B.J."A" 2 - An Old Soul

REPETITION

Part ( 2 )

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.

A lot of insight though.

CHAPTER 93

A letter to Moneca, -15 Pages

January 1^st/ 8th 2008

Dear, Dear Moneca :

Know Moneca, that I am your friend and always have been, and as your friend, I will listen to the disharmony, the discord of your days, your nights. I will be available to satisfy your needs, be they – looking after your dogs, fixing your car or other things, like picking up something for you, dropping something off, etc., etc. I am the friend you know you can rely on, count on, confide in. As your friend Moneca, I can no longer suffer the pain, the heartache I have to feel, because of my love for you, with the grace and patience I have displayed for these passed two plus years my Dear, and so, as the strength of my love for you wanes, loosing it’s strength – the strength that has allowed me to endure all the negativity you throw at me, all the putdowns you slap my face with, all the rejections, the indifferences I am faced with, just about every time I am in your company – and my desire loosing it’s passion Moneca. I fear that my love for you may become like that of yours for Mr. film maker ?, poet ?, psycho priest ?, that you were trying to work through during the first six months, or so, that we accompanied each other, shared our little adventures and journeys through this life and so Moneca, I do not want to go through, with you, what you went through with Mr, psycho. I just do not want that to happen with us !!!

An era has come to an end.

Another year has passed – it’s over,

and I feel that I will have to let go of you, grieve for all the beauty I had come to know, for all that did come my way during those brief moments of openness, in light, little - flakes of - , so free of inhibitions, flakes of insight, which I also believe have “ come to an end, been extinguished ”, have “ passed” allowing that light to be clouded by the pollution of a past that has, shrouded your soul in it’s darkness and that darkness Moneca, ( since September ) is the cloak that hides any possible future – “ it’s over ” .

You have – on occasion – sent out warm rays of loving light, in waves that have come through, with tender hands, to touch my soul. This gave my spirit great wings with which to rise above and fly, high, then, like a raging hurricane, - just as I thought, just as I felt I might have the courage to soar into the arms of heavenly joy ( that which can make a poor mans heart sing and glow ). I am sure that you know it would make me feel like I was of value, worthy of your heart, worthy enough, for you to care about, even care for, but then, off comes that superficial mask, and you take your protective, judgmental, critical, verbally abusive shears out and hack away at my feather, clipping my wings, sending me into an uncontrollable tailspin helplessly hurtling to an earthly reality – the reality you have created, those walls, those locked doors, an ice filled mote. My spirit you smote with your keen tongued stiletto, piercing my heart with such painful, heart breaking force. Once more, I come crashing down to reality in an explosive ball of flaming heartache and pain .

I would like for you to know Moneca, - as if you did not already ( just blinded by her ) – that no matter how little you think of me, how little you feel for me, how much negativity you project on me, you state, you believe, you try to convince ( yourself or me ) comes from me, I love you !, and can not seem to help it, in spite of you or me – a fool am I, this I know, ( a quitter I am not, giving up is not a part of my nature ) but a big and old fool I would rather be, then to be the alternative. This I would be for all eternity, ( this lifetime and all those to follow ) and into the next, as the next big bang alters / changes this reality – our known universe and creates, anew, another world for us to grow in and journey through, to have adventures upon until the time comes when all is gone .

Could ?, my place in your life, on this plane, be that of an eliminator, an expediter to rid you of all your negativity, the critical nature you posses, the judgmentalness that come at most from that beautiful mouth, a mouth that has no thoughtand very little control, to rid you of all the weight, from all the baggage you carry, to eliminate the hang ups, those places in you that provide all the fuel that makes you place so much importance on such trivialities in life, your life and all those you come in contact with. I am I destined ( but you will never allow ) to take you to a place of peace where you are not so uptight, over so many – really – unimportant issues, where you do not have to be in total control of everything within and without your little sphere, yourself and others. Change the things you can, accept the things you can not , have the wisdom to know the difference, and live outside the box !!!, once in a while .

I love you Moneca, for the beautiful woman you are, I love you Moneca, for the beautiful person I see within, ( no matter how hard you have made it at times ) behind those stone walls with their steel doors and behind those elusive, beautiful Autumn Green Eyes, eyes that seldom look back, eyes that express, in uncertain, or no uncertain terms that you do not have any truly meaningful feeling for me ? I love you as a fellow human being, I love you Moneca, as a lover / friend and as a lover should .

You have made it painfully clear Moneca, just were I stand ( somewhere, deep within the shadows of your mind ) and for the most part, made it extremely difficult for me to love you – even impossible for me to love you, want to love you – and yet, here I am, even with the knowledge that you do not want to, nor will ever love me ?, yet I still do ( Love You !!!!! ) .

What am I to show you ?, to enlighten you with ?, to teach you Moneca ? Read all of the letters I have written, all the poems I have given to you, if you can ?, if you still have them ?, use them as a mirror my Dear, and maybe you will catch a glimpse, a reflection of the person projected on the outside, the one, most of us have come to know. I would love to bring to you, share with you all that is buried deep within my memories hoard – teach you if you will –that would enlighten you to experiences, memories, knowledge that would fill another fifty three volumes - some fifteen thousand pages – of my family and my history - in pictorial, biographical and autobiographical form, pages filled with knowledge, with history, with trivial information that I know, – but if I could recall all – but for my faulty recall, synaptic mechanism, that stops me from bringing forth ( in the moment ) information required to impart the answer, the information requested,- be it a word ?, an idea ?, a bit of news ?, an experience shared, etc., etc.,- which seldom comes forth until some time later, making you see me as “ stupid”. The second reason that you believe me to be “stupid ”, “ unintelligent ”comes into play when I open my mouth and what comes out –in my mind – I often doubt it’s correctness, its accuracy, its validity, its relevancy and so I shut down, especially when I have been put down. And so Moneca, I withdraw ( concede to the outside forces – you ) because I do not want to upset you, – as I always seem to do – which brings out those monsters in you, hostility, anger, aggression, an unpleasant personality that springs to the surface like a jack in the box, in defense of, by throwing out those verbal barbs, shooting hollow point bullets from that machinegun tongue “ stupid ”, “brainless ”, “unintelligent ”, “ you don’t know anything ”, “ you don’t listen or learn ”, “you are clumsy ”, “ careless ”, “ you don’t think” and on and on and on, etc., etc. That is , when your personality doesn’t turn it’s back on what is before it - me !!!

Loving you Hurts me so !!!

I have swallowed my pride, I have grounded my ego, I suppress all the pain that I feel, I bury my heartache, along with my beaten down spirit, in a grave of humility ( in your presence ) as the realization of, slaps me in the face, with the fact, that as a man, as a person, as a human being, as your ( probably only true ) friend – who wants nothing more from you ( at this point ) except the trust, honesty, respect, consideration, to be treated with the same affections, the same qualities as listed above, that I have seen you give to strangers, to acquaintances, to so called friends and friends, to all the men that you have been with, that I know of, since July of two thousand and six. Men, you have given some pieces of your heart, soul, time, body, mind, yourself, your affections to. In the final analysis Moneca, I believe that you believe I am unworthy of any kind of consideration and that is why I am only able to pour out my heart on pieces of paper – in prose and poetry - instead of to your heart I realize Moneca, that – in spite of – all I felt with and from you this past summer as we journeyed, together, across this vast Canadian, landscape, I have no right to think, to believe that you would continue to be the person you were then, continue to give, to share as you did, and on the plane back to our respective homes when you, for the second time since I have known you, gave freely of you affections as you rested your body across mine and laid your head, tenderly, upon my chest for a lengthy period of time. A moment my Dear, of heavenly bliss, then a moment of realization !, I knew that, that was it, it had come to an end, it was over and you would fade into the setting sun as the end of our little adventure, our beautiful journey into another world, for you changed hues, from bright blues to brilliant yellows, oranges, reds, violets and then shades of grays, soon to turn black with silver orbs permeating it’s starkness .

Unfortunately for me Moneca, - because of how you feel about me, at least how I perceive you feel about me, based on all that I have gleaned from all your words thrown at me, about me and your actions towards me as well as your reactions to me – the conclusion I ( or anyone else for that matter ) come to – which I believe to be a truth, a correct assumption– is that you feel, think, believe that I am unworthy of your love, compassion, understanding, affection as well as your physical affection / passion. I know that you have your beliefs ?, reasons ?, justifications ?, excuses ?, and you have made your choice – and this I understand Moneca.

Unfortunately my Dear, the pain, the hurt, the heartache weigh so heavily upon my waking hours and into my nightly dreams. They haunt my every moment and are the causes for my questioning my validity as your friend ?, my reason I am your lover want to be ?, and whether you could ever truly be a true friend to me ?

In the final analysis Moneca, I do believe –that, from behind those beautifully mysterious eyes – you see me as an unsuitable, unworthy suitor, paramour, lover, good friend, even just a friend and alas Dear Moneca, I have begun to feel the same as you about me and that you are justified in your rejections of my affections, my love, my desire and in that light, I have to wonder why ?, a woman like you, who displays such contempt, such repulsion at my every attempt to show you my affection, my love, my physical affections / passions, my sympathies for your physical, emotional, menial afflictions would waste one moment– bother at all with a man, like you perceive me to be .

I am, so very sorry Moneca, that I find it so difficult to accept the obvious fact – although I have known ( in my subconscious ) from the beginning ( you have made it quite clear ) – that I am not the man you would have feelings for, have desires for, want to be intimately ( or otherwise ) exclusive with. I know that you believe I am not the man for you or a man you want to have a deep, meaningful relationship with and I have gotten the message a dozen time or more Moneca, but my love for you, you or me can not seem to kill, and it will not give up hope, will not give in to your rejections, crazy I know !!!, and so all I am able to do, is give in to your wishes, your desire to keep me at arms length. And so my Dear, at arms length – no matter how excruciating the heartache, the pain is and will be – I will be .

I realize and except the fact that you do not need me anymore Moneca, for you have Mr. waiter, Mr, jeannettea, Mr. born again Sundays, and all the other Mr. ? - who have come and gone since I have been your friend, companion,

lover want to be – who you will allow into your circle of men who come into your life, to fill some of your needs .

I realize Moneca, that I have no rights to, nor claims upon your life, upon you and I would never be so presumptuous as to believe that I would be the only man in your life, the only man you could be satisfied with, happy with, secure with and having that knowledge of Moneca, I have to accept, and have accepted, my station, my fate, my destiny, your placement of me upon that shelf, where I am placed among the gaggle of men you have collected theses past two, plus years .

I guess Moneca, what I have been trying to convey, through all these cathartic writings, trying to say to you through all the words of joy and pain, of heartache and pleasures – as expressed upon the pages of this and other letters and poems – is that I love you ( for better or worse ) and that, if all I am able to be for you, is just a friend, then a friend I will remain and as your friend I will always be here for you, the point is , as a man who loves you, I can not – anymore – be in the heat of all the pain and heart ache that permeate my essence, shakes up my spirit every time we are together, sharing the moments, the times and things I loved, as I shared them with you, as your man ?, your lover ?, - that beautiful month and a half on the road, when you spread your wings a little and let in the son, to shine for a moment in time. I also, Moneca, as above, want to let go of, I on longer want to be the source of your anger, your hostility, frustrations, disappointments, and the discomforts’ you express you are feeling while in my presence, some of, because of how I feel for you, feel about you and the burning desire, for you to have some small flack, a sliver of the same feelings for me .

I have accepted Moneca !!!!, and realize Moneca, that there is no place in your heart for a man like me, or as a man you will ever want to let into your heart and would love – Che sara sara – and so my Dear Moneca, all that is allotted me, is to stand in the wings, beneath the shadows as the cold winds blow and pray that one day that knight in shining armor, you envision, your prince charming, the man of your desires comes along, on his great white steed, sweeps you of your throne, fills you so you no longer have need for all the men like me who hang off the edges of your beauty .

P. S. I Love You !
January 6^th 2008

Even at the gates of, with the death of – “a big mistake ” – one of the two precious gifts a woman can give, can share with a man is the love she has for him, unreserved, unquestionable.

Running a close second is the giving to and the sharing with a man all the beauty of her womanhood .

