‘Slain by the Kiss of a Wild Child’
“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”
All day yesterday I composed the description of the entity that dwelt in Rena when I knew her. I saw this other person on several occasions and was rendered speechless – helpless! This beautiful creature was awe-inspiring. Then, she let your see her, the Real Rena. There are your normal perceptions of the world, and then there is Rena World. If she likes you, trusts you – loves you – then you get to see her. I found her the day after we met, when we stopped on the beach at Santa Barbara. I caught her he with her back to the ocean, behind a small sand dune. I sat bowlegged, facing her. She was being aloof.
“You’re afraid of the ocean, aren’t you?”
Rena lowered the book she was reading and studied me.
“How did you know?” She asked, impressed with my detective abilities.
“It’s a beautiful and sunny afternoon, and you have your back to the sea reading a book. Do you see anyone else doing this? What are you reading?”
Many times I have watched the scene from the movie ‘Laura’ where Gene Tierney dozes and drops the book she is reading. Rena had Gene’s beauty, her presence, and then some. Famous directors looked carefully for what Rena and Gene had. Just to watch their expressions, their vivid messages in the minute changes they undertake, their little looks and glances – is heavenly! I was curious. Did they practice? I asked Rena what it was like to behold herself in a mirror. You should have seen the look she gave me!
“What do you look like in make-up?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to see me in make-up!’
When we brought our Foundling in Vicki’s house, into the light, we let go a collective gasp. We sat on the floor, and surrounded this wonderment I rescued at 2:30 A.M. in the morning. Christine was reading Rena, peering inside of her, trying to compare her to something or someone, and was not succeeding. Rena gave my sister a nervous glance, and then looked at me. I reassured her with my blues eyes that she could now see.
In the morning when we left my younger sister’s house, the first thing Rena says, was;
“I don’t think your sister likes me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way she was staring at me.”
Having grown up with the beautiful Rosamond Women, and the Cattish Rosemary, I understood Rena was not able to let that look go. Vicki had put down quilts and blankets on the floor for us. Rena refused the mattress I slept on, and I studied her form in the dark, how she curled up within herself, how her soul bedded down in the world. I fell in love. She fits well with these, these wondrous women who run for the roses.
* * *
Yesterday, I was able to forgive Rena, and love her once again as I have been doing for forty-five years. In rereading her letter I was able to accept the truth, being, Rena is mentally ill, and, Christine and I suffered from mental illness. This is to say, on that night in Venice, three souls would create an infamous artistic legacy, even a dynasty, that a very prestigious law firm could not handle, and thus, they mishandled it. To discover that Sydney Morris dropped the ball when it came to the Weston Family Dynasty, allows me to come out of the C00-Coo’s Nest Morris made for the Sane Ones, who just wanted the Money as proof they were sane. A list was drawn – before Christine Rosamond was “killed” by that rogue wave. In my only conversation with Sydney, he said;
“I understand your sister could be a real pain in the ass!”
I was taken aback by this comment, and have been furious in my effort to find the source of this opinion – by someone who knew Christine. After twenty-one years I assign this remark to Lawrence Chazen, the CEO of Noble Oil. Chazen was Christine’s partner in the first Rosamond gallery, and my father’s private lender. Larry was a friend of Garth Benton, whose father was convicted of making False Deeds of Trust. Larry knew Garth’s father, and introduced him to Gordon Getty. After failing to become Special Executor, I believe Chazen asked Morris to step in. Now, add this truth, that the adult heir, Shannon Rosamond, suffers from mental illness, as well as her grandmother, Rosemary, then you see the list that Vicki and Mark Presco made of the Family Trouble-makers, those that are hard to get along with, and are………Coo-Coo!
Rosemary. Christine. Shannon. Jon Gregory. Rena Easton
After camping in Paradise for forty-five days, we came back to the city and stayed with the Harkin’s family. Wanda was on vacation, and thus Rena was in a house with four males. She was very comfortable with us. We adored her. It was then I really noticed how bright she was. The Harkins brothers were bright, well-educated. They had high I.Q.s and Rena sensed this. I had discovered she was a straight A student, and was skipped a grade but a week prior. There was a nerd lurking in Rena. She was a Reader.
Then one day she showed me the Imp, the Elf hiding inside. I had asked about how she grew up. She told me she did not like other girls, who were mean to her. She had much trouble with pubescent boys, because they were overwhelmed and insecure with their sexuality. Her beauty rendered them dumb, horny, animals who could not speak the human language, or, carry on a conversation. She had told me I was the only one her talked to her.
“Weren’t you lonely?” I asked, puzzled.
“Somewhat. But, I could talk to young boys. Boys who had not become sexual beings yet.”
