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36      window.PAGE_DATA = {"show":{"show_id":84966,"title":"Human Meme","description":"The Human Meme podcast examines what separates human consciousness from mere biological existence. Each episode investigates the inherited behaviors, cultural transmissions, and cognitive patterns that replicate across generations, shaping how we think, grieve, speak, and remember. David Boles, a New York City writer, publisher, and teacher, hosts these conversations as mindfulness with teeth: no production music, no easy comfort, only the direct inquiry into what makes us recognizably human. Since 2016, the podcast has asked why we weep emotional tears, how language emerged from gesture, and whether memory constructs or reveals the self. The irrevocable aesthetic is the commitment to answers that, once understood, cannot be unknown. Be a Human Meme.","author":"David Boles","art":"https:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/secure\/content\/202853800"},"contact_submit_url":"\/\/web-support.libsyn.com\/contact\/submit","recaptcha_site_key":"6LfoeQ8UAAAAAGXu6ZX-Lwo--catIhBUcfKie7p4","google_analytics_ids":["UA-1417413-3","UA-168566-29"],"destination_id":3268196,"colors":{"brand":"5a2a3a","font":"1a1a18","link":"85b1e5"},"google_font":"Crimson Text","producer_message":"What makes human consciousness irreducible? David Boles investigates thought, behavior, and culture with no filler and no comfortable evasions. Mindfulness with teeth.","about":{"content":"<p class=\"p1\"><span class=\"s1\">Each episode is a single voice, a single inquiry, and no distractions. There is no production music, no guest chatter, no filler. David Boles speaks directly into the question at hand: why humans weep when no other species does, how manual gesture became spoken grammar, whether personal memory is archive or invention. The format is intimate and unadorned, closer to essay than interview, designed for listeners who want to think alongside rather than be entertained at.<\/span><\/p> <p class=\"p1\"><span class=\"s1\">One listener called it \"mindfulness with an edge.\" Another wrote, \"You have the spirit of philosophy; you inspire dialectic thoughts.\"<\/span><\/p> <p class=\"p1\"><span class=\"s1\">Subscribe wherever you listen: Apple Podcasts, Spotify, iHeartRadio, Pocket Casts, or search \"Human Meme\" in your preferred podcast app.<\/span><\/p> <p class=\"p1\"><span class=\"s1\">David Boles holds an MFA from Columbia University and has spent four decades working across theatre, publishing, and education in New York City. His wider work lives at <a href=\"https:\/\/Boles.com\">Boles.com<\/a>, <a href= \"https:\/\/BolesBlogs.com\">BolesBlogs.com<\/a>, and <a href= \"https:\/\/BolesBooks.com\">BolesBooks.com<\/a>. <a href= \"https:\/\/Boles.ai\">Boles.ai<\/a> explores the uncanny valley where human intention meets machine output.<\/span><\/p> ","hosts":[{"name":"David Boles","profile":"David Boles is an author, producer, director and publisher living and working in New York City.","image":"http:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/david-boles-9-23-19-ORG.jpg"}]},"contact":{"content":""},"share_buttons":{"spotify":"https:\/\/open.spotify.com\/show\/5PiMbxk2xyaxXaUnYkhdO7","apple":"https:\/\/itunes.apple.com\/us\/podcast\/david-boles-human-meme\/id1135555465","google":"https:\/\/play.google.com\/music\/m\/Icwap2hnhkjnpysh7g2gi7fpd7u?t=David_Boles_Human_Meme"},"social_buttons":{"facebook":"https:\/\/facebook.com\/boles","twitter":"https:\/\/x.com\/davidboles","instagram":"https:\/\/instagram.com\/bolesbooks","youtube":"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/bolesblues","rss":"http:\/\/feeds.libsyn.com\/84966\/rss"},"external_media_links":{"amazon_music":"https:\/\/music.amazon.com\/artists\/B0CX4YGCFQ?ref=dm_sh_dfc7-0d23-f98e-95e3-80da5","apple":"https:\/\/itunes.apple.com\/us\/podcast\/david-boles-human-meme\/id1135555465","audacy":null,"audible":null,"boomplay":null,"deezer":"https:\/\/www.deezer.com\/us\/show\/2067282","facebook":"https:\/\/facebook.com\/boles","gaana":null,"i_heart_radio":"https:\/\/www.iheart.com\/playlist\/bolesradio-271608031-Pwpzd9gCECPD6Qw4wn794L\/","jiosaavn":null,"instagram":"https:\/\/instagram.com\/bolesbooks","player_fm":null,"linkedin":"https:\/\/www.linkedin.com\/in\/boles\/","spotify":"https:\/\/open.spotify.com\/show\/5PiMbxk2xyaxXaUnYkhdO7","twitter":"https:\/\/x.com\/davidboles","youtube":"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/bolesblues"},"items":[{"item_id":43145753,"premium_state":"free","item_slug":"the-count-is-the-mercy","item_title":"The Count Is the Mercy","release_date":"Oct 2, 2026","item_body_clean":" That prosecutor, in a county of two or ten thousand people, knows the family of the dead man, or knows people who do. The folder on his desk has a box for everything the road could measure and no box for what the trooper believed. Nothing in the design asks his question. Nobody is paid to go sit in a widow's kitchen and ask whether her husband meant it. The certificate says accident, and the certificate is lawful, and the certificate may even be true. The machine did not fail that night. It ran perfectly, and it produced an accident, because an accident is what the machine was built to produce when the evidence is thin and the family is grieving and the town is small. ","item_body":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;5PG4AXVsig4fFLUUgPFE&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;RtvRepvgK0OPU4SnnmWo&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1790960074315,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1790960091511,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a2&quot;}]\">\nThat prosecutor, in a county of two or ten thousand people, knows\nthe family of the dead man, or knows people who do. The folder on\nhis de
