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


laetitia_casta_part_05

We're having pen trouble. My most favorite is empty. Maybe tomorrow I buy a refill, and a Birthday card for Brian now that he's, is he 40? Holy shit. The big 40. I've got a year to go. Funny, I don't feel like it. A little right now because I went for a run today after not running for a few months.

I'd tell you about the last book I read but I don't want to start being a book reporter. It was called, "A White Merc with Fins." Now I can't remember the author's name but I loved his writing. Fresh and bitter.

And today I have nothing to say. I try read. Will it be the book in German or the bloody huge one in English. Hard core Science fiction. I used to read more Science Fiction but can't do the same thing all the time.

We haven't talked about Barbaralba lately. Laetitia, it won't be tonight as August turns into September and the summer passes away and do I go to Canada or not. I can decide on Thursday.

I could go and just sit at my parents for a few weeks. But then there is Toronto and London and Brantford. But I somehow don't see it actualizing.


-_bunnie stop_


Y2K is what they call it now. Year 2000 doesn't cut it I guess so they gave it a nice name. Like all the other end of the world predictions, I think this one won't go either. As much as we may want world disaster so we can have a good news show, this one will also fade with time. I've got it half planned to be in a small village in the mountains of Italy. If it works how I'd like it, I'll be up in a hut with a wood stove, two or three friends, likely one big black dog, maybe a deck of cards, a book, and a clear head. I won't get piss drunk, I see no point in it if I don't even like it.

I mean why do things I don't like just to try to have some fun.

I had a chat with Wiebke today. Once a month seems about enough to visit her at the bar she works in until she finishes university that she won't finish because she has no interest in the whole thing. Which is fair enough. I can say it is nice to have a stamp. I have one from Fanshawe College of Applied Arts and Sciences. It helped a little with getting my last job and perhaps the last job, even though the company was pointless and might still be, at least woke me up to the possibilities of Internet.

And I got a refill for my pen. Two. They sell two in a package. One is good for a year or 3 if one writes every day but sure, why not 2. One never knows. Perhaps the world does end and there will be no more refills and I can write until 2006 with the ink I have.

Perhaps ink will be so scarce that a refill will bring me big money on the black market.


_bunnie stop:_


Even though I have enough ink to write for ages, I have too much trouble with my heart. It is aching to love and be loved. On days like today I could almost pack it in, go back home and marry the girl in my hometown. But there is no home town. This is as much my hometown as anywhere else would be now. Sad. But now that I've realized how fuckin' sad I am today, I feel better and will eat a bite now.


_bunnie stop_+


I can't sleep one little bit. The whole day I was half asleep and when I came to bed I was upward to 2 and now I've slid into being bloody well super wide awake. Part of my problem is that I think I have to do Steve's World News and I think for the first few unofficial one's I'll be the cameraman and the host. I'll likely get Richy to help me and then the production of it will have to be done by whoever has the time to do it.

And the thing is, I think I'll really enjoy doing it and likely will be very famous from it but I'll try not blow it up too big and make it more down on the streets. First round in the streets of Saarbrücken.

The town where LaFontaine lives and collects 15,000 marks a month to stay out of politics.

For 15,000 a month, I might avoid politics as well.

It isn't really even my idea. I mean Steve's World Report, as I think we'll call it, just seams what has to be. Thorsten wanted me to be a talk host on a German Radio. Underground likely.

"Underground sonic maybe."

And Konrad did a screen test and Richy thinks the way I go off, I should go off and he'd play some cords to back me up. And I mean, I've had the model training, have performed a little with trumpet, was getting the high school excited about Jose Wombat being president back in the eighties, there are enough things pointing to the fact that I have to do something to let myself out. What better way than to give some people a chance to report to how they see it.

"Here we are live, well it was as we do it, in Saarbrücken..."

I would first take you a little through the city. Laetitia, do you want to do some with me. You could help me with Paris and London where as London Ontario would be my show. Toronto and Halifax as well.

That's it, I'll interview people in their cities. Interview scientist, rock
stars, street bums, religious leaders and fuck, I should do the Maria
Scheinung on Saturday. I'll have to borrow a camera and be very
careful what I say.

"Steve's world Report."

"You can't report here, this is holy shit!"

"What, I come from Canada to get mother Mary on video and some
Germany Camera man says I ain't aposta!"

I'd have to be very serious. Whispering always.

