REPETITION
Two sides to
The never ending story -
I am unable to let end
-OF
A well educated, upper class,
POLISH PRINCESS,
A real Beauty,
and that of
an uneducated, low class,
unintelligent,Canadian derelict.
A Frog!
Follow the journey of these two in poetry and prose.
Much of, is from the perception /perspective of the Frog.
The Princess has provided very little information.
THE PRINCESS and THE FROG - November 2006
THE PRINCESS Nov 2008
The Frog and LINDA an Ex. 1969 / 73- Pic. 2009
THE FROG and DAUGHTER MELANIE, Dec 2009
The frog and
Daughter Mandy, December 2004
THE FROG and Daughter GAIL, August 2009
THE PRINCESS DEC 2008/Last Photograph
Chapter 1
Introduction to a hopeful beginning
Taken from a letter written to Joyce Knapp,-
a friend of forty years - on July 15th/16th of 2006-pages 12 through 18- after
the first meeting with the Princess, which ended a five year period of no
contact, because of an incident, for which she claims no part in creating, that
made her hate the Frog, with a passion for those five years .
What is to follow will be in it's
original text, errors, warts and all, - that tell a story." Had a beautiful - maybe promising - day
yesterday. Met up with a neighbor on the path, along the river, as I was
heading home. Talked with her a couple of months ago, as we both where heading
home from that same path . She invited me to turn around and walk with her as
she walked her two poodles. and so I retraced my foot steps with pleasure,
conversation and with her and her dogs until we did an about face and headed
back towards home only to bypass the turn off path to home and carry on up the
river and on into one an other's history, philosophy, experiences, beliefs and
playfulness. I had an interest from that first time - but ? Anyway she has much
of what I look for or desire in a woman. She is polite - fits her frame well -
is attractive - inwardly as well - laughs easily - without self consciousness -
and from deep within, seems to have little to no baggage, little to no hang
ups, physically active and during daylight hours, intelligent and worldly, left
Poland during the Communist reign and refugeed to Italy and moved on until
ending up here with her husband and son. Was in business for herself and has
had - like me - bad experiences with relationships, business and so on but most
of all finds no need to make all these negative experiences become the catalyst
for her daily life. What I found most refreshing, exciting and desirable was
her lack of rejection of any of my moves, whether it was stroking her arm in
conversation, catching and holding her from falling as she stepped off the
paved path, accidentally tripping, or just putting my arm around her shoulder
when the conversation lead to that act, or taking her hand - as she talked of
long lasting loves - for a moment. What I also found exciting was that she
responded in kind - touching me on occasion. There is another strong character
trait in this woman who's name - although I have known her by sight and brief
word, because I know her son Mat, and have called on him, on occasion, at her
door, because he still lives with his mother - I do not know, or recall if I
did know, from our first long conversation, and that is she is not a complainer
nor dwells on any negative thing that has befallen her. This I learned from our
conversation, as well as first hand, for I ran into - as we both had come from
shopping and entered the underground parkade, one after the other - her, where
I noticed one of those tenser bandages wrapped around her left ankle.
Apparently she really hurt her ankle when she stepped off the edge of the paved
path and mentioned the excruciating pain she was suffering since. I offered to
carry her groceries - " give me the opportunity to be a gentleman "
to which she replied " I believe you are a gentleman " but would not
accept my offer, saying " I have strong arms ". What does that mean?,
what does that say about this woman ? But what is most interesting, is that she
carried on for quite a distance, as we walked and talked after this accident,
without any sign of pain, at least that was apparent to these eyes, that I have
to admit where focused on hers, her face and not on her feet. It seems - to me
- that I am writing as one who is a hopeless romantic, who sees a potential for
romance in what could be nothing more than the kindness, openness of an
extrovert willing to trade stories and share a few moments of her time and
experiences.
I have to wonder if this is just a replay
of a time when Polly, when Judy, where the catalyst for romantic hope ?
She did - with a remark from me - invite me - sometime - to have a coffee with
her and see her art - does nudes of woman. Of coarse I did the same - invite
for coffee ( as you know Joyce, I do not paint nudes or other objects ) -
showing her my unit from the back yard and giving her my number ( 302 ) . I
think that she may have gathered from our walk and talk that my favorite number
is ( 69 ) .
She guessed my sign, first attempt -
Scorpio - and of coarse equated IT with being very sexual, to which I had to
reply, " very much so am I ", at least was before age took it's toll
". You know Joyce, the old - " spirit willing but the flesh is weak
" scenario .
It seems Joyce, that I have worked and whipped myself into a frenzied state of
hope, dream, desire for what may become nothing more then the fantasy and folly
of this old man looking for a youthful end to his days.
I wonder?, what fate, the grand
design, time will have in store for me, as time unfolds and tells what the
future holds.
In closing this letter Joyce, ( Sunday July 16th 2006 ) I must tell
you that this afternoon was spent with Monica, - the Polish Lady of the above
story - and her two dogs on a walk, talk and at a concert in the park. Good
blues band. All has come to an end this fine day of social intercourse and I
feel that there may be little chance of new beginnings - don't know, just a
feeling .
Anyway my Dear, " CHE SARA SARA
" , and with that in mind I will let time be the force that will bring to
you all that life has laid before these tired old feet and upon these old eyes .
LOVE
Bill .
Chapter 2
Insight ? into the future , for the Frog, with the
Princess.
Taken from a
letter to my friend - THE BEAR, -
of fifty
years, written on August 6th 2006 .
" Moneca, the Polish beauty - more my
style, more to my liking in many respects - I met a few months back and again a
few weeks ago - looked like a promising prospect, but after a few long walks
and long talks and taking me into her home and showing me pieces of her life,
things seemed to have died on the vine and no wine for these lips of mine to
caress. I just can't read her- as throughout my whole life I've been unable to
do with all the women I've been involved with - or understand what she may feel
or think, with regards to a relationship with me, any kind of relationship .
"
Bill .
Chapter 3
Letter
to THE PRINCESS,
August 7th 2006
Monica,... My Dear Monica :
The time has come - it's dawned on me that I must take this
opportunity - for me to sit down and tell you some things that have been
rolling around in my thoughts, like thunder rolls across the Prairies, that
have been on my brain, like the world upon Atlas' back, and so my Dear, a note
of my thoughts and feelings to you .
First of all I want to thank you for sharing a few moments of your time with me
and for letting me in, showing me, telling me of some of the events of your
life that have been an influence, that have gone into making up who and what
you are. Thank you for the insight .
I also want to thank you for inviting me to join you on those three walks and
long talks, they where such a joy for me and a great pleasure to have
experienced .
Thank you for taking me into your home and showing me some of your talents and
your life's experiences - paintings and photos .
Most of all Monica, thank you for being open and nice to me and for the kind
words, of which I can not recall in order to quote, but which in essence meant
- I do believe - that you had no fear of me and that you felt comfortable in my
presence. I hope I did not miss interpret your meaning, your words .
I must tell you Monica, that I did hope there there would be more time with
you. In fact I desired to spend a lot of time with you but alas my Dear, that
time has slipped into that bottomless pit known as a black hole, swallowed up
and never to see the light of day again, lost forever are the experiences that
that time could have given birth to. Still born are those - lost in time's
passing - moments, those potential experiences that my tears have washed from
my dreams of a better day, just like those you did allow me to share with you,
for which I am most grateful for and will cherish - in my memories hoard -
forever and a day .
Well my Dear Monica, so much for my feelings, such as they are, and now on to
the thoughts that have plagued me and my hours since I first met you, first
laid these tired eyes upon your beauty and then had the opportunity for my
third eye to see the beauty within you .
I told you Monica, on a couple of occasions that I do not understand women -
well that is not quite true, for I do understand women / human nature and the
psyche very well ( I do believe ) - at least when it comes to what they think
of or feel for me, I must tell you that I have never been able to know or see
what a woman feels or thinks of me. I hear her words and want to believe, I see
her actions and question ?, why does not her actions represent her words, and
so what ?, is it she is really saying, what does she really mean by her words
and her actions ?, especially when - in my mind - they are conflicting, incongruous
with each other .
And so Moneca, my problem is - and I realize that it is my problem only - do I
want what does not exist for me ?, do I see - in your words - more than what
may just be your friendly nature, does what has gone down with us mean exactly
that ?, - just a few moments of pleasant exchanges, that like the seasons have
fulfilled their time and space, leaving behind their experiences, their essence
for another time and the future of new seasons .
My heart, I wear on my sleeve, and I do let it bleed Monica, and I hope it will
not upset you to greatly, to read, but my soul, my spirit must be freed in
order to relieve the pressures of doubts, of questions that I can only
speculate answers for .
I guess Monica, if I where a brighter man I would be able to read your actions
or should I say lack of action and the true meaning behind your friendliness
and your kind words, but I can't my Dear.
I have left you with an open invitation -" my door is always open to you
" - on a number of occasions, I have left you with my phone number, I have
made it clear - I think, I hope - that you interest me and that I am interested
in getting to know you on a deeper level - away from the shallow plane we have
walked thus far - where souls walk and spirits fly and talk. These things I
have done Monica, and to no avail, for silence is all that comes to my phone
and emptiness is all that enters my door .
I realize Moneca, that the above may be meaningless to or for you and that it
has no relevance in the scheme of things, as far as you are concerned, but for
me Moneca, it says that - although you have been friendly, open and cordial -
you are not really interested in getting to know me any more than you already
do and that my humble abode holds no intrigue or interest for you.
What a person is, is reflected in how he lives and what he surrounds himself
with, has - as I see it - nothing - as far as I go - to engage your curiosity
enough to visit and play in a little social intercourse and enlightenment.
Well my Dear Moneca, enough of my analytical thoughts, about something I really
know nothing about - your feelings, your thoughts, your actions or lack of,
your desires, your dreams, and your life's style - you and why you do or don't
do .
All this is - of coarse - in my head and is my reality and at the same time is
not and has nothing to do with your reality, so please forgive me for my
assumptions, my questions, my wondering and take it not personally, just
realize that it comes from the thoughts, the feelings, the desires, the needs
of a tired, alone old man reaching out for one more adventure before the lights
go dim and the curtain comes down on the last act of this checkered life of
mine .
I can understand Moneca, for I am a man without papers, an uneducated man without
means who can not offer very much, if anything to a woman or a relationship or
a future, except himself and even that is not much, for the best of me has been
spent, been used up and discarded by the way side of life's passage and times
ravages, of woman's vengeance upon man and me .
My door is always open for you to enter Moneca, my phone awaits - as I do -
your call, my arms await - open to comfort, to hold -your essence, even if it
does not go below the surface of a platonic friendship, my spirit awaits
adventures with yours, even if it's just a journey along some dyke, some river
bank, some ocean beach, some mountain path, some movie or some song .
I realize Monica, that all the above is about my dreams, my desires, my needs -
are my questions, concerns, beliefs.
I do wonder ?, what are yours ?
Again Monica, Thank you for all .
Love
BILL .
Chapter 4
Taken from a letter
to Joyce Knapp, dated August 14th 2006
Pages 1 through 5
" My Dear Joyce :
"
Oh yes Joyce, that was a great day - Monica, the walking and the talking and
the possibilities - for me. I had to take a break from writing, for Monica, was
here, has gone to speak with her son, will be back ?, - I do believe. I also
have to say that there have been a few days to since - of the same life - that
I have had the opportunity to indulge myself in and enjoy some positive
vibrations. I love her accent, voice and way of expression. She laughs, - allot
and from deep within - enjoys life and living and has a positive vibration,
aura about her. such a pleasant change from those who have come into my life
over the past fourteen years and filled in some of the empty spaces that
surrounded me .
August 15th
2006
Well
my Dear, Monica, did not come back last night and it starts me to wondering ?,
why ?, , did I question that possibility. This is the second time in less than
twenty four hour that I have deduced , come to a belief that Monica, would be
doing something that there was no earthly reason I should think she would. Last
night I felt she would not be back as my question mark above indicated and
Sunday afternoon, after a long conversation with Nancy, and Doug Dwyer - thank
you Joyce, for giving them my phone number - I went to ask Monica, if she would
like to accompany me, and go into Vancouver and walk down Granville Street,
through Stanly Park and along the sea wall, to end by watching the sun set over
English Bay, but Monica was not at home. My thoughts Joyce, immediately turned
to - she has gone into Vancouver
for the day. Guess what Joyce, last night she told me she spent Sunday in
Vancouver and with the knowledge of these two events Joyce, I am left to wonder
?, what is the connection ?, what is the force that drives me ?, to know what I
shouldn't know, what is in store for me and our tomorrows ? Oh yes Joyce, it
was - " real nice for you "/ me / " the touching and all "
-especially with the reciprocation - " with a response. " - of the
physical aspects of our adventure, never mind the conversation. That's right
Joyce, I did not know, get or even ask her name but that came a week later - as
I was helping her get a seal connection for a hose - from her kitchen tap - to
her carpet cleaner. I could not believe I remembered it as we parted - sometime
and some conversations later - for it was much earlier, when telling me a story
in which she mentioned her name - never gave it to me directly - ever so
lightly, it stuck, stayed, my recall system worked perfectly - you know my
difficulty with remembering names - and I have never had to search, fumble for
her name, it's right there without ever having to think, it's just as if we
have been tied together by some invisible thread through time and space that
has finally drawn pieces of a tapestry together to complete the picture. Who
knows ?, who can say ?
I
am afraid Joyce, that her son Mat, would not, nor will not be a source of
connection, for he is not the friendly communicative young man I met a few
years back. He seems to be aloof, cold and less friendly then when I first took
him into my home.
No
Joyce, I did not get her " phone number at least " nor do I have it
as of this writing, and yes she did get mine the day I helped her with her
carpet cleaner hose connection. Your hope Joyce, "Hope this lady will
bring you some more delightful conversations and walks " has come to
fruition, become a reality for a few days since my last letter to you and as
stated in the above - page 2 - . And yes Joyce, her ankle " is better
" and has carried her quite well on two other walks and talks we have
taken - one to a concert in the park and another along a dyke in Pitt Meadows -
a couple of weeks ago. I missed out last week and weekend and the weekend
before. And the dogs have been a big part of it all and I think - as of last
Friday afternoon when I stopped and talked with Moneca, on the road - that the
male ( white ) is in love with me, or something, for during the hour at the
roads edge, this mutt sat in my lap as I sat on the front of my car and when
ever I put him down he would be right back, clawing at my crotch until I picked
him up. Mark, - a young man in a wheelchair ( I think I have mentioned him at sometime
) - broke into our conversation and after a while I sat this poodle on his
lap// - because the black female was " picking on the cripple "/ I
jokingly said, much to my regret as I realized on Saturday, may have been a
politically incorrect statement - even in jest - and may have seemed very
insensitive of me and been upsetting for him as well as Moneca, //anyway, no
sooner having done so, the dog is back in my lap. My words haunted me so, until
I went down - after my four hour bath -and apologized to him - Have yet to do
so to Moneca . I was in deep distress over my lack of compassion, my uncouth
mouth, my thoughtless expression.
Page 10
"A pleasant interlude my Dear, took me
away from you for the past couple of hours, an interlude of pure music to fill
a little time with tunes that enlighten, inform, carry me into and away from
myself - another long walk and talk with Moneca, that when comes to an end,
leaves me empty and most uncertain. I will elaborate upon the uncertainty later
on, after I finish answering your letter "
Pages
17,18,19
"
I think I need more than what I am, but I do thank you Joyce, for your - "
all the Best with Moneca ."
After
all that I have written about Moneca, and what I feel, think, desire and all
that we have done and experienced, I have to tell you Joyce, that I am still in
the dark, uncertain as to what may lay ahead for me as I walk the path of pursuit,
of a Rose, that may be protected by many thorns life has caused to grow long
and sharp upon such great stems. When I am with her - in her presence - I feel
and think I see some connection, some hope but then some statements and some
actions of hers kick my ass back to the outside of what I have felt, seen,
heard. Like all the touchy, feely things that have gone on, all the joking and
laughter, all the little girly, sweet acts, that bring me in and then there
comes the coolness with the approach of a hug, the " meet me out in the
parking lot " when I have to walk past her door and then there is the cool
goodbyes - again in the parking lot, then there are the empty spaces, then
there is also - even after talking about it - no phone number given, and then
the most telling statement made - yesterday - when talking about intelligence
and me in particular. She said to me " a girlfriend of mine looks for and
can't find an intelligent man " and added " she would not spend five
minutes with you. " And I have to wonder ?, as she spoke of having come
down from high Polish society, education, connections in high places, to
sacrifices made for her son's future, to being on the bottom rung of this -
Canadian - societies ladder. I just don't know Joyce, and I do wonder ?, am I
nothing more than an ear, a companion to the dogs and for her as she walks the
dogs. She did say, " that first, a friendship was the major play " -
and then maybe" a relationship " , - this is the way she works and I
totally agree with her .
Am
I being groomed for friendship only ?, is there a longer path to walk with her
?, a relationship ? I just do not know Joyce. I guess all I can do is wait and
see if all I am not - educated, smart, intelligent, humorous, well off, tall
dark and handsome, a high class citizen - and I am is enough to capture her
interest, her desire, her heart .
LOVE
Bill .
Chapter 5
In a letter To THE PRINCESS dated August 29th 2006
" My Dear Monica :
I know that I said - upon your request not to - I would not write to you, but as is obvious, I am making a liar out of myself. I am sorry for going back on my word and so to prevent you from having to be embarrassed or upset by my words, my thoughts, my feelings this will be a letter I will never send, a letter for my eyes only. That is, unless you have a change of heart some time down the line, down that road of time's passing .
Thoughts of you , of your life's style, of your dream's direction came at me in waves of sadness and sorrow as you - on Sunday August 27th 2006 - took me on a journey - once again - into the heart of your of your history, the experiences of your life, your desire to be , once again in the arms of those times, I do believe.
I felt my heart aching, sinking, drowning in a light of understanding as a clear vision came to me - through the use of my glasses - as you flashed across your computer screen images that told me of the life you've had been living, a life that - I think - you hang on to in hopes of reaching out and touching it's adventures, it's joys, it's happyness once again .
I missed - the first time you showed me your photos - the joy in your poses, the light in your eyes, the warmth in your smile, the passion from your glow, because I had not brought my glasses. But most of all, I did not see - in your photos - the men - in New York, Vagas, on the Pitt River dyke, Maple Ridge - that may have been the inspiration for all that I saw. Life , I saw this time, clearly through these spectacled old eyes and realized that what was pictured before me, upon your computer screen was life I could never become a part of because I would never be seen by you as worthy .
Oh, if I could only see as clearly, into that which I seem not to fully comprehend - you - I might be able to ease my troubled soul, my aching spirit, my hurting heart from the pain that permeated my hours after I left your home. The portrate you painted, haunted me as I realized - there is no place for the likes of me upon the face of the tapestry you are weaving in this time and place and of the furture you dream of. A canvas awaits your hand,rainbow colours and a brush, dreams fulfilled .
I have come to the conclusion Monica, - that as far as I am concerned - you see none of the colours that lite your fires, that bring to flame your passions, that warm your heart, that melt the walls that I have heard come down between my desire to get to know you and your desire to be cold, distant and aloof - keeping me on the outside of you .
An aching sadness crept into the beating of my heart as I had a look into your life and the men - New York, Las Vagas, Po. Co. - and what you love, and thought they represented for you - intellegent, well educated, a good looking clergy/counselor, etc. etc. - who gave to you, who could give to you, who want to give to you all that - I do believe - you want, that I could only give to you in your dreams, and I do in mine .
As I have written previously Monica, I realize that all these thoughts and feelings expressed, come from deep within my doubts, inabilities, life's circumstances, insecurities that are drifting around on the shallow waters, deep within the recesses of this aged, old brain of mine. And so Monica when you say - as I, in jest, bend knee and ask for your hand - NEVER !, when you said that I would not capture the interest of your intellectual friend for five minutes, when you said NEVER !, NEVER !, NEVER !, to my statement - again in jest ( after you said how relaxing the vibrations from your dog were to you, as he laid beside you in bed ) -well I am a big dog and therefore my vibrations, as I lay beside you, should be a hundred times more relaxing, you said NEVER !, NEVER !, NEVER !, happen. These and many more words of negativaty towards my joking comments, questions, statements, never mind all the physical pushing away from any attempt I have made - except on a couple of occasions - to hug you, to hold you, to touch you, to hold your hand, have left me in a state of fearfulness. Fear that I may say the wrong thing, fear to reach out and touch you, a fear to have any desire or emotions for you, a fear of rejection that I have felt many times, and when you said - " I thought you where going to kiss me " - rejection filled the air. This fear of rejection, built on your words, your actions, all I have felt and heard, such as " never, never, never, to a relationship, to passion, to affection, all rejection and so Monica, when you do let me in, let me touch you, I am BLOWN AWAY, I am left hanging off the keen edge of a knife and don't know which way I will be sliced or on which side of you I will fall, if at all .
So my Dear, as I stumble over all the images that has come out of all our walks, of all our talks, - the sun set in Stanly Park, the stroll through the mean, homeless, drug infested streets of Vancouver's Main and Hasting area, China Town and the canoeing, walking in, and the dunking of the Lady, in the drink ( of Pit Lake's tributary ), as well as the exploring - through the jungle - of a mini falls, hidden between some mountains, and the long treck back - I have been left confused, uncertain and in the dark - as much so today ( this very moment ) as I was the first time we talked - at the west end of Prairie Avenue - in the spring .
And then came July 14th and I was smitten, by you, and surprised by your invitation to join you and your dogs for a walk that turned, my otherwise dull day, into that pot of gold at the end of a beautiful rainbow. I thought of plots, of brighter days, of companionship, of human touch - emotional, physical - of even possibly, LOVE. All my Dear, but the ravings of a helpless romantic, an old fool who has yet to accept the fact that the hand of fate and by his own hand, have closed the doors on such a foolish old mans dreams of happyness with another - YOU !
From these blind eyes Monica, I have seen so many events - could they all have been coincidences ? - that have brought me into your presence. Is it a sign ?, is it fate playing with my head ( being cruel ?), has destiny brought us together or are we just two alone people looking, and each but a temperary gift to lighten the load, to light the road for one another untill your dreams have found their way back to all you hold so dear and desire for and mine drift off into the ether of black hole emptyness where there will be no hope, no future, no intimacy to bring a closeness of soul and heart, no physical connection to sooth the restless spirit, no passionate moments that will bring a hug, a touch, a kiss, no passionate moments holding hands, touching cheeks, eyes, hair, sitting quietly among mother natures gifts - warm nights watching sun's light fade into crimsons, reds, oranges, purples, light shades of blue - as darker becomes the hue that surrounds these two wandering souls, as they - in my imagination and desire - dance among these fading colours, reaching into the depths of each others psyche, heart, soul, spirit and light the fading fires - the setting sun draws from ( on it's journey ) - to worm their days and their nights.
In sightless vission - silence - are these words for their intended . "
This letter did - inspite of - reach it's destination, like it or not.
Love
BILL .
Chapter 6
A Letter To THE PRINCESS
dated September 1st 2006
"Dear Monica :
I awoke this fine B.C. morning to the realization that, I am a man who does not have ?, - am not what it would take to fill the empty spaces of your dreams - so you want to believe. I seem - it seems to me - only to come to light, be a light in your nightmares .
There is no light, no warmth, no respect, no compassion and no passion to come - I do believe - from you to me, as the words I hear, coming out of your mouth , tear at my heart and soul, rip my spirit into withdrawal as I am, made to believe and feel that I am worthless and undesirable - " he is childish, stupid, immature, there is no chance of that ( a relationship ) " as the above words pierce my ears, penetrate the ears of my friend Frank - of Columbus Radio - that I had just introduced you to. Such audaciousness to permeate the atmosphere of Frank's shop with, considering you had just met him, never mind the disrespect you showered on my character .
Thank you Monica, for the interruption of this, my runaway train of thought, thank you for calling me, this day, and confusing my mind, confounding my peaceful existence, for throwing my heart in many directions, to the four winds of uncertainty, but thank you for calling .
