Letter to Francisca:
full of raves, rants, poetry, chants,
discourse, stories, sound and furry, signifying nothing.
bunnie_part_04

Happy 125. JFK. I was reluctant to rent the film because - well maybe I was tired of Kevin Cosner. Maybe I wasn’t interested in another view of a 25 year old case. Bryan said I had to rent it. It wasn’t a recommendation but an order. Since Bryan knows me somewhat he - anyway - It was a powerful movie. If you’ve never seen it. Rent it or go wherever. But see it alone so there are no distractions. Being from Chile you probably have a few ideas about the American war machine. On to something else. You might have noticed that I haven’t - anyway. My eyes are sore after all that TV screen exposure. Saw the fireworks tonight. Same old thing but it was pretty. Chinese curse - have I already mentioned this? - here it is anyway: ‘May you live in interesting times.’ Maybe I will cut my hair. What are you doing? Although there is still work to do on my first two Novels - I have to soon start on writing the third. This will be a slightly new approach. I have worked out the story and many of the components before starting to write. - Everyone - all over. Did you ever try this: draw a face then the mirror image - try an ugly one. - So it makes a pretty vase. But that isn’t the point. If you will try it a few times you will notice you are forced to look at things differently. What happens is that you actually switch to the other side of your brain.

Having too many talents can be confusing. You can’t do everything. Or can you? This pen is a little drippy. And it appears that I have nothing else I wish to write tonight. I was going to tell you about one of the characters in my third novel. Susej is her name. She is the narrator of the story. We have to touch on a few points in her life before we find her as a young woman on her journey. I would have to explain some about the world she is from to understand - and this is not what this letter is for. I am simply jotting down a few things I wanted you to know. Things that might make you jump for joy. Happy. It’s a word. I’m tired. Good night. I love you.

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Saw Jim in a play tonight. He was good. 3000 Red Ants. I might go see you tomorrow. Just to torture myself. - I thinking about that guy that was in love with Ann Murry. Wouldn’t leave her alone. But don’t fear. I have no delusions about you. Sandra said you were good. I already knew that. I’ve seen you act before. Even in a play. - And then, out came the happy lizard, smiling at the sun, going to the beach to collect a bit of fun. Yes, I’ll admit it. I - no I won’t admit it. Sorry. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before - I love you. I guess I should laugh at myself. Who else will? - Wait. I have to stop thinking for a minute. I hope you appreciate that I have taken care to be legible with my writing now. Did you know Ken and Kris. (Kenny and Krissy) they are getting married. I find it unbelievable. She has often told me she doesn’t believe in marriage. And I’ve told her a few times she’d be better off with me. She didn’t believe me. I think it is important to be up front, open - things I ain’t. - Well, meanwhile. Are you a lifeguard? I had no idea. Do you still love me? If you do you better let me know. Else I’ll spend my life with someone other than you. - We’re looking at a house tomorrow. It’s about fifty yards, no - thirty yards - twenty-nine meters from where we are now. I can’t picture you with a boyfriend. Okay, what will tonight’s topic be? What should I jibe about? Okay. You’re not interested right now. That’s fine. I think I’ll pack it in. Get some sleep. Get up and work on my Costa Rica research. I’m not going to say this again Francisca - I love - never mind.

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Tonight we write in red. It is to symbolize the blood that boils in my - fish soup. It is 1:00 am. Early to bed. I will write or read. I saw you today. I don’t know if you saw me. I was hoping you wouldn’t. I didn’t want that Ann Murry thing to happen. It was a fine play. I feel a bit stupid now. It was ridiculous to be in love with you. I laughed a few times in the play. I wondered if your friend might accidentally - when you were doing that look for a guy to fuck scene - get too close - start yelling at me and when you complained about whatever it was, I’d have to stand up and scream: ‘Fuck you, Bitch.’ then walk out. Of course you might have cried. Or I might have not reacted at all. I won’t go to another one of you plays. Although it’s hard for me to do, I’m going to admit to myself that I’m barking up the wrong telephone pole and attempt to learn how to open up to someone. That is something I have not been good at. Many people have pointed this out to me. Sue (I used to work with her cooking(until I could make it as a lifeguard)) says I’m in pain - that I am reluctant or afraid to be loved. She’s likely close. It wouldn’t take to much insight to see through my clowning and sarcasm. I mock because it protects me from pain. It softens the blows. The writing of that play was clever. Insights always amuse me. I enjoy seeing behind, into and through things. Small compensation for being terrified of being involved with human closeness. - Once upon a time - that’s a sure way to let your mind leave the present. Let’s try it. Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She lived in a far away land with many mountains of jungles and beaches of sand. She came from a family who thought themselves wise but some would say it was just a disguise. She had a dog named Gerbillo and a cat named Max. Her brother tortured his friends by putting them on racks. Away went the days as she strolled through her life. Wait a minute. This isn’t a poem. It’s a fuckin’ story. Yes, I love to eat pussy. Forget the story for now. Let’s talk about this tough thing for a second. No. Forget that too. Forget everything. Just relax and sit back. Why am I still writing to you? I’m intelligent, even if my spelling sucks - (it’s a phonics thing, I think. Maybe dyslexia. I still mix p’s and b’s sometimes. I mixed up a 9 for a 6 yesterday.) - but back to the point - in a second - that’s another thing - People think I’m a bit out to lunch because I jump from topic to topic in a conversation without giving time to the connections. Sometimes not completing what I had started, to start on something new. The point is: I realize you told me to get the fuck out of your life. And that’s clear enough. - But I know you’re wrong this one time. You would enjoy your life much more if you spent it with me. You want to love me so quit being an idiot and snap into it. What the fuck is the problem with you head, Francisca? So anyway - these two - wait, I have to tell you. It’s odd but I hate it when people say ‘anyways’ (like you can have many infinitives - I hate the word ‘like’ used more than once an hour. I, like, you know, this abusing the language, you know, like. What’s the fucking problem, anyways. Bla bla bla. The problem is, nobody cares about literacy in this country. Communication is sinking into elegant grunting. Soon we won’t be saying anything to each other. We will just - here - let me draw it out - (no I won’t bother on the computer*) and so on. I want to be naked with you. Not just skin naked (although I did notice that you were looking beautiful tonight) I want to let down the walls of convention and conviction, the walls that protect us from one another. I want to sit by the ocean with you and not say a word. Feel what it is just to be. No present ideas. People always have misconceptions of each other because all they see is the bit of character cladding we use to carry our selves around in. I wrote a children’s story something like that. I’m going down stairs to visit Sandra for a few minutes. When I come back, if I still love you (I’ll always love you - you can ask me to stay out of you life and I will, I can understand and accept that - You must understand though - I love you. I can’t stop loving you - And - Bunnie - back soon.)