36sk has a box for everything the road could measure and no box\nfor what the trooper believed. Nothing in the design asks his\nquestion. Nobody is paid to go sit in a widow's kitchen and ask\nwhether her husband meant it. The certificate says accident, and\nthe certificate is lawful, and the certificate may even be true.\nThe machine did not fail that night. It ran perfectly, and it\nproduced an accident, because an accident is what the machine was\nbuilt to produce when the evidence is thin and the family is\ngrieving and the town is small.<\/span><\/p>\n","item_body_short":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;5PG4AXVsig4fFLUUgPFE&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;RtvRepvgK0OPU4SnnmWo&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1790960074315,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1790960091511,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a2&quot;}]\">\nThat prosecutor, in a county of two or ten thousand people, knows\nthe family of the dead man, or knows people who do. The folder on\nhis desk has a box for everything the road could measure and no box\nfor what the trooper believed. Nothing in the design asks his\nquestion. Nobody is paid to go sit in a widow's\nkitchen...<\/span><\/p>\n","full_item_url":"https:\/\/humanmeme.com\/the-count-is-the-mercy","image_content_id":null,"web_image_content_id":null,"image_url":"https:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/secure\/item\/43145753","primary_content":{"file_class":"audio","content_type":"Standard","url":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/count-is-mercy.mp3?dest-id=3268196","url_secure":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/count-is-mercy.mp3?dest-id=3268196","content_title":null},"extra_content":[],"display_download_link":true},{"item_id":43087993,"premium_state":"free","item_slug":"the-transcriptionist-a-modern-day-morality-play","item_title":"The Transcriptionist: A Modern Day Morality Play","release_date":"Sep 30, 2026","item_body_clean":" Anna worked in the space between voices. Her job was to process anonymized therapy recordings, stripping names and locations while preserving the emotional architecture of each session. She thought of herself as a kind of archaeologist, carefully excavating the bones of human struggle while leaving no fingerprints on the artifacts. Every morning she opened her laptop to find new files waiting like unopened letters from strangers who would never know she existed. Lives compressed into audio, voices speaking into the digital dark. She told herself she maintained professional distance. This was technically true. She never sought out identifying information, never tried to match voices to faces. But she could not help noticing patterns, the way certain speakers returned week after week, their voices shifting by degrees she tracked like a gardener watching seasons. ","item_body":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;KcasEINZbrTTm0D6GwDh&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;vVEixq0kL6SFdlYW3rzc&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1790784130119,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1790784159880,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a1&quot;}]\">\nAnna worked in the space between voices. Her job was to process\nanonymized therapy recordings, stripping names and locations while\npreserving the emotional architecture of each session. She thought\nof herself as a kind of archaeologist, carefully excavating the\nbones of human struggle while leaving no fingerprints on the\nartifacts. Every morning she opened her laptop to find new files\nwaiting like unopened letters from strangers who would never know\nshe existed. Lives compressed into audio, voices speaking into the\ndigital dark. She told herself she maintained professional\ndistance. This was technically true. She never sought out\nidentifying information, never tried to match voices to faces. But\nshe could not help noticing patterns, the way certain speakers\nreturned week after week, their voices shifting by degrees she\ntracked like a gardener watching seasons.<\/span><\/p>\n","item_body_short":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;KcasEINZbrTTm0D6GwDh&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;vVEixq0kL6SFdlYW3rzc&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1790784130119,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1790784159880,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a1&quot;}]\">\nAnna worked in the space between voices. Her job was to process\nanonymized therapy recordings, stripping names and locations while\npreserving the emotional architecture of each session. She thought\nof herself as a kind of archaeologist, carefully excavating the\nbones of human struggle while leaving no fingerprints\non...<\/span><\/p>\n","full_item_url":"https:\/\/humanmeme.com\/the-transcriptionist-a-modern-day-morality-play","image_content_id":null,"web_image_content_id":null,"image_url":"https:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/secure\/item\/43087993","primary_content":{"file_class":"audio","content_type":"Standard","url":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/transcriptionist.mp3?dest-id=3268196","url_secure":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/transcriptionist.mp3?dest-id=3268196","content_title":null}
