There is a good chance Kevin is a co-founder of SLEEPS. Hollis, Kevin, and myself lived within fifty feet of each other in the alley between 18th. and 19th. – FOR YEARS! He knew Alley Valkyrie – well. I went to a Wiccan event that Kevin organized. In this video Kevin shows me how to draw a rose. Kevin wrote all the statements we see at SLEEP events. That is his blue bi-cycle against the wall. He explains how his image represents VENUS. What?? Venus is holding a ROSE on the Grateful Dead album, from which a MUSician plays a song from, when I beheld BELLE……………..Rosebelle!
Don’t you see, we have been captured, caught up in a mystery from which there is no escape – as yet! That is Ambrose, Belle’s lover at the time we met, wearing a blue crazy shirt. Alley should have passed my photo around amongst The Founders, to see if I am connected. A huge mistake was made. But, this is how all Marshall Arts movies start.
I scolded Belle for playing games with the real art world. Da Vinci’s ‘Salvator Mundi’ was just sold for $450 million dollars, and is now the only work of the master in private hands.
I just discovered a video of Kevin making a image he titled “Venus” at the Eugene Art Walk shot in September of 2013, seven months before I met Belle Burch. This is uncanny. Kevin refers to my Rose Cross study, and draws a rose. A beautiful woman let me take a photo of her because I was looking for a model for Fair Rosamond. Kevin knew Belle and Ambrose and took part in SLEEPS demonstrations.
Kevin lived in an apartment next to me for over ten years. I shared my study with him. He thought I was a Rosicrucian. I now understand we are in contact with the other side, very possibly with the Grateful Dead. All this (automatic) writing with chalk.
I can find no description of the devilish man holding Venus’s arm. He looks like Kevin who told me he was a Wiccan, and invited me to Eugene’s first Wiccan Fair held down by the river. He was painted by an artist of Dutch ancestry, John Van Hamersveld.
This is proof I did not target and stalk Belle Burch. I am an artist who went in search of a model at the Art Walk. Note the accordion music in the background of my interview with Jill and Belle. You can see the musicians. They look like sisters. Jill says she is a ‘Fitness Fanatic’. So is Belle – and Venus! Uncanny!
Jon Presco
Copyright 2016
On Fri, Apr 18, 2014 at 6:59 PM, John Ambrose wrote:
Belle, my big project in Love Dance, a Broadway musical based upon the music of LOVE. Bryan was my best friend in HS. He was a roadie for the Byrds when he was 17. We hung out in a coffee shop in LA in 1963.
I about choked when you told me your were a dancer! Belle! You ring all my belles and set off all my whistles. It is just the way it is.
I want to see the hippie dance extravaganza on Broadway! How about you?
On Friday, I found her, at the Art Walk. I was filming a magical singer in Ken Keasy Square when I got a glimpse of her thru my lens. I come in for a close-up, and I gasp! Here she is, my model for Fair Rosamond that I have been searching for ever since I declared I was a Pre-Raphaelite in 1969. As an original hippie, I had always had long hair, but, now I was not holding back. I now carried a palette, my shield, and a brush, like a Knight’s Sword.
My hero, Dante Gabriel Rossetti had his Muse, Siddell, pose for his version of Fair Rosamond, but this image lacks refinement and good breeding. My Rosamond had to have a regal profile, a strong chin, and an angelic mouth. She would be more handson, than pretty. I did not want a poser, but a powerful personality that took risks. She had to be as radical as her paramour, King Henry FitzEmpress, the son of Geoffrey de Anjou. From Henry and Queen Eleanore were born the Plantagenets who would lauch the War of the Roses.
She must have felt my energy directed at her, for even though I used two singers as my human shield, a beautful women can feel the eyes of an admirer. She raises her lovely hand and waves me off. But I persist. And, now she makes her way to me. She has to know what I am up to. I pretend I do not see her coming my way. This is a musical, an ancient dance.
Please view the first two videos. Be patient before you behold her. At the corner of Floral Drive and Fairmount I have an epiphany. I knew I was weeks away from beholding her. She had to appear.
All of a sudden we are exchanging words, names, and ideas. I tell her about the family legend, and our friendship with Joaquin Miller who co-founded the Bohemian Club. She stops my narrative.
“The Bohemian Club? There is a Bohemian Club?”
I am aghast! No man has ever had such great fortune. I was convinced I would die before I met a woman who knew what a Bohemian was. Not only did she know the meaning, she wanted me to take her to this club – NOW!
