Letter to Krissy:
fish_part - second book of a letter to Krissy.
Living to find the write letter to right.
Finding one to love.
fish_part_02
Sometimes I wonder why I write. It seems impossible to bring a book onto the market. Everything’s faster than me. Everything goes from computer to computer and only people that know people are let into the circle of fish.
I don’t want to be one of those fellows who was an unknown master until after he died. I want my books published and read.
I even want these letters to be published. But most importantly, I want a little nap. So till later.
_bunnie stop_
Couldn’t rest on account I’m restless. And I was thinking about you and the letter you threw away ‘cause your boyfriend was offended. Which I don’t blame him. But also, I was thinking that it’s good to enjoy feeling shitty. There’s time enough to enjoy enjoying yourself, so relish in what little misery you can find. Wallow in loneliness and sink as low as you can. Drain yourself and feel the vacancy of the empty universe. But don’t do yourself in. That’s it. Maybe I say something banal about my life later.
_bunnie stop_
This book will be bigger than the first on account it has no lines. I can squish more words in. I’ve been a little distant and lonely the last little while. Wiebke takes it personally. I’m also a bit fat. She thinks I don’t want to be sexy for her anymore. Hopefully this depression won’t last for long.
I might make more paragraphs in this book. And I might go to sleep now. I had some things on my mind but they left me. So till later. And by the way, it’s the 17th of August, 1995. Maybe tomorrow I’ll realize it’s time to be obsessed.
_bunnie stop_
It’s high bloody time that I send you a letter to know I still love you and don’t forget you, but not tonight. I’ll make a short entry here which you won’t see for years or never.
That’s funny. I smelled something odd, then I farted. Time is umgekart. Sollen wir ein bischen Deutsch schreiben? No. Okay. Stick to English.
It’s about the 22nd or so of September 95 now. It’s Sunday night and the alarm clock radio is set to go off in a little over 5 hours so I’ll make this short and not even bother to masturbate. Wiebke’s up North for a week. I might take a couple days off work and join her. Although I quite enjoy my job and even sometimes the people, I’m already looking forward to when it’s over. Sunday night is always the worst for having a job. I didn’t go out and visit friends tonight, thinking I should rather take it easy tonight.
That’s life.
Isn’t it?
What I intended to write to you, not here but in a letter to send, was that I read your poetry today. Was kann man sagen? I had a couple thoughts, the second one was that Geoff and I used to make plans to have an annual cynic fest. So many troubles to worry about. Who would come, would people find the way, likely it would rain, the food would go off, someone would have a heart attack, the money from the entrance fee would be stolen, people would fight and then there were likely more serious thing that we hadn’t even thought of. So we never did it. That was likely not the right decision. But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause nothing matters. We just waist our time then we die.
And the other thing, if I haven’t forgotten, was: oh yes, I was imagining that I was a writer and someone asked me how, as a young writer, one could one day write books like Aaron’s adventure tale. And I responded with: ‘If there is anyway for you to avoid being a writer, take that path and pursue it.’ I don’t want to clarify that except to say that I would not say that to someone after I had read anything by them. It’s not meant as criticism but as good advise.
Or how ‘bout this, though it may not be related, ‘It’s better to run blind through the uncharted wilderness than to follow the wrong path.’ At least, I think it is. It works for me. Well Krissy, you are so sweet and I wish you’d come by for tea. I used to drop in to visit you, you could try dropping in on me. So till then. Love Steve.
