Letter to Francisca:
wombat_part - third book of a letter to Francisca.
Living to find the right letter to write.
Finding one to love.
wombat_part_05

It’s about the 12th of September now. I’m waiting for Wiebke to decide what to put on her body.

Francisca, you were featured in my dream last night. There were a few Toronto people there. Micheal was somewhere as well. Wiebke must have been in Spain. It was a large hall, or outside. There was a little fox and a little something else that looked like a fox but was gray instead of orange-red. Connie Thompson might have been somewhere around as well, which is odd, since in the real world she’s dead. I was glad to see you and put my arm around you and said something about be careful with the fox ‘cause some times they have rabies. You were a little suspect of my friendliness, knowing I was married and what might I want with my wife away and maybe I was knowing you too well for someone that had only spent a little time with you so long ago. Maybe that’s true enough. But I would feel similar warmth for other people I only knew a short time.

I think I’m somewhat anxious about Wiebke going away for half a year. I may have to call up people in my dreams to keep my company. Also, I think we should buy a computer now. Like today or tomorrow. It’s senseless to wait another 2 months for another price drop when I could be using it and getting things done.

34 years old and I still like Black Sabbath (with ol’ Ozzy). I was just thinking how it’s easier to give up. But of course you often are no better off for it. I’m working on a project now and am tempted to give up on it. I’m tempted to enter a 6 month depression while Wiebke is in Spain. She’s taking a 6 month holiday and I’m supposed to stay here in the capital of the Saarland and become a successful business man and type out my second book, maybe my first as well, and think about my third some more.

Uwe and I are working on another song. I don’t think I told you about the first one. The first two verses of this one go something like this:

When blood is the sacrament
and wine is the way,
The old spirits die with the burning fields.
Money cannot pay.

The gods are buried
and money paves the graves
The white man’s totem is capital
and now the same is for the Indian braves.

The Indians have learned the white mans greed
you must take all that you can.
Don’t take what you need.

Prostitute the dying earth
and make quick money traps.
Take from the man, who takes from the land.
We can shit hoard together, like mad diseased rats.

Funny, again, I realize I don’t have anything to say. Canada seems such an awful far way away.

I’ll mention that this feeble entry, I should write to Clayton, was done Oct. 1/94. Aside from that, I’ll say no more. No philosophy, politics or religious verse. Better stop her and now, before it gets worse.

_bunnie stop_

It’s only the next day. I thought up a wise saying. Do you want to hear it? ‘You can see the light through the darkness. But you can’t see the darkness through the light.’ ‘Poor is the man who spends his time contriving dribble to vomit on those who don’t give a shit about metaphysical bull shit.’ So there you go Franny. Two lovely things. The buck was making a fuss today with the females in the water. I think it was hormones. Okay. Bye. -

Maybe (by the way, it’s Sunday in the middle of October. Wiebke left for 6 months, yesterday) there comes a point when there is nothing more to say. The other thought is maybe there was never anything to say and it takes some people a long time to learn that.
Making sense with nonsequitor.

But there is a fair size spider beside me that looks dead. He looked dead last time I looked at it. Last time I looked at it, it was on one of the lower leaves of Wiebke’s palm tree. Now it’s on the pot. Hear comes the big leap. I’ll conclude it may be alive. I won’t be able to kill it, which is often the first thing to do when an alien creature is in your habitat. I could transport it outside but most likely I’ll just look at it and contrive some sort of kinship.

Oh. Today is general election day. From what I can tell, not much will change. Most people like that big fellow form the Christian Right-wing Party. I don’t know if it matters. Politicians are mostly for show. Big money makes the rules. No surprise there.
Let’s jump to a new thought. Franny, I think you were in my dream a few nights ago. I don’t believe it was a sexual fantasy but your nakedness was part of it. Now that I’m thinking of it, would you drop by and let me take a few pictures.
I have a feeling that once I’m finished my three books, it will be some many years before I write again. And on that. Good-bye for now.

_bunnie stop_

Monday night and I feel like starting an existential story.

Nobody has died lately, not since my grandfathers and my one grandfather’s second wife.
She was seventeen years younger but died only a month or two later. She took some of the money my grandfather had saved and went on a bus trip, never to return alive.
But that’s not the story and it was over a year ago and I was already off the plane several days before they started dying.

