Letter to Laetitia:
What were we going to call this.


dear_laetitia_part_01

Book 2


Dear Laetitia:

I'm going to slow it down now. It's 01:30. A little Tom Waits to chill me to the point where I might go to bed.

My candle is almost burnt out.

I was wondering earlier if I'm in a mid-life crisis. The trouble with that is I haven't done anything long enough too have to do something different before it's too late.

Anyway.

I would like you to come to me now and put your arm around me. But I am not going to think of that now. That won't happen tonight. It may not happen this millennium. I mean if I run into any time when I don't know if I should keep rambling, I'll maybe stop.

But stopping is always pretty final. Like when people kill themselves when they have a bad day.

I think I go back on the balcony and watch to see if the moon goes by. I think this is almost the right time for it.

The big eclipse is coming to town in a week. I haven't my glasses. It is a bit shitty timing. What with end of the world for Christians,
Nostrathingens, and I don't know who else.

My hand has to stop for tonight.

Or at least a break.


_bunnie stop_


Okay. I may have a few sentences before my hand gives up.

Do you know Stanislaw Lem? I only read one of his books. It was pretty wacky and almost too real. Though Toby would disagree with me, I think it is the same idea as the Matrix.

What you see isn't what you get.

It's a theme for a few righters, ah, writers. And it makes me wonder why I bother to try to find another way to say the same thing.

No one understands the point anyway. No one wants reality. It has lost out to fantasy. And I can only see it getting worse.

But I don't want to start this book off with depressing thoughts so I start it just a little lonely and blue.

I've been living alone in Germany for 14 months. The first couple months were shit but I am used to it now. I mean I don't always like to go to bed alone. There's something about a warm body of the one you love beside you that is too beautiful not to have.

I could have it. Women like me. Most people seem to like me. I suppose because I'm a great guy, but I want unquestionable mad love what strengthens my soul and gives me the hope I need to stay on top. On top of the situation, whatever it might be.

And I'd love to write books and dedicate the odd one to my love. A letter doesn't need dedicating. It is completely dedicated.

And so my love, love me. I stop writing for tonight.


_bunnie stop_


Laetitia. I want off today. I think I mentioned that I've written a little in html lately. When I say writing, That includes making some pages look just a little more professional but mostly, hiding text in the html. It can't be read in the ‘what you see mode’, it is all locked in the source code. A little silly if you want people to read your writing. On the other hand, I really like html and want to make the source code a new level of the Internet. The back woods so to say. I started with my casta page and have gone through a few. I did the same thing but not so extreme in the alba pages.

It is completely improvised like most of my writing lately, lately being the last few years.

I blew up on Hollywood. I mean, I shouldn't tell anyone, it’s a secret, but I won't be a secret as soon as I piss off the right people.

I pissed on the Hollywood parade today. I won't rewrite it here, you can look if you want. Pam is Hollywood. I don't know what you think of Pam, in some ways I think she's pretty cool, in many ways, I think she's a fool. But not like the fools I laid into, well, Jake Flake actually, but I let him go off when he wants.

I put the scientologist in the same category as the black plague. A sickness that will rot us out if we don't get some cats to eat them. I mean the cats eat the carriers of the disease. Which in itself is a tragedy. No one cares about rats, but rats are what they are, diseased, because of us humans, who are lovers of filth and death.

In my eyes, Hollywood is a big crock of shit. Most everything coming out of Hollywood is shit and most everyone that goes there turns into shit. I won't point our anyone but this fuckin' Blubbard Science Fiction don't have a clue bastard paranoid disease cult bullshit gets on my nuts. I agree that people can believe what they want. At least until they are our heroes and idols. Not mine, mind you. I think they are all fools.

This Blubbard thing is getting out of hand. They take lame-brains, get them to admit they masturbate with Fleischkäse and suck as much cash out of them as they can and threaten to expose them as humans with faults, oh no, a star isn't perfect, and I thought they were, and even if they wanted out, they don't make it. They sell their souls for fame. Pretty fuckin' primitive when you think of it.

