Letter to Francisca:
full of raves, rants, poetry, chants,
discourse, stories, sound and furry, signifying nothing.
bunnie_part_01

Book 1

Francisca:

I’ve decided to write you a little letter just to say good-bye. Although it’s only May and I’m not leaving until September or October. You won’t get this until I’m gone. Why am I doing this? Maybe I’ll find out as I write. Amer, Trish’s friend (my friend too), brought over a movie -Paris, Texas. Same director as a movie Tauqir and I saw same day I saw an old friend who happened to call tonight - but I’m digressing on a tangent. Already I’m afraid I’ve lost you. What I was going to say is that the little boy reminded me of you. I’m sure that these first pages will be scattered in several thoughts. I’m not certain what I should say first. Why do I bother? And why don’t I just let it go? I wish I could. I hate thinking about you. But for the last four years I’ve thought of you most every day. I remember you gave me shit once, said you were a fantasy I had. I almost bought it when you said it, thought you had figured me out before I figured me out. It wasn’t true. You are beautiful, it’s true, but I wasn’t a drunken virgin. You weren’t the first beautiful woman I had copulated with. Many things about you clash with my fantasy woman. My fantasy woman is stronger both physically and emotionally. She’s taller (usually) and has dark complexion (Spanish maybe), dark eyes. No need to go on with details. The point is: you were wrong there. I didn’t even want to fall in love with you. I thought you were more trouble than I cared for. When you told me to get out, that you thought I was lame, I thought it was for the best. I came up with hundreds of ideas why I was glad to be away from you. Why it still hurts to think of you - well I don’t even know what love is so I don’t know if I should guess that I love you. I know if you rather I had never met you than it’s not polite of me to say so. I’m gone now so it doesn’t matter. I just wanted to be clear. I wanted you to want to know me but my life was of no interest to you - now I’m sounding bitter. Hang on. There are some things I can’t forget. I can’t forget how great and how horrible I felt with you. I will never forget waking you at my parent’s house and hearing those simple words. - Every time I pat a dog on the street I want to explain to the dog how great it would be if he could meet Francisca and let her - There are two guard dogs at the end of my street. - This shows how appearances can be deceiving - Sometimes I go visit them. I call out if they aren’t in sight. They run to the fence so I can talk to them, pat them and have them lick my hand. The owner caught me once. Gave me shit. ‘Don’t want people around.’ It’s bullshit. The dogs don’t want to be alone. They get no kindness. It’s mean to keep them in there with no one to even take them for a walk. Dogs don’t want to be mean. They (most dogs) just want to be friends. Support each other. When I’m sad and alone, I feel some comfort knowing - Let me tell you a little story - Must be ten or twelve years ago I used to visit Brent up at his Dad’s farm. His dad was dying from cancer. A woman stayed with him. Georgia. Young woman - a bit strange. That’s a whole other story. He was a preacher at one time. But let’s stick to the point. Sometimes, late at night, Brent and I would go down behind the barn or down the road to smoke some hash oil, it was usually at night because we would go hunting for nothing or hiking during the day. Anyway - one night we got stoned and decided to go into the barn. We watched the sheep, goats and chickens. I was losing touch with my surroundings and feeling as disconnected from life as I could get without actually being dead. I sat and felt vacant while Brent pestered the sheep. When I thought I was about to cry, the old dog came in and put his head on my lap. To this day I swear he knew he had to do that to keep me in. Part of what makes me think it wasn’t just a coincidence was that this was a dog that was part wolf and never showed affection to anyone. Brent told me he never did that to anyone and he never went into the barn. You couldn’t make this animal go into the barn. The dog is dead now but if he were alive I would like to thank him for stepping out of his character long enough to keep me together. Usually I don’t have time for dogs but sometimes I want to let them know that we’re in it together. And I wish that somehow I could help you see dogs differently. All creatures can be shown some kind of - I’m not sure what word I’m looking for. I want to get across that we can’t separate ourselves from other creatures. Life is connected - I