Letter to Laetitia:
Past the middle point.
casta_part_04
In the article about the American war machine getting into biological warfare it was mentioned that they would only destroy crops upon request of the country. If that isn’t dark ages politics, I would like to know what it is. We’ve seen it in Bangladesh, a country without hope. The American, big fuckin’ nice guys they are, told them they couldn’t support them financially if they condoned marijuana. So they burned down the crops and the country has been devastated by floods and land slides because there were no hemp plants to hold the ground in place.
Thanks a funkin’ lot guys.
And thanks for cutting down the Amazon rain forest to grow hamburgers. Hopefully, if you have time between developing supersonic space traveling destroyer flying death planes and biochemical, biological and chemical weapons, you can develop an oxygen making machine, an ozone making machine, a radiation eating mold, an anti-virus to all your biological weapons, an anti-anti-virus to kill the mutated anti-virus that has infectected all plant life, a water cleaning machine, a toxin eating virus to clean up the lifeless soil. A food simulation machine to feed the starving billions, and a sorry machine that apologizes to all humans in all languages around the world.
"Sorry, we fucked up a little. If you have another planet to go to, we suggest you go there as soon as possible. We regret any inconveniences our ignorant assumption that we had God on our side might have caused.”
Or, "Well, the world will be dead a few million years ahead of schedule, there are still a few shopping day left”
Or, "Due to lack of food supply, you will have to donate all citizens weighing over 40 kilos to the national food bank federation.”
"Sorry, women and children first.”
Actually Laetitia, I was just wondering why I believe I love you. I don’t remember what caused me to develop such madness. Could you give me any suggestions as to what I should do?
Is this a curable condition?
_bunnie stop_
It’s a big childish game.
"Let’s play, I’m the President and you are my people.”
"Okay, pleased to meet you mister President.”
"First, a few rules, we have to make some things illegal because we want to control you and keep you in a state of terrorized paranoia.”
"Ya, that sounds fun.”
"Here is a list of 10,000 things that are illegal.”
"Smoking marijuana is illegal?”
"Yes but you can use addictive drugs like coffee, alcohol and nicotine.”
"How do you decide which drugs are legal and which ones are illegal.”
"It’s mostly a business question. The war machine needs people addicted to drugs that enhance their nerocies and paranoia.”
"Is nerocies a word?”
"Stop asking me so many bloody questions. All you need to know is when I’m the boss, I make the rules. When you are the boss you can make up the rules.”
"We can’t come to a mutual decision?”
"No. Democracy died when the Indians were all quarantined into their more than big enough prisons.”
"Those reservation things.”
"Reservation is a nice word isn’t it.”
"Much better than, we killed most of you off, if you stay here and shut up we won’t kill the rest of you.”
"Definitely.”
"How do I become and Indian? That would be even a nicer game. Then I could have the fun of laws that are full of shit telling me how I’m to live my life on what used to be my own land.”
"And if you want, I can tie you up and kick you in the cunt.”
"And kill my mother.”
"And rape the land and poison it.”
"Tie it up with fences.”
"Blow the whole goddam thing up and be done with it.”
"Yes, let’s play complete mad fucking insane killer apes trying to have a consciousness and blow up the world with great technology.”
"We are the coolest.”
"Like a post nuclear disaster snow storm.”
_bunnie stop_
A writer, which I’m allowing myself to call myself lately, after over 20 years of believing that if I wrote enough I’d become one, isn’t quite suitable to fit in. A writer has to fit into the not fitting in stereo type and fit in enough so he can take part in some of the social times and in my case, do things to make money until the next round of unemployment.
There’s no way to justify it. A writer may write one hour a day and get nothing else achieved the rest of the day. This can look like not caring, especially if that writer spends hours unreachable, staring at a wall or at the sky. Lost in thought. That is no life to be married to. I know if now that I’ve tried it. My wife accepted that I wrote but she couldn’t accept this seeming aloofness that could be not caring mixed with loneliness. How can you be lonely if you are with your wife?
Lonely is a state of mind as well as a condition. Usually it can be countered with friends, but ultimately, one is alone. And knowing this can make being with someone all the time, somewhat stressful. There has to be a balance so that reality is reflected in one’s life, even if reality is that all I want to do is stare at the wall and wait to see what happens.
Perhaps, Laetitia will ring the bell, and say, "Behold, I stand at you door and knock, won’t you let me in?”
"Ya, cone in, but don’t stay too long and don’t stay away too long.”
To be honest, I would not kick you out.
_bunnie stop_
Grausam. If I could spell some German words, I could drop a few in. Aber ich habe Angst dass es kein sin geben werden. There are some famous ones people use. I never knew any of them. Blitzkrieg, Kampfgeist, Blumenkohl, Wasserhahn, ficken, bumbsen, blassen, alles auf dem Rassen. Or something. Whatever. I’ll stick to English.
