“ for the funeral was not long over before family members and others were ravaging Christine’s house, taking whatever could be carted away.“
NOTE: I just reread Snyder’s chapter on Michael McCurdy who Garth dismissed for charging frames to the Rosamond Gallery, Michael is accused of writing himself royalty checks, and he accuses Garth and Christine of writing big checks, as much as $20,000. Michael says he met Christens at the Crossroads Gallery, and he convinced the Bentons to open their last gallery. McCurdy is a
“GALLERY PERSON”
and a member of the same AA group. I heard Christine met the McCurdys at this meeting, and found out they were neighbors. Garth says Christine defends Michael because he is a Brother in AA. You would think he would want to meet me. But, I might think he is an AA Alligator, who is guy who preys on vulnerable newcomers. I mean, it looks like a match made in AA Heaven. M&M was a gallery manager and promoter – and they lived next door? So far, this is not showing up on Google.
Vicki Presco took Michael Harkins and I to lunch a month after Christine took her life – according to Rosemary – and offered me a percentage of the prints she took from our sister’s house, if I sold them at shows. I turned her offer down. I suspected she wanted to get me
DIRTY
and Mt. Harkins….The Private Detective?
Drew Betnon has been dead for over a year. I claim her estate. Did Vicki get our niece…
DIRTY?
To: Michael McCurdy; If you want to clear your name, send me a message.
braskewitz@yahoo.com
Above is a pic of Raphael who spent the night in Christine’s house, and told me Shannon and Rosemary were fighting over missing papers. My niece was arrested for selling her mother’s clothes to the boutique she bought them at. Melinda McCurdy saw Garth put my sister’s ashes on the stoop, and slam the door on Shannon who was in handcuffs. Vicki Presco dropped out as first named executor, and nominated Garth – who never got approved. He was – back home – after the divorce! Was there a child custody battle over Drew?
Raphael and Mark dated in High School. Does she have a clue if Mark is……DEAD OR ALIVE?
I may author another novel in the Rosamond Series.
The Art Manager
John Presco
Rosemary and Lillian Were Not Looters
San Sebastian Avenue
A month ago I suggested to my nephew Cian, Mark’s son, that he file a missing persons report. He too has not heard from Mark Presco – in years! I suggested he talk to the Bullhead City Police who have a video cam of Shamus Dundon who had to be tracked down. He did not contact me about Drew Benton being dead. He did not offer to help with funeral costs. He did say he was in Christine’s home after her death, with friends of Christine, raising money for the funeral. Shamus’s mother, Vicki Presco, kept me away from that meeting saying I would not get along with these friends….
“You kn ow how you you are!”
Was Melinda and Michael McCurdy at that meeting? How about Mark? After the funeral I saw Mark leave, come back, and go somewhere again. I wondered if he had a motel room close by. Then I read the McCurdys live – NEXT DOOR! They were witness to Garth having my niece, Shannon, arrested, and, her mother’s ashes put on the stoop while she was in handcuffs. These ashes were stolen from a holding company, and were found in the hallway of Whore Hotel in Monterey. My niece Shannon said she did not take them. Vicki Presco had to drive down from Oakland to get them out of the police station. Why didn’t my sister call the McCurdys. Why didn’t she call our Brother and Sister in AA – when our sister’s house was being looted – after the funeral? Michael stood before the open casket – and read his poem! Is he an aspiring poet? Did he want to be – in their movie?
It’s time to introduce one of the suspected looters. according to Tom Snyder in his bio ‘When You Close Your Eyes’. This is a felony crime. My good friend, and surrogate brother, Michael Harkins, took me into Christine Rosamond’s garage and showed me racks – FULL OF ROSAMOND ART. McCurdy sold this art at the Rosamond Gallery, and would go into this garage to get more stock. Did THE LOOTERS get into the garage? Below is the price list Garth Benton sent out to past customers – before the new executor was chosen. Did McCurdy ever use this list in a promotion?
The las time I saw my brother alive was when he came from the McCurdy house. Was Garth there? I never met Garth. Why didn’t he come over? Why did Vicki Presco ask me to live in Rosamond’s house and prevent Shannon from stealing? She knew she was the Executor, and she knew she was going to drop out – and name Garth! Wat the Benton funeral – final? Isn’t Mark the rightful head of our family?
Michael Harkins was a good friend of Michael Maclure and his good friend, Jim Morrison. He He married Bruce Perlowin’s ex-wife, and suggested he talk to Vic Presco about working in his home, manning the phone, and making Loans. While in the Fed lock-up, Bruce married a famous Russian Spy. You can see her pic on the wall in Wanda Harkin’s basement wall. Vic said this about Bruce
“You’re friend doesn’t know shit about real-estate!”
My father hired Mr. Harkins to find out where his Rosamond prints were – a year before she downed! They were in the Rosamond Garage. Stacey Pierrot, and other “Gallery People” knew Vic invested a
HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS
….in four Rosamond images.
Does McCurdy know his boss refused to give her partners any money – and an accounting? Mr. Harkins believed there was a shitload of Rosamond prints in Vicki’s Rambler. If Michal had rushed over to stop Mr. Harkins from LOOTING ART, he would have got his ass kicked. Harkins knew Kung-fu ,and fought guys who flew in from China- in an old Oakland warehouse. Harkins offered to police my wedding reception. He caught a young man stealing a purse. My wife lived with Thomas Pynchon who is coming out with a new
FICTIONAL BOOK
Does Tom read this blog? Did he read Mark’s RACIST RANT? Did he know Shannon was not homeless as Vicki claimed? Did she invite Shannon to stay in our sister’s home -and guard it? When Vicki asked me to guard Shannon, I pointed to a video camera, and suggested she make a video of everything.
“Why don’t you fucking take a video, Mr. Big Idea Man?”
Why didn’t she ask the McCurdays to watch the house, other then the person she is convinced will loot the place? I felt I was being set up – and Shannon. After Vile Vicki did her Art Business, Michael Harkins, an artist, signaled it was time for us to leave.
On October 7, 2025, Cian called to wish me a happy birthday. He told me he was at the hospital to say goodbye to Rosemary, his grandmother. Mark said he was going to be there, but backed out. Mark did not tell me Vicki was dying, or, tell me Drew was dead. But, there he is…..NEXT DOOR! Can Michael McCurdy testify Mark was at the meeting the day before the funeral – begging for funeral money? Mark is a MILLIONAIRE. Three months after the funeral I called Paul’s mortuary. They told me they did not get paid and just filed a claim.
