Letter to Krissy:
wombat_part - third book of a letter to Krissy.
Fishing to find the write wombat to right.
Wombat words of wisdom.
wombat_part_01_01

Just like everything, the holiday is over. Those things always go by fast. Except for maybe last night. Wiebke had decided that since we must take the 07:00 plane, we’d not get a hotel and just do an all nighter. We dropped the car off at 19:00 after putting our things in a locker at the bus station. Six marks, the fun. We did a little more shopping and ate a couple pizzas, had a coke in a typical Spanish bar and it was 12:30. We wandered up to the bus slowly to see if everything was in order. It was all locked up. They opened five minutes before our bus to the airport was scheduled to leave. We sat in the park and gave out a few cigarettes to street bums, then walked around the city to stay warm and awake. Around 04:00, a little before, we went back to sit in a bus shelter and wait for 5:45. Wiebke mentioned that she thought it had been a full moon earlier in the night. It’s true, it had been, but now it was more like three-quarters. I could see what was up from the look of the dark side of the moon for it wasn’t that black of norm but a deep red or violet. And as we watched the darkness crept over until it was completely without light. It was still plain to see but the light was blocked out by our planet. It started getting light creeping across it a couple hours later as we waited to get on the bus. The bus made a few stops picking people up and eventually came to the airport. I was wondering it there was more than one terminal so I had Wiebke ask the driver before we jumped out. He assured us that charters took off from that one. I saw no sign of Spanair as the bus pulled away. Wiebke asked the police about Spanair and they figured it was at the other terminal. Normally, since the terminal to terminal bus came every 12 minutes, it wouldn’t be a big act. But time was growing short. When we got to Spanair, they didn’t know what our tickets were for. Someone else was explaining in English that we wanted to go to Saarbrücken and even though we were late would they be so kind. She was a little jumpy but I could see we would have seconds to spare. We were sent to another airline booth to wait. The woman asked a few of the workers about going to Saarbrücken but they didn’t work for Spanair. It’s not my job, kind of thing. I went back to ask our Spanair hostess if we had been clear in instructions, and she assured me in German that someone would come. He did. He wasn’t at all worried. He assigned us our seats and suggested we not dally too much since our bus to the plane was waiting for us. It was no real panic. Three others were 30 seconds behind us. An old couple seemed to have got lost and I don’t think they got on the plane. By the way, did you know that plane isn’t in my spell check. Nor is fridge. Anyhow, we had to wait almost a minute before the bus took us to the plane and the plane didn’t take off for nearly 2 minutes. Ten minutes ahead of Schedule. We were outside in the German grey sky, waiting for our car at five to nine. Mauro showed at 9:00 like we requested. And we went home, dropping Mauro, he dropping himself, on the way. And just like it must be when you have kids old enough to drive, the tank was about as empty as it could be. But it’s just money. What’s 50 marks after nearly 3,000 for a trip. Well, 600 of that was clothes. Wiebke stocked up because the clothes are somewhat, quite a bit really, cheaper in Spain. And shoes are sometimes a real bargain. But I had full intention of not counting pesetas on the trip and I’d have to say it was pretty much fun. Wiebke and I can be a little stressful on each other sometimes but we’re used to it. We’re both a little hypersensitive and jumpy. I wonder, sometimes if we’ll ever have kids and if they have any chance of growing up without troubled minds.

And I went to work a few hours late. It was art show day. It went off quite well. The theme was that even unemployed people can do things. I showed a couple bunny pictures, the one of bunny in fish bowl and the one bunnies leaving the ship. I also had a translated short story. The Black Birds. Some art, there were 10 or 12 different people, was quite good. Some even excellent. Paul’s sister, Claudia, has been painting only a few years, I’m not sure how old she is, ‘bout 40 or so, but her stuff was of real artist quality. Not everyone that does art is an artist, though that shouldn’t necessarily hold them back. What the fuck is Wiebke watching? She was just board. I mentioned that she could rather turn it off and she is doing something else now. We seldom have the thing on but she watches the 15 minute news show when she can and occasionally forgets to turn it off. There wasn’t one TV in any of our rooms. Only in one was an intercom for room service. We only stayed in a real hotel one night. They’re more expensive and stupider. They play bingo on Saturday. Or every day. It’s a little grim how the mass tourism is catered to, what do you say, lowest denominator. But whatever you want. With the number going there, you have to bus them around and jam them in hotel towns. There would be enough space for the few that want to do things on their own.

