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


dear_laetitia_part_05

Well, we left the Indian out in the desert and Barbaralba alone in the hut to wonder. She had much to chose from. Laetitia, are you still with me here. I hope you aren't insulted about me going on about the

Barbaralba story. Maybe you could be honored that the original not cut directors cut, non cut is getting it start here.

I explained that we are in the process of making a company on the web. That's different than having a company and making a home, or web page. WE are going full virtual and are pretty digital.

That's the age we are in now. There is a hunger and madness to get in as fast as one can. It's the new frontier. It's gold rush time. We, if we do it right, will be there to sell products to those looking for gold. And to those who want to spend some of their gold. We may look in a few different streams where the big gold digging machines haven't got to yet.

We won't get the most gold. That's not our only goal. I can't tell you some of some of our goals, they are a little silly and it's not my business to do it. The company's goal is also to be a stable business in the new world when the gold rush is over. You don't have to be a profit to know that not all gold diggers strike gold and there are always more gold diggers than there is gold.

Eventually it will be back to business as usual. If I use any of this in our company writings, I'll leave your name out.

"Well I bloody hope so."

"Oh ya sorry, of course."

Where were we?"

"With the Indian in the desert."

"Ah yes, Barbaralba our super heroin who doesn't know it yet, and
Indian cut off from the world with some kind of trouble on his mind that he'd rather walk into the hot desert than lay down beside a beautiful woman."

"That's mad!"

"You have to read Dicken's Copperfield."

"That's not Copperfield's Dickens."

"No tit head. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens."

"Who the hell has read that?"

"Anyone interested in great literature."

"No one then."

"No story allows an obvious romance to just happen in the first few lines."

"Why not."

"No suspense. No room for poetic injustice."

"You mean poetic justice."

"At the end."

"Well, those days are over, this is no Tolkien fairy tail."

"And why not?"

"Ah."

"Fair enough, we agree that we can borrow from any of the classics."

"With Bible references as well?"

"When they pass."

"Confucius."

"More Confuse us."

"Confuse usism."

"The fight against Confuse usism by the Reality Fighters lead by the brave queen of the desert sun, Barbaralba."

"And the Indian."

"A sage magician face reader."

"What the fuck is a face reader."

"Someone who can read your thoughts better by watching your face than he can by listen to the words coming out of the mouth on that face."

"Do ditty now about the tongue being a two edge sword."

"No, doesn't fit."

"No one should know then."

"No, he tells no one. And for good reason. It's too easy to do and everyone could do it."

"Na, I think it isn't so easy."

"Whatever."

"Okay do it. Get the guy back in to tell Barbaralba she has a big job ahead of her."

"Ay, to rid the world of all it's destroyers."

"Ya, war!"

"War?"

"You want people to read it or not."

"I was thinking a little sex."

"No. Americans don't like sex. They want war."

"Bollocks."

Well Laetitia, we have really lost track here. I may get up again and stare at the sky for a few minutes to try and figure out what to do with this Indian who suddenly appeared. I hadn't thought of him, which is a bit funny because I know I will let him be a little me. What choice do I have really. I got to write it. Without sounding to flip here, I wouldn't mind you telling me what you think about Barbaralba and give me a few suggestions how to make her act like a woman. I mean if you had a spare minute.

"Are you trying to bait Laetitia with your little cartoon?"

"Anything wrong with that?"

"Not if she's warned that you are considered mad by some of your best friends and accept that my madness is creative madness."

"Yes, creative madness is better than destructive madness."

"You got it."

"Fire with Fire."

"People in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones."

"People with only nonsense to say should take a short brake to organize some madness and point it in a direction."

"Yes. WE will get to the Indian in the desert."

Laetitia, let me tell you why Indian. I like to think I am part Indian.
Perhaps I am. I want to have their blood in me. My mother, who checks up as a hobby, isn't sure if I'll have much. There might have been something her grandfather's direction. But let's be real. Blood or no blood, if I want to think I'm thinking like an Indian when I'm working out how to alert people to this extinction problem, I don't think I will insult any Indians by hoping I am one. I met a white guy once who told me he had been adopted.

Perhaps though, it is just as good to be what I am and admit that blood has little to do with what your heart tells you to do. I could just as well be Chinese. After all, there are similarities with Chinese and Indians.

"What's that? Are you going to tell us about them walking over the top of the world?"

"No, I was going to mention doesn't matter what I am or anyone else is, we all depend on air."

"Stick to your comic adventure with your silly fantasies."


_bunnies top_


Okay Laetitia, here's the angle. It might have to be tuned down a little. Or up. We'll see.

After the sun had left the sky and darkness brought it's cold darkness, the Indian came in with some wood and built a fire.

"Where the fuck you get wood in a desert?"

"From dried out fuckin' trees."

"Sorry."

"Don't interrupt."

"Go on."

He sat and stared at the fire. Barbaralba went to him and put her breast in his face.

"Lick them please!"

"Fuck off, she did not do that!"

"Why not?"

"She ain't daft. The guy just spent 8 or 10 hours in the desert last time she showed him her tits."

"Good point. Try again. I won't fuck around until his tragic story."

"Thanks."

Barbaralba sat beside the Indian and stretched her leg out to the fire.

"You changed my dressing."

"There wasn't much left of the last one."

"Thanks."

"If you allow, I will have a look at it."

"Please."

"That's nice, and I suppose her blanket falls away and the guy jumps at
her neck and bites into it, turning her into his immortal sex slave."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Sorry, go on."

Laetitia, no worries, I'm just taking artistic liberties. I'll get to the story strait off.

"What's that."

"A paste out of some roots."

"Indian secrets."

"No secrets."