_bunnie stop_
Okay, Wiebke wants me to write her a short story. I thought about starting with: Summer’s coming. Outside stands snow over the window. Then I thought about my dream where I was sitting in the chair that would take me down to the street level. I don’t know where I was but there was a rip in the chair and as a joke I asked if I could hold onto it and I think it was Darlene Jardins sister, who by the way I’d like to write to and apologize for sending her a Nu Skin tape. I’d like to beg pardon from anyone I confused or offended with that ridiculous stint of madness for the permit of making a few greedy bastards and twats rich as government criminals. Anyhow, she reached into the rip and (Louise, I think) pulled out various drugs that someone had tried to smuggle down to the main level but thought better of it when arriving. I have to go to work soon. It’s Wednesday morning. 06:41. Anyhow. They tipped me back into the dark tube and I fell and fell and was not at all worried. It was an enjoyable ride. And later in another dream, after a holiday with my dad or Andi and Petra, I went out to find the rented car and turned the wrong way and didn’t wake to the thought for such a long time that I tried hitch-hiking back. Big trucks and motor-scooters by the hoards and people past me and I was now walking through the thick woods and the road became more and more crowded and it was going down steeper and steeper and I had to say excuse me to a group of though guys as I hurried by them and then it was even steeper and I had to get the trees to help me on the way down. At the end, the road came to a train station or something where there was a two story drop, or more, to the floor below. And just as I handed the man my ticket, the road stopped and I tumbled over down to the floor. Luckily, it was in slow motion and a stewardess helped by keeping my head from hitting the floor. A woman was concerned and pretty. She came down to comfort me, though I was in my pain, and she took her shirt down a bit so I could lay my head on her tits while she read the story, well two pages of it. And she thought it was great and I told her it would be finished soon and she could read the whole book. Then she put her hand down my pants and ran her finger along the crack of my ass. Noticing that I seemed still relaxed, I may have actually been paralyzed, she went to the fridge to get some cellophane to wrap around her middle finger. I said something and she responded with you should rather concern yourself when I wrap cellophane around... The clock radio stopped my future with this woman. But I won’t write a story about this. I’ll go to work now. See ya, Krissy.
_bunnie stop_
Guess what, it’s still Wednesday and I’m at work. And it’s lunch time and I’m going to say something before I must go back to doing things. Oh, shit. I have nothing to say. This could make for a tedious entry. Saw Pulp Fiction again last night. The people here think I’m losing my mind. They’re all crazy. This is the last week that we start at 7:00. I might still get up shortly after 06:00 and write or something a little each morning. Of course, I might not as well. Very often I do very little. Which is dumb. For instance, if I want to be a good writer, I should work at it every day. And a word of advise to those kids wanting to be a rock guitar hero. Wishing is nothing without working at it. Everyday. Let’s see if I can take this advise. Even an hour per day is quite a bit more than nothing when you add it up over 10 years. I could probably speak German if I worked at it everyday. Too bad I’m dumb that way.
Since I have nothing to say about the French President or anyone else blowing things up, on account I’m not doing anything about it, I’m going to work on Wiebke’s shoeschrank. It might be pretty. And Nolan is back so he will disturb me with noise. Later.
_bunnie stop_
There’s no sense tell you I’m in the train station, but that’s where I sit. I have 20 minutes to wait for the train to Mannheim. From there, I get the ICE train at the nice price of 69.00 on account it’s after 19:00 and before 02:00. That’s nice isn’t it? It’s one of the fastest trains on the planet. ‘Sept for 6 or 8 others. Normally, only people with a real job are permitted aboard. It’s not designed for us lower class people.
I made a fire today and burned so much of that heavy cardboard stuff that’s almost like wood. And I sanded a piece of wood. And things like that.
Quite a day.
Thursday is also the day the cleaning lady comes to clean the neighbors place. It sounds like they fight the whole time but they don’t. and I wanted to take a shit but had to wait six and a half minutes on account she was cleaning the klo. Klo heisst shitter in English. Wiebke and I share it with our alcoholic neighbor who always leaves dead skin on the seat because he drinks only beer and no water so is a little dehydrated. Drated. It bothers Wiebke. Me too, a little but the rest of the situation is pretty cool. Man. ‘Sept for the nosy old lady upstairs and the busy body landlady just above us. Which I don’t care about. They can worry themselves as they please. The other day they were saying how Frau Welzel didn’t come home till 3 in the morning one night.
That’s no way for a nice girl to be. I better go up to the train.
I almost stepped onto the wrong train. But not really. I was standing waiting thing here it comes but it wasn’t it. It was the one behind me.