And now I must try and put to paper, as above, - before your voice and words threw me and my thoughts back into the quagmire and chaos of uncertainty. The uncertainty Monica, that I have lived with ever since that first day we talked and that day - on July 14th 2006 -when you asked me to join you, and we walked and talked, that day, that set a spark to flame, a flame Monica, that has been blown - hither and thither - by the cruel, harsh winds of futureless dreams and dreams without hope. All poured upon by the cold, hard waters of disappointment, ( disappointment that comes in knowing that you believe - " I am not the man of your dreams, the man you desire, the man who is not of your social status " - and have stated many times. ) . It seems to me that all you want to do is subjugate, even extinguish any fire, flame, dream, wishful thinking, hope that I may harbor.
I have known - yet never want to give up, quit or give in - from the beginning Monica, - as I have written, - in acknowledgement of, - in my notes to you on August 7th and 29th - that I feel you have little to no interest in me as an equal or as a lover and I even have to question your acceptance of my friendship, and have to question your ability to be a friend ?, as I continue to hear you reiterate in harsh, cold, cruel, cutting statements - as you said to Frank, yesterday - " that I will never, and do not have a snowballs chance in hell of ever winning your hand, your heart, your passion, your respect or your love, even if it's just the love for a friend .
What you have read thus far Monica, - ( August 7th - and all that you may never read - August 29th - and maybe even this September 1sts letter ) - has come from my heart, aching as it speaks, from my shattered spirit as it lays it's broken pieces upon these pages, and then you come at me, just blowing me away with your friendliness and I am , once again thrown into the fires of passionate desires for more, even though the scares - from the fires you have used to burn away my dreams, my hopes, companionship beyond a walk, a row, a talk, the melting of pride in order to accommodate - are still so visible and tender .
I am so confused Monica, by your actions and reactions, by your words, by your smile, by your eyes, for they seem to say one thing and project another, they seem to tell two different stories. Some are kindly, friendly and then again they are harsh and cold, some say come, some say go, some are warm and then turn inside out, some are beautiful then they wither - turn to dust - and slip away into the darkness of your psyche .
I know who and what I am Monica, and why, I also know what I am not and what I do not have to offer, but no one will have to be guessing about me. You have said " be yourself " and I am and have been Monica, and all it has done is repel you most of the time, and it scares you ( away ?) from accepting - warts and all ( accidents, expressions, humorous comments, my sense of humor ( such as it is ), my station in life and all the things that I have yet to see, hear, feel, or experience from you that represent your projected images of who and what you believe me to be - this man, who has tried to show you, give to you friendship and love, and to show you who I really am Monica .
I am most confused Monica, by the fact that, with all the negative feelings you have expressed, with regards to me, - stupid, childish, immature, never a relationship, never !, no physical contact, ( hugs kisses, holding or holding of hands, etc), no quality, intimate time together, and the only time we do spend together - surface, superficial - is on walks in public places, during day light hours and never comes the time, those quiet hours when aloneness weighs heavy and takes hold, when loneliness reaches out to touch a light, when the body and the body of one's soul needs a caress, a kiss, a passionate touch to let it know that life needs life to help it make through the blackness of a long, lonely, empty nights, be it the night of one's days or of one's life.
With all the above Monica, why ?, is it that you, from time to time, seem - I think - to want my companionship, and I have to wonder for what purpose do I serve, fulfill your needs or wants .
You know what I think and how feel about you Monica, and there is no doubt, no question as to the depths and sincerity of my love for you, yet it all seems to fall on deaf ears and blind eyes, yet all that I hear and feel from you Monica, about me - not good for one's ego - is negativity - and then I see you showing - from my eyes, my perspective - something opposite, then I feel - as distance lays between - something else .
What do I mean to you Monica, ?, where do I stand with you Monica, ?, what is it that you feel for me ?, about me ?, for I never know from one minute to the next if I am in your good graces or in the dog house or worse in the garbage can . "
LOVE
BILL .
Chapter 7
Dated, some time around September 5th 2006
A card to the Princess. From the Frog.
A picture of a sad faced, apologetic looking Black Bear, - stares out at the Princess with the words .
I just wanted to say . . .
"Monica,"
I'm sorry.
"I realize that the above words hold no significance for you
and are unacceptable, but believe me when I say
that I never would - intentionally ( or otherwise ) -
create a situation that would cause you to be angry -
and upsetting to me."
"LOVE BILL ."
Chapter 8
A Letter To THE PRINCESS,
dated September 8th, 9th, 12th 2006
Dear Moneca :
Another letter to you I may never send, but write I must.
I am torn to shreds Moneca, by all my feelings for and about you, by what I see coming from you, what I hear in some of what you say, and all this has left me in a state of uncertainty - it is very unclear to me, as to what I mean to you ?, if I mean anything at all .
As I look back over the hours we have been in each others company, I have come to feel as if I have been but a grain of sugar, to sweeten - for a moment or two - your cup of lonely / aloneness and now - from what I feel and what I have heard - you no longer have need of me as a sweetenor to lessen the bitterness - the bitter taste that being alone, on your own, lonely brings to your cup of tea / life .
My thoughts Moneca, my feelings are, that your mister Psycho - Priest, has penetrated your resolve to leave him behind - a memory, history - and has slowly broken down your walls so that he may once again know your beauty, your passion. Something Moneca, - I do believe - was but paper thin ( that wall ) and I truly believe that your words ( " I want nothing more to do with him " ) had a very hollow ring to them, as they echoed in my ears, and I believe that they where empty of true meaning .
On more than one occasion Moneca, I have said to you, written to you, that I seem to have the inability to read, to know, to understand just what it is that a woman may or may not feel for me or about me - that is, of coarse, until the games are over and she makes all plane and clear, and shows me just how and what she truly felt and feels, ( likes me ?, dislikes me ?, wants me to be with her ?, or out of her life ?, desires me or not ?, appreciates me ?, has respect for me ? ) and in your case I have to wonder ?, whether I have been, or am but a filler for your empty, and boring, alone and lonely hours, substitute for what has yet to come along, that will meat your expectations, or am I the buffer in the here and now, against that which has become history .
Once again Monica, I have come to the conclusions I have because of my many experiences ( past and present ) , what I have seen and see, what I have heard and hear and from what I feel, and we know Monica, that it all comes ( the contents of my letters ) from inside my head and may have little to no relevance within your perception of reality and outside of my troubled mind. All these thoughts and feeling I have, - and do express - for and about you Monica, seem to ride upon the crests of tsunami waves and in the valleys of troubled waters, and in the turbulence of a stormy sea - but my Dear, that is just me
And so my Dear Monica, until your true and honest feelings for me, about me, flow or blow out from that beautiful mouth of yours, past those sweet lips - I very much desire to caress, to touch, to feel against mine - of yours and tell me - in no uncertain terms, in clear words - just where I stand, where I fit ( if I fit at all ? ) in your scheme of things .
I have come to the realization Monica, - no ! - I have accepted the realization that I am not the man of your dreams, the man in your dreams, and that my dreams, my hopes, my desires are but specks of dust one can see in the rays of sun light, that is, before you have shut the blinds against that light, so that my dust gets absorbed be the darkness and becomes invisible, will never have the opportunity to land and be seen upon the shelves, the books of your life and so will never become a part of, but will simply be blown over, past all the moments of your life and life's experiences. As dust, - my dreams, hopes and my desires are, by your hand , being swiftly ejected from the rays, the streams of light I want you to see by and relegated, injected into the black passage ways, the dark corners, the empty spaces of my life as you breath a sigh, that will send all I have for you, all I feel for you on a distant journey, scattered - by the winds of what you think of me, feel about me, feel for me -into the distant ( four corners of your universe ) space of limbo, there to float - lifeless - for all eternity. There to be lost for all time - as time passes us all by - in your and my memories hoard.
I do believe Monica, that I know you do not see me as, nor desire me to be, the man of your dreams, nor the man in your dreams, and that I am not a man you really desire to be a true friend of, or a meaningful companion for, and that you certainly want not for me to be your lover / boyfriend. I think - in my inability to really know these things ( maybe it's accept and consciously acknowledge ) - I have always known my fate, while in your hands .
I wonder ?, and I think, and I remember, and hope, as I hear lyrics from The Stones, " You may not be with the one you want, but you may be with the one you need ", or something close to these words, and then from Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, " Love the one you’re with ", and know !, that the further down life's road we go the shorter that road becomes and the time remaining will be but a falling star and then gone - burned out ! Knowing all these things Monica, one - at our stage in life's journey ( before change takes hold and what was / is no longer will be / all is lost ) - must take hold of every moment that offers, squeeze every drop of life and passion from it, no matter where one's head may be at, for it is only the heart - the heart of the matter that will carry the light, the joy, and any pleasure offered by the moment into a meaningful passing of time on this plane. We all can offer that light, that joy, that passion, the pleasure that makes a difference to another - no matter what we may feel or think - for a moment, a day, a life time, and each will walk away - by choice, design or fate - knowing, feeling positive about giving from the heart .
I know Monica, - having said and written it many times - that I am not the man, kind of man you seem to want to be with, beyond the depth and times you have allotted me, and I - although I want more from you and have so much more to give to you - accept - reluctantly - my fate / your design in this matter. I know that the man you want to love and be with, reach out to, may never come close enough to your finger tips, so that you may tough the fringes of your desires and your dreams, so that you might - just one more time - come to know the sparks, the flames, the burning desires that your heart, your soul and your body need and want to know .
Thank you Monica, for the momentary dream, - a dream that lingers on in my heart and in my head - for all the good times we have shared, for a touch you have given and accepted, for a laugh or two, for a glimpse into who and what you are and have experienced .
Thank you Monica, for showing me that the path I've walked with you, is all that you will ever allow me to walk .
LOVE
BILL .
This letter was sent, as they all have been .
September 9th 2006
Dearest Monica :
Further to my yesterday's written thoughts, understandings and feelings, I am compelled - because you haunt my every moment, fill my every hour - to write some more, more about all that has already been written, said and felt .
I think - Monica, - that you have contemplated, given great thought to, come to a realization that the path upon which you and I have been walking -I as a man of age - have few, if any, places left that can take us past your thoughts, few adventures that can offer you few and new experiences to explore, for the path - for a man of my age - is much shorter then it was in days long ago, - and much shorter for me then it is for you (you sweet young thing ) - and soon will narrow into a shaft of pure light energy, and then turned off, will be the switch the gave light and life to this old soul, and to this plane I have walked and we have come to know and call home .
And so Monica, it will be - one day my Dear, in the not to distant future for me - wham bam thank you ma'am, and then it will have all slipped away into that gloomy darkness - that most believe and fear - of experiences, seldom recalled having experienced, having shared, having enjoyed for their own sake and so no memory of regrets at not letting go and jumping into the flow of the moment, of life's forces, of not taking what’s before you, what’s at hand, and taking it to the limit one more time, and if not - one more time - at least once before all is said and done .
I know that you know of the big bang theory Monica, and what it did. It took what once was - in striking out at what is - and made it no more - history - then memory of what can never be again. The big bang blew apart present and past in order to bring together all it's pieces - placing them into a melting pot - in order to create a future of one, then separates, spreads out, disperses, moving on and never looking back upon what once was, never touching that place - it's self - again nor feeling, finding, thinking of what else could have been. If only it stopped to experience, to smell the roses without any expectations, and with total abandon reached in and touched, without interjections, prejudice, preconceived notions, judgmental opinions, and just be accepting of the gifts offered and try to enjoy the differences.
The universe - YOUR UNIVERSE - has created it's order and their orders - it seems to me - have no place in them for this renegade, rogue who does not conform to the - perceived - natural order of things. They - the universe, your universe - seem to me to be thrown into a state of ?, that keeps me at bay, keeps me away from becoming a part of, and so my Dear, I guess I must wander among the STAR s, on my own, all a lone, never to know the warmth of - your - their light, the heat of - your - their passion, the comfort of - your - their soul, never to be touched by the compassion of, from - your - their beating heart, and it seems to me that there is no desire, this universe, your universe - a free spirited spirit - might feel or feel for me .
I guess Monica, that all of my verbal / written diarrhea, upon the many, many pages - six that you have received and eighteen that you have asked me not to write, that are at hand should you change your mind, ( and that I may send you anyway ) - that I have written to you, could - if send them I would - show you, enlighten you, say simply that I like your beauty - inside and out -, that I like the little girl in you , that comes to life every once in a while, that is when you let go and let her out, I like the agility with which you carry your self - it's grace -, I love your voice, your accent, your inflections, I love your beautiful green eyes and infectious smile and laughter, your exoticness. The bottom line is - my Dear, - I would like very much to be able to reach deep down into your heart and soul, and you, get to know - on all levels of human and spiritual possibilities . These things I write of and so much more are what I am searching for and would like to experience - that lie behind your closed door .
Futility has been the result of all my efforts, fruitless are the seeds I have planted, barren has become the end results of all my dreams, my wishes, my hopes .
Nothing reciprocal comes from you and I can only guess that it is because, the feelings you have for me, all or most, come from that deep well of negativity you seem to draw all your inspiration, your perception, your ideas of me from .
I am sorry Monica, !, I just do not know how or what you truly feel for or about me - as expressed in all that is before you, and all I have said to you. Fade out !
LOVE
BILL .
September 12th 2006
Monica, my Dear :
These are - at least that is my intention - my last thoughts, ( about you, about me ), feelings, understandings that will appear on paper for eyes to see - mine and maybe even yours .
I have come to realize Monica, that - in all twenty four pages - all I have written about, is about me and my feelings, my perceptions and understandings. I am sorry that I never considered what might lie behind all that I can not understand, with regards to your actions, or lack of, and your endless statements of what you think of me - " childish, stupid, immature, careless, clumsy, thoughtless, etc.,etc., - and of coarse your statements - about any kind of relationship - " never !, never !, never !, and so there is no hope for me to ever have a relationship with you, as far as I can see .
All the above Monica, and what has permeated the previous twenty four pages I have written, has been about me thinking and feeling that ( and with a lot of help from you ) I am not good enough for you, not intelligent enough, funny enough, wealthy enough, worldly enough, or educated enough to meet your standards, your expectations - all of what ( I do believe ) you want in a man that you would want to be intimate with - and so I have come to believe that it is me and not what is within you that has been the brick layer who has built the walls that I feel between us, that surround and protect you from the likes of me, that I have been the forger who has fashioned the suit of armor that keeps you safe from the outside world and keeps you safe - inside - from the prying eyes, minds, feelings, hands and hearts of the outside world, especially me. The armor, the walls keep you from touching, reaching out and from being touched, not letting someone reach in and touch - what I think - is your beautiful soul.
And so Monica, - if it is me, or it is not me - just what was it that has hurt you so ?, broke your heart ?, and steeled it, built the walls I have been knocking my head against, fashioned the armor that seems to prevent you from being the free spirited, fun loving, dancing in the streets, passionate, affectionate woman I have heard you say -" I was, I am, is me " that all I see is words and your words to me are meant to keep me at arms length .
Tell me Monica, am I the man ?, who can open the doors in your walls, cut through your armor in order to set your spirit to flying freeing freely, to open windows in those walls of yours so that your soul may look out at the beauty all around, touch it, or am I the man ?, I see in your eyes and in your words, the man I seem to see and have written of throughout these many days .
What ever the case may be , the out come of all this, may you find your dream, what your heart desires and your soul requires .
LOVE
BILL .
Chapter 9
Poem for The Princess,
September 23rd 2006
A Seldom needed Spice.
Upon a remote shelf - lies in wait a spice
to season the meals of your days and nights.
It seems starvation is the preferred style
that occupies your hours, while this spice,hovers over it's dreams and your time - lost .
Spice is the light and life in one's journey,
and each meal should be sprinkled, bountifully
with the essence of this shelf imprisoned spice,
who - with wild abandon - wants to lay upon
your days, your nights, your hours, his rainbow
coloured flakes,- essences to relieve, to brighten,
to add flavours to your meals - that your palate
may not have ever tasted or has long forgotten.
Spice is the light and life in one's journey,
and not one moment should be lost to eternity.
B.J."A" 2
September 23rd 2006
Chapter 10
Taken from a letter to Joyce Knapp
September 23rd 2006 Pages 2 through 22
" Oh yes Joyce, I do believe so - " Can see you are ennamored with Monica. " - for she walks through my thoughts, my mind for much of my waking hours, and who knows ?, - at this point - maybe she strolls through my deams undetected or unrecognizable, in disguises I have yet to discern. I think so too, " her trips to Vancouver are important " for I do believe they may be related to her investment portfolio. Thank you Joyce, for your hope and best wishes, for my attempts to have some sort of relationship with Monica, the Polish Princess, I am hoping will passionately kiss this old frog - raising him out of the quagmire of his stagnant land of dreams, and the stilled ponds of his daydreams and nightmares. I am still unsure and uncertain about where she is at, as far as I am concerned.
September 24th 2006 page 3
- There was a - " Saturdays walk with Monica, and Carrow, ( the white male ) and Ebony, ( the black bitch ) and an afternoon at English Bay, in Vancouver, with Monica, to day "
September 25th 2006 page 4
" Monica, called because she could not remember a word I had used - as I couldn't at that moment - in giving her a little insight into who and what I once was, during the conversation we where having at the time of our little walk along the beach. In the sixties and seventies vernacular, " I was considered a ball freak " which of coarse, she did not understand and I had to explain the meaning. Well I guess she did not - although understood the rest of my explanation - believe my interpretation and use of the word vernacular. She thought I had invented this word , and of coarse, because I could not recall or recover this word, at her call, just confirmed her belief . "
" Anyway Joyce, I was finally able to recall the word ( vernacular ) and so gave her a call with the dictionary definition, which lead us into hours of conversation, much laughter, and after an afternoon ( four hours ) of same, the night pleasently, happilly, joyfully slipped into the nine o clock movie . "
page 10
" I will fill you in with all the details of, ( " about your new love. " ) Joyce, and where Monica, and I have been and I do believe you are right, ( " I have the feeling she has love somewhere, maybe Van. " ). He is - I do believe - Mr. New york, Psycho Priest ( Patrick, the poet, film maker, Priest, etc, etc. ) that she says she is finished with because of his verbal abuse, - put downs and the like, - his obsession with her, his need to controll, and all this from almost four thousand miles away. Oh yes Joyce, I will savor every tid bit, every morsel of conversation, every moment of our walks, of every touch and hug for as long as it lasts .
page 11
" Once again Joyce, thank you for the positive encouragement and best wishes ( " in your " -my - " present pursuit of this Polish Princess. " ) . " To start again, from where I ended - page 10 - this letter, ( " Mr. New York, Psycho Priest, and where Monica, may be at, even though she says she's not . " ), and why I think you may be right with your assumption, ( " she has lover somewhere " ). - much of her talk - the subject matter - has been about Patrick, and how intelligent he is, how talented he is, how helpful he is, and then turns around, starts talking about how crazy he is, how inconsiderate he is , how much he blames her, puts her down, screams at her, back to his accomplishments, his history and on and on into most days we have spent together. What I hear in her voice is all the heart ache, the pain, the sadness of disappointment ( page 12 ) that has come from her expectation of a man ( Patrick, ) being shattered, and that, comes with to high a price to pay, yet she can't seem to let go, for after shutting shutting him down for a month or two he is back in her life with a vengence, calling her every day - accusing, questioning, putting her down, blaming her for things, hollering at her, calling her a lier etc, etc, and yet she keeps on talking with him. She said that she ( my words ) " shut him down " on Friday, assuming he would not call again. I offered to bet her five dollars that he would call again, she would not take the bet, yet was adamant that he will not call her back. The call last night - mentioned above, about the word vernacular - also brought with it, enlightenment - " Patrick, left an Email " - on her computer, and so I suggested to her that she Email to him my poem to her titled " A Seldom needed Spice. ", - included - and said to her " put his name and your name under the title and Email the complete poem, as written, and wait and see if he is as intellegent as you believe him to be, and wait and see if he will respond, and what kind of responce you will get from him. " She thought that, that was a good plan then rescinded. I then, again, offered a five dollar bet, that he would call by Friday, and if he does, send him the poem and pay me and if he does'nt call collect the five dollars from me and forget to Email the poem and know that you are right and I was wrong. We will see .
I am - in the poem - the Spice, for her - she is the Meals, - to experience, as if you didn't know .
page 13
And so Joyce, the pain I see in her eyes, the tears in her voice, the constrant praise of him , the hurt I feel in the words that she uses to discribe his treatment of her, all tell me that she still wants him, but is so conflicted, between what her head and wisdom know and what her desire and heart want. With all this before me, between us, I am left to wonder ?, where did I, where do I ?, fit in her scheme, and just what do I mean ?, to her .
You where right Joyce, she is honest in most of her statements, direct with what she wants one to know, it was only when she called me last week, and asked me what the word stupid ment, did I come to realize that many word choises she uses do not always represent what she really means to say, and so Joyce, I may not be as stupid as she has said I am. A lot of these negative word choises she uses to express what she feels, she now says do not represent what she means ???, these where the only English words she knew, that she she thought convayed her thoughts and what she ment to say. And you where also right Joyce, with your assumption that her father was a controlling, domineering, disiplinarian, class prejudiced, cold, unyielding, critical, an unpraising man, never complimenting, a man who had to accompany his daughter, Monica, to her university exams, as one example of his controlling powers. And so Joyce, I find less pain in her rejections - verbally or physically - of me, not that knowledge and understanding make it any easier. Incorporated into this personality, Joyce, - being her father's daughter, a represntation of the man - is a woman who - because of all the pain, disappointment and heart ache suffered at the hands of two husbands ( one for a year or so ?, and one for seventeen years ?, ) and one lover for eight years ?, along with the disappoints suffered at the hands of Psycho, New York , Priest, for the past year - is that of a woman has become closed, afraid, indifferent, cautious and add this to the personality traits nurtured, ingrained, inhearited from her father, and so - although life moves on and there is so little of it left to enjoy - her words to me are " be patient " .
( page 14 ) Words that seem to offer, give hope ?, don't you think Joyce, ?
A little something I wrote a week or so ago, when I was hopping to start this letter to you. " I think Monica, (( the beauty who has cracked the skin of my chrysalis, opened the doors of my cocoon in order to let out, set free ( for a moment or two ) the rainbow coloured essences of my soul, my spirit so that they may live and fly - as they lay upon the wings of my dreams, and my hopes - and be able to fly freely for a second or two as they get caught up in the speed of light and gets carrier away as it passes by us in the blink of one's eye, and before that light in the sky becomes lost in and becomes part of a black hole, black as the thoughts of lossing, before ever having had a chance to breath and live. )) could be the woman I would give my all to and love forever more, for all eternity.
These dreams, and hopes of mine, seem to be left on a vine, left to wither and die, turned to dust by a life's experiences, to be blown, upon the winds of indifference, into the far off distances of one's memory, of what once was, could have been, ( one more time ) that may never be seen, shared, felt, experienced, enjoyed - for itself - ever again, to know it's pure joy without strings, without fears, without reservation. The above my Dear Joyce, was the beginning of this letter had I started it back then, when I wrote the above.
page 15 September 26th 2006
" back to the story of this Polish Princess, so critical, so judgmental, so appearance conscious, so hung up, so fearful, so cautious, so fun loving, so girlish, so intelligent, so attractive, so appealing, so fit, so conflicted, so contrary ( contradictory ) in the directions of ?, ( spirit, soul, heart, statements, acts, actions and reactions ) that challenges, yet she is so desired by this old fool, as the breezes, so sweet, carry from her beautiful mouth, gorgeous lips - I have yet to kiss, feel upon mine - the intriguing, exotic songs, sung on the notes of her spine tingling, goose bumping, accent, an accent that send waves of delight throughout my whole universe - mind, body, spirit, heart and soul.
God Joyce, - after reading the above, something I never or seldom ever do - I read like some love sick, love starved, teenager, reaching out to touch the edges of and enter the portals of a first love and first lover.
