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_05

I hope other girls, women these days, are jealous when they find out I wrote you and Franny a book. I’ve just looked through Franny’s around the time of first getting to Germany. I’m so shitty at thinking up Fiction. I have to fictionalize things that are. My second book has a little more fiction in it. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that good fiction has to be based on truth. Far as I can see. Which ain’t far in a closed room. Which my consciousness is no matter how enlightened I falsely claim to be. By the way, when I’m not immediately aware of it when I write to you or Franny, I’m actually a good writer. And I’m convinced that these bloody letters may sell better than my books. I wouldn’t have thought that before. Before I used to think weather or not to eat the banana or save it to have something to eat the next day. No one likes to eat cockroaches, no one I know. My life in Germany has been free of cockroaches. Free of trips to Algonquian park with a canoe on my head as well. Some things you can’t do so well. You can take a canoe trip in France easy enough but it’s packed with others looking for the same scenery. For Europeans, it’s normal; they don’t know so much about wilderness. Maybe in Sweden. Days away from civilization isn’t a German thing. Unless it’s a German gone to Canada or USA to look for it. And there are ten times as many people in the States. Some of them with no shoes. I don’t mean to be funny here. There are 1.5 million under the poverty line in New York city. Which is still better than some places in India or around there. That’s why I think it is important for people who think they aren’t well off if they don’t have their own house and car not to complain too much. Even the poor in places like Canada and Germany don’t do so badly. There are always those who fall through the protective welfare net but the number is small. Of course one could argue that the number ten million can be written small and represents many people, but I’d have to say that was a dumb argument. Jose Wombat would just shake his head and say. ‘May peace find your troubled little petty mind you low life Cretan.’ Not true, Jose is always nice. It was a miss quote. The taking of four separate sentences and cutting them up and splicing them together. I just figured out how to do that on my computer. These things take longer on account I don’t bother to figure thing out since it’s all in German. Jose once said, ‘Usually you can’t underestimate people on account most are dullards, but you can still be nice to them.’ He also said, ‘Blessed are those who read my word for they will have God.’ Not necessarily for a cup of Tea but maybe a post card. He mentioned something about that most everyone knows a few things that you don’t. He included the dullards here. Well, I have not father news so I’ll cut out and try to sleep. It is 4:43 AM.

_bunnie stop_

Some people might say that I hinted at the possibility that Jose Wombat is fictitious and not the new saviour of the world before the mentioning of his life because of my personal doubts of his holy sovereignty. Because I’m a learned disbelieve, I can’t accept the truth when it comes to find me. They’ll say that I’ve tried to hide the world from his almighty powers for purely personal sell fish reasons, that I had wanted to run for student President but was no competitor for Jose. People can say many things. I can say many things. I can say there was no Jose Wombat and I can say there was. He can say there was no Joanne B. Washington, I don’t care. I don’t see how it changes my life. I can misquote Jose as often as I please ‘cause he wouldn’t bother to read anything I write until it’s much too late. It’s true, we’ve had a little falling out and we’ve had strong conflict with, over, the danger of a new religion and the possibility that Jose himself is actually deluded and he is not the latest son of the Almighty one and only God. He’s convinced that I’m not and he’s sure one of has to be because we were the only two born at that moment on the 15th of May in 1960. When the stars where in that undeniable triumvirate. I usually agree with him that I am not. The chosen one and I sometimes have him wondering if maybe he isn’t also mistaken, but the signs where there. And the miracles that can’t all be disregarded as cheep tricks and pure coincidence. Thought many can be said to be lies and exaggerations, I still admit that Jose is an unusually amazing man. I’m reluctant to support his belief that he is one with god and is in fact God in the flesh but some of what he preaches and teaches is worth repeating. And since he, in the tradition of saviours before him, is reluctant to write of his insights because of the time it takes from meditation with God the Father, his mother and children, thus no time for learning to type, I have agreed, on occasion, to include the odd quote in the course of my writing, if in fact I continue to refuse to write a new Bible. As Jose always said, ‘There are some things in life which are much more important than the things we actually chose to do.’

_bunnie stop_

If I write like mad in this book, I can have it finished by the time I take off. That’s in 3 days. I want to finish my novel, which is possible since now I know what I want. But my dreams were crazy. They were so packed full of adventure that I didn’t want to leave them. That last part was a helicopter chase. One helicopter was flying along the cliff to avoid detection but about eight appeared and the acrobatics started. That kind of dog chase thing. One pursuer went out of control on a back flip and crashed to the earth. It was apparent that the pursuers were up against a professional pilot and was no holding him back.

Tim was in my dream as well. Tim Martin. Can’t remember how. His sister was there as well. Not there, on the ship. There were many on the ship. I had to go all the way to the back to find a pair of shoes or something. I was naked except for one of those shirts you get in the hospital. But I wear it open at the front. Most people were sleeping or getting prepared to sleep. When I went by Janet, she was in an earlier part of my dream when she was younger and showed me a project she did for school, but there she was, quite good looking, being a little silly with her friend when I tried to go by. She wanted me to sleep with her. I’m not sure if she intended sex or just some company. I passed over other people sleeping; a woman naked from the ass down that was putting babies in bed. Lots of babies. They were all sleeping peacefully. She was a bit surprised but I just detoured around and went past an old couple and their son. When I finally got to the back, I had to change a light bulb in the shower. I found a bulb and squeezed into the shower, found something I didn’t need and threw it out to Paul, who is in his 50’s, who said something funny and laughed. He had make-up on. It was subtle, but it was strange to him with it. The door was hard shut and I had to get someone to pass me in a crow-bar. And after the wind died down and we decided it was sunny and warm, I went to find my pens that where buried in the sand. Janet looked for her things as well. I think Kim was there. His body was quite hard and he was fit and looking healthy. He was naked and liked a particular girl who was mostly naked and I think she liked him but took a while to let him know. But it was pretty. I have no idea how what was what. In the dream it all fit together, but like I’ve said before, dreams don’t use the continuous time line thing that we need in our waking state. It doesn’t lead to easy description and makes almost no sense when you try to write it down and forget particular details and what comes where. I guess I’ll have a bowl of Corn Flakes, clean the house, hang the clothes that I’m washing, the machine, then take a shower. Then write my last chapter, or at least start it, go to visit Nevin for supper. Come home and write. Or something like that. My mail form Canada doesn’t come. I think the post people eat those kind of things.

