The brotherhood strikes back

Like the ever-widening crack on my car windshield, the conspiracy of the brotherhood's attacks on me have become less subtle and more apparent. It started with our last trip to the desert. On the way home from shooting Erik's brother's truck in San Bernadino, I was driving back on the 210. The tires of a large truck driving by me shot a rock into my windshield. The resulting star has grown into a scar-shaped line almost 24 inches long. A crack in a windshield gained during the shooting of a scene that started out as a bird crashing into a windshield. A shot across the bow.



Then last week Wednesday, the sky was cloudy so I decided to shoot a quick pickup—a rain shot. I mounted the camera outside the garage workroom window and created some rain with the hose. When I was done, I left the hose on the concrete driveway. The shot didn't work too well. I think I need to get a more interesting-looking exterior. But it doesn't end there. On Saturday, I was pulling our car out of the driveway when something attracted my attention. I don't remember what it was—but when I looked at our house, I noticed that a huge section of exterior wall had been ripped out and water was gushing.

One neighbor who was saw what happened kept repeating "oh no.... oh no...." Another neighbor told me that the fireman across the street could help me turn off the water from the main. After we stopped the water I surveyed the damage. Apparently, when I pulled out of the driveway, the hose, covered with sap, got stuck to a tire. The hose then got wrapped around the axle and when it was pulled taut ripped out the attached water pipe. The interior copper pipe then pulled outwards tearing open the exterior wood wall leaving the wood frame exposed. The PVC going to the main was uprooted and the pipe itself leveled one of our small palms. "A freak accident" the one neighbor said.

This is how a conspiracy works. The less I publicize the conspiracy's activity, the more invisible they remain even as I begin to look over my shoulder. The more I publicize the conspiracy, the crazier I look; either way they win. And as I sit here at the car dealership waiting for my brakelights to be fixed, the wireless connection, usually flawless, isn't working. Maybe I'll lose this post (I'm writing in TextEdit). Then, too tired to write again, I will simply let the whole thing blow away. Or maybe I'll post later. But by then, the message will be clear: I can communicate with the world, but only at the discretion of others.