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_03

Whatever I write tonight, oh how’d the separation vote go over there. Maybe I had something other to say about Italyland. The little towns are pretty. A little like Spain, where people like to sit in the sun and eat cappachino. Mist means shit in English. Did you know that? I’ve a slight problem. I’m note sure what to do with Aaron when he finds himself back in his won head. Well mostly. The poor fellow is never certain who he is. By the way, I’m here in the living room with my wife on a Sunday night. Seldom are we together in this room. It’s TV night. That happens seldom here. But anyhow, it’s a French film. Cross, I believe. It’s so French. The French are good at brutal films, wine, underwear and nationalism. And blowing up the South Pacific. Did I tell you I almost saw the blasted pope in his home town? Alas, this is not a Reisebuch. Anyhow, you know nothing about Aaron unless the book has come to you before this letter, which is possible. Many things are possible these days. Aren’t they? Did I tell you we have to share a toilet? But we have a pretty cool place. And I so often remember people from my other life. Back in Canada. But alas, this is not a letter about Trisha, Shelly, Amer, Franny, Katherine or ice-cream. In fact, it ain’t about anything. Perhaps you wonder what’s up. Are you naked. If everything was different, would you want to kiss me? Cross has no friends and the bad guys have his x-wife, kid and family. And someone killed someone in a game. That’s the game where two people go in and no more than one comes out. It’s distracting to have the TV on when trying to think. It doesn’t work. But it’s a cool movie so see ya till later, you beautiful woman.

_bunnie stop_

Well try this once more, this writing during lunch break. I’m pretty well finished my 2ne novel, though not my first one, but I’ve got to come up with an ending. What do you think? This is what’s up. When the second last book of this novel in question finishes, Aaron is back in a state of not knowing what to think. On account his brain’s a little branded. He’s been programmed by the government to be an unknown killing agent. Unknown even to himself. He’s going to understand that when he’s in therapy in the head quarters of the underground movement somewhere in Cuba. One of the first things he wants to do is kill Bob and his teacher, not Bob’s, Aaron’s. He’s discouraged against this but goes anyhow on his own. He goes to the Keys at night by boat. Up to see Bob. Brutally kills him. Then to wherever it is his teacher is. Probably in the Adarondac mountains in New York. He has found out where it is from Zizith. By drugging him and having him hypnotized. All with force likely. He’s a little angry. Meanwhile, the long existing underground which has been publishing antipropaganda propaganda for a few years, plans a demonstration. Which results in military coming and shooting people. Aaron comes to take part but undercover as military high official. He does in the presidents guards and captures the president. What we do with the president I don’t know yet. But the military takes over the government for the time, a year, it takes to have free elections. A new constitution is written with freedom of religion or none at all and new money is printed without god we trust on it. Perhaps all with bunnies. Maybe some with fish. International relations are opened again and America has to struggle to get back with the rest of the planet. But shit. The new elections bring a insane Mormon with 6 wives on the throne. He is rich. Got a big car. Everyone becomes Mormons and then the shit hits the fans again but this time the French have had it and drop a nuclear bomb on every large city in America. North America dies from radiation except for the blind cockroaches and the rest of the world has to deal with mutants form every plant and animal and humans can’t reproduce.

Maybe I won’t take it quite that far. It’s good to have an idea where to take it but usually the book takes me where it feels it should go. I want it finished by Christmas. Maybe sooner. Horst is so frantic all the time. When he eats, he’s like an animal that hasn’t had food for a few days. He’s a good cook but he doesn’t cook here. Only not so good cooks cook here. So I bring sandwiches. Back to work soon so I bid farewell till next time. It’s November 6 or 8 today. Stay cool.

