Letter to Laetitia:
Warming up Ranting.


laetitia_part_02

I decided that was to sum up my last 20 years of writing. And in a way it does. Writers usually write because they are mad about something they have though about. Even fiction is often laced with bare-naked truth. Not everyone that says they know the truth does. Ultimately, we are incapable of defining such a thing. Partly because it isn't a thing.

But really Laetitia, I am writing this letter for you. My mad intention is to make you realize you love me. I use my writing for that purpose. Though never main stream, my writing is brilliant, there are people who admire my writing, people who love it and mostly people who never heard of me.

But they will. They will hear of me at the Jose Wombat Project, NMA, and pretty soon the alba.

I may very soon be in the lime light. I won't be, but my words will.
Most people will know a bit about me before they ever think to read this so they will know I go off, thinking I can just write letters to Bill Gates and anyone else. Of course I can. I'm the ass that has chosen to raise a little stink. I don't like some of what I see, so I write about it. I write about it because I'm a writer. A writer is a watcher and a thinker. At least he or she should be.

It's my opinion, as a writer sure, that literature is so much more important than the media, that I put my attempt at it in the new media. I write stories in meta tags. I just started putting stories in onmouse overs. The first one, no lies, I did in your page. I wanted to see how many hits you had since 1960. It was up to 1977. 1960, I like that number because it was the year I became a living creature on this planet of mad men. 1977, I don't know. I was just starting to get a little mad about Christianity and had those questions one has at 17 when one doesn't have a play station.
I started writing them down. I had quit school just before finishing grade 12, didn't care, got a job in a paper cup factory.

Four bucks an hour, shift work. I tell ya, it wasn't long before I was bloody glad to go back to high school. I still don't believe one needs to finish school to be a success at something. School does keep you out of a shit job though, at least until the end of college. Then a job. I never kept a job. Bit silly to tell you all this but I'm putting my eggs in one basket as they say. I'm convinced that I believe the thing that makes you more beautiful than other women who are just as beautiful is - I don't even know. I think somehow, you have an honesty about you. Funny thing to say about a super model, true, but I think so.

It's mad, I'll say it one more time tonight. I need to think about sleeping. Mauro wants me to leave the computer tomorrow and catch some day light. Take me, or we take the car I still haven't sold, motorrad is a better Auftritt.

No don't worry, I don't really think it is cool to drive a motorbike.
But I don't have one this year and sometimes really miss it.

Okay my Love. Excuse me for being so self consumed that I would think you would care to hear from me, it's just I have to believe it now, and won't stop believing it until you read at least to the end of this letter. I won't write another if you tell me not too, but I will want to know if you read this one.

You can decide any time that you love me. You can decide right now that even though it seems like the unlikeliest thing you ever heard of, this nutter actually needs, wants and deserves my love more than anyone in the world, how can I help but love him.

You don't have to believe it today, you can think about it for a day or two, read a little more. I'm sure I will think of something brilliant to make you realize you love me.

"Are you serious?"

Oh, Laetitia, the dialog is for my needed comic relief as much as anyone else I convince to read my writing.

"Yes, I'm serious, I've been convinced of very few things in my life, suddenly it all seems to be coming together and everything keeps getting clearer. Not everything is pleasant to look at, but it's clear to me."

"And you don't believe in god."

"No."

"But this sounds like some wacky belief that you can write a letter to the most beautiful woman in the world and have her read it."

"Sure, I just have to make the most beautiful letter in the world."

"But your writing is ugly."

"But my love and my hope are beautiful. They are the things I live for. I'm convinced someone has to look at things in all their ugliness if we hope to preserve any beauty in the world. Laetitia is for me hope and beauty. I have to believe she wants to love me, without hope, their is no point to beauty. I know that Laetitia cares too much to fall into the typical traps of success."

"So she'll up and love you."

"There is only one of me and until Laetitia can prove to me that she doesn't want to love me, I will..."

"Ya, ya. Dream on."

"I will. I will never give up my dreams, I will never give up dreaming,
I will not grow up now, I will not later. I will spend my life..."

