Letter to Krissy:
full of raves, rants, poetry, chants,
discourse, stories, sound and furry, signifying something.
bunnie_part_01

Book I

Here is the first problem with this letter: I’m not sure if I know who to write to and I’m sure I have nothing left to say after blabbing so much to Franny. Perhaps I may address it slightly more generally so I can send it to Geoff, Brian, Heather and Katherine.

There, a decision has been reached. Now I can develop some brilliant ideas and make you all think I’m a witty fellow. ‘Cause you certainly wouldn’t know from talking to me. I shall only mention that it’s 50 years and a couple days since the surrender of the country I now live in.

I’d like to tell people not to have such a stigma about Germany. Some people think it’s still a Nazi zone. Well it ain’t. That’s all I’ll say ‘cause those who know it don’t need to be told and those who don’t, don’t want to be told.

_bunnie stop_

Krissy. I think I’ll address you in this book-letter as well. The idea of turning on the computer and hearing it rattle while I’m trying to figure how to put a few words into a sentence and possibly illustrate an idea, somehow doesn’t seem sensible. And you know how I always strive to be sensible. And I suppose if you forgot that I started your letter of length on the computer then this paragraph doesn’t make sense.

We shall strive to make sense.

I had a hell of a time making sense last night. Bu the way, I think I’d rather not have these squares on my page. It was a German occupation of my kitchen. My Parents had been here a little over a week putting forth their Canadian east coast version of English and I had become accustomed to it. After an afternoon motorcycle trip to Saarborg, a beautiful trip and a beautiful town, we came back for steak and an evening of bullshitting. Nevin was here and she likes speaking English but when Michael came, English left. Andi and Michael had so much to say about motorbikes that most everything else was lost.

I was pretty sure that I had something to say but somehow the pointless preamble has prompted me to forget.

Desmo.

I could tell you that Andi let me use his XL 250 yesterday so Wiebke and I could each have a bike. Jumping Jesus Crispies was that load. It doesn’t like going too fast but on lower speeds it’s pretty cool.

In case you don’t know about the Saarland, it’s relatively pretty. I wouldn’t classify it as mountainous having hiked through British Columbia, aber on a smaller scale you might get the picture. You have to focus on the unbelievable greenness for the first weekend in May. The hay is now being cut. Children are eating large tubes of mashed dead pigs. It’s 20-30 (I don’t know if this thing has a degree symbol, I can’t find it.) by day. Women have cleavage and men have arms on display. Beer and wine are being consumed in the outdoor cafes, bars, temporary stands, parks, street corners, offices, work sites, patios, public schools and I’ve got the worst allergies I’ve had for years. Michael says the pollution’s getting stronger to fight the fight of survival, which seems to be on the side of toxins these days (I think I forgot to finish this sentence but you can figure out what I might have said.)

And also, it is stupid to fish all the fish out of the ocean with small meshed nets. Stupid not because it doesn’t work, but because it works too well. Maybe even legal fishing is out of control. I don’t want to center out the Spanish just because they have the worst reputation for illegal fishing and over fishing and no home country controls, so I won’t say anything about their short sighted view of the future. What I will say is that all countries and all people, with the possible odd exception, and I don’t mean me, live not giving a flying rat’s ass if the generation after us and the generation after that, will have anything left. That is from a human point of view. If you wanted to get right silly and suggest that there was something on this planet other than humans that might have it in their character to want to survive a few more generations, than our crime is critical. Our demonic delirium of deluded despotism has desecrated the delicate, if I had a ‘d’ word for planet you might think I was over doing the alliteration, planet.

Platitudinous prattle.

I’m going to have to leave this entry soon before I become hooked on, that’s funny, the dictionary I have spells alliteration with ‘a’ as the first letter rather than ‘I’. Normally I wouldn’t make a point of this, it happens so often that the dictionary has odd ways of spelling words, but, oh shit, I lost my thought. It has something to do with illiteracy or alcoholism.

And I think alcoholism isn’t the disease but the effect form the disease which we all have in various degrees. We tend toward compulsive obsessiveness. I wouldn’t want to suggest it was anything but natural. Look at hungry ants or vultures. Watch mold grow on cheese.

