Letter to Francisca:
full of raves, rants, poetry, chants,
discourse, stories, sound and furry, signifying nothing.
bunnie_part_05

I guess it’s the 15th. Early in the morning. I haven’t gone to sleep yet. I had two cups of coffee at 11:30 and since I don’t drink coffee, my guess is the caffeine is ruling my system. - Somehow, I managed to take a slap shot off my finger. It missed my blocker. It hurts. There is a huge blood blister. Pain is interesting. It makes the present identifiable. I was going to finish that boy and his shell story but you are smart enough to finish it. Just remember that he gets out at the end and that is really the beginning. I wonder if I should drain the blood. - I think I’d rather think than write so good night. - I realized today. That I’m being an idiot and that I can’t imagine why I thought I should want to write a 100 page letter to someone who won’t even read it. Especially if she never gets it. Maybe I’m in love with the concept of love. It may be another one of those things that aren’t - Bla bla bla - so these three guys walk into a bar. One problem I have is that I find it hard to trust people. I’ve tried it before and it was usually disappointing. I don’t even know if I like most of my friends. Sometimes, like now, I can’t see why I would want to talk to anyone again. People are too big of a burden. Did I mention you looked beautiful last time I saw you. Sorry. Fuck. I think for a page or two I will write with little care for ideas. I just want to see ink coming out of the pen. I could mention the heroin of my third book. She comes to mind now. I wonder if I will be angry with myself when I realize how much time I have wasted when I could have been writing. Maybe I should get a job in a lighthouse. No humans. Or buy an old lighthouse, see humans once every two months when a boat comes by to sell me a few supplies. Like rice and honey. I also fancy the idea of living in a monastery or Abby for half a year. Or when I make a couple hundred grand, buy a chunk - on and on I could go. Think I will work on my financial situation first. I want to have a few years where I don’t have to live near to humans. Fuck, I’m hungry. Bryan, guy who Costa Ricaed my - soon to be here. So what is with you, Francisca? Anyway. lllllllllllllllllllllll My grandfather used to request that I practice eeeeeeee oooooooo lllllllllllll and other such things. He found my letters hard to read. What I find funny is my signature has - did I say this before - anyway - What’s the difference between a bitch and a slut? Never mind.
Just remember. When I say I hate you it’s because you wouldn’t love me. And it’s one of the protective things to say. Because it’s pretty fuckin’ foolingly silly to love someone who - and so on that note. - as I see I’m going nowhere with this - I’ll pack it in for the night. Plans. And then there’s the - - So until next time - this is your host, Billy Walker, saying: take what you want from life. See you next time. Bitch. Love you always but don’t bug me now.

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Hello. It is a new day. Going to Atlantic City next weekend. Nine days from now. Bryan asked me before. I said sure I guess so. Then I phoned him later, Said I would be away. Today I found out he said July 23rd which isn’t Aug. 23rd. Dopey me. The swelling in my finger is gone. I love you. Oh, here’s a flash. Bryan comes by on Tuesday around 10:00. We talk, have lunch, then discuss Costa Rica. - So I knew Sandy had someone over. I heard a bang around 9:30. I thought it was that guy. Oh, well, go back to sleep. But Bryan’s coming. So I got up. Went to the washroom for morning excrement. The ceiling had fallen in. Wet gypsum board and loose bat insulation, covered the sink, toilet and floor. Oh, good. We are moving soon. Sooner the better. I guess I should alert the landlady. ‘Hey, Honey. Your house is rotting.’ Okay. That’s it for today’s dribble with just a couple more words I will complete my urge to purge. I wrote a letter to my mom and dad today. It started thus: Hello Mother. Hello Father. Here I am in central Toronta. Life is very entertaining. The ceiling just fell in from all the blasted raining. Well well. I know you hate me because you know I’m the only one you can love and that’s - so after they sang a hymn, they all went out. Good night; love
Bunnies.

