Glow Ballin' Con Fusion: 21st Century Schizoid Man?

King Crimson
21st Century Schizoid Man

Michael Travis, our 21st Century Schizoid Man?

Have you ever had the feeling that someone had entered your house or apartment while you were out? Have you ever noticed that things were "not quite as you left them" upon returning from work? Little things draw your attention, like chips in a new cookie jar, drawers not closed properly or cupboards slightly ajar. Luggage and musical instrument cases appear tampered with, and your clothing seem to have been moved haphazardly around your closet.

I have experienced all of the above and substantially more, for over a year. I have returned home to discover my door unlocked several times. My mail has been opened with a letter opener, and stuffed under my door. I have found a note left in a guitar case, outside of the closed case, and crumbled on the ground. This is spooky stuff folks.

I could be crazy. I may be a raving, delusional, 21st century schizoid man.

Or perhaps not.

Last week I installed a video surveillance system in my apartment. The system records any intrusion and sends an alert by email and SMS to my desk at work. The system works like a charm. It took no more than a few days to prove me more or less sane.

On April 21, 2009, while hard at work at my Massachusetts office, I was alerted by the security system to an intruder. From miles away I watched as a slimy trespasser slithered into my small apartment, looked around, and quietly left.

I called the cops.

A nice policeman arrived within minutes and I showed him the video.

The nice policeman said I should ask around to see if anyone can ID the intruder. I told the nice policeman (his name and badge number was covered by elastic bands,,,so I shall continue calling him "Nice Policeman") that he was the cop and investigating crime was his job, not mine.

I feel much better now. Really I do.

It may take time, but I will learn to love Post-America.

King Crimson
The Court of the Crimson King

The dance of the puppets
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournaments begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.