_bunnie stop_

It’s tomorrow which is the 8th. Today we find out that some of us get no Christmas money. That’s about 2,000 marks. That’s too much to give to poor people. They’ll just go out and spend it on food and clothes. It’s better if the rich people have all the money on account they know how to handle it. Today I played a little with fire. We’ve got loads of shit to burn. It’s more fun than working. We kicked the welders out so we could have more space. You might not care. Maybe I don’t either. What’s more important are all the things we ignore. 2,000 fucking marks, that up till this year I would have received. I’m not saying I deserve it but this country ain’t cheep. And I want it. But there’s nothing a poor boy can do. In fact, there’s less and less these days. I’m not complaining for me. I’m all right. But the lower class keeps getting lower. And it’s the same old story. The money filters down - not. It’s sucked up until it’s all on top. The poor people either die or get mad and start a civil war and then thins get worse and no one has anything to eat except the military officers. Except for a few dozen problems, I can’t say too much against what the government does here. Only because I don’t know what they do. But seriously. They gave me this job and I work a year for 25,000 take home pay. Then they’ll let me go to school to learn hair dressing or carpentry. And I’ll receive a few hundred per month. We’d probably have to sell the car but that’s not a big deal. I have to ride my bike to work or leave half an hour earlier. The traffic is nonsense. So we won’t have it for holidays. Oh, well. Take a train. But we’ll see. Sonja noticed that I’m over here. She was in my dream last night. Not doing much but there she was. I had a dream later that the sun was up so I knew that I had slept in but then I realized it was a dream and I could sleep longer. And that was a dream. Later the alarm woke me up. And that’s okay. It’s only Monday I don’t like to get up. Sorry. I shouldn’t even try to write when I’ve nothing to say. So I’ll stop. This whole letter idea thing might be a dumb idea.

_bunnie stop_

Don’t punch a gift horse in the head. I want to write a little Christmas letter to you even if I think it’s nonsense. I don’t know where you are. Hell. I don’t know where I is. A - shit, I was calling him Bill instead of Eddy. I don’t know what book I’m writing. In my third book, Susej will not lose her identity. She’s always going to be cool. It’s a month till Christmas. I have trouble getting excited these days. It’s a kids thing. I didn’t mind 2 days before usually. Dad and I would go buy some little things to stuff stockings. His birthday is celebrated here as St. Nicholas day. I’m about to fall asleep. So till later.

_bunnie stop_

‘Tis now Wednesday evening. I forgot to look when the next Friday the 13th comes. I was thinking maybe I shave my head every Fri. 13th. That’s a groovy religion. Or what?
I had the TV on to hear a little German while I wrote to my dear friend Paola. Every show, that includes one movie, one talk show and, well that was it, had to do with religomania. We believe what we’re told, sort of thing. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it to you before, but I hate 99.9% of all religions and am not keen on the other 30,000. It’s cruel madness what we are told to believe. Everyone, not everyone but everyone that’s doing it, want’s you to believe their pack of demented and idiotic lies. It never stops. it’s everywhere. Even your bathroom. This soap, this shampoo. But hey, that’s not so terrible, but heaven and hell, god and the devil. it makes me so angry that people are so sick to need to believe it. And it makes me furious that people force it on children and aborigines.

What for a demented evil soul would do such a thing? An idiot. Blinded by a lie. Take it and force it on others is a crime equal with murder. That’s how I see missionaries. Murders of souls. The heartless bearers of torment and oppression. Of course it’s hopeless to yell against it, for we are empty and will take any lie rather than feel a vacuum. Ah. And the short story that I started to read at work was also about Christian nuts. Forcing lies in the south Pacific. Rain, it’s called, by William Summerset Maugham.

I was so tired at work today that when I came home and ate, I slept 2 hrs. Missing my date with Toby and Nevin.

As to these three things pointing out the dark side of glamorous goddam Christianity shit, a Christian would say it was the work of the devil to take me farther from the truth and closer to eternal damnation. Lich mich am asch. They say in German. By the way, there are many Christian idiots here. Some of them are nice. I work with a couple that aren’t really active in it but hold to it. They are just caught in the lie. Nothing can be done. You can’t tell someone, ‘Hey, what you believe is bullshit.’ The north of Germany isn’t so bad, the asshole Roman catholic crusaders never got there, but here in the south, especially in Byron, Munich area, it’s hell. They want to bring Christ in the government, in the school, up everyone’s ass. They are screaming now that Germany is Christian. I want to kick their asses.

But alas. I am no one and am easily stamped out if I make myself heard. The overlords will force us to play by their rules and if we don’t like it we can be shot. Bastards. Pricks. You laugh from you podium of power. What you say makes me sour. I want to stamp you under my feet. But you have the guns, I’m at your feet. You rule us with force, terror and lies. Sit in your castles as the world dies. I know there’s no god, you heard what I said. If there was a god, he’d strike you all dead.

