Letter to Laetitia:
Past the middle point.
casta_part_05
A nice line from Kurt Jr.:
‘Each person has to answer that question for himself-‘ said Wirtanen. (funny name for an American spy.) ‘Generally speaking, espionage offers each spy a opportunity to go crazy in a way he finds irresistible.’
And I have to agree fully. I sometimes think I’d like to be an agent. And admittedly, it would be so I wouldn’t have to give a fuck. Just solve problems. What’s the difference if I kill the enemy, whoever they might be, or someone else kills the enemy, I’m not saving anyone’s life by letting someone else do a job I am best suited for.
As long as I could say no. As long as when they say, ‘So and so must die.’ and I find out that so and so is a six year old girl who plays jazz piano like, shit, I can’t get a jazz piano player in my head, even thought I can see how he looks, he was often even in the studio on Soho in Toronto, Oscar Peterson, and I am told she has to die because she might grow up to be an agent, then I would want to be able to say:
"Look guys, I know you enjoy your mad fucked up game of power. Don’t give me no right and wrong, good and bad, them and us. It is all bullshit and if we start going around killing people because we think we might not like them when they are still kids, that’s too twisted for me. I’d rather do oil tycoons than work for them.
And I jest here a little perhaps, I may not be cut out for the job, but I know the political side seldom matters, both sides are always wrong to various degrees. The Germans were wrong to murder 6 million Jews, the Americans were wrong to murder women and children in Dresden and other places, the Americans were wrong to drop bombs on Japan to kill millions after the war was over. They were wrong to murder millions of Indians, they were wrong to murder women and children in Vietnam.
And they are no more wrong than almost every other nation on this planet. They are not so different than the Nazis except that they have only lost 2 wars, even –
"Two?”
"The one with Canada where we kicked their pansy asses –"
"Hey, those are fight words.”
"That is how fuckin’ stupid people are. No matter where they are from. Either people are fucked or they are fucking mad and we’ll go on being stupid and picking a side to be on to hate those on the other side.”
"And just a reminder. The Nazis were, and still are wrong. Very, extremely, not even in the ball park wrong. Stupid and ignorant. The Americans are not right just because they killed a few of the women and children who were scrapping around for food after years of a fuckin’ bloody war. Fuck off America and wake up.”
"Are you a communist?”
"I am just looking out for my own skin and think America needs to wake up.”
"But you don’t think we should bomb them out.”
"No, just turn the country on its head and kick it in the ass.”
I’m not sure how we got off on this. It’s odd how America scars me now that I’m 7,000 km away rather than 70. I know this is no bloody way to write a love letter. I’m just running low on love. I have had a physical deprivation. And I can’t stop sweating.
I mean, it is 18 degrees when it high comes, and -
_bunnie stop_
You know the old saying, Laetitia, we aren’t getting any younger. Which is about as brilliant a saying as – the fish are swimming in the water. Or someone is at war. I think I read somewhere that in the last 3 thousand years, there might have been 7 or 9 where there wasn’t a war somewhere.
And my guess is the 30 or 80 thousand years that weren’t so well recorded had even more. War is our
"What is it?”
"The thing we like. We crave disaster and death. That’s the thing that makes life worth living. That’s why heaven would be a drag. Just sit around and sing with Jesus all day forever. Aber hallo. Maybe that’s nice if you want to chill for a week or a few years. But after a few million years where no one fucks or dies or gets smashed upside the head, my guess is they would start dreaming of making a planet like ours and play psycho killer ape. Large carnivorous animals to concur. Lands to sail to, nations to murder, young virgins to rape and maim, chocolate to eat, salt on deep fried calamary. Truck stops full of smoke and smelling of coffee. Pumpkin pie with ice cream. Vanilla with the black bits in. Mosquitoes to squish on the wall. TV.
Toasted peanut butter and honey sandwich in the woods in the wintertime. Toasted on the open fire. Camping on top of a mountain. Building bridges to join countries. World wars. Disease.
Jello, yellow. Large buxom blondes burning bras in basement of bunker.
Suddenly, a monster pops out of the wall and gobbles his leg off.
"Stop, that’s my leg.”
_bunnie stop_
There’s another saying that came to mind as I had a 15 minute sit down on the balcony and listened to the rain: ‘Better dead than red.’ Somewhat arrogant actually. Sayings are interesting. There can be much meaning lacking in them and truth so hidden that is can not be found.
But to be perfectly honest, if I was born and raised in a communist land and all that I know and everyone I loved was raise in this communist land and someone said: ‘Better dead than red.’, I may not believe that particular someone. I may even believe that particular someone to be a raving lunitic.