Anyway Joyce, regardless of what I feel, what I think, what I dream of and desire to be - as is obvious from all the above - I still do not know just where the hell I stand - although I think it is on the out side of any possibilities - with Monica, for I have yet to hear or feel a word of praise, of acceptance, of desire. ( page 16 ) She did - one time - say that I was better looking than her Mr. Psycho, New York, Priest boyfriend, and except for one photo I had seen of him - which lends credence to her statement - all the rest ( from the perspective of these old eyes ) show that he is better looking then me. Of coarse beauty is in the eye of the beholder. At fifty one, he is tall dark and handsome, as well as all the above mentioned characteristics. She did, finally, answer my question - " what do you think of me ?, feel for me ? - with an unqualified " I like you ", yet Joyce, I still have no inkling, no clue as to why, nor do I have any idea what there is about me that she likes. And so Joyce, I hang on tightly to the edges of this black hole, abyss waiting for a speck, a flake, a ray, a beam, a stream of light to grab me by the ass and carry me away from the darkness of my uncertainties, my doubts, my fears that - as she has indicated - I am not, have not and could not ever be the man she wants to see, be a part of her world, her life , beyond - that is - the fringes she has allowed me the privilege to caress and to drink from.
The sad aspects of my thoughts Joyce, are that I am feeling a little de' ja vu here - another Linda, - " I'll call you later, we will go for a walk to morrow " , and like all to morrows, they ( the call, the day ) never come - I have experienced with the Princess . Anyway - and enough is enough - Joyce, I will drink in and savor every moment she is willing to share with me until her cup is empty and she no longer desires my lips, ( page 17 ) my body, my spirit, my soul, my personality, my presence to caress the rim of this cup, that is she .
LOVE
BILL .
Chapter 11
Taken from a 5 page letter to the Princess
October 4th 2006
My Dearest Moneca :
I am truly sorry Moneca, for all that I do and all I want to do, and for all that I say to you, that you say, makes you feel ill at ease, that makes you uncomfortable, that puts you into a space a place you say you do not want to be in . I am not blind Moneca, although it seems that I see not all the signs. I am not deaf Moneca, although it seems that I hear not the truths that lay behind your words, your actions, your reactions . It seems to me my Dear, that what I feel and want to feel has made of me a deaf, dumb, blind old fool. I am truly sorry Moneca, that what is obvious for you - and for anyone who’d care to look - has eluded my consciousness, my powers of observation and has lead me into believing that you might have cared about me, might have cared for me, might have had some small desire for me.Alas my Dear, in light of the reality that you have laid before me, sent jumping out at me and up into my face from time to time, I have come to see, have come to hear, have come to know, - from you - that I have little to nothing, - am not the man of your dreams and desires - that can capture your interest, inspire a desire in you, to want something more with me. I have the distinct impression Moneca, that as far as you are concerned, I am and will be nothing more then a casual acquaintance that you will use to fill all the empty spaces left by the others you'd prefer - that are not available - to accompany you on your little adventures - walks in the park, mother nature, along the ocean's shores, talking/listening, walking your dogs, etc., etc.
I have not come to the conclusions, I have come to Moneca, lightly or frivolously. Over the coarse of our time together, I have seen little or no interest coming from you, I have not heard a word - directly - from you that could be construed as encouragement - " be patient " means what ?, Moneca, just what do those words " be patient " hold/mean for me ?, when a hug, the holding of your hand, arms around you, a parting kiss or a kiss of greeting are almost always avoided, pushed off - with force - , pushed away from any possibility . With no affection, without affection Moneca, for the man you are with, how can he live with, live in what seems to be a fruitless, futureless journey into the land of " be patient ". For if you truly had any kind of positive feelings for this man Moneca, surely there would be some sign and not the road blocks, the detour signs that I have encountered along the roads I have walked with you and on the roads I have travelled in order to get to know you. Had you a desire to know me, - not create the images you have, and believe are me - to understand me, you would have come to that understanding, that knowledge, that wisdom Moneca, by all that has been written in my previous letters and poems to you, that - as I have written before, to you - lay out all my doubts, my beliefs, my observations, my analysis of the events of my life - our times together - that come from years of experiences, and from within my head, and they may have absolutely nothing to do with you or your reality, but I must say/write that all that has come before and all the above Moneca, has come to me from all that I see, all of what I hear and what I feel in my heart. The question for me Moneca, goes back to what I have said and written many times - to you more than once - that question being, why do I have the inability to see, to feel, to know just what it is that a woman - and you in particular - may feel about me, may feel for me . What I do feel Moneca, I do believe, is that you have no real feelings for me and that therefore explains why there is no good reason for you to hug me or let me hug you, to hold my hand or let me hold yours, and no need to put your arms around me nor let me put my arms around you.
Without any real feelings Moneca, there is no need for you to be affectionate with me, nor let me express affection towards you and so Moneca, without any feeling for me, why ?, in heavens have you allowed me - on rare occasions - to caress your cheek, your neck, your luscious lips and other tantalizing parts of your body with these starved and passionate lips of mine. Why ?, -the answer seems very clear to me my Dear, - do you allow these acts of affection, simple that - from my point of view - you do not want to see me, feel me, accept me to be anything more then what you have already allowed me to be with you, and that is nothing more then just a casual acquaintance, not a real friend, not a very good friend, never your lover, never you boyfriend, and so these little acts of affection, you allow in order to keep me in the game, keep me coming .
If by any chance I am right about the things I write Moneca, - and only you know that for sure - I will be no sadder then I am at this very moment or the many I have had to endure during the coarse of this relationship ? Even knowing these things Moneca, will not take away these strange feelings in my gut and the empty feelings I suffer every time we part company. These things you know of, for I have spoken of them on more than a few occasions. Regardless of the truth in these matters Moneca, know that there are just to many things about you that excite me, captivate me, makes me feel good, - even in the face of all the negativity you throw at me - makes me strive to be a better man, the man you think I should be. And so Moneca, know that I will never give up hope, nor the pursuit of you, nor walk away from any opportunity to share some time, some experiences, some adventures, some memories, - no matter how much your actions, your reactions, your words, your lack of feelings for me hurt and tear at my heart .
I would like to think Moneca, that through unbiased, unprejudgadiced eyes you might see a little of me, past all your critical, judgmental, pain ridden, cautious, to high of expectations of man, loss of hope, frame of mind, that blinds you, that prevents you from reaching out from behind your cast iron suit of armor and beyond that mile high wall you have erected and placed between you and I - and surrounded yourself with - so that I might not feel your touch, know your love - even if it is just the love of a friend or that of a fellow humanbeing - or to see you soar high above all that has imprisoned your heart and enfolded your spirit and deadened your soul. I have felt the light from within you Moneca, and even have gotten glimpses of that light from time to time my Dear. I would like nothing better, nothing more then to baskin the glow, and the warmth of your light, have it radiate all over my heart, light the pathways of my soul, and have it fly with my spirit, as they ( your light and my spirit ) soar to the heavens - even heaven on this earth - and as they run the gamut of life's experiences, take that walk down the paths of life, and the roads of fate, and across the planes that they - life and fate - may lay at and before our feet, I would love nothing more then to have all this be a reality for me .
A helpless romantic am I, a day dreamer who - I do believe - has let his aching heart put blinders upon his tired old eyes, so that he might not see, in order to encapsulate the object - you - of his romantic dreams, this he does in order to believe that there just might be one more chance, a last chance to give all that he has had buried, all that he has had locked away in the deep and dark recesses of the closets of his mind and heart for years.
I know your story well Moneca, I have heard it many times ringing in my ears, I have seen it with these eyes of mine, I have felt it deep in my heart and soul, and the pain - I know - that has hardened your heart into a block of steel. I just do not know Moneca, if these are the reasons you use to keep me at arms length. I think not, I think that it is more, I think that it is me, I think that you do not want to see me, feel me, to know me in any fashion beyond that of being a man you want not more from, then superficial contact. A man who will give his all, and live with and accept getting nothing in return. These things I believe Moneca, and know Moneca, that I will fill all your needs and give to you all that I am, all that I have, and I will given it with love and give it freely without any strings attached .
Enough my Dear, for it all hurts me so !, and maybe even you ?
The pain is unbearable at times!
LOVE
BILL .
Chapter 12
A card to the Princess. From the frog.
Dated some time around October 9th 2006
The card is from " The Haida Collection " titled " HAIDA MOON " and is coloured in florescent shades of green and shades of orange with a dark brown boarder, like a picture frame or that of a window frame that fades to lighter shades of brown on the inside edges . What is seen as we look through this window is, a forest scene, set against shades of a beautiful sun set, wrapped around a harvest - " Haida Moon ", that hangs in a star studded sky, with it's face, that of the Haida's impression of the great Bald Eagle, as an Eagle, soaring high in the sky, touches, with the tip of his left wing, the left edge of our " Haida Moon
The Aphorism States
" I just wanted to say ...
Monica ...
Thank you very much.
For all that you have been able to offer me, share with me during the waning days of this beautiful B.C. summer. I will always cherish and remember - Monica.
Thank You !
LOVE BILL .
Chapter 13
Comments and understandings.
From a letter Joyce Knapp wrote,
October 9th 2006
" Got your 22 page letter, spice poem and photos of Monica, and her dogs. She is nice looking woman. Nice dogs too - She looks tall sitting. Is she as tall as you ?
Anyway you are sure " love struck "and no place to go with the feelings as she doesn't seem really very interested in the " I like you " person. No doubt enjoys your times and walks and talks. Also she needs to talk about her New York flame that seems to be still smoldering : not out, in her mind. You will need patience and maybe long wait for this " love of your life " again .
"The character of Monica's ( " priest " ) lover sounds weird. Can't believe she would want an abuser even for a friend, not alone a lover . "
Chapter 14
A letter to the Priness, Dated October 15th 2006
MY Dearest Illusion - Fantasy of my Dream's Desire :
I would like to thank you my Dear Monica, for bringing into my days - for bringing the bright ( brighter than those of our sun ) rays of light that have filled my, and our waning summer days .
Thank You Monica, for sharing with me, your visions, your life, your experiences, all that lay within - the images - the tapestry you have woven for me upon the canvasses of passing time and our time's passing. Thank you for giving to my ears, so that I might hear, and to my eyes, so that I might see what it is that my aching heart feels as it has come to know. Thank You !
I see this tapestry you are weaving Monica, with it's threads fashioned from the very essence of your history - threads dyed with many colours, that so vividly portray your life's experiences, ( past and present ) your thoughts and feelings about then and when and of all the losses, heart aches and all the pain that has and is the guiding forces behind all the visions, dreams and desires that permeate and penetrate every fiber that lay in the patterns that intertwine - like a grape vine that weaves itself throughout the lattice work of some distant trellis - and combine to create the images that go into the making up this tapestry that has been and is being laid before these tired old eyes of mine .
THE TAPESTRY
At it's heart stands this fair haired Lovely, a real Beauty, this Polish Princess, with jaded - Autumn Green - eyes that she often hide from my view, by never looking directly into mine, or hiding them behind her sun glasses. Emerald green eyes that see me not, as a setting upon which to be laid.
As this tale unfold and sweeps across the fabric of time, and this tapestry, we see our Princess, dethroned ( so she believes ) - prestige, possition, social status, all left behind as she escaAs this tale unfold and sweeps As this tale unfold and sweeps across the fabric of time, and this tapestry, we see our Princess, dethroned ( so she believes ) - prestige, position, social status, all left behind as she escaped her home land in order to find a better life, a life that she believes is not available to her in this land ( Canada ) she now calls home. She feels that what was, what she left behind can never be known to her again, never be experienced again, except in her darkest hours and in her dreams of, and in her conversations about her past, that has passed beyond her grasp - possibably, for more upon this plane and in this life time she keeps looking at to provide her with fulfillment of all her expectations. So sad .
As we continue to observe, and our eyes and consciousness travel down and across this tapestry of her history, we find her living alone and abused by life, with her husband and young son as she becomes the care give, the only one they can count on to be their ship of hope and survival. She becomes the strength that will carry them to this new land with all their hopes and dreams, that in a short time, desperation will take hold and the dream becomes her nightmare, the nightmare that our Princess, seems not able to escape.
As we dig into the aftermath of a marriage that has been destructive and self destructive - because of all that the man can not handle as his world falls apart, and the Princesses, belief she can make it better, make it work - we find the Princess, seeking, reaching out for love, hope, intimacy, a relationship that can provide excitement, financial security and a comfortable future, only to find that most would not provide these things for her and after a seven year relationship with a millionaire, who locked her up, in a going no where relationship that finally capsizes, sinks and drowns she has come to the realization that her expectations, desires, dreams, wants and needs may never be met by man.
As we now look carefully into the images of the Princesses story, - further down and across this tapestry of her life - that go into making up some of her recent history, and the here and now, we can see a number of icons that have come into her life that may lead us into a view - delineations that have come into and played with our Princess, over the information super highways, pixels that until a year or so ago were just that, that is until our Princess, fell hard for one of these man-y icons that have come at her and then have gone back to whence they came . To many icons for this story to include in it's telling .
As we approach, come close to the bottom right hand corner of this, now frayed, tattered and threadbare tapestry we find a New York, psycho., ex poet, film maker, priest who walked right out of our Princess's computer screen and captivated, conned her with his Sevegalli, personality, bringing her to a belief in, that was built on make believe ( it was all in her mind ) and this was so destructive for her that it makes it impossible for the likes of a man like me to have any hope of reaching in and touching any piece of her fragile and fractured heart . But then again, maybe our Princess's, life's journey and experiences have very little or absolutely nothing to do with how and what she feels for me and what does not exist within her heart and soul for me .
As we once again, stand back and look into the heart and soul, the spirit of her tapestry, we see all these knights our Princess, thought, believed, felt hoped where, or at least would be of the white and shinning type. We are able to see what she was finally able to understand - they where feeble men, tarnished by their life's journey and life's experiences and their white and shinning armers where but an illusion to cover up all their dark flaws, their tarnished souls, their tattered imperfections, their black hearts. It is most unfortunate that they have become the pigment that colours the paint with which she applies - brushes all over this mans heart and soul with, and believes, percieves me to be the image she has painted, to be as they, those black knights. Am I painted with the same brush as they ?, or is it really ?, all about the fact that I do not fit the mold ?, the image she is looking for ?, could it be all about the fact ?, that I am not a vision of the man in her dreams, can it be ?, that I do not have any of the prerecresits, meet any of her expectation, do not have or am not what she - our Princess, - is looking for in a man that she might be totally free and honest with - regardless . Can what I hear ?, what I see ?, what I feel ?, what I understand ?, along with that which I am not allowed to touch and feel with her, be not about past experiences, but about not wanting any meaningful experiences with me at all, other then those supperficial experiences she allows me to take part in and share, while in her company ? The pictures she has painted, depict for me, and the observer, that she believes, or feels that I have not generated any spark, ignited any flame within her, I am not of the Eddy company nor that of the Bic, I do not light her fire nor do I turn her on. And I have to wonder ?, does what our Princess, project upon this canvas, her perception of me, the pictures she paints of me - an indigent, disabled, uneducated senior, ( I am ) an unintellegent, uncouth, unlovable, unfashionable, brainless, stupid, thoughtless, clumsy, silly, childish, etc., etc. man, ( which I believe I am not ) - a justification ( in her mind ) to avoid any kind of kindness considerateness, respect, affection, desire or even love ?
Am I nothing more - for her - then a once or twice a week companion ?, a filler for her hollow times and empty spaces ?, times when she finds her self alone - and prefers not to be - on her little incursions into mother nature as she takes her dogs for their once, twice, thrice daily walks ?
As we take a final look at this beautiful, but world weary, tattered and torn tapestry - the portrait painted of a Polish Princess, - that our Princess has woven for these eyes and ears of mine, there comes into sight a light that shines a beam upon a tiny space in the lower right corner of this tapestry ( the stories end ) that exposes a fleck, a speck, a colourless, featureless piece of thread that seems to be out of place, to have no place in this portrait sown into the very fiber and fabric of this mind, a portrait that has been woven by the tongue of our Lady Fair, of a tale that depicts the life and times, the experiences, the thoughts and dreams, the nightmares and expectations, the disappointments, the hopelessness of life in this new land she has chosen to be her final resting place .
To continue on the track, upon which the above fleck, speck, colourless, featureless Thread, of thought was travelling.
I Know!- even if the Princess does not want to see - that there is life in this old piece of Thread and that life has been reaching out, reaching up into the light of this Tapestry, this shinning Star, grasping at, reaching for any flake of colour that encompasses it - this tapestry of our Princess, - in hopes that I might be touched by it's rainbow of colours, be given mean- ing, given a place upon the face of this tapestry, given reason to feel I am welcome to permeates it's every fiber, be an image of worth and value in her tapestry, this Thread, trying to integrate itself, wanting to become an integral, positive image in this tapestry of a Polish Princess, no matter how miniscule.
But, alas, maybe this fleck, flake, speck, of featureless, colourless Thread, ( that seems to be out of place - have no place ) was never really seen, nor considered to be, or to become a part of this tapestry in the first place. Maybe It, / Me, was in the wind, and by chance, the seed of, where blown onto this tapestry by the cold, cruel winds of fate ( ever the jokester ). Certainly, and with out doubt, this Thread, arrived on the scene, on wings of love and desire, that by chance ?, luck ?, fate ?, grand design ?, karma ?, cosmic forces ?, choice ?, landed upon the face, the surface of this beautiful piece of Art, and was carried by the forces of hope, into this picture that I believe, I was never meant to be a part of, past that is, of being a piece of thread upon the superficiality of this Art, a momentary piece of diversion to distract and chase away the blues ( you know, those sad songs ), the ghosts of aloneness ( those lonly hours ),and all the demons of a troubled past ( that come into the wee hours of one's life,to haunt their dreams ),and of past experiences ( that become the baggage, that keeps one ever on the run, towards catching that elusive train of avoidance ). As we know, talking out / writing out the things that hurt our souland kill our spirits, this can be cathartic .
Tapestry
Only the creator, of part of this tapestry, can know what is truly in the heart of her picture, and in her heart - the essence of her story, depicted, and only those outsider influences know what they perpetrated into the other parts of this story portrayed, and woven into the very heart of this Tapestry .
The truth is - if anyone can ever really know the truth - there are only " a truth " and the truth lies some where between, one's truth and the other's truth. I only can know what I see, what I hear ( and they say - whom ever they are ? believe nothing of what you hear or read and only half of what you see ), and what I am told, and what I feel, and maybe some times what is intuative in me, but maybe, just maybe all I percieve, with these long worn out senses of mine, is far from her reality, the reality I believe I see on and in the face of this Tapestry.
Unfortuneatly, what I hear, what I see, what I am told, what I feel myDear, is all that I have to go by, to have an understanding of .
So please remember Monica, that all of the above is but an expression of my thoughts and feelings and that they have come to you without mailace, ill will, intent to hurt you, and know in your heart that I could not and would not - ever ! - carry a vendeta against you, or anyone else for that matter. These things are not a part of my nature.
LOVE
BILL .
Chapter 15
Thoughts and experiences expressed in a 24 page letter to Joyce Knapp,
Dated October 17th 2006
" And now to answer your letter from Friday October 6th 2006.
Yes Joyce, Monica, " is nice looking woman " - a very nice and attractive woman, ( great legs, beautiful mouth, love her lips and smile, and the rest of her is just as appealing to these discerning old eyes ) with so much in her package to excite this old fool that - I think ?, - goes around in a state of blindness, or is it ?, denial. Any- way Joyce, I will enjoy every moment she chooses to have me to share with her.
No Joyce, she is not as tall as I. She stands as tall as the heights of my eyes. I do believe you are right Joyce, when you wrote " you are sure love struck " for I am always looking forward to hearing her voice, seeing her, being in her company, and the strangest thing is when we part company I get this churning feeling in my gut and when I get into my apartment, this empty feeling comes over me, a sadness creeps into my heart and I feel a great loss. It is good to know that I am still capable of feeling these feeling Joyce, But I must say that it is a little unnerving Joyce, and that may be because - deep down in my subconscious - I realize that you are right with your " love struck and no place to go with the feelings as she doesn't seem really very interested in the " I like you " person ". You are absolutely correct Joyce, there is " No doubt enjoy your times and talks and walks. " .
There is little doubt in my mind that " Monica, still has a residue of Patrick " - the New York, Psycho, ex Priest - lingering in the background of every emotion she has and hides from, and I have been telling her this for weeks now. She denies this and says it's not about the loss of love, but anger that motivates her monologues about him, anger that I do not hear in her expressions about their relationship, I see no anger, only see and hear the pain, the heart ache, disappointment. I see it in her eyes, I hear it in her voice, I know it by the expression in the stories she tells .
That may be so Joyce, I " will need patience " years worth I do believe, I think as well " maybe long wait for this love of your life " probably a life time Joyce, and maybe not even in this life time, either in a past life or maybe in a future life. Only she has the power to know that for sure, for I certainly do not .
Linda, finally did show up to visit, but now I have to force myself into cloths so that she and me are not tempted to get into a sexual situation, for I am trying to remove sex from the equation that has made up this platonic relationship we have carried on for years. I thought that timing my call to her - to wish her a Happy Birthday - so that I could just leave the message on her answering machine, would keep me on the out side of her life, where I have been for months now, not so, bad timing, so I guess that I - as her friend - will still be lending her an ear, be her leaning post, a shoulder to cry no matter the out come with the Princess Monica.
The Frog & Linda, November 2004
Of coarse Joyce, should things jell - come together - with Monica, I will then have to - in good conscience - make known each to the other, but in the mean time, and until that time comes I need not do or say any thing that would cause Linda, to feel hurt or to suffer pain and heart ache should she feel for me as she has stated in the past.
God Joyce, it seems as though I am complicating my - otherwise - simple life .
Oh yes Joyce, " Monica's, priest " - ex - " lover sounds weird " and that is because he is, as far as I can detect from her descriptions of his life. Deformed at an early age, due to pure nutrition, mentally deformed by a neurotic, fanatically religious mother with - I am sure -sexual hang ups. Wet dreams all over his sheets was cause for - as you can imagine - verbal abuse ( dirty!, get diseases!, go blind!, etc., etc. ) over the possibility of touching himself / masturbation .
Deformed by peers, for being deformed in his appearance, in his walk, in being over weight, short and for wearing glasses. Children can be cruel sometimes! A sick fuck is he who - because he was an alleged psychologist / family counselor, priest - who knows how to play the game well, and over the internet with many women, yet, for some reason, he could not seem to control or hide his true nature and so when he does not get his way or what he wants, he becomes a monster .All the above and what’s to follow Joyce, is of coarse derived, and analyzed form all the stories that she has told me, and we know that, that is just one side of the story, the perception of one, which only gives us one third of a truth ( her side ), we don't know the other third ( his side ) and so the other third ( the possible truth ) will never be known .
As Monica, Continues to rehash her relationship with mister N.Y., psycho priest for me, he has become a subject that I am able to glean more and more about, as to where he is at and what he is all about. He - after just three months - wanted her ( Monica, ) to marry him, and even went so far as to tell every one he knew that, that was about to happen, and when she said no ' not enough time for us to get to know each other " he fell apart, the facade over, he could no longer keep up the pretence, and his true colours radiated all over Monica's naïveté .
Unfortunately Monica, was colour blinded by his Svengalli, personality - bringing out, to the fore front, the artist in her, taking nude photos of her, that would be the subject for her to put to canvas and paint. Of coarse one is forced to wonder ?
After a years relationship with this so called artistic, creative, published poet, film maker, priest, counselor, master manipulator, intellectual, - the facade, for me, seemed very easy to discern, if all that I was told is true - she was still attracted, despite all she said to the contrary .
The White Rock journey, adventure we, Monica, and me took, provided an atmosphere that allowed me to enlighten her, brought it all to light for her as she started seeing him through my objective, unbiased eyes, and with an awareness, her passions for him would not allow her to acknowledge before, she could see a little more clearly .
What he was after, that might have been more pressing then his desire for her, was a free place to live his dreams, easy access into Canada, a free ride on her talents as he had her set up an art studio he could sell her art from ( a job ). Monica, has now taken off her blinders and can see clearly, this man behind her false impressions and misconceptions, right into the heart of his false facade .
All that Monica, need now do is get over, and past all the pain, heart ache and disappointment that has come out of this relationship with mr. psycho priest, and I would hope, as her eyes slowly close on the past, she would open her eyes and see me for who I am and not the Image - of all the men she has known - she has projected upon me .
Yes Joyce, Monica, knows about Barb, and her plight, and what I have been doing for her, and what she did for my Girls, and me back in ninety two. I can not say what Monica's feelings, or understanding, or thoughts are about what I have been doing for Barb. I can not say weather or not she has considered my acts, or considered my acts as being acts of kindness, helpfulness, compassion, generosity .Monica, did express some sympathy and compassion for Barb .
