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_02
It’s the end of November soon. One month left of my job. So I was thinking of what kind of business to get into. "THUGS”. I will have various people on staff, like an agency, and they can be highered out by the hour. They are versatile enough to be taken to parties or horse races and when you have signed a contract taking full responsibility for law suits and whatnot, they can even beat the shit out of bastards that are getting on your nuts. Like a husband that beats you or a boss that always grabs your tits. Only trouble is, this is too small a town for such a service to be really successful.
_bunnie stop_
Life is hard and so is my cock. Did you know we say rooster ‘cause the puritans didn’t think cock was proper?
It’s less than a month till Christmas. I hate doing things suddenly. Like getting out of bed and going to work. Today I have German class till 12:00 so only 3 hours of work. I’m still fighting the battle against sleep. I may go to class a little later and anyhow. All I wanted to say was that I was back in London for a dream last night. I’ll just tell the bit where I was sitting in a car with my mother. I saw Fergy drive up with his dad’s car. I saw kids arm in arm; young lovers I’d guess. And I saw two middle aged ladies coming to carry Mrs. Cunningham senior, I don’t think she’s alive, away. They were the angels of death. The were friendly enough and explained that it was her time. She was too old to disagree. They wanted to fly her back through the large window in the living-room but since Mrs. Cunningham senior was still alive, she was restricted by physical reality. While Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham talked to the angels of death, the old girl took herself to the living-room, where there was a small party for her. She was at the window when on of the angels of death picked up a beer glass and without apparent intention, while not breaking in the conversation about whether or not Mom Cunningham could have a little time, the glass smashed the window. It splintered in large pieces and killed Mr. Cunningham’s sweet mother.
In the news we heard about the accident and the investigation into the company that supplied the glass window. Apparently it was quite a strange run of events that a few windows that were very dangerous, had been made in these few months where the business was changing hands and –
Oh. Bother. I shall have a short map then go to class. Love Steve.
_bunnie stop_
It’s 2 or 3 weeks no 2, I think it’s the 8th of Dec. Today. I called my dad for late birthday wishes. I had a mood for writing earlier but it’s thinned out into the air.
_bunnie stop_
Now it’s the 11th of Dec and I have again absolutely nothing to report but I’m going to use a few more word to prove it. I’m about to do much more reading and writing if I’m at all lucky enough to stay unemployed a while. I’m at the end of 1.5 years full time work. The work, I must admit, I enjoyed and the people usually as well. What I can’t get used to is this deal where you get up before seven every day and be to work by 8:00. I’m not really much at sleeping late but I don’t want to have to every day be there at 8:00. And when I get too lazy to ride my bike and it’s too much trouble to take the motorbike, then I take the car and become one of them. One of those get up and go to work in the car people. I suppose most people accept it as normal but I find that it is a madness. And what happens after 10 years is that 10 years have gone by. See ya. But it ain’t right that I enjoy unemployment. Other people go to work so that I can stay home and write or read a book. I don’t think it needs justifying, though I do see it as not so good for a system when people don’t want to do anything. But there aren’t enough places for people. And people end up just having a job. It’s shit. You’ve lost 40 years by the end of it. I wanted to mention something about I consider myself an underpaid writer while receiving money form the government and how there are many government jobs where nothing is accomplished and that’s tax money as well. In fact, tax money is pissed away on many things. I’m not going to let anyone make me feel guilty for taking enough to pay rent in a small apartment and a few bags of noodles. Just ‘cause you want to save money to buy new guns for your soldiers or a new car for the mayor. Or whatever. But I won’t talk about this stuff ‘cause everyone knows how much corruption and misuse of money there is in government.
What were we going on about?
Wiebke is sowing a dress for her sister. It’s a Christmas present. Her sister has big tits. And she’s gonna be a vet. Willie’s gonna be the timpani player in the Berlin Philharmonic.
_bunnie stop_
Dec. 23 here in Lubeck. The Welzels have 4 children and me here. But it’s going not bad. I’ve learned the language enough to participate and stay out of trouble, which in their family ain’t easy. Anyhow, I was thinking about religion as one does this time of year. Not everyone and as a matter of fact, I wasn’t thinking so much about that charlatan from the line of David, the bastard child of that loose woman, as I was just about belief. I was trodding through a few short bits from Goethe. It’s nice to be able to have the opportunity to read people that aren’t English in their native tongue. Even if I can’t remember where what clause follows what. And I think I’ve fully forgotten what I wanted to say. Something about, as humans we need something to believe in so we don’t give up and that just because we need it, don’t mean nothing’s there and that don’t mean there ain’t, of course and that also don’t mean that if there is it don’t gotta necessarily be anything what we might think it is. Could be how we think it is though. Except that we all think it different. And anyhow, as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter one way or the other if it is there, it has little to do with, little short here and fast gone, us. And even if it did, so what and where in hell is heaven and who the fuck is God. And Jesus is dead as is most anyone born before 1900. So there you go. And now I go back and see if I can’t find a less tired subject to come back and visit you with. Don’t end a sentence with with. So the say. …with which to come and visit you. That’s prettier.
_bunnie stop_
I’m on the edge of hating everything here on the evening of Christmas. Just a feeling that grows when you’re in you in-law’s house, somewhere where you’ve never felt completely welcome, and things are more and more stress. And they have different ideas of what one should do and when and not being in bed so late and groceries cost money. And I start feeling completely alienated. I want to go home. I don’t really have one. I have a key for a place in Saarbrucken. It’s not so bad there. But it’s - whatever. I got a call from Canada today and talked to the family. That seems so alien now. After 3.5 years out of the country, it doesn’t seem like my home anymore. I don’t really have anything to go back to. And this babble didn’t get to go anywhere. I thought I might go on about the bullshit of Christmas. I think I won’t come up here next year. It doesn’t make sense. Don’t get me wrong, there are quite a few good moments but all in all. Bla bla bla. And I burnt my foot real good. Far out pain and it’s all red and there’s a large bubble of watery puss that oozed out once already. It’s not painful today. So it’ll be okay. Sorry to write this nonsense. I’d be better off picking my nose, I’d maybe come up ‘em whatever.
by Joanne B. Washington
read on. wombat_part_02_01
© 2001 | the jose wombat project