Belle Burch

belle444

Because Belle Burch had a hidden agenda when she approached me at the Eugene Artwalk on April 4, 2014, where she asked for my phone number, and when she called me ten days later to make an appointment, and when she concealed her involvement in homeless advocates that she was arrested with – I hereby render null and void any agreements we made – and terminate all contact with her.

Let it be known that all my writing is protected under a special copyright given to ministers.

John Presco

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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1 Response to Belle Burch

  1. Reblogged this on rosamondpress and commented:

    On Saturday, April 19, 2014 9:34 PM, Belle Burch wrote:
    Hey Jon,
    It’s Belle. Still wondering if you’re real. Thank you again for the bike. Let’s set up a time for me to do some modeling. Thurs and Fri are possibilities for me.
    By the way, Why “John Ambrose”? Is that your middle name? Nom de plume? Highly synchronistic, as my current partner’s legal first name is Ambrose. I’m very curious about this.
    Also, I thought you preferred to spell your name without the “h”?
    Here’s the poem I said I’d send you.
    Haven’t read any of your emails yet, will get to that soon.
    Untitled
    Last night I fell
    asleep in a tent on the concrete
    in front of city hall
    to the sounds of a quiet radio-
    some show about the Bermuda Triangle.
    How things, people
    disappear there.
    Whether or not it exists.
    Interviews with people
    who believed in it,
    interviews with people
    who didn’t. Its history.
    Amelia Earhart. (Airheart?)
    It seemed to go on
    for centuries.
    There are people out there
    who don’t have state IDs, passports,
    birth certificates,
    social security numbers,
    who technically
    legally
    don’t exist.
    The faeries who put people
    to sleep for 100 years must live there
    in that West Atlantic Vortex.
    I got lost in it,
    like Rip Van Winkle*,
    and woke
    to a changed world.
    I texted a lover in New Orleans,
    ‘I’m stuffing almonds into a banana,
    around my neck is a red bandana
    and I love you.’ It was all true.
    I walked through what is known
    in Eugene as the Barmuda Triangle,
    the magical trine of Luckey’s,
    Horsehead and Jameson’s downtown.
    If you order food at Jameson’s,
    it gets run across the street
    from Horsehead.
    Luckey’s has the best pool tables,
    and a fantastic little Mexican foodcart lovechild
    that only accepts cash.
    At the Horsehead,
    there is a touch screen machine
    where you get to choose
    what music is being played.
    You pay money for this privilege.
    If you pay more money,
    your songs get played
    first.
    This is a triangle
    you can only get lost in
    if you’re a real person.
    * bandana around my eyes to keep the
    blazing orange streetlights out

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