I thought --( I guess erroneously ) Moneca, that when you allowed me the joy and beauty of trying to pleasure you, to make love to you, to touch, kiss and caress all you beauty , to feel the depth of passion as you kissed me back, for the first time, in allowing my to reach deep into your womanly beauty – that, to this very day, lingers on my fingers and in my mind - caring every atom of, every cell, every flake of epithelia, every curve that makes up that beautiful piece of art – you !!! –- that you where opening up, letting me in, feeling something for me . I know that I was a disappointment to you Moneca, but I did not think that, that should have taken away, one iota, from the beauty, the passion, the feelings that I – if not you – enjoyed. I guess I was and am wrong to have believed that I meant something more, enough to you, that you would allow me into your holy of holies, thought I was gaining ground, slipping into your heart, was becoming someone special. Now I am left to wonder ?, not only about why you feel, you say “ it was a mistake ” but the reason you even allowed me the pleasures of your beauty ?, your time, why you took this journey with me ?, had the adventures ?

Knowing, now, your feelings about letting me make love to you Moneca, I have to question your feelings about everything that we have experienced, shared these past two plus years and the question is, was everything ?, was I ?, “ a big mistake ” I think the telling, the answer to that question becomes quite obvious when I think back on all that I have experienced with you, during these past years, for instance, on every special occasion – your birthdays, my birthdays, Christmases, New Years to mention but a few – you vehemently avoided any kind of display of affection or closeness that I believe could be construed as meaning you cared, that I meant something more to you, other then what has become obvious and I now believe I mean to you .

I felt bad enough Moneca, when you acted as if you were going to vomit when I attempted to touch you Christmas night and as if that was not bad, sad enough, imagine the heartache, the pain I felt when a traditional New Years Kiss was not honored at the stroke of midnight, in fact was rejected as was it at the parting of ways. Just as when a show of friendly affection, on your birthday, on my birthday and all the other special occasions never came to fruition, never saw the light, was not forth coming. Was that because you did not want to make any more mistakes ?, or you just wanted to show me what little I meant to you, or was there some other ulterior motive behind your cold and cruel acts and reactions ?

I just, do not know Moneca, what I am in your scheme of things ?, - a mistake ?, an acquaintance ?, a friend ?, nothing ?, - what I mean to you, what I am for you ?, I am unable to fathom the me you see, the game is beyond my comprehension, for you are just to dame complicated a woman for me to be sure that what I believe I know, what I believe, is reality or some kind of an illusion ?

" P. S. I love you ”, are the lyrics of a song, lyrics written from the other side, with death as the orchestra that played the light, as it danced across life, lit the way, for the beginning of another day .

I am truly, very sorry Moneca, that in my need to understand you, to understand me, to understand this relationship ?, to express, in visual light, to grieve the loss of, to let go, ( as you would have me do ), to get cathartic closure so that I do not repress the pain, the heartache my loving you, causes me and to ensure that it all does not eat anymore holes in my already perforated, broken heart.

I have written a multitude of things, that I am sure has been upsetting you, and having you believe that I am blaming you, making you responsible for all my pain and all my heartache.

Believe me Moneca, when I say / type that, that is not my intension nor is it what I am trying to convey, what this letter is all about .

I love you Moneca, this I am can not help nor do I - after all this time and degradation – understand ?, I just do and all I want for you is to see you happiness bloom and I am so sorry for all that I have done Moneca, that has distracted you from achieving that state of being my Girl, and do not forget !!, anytime anyplace, for any reason, as your friend, I will try to be there for you, in your times of need, always and in all ways .

Please do not judge, do not criticize, just understand, just read the heart of this matter and know. I am grateful.

Thank You for all you would Moneca .

Love

Bill .

Your Friend

Dear Moneca :

A Hypothesis
January 8^8h2008

   I had been awaken from a dream, at six AM this morning and realized that the answer was contained in the essence of that dream and that all your actions and reactions towards me, since early summer or late spring of two thousand and seven was because of your involvements with ?
   Your knights in shining armor, your prince charmings – Mr. elegant, Mr. European, Mr. intelligent, Mr. fellow country man, even better, Mr Jeannetta, Mr waiter. Mr. christian, Mr. Poland X two, Mr. Prairie Ave. Mr. hitler, Mr white head .
   Every thing comes together now, and it all seems to make sense, as I analyze all that has gone on and not gone on, since late spring early summer, between us .

   ( 1 )Your moods towards me changed drastically during those times of involvement with others, much as it did when thing were going well for you with Mr. hitler / germany in the winter of two thousand six / seven
   ( 2 )The distance you kept between us – for the most part- as we journeyed across Canada on our little adventure last August / September except for one night in Montreal and one night in New York state – somewhere between Utica and Syracuse and why you say and feel that letting me make love to you was a mistake.
   ( 3 )It explains why you showed me an affectionate moment on the plane homeward –something I never received from you before – as you laid across my shoulder and rested your head on my chest .
   ( 4 )Why you have kept me at arms length ever since we landed, the coldness, the indifference you have shown me ever since we got home
   ( 5 ) It explains the great amount of time you have spent in Maple Ridge with Mr, waiter, holding hands and I am sure much, much more, all the movies, dinners time spent at his place etc., etc .
   ( 6 )It explains why this man would have the audacity, the nerve to grab your private parts with impunity, it seemed .
   ( 7 )Why you now speak of him with an affectionate tone – “a good man ”, “ a decent man”, “ a helpful man ”, etc., etc.
   ( 8 )It all becomes clear, when considering that you where with him in White Rock, when you where to be getting read to join me in Ontario .
   ( 9 ) It explains the distant, indifference you showed to me on your birthday, my birthday Christmas, New years and how you had been treating me during that year. It explains why you deserted me, left me on my own while you ended the year and brought in the New Year, on the phone with Mr, waiter .
   To me Moneca, all the above, the list and my dream clearly indicates – I do not know how I could have missed it all or did I ?, ( love is blind ) – that you have committed yourself to others ?, / another ?, and that is why you – as of last summer – have kept me at a considerable distance.
   You do not want to cheat on this man and you do not want to feel guilty for either hurting me further ?, or seeing me while on his arm ?, and I believe that is why you have pushed me away, set me aside – for another time ?. – and why you do not want to acknowledge our brief moments of passion, of intimacy, and why you say that it was a mistake !!!, but there are no mistakes my dear, just regrets for what did or did not materialize. I have no regrets, I love what we did, even if it was not to our expectation, or satisfaction ( a little of something is so much better then a whole lot of nothing, just sorry that I did not do it better, for you .
   This man I am speaking of, above – Mr, waiter – seems to have all the qualifications you are looking for in as man at least some ( much more then me, that is for sure ) that impress you, will interest you, captivate you. He is European, Polish, you say he is “elegant ”, “a good man”, a man who is financially secure, a much younger man then me, and I am sure ?, he is a man with many more attribute, that have attracted you, impressed you .
   The above scenarios my Dear Moneca, are just my presuppositions based on all the evidence that has been before me – by visual observations and from your own mouth - and my gut feelings during the past seven or eight months. I would like to think that I am wrong, feel that I am wrong, be wrong, unfortunately for me, whether I am or not ?, I believe that there will never be an us, ever again, jut you and just me, as it appeared to be at the Fire Fighters dance, where you offered me up to all the women at our table “ he is available ”. You were setting me free ?, weren’t you ?
   In spite of all this awareness Moneca, ( I should be free of your influence ), I am still attached, you are my obsession, – loves insanity – like a drug !, ( and you are my drug ) it possess you, not you it, and so I am a lost drug addict, floundering around, in space and time, ( my insanity ), in constant pursuit of this illusive, beautiful drug– YOU !, you who give your time, your body, your mind to whom you choose –rightly so and I do know .
   In spite of this awareness Moneca, and how I should feel, I meant every word I wrote, on the
above pages “ I am and always will be your friend ”, as insane as that seems under   the circumstances .   P. S. I am going back to bed – see you in my dreams .

Love
Bill .

P.S.S. Awoke from my dreams this afternoon with a realization that there have been many more signs along the road that has lead me to these words, this understanding, my beliefs Moneca .

   ( 1 ) No longer being invited for walks with you and your dogs .
   ( 2 ) Not even deserving an invitation to Christmas supper or Christmas card and no response to the one I gave you .
   ( 3 ) And the very telling question you asked me during our last conversation, last Friday evening. The question about having sex with a friend, an acquaintance, and what a strange question ?, that was, especially coming from you and if got me to wondering if – especially knowing what my answer to that question would be – you were looking for my approval, for my blessing, my absolution for what you may have already been involved in or intend to get involved in, which takes my mind back to Mr. jeannetta and the loss of you best friend, his lover.
   Just another presumption, out of my dream analysis and all the evidence, as listed above, and my hypotheses, that seem to fit, seem to say that these are the acts you perform upon the stage that you play your part .
   Anyway Moneca, I can not give you my approval, my blessing nor my absolution – ( one ) because I am still in love with you ( love you ) and ( two ) as just your friend and an outsider, I do not have that right nor do I have that authority – it is your life and who you choose to share it with or give it to ,it is your business and not my place to sit in judgment of what you do or whom you do it with .
   P. S. I promise ( and will try very hard to keep it ) that these will be my last written words to you .

Love

Bill .

CHAPTER 94

In a letter to Joyce, -2 Pages

January 8^th 2008

I have included eleven pages that I wrote to Moneca, and they will fill you in Joyce, as to how and what life has really been for me, as I try to survive all the emotions that drive the physical pain, - heart ache – the emotional pain - that constant ache in the pit of my stomach, the lump in my throat that has plagued me ever since my birthday, ( November twelfth ) even as far back as when we arrived back home from Ontario on September seventh two thousand and seven .

   As of this moment Joyce, I have no idea how Moneca, will act or react to the fifteen page letter, with poems included, that I gave to her ?, nor do I have a clue as to what she feels or what she will do. Time will tell, but if I am correct in my assumptions, my hypotheses, - as stated in my letters and poems – she has already taken steps and has made her move, so the question will be – does she let me go ?, or will she hang onto me as her friend ?, in order to be available, to fill in those empty moments ?, especially now that it is clear that I can no longer be in her physical presence and that I will no longer be treating her as if she were still a chance to be her lover – taking her out, footing the bill and doing things with and for her.
   Will I get my walking papers ?, will silence be my answer ? I guess Joyce, I will find the answers to my questions soon enough and will learn ?, or is it ?, finally open my consciousness, take the blinders off and see the kind of human being, person, woman she really is .
   Anyway Joyce, enough about Moneca and me, especially after you have been enlightened, after reading the eleven pages to Moneca, from me .
                                  Love
                                                         Bill .

CHAPTER 95

In a letter to Emma, -2 Pages

January 8^th 2008

Speaking of Poodles, the Polish Princess that I have been seeing, pursuing, – wanting much more of coarse – having an affair would have been great !, but not to be it seems. Anyway Emma, she has two Poodles as well – one white, Carrow, and the other, a female, Ebony, black, that for the past two years, have gone on long walks with us, Moneca, and me .

   I was – took the Polish princess to Brantford, Ottawa, Montréal, Quebec City, Boston and back so that she could see some old world charm and architecture and feel a little at home. While in Montreal this August I tried to locate your son Jason, but without any success. A little disappointed, as I was when he never replied to my letter that I sent to with all the information I had about his Dad .Che sara sara !!
   Other then that my Dear, - all the above – I am just waiting to find out from Moneca, where I stand with her, now that I let her know that it hurts to much to be in her physical presence and so, a arms length friend is all I can be .
                         Love
                                                                      Bill .

CHAPTER 96

In a letter to Aunt Mary, -1 Pages

January 8^th 2008

and thank you Mary, for making the Polish Princess -Moneca, - welcome .

   Tell me, considering you were speaking with her in your native tongue, what you thought of her ?
   I have given in, given up and am no longer going to be pursuing the Polish Princess, in fact I have – as of the New year – let her know that the pain I feel, every time I am with her, is to great and to unbearable and so I will continue to be her friend, but at arms length .
                      Love
                                                           Bill .

CHAPTER 97

A letter to Moneca - 2 Pages

January 11^th 2008

Dear Moneca :

I am truly sorry Moneca, - especially after stating in my last letter that I would no longer bother you with my writings – for inundating you with all my thoughts and feelings about you, for you and for troubling you with all my attempts at letting go of all, – I feel – you do not want me to feel or to express. I am sorry for bringing my grief, my heart ache to your eyes, your attention, but alas my Dear, who else ?, do I have who has such intimate knowledge and understanding of what has been troubling me for these past couple of years. I realize though, that I should not be laying all my troubles, all my thoughts, all my fears, all my apprehensions ( about were I think you are headed, for your silences leave me hanging onto my thoughts and not your intentions ) upon your shoulders, for you do not deserve to be constantly faced with my insanity !!! And so my Dear Moneca, these are – for sure ( I promise ) – my last words for your eyes to see and your mind to digest, try to comprehend and analyze .

