After I talked to my friend, Casey Farrell, I realized I had employed my science fiction novel, The Gideon Computer, to return to Beacon Hill – in the future! It was not safe for me to do so in 1987, or 1986, because I should have died at the hands of very bad men stabbing me to death with knives – back in 1972! Being a Futurian can be confusing. Memory loss – works both ways! I suspect Casey is a Futurian, too, because he came up with a antidote for the creative condition, and not writing it down – he forgot it! This indicates it is a common antidote – of the future – that we both got a glimpse of, and, may return again in one of our hour long discussions. We are going to do a radio show, the name of, will remain a mystery – for now – excuse my pun. Edgar Allan Poe was authoring the first Science Fiction.
Six years ago Chris and Stefan bought a house together in Wilkes-Barre. They only knew each other for a month. I told Chris this may have been a very bad idea. How did she know he would not take advantage of her? He may be a famous artist, and all that, but, do all artists have a stellar reputations?
They had met at a Landlord dispute group in the Village. Christine was being evicted because she had twelve cats. Stefan came to her rescue when she began to cry, and helped find homes for most of the felines. He also painted my ex-lovers appartment – and turned it into – his museum! Hmm! Stefan was living in a hotel. Then they wanted me to buy the abandoned house next door that was about to be torn down. Christine said there was a black cat living in this ruin – that would not let her near it. I was appalled!
“You want me to spend my Trust from my uncle on a building I would not be able to live in – just to save a black cat?”
Then Christine told me she believed Stefan wanted her dead so he can sell the house.
“He needs money to spend on his Euro-Skanks who have been tricked into seeing him as a great artist. But, he’s not. In half a minute, he twisted a piece of wire, and hung it on a nail!”
“Did he drive the nail into your wall?”
“No! It was already there! He is so pleased with it. He hung all this other trash next to it. We worked so hard fixing my place up. I wanted us to get married after I put him on the Deed. He squiggled this Love Contract on a piece of paper with a badly drawn heart. It’s embarrassing. He put a picture of just himself under it. I take the heart down when we have company, which doesn’t happen anymore. At a gallery, he covered my mouth when I wanted to talk about the show. The artist was asking for some input!”
One of these skanks is an artist – who tried to kiss Stefan on the mouth as a art gallery. Christine physically prevented this. The video shows the three swirling round and round. Chris throws her cup of wine on the rude woman. This artist empties her cup on Christine’s head. This skank is seen with Eins and Herman Nitsch who conducts blood crucifixion rituals. My Boston Blue Blood ended up shoving her lover into a large plastic garbage can full of cheap Dixie cups and Styrofoam paper plates.
To discover The Black Cat, by Edgar Allan Poe, allowed me to ground all my information in my Gideon Computer. Christine had called me a hundred times to make a report on the insane relationship she was having with Eins. I told her many times to not tell me about them because she was triggering my PTSD. The alleged rape of Eins with a toilet plunger by a three hundred pound homeless woman – was enough! She showed the NYPD spatters of blood on the ceiling. When she changed the locks on the door he went to the hardware store – and bought a crowbar!
“You got a hardware store in the Village? He actually slammed the crowbar down on the counter and asked in his German accent; ‘How much?”
Six years ago, I began a painting of this quarrelsome couple. On Halloween ( a year ago) I added tombstones with the name ‘Cat’ on them. I warned Chris not to be alone with Stefan at the house that I put in this work. Stefan goes once a year to tend to his statues in Austria – where the long arm of the law could not reach him. It now occurs to me Belle’s angel warned her daughter about Eins – who couldn’t wait to meet her! I told Stefan we were coming on the train.
“He’s a Doctor Strange kind of guy!”
Three years ago Peter Shapiro, who played for The Loading Zone, wanted to pay my plane fare so I could see what was going on with his old flame. Stefan was avoiding me. The Zone had played with the Grateful Dead at one of Kesey’s acid tests. Pete met our mutual lover at a college mix in 1994. Christine was going to Mill’s College. Peter formed a group called ‘Benny and The Boners’ and played at frat parties. Pete’s father was a professor at MIT. It was love at first sight. The three of us lived with the band in an old Victorian in downtown Oakland.
Oh how I miss our midnight chats coming from a park in the Village. I asked the woman who took my virginity when I was twenty, shortly after I was told by psychics I had died, if she was afraid to sit in that park at night.
“No! Many people know me, and are afraid of me. Strangers to this park pick this up. No one sits closer than ten feet. They walk around me. Predictors do not want to get hurt. A infected scratch can take them out of the hunt. They need their fix. They may have even heard rumors about ‘The Cat Lady of Greenwich Village’.”
John Presco a.k.a. John Wilson Poe
I will be reading from The Spoon River Anthology on my facebook.
Yam Eating Scanks
Posted on August 9, 2019by Royal Rosamond Press
When Christine told me she went to an Art Gallery opening, where on a table was a big plate of freshly nuked yams – next to cheap bottes of wine – I began to salvitate, because I saw Van Gough’s famous painting ‘The Potatoe Eaters’ . Yams are called ‘Sweet Patatoes.
“Was there a table cloth? If so, what color was it?” I wanted details. What a bi-line!
“You should have seen them. Some of them had colorfully dyed hair. They were almost eighty. It was like Easter for old hags. They made sure to wear dresses with no sleves so everyone can see their arm-flesh flapping. The more winkled – the better! Half of them were wearing black leotards with holes and rips in them.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The scanks, the old European scanks, who came up to Stefan to get their Euro-kiss! It was disgusting. The germs! The dirty nasty scank germs. I didn’t want to catch what they got!”