I took out a loan to pay for the cremation of Drew Rosamond Benton. I claim all of Mark Presco’s estate because he was behind his sister taking hundreds of thousands of dollars of Rosamond prints. Mark may have disappeared because he is a Tax Evader. The Benton’s were being audited. When our mother died, that was one more person out of the way. Rosemary spilled the beans a month after the funeral when she suggests her daughter took her life, and THE GALLERY PEOPLE were going to hire Carry Fisher to write a screenplay. Carrie is in our Rosey Family Tree. I kept it a secret Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor is my cousin
I’m thinking Thomas Pynchon and I should pen The Rosamond Story. Is it best we change the names to protect………MR BIG? Should Cian call up McCurdy and find out who….
THE REAL MARK IS?
I want Jason Momoa to play Mr McCurdy who is chatting away in Snyder’s book, about the bad business practices of Garth Benton. Did McCurdy and Mark talk business in Christine’s home? Wasn’t he responsible for the Rosamond Gallery – paying taxes. This poet saw my niece taken away in handcuffs. Shannon was 24, and the adult Heir.
If only MR. BIG would tell Mark’s son, the truth!
I watched ‘The Monument’s Men’ last night. It was like a home movie!
Did Mr. McCurdy meet Big Vic? He sat at the head of Christine’s table on Deerborn St. Did Big Vic tell tales of Dirty Dee-Dee, his second wife? She shot him in the back, you know. I see Vic in our President. Vic and Mark were Neo-Nazis. Why didn’t Vicki and the gallery people call Mark and tell him to come stop the looting?
I’m going to tell my nephew to START his investigation with the Looting Lie. Grab on to it – like a Big Dog – and don’t let go!
Pudgy Boy Presco (see pic above) told me his nieces were not going to get ANY MONEY! He belw it, On the phone I asked him for clarification. It was the last time we talked. I knew The Fix was in. Stacey Pierrot in the Pinecone says our family was in chaos, and she felt compelled to save THE ART, as if only she cared! This was Art Fiction, invented for the IRS. Shannon told me she has proof Aunt Vicki was dealing with Rosamond Art with Pierrot – on the sly? Did Drew Betnon know………..TOO MUCH?
Pudgy Boy Presco loves Covert Activity, and was always doing a
LOYALTY CHECK
This is common with abusive parents – and criminals. Mr. Harkins taught me the rudiments of good detective work…..
“Follow the money trail!”
I add….
“Follow the loyaty checks!”
Mark did not tell me our father was dead, my mother was dying, and Vici was dead. Pudgy Boy Presco disowned me – the disloyal one!. How about – Drew? Mr, Harkins did PI work for Bruce, and had a good look at my alleged brother who I want Brando to play in our family movie!
No Art On Mark
I suspect Mark conspired to get Shannon and I – locked up! Ask Big Boy McCurdy if this is possible, or, just a good idea for a semi-Historical Art Book and Movie?
I want Whinetone to play Vic Presco
“https://rosamondpress.com/2017/03/26/rosemary-and-lillian-are-not-looters/
“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’s closet, 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.”
To handle the home of a decedent, first secure the property and notify appropriate parties, such as neighbors and insurance companies. Next, locate the will or trust documents to understand the estate plan and the role of the executor or trustee. Then, assess the financial obligations by checking for mortgages, liens, and unpaid taxes, and gather important financial and legal documents. Finally, decide on the next steps for the home, which may include clearing the property, getting an appraisal, and either keeping, selling, or renting it, potentially with help from a lawyer.
1. Secure the property and notify authorities
- Secure the house: Lock all doors, collect spare keys, and update alarm codes if applicable.
- Notify neighbors: Let trusted neighbors know the situation so they can keep an eye on the property.
Brando. A big star who got bigger
His acting debut on Baywatch: Hawaii made Jason Momoa a hunky TV star in a red bathing suit. He later showed off his towering physique in Game of Thrones and in his starring role as Aquaman. Rita Moreno, who met Momoa on the set of Fast X said to E! News: “Jason Momoa is the world’s tallest person,” she said. “When I met him while I was there doing the film in England, I was actually talking to his belt. That man is so damn tall, literally. I mean he’s like way up here and you’re sort of looking at his belt and then go, ‘Hey, it’s me, Rita.,” the actress joked.
“https://rosamondpress.com/2017/03/26/rosemary-and-lillian-are-not-looters/
Michael McCurdy
I called Michael McCurdy yesterday. He was a manager at the Rosamond Gallery, and is in Tom Snyder’s book. He is very gabby, but, he was reluctant to talk to me. I told him about Vicki, and, he seemed to know her condition. Are Mike and Melinda McCurdy close friends with Stacey Pierrot, and Jacci?
I asked Mike if he knew of any insurance policies taken out on Christine. I asked him where Stacey got the money to buy the Rosamond estate. He told me she is an heiress. My aunt Lillian said the same thing.
Mike is in the Art Business. He knows this is very strange, where a ungifted person puts on the dead skin of a famous artist, and walks on her stage she just purchased. This is against all the rules of art. So is impersonating a woman in order to sell Rosamond-like images as is the case of Sara Moon, who plagiarized Christine, and, took my mother and put her in his stable of beautiful woman. He hid his true identity for years.
An hour ago, I called Mike and left a message. I asked him if he was invited to Christine Rosamond Benton’s first sober birthday party in AA. They were in the same AA group. When I called and talked to Melinda after Garth had Shannon placed in handcuffs while she was staying in her mother’s home on 8 Dear Forest Drive, she told me she went over and tried to reason with Garth. They were neighbors. That’s how they met.
The McCurdys live at 88 Corona Road less then a mile from the ocean. Can they see Point Lobos from their house? Here’s where locals and tourists go to tide-pool. It is safe here – for children. Tom Snyder says my family went to Rocky Point to go tide-pooling. This is a very dangerous area. A fisherman was washed of the rocks a week before Christine was. Surely the Bentons and McCurdys saw this on the news. The McCurdy house is worth $4,500,000 million dollars. Stacey and Brian invested nearly half a million dollars in hotels. Why are the managers of the Rosamond gallery rolling in doe, while the executor says Christine’s estate in intestate? Why was Shannon forced out of the picture? Controlling all the information seems vital to these Carmelites. Mike is a writer. Did he write any advertisement for the gallery? I asked Mike to call me back.
