1. Tuesday, June 24, 2003

    call me fuck up 

    nobody ever gets named right. to ny. to new york. backwards y not. why not.

    i don’t live in new york, im not going to new york. i don’t run around as carefree as a butterfly, i barely even get drunk. im as normal and as californian as a midwesterner from dc can be. but when they named me they shouldnta called me tony.

    fuck up they should of written on their shoe sole in magic marker and kicked me in the forehead instead of spanking me hello.

    people who know about the xbi talk shit about the xbi and some of it is just and some of it i defend well and some of it i cant at all.

    today i fucked up big time.

    today people got hurt.

    we aim at the brain in the xbi.

    fbi aims at the leg.

    cops aim at the heart.

    fbi can aim at the leg and hit it a lot of the time.

    xbi don’t mind getting shot back at. plus we’re trying to send a message on the streets. an s-o-s to our world.

    don’t fuck with the x

    cooperate with the crazy.

    listen and speak and do what we say or we will send trains into your homes filled with lumber.

    and there’s two guns on the nose of chopper one.

    machine guns.

    fully automatic machine guns that are supposed to be filled with rubber biscuits but i didn’t check them and while i was on vacation this marine took chopper one up and showed off and used the bullets and not the biscuits and i should have checked but i don’t have any attention to detail.

    i don’t cross my ts and dot my eyes.

    which is why

    im not fbi.

    and today we were after gang members. real ones. teenaged ones.

    innocent ones really.

    innocent because of youth, not actions. actionwise they’re guilty. guilty guilty guilty.

    like me.

    and i was sending warning biscuits at their heads but i wasn’t lobbing biscuits i was blazing bullets.

    they flew straight like lasers and ended careers and widowed and erased things

    and started things

    sad things

    and i pulled up and said what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

    and i heard the marine say didn’t you check your weapon

    which is what he calls my pal chopper one

    even though he knows i hate it called that

    and i couldn’t say anything and i wanted to die

    the gloom swept me like a bong rip of bad trips

    i was blanketed with dread and in my ear i heard forget it… gangmembers… killers… uneducated… a waste.

    they were arguing.

    but i was to blame. this isn’t what its about. this is so lame.

    and ive been wanting to quit the xbi for so long and ive been telling you that but it really is equal parts superhero equal parts thuglife and that’s so not me.

    neither is me.

    i wanted to cry i wanted to die i wanted to lie.

    i wanted to go land it and run home and i got back and i didn’t say bye to anyone and i walked to the bus stop and kept walking and kept walking

    got stuck in traffic trying to read