Letter to Francisca:
albatross_part - 4th book of a letter to Francisca.
In the air is the wind. On the wind is an albatross.
One doesn't find meaning, one makes it.
albatross_part_04

- Well Franny, today is Tuesday. One month and 3 days before Christmas. Not Christmas for me. I don’t think Jesus was holy. He may have been King of the Jews by birthright, his dad (his mom wasn’t virgin either) being - It’s not what I came to write. I want to get it out while it’s still in my head. Since it’s mostly a dream I had last night, I have to think of Mike as I write it. Funny, donuts should also be in this dream. I am employed in an underground food court, grass on the ground as well, it’s quite a nice place. I work at an ill run fast food both. We sell wurst of various sorts and lengths, and pastries, including donuts. It is very busy from 12 to 1. There are 3 or 6 of us behind the counter. Very busy of course is relative to one o’clock when the place is vacant except for people that don’t have to get back to somewhere. Many of these people use this time to study. We have someone to tell us what to study. I must translate a long text from English to German. The task seems next to impossible. A couple other fellows have an easier task. I opt for reading a German magazine. There is a story and pictorial of a new political power just forming somewhere. They are very dangerous and very military. Outside their main office, which is a huge warehouse, men line the upper beams and watch for intruders. They all have weapons. Women dressed humbly with their heads covered, as you might imagine traditional Turkish women, stroll about and take these pictures. One picture you see a man looking strait into the camera, pointing a gun. A young woman who I seem to know as a friend leans over when I tell her of this picture. Her breast, not held by a bra, lays on the back of my hand. I turn my hand around to hold if for a moment. She doesn’t seem to mind but also takes little notice. Shortly, though this could be completely out of sequence because I think dreams have a different way of understanding time continuum, I must return to the counter. I work the afternoon by myself. Though I’m not sure how long I’ve known this other young woman, she is very fond of me. She reminds me quite a bit of Heather Michealson. Beautiful wavy blond hair, lovely figure, beautiful face but all done in such a way to have an element of modesty in her stunning appearance. Though extremely lovely, did not draw attention to herself. She came behind the counter with me. She wanted to work with me. I served a man such a long wurst that it was hard to hand it to him. The boss had come back just then to watch me be awkward. Heather, I’ll call her though she had no name, no one in the dram had a name, on my suggestion stepped out and sat at the first table. I managed to get the man served. He was a talkative and cheery man. He kept his food under the counter and took small pieces as he desired them. It was a glass top he leaned on. He could operate his food quite well by reaching his arms around. He was quite excited about his watch and wanted to show me how there was a spotlight in it. He demonstrated by pointing it at the drink machine. It was a small point of a beam but quite bright. The boss had a few things to say but he was concerned about something other than the food booth. Heather, seeing he wasn’t about to leave straight away, came back and worked with me. The boss didn’t seem to think about her being there.

- Meanwhile. Things on the outside are a little less pleasant. A large man, much bigger than the world, but not God, wants to make a storm. He blows several times on the Pacific Ocean, creating the biggest storm in the history of the planet. The storm creates a centre similar to a tornado but on a tremendous scale. The centre has a devastating low pressure. As the storm moves toward land, things and people are sucked up into it. Panic insures and warning cries fill the radio waves. The noise of the storm drones out anything less than a scream and the storm is yet a long way off. Cataclysmic. Does that word work here? I think so.

We get news of this impending devastation in our underground sanctuary. We learn that the sucking of the low pressure will be strong enough to pull people out of buildings. Having remembered that the beer delivery had just come, somehow through back doors in lower parts, I thought our only safe retreat would be the walk in fridge. With the door closed, we would not be sucked into the storm. It would be chilly though and there was no way of knowing when the storm would pass.

The dream, unfortunately, stops here. My dreams quite often stop before expending intimacy. The other day I was awoken by the phone just before going into a room to have sex with a wet and hungry woman.

This dream last night probably would have involved holding each other to stay warm. We wouldn’t have been getting naked in the walk in fridge.