I do believe that Monica, has made investments with the monies she received from the sale of her house, after her divorce, and monies she got from the sale of her apartment in Poland. She also works out of her unit, in the complex we live in, doing esthetics, electrolysis, massages and other areas of professional services . She is a very frugal woman, and a woman with a plan, or at least has one in the development stage. I do not think that she ever stands still, or stands on her laurels - she is a woman who is always looking, searching for that elusive dream, or greener pastures .
I would have finished answering your letter sooner - about two hours ago, if it hadn't been for a visit from Monica, a hair cut by Monica, and a very pleasant evening - eight to ten - with Monica .
Good afternoon my Dear, not here though - cool, gray and wet - sort of dampens the spirit a bit. Thank heavens Joyce, I was able to get my fix of sun shine. Just got off the phone with Monica, and know matter how matter of factly, or cool she seems to be , there is a fire I see within her, that warms my hopes, my desires, my heart .
The final thoughts Joyce, as I digest my supper - a bowl of salad - for you to contemplate, as I have been doing. In my conversation with Monica, this noon hour, she was on me about my letter to her - written on the weekend - that she took home with her after leaving my place last night, after the hair cut and conversation. By the way, she did a good job of cutting my hair. Monica, - you have to know - was an editor and writer for a - geological or geographical - magazine in Warsaw, Poland. Anyway Joyce, her comments went something like this - " Your letter's subject was very limited and repeated over and over again, and your descriptions unnecessary. you could have condensed all you had to say onto less than one page. your six page letter was boring. I then realized, that after my first letter to her, she had asked me not to write to her any more. Then she returned the poem I gave her titled " A Seldom needed Spice " which expressed how I perceived our relationship at that time - September 23rd 2006. I had to wonder ?, just what does all this mean, especially when one considers that she has kept a book of poetry, allegedly written by her ex - poet, psycho priest and emails from him and others. Adding to my questions, was the fact that she said she threw out my first letter, and others to her - five in all ( some twenty pages ) - which now are in an envelope, in a container that is mounted on my dinning / living room wall .
Anyway Joyce, her actions and lack of same, her statements and comments, seem to me, to contradicts what I think I see, and what I feel sometimes. They - all of it - leaves me in a state of perplexity, and with a conflicted, confused frame of mind .
Take good care.
LOVE
BILL, & MELANIE .
Chapter 16
A poem for The Princess.
Dated October 22nd 2006
A DREAM !,MONICA.
Flakes of Gold permeate my hours, diamond dust shrouds my time.
Snow streaked, golden hair, Autumn green eyed beauty is - my rhyme
does speak of, as I try to get past all that glitter, to find
what is past ?, what is above ?, what is ?, this beauty, of a fine mind.
A beautyful mystery to me - is what I see in you.
In doubt - with much uncertainty, I know no what to do.
With patience and understanding ?, is that what will bring through,
to the surface, all you keep burried deep within - away from me too.
Autumn green eyes hide, flakes of gold - diamond dust covers reality.
Emotions - like ghosts caught by reflections - never seem to touch me.
A world of experiences, I have heard, I understand, I've come to see,
yet all that comes to light, into sight, can not let you be, set you free.
Could it really be ?, there is nothing for me - never to be shown
any heart, expressed affection, emotion, desire for more - I feel I've known,
I know within the caverns of your heart and soul, dormant, a spark lies,
and I feel, I am not the man you crave, the catalyst your spirit flies
to, as you hold, tightly closed, the doors to your heart - never opening wide,
to let in, nor to let out, the golden flakes, diamond dust you hide,
behind that tough facade, you have painstakenly created from inside,
to protect that fragile, little girl - burried deep within - from that ride,
back into a life, family, experience, husbands, lovers had created,
which has steeled your heart, your resolve, and maybe, has been fated
by unseen powers, greater than anything we are able to comprehend.
And so my Dear, life - I feel for me - will be a heart breaking comedy, to it's end.
REALITY ?
The aching I feel, the pain in the pit of my soul is the loss of - not having.
The sadness I feel when parting, comes on the wings of knowing - having experiences of depth and meaning, may never become a reality.
This for me, for my heart, my soul, my spirit, I see as a fatality.
B.J."A" 2
If any one out there is reading this blog ?, and you have gotten to this place in the story, I am truly sorry for boring you to tears. Be advised that the statement below, read at the beginning of the story of "THE PRINCESS and THE FROG " is no longer a truth." What is to follow will be in it's original text, errors, warts and all, that tell a story. " The reason I have made a liar out of my self is - as I was reading through the original letters and transposing their contents into this blog, it became clear that you, the reader, as an out sider - not having been privy to the events that had lead to the creation of these letters and poems ( this story ) - might not find understanding in what I wrote to THE PRINCESS, and how I wrote it. She being an intrical part of these stories and therefore would know, the vagueness that seemed to appear in some places I came across, as I have been working this blog, would be understood by her but maybe not by others, and so I was forced to revise some lines, some sentences, some paragraphs, add a word or two, a line or two, a sentence, even a paragraph in order for, you, the reader to reach a much more clearer understanding of what I was writing. Hopefully you have ?
And now to get back to the never ending story, and by the way, each letter is not a rehash of the same event, expressed in a different form. Each letter represents a new event that has brought back, to the forefront of consciousness, the same feeling, understandings, and beliefs, of which, had been forgotten after they became a physical reality ( a letter, a poem).
I do hope that you ( THE READER ) have been enlighten, entertained or both ?
B.J."A"2
.
CHAPTER 17
Excerpts from a 6 page letter to my Polish Auntie,
Dated October 28th 2006
" Trying to step aside , move away from a platonic affair with Linda, who has also claimed to be my friend, although I can never seem to find that friendship from her, nor see that in her, and I must say that the sex is just not enough to keep me interested in going any further. I am very much interested in a Polish Princess ( Monica Kloskiewicz - maiden name ) at this moment, even though she has me dangling on the edge of uncertainty - I just can not seem to see or feel where it is I may fit ( if at all ) into her life's plan - her life's journey. That is what I am doing Mary, "
"Canoeing with Monica, as well, as well as long, long walks and talks. So my Dear, I guess that I am in good health. Thank you for asking . "
LOVE BILL .
CHAPTER 18
Poems About and For The Princess.
A Shroud
B.J."A" 2November 2nd 2006
Eyes of Autumn Green permeate the serenity of my skies.
They seem to be stone cold - impervious to my cries.
With each encounter - every passing moment - something dies
within - for within, can never take wing - nothing flies.
This day hangs heavy, veiled with oppressive sadness.
It is a hollow, emptiness that I seem to caress
with my thoughts and my feelings, causing excruciating stress
to this life, already blanketed by a dark, dark abyss.
Fate, - she is a black hole - this lady that devours
my heart, my soul - yet seldom, and only for a few hours -
and during the coarse of these brief moments, my spirit soars
only to realize / believe that beyond, nothing flowers.
For this beautiful garden seems to be of stone,
preferring to leave me sterile, lost and alone.
Desire - what a mate she'd be !, but such a cruel fate,
for she leaves us/me shipwrecked upon shores with a slate,
of all the years that have gone - no light to be shone
upon the future - no future to bleak in the light or early dawn.
Our worlds, she has separated by a heavy curtain,
leaving me wondering, guessing and very uncertain.
Ravenous is the monster, as she eats away at her self,
and us of age - time, we will never be putting on a shelf
for another day, so we best take hold of every opportunity -
smell it, taste it, feel it, live it savor it and be what we see.
The moments that are given us, let not slip away,
let them live, give them life, do not wait another day.
B.J."A" 2
November 2nd 2006
CHAPTER 19
MASKS
Feelings often fall like tear drops upon life's mirrors.
Experiences seem to coalesce into the surface of bottomless lakes.
Words tell stories the voice does not mean to speak of.
Subconscious enfolds - all - lost upon the waves of time's passing.
To life, came many, many rays of brilliant Sun, light.
She has been the catalyst for so many dazzling days.
Hovering within reach, so many black clouds -
judgmental, critical, distant, walls, no feelings for -
casting heavy shadows across the face of hope, of desire,
of dreams to be, - unfulfilled - of experience touched so lightly.
These black clouds, these shadows, these rays of sun light,
all come together, and a mask do they make, that hides,
that show the eyes one can see into, eyes that give one glimpses of you.
After all this time ( 5 months ) I still know not what I should do .
B.J."A" 2
November 3 2006
CHAPTER 20
After a two, plus year pause .
I am back.
November 26th 2012
Excerpts from a letter – 4 pages – (
November 3rd 2006 ) Joyce, wrote .
“ Dear
Bill a “ Love struck ” Guy :
Got
your 24 page letter yesterday dated Oct. 17 & 18th. Lots about
Monica and her old flame who really sounds like a psychiatric case. Yes, it
could be he needs to get into Canada.
Can’t believe he is any good as priest, counselor etc. With such a chaotic
background and crippled to boot, he must be very needy person. Hope Monica
stays away from New York
and doesn’t invite him to BC.
If
she enjoys your one hour phone conversations I would not bother writing. She
would rather converse in person apparently. Hope you succeed in cracking open
her iron suit of armor .
Yes
there is much to wonder about Monica especially her choise of that man in New York. Either she
wants to have someone with a title and intellectual or she need to have someone
who is weak in body but not mind. If she was an editor she is no slow thinker. No
wonder she criticizes you’re your letters as she is a perfectionist with
writing. I would not write anymore. Just phone calls and verbal exchanges. She
does not want to know your flaws and she thinks writing is flawed for some
reason. Being an editor at one time you can understand that. She likes your
personal attention so keep it to walks and talks, special times out.
Heartily with love
Joyce
CHAPTER 21
Dragons, Monsters,
Daemons, Ghosts.
OH
! to be the slayer of your world, of Dragons,
to
be allowed, to be able to extinguish the fires,
the
fires that light the way for the Monsters, the Daemons,
the
Ghosts that haunt, who’s claws hold back all that could be.
Could
this ethereal world I envision, be an illusion?,
A
figment of my imagination?, a perception blinded by,
unfulfillment
of a dream, a desire, a need for more?
Do
these apparitions?, these mythical images?, legendary
phantoms
of the mind come on wings of doubt?
Walking
on clouds seems to be what I do.
Rays
of Sunshine dissipate, melt away my path.
I
am left floating on the winds of uncertainty.
Carried
away on the wings of fear?, indifference?
B. J. “A” 2
November 13th
2006
CHAPTER 22
ACCEPTANCE
November 16th 2006
These eyes of mine are slowly closing on the dreams,
I have woven – dreams of hope and a happiness it seems
are coming to an end, just like summers elations.
I feel there is nothing more – no reason for expectations
as I feel you slipping back-to what once was-into the shadows.
I will cherish summer’s joy, pleasure- lost to where?-who knows?
I feel - for you I hold no intrigue, no fascination, no passion, no attraction, no inspiration - so many restrictions, so many contradictions flow across the waters of one I know not.
I do still - even though I believe I know - want to give to you evenings filled with the most beautiful sunsets this old world has come to know. I would love for you to experience – in the twilight, in the darkest, in the midnight, in the early morning hours – al the colours one can bring to your life, to your sight, to your heart, soul and to your spirit .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 23
In a letter to Joyce, 21 pages
November 17th 2006
You are probably right in suggesting I not write to her anymore –
although I have three poems and a note
sitting across from me, along with photos of three of our being together
– (1) – Vancouver – ( 2 & 3 ) Port Moody – (4 to 8) - White Rock – (9 &10)
her home for a lasagna supper – with wine I brought – with a beautiful lady for
a beautiful evening. It is a shame that, that is as close as I can get to her. There
is also an envelope with five letters and one poem ( 21 pages ) written August
29th, September first, eighth, ninth, twelfth, - poem –
twenty third – that is also sitting across from me, just waiting for me to give
to her – desired or not –soon. She can burn them, tear them up, deep six them
or even read them if she so wishes – what ever ?, I need to finish – and deliver
– what I started – hate leaving things unfinished, not done in order to reach
their intended goal .
November 19th 2006
I am back Dear Joyce, and
back to answering your letter .
You know Joyce, you are absolutely correct “
Yes there is much to wonder about Monica,
especially her choice of that man in New
York. ”
I think Monica, is running away from any physical, emotional or committed
relationship. Patrick was a perfect choice – being an ex priest, she believed
she was safe – her words – from any physical and emotional involvement – being a
supposed ( I have my doubts ) intellectual and poet and an educated man would
give her – along with being Polish – a feeling of her past and a few steps up
the social ladder from where she now resides, in a state of loss. He being
about four thousand miles away and – possibly – financially well off could give
her the freedom – I think she craves – from total commitment and the knowledge
that financially she would have no worries. And finally, because he is supposed
to have trained in psychology and was a family counselor, she may have felt
that he would be a very understanding man, free from all the insanity,
emotional immaturity and hang-ups she has encountered with the men she has been
involved with – from first, second husbands, boyfriends and other
relationships.
Patrick, - the former priest ?, ( from what
I have been subjected to ) – is weak in mind, not body. The deformities he
suffered in childhood were apparently rectified, to a large degree, when he got
older. So a physical cripple he is not, jut an emotional and mental cripple who
knows how to play the game and manipulate .
That may be so Joyce, “ No wonder she criticizes your letters ” – “ If she
was an editor she is no slow thinker ” – “ she is a perfectionist ” – but I think the motives behind Monica’s
put downs, criticisms, judgmental personality comes from deep down within her psyche
– a father who was very domineering, very judgmental, very critical of most
everything – she is her father’s daughter – more so now then in her youth – she
tried hard to fight against, but lost, as is obvious by the story I wrote in
one of my last letters – father escorted and remained with her while she took
her university entrance exams. Besides she does not fully understand the English
language or many of the words I use in my writings and that is very difficult
for her – not basic enough. Also Joyce, she criticizes, is very judgmental of
most everything – Canada, it’s people, it’s society ( social class none ) it’s
large men and women, it’s ugliness, the lack of intelligence in Canadian
society etc., etc., and so my Dear, what I do, what I am, how I express myself,
the depth and honesty with which I lay my heart and soul at her feet – I do
believe – scares the hell out of her. A pawn is what I feel I am and have been
and now – I have to admit – the game is over or soon will be. Example – my birthday
brought nothing personal from her, just a few words for a prosperous future “ hope you win the lotto ” over the phone after I called her, just to hear her voice and let it
slip out of my mouth. I was not going to tell her, it was my birthday – yesterday
.
I think you are right Joyce, “ She doesn’t want to know your flaws ” – being human – and therefore having to
realize and face those things within herself – for everything I hear from her
beautiful lips, as she complains, criticizes, judges others, I see in her .
Good advice Joyce, I will not write another
word to her, only to myself as the experiences, thoughts and feelings dictate
so. I truly hope so, – but begin to wonder ?, - that “ she likes your personal attention ” and so Joyce, I will take what little I can get and “ keep it at walks and talks, special times out. ” and pray that I am the man who can pry
open that cast iron armor she wears around herself .
CHAPTER 24
In a letter to my Father, 5 pages
November 21st 2006
What a lucky fellow Wayne, (
Brother ) is to have a young lady at his side. I have been trying to get some
of the same – a Polish Princess, a beauty from Polish high society, a
university graduate who has fallen on hard times but can not accept her fate
nor can she let go of her past. Anyway Dad, being indigent, being uneducated,
being unintelligent, being old and ugly has put up a barrier between us that
keeps her safe and keeps me a bay.
I had a beautiful summer with
her, doing all kinds of things – things – but at a close distance. Anyway, I
think she has closed the doors of hope on me and leaves me out in the cold. I
could never get a true reading on her and am still uncertain as to where she is
at, I am enclosing some copies of photos of our adventures this past summer .
Monica, was a dream and now
Monica, seems to have become an nightmare, for I still ache with the pain of
desire never realized, dreams never materialized. So much for my none existent love
life .
CHAPTER 25
In a letter to Monica, 1 page
November 21st 2006
My Dear Monica :
You may deep six – throw into the ocean (
garbage ) – all before you. You may tear all this up, if you so choose. You may
burn my words, my feelings, my thoughts, my understandings and throw it all into the solar winds – let them
carry all I have written to you to the four corners of this universe , if that
is what will make you comfortable. Ashes are just dust in the wind .
You may even take some time and read all
that I have laid at your feet – and then, maybe not .
It is your choice Monica .
B. J. “A” 2
CHAPTER 26
In a letter from Joyce,
2 pages
November 29th 2006
In fact I will close as I can’t
think of more to say as we talked for long time about Monica, Melanie, Linda,
so the sage goes on .
CHAPTER 27
In a letter to my
Daughter Gail, 4 pages
December 6th 2006
As for me - I am as well as can be, especially beings in the throes of uncertainty
and doubt – about myself, my attraction ( if any ) – about a woman ( a Polish
Princess ) that has captivated my heart ( I think ? ).
Synchronicity ?, - every time I went out, she’d be there ( coming or
going ) every time I came back, she’d be there ( coming or going ). Every time
that I was in her company, I’d be elated, ecstatic, a little boy again. Every
time we parted company I’d get this empty feeling knotting the pit of my
stomach and at home, I’d have this sadness creep over me. Things I have not
felt over a woman in years and years. Could this be a desire to love again ?, -
to be loved again ?
I sometimes wonder if these feelings came from a psychic wisdom or a
subconscious understanding, foretelling, warning me – of the emptiness, the
lack of feeling Monica has for me – of the sadness I will experience as my dreams,
my desire for one more go-around are dashed upon the shores of fruitless endeavors
to reach in and touch the heart of this woman that I was able to share with
some of the experiences / adventures I
shared with You, Caleb, and Dave, this passed summer .
Anyway Gail, so much for my love – less – life ( love life ). Karma
striking out and slapping my face ?, for all the heartache I have been responsible
for in the past. Monica is another hurt woman who has built a wall, wears a
cast iron suit of armor, has been an emotionless ( feelings for another ) iceberg
drifting through life with rose coloured glasses, seeing and wishing for a
past, thousands of miles away and tens of years ago that history tells was not,
is not what she chooses to believe it was .
CHAPTER 28
December 6th 2006
Lost Dimensions
A one dimensional walk – I take - with you.
A four dimensional journey I want to go
through
time’s passing, – with you – that is what I
would like to do
with what is left of this old, used up life
of mine.
Oh !, to share experiences – to know
feelings so fine
is how I would like to share the rest of my
time.
Unfortunately, reality will not come from
this attempt at rhyme
to bring you closer to understanding or to
compassion.
Oh !,
to open those doors, – closed tightly on me – to feel your passion,
your love, even if being platonic is the
only direction.
A friend to you, I will always be, even to
the bitter end,
and this you remember, no matter what
comes, I am your friend.
B. J. “A” 2
Wm. J.
Atfield Jr.
CHAPTER 29
In a letter to my brother Wayne, 3 pages
December 9th 2006
All I
do Wayne, is read, write, what is necessary for every day survival and spend as
much time – which is very little ( walks mostly ) – with Monica, as possible .
CHAPTER 30
In a letter to my friend Chrystal, 3 pages
December 10th 2006
As for me my Dear, life is still filled with
battles to be fought, wars to wage, a love to know, books to read, letters to
answer, letters to write, poetic thoughts to be written, coping with life –
hours of aloneness in my tomb, where, in my sarcophagus, surrounded – like the pharaohs
of ancient Egypt – by all the images of past experiences ( family tree ) and
all the possessions I have gathered throughout my years here in British
Columbia, that keep me entertained, keep me company and the pursuit of Monica,
a Polish Princess, an intelligent, talented, blond haired, green eyed beauty of
about fifty years of age. A little old for me, but she is unlike any woman I
have encountered of age – forty to fifty five. She is alive – has a lust for
life and does not seem to be afflicted by all the physical disabilities most
women of her age are. The first thing we did together was a day of canoeing and
hiking, then there where these two, three hours of walking and talking, etc.,
etc., that keeps me intrigued, but I think that I do not live up to her standards
of her dream man and so at arms length she keeps me. Che sara sara !
CHAPTER 31
In a letter to Monica, 1
pages
December 11th 2006
My Dear, Sweet Monica :
I must Thank You, for such a
beautiful afternoon, for allowing me to share it with you and for the pleasant,
unexpected surprises you brought to me. The Christmas card and it’s expressed
thoughts – feelings – and for allowing me to touch you ( a hug ) and for your
wonderful and surprising response -
hugging me back .
There have been no gloomy; tear filled, gray skies to dampen my day,
just pleasant thoughts of you running through my head .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 32
In a letter and poem to Monica, 1 pages
December 29th 2006
Women
A point of view
They – flowers of diverse, exquisite, exotic,
mysterious beauty –
are beauties that are meant to feed the eyes of
men,
are beauties that are meant to stimulate the minds
of men,
are beauties that are meant to set fires in the
hearts of men,
are beauties that are meant to give wing to the
spirit of men,
are beauties that are meant to be the resting
place for the souls of men.
Women
They have become the thorns upon the stem or
roses,
They have become the thistles that surround
their flower,
They have become the poisonous plants that
kill off pursuers,
They have become the weeds that strangle –
overrun beauty
and assassinate all that nourishes passion,
love, life, the spirit.
Men – responsible – has not evolved fast
enough to keep up / get past.
B. J. “A” 2
CHAPTER 33
The letter to Monica, 1 pages
January 2nd
2007
My Dear Monica :
I pray that what you have been experiencing
at years end - and for the coming years – has and will fill all those empty
spaces in your life – that I could not. I pray that your dreams, your desires,
your expectations, your demands are able to be fulfilled by this new experience
Monica .
And for you my Dear, may wealth, health,
education, intelligence, social statues, respect, appreciation and most of all,
love, be the substance, the essence, the heart of this new experience that has
permeated the hours – ending two thousand and six and beginning two thousand
and seven – you have indulged in as of late .
I pray Monica, that you have found happiness
with this new experience and the kind of future you have dreamt of .
I just want to thank you Monica, for sharing
some moments – last year – with me, shallow as they may have been – a joy for
me anyway, a pleasure.
Live your dreams my Dear, and enjoy .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 34
In a letter and poem to Monica, 1 pages
January 12th 2007
Reflections
Reflecting
upon – is a dangerous game to play.
For
it leads to flawed judgments – unreasonable expectations.
Expectations
are seldom realized or met by others,
difficult
to live up to by others, or by one’s self.
These
images, projected, especially if those reflections
are built upon fantasies –
illusions, delusions
-
delusions
that distort or blind the perceiver to ,
true reality before one who thinks she sees .
Personal
history is just that - personal – and no measuring stick,
by
which to see all, judge all, comprehend all
and make it the
total
essence of the here and now,
nor is it the mirror
into
which you project and say “ it reflects ”
bringing
it, forward into the future.
Judge
not, but by that which is in the moment – the here and now.
Yesterday
is history, passed, not a story upon which to create today.
Today
is all we have, yesterday is gone – tomorrow is promised to no one
B. J. “A” 2
The letter to Monica, 1 pages
January 14th 2007
My Dear Monica :
AS I reflect upon the many diatribes you have
pierced my ears, my soul , my heart, my spirit with during these passed seven
months – July 13th 2006 – that we have shared time and became
intimates ( stories of intimate, personal knowledge ), I have to wonder ?, just
what do I really mean to you .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 35
In a letter to Jocye, 13 pages
January 20th,21st,22nd 2007
For yesterday has become history, a history that had Monika, call and
walk her dogs we did, and talked of things superficial, and meaningless to any
kind of relationship or feelings for one another nor an understanding of what -
if any –future lay ahead for me, with her .
It is !, - “ too bad Judy, got
into the act with that letter she showed Monica, ” but one has to consider that it was a different time, different
circumstances - the alleged intelligence possessed by the Princess, should have
enlightened her to that fact, given her cause to realize it – and after all the
time and communication between us , one could have, should have realized that
the person portrayed by the mind , by the eyes of another ( Judy ) is not necessarily
the person she observes and knows, and that the former does not – in anyway –
reflect what she has experienced of the man
in the light of reality, Monika’s .
Just an excuse ????, to keep me at a distance and not become involved .