"Wait."

"What."

"That's enough for tonight. Do you want the book done this week?"

"Ya. I want it done last week and on it's way to Laetitia. I want her
to love me before it is too late."

"For what."

"For us."

"You and her or us the world?"

"Both."

"You want to save the world while you are at it?"

"The last thing I want is to finally have Laetitia tell me she loves me after reading a front page article that tells us we have 3 weeks left."

"Three weeks not enough?"

"No, three weeks won't be enough."


_bunnie stop

Though it is almost 04:00, I have just a few more points. This will be the fastest I've ever written a book, or letter. One reason is that
I can write like no one's business lately. Things just come and fall out of my favorite pen. I will write a couple hours sometimes on Richy's iMac while I'm doing our html. Most everything is worth reading.

I believe it, and others are starting to. It is something I have always wanted. I've tried many things and left them. Writing I've always kept. I'm a writer more because I hope I have something to say that someone will understand. I want to sell it sure, but I want to write how and what I want, keep myself honest no matter how mad I have to pretend to be to get away with the blatant honesty and feel I have a purpose. I have found a way to bring my writing public and how to reach many people with it. I don't mean any jest in this letter. I honestly want you to be happy that I wrote this for you and I

"What are you then, if not mad"

"I am a dreamer."

"And where has dreaming got you?"

"It has got me to where I am."

"Married in a far away land to a woman who left you."

"No regrets, she was well worth it."

There was going to be a different point, Laetitia. For me it is important to try to tell the truth. I don't always know what it is. I always try to see it. I want to tell the one I love that she is the most beautiful woman in the world and I love her madly. It would have been easier to find someone else to say it to, but I

"What, you can only say it to her on account she is?"

"That's a little silly isn't it?"

"How you going to convince the world you aren't mad with this letter."

"I don't have to, what they think of me isn't important."

"What's important."

"That they think. If I can get people to think, for me, that is my success."

"That's dumb."

"No, it is a simple solution. I keep writing until I become a brilliant writer, someone will understand it. They will have to think about it, and I have won. I have made a contribution to the world."

"The world can think without you."

"It doesn't think enough. I can make it think. I have worked at being able to write so that I can explain a point of view. That isn't something everyone has and something few can do."

"And so you think you are pretty special."

"By default because I am the writer of the writing."

"Like Laetitia is beautiful because she is a model."

"No. Because she is beautiful because she has something the world needs."

"A hot woman in her underwear."

"That's what anyone should want."

"But why should she want you."

"She will have to know that she believes in me."

"That's a little much to ask of one of the most famous models ever to fall to Earth."

"Not if that's what she wants and I have to believe she does. I need her to keep me from being a monster. I need her love because I have to have it from her."

"Well you almost got me convinced you actually are mad and believe you have a hope in hell that Laetitia will even know your name."

"I have hopes for much more impossible things which I know I will do."

"Such as:"

"I don't tell you."

"You don't know."

"I have a basic idea."

"And you need Laetitia to help you sell the ideas?"

"No. I need her to love me."

"And."

"That will do it."

"Well, it seems a little iffy if you ask me. The girl is stinking rich."

"Then I'll get stinky rich so she won't think I'm after her money."

"How you going to get stinky rich."

"By giving the world what it wants and needs."

"Your writing?"

"Hope and beauty."

"What's that got to do with you getting Laetitia to believe she loves you."

"I am free to believe as I choose, like are all others. I don't believe a beautiful woman wouldn't find something in me to love. I know women love me. I know men love me. I think they love me because they know I have to have it."

"Everyone wants love."

"True enough. Funny. That isn't always the impression I get."

"What impression do you get."

"Everyone wants to be told what they want."

"By people like Laetitia."

"She could make people believe her."

"And."

And now I will stop for tonight. I will sleep. I will dream. And I may dream of you loving me, telling me, you believe me and you are happy to know I want your love. I want you to believe that I believe I really love you and not an imagination, bit ridiculous, I know, - let's pick it up tomorrow.


_bunnie stop_



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. laetitia_part_03



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