I told this beautiful young woman Joaquin gathered artists, poets and writers at ‘The Abbey’ a salon in the Oakland Hills he also called the Hights.
“We should found a Bohemian Club here in Eugene!” I suggested and her eyes were twinkling with mischievousness. This is a young woman who loves thinking outside the box. Here is – Belle Companion!
“I am a radical!” She informs me. And I clutch my heart.
“Me too! Has anyone ever painted you? I would like to paint your portrait.”
“Someone did a drawing of me, but, I always wanted my portrait done.”
This conversation occurred after I turned my camera off because I did not want it to come between us. Her reaction to me telling her what my blog is about, is the end of my novel ‘Capturing Beauty’, for she captures me, takes my name and my number.
“We can talk!”
We speak the same timeless language.
I have already done one sketch of her looking down at her cellphone, her beauty fingers taking my name and capturing it. This is Fair Rosamond. At her spinning wheel, making flax threads for her embroidery. Here is the end of the clue of the Rouge Thread. Here is the splicing of the Rosy Quest to the thread that carry on the dream into the future.
My work is done. The Master has found his Apprentice – already doing the good work, and looking for a good and gallant deed to do! She knows who I am. She has been looking for me for a long time.
From Belmont, to Fairmount, my kindred have come to plant the kiss. Belle, my Beautiful Belle, is awake! And my heart, my mind, and my Bohemians Soul… soars! I am in love with my Muse. I always have been.
In the last video she is surrounded by beautiful old crones under the S of the Pepsi sign. How many, I dare not count lest I be whisked away the Land of the Living Grimm’s Fairytales. Then, the crone who has been concealing her, moves aside, and a curtain that has been closed, opens. I am on pins and needles to see her eyes. When I do, the sleeping kingdom is awoken. From a across the courtyard I give her a little kiss.
The painting above is titled ‘Lady Lilith’ by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. A Lily, and a Rose.
t our meeting at The Wandering Goat, Belle spoke perfect French. I wanted her to become good friends with Virgnia who longs to have someone to speak French with. In ‘Let Them Eat Nancy’s’ Belle moves into the Governor’s mansion and sophisticated folks are pleased their king has taken a mistress that he calls his muse. This is all very European. Putin gives John and Virginia a call. He has written a poem. ‘The Viking Pirates of Kiev’. All is well in the world.
John Presco
I had a conversation Belle about the idea I had for a Broadway Musical called ‘Love Dance’. I had asked Belle, was, if she would like to choreograph ‘Love Dance’ because I learned she was a dancer. I suspect Belle sees herself as a orphan because she lost her mother nine years ago. This is why she become a street urchin and ragamuffin. Bardot plays a orphan named Juliette in And God Created Woman.
“Juliette (Brigitte Bardot) is an 18-year old orphan with a high level of sexual energy. She makes no effort to restrain her natural sensuality – lying nude in her yard, habitually kicking her shoes off and walking around barefoot, and disregarding many societal restraints and the opinions of others.”
Belle is the reluctant Muse of Jon after he caught her trying to apply his life story to her young lover, an anarchist who claims he is helping the homeless, but, this couple has ambitions to take over the counter-culture of those that came before them and rule the Bohemian World.
Taking his case to the old hippies in the Whiteaker, the wise ones rule Belle must fulflll her agreement she made, and accompany Jon on a cross country train ride that will take them to New York to visit Chris and Stefan who has just moved into the old Woodstock Hotel. On the top floor, Stefan finds a ballroom that has not been used in years. Earlier, Chris had said this hotel is where the Woodstock Nation folks have come to die.
After Belle and Jon board the train, Jon give Christine a call. She informs him Stefan has put together a song and dance routine ‘Putting on the Woodstock’ that is based upon ‘Putting on the Ritz’. Stefan found tails and top hat in a closet, and looks like Fred Astaire. Stefan was a master of the Viennese Waltz, and in no time has mastered Astaire’s famous Ritz dance.
“Yeah! You aughta see him.” says Chris. “He looks real sharp. We got the tenants to dress like Richie Havens, and Hendrix. The chorus line is called the ‘I want to take your higher dancers’. They are wearing white tasselled jackets like Sly did at Woodstick. We got ten drum sets doing Santana. He went insane, Greg. He told me I inspired this show. He wanted to bring back the Filmore and my friend Bill Graham. I wish you were here. Oh, the shows starting. Oh my God!”
“What’s wrong Chris?” Jon asks, sensing something is wrong.
“The ‘take you higher dancers’. They are women in mesh and white high-heel boots. These are his women, his dames he met in the art world. Listen to this!”