It just came.

_bunnie stop_

Now it’s the 11th of April. I will sit home tonight and do little. I just got back this morning after 3 weeks in Italy. I’m going to give you an outline of the trip after I mention that we confuse ourselves when we look for meaning in everything. Things are as they are and meaning is a man made illusion. We would have more understanding if we took a break from stuffing meaning into everything. I want to first tell you that I think if funny that when I’m thinking mean and unfair thoughts about others, I sometimes injure myself. I cut myself with a big knife once when I was thinking mean thoughts about Nancy. Funny things is, I probably wanted to have sex with her and hadn’t realized it. Don’t try putting meaning to it. I smashed my head on a tree a few days ago while thinking mean thoughts. I still have a bump. I have no intention to go on about poetic justice. My idea is that I do it to myself because I don’t like me being mean. Which would make being a highered killer a painful job. But, as we leave hail bob in the sky thinking how someone who didn’t know what a comet was and tried to put meaning to it and think about looking for a Messiah, I’ll move right along to the trip. I had a day out figure thing somewhere. But it’s gone. It doesn’t matter. I just had tried to remember what day was what. It all started 3 weeks ago. We met at Andi’s. We being me since Mauro lives there as well and we three were the only ones to leave that day. It was almost sun down when we got away. Andi and Mauro had things to do that day. Andi has a job on Thursdays and Fridays. So there we where, at last on our way. After an hour or so, they lost me. They were too fast. I stopped to piss and when I started again, I missed the next turn and stopped at the first gas station to drink hot chocolate and wonder if I should just go home where I wouldn’t have to freeze. I was a little pissed off that they had left me behind. At the same time they had stopped to wait and couldn’t understand what had happened. Thought my bed beckoned me, I decided to look at a map and continue on my way. I know our first stop was in Tubingen and I could find them somehow. I got there, still cold but with a few more clothes on it was a little more bearable. I bought a phone card, called information to get the bar number Wiebke worked in and she gave me the number of Gimp. Gimp is how I know him but it isn’t his name. From Tubingen to Bodershausen was another 30 minutes. Unless of course, I missed the turn off, it was almost another 2 hours. I finally found the workshop where they where having a quiet party. I sat in front of a hot oven and slowly thawed out after greetings and the other things that go with it. Had a grilled steak of pig and half a beer. We, I was excluded and told to sit by the oven, brought the bikes in and left for Gimp’s to crash. Andi had made claims on the bed because he wanted a warm body by him and Mauro and I slept on the floor. Shit, if I plan to tell the whole trip, it’ll take a while. I think I’ll speed it up some.

After breakfast we went back to the shop. Gimp drove us and because he had decided he couldn’t come, we told him it wasn’t that he would miss much.

With as much clothes as we had with us on (Star Trek grammar) we headed for the Alps. It was bloody cold. The sun was kind enough to shine like it did for our whole trip but we passed patches of snow.

Our destination for the second day was Mauro’s house in North Italy. Padania, as Andi says. Mauro says they had kept them out of their region. Who ever they were.

Anyhow, we got there.

The next day we stayed at Mauro’s and had a little day tour with his brother along. It was bloody beautiful, I must say. In case you aren’t aware, driving a motorbike on ridiculously curvy roads up and down mountains is considered extreme fun by some. Throw in beautiful scenery, comraddery and sunshine and you have some pretty happy boys.

That was Sunday. I’ll mention that we ate too much and try not to go on about it through out the dictation.

Sunday was the day Norman and Henning were to arrive but due to carburettor problems, they got stuck somewhere in the south of Germany. In rain and cold.

Monday we took even slower then the day before and while sitting in a Bar, Mauro and I, the other two came up the road. Mauro ran out to the street to flag them down and they came in, dropping a few layers of cladding and joined us and told of their adventure and happy troubles. It doesn’t matter when there are little troubles, it’s all part of the adventure.

Tuesday we chilled some more, had a coffee in Cortina, went up a mountain to watch the skiers and went back to, what else, eat. Norman, with a little help from his friends, had prepared a small feast.

Next day, we headed south to Florence to stay in an old mansion. It is now owned by Germans who let Art prize winners live there. That was late night Wed. After going out for a beer, we went to sleep.

Thursday we spent in the city, which is pretty and at night had another feast. Norman running the show once again.

Friday we left and spent the night out in the open by a wooded area. Now it’s getting too bland. I haven’t indulged any antidotes, no mention of roadways. So since I can’t be bothered to do a good job, I’m going to stop and perhaps I’ll pick up from where I left off which was by a camp fire eating and drinking red wine. I should tell of this place. Let’s see if I do. Now I say, till Later.

_bunnie stop_

I’m not so happy today. Somehow, everything sucks. Nothing is really wrong but I don’t like it. It’s like I’m on the rage or something. Hailbob is still up in the sky, so I guess everything’s okay but it doesn’t quite cut it. I still don’t get a letter from you.

I know that if I could be busy and be hungry for something it would help. And since I can’t think of what to tell you, I’m going to not write right now.

_bunnie stop_

by Joanne B. Washington

read on. wombat_part_05_01



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