"The three nuns have left the souvenir booth and moved to the chapel. Here outside we will have to wait. Last week Mary came and said "Mary Magdolina ist Mutter vor Deutschland."

"That's pretty fuckin' nice of her, the old whore coming back from the dead after 2,000 years to pop in and see 3 cracked up nuns in a chapel in a small town in the Saarland. I'll funkin' buy that."

"But I couldn't say that. I'd not want to offend people. I am reporting. Not commenting. I'll have to be careful to keep comments to myself.

"You people are one sorry lot," I won't say as I ask how many Mother Mary buttons the church has sold this week.

I'd have to send Markus in undercover. He could talk Saarlandish with them. Or Heike could flash a shy smile.

"We have contact, Mary is here with Jesus."

The crowds is silent except for chronic coughing.

"Well, what the fuck they say this time!"

"Kill him, he said fuck."

"What, it was a superlative, I didn't say who should fuck who you bunch of fuck ups."

"Oh, well just watch it."

"Jesus said he's king of Saarland."

"He's not allowed to be king of Saarland. He's bloody well not even from Germany and likely only speaks French and Hebrew."

"Why French."

"That's where he lived out his life of exile after the crucifixion fake."

"Are you sure you want to be here, in the middle of all these Catholics."

"Are you going to kill me for being a non-believer."

"Your name is Stephen."


_bunnie stop_


Why is it that when I am dead tired and would really like to go to sleep and I lay in bed and read for an hour until my eyes fall shut and I turn out the lights I become wide fuckin' awake.

In a month I'll be getting up before 7:00 5 days a week. That's exactly 2 hours sleep per night. Maybe that's enough.

I'd really like to put my head on your belly, feel your hand on my face or in my hair and hear you tell me something. A story.

And I want love. Everything seems so completely pointless without love. If I thought I would never love again, I may not want to go on. It's not that I can't get used to sleeping alone or being alone, I do that well and most of my life. At least the going to bed alone thing. I see friends most every day.

I'm brain dead. I had it going to fast and it crashed.

Part of my problem is how I look at things. I have to look through everyone to see what they are feeling. There is too much pain. It
seems all a mad farce.


_bunnei sotp_


As is usual, today, at least after 3:00 was up hill. I may even be
somewhat pleased and at ease. Of course I'd still feel better knowing I have your love. I hunger for nothing the way I hunger for that part of me that can only be when someone gives it to me. I'll give it all back, it's just gotta be feed in. It's like putting a log on the fire that is running very low on fuel. Like a fish swimming in a bowl of old water and being dropped into the lake of love, lined with sunflowers attracting the bugs that fall into the water for the fish to eat and the sun shining on a dinner plate.

Or it could be, I mean if you weren't too busy. I'll even take the odd love letter if you have to be off or want to be doing your thing.

And listen up my love, I'm a good man. You don't find many like me.
When you get to know me you'll be glad I -

Lost the train of thought. Or was it a bus.

I think the Nigeria Raping of the land and the terrorism of a particular oil company will fit nicely into the Barbaralba story. We can borrow on facts, leave the name of what one finds on the back of a crab out, keep it fiction of course and perhaps stir up a few idle minds.

There are enough idle minds wanting to be stirred up. No reason not to do a little stirring from the dark side, the underside, the side with no power or money who can easily be shot or hung like they do it. Like it is done. Oh, our planet, right now, so that one is afraid to stand up and say,

"Hey, how come you are killing the planet and murdering the people on it just to have another waist land to support your insatiable lust for power, power, control, power, money and power."

"Fuck off, die!" says the oilman.

"And there I am with a mother fuckin' bullet in my head."

"Better than not saying it and suffocating."

"True enough, so let's make it clear."

Here it is clear: Oil companies, as well as other large concerns, tend to rape the land, poison the land, water and air, lie about their conduct as they murder innocent citizens who point out their crimes against the planet as well as humanity and own the government and use terrorism and genocide to meet their ends. The ends in no way whatsoever justify these means.

My challenge to you bastards asshole murders and destroyers of our planet is to fuckin' wake up, don't even bother killing me, I'm not the only one who knows, be responsible for your actions you ignorant apes of blind greed. You horrible monsters of death who are not even fit to be called human. You have to work fuckin' hard to regain the right to be called human. An animal of such destructive recklessness is a dreadful insult on the evolution of the elements. You are lower than scum on the floor of an uncleaned public toilet after Octoberfest.