So much for Linda, on to
Monika. I do believe Joyce, that you are right in your assessment – “ nothing will come of ” – from my involvement with
Monika, - my desire for some kind of involvement with her – beyond that which
now exists. As I look back, over, into what has existed for me – in her reality
– little seems to excite, capture, interest, light fires, impress Monika, - I
am not her dream man, being this soul, uneducated, unintelligent – in her eyes
/ estimation -, indigent, Canadian with a lack of initiative for the things she
wanted to do, a slob, stupid, clumsy and I am sure more, like old and semi
impotent. Her actions and reactions seem to tell it all.
Mr. Germany / “ Hitler ” as she calls him, during the last two months, of
last year, enjoyed a deeper relationship with her then I have over the past
eight months – what does that say ? Although I had ask her over for Christmas
supper, – rejected – asked her about New Years eve, - rejected – “ going to my girlfriends in Vancouver ” only to find
out that she spent a “ boring ” holiday season with
Mr. Germany ? Hitler. The end result for Monika, was more heatache as she came
to learn of the true nature of Mr. Germany / Hitler, aman just like her two
Polish husbands, her Polish father and all the other European men as well as Canadian
men whom she has dated throughout the years the years she has lived in Canada –
seventeen years .
This – as you stated – “ love struck ” fool,
still makes a fool of himself, still desires, even though I know. I used to
think that the churning ache / butterflies fluttering in my gut every time we
parted company was love in blossom. I thought that the sadness, the emptiness that
crept into my head after I entered my humble abode – after separating from
Monika, - was love’s craving for more, in the loss of moments, the moments she
was not at hand / in the sight of these discerning ?, yearning eyes. Now Joyce,
I have to wonder if all that I was feeling, – no longer am ?, - at that time, was the opening up and the releasing of pent
up emotions, - locked away for so long – I have not felt for a woman in many a
year, or was it my subconscious trying to tell me – as you have Joyce, - that
this Beauty, has nothing to offer me, nothing she wants to give to me and wants
nothing more from me then to be her sometimes companion, her sounding board,
her whipping post, or one who can ( because of our close proximity ) fill the
empty spaces, the alone or lonely hours of her days ????
Monika, has not – except on rare occasions, three or four – given from
the heart to the person I truly am. Every show of passion, compassion, understanding
– as shallow and superficial as they where – came at me, not because of desire,
but because I looked - for a split second – the image of her expectations or
did her a kindness that she had to respond to and repay for fear of being
obligated. Every time ( almost ) I tried to show affection, concern, passion,
love, compassion in the aforementioned desire to be all to her – harsh, cruel, rejection
is what I am met with.
Enough my Dear, Monika, does not feel, does not light up, dose not feel
the spark, does not love, does not live in the heart or heart of the matter,
just in her head, in her mind, in her past and so I am left with nothing but a
shell to walk and talk with, and all that is left for me is but my own feeling
for, and I will not buy her affections, her love ( if it is possible for her to
truly love ) with the superficiality of being well dressed, ( elegance ?) good
memory for fact and information ( intelligence ? ) or high class, societal statues
.
CHAPTER 36
In a letter to Dad, 1 page
January 22nd 2007
List of Christmas Gifts received .
Gifts from Monika, box of liquor chocolates,
home made cakes ( like brownie squares )
and her discarded plastic, orchid, flowers in a red pot .
CHAPTER
37
In a letter to Gail, 8 pages
January 22nd / 23rd 2007
Met a beautiful Polish Princess, after you
left last July, had a great summer with her ( Moneca, and I did the same canoeing
trip that You, Caleb, Dave, and I did ) .
Had
these feeling for her that I have not had for a woman in a long, long, long
time - a life time ago it seems, maybe it has been ? Thought love would become
a part of my life once again – the dreams, the desires were but the fantasies
of an old fool, for I am “ not educated ”, “ intelligent ”,
“ wealthy ” enough ( at all ), not the man of her dreams – I do not dress well enough,
I do not take her to places she can shine, and so, as myself, I do not “ impress ” her,
nor will I receive any of her affections, her passions, her attentions even her
love, without becoming the man of her social, educational, intellectual “ level ”. I am
to old to buy, ( besides to poor ) her passion, her affections, her compassion
and understanding let alone little slivers of what ever love she is possible of
sharing and so I have accepted my fate, the places she has relegated me to and
will live out our relationship – what ever that is ?, as her platonic “ best friend ”
and take the most out of the quality moments the Princess, and I stroll through
.
Linda, is still playing her little games
with me and so I offer to her exactly that which I am offered by the Princess,
( Monika ) .
CHAPTER
38
In a Rhyme for the Princess, 1 page
January
23rd 2007
In the
final Analysis
Destiny – she seems to, always be shutting the gate.
She has been, closing in, her garden on my fate.
She has been given the opportunity to know my dreams,
but nothing of my desires, does she want, it seems.
I would love to know the sun setting in her Autumn green eyes,
To lie the night long / the morning into the sun rise
from her
beautiful face, feel the warmth – hidden – it could bring
to this aching heart, this alone
soul, my world, to make birds sing.
The pain, the heart ache, much to great- for my desire,
to live on with the direction it has been heading – ashes from fire
are what I feel, dust - I can not, will not pay for what is not for me.
The price to high for a foundation weak – to high the fee
for what does not already exist – really – as I see
it – in what does come
from the heart.
Expectations of
trivial matters – pursuits of ?, - no place to start .
B. J. “A” 2
CHAPTER 39
In a Rhyme for the Princess, 1 page
January 27th 2007
Thoughts
Thoughts of – conceived within the womb of my mind.
Reality of – to abort, it is her desire to kill before birth- so
unkind!
Thoughts of – but this old man’s illusion.
Reality – built upon the fragility of dreams, desires, of delusion.
With you- I have felt / feel not but confusion.
Love, respect, consideration – from you I would love to find.
Passion – making love with you – this would be sublime.
Oh !, how I would love to reach / touch the end of my time
in the arms, the glory, the thoughts of – beyond this rhyme.
It seems – from your words, your actions, there will be no fusion
of mind, body, soul or spirit in the lives of us two.
Alone – there will be I – elsewhere - it will be, for you.
B.J.”A” 2
January 27th 2007
CHAPTER 40
In a Rhyme for the Princess, 1 page
February 14th 2007
A rising on Valentine’s
Resur -e – rection
Four
AM Valentine’s morn, I awoke.
Stiff
as a board - stands a mighty oak,
reaching
up = a gift for that heavenly body
-
that sweet delicious pink cloud
=
wishing to penetrate – into ecstasy ( her shroud ).
There
I stood, against the ravishes of old age and time –
for a
long, long time – with no place to go,
for deep
down – in my heart – I’ve come to know
that
in my branches, you will never climb
nor
upon this mighty oak, come to rest.
The
wood that greeted me, will never greet you,
Will
never be a pillar of strength for you to climb upon.
To
pulp- my wood, this mighty oak – becomes
as lifes bood, freely runs.
B.J.”A” 2
January 27th 2007
CHAPTER 41
In a Rhyme for the Princess, 1 page
February 15th 2007
The morning
after
Is
there any reality ?, or is it just another dream ?
Four AM and I awake from a dream.
That dream tells a story, is that
story a truth ?, -
The truth that came to light,
Valentine’s night.
I
came to visit with you - your girlfriend is there –
Our words are brief – you want to
leave – walk out the door.
Your friend and I remain behind –
your choice.
Your girlfriend begins to tell me
that you are involved –
In fact - you have been involved for a long time –
I have been nothing more then a
filler for your empty hours.
I awake with this pain in my
heart and a knowledge of.
WHAT ???
Monika :
February 15th 2007
Four AM ,pen in
hand, words begin to flow.
You are a beautiful Lady, I would love to
know.
My heart ache, bleeds for you- I show
you the tears that run wild, through my
veins
until knowledge of, absorbs, and all that
remains
are holographic shards, memories ( good or
bad ) of the pains
I have had to endure - your words where “ be
patient ”,
“ be this, be that, be the
other ”.
My soul’s spirit, you did smother.
Implication ?, my dream realized.
but these all seem to be more transient.
and my life’s journey, compromised.
An all honest Monika, - I think – never from
you
will come the passion, the closeness, the
affection, the love,
a desire for – all these things I desire to
give and to live,
I so wish to know. I feel that I am nothing
more - for you –
then a gift – the gift of Christmas love (
black and red lovers twist ).
A block of wood, carved into – inanimate –
lovers entwined in each other arms,
a passionate kiss that you see as a musical
symbol.
An item to be placed upon a shelf – looked at,
but never touched -
symbolically, spiritually or as a mentor to
bring out of you – life, alive.
As always Monika, I am conflicted - living with uncertainty,
Always in doubt about where I stand and
what I mean to you .
B. J. “A”
2
February 15th 2007
CHAPTER 42
A Poem for Monika - 1 Page
February 18th 2007
Reverie
Could this be
my destiny ?
Saturday in my porcelain womb,
Enfolded in the arms of Mother Nature’s embryonic fluid.
That state - in-between – just before one
leaves
consciousness in order to arrive , into the
subconscious.
That place between wakefulness and the land
of dreams
Where life is surrealistically sharper,
deeper then reality
and clearer then that of images, in the
world of dreams.
In this fantastic state of being, I felt and
I touched
A beautiful world of pink, where life
begins, and begins!
My lips, my tongue, my finger tips sailed
across your body.
They caressed every atom of your being –
stroked your soul
from your head to your little toe, and back
to the pink,
where your sweet lips met mine, lubricating
my tongue
with delicious honey, in the most
passionate, French kissing
your motherhood has ever, will ever know –
my dream, not yours.
In the reverie of my Saturday, I would love to
make it your reality.
B. J. “A” 2
February 18th 2007
CHAPTER 43
In a letter from
Gail -8 pages
January 30th, February 5th
/ 12th 2007
I am sorry things
didn’t work out with the “ Princess ”. I am sure the experience was nice while
it lasted. How did you meet her ?
CHAPTER 44
In a letter to Jocye -14 pages
March 11th, 16th,
18th 2007
Also enclosed are a couple of
poems / rhymes for Monika, who seems not to prefer my personal hand written
rhymes but the typed copies. As of seven o’clock last
Night, she has not read them – stuck them away in some book with all my
other writings. By the way, another concert this afternoon with Monika,
I took Monika, for a look at the massive damage
done to Stanley Park
on Sunday February 11th - strange ??? – no damage around
Pauline Johnson’s Monument / Grave site, yet all around her area, massive destruction,
even the sea wall, the walk way beneath her site was tore up. Monika, and I
then went to the Tea house - across the road from Pauline’s Monument – for a
tea and a talk .
Probably true Joyce, “ not much news
there if Monika, not into seeing you more special as a person ”.
It is now all the gossip that Judy, and Bella, are filling her head with –
mostly bullshit and fabrications, built upon the slimmest of threads, grains of
truth – that occupies her mind, ( thoughts of me, ) and her / our conversations,
and this all form a woman who has said that she “ does not believe in gossip nor wants to be involved in it ” and
so I have to say that Monika, is a hypocrite, a liar or both and she does
believe and gets involved in it.
Sorry
Joyce, that I had to leave you this afternoon to attend the concert – “ The
Lache Cercel Ensemble ” – a very interesting and good program Monika, went to .
CHAPTER 45
In a letter to
my Auntie Mary -4 pages
March 18th 2007
I am still alone, for the Polish Princess I
mentioned in my last letter to you still has not come through and I believe
that she never will, for I am not the man of her dreams- not educated enough ?,
not intelligent enough ?, not wealthy enough ?, and all the other not enough’s
?
CHAPTER 46
In a letter to my Daughter Gail, - 4 pages
March 20th to April 1st
2007
As you know Gail, I have armed
wrestled ( at least ten time throughout my life, from before birth until
nineteen ninety seven ) with the Grim Reaper, before the pearly gates of St
Peter, of which anyone of those matches would have changed the coarse of yours,
mine, our life’s journey and so Gail, my philosophy is and always has been one
of – take every moment , every experience and squeeze every drop out of it,
live it, feel it, enjoy it, savor every sliver of it and take that ride as far
as it will carry you, take it to wherever it leads and cherish it for what it
is / was and for what you gave to it. I keep telling the Polish Princess –
Monica, / Moneca, / Monika, that but she
refuses to accept, still hangs on ?, and hold back .
Thank
you Gail, for your sentiment “ I am sorry things didn’t work out with the “ Princess ” ”. I am sure the experience was nice while
it lasted ” and it was and is Gail, it is just that she can not let go of the
past and her passed experiences – right up until her New Years fiasco – have
emptied her heart, made it callus, cautious, cold hard as steel, a hard place
to penetrate and so all we do together are superficial things – concerts,
walks, walking her dogs, talks ( of which she dominates by as much as ninety
five percent ) Dinning out ( first time was on Friday ). Never any thing
affectionate, – as she bobs, weaves, ducks and bolts from a hug and kiss (
hello or goodbye ) – nothing passionate, nothing intimate, nothing promising
comes at me from Monika, and so my Dear Gail, all that is left to me, is to
enjoy her sunny, sweet, sexy, resounding exotic accented voice and to savor
every atom of her exotic European beauty, when ever the occasion arises and
permits me that privilege .
I can only hope and pray that one day she
may open her eyes – the eyes of her closed mind – and see in me, a man worthy
of her interest, her desires, her passions, her affections and devotion. In the
mean time, the little time I get to be in her presence and enjoy her company ?,
I will keep the spirit aflame until, that is, I realize and accept the obvious
– I am not the man of her dreams and desires .
As for “ How did you meet her ?, ) well
Gail, it was shortly after I moved into this complex ( 2000 ), her young son
Mat. ( now twenty eight ) was parked next to my parking spot where he was
working on his little Toyota
pickup ( camper ) – rebuilding the engine. His mother Monica, on occasion,
would come down into the underground parking and observe his endeavors, and one
time introduced me to her – there was this instant and heavy attraction, for
some strange reason – and she was polite and courteous but seemed a little more
then stand offish and seemed distant ( of coarse – in hindsight – she was
involved and as I have learned, did not speak or understand English much so was
very insecure in social settings with English, only speaking people.
After a couple of more casual meetings in
the underground I never saw her again until a couple of weeks before You, Dave,
and Caleb, came out in June / July 2007 where I met her on my way to the post
office, a walk along the dyke of the Coquitlam river ? creek, with a weighty
letter for Joyce, ninety pages I believe, to get weighed and mailed off. Anyway
my Dear, as I was approaching the end of Prairie Avenue, here comes Moneca, from
the river walkway and to my surprise, considering I have not spoken with or
even seen her in five years, except when I knocked on her door a couple of
times – greeted with icy cold – looking for her son Mat. She greeted me with a
warm, friendly, pleasant, smile and just knocked me off my feet and so after
the initial shock of having this exotic beauty acknowledge my existence, being
sexy as all get out, and before I knew it we had been engrossed in deep
conversation for over twenty minutes just standing there in the middle of the
road oblivious to the worlds spinning around us before things come to a halt
and we went our separate ways, until once again – just after you went back to
Ontario – I came across Moneca, and her dogs and almost the same spot we met
the month before except we where traveling in the opposite directions we had
been on that first fateful meeting. She asked me if I would like to join her
and without hesitation, like a bolt of lightning, I jumped at the possibilities
and it was a great day, a beautiful touchy, feely, communicative, joyous day
filled with walk and talk .
CHAPTER 47
In a Poem to The Princess - 1 pages
April 13th 2007
An unclaimed Gift
For
you, I have placed my heart on a silver plate.
You
have chosen to let it die – not to be your fate.
You
see me through eyes – of a missed perceived past,
hear of me, through troves of gossip –
believed – that cast
me
in a light of doubt, uncertainty and fear.
For
me, this knowledge brings on a world of tears.
You
espy me in a light filled with shadows –
From
which I am unable to escape the shallows,
that
drown out any desire I have to shine -
in
your eyes, in your mind, make you mine –
Oh
to know you in all the colours of this universe
as
they come at me though a prism – the prism that is you.
To
be refracted, reflected, unfettered by inhibitions.
Now
that would make for a great verse
But,
if only, if only you knew,
all
is but traditions.
You
seem to hang on so tightly to the past.
Nothing
that painful should ever last!
Yet
you let these passed experiences hold you back
from
taking in – enjoying the full essence of each moment,
therefore,
lost forever, all that could have been.
My
Dear, that is cruel, it is mean!
I know, and fully realize that it is self preservation,
but
no way to live - do not give – stops creation.
B.
J. “A” 2
April 13th 2007
CHAPTER 47 B
In a letter to Joyce, - 15 pages
April 13th, 15th,
June 3rd, 2007
And go with Moneca, to the mall some time around six / six thirty.
Sundays are free unless Moneca, Monica, Monika with a k, now, decides to do
something with me.
CHAPTER 48
In a letter to Moneca,- 3 pages
April 15th, 2007
My Dear Moneca :
I am truly sorry that my
actions angered, upset and disappointed you so – so much so that you have
chosen to terminate a relationship before birth the of it had had been given. I
suppose Moneca, as I look back over the times we have shared, – some of them so
beautiful and memorable that I will cherish them to the end of time – the writing
was on the walls as well as written upon the words of much of what you have
said to me, about me and written upon all you avoided doing with me , for me,
to me.
I wish – not really though,
for I kike myself better then that – I where the kinds of men ( your father,
your two husbands, your lovers – Mr. Frenchman, Mr. Cheep Moneyman of Burnaby,
Mr, Psycho Priest / poet form New York, Mr. Hitler, Mr. Waiter, Mr. Video Store
( your best friend’s man ), Mr. Christian, and all the other Misters you have
been involved with, in some fashion or other ) that you have said you gave so
much to, so much more then I could have dreamt of, had a glimpse of, from you,
never mind a taste of .
I am sorry that I blew it
Moneca, although I am not so sure, exactly what it was that my actions destroyed
?, if anything at all .
I will miss you Beauty, miss
your infectious laughter, your exotic voice, your elegant, European look and
all the other things I found appealing about you .
You said – a long time ago –
that you didn’t want to get involved with me for “ I will hurt you, I know
myself well ” and so you have Moneca, you broke my heart, you hurt me badly and
maybe rightly so. I just wish you had a fraction of the feelings for me that
you have indicated you had for all the men I mentioned above, for they where
most fortunate enough to have know you intimately – no matter how sever their
crimes against you where - got to feel
your love, your compassion, your understanding, your sympathy and your
forgiveness for their indiscretions. Mr. Psycho ( Patrick ) Priest, for example
was given a year plus to mess up , which you have stated he did every time you
two where together or talked over the phone. His insanity, accusations, jealous
rages, argumentativeness, his impotence did not seem to sway you from your
compassionate, passionate interest in him, even during the first months of what
should have been my time. So much more compassionate of you Moneca, to tolerate,
to accept all the pain, heart ache and disappointment he inflicted upon you
over the year plus, then the understanding and compassion you showed me during
and immediately after the two hours it took for you to terminate what may or
may not have existed between us and to send me packing .
Strange how things worked out
Moneca, especially as I read over the poem – An Unclaimed Gift – that I wrote
to you on April ( Friday ) the thirteenth. Strange, as I go over what I was
going to do if there where no major changes to our - what ever that relationship was –
relationship ?, on May eleventh. The twelfth of May my Dear, would have –
although not as cold and cruel, in fact not cruel or cold at all – brought us
to that place you took us last night ENDINGS !!! ENDINGS !!!, are what I was prepared
for .
I am truly sorry Moneca, that
you see me, not as the man of your dreams, a European man, an educated man, a
younger man, an intelligent man, a man of means and wealth, a handsome man, a
man who could meet all , or at least enough of your expectations to open the doors
to your heart. As the year rolls on and out of sight, I have come to realize
that every thing you have said to me,
during the early hours of our companionship, where really and truly the
Iron doors that you meant them to be, to be locked against any attempt – on my
part – to reach deep inside and touch the strings of your heart, deep within to
caress the essence of your soul, to take wing and fly freely with your spirit.
And now Moneca, like a wounded bird, I have been relegated to the trash heaps
of the broken hearted, to be grounded, to be an unloved, lover wanna be .
Thank you for the memories Moneca,
the great ones, the pleasant ones, the joy filled ones even the pain filled
ones, for my Dear, no matter what one must feel, must touch, must experience,
one should cherish all that life and fate lay upon the paths one must walk .
Take good care and I do hope that you find ?
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 48 B
In a letter to Joyce, - 15 pages
April 13th, 15th,
June 3rd, 2007
As for me, not so, for a thick black cloud hangs heavy over my head and
heart as I wallow in the quagmire of my actions last night and what it may have
cost me. I did it this time Joyce, I blew it, and now Moneca, is but a memory,
an unfulfilled desire, an unrealized dream, a heart ache to try and cope with
during the long and meaningless hours shut up in the single cell of my solitary
confinement, sanding away on the surfaces of SpaceKaps for a pittance, and
thinking of why it was that I was unable to sand away at the Saracens of Moneca
.
I climbed out of my porcelain womb, after an hour and a half, for a pee
and to reheat Mother Natures embryonic fluid so that I could meditate for
another hour and a half when I realized that I was supposed to call - as
requested – Moneca, and considering that it was getting close to four PM I
thought I better do so, and did. Surprise, surprise, she decided to accept my
off to take in the movie “ Hoaks ” that night at seven forty five and so I said
to her that I would finish my bath and call her when I was ready. I did so at
about ten to seven. She seemed upset at the time – the theater is ten minutes
away and we had fifty five minutes, We arrive in plenty of time, stand in the
lineup for a while when she says “ lets go, it’s to late and I don’t want to
stand in this crowd. She drags me outside and I suggest we go to another
theater and after a bit we are back inside and in the line up again. We get
into the theater just as the credits start – did not miss a thing – not late !,
even after her little detour .
Moneca brings out this thermos of coffee ( strong coffee that permeates
the air ) and so I bring out a micky of – mixed fifty with milk and ice ( coffee
liqueur ) and Moneca, - in a voice that
the whole theater and every one around us could hear – said “ you’ve got liqueur in the
theater, ” and she did this, not just once, “ and I can smell the
liqueur. ” That was it., silence throughout the movie and on the
way out she accused me of being drunk and was going to take as cab home, at which
point I offered her a quarter for the
phone and the cab fair. She chose to ride home with this drunk and upon
departing, making it quite clear that I was “ crazy
and stupid and that was it ” what ever “ it ” was, was over and
she did not want to discuss it, not even when I tried to mentionthat she told
me that she was driving around Coquitlam and Port Coquitlam with her friend Stan,who was truly drunk looking at the circles and diamonds cut into the road where
the sensors are placed in order to trigger the changing of the traffic lights .
How hypocritical of her, she could bring her coffee into the theater and
drink it, but it was a crime – punishable by death – for me to bring in the
equivalent of two mixed drinks of coffee liqueur, which I had fully intended to
share with her .
So you go figure Joyce. Anyway Joyce, I guess that it is over for me if
it is possible for something that does not exist – at least to me and my
knowledge – to be over and that is funny, very strange, for I had just written
a poem on Friday the thirteenth that strikes at the very heart of what went
down. The other strange thing about this, is that on her birthday - May ninth - I was going to call my friend Brian, and get
him to pick us up in his limo, take us into Vancouver for a birthday supper and
return us home afterwards.
And after that, on May, if there where no major changes in our
relationship, if Moneca, offered me no more then she already has, the tenth of
May would have brought her my parting, dear John letter. I guess she did me a
favour, for I truly can not see her giving to me any more or any deeper then
what has existed from the beginning.
I guess that it is back to my aloneness again .
CHAPTER 49
In a Death tol card for Moneca,- 1 pages
April 17th, 2007
Keeping
You in Thought
And Prayer
DURING THIS SAD TIME
Holding you close in thought
and praying that memories
will bring you
Peace and comfort.
As this dead man
could
not do
This is a time
for gathering
all the best
of a good life
into the pages
of memory,
to be
held
in the
heart
Forever.
Thank you Moneca, for all that
you shared with me, experienced with me.
Thank you for all that you would give
to me.
Thank you Moneca, for hope, that
there might have been a life
at the end of that tunnel, the tunnel that has
become
a black hole, a black hole of my
own creation
from which I am unable to drag
myself.