_bunnie stop_

Krissy, we had our breakfast and I wanted to make a suicide simile analogy. Start with the scene where the pretty blond cello player, in the movie ‘Pulp Fiction’ (I’m not sure why I have written Pulp Fiction when I was actually referring to Short Cuts or something more along that line.), ‘did herself in’ by leaving the car running in the garage. The principle: when the carbon monoxide saturated the air of her closed environment, she will die. I wonder what Pattie is doing. To stick to the platitudinous prattle theme, I’ll go on and explain the somewhat obvious analogy which I’m sure everyone is already well aware of. We also live in a closed environment. The garage, or atmosphere is very small. In comparison, the skin of an apple is thicker. The point. As shown inadvertently by these types of suicides, running our planes, trains and automobiles in a closed system, holes in the ozone layer doesn’t let anything out, just in, we are committing suicide. And of course, murder. Just something to think about when we drive our car, our suicide machine.

I’ve raved about cars with Franny so we’ll drop it now. We can go on with alligators or frogs.

People are. It’s a plural word. I knew that already but I think I told Franny something silly about that one day. If she believed me, it would either illustrate how gullible she is or how good I am at making wrong things seem reasonable. I accidentally let the conversation about belief in God pop up with my mother. She wants me to believe in the salvation of Jesus and I told her I thought Jesus was a fellow who just wanted to be King in Jerusalem on account he thought it was his birth right. He ran into trouble along the way, at the end he staged a crucifixion and the Romans took his story for their continued control over the world. People think the Roman Empire fell but it isn’t so. They changed their tactics to mind manipulation. So now the Roman’s, with their goddam catholic church, have sucked in millions of believers. And collect taxes in the form of donations. Many assholes do that sort of thing. If you can make someone believe they want to give you their money, it’s easier than taking it. I didn’t say quite the same thing to Mom but she was a little upset that I didn’t believe in her Jesus.

Why the hell do people always want to be saved and guided? Can you tell me that? Just explain to me why humans are so unbelievably myopic. For all their proclaimed advancements and discoveries, I can’t understand why we are so unwell. Sick. Funny. Two Minutes to Midnight by Iron Maiden comes to mind. I might go listen to it and see why. Back shortly. Six minutes later now. I’m not going to rave too much about the validity of Iron Maiden for I don’t know their music so well, but the lyrics in that song are quite strong and I believe very responsible. Some would say Rock and Roll puts bad ideas in ‘kids heads’. Some Rock and Roll might but other Rock and Roll puts good ideas in ‘kids heads’. We have to learn how to decide which is which. I would rather my children, if I had any, listen to the lyrics of Iron Maiden, or many others, such as Bob, than to go to church and learn about Jesus. In fact, I would have an alternative Sunday school for children or adolescents or adults, to study the lyrics of the political and social songs. Some lyrics, of course, don’t need much study. I’m belaboring this point to the point of draining it but I wanted to get on to a following point, which, as usual, I suddenly can’t recall. I’m certain I had a direction. Let me read a couple pages back and see if I can remember it. Or where I put my other pen.

I’ll have to settle for finding my other pen. But another previous thought which might relate to the lost thought, for how will I know, has found its way from the dark depths of subconscious to the spinning, that’s what the washer is doing now, surface of consciousness. And what was it? Oh. They, there is a they, see the movie ‘They Live’, they, those ones at the top, whoever they are, and let me tell you they are scary, I think, I don’t know for sure but I know you won’t get in to see the people that pull the props of the pope, must make us eat cake. As in, whatever garbage is left.

I’m not making my point so let me try again. If the buggers with the power and control want to keep it, and I don’t want it, they better keep us, the poor people, either ignorant and scared with religion and rules or they better make us think we are getting what we want. And what do you know? I think I want a car. I think I want a new oven, a new fridge, a new shirt, a new whatever is just resent and a few more of those other little whatdoyacallems. And a good job. Which might be fine. But I didn’t want to want them. My wanting cost the world its life and it’s just a distraction from the survival thing we grew out of and aren’t sure what to do if we can’t kill each other.

Let me mention that I have no intention to lead you to believe that I know my ass from another ass, but I’m pretty dam frightened by the fact that I’m completely numb and pathetic toward the absurd conduct of humans. I can’t understand why I don’t do something about deforesting of virgin paradise in my home country. Why don’t I give a rat shit about any one of a million crimes we are committing against ourselves. And last of all, why the fuck don’t I shut the fuck up if I ain’t got nothing to say?

_bunnie stop_

by Joanne B. Washington

read on. bunnie_part_02



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