Have you seen the well-to-do hippie up and down 42nd. Avenue
On that famous thoroughfare, with their noses in the air
High hats and tie-dyed collars, white spats and lots of flowers
Spending every dime, for a wonderful time
If you’re a wanna-be Bohemian
and you don’t know where to go to
Why don’t you go where Boho fashion sits,
Puttin’ on the Woodstock!
Different types who wear day-glow pants with candy stripes
And cut away coat that really rocks
Puttin’ on the Woodstock.
Dressed up like a million dollar rock star
Trying hard to look like Alice Cooper (super duper)
Come let’s mix where aged Beatniks walk with sticks
Or Chinese umbrellas in their mitts
Puttin’ on the Woodstock!
* * *
As the Train heads south to Oakland, Jon tells Belle about the blue bicycle that the love of his life bought in France where she was taken by the son of Joseph Pasternak after Marilyn’s mother forbid Jon to see M again – after he failed to convert from Roman Catholocism to Southern Baptist……after she forced Jon to go to three Billy Graham Crusades. Jeff Pasternak being a Jew, was O.K. because the family had money. Jon was a poor artist.
Jeff would later form a rock group and meet Jim Morrison whom he tried to get in his father’s movie.
Marilyn’s sister was a radical in France who co-authored ‘Fela – this Bitch of a Life’ with Carlos Moore, who would claim he was not paid when Fela became a hit on off-Broadway.
It turns out Marilyn’s blue bike once belonged to Bridget Bardot. When M brought it back to the States, it was stolen at the airport, and ended up in Boston.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2014
Taken the Shitty Crosstown Shuttle
Every Sunday Christine takes the 42nd street shuttle in order to catch a train to Harlem where so she can hear her beloved Gospel Choir. Dressed like a Boston Blue Blood she ignores the sniggers and looks she get . She is wearing a cap, and has a big bow . She looks a like Little Lord Fauntleroy.
This shuttle is Christine’s hell-ride. The most unsavory, whacked out, smelly and rude folks in New York ride ‘The Dragon’ as Chris named it because it makes a hissing noise when it pulls into a station, as if the dragon is belching fire.
No one will get up and give Chris their seat.
“Well, that’s par for the course!” Chris moans. “How did I end up here? I used to be a hippie in San Francisco, with flowers in my hair. What became of my beloved Puff…..my Magic Dragon?”
Wandel’s Woeful Wail
Once upon a time I used to be so free
I danced in a park at the human be-in
to Ginsberg’s thumb cymbals
I even caught a psychedelic wink
from a dimpled Timothy Leary
Now I am being squeezed hard up against 400 pounds of blubber.
Hey, in this town
its hard to be any kind of lover!
(Man wearing tin foil on head, reads Christ, mind)
Hey, Blondie, I’m on your wave-length
You can be my bosom babe
as long as you can pick up signals from outer space
And if you don’t mind French kissing a dirty old man
born of an alien race!
In 1966 Jeff Pasternak, songwriter, artist and son of legendary film producer Joe Pasternak, was strongly advised by his father not to get involved in Show Business. However, after meeting Elvis Presley on an MGM soundstage Jeff quickly forgot that advice. Months later, out for a good time at the London Fog on Hollywood’s Sunset Strip, Jeff and a friend found their way to a sleazy backstreet bar and Jeff’s life changed forever.
The club was almost deserted as they waited for the new band they’d come to hear. Then, around 9:00 pm Jim Morrison and The Doors strolled onto the tiny dance floor. Jeff was captivated and mesmerized. He recalls that surreal night as one of The Doors‘ very best performances. “I knew after I left the club that night that this was the style of music I wanted to write, and the singer I wanted to sound like.”
Shortly after that evening Joe Pasternak approached Jeff, asking, “What rock and roll band would you recommend for my new movie, The Sweet Ride?” Jeff immediately told him about The Doors, whom Jeff had been following to about every gig they had around L.A. By then, Jeff says, “Their music and energy had saturated every part of my being.”