My words of course will only offend people. I’ll be well hated if I ever am a published writer. The pope will probably have me shot. Him or one of his idiot followers.

We have shitty brains. It pisses me off. So I’ll not write tonight, I’m sure I’ll even offend you. Till later Krissy.

_bunnie stop_

I think I just thought of an ending for my book. Aaron eventually gets around to killing his teacher and the president. There’s mixed feelings about this, a trial with witnesses testifying on his cruelty and on his innocence because of his brainwashing. He’s found guilty or something similar. One thought, my second one was they fake an execution, bury him and after three days he raises form the dead. Well not quite. But they give him a new identity and he and Karna go, urgendwo. (somewhere) Germany maybe. Saarbrucken. Capital of Saarland. The other thought was, he’s found guilty but there is no capital punishment under the temporary military rule. But there is no help for him with present medicine and psychology so he accepts being frozen until they find a cure. It’s that or execution. They thaw him in a couple hundred years. Not humans, visitors form another planet. Earth is void of humans. They went extinct. These visitors, with their superior knowledge had no trouble bringing frozen people back to life. They leave most of them but take a few samples back home to their planet. This of course is a whole new book. Just a thought.

_bunnie stop_

Just in case this is an idea, I’m going to write it down. Aaron’s justification is that he is a normal human who had anger against those he thought were a threat to his survival. It’s our animal history to destroy that which is foreign and dangerous to our continuance. Site the Jews rampage through the country killing all the non Jews. Something like that anyhow. Tomorrow is Dec. 1st. Holly cow.

_bunnie stop_

5th. Or how about at the end, Aaron has a philosophical talk with Reverend Burns. Burns tries to explain that though God doesn’t exist, it is necessary for our people to believe he does so the moral fabric of the country won’t be shredded like a paper bag in a gas powered lawn mower. He explains the dangers and that people don’t want to change. Aaron believes him but kills him anyway because he doesn’t like him. "Do you think the Pope believes in God, come now. He’s no idiot."
Anyhow, Krissy. I’ve got to sleep. So till later.

_bunnie stop_

My question is, why don’t words flow out of my head like water in a babbling brook? My head’s full of ideas. Isn’t it? I think I miss Trisha so much that I’ve developed axema on the back of my head. Piss on it, they say. It just goes all over.

Dennis said he likes techno. Unplugged. I’m too old for that shit. I think I miss Canada more now that we are talking about going for a visit next Summer. The shitty thing is, the flight cost too much. And the train isn’t cheaper.

Here, Dec. 6th. is St. Nickolaus day, that’s today. The tradition is eat loads of chocolate. My dad also turned 60 today. It seems odd to have a dad that old. He’s not so different from 20 years ago.

We’ll all be dead, unless they figure out a way around it. Not only do person die, but people as well. Civilizations of the past are all dead. All the things they struggled for are gone, unless they passed on a little knowledge to us idiots. And we have changed a little and we will likely keep changing unless there is no more reason to. Such as, we stagnate. But I don’t think so. And I don’t think the world will end in the next few years. In fact, I’ll bet my life on it. And 50 dollars. I think our hunger to survive will win out over our need to destroy.

But Krissy. It’s time for me to sleep. Tomorrow is another work day. And our fuckin’ car wants more work done on it. You need loads of cash when you have one of them tin can death machines. Here’s a question. How many hundred thousand people die per year in wars and how many die in automobiles. I would guess it’s over 50,000 in North America. Are there cars anywhere else? Do they have elevators in Your up? How do people go to the bathroom?

Did you know that when the Turkish Primeminister was asked about human rights in her country, the Turks practice genocide on the Kurds because the Kurds demand too much, their own culture or something, which is only 5,000 years old, I’m not sure, it’s not at all pretty, I won’t say who’s right, everyone knows genocide is part of life, always has been and likely always will be, and she said, ‘Well other countries aren’t observing human rights either.’. So there you go. Tommy killed his sister so why can’t I? Or a better example. Kane killed his brother so there you go. Anyhow, they want to be in the Your up peeing community but since they don’t recognize human rights and freedom of speech, they ain’t allowed. I’m not even sure what this Your up peeing thing is all about. But I know that France is on strike. Most everyone involved in jobs funded by the government. They need more cash to build more Atom bombs to sprinkle around the planet so they have to cut back somewhere. Welfare is cheaper than a job. Besides, who wants to see anything in France? You can get a book out of the library and see pictures. In fact, let’s close down the planet. Put our brains in machines and plug into virtual reality.

