Apparently a lone gunman, wacked out of his skull from some syringery, was peeling caps back with a high powered rifle from his window in Stuy Town. Four blocks from my crib. Fucked up a bunch of windshields, and grazed a schoolteacher on the shoulder. Might have heard a snipet of a cop that got tagged. No deaths reported.

I know personally other Lower East Side individuals who possess arms. The thought even makes me uneasy. Some have parkside window views of Thompson's Square. I definitely occasionally check the apartments of peeps I know, making sure they haven't snapped and are aiming a scope at my face. They probably wouldn't pop me. They'd splatter someone walking right passed me, just to get my attention, then wave to me from their sniper perch.

The population should feel troubled when I am a force for making the atmosphere less crazy. Plenty of homies surpass me in freakitude. Impossible to entirely shake Midwestern pragmatism. Still my activities are monitored the second I step off the plane at Lambert airport in St. Louis. Maroon jacketed security types dogging my heels, stopping when I do, chatting on their walkie talkies. This ain't just rampant paranoia. Big boys clad entirely in black, sporting a goatee and lettin loose with the long hair is a targetable suspicious character in the Midwest.

Well, in a way they are correct. I spew as much deviancy and defile as many of their daughters as I can whenever I make a visit to the place of my upbringing. Growling at khaki wearing, bobbed haircut soccer moms at the supermarket. Randomly laughing boisterously at the foolery that spills from people's face. They suck deep on the misinformation cock in St. Louis. I try real hard to find the smart people in town. A hurculean labor.

Speaking of lunacy. On the phone after work late last night, listening to the office drama that is perplexing a chick I went home with last week. Ugh, and I thought that was done and done, not so fast spanky boy. So, two of my posse members blow up my door buzzer at late o'clock in the morning. Smelling like a whiskey plant, and rowdy. I was actually relieved as the hour plus phone conversation seemed to have no natural ending arising on the horizon.

One of the drunkards, whenever he reaches a certain threshold of imbibing he turns into this non sequitur transmitter, fidgetty troublemaker. Has to walk around and put his fucking hands on all my stuff. Repeating behavior that I just not more than two minutes ago told him to stop doing. He's an affected little devil. So as you can imagine I tired of him quickly. Passed the pipe around, and dropkicked them into the street all red eyed and stoney bumbling. Had to be done.

Oh people I am confused. Can't decide what's to be done on the chick warfront. Make me head go thumpy thumpy. When the freak who can match my mania shows up it'll be a relief. Until then, will be putting my cock wherever I want. Such a romantic. Gush.