In a few more weeks Jeff had convinced his friend, John Branca (to later become one of the world’s top music attorneys) to experience The Doors. Two months later, Jeff and John had their own band, The Mustard Greens. “I was on top of the world,” Jeff says, “co-writing original material with John and waiting for my dad to sign The Doors. Who could ask for anything more?” Unfortunately for both the film’s success and music history, Joe Pasternak chose to sign Moby Grape, because they wanted $5,000 less. Shortly thereafter Light My Fire soared up the charts, racking up sales and fans. That’s Show Biz
Bet you think that I don’t love you, baby
Bet you think that I…
I don’t care
But I wanna tell you
Well, you got something
And I’m loving you with all my heart
I don’t ever wanna part
‘Cause I don’t wanna be with nobody but you
No no
I don’t wanna be with no-one but you
I wanna to be wrapped up
in the arms of my loving man
(Come on and rock me)
Rock me in your arms like I know you can
Don’t you know that you can call on me, baby
(You can call on me)
All you gotta do is say you will
(All you gotta do)
‘Cause I’m ready just to love you
And put an end to all your doubts
I know we can work it out
‘Cause I don’t wanna be with nobody but you
No no
I don’t wanna be with no-one but you
I wanna to be wrapped up
in the arms of my loving man
(Come on and rock me)
Rock me in your arms like I know you can
Man, I love you
So, put an end to your fantasy,
or you just might…
You just might blow it all
Get yourself together
and baby, when you do
You’re gonna see that I’ll be true to you
‘Cause I don’t wanna be with nobody but you
No no
I don’t wanna be with no-one but you
I wanna to be wrapped up
in the arms of my loving man
(Come on and rock me)
Rock me in your arms like I know you can
(You can call on me)
(Yes, yes)
(You can call on me)
(Yes, yes)
(Come on and rock me)
Don’t you know that you can call on me, baby
(You can call on me)
All you gotta do is say you will
(Say)
‘Cause I’m ready just to love you
(I’m ready)
And put an end to all your doubts
I know we can work it out
‘Cause I don’t wanna be with nobody but you
No no
I don’t wanna be with no-one, baby
I wanna to be wrapped up
in the arms of my loving man
(Come on and rock me)
Rock me in your arms like I know you can
(Come on and rock me)
Rock me in your arms like I know you can
(Come on and rock me)
Rock me in your arms like I know you can
And God Created Woman (French: Et Dieu… créa la femme) (1956) is a French drama film directed by Roger Vadim and starring Brigitte Bardot.[2] Though not her first film, it is widely recognized as the vehicle that launched Bardot into the public spotlight and immediately created her “sex kitten” persona, making her an overnight sensation.
When the film was released in the United States by distributor Kingsley-International Pictures in 1957, it pushed the boundaries of the representation of sexuality in American cinema, and most available prints of the film were heavily edited to conform with the prevailing censorial standards of 1957.[3]
An English-language remake of the film was directed by Vadim and released in 1988.
Juliette (Brigitte Bardot) is an 18-year old orphan with a high level of sexual energy. She makes no effort to restrain her natural sensuality – lying nude in her yard, habitually kicking her shoes off and walking around barefoot, and disregarding many societal restraints and the opinions of others. These factors cause a stir and attract the attentions of most of the men around her.
Her first suitor is the much older and wealthy Eric Carradine (Curd Jürgens). He wants to build a new casino in town, but his plans are blocked by a small shipyard on the stretch of land which he needs for the development; the shipyard is owned by the Tardieu family.
Antoine, the eldest Tardieu son (Christian Marquand), returns home for the weekend to discuss the situation and Juliette is waiting for him to take her away with him. His intentions are short-term, and he spurns her by leaving town without her.
Tiring of her antics, Juliette’s guardians threaten to send her back to the orphanage. To keep her in town, Carradine pleads with Antoine to marry her, which he laughs off, but his naive younger brother Michel (Jean-Louis Trintignant), secretly in love with Juliette, rises to the challenge and proposes. Despite being in love with his older brother, she accepts. When Antoine is contracted to return home for good, the trouble starts for the newlyweds. Juliette is still in love with him and they sleep together on the beach.
Juliette begins acting bizarre. She takes to her bed, claiming to have a fever. She confesses to Michel’s little brother Christian (Georges Poujouly) about her affair with Antoine on the beach. Maman (Marie Glory) hears about it, tells Michel when he comes home, and advises that he kick Juliette out in the morning. Michel goes to their room to talk with Juliette, but she has gone off to the Bar des Amis to drink and dance. Michel goes looking for her, but Antoine locks him inside, telling him that he should forget that ‘bitch whore.’ Michel tries to shoot the lock away, but it doesn’t work. He winds up having to fight his brother for the key. Juliette’s friend Lucienne (Isabelle Corey) calls Eric to tell him how bizarre Juliette is acting, and Eric comes over to collect her, but Juliette refuses to go. Eventually, Michel catches up with Juliette at the Bar, but she refuses to even talk with him and goes on dancing. Michel orders her to stop, but she pays him no heed, so he takes out his gun. Just as he’s about to shoot her, Eric steps in and takes a bullet in his hand. Antoine offers to drive Eric to a doctor, and they leave the Bar. Michel angrily slaps Juliette four times, and Juliette smiles at him. On their way to the doctor, Eric tells Antoine that he’s going to transfer him out of St Tropez. ‘That girl was made to destroy men,’ he adds. In the final scene, Michel and Juliette walk home together, hand in hand.
