Not In My House

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After I posted this on FOE’s planning committee site, I saw that eight people had looked at my post, but not one made a comment, or, gave me a thumbs up.

I knew then, the jig was up. I had met Krysta face to face in the park. We never lay eyes on one another before. When I mentioned my idea about a ‘Godzilla Run’ to a very beautiful young woman with a Rose in her name, I saw Krysta wince. She alerted her, people. I saw Rose had looked at my post. I sent her a message. “Are we still friends?” She sent me a message a day later, after all hell broke loose, and said; “I have not been on my computer in a week.” She lied. She then sent me messages to never contact her or she would file a restraining order. How sad. She was being used as JAIL BAIT, just as Belle was used.

You see, THEY wanted my blog, my history, so they could do what I had refused to do, put ads on every page and get PAID when readers click on them. THE MONEY would go to THEIR CAUSE. They deserve my real radical history made by my original hippie friends, because, they are helping the homeless. Well, the Catholic church helped the homeless – while they tortured women to death in the basement. Abusers are in want of a smoke screen, a cloak of invisibility – a disguise!

I asked Belle to marry me, because “the games of make believe are at an end”.  I wanted Belle in my Rosy Family Tree so she could continue the real good fight, being, keeping this Creative Dynasty out of the hands of un-gifted and very destructive people. In this tree, she would find my ex-wife and Thomas Pynchon, Mel Lyman and Jessie Benton, Elizabeth Taylor, and the Forty-eighters, the Abolitionists, John and Jessie Fremont. My daughter, had utterly betrayed me. She was in my Will. She could not wait till I died.

There would not be sexual Intercourse, due to my prostate cancer. My reward is this, every time I look at a picture of Belle, my heart skips a beat. I am rendered, breathless. It’s just the way it is. If you my reader, were so lucky. You too would never let her go, and would want her with you until your…….end days!

So! Not in my opera house! There will be no frauds! No selfish make-believe! This is the final curtain. My days of Creative Solitude, are coming to an. I will never be that alone again. Beauty has betrayed me, for the last time. Don Juan was in hell, but now he is triumphant. You will pay for setting up that Beautiful Rose, that you tied to a stake in Skinner Park, in hope you can snare………..THE BEAST!

Sorry Charlie! This Beast, has you, in his big teeth! You are bit players, in his Grand Opera. There is no replacement for Belle. She is my ‘Last Muse’. She is a real Star. Any beautiful young woman who dare stick her tongue out at an old man – HAS GOT IT – all.

All the elements of my poem, La Belle Rose, is in this post, nine people rejected. Who wrote this opera – really?

One day, when I am gone, Belle will waken to my last lesson, with a start!

“Why is it Belle, that the Celebration of Life, lies between the love a old Wizard owns for his beautiful young protégé?”

Jon Gregory Presco

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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