Two days before we set out for Nebraska in my old Dodge, Rena announced she was going to put on make-up for me. Two hours later she emerges from the bathroom. It was Sunday morning. The five of us sat out on the patio at Willis Court taking in the glorious sunlight, and the most beautiful woman we had ever seen. It was a transcending experience. The search for Her was at an end. We were all wearing halos!
“Here I am!”
Then, Rena and Jeffrey began a conversation at the kitchen table. Jeffrey Harkins was fifteen. He was a brilliant electrician who became schizophrenic after opening a electrical box and getting a horrific shock that almost killed him. He was ten when his heart stopped beating. Jeffrey could be a pain in the ass. His mental illness took him in and out of several mental hospitals. He really liked Rena, and Rena really like Jeffrey who suffered from arrested development. Now, he was talking to Elfin. Rena was kittenish, and playful. Her eyes were bright with mischievousness. There was something devilish and deliciously wicked in Rena’s altered expressions. Jeffrey responded, and was Puckish. Their language was altered. They exchanged laughs, chortals, sniggers, and other strange noises. They were – mad!
They had discarded the false veneer of strained human sanity. Here is what we are, magical primates with big brains, that bid us to ask impossible question, that mae us aware of godly creation, the stars in heaven, and, the notion of an inner being and soul. I was jealous. Rena knew this. in two days, it would be my turn, when alas she would let me see her naked, wearing nothing but her impish smile. She came at me like a great stalking cat. She was going to tear me up. She wanted to make sure I would never forget her.
* * *
In rereading my letter to my beloved Elf, searching for how I offended her, I deduce she was confounded, and threatened because I am addressing the seventeen year old she no longer is. And, I am being way too familiar and intimate – after she told me she was married, and thus she would not be my “live-in muse” She adds this at the end of her letter. Why is she considering it? Why would I consider it? This is what made me study her letter more closely. Then, I saw the truth. She was, and is, not living with her husband, who she may still be married to. No way would he allow his wife to work so hard – as a janitor. He’s a cattle rancher running a small farm. He gets government assistance. Surely there is much work on this farm to do. Rena says his heath is failing. Would he let his wife work at Salvation Army Store in order to buy hay to feed their cattle?
Here is the ranch where Rena did live with her husband – once upon a time – in a trailer on a hill that I name Renamont ‘Serene Mountian’..
I could not get one word out of Rena about her mother. She turned dark when I asked. The same went for her father, who she accuses of molesting her. I now wonder if Rena’s mother suffered from mental illness, and was institutionalized. Raising four beautiful girls would drive most people nuts. Both my Rosamond grandparents were not in their right mind. Rosemary told her children she had a scholarship to Camarillo State hospital.
When I talked to Rena’s grandmother on the phone, she thanked me profusely, from the bottom of heart, for taking care of Rena in California after she became separated from her boyfriend. I could tell by her voice she thought it was the end of ‘The Wild Child’ who suddenly burst in from outside, grabbed the phone, and exclaimed;
“If you were her right now. I would give you such a kiss!”
There is nothing like a kiss from a Beautiful Wild Child, who could be a real pain in the ass, too. This is what I want written on my tombstone
‘Slain by the Kiss of a Wild Child’
The ghost writer hired by the outsider that Sydney Morris temporarily sold my nieces legacy to, said this about the famous artist Rosamond, who wrote a 276 page autobiography the sane ones disappeared.
“What little notes were found were the ideations of a woman who was not well when she wrote them.”
Two days ago I got on Craig’s List and looked at homes for sale in Grand Island Nebraska. I told Rena in my letter I had been designing homes for her. I wanted to find one that would inspire me, a home I could put my captured beauty in, and, keep her very well. I found this house. I was there with her, my wife. I was not a writer or artist. I was just a man who wanted his beautiful wife to bare his children, like other wives, do. I didn’t want to be disqualified for all the strange and creative reasons that have cursed my life. I let go a sob. My captivating muse had captured my soul, and now, would never give it back. Why am I torturing myself? This looks like our childhood home on San Sebastian.
The next day I googled Vesser some more, Rena’s alleged husband. Then, I found her second husband, the one she said was an alcoholic. Rob is an architect who designed the house you see above, the ideal house with mountains, tailor made for the all American Cowboy and Cowgirl, that more deserving Aryan couple who embrace the right, and, don’t have a lick of mental illness about them. How about their friend and family?
Yep! This is a Trophy Home for your Trophy Wife, the Blue Ribbon Winner at the Country Fair. There’s one problem, no American can afford this home at $1,800,000, so it’s advertised on Southbeys International. Perhaps some Superior Euro Breed wants to stick his foreign bride in there, give her the screaming mimmies as she gazes out the big windows at the looming mountains and Big Sky, there not a soul around, no one to talk to, no one to make a cup of coffee for. To sweeten the pot, they stick in an old Ford truck in some weeds, it acting like a fishing lure. Don’t those German love cowboy shit? My fictional character, Berkley Bill Bolagard, sold Fords – in the future! He was named after Buffalo Bill.
