Letter to Francisca:
fish_part - second book of a letter to Francisca.
Living to find the write letter to right.
Finding one to love.
fish_part_04

nship to consider when we were uncontrollably becoming madly in love with each other. Here’s the fuckin’ plane. It probably was in Montreal or Vancouver picking up some humans. I enjoy humans far more than I did a few years back. I sometimes even have hope for them when I see them attempting common decency. I can see some of it now. I’ve also noticed that I see things differently now that someone whom I love madly loves me. I’ve never known that before. It excites me out of my mind and into the great unknown. People are getting a little restless. One of them restless people is me. I’ve never, or have I. Yes last time. Never mind. I have made many tapes to take to Germany. I have Neil Young in my head singing about rocking in the free world. Sing it Neil. Indigo Girls sing on the other side. Many different people on this side. If you ever get a copy of this letter, it won’t be the original. It may not be readable. I’m too jumpy most of the time I write and I’ve developed a bit of a short hand. Fuck. Fuck. I don’t like so much. SITTING. I think I’d like to put Sunquest out of business. Oh fuck. I put an Ice T song on here. I hate him. Not him. His feeble attempt at what he calls music. They’ve got. I’m bloody hungry. They better feed us. It’s 23:00 hours and that sucks. We supposed to be on the runway now. I hate smoke. That’s one reason - whatever. I have one dime to my name. A few more Deutschmarks. Jumping Jesus Christ, the plane is finally in the air. I’m on my way to the other side of the Atlantic. Every time I drink coffee, I get cramps. The fuckers on this flight charge for drinks. Maybe I have nothing to say. After this tape is over, I may put on a mellow tape to take me into sleep. I’m tempted to take a couple pain killers for fun. I might become a drug addict. It’s so cheesy to charge $2.00 for the use of headphones. $500.00 to get over to Germany and they want to - yap yap yap. I checked three bags and they didn’t complain. And the kid beside me is a live one. Hello. I can’t believe I’m actually writing to someone other than Wiebke. I occasionally want to say I love you and write a word or two in German but so far I have caught the out of place action. I love you as well. It may be a different feeling from what - No shit. Fuck this. I don’t have anything to say. I should think about my life. Later Franny. I’m sure I mentioned before that I mean no disrespect by calling you Franny. Talk to you later. Did you get you picture I left at your door? Fat people are abounding. There was a mysterious box at the airport as well. Police standing around being dolts. - Here’s a fucking jumping holy fucking Jesus shitty arse diapers deal - Arrived in Frankfurt 2 hrs. late. Too much fucking luggage. 2 suit cases, a duffel bag, a hand bag and a guitar. And I can’t remember what day it was when I ate. Yesterday, I’d guess. I had a little water this morning. Every time I had to change trains, I nearly killed myself trying to carry this shit around. And anyway, 3 more hours before I see Wiebke. In a way it’s better. I wanted to see her before her parents. Her parents were going to drive me from the place I just passed. Solingen oliven. Or something. Since I was 6 hours late they would be gone. Someone taught me how to use the phone so everything is understood now anyhow. I’m in a state of delirium. I can hardly see but I don’t want to shut my eyes. This train ride has been better since Köln, a train with a few empty seats instead of sitting on the floor and jumping out every hour. No more jumping out. My neck is sore. I’d take some pain killers but they would do me in. I’m in a small smoking section I just noticed and it’s the first time I’ve been able to breath. Usually there are smoking Germans everywhere. Oh fuck me. I’m not going to write tonight. Here I am in Germany. Back to you later. Whoever you are and where ever - Francisca, it is now Thursday evening in Germany. In a small suburb town of Lübeck, called Isrealdorf, I am sitting on a pull out bed in Wieland’s room. Willie is travelling around Europe with the National Youth Orchestra or something like that. He actually has two rooms so even if he was here, Wiebke and I would use this room. She’s on the phone with a girlfriend. As of yet, I know nobody in this country aside from friends of Wiebke. I suppose that when we are back to Saarbrücken, I will jam with Alex or whatever his name was. It’s not as easy to find people who aren’t alcoholics in this country. The fools believe it is a freedom to drink. But I won’t rave about tobacco, alcohol, cocaine, heroin and television and how the government and industry profits by the people’s slavery to it, them. Everyone speaks German here and it gets a little surreal, like sitting in a college cafeteria and hearing only the overall sound of the various voices mixed into a soothing chatter that eases you into a trance state not completely unlike sitting by a babbling brook while half asleep from a long trek through the woods. Do you know what I mean, Franny. I wonder what Tim is doing. For a few years we were inseparable. Now I never see him. I’ve had many friends like that. Now I see none. I may still see some of them one day. Some friends are life timers. Some will even come for a visit. I must have told you about the fellow in the Brantford eatery in the Eaton center. So I shan’t repeat it. I saw Peter in my dreams last night. We spent a fair amount of time together before never seeing each other but twice in 12 years. Wiebke’s parent’s want me to build many things to earn my keep. Maybe I’ll cut my finger nails soon. Pete shows up in my dreams once in a while. When I first moved to Toronto he wanted me to move in with him. My life would have been completely different. I wouldn’t