Letter to Laetitia:
Pop Culture, The Death of a Planet.


laetitia_casta_part_01

Book 3

I had a Brilliant Title for the But failed to Write it Down

How about:

Pop Culture, The Death of a Planet.

instead?


Should we name the books here? Did you want to. Decide if there were any points that mattered enough to be a title. All I could think of was Laetitia I love you. Book 1 Laetitia I Love you Book 2 and then here we start the 3rd and I can't think of anything else.

Maybe I mentioned about my letters. I started my first letter when I was wondering why Franny didn't want to Love me. Francisca was a magical woman. That was around 8 years ago I started that one. I actually meant it as a letter but knew I couldn't send it. It was more just for me to grow up a little.

The second letter was to a friend. I don't know where she is now. The third letter that I interrupted at the end of the second book is to Eva. She's my princess. She allowed me to be a friend and big brother.

I sort of want to believe they are worth publishing for their study on human nature. Mine of course but I'm a good model. Model citizen tells all his worries and thoughts.

I've got a new way of making fried rice. I mean new to me. It comes from cooking for myself so looking to take short cuts.

I chopped up a big mushroom, half a zucchini, big carrot, onion & leek, garlic, ginger, all real, bit of pepper whoops forgot, Something like that, whatever you fancy.

Clean some rice. A coffee mug full, fry, did I say all in a big frying pan. Fry them in order of appearance, then the washed wet rice, oyster sauce, Soya sauce, fry a bit longer. Then two mugs of water. Top on. Need a top. Use a pot top. A plate. A piece of sheet metal. An impermeable force field. Cook till water is gone. Take top off and fry it. Toss it around. Throw in an egg or two. Clap your hands, say, fuck am I hungry here at 10:30. And eat it.

The point is I like gas stoves 6,000 times more than electric stoves and that isn't even considering that gas is almost always cleaner than electricity. That's just reference to where the electricity is made. In the coal plant, the atomic plant or the tree plant, the chicken shit plant, the fish plant, the plant plant plants plants after they have burned the plants at their plant to create heat to run turbines to generate electrical current which the plant plant sends along wires what lose most of it on the way and I better check the rice.

Needs till the end of the next song. So Laetitia. We seem to have no point here to get started on third book. The middle book where if we are going to have any plat we should think of introducing it.

Plot we may have to restrict to Barbaralba attempts. A letter isn't a story. A letter is when someone communicates his or her ideas, dreams and hopes with a friend or loved one or a loved friend or someone you like. Unless you are pissed off and want to write a letter to the person you are pissed off at. I want to write to people I'm not pissed off at though. I can let some of my niceness show. The real me.

I quite often will have a couple pieces of 3 corn toast Brot under the rice. With Turkish spicy oily mashed up sheep's cheese likely out of cows, didn't ask, it's yummy.

I'll come back when I at least think I have something to say. About
Koala bears dying out in Australia or anything else dying out or maybe something being born or a bird flying.


_bunnie stopEC:)=_


Laetitia, if you read the words that all come before here, I'm certain that you have decided to at least be amused by me. Perhaps you smiled a couple times and thought, "I could love this man."

That's good. We're making progress. I'm sure once we are connected on some kind of system, the rest, with a lot of work, will take care of itself.

"Roger. Ready for take out."

"Houston. It's a bloody go. We did it. We connected our first fully automatic advertising machine. All communications will soon be free, all you have to do is give your finger prints, your eye scan and receive a small chip which can read the signal so that you can hear and see the advertisement that best passes to your current activity.

"Yes, you are shitting, shitting on the Klo. We've got some news, thought you should know."

Beautiful women appears wiping her ass with a white cat.

"Our toilet paper is softer than a cat."
"Our toilet paper makes you glad you shat."

"Did you get every bit
Put some Bob's baby oil on it."

"You want the woman to want your cock.
Use Locker Room Smell, stink like a jock."

"You want your lips sitting on a tit.
Brush your teeth with whitie white fit."

And you're not even out of the bathroom. Of course your details allow that if you are a woman, they show other ads.

"Well well, you had a cock in your slit."
"Chemical warfare dusch makes it ready for the next."