The thing is, I don't want them to get to you, even if you are too stubborn to admit you love me, at least write down on a piece of paper and post it on your wall.

"Hollywood is a crock of shit. The crock may be golden but it is full of shit. It is a death trap made to look like a fun fantasy land. It is an end of the road' land. I wouldn't say that everyone in Hollywood is full of shit, I wouldn't know since I've never been there, but you can bet you yummy ass that most of them are permanently out to lunch and have no intention on ever returning to what is. A life long lie is what one looks for in Hollywood.

Which is fine if you want it, I just hope you don't want it.

Part of the problem with some of the sleeping stars is that -

Stop.

I'm going to go in circles and I don't even want to go on about end of the world preaching cults. California is full of them, Christianity is one of them and they all piss me off because they are fucking up what is. If they just went off and killed themselves like some cults, it would improve our chances of seeing 2010.

I wanna see it. I hope things just go down quietly. But when they plan to take over the world and build a space ship, I believe that they believe it and that they may very well do it.

But they are fucked and they all piss me off and can all fuck off.

And of course, have a nice day.

I read a bit now, rest my hand.


_bunnie stop_


It looks like we go 4D.

A bit of a kick in the teeth in a way. But if its the way to go then no sense running in a different direction.

That doesn't matter though. Except it may mean we get going a lot better right off. We talk about that some time if it interests you. Not many people give a shit about data banks.

Sorry, I drifted off there. Can't stop figuring things.

I better let you go for now.


_bunnie stop_


I knew it. Now I can't sleep. I can see it happening. And I'm wondering now how I'm going to feel when the alba is on the data bank and it is up and running and everyone can add what has to be added from where ever they are and it’s like we are actualizing something like what many dream of when they dump their lives and go to silly con valley.

Our work, even though monstrous, well, fairly extensive, has come to a start. And we have stumbled around in a few false starts. I have to say it might have even hurt a few times when we thought we were up and didn't quite catch the wind.

This last run will be a hard one; we are old enough and strong enough to know that this time we hit the air with wind under our wings.

Shit, we're going to definitely be the coolest. It's still hard to picture what that is. I mean I've never doubted that we were the coolest from the start; its just that's what everyone else will be saying.

Fuck, I'm going to flip.


_bunnie stop_


Okay. That's decided. But I was thinking a whack of things are coming to an end. Decade, century, millennium, civilization as we know it, and commerce as we know, and everything else. And I don't have a point to make. Who cares? I'm excited about it. Not the date. I get older with the date. It can stay at 1994 and I'd be happy.

It's my dream I wanted to tell you about, not the one where you love me, the one that woke me up this morning.

Maybe I got to sleep around 05:00. Just racing around the data bank in my head to make sense of the logic. Strangely enough, I can picture it very well.

It's beyond me how to program it but I eventually fell asleep. The dream that woke me up made me think of the story in the Bible where the Lord wanted to show off and fucked out a bunch of swine so they ran over a cliff.

I write when I could be at another city fest. But I gotta get up early.
On a Saturday. But you likely know that kind of thing. Perhaps you make a little more money when you go work. I'm going more for making history and money so its a little more brain work involved, no offense meant here my Schatz.

I was standing at this cliff next to a post. Not because I thought I might fall over, because an older lady, who to me seemed mad, was standing beside me. She was encouraging the people to climb down the cliff. She wanted me to as well but know I had no intention to follow the rest down.

Theoretically, it was possible to climb down. Everyone was trying the same path that didn't seem to lead anywhere. They stood around discussing it. Henning told of another way and tried this other direction. Not much more progress but a little more excitement.

It bothered me that they all thought they should go under without asking where they were going. It bothered me that the old lady was madly edging them on.

There was a fellow on another rock a little lower. He had managed to take his own way and get further down.

I looked at him and screamed, "No!"

"Doch," he said as he took a few steps and jumped. I know him. In real life as well. I see him sometimes in the city even though I know him from Toronto.

I saw every detail of his fall, he bounced from rock to rock, his body getting more and more twisted. It landed on a large rock. It, I say because it was only a twisted version of what he had been seconds before. His body twitched a couple time as if trying to get comfortable, but all was broken and would not move.