don’t want to sound corny - but - maybe it’s like the Indian philosophy: The animals are our brothers. As a purely ecological look at it: We are part of a system and it is our fucked up idea of our individual worth that messes us up. It’s this fuckin’ ego shit that has got man so separate from the world that he is from, that he might just fuck up everything. - But I want you to like dogs. I wanted to help you face that - Sometimes I wish we could have met as friends. Maybe I could still see you the odd time if you weren’t thinking I was after you. - Trish, my roommate, was mentioning to me today that I am afraid to have a relationship with a single woman. No kidding. Probable you biggest fear is that which I want most. To love and be loved. What’s that bible verse - Corinthians I think - (there were a few good thoughts in that dangerous book.)(Now the book isn’t so dangerous - desperation of mad believers is dangerous) - anyhow - it went something like: ‘What - or - a man has sweet fuck all if he gains the world yet has not love.’ Most times I don’t want to believe that. I think I would be content with a piece of land on Fisher Lake. Build a place where I can paint and draw and write and read and make music and work in my garden and take long walks in the woods and row across the lake and think about bursting through this vale of convictions to see life as it is, rather than the stifling symbols we have congested in our dormant brains. I think if I could settle down with that I would be doing fine. And the truth is I couldn’t imagine living with you and I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking of you. I’m not even sure why the fuck I’m writing this shit down. Like the many things I’ve written before, it may just end up in the garage. It’s my thirty-second birthday in a week. I love you Francisca. I didn’t want to say it and I didn’t want it to happen. I know your life doesn’t include me. Maybe this is shitty for me to do. I know what it’s like to have someone you’re not interested in tell you they love you. It sucks. I won’t say it again. And I think I’m going to cry. Yup. Will I go on? Did you read this far? Did you even get this letter? Did I leave it with Carrie and tell her to forward it. By the way, I wasn’t trying to get to you through her when I asked you to come out to that skating Christmas thing last year. I wanted you to - whatever. Why do I want to explain myself to you? I get angry when - Sometimes when I see you, I can’t help notice how sad you seem. I think you’re so hard on yourself. Something is eating at you. I don’t know. I would have loved to got to know you. But I was warned about thespians. By the way, not everything follows the thing before it. Sometimes it’s just accidental that one comes after the other. What is it about thespians? I’m not sure if this is relevant or fair but I’m going to say it anyway. - just stay away from them was his last line - before that it was something about being hung up on their beauty yet insecure about what they’re about. I can’t remember. But it is true of most people. We are continually encouraged to be insecure. The media manipulates us into doubt. I hate the media. They are beating the shit out of the public. They have people so confused and unsure. We’re taught not only what to think about and how to think about it, we’re told and manipulated into perceiving how best suits some mad fucker’s ideas. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not paranoid. It’s nothing new either. Religion is all about it. Thousands of years we’ve been misguided. We have adopted a contrived idea of reality. It’s bullshit. It is mindoside. And why am I going on like this? I never had a chance with you before. It’s 3:33 am. I think I will stop writing. Maybe I will write a couple other thoughts on another day. I’m sorry thing didn’t work out - in another life maybe you will think me worthy of your love. I’m looking forward to it. Oh - I finally saw a play you were in. Mike took me. That one about milk. It felt odd to watch you. Mike thought we should say hello to you afterwards but I was pissed off at you for some bullshit you gave Carrie about me trying to get to you through her. Well, fuck you, you stupid bitch, I thought. If you bla, bla, bla - I went on in my head. How it sucks to love someone who doesn’t give a shit. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not blaming you for anything. I know I should just let it go and I will. I’m just hoping I can let you know how I feel and if we ever happen to bumped into each other again down the road, I hope we can have a chat and be friends. Good-bye for now. Have a good life.
Love Steve