It’s odd how now I’m no longer a child as I was just such a short time back. I have to think about retirering one day but I’ve never had a strait job to retire from.
So Billy and I went to the market and picked up a couple young women. Sally and Barbara.
I don’t remember what happened. Maybe the phone will ring and I’ll know. Maybe if the phone rings I’ll be home.

But not anywhere that I really know.

Well Franny, it just goes to show you that thinking you want to write a short story doesn’t mean you can. I don’t know why my elbow is still sore. I miss my wife.
That’s today’s bit. Bye Franny. 17 or 18 Oct. 94.

_bunnie stop_

Franny, it’s noon on Tuesday. I’ve been wandering around looking to sit somewhere and be in the sun and not the wind. It’s a little cool but where I finally rest has good wind protection. I’m leaning against a ten foot fence at the corner of a Soccer field. There’s no grass on the soccer field and the nets are made with chain link fencing.

To the north is a typical ugly eye sore to house University students. 15 stories, 3 buildings, I think, of concrete poking up through hills of trees. I suppose it would be a pleasant view from most rooms.

I’m suffering greatly from woman withdrawal. Even a couple hours of sitting beside someone, watching a movie or even here in the sun, might be all I need. Masturbation doesn’t help. Trish would help. She told me she’s a woman now. She called a couple weeks ago. I would have to say I miss her.

Onward. Without sentiments. Wiebke is away for six months so I have to remember how to live alone. It’s easy enough once you accustom yourself to it. There are many advantages to living alone. I’m not going to list them for if I started, I might not get on to more pertinent subjects.

Such as. This book I’m writing in will soon be completed. Do I do one more while Wiebke is away or do I stop this foolishness and direct my writing enthusiasm I have toward something constructive. I’m still not sure how I want to write the castle city story. I want to write it in 3rd person but don’t know how.

It would have to go like this:
The warriors from castle city were always collecting taxes. They traveled the inhabited areas of the continent year round to take what they wanted, kill the useless and rape the women and children.
As years went by and there was less and less to take, killing, burning and raping became the major objectives. Half breed children were often taken back to the castle city to be sex slaves. It was often the best thing that could happen to them for they were assured of good food, good housing and a relatively safe life.
It was a life of slavery however and some preferred to avoid the worries at all cost.
Sesuj was the daughter of a half breed. Her mother was fertile only weeks before being raped by a warrior. While gathering wild grain, she had avoided being in the house when the warriors came and killed her father after raping her mother and brother.

By the time she returned to the house, it was too late. Her family was tied to the burning house and she was too late to save them.

One warrior hadn’t left with the others and was pleased to find a young woman had come to him. He raped her quickly and would have taken her along with him or killed her but he let his defenses down long enough after satisfying himself that Sesuj’s mother had time to slice his throat with a knife the warrior had failed to notice.

The warrior looked at her strangely like only a dying man could. In his last seconds he had enough strength to kill her but instead he held her to him as he died.

Sesuj’s mother took the dead man’s riding animal and rode to the southern most part of the continent to have her baby. She left the baby in the care of an orphanage. Though no one knew, they suspected that Sesuj’s mother offered herself to the C.C. to be a sex slave.
About this same time a young woman from the house of lords was seeking sexual satisfaction from a sex slave. It was most common to receive pleasure from a sex slave. Often sex slaves entertained you by having sex with another slave before giving the royal subject oral satisfaction. Sometimes one sex slave would penetrate the royal subjects anus while the other licked the genitalia but it was forbidden for a sex slave to enter a royal subjects vagina. The penalty was fatal.

On this day, the young royal subject demanded it when the sex slave refuse, she tied him down and mounted him. When he realized it wasn’t a trick to have him done away with, he willingly came back to her day after day.

Since the woman had sex with many of her cousins and brothers, the father was not known. Normally when a child is born that is not a pure breed, such as this one appeared not to be, it was disassociated from the royal family. Because of the young woman’s political position, when she refused to give up her baby, the problem was soon forgotten.

His name was Moses. Well not likely but maybe Mamble or Bob.

Then after that explanation, I’ll explain how it used to be on the continent in question and on the small far away continent to the north that no one could have imagined even existed.
Well, it did. They were an industrious race. Clever in many ways except for foresight. It got to a point where there was nothing left on their land. Not even enough fish in the sea to feed the people. Hundreds of large ships were made and the most elite set sail for better land which they had no idea where or if it was.