Cast[edit]
Brigitte Bardot as Juliette Hardy
Curd Jürgens as Éric Carradine
Jean-Louis Trintignant as Michel Tardieu
Marie Glory as Mme. Tardieu
Georges Poujouly as Christian Tardieu
Christian Marquand as Antoine Tardieu
Jane Marken as Madame Morin
Jean Tissier as M. Vigier-Lefranc
Isabelle Corey as Lucienne
Jacqueline Ventura as Mme Vigier-Lefranc
Jacques Ciron as The Secretary of Éric
Paul Faivre as M. Morin
Jany Mourey as The Orphanage Representative
Philippe Grenier as Perri
Jean Lefebvre as The Man who wanted to dance
Leopoldo Francés as The Dancer
What are the odds? I had posted this on January 30th. two months before I walked onto Ken Kesey Square with my camera rolling. I was desperate to save the creative legacy Christine and founded and sustained. There was talk of a movie. There was hope. My descent into hell – had just begun! Did Belle, and others read of my plight, and down they swoop, the Gallery Gargoyles – Harpies to the rosy feast?
What are these First Night Celebrations? How long has my Muse been the Belle of the Ball? In the Wild Frenzy and Fight over Ken Kesey Square, all the Clowns and Jugglers were wheeled out in a Juggernaut, each claiming to own The Tradition. But, she was a no-show! Belle Stella, and her Phantom of the Opera! Why has no author compared the Pranksters to the Kabuki theatre? This is the traditional connection Ken longed for!
When SLEEPS saw my video and read my blogs about Belle, they freaked. The She-Thing knew I had made their clandestine performance – my art piece! On this day, I declare a new form of Kabuki which in truth is very ancient. Both Buddha and Jesus employed the homeless, the hungry, the blind, and the insane people of the street, to get their message across! Did not David dance before the Ark? Did not Jesus say; “I will bring the sword!”
Kabuki (歌舞伎?) is a classical Japanesedance–drama. Kabuki theatre is known for the stylization of its drama and for the elaborate make-up worn by some of its performers.
The individual kanji, from left to right, mean sing (歌), dance (舞), and skill (伎). Kabuki is therefore sometimes translated as “the art of singing and dancing”. These are, however, ateji characters which do not reflect actual etymology. The kanji of ‘skill’ generally refers to a performer in kabuki theatre. Since the word kabuki is believed to derive from the verb kabuku, meaning “to lean” or “to be out of the ordinary”, kabuki can be interpreted as “avant-garde” or “bizarre” theatre.[1] The expression kabukimono (歌舞伎者) referred originally to those who were bizarrely dressed and swaggered on a street.
At the Wandering Goat Belle is lecturing me on the importance of genealogies. Is it possible she descends from Rosamond Clifford? This is the real game of thrones. There is a ROSE in THRONES! Catherine bids me to forgive her daughter!
“Rena had to have read several blogs where I talk about Ronald Schwary optioning the second biography about my late sister, the world famous artist, Rosamond. Rena had to have read my concerns about the lies told about my family being broadcast on the silverscreen, and thus, viewed by tens of millions of people who would not believe anything in my biography because my story never made it to the big time. This fight for ‘First Story Out’ began hours after Christine drowned. The Rosamond Movie was being pushed at Christine’s funeral, which had a theme that my friend coined;
I understood from the start that I was in the role of The Hero to Belle. But, I was an old man, and young women and the world – demand the hero be young! Many were repulsed. How to solve this dilemma is the crux of our story – our movie! Belle asks;
“Are you for real?”
I feel like I am posting this – with a brush! Was Belle’s mother a Muse to an artist? Imagine what it was like to follow after her ‘The Great Owl Woman’ this child resigned at such and early age to be in her shadow. But, when I beheld the timeless silhouette of this young woman, who is only free when he does the Tango, I knew the honor that awaited her.
Are you for real -now?
I just took a break for breakfast and pondered over Catherine and I being born in 1946. I then wondered what sign she was. My first guess was Libra, then Aries, then back to Libra. Then I consulted Google.