36,"extra_content":[],"display_download_link":true},{"item_id":43074813,"premium_state":"free","item_slug":"the-third-white-sanpaku-eyes-and-the-compulsion-to-read-fate-in-flesh","item_title":"The Third White: Sanpaku Eyes and the Compulsion to Read Fate in Flesh","release_date":"Sep 29, 2026","item_body_clean":"There is something ancient and ineradicable in the human need to look into another person's eyes and see their doom written there. Not metaphorically, but literally, as if the iris were a seal and the sclera a parchment upon which the universe had inscribed its verdict. The Japanese call it sanpaku, meaning \"three whites,\" and it refers to a condition where the white of the eye is visible on three sides of the iris rather than the customary two. According to a tradition that stretches back through centuries of East Asian face reading, this third crescent of white is not mere anatomy. It is prophecy. &nbsp; ","item_body":"<p class=\"text-md mb-4\" data-id=\"sdlOdcoTDZ5V2VVQzdFD\"\ndata-pm-slice=\"2 1 []\"><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\n\"David Boles\">There is something ancient and ineradicable in the\nhuman need to look into another person's eyes and see their doom\nwritten there. Not metaphorically, but literally, as if the iris\nwere a seal and the sclera a parchment upon which the universe had\ninscribed its verdict. The Japanese call it sanp
36aku, meaning \"three\nwhites,\" and it refers to a condition where the white of the eye is\nvisible on three sides of the iris rather than the customary two.\nAccording to a tradition that stretches back through centuries of\nEast Asian face reading, this third crescent of white is not mere\nanatomy. It is prophecy.<\/span><\/p>\n<p class=\"text-md mb-4\" data-id=\"ntzpsWxOWBwxqjxT39lJ\">&nbsp;<\/p>\n","item_body_short":"<p class=\"text-md mb-4\" data-id=\"sdlOdcoTDZ5V2VVQzdFD\"\ndata-pm-slice=\"2 1 []\"><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\n\"David Boles\">There is something ancient and ineradicable in the\nhuman need to look into another person's eyes and see their doom\nwritten there. Not metaphorically, but literally, as if the iris\nwere a seal and the sclera a parchment upon which the universe had\ninscribed its verdict. The Japanese call it sanp
36aku,\nmeaning...<\/span><\/p>\n","full_item_url":"https:\/\/humanmeme.com\/the-third-white-sanpaku-eyes-and-the-compulsion-to-read-fate-in-flesh","image_content_id":null,"web_image_content_id":null,"image_url":"https:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/secure\/item\/43074813","primary_content":{"file_class":"audio","content_type":"Standard","url":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/sanpaku.mp3?dest-id=3268196","url_secure":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/sanpaku.mp3?dest-id=3268196","content_title":null},"extra_content":[],"display_download_link":true},{"item_id":42964668,"premium_state":"free","item_slug":"the-question-the-law-never-requires","item_title":"The Question the Law Never Requires","release_date":"Sep 20, 2026","item_body_clean":" In September of 1994, a young woman drove a dust-colored Ford wagon out to a farmhouse south of Madrid, Nebraska. She was twenty-six years old. Her notary commission was days old. Her job was small. Watch a widow sign a quitclaim deed. Stamp the page. Take the fee. Drive home. Ordinary work, in an ordinary county. The widow sat at her own kitchen table in her good gray coat, the one with the brooch. Her daughter wasn't in the room. The son-in-law did all the talking, in the county's reasonable voice, the kind that has an answer for everything. And when the widow went to sign, her hand was trembling, and the page moved a little with the trembling, and the son-in-law put his thumb on the page to hold it flat. His thumb never touched her hand. ","item_body":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;9nMFzCwU6PaGsER0uN7v&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;27QMoXt9FkBClq6uNHT8&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1789913632899,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1789913660011,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a1&quot;}]\">\nIn September of 1994, a young woman drove a dust-colored Ford wagon\nout to a farmhouse south of Madrid, Nebraska. She was twenty-six\nyears old. Her notary commission was days old. Her job was small.\nWatch a widow sign a quitclaim deed. Stamp the page. Take the fee.