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A few more days have passed. I went to a party last night. I very seldom go to parties now. I don’t like alcohol and I don’t like most people when they have consumed it. I’m certain that no good comes of alcohol. This is not to be an essay on alcohol so I will move to the next point. Sue. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her before. She’s a burden to my mind. She is everything that I have trouble with. She’s very over sized yet short. But that may be - I have to think about it. She wears large amounts of make-up but so what? Let’s be blunt. I find her unattractive. She has an inflated ego with nothing in the center. The dangerously fragile kind. She claims to be giving and kind and nice and brilliant. I suspect someone who repeats those claims. She’s desperately in love with me and wants much more than I care to give. All of those things are bearable. But she is relentless at trying to tear me down if she has had a few drinks. She wants to save me from my pain. But most of all she wants to manipulate me with her tactical guilt badgering. That I dislike in anyone. - Next topic. Symptoms - If someone is desperate to save the world, there is likely a major illness at the base. On to nest topic. - Why are you afraid of dogs? Why do I continue to hold myself back? Madness, I believe, has a home in every mind. It’s part of us. - Oh yes - the big hole. That’s one thing that’s dangerous. If a person believes that the vast emptiness within them, the void that threatens to consume them, the fear of nothingness, of death, if a person believes there is salvation in the consumption of another, the consumption sometimes miscalled love, they are a danger - to themselves and their victim. Of course humans need each other but it is unfair to expect someone else to be your salvation. That is the biggest thing that worries me about - . Superstition is a problem too. Onward. Okay Francisca, let’s move on. Am I boring you? I’m surprised you made it this far. I’m surprised I let this get to you. I’m not sure what I fear most, never seeing you again or living with you for the rest of my life. Maybe - Love may not be possible for me. I may not be able to trust anyone enough to love them. When someone loves me too much, I suspect them. Of treachery. If not, I suspect they have no connection to me. The more I think about things, the more I want to write. Writing, like acting (I can only guess) teaches me things about myself. Understanding is the one thing that drives me. Each little thing that I see makes me want to dig deeper. I want to understand how it works, not just observe what is happening but how and what motivates it. Although I’ve been fighting it since I moved to Toronto, I suspect that I will lead a very private life. I will not be able to go out to play with the kids at the bar. - I spent much time in my room when I was in college. I didn’t want to go out every night. Never really had a girlfriend. They, women, seemed unattainable and a dangerous prospect. I lost my virginity at 21 mostly because I thought I would die by 22 and I didn’t want to die a virgin. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever have a relationship with anyone. They self destruct when I try. - If you let someone over the wall, it leaves you vulnerable. I had a girlfriend once for ten months, (two months is usual maximum) one night we had a bit of an argument, or primal monsters of fear jumping out, and she said if - something - she would tear my mind apart. I actually believed her. For a while. I still wonder. About many things - such as - can we make the sun last longer by stirring up the embers, can we cross the bottomless raven of fear and doubt on the frail bridge of hope to get beyond this vicious way of consciousness? Isn’t that something to work on? If we don’t make the trip soon, it may be too late. The gap may get wider and swallow hope. If that happens, it is curtains for this play. Lights out. This pen is a bit shitty, but I enjoy the way the ball rolls across the paper. Some pens are too scratchy. - I’m wondering now if writing this letter to you may be helping me to remember how good it feels to write. I love to hate writing. Although I would never even think about the possibility of going back, I wonder how much simpler life would be if I would have never been curious. Just trod along the path and do whatever is suggested to me. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is what is and to go beyond mediocre, to always go farther, is a path that is harder to navigate but the trip is better and the rewards greater. What’s this? Therapy night? Enough dribble. Dam it, Francisca, I’m not going to say this anymore, - maybe I won’t say it now. Bla bla bla.

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Well Francisca, we are near the end of this letter. The pages are nearly finished. I could turn it over and start on the other side. But I might have had enough by then. the only thing I wanted to say was that I loved you. Though I can see that there is a possibility that you don’t love me, I know it is only slight. If in the next few minutes you admit to yourself that I’m the only one you could possibly love than track me down. I’m either in Toronto, Costa Rica, Vancouver, N.S., Iceland or Africa. On a lighter note. One of my roommates is having a breakdown. My guess is a stress release. I remember being that age. Although I’m emotionally high strung, I’ve learned to contain myself. Sure I’ll cry once in a while when I’m laying in bed, but - I watched my mother and sister be crazy as I grew up. It was disturbing to witness such madness. Mom is actually very - I used to think my parents were a rip-off but now I can see that I was fortunate. As far as a family goes, I’ve a pretty good one. I don’t see them often - I want to go hold Trish and tell her - and - but Amer is with her. More often than not, you are your own worst enemy. Did I tell you we found a great place to live. I’ll only stay if the Costa Rica thing is a go. If not, I think I’ll disappear. Get a hair cut, work in a nice bar in the mountains of B.C. and write. Well Francisca, I have nothing to say tonight. I think I’ll read about C.R. Bla bla bla.

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Only a few more pages than you won’t hear from me anymore. Alexis is coming to town. Everyone loves Alexis. I went to Ottawa with Bryan. We had a lazy but good time. The art gallery is great. Milne was being highlighted; he didn’t impress me at all. Most of the more recent art made me pissed. Maybe I’m too old fashioned but I believe art has to go beyond the medium. I don’t want to see a few splotches of paint called art.