And that is when I woke up. If you understand the dream the way I do, and it is how it was, you might see why it is so important for me to write. If I could believe I was mad and paranoid, I wouldn't have to write, I say that for Brian as well as you, but because I can't lie to myself, I have to believe I am sane. If I am sane, which I can only assume, and of course Gary told me, I have to believe what I see. And the dream is just one way of seeing this madness that has swallowed up the masses.

The masses are mad and working their way down the cliff or just jumping off.

And I'm going to stand here and scream in the hope that someone will hear me.

Don't do it Laetitia, don't work your way down into the other world. I fear there is nothing there. And worse yet, I don't think there is a way to get there.


_bunnie stop_


I've got the tea candles going. I don't like electric light sometimes here in the kitchen late at night. I usually think of candles as romantic, but I like their light when I want to relax my eyes. My eyes are still in excellent shape. Mostly from being lucky and partly from never, hardly ever anyway, staring at TV.

Like I'm convinced of so many things lately, that I love you, that I have to do this & that, I have to write something, scram about, rant and rave, and I have to tell this fellow not to jump.

It's easier to write you this letter.

Let me try an imaginary conversation with this fellow who jumped out of his life in my dream.

I see him usually at the Sunday open air blues up at the castle. He sits up front. NO one takes notice of him, but he is a little strange. I'm sure he has few friends and likely has been a long time without a woman. A real loner.

I don't know. But I can't imagine any other possibilities for him.

Maybe he isn't the guy I talked to a few times in Toronto, but I can't imagine there are two like him.

First possibility is, I manage to catch his eyes, but this may be hard, walk up to him, say in English, "Don't jump." And walk away again.

That would be easiest. I could imagine he would think I was nuts and forget it. But maybe remember it later when the jump thought came in his head.

The trouble is; that's too fucked up.

I could sit beside him if there was a space and draw him into a conversation. That's perfectly okay in the Saarland. NOt so typical for Germany, but the Saarland is somehow more down to Earth and I have to say they are doing some things better then the rest of the country.

Let's not wander too far Laetitia.

"Ist hier frei?"

"Mumble mumble mumble."

Good start. I tried that a month ago but with no intention to talk to him.

I would have if -

the phone rang. I just talked Markus' ear off. If you know Markus, a real Saarlander, you would understand I'm raving mad. Not that I'm crazy, just can't shut up. Too excited. Everything is coming to a point and my head is going to blow. And I still haven't heard any news from you.

Markus is my partner in the Albatross Net Media thing. He organized a meeting at my place tomorrow. They are always here because I have the biggest kitchen. And it just makes more sense or it just is. And I won't be here, but that doesn't matter. They do it on their own. Nothing they go on about do I want to have to think about. My head is too full.

Anyhow, that doesn't at all matter. What matters is this fellow jumping.

Let's try:

"Hi."

"Mumble."

"When is the last time you were in Toronto?"

Now this can go anywhere. If he never was in Toronto then I say he reminds me of someone. But it is him.

So:

"Do you come from Toronto?"

"Ya."

"Don't jump."

"Okay."

"I don't mean now."

"What do you mean."

"I think it is important that you don't jump."

"From where? What?"

"From anywhere that is too far down."

"I wasn't thinking of it."

"Good to hear. The music is super isn't it?"

"Ya."

"Do you still play?"

"Have you seen me?"

"In Toronto."

"Bla bla bla."

"Travel Experts in Union Station."

"Oh, I remember you now."

But I wouldn't know if he did. And it wouldn't change anything. We had three pointless short meetings in our lives. How does that connect us in any way?

The whole thing is mad and I somehow think I want to say something to him. I wouldn't even mind having a chat with him if we met in the street. He's no crazier than anyone else, in some ways less, but he is definitely crazy. Who the hell isn't?

Laetitia, quick, without naming someone in your family or your childhood, name me someone you know who isn't somehow crazy. See, times up, you can't.

