Beware of The Department of Snake


Capturing Beauty


John Presco

Copyright 2019

I believe Rena and I have the same father. They mentally tortured their beautiful children.

When I rose this morning, I put on my robe, opened he sliding door, and walked out onto my little balcony, and asked ‘The Old Question’…

“How did you do it? How have you managed to survive?”

I looked at the world and gauged how much of a grasp I had on reality, that is fleeting for Adult-Children of Alcoholics. We guess at what reality is. When Rena came out of that darkened doorway at 3:00 A.M. I guessed her to be about twenty years of age. She seemed so vastly more mature than me. I was twenty-four. Being a narcissist, I was forced to take in the truth she was much more beautiful than me. Indeed, she is the most beautiful human being I ever beheld. This is not a level playing field. I can hardly bring myself to look at her. She is almost as tall as me, but I feel she is looking down at me. My heart is racing. If she asks me a question, I might not be able to answer. I am terrorized she is going to hate every word that comes out of my mouth, and, she will shame me in a sexual manner, and that would be the end of one aspect of me.

“Can I walk with you?”

Today, Rena and I – are up! The State Department is blown up! There is going to be an Impeachment of Bad Diplomacy. In this blog are thirty posts about the State Department and Rena’s ex-husband’s duty as the head of the British Defense Staff Washington that was founded by Winston Churchill at the end of the war.  Rena was born in 1953. On July of 2017, I named a beach after Rena in order to commerate her marriage to Commodore Ian Easton. Rena’s middle name is Victoria. I named Victoria Bond after Rena. I am still working with her new name……A double Rose?

Victoria Bond Von Rosen Lee De La Croix Rose

The morning I worked on ‘Victoria Beach’ I wondered, as usual, if I had lost my mind. I wonder this ten times a day. I believe Rena wonders this – twenty times a day. Her letter to me – is a real wonder! The letters are not joined, for one thing. When I saw this, I was shocked. We ACOA’s are precise, matriculate, perfect. I ironed the crease in my pants before I went to school. I had my walk, down. My books were carried, just so. So, I followed these perfect words, until I got to the distress of a white-out. Then I found a piece of glitter. and went into a trance. This is what got me in deed trouble. The Deputy Sherrife of Bozemon was startled when Rena waled in about 10:33 P.M. and dump a bag containg the long letter I sent her. The tiny bits fell like confetti from an old brown paper back that had once contained dobby bisquits. Tiny crumbs meant for the dog fell on the Sherrifs long counter.

Back to Victoria Beach, I went with it. I had not formed a bond with my  neighbor Kim yet, so, there would be no real consequences. Today, every move I make, everything I write is scrutinized by the McKenzie Meadows Goon Squad. Who cares. Today Rena and I emerge – Victorious! We have gone back to………..our garden! We are ahead of the curve. How we all can get along in the world – is our study! Five years ago we Impeached our Love after forty-four years. The last time we saw each other was 1971.

When we walked this Earth together, we were gods! We were the most beautiful couple in the world! Everyone we encountered, were forced to lower their eyes as we passed.

We walked together in heaven – above the fog. We were perfect. We owned the world. There was no one – but us! Alas we were the selves that hid ourselves from our very abusive father. We dwelt in Paradise, East of Eden.

Every time I take a break after writing about Rena, or, work on her portrait, she is with me on the way to the store. This is when I do my major composing when I am not covering the new for my newspaper; Royal Rosamond Press. I go into a trance that I learned when I was thirteen. I would do this when I walked long distances. I have intense visions. I compose poems, and see paintings that I am about to do. I didn’t know about the Muses. Rena six, living in Grand Island Nebraska. My neighbors wonder why cats walk with me around the appartment complex. Walking with Rena in real time, was like walking with a leopard, a panther. Animal can see spirits. It’s not a good idea to disturb me when I am in my creative trance.

One day, we bought a used single mattress from a woman who was giving Rena a hard look. Her tailbone was hurting from our love making in our tent. We found an ad in Safeway. Two days later she is alas telling me about herself. She was sent away to live with her grandmother. She was seperated from her three older sisters he were models. She was very smart, and was a A+ student. She was skipped a grade and given a scholarship to the University of Nebraska.