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P.S. It’s next day and I’ve a couple things I’d like to get off my chest. What are they? Strange growths. Have to amputate. There are a couple things that bother me. - Do you remember Holden from Catcher in the Rye? Sallinger. He was dead against the movies. He wanted to wipe out all the ‘Fuck You’ graffiti. But you have to understand the point. The movies - like so many other things, are sucking the sense out of our heads. We don’t think. Watch people. They live how they’ve been told. You can’t convince me there is any sanity in most of the goings on. Why do people spend two-hundred dollars on a pair of shoes? Why do people work forty years to be shit hoarders? There is little sanity to be found in this system, this mindless work and consume system; so why do we do it? What? Are we afraid ‘they’ might catch us if we don’t play the game? Okay just one more thing - Colin Wilson - remember him? He was best known for his non-fiction but it is his fiction work, Mind Parricides that brings up the question of our apathy. He suggest, in the guise of fiction, that it is a mental illness caused from an outside force which is living - I can’t remember, under the Earth - it’s not important. What is, is the idea that there is a disease of the mind that has got hold of most everyone. I was going somewhere with this when I started but it has slipped away. It had something to do with this insanity that has been accepted as normal. SNAFU. Is it funny? Is this a big fuckin’ joke? And why the fuck am I piping off to you about it? Probably because I wanted to say something and I’ve got this crazy idea that I want to at least have you remember me. I wouldn’t keep going on at you except that sometimes I have this crazy idea that you didn’t reject me because you thought I was a shit. I sometimes think you are afraid that I wanted too much. Other times I think you thought I was just a bum. I wasn’t obsessed about doing whatever I decided was my gig. I can understand your point. But I’m not going to wave my flag just so I can justify my country. Why the fuck am I writing this shit? Have you asked that question? Who the fuck is this idiot? What the fuck makes him think I give a shit one way or the other what the hell bla bla bla and stay the fuck away from me you idiot, low life? Well, if that’s the way you feel, Francisca then - oh silly me. Here’s another idea just came to my Head. What I’m doing is trying whatever I can do to get you into my life so that I can say ‘Ha, you dumb bitch, you make me sick. Wallow in your world of delusion. I hope you spend the rest of your life alone in misery. "When your old and your eyes are dim, ain’t no worship going to happen again." Led Zeppelin. Go crawl under a rock and live with a snake, you - bla bla bla-’ - insult after insult, followed by: ‘Get out. I hate you.’ - But that’s not it. That would be a cop out. That’s the kind of thing people do in fear. Fear of commitment. Fear of participating in life. Who wants to invest in life if you’re just going to die anyway? That’s another philosophy that pisses me off in a big way. Who started that shit - was Sartre one? You know what I’m talking about? This pathetic abuse of existentialism. It ain’t even that, it’s more like nihilism - you spell it - we are all going to die anyway so why give a shit. I’m telling you, it is more mental manipulation. If you don’t believe in God and after life, if we can’t manipulate you with that fairy tale, then this is you option - apathy. Bullshit to that is what I say. Sorry I don’t know why I’m fanatic on this topic lately - unless it’s my anger at myself for this wallowing in apathy that I’ve been fighting. Sometimes we believe it is easier to remain mediocre. It’s what we’re taught. Fred - Nietzche that is - said something like this: ‘The problem is that we are taught to hold in high esteem those who think similar rather than those who think different.’ I’m sorry, I just want to say this one more time. I’ve tried to stop loving you. I tried to stop thinking about you. I’ve understood that if you don’t want to be bothered, that I should grow up and get over it. She’s just a woman. If she isn’t interested in you - get over it. I will. Just send me a message to piss off and I’ll forget - what was I going on about? - Back to the other point. To hamper your own potential, to sluff off from that which you know you can be and that which you feel you must become, those things are crimes against yourself which will be paid for in pain that can’t be cured. Thus he spoke. I think I have resolved to leave self destruction behind. Face the work that is needed to do that which you feel best suits your - bla, bla, bla.