have met you and had so much fun thinking about you and wondering about love and sex and thinking how pretty you are and touching you. And all those other women from down town. Even the women at the Squeeze and many of my friends I met through the Squeeze. I would have had Mississagua rocker chicks to deal with and Fred the Wonder Rabbit only could tell you adequately how I bulk at their hair style. Okay, not all of them. In fact, probably few of them. And if you got right down to it, the statement is likely completely unfounded. Yet I do believe I enjoyed the company of the people I met in the armpit of the city more than I might have adjusted to the people living on the feet and fingers. I think I may have to pee. I also want to start focusing on my novel. It is soon time to rough out the first full draft. I will have to collect my previous notes and start jamming my head with ideas. So my fantasy friend, I bid thee fair well until the next day I jot down a note. Be good to yourself. -Where are we now? It’s Aug. 26th. We, Mr. and Mrs. Welzel, Wiebke and I, just got back from a walk around Travamünde. It was night so not many were around. I ate a little too much today. And we had ice-cream as well. This of course causes me to be a bit off balance on account that sugar is such a horrendous drug. Don’t get me started on that now. We are all addicted to that poison and no-one much gives a flying shit. You are addicted. That is directly related to - I don’t want to get on this rave. What I want to do is try to tell the little story about our day in Berlin. I may start with the last event and leave the rest out. Nothing was out of the ordinary, yet ordinary is completely absurd if looked at the way I see it. Most everything is point of view. I think it is sick and demented to be a member of the Christian church, I could explain why but we’ll leave that to history to explain. Christians believe people not Christians are out of it. Lost and whacked out. Evil and doomed to hell. But as usual, I am straying from what what? Oh, yes. From what I came to say. And that was Hello. Na! I want to write about the scam artist. Two reasons. I want you to hear it and I want to write it while it is still fresh in my sloppy, frantic, emotionally high fuckin’ strung head. Francisca. Are you still with me on this? Here it goes. Wiebke and I were on our way back to the bus that was to take us to Lübeck. We had been walking around Berlin. Walking around freely in places that not so long ago were Russian occupied territory. It was about 6:00 P.M. and we were a short walk from the zoo. The main station is also at the zoo. Large zoo in Berlin. We didn’t go. Maybe another time. So anyway, as I was saying. First a joke just for the halibut. What did one fisherman say to the other fisherman? - pause - ‘How’s you hearing?’ - pause - ‘What?’ sorry, no more pissing around with words. I will tell the story and try to paint is as precise as possible. The rain had subsided just shortly before we started walking up the main street. The sidewalks were still a bit wet. People were moving about after a day of exploring and or shopping and sitting in cafés. We came upon a young man and his matchboxes. Three matchboxes and a ball of tape. The matchboxes were also covered in tape. He had a small piece of material as his playing field on the sidewalk. He was modestly dressed and clean-shaven. His hair was dark brown and shoulder length. I don’t mean any stereo typing here but it is part of the story. He looked Italian. A healthy young man. Because observing is my game, it’s what I enjoy, it’s what I have to do to be a writer, I set out to take a few minutes to see what might go unnoticed if you came to conclusions too soon. This point I would like to point out. Be careful what you see. You may not be looking right. That was his game. Illusion. Of course he relied on tourist being a little reckless and foolish. He also relied on greed. He relied on people who wanted something for nothing. He was going to teach them a lesson. I saw the whole thing after a short study. There were three men; what do you know if they weren’t all dressed in casual clothing in a calculated clean fashion and all had dark brown hair. They all looked Italian as well. Another fact unnoticed by those too hungry for the quick buck. They of course kept winning. They bet their 100 marks and continually won. They stepped back, they shook their heads and walked away and they were always there and they always won. This wasn’t to be noticed. It wasn’t supposed to show because that ruined the whole illusion. The man with the boxes was well equipped. Two of the three men were very large. Another man near us knew the score. He told us. ‘Don’t play. It’s Mafioso.’ I smiled and agreed. Wiebke had been watching more towards the boxes and the pea. She noticed that he always made it obvious where the pea was. Why was it easy. Just point it out and win a hundred marks. I had to remind her we didn’t have a hundred marks to bet and explained to her that for 3 men doing all the betting and for spectators, it was obvious, and almost silly how obvious it was, where the pea was. For outside money it would not be so. Obviously, she agreed for how was he to make his money. Good point. One which should have kept fools away. But fools will be fooled. When the man moved the boxes he would always bump the box with the pea under it. When he bumped the box as he pulled his hand back, the box tilted up to show the pea. He always made the same mistake. Each time he made the mistake, one of the three men rushed up to bet a 100 marks. Soon enough someone wanted in on the free money that other people seemed to be winning. Unfortunately, something would fuck up for the new better. The three winning men would play there part in distracting the fool. The man with the boxes would put the boxes more straight in a row for easier