“Rena! You’re not eighteen. You’re seventeen!”

“Does that make a difference?” she asked as she studied my reaction to catching her – lying to me. She knew this was an important moment. We had agreed to be very candid.

“In California it does. What is the age of consent in Nebraska?”


Our relationship took on a deeper meaning, because we were ‘Forbidden’. In trying to guess why Deputy Dan gave me a call, I wondered if it was my mention of her seventeen year old self, coming to my bed, and getting in. I wrote her saying after he naked spirit pulled back the covers, I jumped out of bed. I told her she walked beside me when I went shopping. When we would go to the Safeway in Guernville, she got prepared – to INFLICT her beauty upon the commoners! This is the memory I can shake.

She chose her prey, carefully and went for the most beautiful women in town. We were like famous gunslingers. Her incredible animal magnetism, got many a beauty – to back down. She owned a raw and ancient energy. There was not one cutie-smile in her being. Smiling was no her forte. Then we went to Monte Rio Beach where she world inflict her beauty on the men – after unveiling her masterpiece. Her body was – perfect! the bikini she wore, and how she wore it, was out of this world. It was…….A+. She slaughtered the fellow Islanders at her high school.

After a hard day of degrading the Mortals, we got in our little tent, and onto our little mattress. Not once were we crowded or uncomfortable. I invented wonderous ways to hold the most beautiful woman in the world.

Rena, very few men in history have had the privilege of lying with such a beautiful woman. You never forget. You left an indelible imprint on my soul. When I began my portrait of you, this is what came back, our slumber, in our den atop our mountain.

Victoria married – two men! She may have called the Sherriff on me because she concluded – I was not a man! I was her man – way back when. Play both videos at the same time…..lest we forget, in these times, what a man is.

“My father died of alcoholism!” Rena writes, she not having read this blog.

“repeated episodes of violence and emotional cruelty.”

They say we can recognize each other, pick each other out in a crowd. Many people had passed Rena as she hid in the doorway. Then she saw me, coming back her way, walling this time, by myself. This was he last chance. It was greeting cold. If she fell asleep some man might finer her, and rape her.

“Can I walk with you!”

Rena was wearing her most beautiful and powerful self. She wanted to succeed. She blew me out of the water. Most of the time Rena thinks she isn’t even, pretty. Most ACAO feel this way.  When Rena blossomed, she went after all the girls who made fun of her, teased her about living with her grandmothers, as her father stumbled and raged around town, from bar to bar, to one humiliating experience after another. If Rena were ugly, she did not deserves – this father! No child does. She took no prisoners. A part of me was afraid of her. She knew why.

My portrait does not do her justice. She knows I failed. I believe she made a Xerox of my painting, then tore it all to shreds.

Back to our War, my Aries Woman! Back to the Battle of Britain!

John Presco

By a Beautiful Waterfall With the Young Woman I Love

byfallWhen Rena and I left the backyard, we went to that freak-out hotel on Telegraph so we could engage in intercourse in a bed. It was a disaster. No sooner did we get naked in bed, then we heard blood curdling screams and evil arguments – from every room. Folks were on bad drug trips. Our room was ugly and used – in an abusive way.

I looked at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, who did not belong here. What a mistake.

“Let’s get out of here! Get dressed.
“Where are we going.”
“It’s a surprise.”

We crossed the San Rafael Bridge around six in the afternoon. We got to Mount Tamalpais, and pitched our beloved tent at seven. We had two hours of daylight. Rena loved this place.

“I want to go swimming. Is there any place to swim?”

“Yes, follow me!”

Fifteen minutes later, we are standing on the trail looking at the beautiful pool of deep water that Catarac Falls fell into.

“Will this do?” I asked, and was taken aback at how incredible Rena looked against the forest. I was enthralled by her perfect profile and watched her eyes take in the beauty all around us.

But, Rena was not smiling. I had a hard time reading her. We hardly knew each other. That fact become very apparent, because we were now utterly alone. We were deep in a beautiful forest. I could tell she was feeling uncormfable. I suddenly realized if she went swimming in this forest lagoon, I would want to be in the water with her. She did not want that. I could tell she was hiding her discomfort – very well. For some reason she did not want us to be naked in that pool, and embrace. Under her facade I could see she was afraid. Why?