Although it was much larger, 30 feet or so. I can’t see artistic value. To me, it says: You people are idiots. Give me 5.5 million dollars and hang this on the national art gallery wall. Sandy said I missed the point. No one had done it before. It was innovative. Sorry. I don’t see it. Anyway, that’s enough on that. I’ve much to do in the next couple weeks so I better start by going to sleep. Bla bla bla.

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So a few weeks have gone - fuckin’ pen - but our report is almost finished. Now I just have to learn Spanish and help Bryan put the business together. Going to Costa Rica 2nd week of Sept. if all goes well. Going to Nova Scotia on Saturday. In the next 6 weeks I will be out of Ontario. This is almost Wednesday. Saturday go - come back, move. One week to get shit together
with Bryan. Off to Costa Rica. Put business together. Then fuck. Make some money. Anyhow. I’m going to sleep now. I think I shall stop writing in a day or 2. I don’t think you’ll get this but I may change my mind. Maybe I would rather keep it. Draw out some ideas to jab into a novel. Aug. 11th today. I decided to stop loving you. You have a good life.
Love Always
Steve

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P.S. I’ve moved around the corner. Excellent house. I have a - I want to explain something. I’m not sure why to you. There is a pain in my chest and it’s not because what’s her name just phoned my roommate to let me know she isn’t coming by ‘cause she hates men’. Almost slipped and said me instead of men. She works as a stripper, so she doesn’t like men. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. I’m a man. I hate getting emotionally attached to people. I’m not good at it. Okay. Back to emotions. I have a huge problem with emotions. You might not guess by my outward cool, nonchalant nature, but I’m as high-strung emotionally as I can get without snapping. I’m sure that is why I fear involvement with women. It’s just too dangerous to be worth the enjoyment of feeling a little connection to the present.

I think I’m going to cry. I saw my grandparents a little while ago. After I left them, I cried for an hour. Without love. I’m without love and it - what does it matter what I write? It won’t make any sense. I will have to - Oh Franny, our own worst enemy is most often our own self. Suddenly I don’t need to cry. Hell is other people. If you - often I wonder how fucked-up I must sound to others. - Maybe it is true. I may be in love with love. It might be a good protection from hate. Often, whatever I say amounts to nothing and I wonder why I bother. I need a mental health day tomorrow. If I can remember, I will just disappear with my Spanish tape. Stay away from humans. They are too much. Bla bla bla. Whatever I said today doesn’t count. I’m being a suck about missing out on long over due physical contact. If I hadn’t been expecting it, maybe I wouldn’t notice I was missing it.

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It’s after now. After a few more days. What’s her name (I say this to protect the innocent, not to be degrading) and I had a good evening the other day. Sometimes I just don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to go to sleep and I don’t want to get out of bed. I think I did love you Franny. I suspect I won’t get the chance to love. I should be a monk. That’s my true calling. Bad. Sad. - I don’t think I can give you this letter. You. you. you. Bla bla bla. I’m done. I quit. I will not wake up tomorrow unless I’m still alive.

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Okay! It is now Nov. 16th. My friend Brian was up from Brantford for the weekend. When we were shopping in Kinsington market, I noticed a beautiful woman smiling at my silly hat. For years I’ve been telling myself that - bla bla bla - I still love you. I was sure it was you that I saw although I don’t remember the last time I saw you smile. But I won’t give you this letter because I’m not moving. Francisca.

-I’m going to have to find out where you live so I can start sending love poems. First I shall start writing them:

Francisca

The first words are the hardest to say.
Then it’s remembering rhyme that slow the way.
So bare with me now as I make a beginning.
To step from our world for to be pretending.

Let me dream of the moment I saw you smile.
Oh for fuck sakes, I have nothing to say.
This is where I write the sour grapes.
Maybe I’ll get back to it -

It hurts when I think of - pain - weren’t expecting that. Little fish.
Okay, later Babe.

Do I start a new book. Yes it would be messy to start writing on the other side of the page. Easier to rip out pages this way as well.

Emerald Dreams is still alive. It has lost two partners, which is good for me. It gives me more responsibility. Such as finding someone with $100,000. We talked to someone today that has it. Hard to say. You never know until after it happens. Most times it’s hard to tell even then.

Okay, why talk about this?

No reason, so I’ll just rap up tonight by saying - I’ve been thinking about - let’s do life. Or is that lunch.

How to make a million. That’s a book that would sell. Maybe I’ll title my next novel that. But it won’t have anything to do with money. Susej (the heroin) will say that when she has been shown how to make - a weapon - I don’t know. I’m going to find out when it’s written. Thanks for being here. Love you. Write if you don’t want another of these.
Love Steve
890 Adelaide W



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. fish_part_01



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