Most ship’s people died of disease or starvation or sinking in a storm or madness. One ship of the most royal families landed on the main continent with over a thousand survivors. They had found their new land.

After only a few weeks of scouting, they discovered the old volcano mountain which reached beyond view into the sky. There was plenty of fresh water and fruit trees and fertile soil to grow food.

They found creatures that would help them work it they were properly beaten and the odd one shown brutal death.

After many generations, the mountain grew into a castle city.

One other boat found land, part of the same continent on a thin peninsula of islands. This boat had less than five hundred survivors of families not at all royal but wealthy. They were helped by those that greeted them upon landing. They assimilated into the communities and shared beliefs and ideals. They also built on mountains but a very different environment.

When we come back to the story, Susej is pubescent and ready to leave the orphanage. She has decided she wishes to go to the C.C..

So Franny. That’s the sketch of how the whole thing begins. I think I go home now and have lunch.

_bunnie stop_

Franny. It’s now about midnight. I went to bed early but Wiebke called; she’s fine and loves me but is still on the road. A long hall. Well, I settled into reading and Toby called. He’s having trouble with Nevin and he wanted to come spend the night. He didn’t stay 15 minutes and was gone. He may come back if he gets cold. He may go get drunk, but I have no idea. He may sit in a park and wonder.

I went to Karate for the first time in 15 years.

I lack a little flexibility, but I did well. Are you proud of me?

I keep thinking of Catherine lately. We met in Costa Rica and had a week of physical attraction. We also met in Toronto, I can’t remember how. It was seldom that we met but I think I miss her some times.

Well, Franny. I had something to say but now I can’t remember.

Tea is as good as an alarm clock. If you drink enough before going to bed.

I think the reason I think of Catherine is because she wanted to love me. That might be my favorite thing. I love to be loved. That is what is good about Wiebke. She loves me relentlessly. If you ever see Catherine, though you likely don’t know her, tell her to write me a letter.

Funny, I don’t know anyone who knows her. So I’ll go to sleep. Or drink tea and read. Or turn off the heat since Toby ain’t even here and I don’t need it to, well, until it’s below freezing. I’m Canadian after all. I can live in an igloo. Though I’ve never seen one. Nighty night.

_bunnie stop_

Was machen wir jetz. Well the verb should be at the end of the sentence. I went and saw the Forrest Gump movie and left with a splitting head ache and very angry. I gave a woman the finger when she stopped to avoid hitting me. She was shocked, which made me think I had done her an injustice. I thought she was yelling at me but she was likely talking to her kid. That’s the problem with anger, it sometimes comes out at the wrong times. I better call Lubeck and tell them their daughter is fine. I don’t want to. But here I go. By the way. I think I hated the movie. No real reason. It just pissed me off, though I guess it was good for what it was. –

_bunnie stop_

Today’s opening statement: Random Order. Does a band use that name? I’m back at the spot I was either yesterday or the day before. The day before. It’s an arbitrary place but it’s a pleasant walk to get here. On the way I step out of my house after the ritual of dressing appropriately, then I cross the street, after a few cars, with single drivers only, pass by. Can’t get by one paragraph without a poke at something. Always jabbing. Can’t just shut up and do something useful. But that’s the topic today. Random Order. It, the it of it is not totally to my liking. I’m tired of cars and trucks ruling the country. They’re always cluttering the air with nerve racking noise and suffocating slag. Not to mention, they’re always in your face. I hate them.

After I crossed the first road, I walked through the path for humans only, dogs and cats and bicycle permitted also, and proceeded down, or up a quiet street over the chalk pictures drawn by children the previous days. I passed the same dodgy looking man and his precious little white poodle, shit machine, I shouldn’t talk, I’m the best at regular large morning loads. He acts like a criminal that’s daring you to challenge him. He was stuffing a tissue full of shit down a man (or woman) hole the other day I saw him. He knows it’s not a proper thing to do. But as long as it’s gone away. Isn’t that it? As long as I don’t have to see it. Hey, how come we can’t swim in the water anymore? I don’t know. Something about dumping toxic waist or something. Oh.

