I’m about to unload and I’ll make no apologies in the process. I’ve had it up to my hairy chin with the way things are in this world, but I’d never even think about the quick and easy way out. I’m a stirrer of all things fecal, therefore feces I shall stir. It’s fun. If you don’t believe so, then you’re just not any good at it.

I’ve spoken before on how my next door neighbor lives in Hell. Her upstairs counterpart is a full-blown schizophrenic whose caregiver (parents) have wiped their hands clean. The poor guy is a writer (which makes me want to sympathize) with less IMDB credits than me. That has to hurt, because I’m a failure in that area; so far.

He also “dispatches” for a living, so he has access to every official communications scanner available. He mixes his medication with alcohol, causing fits of violence towards himself and his neighbors. I would like to thank the carelessness of the USPS for providing me with this gentleman’s name and social media privacy grooming for making society believe our “facts” will not be seen by someone who’s fed up with living in a mental health warzone.

His fits of self-harm are so extreme, I can feel the impact tremor in my own home. Our homes don’t even touch! There’s an easy 20 feet between us!

I’d really like to get the guy some help but he refuses. The police don’t come when called or, if they do, it’s because HE called them. He makes false reports all the time stating my frightened downstairs neighbor and her daughter are the ones creating the disturbances. Yes, they show up when the white guy calls because they obviously would rather be beating on a black woman’s door.

With this realization, I got all dolled-up to go to the police station personally. I am the “day-walker”, after all. I can do a believable redneck act at the drop of a hat because I used to be one. I can carry on long diatribes because I’m a writer. The Daywalker. The secret weapon. The ghost of Cracker Barrel. I was immediately met with resistance since the enemy changes faces often; depending on the side of the hate-fence in which you stand. They wouldn’t take a report, and they sent another officer down to ensure I made it “safely” to my “ANTIFA” stickered vehicle. I didn’t even raise my voice or flail my arms frantically like the “Whacky Wailing Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man”!

Ultimately, and this is a direct quote from a Dallas PD officer (who was wearing a working body cam at the time), “It’s not against the law to have a mental health crisis.”

Having no luck at the local level, my screams for a solution found its way to the State where I filed a report with Adult Protective Services. It’s been months with no reply, and I’m beyond irritated with the lack of help offered to this man, and the ignorance toward neighborhood safety. I’m serious when I say this person gets in his vehicle and goes driving while engulfed inside a schizophrenic episode. He’s covered in sweat and howling at the moon on his balcony like a horny Uncle Fester! We’re SURROUNDED by school zones and a tourist neighborhood!

Not their chair; not their problem.

Then, again thanks to “former telecom genius turned writer” moxy, I remembered what I learned from a decade in the fine art world. Last name recognition in the city of Dallas is EVERYTHING. It just so happens that this whack-job gentleman shares un uncommon, yet notable name with neighborhood royalty. It suddenly all makes sense.

Once again, white supremacy in a capitalist country has allowed this notable family to quietly brush away one of their rejects onto the commoners, and snipped the lifeline for help. I won’t even bother repeating the fact that our Mayor was re-elected as a Democrat and changed his affiliation to the Republican party two weeks later. Our chief of police has his questions run by an attorney prior to answering during press conferences. Shady times, my friends. Shady times.

Don’t be surprised when the non-existent rise in Deep Ellem crime – the one that’s got the “10pm closing agenda” in the public eye, is what brings Trump’s National Guard presence to Dallas. I’d place that bet with my last dollar without a moment’s hesitation.

Back on track, when the anger subsides and cooler heads prevail, this insane man would be my best friend if not for his violent outbursts. Once more, through the incompetence of the United States Postal Service and the carelessness of the modern human via social media, the dude is into good music and LGBTQ rights, all while being cursed with “whiteness”. That’s a difficult lifestyle to live without adding a dash of self-medicated schizophrenia. I feel sorry for him, and would like to get him some help, but it’s nearing the midnight hour.

When your choice of crazy interferes with the safety and security of my own pack, the wolf has a tendency to leave the den in search of unconventional solutions. No one wakes The Queen and gets away with it.

Feel free to chime in with any help or critique; our hands are truly tied here. Until they’re not…

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