“Rena.” I spoke softly. “I don’t want to seduce you anymore. I want to get to know you. I want to be with the person behind that beautiful face. I want to talk with you. I want you to talk to me.”

Rena looked so startled, as if she had been found, or, found out. She was trapped inside her beauty. Her beauty was her shield that told everyone she was doing well, and there was no need to dig any deeper.

I watched her stagger, then struggle to keep her balance as my beautiful blue eyes told her I was speaking the truth. Indeed, I would never touch her again if I could not see the real Rena.

“No ones ever talked to me before.” she said.
“What do you mean. Surely people have conversed with you?”
“But, they’ve never talked to me.”
“You mean, I am the first one?”
“I have trouble believing that?”
“It’s true!”
I studied this beautiful creature as the sun sent beams of sunlight thru the canopy. I heard these unspoken words……

“You have found me!”

This is one of the most incredible moments of my life.

Victoria Beach

Rena was the muse to two California Artists. Christine Rosamond would not have become a world famous artist if  I had not rescued Rena Victoria Easton, by the sea – twice! She would go on to marry Admiral Sir Ian Easton who flew a Fairey Fulmer off an aircraft carrier in WW2.

Rena is right out of a Black Mask comic book. I am certain that is writer, Arthur Barnes, and John K. Butler in the camping photo where a unnamed writer brandishes a hand gun. I will be sending this to Parks department in order to get the unnamed beach named after Rena, and the Queen, in honor of War and Sea Romance.

When I first lay eyes on Rena, she was hiding her fear. War creates fear. One had to overcome your fear in order to defeat your enemy. We only found out three years ago we had the same enemy. Rena is ruled by Mars, and I, by Venus. We are a hundred and eighty degrees apart. We were Yin and Yang atop our mountain, searching for Peace and Serenity while war raged in Vietnam. Rena fought me as she fought her fears. We are epic.

Rena may have married an Admiral and lived on the Isle of Wight in order to get over her fear of the sea. Is there a monument to the joint effort to defeat the enemy in the Pacific Theatre? Ian was in charge of making sure America and Britain would be allies, forever!

Last night, world leaders listened to Beethoven’s 9th. Rena is a Aries, the god of war. She is my Damsel in Distress. I rescued her and helped her combat her epic fears. One could stand on Victoria Beach, and imagine a squardron of Spitfires flying out to sea to meet a wave of Nazi bombers in the battle of Britain. Beauty has been captured once again by the forces of evil. Our beautiful women need to be protected fro The Beast!

Christine Rosamond and Rena met. My sister looked deep into her. What she saw was her own fear and abuse, but it was hidden. They are like sisters. That outsiders were given THEIR STORY by an attorney associated with Alcohol Justice, is a true travesty, because it kept THE TRUTH down in a dungeon. Two beautiful artists and their beautiful muse – did not deserve this fate. Rena says in her letter her brother exhibited mental illness, and has disappeared. I have been disappeared because the truth can be frightening. I am just the messenger.

Victory over our fears! Peace…… last!

Easton joined the Royal Navy in 1931 and qualified as a pilot at the start of World War II in which he saw active service on aircraft carriers.[1] On 4 January 1941, flying a Fairey Fulmar of 803 Squadron from HMS Formidable during a raid on Dakar he force landed, with his aircrewman Naval Airman James Burkey and was taken prisoner and held by the Vichy French at a camp near Timbuktu until released in November 1942.[2] He was appointed Assistant Director of the Tactical and Weapons Policy Division at the Admiralty in 1960 and was seconded to the Royal Australian Navy as Captain of HMAS Watson in 1962.[1] He went on to be Naval Assistant to the Naval Member of the Templer Committee on Rationalisation of Air Power in 1965, Director of Naval Tactical and Weapons Policy Division at the Admiralty in 1966 and Captain of the aircraft carrier HMS Triumph in 1968.[1] After that he was made Assistant Chief of Naval Staff (Policy) in 1969, Flag Officer for the Admiralty Interview Board in 1971 and Head of British Defence Staff and Senior Defence Attaché in Washington D. C. in 1973.[1] He last posting was as Commandant of the Royal College of Defence Studies in 1976: he commissioned armourial bearings for the College which were which were presented during a visit by the Queen in November 1977.[3] He retired in 1978.[1]