Alas, I know why Rena freaked. I knew her life as well as she did. I tell her I have the sight! I have captured – her soul in house plans! Shame on me. I am more in touch with my feminine side then she. It’s like we are twins! Its’ like we have never been apart. Its like I am her brother, her twin soul.
You see, my dream was to marry Rena in 1970 and go live in Los Angeles and be around Christine and Rosemary, who will love my wife nearly to death, especially when she gives birth to wondrously beautiful children. Our collective mental illness, will render us unique and creative souls. Christine would join me in my studio as I do another painting of my muse.
“Here, lil sis! Pull up an easel and stool. You too can be famous!”
If I were the State of Montana, I would buy that house and register it as a National Monument, for I will go there, in my dreams, and write the Great American Novel, Capturing Beauty, and, several more novels, such as ‘The Second Coming of Wolfdietrich’. Rena will come stay from time to time, as much as she can stand it, this Queen of the Recluses, this, Amazon!
We will be studied like a rare species, by a lab of experts living under the house.
“OMG! Here she comes for another visit in the same month! I hope he keeps his mouth shut this time so she won’t freak.”
For the protection of Creative Souls, I will found a law firm with my fame and money, called ‘Impish, Elfin, and Puckish’. My firm will specialize in the complex business of capturing people’s souls. Rena’s letter, was a clever trap! When I sprang my, trap, she called sheriff Dan. This is a Cowboy Story.
‘The Lonely Trail Up Lonely Mountain’
“I have a million poems memorized. I can always gauge my highs and lows to my focus, and my desire and ability to recite them whilst vacuuming. My mind can roam free there, but I do get ever so tired, and bored, lonely as well.”
Does this sound Rena is having a vacuous life? Does her husband stop by now and then with a bag lunch for both of them. How about taking her to lunch? Why does her mind feel free there, in what I assume is a empty office building? Does she work a graveyard shift? Why would I not want to go there and save her – again!.
“I enjoy manual labour. I enjoy being totally knockered at the end of my shift, and then drop in at Safeway or Barnes and Noble for a Starbucks. I enjoy feeling peaceful instead of fearful. I have felt way too much fear.”
Why isn’t she rushing home to help her half-crippled husband get the cattle in the barn, and relieve his loneliness? I’m sure he had a list of things he needed in town.
“I actually have a few friends. that is not easy, as I tend to isolate myself.”
Why would I not suspect her husband had something to do with Rena’s isolation, he keeping her a captive atop Renamont, he only allowing her to go to town at midnight because they need money to buy medicine for their herd. I suspect her ex beheld the Elfin within when she is feeling upset and devilish, and became alarmed? How about – afraid?
“Greg, I want you to know, and listen. I apologize for being an abusive girl when our paths crossed in 1970. I had cone out of a dark and dangerous place, and you helped me. Please forgive me. No one deserves abuse. I have learned a lot now.”
I just found anther story my grandfather R.R. Rosamond wrote for ‘Prize Story” magazine called ‘The Unbelievable’ I saw this cover in Rosemary’s cedar chest along with other magazines he wrote for.
In 1999 I found Royal Rosamond’s unmarked grave in Oklahoma City. My aunt Lillian bought a marker. Royal had not lain eyes on any family member in ten years. He ran a newspaper stand, and aught poetry to young people. I never met this fellow writer, but, he began to come through me, was reborn in me when I was but a boy. It is Royal who goes to Montana to rescue Renabelle.
This white Ford truck is so strange. I my letter to Rena I talk about my Ford truck ‘Big Blue’. Consider ‘Big Sky’.
“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.
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?”
Here is a poem I wrote in 2011 to a young Irish Lass who worked at Starbucks in Safeway. She had Rena’s looks. I could not wait to read it to Rena in person after a name-change.
Here is Rena’s poem. Poets share the same soul, the same winter coat, and gaze into the same fire. We are like brother and sister. We are authoring a very long poem.
“Here I am!” You could not have began youy 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!”
It appears some people who were looking to promote their agenda were allowed to attache themselves to the death of the famous Rose of the World – like parasites!. My daughter demands I give her side of the family complete privacy. I posted this several years ago
Tom Snyder and the Rowdy Girls
I just discovered that Khara Bromily, who gave Christine a Tarot Card reading,
co-authored two movie scripts ‘The Rowdy Girls’ and ‘The Chosen One: Legend of
the Raven’ starring Julie Strain who looks like Rena on steroids. Strain has
been titled “Queen of the B-movies” and “Queen of All Media “. One can say that
Julie Strain is the inner Rosamond. I hereby crown Christine Rosamond ‘Queen of
B Artists’. We lived in Concord where Strain was born.
