For two days now I have been weighing whether or not to see my attorney, change my Will, and name Rena Easton my Heir. I was also going to have my attorney write a Non-disclosure Contract for Rena to sign so I could discuss with her several ideas for books that we could co-author. A novel about a Artist or Poet, and his Muse, would be a winner, especially when I was discussing doing the biography of the famous dancer, Lucia Joyce, with author, Charles Shields just before I got that letter from Rena. Of course I would want Rena to be in my autobiography ‘Capturing Beauty’.
My motive was for Rena Easton to realize monies from the sale of said books. In her letter she sent me she told me her husband was very sick and may not be able to ranch and farm anymore. I wondered if this would mean the loss of this farm. I wondered if I could be of help. This morning I decided against offering my help because this would interfere with Rena’s relationship with her husband who seems to be a proud man, and would refuse my help.
Also, I own romantic feelings for Rena even though she expressed no desire to have a relationship with me because she is a married woman. This disqualified me from helping her husband, and thus Rena. Even though I am rendered impotent by diabetes and prostrate cancer, I had to admit I wanted more than a bond of friendship, and even the bond of Poet and Muse. I apologize to her and her husband because these feeling came through in this blog. When Rena asked this of me at the end of her letter;
“You will need to find someone else for the job position as Resident Muse, but you can nominate me for the Muse Hall of Fame.”
I erred. I read things into this statement that were not there. I did dream of living with Rena, but believed I finding her again – was a billion to one shot. Since I was already saying she was my Muse, and the Muse of my famous sister who has had too biographies and screenplays written about her – and her family – I believed Rena wanted to be a part of our family history that is broadcast in a public manner.
As for her remark she is a “red-neck” I incorporated this statement in the ongoing cultural warfare with the Right-wing Neo-Confederate cosmology that took over the Republican Abolitionist Party founded by my kindred. Rena has read my blog, and assumed I am “left-leaning”. Seven years ago I registered as a Republican in order to save my party from bigoted Tea Party Patriots who come off as armed extremists. Tomorrow I will divulge more about the political attack upon me by Tea Party fanatics who disrupted my family, and destroyed any hope of family unity.
In the letter I sent Rena I did say “we are playing with fire”. This was in regards to the unforgettable kiss we shared that I blogged on several years ago. In this instance it was in regards to us dancing together, because I was a great dancer when young. I ask her why she got into dancing.
It took me a week to come to terms with some truths. There is no longer a eighteen year old Rena walking the earth, or, a twenty-three old Greg, walking beside her. I really did have visions of Rena coming to my bed after I began my painting of her, but, there was no sex involved. I wondered if this happens to other men who have grown old, and, have lost their sexuality after treatment for prostate cancer. Was I having phantom pains?
I mention to Rena the truth that abused children seem to recognize each other from across the room. I have debated whether I did the wrong thing by mentioning Rena was abused, in a public forum. I believe I made a mistake. I found her admittance key to my famous sister’s abuse that was put in two books by people who never met Christine, nor most of my family, and never suffered abuse themselves. Rena did meet Christine Rosamond. I thought Rena was the Muse of this Abuse of Children, and our story would help others who suffer. I believed she was responding to my reports of abuse in this blog.
When I last talked to Rena on the phone in 1971, she said;
“I love you more afar than near.”
In this statement I wonder how that will be now we are friends again, I authoring novels and poems, while she writes me about her and her husband’s farm. I write with passion. I paint with passion.
“We are playing with fire, Aries woman. Playing with fire! Right here – and so very far away!
I mean, my God, I read about your hip replacement, and we are in a movie, based upon a book, that I am writing, and……are we really going to spend the last days of our life together wondering how many eggs the chickens laid today!”
The truth is, I did not disguise my desire for us to be together – well enough. I am hitting the brake and the gas peddle at the same time because romantic memories of Rena make up most of the memories I own of her. I made a mistake saying I would help her if her husband dies due to poor health. I wondered why Rena did contact me after not doing so for around eight months after I gave her minister the means for Rena to communicate with me. Once again, I read something that was not intended.