I might write a bit of the story. Had a kiwi when I was down there - What a great fruit. I love fruits - Let me give a go at this, Zenitti. Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He lived by the ocean in a small bungalow. He had a mom and dad and a sister. They didn’t matter much to him. He was happiest by himself playing on the beach. He would build sand castles, imaging what it would be like to live in one when he was older and could afford that sort of thing. His allowance didn’t come close to covering the mortgage on a castle. Though, if he could acquire a castle, he could finance the mortgage by giving tours for a dollar to all the people that would want to visit the castle. If on some days he didn’t want to see people, he could hire someone to give the tours. The castle would be big enough that he could go unnoticed if he hid in the wine cellar or in the secret library that had many secret books with knowledge in them that most people were afraid to know and thus wouldn’t understand of believe even if they did get a chance to read the books. But they never would anyway. When the little boy didn’t want to think of his castle, he would walk down the beach and wonder what it would be like to walk all the way around the ocean. What wonders would he find when he finally came to places that no one had ever been to. He could even build a ship and sail across the ocean. He could find an island and start his own colony. He could be in charge of building a whole city in the middle of an ocean. They could catch fish and eat coconuts and fruit. Sometimes the little boy explored caves that were a great way down the beach. He searched for treasures like bear cans that had faded from the sun and had been washed into the cave. Sometimes he found pieces of polished glass, blue and green ones made him think of precious stones such as the king of an island may have in his crown. He imagined the treasures he might find if he searched every cave in the world. Life on the beach kept him happy with himself. There was so much that he could do. - A terrible thing happen early one fall. He had heard stories of such things happening to other people, yet he never believed such a terrible thing would ever befall him. His mom made him put on new clothes then took him to school. It was the worst day of the little boy’s life. Every day after that became a little more unbearable. People his age would talk to him and no matter what he said, they would laugh at him. His teacher told him he was a silly boy. The way he had been by himself on the beach was inappropriate for social life. He became more and more sad. Talking to people just to be hurt by their cutting pessimism seemed to be self-destructive. Why were people so terrifying? - One Saturday, when he was playing alone on the beach, he (have I ever told you this story?) found a large shell. - I’m not going to finish this story. Maybe another day. I love you. Good night.

