim, including potentially independent claims for damages?
That's now part of my appeal to the Ninth Circuit.
I'm not asking Reddit to decide the appeal. I'm explaining why there's still something to examine.
And here's the part that matters more than any filing.
Even if I win tomorrow, I don't get the last several years back.
My family doesn't get that time back.
The financial damage doesn't magically disappear.
The opportunities I missed don't reappear because somebody signs an order.
And if I lose, that doesn't erase everything I've learned or built.
I have a life outside this case. At least, I'm trying to get one back.
That's why I've started looking at the software differently.
Maybe the evidence-verification tools I've developed can help somebody dealing with an insurance company.
Maybe they can help someone audit government records.
Maybe they can help an attorney catch an unsupported citation before filing something.
Maybe some of it turns out to be useless.
That's what testing is for.
But I don't want the only product of this experience to be a stack of motions and a collection of increasingly creative swear words.
I want something useful to survive it.
So why do I keep posting here when most of my posts go nowhere?
Partly because I want people to understand what's happening.
Partly because I need outside perspectives.
Partly because I've spent so much time buried in these records that I genuinely need people who aren't personally invested to challenge my assumptions.
And partly because I refuse to believe that asking an institution to explain its decisions should be treated as suspicious behavior.
I realize I don't always communicate that well.
Sometimes I write like I'm cross-examining the entire state of Nevada.
Sometimes I assume everybody has read the previous 400 documents.
Sometimes I'm so irritated that the point gets buried under the irritation.
I'm working on that.
But I want to make something clear.
I'm not asking anybody to join a crusade. I'm asking people to examine the work.
If you think I'm wrong, tell me exactly where.
If you're an attorney, point me toward the controlling authority.
If you're a developer, tell me what would make these tools reliable.
If you've been through something similar, tell me what you learned.
And if you're just here because watching an electrician attempt to reverse-engineer the judicial system sounds like an interesting misuse of a perfectly good afternoon, I understand.
I didn't expect this plotline either.
I don't know how my case ends.
I don't know whether the software becomes a business.
I don't know whether anybody outside my immediate circle will ever care about any of it.
But I do know that I can keep improving the quality of the questions I ask, the evidence I preserve, and the things I build.
And I can stop expecting strangers to absorb my entire life story before they can participate.
So here's my actual question:
When someone without credentials identifies what they believe is a documented procedural error, what would you need to see before you'd take the finding seriously?
Not the person.
Not their reputation.
Not their criminal charge.
The actual work product.
Because that's the standard I'm trying to hold myself to, too.
And for what it's worth, I really would prefer to go back to building things that don't require reading federal appellate decisions at two in the morning.
Unfortunately, I seem to have developed a rather specific skill set.
Might as well make it useful.