pointing to and what do you know, the fuckin’ pea wasn’t under the box that it was a second ago. He was sure it was where he thought it was but for Christsakes it wasn’t there anymore. I was getting a little more curious about the whole thing and wanted to watch a little more but we had to go on. When we left the free money illusion party, a fellow, a meek man, wanted to try. The two large assistants to the box mover also wanted him to try. Someone had his foot on a box while the distracting was taking place and they were wondering if the fool and his friends could come up with 100 marks. Although it may have appeared that the two men were excited for the fool, I could see they were dam close to mugging him. They would make it look like he lost in a bet; at worst, maybe he was tricked but for me the fool was being scammed, robbed, and mugged. And there it was. Plain as day, as they say. On the street and what could you do. Earlier, there was a young man doing his little art piece, simple as it was, for spare change. And the stores were selling goods. The restaurants were selling legal drugs (coffee and sugar) and the government was selling lottery tickets to fools who think they can escape their future. And I think that my chances of having sex tonight will be better if I go to bed right now. So till next time. Stay alert and watch things in different lights. Sometimes the obvious is the hardest to notice. Good night. Saturday now. 27 of Aug. 93. We went on a little bus and boat trip to Flansburg and Dänmark. It was pretty. Wiebke was so horny on the bus but I won’t fill in details for you don’t need to hear it. She’s down stairs for a minute so I’m wondering if I write something that I might have something to say. She’s wondering how I thought I liked her so much so soon. Well, she’s a blond. And sexy. No, Franny. That ain’t it. It’s some of it but everything together was it. She was from another country thus not victim to the paranoia we seem to have running rampant, as they say, in Canada. She was - never mind. Talk to you later. It’s Sunday now. When Wiebke says she’s going to have a quick shower it is usually 30 - 40 minutes until I hear from her. It is fine with me for I go play my guitar. Or write. I know it’s not just women that are like that. Brent took so long to get ready for anything. I don’t get it. Oh well. Later. Some days there is no way to understand or get along with the one you love. I’ve got to a point today where I might rather not talk to anyone. I just want to write, listen to sad songs and maybe play my guitar. I’m not so good with people sometimes. I’ve too long been a loner. My relationship with you was longer than most of my relationships. We’ve, Wiebke and I, have been 8 months together. 2 months were 8,000 kms. apart. I have no idea what might happen. It will be tempting to say fuck it sometimes and walk away. I don’t want to though. We have very few bad days. It doesn’t help that it rains almost everyday since I’ve got to this anal country. We are trapped in her parents house so much. We are trapped in poverty with me still illegal in this country. Even when I’m legal to work here, Germany is in a serious depression, recession and has many more bills such as the East and Russia. The social system may take a beating. But I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m sick of everything being a big problem. We are so beaten by the fucking media telling us we haven’t a hope in hell. Everyone wants to blame the foreigners. Same in many countries. Keep the fuckin’ shitty from poor countries out. There’s enough trouble. Maybe so. What can you do? There are too many people, especially in the east. Jesus Christ. China and India are packed with people. If they were to live like the West, the oil and other energy of the world would be gone in a few months and there would be absolutely no way to suck in a bit of oxygen. There would be no life. And so all the fucking humans would be through as well as the rest of it. And so what? So we better quickly learn to accept that there is no way to live as we are. The system no longer works. Like the systems of history, this system will soon be history. If we want anyone to read about it, then we better turn it off before it blows up. I won’t allow the fuckers to make me think I am lucky if I have a job and can afford to live in a little box and eat lame food. Who the fuck do they think they are, the fuckin’ them that aren’t even there. Because the bloody monster machine runs on its own now. Even the fuckin’ leaches on the top of the corrupt system are slaves to the fucking money monster. We are brainwashed fucking drones thinking we know all the fucking answers when we know nothing but the shit they feed us to keep us worrying about paying the fucking rent and where the fuck do the Americans go next to blow them up. No sense having a nation building weapons if you can’t blow things up. Things like little birdies sitting singing songs in the dead trees that are now burning along with the flesh of children who happened to be born in the wrong country. Any country can be a wrong one. Especially if it isn’t touting a democratic, eat at McDonald’s and watch Hollywood TV sign on it’s flag. Maybe they, the them that are just as trapped in it as any of us, have fed me the proper shit to keep me frustrated and babbling silently while I dream about starving my future away. Wow. I looked up and the tape counter was 9995 and I knew the tape was almost over because when I recorded it, the song didn’t get on the end and I watched it go till 0000 and so what? So nothing because I rewound it to were I started it and so it ended when it was finished. Makes sense and it is as simple as that. in the sun. Unfortunately, this time of year



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. fish_part_05



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