What if several people around Christine took out life insurance police. Rosemary suggested her daughter killed herself. I am going to finish my report to the IRS and Insurance Fraud agents.
Mike knows the ocean very well. He knows Snyder’s account is bullshit! He knows Shannon was treated badly. I suspect he reads this blog. Why didn’t he write his own version of events? Why didn’t he contact me and tell me I am on the right track?
I just called Mike and told him about this blog.
“I blogged on you!”
Here’s how I see it. Michael McCurdy was the general manager of the Rosamond gallery when my sister drowned. She left a short Will, which is shocking. She named Shannon and Drew as her Heirs. She named Vicki Presco and Jacci Belford at her executors. They both dropped out and nominated Garth Benton, the father of eight year old Drew Benton. A terrible divorce just ended. Mike owes his loyalty to Christine and the adult Heir. Shannon was twenty-eight. Why does Mike appear loyal to Heiress, Stacey Pierrot? Did Pierrot invest any of her inheritance in the McCurdys? Did Christine owe them money for back wages?
John Presco
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Jerry Rubin used to come to the Harkin’s home to do business with Bruce Perlowin who was living in the basement. Jerry was having a conflict of interest with Abbie Hoffman, a Jew who killed himself. Jerry believed being a Super Businessman was the best way to change the world. China and Russia just accused the U.S. of using Money and Business as a Weapon in the New Cold War.
Bruce and Jerry are Jews. I will link them with Ludwig Wittgenstein because the world’s collective information is conflicting, and often, contradicting. The world may want for a pro-active philosophy that works for everyone. For the last fifty years our Moral Compasses have been in The Hands of Radicals, Hippies, and Born Agains. With Nuclear War back in the lineup, we have to learn how not to play better guessing games. This is why I am authoring a Bond Novel. I am applying the Hippie-Radical Attack, mixed with the Christian End of Days. I have my spies become lovers in order to counter the attack on Gay and Transgender People, which is a USELESS DISTRACTION all the major players – RESORT TO – when they have no answers. I believe in FIGHTING FAIR. Who agrees?
I think my computer is handpicking what news comes up – just for me. The day after I point out the HYPOCRACY of Israel honoring Soviet Veterans who fought for Stalin, there appear an article on his purges. I’m going to try a new way to bring you the news, that replicates how we get it – IN BLOCKS. I will start my morning by posting on news items that interests me, and are revelent to my MAIN ARTICLE. Young folks may never have heard of Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman. What about Perlowin?
The greatest HYPOCRACY in the world right now, is, the Conservative’s Republican Christians REFUSAL to grant Congress permission to delve deep into the June 6th, Insurrection. Consider the Trial of the Chicago Seven.
John Presco
Pence Taken Out | Rosamond Press
Sometime in the mid-1970s, Rubin reinvented himself as a businessman. Friend and fellow Yippie Stew Albert claimed Rubin’s new ambition was giving capitalists a social consciousness. In 1980 he began a new career on Wall Street as stockbroker with the brokerage firm John Muir & Co. “I know that I can be more effective today wearing a suit and tie and working on Wall Street than I can be dancing outside the walls of power,”[1] he said.
In the 1980s, he became known for his promotion of business networking, having created Business Networking Salons, Inc., a company that organized parties at the Studio 54 and Palladium nightclubs in Manhattan, where thousands of young professionals and entrepreneurs met and shared ideas. Near the end of his life, Rubin became interested in the science of life extension and was heavily involved in multi-level marketing of health foods and nutritional supplements.[42] “In 1991, he and his family moved to Los Angeles,” according to an Observer.com profile of him,[43] “where he became a successful independent marketer for a Dallas-based firm that sold a nutritional drink called Wow!, made with kelp, ginseng, and bee pollen. Ironically, Bobby Seale became one of his salesmen.”[4
Putin accuses U.S. of using dollar as tool of economic, political war (msn.com)
Russian President Vladimir Putin accused the United States on Friday of using the dollar as a tool of economic and political war and said Russia may consider settling transactions for oil and gas in other national currencies and the euro.
How Russia confronts Stalin’s purges (msn.com)
How Russia confronts Stalin’s purges
Duration: 02:27 1 hr ago
Mass grave pits have been found near Moscow containing the remains of thousands of people executed by Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin’s secret police during his “Great Terror” campaign of purges. Olivia Chan reports.
U.S. Deploys One-Third of Pacific Submarine Fleet for Major Naval Exercise (msn.com)
The U.S. navy is deploying a third of its Pacific submarine force as part of a major exercise to assess its combat readiness.
Exercise Agile Dagger 2021 kicked off on Thursday with deployments from Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam. Submarines from Pearl Harbor, Hawaii; Bremerton, Washington; and San Diego will take part.
The U.S. Pacific Submarine Force comprises submarines that make fast attacks and those that can fire ballistic and guided missiles. The fleet is capable of engaging with other hostile submarines and surface ships, as well as carrying out precision strikes on land targets. It also offers intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance services for the U.S. military worldwide.
Among the vessels deployed is the U.S. Navy Seawolf-class nuclear-powered fast-attack submarine U.S.S. Connecticut, which has eight torpedo tubes and can hold up to 50 weapons in its torpedo room.
Bruce Perlowin and the Gentle Giant
Posted on April 11, 2012 by Royal Rosamond Press
The following is being published by Rosamond Press Co. a newspaper I founded in Lane County Oregon in 1997. Thanks to the Vincent Rice Family Trust, I have been able to upgrade my computer and purchase a scanner which allows me to publish family photographs such as the one above of Wanda Harkins home in the Oakland Hills were Bruce Perlowin lived for five months.
Wanda Harkins was my surrogate mother, and since 1968, she always gave me sanctuary from the storm, if just for one night sleeping on the couch, or staying a month or two down in the basement where the King of Pot had his headquarters. I was a good friend of Wanda’s three sons, James, Michael, and Jeffrey Harkins since 1965. I visited the Harkins home up on Skyline in 1966 with my friend, Nancy Hamren, who became a Merry Prankster. Doctor James Harkins was a well known pediatrician who experimented with LSD with his older son, James Junior. In 1969 Wanda’as home was raided by the Oakland Police, the Oakland Tribune newspaper reporting; “Wild Bongo Party Raided In Oakland Hills”. Wanda’s three sons were put in a paddy wagon and hauled off to jail.
