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_04

So what the fuck? Here again on the Saar river. This time with Wiebke. It’s my birthday today. I don’t feel that different. I got a card from my Aunt Marion. She’s worried about my salvation and my interest in false profits. I was thinking how most people would find no humor in jokes about Jesus. Either people believe in the dead guy as their savior, God help us, or they think it’s not nice to make fun of someone’s belief. It isn’t. It’s very mean. I’ll admit it. I’m a mean mother fucker, and since I’m not a fighter, I’ll have to try beating with words. Now I go see Martin and Fredo for a short visit.

_bunnie stop_

Well, the short visit was several hours. Had a game of chess with Martin, Fredo and the girls left so we went back to talk to Wiebke who had done little studying in the sun, then we walked to Tante Anne for a coffee, then bla bla bla and it was 10 o’clock. Now it’s midnight and almost everyone called to wish happy birthday. My sister-in-law, Andi, last night and Petra and Anke just now. Anke is my not at all secret girlfriend. She lives 800 km away and we see each other once or twice a year and so Wiebke doesn’t get jelous. We’re going on a weekend trip. I’m not excited but I never am these days. I’ll enjoy myself once we’re in it but I can never get going before it happens.

Well, if Jose would have something to say, we might get on about something. What do you say, Jose, about this problem with this one religion fashioned during the Roman occupation of Jerusalem area there? You know how they watch out for false profits and whatnot. They’d have you pegged as the anti, or at least one of the antichrists and one of Satan’s helpers.

"Well, Steve, let me tell you about those Christians. Like any religion, it’s the one true religion and all else is bad news. There’s not much you can do with a Christian ‘cause whatever it is you de, it always makes it worse. Feed ‘em to the lions and the others start singing praises to God ‘cause he moves in mysterious ways. A religion has to be intolerant of other beliefs. If Christianity is the true way, and these Christians have bet their death on it, all else is evil and dangerous. I’m afraid it I try to make it clear, I’ll end up running in circles. But my advice is, don’t try to reason with someone’s beliefs. A belief has no reason, it’s a condition, usually a desperate condition, that out of fear for the unknown will not allow itself to be headed. A Christian will pity you or hate you when you try to help them see their foolishness. Just forget it. Try sports or something.”

Well Jose, again thanks for nothing. Nice things to say that don’t go nowhere we have enough of.

So let’s fuckin’ drop this shit for today.

_bunnie stop_

I had the most amazing story idea last night in my dream. It was so brilliant I knew I’d want to make it a novel. I knew I should wake up and write it down. But I didn’t and I haven’t a fuckin’ clue how to find where it is.

So what shall I do? Go on with no topic, wallowing in the placid dredge of an empty cesspool in my quagmire slime bucket of a sloppy fish. Or something.

Anyhow, we did do the long weekend tour south to the Vogesen and back up through Schwartzwald for a piece of Black Forest cake and a night at Gimps. We did things like leave Friday evening after the rain stopped. And about 75 kilometers later we went to our first site, like every other year. A farmer’s field on a kill with the moon almost brighter than the sun. And barbecued turkey. Holy Fuck, like fuckin’ Jesus or Mary, that pill is loud. One of those that digest in water. Then the next day it was hot as hell and after too much driving through curing roads, Andi’s thingamajigger fell off so that he couldn’t imagine why his bike didn’t work and neither did no one else even mechanics. And so he called Gimp and told him what about to pick him up. And Gimp said, he goes, why not take a look at the dojigamerandy in there by the whatsamadingit? And true enough. It was fixed, a few minutes later. So them it was 19:00. So we bought food, searched for a site out of sight and had a barbecue and it rained just a little but we made a big cover over our heads and later in bed it rain with big lightning and banging. Mauro and Judith left in the morning and we got up later and went the nice rounds to Bodelshausen. And had a slide show and it stopped raining in the late afternoon and was pretty. And the next day was prettier and hot and curvy roads and back through France and all so nice but my ass was sore. And soon Wiebke must go work. I must on Friday. First day this year. The problem is to get the money without the government taking it away. It’s one of the catch 22 things when you don’t get enough to live off of, well it’s enough for me but not real people that want things, and if you work a day, they, the unemployment people take 50% away or something. So then a hard day’s work is a big drag. Either a new spark plug or the carburetor. Anyhow. I still can’t remember. The story.

_bunnie stop_

You see, everything is in my head that doesn’t matter and I’m tired of it and trying to work with it. As Jose would say, ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, stir gently and put on ice.’ And what I think Jose means is, it’s nice to have a God; that way you can have a reason to hate other people who either don’t have a God or your God. And then if you’ve nothing better to do, which is often the case ‘cause what’s more important than the God ya made up, you can kill people. And then you’re busy and don’t gotta think about what a tedious life to wait around to grow old to die. That’s why religion is important, it gives you reason to kill and at least save some people form wondering what they will have to do the next day. On account being dead is like a free fuck. Maybe that’s why prostitution is so important. People need that free fuck and are willing to pay to get it. People say it’s the oldest profession in the world but I’d argue the point. Not ‘cause I know different but I don’t like it when people just say things and people believe it. That’s the dumbest. As a matter of thing, I may dedicate me life to disagreeing. Of course I may also take up the sport of running through glass doors. Or windows. A geed friend of mine, well some fellow I met once in the park in London, my second home town, told me about how they would skin a cat and eat the guts on a dare. He did eight. I had no reason to not believe him. He had that certain freedom from convention. The freedom of not caring in the least, I say I don’t care but I lie, I care a lot or too much, but he had the freedom to ride his bike through glass windows. Now that’s cool. More people should be so cool. Jose would tell you cool ain’t all it’s cut up to be. And everyone over here except maybe quite a few, has a motorbike. I don’t. But I have a wife with one. But the thing is, you see more bikes in the Vogesen and Schwartzwald on a long weekend than you do unidentified flying corpusses. Maybe the thing for me would be to work on being crazy so people would believe things I say and want to buy more books that had a story. Like Anny’s sex book. A book by Stephanie Howard. Is pretty rockin’. Fuck it.

_bunnie stop_

I can understand obsessive addictions. I see it in myself and I have to stay aware of it to watch for it. And when someone says pot is dangerous, I say they are full of shit. It’s the hungry soul that is dangerous. Salvation can hide in a cigarette, Jesus, pot, cocaine, food, alcohol. And the people that are addicted to one or more of these drugs can not be helped by taking them off their drug. They have to be put on something else. Work or music or something. I hope you know what I’m saying. There’s nothing wrong with being obsessively crazed; it’s a natural thing. A survival thing. What would be cool is if people could find out their best way to foster it. Don’t you think? Well maybe not. Sometimes people just don’t want to bother any more and they hide in their dependency. So that’s like something different. Not every obsessive chocolate eater is a dormant Rembrant. Or RODANE. Or how ever you spell ‘em. I’m signing off now with the misdemeanor or whatever it is that says I’m quite aware that most everything I say is bullshit, or bollocks and I was just wondering. So till next time, Krissy.



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. albatross_part_05



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