Before I learned Rena was married I entertained this fantasy;
“Sometimes when I got ‘Big Blue’ out on the highway I make a left turn in my mind, and come to Nebraska to get you. And then we head to Alaska where we build our cabin. Have you ever wanted to build a house from scratch? Do you wear blue overalls?”
Just about every other night while watching T.V. I do architecture floor plans. It’s my hobby. I have designed floor plans for other friends, and for myself. I have hundreds of plans I have done for myself. I think I am guilty of getting old and lonely.
The floor plan above was done for Rena and her husband who live in a small trailer on a hill. I took into consideration they would need a spare room for a cowhand to help with the ranch. There is a dance studio above the garage.
“If we can be that to one another, then, we can love anyone, let each other go, let the darkness go, to be loved in all the majesty. We’ve paid our dues! We are home free!”
The top photo is a cabin on my grandfather’s property that he wanted to turn into a retreat for Poets, Fishermen, and Hunters. It was his dream. I do not know if Royal Rosamond built that cabin.
I was entertaining a new dream about Rena. When ‘Capturing Beauty’ becomes a best seller, I would see if Rena and her husband would want to host a retreat for hunters and fisherman who have a muse that I would finance with my royalty checks. But, that business idea is not going to work, because try as I may, I just couldn’t shake the image of Rena and riding off into the sunset. Sorry! I tried!
Because I would do anything for my Muse – POOF! That dream is gone – with the wind!
I am a man, looking for a new dream, and a poet, looking for a new muse.
In all fairness to me, Rena was reading my blog, and she knew she was married when I did not. She had read some pretty hot stuff about her. Models are put in cars and houses in order to sell them. If Rena was not married, she would have gotten the same exact letter. After I am informed Rena is married, then in hindsight, the smart response would have been short and sweet;
“I’m happy for you two. Have a nice day!”
Rena knew I was still mad for her when she wrote me that letter with the name (Rosemond) on the envelope. There was, and is, no covert scheme here! I have been very overt! Why throw fuel on the fire, if you wanted the response of a cold fish? I’m not your man if that is what you expected.
As for Artuad coming to Montana, he is one of inventors of Modern Dance and Theatre. I think Royal did author a little book titled ‘The Humor of Montana’. A very “little” book indeed!
In closing down this forty-four year adventure, I enclose a page of Rena’s letter where she says she is lonely at work where she recites poetry out load to make the boredom and loneliness go away. I asked myself this question – that begged to be asked – because Rena sent me a poem she wrote;
“Does her Redneck husband – like poetry?”
Most of the poems that have been written in the world, are love poems. Maybe Rena’s husband will write her one!
I sent Rena a recording I made of me reading ‘The Birth of Venus’ that is copyrighted! I suggested Rena – a dancer and choreographer – could do something with it that might save the farm. In one blog, I told her about Love Dance. I said she would be the lead choreographer. I really do have to scrutinize Rena Easton’s motives in making absurd insinuations. I signed and dated that letter I sent that acknowledges I know her, and the truth, she is going to be in my book! This blog is part of my newspaper Royal Rosamond Press. I suspect her husband getting very sick, inspired her to contact me.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have. Her letter sure looks like an audition to me!
Around 8:00 P.M. this evening, I got a call from a sheriff in the county Rena dwells in. In the last twenty four hours Rena called the Sheriff and accused me of stalking her. Rena said this stalking began with my letter to her that she received around January 16th. Why didn’t make a complaint just after she read it, if this is true? The Sheriff claims Rena said this stalking continued in this blog after she read my letter. Nine months ago someone who knew Rena called me back and asked me the address of this blog, just in case she ran into Rena in Bozeman, where this woman lived. There is no doubt in my mind Rena has been reading my blogs for the last nine months. Why didn’t she call the Sheriff way back when? Why did she wait twelve days after receiving my letter to call – if she felt she was in danger? I do not know where Rena and her husband live. Her return address was a P.O.Box. Did Rena read something in the last twelve days that disturbed her? Or, did her husband find out we are corresponding – and he don’t want to know what a muse is? Maybe I am the one in danger, and someone needs an alibi! Here is what Rena said in her letter, that did alarm me;
“It would nice to hear from you. But, I must not embark on a affair of the heart. My husband would be very hurt. And angry.”