We used to call Wanda Mr’s Cleaver, because she was stuck in 50s. She was the consummate housewife long after she and Jim were divorced. Wanda never failed to invite me to Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, she knowing my natal family were not hospitable. Some stoners of renown walked in her door, such as, Abbie Hoffman, who was in the jewelry business with Bruce Perlowin whose ex-wife was now Michael’s wife, and Bruces’ son, like a grandson to Wanda whose three sons never sired children. Bruce was married to a famous Russian Spy who was still in prison for seducing an FBI agent. Bruce put her picture on the wall. Wanda was a Republican right-winger whose boyfriend attened the hijinks at Bohemian Grove. Wanda would come down into the basement to do a load of laundry, and ask Bruce about the photo;
“That’s my wife. We got married in prison.”
“Oh, how sweet!” Wanda said, she signing parole papers that made her home a halfway house for the drug smuggler who said the rewards arent worth the risk to Junior Highschoo lkids in Oakland’s Ghetto, where Bruce had gone at my suggestion, I trying to do a 12th. Step on him, I having four years of sobriety. I challenged Bruce to give a anti-drug-profit message. Bruce saw a chance to garnish some publicity. I was angry, and called the Tribune reproter who wrote the article. Turns out he had eleven years sobriety, and, he felt guilty for getting Bruce busted because of an article he wrote that he was not aware would crack open the case that put Bruce in the Fed lockup.
“Are you kidding me!”
Bruce is the world expert on getting Sympathy for Devil. There is a third world flavor in feeling sorry for the benevolent dictator, or the Mafia chief who throws huge Columbus Day celebrations in New York. Meanwhile we addicts and drunks in recovery must remain anonymous. To go against my peers after my fall and death at McClure’s Beach, was extremely difficult – to this very day! I just revealed some information I was forbidden to reveal. Why stop now? We are doomed, we getting older and taking drugs for medical problem, and not to trip the lights fantastic, or, exchange Bohemian ideas.
Here is a video of Bruce with Reverend Doug Van Dyke “Doctor of Divinity” I doubt the Doc can quote me one verse from the Bible, but, he is next to Bruce in oder to prove he has a spritual program of some kind – that might heal you! Doug is a secular Jesus pot-head. In many ways he is – me – the me I used to be, that hippie who grew up in Oakland, and who was adopted by the Robert Hamilton, the man behind Owsely, who with his brother Tim Hamilton, sold LSD all over the world.
Below is a vdio of Buzzy Linhart who had a legal marijuana orginization years before Bruce. Buzzy is a friend of Chris Wandel, and went to this show with Joe Marra who owned the Night Owl Cafe in the village. Chris dated Peter Shapiro of the Loading Zone.
Michael became friends with Bruce when he went with his wife and Bruces son to visit The King in prison. Michael was good friends with the beat poet Michael MacClure, and Jim Morrison. He was approached by Stone’s people and asked Michael about his friendship with Jim. They wanted material for the movie The Doors.
Michael told them their movie will suck, and they can go fuck themselves. The movie sucked, as will Bruces movie, as will the movie about my famous sister, will suck, because, Rosamond’s biography sucks, and the people who want to make money – suck the most!
Michael worked as a Private Investigator, and went with me to Carmel to attend the funeral of Christine Rosamond Benton. It was Michael who alerted me to things that were – fishy! If you put Rosamond’s, Bruces’s and Jim’s story-movie together, then you might have an interesting story about folks who like money, sex, drugs, and power!
Above is the price list mu ex-brpther-in-law sent out to steady customers of Rosamond images – a week after she drowned. The probate would ot get under way until a year later due to the huge legal battle over – money – because most folks who surrounded Christine believed the price of dead artist’s work would skyrocket! Instead of the Drunken Rosemary prints being worth $250,000 dollars, they might bring in a cool million. Then there are the book and movie sales. Carrie Fisher did one screenplay.
I am good to go if the outsider get a movie contract, I already acted when it came to one of Bruce’s most famous investors in Rain Crips ceral bars. I’m talking about Victoria from Chicago, the queen of the Blue Meanies, who after a couple of freakouts at the airport and motel, became convinced the Mafia was behind Bruce, and, she would be snuffed out because she got too close to Mr. Big. That’s when I got a urgent call from Michael;
“Get up to Wandas and meet me in the backyard. I’m bringing this woman to meet you. Pretend you are the Godfather. Reasure her I am not a hit man for the Mafia.”
I got in my gold Cadillac and headed for Wanda’s Hideaway. In the backyard I found a coffee cup, and prentended it was full of coffee. There was a newspaper I pretended to read, as she came through the gate. I could hear her gentle whimpering, she believing she had minutes to live. Then she saw me.
Before I could stand up to shake her hand, she has fallen to one knee, and is grasping my hand hard. I spoke gently to her, my blues eyes, bathing her in wisdom and understanding, that, told her things do not have to go badly, and, putting my hand on her shoulder I said;
“You’re under my protection now. (and Wanda’s) You need no longer worry! Michael, make sure no harm comes to Victoria.”
Vicki broke out in tears and cried;
“Oh! You are not what I expected at all. You are a gentle giant!”
Victoria was too hysterical to get on the plane. But, after one session with the Godfather, she was good to go. She reassured Bruce there would be a check in the mail as she waved goodbye. It never arrived. However, I – Mr. Big – received an envelope, which I never told Bruce about. I purtchased a Brother word processor to work on my novel The Gideon Computer which is about the last hippie in the future who gets busted and sent to the first privately owned prison. My friend Nancy suggested I write the history of the hippies, but, how boring!
“Alls well, that ends well!”
Jon Presco
Copyright 2012
These understandings have led him to an entire “GREEN” philosophy that he shares with the world! Nothing held back, Rev. Van Dyke is motivated to bring his unique perspective on cannabis, and how to fully potentiate all aspects of the processes involved, to the world. The ever changing cannabis industry has many, many sides, which will you choose?
