If Alley was a man I would have bodyslammed him. Belle was going to come over and model for me, but then she sent me a poem where she brags about bar-hopping. I figure out she is with radical homeless creeps. I sent Belle an e-mail saying she better not be misusing monies given to her for the homeless.
I tell Alley I am going to City Hall meeting. EPD does not know me. I called them. I then called the Springfield police and two officers came over and read Alley’s threats. Consider Lance Jacob. Alley said this to tell her goons the cops are on THEIR side, if they care to beat me up. This is a very ugly woman.
That’s Belle about to be arrested for trespassing in the City Manager’s office. I am a original hippie radical. These sluts put Trump in office! In the last four years, white women have been a ugly fucking political disaster!
Belle would have posed nude if I asked. But, I couldn’t ignore the truth she was a fucking pig who engorged herself at restaurants, and fed money in the juke box to get her song heard first. Alley must have flipped when she read Belle’s poem I posted in this blog, It convicted SLEEPS. For sure they had plenty of money for drugs – too!
I adopted my homeless friend when we couldn’t find his family. I paid for his funeral.
Jon Presco
Alley Valkyrie; ” I will also say that going downtown would be a mistake, as EPD is quite aware of who and what you are, and they have nine uniformed officers downtown. But then again, you said you were going to City Council and you didn’t have the balls to do that, and…See More
Alley Valkyrie: And if you do go downtown, you will have to deal with me personally, by the way.”
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
Rosamond Press 
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