It sucks me in, ever deeper, with
each passing moment.
I have dug my own grave
and in it, I will sadly lay.
Regret the only flowers that rest
against my tomb,
Slowly creeping over my head
stone.
B. J. "A" 2
April 1st 2007
Moneca :
I am so sorry for all that I
have done wrong in your eyes and I was not being rude in the underground. I
just did not want to make you feel uncomfortable nor did I want to upset you
any more then I already have. Forgiveness my Dear, will set you as free as you
have set me.
In Loving memory
from a corpse.
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 50
A Birthday card for Moneca,- 1 pages
May 9th, 2007
CHAPTER 51
A Poem for Moneca,- 1 pages
May 8th,
2007
The Lady in Black
The Lady who chooses to walk alone
is a Lady who’s world is Black –
Black as night on her own.
Is the lady before me?, as Black
as the Lady before you?, this morn.
B. J.“A” 2
May 8th 2007
Happy Birthday
&
Belated Name Day
Moneca
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 52
In a letter from Joyce, - 2 pages
May 3rd, 2007
Sunday 27th April, so heard all about the news with Moneca,
and the theater fiasco, which was ridiculous.
I will get filled in on the 11th – limousine, restaurant
birthday party. I think it won’t be a grateful kiss on the mouth, even for you.
We will see .
Not sure Moneca, understands your poems to her. Does she talk about them
to you ?
Sunday 27th April, so heard all about the news with Moneca, and the theater fiasco, which was ridiculous.
I will get filled in on the 11th – limousine, restaurant birthday party. I think it won’t be a grateful kiss on the mouth, even for you. We will see .
Not sure Moneca, understands your poems to her. Does she talk about them to you ?
CHAPTER 53
A Birthday card for Moneca,- 1 pages
May 9th, 2007
A promise of love
for your birthday
I wish I could buy you
a thousand beautiful gifts
for your birthday –
fancy things, luxuries,
surprises to delight you –
but I know the things
that make life happy
can’t be bought …
like love,
and the closeness two people share
“ Even though we are still apart.”
time -
days spent together the little things we do
when we are happy
no matter what we’re doing…
“ Even though they are few ”
kindnesses
the little things we do
for one another
“ Even though they seem to be lacking ”
These things can’t be bought,
And yet there’re the best gifts of all
“Even though you let them slip away.”
And so, for your birthday
I’m
giving you this promise
as part
of my gift to love you even more
and
make you happier,
to
make all our days together
days
to remember always.
“
Even though that's not for your liking ”
Happy Birthday Moneca
All my Love
Always
“And in all ways !!! ”
Photos of the Princess
&
The Frog
CHAPTER 54
In a letter to
Moneca, - 1 pages
May 10th, 2007
Dear Moneca :
There
was so much more to come – you Monica, -
for you where to become the ultimate climax on the day we celebrated – that first day you came
to see the light, - and I thought you would – the day we call your birth day ( Birthday ) but
alas, not so .
As that day came to an end, I realized – on the
way home – that my plans, my hopes, my desires, my dreams to bring you to a state of heavenly ecstasy,
to feel the stars, was but my delusion and would never become a reality .
As we where parting, you left me, as you
usually had, with a coldness, with indifference, without any feeling of
gratitude for what you had just experienced and never experienced for your
birthday or any other occasion, for that matter, throughout your life and there
I was, as alone, ( as usual when with you ) - as the days I had spent before
you opened your doors a tinny crack, but kept your foot tightly against any
entry – empty and sad leaving me to ponder, ( with insight ) your last words to
me, words that echoed throughout my hours, my tears, my realization – “ don’t be sad ”
that I , my feelings, my actions hold positively no meaningful feelings for you
and you will express, not a single meaningful feeling for me and so my Dear
Moneca, I will enjoy my sadness ( at least I am able to feel ) for, from you,
the future, today have little gladness beyond the superficial, the surface, the
shallowness of the casual encounters of
this friendship ?, this acquaintanceship ?, the casual companionship ?
Love
Bill
CHAPTER 55
A card to Moneca, - 1 pages
May 10th, 2007
Yappy
Mother’s
Day
Moneca
A day once
created.
A day I will Never know.
A day I
would love to try.
Planting
seeds in a barren land
will not a mother make
Oh but the
joys of trying.
Love
Bill .
B. J. “A”
2
May 12th, 2007
CHAPTER 56
A card for Moneca. - 1 pages
May 22nd, 2007
THANKS SO MUCH !
for doing all you do,
for giving all you give,
for caring as you care…
enough, to give of your precious time
to satisfy some of my needs. ”
THANKS
for being you !
Moneca.
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 57
A
letter for Moneca. - 3 pages
May 22nd / 25th, 2007
My Dear Moneca :
What is to follow Moneca, is
the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I have been composing this sonata – in
my mind since the late and waning hours of May ninth – hoping never to have to
put it before your eyes or become reality for me .
You are a beautiful drug
Moneca, and I have become addicted to you, and like most drug addicts - who
lose themselves in the throes of their drug of choice – I have lost my will,
lost my spirit, lost my soul, lost my mind - in pursuit of an illusive illusion
– and eventually will lose my body, for my heart can no longer endue the pain
of being forced to realize that the drug controls, and only wants withdrawal to
be the essence of my addiction – I am hooked on you !!!!!
Do you remember all those
strange feelings I talked to you about, early on in our acquaintanceship ?, and
how I have been feeling lately ? I have come to the realization that love, love
for you has been the energy source that has been driving those feelings Moneca,
and now that you have made it unmistakably clear that my love for you is
unwelcomed, unwanted and that you have no feelings for me, I have come to the hardest
thing I will ever have to do .
I am about to ask you to set
me free Moneca, to let me be, for I do believe that you have designed – in your
mind – another Patrick ( the perfect man of your illusions, your delusions ) and
intend to pursue, this time it is Mr, Jeannette.
I will pray for you Moneca,
pray that your new passions desire will not hurt you, disappoint you as did
Patrick ( Mr Psycho Priest ) . Be careful my Dear !!!!
I am also asking you for your
permission Moneca, so that I might be able to set you free, to let you go, so
that you may not feel the mill stone, around your neck, that I have become and therefore you may, in clear
conscience, go to that place your heart wanders .
( I hope that you do not destroy
the long friendship you )
( have had with Jeannette, by pursuing
and being )
( in constant intimacy with her lover ?, companion ?, )
( friend ?, what ever you want
to believe he is to her, )
( although, from what you have
said about them, it is )
( obvious
that he is her lover. What ever he is to her ?,
)
( your pursuit will be found out – eventually –
and you )
( will lose a friend !! )
To set you free from all the
negatives you constantly claim I have brought into your life, to set you free
from all that I feel for you, to set you free from the love I offered and offer,
that you show me, tell me makes you uncomfortable, I will - with great
difficulty and heart ache – try to forget you exist and let you be in order for
you to have no distractions as you move towards your goal ( Mr. Right ) .
I am going to try and take the
cure for my addiction to the sweet and intoxicating drug I have become addicted
to, ( “ Beautiful Moneca, ” ) before it kills everything I have left to give to
someone, and suffer, greatly the pains of withdrawal and loss ( of what I
really never had ) as my heart aches with the pounding, beating flow of
blood that constantly hurts .
I will MISS YOU DEARLY !
Lost - in Love –
still your friend Bill .
Dearest Moneca :
May 25th 2007
I realize that the choice of a
word to describe the events of a week ago Wednesday, may rise your ire, your
anger so I best explain what I meant using the word _ page two, bracketed
paragraph ( “ the word intimacy ” ). There is no sexual connotation, innuendo
implied in that word ( how would I know ? ). What I meant by intimacy Moneca,
was derived from what you told me – intimacies with Mr. Jeannette, was romantic
candle lit suppers, romance sitting at the table between you two, romance in bloom
as you two strolled across our parking lot, arms tightly, romantically
entwined, eyes gazing – in star crossed
delight – into the others .
That is what intimacy meant
Moneca, it was obvious to these discerning old eyes that saw that moment .
Only you Moneca, know if
intimacy has a deeper meaning .
I hope all is well with and
for you Moneca .
My door will always be open
for you .
As for my heart, well ???, I
think you know .
Love
Bill
.
CHAPTER 58
A letter
for Moneca. - 4 pages
May 28th / 29th, 2007
Dearest
Moneca :
I
can not let go of you !, for some strange reason ?, it is two AM and the moon,
stars and the blackness of these early morning skies seem to catch their
reflections in the tear drops that profusely fall from my eyes as I search the
depths of reason, looking for an answer, a truth as to why ?, and then have to
wonder if maybe, just maybe fate ?, karma ?, sent you to me to be the avenging
angel for all those lovely Ladies / Girls I once loved, but now only love, for
all the women who loved me, but from me only got my time, my understanding, my
empathies, my passions, my platonic love. Could this be the reason Moneca, ?,
for all that was between you and me, has come between us, has left me standing
alone, beneath your shadow .
Oh how I miss you so Moneca, which is so
hard to understand, considering you are always with me every moment of my days
and my nights. As you know very well, you have been in my thoughts, constantly,
for weeks, months even and now, as I see your beautiful features flash across
my minds eye or see your beauty – that hangs upon the north wall of my solitary,
confinement cell. I find myself deep in conversation with you all day long,
conversations that I can not shut down – not that I really want to. The next
thing I know , twelve, thirteen hours of tedious, hard work have slipped into
the forty five minute drive home – where I will be close to you and yet so far
away ( two hundred feet and worlds away ) .
How am I able to set you free Moneca, ?, ( when you are already free from me,
) when you haunt my every moment, my days, my nights and my dreams. You
permeate every fiber, every atom, every cell, you are entwined within ever
strands of my DNA. You are the fire that drives my flaming blood into this old
brain, you are the very electricity that activates every synapse, into sending
messages of you to every neuron in my head, you are the oxygen of life, that
fuels the flames of every drop of blood in my veins. And yet you choose to be
the essence, in oxygen, ( that rusts away the heart of the strongest of
mettles, the source that rots the sweetest of fruits and vegetables along with
all other living things upon this fragile earth, ) the essence of fire, ( that
scorches, that burns, that incinerates, that burn / turns every thing it
touches into dust. And now you are the aqueous of every tear drop I shed as I realize and accept the fact that
you have moved on leaving me to drown in knowing that I was nothing and no one –
am nothing and no one you would consider as an intimate friend, a good friend,
and never – as you have stated on more than one occasion – would be your lover
.
What drives my pain Moneca, my heartache, my
suffering, my grief, my tears, is the fact that throughout this past year, I
have never had the opportunity to have experienced, to have touched the depths
of your heart, your spirit, your caring, loving, passionate soul. I know that I
have caught glimpses of the light within, flakes of that rainbow protruding, but
it has always been for another ( Mr. Psycho/Priest, Mr. Jeannette, Mr. Waiter,
etc., etc. )
I am truly sorry Moneca, that you would not
see me as a man worthy of your love, your respect, your passions and that you
kept from me all that I know – somewhere deep within, lies - you have to give .
What hurts most of all Moneca, is the fact, that
I have come to realize, - by how you have treated me, how you feel about me, - as
a man, as a human being I am not worthy of the affections, the passions, the
intimacies, the love from a woman this man seeks, the love and respect from you
( I never experienced ), that I had been looking for .
I guess Moneca, there was some insight, some
wisdom and truth in my statement to you “ I have nothing to offer a woman,
nothing to give to her ” and you have verified, validated that statement, for
you found nothing in me worth pursuing me for, nothing worthy that would give
you cause to share some of your life, your life with me and so, as I look upon
the times I thought there was an us there was no us, just you and just me and
the superficiality of the time you spent with me .
May 29th 2007
Dear Moneca :
I had so much more to write about, but upon reflection – realizing what
a fool this foolish old man has been – realizing that in pouring my heart and soul upon these pages, I have only been thinking about myself, my feelings and
excluding ( what I truly do not comprehend ) any of yours. I now know – probably
always did – that for this passed year I have been putting all my feelings,
heart and soul, into every thing we did together, ( all my hopes, all my desires,
all the wishing and every prayer ) while you tried to keep my feelings out of
the equation and yours behind those stone
face, wrote to you in poetry, in prose
where so troubling for you, made you feel uncomfortable ann more distant then
you already are. We can not help the love that comes from within us, nor the voice
that gives it wings ( spoken or written ) any more then we can help breathing.
I know not from whence it comes nor why ?, all I know Moneca, is that I want to
share and be shared with, to give and be given to, to offer the person of my
affections, my all, without restrictions, without reservations and give it all,
we should, we must and giving to you – what I now know is love- all my heart,
my soul, my spirit, all my love and all else you may need or want from me. This
is my only desire Moneca .
I would ask nothing of you
Moneca, nothing from you, except your respect, what love and affection you
decide to give, and when ever the mood strikes you to dwell in the house of
passion, the heat of making love with you or just to you .
I would just love it, if you would be with me,
when you are with me, oh to know that I really mean something to you what a
delight, but unfortunately, it is not in the cards, and all the above – about my
love – are but the fantasies of a foolish old man and not the direction of his
love and affections (
Moneca, ) .
For me Moneca, the question is
why ?, why have you let me put my finger in the door – to only let me ride on
the fringes of your exotic, exquisite carousel, but not let me touch or climb
upon the steed that is you, in disguise ( a wooden horse upon this
merry-go-round ) that continually has me going up and down, round and round.
Why do you bother – even for a second – with a man you have no feelings for?,
no affections for ?, no passions for ?, little, if any, respect for ?, is not
at your level ? I have to wonder ?, Moneca, just what purpose do I serve for
you ?, for I do not feel that, even my friendship can answer my questions, and so Moneca, just
what am I – exactly – in the larger scheme of things ?
As your friend - and that is
what I have been first and foremost – Moneca, I will always be here / there for
your every need and as you read this you know that I am still unable to let go
of you .
Love
Bill
CHAPTER 58 B
In a letter to Joyce, - 15 pages
April 13th, 15th, June 3rd, 2007
I too, think Moneca, reacted to strongly and
strangely the night I took her to the movies .
I have
since learned, that Moneca, has trouble ( phobia ? ) with being in crowds of
people – very uncomfortable - it has
something to do with life in Poland
.
Well Joyce, I guess you will be reading of
my exploits for Moneca’s birthday ( not
the eleventh, but the ninth – sorry, my mistake ) instead of hearing of them on
the phone .
I thought is was all going to fall apart on
me as I tried to reach the limo. Driver, to give him instructions – not
answering his phone. I went out to meet him on the road before he arrived at
our place, but fate ?, and him being late blew
it.
I came back home after trying to catch him for the third time, ( believing
I might have missed him ) to see if he was already at our place – no – so back
out I go, to search for him one more time, when I see him turning the corner. I
throw my car into reverse and like a mad man, possessed, I speed past my
driveway only to see Moneca, walking out towards the street ( oh shit !, what
am I going to do now ? ) so I slam on the brakes, drive forwards into my
driveway stop and greet Moneca, asking
her “ where are you going ” as the limo. Drives past our driveway so slowly. Nfor the limo. ow I have to play it cool,
play innocent. The limo then turns around and pulls up in front of our driveway
and stops ( as you see in the photos ). Moneca, is surprised !, for all her son
Mat., told her, was that a white car would be picking her up, because he
couldn’t, he was running late .
I, in my best innocent look ( in my work
cloths ) and playing the part to perfection, offer to escort her – on my arm (
which she refuses ) – to the limo. That she thinks was sent by her son. Things,
so far, are going well – considering – until the driver approaches us and
mentions my name ( oh shit !, now I am screwed, the sham is up ) and now so
deep into the part, I have to come up with a plausible explanation for Moneca,
and so I tell her that I arranged for Mat., to get this limo. through a friend
of mine ( which was not a total fabrication ) and that is why my name was mentioned.
So far there are no suspicions and so I go and get my camera ( a camera that
Moneca, had given me ) to take some pictures – as you can see in the photos I
sent - and then I took the driver aside
to do what I had intended in the first place
before what happened, happened, only to have him pull out the credit
card receipt for me to sign, just as Moneca, - having left the limo. – comes up
behind us. What the hell else can possibly go wrong ? – yet, she still does not
suspect a thing, thank heaven .
I told
the driver to take his time, take the long way, go through Stanley Park before
heading to the restaurant for I had to go upstairs, clean up, change cloths,
drive to the skytrain, get down town and to the restaurant - Bridges on Grandville Island –before him,
so that I could have time enough complete preparations for the final act, that,
becoming the maitre d’, in order to seat the Lovely Lady, the Birthday Girl,
bring her the champagne, pour her a glass of Dom Perignon, tell her, her son
will be late, give a toast to her Birthday, go back to the bar, come back and
tell her that the boss said I could have the time off in order to join her for
the meal .
Did not happen as planned Joyce, for the
limo. got there before me – unbeknownst to me. I waited and waited at the front
door of he restaurant for over a half an hour for them to show up. Mat. Called me
twice before he finally found out where his mother was. She and the limo. driver
where downstairs in a small bar below the restaurant drinking coffee and low
and behold, there was the limo. parked out back. I thought, for sure, the jig
was up but she still did not have a clue that I had set this whole thing in
motion. I now, playing the waiter, told her that her table was ready and
escorted her up stairs and sat her down at our table, went and got the champagne, poured us a drink, as I
continued to play the part, sat down and gave a toast for her Birthday and then
went back to the cloak room, doffed the apron, slipped into my jacket and went
back to the table and joined her. Even after Mat, showed up and we had supper,
she still was still in the dark about my involvement and even after I finally
admitted it was all my idea and with the help of her son was able to pull it
off, confirmed by Mat, she doubted .
My friend Brian Borrowdale, whom I was
hoping would have been able to do the whole round trip for me, could not, for
he was no longer in the limousine business but did offer to pick us up after
supper and drive us back to Coquitlam in the blue Cadillac you see in the
photos and from there, it was home in my little Probe to the biggest
disappointment of my old age efforts .
And yes Joyce, you where positively right,
when you wrote “ I think it won’t be a grateful kiss on the mouth even for you ”.
I do not know if it is truth ?, but I have to say that I did not feel much gratitude
for all the effort and aggravation I endured,
for her benefit, for her Birthday - not even after she stated “ I have never
had such a Birthday, no one has ever done anything like this for me ” – nor did
I feel a speck of gratitude for being the man who loved her enough to put all
this together. She questioned “ was it Mat, or you ?” although I said it was
Mat’s idea and he said it was mine, I think that she really did not want to
accept that it was I, even after finally copping to being the culprit who put
it all together, with a little help from her son .
Such a beautiful experience, to end as a sad
night for me. At least I am able to cherish the pleasures, the joy, the
mystery, the intrigue - I never got - in
being able to do for someone, all the that I once used to do, but no longer
could – for years – but now, can again. I guess Joyce, I will have to be satisfied
with the satisfaction in giving and living without getting a spark, or anything
from one’s heart .
CHAPTER 59
In a
letter to Gail - 10 pages
June 2nd , 5th, 8th
2007
I am glad Gail, that you found pleasure in
seeing me in action once again ( we do look good together – if we only where –
Moneca, and I ) although it was only eleven months ago, when we had so many
adventures together. I did not know- “ brought a smile
to my face ” that you did not
know me that well – “ seeing you at a symphony ” – Gail, for there is nothing – even my mundane
job – that I do not find merit and pleasure in doing, otherwise I would not be
doing it. As for Moneca, appreciating my company or willingness to enjoy doing
anything with or for her – I think matters not - and she said that she never gave it a thought
.
I have fallen hard and only tears and
heartache come back to me , after every brief, empty, shallow, beautiful
encounter with Princess Moneca, and I can not seem to give her up, let go of
her or let her go – the subject of my passion to give and to love .
That’s life !!!
CHAPTER 60
A card for
Monecal - 10 pages
June 9th 2007
Some gifts you hold
In your hand…
some you hold
In your heart
You made
My day
Very beautiful,
My heart
Very glad.
Thank You
Moneca
For eliminating
What has made
Me sad
Love
Bill
From : the fish who
did not drown in drink
for the love of – and
another day of beauty.
CHAPTER 61
A card for
Monecal - 1 pages
June 15th 2007
Thinking
of
your
kindness
and
sending you
many
thanks !
for
the lovely Friday evening,
a
great meal, wonderful anecdotes
and delicious
companionship.
I am truly sorry Moneca, for – in
my aim, my desire to hang onto your
every word – being an “ intelligent,
inconsiderate guest . ”
Sorry !
Love
Bill
CHAPTER 62
In a letter from Jojce- 5 pages
June 13th 2007
The photos very nice.
You didn’t smile much. In a couple was nice with Monica. You alone was the best
one of you. Monica smiling nicely. She was having a great time.
Too bad that the fiasco in the move
happened. No need for it if she wasn’t so critical over simple things that
happen all the time.
You sure went all out for her birthday. Big
bucks but now you’re working it is easier to splurge. However in my opinion she
isn’t worth what you do for her and I still feel she is playing a game with you
until something to her liking comes alone again.
Your April 15th page 3 letter
about the movie night, another theater suggested and back into line up and made
the show on time. What a mix up over your drink. Maybe you had better let her
know whatever you do to get her approval beforehand. She is a control freak.
The more you tell me of her actions, the less I think of her. She cald you
crazy and stupid and accused you of being drunk. How can you stand somebody
like that ? You must be in love with her looks as her mind is missing some
normal thinking. Too bad it wasn’t over for good as she said at the time !
Guess you will have more to write about
Monica now it’s on again.
Cut back on too much spending on Monica. She
doesn’t really appreciate you as a person.
Even Linda gives more to you and you can
enjoy even if few and far between. More
than you will ever get from Monica even if you know her for years. She knows a
giver when she meets one. She’ll hang on to you until something better comes
along. She’s a complicated personality. Not easy to ever really get to know as
she is changeable very quickly.
Anyway, good times while they are there. You
pay enough for them at times.
As
ever – Love
Your
friend. Joyce
CHAPTER 63
In a letter to Joyce - 16 pages
June 25th, 26th,
27th 28th July 10th 2007
My Dearest Joyce :
It’s not that I “ You didn’t smile much ” didn’t smile Joyce, for it was an
evening of pure joy !, for me in spite of all that went wrong. For me to be
able to give, once again, after all the years passing before these eyes of
mine, that I could not, – to treat the Lady, I now realize ( and probably
before now ) I am in love with – what a pleasure - to be able to do something
for her that she has never or maybe will never again be able to experience .
I wasn’t smiling in those particular photos
Joyce, because her son caught me with a
mouthful of food each time and when you take a close look at those photos, you
will see that I look like some squirrel or chipmunk preparing his stash for
winter.
I guess that it is pretty plain, in the
pictures of Moneca, and I and of coarse, from my letters, just how I feel about
the lady. And yes Joyce, Moneca, has a beautiful, captivating, exotic smile,
and I wish that, that smile had depth and meaning and feelings beyond the
superficial I feel exists and I wish that her smile was meant for me and in a
way that was meant for no other .
I would have liked to have thought so – “ She was having a great
time ” – Joyce, but may not
have ?, I may never really know for sure. “ I have never had a
bersday ( just love her
ascent ) like this in my life
” may have been to overwhelming for her to let go and truly have a great time
for she could not bring herself to eat one of the great meals available, just
had an appetizer – because of a nervous stomach, she said.
I agree Joyce, “ Too bad that fiasco in
the movies happened.
” and have to say, that her judgmental, critical nature overwhelms everything
and seems to drive her, wasting so much time, energy and life on trivial
matters – that may need consideration but certainly not the destruction of the
little time one has or the great and not so great moments one could share and
give. Unfortunately Joyce, it is the nature of the Beast, that resides so deep within
her subconscious, driving so much of her conscious actions, attitudes and
reactions towards the end results of many of her interactions with others and
her social intercourse .
You may be positively right Joyce, - “ However, in my opinion
she isn’t worth what you do for her and I still feel she is playing a game with
you until something to her liking comes along again ”
– and the pain I feel, is excruciating when those thoughts come to the
forefront of my understanding of where things, with her, are for me. Enclosed
is a copy of a letter – dated May 28th / 29th I wrote to Moneca, that clearly indicates
that I know !, yet I can not let go of her, set myself free and am fool enough
to be willing to accept, what ever little flakes of her time, her feelings she
is willing to let fall upon me .