The Rose Wing
The work of Disney Artist, Eyvind Earle, hung in the Rosamond Gallery in Carmel. Eyvind illustrated ‘Sleeping Beauty’.
It is time to promote my muse and the television series she will star in, called
‘The Rose Wing’.
It’s about a Dutch Artist and Model, who moves to Carmel California and opens a gallery and fashion boutique. Right away, Arion Roozmonde is puzzled by the looks her first visitors give her. They wander about, like ghosts.
“Are, you related to Christine? Who gave you permission to paint like her. My God, look at these clothes!”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Rosamond!”
“I am Roozemond!”
I am going to contact Clint Eastwood and see if he will produce ‘The Rose Wing’ and ‘Victoria Bond’. I see Lara living in Carmel – by the sea!
In 1974 Christine offered to teach me her style so I could be rich and famous, too. There was a mystery artist doing imitation Rosamonds. I can do Arion Roozemond’s paintings that will hang in the set-gallery, that will be famous. Tourists would come watch the shoot. They will want a Roozemond, who signs her work by her first name………..
Arion
I want a studio above the gallery. I want Euro Models to fly in. I will pick them up in Greyhaven. They will be chaperoned by French female foil masters. When someone wants a Arion, they ring a buzzer, and I send one down the dumbwaiter. In fact, I just wrote myself into the series.
I will be Orson Welles, like, running about the courtyard in my fancy bathrobe – guarded by my babes, who ask;
“When are your going to get around to painting us? You’re such a bull-shitter!”
Sondra Locke played Jennifer Spencer, an artist who lives in a house by the sea, in Sudden Impact. I would like Sondra to play an artist who owned a gallery next to Rosamond’s gallery. She fills Arion in, bit, by bit, with very cryptic and surreal language.
The Rose Wing is about the formation of a Guild, that never declares itself such. But, there is a mutual bond that they try to define so that their lives can be real. They agree they are Master Illusionists, who like to get a pay day, but, hey struggle with commercialization, and the idea they had sold their soul to the devil to get where they are. What had become of their spiritual nature they swore they would never allow to be compromised?
There is an antique upright in Roozemond’s gallery. It came with the lease. Though it was slightly out of tune, it brings Arion much solace – and she did not care to analyze, why? When Arion plays, her music floats through the artistic community, like a ghost. There are dark men in the art world. They come here to hide. Arion’s tune, always finds them.
One evening, while Arion was on a ladder hanging some track lighting, she felt a presence watching her. Looking down, she beheld a dapper gentleman with a white beard.
“I am wondering why your gallery has no name, no marquee.”
“That’s because I have not come up with one!”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Be my guest!”
“How about…………The Rose Wing?”
Arion felt a tingling come up her legs and resonate at the top of her head!”
“That’s…………”
Arion looked down, and he was gone.
“……….perfect.”
Arion Roozemond worked late into the night accompanied by her large Franz Schubert collection that was the cause of her break-up with her husband, who tolerated Franz.
“He’s sooooooooooo tedious! He never gets to the point. Why the Gestapo adored him, is beyond me. Schubert was too civilized. Where’s the bravado?”
Arion felt her ears glowing the color of steel just taken out of the forge.
“Speaking of getting to the point. Where’s the baby you promised me. Have you ever gotten a woman pregnant?”
Arion left her husband’s dinner plate the way he left it – for a week! She could not believe he stormed out of the house – without a word! Looking at the mold grow on the Bush’s baked beans he loved so dearly, and, the deflated kernels on the con of cob his teeth tore into, Arion had enough! She rose up, grabbed the plate, stomped on the peddle of the garbage can, and let him go!
“Fuck you – too!”
Finally, her master[piece was………
“Finished!”
She rendered her Rose Wing on a metal sign that was made to hang on the ornate wrought iron arm that was bolted into the red brick next to the carriage light. She began with one rose then smaller roses grew from those red roses, that tapered down to become wings. She thought about putting words on her marquee, but, it spoke for itself!
“Tattoo! I’ve always wanted a tattoo! The Question is, where to put it?”
Then, another question came to her, that ruined her……Victory? It formed at the core of her being, her very soul. It almost reached her lips, but – she grabbed the ladder and rushed outside.
“I have to stop talking to myself.”
Knowing she was too wound up to go to sleep, Arion put on ‘Rosamunde Air’ and did her Tai Chi……..till the first light, appear.
She did not know she was being watched. When she went outside to breath in the morning air, she suppressed a scream when a white owl flew down from the tree, picked up a mouse in it beak, and flew back into the tree.
Is this a good omen, or bad? Arion did not move her lips, because she thought she saw movement in the shadow.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2018
Gestapo Owned Viennese Art
Posted on January 16, 2017 by Royal Rosamond Press
Wilhelm August Rieder (black arrow) among other friends of Franz Schubert at the “Schubertiade”. Drawn by Moritz von Schwind from memory (1868).
I discovered this morning that Dr. Dr. Susanne Konirsch-Granitsch owned a painting of Franz Schubert rendered by his friend Wilhelm August Rieder. Susanne’s mother is in ‘The Last Audience of the Habsburgs’. I suspect Susanne came to own this painting. Here is an amazing document that catalogues the efforts of the City of Vienna, itself, to return lost art and artifacts to Jewish citizens of this Capitol of European Culture, who had to flee for their lives, leaving works of art behind. The Gestapo owned Susanne’s painting of a famous Composer seen in the images above. From now on I will be contacting my Congressman and Senator to make sure there is a full investigation of how the Schnitzer Museum came to own a work of art that may have been left behind in Vienna when Empress Zita fled from Hitler.