VANDERTUIN, CATHERINE wasborn 03 October 1946. Belle was born November 21, 1990. Catherine gave birth to Belle when she was 45. Is this possible! Belle must have looked at the mothers of her schoolmates, and then at her dramatic mother. Belle may not own a prejudice against older people.
Catherine was born three days before Yom Kippur, and I three days after – during an amazing star shower! I compared Belle to Venus. This is like pulling dragon teeth. Belle and I sat down for two hours in a get to know you meeting, and I come away with nothing, and, she has this blog!
Marilyn and I identified a Eugene syndrome called ‘The Mumbly Grumblys’. If they are not noticed, they grumble. When they are noticed, they mumble!
With the revelation Catherine is a Libra, we have a literary solution, which I will save for the ending! Let the dance and play – begin!
What? I….feel faint. It’s too much. Can it be? Days after I met Belle, I am authoring a Musical Play abut us titled ‘My Beautiful Blue Bicycle’. I never had a Libra Lover. Brigit Bardot is a Libra. The question I am bid to put forth, is, how long has Catherine been my Angel Muse? Are we composing the un-finished Kabuki Tale, the Never Ending Story.
“Originating in the 1600s, kabuki is a stylized all-male theatre that combines music, dance and acting to tell stories about samurai vendettas, love suicides and everyday city-life in performances that use outlandish facial makeup and elaborate costumes.”
Is Kesey Square ready for a Kabuki performance about a young woman who has runaway from her cruel husband and now seeks shelter with an old monk who has left the temple. You could not ask for better words to form a Kabuki play around. She has fallen in with eleven wanna-be Samurai determined to overthrow the Emperor. She is disguised as a male. The monk sees her snatch fruit from a cart, and gasps at the beauty of her hands.
On Sunday, April 20, 2014 11:51 AM, Belle Burch wrote:
Yes, those are my hands in the RG. That was the first time I had ever appeared in the news as an activist.
Yes, I got a misdemeanor along with 11 other people for trying to talk to a silent and (cowardly) hiding John RUIZ.
I LOVE Crouching Tiger. It’s one of my favorites. The scene where the two young warrior lovers are in the bath together in the desert is my favorite part I think.
Is Bohemian a language as well as a place? Or are you referring to Romani? Was Romani the language that was spoken in Bohemia?
I’d like to hear more of your personal life story. “When I got sober”, “When I was homeless”, “When I was fighting cancer”……. these are words you drop and then let flit by without much detail or explanation or storytelling. I want those details and stories. Please.
Tell me what you thought of my poem. Did it make you feel anything? Did it make you think? If so, what?”
I just reposted on the Green Sword, and then found a play that Belle’s mother was in. Catherine was a disciple of James Brandon, and is the Storyteller in ‘The Cross and Sword’. Belle is the heir to these words, and this sword, that came to mainland from Honolulu. Belle is the heir to the Labyrinth Walk of Eugene.
“I know of no other person who has accomplished as much as he has done — taking the work of one country (Japan) and presenting it so beautifully,” said Terence Knapp, his UH colleague for more than three decades — now retired and an emeritus professor — who specialized in Shakespearean and classical drama while Brandon focused on Kabuki and its intricate staging rituals. “He was a pioneer in staging Asian theater for the rest of the world; he started it all.”
Here is my favorite version of Fair Rosamond by Evelyn de Morgan. Click to enlarge. Not the demon monkeys – and other bad spells! No male artist would dare put three monkeys on any woman’s back! Evelyn was a woman Pre-Raphaelite and would have whisked Belle away before another artist capture her.
“The palace was deep in the forest and its approaches were constructed like a labyrinth designed to foil Eleanor, should she ever decide to do what she was doing now. Alas for Rosamond, a silk thread had become detached from a needlework chest that the King had given her for embroidery. Once the Queen discovered it, she was able to follow it to the heart of the labyrinth and surprise the young woman.”
Before I beheld Belle, I was looking for a model for my version of Rosamond. I found her. The long contest………..was over!
I awoke from a dream about destiny, to push hands with Belle who was in bed with her master. This is not about sex. I am an enlightened being who long ago gave up the light to lie down with women so they may go on the path. One must overcome duality in order to be one with the truth. The truth is my student tried to steal my lessons, even have her teacher humiliated and slain by a minion of demons. This is profound for reasons yet to be explained. This is why men have kept women off the path because they are forever in search of a short-cut. Women are not honorable by nature. They are rarely culpable. If you catch a woman in a lie, or, being a thief in the night, there is hell to pay.