Okay, maybe you can. But I think everyone is mad. We are a mad apish beast that manages to produce, this is a Nietzsche paraphrase here, a few over men, or whatever he called them, and then figure out how to get around them.

Ya, I think I'm different than the rest. I know I am. I have to be to be a writer. Or I'm a writer because of the way I am. That's the old chicken and the egg thing which I always say rooster.

I will talk to this guy if I think I can do it without flipping him out.

Or maybe he lives on the street and asks if I have a spare bed. I won't take him in. I would take in a friend. I don't think I could feel comfortable in my apartment with him in it. And I can't afford to feed myself. So I have no money for compassion. I ain't no charity house.

Okay. That's not the reason either. It's easy enough just to say no.

But he's not a street bum. Just weird.

Okay, Laetitia, I don't want to bore you with this fellow. If I talk to him, I'll let you know.

I'm going to sit on the balcony and try to stop thinking long enough to go catch a few hours sleep.


_bunnie stop_


Laetitia, this will be short tonight. 2 days be, no 3, no 2.5 till the sun goes out. I'm thinking of getting a cross, getting nailed.

Scream out, "I will turn out the sun you fuckers, if you don't fuckin'
listen up."

"Ha ha."

"Okay, you asked for it."

So the sun goes out and I go into a comma and the sun stays out even after the moon has gone by.

But it’s a trick. I set up some mirrors in space to reflect a wall of light that creates such a standing wave frequency that the light of the sun is eaten.

And anyhow, I gotta sleep. I spent Saturday and Sunday in Zeitraum with Robert. And he's building a data base, and Richy is going to do the design and its going to rock the house.

Just wait. I mean you won't have to ‘cause it will be rocking before I can type this out. There is no scanning machine that can read my writing. I'm sure of that. I mean, I can -

Sleep. I must sleep.

Night my love.

Send me a pleasant thought.


_bunnie stop_


I wanted to start the story of the total eclipse of the sun 1999 with a German getting back to Stuttgart not knowing about the pending total eclipse of the sun and being a little surprised. This would only work if he had been away an awful long time and had no contact to the media. Since the whole thing supposed to have an ironic fell of reality, we have to take our star from one of the scientologist eclipse disbelievers from a small cult of sun worshiping freaks in Southern California who have broken form the schism of their sub cult and have sworn against media and all forms of education. Back to the times of Jesus, our last famous Earth rocking eclipse.

Before I tell you the story, I have one pizza bread. That's my excellent tomato pasta sauce really, with a bit of cheese, something I seldom eat, on it. If you want, I can give you a rough run down on the sauce ingredients, but not here. Here we stick to the end of the world total eclipse of the sun 1999 in Stuttgart Germany as witnessed by this fellow we described already once.

And Erotica form Beethoven is the background music. As I write and for the story.

So with no further adieu, as they might say, I go off, what Richy tells me I'm doing all the time.

It starts back in California in a wooden hut made of scraps from the radioactive land fill sight where they are seldom bothered by the outside world, in fact, never.

Our hero was born on this radio active land fill site and had no knowledge of the outside world. All he knew were the tales of his village, most of which focused on the end of the world, hell fire death wrath of god sometime very soon on the planet of evil non repenting creatures.

His concept of the world was somewhat limited. He would almost fall into the category of uninformed.

But this is an unimportant fact, for he has faith and he believed in a future with a pending end. This is a little different than simply being aware that you are mortal. But philosophy aside, he had a vision.

He envisioned he had talked to god while drinking some liquid out of a container that said battery acid, he knew that acid came form orange juice boxes. It was always listed in the program of ingredients.

"Holly Shit!"

"No."

"You ain't holly shit?"

"No."

"You ain't one of those entropies?"

"Entities, you sod."

"Wow, even cooler."

"Listen to my word."

"Okay, give it to me."

"Fuck off."

"Which one, that's two."

"Take your stinky ass out of this land and make a trip."

"I'm not tripping now?"

"No, you are festering in a wasteland."

"Really?"

"Just go."

"Leave this place?"

"I expel you from this dump!"



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. dear_laetitia_part_02



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