I also passed a woman walking a dog. So many dog owners on that, my, fuckin’ hill. She looked shifty as well. She was over weight, like many people in the western world are, from greedy desperate over indulgence in shit foods, processed to look and taste nice but have no value at all and only be a detriment to your health. I didn’t name any fast food places, most any would be a fine example, and I didn’t single out any sugar food, most any yummy. To the point. She was attempting to be fashionable with matching tights and what do you call those button sweaters? Cardigan. It was a lame attempt so common in the Saarland apparently. Don’t get me wrong here. I don’t want anyone concerning themselves over fashion. I try to avoid it. Fashion is a marketing fantasy. In fact, it’s paranoid nonsense. We see the fashion on beautiful models. Guess what. The models look pleasant naked as well. That might better be ones goal. Instead of buying the latest fashion, try eating better food and exercising. Well, that’s too much work. Okay. Something for nothing is it. It doesn’t work. Buying the latest fashion will have to do.

I was just wondering if I was a bastard. Someone mentioned that to me before. Maybe I should get a grip and concentrate on my own life, which seems to be wasting away. Bloody hell, it’s lovely today. Less than 2 weeks from November and unbelievably beautiful weather four last weeks.

My arms are so sore from first day Karate, that I can barely take my jacket off.
Well Franny. It was a 45 to 55 second walk to the steps from my house. The steps are down quite a distance. Maple trees, clad in golden leaves line the way down. Two young women, both a little leery of me in my mental state, passed going up.

Oh, look, a bee. Where is he going to find food? Then at the bottom of the hill, I crossed the main road, walked to the path between the ponds and along the path, then the bit of woods, passing many ducks that didn’t seem bothered by my nearness. Leaves and seeds are falling, the breeze is full of the sound of cars going by. Always, cars going by. Everyone has to have a car. In the Saarland is about a million people. They have about 600,000 cars.

Then across the soccer field to the far corner where I sit and write this all down frantically as if it will somehow be relevant and make up for the fact I’m doing absolutely nothing most of the time every day and what do I have to say to that?

What then? Let’s try a few ideas. What is the meaning and or purpose of life? Meaning, I’m convinced is a fantastic hypothesis based on contrived falsehoods. Or, there is none other than what we create. Our western world meaning is no better or less finite than any other cultures, dead or alive. And so I call it a mute point. Then is there any purpose? Quite likely none beyond staying alive and procreating. I have little spiders and insects crawling over me. They’ve found that evolving smaller is a better way to survive as a spices. Most of them. I don’t at all mind small bugs. It’s purely scale and not on topic.

I think there’s no where to go with this topic. I might just take time out for a day dream.
Just a half hour later. There was one part of the movie I really enjoyed. Gump decided to run. So he did. When he ran around the city, it wasn’t enough, so he kept running. Three years. There’s that same car there. What’s up with that? At the end of it he stopped, with a few dozen followers who thought he might be the messiah, and said. ‘Ich bin mude.’ Or was it: ‘Mir ist mude.’ I forgot, but it meant he was tired. So he went home. And that was that.
‘After they had sung a hymn, they went out.’ Pastor Seyfort sometimes quoted that verse. You could make any decision. I want to run. I want to pick up a seed. I want to spin around on one of those things in a children’s playground and chortle.

Accepted response are often, holy shit, a tiny flying creature with white, white moth wings. I think it was a moth and a gray dot on each. So small that it would fit in a letter ‘o’ on small print. You could get countless numbers into a small truck. Unless you had the aid of a computer and accepted a small margin of error. Ray Crock is dead but his legend lives on.
You are directly responsible for deforesting every time you eat a hamburger or have a cigarette. No one cares. Saying you do and doing nothing isn’t caring. Woops. How’d that get in. Must have been the Crock reference. But how’d that get in?

Culture. What does that mean? Arbitrary order, repeated for many years. It doesn’t demand greater respect. It’s an old custom to cut the top of the head off a cold live monkey and eat the brains. Isn’t that a nice custom. It’s an old custom to sacrifice a virgin. It’s an old custom to have one for the road, to eat the road that is.

How about this one? I wanted to look at a porno magazine with pictures of naked men. I must be gay. No, I must not and so what if I was. I wanted to look at a rabbit bouncing across the lawn. What does that make me?

Maybe I’ll title this masterpiece of non sequitur, ‘Frantic Raves For Franny’. Or ‘A Long Letter to Francisca’. What would you prefer? You might have a say. I’m going to loose the sun here in a few minutes. I think I go to the little pond and sit on a bench.

