- In the spring of 2005, when I was living in New York, my fun emails to the Orlando Weekly were forwarded by someone there to someone at Metromix.
- Metromix is some division of Tribune. Other people at the Sentinel got my material from Metromix. It got forwarded to The World's Biggest Kook at Chicago Tribune. "Hey, Dude."
- There is some kind of communications system among newspapers, some kind of "news wire" or something. Someone at the Sentinel started putting my material into this communications system. Or maybe someone at the Tribune.
- By late 2005, I figured my audience at about ten people.
- Some militia leader in Afghanistan was getting my material. How, I do not know. I cannot discern any informational linkage to him. Maybe I was just seeing significance where there is none.
- Someone at the Sentinel, perhaps, sent recordings of my material to Jon Stewart. "The candy!" This was early 2006. These things automatically get discounted by me. "Chris says that people on TV are talking to him. See? He's cray cray."
- Someone in New York got in a snit and dropped the dime on me to the FBI --probably my material about how George Bush should be immediately killed. (Worked like a charm.)
- FBI starts investigating. I seem to recall this to be late 2005. Alberto Gonzales says, "We're investigating." So they investigate me and my material. "Oops." Here's all my 9-11 evidence. Justice Department is snared. As part of their investigation of me, they become legally aware of their own crimes. Justice Department is neutralized.
- "Ciaogle"
- "...some guy who's been around since Tuesday..."
- "...Funnyman, who art thou?..."
- "...fool's errand..."
- Propagation seems to be wide and deep at this point, early 2007. "Blowing up" appears to be imminent. (In show business, "blowing up" means to reach some critical mass and get really big.)
- There seems to be a concerted effort to oppose my blowing up. "You had to go there, didn't you?"
I have repeatedly asked for even an anonymous note in the mail to confirm to myself the nature of my theater. No one will do this. And an anonymous note has no value in proving that any particular person is in my theater, so denying me a note is not done for that purpose.
Denying me conclusive proof of my theater appears to serve some other purpose of yours. Is this all a big secret? Is it a game of yours? Are you observing art in its natural habitat, undisturbed by anthropologists?
Are you concerned about my safety? Don't be. I've got it figured out.
In order to smash this system, folks, I need to create chaos. I need to blow up.
Let me blow up.
I am a social creature. There is no greater punishment than shunning. I may not be shunned among yourselves, but I am shunned in relation to you.
Why won't you talk to me?
Please stop punishing me. Please talk to me.
I want to be let in from the cold. I have come to get what is mine. Please let me in. It does me no good to love me from afar.
I want my valentine this year.
