Letter to Krissy:
albatross_part - 4th book of a letter to Krissy.
If you aren't Krissy, who are you?
Forget any secret codes.
albatross_part_01
Well then now. Ma & Pa called. Dad’s excited about half a dozen things. As par usual. He’s gonna build a house and I gotta help him figure it. And the family. And whatnot. And my Aunt is worried about my Jose Wombat. She thinks I’m a believer in this new religion.
Do you know what Jose Wombat says about religiphobia? He says, "Blessed are those who for the love of their fellow man don’t believe the word of whacked-out dead profits, saints, saviors, baseball stars and why can’t Captain Crunch be bought in Germany or and Post products like Honey Comb and when I tell you that I have the only truth and that you can lay down your other crosses and just follow me, don’t get nutty and abandon your family or quit your job or stop having sex with farm animals, although I think it better not to abuse the animals, just try and be cool and hear the word, apply it to your life, forget it and get on with living.”
I’ve known Jose for quite some time and we’ve had many discussions, arguments and all out brawls over the problem that when one thinks he has something important to say should one not rather keep his dam mouth shut and avoid the trouble that is guaranteed to follow. Every utterance that has intended to be wise and a good rule of thumb, how they say, for the people, the people a little lower in the pecking order, the peasants and illiterates, the drunken dullards, the whole lot of them, really, when you stop to take a good look, well the point, before we stray too far, is that whatever you say, it will be miss-understood, turned around, twisted inside out, mutilated, reconstructed, once or twice more seriously perverted then farted out the mouth of some asshole that wants to fuck some bunch of feeble minded religozelots right in the head, guide them to a state of mental slavery and do with the suckers as he pleases. And the words don’t even have to be that wise to start with. It’s good enough to say that the words are somehow relevant and that’s where it all starts. And that’s why I’m extremely reluctant to contribute to the insane amount of believer madness by letting Jose shoot off his mouth. I’ve seen it before, it happens all the time. Although that’s a line from Foreigner, whatever happened to April Wine? I was thinking of them and how I’d listen to a few songs but I ain’t got a record here. I might have one in London. But as Jose would say, "Ain’t much good having a record collection in a country you don’t live in anymore.”
The other question that keeps popping up is, where is the money going to come from. We, that’s the wife and I (I know, actually I don’t) don’t seem to got much. So what does one do? Get a job. Ja, well. I’m not good at jobs. I’m good at doing the work at a job; I just don’t like having to go there to do it. Not every day, when they say. Free lance. Maybe that’s the answer. For Lance, who’s looked in the cell, at any rate. Well nature calls. I’ll talk at ya later my sweet friend, Krissy. I hope you still love me.
_bunnie stop_
Okay, Kris, it’s only a short time after. I cleaned the bathroom, mopped the floor, and then kitchen floor and the hallway. We are supposed to do the hallway once a week. I refuse but once a month is okay. The bum next to us, well never mind. Truth is, he don’t bother me much, Wiebke doesn’t like to share a toilet with him. Which if you look at it from a North American point of view, is completely wacky. Who the fuck has an apartment, a nice one, well ‘cause I made it nice, without their own toilet. There’s the odd apartment without a proper (in our new day standard) toilet situation. What would be super cool is if the drunk went and lived up stairs and we had the whole floor to ourselves. You’d have to disinfect and burn most of his place but after that it’s be cool. I love soft wood floors. Not as much as dark chocolate. But as Jose would say, "You can eat a whack of chocolate and can sand a nice piece of wood to stick up your ass if that’s how you get your kicks but on Bogelslof island they sit under trees and paint pictures of the blue sky and never grow tired of watching to see if a bird will interrupt the endless horizon while the day turns to night like the night turns to day and never does another have a mean word to say and the Americans, wanting to test a new French bomb built by the Chinese in India, blew the fuckin’ island off the map.”
Sometimes Jose chooses parabolic ways to explain his thoughts. If I can take the liberty to translate his idea here, so as that he won’t be so miss-understood, I think what he was trying to say is sometimes things work out differently than you would have thought.