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Just a few more things to rave about and I won’t bother again (unless you request it) - Some people may think it vane to trim your pubic hair - but guess what - they get split ends too. So what? So they get gnarly. - Who said: ‘The fear of freedom is deep within us.’? Gerimie. - I don’t know. I’ve seen it before. It’s a simple enough thing to say. Most anyone wouldn’t even think about it. Most people don’t think. People actually are afraid to think. Lawrence or some - one more quote - no, let’s have a couple quotes. ‘It is much different to kill a phantom than reality.’ I used to love Nietzsche’s axioms. Sorry about the spelling. If you ever get this far you obviously love me so call and I’ll translate. He could say so much in two sentences. ‘God is dead.’ Simple, to the point. Changes everything though. How’s this one by Albert: ‘Great minds have always been violently opposed by the mediocre.’ I have a dictionary. But this is a letter. Letters can be a little reckless. Forget quotes after this one. One of my favourites. Frederic Nietzsche. ‘The problem with (this might not be wore for word) education is that we are taught to hold in high esteem those who think the same rather than those who think different.’ To get to my point - Our beliefs are fucked. Quote me on that. Our perception of reality is very fucked. Let me say it another way. We have been learning how to be idiots. Or this: We are so fucking out of it, that someone shit on us and we said thank you. Our minds have been fucked over and pissed on and we smile and say isn’t the rain nice. Francisca. Listen for just a few more pages while I rant about this basic point. Why? Because if this basic point is not completely insane, we are. I repete repeat - Our perception of reality is off. - Let us site some examples which go unnoticed. Automobiles. That is - cars, trucks, - okay, you’re not stupid. You know what automobiles are. No. We don’t. We may pretend to but we don’t. They are death. Okay, so they move people around. Not enough - they are death. We just ignore it. Why do we ignore it? We should be fuckin’ terrified of automobiles. I’m at 33 on this street; at 37 the young man’s father died today in his car. Thousands of people die in autos. It is a staggering number. More Americans die per year in auto accidents than in the Vietnam war. That was over 50,000. So what? Too bad for them. Too bad for my cousin’s pregnant mother. Everybody knows someone who died in a car. Death. But we think they are nice. Pretty cars. They are not fuckin’ nice. They are death. No one cares. (Apathy Kills - but so what.) That is only part of the death of autos. Pollution. Not just a little. Fuckin’ ridiculous amounts. The energy it takes to make a car is frightening. That’s pollution. The exhaust, scary. You can think of hundreds of wrong things about cars - but we believe cars are nice. That’s a distorted view of reality. We can’t continue to have cars. Simple. No. It’s business. Business rules. Let’s try another reality check. Why do you wear lip stick? Come on Francisca. Why do you wear deodorant? Why does anyone wear any make up? It’s not at all sensible. It is fuckin’ ridiculous. Fear. Fear and fucked up ideas of who you think you should be. There is a reality problem here. Let me have a short break. I’ll be back.

- I went for a break. Now I’m wondering what I’m raving about. Why bother? What does it matter? Maybe I’m just pissed off because I’m not getting laid. That’s not necessarily true though. I have women directly offer their bodies to me and I turn them down. Maybe I’m not even too sure that getting laid means anything. I stuck my cock, pecker, willie, slong... in someone when I was 21 because I didn’t want to die being a virgin. What’s so wrong with being a virgin. The attitude is: you are a loser if you don’t fuck. Where did we learn that? Maybe it is natural. Wait. I remember. All living things procreate - else they aren’t here. I love sex. I love nothing more than physical contact. But we are fucked up about it. I don’t want to talk about this. It wasn’t the point. The point is: I can’t stop loving you. I’ve tried to stop. Almost four years. I thought it would pass. I think of other women who I’ve known and - corn. Corn on the cob. Is that someone? No. Maybe she isn’t coming home tonight. Where was I? Oh, yes. Fuck me, fuck me. Baby. Okay, that’s what it is. I just want to cum in - whoops. One thing I wonder is: why does everyone think you are clever? Are you really that bright? You might be. One day, I looked at you and the strangest - wow a big bug. I think I’ll pretend that’s a warning. Don’t say something stupid in this instance. I’ll never forget the moment. It puzzles me still. But it would be stupid to come to a conclusion about it. We all must be careful to watch out for what we see. Just because we think we see how a thing is, our seeing doesn’t make it so. That’s a hard thing to learn. I’ll repeat it in case you aren’t paying attention. How things are and how we see are not the same thing. Not ever. That’s important to realize. We are mentally handicapped. We need to know this to let go of ridiculous convictions. I think I have come back to the first point of tonight - and that is: our perception - what was it? Let me go back. Oh, yes - our perception of reality is fucked. So what? So if we think we’re going to survive as a species and we aren’t willing to admit to ourselves that the way we are is fucked - than we are fucked. Why am I ranting to you about this? I don’t know. There is much I don’t know. But I know that. I think it is a simple thing everyone should learn. It might help get us off our sorry asses. I think this: ‘What can any one person do?’ thing has to change. We are taught that lie. One person can do as much as (s)he believes (s)he can do. So what so. Forget apathy. Forget consumer idiocy. Forget believing what everyone else believes. ‘Millions of people can’t be wrong.’ Wrong. Millions of people can and are. Don’t let them fuck you up. That’s today’s lesson. Tune in tomorrow when Steve tells you how your brain works, why you are such an idiot and why Francisca is in love with the only man who is strong enough for her. Just kidding. I never liked you. It was just a stupid thing that happened. I believed that I wanted to fuck you because I was taught on beer commercials that beautiful women are the things that the true adventurer, the real man must concur. It is an even greater challenge to make that woman come back after four years. I know the bitch dumped me. Threw me down hard. That’s why I want her. To concur her. To cum in her face in a public place, call her a whore and walk away. That is the ultimate challenge. Make her believe you really love her. Make the bitch . . . on and on I could go, creating more concepts of perception. But truth be known: I love you, I hate you for not loving me, and I will always love you, and I will never - never say never. Always say - hello. It’s a good thing to say. And I guess I’ll masturbate and see if I can sleep. Till next time, bla bla bla. From now on when I write bla bla bla - You translate to - can you guess? Yes! I love you. Just one more thing: I especially enjoyed when you got furious in your play. It’s one thing I envy about acting out a character: You can be perfectly free to express yourself. Bla bla bla.



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. bunnie_part_05



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