There is not a day

Not a day goes by that storm cloud do not accumulate, gather in the deep recesses of my throat, and choke off my life’s breath – that do not rage on, behind these sorrowful, doleful brown eyes, just waiting for a chance opening, that will let out a deluge of pain, pain that has rained down upon this tired old soul for far to long, cutting deep groves into my spirit, leaving thick scares that may become the walls for another to try and tear down as I have tried to do with your walls .

   Acceptance will let me know - finally – that alone in this world, I will walk, alone in my room, were the bitter sweets, sound waves of music, dance along the acoustic meatus and beat upon the tympanic membrane on their way into my brain and were the rays from the cathode ( boob ) tube light up the gray matter ( that sits in this stark room ) with it’s illusionary images of imaginary lives with a thousand stories that feed my – and so many more – empty moments. Alone in my bedroom, I lay, were darkness and dreams fill my empty nights, alone in my bedroom were preparation of energy feeds this old body of mine, alone in my bedroom were Mother Nature’s embryonic fluid flows beneath me, surrounds this tired old body with the heat of her life giving essence, her mysterious forces submerging all my cares and woes- for a few hours anyway .
   Alone in these rooms, my heart lays, alone in these rooms may be my fate, my destine and alone in these places may allow me - along with all that I have written and written to you – to be able to grieve for the loss of someone and something that was never mine to loose in the first place and would never have been in the first place, it seems .
   Please do not be angry or upset with me Moneca, - if that is what you are feeling. I am sorry if I have done or said or have written anything that has upset you. I think that you know only to well that I would never – deliberately or with malice – do or say anything to hurt you in any way .
   I just do not seem to have the will to stop, but I will !!!
   Valentines will be the last words of mine you will see .
   P.S. I have to wonder ?, - considering – if you have not already cut me loose, set me free, no longer, even want me as your friend .
             Love
                           Bill .

CHAPTER 98

A poem for Moneca,-1 Pages

January 20^th 2008

Growth of a Mask

A Wake

This, my mask of death – for a funeral pyre -

for the burning love I have for you – for my desire.

This mask, I grow to hide ( to grieve behind ) my tears-

absorb them all, as well as all my fears.

( in grief for my love – stillborn – lost in your womb )

as I dance, with hope, on the grave of that beautiful flame

trying to give it life – keep it growing, clowing

while you are dancing around it, knowing,

as a whirlwind, you can extinguish it – a game ?

In time’s passing – I do believe – I will be just a name

as time, experiences become history, time keeps on going

on and on and on towards an end – showing

me that this is fate for this friend, memories stowing.

In retrospect, this may be my motivation for a beard,

behind which I may hide all that I had feared

B. J. “A” 2

January 20^th 2008

CHAPTER 99

In a letter to Gail, and family - 1 Page

January 27^th 2008

Moneca, has made it so very clear Gail, and so – as the enclosed poem states – I must close the book on the unwanted, lost love that has kept this old fool a live, with hope. Her friend ?, oh yes !!!, my friend ?, I would have to say no ?

LOVE
Dad

CHAPTER 100

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

January 28^th 2008

Passion - on the road to death

I thought I had found a path towards the light –

on my way to the end days of this, my life.
This to be my last adventure into the realms of love.
This, my last throes journey into the kingdom of heartache,
as my tears cry out – fears scream in pure agony
as passion – my love dies on the vine – not accepted.
Not appreciated !!!
This state, tears at the very fibers of my broken heart,
ripping my jute bound pride, self-worth, ego, to shreds,
leaving me no hope, just some beautiful memories – experiences to carry this defeated,
subjugated, old soul – onward.
Onward ?, towards what ?, can the beauty I fell for,
be duplicated ?, replicated ?, in the soul and body of another.
Once in thirty years – since – is to much ! – not enough time.
I will be long gone before another beauty could come along –
and so, before me lives, grows more alive each day -
a painting - as the model fades away,
image, in oil, the naked body of my last dream.
My last Love !!!

B. J. “A” 2

January 28^th 2008

CHAPTER 101

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

January 29^th 2008

This Image !, in hues of oil.

A painting

There is this Lovely Lady, who’s posterior so beautiful,

lies before my eyes - it becomes ( as I gaze upon )

more alive then the life she has put before me – given to me.

Her beauty lies upon a blanket of red passion,

her back to the universe, to me and my world,

her torso, her left leg and foot buried deep into passions colour,

her right leg cocked, caressing passions, red carpeted fringes

as her right foot pushes into the blackness it lays in,

as does her left arm, her head and hands - mind ?

Can it be ?, that this beautiful body craves passion,

while her head ( mind ) denies – all the time, reaching into

the blackness of fear, the blackness of indifference,

the blackness of past pains, heartaches, disappointments

as she thinks ( intellectualizes ) her way out of

her bodies, her soul’s, her spirit’s need

for affection, passion, and intimacy.

She desires ?, but wants nothing and no one !!!

No one is good enough !!!

B. J. “A” 2

January 29^th 2008

CHAPTER 102

In a letter to Gail,- 1 Page

February 4^th 2008

I told Moneca, the bad news and about the budgies that you named after us, and their actions, ( how they treated each other ) much as you observed between us – the female rejecting, ignoring, pushing away and the male, constantly trying to get close and affectionate, to which she had a good laugh and guessed their names .

Love
Dad, Dad and
grandpa Atfield .

CHAPTER 103

A poem for Moneca,-1 Pages

February 11^th 2008

Upon a vine

Garroted are the fruits of my love for you – dying,

decomposing as it perilously hangs from threads of –
projection, perception, rejection, prejudice, indifference.
Lack of respect, strangling - life’s force, decaying,
becoming butterfly dust upon the wings of Memory.
Memories of, thoughts of all that was good,
All that could have given birth to something great !,
adventures to come, experiences to be shared – cherished.
Cherished, now only refracted upon flecks of – dust –
memories of wonderful experiences, turning to rust
as time - and you – separate, distance what was,
( for me, in my illusions, in my deluding )
a reality that never was – what little existed for you and I.
I have shed many a tear – ache – and my heart will cry,
realizing - upon a vine, my love for you has to die –
a little each day, until you no longer catch my eye,
and the pain subsides, enough, that in relief I can sigh.

B. J. “A” 2
February 11^th 2008

CHAPTER 104

A poem for Moneca,-3 Pages

February 24^th 2008

Summers over –

Sweet Princess

You were the Helios, warm and bright

throughout my summer days and night.

You gave life, energy, yourself and light

to our adventure, our journey and flight

across this beautiful, vast land of ours,

along with all those wonder filled hours –

I perceived – reflected in your Autumn green eyes –

Angelic, warm ?, on fire ?, passionate ?, - what lies ?,

as hope, desire, dreams, broken wings, try and fly.

I have often wondered what I am ?, what I mean ?, why ?,

you bother – considering – with me, and I

also wonder why I remain enclosed here,

in fear of ?, and why I still want to be near ?

I wonder my Dear, ?, what would be ?, if I’d disappear.

My heart aches, my soul weeps,

my spirit cries out loud – it seeks

answers for all those moments – joyous – lost,

that may have been nothing more then the cost

for something that may have been nothing more

then figments of my imagination –

a dream that I am unable to unlock the door

to, for your dreams, your creation

have no room – indigent, disabled, old man,

uneducated – in the light of your master plan.

These lost moments come crashing in on my dreams,

even crashing in on my waking hours, it seems.

I see them now, on television screens,

and in that place, deep within, where these scenes

play out the beauty of passion, a hot embrace, a delicious kiss,

a loving look in the One’s, eyes – these I truly miss,

and see in every action, every reaction - between this world

and the other, that remind me

of everything- with you – I want to be,

to experience, to develop beyond this place.

I see you in every beautiful face.

in every compassionate, passionate embrace

then I get lost, lost in these momentary

experiences of others – actors – as they carry

my spirit, my desire to what could be.

what might have been, if only all were free.

I then ache for all that will never

become, for you will never, ever.

I see you face on every act of love,

every act of passion, every longing look,

every gift given to another – gifts I would love

to bestow upon your soul – gifts you want,

and from me – I believe – want not

what I have to give.

We both have to live

the lives we choose

and have no choice

but to live.

B. J. “A” 2

February 24^th 2008

CHAPTER 105

A poem for Moneca,-3 Pages

March 14^th 2008

A Mountain – Void.

A Miner,

Observes this beauty, a Granite Monolith, looming ahead.

An image to light the eyes, brighten the soul – are fed
the belief that within the systolic, lies pure gold
at it’s heart – to be mined – but it is oh so cold,
hard and reluctant – stories seen, heard are told
yet this miner, digs deep, continues to mine,
a prayer from his lips – hope, dreams he will find
at it’s centre, in it’s core, within it’s heart.
One would hope, that this would be the place to start.

A most exquisite journey on high – into the ether,

were distances, exist not, where, may neither
come to know or experience the pangs of aloneness,
aloneness – none existen – gives life to closeness
as they traverse life’s disappointing, rocky roads
carrying, in their heads, the weight of life’s heavy loads.
This, they may, happy, do together or on their own, alone.
Only you, the gods and heavens are known
to have the answers to what has been shown.
All you have laid out, all that has gone down,
and whether or not, this miner, is perceived a clown ?,
a fool ?, as the weight of all kills the music, the sound,
as he keeps trying to dig deeper into this solid ground,
this rock gives up, not a flake, a nugget, a vain of gold

that, throughout, in the past, to others, has been told

existed once upon a time. The miner finds only fools gold
the core of what he has been mining these past two years,
years that have brought him many, many – many tears.
Fools gold is all that he can see, in all that is reflected –
pools of images, imagined, distorted, throughout detected
that one sees, envisions painted upon the shaft walls,
observing the reflected light – walking those stony halls
looking for the source light dancing on wings that fly free,
that would lead them – together ?, - to what could be
for the rest of their life’s journey and life time
upon this plane, and all that is wished for, you to be mine.

A dream for this old mind, a dream, live, I’d love to find

In the hands of this old fool, not fools gold of any kind
to accompany this old man through his waning days,
the winter days of this life, on this plane as he plays
the last notes of his opus, the libretto, the requiem
of a life time that will depart, when it’s tine will come.

This miner is loosing the will to dig more for the gold
That lays the walls, those steel bars oh so cold –
That Mountain – Void, that beautiful, Granite Monolith
that stands on the edge, the miner on the edge of a cliff.

B. J. “A” 2

March 14^th 2008

CHAPTER 106

A poem for Moneca,- Pages

March 7^th 2008

From a dying Ember

To a live Flame

Fame – ous, Autumn Green Eyes, Beauty her name –

came into the light – a clearing – that shone so bright,

same as shining stars in the dead of night.

Fight for ardor, once more – cut down by a knife –

sight awash into blindness – no room in her life.

Strife, the journey this ember to flame takes –

Fife plays the marching song – the road that makes

flakes out of the heart – odyssey on broken wings.

Stakes to high, to sharp – killing - the voice that sings,

brings a melancholy, endings to – an ancient man

strings life, desires, loving, memories as best he can.

Fan those embers, light that flame, love this man !

An ember into a blazing inferno.

You, the igniter ?, I have come to know.

From a spark or recognition – ignition

into a world of burning desire for life – contradiction

for all – in this world – I have done wrong,

all who have departed – leaving a very sad song,

singing to the winds of passing time

as I reach deep within – try to rhyme

away all that clings – wants to stay

outside of memories hoard – live

to become cathartic elixirs

healing the soul,

freeing spirits,

seeing them fly.

I, with my inner eye – might just see - the real me

for others to know – maybe to enjoy the show

as my days wane – lessen – the pain

to become clear- see it afar, no longer near.

Some days are gray – a way we have to pay

for life in this world – on this plane –

that flight from - to come back again -

the right sum – death with rain,

tears we shed at the throes of change.

B. J. “A” 2

March 16^th 2008

CHAPTER 107

A poem for Moneca,- 2 Pages

March 17^th 2008

A Prisoner

An inmate, a prisoner of this, my obsession.