Did you know, I know I didn’t, that Japan was ready to sign an unconditional surrender before the Americans experimented their little Atom bombs on their kids. If that be true, which it wouldn’t if you asked an American, it was not very nice. It would actually be mass murder, not even as friendly as the Nazi elimination of what they thought to be lower life forms. Did you know the Israelis aren’t that nice a people, at least not from a Palestinian point of view.
Anyhow. I shall. What shall I? I’ll let you know.
_bunnie stop_
So do ya wanna make a bet what’s the first book I get published, Sub Rosa, Aaron, Letter to Franny, Letter to Krissy, Anny (tale of a Nymphomaniac) or what? Okay, we go. I’m in porno mode now. I’m going to finish it next.
_bunnie stop_
I bet you don’t know where I am. I’m at Tante Anne. That’s the bar where Wiebke works once or twice a week. I come sometimes and play fussball, which is table soccer. I’m pretty good. There’s a certain bunch that are often here. It’s a little like the Squeeze used to be. I’m even sitting at the end of the bar like I used to there, talking to Catherine or Sue or trying to give Nancy a hard time about her cleavage which often looked like a Sunday picnic.
But this ain’t a book to discuss where I am or what I did so much as it is a place where my genius is supposed to break through in a rave the odd time. It’s a zen kind of a thing for the reader to weed through the dribble to find those little, what would you cal them, treasures sitting in the mud. Like the diamond in the rough. Or a fish in a hay stack. Like a melon in a bean sack. Like a hard rabbit in the lap of a hard dog. Like a worm eating his way through a rotten log. Long is the way and narrow is the winding path that leads to the other side of the mountain where we finally are high enough to see that there we are on the platto overlooking the range of mountains that lye like phantoms in a closed school book waiting to swallow up our time and efforts and if we work hard we may cross a few peeks and rest in a few valleys before we finally come to the point where we understand that where we are going isn’t really to be discovered but that we are going and keeping our legs strong. And that’s something. At least it sounds like something if you try to fit meaning where a hole gapes open. And of course the hole is bigger than the thing you want to fit into it. Which, as they say, or how I’d imagine someone might say, what would they say? Doesn’t matter really. It’s like a tree that falls in the forest and hits a drunk on the head and that’s where in the trip he’s dead.
My wife is sitting beside me talking to a fellow on the other side of me. I understand it all which causes me to not be able to continue on the vain I was. Maybe I’ll take a trip on another avenue. But now Bon is singing a song real slow. Ride on. And there’s a friend of this happy fellow.
It’s like, why do I always think of fish? You would think that when you start with, it’s like there could pop in anything, which is what I want, in the hope that I can find a thread to grab onto and pull me into a thought where I can run along on an idea.
They’re talking about libraries now. I’m finding it hard not to throw in German words. I know few English people speak German so I’ll try to refrain. Viel Deutsche sprechen English. Or - kann English sprechen. Maybe that’s better. But in case you didn’t know, Saarbrucken is building their 50th parking garage and are now thinking about building their first real library. But that’s okay, everyone has a car and wants to go down town, few have cause to go to a library. They’re kind of old fashion anyway. We have TV now.
I would actually like another game of Fussball but ain’t no one here.
I’ve started back in my porno story about Anny. I’m thinking of throwing a little adventure and maybe even violence in it. Maybe even a political comment or two but mostly just about sex. When someone reads a porno, that’s what they want. But on the other foot, it I make it somehow a little relevant as a story, then those people that are embarrassed to buy a porno, or find them tedious and boring, as I do, will not feel so ridiculous when they get it as a present for Christmas and might actually read it. And get all wet or hard.
Well, like a turtle that is laying eggs in a hole, I don’t know what I’m going to do now that I’m here with a pen n my hand looking for that rave, that little rant that takes the writer and the reader on a little trip through a few roads in their gray sludge.
by Joanne B. Washington
read on. albatross_part_03
© 2001 | the jose wombat project