Dreams are the hardest things to describe accurately. Many things aren’t in proper order and can’t be fit into a coherent story. I missed the part about sitting on the grass for a short break. I missed the beer delivery, which was very frantic, involving banging on doors, opening other doors, sending people down stairs and some mad boy who was running around with just a towel after his shower somewhere in the building. He was clinging to the door and jumping about. Shit. If I’m going to Karate, I have to eat something now. Somehow, it’s already 4 o’clock. I don’t really want to eat but I will famish if I don’t. This note seems to have gone nowhere. I’ll try to go somewhere with the next one or the one after. Stay well.

_bunniestop_

As has been the case for the last 2 or 3 weeks, I can’t get to sleep. I’ve never had this before. I hate it. And this night, what runs through my head but F.Z., not you (though I think of you often), the guy that wanted to be president of the USA. One particular line is stuck in my head, not the ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, though that also pops in but the wise and helpful line: ‘Broken hearts are for assholes.’ I was just having some graphic thoughts pop into my head. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I was thinking of you. It wouldn’t be hard to suddenly become obsessed. The human mind is a strange thing. ‘Broken hearts are for assholes.’ F.Z. is very, was, poetic. And a very good musician. Maybe I’ll become a song writer. How do you spell scvinkter? We all have two of them. Some people would say neither was designed to give stimulation to or receive stimulation from the male sex organ. I would be more blunt here but I’m 60% of the way through David Copperfield and I can’t bare to possibly cause him grief with my baseness on account he is such a noble young man. So far. Just before we abandoned the other completely out of place reference, I think I’ll add just a couple points. Firstly: I admire Dickens’s way of saying a thing or developing a character with such an art that he shows you a picture almost by painting what he’s not really saying. That’s not quite it. But I’d recommend the book to anyone curious about writing. He is, was, quite masterful. I can see, though, how if you didn’t care for the pure satisfaction of his elegant style, the book may come tremendously tedious. That, I have to say, is the fault of the reader, not the writer. I want to touch on the taboo of asshole. We all have one. Well maybe that’s enough. I shall abandon it for what I want to talk about is a little touchy with some. Sex is not to be just yammered about, especially sex that isn’t for making babies. Funny that the Catholic Priests are always in the news for buggering little boys. Maybe the topic of sex is a little dangerous for me now on account the amount I’ve had in the last month and a half has dropped considerably. Some slapstick ways to describe it would be: hand to gland combat, the palm sisters, choking the chicken, mutze glatze (that’s German and I probably need to fix the spelling), what are some of the other euphemisms? Let’s have many euphemisms. Catholic people fuck before they are married. Woops. How’d that get out. Little boys get fucked up the ass by their uncles because sex is forbidden in their religion unless married and it’s dark and you don’t have any fun. Here’s a story I heard from a catholic Leprechaun at the Irish Pub tonight: He told us of a Priest that had be doing various perverted things to children for forty years. We all know that Priests are basically nice ‘cause they’re part of that most holy order ‘the fuckin’ Goddam church.’ I hope I’m not offending anyone. Are you catholic, Franny? Hell, I’ll have them shooting me if I ain’t careful. I’ll have to go hide in a monastery somewhere in the mountains. Don’t fool yourself, the Catholic Church is as likely to have assassins as any other nice organisation such as, let’s use CIA as an example, though don’t quote me on it. Sorry, as usual, I digress. So forty years of unholy deeds to children. You would think 6 months of parole or something. Or like what Mike J. does, just pay the children’s parents some cash. But the church can’t do that, that’s like prostitution. Well, as is the case, if you have much money like Michael J. or belong to a big club, like the ‘fuckin’ Goddam church’, you just get promoted to a higher office. My narrator was a little hard to follow on account of his appreciation for the flavour of beer and the noise of the particular band. Copy band. Xerox or something, they must have been called. ‘Okay, let’s sound like Phil Collins now.’ As if Phil Collins hasn’t done enough sounding like himself. I don’t know what office the priest was appointed too, but apparently it was quite important. I believe the Irish deserve a little notice here, for it seems they were hopping mad. Next time I see Noel, I’ll try to get the end of the story. So why is sex so taboo, yet so glamorised. Well, ‘cause, ‘1,2,3,4, broken hearts are for assholes.’ And so my conclusion, which may come as a bit of a surprise, since I haven’t diligently lead up to it, is, ‘fuck ‘em up the ass’. That’s a quote from a rock star or someone not very well brought up with a proper, ‘no fucking before marriage, especially up the ass, unless there’s no chance of anyone ever finding out that will tell the press’. Let’s back track a little and see if we can loose any readers. The great truths come later and I don’t want everyone to know so I intend to scar the more prudent, what’s proletarian mean? Calculatingly moral old fashion, people away. First, let me say, I’m not exonerating anal sex. I’m merely approaching the topic to see if we can shine any light on it. (do you know who Procrustes was? I’ll give you a hint. Don’t sleep in his bed unless you are sure you are the correct height.) Since the sun don’t shine there. Is anal sex something new that the world has just discovered? Well, if we hold that there’s any historical threads in that mad book called the Bible, which many scholars, even non-believers believe there is, we see an example quite early on. Adam fucked Eve up the ass when ever her vagina was sore and her mouth was full of apples. No, just joking. And I know that it’s not very funny or nice. But I’m pissed at the church and I shall continue to be until freedom of speech is beaten out of me by the authorities. Sodom and Gamora. There. I said it. Well, we get the word sodomy from that place. We also see that there was some trouble in those places. Now the trouble is, does anal sex break down a society, or does society breaking down result in an outbreak of anal sex? Or is it quite unrelated? I’m inclined to believe it’s the old camel pregnancies being higher on years where there are more sun spots, syndrome. The two may vary well correlate but for fuck’s sakes people, let’s not jump to conclusions. Here’s one I’m sure a few people don’t like: Blacks do the crimes. You will hear this. And it is quite true. Unfortunately true statements, like statistics, can be very misleading. Some blacks commit crimes, it’s true. Some blacks don’t commit crimes (though with so many laws it ain’t easy). Though for many of us it doesn’t need to be made clear, we should mention that everyone from the Pope to the Pentagon, from the welfare receiver to the working man to the you fuckin’ name it, in every shade from albino to native African untainted by outside blood, commits crimes. There are ample examples, one being white catholic priests. So my point is, yes, you can say blacks do the crimes and you wouldn’t be lying; you would merely be deceiving, which, I won’t mention advertisement here, is, if not a crime by law, equally as wrong and often more dangerous and surely unjust. So. Let’s not decide from the example of one quite ridiculous book that anal sex and social fall is necessary connected. I’ll note that it doesn’t mean it isn’t. It’s possible, I’m thinking of Roman orgies, and 12 year old boys for hard fighting soldiers, that when a society goes mad, which they always do, sex is just one of the things that goes along with it. Some will say when a society looses its family structure, it’s on its way out. Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s just another thing in it. A symptom not necessarily a cause. So keep anal sex in the family and everything will be all right. No? I’m suddenly thinking that there is no way to resolve the question of anal sex. And what was the question? I don’t know. Did you ask a question? I don’t know. I don’t think so. 1,2,3,4. ‘Broken hearts are for assholes.’ In the same song, I believe Frank mentions, in delicate poetry, that his date, I’m sure it’s a story, is going to get fucked up the ass in no uncertain terms. The problem I have, besides Frank being a little anal quite often, is that he leads us to believe she might not necessary want his penis in her asshole. Now this approaches a completely different question. I’m going to drop the first one now with a closing statement that sex between consenting adults in completely a personal choice and if someone wants it up the ass, then give ‘em it. And if the people involved haven’t had an aids test after their last sexual unprotected encounter, and are not certain of what diseases anyone might have, a condom is a recommended accessory.