"Octoberfest?"

"I couldn't think of anything."

"How about the sewage that is laying in a radioactive 3 mile island for the last 20 years."

"All righty."

"Do we take it to print now."

"Let me have my 40th and if possible, I'd like to see Canada one more time."

Laetitia, you are too lovely for me, I don't pretend to deny it, I still want you to love me. It'll be good for you. After you've worked that out, you will be able to do anything.

"Say good nigh, Dick."

"Good night, Dick."

"That was before Laetitia's time."

"Oh, sorry."

Pop culture. The death of a Planet.


-bunnie stop_


I was just thinking of something very clever on my way back from seeing Thorston. As usual, we went off about music and internet and the marriage of the two and on this vain until I came home hours later and had such an excellent thought. Not about Internet or something, it was more of a maxim where one stated the obvious somehow. For example, though this wasn't it, ah yes it was a super obvious example as I came to the street with the most traffic. At rush hour you have no choice but to wait until it's green. But at 19:30 there is a chance you get over before it's green. I noticed how I didn't look at the light after first seeing it red. After that I just looked at the cars. They were the real things I would have to concern myself with. I know one can wait till it is green then go but that only works if you know that a law is a reality. A man made law isn't. There is no chance of getting hit by a car if you don't cross when a car is coming. That is a law of physics. The man made law says, green go red stop. If you go and someone misjudged the red light. You could be dead. Dead because you have trusted a man made law to guide you.

This is really quite obvious to most people but some people still don't look at the cars, they follow the lead of someone going on the green. They can only be reprimanded by physical law. Dead. I go in circles.

And of course, the man made law can only cost you money if you are unlucky enough to personally offend a police man, or woman in so doing. Even most police people aren't that dumb.

But try it on a bike, the danger rises. They might be so dumb as to think they need to teach you a lesson. No impossible. They can not be so idiotish. It is obvious they just want to earn money for their club and demonstrate to a citizen that we are indeed in the Roman Empire and if we don't like you and you don't kiss our asses, then we make you pay.

To me that seems pretty fuckin' obvious. But what can anyone do about it. Can you try explaining to a policeman that he is demonstrating his insecurities by over compensating with the use of beating what actually is a fellow citizen. First he would understand you, then he'd say he has no time for intellectual conversation. The Law is the Law, he will say, like a Jehovah witness.

"I fuckin' know the law is the law, it just so happens that some laws are police state terrorism and the assault one takes on clearness of mind when he has to try to understand reality and how to survive in it while these law maniacs going around telling you what you see isn't real. We have our own law."

"Fuck me. That's a big lie!"

"Don't get excited."

"Okay, okay, law and order sure, it's good to have in a society. What is not good are laws that lie about reality. Red and Green are nice laws but they are not real."

"Point made, next topic."

"Okay, sure, but first a pasta sauce."


_bunnie stop_


Okay, it just has to cook 2 hours. Or one. But back shortly to the lights. In Ontario and other parts of the world, I'm sure, one can turn right on a red light. It is legal. Here it isn't; here you are a criminal. In Venezuela or Napoli, red means watch to see where you can fit in, not even wait till no one is coming. But the father north you go, the more the law of man bla bla bla, forget the lights just remember not all laws are made for our good, some are used to control us with fear. the law can be extremely wrong and still be carried out by people enjoying showing their power. A power that is not real, it has no physical reality, they are only winning at a game they have made, the law enforcers as most of the they here, what was it. They win a game you don't even want to play.

"Go away Mr. Police man. I don't want to play your game now."

"If you need our help you want us."

"Efuckin'sackly. You aren't quite as fuckin' stupid as I thought. Here I thought you were a certified idiot but now I know that you understand that I only want to hear from you when I need you, otherwise we can meet for a coffee but this ticket game and stuff, get real, it's a joke right.

The you get a fine for back lip and that's ten times more than the original. So we don't do that.

You never know what will happen when someone rings the doorbell. It was the house lady patrol helpful and sweet and anyway, there is a wet floor in the basement. She doesn't know why. Neither do I. I mean it could be from me but it would be the same since the last 2 years. Perhaps, since the work men have just did something in the bathroom of the apartment under me that maybe something wasn't quite correctly done, can happen. But who knows, they aren't home. And the mystery of it all is that there are two mattresses that no one will own up to. Obviously left there by someone who moved out. Didn't feel like dealing with them. I can understand that, the Lady can't because she likes everyone, that she should, the people in this house are all right on, as they say, and so no one could have left them, no one would do such a thing.