“ A control freak
” Joyce, I do believe is her nature and the nature of the Beast, yet there is
so much I do love about Moneca, and I do believe that my love for her may be
the buffer that allows me to get past all “ How can you stand
somebody like that. ”
and look into the depths of her soul for the person I think hides and resides
behind all that she places between us – the walls, the barriers, the veil, the
put downs, the indifference, the education thing, the level of intelligence
thing, the social status thing, etc., etc .
Anyway
my dear, writing of the Devil-ess , I just go back from a walk and a talk with
the Princess, and so now I am back with you. There is little doubt of that fact
“ You
must be in love with her looks ”
as you can plainly see in the photos and for an old man like me who thinks I am
not all that good looking, strange ( although a young woman 35/40 stopped me no
the path to tell me, she thought I was a good looking man ) for I do believe
that we ( Moneca, and me ) do look very good together, but much more then that
Joyce, I am enthralled with the tone and sounds of her voice ( so sexy ),
mesmerized by her exotic accent, fascinated by what ( I believe ) lies beneath that cold and hard Polish,
exterior she lays on me most of the time .
She has said that she has metamorphosed –
from an affectionate, loving, caring, giving, sharing person – into this woman
creature who needs no one, wants no one, needs not nor wants not any kind of
intimacy. Yet I hear her stories, see her inaction and speculate that she needs
- for there are always men pursuing her
( five that I know of during this past year – including myself ) and she is
always in the company of one or more of these men during the same period of
time ( dinners, coffees, shows, suppers, time in their places, and some as far
away twenty miles ). Friends ????
You are most likely right Joyce, ( at least
as far as my emotional well being is concerned ) when you wrote and I quote “ Too bad it wasn’t over
for good as she said at the time”
but I guess ( the fool that I am ) that I would rather know that I have some
feelings, even if they are painful at times then to have none at all as I walk
the that long and alone – that sometimes can be lonely – path to the next plane
and new adventures. Besides Joyce, it is better to have loved and lost then to
have never loved at all !!
Oh yes Joyce, I can’t get that girl out of
my head, out of my heart, out of my psyche and that makes you right when you
wrote “ Guess you will have more to write about Monica ” I just can not believe that I
could fall so hard, just like I did with Linda Bourgeois, all those many years
ago ( over thirty five years ). I will “ Just play it as it comes
and goes for as long as it can ”
Joyce, no matter how bad it makes me feel, and I do. I never wanted to have
these feelings again – not since Linda Bourgeois came into my life, have the
heart aches I have suffered been this heavy. It is no consolation either, in
knowing that Moneca, does not want to have any intimacy with me, wants no
relationship of depth with me, does not want me as her lover, just as her
friend ( I guess that that would be palatable if she where a true friend to me
) that I am unable to get past, as I am sure some of the men she has been with
and have pursued her, have come to know, as she determines their worthiness .
That I will Joyce, in fact , that I have “ Cut back on too much
spending on Monica.
” and The Moody Blues concert will be, either the final act and I will bring
down the curtain on my love – although ( in all honesty ) I do not think I am
able to bury my love for her any more then I was able to with the love I have
for Linda Bourgeois, - my attention, my devotion, my desire for her company, to
hear her voice, to see her face, the desire for her love and I will spend the
remaining days – from July 9th until august second – working my ass
off as much as possible and preparing for my sojourn back to the city of my
birth and youthful experiences. My plan is – after the concert – to ask Moneca,
two questions / favours if you will ( one ) will you come and spend the night
with me – it does not have to be sexual – I would love to have you in my arms,
hold you tightly, have you next to me until the sun rises and it’s time for me
to get out of bed and ready myself for work ?, and ( two ) will you kiss me
with the sincerity and passion you would for a lover ? If neither of my wishes are granted, I will take the final bow and bow
to the hands of fate and to the will of Moneca, her choice and finally accept
what she has been telling me all alone – in actions and reactions. This she has
been doing from very early on, during the coarse of our adventures and
misadventures, and ever since .
“ I do not want to be
intimate, I do not want to be involved, I do not want a relationship with
anyone. I am happy on my own, I don’t want to have to serve myself up to
satisfy the needs of any man, to bow down to their needs, I do not want to
give, give, give only to be disappointed, lied to, be used. ”, and so Joyce, how ?, can I
lighten her load, dispel all her hang-ups, help her pack her baggage and send
them on their way .
Anyway Joyce, the train will stop at The
Moody Blues concert and deposit it’s passengers – love / heart ache and the
stone wall – on the edge of what could have, should have been – to sit down and
wait for ?, - or will it steam on into a beautiful journey that will carry us (
instead of just me ) on the road to Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario
and all that lies in-between, then back to the beautiful sunsets, sunrises and
happy days in beautiful B. C. .
I realize Joyce, at least I feel that it is
all just a beautiful dream that this old man may never know the reality of, an
illusion I continue to delude myself with, yet, hope gives me life, gives me
purpose, no matter how much pain I feel as reality slaps me in the face. A
masochist must I be ?
As much as I would like to think, not,
Joyce, you may very well be on the mark “ More than you’ll ever get
from Moneca, if you know her for years. ”
but I will dream a little while longer though, even though it may all come to
an end in twelve days, then I may finally open my eyes from the land of dreams and
into the full light at the dawning of a harsh reality I have
been dreading to face or accept, ever
since I met her seven years ago, when I did know that I could never be an
intimate or even casual part of her life. Six years later, I did become a
casual part of her life – much to my delight and surprise - so who knew ?, just
what time, fate and Moneca, had in store for this old fool. There I go again –
deluding, fooling myself with hope, I believe ( as you do ) is actually
hopeless .
I think so Joyce, “ She knows a giver when
she meets One ” And there is positively no doubt in my mind about her being a very “ complicated personality ” . I think you know that I am
more then capable of discerning the most complicated, the most devious, the
most scheming, the most a veiled of personalities but I have to tell you Joyce,
that just when I think I have her number, it changes and my understandings are
left blowing in the winds of change .
How true Joyce, - “ You pay enough for them at times ” the “ good times while they are there ” – as I pay such a heavy price,
with my tears, the emptiness of my soul, the feelings of aloneness, ( even in
her presence ) - when we are apart, my heart aches at her distance of spirit –
the chasm she has chiseled out of my desire and placed it between herself and I
– the hurt that that comes, in knowing that I will never be able – no matter
what I do -
to live up to her standards, her expectations, her desires her beliefs – to
become a suitable suitor, a lover she may be willing to let go of the ghosts
that haunt and be willing to share more then the superficial, the casual
relationship she has relegated us to be.
I know Joyce, the price I have paid
for trying to pry out the woman’s love, ( for me ) – sacrificing of my self on
the alter of, for her approval, her
respect, her love, her time, all has been – maybe – far to high a price for
this little old man. I have to say though, that I have been willing to pay it,
even if ?, at the end of this rainbow child, there is no pot of gold – only a
pot of cold ice. Although I do not believe that to be so .
I am back my Dear, and I guess
I should start with the good and pleasant news. Last night, I spent with
Moneca, she gave me a back, left side and left arm massage and then she did an
energy healing on the above mentioned places. Doing so because of the accident that
has caused me such pain and has kept me from sleeping throughout the night (
first night that I was able to sleep all the way through to dawn early light )
after that she took me on a pictorial journey into her past in Warszawa Poland
and other places - Paris, Rome. What a beautiful evening I had and she has the
most amazing hands and astonishing touch. Unlike Linda, - bull in a china shop –
Moneca’s touch was like a feather from the wings of an angel’s wing floating,
drifting across my skin, my body like it was blown by the breath of the gods. I
had a painless, good nights sleep after her energy healing. Unlike like how I am
feel right now, only hours after a session with a physiotherapist and only minutes
after Linda, gave me a massage .
PS Sorry, I got carried away !
CHAPTER 64
A poem for Moneca – 1 page
June 28th 2007
You,
I
would never ever want to be a house to billet your Soul.
I
would never ever want to be a cage that imprisons your Spirit.
I
Only
want to be an invited / welcomed guest in the house of your Soul.
Only
want to be the key that might open the locked gates to your Spirit.
With You,
I
would love to walk, hand in hand with the pure essence of your Soul
I would
Love
to be the wind, the light the, force upon
which your Spirit may freely fly.
B. J. “A”
2
June 28th 2007
CHAPTER 65
Poems for Moneca – 3 page
June 28th 2007
So much, do I desire -
of that which I may never have
Upon the retina of my minds eye –
burned deep, are the images of
your face.
Upon my synoptic, lies the
essence of you –
Burned into the psyche of this
man.
Upon the empty hours of my days,
my nights,
my soul cries out, reaches out to
touch you.
My spirit cries out with a desire
to fly with you,
my heart cries out with my love for you,
my eyes cry out, they bleed for
the sight of you,
my being cries out with a gift of love for
you,
cries out with pain, knowing that
my love,
my desire, my passion, my hopes
for you,
all lie in burning flames, of a funeral pyre –
of fallen dreams, of dashed
hopes,
of my unfulfilled reveries.
B. J. “A”2
June 28th 2007
My dreams, hopes, desires,
reveries, are but ashes, all are destroyed by the by the indifferent winds of times passed, of experiences
lost, of memories never born, of all that haunts you – created the fear .
I fear that my dream will
never see the light of day ( reality ) nor dance among the stars, the beams of
light from a full moon, may never mazurka to the tunes of love as one or even
together .
Fulfillment
I
want to tear down your stone walls, lift your veil.
I want to sweep away all the
debris, then your face.
I would love to kiss the beauty I
see in your soul,
in your spirit, I know resides
within your intellect.
I want to know your inner and
outer beauty,
passed your heart buried –
behind those cold, hard steel
doors, in the walls erected
to keep me at bay, to keep me
away, to keep me from
( from my dream, all I desire )
touching you.
I would love to kiss the lady,
the artist, my dream,
the free spirit, I know resides, within you.
I would love to walk – forever –
hand in hand,
arm in arm, with all of that,
which makes up
the beautiful woman, person I
see.
I would love to kiss away the
past, your pain.
Kiss life into – what I feel – is
your stagnant passion.
I desire, so much, to kiss your gorgeous
mouth,
your sweet lips, your
pulchritudinous smile.
Kiss fire into those Autumn green
eyes of yours
And into every molecule, every
atom,
every strand of DNA that has gone
into creating
the woman, the beauty, the
Moneca!!!
Desire
I would love to kiss
my way into the depths –
the
depths of your heart, your life, your acceptance.
I
wish I could kiss away all that seems to bind you –
To
your current state of mind – desire to be alone –
taking
you on a million miles of empty, shallowness, -
a
painful journey that has brought you to the edge –
the
edge of an abyss, a deep, ghostly, black hole
from
whence there will be no return.
Reality
Of coarse all of the above is
seen through the mind’s eye,
that writes from it’s own
perspective,
it’s own desire and experiences
with the Princess.
B. J. “A” 2
June
28th 2007
CHAPTER 63
In a letter to Joyce – 18 pages
June 25th, 26th,
27th 28th 2007
My surprise ride for Moneca, - like her birthday
– did not come off as I had paned it, but it still was a surprise for her. A surprise
she preferred I not have spent my money on. A beautiful day with the Lady, and a
bit of a disappointment with The Moody Blues concert – only one of the original
members of the group playing and only one or two songs that cameclose to the original.
As I said during our phone conversation, Moneca,
seems to be opening up a little, not enough to except my invitation to spend the
night with me. And so Joyce, I will continue to hang in – against all hope – until
I leave for good old Brantford
Ontario ,n the second of August, enjoy
and savor every moment of what ever comes my way from Moneca, before I say goodbye
and finally let her go / let go of her .
We are going to the art gallery this afternoon
Joyce .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 66
In a letter from Joyce, – 3 pages
July 18th 2007
Dearest Bill –
Got your big letter to Monica, and your
letter to me. Lots of reading.
You wrote some great love letters to Monica.
Haven’t read any as good as that in true romance. Don’t read any love stories
as I never relate to them. Like Monica, I felt I needed a man like a hole in
the head. So I think I can understand Monica, trying different ones, out and in
and out more than once. I am sure she is an intelligent, competent person in
her work, in massage. Can’t you get a treatment every week and pay her as a
client ? Anyway, what was her comment about those letters. It sounds like a
love sick, puppy love in some of it. Too much but well written with great
information on words to convey feeling. I guess things will come as they come
but I don’t feel she will give you up unless she finds another man friend she
thinks is intelligent. I am interested in next episode with Monica. Am I right
that her name is spelled with i not e as you spell it but I always uses the i .
CHAPTER 67
A poem for Moneca, – 1 page
July 15th 2007
An unexplored Adventure.
I
know what will be !
There is an emptiness, creating –
depression – a hole
that a deep sadness fills – thoughts
of take their toll
on an alone heart that seeks,
destiny with so much more.
The choices made, become the hands
that close the door
on all that hope was creating for me
– sublime dreams.
All that is, all that is felt, all I
see – for me it seems
is sadness, emptiness, heart ache, -
at the hands of fate
are – for me, words, feeling the
voices of the gods state
will be my coarse upon the oceans,
seas, rivers of life.
And so , as end days near, what
prevails will be blind strife
who’s tears cut deep into my heart like
a surgeons knife
extricating emotions, feelings
without any notion
as to why ?, things are as they are –
at a standstill, no motion
left to carry me forward, give me hope,
give reason
from the one I love – in this game
of love, in my last season ?
I feel as though I am fading, becoming
the disappearing man,
becoming invisible as my departing
hour – soon at hand –
will open a door through which – as swift
as it can –
all I sought will run to another,
and there, alone, will I stand
once again, heart in hand, without
hope – the dream dead,
pictures, memories, experiences,
heartache to fill my head.
I will always remember the joys, the
pleasures, what was good,
the walks, the talks, the
adventures, where we once stood
in the other’s shadow, glow, in what
we had come to know
of the secrets that make up you and
me, seldom to show
their faces to ourselves, yet we
have told the other, truth
as we have come to see them. Oh,
where is your youth ?,
where has she gone ?, that beauty I
toughed once or twice
and have to say, if I could have, every
day, how nice !
I will – my Dear, - cherish every
morsel until the end !
I will – my Dear, - always be – if nothing
else – your friend.
B. J. “A” 2
July 15th
2007
I do wish you would join me !!
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 68
A letter to Moneca, – 1 page
July 26th 2007
My Dear Moneca :
I am so sorry, and feel so bad
about all that I have done – and all that I am not – that have caused you so
much “ grief ”, “ disappointment ”
I am truly remorseful for
having destroyed what would have been a beautiful adventure .
I regret having made so many
mistakes with you Moneca, and wish I had the magic to right all the wrongs I
have committed .
I will miss you and do miss
you and guess I will for the rest of my life on this plane and the next and the
one after that .
I would like no argument from
you my Dear, I made the mistakes and I – not you – will pay for them, so please
find enclosed, two hundred and sixty dollars – I believe the price of the plane
ticket – to cover the cost of my mistakes. If this figure is not enough, please
let me know and I will see to it that you get the difference. If it is to much,
so be it. The cost of my mistakes .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 69
In a letter from Joyce – 2 pages
August 29th 2007
Got your card from Montréal. So glad to hear
you had fabulous trip with Monica. Did she go back with you in car or plane ?
Then again at dining room with Monica, with
the tape player.
Then again with Monica, at euchre to say you
couldn’t stay .
You looked real good and you were happy
Monica, got here for a vacation with you. On doubt she enjoyed Brantford time and visits and the eastern
trip.
Did you make it to the US ? Was it Baltimore, no Boston
?
I forgot, when you said you would go home on
Us from there. Hope it was pleasant trip back and no mishaps or speed tickets .
He mentioned you told him about girlfriend
in your building and was surprised she was with you here. You said you didn’t
think it was going anywhere. Don’t know where you stand now. On or off ???
Monica was impressive the little I saw of
her. That last day at euchre she wasn’t so pleasant it seemed to me. No doubt
you were on your best behavior at all times .
Did you get a kiss on the lips, once at
least ? I doubt nothing else was forthcoming of more intimate nature.
You were super good to Monica, and hope she
appreciates it for a long time –
Last Great Adventure
The road had mysteriously beckoned.
One more great adventure I reckoned.
Alone ?, maybe ?, - this fair haired Lady –
would she be my companion ?, just maybe
she will join me – this autumn green
eyed beauty – in my dreams I’ve seen.
Journeys End
I’ve come back to a lesser place than before.
My Princess no longer – closeness no more.
As the plane arrived – she seemed to close the door
on the beauty we shared – from shore to shore.
I wonder ?, where she will take us, what place ?,
what plane ?, will be my fate – what will I face ?,
as empty days, photos, memories become all that is left.
B. J.
“A” 2
September
8th 2007
CHAPTER 70
In
a letter to Gail – 1 page
September 8th 2007
Sent September 9th by email
We – Monica, and me – have arrived
– back into our lives – in beautiful B. C., safely. Monica, is faced with
having to resurrect some of her plants and with a couple of days of cleaning up
her home and dogs so that life for her will be as she left it .
Monica, and I can not find
words adequate enough to express just how grateful we are for all the
kindnesses, all the love and hospitality and all that you did for us during
both our visits .
We pray, that throughout all
your days, you will come to experience some of that which you so graciously
bestowed upon us, as did all the rest of my family and friends .
Love
Dad
&
Monica .
CHAPTER 71
In
a letter from Gail – 1 page
September 8th 2007
Hi Dad and Monica :
Glad to hear you’re home safe and sound. We
were wondering how things were going when we heard your names being paged for
your flight ! We stayed and watched your flight take off though .
Anyway, it was a month full of adventures
and your charisma helped bring some of your family members together for an
enjoyable time .
Hope your plants come back to life Monica. I’m
sure they will with your care .
Love Gail, Dave & Caleb .
CHAPTER 72
A letter to Moneca – 1 page
September 8th 2007
Self Destructiveness
Moneca
My Dearest
I am so very sorry Moneca, for disappointing
you as I have. I am so sorry for the disillusionment you are suffering Moneca,
due to my actions and for the pain I caused – thoughtlessly – especially
knowing your history with many of the men who had disillusioned and
disappointed you and all the heart ache they caused you .
I realize Moneca, that no matter how I feel
about you – nothing has changed for me throughout the times we’ve shared
together / apart – or just how badly I feel about what I had done while I was
pursuing that illusive – beautifully illusive – Angel of my dreams, ( You
Moneca ) you will never accept me as an
equal or even accept me for who I am .
I am sorry Moneca, - in your estimation (
mine as well ) – that I have lowered my self to the level of most men and the
animal in us .
My love for you Moneca, my desire for you
went well beyond just making love to you and I think you know that to be the
truth Moneca .
I did want understanding, passion and
affection though .
Love
Bill
CHAPTER 73
Poems to Moneca – 1 page
October 6th 2007
Electromagnetic
Radiation
Secretly
– unbeknownst to me – you were holding out a light
of
hope for me to see, to reach for, to bask in, some day.
If
I had only the foresight, the insight, the wisdom to
have
seen, to believe could become a reality
some day.
You
were / are the Angel that held the light of my essence
in
the palm of Your, hand, so gentle yet strong.
I
am so SORRY that I sentenced to death, to the grave,
that
flame of hope – that in my stupidity had extinguished.
The
Mist, in Decay
Into the quagmire of, into the
swampy dregs of
aloneness have I relegated my soul, my spirit –
to become trapped inside a forest
of putrefying
driftwood images – lost forever
the potential
for love from, or to love and
have that love be desired.
Love is now left to rot, in the
black arms of Hell’s
icy embrace ( forever and a day )
because of my lack
of wisdom, my lack of faith – in myself,
my desirability –
in your motives, your reasons for
keeping me at bay,
for continually pushing me away.
I am so SORRY Moneca, for my lack
of wisdom,
for my lack of faith in any kind
of future,
in were you stated you wanted to
go with me,
in my blindness, my stupidity, my
ineptness,
my perceived / projected insecurities.
I am SORRY that in my stupidity,
I believed
that what you constantly conveyed
to me
throughout our time together
- expressed
verbally and in your physical reactions
to my
attempts at expressing affection for you –
would
not be seen through the veil of blind love .
I am SORRY
that I believed in what you said to me,
what
I thought was a truth, was a reality, was my fate.
I am SORRY
!, I am sorry that I could not see,
would
not see, did not see.
Love
Bill .
B. J. “A” 2
October 6th 2007
CHAPTER 74
In a letter to Joyce – 12 pages
October 6th / 14th 2007
Then there is the issue of Moneca,
that will certainly stretch the membrane that has protected my spirit, has
protected it to the ultimate point of endurance .
Well my Dear it is time to
face my fate. ( The Polish Princess )! I do not know for sure ?, what Moneca,
has in store for me, but what ever it will be ?, I will have to live with it,
no matter how unacceptable ?, or acceptable ?, the outcome of today’s walk and
talk may be .
The sun has come out of hiding
and will rain down upon us, and I do hope that Moneca’s beautiful, radiant
smile and happy personality will do the same, will permeate the time we share
together this afternoon. She just called - time to leave – so you take good
care and I will be back .
I thought – considering I have
a little time before I go to Barb’s and Chris’s for supper – that I might fill
you in on my little two and a half walk and talk with Moneca. It takes a lot to
get past and through to Moneca, but I was, finally, able to reach her - but
without any hope of coarse – of ever having any kind of relationship other
than- as she put it – as friends, friends being the only coarse open to me. Even
after informing her that I had given up my sex life ( what there was of it ) a
long time ago, because I felt guilty, because I felt like I was cheating on her
even though we were not an item, not in a relationship, and from all her
indications, would never be. None of this had any impact, made no difference,
in fact she suggested that I go back and resume my sex life. “ I do not want to
Moneca, it has been finished for a long time and I do not want to go back to
that which I gave up, in hopes of having a relationship with you, would not be
fair to all concerned ” and yet, none of this seemed to have made one iota of
difference to her feelings for or about me, except to throw in my face, her
perception of my morality, my self-respect, my dignity, my principles. These
were the issues she throw at me, that I lacked as a man, as a human being and I
have to wonder about the hypocrisy ?, especially when one thinks about what she
did with Mr. Jenneta, her best girlfriend’s man .
A
card to Moneca.
Dear Angel,
I hope that you are feeling much
better.
I pray that your spirit – you keep
well.
May your soul be free of all
ills.
I hope the gods of enterprise shone
upon you
this fine day, with a favorable
light.
Love
Bill
Before I answer your letter from
August 29th 2007 I must fill
you in on the on going saga, the anecdotal mysteries of Moneca, and yours
truly. Well my Dear, ( surprises ) – after a beautiful afternoon’s walk and
talk through the forests and marches of Port Coquitlam – Moneca, - upon parting
of the way – took me in her arms, hugged me and let me hug her back with half a
kiss – full on mouth kiss that is – and without any signs of rejection. Today –
this very afternoon- is supposed to be – I hope – a reflection, a mirror image
of yesterday’s adventure. I will wait and see .
Yes Joyce, Moneca, did come
back with me and unfortunately, I had to fly us back because I seized – I mean
fried the engine of my car as we where approaching Syracuse New York and so I
had to rent a car to get us back to Brantford were my nephews friend drove me
back to Cicero in his truck and car trailer to pick up my car and bring it back
to Brantford. I left it with my brother and his mechanic so a new engine could
be installed. As of this moment – having talked to Wayne, my brother, this
morning – they have an engine for my car and every thing looks good to go
except Wayne, does not know if it the engine has been installed yet .
Yes Joyce, your letter was
waiting for me when I got home midnight, Friday September seventh after an
unexpected, extra two weeks in Brantford.
Oh yes, I was “ happy Moneca,
got here for a vacation with ” me Joyce. I am sure she did “ enjoy Brantford time and visits and the eastern trip ” Joyce, Montreal and Quebec city
especially – reminded her of Europe and ( what
I believe ) she is homesick for. Yes Joyce, we did make it to the U. S. and Boston
was the final stopping before turning around and coming back – as it happened –
to what life was before we left together on this little adventure. Moneca, was
a little disappointed with Boston – did like Cambridge and Harvard
University though. Salem
was cute but not what one thinks and we missed the evenings events there because
Moneca, refused to pay, and would not let me pay the extra train fare levied
past a certain point between Boston and Salem because we where not informed of
such a charge. We then had to exit the train wait an hour for a bus and then
another half hour for a connecting bus to get us back to Boston and away from
the fear she was feeling because of the seedy nature of the neighbourhoods we
were in . Unfortunately Boston’s old world charm, the old European flavour was
over shadowed and surrounded by the modern, leaving
what little of the past remaining, lost and alone among all the steal and glass
of the present .