In 1922 a cabinet committee under Winston Churchill, then Secretary of State for the Colonies, recommended the formation of the College.[1] The college was founded in 1927 as the Imperial Defence College and was located at 9 Buckingham Gate until 1939.[1] Its objective at that time was the defence of the Empire.[1] In 1946, following the end of World War II, the college reopened at Seaford House, Belgrave Square and members of the United States forces started attending courses.[1] It was renamed the Royal College of Defence Studies in 1970 and in 2007 the Queen and Prince Philip visited the college.[1]
The British Defence Staff – US, which was previously known as British Defence Staff (Washington),[1] is the home of the Ministry of Defence (United Kingdom) in the United States of America and its purpose is to serve the interests of Her Majesty’s Government in the USA. The British Defence Staff – US is led by the Defence Attaché and has responsibility for military and civilian MOD personnel located both within the Embassy and in 34 states across the USA.
British Defence Staff – US alongside the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and other Government Departments collectively serve the interests of Her Majesty’s Government in the USA.

Every three days, or so, Rena and I would drive Eisenhower on Highway 1 and spend the day at my favorite beach. She did not have a favorite beach. She was afraid of the ocean. I found this out when we stopped on a beach in Santa Barbara. She put herself well away from the waves, with her back to them, reading a book.

“You’re afraid of the ocean, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

We would climb a ladder to get over the barbed wire that kept the sheep off the road. I always stopped to take a picture with my mind’s eye of Rena walking amongst them, to the cliff, and down the trail to a protected beach. It was like being in Ireland, or Scotland.

Being from Nebraska, I knew Rena was ignorant of the many dangers. I did not take a chance that she was a quick learner. Note the warning signs, with discourse. Someone is trying to save lives.

I would make us dinner here. I went to gather driftwood. Coming back with an armful, my heart jumped out of my chest. I dropped the wood and ran down the beach. Rena was nowhere to be seen. Did a sneaker wave take her? There was only one place she could be – if she were still alive. The chances of her being there, was very low. This was an extremely dangerous place.

There was a large rock that buttressed into the water. My heart was racing as I made my way to the other side. I was in a kelp bed. The tide was still low. And, there she was, sitting on a dry rock surrounded by kelp. The look on her face was painful to behold. I knew what she was doing. She was embarrassed that she was afraid of the sea. Well, there are times to be very afraid of the ocean.

I spoke as calmly and lovingly as I could. I did not want her to panic, slip on the kelp, and get hurt. If the tide was coming in, a ten foot wall of water would be pushed in, and not break like a wave. Rena would find herself in a thick kelp bed – just like that! Her struggle to get to the slippery rocks, would be epic.

“Rena! Stay calm. You can’t be there. It is not safe. Get up slowly. Watch your footing, and come towards me.”

The look on her face guaranteed I will love her till the day I die. She did exactly as I told her. When she was near, I grabbed her, and gave her a long hug.

“I thought I had lost you. I thought the sea had taken you from me.”

This is “Unnamed Beach”. How about Victoria Beach?

One day one of the women said leave
me to solitude and nature today I want
to write a letter home and then she settled
herself on the sand and wrote:

“They call this a barren rock — this
Anacapa Island — but yesterday the tide
was low, leaving the plant life exposed.
I wish that I could name the varieties
of sea weed and moss and their wonder-
ful color, but I drop my pen in despair
of ever giving you any conception of
them. The marine gardens grow upon
submerged rocks, for I discovered a
little sand path between them resembl-
ing the pathway of a garden. Hard
against a rock affording protection from
the direct sweep of the waves, I found
a multi-colored star-fish, his back covered,
at regular intervals, with tiny spheres

of white, as if a mermaid had decorated
it with pearls.

Note how the young girl’s father and brothers put her out on the rock to gather kelp. American women couldn’t vote when this image was painted.

(c) Nuneaton Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Black Mask Authors



This extremely rare photo of the first west coast Black Mask get-together on January 11, 1936 captures possibly the only meeting of several of these authors.