This was my inspiration for my painting of Chris&Eins. I pictured them coming to the door of the gallery.
“Excuse me. Can I see your invitations?” the scank at the door asks.
“We don’t need no invitation. We’re Yam Eaters – of the Village!”
“Oh my God! What a privilege to have you here.”
“We came to eat some yams. It says you will serve them. We love yams!”
“You Yam Eaters go way back. To Holland, I believe?”
“Yes, Holland. You have pegged us. Now can we eat some yummy yams?”
“Excuse me, art lovers! Attention! We got members of the Yam Eater tribe with us!”
This review dovetails nicely with my review of Pynchon’s ‘Inherent Vice’. I am getting to own the Big Picture, being I have been up close to very beautiful women, and, they light up your consciousness, in ways – still to be explained. They are other worldly creatures. The Greek acknowledged this – and the church – who owns thousands of naked statues.
I camped fifty days with a young woman who looked like a young Gene Tierney, who like Rena, suffered from mental illness most of her life.
The truth is, Stefan Eins is jealous of me, and not because Christine and I were real hippie lovers. It is because of the photograph I took and sent it to him that depicts a fossil of his famous horsehoe crab in the cement in downtown Springfield Oregon. I pointed out the smashed-down pipe that the citizens identified as the source of The Creature that came to dwell in their world. Was it from another planet, a planet of Yam Eaters?
“Take note of the flattened pipe. It looks like a penis that delivered The Demon Seed!” I said in my e-mail to Eins.
For five months Christine gave me a eerie report on the hole neat her radiator that she claimed her landlord had drilled in order to spy on her.
“Do you think he is using a spy camera?”
“No! I think he is using his nose – to smell if I still got too many cats!”
I finally got wise. All my life people have been punishing me, torturing me, because I own a UNLIMTED IMAGINATION that has to be from another planet. I am – alien! I was forced to grade potatoes when I was a child. My father was The Spud King! His secretaries called him Vic The Nazi – to his face!
“This battered pipe represents the oppressive church that hides the truth of our real Genesis. They intercept our sexual beings – then pound the shit out of us!” I said to Ein’s on the phone. He called me.
A year later, Christine is telling me Stefan’s mother used to torture her son’s penis by sticking objects up it.
“She wanted him to become a priest. He went to seminary school for awhile, but, he was haunted by bad memories!”
“She was sticking a piece of straw up his penis.” I offered. “This was a common practice amongst German mothers. They did it get all the urine out so the baby won’t dribble. My father claims the same form of abuse, and thus is his excuse for abusing all four of his children. His people came from Germany. This shit gets passed down. Parents refuse to believe the truth that our memories go back – more than they want to know! They don’t want to miss their chance to recreate their abuse!”
Stefan was traumatized as a boy. But, I shocked the shit out him. I had done his portrait, captured his inner self, that he believed would never be revealed. Too many people are hiding in the places made for Creative Open People, they using this opening as their Cloak of Invisibility!
“See! I am wide open to almost everything! Even though I hate yams! I have no problem eating Art Yams!”
I am done with that! I am very psychic. Stefan sent me an e-mail, and called me up and asked if I could resend him this image. He must have got spooked and deleted it.
As for the hole in Christine’s floor………..
“Get a box of Fix-All.”
“What is that? How do you spell it! Hurry, the store is about to close, and I need a bag of kitty litter. My wrists are giving out. I may not be able to carry food home, just the litter! God! Why am I so hungry? This stems from my childhood, where at dinner-time my parents would make me sit at the dining table and watch my brother and sister eat steaks. When they were done, my Fake Mother brought out a bowl of luke-warm, Cream O Wheat. My family would snigger as I ate. I cried and cried! They didn’t care! I don’t know where I am going to get the money to feed all my cats!”
“Christine! Did we talk about the German Psychologist, Allice Miller. I think she is suggesting the reason you adopt so many cats, is, because you are ‘The Un-Wanted Child’. Your parents only wanted – TWO children. That was their ideal! Every time you bring home a new cat – you are spitting in your parents face!”
“Oh that’s nuts! My mother – is not my real mother! My father met a beautiful woman who wanted only ONE child – ME! After my father delivered me downstairs in his office, my real mother – who wanted me – disappeared! I think she was/is a Catholic!”
I’m done fixing stuff, unless you want to hire me for a lot of money! Has Stefan ever fathered a child? Did he get a vasectomy? If you don’t want people to react to your art, don’t create. If you don’t want people to react to your writing, don’t write! If you don’t want people to response to your acting – don’t act!
Christine claims Stefan is not a real artist.
“He rarely paints, or twists a piece of wire anymore!”
I think Stefan became an artist in hope of meeting someone who could figure him out – and fix him! The Catholic Church – failed! I did not! Now what is Eins going to do? If you don’t want get fixed – stop going to a shrink!
Has anybody painted a box of Fix-All? Consider this box my Ready-Made.
Reading from ‘The Gideon Computer’
Posted on January 2, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
Here is John Gregory Presco reading from his novel ‘The Gideon Computer’. This is a time capsule for my grandson, Tyler Hunt, the son of Heather Hanson.
Reblogged this on Rosamond Press and commented:
I had to push these New York Jokers out of my aura. These are not Artist Warriors but ghoulish parasites. https://rosamondpress.com/2021/03/29/science-fiction-square/