Originally Joyce, the plan Moneca, and I had
hatched was to take the southern route below The Great Lakes but because time
was running out for Moneca, we decided to cross at Fort Erie, cut across
southern Ontario, and slip across the boarder at Sarnia and on across the
northern States. As you have read above, the best laid plans of mice and me had
other ideas and so none of that journey took place.
Well Joyce, I truly appreciate the thought “
I hope it was a pleasant trip back and no mishaps or speeding tickets. ” Well
Joyce, I can certainly say that I got no more “ speeding tickets ” but as for “
no mishaps ” the above tells you just how I faired out in that department – and
it is not over yet .
That is true Joyce, Terry does know about
Moneca, and my thoughts about where things might go with her – nowhere !!!!
“ Don’t know where you stand now. On or off ”
Well Joyce, let me put it this way, I have not been able to solve that mystery
for the life of me. I just do not know, and that is, in itself, a mystery, for
I am usually able to figure out the plots and characters of any movie, in very
short order yet after two years, I am still having difficulty deciphering and
solving the Moneca, mystery. I usually had the modus operandi of a person down
and sketched out before they could run
and hide behind the veils, the masks, the walls they would erect in order to
protect their fragile psyches.
All I
am able to say at this juncture Joyce, is that inspire of the cloud cover, I
spent another beautiful day walking and talking with the Polish Princess. If
this is all there is Joyce, and this is all I will ever get out of my Dream,
all I get for my feelings, from my patience, for all my efforts – so be it, and
I have to say, this is better then the alternative, better then a world of
nothing my Dear, a little something is better then a whole lot of nothing .
“ Moneca, was impressive the little I saw of
her ”, oh yes Joyce, that she is, intellectually my Dear, you would love her –
she reminds me ( in many ways ) of you. Your perception was absolutely correct
Joyce, “ That last day at the euchre she
wasn’t so pleasant it seemed to me ” for as soon as she realized the situation
I had put us all in by my thoughtlessness, she let me know then and there, as
you witnessed, and then again on the way to the car, gave it to me with both
barrels for my stupidity .
Unfortunately not Joyce, “ No doubt you were
on you best behavior at all times, ” and even if I had played the part, I am
sure that she would have found something to castigate me for – the nature of
the beast – and so Joyce, I was myself, with the occasional moderation and a sometimes
a little caution .
Oh yes Joyce, I did - “ Did you get a kiss on the lips ?, once at
least ” – and how great it was, for when she finally let go all hell broke loss
and what a kisser she is – how hungry she seemed, for the passion in her
kissing was simply electrifying, unfortunately for me, there was only two nights
she really let it all hang out – in Montreal and in La Fayett, New York – and I
got to swim in and with the beautiful heat of passionate kissing with
Moneca. To answer you next question / statement – “ I doubt nothing else
was forthcoming of a more intimate nature ” I am pleased to state that you were
wrong, she actually allowed me to make love to her twice – Montréal and for the
most part I was in heaven until she opened her mouth, then there I was without intercourse
“ you are like a little boy ” and there went all the joy and pleasure of
pleasing her in the act of foreplay - and what joy it was - that never got past
her negative remark. Good ?, night ! Then there was the night near La Fayett,
New York that was promising until see turned on the television, said that I should
watch this period piece move she said was great ( I detest period piece moves )
and got in the shower – should I have joined her ?, considering, no, with her
who knows ?, I didn’t and when she came out of the shower she jumped all over
me for watching the move she suggested I watch, that I was not really watching.
Another passionless night beside the woman I loved and wanted to make
passionate love with, food, wine and asleep only to become conscious of the
fact that I was inside her, caressing her beautiful thigh, her shapely calf and
sucking on her tantalizing toes all the while feeling her feminine beauty
wrapped around my swollen man hood. A mystery that neither of us have been able
to explain how it all came ( although not me ) about .
What things to have to remember – the beauty
of making love to Moneca, the disappoints ( for both of us ) of my not standing
up long enough to satisfy- climatically – either ( I sure ) of us. I was content – very much so,
even if she would not allow me the full pleasure of pleasing her – with what I
got, under the circumstances, as for Moneca, well, “ no more ”, “ I don’t want ”,
“ what’s the point ” and then there was the fact that I was in a sexual
relationship, some six months before her, well “ for get it ever happened ”, “
I don’t even want to think about it let alone remember it ”. And so Joyce, all
that I will have of that experience are the memories of a beautiful and yet, unsatisfactory,
passionate dance with this beautiful dream become a nightmare .
Thank you Joyce, but I or we should have
sent you cards from Ottawa, Quebec
city, Boston, as we did from Montreal. It just seemed there was so much to
do and so little time to do it and now it is all just memories, photos and an emptiness
that haunts the days and nights that fill the hollowness coming home has
created in our souls, in our spirits. I wrote us / our, for Moneca, feels the
same way and has been down ever since coming home .
I think that I was Joyce, “ You were super
good to Moneca, and hope she appreciates it for a long time” and I think that
she ( although I can not be certain of it ) is and will be for some time to
come .
Take good care Joyce, and be well .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 75
In a
letter to Brother Wayne – 1 page
October 18th 2007
I wish Wayne, that I could find the adequate
words to justify, to express, to explain just how – your thoughtful acts of
kindness and consideration for my well being, for a possible benefit for my
future ( not to be I am afraid ) with the Princess, ( Moneca ), had made me
feel .
Thank you Wayne, for taking me to the edges
of possibility, to the rim of hope, of fulfillment my dream, a dream that is
met morphing into an abstract, surrealistic nightmare, the dream fading into
dissipating, misty memories .
Thanks to you Wayne, I will now be the most
well dressed man to walk down life’s paths, take life’s journeys arm in arm
with a vision of loveliness that is without substance, without soul,
without light to dissipate the shadows,
without a spirit to fade the creator of the shadows, without the healing rays
of sun light’s reality
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 76
In a letter to Daughter Gail – 16 pages
October 18 th 19 th 20 th
21st 2007
I thank you from the bottom / top of my heart for taking me into your
home, your lives and especially for all that you gave to my friend ?, my
acquaintance ?, my dream to be her lover ! Uncertainty Gail, dictates the use
of question marks, for Moneca, has, during the past couple of weeks, turned
away from two of her long time – so called – friends ( male and female ) and I
have to wonder ?, - based on her treatment of me – if she hasn’t been working
on a way to relegate me to the same plane as she has her longtime good friends.
I do know for sure that she has been doing everything in her power – using
every weapon in her arsenal to dissuade me, from my loving her, from being
affectionate, considerate, helpful and all the other things one does for the one
they care deeply about and passionately care for.
It all started upon landing,
when all that we had shared on our little adventure, not only slipped into
history, - as all of life’s experiences do the moment they have passed, - the
past, but then everything reverted back, back to less then it was before our
cross Canada ( from coast to coast ) trip. I knew something was amiss, when
over the Alberta Rockies, Moneca, did something she has never done to me in all
the time I have been pursuing her, she leaned over me and tenderly,
affectionately rested her head across my shoulder and on my chest for a long,
long time. At that gesture, I knew it was all over and her act was saying, thank you and goodbye, goodbye to
any further closeness .
I am sorry that I got carried
away Kids, I guess, on, I know that it is very hard to walk away from one’s dream
and into the path of runaway reality. Anyway, thank you for making us feel at
home .
I am glad that you had a great
day then, and are having a good day today, for I have to say Gail, I would be
very happy - and so would Moneca, - to be in Ontario right now, for ever since we
have come back, except for a couple of days during this past month, it has been
winter plus, out here and I dislike it – as does Moneca, - immensely, so much
so that I wish I were there .
Oh yes Gail, I – and I assume we,
Moneca and me – did, very much, enjoy our time with you all ( even with the
restrictions you placed upon us, although unnecessary, - I understand – for Moneca,
had already erected walls to keep me at bay and besides Gail, I would not have
crossed any barriers she – as if I could - and you put in place ).
Also know Gail, be assured that nothing, and I mean nothing, not even a
kiss, took place in your home, even when we were alone. I am truly sorry Gail,
that I carelessly, thoughtlessly set in motion, emotions in you that caused you
to believe that I had intentionally disrespected your wishes .
I am glad that you think
Moneca, to be a wonderful lady, but I do wonder just what you think of her ?, -
in the light of a more expanded, extensive analysis .
expressing - your feelings
about this subject –are a good thing, a positive thing ( and I do ) but I have
to tell you Gail, – not that it should matter one little bit, yet it seems to –
Moneca, seems to be telling me, all the time ( which has me questioning myself about myself
) that I am “ to emotional. to soft, not manly. ” along with all the other
negative remarks, and I wonder ?, not just about my self but about her. Anyway
my Dear, I am who I am, what I am and be myself, I will – as, so should you, we
should not put on a mask to fool - or hide from - others – and be better !,
when and if I am able . “ to sensitive ” my Dear, is another negative from
Moneca, I forgot to include in the above list of my ( quote, unquote ) weak characteristics,
according to The Polish Princess – Moneca.
I too find the story about
your doctors achievement – at the youthful age of fifty two – inspirational.
Unfortunately Gail, this story brings me to a very sad thought as I recall a conversation I had with Moneca, the other day ( Thursday ) were she
adamantly, in her usual, inflexible, carved in stone – as exists with every
belief she elucidates – manifesto. She claims that in old age, it is to late
and impossible to improve upon one’s waning abilities – mental or physical – and
does not want to believe that old folks are able to learn new things or do new
and different things or that it is never to late to move on, move forward, move
upwards, even if it is at a pace slower and less competent. What is funny Gail,
but not humorous, is the fact that she knows that I came out of a seventeen year retirement and at sixty five
work harder and longer then I did in my youth or the fact that she – at fifty
one or two – has taken up oil painting and doing a very good job at it or the
fact of a story that I told her about – a woman in the U S ( a couple of years
ago ) who, at seventy two, ( I believe ) went back to University, graduated and
got her degree. So I am glad Gail, that you will not let fear, doubt,
insecurity, age or anything else interfere with your desire to accomplish
goals, meet challenges, satisfy those inner needs and never shut down the dreams
.
Love
Dad
.
CHAPTER 77
A poem for Moneca – 1 pages
October 21st 2007
Thoughts – Moneca .
The past has come around to
dominate again.
It has brought me into a lesser
place then before.
Upon wings of time’s passing,
drift memories, ecstasies,
experiences of joy, to delight – light up my soul,
fill my empty,
fragile heart with lost hopes and dreams.
Gloomy days have befallen us,
darker days upon me.
Those beautiful sunny days,
seemed to have faded away.
Dreams of closeness have faded into a reality
you create.
The dream has become lost, in
what has been left behind,
now the essence for a reality
that has become the present.
Fear my
Dear
Fear has become a long, lonely, dark tunnel
I walk you, with thoughts that leave me alone,
on my own as you take us back to where
I feel, as if I am no more then a substitute
for those empty hours that come to your days,
when the thoughts of a Mr. Right, a Prince Charming,
Mr Pseudo Intellectual, Mr. Elegant are insufficient
and your current pursuer, man of interest, is not available.
The man you’d respect, appreciate, give yourself to,
the man you’d
love, – none existent in this reality?,
the man you desire.
B. J. "A" 2
October 21st 2007
My Dear Moneca :
I have done many times and
will again, lay my ego down upon the sacrificial alter in order for it to be
the girders of a bridge upon which you may cross over the abyss, the black
hole, the seas of uncertainty, the quagmire of fears created from so many
negative experiences that continually creep into the mind of your days, from a
past, now long passed – experiences that have created beliefs, dogmas, paradigms,
archetypes, control .
This I have done – laid my ego
aside, to rest – and will continue to do so, for you, because I care, because
doing so is my nature, my desire to see you rise up and fly above all that has
brought you down, brings you down, hold you back. This I, freely, do for you,
with all my heart, soul and love, in order to support, even if I should never
know, feel or reap the benefits because you have chosen to give to another .
My ego – I want to be the
wings upon which you fly to freedoms light, even though you do not believe nor
believe in me .
Love
Bill
.
CHAPTER 78
A card for Moneca – 1 pages
October 23rd 2007
Moneca
Moneca
Dawn upon
this barren
landscape
of my reality.
One more
journey across
This vast
land for me.
Then in
the twilight
of my
days, I will see
what fate
had in store,
am I to be
?, will I be set free ?
I will –
very much – miss you,
as - in my
mind, my life, I always do.
B. J. “A” 2
October 23rd 2007
LoveBill .
CHAPTER 79
In a letter
from Joyce – 1 page
October 27th 2007
If you hadn’t ask Moneca, to come you would have had lots of time to
visit everyone more than just once .
I think you saw relatives with
Moneca again. However you chose her instead of your relitives and friends on
your holiday. At least you did have decent times with her. Seems the rejection
is for sure now to just be friends only. You know for sure where you stand as
she made it plain enough where she is at and intends no future relationship
except friendly one.
At least the trip is over and
although some mishaps to car and love making it was a nice satisfactory time
you had together at least.
Seems now the walks with the
dogs will continue. If that satisfies you then you are content with what you
get when you can get it .
CHAPTER 80
In a letter to Joyce – 3 pages
November 8th 2007
That is so true Joyce, I could have had more
time to see some relatives that I didn’t, had Moneca, not gone on a road trip to Ottawa,
Montreal, Quebec city and Boston. And yes Joyce, after Moneca, arrived she did
accompany me on visits to my relatives and friends. It is true Joyce, I did
have an enjoyable time sharing the adventure with Moneca, even though the
journey I had hoped to take with her was but three brief, beautiful moments of
loving, loving memories and the rest were just of pleasant memories. More
history captured on hundreds of three and a half by fives. How unfortunate
Joyce, but true – I believe. I think that a friendship with Moneca, will be all
there is for me – no future I see – as we walk down life’s paths, separate and
apart, together .
I think so “ it was a nice satisfactory time
you together at least ” for Moneca, and for sure, for me. I just wish that
Moneca, had enough / any love and interest in me to have done everything in her
power to ensure that my making love to her was to her satisfaction. She gave up
to easily, to quickly, in fact she did positively nothing to encourage or
stimulate me into the lover I so wanted to be for her.
A little of something Joyce, is better than
a whole lot of nothing and so, walks, movies, rides, walking her dogs, what
ever she has in mind for my birthday, will have to make me “ content with what
you get when you get it. ” for what else is there for me ?, Linda, ?, maybe ?
Moneca, and I had a lovely day today, even
though it is a miserable, wet and gray day. Took her into Vancouver, did some shopping, browsed around
in an art supply store and now she is there and I am here
Love
Bill
CHAPTER 81
In a letter to Gail– 3 pages
November 9th 2007
I am glad Gail, that you have reached out to
Moneca, - by email or by phone – so that she may stay in contact with me, as
you contact me through her. I truly appreciate that and that seems to me – you doing
for me the same thing Wayne, ( your uncle ) was doing for me when he purchased
all those close for me in order to impress Moneca, who is impressed with the superficiality
of esthetic appearances. Unfortunately Gail, Wayne’s purchasing of cloths for
me – nor do I believe, you reaching out to me through her – did nothing to bring the Lady, around,
in order to see me, accept me, appreciate me for who I am. Yesterday brought that
home so clearly – a slap in the face – as I observed her affectionately caress
the cheek of a Chinese man I just introduced her to, his hand as well, a nationality
she hates with a passion. Jeff is the owner, distributor of hair products for
balding men and women that I took Moneca, with me because she wished to
purchase some products for her son. After that I took her to an art supply
store in down town Vancouver to purchase some oil painting instruction books
that might help her further her abilities in oil painting, - nothing – three paint
were brushes all she came away with . My point Gail, after all the above verbal diarrhea,
is, she could be so open, so expressive, so affectionate, with a stranger - and
this is not the first time – yet as her momentary lover ( the forty day
adventure across Canada and into the U. S. - 24 / 7 ), as her friend – good friend
she says, ? – her only friend these days, ( so she says ) having given up on
all her so called ( fellow country men / women ) friends, she had not one
affectionate moment for me, not even an attempt to show me, to touch me in
appreciation for my friendship, for my invitation, for my taking her were she
wanted to go ( art supply store ) or for my stifled attempts to affectionately
caress her on a couple of times as we walk around or stood at Jeff’s counter .
I have to wonder Gail, ?, if the universes, energy
force, fate, karma, self-destruction, masochism, are the guiding forces that
drive me into continuing to place myself upon the chopping block, my head into
the cutout of some guillotine, lay my heart upon the fires of some funeral
pyre, expose my soul to the blade of some keen, piercing sword, let my spirit
be captured by the rain god, so that my tears may be hidden among drops of rain
as they wash over my pain as I try so very hard to refrain from expressing my
love, my affection, my deep desire for more than the
backside of a closing door .
I am sorry Gail, I guess that Dave, is
right, I do interject – far to much – Moneca, into much of my expressed
thoughts, my expressed feelings, my life’s
essence .
Love
Dad
&
Grandpa .
CHAPTER 82
In a
letter to Mac-1 Page
November 9th
2007
You are a funny guy and I – as
well as we, Moneca, and me –enjoyed your company, the loan of your Cadillac,
picking Moneca, and me up from Avis .
Remember that Gail’s, friend was just being
her natural, friendly self and so dear Bro., do not go to that point with her
as I have gone with Moneca, for it is far to heart breaking. Just enjoy what
they are and have to give even if we would like so much more .
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 83
In a letter to Wayne & Colline-2 Pages
November 9th
2007
I
have no lover to hold, to share with, to walk that path towards my end days –
the winter of my life – even though you tried so hard to make that happen for
me. She is a Lady, of a different hue and seems not to want to blend with the
colours of this old rainbow.
And so dear Bro., your oh so generous gifts ( all those cloths ) did not lead her to
this pot of gold, waiting at the end of this old rainbow .
CHAPTER 84
In a letter to Duane
& Thyria-1 Pages
November 9th 2007
Thank
you for your hospitality and friendliness – both – to Moneca, and me .
I do not know how to thank you
Duane, for all that you did for me and for Moneca, and me, except to say / write
Thank You !
CHAPTER 85
In a letter to Dad,-1 Pages
November 9th 2007
I am most grateful Dad, for
all that you did for me and for making Moneca, feel welcome .
CHAPTER 86
In
a letter to Mary,-1 Pages
November 9th 2007
I want to thank you for the hospitality Aunti, and
for making my friend ?, Moneca, feel welcome
CHAPTER 87
In A Card from Moneca,-1 Pages
November 12th 2007
Dear Bill
In your birthday I wish from bottom of my heart a lot of happiness,
sunny days and your dreams come true
Love Moneca
An oil by Moneca
My Birthday Present
CHAPTER 88
A Card / Poem to Moneca,-1 Pages
November 23rd 2007
A walk into flight
Love
lost
I have been walking towards waves
of –
patiently travailing those rocky
shores – Love
has laid before the feet of this
old fool.
Upon my back, I carry this weight
like a mule,
only to find my imprints are
taking wing
leaving me with a broken heart, to
sing
my melancholy songs, long after all is gone
to dust, carried upon wings, the
winds above
all, what I – with hope,
anticipation – thought was Love.
B.
J. “A” 2
November 23rd 2007
CHAPTER 89
In a letter to Dad,-2 Pages
November 29th 2007
As I look back upon the time spent in
Brantford, in southern Ontario, in Ottawa, Montreal, Quebec city, Boston, with
Moneca, and then back to Brantford again, – it seems a life time ago – I also
look at all the photos and it seems as though it is like looking into ancient
history, history that has little to do with what my life - in the here and now –
is all about, as Moneca, has quickly slipped so far away from what we shared
during those beautiful forty, plus, days .
CHAPTER 90
Cards to Moneca,-3 Pages
December 8th 2007
Moneca :
There’s a special place
within my heart
that’s meant for you alone.
A special place
within my heart
reserved for times
we’ve known …
There’s a special place
for dreams we shared,
a place for wishes, too -
And the warmest wish
within my heart
is happiness for you !
Merry Christmas
with Love
Love
Bill .
Merry Christmas and Happy New
Year
Moneca
A Wise, Dark Angel
( A Fairy Princess )
Who
has often told me
–
who many
times showed me –
my perceived
value, my worth.
Who
has made me see
who I
am, where I’d be
in the
world of thee.
Oh!
if only you could be free
from all
that keeps you - distant – from me.
B. J. “A”
2
December 8th 2007
Love
Bill .
CHAPTER 91
Poems for Moneca, - 4 Pages
December 9th /11th
2007
The journeys end.
Adventure over - your friend.
A million, hard fought, light years.
have I travelled to tough you –
to reach in and passionately kiss your soul –
to dance in sun light, in moon beams with your spirit.
Not to be – blinded, I can not see –
feet bound tightly, shackled are my hands,
caged is my heart as it sinks into quicksand’s,
played by time’s ever moving bands
of light, denying that I am the man
to love you – I never can,
for this beauty I so desire, want to love
with all the love from within – from above,
only, out the door she wants to shove.
I do love you so, this I do know.
there is nothing, it seems I can show
you, prove to you, - must I let you go ?
B. J. “A” 2
December 9th 2007
A desire to love.
A need to be loved.
My Lovely – how deep have I tried to reach in ?,
to walk, hand in hand with your soul, your spirit.
Flakes of, have I seen, have I felt – what a sin !,
that nothing more will you give to me – that I fit,
not into your dream of things, scheme of things.
Your desires, your dreams, your expectation brings
nothing, brings little to me, but heart ache,
leaving me to think – has everything been just a flake ?,
an illusion ?, have I been living in a state of delusion ?
I do not know, I can not say, for a state of confusion
has permeated my days for the past two years,
leaving me to see, to feel, to know all these fears
that haunt my day dreams and fill my nightmares
and in the end, who gives a dam,?, who cares ?
These are the thoughts I live with my Dear,
And I do know, that they – you do not want o hear,
so upon these pages they lay, to remain here ?
December 10th 2007
A beautiful dream
You
came into my life – such a beautiful dream.
The
world lit up – became much brighter, it did seem.
Life
came to this soul – my face, my smile did beam.
Mt
heart came to life – my body did steam.
B.
J. “A” 2
December 11th 2007
Love
Love
was the fire – you are the desire,
that
raised from the ashes, this dying soul.
There
was spring in the air – in my heart,
and
for once – in far to long a time – I was willing
to
– like a rose on a bright light day – open up
to
the possibilities I could care and be cared for.
B. J. “A” 2
December 11th 2007
Clouds
Clouds
of doubt linger in the air throughout.
Time
has passed leaving little doubt
that,
with me – you will never be. For
me though, there will always be
the
experiences that bought joy –
possibilities
into my life, into my dreams.
For
them my Dear, I will always be grateful.
You
are the light that broke through
the
black clouds that hovered above –
nourishing,
from time to time a withering spirit.
You,
my Dear, where drops of dew,
from
which I might have quenched my thirst ?
You,
my Dear, where the spirit that flew,
from
which I might have learned to fly
so
much higher – into a brighter, bluer sky.
My wings – my Dear, -
have turned into dust .
B. J. “A” 2
December 11th 2007
CHAPTER 92
A Poem for Moneca, -1 Pages
December 22nd 2007
Life is to short !
So many wasted moments !
In our lives, moments we let slip
by – unfulfilled
life’s experiences, life’s pleasures,
passions spilled
into a void, that black hole
abyss,
where all that could be, we tend to miss.
Not even a passionate kiss
to give meaning, to show – for all
is killed –
me, for history, past, beliefs, experiences,
lack of desire, no real need, no ardor for me
is all that comes my way – this is all I see.
From you , no desire, not even a
wish for more
from those walls, the other side
of your locked door.
I question ?, I wonder ?, - for me,
what will be in store ?
In the New Year, alone ?, without
you upon life’s shore.
B. J. “A” 2
December 22nd 2007