I think part of our problem, I know it’s part of mine, (which bothers me) is that sex is such a big fuckin’ deal. Every religion that I know of has something to say about sex. That something usually goes like: ‘Don’t have it.’ You can get a contract with the authorities that allows you to have sex with one partner. I have no intention to discredit having one partner if that is a couples free choice. In fact, it may be perfectly natural. Loons seem to think so and they’re the most excellent bird I know about. My other point is: It’s such a public see. Sex is in everything. What would Freud say? I’m embarrassed I haven’t read any of his works. He may have been a nutter anyway. Sex sells anything from tires and audio equipment to holiday packages and face cream. It’s becoming a consumer society’s pagan idol. What did Cindy Crawford say I should buy? What does it matter? That’s her job to represent shit she might not even give a flying fuck about. Now we’re straying from the fuck ‘em up the ass theme unfortunately. I can see the temptation of hammering on advertisement. But it’s a worked over theme. That shit. That deceiving propaganda shit. I won’t pursue it. Bob would say something about becoming my enemy in the moment that I preached. I’d say thanks Bob but it doesn’t quite fit here. Simply say I’m a babbling lunatic, susceptible to a few hypocrisies. Have we exhausted the evening yet? It’s funny how something can seem so important to write about one second and suddenly the next second you don’t even know what made you start talking about 1,2,3,4, ‘Broken hearts are for assholes.’ I hope I didn’t discourage anyone from Frank a page or two ago. If he was insinuating someone was going to get it up the ass, that didn’t want it, it would be a character that he didn’t hold in high esteem. Frank’s of a higher breed. His cynicism and anal compulsion may offend the odd house wife that doesn’t like to admit she sits around the house all day with her finger up her ass wondering who she can hate, but he is a clever, was, fellow and has a few points to make. One being, if he wants to talk about ass fucking in a song, then he will and people will pay good money to listen. Now what that tells us, I won’t hazard to guess. He is a good guitarist as well. But F.Z. ain’t the topic. In fact, we are now topicless. Which of course is different than topless. And which, if women choose to do, should have no legal ramifications to worry about. In fact, if we were a little more used to nakedness, it wouldn’t, well wouldn’t be such a fuckin’ treat to see a pair of tits. They quite often have them out on this continent. At beaches and public pools. As a matter of fact, tits are permitted on German television. Both kinds. Colour and black and white. Big and not so big. No. Male and female. That’s it. Fuck am I hungry, Franny. I didn’t eat much today. So if someone says to someone: ‘Would you like to get fucked up the ass?’ The answer should be a simple remark. Yes. No. Maybe. Not by you, thanks anyway. That sort of thing. It shouldn’t be an issue. No one should write half a dozen pages about it. It should have as much impact as: ‘Do you want a piece of cheese?’ which could be answered: Yes. No. Later. What kind? Or are you fucking mad? Do you know how much fat is in cheese? You want me to put moulding cow puss in my gut? What, and not breath for 6 hours? Our citrus trees a growing well. It’s a shame we won’t be able to take them to Canada. They will be beautiful by then. I must ask my mother to start some. Maybe Wiebke will settle for similar ones when we arrive. These will make pleasant going away gifts. Don’t you think? 1,2,3,4. Fuck ‘em up the ass. My mother wouldn’t like me saying that. And I can’t say as I blame her on account her ideas are a little different then mine on the use of certain meanings. Someone who just got laid wouldn’t rave about sex. Maybe baseball. Two weeks I go see my wife. I don’t like to call her that. Various reasons. I don’t even like that we were married by law. If we were from the same country, we most likely would have been married without law or religion. Unfortunately. I can’t be here if I ain’t married. And on account I want to be with her ‘cause I love her madly and do much better with her than without, with the exception of writing, I had to accept the marriage by law. Next time you hear someone say Blacks do the crimes, ask them if kidnapping and torture and slavery are crimes. If they say no, well they got ya. But if they say yes, tell them whites also do crimes.

Sometimes I can’t believe how dumb I am until I think about how dumb other people are and realise I’m merely an amateur. The Church is good. Christians go to heaven. Governments do what’s best for the people. The Americans (armed forces) do nice things in South America and Central America. You learn a great deal from watching TV. The news is always true and modest. Owning a car is you right. Bob’s your uncle. The water is drinkable. There are not very many bombs. Jesus loves you. Mohammed too. Doesn’t matter if you’re white, black or blue. Sugar is a good food. Cigarettes are fun. There are many natural forests. There are many whales that aren’t dead yet. Ozone ain’t that important up there. We have extra down here now. God will help us. Shut up, Steve. Oh. Sorry. Was I lost? Go to sleep now. Okay. I didn’t say anything bad did I? I’m sorry. I was tired and couldn’t sleep. It’s a nice day. Bleep.

_bunniestop_

by Joanne B. Washington

read on. albatross_part_05



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