Belle Burch wrote in a e-mail how she likes the movie ‘Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon’. Jen steals the sword of Green Destiny. Master Li Mu Bai duels with Jen to retrieve Destiny. Jen is placed in a cave and put to sleep. Here is Sleeping Belle who woke this morning realizing our destinies are forever intertwined. There is no escape from this truth. In his Manifest Destiny Benton approves of the white race mating with the Chinee race.
When I first saw Belle, she was performing. She grew up around thespians. Her late mother, Catherine Vandertuin was the founder and director of the Eugene Chamber Theatre. My daughter was raised to be a thespian. I did not know I had a daughter until April of 2,000. She was sixteen years old when she came in my life. Her mother found me when she found the ‘Rosamond’ webpage. Her mother aimed our daughter at my famous sister all her life. When I got an inheritance, and got in the way of they being in the biography of Rosamond, they plotted to throw me off a cliff.
Only when Belle and I met at The Wandering Goat, did I see she resembled my daughter. Belle looks like my grandson. Hovering over her is ‘The Beast’.
Heather and Belle created much drama, then blamed it on me. I was just their shadow puppet. They toyed with me. They wore masks.
They slipped me a Mickey Finn in bar on Montgomery Street. They shanghaied me, took me to Japan and sold me to a failing Kabuki theatre and bar. They kept me drugged on opium. I was too fucked up to leave. I was a star….for a little while! I did this dance titled ‘The Cross and the Sword’. Then, she walked in. Of all places, why did she pick this one? She said her name was, Rose, and all of a sudden, I had a life again. I was somebody.
How interesting that Belle’s parents did their ritual Labyrinth on the fourth Saturday of every month, and I met their daughter at the first Friday Art walk. This is so much like ‘The Wicker Man’ where the children are brought into circles – with candles! Was Belle going to run for office?
When you tell your children they are being enriched with special powers, they are going to want a Big Pay Day………..SOMEDAY! This is why we have so many evangelicals skipping after Donald – the Pagan Pied Piper of Rome! Don lives like Nero the Roman Pig raised by wolves, and is titled ‘The Beast’. N0.666 invented the Theatre of Cruelty.
From the start my daughter made it clear she had nothing to learn from me; for her mother taught her everything she needs to know. I saw a dark cloud coming from over the horizon that I knew would not go away, any time soon.
Now I see who Belle is, and my daughter! They are ‘The Un-finished Child’.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2016
The Descent of Inanna
In Gratitude
For the audience who makes a story. For those who came to the performance of the play made from these poems more than one—who told me they would do so until they had their favorite words memorized. For Catherine who never feared to go anywhere into feeling, who asked for the voice of Ereshkigal. And then had the spirit and force to gather us all into this amazing theater production. For Jeff who introduced me to Catherine “just to see what would happen”. For all the amazing actors and actresses whose gestures became my words.
There is no greater gift for a poet than to see her words embodied by such a brilliant group of men and women as Eugene Chamber Theater.
Our whole community suffered the untimely death of Catherine Vandertuin, its founder and director. Catherine, we miss you. But you are still present to us in the work you elicited from us—you are still present in these words.
The Story Behind the Play
The inspiration for these pieces came from working with the actors and director of Eugene Chamber Theater. They improvised the story of the Descent of Inanna, and then provided encouragement, insight, and feedback for the words that I wrote after being inspired by their work. I owe an immense debt to Catherine Vandertuin, Eugene Chamber Theater’s late producer and director (see “Slant” article that follows). She was the archetypal woman gatherer in her role in both this theater piece and this group as she undertook the daunting task of producing a theater piece out of the poetry that came to me in our collaboration. I have been deeply touched by the spirit, talent, perception, and dedication of DJ Adams as Old Woman, as , Nancy Hopps as Inanna (who has taken new directions with her talent) , Richard Leebrick as Dumuzi, Katina Poxino as Ereshkigal , Barratt Walton (also a talented director and playwright) as Ninsubah, Corey Woods as an early Dumuzi, and Tim Guetterman and Jason Hines as Inanna’s sons. I know of no greater gift than to work with such brilliant performers and whole-spirited human beings. I would not have written these words but for their generosity, courage, imagination, and intelligence.
Extraordinary thanks are also owing Jeff Defty, who not only wrote an exquisite musical score for the Eugene Chamber Theater production to accompany my words– but who originally introduced me to Catherine Vandertuin with the prospect of our collaboration.