This Autumn, Green eyed, exotic woman,

the driving force, the source for my confession.

What do I do ?, nothing !, I can,

for she is burned deep into my heart.

I seem not, to have the strength to let go,

nor – even – where to find ?, where to start ?,

to accept the obvious – that which I know.

How ?, do I extinguish this out of control fire,

even dampen this burning flame of desire ?

Confession

My confession to come.

My obsession in sum.

The story that tells,

the heart that fells,

the soul that loves.

The flight of doves,

to hell fires,

to burn the desires,

out of the brain,

out into the realm of pain,

of knowing- acceptance,

of no last dance ?,

of no hope for romance ?

This the last chance, took.

This, a chance to look

into the world anew,

into what ?, once I knew,

experiences, a long time ago

experience, no longer to know

as my time has come to – past

as my spirit has come to fast !

B. J. “A” 2

March 16^th 2008

CHAPTER 108

A poem for Moneca,- 2 Pages

March 18^th 2008

Chance / Change

Chance, that translucent shadow that creates change.
Change opened doors, opened windows outwards
into the deep, dark, recesses of inner space –
space, the dialectic – dilating the synapse –
giving birth to the possibility of dreams, of hope.

Chance, that opaque shadow that created change.
Change closed the doors, closed the windows inwards,
shutting off access to the light, of inner space,
slaughtering all the hopes and dreams
born from the mating of chance and change.
Change the light, of hope- a black cloaked, Grim Reaper.

A Beautiful Drug

This Drug, became a habit,
the habit became sorrow,
the sorrow became a nightmare,
the nightmare became change and loss
the loss of – what beauty was imagined,
has come to an acceptance, of a reality,
a reality that existed from the beginning.

Change, will not go easily into that black night.
Chance, will not give up easily, not without a fight !
This grape, will not a raisin, become !
This ivy refuses to metamorphose into a chameleon !
The shadow, the door, the window, the drug remain alive,
The life in them does not want to be shut out, shut down.
The feeling though – is – it all dies on a vine !
The feeling is, in that inner space, it all - remains ?,
the burial ground for change, for the future,
the end of hope and dreams never seen.

The essence of change, sometimes is a force so mean !

B. J. “A” 2

Will – ful – ness

Deep down, in the recesses of the hidden, the mysterious,
lies the will to hang on, to hang in, to live, – in spite of –
even in the grip of winter’s icy strangle hold,
forcing change to renew, rejuvenate, resurrect,
from deaths hands, an neonate, to journey
into another future, it seeks not, wants not !
The reluctant grape, the loathe ivy,
can not see that they will become food
to nourish our neonate, on it’s sojourn
into the wavering light of the mysterious.
Oh how I love the mystery !, why I love this mystery ?,
is a mystery to me and is a mystery to her ( the drug ).

B. J. “A” 2

March 18^th 2008

CHAPTER 109

A letter to Moneca,- 3 Pages

March 19^th 2008

My Dear Princess – Moneca :

Oh my Dark Angel, I wonder ?, you drive me to wonder why it is that you do not want to see, that what I do with some of my time – write and write rhyme - is equivalent to that which you some times do – paint in oils and paint the self .

I believe that you paint in order to express, put forth your talents, to prefect your natural skills, as well as to open up the cage doors, those golden bars that harbour your desire to be free of all that inhibits, prohibits, restrains and reigns in all that your paintings seem to express – exposing all your naked, natural beauty upon the canvases, in all their nakedness, in all it’s truth, in order to let your soul, your spirit bask in the light that might set you free, so that you may fly high, soar to heights never before achieved in your previous life time. The zenith of your journey, I do believe, you can see, just seem, not to be able to touch .

In seeing this, in all the aspects, of your talented expressions, and knowing of your intelligence, I have to wonder ?, why ?, it is that you refuse to see , to accept or acknowledge ( in the slightest ) that my painting in word pictures, in colours of my understandings, – as opposed to that of yours in your oil paintings – that expose my nakedness, show my heart, my soul, my spirit, my limited talents to the world, even though that world may only be my world, ( a world so small, a cosmic particle of dust – invisible on the head of a pin, under a high powered microscope, never the less a functioning world ), and yours should you choose to accept and read what I have laid before your eyes, your mind and at your feet, that for some strange reason, you believe and state, to be frivolous !, and my artistic expressions, meaning less !, an exercise in futility !, a great waste of my time and a useless expenditure of my energy ! , an energy you project onto your canvas of negativity , a negativity you profess, comes from within me .

This – your opinion of my efforts – seems to me, to be contrary, incongruous with reality, considering – in the eyes of the objective minds – we, both, are artists trying to express and expose – improve with practice – our talents in our respective art forms, – you ( life on canvas, ) in oils paintings and I in ink ( life on paper ) – each telling our stories, our beliefs, of what our souls, our spirits want to say, as we lay them out for some to see, to know, even to understand. I realize Moneca, that my perception of us, of you, of me, differs from yours – you paint with brushes ( painting all with the same brush ) and I paint with a pen and hope ?, with a wide scope ! Oils, your subject of understanding, your expression and in ink, that will be my subject of expression !

This – the above – my Dear, Moneca, is just the tip of an ice burg that separates , keeps you from me. Just one of the many road blocks you throw up, just one more thing you keep injecting into what. I believe, could be a beautiful relationship. And so all that I see, are the gaps, the crevices, an interstice moving towards a chasm and tripping, right into an abyss – the blackness, the emptiness, the aloneness that surly will come your way as you continue to look beyond, past what lies before you, for that elusive, you know exists not in any one man and certainly not in the men you have married, been intimately involved with or in any of the men you have been dating these past years – that will eat you up, swallow any chance and deprive ( me ) all !

I do have to wonder ?, Moneca, why you constantly project, inject, interject all that negativity. Could negativity ?, be the smith that fashions your protective suit of armor, the masons that erect those stone walls, behind which you hide, the jeweler who created that golden cage that encompasses your heart, the steel bars, the prison guards that imprisons your soul and your spirit, the falconer who has guided, controlled, who sets you free for a moment or two, before the call to return to his / her protective arm / perch. Could negativity be the captain ?, - at the helm – of your ship, sailing it’s precious cargo into safe harbours, calm waters, places from which you may let yourself out, every so often, in order to test the waters of man – where you may step out to find that elusive dream, in hopes that the right mythological creature will come along and sweep you off your feet . Good Luck Moneca, for you will over look, you will not see the essence of, through those dark glasses you ware to keep out the light, so dark that they are more like a mirror, reflecting back upon itself, the images of self projected and not what could be seen through clear, crystal lenses .
I see so much Moneca !, you want to see nothing !, nothing that we share in common, have shared in, many times, on our little journeys into what we share in common and I have to wonder ?, about music, art, movies, architecture, walks and talks, adventures, travel, our artistic talents, etc., etc., etc. I guess, I speculate, that you prefer not to see or feel that we have much, or anything, in common, except our little adventure across Canada and back, that now has become history, just a memory – Che sara sara !!!!!!!

Love

Bill .

You're very

Special

to me ...

Moneca .

...and I hope God will bless you

in a very special way.

and help you through every day.

Happy Easter

Moneca, &Mat.

Love

Bill

Melanie .

CHAPTER 110

Poems to Moneca,- 2 Pages

March 29^th 2008

A grain of Sand

A grain of shifting sand, lying upon life’s shore.

Captured –carried within turbulent winds, doth soar
into the unknown ether, until, tis no more
that created this heart, a heart become so sore.
There isn’t the heart – would never even the score !,
only try to understand ?, that what has come before
has created these stone walls, walls without a door
through which one might find what is in store
for this heart that seeks to touch this spirit once more.

Fairy tale

Life – fairy tales from our active imaginations.

Stories created, that direct us towards our destinations.
Stories we create, eventually showing us our limitations
upon this, our journey into the realms of fascination,
the energy, the force, the essence that drives us to creation
in this world, a world for many lives, in subjugation
of self, of soul, of spirit – life’s forces in domination !,
should we not be capable of reaching a realization
that all there is, is our mind’s manipulation
of, and into what may become our next evolution
and what could become our final solution
on our path, the pathways of convolution
that may lead us to some kind of conclusion
as to which road we journey upon towards – evolution.

B. J. “A” 2
March 29^th 2008

Life’s Barbs

A lovely – cogent, fettle – without a rudder to steer.

Darkness the only music, from her eyes I am able to hear.
Darkness the only sound, coming, that penetrates my ear.
It’s the void that punctures, permeates all that I fear,
fear that keeps you from reaching out, from coming near.

Minimal sounds come to express, to communicate
what lies within the recesses, what may your fate
be, as your mind closes in on you, nothing to state
of that which you, your thoughts, feelings have to lie in
brings a pain I feel, a passion for- nothing- it is a sin.

Would I, could I hold open those closing doors

on the light – once so bright – settle the scores
that fate has locused – focused it’s place of destiny,
that place you have to trek alone – for all eternity

B. J. “A” 2

March 31^st 2008

CHAPTER 111

In a letter to Joyce,- 2 Pages

April 7^th 2008

As for Moneca, my Dear, nothing new to report nor am I any closer to her than she will let me be and of coarse that is no closer then arms length and yet, I seem not to be able to let go of the dream, ( nightmare ) maybe I will be able to do so by the time she gets back from Poland, – three to five weeks, depending - leaving a week today, the fourteenth she leaves .

Love
Bill .

CHAPTER 112

In a letter to Dave,& Donna, - 2 Pages

April 9^th 2008

Other then the Polish Princess, going to Poland for three to five weeks, – leaving on April 14^th – leaving me the opportunity to find a way to extricate myself from my insatiable, insane desire for her, my love for her, there is nothing more to enlighten you with .

Love

Bill .

CHAPTER 113

A poem for Moneca,- 1 Page

April 13^th 2008

A gift desired

Oh for true, blissful moment of satisfaction.

A gift from your heart – a life time of gratification
would come on the wings of positive reactions
to this man, along with intimate communications.

This you would be able to see, with the eyes of your soul,
with the eyes of your heart, if only you cared to know
beyond, which you only see with the eyes in your head,
those eyes you perceive with – from your intellect instead.
For me, Moneca, my Dear, your sweet voice is all I hear
bouncing, ricocheting, echoing off walls far and near
that enclose the empty spaces, enfold the void’s of my life.
Memories of inner beauty, of you cut deep – by the knife,
that is your tongue, is your feelings, your belief,
your constant statements - from which there is little relief.

B. J. “A” 2

April 13^th 2008

CHAPTER 114

A postcard form Moneca,- 1 Page

April 22^nd2008

Warszawa, ulica Freta

WARSAW Old Town– Freta Street

Hello Bill

Greetings from wonderful vacations. I have very nice time, but weather is horrible.

Bill !!! you are amazing man and you surprise me all the time. Can you believe me or not that any man in my hole life didn’t do it in such original way, you are one of a kind. I think you deserve for better woman then I am… but I am very happy to have wonderful the best friend which I never have before and will never have .
I enjoy every day with my brother and we have a lot of fun, With my dad is different but I try to be very patient and I don’t spend to much time in his house but every day a few hours. I would like to thank you for everything what you are doing for me.

I miss you and send 100 kisses

Moneca
PS Thank you very much for beautiful present.

April 22^nd 2008

CHAPTER 115

Peoms for Moneca,- 1 Page

April 26^th 2008

Empty Rooms

Aloneness may become an immense - empty room,

from which loneliness can come upon us – much to soon

on the heels of to much - involved aloneness !
This I have come to know, intimately – I must confess,

to touching the fringes of, from time to time,

as can be seen, coming out in my attempts at good rhyme.

B. J. “A” 2

April 26^th 2008

Welcome home Sweet Princess

From this time forward, may a bright light shine upon your dreams, may the sun’s healing, worm rays fill your desires, and may that knight, come to brighten up your days and fill your nights with passions that will carry you through to those places you so richly deserve to be, to see for the rest of your day dreams, without the nightmares .

Love “ The Shadow” -

that has haunted many an adventure, laid upon the paths of many a journey with you, throughout this life’s odysseys .

Love

Bill .

CHAPTER 116

A Poem for Moneca, - 1 Page

April 29^th 2008

Has it been ?