This talking about things can be pretty tedious. And I’m not sure if I even had a point. I just felt like writing. I should make a comment or something. Be controversial or something. I slept one hour before going to work. 2 hours after. I don’t actually fell so bad. My mom had a teacher, she went to school recently. She graduated University when we did. We is my sister and I. Lois. Lois is not so often in my thought but appears often in my dreams. Sometimes with a different body. One I see as sexual. Funny, ‘cause I don’t see my sister as sexual. But last night she was. Her body was more that of Jo’s. Jo was so yummy. But that’s another story. And I’ll never forget our short time together. Unless I get forgetful in old age. And usually the distant past stays with the old better than the resent past. My grandfather was forgetful in the end. Both of them. Grampy Snell was happy to see I found a pretty woman. He had a taste for pretty women. At least judging by my Grandma. But anyhow, the thing was that we ate in an English pub once on account I fancied fish ‘n’ chips. And the old guy reminded me of my grandpa. It made me miss Canada. But Grandpa is dead. Everyone dies. I can see that even I’m on my way. The grey hair is appearing. The odd line. The odd stiff bone. The expending 40 years in 4 years. 3.5. It gets faster. Even long days whip by now. I had something I wanted to point out a while back. Oh. The teacher cut his sleeping down a little every day until he slept 2 hours. But he got bored and went back to the norm. I like sleep too much to cut too much out. The bums that asked for a cigarette were very polite and wanted nothing more. But the one young fellow who had been asking people at the red light for a ride was a little more aggressive. He told me, in Spanish, that he needed money to get home. He was upset when I told him in English and German that I had enough money for my bus. He accused me of not wanting to talk to him in Spanish. He didn’t think I was a tourist. What tourist sits on a park bench two in the morning looking darker than an English or German. The southern Germans are seldom blond though. I think that had something to do with Romans. And darker people liked coming north. The Moors did in Spain. The language was quite affected by it as well then. Do you like lions as well then? And the Italians are a mixed race, especially in the south. The darker skinned people from over the little lake there. And I’m likely a little darker because in North America there’s lots of that going on with mixed breeding. Hitler would have a bird. We all think Hitler an asshole, or something much worse, but if he had succeeded, and he might have if he wasn’t such a mad man, he might have been a hero like all the other conquerors. Napoleon was an asshole, but he’s a hero. And I won’t get into Moses and his bloody killing parade. And what’s my point? Forget it. We don’t need so many points. Floppy doodads will do for now. They are nutty catholic in Mallorca. That’s another one of those bloody murder parades. We were in Petra. The hometown of what’s his name. He founded a dozen missions in California. San Francisco. San what not. Lost Angeles. All the big ones. All his disciples. Telling the natives to stop what they are doing and follow the creed of the desert religion of Moses, made famous by the escapades of jumping Jesus Christ. He’s a hero. And I put him in a league with Hitler, just a little smarter. Of course this catholic shit is more like a hat these days. A hat you always have but seldom notice. It’s just there on your head as you look at what you can buy, eat or fuck. Anyhow. It’s the end of Sept. soon. So we’ll get into some Fall themes soon. I’ll keep you posted.

_bunnie stop_

Just a quick note so we watch a news show. Only terrible shit goes on in this show. Humans and their total dumbheit. But I wanted to make a note about why I rage so much about Christianity and how I despise it. Just a note about the idiots in Afghanistan. They publicly executed the president. They want a new regime. ‘They’ are the fundamentalist Morons or something like that. They want a new freedom. You’re free to be and think what you want as long as it’s strict Moslem. Or whatever bullshit creed they have there. I can probably get many people to hate me if I can publish everything I write.