I’m hungry again. Should I eat a banana? Two sweet old ladies have joined me in the little cubical. They are probably going to talk to me if I stop writing. Which I may have to do if I can’t figure what words to scribble or if the pen runs out or it’s too dark or the train shakes too much, which they usually do. maybe not the ICE train. But then I’ll probably sleep. Or drink my Coke and eat my sandwich which I didn’t eat at work Ziggy, Jeanette’s boyfriend, and he gave us a sandwich so then I didn’t have to eat one of mine when we got back to the shop. The train is moving now.
I stop now. It’s too wobbly.
Okay Krissy, we’re on the ICE train with for too many people. I’m sitting in someone’s reserved seat for now because the, that’s plural isn’t it, that person doesn’t appear to be here yet. I have a feeling I’ll have to get out in a few minutes on account it’s got a new reservation in Frankfurt. The smelly wagon is here now. And guess what, a coffee cost five marks. I’ll go without. Since I don’t drink coffee much anywhore. I have things to drink with me. Things that cost 49 phenigs. And again we seem to be stuck in the banal. Perhaps I’ll slap the woman beside me just to see how she reacts.
_bunnie stop_
One thing is for sure. I should be bloody tired, but I can’t fall asleep. In fact, I can hardly relax. Which is a little odd because moving vehicles that I’m not driving, aside from motorcycles and one engine airplanes, usually put me to sleep. And nobody claimed this seat so here I sit. We should be in Gottingen soon. I’ll have 3 hours after that. See, he just announced it. Okay, that’s it. I’m not sure why I picked up this book.
_bunnie stop_
Oh for fuck sakes it’s troublesome to have to contact the outside world so much. It would be such much easier to be numb to it. Shut it off. Now I refer to humans here. Don’t shut off the sky or thing above or in it.
Did you here that England is going metric. That blows my mind. Next thing you’ll know assholes in the house of Lords will have to pay their parking tickets or taw or be answerable for fraud and murder. Maybe that’s stretching it.
Sometimes I don’t even want to see Wiebke’s bum, even though it’s quite pretty. I don’t want the trouble of things. We are back in Saarbrucken after the Lubeck trip. We had, they had, a big party for Dieter the rich business man who seems like a nice guy. And Wiebke’s dad and friends and Willie entertained us with a cross section of music. Most of the people were in the 60 age group so I felt young. Odd. I don’t often. And the food was fuckin’ yummy. And a belly dancer danced and people told stupid insincere things. That sappy stuff you get at weddings. Well, maybe it wasn’t so bad but it was all so in German.
Anyhow, we went to visit Willie for a couple or four hours in his new town in the newly acquired, or recently returned, Germany. It was so run down in places but they are rebuilding with a frenzy. It’s 80 kms east of Lubeck this town. It will be full of rich people in 5 or 20 years on account it will be so pretty. Old buildings, big castle, big lake and stuff.
Do you think people should have sex? If they want to, that is.
I don’t know.
Well, Wiebke wants attention so I’ll have to stop this dumb banter. Tomorrow I start the month of October at work. That means I’ll be looking at Christmas soon and then the end of my contract and onto important things, like unemployment. But I’d go to school if they let me and gave me a few food stamps. I’m so hungry and it’s too late to bother with food. And anyhow, I’m 3 or 6 pounds fat and my wife doesn’t find me attractive anymore. Maybe I’ll have an affair with someone else who is 3 or 6 pounds over weight and his wife doesn’t find him attractive anymore. But it’s not easy. People are never the right ones. At least not the ones you chance to meet.
And also I had such a huge splinter in my finger today. What I should do is work illegally. It’s less taxes. But often shit. It’s over for tonight.
_bunnie stop_
Look, it’s 14 at 07:15 on the 4th of October. September wasn’t like that. I don’t start work till 8:00 now.
Did you know that we haven’t turned the heat on yet. Our neighbor had it on since August.
Anyhow. I have some very important thing to discuss. Or I thought I could have if I tried. What I should do is work on my book. I think that’s more productive, as they say, right now.
_bunnie stop_
It’s Oct 12th. Just wanted to say: If you think life is pointless, you should try death.