There are ten million old flame letters out there, and ten million old flame posts on facebook. There are ten thousand detectives who make a living finding old flames. There are plenty of accusations out there. How many old flames are married? Old Flames – BEWARE!
I told the Sheriff I saved Rena’s beautiful self down in Los Angeles after her boyfriend committed a hate crime and got his ass whooped. My famous sister and her boyfriend (my kindred) were witness to this. From savior and hero, to stalker!
“No good deed will go unpunished!”
For the reason the sheriff will be reading, and very possibly an attorney, I am posting all of Rena’s letter, excluding the three poems. Also, it is very likely Rena showed her husband my letter and he is “angry”. Perhaps if he reads why I would think there was a cry for help in this letter, he won’t be angry, and thank me for saving his wives life.
If anyone has a case for stalking, it is me. I have stopped telling people I am authoring a biography about a famous artist I am kin to. Stacey Pierrot titled herself ‘Caretaker’ of my family history. She claims she saved Rosamond’s creative legacy. Saving someone can be a trait of a stalker.
I wondered if telling Rena I wept – before I read her letter – alarmed her. Sensitive men – BEWARE!
The ‘Artist and His Muse’ will be written – with a name change! The real crime, the real shame, is, the world will not be reading our story, nor reading our beautiful letters between an artist and a muse. Rena owns real fear – before I met her – and before I sent her my letter. She tells me fear has all but ruined her life. Why would I want to make her more afraid?
Once again here is what Muse is. Rena went to college, thus she knows a Muse inspires writers and poets. I write in prose. This is why I can appear cryptic – and this dangerous? Rena sent three poems to me – for Christ sake! I think I will make a poem out of our letters.
I want that recording of ‘The Birth of Venus’ returned to me.
Goodbye…..La Belle Dame sans Merci.
Jon Gregory Presco
About ten this evening I put on my slippers and went to get my mail. I pulled a bundle out and noticed your letter nestled in a packet. On the walk back to my apartment I took a peek and noticed the beautiful handwriting, and the name “Rosemond”. There was this energy pouring from the envelope and flowing up my arm. When I opened it and saw the name “Bozeman” I began to cry. For several minutes I sobbed, let go tears of great relief as if you were my child who had been kidnapped, or lost, for all these years. And, now…..you are found.
In the history of letter writing, and receiving, I don’t think anyone was ever so moved. Then, I opened the envelope and read; “Here I am”.
If these were the only words this letter contained, then I had way more then enough to read for the rest of my days. My cup runneth over.
Before I discuss the content, I found something when I read your letter the second time. In the white-out on page one there was the faintest speck of green glitter. It sparkled at me like a distant star. It was the essence of you to go with “Here I am!” It went with the date the letter was written – Christmas Eve. I saw the star making its way from your tree, to the snow in your poem, and then to me. It was so full of life. It was the promise of a completely happy life that has eluded you and I since we can remember.
I too was held prisoner. Both my parents were violent and insane alcoholics that played evil games with their four children till the day they day – and after.
Over a year ago I began a painting of you. One night after I lie down to go to sleep, you lie down next to me. You were seventeen again. I jumped out of bed. For a month you appear by my side as I walked. When I went to a movie, I was not quite alone. I told my friends I have a very friendly – and beautiful ghost.
“Do you think she is dead?” a friend dare ask.
I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you? I wondered if you were held a prisoner of a abusive and crazy man who had to have you all to himself. I saw that you were in a very dark dungeon. I wanted to free you. I was heart broken when I could not. I have never known such emotions. I don’t know if anyone ever has. I had to stop working on your portrait.
I told my childhood sweetheart about your visits. We concluded you had a very abusive childhood, and were a prisoner of that abuse. Marilyn was abused by her father and we have helped each other break the bars to our cells.
To read that you were abused and scarred for life is a hand and a voice that comes across the chasm, and I embrace these dark truths with all my heart and soul. For, it is said we recognize each other from across the room. And this is how we met! When you saw me walking on the pier you sent out that angel abused children own, to test the waters, to see if I was the one you could trust – when you really need someone to trust. Our damaged trust is like the tiny speck of green, so full of hope that is not diminished, but only in retreat. You were so brave to ask your question; “Can I walk with you?”