It has been – from then until now – a long winding road,

journeying through forests, up mountains, in graveyards,
down valleys, into hell fires, experiencing life’s diversions,
filled – heart ache, heart break, pointless pain inflicted
and yet, continues to carry on - arriving at this place,
this point in time and space, that I have come to – empty !
Has it been ?, fate, destiny, genetics, karma, heritage,
unenlightened choices that have guided the foot steps
to the door, behind which an empty heart, an indifferent
soul, a cold spirit awaits, to foil every attempt to enter.
Could ?, this ghostly apparition be the avenging angel
- for – setting before me, for me all the pain,
all the heartache that has followed in my wake
as I take, this, my journey towards the empty,
meaningless, void that seems to be me and my life.
Only the stars, steel bars and the angels know
what lies behind / within the shadows of this life !

B. J. “A” 2
April 29^th 2008

Chapter 117

In a letter to Joyce , - 9 Pages

April 30^th 2008

I am sorry Joyce, for what may read as sad – for I am sure that the contents of the rhymes / poems I sent, may shadow over, what lightness that may come your way these days .

Unfortunately Joyce, I have been unable to – it seems – slip past, get beyond, make pass what fills my hours, my mind, my heart, my days and nights. Even though, for the past three weeks – since Moneca, has been in Poland – the weight of my passion, my love for her has not been so pressing, so ominous even though I am in her home two / three times a day. Once a day to take her dogs for an hour, hour and a half walk and the other two or three times to feed them and let them out for a pee and or poop.

I think that it is time that I try and close the doors – of my heart –on what - I do believe, when I open my eyes to see – will be a nothing and going nowhere relationship, after she arrives from Poland on the sixth of May. This decision, I have been living with – as you know only to well – for a very long, long time now and will or will not be implemented it, depending on how things go when she gets back and whether or not there will be an honest, meaningful greeting, passionate and affectionate with a since show of gratitude for all that I have done for her.

I have finally come to that point, where I am able to accept the obvious – in my heart – what my mind has been telling me for a very long, long time .

   They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder Joyce, and so I am not so sure that “ Maybe good to get a break from her ” will be a good thing or not ? Anyway my Dear, what I wrote above, is were my head is at – for the moment at least. Who knows – except her, if even she does ? - what tomorrow will bring to my heart. As for Moneca, ( Mon-e-ca, ), Monica, and the spelling of her name, the chance came, as it did with her last name ( Radoszewski into Rayner ), at the suggestion of some psychic or numerologist she was seeing .
                                                     Love
                        Bill
                          &
                         Melanie

Chapter 118

A poem for Moneca, - 1 Page

May 5^th 2008

Static Light

Lightning - Moneca, her name – electrified my spirit,
shocked my soul into a glowing light of desire,
a desire to live beyond the states of neutrality,

of stagnation that existed – all that was left for a once

moving, vital, vibrant being that was, once,

and now is again hanging onto the very edges

of what is left - of youthful adventures,

of those experiences and journeys.

How does one’s spirit, one’s soul hang onto

the very edges of hazy dreams, of misty desires.

That elusive light of golden hues and Autumn greens ?

How does the knight, in realization of, lay down his sword

And give up the quest for love’s light- ning ?

B. J. “A” 2

May 5th 2008

Dear Moneca :
   I am truly sorry for being such a constant aggrivation for you and for upsetting this beautiful day for you .
   I guess it is time that the wings of this great white steed, takes flight and carries you to places and people who can lift the void of what is unacceptable to the mind of the beholder of many unrealistic expectations that kill the free flowing energy of life on the move .
   Take good care !                                                 Love
                                                          Bill .

Chapter 119

A poem for Moneca, - 3 Pages

May 27^th 2008

The Dream
On it’s final journey – destination – a coma –
realization, a stagnant pool of reflections,
images on fun house mirrors –
surrealistic paintings
upon the walls of times passing,
it’s life diminishing, slowly, upon wings
of a sorrowful, soulful, agonizing flight
into the realms of death’s domain.

Dreams come to the midnight hour – hovering above.
Dreams fade - in quiet desperation – in twilight’s dust.
Rainbows mist, slowly blanketing, dark oceans deep.
Dreams of – depths of love, of joy, of a relationship,
all lost inside the vessel of heartache,
heartache’s pain washes over this sinking ship,
the ship of this fool and fools in love.

The dream shattered, fragmented – as is the love, lost
at the hand of indifference, of prejudiced perceptions,
of judgmental criticisms, of a belief of unworthiness
that is displayed upon the screens of a mind hiding,
avoiding – a lifetime of pain, disappointment,
shattered dreams, unattainable expectations –
the monster – created, influenced, became the food
for control, critical. judgmental indifference,
the façade of such pride, superiority, aggression.

The dreams, the love,–into Davie Jones’s locker deep-

there lay the skeletons of memories’ hope, life’s desire,
- for no other entity, no essence, no energy source
of such beauty will come along to extricate, validate,
bestow vitality, resurrect, breath life back into
that which was dead and now drowning.
Oh, if it could only be shown, there is more than one,
shown that two can be as one in their separateness.

If only the deep, dark, shadows would give up, give in,

relinquish their control, release the anchor,
the chains that bind, that weigh you down.

The lungs of this Love, are filled with dew drops.
Suffocating from an unloving, uncaring, uninterested.
indifferent body, ( water the mother of this life,

influence long gone ) oxygen it’s name - it’s father -

rusting it’s hinges, doors no longer open

for this child loved, for the spirit,
the soul of dream’s destine - to love – seem not
to be able to bring life to this dead soul – adrift.

Shun the dreams essence and life drowns.

Shun love’s embrace – energy becomes less then static,
static becomes loves death - death by electrocution -
a shock that stills the heart that loves.

Love is dying at the hands of “ I do not want ! ”
Soon the day approaches when Love, will not want
what the hands of, reach out for – emptiness
will be all that fills the world of superficiality.
In the end, the aesthetic pictures, points of view
will be nothing more then dust in the winds
howling through the empty spaces
- once beautiful Autumn Green Eyes.

B. J. “A” 2

May 27^th 2008

Chapter 120

A poem for Moneca, - 2 Pages

May 27^th 2008

Silent Music

of
Falling Stars

A radiant glob shone down upon this planet,
life seemed so bright – why is it then ?, all seen,
on the surface, ( in the face of ) – seems the dark side,
the spirit of the moon permeating the innermost recesses
of this harbored soul, having been reached out to.

Towards this planet, around it Mars gravitates, rotates.

In the furthest reaches, a sphere so cold – grows –
a heart so distant and aloof, this planet seems,
from a different universe, travelling in other dimensions,
orbiting on a different plane, even when two -
as one - have flown together ?, – apart.

Why has Venuses, influence repulsed ?,

slipped out of orbit – lost her way –
drifting away – always, it seems –
gravitating towards planets of perceived perfection,
in their ecliptic, aesthetic, elegance,
in their orbit of alleged worldly knowledge,
in their spheres of impressionistic light,
light that seems to blind, their gravity, pulling Venus,
into their orbits for a week / weeks,
a month / months, a year / years,
or for just a date or two.

Comes disillusionment, disappointment to shake Venus,
from her dreams of – that set her gravitational pull back
towards this lowly old planet – set adrift –
drawing it back into her orbit for another go around
- this moon to her earth, without power of influence –
no gravitational put, no raising and ebbing of tides,
just a continuous revolving around her glow.
a companion to the empty spaces in-between,
never to be included, to become a part of her universe

B. J. “A” 2

June 2^nd 2008

Chapter 121

A letter to Joyce, - 19 Pages

June 4^th/ 5^th/ 6^th 2008

Then there is one more battle, looming ahead, that and my love for her I do not want to be faced with – under any circumstances – the battle I am or will be involved with, with the Polish Princess, or maybe it is with just myself and my ineffectual love for her – it is over !, it is finished – yet I still hang onto the illusion as if it where a life raft, a life raft that is sinking, no, was sunk the day of it’s launching. It all ( once again ) started a week ago last Saturday, during a walk on the dike that restrains the Pitt River from inundating the lands on it’s western banks, at the eastern end of Prairie Avenue. During this walk and talk, Moneca, was more then usual, critical of me, very judgmental of my person,- stating that my knowledge was founded upon inaccurate information, ( wrong sources ), I am not manly, ( I am feminine ), along with other negative interpretation of me as a person, as a human being, as a man, as her friend – and as you know Joyce, for the past two years, I have over look this flaw in her personality, accepted the fact that she is her father’s daughter – perpetuating his character – and knowing that she can not help herself ( it is ingrained so deep into her psyche ) especially considering, when one takes into account the Polish psyche, compounding, compressing, yet I still love her, am in love with her ( what a massiquest am I ! ). And loving her must be true Joyce, for love of another is to love them regardless, accepting,

understanding, tolerating the unacceptable, accepting the intolerable and this you know my Dear. Besides, one thinks, believes, hopes and prays that what you believe to lay beneath all the crap, behind the façade, beneath the veneer will eventually come shinning through for you. I know Joyce that that is the dreams of fools, this fool, and I also know that Leopardesses, will not change their spots, she can not change her spots until she is able to open her eyes and be willing to see. Then and only then may she be able to reduce the intensity of her camouflage, lessen the severity of her spots, fade them into insignificance with the love of and love for another - or she can intensify them with all the pain and heart ache of past experiences, experiences that have killed off any hope, any desire for the spirit, for the soul, locked up deep within the oubliette of her knowledge, where light may shine down into, providing glorious beams upon which her soul may escape - free of all ( if not from the ties that bind it to it’s heritage, to it’s bearers, to it’s nationality, it’s schooling, it’s religion, it’s blindness to a world beyond that which has gone into creating this particular Polish Princess, ) that prevents her from me and my love for her, but instead, she has me locked in the grips of her finely manicured claws, like a cat, just playing me, never because she is hungry for this particular gourmet meal, that has been offered up on a silver platter, food for this goddess, sustenance of superb taste . I guess, a little bit of a high opinion of myself ?, obviously one she does not see or agrees with .

Sunday, another day, on the phone ( I called her to see if I could pick up anything for her while I was out ) that turned nasty, argumentative as she declined my offer ( not needing anything ) and made it clear that she was on her way out to walk her dogs. I asked her if she would like a companion ?, informing her that I would be back within half an hour. Her reply - to my question of companionship - came at me like flaming arrows, her negativity piercing my heart, laying it waist upon a funeral pyre. Her exact words, I do not recall, but the essence of them clearly struck me down “ you are not a man, you have no balls, all this because I did not suggest, did not invite myself to go along on this walk – she was on her way out the door to take – with her and her dogs, and the implication ( of coarse ) was that I never suggest, never invite and never invited myself, along on this journey, a journey that I was unaware of. I guess that she must think that I have the same psychic powers as you Joyce. Anyway my Dear, my reply to her criticisms, to her putdowns, was “ did I not ask you, a number of times, to take a journey across Canada, with me ?, spend some time in Ontario ? ”, “ last weekend, did I not ask you to join me on a trip to Seattle ?, that you declined, did I not suggest Whistler instead ?, again you declined ”, and so Joyce, I ended up settling for Stanley Park and can not be sure if that was my last attempt or if that was her alternative. Anyway my Dear, it turned out to be a beautiful day spent together, in spite of one, only one !!!!, negative criticism / putdown “ you act to youthful for an old man and it looks ridiculous ”. Anyway Joyce, after all was said and done, she never once acknowledged or accepted the fact that I have invited her - have suggested that we do things together numerous times over these past two years and in most cases they where never acted upon because of her excuses, one – especially the invitations to Seattle, Whistler – was her dogs, “ to much time away from them ”, to which I quickly replied with “ you just left them alone for ten hours while you were in Maple Ridge, afternoon and evening, spending those ten hours with Mr. waiter and you have also told me that you have left them for eight, nine hours from time to time – isn’t that what you have told me ? ”, to which she tried to avoid answering and then tried to change the subject over my constant barrage of interruption - “ isn’t that what you have told me ? ” – and when she realized that I was not going to let her get away with her trying to justify a reality that she would like to be her truth. Her solution to my attempt at getting her to acknowledge the truth, was quick and brutal, she hung up on me, so I went and did my thing but when I got back from the mall, she was gone – probably on a date with the guy she met at the Saturday dance, a dance that she did not invite me to, to be her companion - before I headed to Maple Ridge for supper with Barb., and Chris. When I got home, just before nine PM, after have been gone since one thirty PM she was still not home – a date ?