If someone said, ‘It is more interesting to have the freedom to read, write and say what you want’, I’d have to agree. Thing is, most people don’t have much to say, haven’t the time or interest to read and see no point in writing anything down. It hardly matters then. All that most people want is a higher standard of living and some friends.
And what’s that got to do with anything? I don’t know. I’m saving up some brilliant thought for the last book of this letter.
I don’t propose any rights or wrongs. Hitler might have been a hero had he won the war. He couldn’t win though. No one who burns people, books and art will ever be the winner of anything. Perhaps a successful dictator but that is nothing. That’s just a pathetic ego, something like what the Christians depict as god. Someone who has taken power and demands worship. With enough worship, one might believe, or a god might believe, they are as great as they think they are and right.
"I am the boss, I dictate, you love and adore me or I kill you.”
"You are a yellow bellied, scum sucking, festering open wound not worth the space you consume, ass.”
A whole land telling Caesar he’s a great guy.
"Are you happy being a slave to Caesar?”
"Oh yes, I have cable TV.”
Alas, this is a tired subject and we hammered at it long enough. Let’s try a few little stories or poems for comic relief.
Once upon a time there were 3 barons. They each had a wife and children and many under paid, overworked, poorly housed, unskilled foreign laborers to make them, the baron families, pretty comfortable.
There lands where so extensive that they couldn’t be pissed to think about each other.
"Daddy, I heard that in the kingdom of Schweinebacke they have bla bla bla.”
Of course it didn’t matter what it was, just that they had it all to themselves.
So they made an army, went down to the kingdom of Schweinebacke and fucked them over.
And they lived happily ever after.
"No the didn’t.”
"This is my story, your write your own.”
"If it stops you from writing dribble. First of all, you forget we are writing a love letter.”
"No I didn’t.”
"Second of all, we are tired of hearing about troubles.”
"No we ain’t.”
"How about Goldieduck and the three fish?”
"And the three fish!”
"Ya, and Goldieduck meets the three fish on a Sunday afternoon in the park.”
"Hey Duck, what’s up?”
"The sky is up.”
"No, your ass is up. The sky is above.”
"However.”
"Did you have a good week?”
"A bit hectic.”
"Off on business?”
"Ya, was in Summit Valley at an international webbed foot conference.”
"Did you get laid?”
"Did I get laid? I was there on business.”
"Monkey business?”
"Monkeys don’t have webbed feet.”
"Some above surface creatures that don’t sit around in the water talking to fish, don’t want webbed feet.”
"And if you don’t want webbed feet, you don’t have to have them?”
"If you don’t have to have them you don’t need to want them.”
"That’s a silly story.”
"Better than 3 barons.”
"I could have easily put in love stories to make it a more dynamic war.”
"It was a massacre.”
"War, massacre, what’s the difference?”
A bullet zipped quietly ahead of its sound, through the cool morning air toward the duck’s quacking head.
"Did you fart?”
"No, I’m blowing bubbles out my ass, ha ha ha,” the duck laughed his head off.
"Is that where the saying comes from,” one fish asked the other.
"What saying?”
"He laughed his fuckin’ head off.”
"Wait a minute, you’re bring the duck and fish in again. Do you think it’s a big event or what?”
"Your goose is cooked.”
"Stop international drug trade, grow pot in your home.”
"And get the black market people up your ass.”
"Let them grow cake.”
"Rice.”
The sun rose slowly over the rice fields, then the US soldiers raped the children.
"No the didn’t.”
"It’s a story. They always make people look like monsters so they can go kill them.”
"But the US soldiers are just doing their job.”
"Go yea into all the world and take your flag with you.”
"Put a flag over her head and fuck her for your country.”
To be fair, murder, rape, genocide, torture, greed, hate, and sheep fucking all existed before TV. Sure TV fucks up and drains the viewers minds and kids are more vile and vicious then when I was a kid, but if we didn’t want blood and guts, we wouldn’t need it. Or didn’t need it, we might be smart enough to know we don’t want it.
But as long as people read Stephen King or fuck me, Joanne B. Washington, they might as well get a little violence on TV. Just don’t show an erect cunt or a wet cock.
In fact, there are over 6 billion eating and shitting soft skinned slaves to dictators of madness, be it shopping mall or the politics of power, who are about to chew their way through the planet. Teach them hate and war so we can get i back under a million.
Then, the world might have a chance.
"What are you going off on now?”
"Bite me.”
Slowly, water dripped onto his skull.
"What we got here, one of those silly torture things form China.”
"We are going to kill you very slowly.”
"If that’s how you get your kicks.”
"You won’t find it funny when we start sticking needles dipped in red hot chilly peppers into your penis.”