“The Gestapo put the painting in March 1939 when brother of Dr. Susanne Konirsch-Granitsch, RA Dr. Franz Hiller, safe and handed it to the Kunsthistorisches Museum for safekeeping in a vault”
http://www.wienbibliothek.at/sites/default/files/files/wien-restitutionsbericht-2003.pdf
Stefan and I had a long talk two weeks ago. His father was NOT a member of the Nazi Party. The Eins family was given a house in Gretsen that once belonged to Jews. His father went into Russian to conquer the Russians. A bullet passed between his heart and lung. When he came home at the end of World War Two, he took his infant son by his head, and hung him over a balcony, threatening to drop him. After hearing this two months ago, I pondered what was going through Mr. Ein’s mind. I conclude he was very disappointed Hitler lost the war, and, the Super Race Dream that his child represented. This boy became a living reminder, a symbol of utter failure. All hope is gone. The child must die with Hitler. Jews were murdered in Gretsen where Stefan has a permanent exhibit.
http://www.oneunoeins.com/eins_österreichische-galerie.html
This child grew up to be a gifted artist who offered to help me restore the Last Audience to the Viennese People who are feeling very threatened right now due to Trump saying NATO is obsolete, and Germany can not be trusted. U.S. tanks are massing on the Russian border as I type. Stefan is a great promoter of Democracy. As a profound coincidence, I found a news article that says Susanne gave a speech titled “Is a Federated States of Europe Possible?” This question was put forth in September of 1940.
When I saw Belle, I saw a model for Leonardo Davinci, and U saw, another Marilyn. Put thm together.
JP
Synchronistic Poems of The Triple Muse – With Mole!
Posted on November 29, 2017 by Royal Rosamond Press
After I fell in love with Belle Burch in Ken Kesey Square on April 4, 2014, I hurried home to view the video I took of her. I gasped when I saw the mole on her neck – that is screaming for my attention!
“Look at this! Look at me! See me!”
I called Marilyn and asked what side of her neck her mole was on.
“What side to your recall?”
“The right side.”
“Correct!”
“Is it still there?”
“No. I had it removed.”
“I met you today, a younger version of you. She could pass as your daughter.”
Belle was three years of age when I beheld Amily in a coffee house on 13th. She was friends with Barnett and all the Punk-Rock Street Urchins. Kevin and Serna were close to her. She had me feel the bullet in her leg. She was born in a castle in France. Her father was a drug dealer. She spoke perfect French, like Belle. Amily and Belle could pass for sisters. Nancy Hamren followed our Romance, knowing well my infatuations with my Muses – who INSPIRED me! We began a pome together. I describe this effort as a walk along a eternal fence with knotholes, from where we get a glimpse of another parallel reality. Belle’s poem picks up twenty-seven year narrative. This is remarkable! This resembles the poems written for Belle’s mother play. Catherine Van Der Turin was a Libra.
Nancy and I lived in a commune in San Francsico with the Zorthian Sister. Their creative father was titled ‘The Last Bohemian’. Jarly put on a happening based on Botticelli’s ‘Primerva’. I want to say I forgive Belle, but, more thant that, I recognize Belle as a poet, and a creator. This is a collective piece of great import. The Triple Muse appears on a destructive battlefield where everything is ruined. This is a Greek Tragedy.
With the discovery I made three days ago about the mission Salvador Dali, and a Mystery Woman – all are elevated! Trust me, we are amongst The Immortals.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2017
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
Copyright 2014
Gambit (1987)
by
Jon Presco and his Muse, Amily
Gambit
Remember when it was her turn
to be brave
How she reveled in her chance
to play
in the dance of the sunsets
How wild her eyes
in this juggling act
Full of sea-set waves
of her hand
that withdrew every dove
from your reluctant heart
What she did with your promises
stacking the old moments on edge
Daring you now
to recognize your life without her
Becoming afraid of her.
The new promises made
met with a hush
in the coming night
in the failing light
she came for her victory kiss
No more conjuring ways
all the doves
were asleep in her arms
From the land
a warm breeze
wrapped her long hair
around your embrace
while the new rumor
and web play
refrains of whispering strings
touching the back of your neck
Now afraid for her.
For we have all lost
the best things owned
The longest memories are made
in the dance of the broken sunsets
And perhaps brave?
Who alone would know
Being afraid
with her
La Belle Rose
Posted on June 26, 2015by Royal Rosamond Press
La Belle Rose
by
Jon Gregory Presco
Dedicated to my Muse, Belle Burch
Poetry is the Truth
When I was a gifted youth
I do not recall if I studied the artist Sandro Botticelli.
When a man
I wrote my version of ‘The Birth of Venus’
and did a painting of my muse
coming out of the sea.
I must have neglected this great Renaissance Artist,
and his beloved Muse – until now!
But, Since I beheld her, my Belle
and compared her to Simonetta Cattaneo de Candia Vespucci,
do I now behold all the clues of the petals
and the thread
that have brought me through the labyrinth of time,
to adore her once again.
And she recognizes me!
Centuries ago I was buried at her feet
in order to continue my long vigilance,
for she was only asleep.
One day she will awaken, and the City of Flowers
will again bask in her unparelled beauty.
Bella! Mon Belle!
Following the Renaissance of the Miller Brothers
to the top of the hill in the lost city of Fairmount,
I came to the crossroads of time.
When I saw the intersection of Flora and Fairmount,
I knew it would be a matter of days
before I was with my Sleeping Belle, once again,
once upon a time
She is the one I came here for.
After finding the lost tombstone of George Melvin Miller,
the founder of Florence,
I began to see the grand design.
When she came across the piazza de Keasy
while the minstrel sang a song by the Grateful Dead
‘Saint Stephen’
I had my rose at ready.
When I handed it to her
I heard the lovers complain
Where is my Belle Rose!
This is the Renaissance Rose
that my ancestor employed to write his name,
Rosemondt.
When I told Belle what kind of work I do,
I described my painting of a woman coming out of the sea.
Many have asked me who she is. Now, I can say;
“She is Belle, the most beautiful woman in Florence.”
We will go there, soon,
to behold the sea, a shell, and the foam
In 1475
at La Giostra
a jousting tournament was held at the Piazza Santa Croce.
The gallant knight, Giuliano
entered the field bearing a banner
on which was a picture of Simonetta as a helmeted Pallas Athene
Her image was painted by Botticelli himself.
Underneath was the French inscription
La Sans Pareille, meaning “The unparalleled one”.
From then on Simonetta became known
as the most beautiful woman in Florence,
and later
the most beautiful woman of the Renaissance.
Simonetta Vespucci
I salute thee!
Belle, I am confused. You took my number when we met after I told you I am an author out to preserve the Beat-Bohemian-Hippie culture. You said you were a radical, and I assumed you were an advocate for the homeless. Why then have you not talked about your radical homeless work with me when I shared at length my work with the homeless here in Springfield? From whom did you get an interest in Bohemians? Who is your boyfriend? Is he a radical advocate for the homeless? Has he been involved with OCCUPY?