Alas, the utterance of his cry fell upon deaf ears. The audience was all Chinese.
That’s the thing with computers. It all has to be redone. somehow the 1’s and 0’s have to be simpler translated. There has to be more interface, more two way contact, the thing has to be built in our heads, we have to connect all our brains onto a central data bank that is constantly at our disposal and constantly gathering information that it gets from the action of the unused parts of the brain from billions of humans. Perhaps animals can be wired up to calculate simple equations. The database would, in no time, become smarter than God. We’ll create new worlds.
Or at least some pretty cool adds for TV.
_bunnie stop_
I think when the time comes where we don’t have much of a choice and everyone has one, someone will have to have the courage to say, ‘no, I don’t think I want a chip in my brain.’ These people will be called various names: old fashioned, slow heads, outsiders, freaks, radicals, anarchists, mad, dangerous, savages, and whatever.
But someone will have to do it. Free thinking underground. They will have to be given the job of monitoring behavior and shooting amok – whatever.
_bunnie stop_
Libraries are cool places. If they have various places to sit and some hidden quiet places, they are super cool. The architecture for the Saarbrücken library is a little not quite there. That’s why I can’t find inspiration to give you a cute little diddy.
They finished cleaning and repairing the Rathaus after only 5 years. It’s a pretty nice town. don’t know if it is a town one goes to visit but it’s nice to live in it. I’ve lived here almost as long as my home town.
I don’t really have a hometown. The hometown idea is foreign to me. I wasn’t even 7 when we left Halifax. I grew up in London but would never and could never go back there. It scares me. It’s one of those kind of cities owned by a couple of families and they own the free press so there is no free press and I get the feeling there is something fucked about the city.
Toronto, well I suppose it’s my favorite place but i don’t belong there anymore.
Once you’re gone, you gotta stay gone, otherwise you’re going back. Going back won’t help. Going to the next place won’t help.
Did I tell you we have streetcars here now. This town is somehow brilliant. Of course there is corruption, there is everywhere, but they manage to keep the city attractive to its inhabitants. Even without money, the city is like a big living room.
Truth is, I’m bored, sad and lonely and won’t be writing anything of literal merit sitting here beside the road looking at the beautiful sky out the window.
I’m out a here.
_bunnie stop_
I actually use my writing to make people shun me.
"What a horrible monster he must be.”
But that truth be known, I’m a nice guy who’s a little jaded from life.
I just thought you should be reminded of that before I tell you this.
"You are a stupid cunt, you’re going to tell her.”
"I wasn’t thinking that.”
"That she looks like when they were passing out brains, she thought they said wings and she said she’d rather have nice tits.”
"No, not so.”
"You wanted to tell her that if she got another brain it would be lonely. Or her breath stinks like a donkey’s ass.”
"What’s up with you?”
"Just not happy.”
"No need to be an ass.”
Okay, no comments on Kurt Vonnegut Jr. tonight. His books aren’t really something you talk about. You read them, feel like you were kicked and life goes on.
I heard from some people that they don’t know who Kurt Vonnegut Jr. is but they know who Michael Schuemacher is. Their world never ceases to amaze me.
"Read any good books lately?”
"What channel do books come on?”
_bunnie stop_
People that go around smashing their selves in the face are not necessarily mad. Maybe just fuckin’ board.
I haven’t quite got to that point. I started with my leg. Just to remind me I’m not dreaming. This of course is no real proof. Perhaps only that the dream is real.
At least I have to assume I’m real. Don’t I. If I can write words on paper and come back days later and see the words that I wrote, then it was me that must have did the doing. I mean that’s easy enough. Decarte wants said that he realized he was real when he had some thinking. This of course is a dangerous hypothesis. ‘I think, therefor I am.’ It doesn’t follow that I am therefor I think. In fact, thinking is a sport done by very few. A chair, for instants, does no thinking but for all intents in purposes, or was it intended purposes, that’s the trouble with prefabricated phrases, they can go in the pants, especially if they are from a different culture, for instants.
"The sine oder nicht sein business please.”
"If you are right, we haven’t had any words from Bill.”
To be or no 2B is a pretty redundant question, for ‘tis pretty fuckin’ obvious that it is, the question is what the fuck we do about it. Weather ‘tis nobbler to swing the arrows on the apron with the flowery pattern or to not wash clothes on Sunday, I mean, my trouble is, I have no beliefs.
Just to be serious for a second, I know life is soon enough over. I like myself too much, even though I know self is a biological trick to keep me wanting to live, to off myself. I’d rather go down fighting. Many people, or most are like that, until the fight gets too ugly. I don’t think I have the nerve to be a terrorist that takes his own life doing an atintant or whatever they are called. He knows his life is pointless, perhaps his death will give him a point. The end point.