"No, I thought it much funnier when your wife was licking peanut butter off my dick.”
"You are only going to make it hard on yourself if you don’t mind your manners.”
"Mind my manners, should I put on a fuckin’ tie as well? Where’d your twelve year-old daughter learn to fuck like she does? I thought she’d wear my dick out. Now that I think of it, when I’m dead, send her my cock, she said she liked it much better than yours.”
"Take his toes off first.”
"I advise against that.”
"Do you sometimes think you got out of the wrong side of the bed?”
"If you cut a chicken’s head off while...”
Anyway, back to My Three Fish.
"Hey, I got a great steak.”
"How can you afford it?”
"It was free, just floating in the water.”
"There has to be a hook.”
So anyhow, three piranhas go into a bar and hide in the urinals.
"They did not.”
_bunnie stop_
Just one more word before I lay down my head, as I try to imagine what now should be said.
Jesus, God, Peter Pan, Red Lobsters are dead; paying the bills has got me in the red.
_bunnie stop_
Not really a kids poem, more just an educational poem.
Hans and Jörg went up the hill
to sit upon the grass.
Hans greased up his hole
Jörg fucked him up the ass.
"That’s really nice. Perhaps we could have a little less pornography.”
"Okay, something for American television.”
"Main stream is always good,”
Ab and Dave went to the store
to get a pack of gum.
A red neck KKK Baptist Pope
killed them with his gun.
"Yes. Let’s keep it clean for America.”
Holly and Forrest went to the show
to watch the latest flick.
Forrest fingered Holly’s snatch
Holly pulled out Forrest’ dick.
"But there is sex again.”
"Everyone’s mother is into sex. What’s the big deal?”
"We don’t want to be contraband in America.”
"Yes we do.”
"Read him his rights.”
"You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say will be used against you.”
"Excuse me.”
"You have two minutes to make your peace with god.”
Meanwhile, back in Pencilvainya, teachers were going on strike for bigger weapons and armored podiums. SNAFU university for underwater basket weaving and espionage reported losing 460 students and 43 teachers last week when shooting broke out at the hospital after a preseason soccer game.
Now the weather.
Rain.
_bunnie stop_
Just a word, my love, before I go buy another empty book. I don’t claim to know much. I understand a few things and can see a few things but am as likely as the next guy to be wrong about it. Until the end of 1999 I write only what I feel like writing. I am not supporting any movements or belief systems.
Other than that, I’m disappointed a little in the Indian but somehow the event was so cut and dry that I hardly reacted and that was when I was 24.
I had one math course to do to get my Architectural Technology diploma. I was living with Brian, my twisted mind friend. Most of my friends had twisted minds. Most of them still do. I can’t tell you why.
Anyhow. I picked up three ‘cool guys’ on a Friday afternoon. One guy was a big Indian motherfucker. He sat in front proud as an Indian warrior. He didn’t look at me. I knew I had nothing to say. There was no point. My point was to drive to where he said and be a good white boy.
Pulling into the driveway of a boarded up house, the three got out and left. They thought they were pretty cool with their case of beer and a free taxi ride. Free because the white boy had no way to make the three big strong men, fighting men, pay if they didn’t want to.
Pretty fuckin’ cool guys. Most cab drivers made about 6 dollars an hour then. It was like steeling from the poor.
Pretty fuckin’ pathetic for an Indian warrior and his two goons.
I like to rave about the Indian spirit some times. But let’s be realistic about it. Being Indian doesn’t give you Indian spirit. Just as much as not being Indian means you don’t have it. The thing is, if you call yourself an Indian, think about what you want that to mean.
_bunnie stop_
As soon as the book dries, I’ll start #5 and with that be done this love monologue.
If you have really read this far, you have already decided to love me. I’d still like it if you read the fifth book before you contact me. We’ve waited this long, Laetitia, another day of two won’t kill you.
_bunnie stop_
I prefer to write without lines but it’s usually a big deal to find a book with nothing in it. They always want more money. To take the lines out.
But for Book 5 it had to be done. I had to cover the cover as well because it was ugly as shit.
I got the impression today when shopping for a couple empty books, that 98% of what is available to buy in department stores is bullshit. Everything is done up in some kind of pulp culture. There is no finding simplicity. And that could be what I hate about shopping. I used to like it more on Queen St or in London Ontario. You could find second hand stored, army surplus stores, small sores that specialized in things that look like they were made to fill a purpose other than to sell as much shit as possible. Good Will used to be my favorite store. There was no biting pop culture. Just exactly what was there. Mostly trash from earlier –
Oh, this is the last page. On to Book 5.
by
read on. 2ba_john_rah_01
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