Good morning Joyce :

Although it is almost noon hour and not a good morning here - as the tears from my dying heart are washed into the sea by the tears from our crying skies – I have to face this day of torrential rainfall, the weight of the above and what is to follow, that hangs heavy upon the synapses and neurons within my brain, on my mind.

Anyway my Dear, back to this sad tale of love shattered by the hands of indifference, of expectations that are to high and unattainable / unrealistic or maybe it’s just a fear of me - as my acquaintance, my stereo repair man ( seventy seven year old Frank, / Columbus Radio, North Vancouver ) who just may be considering a friendship with me ) has claimed. Frank has take me out for coffees – one time that lasted for two hours another time that lasted for five hours and is – probably next week – taking me out to his favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch or supper. Anyway Joyce, he has said, during our last conversation, that he thinks that Moneca, - whom he met two years ago and was witness to her verbal attacks , her criticisms, her judgmental opinions of me, in his place of business and in front of him, to him, whom she had just met and spent less then ten minutes with – is afraid of me because I have got her number, I see through her, I understand her only to well, that I am smarter than she and that I am more intelligent. That my Dear, was very nice of him to think so, to say so, to believe so, but most of it is something I doubt very much. I think that the scenario is much simpler then that – my age, my financial situation, my social status, the level of my education, my looks, my lack of elegance and intelligence and maybe fear, but not fear of me, fear of any kind of involvement beyond platonic, because of all the pain, heart ache and disappointment she has suffered at the hands of man – her father, both husbands and the number of lovers / relationships she has had and maybe because of her own age .

I am so sorry Joyce, it seems as though I have gotten off track, - got side tracked – rambling on and on and on. Back to the story .

On Monday, Moneca, left a message on my answering machine and to follow is a transcript of that message, along with a photo copy of the card I left at her door on Sunday so that you may be able to see, analyze and come to some determination as to what could be your perceived reality behind this adventure into the psyche of she and me. I will refrain from making comment on either of these two pieces of information so that you will not be prejudiced in your opinion, your understanding of this situation of us two as we will certainly be .

Moneca’s phone message after she received my card on Sunday “ you do not have to apologize Bill, you are so dramatic and your aura around your body is very sensitive – you exaggerate – you are extremely dramatic person – it is absolutely not necessary to be dramatic – let somebody tell and explain, don’t disturb, don’t make big issue and try to listen what another people tell you and in your mind everything, all information you which your mind absorbs transfer from dramatic situation – ah – be more realistic and don’t- because this is really heard for everybody – ah – I try to tell you a few times, but probably very hard to understand – that it’s probably very hard to change yourself and I don’t expect that you’ll change but please don’t exaggerate and don’t apology for something what you didn’t do – this is normal between two people that they expected from each other something but this is not big problem and doesn’t make sense to make words on this card and words when you always tell me after some – not – argument but stronger discussion- it’s problematic and you exaggerate a lot .

Okay, I apologize, that I am not patient enough with you but please think about a little bit about your personality – ah – because I don’t want to make reason for you to be – I just don’t want to be reason for you to be unhappy and apology all the time – inaudible – it’s – nothing happened .

Okay, thank you for listening to this message and I hope that you will be okay. Bye, Bye . ”

I did not call her right back, in response to this message because I did not want a repeat of Sundays phone call nor to have her upset at me again and hang up, besides I was truly at a loss as to how to respond to all the projected traits - she perceives – are me. I have said to her, many, many time, in written and spoken word that I love her and that I would never do anything – consciously or otherwise – to hurt her or upset her and the card I left for on Sunday is a reflection and expression of that state of being .

The next phase of this narrative comes on Wednesday. I was washing my car in the underground – just soaped the roof and all the windows – when Moneca, drove up, got out of her car, said hello and asked what was, or is anything wrong ?, to which I asked, “ what do you mean ? ”, hoping that she might acknowledge what that was ( knowing very well ) but instead lead us into a pleasant exchange – of things unimportant and unrelated to her question or my responding question. Anyway Joyce, after talking for a while, realizing that when we become engrossed in conversation time slips away, into hours and so I asked her if she minded if I took a few seconds to rinsed the soap off my car before it dried, to which she replied in a voice that projected or reflected - anger ?, hurt ?, feelings of rejection ?, disappointment ?, - in the words “ I am sorry I disturbed you ! ” as she walked – not away from the spray – but right to her car, - as I called after her with only silence echoing back - got in and drove off without so much as a good bye, fuck you, kiss my ass ( which I do all the time ), drop dead – nothing as my words screamed all around her, after her “ where are you going ? ” as her tail lights slipped out of sight .

Nothing, that is until another message is left on my answering machine, which will follow, in is entirety, as transcribed from that message. “ Hi Bill, it’s me, it’s two o’clock – hum - nothing happened – ah – you said that you, that you have to do something and I disturbed you – aum - ” you are busy and obviously – hum – I didn’t want to – I just wanted to say hello but when you said that you had to wash your car and I didn’t want to disturb you – that’s all, nothing happened and so it’s two o’clock – I just – I had problem with my car and we stayed – with Mat, ( Mat, is her son ) in the garage – we tried to find the problem with ( inaudible ) starter but it was still mystery with my car but now is two o’clock – I am just going for walk with my dogs. Okay, we will talk later I guess ? Bye, Bye .

This message Joyce, came to me – by about half an hour or so – on the heels of the message I left her – because she was not back by the time I left, and left her the message ( around one thirty PM ) – that raises the question as to why she left me standing there with hose in hand, water spraying all over the place, her tail lights disappearing from my sight, red reflecting in my eyes, silence, her response to my words as they echoed in my ears, bouncing off the walls of our underground, parking garage. Anyway Joyce, besides the question – that she acknowledge existed, by her response to my message, left on her answering machine – I also stated that I would be on the dyke along the Pitt River, at the end of our street and where I would be on that dike and so if she wanted to talk with me I would be there for some time, in fact that time stretched to six PM. She never showed up with her dogs, never came for a talk or a walk and so I was contemplating letting it all go – finally !

And here we are again - it is another Monday and again she is not home so I have to leave another message, which would indicate that her social calendar is quite full ( a heavy load of social inter coarse during these past two weeks ? ). I once again phoned – as I had to go out for some groceries – to ask if I could pick up anything for her and of coarse that would have turned into a lengthy conversation. Not a reply, nothing to the message I left and then, a couple of days later, I had to go out again, so I called to see if there was something I could do for her but only spoke to her answering service “ is there anything I may do for you ?, for I have to go out ”. Not a reply, not a call and so I am left to believe that, either she does not want to speak with me ?, is angry with me ?, or it is over ?, she done with me ? Has she finally let go of me?, has no further use for me ?, let go of what she never wanted in the first place, something that I believe – even in the blindness of my love for her – is very clear, clear by the way she treats me as a friend, as a companion, as an acquaintance, verbally, physically, emotionally, passionately, even as a lover.

Anyway Joyce, I do not know where she is at, with us, or she, or me and I am really tired of guessing, speculating, hypothesizing and no longer want to do so, even though, when I think about my invitation to join me no the dyke, walk, talk about the events of that day and her message in particular “ I had problem with my car ”, “ tried to find the problem with - - ? – starter ”, “ still mystery with my car ”, “ going for walks with my dogs ”, “ it’s two o’clock ” along with what has transpired during the past two weeks, I have to wonder - considering ? ( One ) her car started just fine when she drove up to me, ( two ) it started just fine when she drove off, ( three ) it started just fine in order to get her back home in time to leave me the message and even though she does not come right out and say it, it sure seems to be her excuse for not taking her dogs for their walk along the dyke that I was waiting at, the very same dyke that we have, many, many time traversed .

I sure do not know what it all means Joyce, her silence, her none responses to my messages, – we know from the above that she gets them and has responded to a few – especially the invitation – on such a beautiful B.C. day – to walk and talk along the dyke, to talk about all the issues, put them on the table - even if she had to have her son take five minutes and drive her there – so that we could clear the air, try and come to some understanding and if nothing else, have a moment or two with me .

And so, alone my Dear, – on the dyke – I was in deep thought about all the negative things she thinks of me, feels about me, says to me – as I am doing now. Then on the heels of all this came the most hurtful, most insulting thing she has ever said to me “ you are just like Patrick ! ” you remember the stories about this psycho, the alleged priest, filmmaker, poet, intellectual – now a door man for a Jewish apartment complex in New York city – who was her heart ache, her pain, her disappointment - obvious to me, but Moneca, interpreted / claimed, was adamant about it being just anger she was feeling – and so for six months I listened with patience, with understanding, with compassion and advice to her denials of what I was seeing, was hearing behind her stone walls until one day she finally admitted to the fact that it was pain, heartache and disappointment that was driving her and that I was right about my interpretation of anger as her outward expression of heartache, a shield to hide herself from her broken heart, her disappointment, her pain, her realization that she projected all these qualities onto this fast talking con man, that did not exist within him, yet wanted so much to believe that they did and so her ego would not admit to this grave mistake in judgment and her intellect could not let her take responsibility for true reality and the pain it inflicted. And ever since, her statement about my being like Patrick, I have wondered – in moments of optimism, in positive light, with hope, my insanity – if my being “ just like Patrick, ” ment that she thought I was intelligent ?, artistic ?, creative ?, talented ?, loveable ? Dropping the illusion, coming back to reality, I think that we both know that, that would never be so .

And so Joyce, with all the above knowledge, and all the knowledge that came before, as expressed in many, many letters – hundreds of pages - ( and alleged poems ) to you I have to wonder ?, why I feel that she is such a mystery to me, and she really is Joyce. Because I love her so much, it appears that I am unable to see through that thick fog hovering around her, see past all those high, dense walls that surround her, see into those Autumn Green Eyes that hide behind an impenetrable veil, and with my thick brain, am unable to come to any reasonable understanding, comprehension as to why I love her or why she would bother with a man like the one she has painted this picture of, the man she says and thinks I am. Why bother at all ?, never mind for the past two, plus years ?

To finish my train – and it has been a rough ride in this baggage car – of thought from yesterday .

I have been wondering ?, for some time now, just why is it ?, that during the two years of our relationship ? / acquaintanceship ?, Moneca, has never introduced me to any of her alleged friends, ( three that I know of that she spends much time with ), invites me to any of her social groups activities – dances, parties, or just an evening of chit chat. I do wonder what it is about me ?, - all her excuses aside – that keeps her from inviting me to be her companion especially seeing as how – I know of this from the horses mouth – she has invited Mr. waiter to numerous events with her that have all turned out disastrously, unpleasant outcome for her and yet, after all these forgoing calamities – one would think – she would never again bring this man into any social event, but did so, and at her place, Easter, for supper with her long time Polish friends and customer, Ola, and Walter, and son Mat., that turned into a tragic embarrassment for her, her friends and son, as this so-called elegant, intelligent man spewed out ( at the supper table ) a monologue on sex and masturbation. Moneca, has also brought Mr. christian ( a religious man ) into her circle of friends and acquaintances - this man is a Canadian ( like me ) not Polish, like Mr, waiter and yet both these men, like many others who want to, or who have gotten into her panties, have an affair with her have become a part of her social group ?, – but not me !

Anyway Joyce, back to the point – why am I ?, why have I been ?, excluded from all her social activities, kept from her friends all these years. Could it be that she would feel embarrassed by bringing me, into her social group ?, this old man ?, this less then handsome man ?, this indigent ?, disabled ?, senior citizen ?, this First Nations – Canadian man ?, who knows what is in her mind ?, what she thinks ?, or why ?

I flip the coin and wonder ?, if, on the other side it’s that, if she included me – as her escort, her companion, her lover want to be, - into her circle of friends, her social activities, ( it would never be just her and just me, it would be us and she knows that, that is how I would play it ) I might put a damper on her ability, at one of these events, to flirt with whom ever it might be that she thinks is Mr. right ? Could it be ?,that she is afraid that I might learn, from one or more or her friends or acquaintances - at some event – just what kind of person it is that resides behind these masks of the educated, of the intellectual, the socialite, the high society, logical, lady .

Anyway Joyce, with all the negativity thrown at me, all the putdowns that have buried me, all that I have endured since that walk on Saturday, where it, once again, started a war that left me in the cold , not even an invitation to a dance the next Saturday. I guess that I have finally accepted my fate in this matter that I have laid before your eyes .