I am trying to give YOU something very important. I know a information game when I see one. Dan Brown and his wife used to lurk on the yahoo.groups I belonged to that discussed the Templars, the Holy Grail, and the Masons. I have argued with members of the Sinclair family. The Davinci Code was a rip-off of OUR studies. Why are you examining me? Has it occurred to you that I am a Bohemian worth saving?
I married a very radical woman who was married to Thomas Pynchon. My best friend was good friends with Michael McClure and Jim Morrison. I was close with members of the Brotherhood of Eternal Love.
I asked you to help me get this information in a format that can be published, so that I can own credibility to put forth my knowledge. Once I am published, I wont’ be examined by people who have a selfish interest, and thus their finding are negative. I want your positive input and help. How many questions has your boyfriend put to you about me? If he wants to know anything about me, he can give me a call! If you don’t understand why I am trying to give you something, ask and thou shall receive. I will tell you the truth – if I feel you are on my side!
The truth is, I did not like your poem, because I hate conspiracy radio. I want to do my own radio show called the Authentic Human Being Show. I did not like your poem because it says very little about YOU and your advocacy for the homeless. OCCUPY has a core group of people who want to remain anonymous. In my book they do not get to use the homeless as their human shield so they can own a cloak of invisibility in order to secretly push their ideaology. I can, and will expose that! Like the Pied Piper I will, put forth a better idea!
An article on the Beats says there is no direct connection between the Pynchon and the Beat writers. I am that connection!
I want some feedback on our movie. I want you to sign a non-disclosure contract. You may not used any information I have shared with you without my permission and for any reason I deem injurious to my preservation and cause as agreed to at our first meeting.
Jon Presco
The Birth of Venus
By
Jon Presco
Copyright 1988
In the time before the coming of Man, before he learned to count the stars in the Heaven, and name the Seas that surrounded him, there was a morning star that danced in the deep blue sky at dawn’s first light. This was the time when wisdom and thoughts were not in man for he was not created yet. But there was whisperings in the inky night, and hushed tales reaching earth from distant stars, and in great tales yet to be stored in the hold of the moon, whose round sails traversed the sky, its sails adjusted and trimmed to the moods of the months and seasons, but not to the moods man, for even the gods did not have their whims as yet.
Then there was talking amongst the great rocks that buttressed into the sea, so deep and ancient the voices that only the seagulls could hear them and amass took flight over the horizon. There were rumors in the pounding waves as they marched to the shore that eternity was coming to dwell on Earth, and until then, only the breaking waves could count it. And they consulted the prophets in the rocks who had no form, who let the great waves take them bit by bit and turn them into sand till they fell like colossus back into the sea. But they were not vanquished for they dwelt in the spirit of all the land and had the wisdom to know they were not immortal, that their demise would take almost forever. But by then they would be wise, almost as wise as the gods, and by then, they would go wherever the gods would lead them, like dust captured in the tails of comets, they will follow.
But this rumor would not abate, for they did not understand the nature of it, from where it came, or where it would wend. Even the fish in the sea became agitated, and the shellfish wiggled deeper into the sand as if a great storm was brewing.
“Ahh!” the wisdom in the sea and rocks sighed with relief. “It is a great storm the god have in store for us. So, this is the nature of the rumor. But, we have withstood the greatest forces the gods have hurled at us. We can survive any tempest. Let it come and do its worst.
But in the Night they became aware it was longer, and the rumor would not desist. Now the birds on the land, and the song in the tree began to understand, and the great fatherly Night was awoken. Stroking his jet black beard, where gather a thousand stars, his deep piercing blue eyes searched for the offender, the rebels, so he might blot them out then file their existance atop the mountain tops pressed in stone. So many great bragarts had come and gone.
“What is it that awakens all that should be asleep, what nocturnal song is this that steals the Earth’s deep slumber, that wakes me falsely before it is time? Best not let the rising sun catch you at such play; for he is jealous of what you do when he is away. I his grandfather am too old for this ruckus, and I am left in charge of you like a nurse maid. Now return to your sleep, and be patient.” he ordered.
There was grumbling in the sea and rocks who were insulted by the Night. For their wisdom was treated like the buzzing of insects, and collectively they protested.
“Perhaps it is better for you to retire old man, and take your insults with you. For you are never here to see who you are really talking to. You are blind to how beautiful the world really is, and how great is our drama that unfolds at the signal of dawn’s rainbow, the ribbons of celebration that herald the arrival of your golden grandson. Oh how festive we can be, how young and eternal as we rejoice, as the color of the world returns – and the turquoise sea crashes like symbols upon the majesty of the cliffs!”
And now the animals joined in this rebellion and the Night gave out a great “Hush!
Quiet you fools. I have seen your antics. I have seen them reflected in the moon that appears in the day. It is my mirror I hold, for as you know I am full of curiosity. I might be senile and forgetful, but not as forgetful as you. The language of my time appears distorted, but not as distorted and forgetful as your dreams. Now to sleep with your arrogance, for you know I forget nothing. In your sleep I am your master, and it all comes back to haunt you. The ghost of your days are false, as is the false dawn.
Now for those whom sleep can not return to, I will have my daughter sing you a lullaby of the morning. For she is like a mother who has risen early to do her chores. She lights the little candle in the sky and her brightness clears the sleep from all who behold her. She is like my dear daughter. Who speaks ill of her? I will not ever give her away. She is too precious to me. To pure and shy. What goes on in the day is none of my business, or hers. It is full of arrogance, just as the Sun is. And even from him she shys away.
So come my daughter, and sing a quiet refrain. You are dutiful and prompt. You are patient and kind. Come, and sing a song about humility.”
But as the great Night turned to retire, his daughter did not sing. And this filled the Night with dread. Had she rebelled against him too? He was afraid to look fearing the mockery of the earth, for her creatures were now in frenzy of whispering that gave the Night a chill on his back.
“Look oh fatherly Night. Your daughter is gone. She is not there”
All beheld this were sad and alarmed, for they knew the Night had spoken wisely. Was this the rumor they had heard that was now a Nightmare; for all who beheld her were calmed by her beauty and her fresh young steadiness, and above all, her loyalty. Her song and her voice were liken to the Angels – who visit the earth.