Oh. I forgot. I was going to sleep now.

_bunnie stop_

If I wasn’t a human, I might bet 50 bucks against them.

_bunnie stop_

Oh, Krissy. Where to go from here. To go on in the same vain seems pointless. I’d like to know how a tree manages to be so patient with its limited role in life. True enough that they have a very important position here, maybe one that the rest of life is dependent on but how do they manage? Is it because they can’t do anything other than be what they grew into? Of course I’m going to have trouble relating this to humans. We do find ourselves restricted in our role as well. We can only do what our perceptions and dexterity allows. And that’s pretty well the same as a tree. Sometimes it bothers me. I’ve chosen to put my roots in the air and branch out in several directions but now something has to happen. Such as a dust ball must roll across the floor. Or a phone must ring. Neither happened here. I may be stressed about another Christmas. It’s meaninglessness usually saddens me. I know pretty well why a tree has leaves but why humans have all the things they have I don’t know. For instance, a head. What is a head good for? A cup of tea. Perhaps a loaf of bread and a tomato red. Soon to bed. Perhaps. But you know and I know that it’s a short coming to wonder about thing that aren’t anything but imaginary filler. But it is amazing that atoms are nearly completely emptiness in motion. It makes me wonder about Mary Backer Eddy, someone I know nothing about. Did she say everything was nothing? Some scientist weighed the universe and said it added up to zero. What’s that supposed to mean? I know when a shoe hits me on the head. Did I ever tell you about the time Brent and I were in a dance club in Hall. It’s called Hotel something. They make you check you coats so they can give them away to someone else and pretend not to speak English when you want some kind of compensation for your 2 or 3 hundred dollar loss. Any how, that’s all water used to wash away toxic waist. I don’t want to give the expression that all club owners are assholes because I’m sure it ain’t true and it ain’t even what I’m on about, which is of course shoes. Brent figured it out quicker than I did that no club owner gave a shit if there workers giving away customers leather jackets. He went out looking for the guy. He found him. He was bigger then Brent so Brent pretended to know him and picked his pockets to get the truck keys, we had a rented truck because we were working in Ottawa that weekend, and the hotel keys. When he tried to get the coat the guy took off his shoe and kept hitting Brent on the back. Brent came to get me so we could try the process together but we never found him again. And I’ve never had a black leather motorcycle jacket since then. And I’m sure I told someone this before. And it just goes to show how things happen. Especially in foreign countries like Quebec. I was just thinking it was lucky we didn’t find the guy and try to get my jacket back. We would have had to beat him because he was French, drunk and stubborn, by the way, Brent was from Montreal, and if the French police found us taking a French man’s jacket off and trying to explain that it was mine, in English, they would have either beat us or took us to jail and beat us. French cops in Hall are more likely to beat you than anything. And they wouldn’t care about leather jackets unless they thought you were stealing one. I’m just wondering how I’m going to tie this all in. I’ll have to go back to see what my point was if it wasn’t trees. I went back and checked, it had something to do with me being bored and not sure what was to happen in my life. Sometimes I think, ‘well just do this and this, then we’ll see’. Well. Either this and this never gets done or it doesn’t change anything. My hand hurts. Almost always now. There’s nothing the doctor can do short of cutting it opened and he won’t do that before my finger won’t straiten. It still does. So Krissy. Till later.

_bunnie stop_

Dec 13th. A week and a half till Christmas and I’ve done no shopping. Typical, ‘cause I don’t like it. Sometimes, just before the day, I pick up my spirits. I’ve made a couple presents. Maybe I’ll try to paint Willie a picture. I think many men are occasionally thinking of women’s breasts.

People usually like me. I notice it. Mr. Conrad even said so today and I hardly know him except for working in his house a few hours. I’m hoping that when we go visit Canada that people like Vickietoria, Paola, Kat, Trish and I shan’t name them all, will kiss me and hug me and tell me how much they missed me. That sort of thing is what I like best. I’ll sleep now. Krissy. I’ll let you know if I think of something.

_bunnie stop_

by Joanne B. Washington

read on. fish_part_04



© 2001 | the jose wombat project