I am truly sorry Joyce, for having dragged you into the fray of my life’s journey upon these raging seas and the rocky shores that I have been tossed upon. Sorry for bending your ears to the breaking point, straining your eyes into blindness with all these tales of my trials and tribulations, for wasting your limited, precious time with these pitiful conundrums of my life’s journey along this rough, rocky, winding road I must travel long and alone .

                     Love
                 Bill
                                     &
                        Melanie .

Chapter 122

A poem to Moneca, - 1 Page

June 9^th 2008

Final Thoughts

Why is it ?, you choose to avoid what tomorrow brings.

Can it be because of your tale ?, - in sorrow, it sings
a melancholy song of past pain, pain you want not again –
in fear of experiencing one more time – so you refrain
from any kind of commitment to men, to me,
beyond the superficiality, the shallowness that I see
is this game you play ?, far to much negativity
you throw at me – word stilettos, into my heart,
your tongue, a sword cutting deep – it being oh so sharp!
Years have slipped by, a promise from you of nothing.

Montreal, New York State, a fleeting moment, something
promising British Columbia, all became dust, barren.
The winds of hope died that day, not a whisper, not carin,
whether or not I cherish those blissful moments in time
or live in regret, for years, without you – as my rhymes
tell you – in a quandary !, I am left wondering what to do
about my love, my friendship, my desire for you.

B. J. “A” 2
June 9^th 2008

Chapter 123

In a lette from Joyce, - 2 Pages

June 18^th 2008

I didn’t think photos of Moneca, was very good, eating and drinking. Is that real color of her hair. Looks some dye in it. Anyway I am sorry for your mind set, always thinking of Moneca, when obviously she doesn’t care a damm about you in all these past years you’ve known her.

Anyway, I can’t see you as stuck in thinking of her day and night it seems. Her personality after two marriages and trying out different boyfriends is not one any good for a relationship anyway. Only someone like you, she can control will ever be friends or lover for her – love has no true meaning, just a lot of meanings, like god for many people. What is true today becomes false later. Hard to understand that you still hurt over Moneca.

You said you had your battle to face with Polish Princess, is she even worth it, for any time with her ? She uses you when needed and likes you in the background when needed. She is certainly old enough ( 54 ) now to make decisions without having to think of daddy. No excuses will do at that age unless she is mentally sick. You make up excuses for her. She knows what she is saying as she criticizes you so bad. It seems Mr. waiter is a jerk, but does she see it ? Glade Frank remembers 2 years ago and how she treated you in front of him .

I thought her letter ( phone message ) to you was very good and truth in it. She took the time to write ( call ) with all that and was thoughtful in the letter ( call ). She have a little pride, somehow, in her for you. She is not wrong in her projective stats about you. You could be classed dramatic easily. Not always but trait. You need to thank her for taking time to write ( call ). It took time to think of all she had to say. Also it looks like she hates you to avoid her for anything. This especially upsets her. She is really good at manipulation for her own good.

I am afraid I’ve lost any sympathy for Moneca, when she has continually put you down these past years. At least she did let you know what she thinks of you. She could have pretended and not let you know her true feelings. She has been honest about that part of the relationship. Am sure she appreciated what you did for her birthday and trip to Boston. I give her some credit, that she didn’t feel she owed sex and denied it after a try. Her thoughts of were criticisms but she was honest in

Oh if it could be!,
if I could only find the right sea,
if I had the right line,

if I where the right

pole.
Two years my Dear
and no where to go

from here.

Though you're someone
who's used to doing much,
this is your time to take it slow.

May stress and hurry
be far from your mind.

May this warm wish for your comfort
be neat to your heat,
as near as I'd like to be.
May what now ails, leave you
and that robust health, once again
become your daily companion.

Get Well Soon !
Love

BIll.

Chapter 124

In a lette to Joyce, - 28 Pages

July 15^th 17^th 18^th 19^th 20^th2008

My Dearest Joyce :

you are positively correct “ photos of Moneca, was ” not “ very good easting and drinking ” on may 9^th 2008 – her birthday – but it was all I could get on the evening of what I felt might be my last opportunity to be with her and do so for she would not let me take a picture of her celebrating her fifty fourth birthday with me, but as you can see, I had to catch her unaware so that she could not avoid my efforts, my desire.

Yes Joyce, she is a real blond and yes, she does colour some of it from time to time .

So am I Joyce, “ sorry for your mind set, always thinking of Moneca ” for it occupies so much of my time and energy, and seldom on thoughts of all the pleasures I have experienced with her, for it is, most times, the negatives that haunt me, hangs heavy in the recesses of my addicted mind, my craving heart, rings so loudly in these ears of mine, throughout my days and day dreams, throughout my nights and my nightmares and even into my dreams. In spite of all that is, and seems so negative Joyce, I am not so sure – even though I concur with your estimate “ when obviously she doesn’t care a damn about you all these past years you have known her ” – that she really doesn’t care. I think, ( want to believe ) that she does – to some degree ( in her limited way ), care a little or even a lot, just refuses ( for what ever reason ) to emotionally, verbally or physically express or show it .

Believe me Joyce, I wish it wasn’t so and I seem to have little control, but it is true, she walks with me during the day, I wake every morning with her on my mind and no matter what time I go to bed, she is right there with me. It seems no matter what, I can not escape that invisible net, Moneca, it’s name, even watching a movie ( which I try to do ) draws me into it’s every passion expressed on screen, every passionate scene becomes one of her and I, and I am not speaking here of sexuality Joyce, I am talking of a soul mate look into each others eyes, a romantic word, a loving touch, a passionate embrace, a stroll hand in hand, those quiet moments when you know, a head tenderly resting upon a chest, making love. Do not get me wrong Joyce, I do want to make love to Moneca, again, every night, every day and in every way, including intercourse of coarse. And oh how I want to be kissing her as I did in Montreal and New York State. I would be forever in my glory, forever happy if kissing, as we did then, was all there would be for me. I could live with that and hope .

I do not know Joyce, - considering all the poems / rhymes, all the copies of letters to Moneca, all the paragraphs in letters to you that you have read for the past two years ( yesterday ) never mind all the hours and hours of phone conversations – why you “ can’t see you as stuck in thinking of her day and night it seems. ” find it so hard to believe that I am so engrossed in thoughts and feelings for this woman named Moneca. Maybe we have had a past in another life time ?, maybe we are soul mates ?, that she refuses to acknowledge because I do not fit the mold she has created in her mind ?, I do not meet her expectations ?, maybe I am just ment to bring her out – emotionally – of that ice castle she has barricaded herself in ?, show her the light of an uninhibited, free spirit ?, bring her out of the darkness of prejudices, judgmentalness, criticisms, superficialities, out from under the weight of being her father’s daughter ?, the weight of the Polish psyche / personality ?, then again, maybe I have come and gone, being nothing more then the actor, playing the roll of the filler, for all her empty hours

Anyway Joyce, it seems the love ?, I feel does not come from my head or conscious thought, it is in my gut, in my heart, in my soul, in the spirit of my dreams, it’s a biological, subconscious , physical process that I can not seem to shut down, turn off, eradicate, eliminate, terminate and believe me Joyce, - negativity in the foreground – I have tried. If this is all built on desire, passion, it is just in my head – based on what has been laid before these eyes of mine, before this heart of mine – I would have told her to fuck off !, - go back to Mr. hitler, Mr psycho priest, Mr. waiter, Mr christian, - a long time ago. I would have dropped her like I did Linda B. some thirty-eight years ago, after she broke my heart with her infidelity. But then again my Dear, maybe not ?, - not willing to make that mistake again, without at least trying to reach deep within her to find out why things are as they are.

I do believe you to be right on about Moneca’s personality – “ Her personality, after two marriages and trying out different boyfriends is not a good one for a relationship anyway. ” – and I have to be totally honest with you and myself, there are a number of personality traits and quirks that, if I did not love her so blindly / foolishly, would never have tolerated for a second and not walk but run away from a long, long time ago. I guess I have always held the belief that being the intelligent woman she climes to be, says she is, she would open her eyes, her mind and her heart to the fact, and realize that all the negativity she spews out, claiming it comes from others, really comes from within. There are just far to many observations, to many stories, remarks, beliefs she has stated, attributed to others ( myself included ) that are obviously mirrored images of her very self.

I may be the biggest fool on the face of this planet, for I know that a leopardess seldom, if ever, changes her spots. In listening to all her stories, all her tales, her diatribes, I can certainly empathize, sympathize and understand where she is coming from and where she is at, but in knowing her as I do, I can not help but believe that she was a major contributor to the direction all her relationships took, crashing on the rocky shores of false pride, I am smarter than !, better than !, and all the other issues she believes and are locked inside her ego, ego in defense of the little girl that I think wants to be free but can not let herself be .

I am reasonably sure Joyce, that you are, once again, correct in your analysis of the Princess and Frog ( Moneca, and me ) - “ Only someone like you, she can control, will ever be friends or lover for her ” – but I do not see my love, my desire, my willingness to give to her as her controlling me, for I have made it very clear and have told her many times not to confuse kindness for weakness, and also, you can fool all the people some of the time and some of the people all the time - and added my own twist to that idiom, - but you can not fool me. I do believe my Dear, that this would clearly take any control she might think she has over me, out of her hands but I have to admit that there is something that keeps drawing me to her, some unseen, unfathomable force within me ?, or within her ?, that prevents me from letting go of this illusion .

“ Hard to understand you still hurt over Moneca. ” and I must admit Joyce, that it is just as much of a mystery to me ?, especially when one considers all that I have experienced and have not experienced with this woman. Yet I still do and can not tell you or me why ?

I know how you feel about love Joyce and you and Moneca, do have that in common, for she also, will never let herself be hurt again ?, at least by giving herself over to the pinions of loves embrace, and to be honest Joyce. I do not really think that – even though she has said she did – she really, truly loved anyone and furthermore, I believe that she is incapable of true and meaningful love – not even for her son ( the only man in her life ) .

I do not know ?, Joyce, not being an objective outsider looking into the windows of this relationship, but I do not believe I have given over control to this master manipulator, this control freak. I just give to her my all , my love, my time, my consideration and understanding, things I too quickly walked away from when I asked Linda B. to move out and go back to whom she had spent the weekend with. An act that left that relationship hanging in the air for years and years, never putting closure, never burring, never grieving over and in nineteen eighty nine – when I was with her in Toronto, spending a couple of hours with her – it was as if the nineteen years that came between then and when never existed, yesterdays emotions, yesterdays feelings for her came rushing back at me as if – having gone to bed twelve hours earlier – I had just awaken from heavenly, dream land and there, Linda, was beside me and we were still lovers. Maybe Joyce, it is that I do not to have the same regrets with Moneca, as I did with Linda, I want to give her every chance and do not want to feel like I have thrown away any chance, any possibility and so I just keep on hanging in, hanging on until I have exhausted all hope and Moneca, has destroyed, killed off every feeling, every emotion I have for her.

Maybe then and only then – knowing for sure, accepting the obvious – I will be able to walk away and grieve for the love I gave and for the love I could never have known, because she never had the love to give – to anyone ? Is it being a fool Joyce, to believe that it is better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all ?

So much for love Joyce , love means something different to each of us – girls give sex thinking it will bring them love, boys pretend to love in order to get sex, molested boys and girls look for love in the arms of an abuser, the weak look for it in the strong, the inferior in the superior, beauty loves beauty that being in the eye of the beholder and the unattractive get pregnant, etc., etc.

True Joyce, there have been a number of expressed differences - battles - with the Polish Princess over the past couple of years we have been involved ( well, not truly involved ) with each other

I do not know Joyce, “ Is she really worth it , for any time on her ? ” I guess it depends, depends on what I want from her and if I will ever get it, expect from her and have my expectations met. Maybe Joyce, “ She uses you when needed and likes you in the back ground when needed ” she does and I am sure that there have been occasions when she has, but maybe she does, – although she would never show or admit it – likes my company and the invitation to accompany her to Cuba next year might just be telling, especially considering the number of men - who are after her favours – who would gladly join her on that adventure.

Anyway Joyce, who knows ?, but her and maybe she doesn’t even know, know that deep within that steel heart of hers, she does, really care somewhat for me but is afraid to feel it or let it be felt .