"Hey, it's Friday and your getting in you car.
Take Harry's cab so you can go to the bar."

"We just saw you again playing with your dick.
Come to Holly's Whore house and get it licked."

"Steve."

"What?"

"We get the idea."

"Yes of course."

The point made with this tedious example is that such a thing could get on your nerves after a while.

I think we thought of making this into some kind of a story. We may even work it into Barbaralba. She and the Indian can go out in space and blow Îem all up.


_bunnie stop_


I've started reading a book. I haven't for a while. I want to just read until I go back to school. There has to be a balance. The book I'm reading isn't brilliant but it's well worked out and she does make you connected to the character. I know who I want to have what happen to and so on. Like poetic justice says.

I got 3 novels. The two in English are 500 pages and the one in German is 200 or something and I'm sure I wont like the one in German because I can get may more words in in English. But alas. 2 to 1 is fair. And let's face it. I should learn the language I use here.

Ich meine, klarr kann ich das ein bissien sprechen, aber es wir geil sein wann ich dass ein wenig schreiben künte. I know ‘wann' is wrong, it should mean when not ‘wann'. Otherwise, it might make sense.

But wouldn't it be cool, a bit show off like, if I could write an article in German. And the different language may allow me a different style.

Imagine writing different kinds of books in different languages and having someone else translate them so you can read ‘em in English.

What I like is to read something in German that was written by a German. Not that the translators here aren't good, they tend to be extremely good, it's just reading something in it's original language is a complete different story. And if that ain't enough to make me learn 12 languages next week, I don't know how I'm going to get on with German.

Sorry. Just realized I had nothing on my mind really. Just wanted to let you know I'm reloading.

Don't tell anyone, I may want to use a female pseudonym one day.

Or I might not.

Or, I might with Barbaralba. But that'd be silly. If I was writing, na, forget everything except that it's cool to read books in their original language. Maybe I'd read Perfœme in French.

But that's almost a bad memory, well, only because it was so lovely and I don't see it happening soon. Wiebke, I call her that with more respect than ‘the wife'. ‘My wife' always sounds so crass. I never called her that when we were together. Anyhow, she read me that book. Said it was necessary for my head.

Would you find it perverted if I thought I'd like to have someone I was in love with, read it to me in French?

I hope not. I love having the beautiful woman beside me who'll love and loves me, read me a novel.

You can choose. Maybe Sartre, he's fuckin' cheesy for hanging out in bed.

Shit. I think I've a nut loose. It rattles when I move my head.

Good night.


_bunnie stop_


Laetitia: It's end of May now and I'm typing this out and putting it online. There is a blank page here in my book, your letter. I'm sitting in the office. Markus just left. I'll leave soon after I type in one or two more pages. Our big bird is looking better and better. More people are coming to use us. It won't be long till it all goes mad.

I still want you to get this letter. I still believe you might even read it. I know you will eventually find out it's here. The time of being secret is over.

The world wants what we have to offer. The next, I'll just say,
jOwjOsmOs, project will make your programmers scratch their heads and wonder if they couldn't have done something like it. No worries. We're here for you. And I'm still here for you and soon it will all be off the wall.

Back to the past now. Not far though.


_bunnie stop_


It's Friday Morning and I just woke. I'm taking the liberty to get up when I want and read 6 hours or more a day. I like extremes. When I do something, I'd rather do it excessively for a week or month or year and then focus a little more on something else. I don't know if that's true but it sounds like it.

Thing is, some things are pointless if they are done obsessively. Not everything has to be done obsessively but I like it when I'm obsessive.

Don't I? Taking on projects perhaps. But that's how I learned it. It was necessary in grade 13 and in coffege. What? College. I didn't even drink coffee then. I started coffee after college in foreign lands.

I don't think it has much at all in Canada and don't drink much of it still, too crazy that drug.

But before we stray, in college we always had large projects that demanded large amounts of work. We were warned. 30 hours of classes, twice as much as full time university, and forget it if you don't do at least s much home work. Semesters were 4 months long and the last month when everyone realized they hadn't done enough work and there was no way to get it all done, then it was the best. School from 08:00 till 22:30, we, some liked to stay there to work, and a few more hours at home. For projects that absolutely in no way mattered.

