The Conspiracy of Conspiracies


Somedays I can be easily mistaken for BROTHER THEODORE. Waking up and peering from under the covers, blinds tightly drawn, it’s easy to imagine that certain elements of this planet are out to get me. And you.

Sure, I’ve had a few stalkers, probably due to my unbearably intoxicating good looks. A dragqueen, a mixed up bi boy, a geezer: the usual suspects. But they were largely harmless, unlike my current certifiable stalker who sends me threatening e-mails signed, Love and Peace or some such incongruous catchphrase. The internets make it really, really easy to be tracked down, and you don’t have to scale my estate walls with duct tape and rope at ready to find me at your mercy.
Big cities are anonymous, good or bad, and it’s hard to tell if that person is actually following me down the street and just seems familiar or in fact has TASER™ in hand, ready for a stun and toss in the back of a black SUV headed for the hills, some dungeon or romp room a the ready.
LIVING IN FEAR is not an option, but one thing I learned in NYC at three ayem crossing Cooper Union from Village east to west: STAY ALERT! Look around: looking a little menacing yourself, a little crazy, is always an option. I was never hassled in Manhattan, and this in the Age of Crack, yet.
So if you come up to me on the street because we are facebook™ “Friends” please ID yourself, and give a reference. Otherwise, my BROTHER THEODORE MINDSET might take over and I just might be the one pulling out a TASER™
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