Now the stars waning in the sky twinkled with confusion, and they beheld from their perch a great black cloud rising from the middle of the sea. And suddenly the sea was tossed into a tempest, and even it was afraid, and the sea is never afraid. And it embraced the wise souls within the rocks who hugged the rocks like a frightened child, but could not hold on, and slid back into the churning froth.
The trees on the edge of the land were trying to flee from the cloud, shuddering in fear. Their roots held for a little while, and then they were felled. The creatures on the land ran for cover, but the shrieks of the storm that ran faster they, and were in their dens before them, filling them with dread. The birds on the cliffs, and the rocks could cling on, and like leaves from a great oak they were plucked and carried in a great vortex around the black beating wings of the cloud that made the sea go where it did not want to go. Even the great fish in the sea were turned round and round. All but the clam was not safe.
Then there came from the menacing cloud and a bolt of lightening that turned the night into day. The Night cried out; “I am blind!” And the sea let go a terrible moan as a bolt of lightening pierced its depth, its ever present darkness, and not even the clam was spared as it tried to burl deeper into the sand, and was struck one mighty – but gentle blow.
The storm now went upon the land and raised havoc with those things who had never seen such fury. It struck angrily at the ground, and from it rose angry men, the first men. And they saw the tempest they were born into and the devastation around them. And the wisdom that had dwelt in the great rocks, flew from their crying mouths, saying; “This is a cruel land!” And they took felled trees to the sea and made rafts of them, then sailed away.
At first light, all was still and quiet. The sea had lost much of its voice that now filled the mouths of the captains of the ships, they using the wisdom that now found a home in them, commanding as the sea had done the new living things to make their crafts sturdier and defy the sea itself.
And they were wise enough to flea from the reach of the rocks that tried to pull them back and embrace them, jealous now that they were wise enough to avoid them. And they pointed to the stars who were startled, but pleased, as the wisdom from the captains declared them their only friends. But the stars were in morning and in unison asked the Night; “Where pray-tell is our sister? Why do you not let her come out and play with us?
Then came a warm wind from over horizon. It was the last sigh of the Night, and from it flew a Kite and it spoke of this rumor that had stirred the whole world; “Love is coming.”
“Love! What is Love?” And the world turned to the Night as he wearily receded over the land.
“I don’t know. Don’t ask me.” But from then on humanity would ask this question of the Night, in the night, and in a hushed embrace find the answer.
Even the captains at sea suddenly found themselves asking “What is Love?” and sat on the prow of their ships looking at the first light of dawn, then up into the heavens where once rose a beautiful star who the Night named Venus, whose lovely calm song and beautiful dance was yet to be beheld by men. If they had heard and seen her then they would know the moment they lay eyes on her, before the sea, the great rocks, the birds, the fish in the sea even suspected there was such a thing, that she was Love. Deep down in the core of all things they knew they were humbled; for with the coming of Love was a better and more endearing idea of what Eternity is. Only the Night knew this was the Truth. For only eternity could take a beautiful star out of the heavens, and as he sadly turned and beheld the pink ribbons in the sky that pulled from over the sea the great star that was the Sun, he whispered. “And only Eternity can put a star in the heavens.” But where oh where was his granddaughter?
There was a hush upon the land, but for the birds who rose early to tune the harps in their song. The wings of the great storm were now billowy giants in the sky, its mountainous peaks lit in the purest white, the finest gold, and decorated with the most heartwarming pinks and violets. This was the throne room of Zeus, the new god born to rule over men and their chaos. But, he was nowhere to be seen. No one dare ask after his fury for answers to the questions that haunted them. Perhaps the youth, the Sun know. In his delight, and in his daylight would come an answer. For something else had come to dwell on Earth….The Unknown.
“What will become of us? What is our Fate?”
Lying in a tide pool was a scallop shell it too exhausted by the storm. But suddenly the two halves opened up to expose the deepest and blackest pearl, and all gasped. For it was blacker and deeper then the blackest night. Then it began to turn a deep blue, deeper then any blue in the depths of the sea, or in the last light of the day. Then came a song so frail and faint all things hushed but the birds in flight. Only their flapping wings could be heard, but they now went into a glide circling to hear the song like an angels. And this song put a spark in the black marble of their eyes, and it shown like a star as they now beheld one resting in the shell.
Venus my daughter, rise!” Spoke a voice from deep the cloud. And it spoke as all the drops of rain, now as one. And the earth filled with the musical quality of the rain, and the sky cleared. It was the song of all questions yet to be asked “Do you love me?”, now joined as one in the answer, as they answered the song of Venus as she grew and rose from the shell, a dutiful maiden, always with a song in her heart.
She was beautiful, in a form not unlike that of men. But hers did not boast, defy, command, but had received the best qualities that wisdom deigned to create. Her form was as reasuring and comforting to the life around her as she was when she was a star in the sky. All that beheld her beauty was well pleased, for she was as perfect a compliment one could pay to life’s majestic design.
Then Venus began to dance. She saw all things as a mirror to reflect the beauty she felt, and she reflected it back. In the motion of her form her hands imitated the waves. Leaping, she mimicked the plumes of the waves that were thrown high into the air by the rocks. Her hair was like the wings of an albatross in graceful slow-motion flight as she pranced like a horse into the water, then arching her back, she dove into its depths. Her strong tapered legs like mating porpoises raised her to the surface. Then, standing in the pristine sea she wiggled her toes like fish playing with other fish, all the time not letting go of the two halves of the shellfish that born her.
Suddenly she heard a quiet voice inside her, and looked brightly about to see what other wonders were before her.
“Oh, Daughter Star. Tell me why you hold those shells so tight, and never let them go?”
Venus looked up and beheld a sliver of moon peeking at her in the sky, and asked;
“Is it you who spoke to me and gave me a name?”
“Yes Venus I did. We are dear friends. I have cradled you since the dawn of time.”
Venus smiled at ther lofty faraway friend, and then dearly at her shells.
“I carry these shells for they are my mother and father and I care about them so very much.”
Venus closed her eye as the world sighed at her innocence. She now knew who she was talking to. It was the Dream in the Night, the dream of long ago that took her places she could not go, but somehow, she knew those places well. For the day-moon was whispering all its secrets to her, reassuring her, that life would always be a wonderful mystery.
Rosamond Press 
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