Here I am. It works well. The sun is just coming around so that it’s shining on the path. It’s part of a school or university I’m in front of. I think I’m ready to settle into a winter of rewriting. It will soon be dark and damp in the county. The last while has been delightful but soon the trees will be naked and the sun low in the sky.

I was just thinking that should I for some unknown set of sequences, end up being a published writer with an income sufficient for living, I’d be that which I do. For now I am merely that which does not. Timon better bring me a computer.

I’ll do one book on the shit computer. The other ones I do later. This one much later or never. Franny. I may be the only one to ever read this. If anyone has any luck at all. Bla Bla Bla. I think I try writing a song for Uwe now.

_bunnie stop_

‘People, young men and women who will shape tomorrow, I know for many of you, your first day in university you have better things to do then home work. But guess what, I’ve nothing better to do than give you a little assignment. It will only be worth 5% of your final mark so don’t get too worked up over it. We don’t meet for 2 days, so you have lots of time. Unfortunately, for this assignment there are no acceptable excuses for late reports.
I’m sure in high school you’ve learned many things. How come this does that but mostly you learn that this does that. Tonight or tomorrow, I want you to think about why it is that hot water freezes faster than cold water. Remember this is as much a Physics question as a philosophical question. Most of you take Philosophy as an extra filler course for fun but for the first bit we’ll try to stay within the bounds of physical reality. Whatever they might be.
It’s a beautiful day today so those who want to start their thesis outside can go now, those who have to buy a few more books, can. Anyone who wishes to get their remaining half hour of the first class can join me on the teacher’s patio for a tea or coffee and a question and answer period.

Don’t worry about weather or not the patio meeting will at all influence my opinion, thus mark you receive this year. It shouldn’t matter.’

Mr. Mann could see that already one of the students was lusting for min. She could be a great distraction. She was one of the four that joined him at the teacher’s patio. Two other women and a bearded boy. Mr. Mann was finding himself attracted to the attentiveness of the young woman. He promised himself that he would not be seduced by passion. At least not until after she was done his course. The conversation drifted to questions about where what was in the city and what was there to do for entertainment. The young man seemed disappointed that he hadn’t learned much the first day but the women went onto the day’s business without any bother.

The next time they met in class, Mr. Mann was sitting in the back of the class. It made the students a little uneasy when he didn’t go to the front when the clock said he should.
Mr. Mann stood on his desk he had been sitting at, flapped his arms and clucked like a chicken laying a large egg.

Some were still uneasy, some confused, some humored and some a little upset at a grown man acting so.

‘Oh, yes, you might say, this is neither the time nor the place to be flapping ones arms and making foolish chicken sounds. I suppose that’s true enough. I’m making a fool of myself. Today we are all going to make fools of ourselves so that we don’t let our proud exterior get in the way of possibly learning something this year. If you’re too smart to be a fool, you will be too rigid for this course.

This course is going to demand participation and talking in front of the class. It’s not so hard. Any fool can do it.

What’s you name?’

‘Bob, Sir.’

‘Bob Sir, have you your hypothesis prepared?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘May I take a peek at it?’

Bob handed him his hypothesis. Mr. Mann quickly read over it.

‘Okay, Bob Sir, don’t be shy. This course and life is too short for hesitation. Go to the front of the class and read or reedatate your hypothesis, using whatever mathematical formulas you must.’

Bob was a little shy but did as he was instructed. He explained his hypothesis and sat down. Mr. Mann collected the rest of the papers and looked through them.

Mr. Mann called on each student to explain their hypothesis. Some were embarrassed because they hadn’t any formulas to back their hypothesis. None was to be found in the library.

‘Well, we’ve heard from most of you. The report on micro molecular movement of hot particles being susceptible to exterior influences, I found very convincing.

‘Randy.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘We haven’t heard from you. I have four similar reports here. Can you tell me the reason for this?’

‘I can only speak for myself, Sir.’

‘Sorry. I forgot to mention, though I don’t suggest it in other classes, don’t feel obliged to refer to me as sir. I’m of no noble court.’

Randy, it’s not fair of me to center you out but of the other four similar reports, none of them were slumping in their seats.’

‘Sorry, Sir.’

‘No problem, just random decision.’



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. albatross_part_01



© 2001 | the jose wombat project