“I was expecting you!” I answered.
“What do you mean?
I walked with you tonight, my dear Rena, in the field of your forever fears, you fearing the wolves rather then the rapists. Is this you preparing me for the truth you are not that stunning beautiful for of perfection, anymore, and just a redneck meal on the way t the outhouse?
I heard you debate for the last six months, you wondering whether I would judge you because the man you love is a cowboy, and you his cowgirl. I heard you arguments, and you read mine? Have you been peeking at my Rosemond blog. Do you recall my plan to move to Lincoln and rent an old barn that would be my studio. I mean, I was willing to come on over, and buy me a chicken or two?
“You won’t like it here.” You said. “There’s nothing here!”
“You’re here!” Was my reply. And you could hear the sound of the tumbling tumble weeds way off in the distance.
“Here I am!” You could not have began you letter a better way. I guess you changed your mind? LOL!
I come from real Redneck stock, and of late I have admitted I always wanted to be a cowboy. And you were my land-loven archetype who feared the sea. That you lived on the Isle of Wight with a Sailor man – blows my mind. Did Ian get you in his boat – and out to sea!
For you, my dear, I will kiss the first redneck I see. For you, I will overcome my fear of them. If he don’t break my neck, I’ll let you know how it go.
However, folks in Springfield (Springtucky) think I’m a lovable Redneck because I drive ‘The Truck’ a 1972 Ford four wheel drive with a great shell folks try to buy from me. It’s Oregon law that some guy with Grey hair has to drive ‘The Truck’. that I named ‘Big Blue’. In the bed I got a antique gas can, ice chest, a water cooler, and a real hemp rope. My grandfather, who I never met, was raised in Montana. He was a real cowboy.
I am so glad you love to work, and you are a janitor. I was afraid you had fallen in with the Lords and Ladies of the European Jet set. You must write about that crowd some time, and tell me about your life with Ian. I love this man because he loved you and you born his children. I was so concerned you would grow old, childless. Did Ian buy you a fine evening dress?
Sometimes when I got ‘Big Blue’ out on the highway I make a left turn in my mind, and come to Nebraska to get you. And then we head to Alaska where we build our cabin. Have you ever wanted to build a house from scratch? Do you wear blue overalls?
Since your visitations ended, I began to design a house for you to dwell in. It’s a hobby of mine to turn on the T.V. And work on floor plans. You have been placed in a home with only 670 square feet, to a castle with 6,000. When I learned you married a Commander, I built stone estates with seven gables around you, so you would always have a place to dwell in this cruel word. I did consider a trailer. I did! Yes, Rena wants to live here, I said; And alas you said…………
“Here I am!”
Oh, sweety. You were not cruel and mean yo me. I guess you read in my blog where I made you so. I did this because I got no reply after I found you. I was having trouble with my sexual identity. When we met. Both my parent were sexually abusive to their children. Abused children have intimacy problems and are very inventive, even magical in their attempt to over come them. This was us – is us! I don’t think we knew how beautiful we were, together, in our bravest attempt to own what others have, so easily. Our little fist-fight on the Dodge were blows aimed at our true betrayers who still create If we can be that to one another, then, we can love anyone, let each other go, let the darkness go, to be loved in all the majesty. We’ve paid our dues! We are home free!great distances between the one we love, the one we deserve. Dont you know I embraced the darkness in you? Don’t you know I was in love – with even your shadow?
Here I am, Rena. Your dear brilliant friend who alas knows he met and fell in love with a brilliant woman. You are a Poet. How wonderful. We can meet here, in our poetry. There is such a refinement in you. Where did it come from? I know you wonder about it – every day!
In our meeting again, we can do anything. We can be perfect. We can own that idea of perfection that has eluded us for most of our life. We will forever be Adult-Children of Alcoholics, but, this time we get to choose our play-mates -without fear. We get to be happy – forever. We are special siblings. We will never be rejected again. We get to behold that tiny green star at the end of our lives and know;
“Alls well, that end well!”
It has been such an honor to know you.