Perhaps you think this a little banal. I do as well. But if I was the last one, and I'm the Auslander with different ways and it can't be anyone else, it must be me. I'm not sure if she believed me that they aren't mine. I mean, she can think what she wants, but I would wonder if she thought I would own up to the mattresses.

"Are those your mattresses."

"No."

"There are two Mattresses in the basement and no one has put them there and you are the last one."

"Next time I'll go second."

"Where, what?"

"Then someone must have brought them in from outside."

"Excuse me. Are you telling the options are either they are mine or someone broke into the house to leave two old mattresses?"

"Everyone else said they didn't do it."

"Well, someone must have left them when they moved out."

"Herr Smith, Herr Miller?"

"Wei§ ich nicht! Fuck. I never saw the goddam things in my life. I've been in the cellar once in the last year but listen up then shut up. If you want them out on the street, let me know, I'll take out."

"Good, I can't do it."

"No worries."

"But it certainly is puzzling."

"Well, I hope you don't bust a nut about it, we can handle the situation."

"Yah, I'm going to go think it over."

"You do that and don't let me know what you decide."

"Good night."

"Ya, thanks for the diversion, I'll go write a fuckin' pointless story about it then wonder why the fuck am I going on about this particular assault on the reality question."


_bunnie stop…_


Showing off. We like to tell other people what we know. I do most of it here on paper. It's a bit of cheating, I can listen while the others tell me what they know and if they don't care what I know it doesn't matter to me, I'll write it down and someone can read it later if they want. Perhaps I go for a little round on my bike. Do the Ice Cafe and maybe the Anna.

"You're going to do Anna."

"Anna is a bar or cafe or something."

"Just so."

"See you."


_bunnie stoppl_


Barbaralba is a name with many a's. I've got the story plan well in my head. If I can keep it looking like fiction, I may not end up dead with a mother fuckin' bullet in my head. Barbaralba is the only daughter of a mother fuckin rich and goddam fuckin' powerful oil tycoon. Most of his money made in over seas development such as our Nigeria story.

The thing is; I have to get many people to help me. Which I seem to be good at the last little while. Part of the reason because money has stayed out of the question.

But that story will be told later once it is in full swing.

I'm a -

No like this, the alba is becoming an orchestra. Markus and I grounded the concept. He waves his stick around at the front and I play the tympanies at the back. In case you don't know how a symphony orchestra works. The tympani conducts the orchestra from the back. The left hand of the conductor. The best music is made when conductor and tympani work well together.

The building we play in is almost ready. The promotion will follow directly, the sound man has the wires laid.

"There's no wires in an orchestra."

"In this one, we play a different song."

And the fish are swimming in the sea and I really just want to smoke a joint and look at a tree.


_bunnie stop_


Should we finish book 3 with a song?

There's a hole in the bucket
dear Lysa dear Lysa
There's a hole in the bucket
dear Lysa a hole.
Well fix it dear Henry
and on it goes in this vain, Henry asks with what, Lysa says straw, the straw is too long, so cut it, with what, and the poor bastard can't figure anything out for himself and I don't know why we learn such a retarded song if it isn't to tell us we are retarded.

We had an idiot test last Thursday. Today is Sunday. 2+2 and connect the dots and stuff. A typical IQ test. I like tests though.

Fantasy. I may start liking that more. Probably, I'd rather be in love. I don't usually take too much fantasy because it hurts my head.

I like the reality of books.

"And movie?"

"Ya, anything."

"As long as it isn't real."

What I wanted to go on about was something to do with.

At least I thought it did.

Virtual reality.

And Jesus.

Laetitia, we won't pull any great endings out of the blue for this book. Alas, the letter is now 3/5's to the end of the writing, typing out on that as well, but I likely won't do that this year. I'll find a reason not to.

This is sort of like masturbating. I mean it's all right to masturbate, at least I hope so, but

"But what?"

"I can't get it to make sense here."

Words inflame temperament, JM, I kicked a car. Not on purpose, but my toe hurts.

I want you madly in love with me Laetitia.

Mir sag ich nicht.


_bunnie stop_


by Joanne B. Washington

read on. casta_part_01



© 2001 | the jose wombat project webmaster@josewombat.com