He got up and put a kettle of water on the fire. They watched in silence for it to boil. He threw some leave in.

"What's that?"

"Tea, would you like some?"

"Sure. I just thought it was some magic potent for my leg."

"Your leg needs no magic potent. I will clean it and wrap it again. Other than that, let it heal."

"That's no great magic."

"Maybe not, but it is a wonder that your body is capable of doing such a thing as heal itself. That's magic enough."

Barbaralba wanted to say something personal but couldn't find the words. The Indian smiled at her and gave her some tea.

"I will tell you my story now."

"Thanks," she said taking the tea.

My mother was queen of her tribe. It was no great honor, her grandmother's grandmother was also a queen of the same great tribe and a drunken child raping soldier wore her vagina lips on her hat."

"Hold on, you ain't saying that sort of shit, the Indians and soldiers will want your nuts."

"I told you to shut up. That's just taking a bit of history and dropping it into the story. I'm not good at fiction so I have to use history books."

"I'd like to know what history books has soldiers doing that sort of thing."

"Any history book written or told by a survivor of any massacre. That's war."

"But not American soldiers."

"Yes, now shut up."

The Indian poured some hot tea on a cloth and cleaned Barbaralba's wound.

"Up until 500 years ago, we lived here without the European immigrants. We were many different people. We were also warriors and fought and killed. But whatever our short comings, we respected the land."

This was no news to Barbaralba.

"But you have heard about that. Perhaps you don't beleive me when I say we greeted the invaders with open arms and helped them through some of their first years here."

"Can we get a hand on a thigh or something? A little kiss?"

"Shut up."

"I won't tell you the story of the Indian. It is a sad story as is mine. My mother was raped by a Nazi and so I'm a bastard half-breed."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Oh, it's the tea."

"What's the tea."

"A little - "

"Nope! Try again."

"Okay, how ‘bout this:"

"My parents traveled to a demonstration when I was due to be born. Indians were trying to save some last remaining Virgin forest on Vancouver Island."

"That's in Canada."

"My Father had fought in the courts and with the press and used up every sent of the family's money to try to wake up the white man to his madness. Nothing made a difference. Even in Canada, money is the only thing that matters and the environment hasn't a hope in hell."

"But Canada is only wilderness."

"It is a chemical waist land with a few new tree farms."

"I never thought is was that bad."

"My father chained himself high up in a mammoth tree."

"They didn't cut it down?"

"They cut the whole virgin forest down and put 10,000 years of history on ships and sent the wood as cheep raw material to Japan and who knows where."

"And your father is dead."

"His spirit is dead. He was put in jail for failing to follow court orders.
They took him by helicopter, still chained to the top of the tree that they cut out from under him and flew him to a prison where they tortured him until they broke his spirit."

"No, you are talking the 1900's."

"Greed crosses all boarders, even time."

"Okay Steve, that's enough."

"And his mom?"

"I'm getting to her."

"And my mom became a prostitute in Los Vegas so she could bring up a child on her own."

"Are you shitting me here?"

"No, that's the slant. Two extremely different backgrounds, thrown together by chance and circumstance, bridge the hate of the ages to work together to save the world."

"A bit too much all at once, isn't it?"

"It's a comic."

"Okay, go ahead."

"What's your name."

"Adolf."

"I don't believe you."

"I have no name."

"You have to have a name."

"Here in the desert one doesn't need a name."

"You can't stay in the desert."

"I can stay here until I die."

"If you stay here, you will die. They will kill you."

The Indian didn't have to ask who. He knew she told him no lies. He could have hated her for being white and he could have hated her for bringing an end to his sanctuary but he only thought to love her because she could not lie to him.

Barbaralba wasn't sure what she noticed in the Indian in the moment that he thought that but she knew she was in love with this strange man.

"Well that's fuckin' lovely. Just tickitybo."

"Shut up, it's a comic."

"Well make the light of the full moon come over the horizon and blast through the door that blows open in the wind and an alligator walks in and says, "Good day Mates. You're about to get et."

"Nope."

Laetitia. It's a bit chaotic here but I think we got a few of the parameters worked out. We'll do something with the model not telling her name and they both make new names and take off in the Indian's car to grab a burger and a Frosty.


_:bunnie stop:_


Laetitia, here we are at the end of the second book of your letter. I hope you have read it at least as fast as I wrote it. I may not try to convince you to love me some much in the next 3 books. I want you to want that without me telling you why and how come. Truth is, there are others who could offer you more. I don't really know what you are looking for. And I don't mean to scare you or offend you with this letter.

I'm a writer, still fairly unknown, but only due to circumstance and chance. I write better than Ron L. Hubbard, which ain't hard to do, and he has a religions following. I don't want a religious following. I want to piss people off. Wake them up. Anything. I'm not really here to entertain. I'm here to raise a little hell.

No need to worry about me. I will survive with or without you and I in no way want to manipulate your mind so that you are deluded into thinking I'm the greatest man on Earth.

"Yes you do."

I just want you to believe I'm the man who will gladly take all of the love he can get and will try to do the same in return.

I would try some other method to win your love if I thought there was one that has a chance. But like the Indian and Barbaralba or the two in Castle City, we are worlds apart.

I can't become like you, I mean, I can't be a super sex model, even if I am super sexy. I haven't the patience for it. And I hate the big lie.

I don't want to save you from it either. You are smart enough to figure out what you want. I have to write you this letter because I'm a dreamer and you are the central part of the dream. I've thought about you often after seeing the way you looked. Not just that you are beautiful, but how you looked at the camera. It is different than any other looking and I want it need it have to have you look at me and know you love me.


_bunnie stop_



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. laetitia_casta_part_01



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