Except for one most important thing which I thank them for, and that is, some projects demand much work and you have to forget about other things while you are doing them.

That is the best thing to learn. Or be born the most beautiful woman in the world and be good at it.

But let me tell you, Laetitia, you will tire of it. You will one day wonder why bother and want to take on a project. At least I hope so.

And I don't know why I go on like that, I wanted to tell you about
Mauro and Alan and their ranting on in Italian and me trying to fuckin' understand. But not now. I gotta get to the computer today.

Till later, my hope for and love of pure oneness of beauty. Do yourself a favor and take on a project. Learn acting, for example, don't let ‘em make you look like a dumb chick with great tits.

Study something you always wanted to do. Get hungry for something as often as you can. And figure out how you are going to approach me and assure me that you really want to love me.


_bunnie stop:_


I have no intention of boasting about other Canadian writers so that you believe Canadian writers tend to be brilliant so that I can turn around and tell you I'm Canadian. The thing is. I've read most of Margaret Atwood's novels and can't find any evidence to suggest that she isn't a brilliant writer. And she has a definite Canadian style. She would likely be brilliant if she was from anywhere else and no more or less brilliant if she was a man.

I don't want to dwell on the fact that she is a woman because frankly, it doesn't matter if she is a woman or even a feminist, which I don't really believe she is and if she is I don't give a fuck, she is simply a brilliant writer. I know some men don't read her because either they don't read, or they think she is a feminist. I don't see it and I've read it all carefully, slowly every word like I read every book and there is nothing in her writing that distracts from her brilliance.

Margaret Atwood, in my opinion, isn't really a fiction writer. Her books are sold as fiction because people like to have the option to see all the stories as not real but I'm convinced that writers show brilliance when they explain it how they see it.

Margaret Atwood has taken a good look at it. She obviously has a brilliant mind and wants desperately to try to make her view point clear. She is a master at it and every time I read another one of her books, "alias grace" this time, I am reminded once again that she is one of my favorite authors, regardless of sex and nationality.

If I get around to giving awards out, I'll send one to Margaret Atwood and call it, ‘The life long brilliant writers Award.'

I suppose this is no critique on a book but to give a critique on
Margaret Atwood's book would be like trying to explain to some one the pope is Catholic. Either they know it of they don't.


_bunnie stop==(:á=


MA "His father was self-made, but his mother was constructed by others, and such edifices are notoriously fragile."


_bunnie stop_á=


Of course the question who's mad has been asked enough but I find it a little funny that people will go to great lengths to get a cat in the house. I don't mind if a cat comes for a visit, I won't clime any trees with meat between my teeth to get them to come inside with me.

This isn't meant as philosophical banter about how we make deals and perform our communication and manipulation techniques, I'm sitting reading "alias grace" on the balcony and there is a man in the back yard yelling to his wife or girlfriend in another yard, telling her to get the Wurst. He doesn't mean his either. He means, get a piece of meat so I can get this goddamn cat out of the tree and back in the house where it is safe out of harms way. I understand this concern, but I don't agree with it. At least for cats. Dogs sure, they depend on it as a pack animal, at least in the city, but a cat is a cat for fuck's sake. It belongs in the goddamn trees.

Of course, I won't mention that the fellow may be enjoying his time pretending to be concerned about the cat while he is chatting up the three women sitting out on the balcony, happy to meet his acquaintance and not in such a panic to see him get his cat and go.

That would only create problems for men who liked to save cats from the dangers of outside to please their partner to whom they are completely dedicated. If one happens to talk to someone on a quest to save a cat, there's no big trouble if you just happened to accidentally say hello to someone for an hour or two.

I still don't want a cat though. I like cats, I just don't want to have one.


_:bunnie stop_`á


In the last 19 hours, I have spoken two words, "Danke, chao". I'm wondering how long a person could go without speaking. And I don't mean because they can't speak.

I suppose the whole thing is over when you pick up the phone or meat someone you know. And I wouldn't even suggest that lengths of silence are necessarily good but it is different than bantering.

Sometimes a change is as good as a rest, they say. But nothing like rest when you want a rest.


_bunnie stop_:



by Joanne B. Washington

read on. laetitia_casta_part_02



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