_bunnie stop_
Hey Krissy. I took this book to Italy an back and had nothing to write. I could have commented on something such as the French boarder police that searched us for drugs and bombs. They made Mauro strip. I don’t like to generalize but those French officials are cunts. The bastard president wants to blow up the south Pacific and because we don’t eat so much merigase now he wants to make strict boarder control. Anyhow, after the four of us were searched and the car was searched except for the trunk, which could have had several pounds of explosive in it destined for Paris, we were on our way in our Opel Ascona. We handed out money for the roads and gas as we drove through the night before arriving at John Carlos and Marysa’s place in the low mountains about 180 kilometers north of Rome.
I don’t know if I’ll write anymore about this trip or not. I’m a little too irritated and tired now and must go to sleep now. I think my nerves are shot. Wiebke should be home from her work soon. She’s back in school now as well. Did I mention that I shaved my head? It’s coming back now. People were a little shocked. But I like it short. I also like it long, though it can become a pain in the ass. I’ll grow it some other time. Did I ever tell you how much I adored you?
_bunnie stop_
Okay, it’s tomorrow, near the end of October. The weather is better than the last two months of summer. But we didn’t come here to talk about the weather.
Tomorrow is Friday so it’s the weekend thing. I hate waiting for the weekend. It’s a horrible way to live.
Anyhow, how ‘bout the trip a little. Maybe the characters. You know me well enough, Wiebke is beautiful, blond, a little neurotic, demands attention, is stubborn and hyper sensitive. Andi likes attention as well. He’s a drinker and a talker. He loves motorbikes, in fact, that was the purpose of the trip, to buy a bike in Italy. And Mauro, though on occasion, especially when a little drunk, can have a sharp edge, is extra sweet. He’s always stopped at borders though. Maybe it’s his long hair. J.C. is super chilled. I get the feeling he prefers the romantic idea of the Indian way of life. Not the , skip that. Okay and Marysa’a a little jumpier but not much and the both of them generous and friendly. And the kid talked to me in Italian often. There were three other visitors: Joe, friend of Mauro and J.C., the guy I couldn’t communicate with and Andrea, Mauro’s big brother. A bit of a clown. And the dogs. Huge. Also relaxed. And a couple cats. And immediate neighbors. (rented from J.C.)
And I want to tell you of our little bow and arrow contest on account of it’s ironic finish. I had boasted that since I was from Canada, I was sure to win but to make it more dramatic, I’d only win by a little like Kenny used to do when he hustled a beer at pool. It was Andi, Mauro and I. We had three rounds with 10 arrows each time. The arrows were a bit beaten but the bow was way cool. So end of first round Mauro was slightly ahead. When I shot the second round, I forgot where in relation to my chin my hand was to go to look through the sight. I’d never used one till that day. I shot three over the back stop. We had decided any misses was -10. So there went 30 points with the first 3 arrows. Things looked pretty grim for me when it was my turn in the 3rd round. Andi wasn’t so far ahead but Mauro had a good round. Well let’s tell it strait. I shot like a pro. All fairly tight. And like a movie, on my last arrow I shot a 20 pointer, which when added to the rest was 1 more than Mauro. Pretty cool. Also what else is that I said I was going to do it, and though I hadn’t been so serious, it worked out perfectly. Then we went and ate.
And Wiebke’s reaction, which was pretty controlled, yet funny, to the rabbit’s head when she realized what was up, made Andi laugh and I wonder why they used so much salt. And did you know that salt and fire, matches and lighters, were a government monopoly in Italian like booze is in Canada. It ain’t now.
And Rome is cool. We, Wiebke and I, for Andi and Mauro took off to look at a bike. That’s a story in itself but ask Andi. Anyhow, we missed the Pope by an hour. He gave his weekly bullshit speech. And we saw some of the Vatican, such as Adam and God trying to hold hands and people wanted to talk so it was loud and the guard yelled at people to be quiet and the P.A. blared for people to be quiet. And my arm is tired. People didn’t want to be quiet. And I don’t blame them. After all it’s pretty neat to look at that sixteen chapel or whatever it is. Even if it’s owned by those, not only is this a de ja voo, but I think I’ve done this page before and stopped in this sentence and thought it was a de ja voo. And we saw so many cool old Roman things. They were all there, just like it says in travel books.
Okay. I go to sleep now.
by Joanne B. Washington
read on. fish_part_03
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