_bunnie stop_

Stubbornly Stupid. Will be the point of this entry. It’s still the same day as the last two entries. And I forgot to mention that my hand may one day cause me too much pain to write. Would that cut down on the shit. Rats in the cellar toys in the attic. The oil oven makes a constant squeaking sound that may be getting on my sack. See, the thing is, you can’t get people to change their minds short of beating the snot out of them continuously and brainwashing them and other things. On account, whatever is brunt in, is burnt in. That’s something that makes people like me perfectly pointless. Just floppy funny people that are a bit of a spectacle and sometimes irritating like a fruit fly. Or a snake pit, with too much Jell-O in it. Women.

Next topic. Flowers. I guess it’s time to knock off. I’m almost dead in my sleepiness. Seems so pointless though. To go through all this trouble we do, trying to make people see it our way. And then we die. No matter what we decide on. And though I like the analogy of the blind monks trying to explain what an elephant is but only have a small piece of the picture on account they hold just an ear or the tusk or the penis and that’s their picture of what the thing is and we see that they are sort of right just they don’t have the whole picture, that sort of thing and how it’s good to see all of the parts before putting the picture together and what I think is that it doesn’t help to ask any of them because more and more they tend to stick their heads up the elephants ass and everything they say stinks. Follow? And my suggestion won’t be to mind anything I say. I’ve stepped back to look at the thing but wasn’t watching my step and I’ve got myself caught in a hole. It might be a trap. One set by the awareness police. Those beings that want to make sure we’re all confused and dumb. Anyhow, Wiebke’s planning how to clean the house and get rid of clothes we don’t wear. And I’m too tired to go on. In fact, my eyes will soon fall out of my heavy head. Night night.

_bunnie stop_

It was Islam. Afghanistan is finished with their 20 year war. Now the girls schools are closed, woman are not permitted to work and you will be stoned to death for drug smoking or adultery. And they are happy about it. Just to show you that evolution can go backwards. Fundamentalist god state. That was the topic of my second book.

_bunnie stop_

And now here we are, the first of November. I don’t find Mr. Bean funny. I don’t find most humour funny. Sometimes I find everything funny. Even without a specific. Just, well anyhow, we ate at a Turkish restaurant tonight because it’s even a holiday in France so we couldn’t buy no groceries like we intended. I want to drink about a litre of Mexomix or whatever it’s called. It’s not Mexican, it’s Italian but really just Coke and Fanta Orange mix. They have one in lemon as well. That’s also pretty cool. But they all have too much of the single crop starvation plan, keep the islanders dependent on American money drug stuff in them. Funny how our lust for a comfortable life cost others theirs. We don’t have to know about it. And it isn’t just the sugar cane and stripped jungle tobacco and hamburgers. There’s palm oil and bananas and well you’ve likely heard it all before and I didn’t come to write about that now. I came to complain about Christians. I don’t like it that we think Christians are nice people. Nice people can be Christians just like nice people can loose a leg in a car crash. Nice people can become brainwashed into Jehovah Witnesses or lost in Scientology. Do you have any idea how much power they have? They own so many people. And they take so much of their money. They are forbidden to be a church in Germany. It’s a bit of a struggle with freedom stuff. Nazis are forbidden as well.

Forget it. I wanted to talk about how the nice Christian Spanish people went to Mexico, killed 10 or 20 million natives, used the rest as slaves and smiled and declared they were great. They have managed to take everything from Californian to Teradelfeugo. But not nicely. Christians are as unnice as any other pack of lying, murdering, criminals. Being a member of the church is no different than belonging to a LA street gang. The key word is belonging and the whole thing is a Krankheit. And I don’t want to have to explain it again. I don’t want to write either. So see ya.

It’s still today. I just want to add that Americans certainly look fucked from an outside point of view.

_bunnie stop_

by Joanne B. Washington

read on. wombat_part_02



© 2001 | the jose wombat project