Pictured in the back row, from left to right, are Raymond J. Moffatt, Raymond Chandler, Herbert Stinson, Dwight Babcock, Eric Taylor and Dashiell Hammett. In the front row, again from left to right, are Arthur Barnes (?), John K. Butler, W. T. Ballard, Horace McCoy and Norbert Davis.

Rosemary told me her father, Royal Rosamond, used to sail to the Channel Islands and camp with his friend, Dashiell Hammett who is seen standing on the right in the photo above.

Aunt Lillian told me she would fall asleep listening to Royal and Erle Stanley Gardner on the typewriter in the living room. Royal was Gardner’s teacher and a member of the Black Mask. I believe I can almost recoginize Black Mask authors under the tree on Santa Cruz Island sitting under a tree with my grandmother, Mary Magdalene Rosamond, who does not look very happy as she embraces a black dog. Who is that woman? Is she a writer? She looks a bit crazed, as does the guy holding a gun. Is Mary hearing some far-out and weird ideas around the campfire?

When I was fifteen Rosemary showed me about six magazines wherein her father’s stories appeared. There were several mysteries. I am going to send the camping photo to some experts. That looks like Raymond Chandler in front of the tent. Is he the guy packing heat?

Hammett wrote the Maltese Falcon that begins with a story about the Knight Templars. Was this a tale passed around the campfire on Santa Cruz Island?

Jon Presco

Copyright 2013

This Spuds – For You!

On Frog Mountain I discovered that all roads lead to Rena. No matter where she be, her Seekers will find her……..The Sleeping Maiden of Rose Mountain. Above, is our road to the beach, the other place I took Rena to swim. Would she let me in, there?

When Rena emerged from the tent to get her first Continental Breakfast, there was a halo around her head and a smile on her face. Alas we had consummated our Destiny together, but, our love making was subdued and gentle. She wanted me to move my hips as little as possible. She told me she did not want to cry out, have our love-making be overheard thru the thin walls of the tent. At the Frog Pond, I assured her we were all lone, as we were on Tam.

‘There’s not a soul within a mile of us!” I said, and, then it occurred to me, she did not know me, and thus, did not trust me – yet. Then came our conversation at the waterfall.

“No one has ever talked to me before. You are the first one.”

As Rena licked her whiskers with the back of her paw, I got my drawing pad and paper ready to do my first masterpiece of my Muse. What can go wrong, now? That’s when I spotted him out the corner of my eye as he quietly emerged from the bushes. He was wearing cut-offs, sandals, and a neckless. He had a big potatoe in his hand. He approached, with caution. He knew men in the ccompany of gorgeous women can be very possessive, very territorial.

With a grin on his face, he is making stabbing motions with his spud.

“Oh look Rena! Here come a mad man from the forest who intends to do me in with a vegetable so he can have you all to himself. Do you think he is a vegetarian, and, has been riled with the smell of frying pork meat”?

I looked at my wide-eyed beauty who was even more aglow at seeing what she really came to California to see – a Holy Man! And, I got it! He had come to Frog Pond to meditate, he on a mission of some kind. He had taken a vow of silence, guessed I.

He now stood by our fire and made motions that said he wanted to put his big patato in Rena’s fire. How did he know she was a red-hot Aries? He only pretended to look at me. He could not get his mind off what he saw as he lurked in the bushes. He awoke to the tinkle and chime of her beautufl laughter. Then, he brought back the veil of the forest, and almost had a heart attack – with holy halo and aura!

Now his dirty hand came at me, his fingers making the sign of the claw. He got closer, and closer……to my pencil!

“Oh look! He wants to use your pencil to write on your pad of paper. Give it to him. I want to hear, I mean, read, what he has to say!”

I threw my No.4 down on the table, in disgust!


“Don’t be such a party-pooper!”

Rena read out loud what he wrote;

“My name is Totu Sahd Mingu. I am a Buddhist monk, come to Frog Mountain to observe a week of total silence. I am not allowed to make fire. Because I took a vow  of poverty, I only brought potatoes to eat. After two days I am bored with my diet. Can I put my potatoe in your fire?

P.S. I did not hear your loud love-making. I had a good nights rest.”

Beccause I do not recall exactly what Rena’s personal guru and trainer looked like. I am holding a contest. Pick one!

About Royal Rosamond Press

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