I do not think that she – consciously anyway - predicates her decisions about her life and lifestyle on daddy’s dictates, because – outwardly anyway - she is in opposition to his ways but, yes, she is her fathers daughter, a chip off the old block - head, and in reading these words I have just written, I realize that her personality, her demeanor, her decision come on the heals of and directly from the negative influences of a domineering, judgmental criticizer, who had and still has not a good word for his only daughter. And so Joyce, in essence, you are correct “ She is old enough ( 54 ) now to make decisions without having to think of daddy ”. Maybe Joyce, in spite of her alleged intelligence, her superior education, all her self-help groups, readings, books, even rebirthing, she can not see all the subconscious influences – her past experiences – permeating her life’s force, the puppeteer who has been pulling the strings that have danced her through this life she has chosen to live. It is funny that you would consider that she might be, “ No excuses will do at that age unless she is mentally sick ” as I once said to her during the early stages of our acquaintanceship ( I think that you are a troubled woman ) and at one time she told me that her ex-husband had received a letter from his mother and in it told him to leave her for she is crazy / mentally ill and she has also told my that there have been a number of others who have made similar claims about her, including the New York, psycho priest, counselor, poet, movie maker, intellectual, doorman but I would not put much faith in his ability to comprehend the difference between sanity and insanity .

Of coarse Joyce, “ She knows what she is saying as she criticizes you so bad ” and as a matter of fact our last argument was about this very subject. I made it quite clear to her that, that is all it seems she ever does to me – judges and criticizes. Later, on my way to Maple Ridge, I decided to stop at the dyke for a walk, low and behold !, who should I run into ( almost any way ) Moneca, and as we approached each other, I was surprised to see open arms greeting me with a hug and surprisingly, the acceptance of my arms around her. In that moment of hugging, there came apologies on the wake of fake cries that maybe, just maybe, deep within, were sincere expressions that she would never let rise up to the surface for fear they would appear week, famine, soft .

I am back ( from the bank ) my Dear, and have just got off a forty minute phone call with the Princess, having listened to her diatribe as she berated, belittled, criticized and handed down her judgment based on her perceptions and expectations. Let me relate the sequence of events, that lead to this, for you and then you may decide if I am wrong or not ?, with regards to her latest attack, about this issue. It all started on Monday July fourteenth, the second anniversary of our latest acquaintanceship. I stopped by Moneca’s, to drop off two cards – one for our anniversary, the other a get well card - and a bouquet of flowers. Moneca, was very sick and she also had some kind of inflammation from her toes and up into her leg. She was to laid up to go out and so I left after about half an hour or so together so that she could rest up and get better. There seemed to be no issues. From Tuesday until Friday I was tied up working under my car, fixing what I could as well as sorting out things, for the Society I set up for Barb, along with trying to finish writing to you and all the other things necessary to get through every day living. Anyway she called me, saw me briefly on the parking lot as she was coming and I was going, After a fourteen / sixteen hour day for me, I called her yesterday to see if she was well enough or would even consider still going to Surrey with me and if she would like to go out that night ? Her answer was no because she still was not up to par and besides she wanted to spend some time with her son before he left for the weekend, I then asked if she was still interested in going out on Saturday but she could not make a commitment because she had an arrangement with a client to do a facial and the client was to call that evening or early Saturday morning to confirm. If the client cancelled she said she would call me in the morning. And so my Dear, I left it at that and this morning as I sat here with you in mind, pen in hand, words from my thoughts pouring out onto the paper beneath, until ten thirty that is, when I left to take care of banking business for Barb., at which time there was still no call from the Princess, and so, with the thought that her client had showed up I left only to return to a message left on my answering machine at ten fifty eight AM that states, as quoted “ Good morning Bill, - ha - I see that you are not home – hum – so to bad – ha – I told you I would call about eleven o’clock but - ya – maybe you have something most important to do , that’s fine, that’s okay. I am not mad, don’t think that I am mad, just, just, just okay so I wish you a nice day, bye, bye. ” this message I got at eleven twenty AM when I arrived home. As you have read the above Joyce, of what I have had to endue when I returned her call

one has to wonder ?, if what she stated “ I am not mad, don’t think that I am mad, ”. I am at a loss as to how to explain the diatribe ?, the anger ?, her personality ?, her way of dealing with things ?

Anyway Joyce, as I explained to her. I could not wait any longer for her call, that I had to get to the bank before it closed and besides, what does twenty minutes – in the larger scheme of things – really mean ?, that it could cause such anger, that she needed to throw this eleven o’clock time in my face, a time frame that never came up in yesterdays conversation, Then, when I was able to get her passed all this, I asked her if she still wanted to go to Surrey with me ?, and I get a no !, it’s to late, I’ve made other plans, you lost our, to bad ! When I told her that I had waited for her call, for as long as I could, and what I had assumed, based on her yesterdays statement, why didn’t you call me earlier ?, knowing that your client wasn’t coming, she replied with – I didn’t want to wake you up – such a strange statement, especially when one considers that she said she was ready to go when she called me at ten fifty eight and only got my answering machine when she called.

She does not want to wake me but is ready to go at ten fifty eight when she calls ( I am supposed to be ready to go ) and twenty minutes later, when I call her back, she has other plans ? Anyway Joyce, I can not fathom her, especially when her reasoning is not fact based.

And now back to where I left off on Saturday, sorry my Dear, even though I do not want to go there. After we had both expressed our parting pleasantries, for a great day, to each other and hung up, five minutes later, I get a call form the Princess, in a pleasant tone of speech and voice, stating that I could come with her tomorrow ( Sunday ) and after I agreed to accompany her, she made it clear that an acquaintance ( friend ? ) was coming along. It was clear to me that she had already made arrangements with this lady – previously – to attend this event on Sunday even though – last week – when we decided to take in this even, the plan was that we would go Friday evening, and just Saturday afternoon, for she had a previous engagement Saturday night, to attend a Polish party and this worked well for me because I had arrangements with Melanie to celebrate her Birthday, then we would spend all day Sunday, and so here I am wondering where this – you can come with me ( us as it turned out ) came from. Anyway Joyce, she then says that we can take my car because it is bigger, using the excuse that her car is to small for the three of us. After all this pleasant conversation she then turn the conversation back into the one described above and that my Dear, has become that, not a word today, nor as of this moment and it is now eleven twenty five AM. And so my Dear, I think she has finally come to an end with me and I certainly feel that the same is for me .

I do have to wonder though ?, if she has not been working her way towards an ending, or towards insanity, as her judgments, her criticisms, her putdowns, her argumentativeness ( not just with me ) have become more and more frequent, more and more vicious in nature – is it her nature or nurturing ? – and is this because she is testing me ( as she often does ) or is she driving me to the point of no return ?, where I will act in kind and cut her down to size, eliminating her from my life’s picture, or is she trying to kill all the feelings I have for her ?, as she has done with every one she has been involved with. This is – I believe – her way to become the victim, to be the wronged party, or is it the freed party so she can save face and I, or we, become the bad guys in this scenario, just like her father, her ex-husbands, ex-lovers, boyfriends, so called friends and acquaintances have become and she has very few, if any, good words for any of us .

Anyway – anywhichway Joyce, ( god !, I must be as insane as she might be ) I am letting her win ( as if I had any choice in the matter ) I give in !, she can go her own way, and without thinking ( if that is her design ) that she can ( as I am sure you have come to that conclusion ) use me. I was more then willing to give Moneca, my life and all, all my love, respect, understanding, patience, compassion and passion, but if she thought that my giving my all to her was because she was using me ?, she is sadly mistaken, for you can not use a giver, you can only take or appreciate what is given. There will be no satisfaction for her, if she thinks she has pulled the wool over my eyes or has coned me for you can not use a person who gives from the heart, without any strings .

I will always be here, am here to be her friend, am her friend – it would have been great if I could have felt, could feel that she was my friend, who knows ?, maybe in her own little way, she was. Anyway Joyce, my continued friendship will no longer involve any financial expenditures, not any more, nor will I put in any effort to reach out to her, reach out for her – she has received my last apology for being myself, for being a man, for being her friend, for loving her, for desiring her, for being a fallible human being.

Anyway Joyce, enough is enough of Moneca, and I am sorry for boring you to tears with my insane obsession, my addiction for a drug that has turned out to be a fine replica, of a beautiful woman, a placebo my conscious mind believed was a reality .

As I reach the end of answering your letter, it seems that I am not quite through with Moneca,

I have to agree Joyce, she has – for the most part – been honest in expressing all her negative ( even if they are miss represented, wrongly perceived perceptions ) feelings about me. As for her feelings for me – her honesty is – she has none of any depth and never will have any. I do appreciate those facts and so, on a number of occasions - after she has attempted to destroy me as a man, as a person of worth, as a human being, as her friend – I have asked her why ?, she would waste one precious moment of her time on someone like she has described in her diatribes, the person she often says I am. Yet, over many days of this past year and numerous times I have asked that question, the one above, she still involves me in some of her life’s activities. I just do not know Joyce, she is a total mystery to me !, or maybe not, maybe my love for her runs deeper then I am able to comprehend or totally walk away from - and she knows it – even in the face of all this knowledge and experience I have been wallowing in for these past two years. Have the few times I have been able to fly freely with her, soar high above all the bullshit been sufficient enough ?, is my friendship for her rewarding enough, satisfying enough ?, is my passion, my understanding strong enough ?, to withstand the on slot, her escalated efforts to belittle me, strip me bear of any value I might posses, strip me of any positive, loving feelings I have for her. I often wonder ?, just what her objectives are. Is it just me ?, or is she out to strip every man, who does not meet her expectations, to the bear bone ?, leaving our skeletons for the dogs of doom, nothing left for the Vultures .

Is she just playing games ?, - not wanting to get a man parse ,but to get even with man for all the wrongs men have done to her and man has done to women kind the world over and for many, many a millennium ?

Believe me Joyce, I do give Moneca, our Polish Princess, credit for her rude, blatant honesty, her dishonesty, for her truthfulness and her lies, for her deceptive, manipulative, cunning, shrewd and crafty nature, as well as all her negativity, her judgmental, prejudiced, criticizing persona. Moneca, is an anomaly among women, and maybe, deep down inside the halls of her subconscious – although it seems as though she can never be without a man or two at her side or in per suite of her ( insecurities ? ) she hates men, not just me .

Well my Dear, it seems that I have come to the end of your June eighteenth letter and I am sorry that I have inundated much of these twenty eight pages with the exhausting and boring you to tears with this lengthy tale of an old fool .

Love

Bill

Melanie .

Chapter 125

In a letter my Dad, - 4 Pages

July 20^th2008

My Dear Dad:

I just hope Dad, that my being there last summer and having Moneca, join me was not to much for you .

In mentioning Moneca, I think that what ever we had, and believe me, that was not much – at least as far as I am concerned – may have run it’s coarse, reached it’s summit and now has or is coming to the final conclusion .

Do you remember when I mentioned to you how we all could not stand the way Vera, always belittled you, put you down, criticized you all the time and that is why no body came around much or staid for very long and you said that you never saw it that way ? Well I have to tell you Dad, that, that is what I have had to endure for a long, long time from the Princess, and it has been escalating this is why I have the time today to write to you. You see, we had planed last week to be together this weekend and after her attacks and my response it no longer is happening. The reason I even mentioned this Dad, is because I can no longer take that shit from her ( the apple falls not far from the tree – being a chip off the old block ) yet you lived with it for over thirty five years, day in and day out and I have had enough after two brief years. The question is - ( apple ), ( chip ) some of my life has been a mirror image of yours and yet as much as I love Moneca, - why am I walking away from it and why did you put up with it for a life time ?, I would never be able to do it for a life time, for two years of that kind of treatment is not love, but it seemed a life time

Love

Bill

Melanie .

Chapter 126

A poem for Moneca, - 1 Page

August 11^th2008

Shadows darken the way

Hecate, a guide, has presided over my dreams.

Moneca, it’s vital essence, but a stagnate stream.

Love upon tattered wings - nowhere to fly,

upon the Glacier “ Indifference “ – disintegrating – doth die

a little, with the negative, critical, judgmental – put down

never ceases, never ends, just keeps going round and round.

In sight, there seems to be no end from the one loved - am a friend!

Horizon looms ahead
Helios, the fire, the light, the passion.

One foot on the edge, darkness a destination

from which Love’s journey never returns.

The soul, spirit, the heart continues – Beauty burns

what life they give, throwing them into hell fires

trying to kill the essence of what this heart desires

B. J. “A” 2

August 11^th 2008

B.J."A" 2 - An Old Soul

Thursday, February 21, 2013

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