I wanted to smash things today. I thought about how it would be nice to just smash the window in the hallway to let out my anger. My anger at nothing. This nothing that i knew was going to take hold of me on this Friday night. I could have went out for a beer and a talk to some people. It wouldn’t have helped. It’s this empty that grabs me and makes me a hopeless blob.
It will go better tomorrow perhaps. I will accept my state of emptiness and go sit somewhere and read or write. Perhaps talk to Wayne or some Jehovahs. I must say I much prefer Wayne. He seems to show up and be and say the things I need to hear. No supper happy stuff. He’s not so happy now either. He wants love.
The Jehovahs don’t respond to me. They have all their answers that they spit out like a computer program. Find a key word and play the program.
"If there was a God, it would be necessary to brutally kill him.”
"I think what you mean is... and then we can live happily ever after in peace on the planet god gave us.”
"What about the fact that the planet will soon be dead.”
"God is all powerful.”
"It would be a fuckin’ lovely thing if he was, especially if he wasn’t a jackass, which most beings are when they have too much power.”
"The lamb and the lion will lay together.”
"Only if one or more of them are dead, you git.”
"We shall live in paradise.”
"You know what, we fucked up paradise when we ate from the tree of knowledge. Gad said, "Oh fuck, now they have tasted knowledge, we’ll have to make them mortal so they don’t take our jobs.”
"For me, it is clear, the God...”
This is the point where I slash his arm with my thumb nail.
"Oh, look, you bleed. Fuck me, I thought you were a goddam program.”
But I will never do it. Not because I think it would be wrong. Perhaps a punch in the face and a smile as if I hadn’t noticed doing it wouldn’t be the best thing for him.
"That wasn’t nice.”
"Yes it was.”
People will read my stuff one day and find it humorous. Funny thing is. I never laugh when I write. Sure, when I reread it on another day. Truth is, I’m just a pathetic scatterbrain and people think that’s funny.
_bunnie stop_
Luckily, Bill Watterson took time out to try to save us from ourselves. Well, I mean he most definitely is one of my favorite philosophers. A thinker and a sage. And I think anyone who has read just a little of Calvin and Hobbes would pick this up. Give Bill an award of right on the point award.
Did you know there are people who don’t even know about Calvin and Hobbes? Can you imagine what life for them must be like?
_bunnie stop_
Get the truck off the road.
_bunnie stop_
The days are getting shorter, the nights fill in the void. I can almost understand the werewolf. I mean, there is no such thing in concrete reality. There are many things not in concrete reality that seem to have a big influence on our lives. To have mad creatures of the night come out on full moon isn’t much more than our slight concrete feeling of the full gravitation and the full brightness...
"Bla bla bla.”
"Oh, were we going to a point that I missed.”
"Just say a full moon sure is beautiful on a clear night.”
"And even if it isn’t full. A few days before and after. It is just so amazingly bright.”
Did you know that my then lovely wife and I got married on a full moon. Even had a midnight walk in the meadow. Love is weird. It’s almost impossible. I mean, the woman is practically a stranger to me now. My mom may still think we might, I don’t know. That doesn’t matter. She likes to believe in no dying love. And I do as well. But love can die.
"And so can fish.”
"Yes, even fluffy bunnies.”
"Everything dies.”
"Everything that lives.”
Which reminds me of this eternal life question. I don’t mean with god in heaven. That isn’t real. What’s real is technology and machines. They may give us, when we build them to do it. They aren’t conscious, at least no yet, eternal –
That’s the question, eternal what? Existence. Not live. Life is something that is mirrored by death. Death is what the condition for a living entity is when that particular living entity bites the big one.
"Kicks the bucket.”
"Goes tits up.”
"Passes away.”
"Is no longer with us.”
"Dead, as in no longer living. That’s what is at the end of a life, death.”
the thins is, it is not impossible to build a machine to support our bodies. for millions of years. We may even see the start of the development of such a machine before we die.
"That would suck, to know you died 10 years to early to live forever.”
I don’t know if it is life though. But i know I would – have a fuck of a hard time deciding but in the end, I’d have to want to go on existing rather than being dead, even though, though I don’t know if that wouldn’t be a wretched few million years.
"Spend 100 years working in the mines of Jupiter and earn 200 million Earth marks and supersol space jumper.”
Which everyone would surely do. And find them selves either, well, a million things can happen in 100 years.
And they will. Until 3 million years later when all the inter and extra galactic wars have been fought and there are three or 30, 6 humanoid, brain controlled machines not blown to hell.
"Where the fuck is hell when gezillions of humans are dead?”
"There is no heaven and hell. There is only, eventually, when it is all over, these billion year old earthlings can start up a new universe, and go sit out in some corner and play cards.”
It would be nice to be able to live for ever, or somewhere close to it, funny thing is, most of don’t know what the fuck to do for 80 years without being told and entertained.
What do you wonder about when you look at a bright moon?
When you don’t think anything, that’s usually the best.
_bunnie stop_
by Joanne B. Washington
read on. casta_part_05
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