Bunny Flower Duck another Duck

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Francisca. What I regret most is that I never got close to you. I wanted to be naked - exposed with no walls. Good night.

_bunnies top_

Just a couple more things. Nobody will love you like I can. Someone might have you as their prize to take to parties - sorry, that’s dumb - I was going to convince you that you’re missing out on the only good thing but I’d have to be a much better salesman to make you swallow that dribble. Geoff and I are going on a week long canoe trip May 31. I’ve been on a few. There is something about a wilderness (semi-wilderness - AlgonquianPark) canoe trip that can’t be beat. I’d love to take you on one some time soon. How about this? Ten years down the road we run into each other. You’re married to a movie producer that made you a star and I’m married to a literature professor/ concert pianist who helped me be a Pulitzer prize novelist. - This is in Halifax, down where the bluenose sits - the four of us have lunch together, you say what an idiot I am, I laugh stupidly - we all get naked and have a foursome. Just kidding. We invite you to our place on Fisher Lake for a barbecue. Fish. Fresh. I’ll be that bum with the long greying hair asking the beautiful woman what she thinks about why the fuck and what the hell. It’s time to lash out. Let the reptile that lurks deep in the dungeons of your brain, break out and smash the cage. It’s a destructive blinding foundationless structure we have constructed in our arrogant ignorance. Time to start anew. When you’re miles down the wrong road, you have to forget about the work it took to get there. Turn around and get back. Racing down a dead end highway is worse than not moving at all. Words. I love them. You can put so many different ones in so many different arrangements. They can go anywhere. I’ll show you. I will use a pseudonym (I have spell check on my computer.) But if you’re - if you give a shit - you’ll know it’s me. Look for the name S------- Have you checked to see how far this goes on. I thought I might fill the whole book. I could easily enough. If I wrote instead of printing, I could do it in a few days but not everyone has the patience to translate my handwriting. It can get a little hard to read if I’m not careful. It’s not too bad today. Sometime when I’m writing for myself, I will adopt a personal form of shorthand. I’ve just decided I don’t want to print anymore. I will endeavour to keep my writing legible though. I still wonder why I am doing this. Am I really intending to send this to you or is it just a game to get me to write with a little passion. I haven’t done much writing lately and I’ve got so much to do it will take years. Maybe my whole life. It’s a project that may be a little hard to start. It’s troubling sometimes because I know from experience that writing usually means isolation. Commitment. Shut out the rational part of the brain and dive into the madness that longs to have control. When I think about it, I wonder if I’ll ever find a woman who would put up with me. Sometimes I would just have to disappear. No one needs that shit. - I guess I’m writing to myself here as much as I’m writing to you, Francisca. Stop. I don’t like to stop when I’ve started. It is always dumb shit that stops me from doing. Sometimes I forget what the shapes are. How do I get my thoughts into words and down to my pen? You know, Francisca, sometimes I wonder why the hell I ever decided I had to write. I would stop it if I could but it’s a madness that I can’t do without. There is so much that has to be built. Each new work leads to greater things. Each step necessary to get to the illusive place that seems life times away. When I was a child, six I think, I had a strange thought or maybe even a vision of where my life was going to take me. It was hard to take as a kid. I didn’t like the idea. It scared me. Still does. And maybe I’ve still much growing up to do. That’s something you said when you kicked me out that day. ‘Come back when you get your life together.’ Something like that. Then you slammed the door. I’ve always wondered if you’d have me back if you thought I had become something worthwhile. I get a bit disturbed with it sometimes because I hate the possibility that there may be some way to spend our lives together. If there’s a way and I miss it, I may regret it my life time. Maybe you were just tormenting me. The queen fucking with the plebeian. If you wouldn’t have said that, it would have been easier. But the way you left it, I thought you were challenging me to prove myself to you. That fucked me up. Because I don’t know if I want to have to do that. I should have blown up a you. Got it all out then. I hate having this stew for all these years. Sometimes I think, if I see you on the street, I might blow my lid. Blast you and force some kind of reaction. Part of what attracts me to you is your impossibleness. I hate easy problems. It’s a bit retarded to think of you as a challenge - it’s raining - but part of what compels me to you is your dark hostile world uncharted that you hide from everyone, maybe even yourself. But maybe that’s an illusion. Maybe I mistook your character. It’s hard to know what’s behind the mask. Too often there’s nothing. Just a waist of skin. Too bad. Lights on - any one home? Anyway. I’m moving to B.C. for a few years. Maybe find a woman to take to N.S.. So it’s time to go to sleep. I tried stopping this writing shit a while ago. Please stay with me here Francisca. Till later.



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. bunnie_part_02



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