P.S. Rena, I thought I spent Christmas alone. My family let their abusive back ground take them to the dark side. My sixteen year old daughter came into my life in 2000. She bonded with a abusive drinker, and he wants my seven year old grandson to only bond with him. I was in such grief over this as I made my way to the mailbox. I did not get one Christmas card this year. Never was I ore convinced there was nothing in the mailbox for me.
Then I beheld the date on the letter. Your words came to me in my loneliest night from faraway as you wrote them. This is beyond romantic! There is justice in the world, There is love in the world. I will never be that alone again. You brought me a glimmer of great hope. You freed me of something that I can not describe. What a gift you have always been, and, a inspiration. My family took everything from me, but, they didn’t get you! They didn’t get you!
You found me again, in my greatest need to be found. And you free me from my dark dungeon.
I have no Muse Hall of Fame. I do have a dear friend in the world. Sing Hallelujah!
P.S.S. Rena, I can’t sleep. I am so excited! We were in our tent and I was telling you I was a great dancer when I was when I was 13 to seventeen years old. I used to dance in front of a big mirror a half hour before I went to school, and a half hour when I came home. I choreographed my own moves. I invented dancing without a partner at Oakland High School in 1962, when I was sixteen. Fifty of my schoolmates would surround me and my partner as I did a solo ten feet away from her. I would go into a trance. When Marilyn turned sixteen, I danced the Bolero for her with my shirt off. Lucky girl!
When I heard you had become a dancer, I was thrilled out of my whits because, this proves you were ‘The One’. You see, I have been jealous of the world since I met you. – before I met you, I was utterly jealous that we never got to dance together, that the world got to see you dance – on your beautiful stage. When did you get into dancing, and why?
When I was young, and before we met, I had a dream about you almost every day. You were my invisible dance partner. Was that our destiny that we missed? Was that the big chance of our lifetime? What a dance team we would have made. They would know us at the ‘The Kiss of Eternal Fire’, or ‘The Fiery Kiss of Eternity’
“They loved each other better afar, than near. And when they came together, they did the Fandango!”
We are playing with fire, Aries woman. Playing with fire! Right here – and so very far away!
I mean, my God, I read about your hip replacement, and we are in a movie, based upon a book, that I am writing, and……are we really going to spend the last days of our life together wondering how many eggs the chickens laid today!
I will take care of you when the needs arises.
And as for our dance – may I take your hand and lead you to the floor?
Enclosed is my story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I wrote in one day in 1989. I then spliced Eny’s music into it, the next day. Since then I have approached a couple of dancers about making this story come alive on stage. None cared to listen. When I read Kathleen loved Celtic music, I wondered if Enya was her favorite. Of course I wonder about the child we never made. But, she is born in this story. She is reborn with the vision of a sculptor, to dance once more, she a fair maiden, always with a song in her heart.
Play this while lying on the floor with a quilt and a candle – and no interruptions.
I designed the house you see for Rena and her husband who is a poor cattle rancher and farmer. I am going to write Rena a letter and see if she will help me finish my book, that, alas I want to make some money off, so this house can be built. This is what my grandfather would want me to do, because he ranched and farmed in Montana, and, Rena’s husband is in poor health, and my not be able to work his dream any longer! I can find no one more deserving person to be my Hier, than my Muse, who inspired me and my sister Christine.
Royal talks about his forty acres on the Buffalo River in Arkansas where he wants to build a camp for writers, hunters, and fishermen. I believe the house mentioned is on the cover of his good friend, Otto Rayburn’s magazine ‘Arcadian Life’. In a letter, Otto asks Royal if he knows any Californian Poets who would want to contribute to the Arcadian, a name that denotes a simple rural lifestyle like the one my Muse enjoys with her husband. I will be sending this, and other letters to a museum.
I am the loyal son Royal wanted. I never abandoned him – this rosy foundling!
Royal Reuben Rosamond was in love with his Muse. His wife bid him to abandon his Muse, or never see his beautiful daughters again. Of course Royal thought this a very unfair offer, because Mary Magdalene Rosamond – knew he would turn it down!
When it comes to our Muse, most gifted folks – don’t have a price!
Painting of the Muse who goes with every poet and artist, and is always at his side.