\nDrive home. Ordinary work, in an ordinary county. The widow sat at\nher own kitchen table in her good gray coat, the one with the\nbrooch. Her daughter wasn't in the room. The son-in-law did all the\ntalking, in the county's reasonable voice, the kind that has an\nanswer for everything. And when the widow went to sign, her hand\nwas trembling, and the page moved a little with the trembling, and\nthe son-in-law put his thumb on the page to hold it flat. His thumb\nnever touched her hand.<\/span><\/p>\n","item_body_short":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;9nMFzCwU6PaGsER0uN7v&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;27QMoXt9FkBClq6uNHT8&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1789913632899,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1789913660011,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a1&quot;}]\">\nIn September of 1994, a young woman drove a dust-colored Ford wagon\nout to a farmhouse south of Madrid, Nebraska. She was twenty-six\nyears old. Her notary commission was days old. Her job was small.\nWatch a widow sign a quitclaim deed. Stamp the page. Take the fee.\nDrive home. Ordinary work, in an ordinary county. The...<\/span><\/p>\n","full_item_url":"https:\/\/humanmeme.com\/the-question-the-law-never-requires","image_content_id":null,"web_image_content_id":null,"image_url":"https:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/secure\/item\/42964668","primary_content":{"file_class":"audio","content_type":"Standard","url":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/known-to-me.mp3?dest-id=3268196","url_secure":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/known-to-me.mp3?dest-id=3268196","content_title":null}
36,"extra_content":[],"display_download_link":true},{"item_id":42919502,"premium_state":"free","item_slug":"the-courtroom-goes-quiet","item_title":"The Courtroom Goes Quiet","release_date":"Sep 15, 2026","item_body_clean":" Every oath, everywhere, started life as a conditional self-curse. And then, century by century, the curse got amputated. First the punisher went quiet. Then the punishment went silent. What stayed in the witness's mouth was the stump. But nothing that load-bearing just disappears. The punishment clause went looking for a new address. And the law, slowly, took the job over. In fifteen sixty-three, in the fifth year of Elizabeth, Parliament passed a statute whose title you can still read: An Act for the Punishment of such persons as shall procure or commit any willful Perjury. That's the birth of perjury as a crime.&nbsp; ","item_body":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;RbBOogDsHYfsmASYGMMN&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;CsmbxYHyvizWneQJ8nNZ&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1789498306800,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1789498331715,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a2&quot;}]\">\nEvery oath, everywhere, started life as a conditional self-curse.\nAnd then, century by century, the curse got amputated. First the\npunisher went quiet. Then the punishment went silent. What stayed\nin the witness's mouth was the stump. But nothing that load-bearing\njust disappears. The punishment clause went looking for a new\naddress. And the law, slowly, took the job over. In fifteen\nsixty-three, in the fifth year of Elizabeth, Parliament passed a\nstatute whose title you can still read: An Act for the Punishment\nof such persons as shall procure or commit any willful Perjury.\nThat's the birth of perjury as a crime.&nbsp;<\/span><\/p>\n","item_body_short":"<p><span class=\n\"tts-node group\/tts-node rounded-[6px] box-decoration-clone bg-clip-content py-[3px]\"\ndata-isttsnode=\"true\" data-voicerefid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\"\ndata-globalvoicesettingsenabled=\"true\" data-volumegaindb=\"0\"\ndata-muted=\"false\" data-fadeinms=\"0\" data-fadeoutms=\"0\"\ndata-voiceid=\"y1adqrqs4jNaANXsIZnD\" data-voicename=\"David Boles\"\ndata-pm-slice=\n\"1 1 [&quot;ttsBlock&quot;,{&quot;type&quot;:&quot;p&quot;,&quot;blockId&quot;:&quot;RbBOogDsHYfsmASYGMMN&quot;,&quot;regenerationCount&quot;:0,&quot;conversionStatus&quot;:&quot;converted&quot;,&quot;blockSnapshotId&quot;:&quot;CsmbxYHyvizWneQJ8nNZ&quot;,&quot;lastConvertedAtUnixMs&quot;:1789498306800,&quot;lastChangeUnixMs&quot;:1789498331715,&quot;lockedState&quot;:{&quot;locked&quot;:false},&quot;hasSTSElements&quot;:false,&quot;trackId&quot;:&quot;tts0&quot;,&quot;order&quot;:&quot;a2&quot;}]\">\nEvery oath, everywhere, started life as a conditional self-curse.\nAnd then, century by century, the curse got amputated. First the\npunisher went quiet. Then the punishment went silent. What stayed\nin the witness's mouth was the stump. But nothing that load-bearing\njust disappears. The punishment clause went looking\nfor...<\/span><\/p>\n","full_item_url":"https:\/\/humanmeme.com\/the-courtroom-goes-quiet","image_content_id":null,"web_image_content_id":null,"image_url":"https:\/\/assets.libsyn.com\/secure\/item\/42919502","primary_content":{"file_class":"audio","content_type":"Standard","url":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/right-hand.mp3?dest-id=3268196","url_secure":"https:\/\/dts.podtrac.com\/redirect.mp3\/traffic.libsyn.com\/secure\/boles\/right-hand.mp3?dest-id=3268196","content_title":null}
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