Here is Khara Bromily telling Tom Snyder the Death card came up in Rosamond’s
Tarot card reading a week before she drowned.
“Was there any indication to Khara in her vision, or the cards themselves, of
death or impending doom? Did Christine have any concerns in that regard?
My work is about health and forgiveness and self-worth. A death pronouncement
can work against all that. But, if you are asking if a Death card came up, then
the answer is yes?”
Here is the Genesis of the Rosamond Cult. Tom Snyder is suggesting there were
supernatural forces at play in regards to the death of a World Famous B Artist.
Working in tandum, it is obvious Tom Snyder and Khara are interested in
immortalizing Christine so they can enhance their careers as authors. Hugh
Bromily conducted the funeral services. Is Christine ‘The One’ who would give
rise to a new generation of Super Women who would defeat the Poisoned Male
Pedigogy and restore Lillith to her rightful throne?
Tom Snyder smears my family, tells the world that those in Rosamond’s home after
the funeral looted the place! Of course we looted the place, the Rosamond Women
are the original Rowdy Women, the daughters of a real cowboy and Ozark
Hillbilly. Consider ‘The Beverely Hillbillies’. Looting the home of your dead
kin is traditional in the Ozarks! What the fuck does that outsider know. He
should be horse-whipped! Tom Snyder doesn’t even cut it as a B Author! He is a D
Author who wrote a wimpy manual on how to avoid getting hooked up with a famous
manic depressive female artist. Ah! He’s no fun!
“Oh it was just awful.” Lillian recalls. ‘Rosemary was shouting that Shannon was
late, ‘and ought to have her butt kicked.’ I don’t know all what she said after
that but she had her silver flask with her and it was getting rough.”
Of course Rosemary had her silver flask, all the Rosamond Women carry a
silverflask containing a magic potion to ward off rival Succubuses.
Above we see a photo of Rosemary at the Rucker office party being led around the
room by her beads, she dressed like a Flapper, a Hooker for the Mob. If you put
Carmen Electra, and Julie Strain in a ring with seventy year old Rosemary in a
walker, it would be ruled a No Contest! Rosemary chased Vic out of our home
after stabbing him between the eyes with a knife. He never to returned. He would
accuse me of helping Rosemary bannish him, but, Rosemary didn’t need any help.
Vic was a fucking coward who mentally tortured children.
“I felt responsible to continue,” Saint Pierrot says.”She taught me everything,
and I loved her. Her family was understandably in chaos. I couldn’t let all she
worked for drift away”
Chaos: 1. confusion, or confused mass, of formless matter and infinite space,
supposed to have existed before the ordered universe.
“Hugh Bromily, Khara’s husband and Episcopal priest, conducted the service with
taste and dignity. Raphael spoke, along with Karin: two friends from childhood.
The rest was, given those involved, what one might expect. Vic was cornering
whatever woman he could; Rosemary came in drunk, lost in her story that she was
the only seventeen-year-old to turn down Errol Flynn’s advance.”Oh it was just
awful.” Lillian recalls. ‘Rosemary was shouting that Shannon was late, ‘and
ought to have her butt kicked.’ I don’t know all what she said after that but
she had her silver flask with her and it was getting rough.”
“Before the service, Vicki had taken the trouble to go through Christine’s
bedroom, putting her jewelry and intimate belongings out of sight. As matters
turned out, it did little good, for the funeral was not long over before family
members and others were ravaging Christine’s house, taking whatever could be
carted away. The artist’scloset, a veritable mother lode – took the worst
beating. World-class spender that Christine had been, much of the clothing had
never been worn. So whatever still bore price tags was hauled off to be
exchanged for money. Jewelry disappeared, as well as other personal belongings.
Gallery employees and close friends of the family, along with Vicki, were doing
their best to staunch the flow – the estate had not yet been inventoried – but
to no avail.”
Here are the Rowdy Women that were in Christine’s home after the funeral. Too
bad Christine was not alive to enjoy the Rosy Chaos!
Garth and Drew Benton did not attend the funeral or reception of Rowdy Rosamond,
Royal’s granddaughter. The vespian, Garth Benton could have sent in his ex-wife,
the actress Harlee McBride, or her daughters, to make sure Drew was left her
fair share of the Rosy Scrum. I believe there was talk of making a movie two
days before the funeral at the meeting I was kept away from. They needed all the
B (for Benton) Actors in on this as they could get. Tom Snyder tells the world
about the fist fight Christine had with Jessica Benton.