You, the reader, are one more element to community in these poems: in the old traditions, the listening of the audience makes a story. In Eugene Chamber Theater’s 22 productions of the Descent of Inanna, audience presence, sharing, and feedback provided further inspiration for all of our work. It is because of so many audience requests for these words that I am publishing them here—as small recompense for the great gift that this whole process has been to me.
I have included here the pieces that audience members requested most often. The following poems were used in the Eugene Chamber theater’s first year production of Descent of Inanna: “Old Woman Dreams of the Wind”(I and II), “Inanna Burns Dumuzi Through Four Lifetimes”, 2
“The Call of Ereshkigal”, “Inanna’s Farewell”, “The Old Woman at the Gate”, “The Descent of Inanna”, “Woman on the Cross”, and “Chorus”. “The Voices of the Angels of Darkness” was added in the second season of production. I owe Richard Leebrick special thanks for helping me to arrange the drafts of “Dumuzi Speaks to the Silence Inanna Leaves Behind” into the piece here—which he also powerfully acted in the second season of production.
The story of the collaboration process of Eugene Chamber Theater’s production of the Descent of Inanna is detailed in Tim Guetterman’s video documentary, The Descent of Inanna: the Tale and the Telling, which he produced and directed with help from Katina Poxino. This documentary project aired on the Oregon affiliate of PBS and won the “Best of Oregon” award at the Da Vinci Film Festival.
Anthroposophists, having studied Steiner, usually know what various Anthroposophical symbols denote. Many parents and some teachers at Waldorf schools do not know. They should make the effort to learn. Here, for instance, is a statement Steiner made about the spiral as a symbol. Note that he was discussing a religious holiday, Christmas. The Anthroposophical meaning of the spiral symbol in the observance of Christmas (and the period leading to it: Michaelmas and Advent) involves astrology, Atlantis, and the Aryans. This is just one instance of the pagan occultism that lurks behind the symbolic ceremonies enacted in Waldorf schools.
“Earthly events are determined by what occurs in spiritual realms. Take the sign of Cancer, for example. Its true significance is not always known, but this sign, which consists of two intertwining spirals, when rightly understood points to the dawn of a new age. Whenever an important event occurs in the world, whenever one stage of evolution is superseded by another thereby bringing something new into the world, two such spiral movements intertwine. One spiral of the sign of Cancer indicates the end of the Atlantean culture; the other, the beginning of the Aryan culture. Our ancestors thus perceived in the heavens the outward sign for the rise of the new Aryan culture. At a later time the sun entered the sign of Gemini, the Twins. This is the sign of good and evil, the sign that governed Persian thinking. Then the sun entered Taurus. Here we have the third post-Atlantean period with its veneration of the Bull in the Egyptian Apis cult, the Babylonian cult of the Bull and its sacrifice, and the Mithraic cult of ancient Persia. Man brought the sacrifice of the Bull down to earth from the heavens where it was inscribed.” — Rudolf Steiner, SIGNS AND SYMBOLS OF THE CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL (Anthroposophic Press, 1967), lecture 1, “The Birth of the Light”, GA 90f. [For more on this, see “Advent Spiral at Waldorf” at Open Waldorf.]
Having people walk through a spiral, receiving light, means having them enact the spiritual journey toward spiritual enlightenment. This is a deeply religious, mystical, and astrological ceremony. “As the seven planets [of astrology] group themselves within, and pass through the twelve signs [of the Zodiac], so if man is to live into cosmic space he must pass through seven times twelve, or rather seven times eleven stages, to attain spirituality. The Twelve Signs of the Zodiac may be pictured as forming a spiritual periphery in the centre of which is man himself. Now man does not reach the spiritual realm spread around him simply by advancing from a centre outwards; he must expand in spiral form; he must advance, as it were, in seven spiral movements. Each time he completes one spiral turn he has passed through all the twelve signs; he has in this way to pass through seven times twelve points. Man gradually expands in spiral form through the cosmos — this is naturally only an image for what man experiences — and in circling thus, on the seventh journey through the twelve signs, spirituality is reached.” — Rudolf Steiner, THE GOSPEL OF ST. MATTHEW (Rudolf Steiner Publishing Co.,1946), lecture 5, GA 123.
Notice how in his readings of Biblical passages, Steiner brings in pagan concepts that have little or nothing to do with the actual contents of the Bible. Adherents of mainstream faiths should be even more troubled than secularists to learn of pagan Anthroposophical doctrines and their application to Waldorf schooling. [For more on spirals, see “spiral” and “spiral walk“ in THE BRIEF WALDORF / STEINER ENCYCLOPEDIA.]
Eugene lost one of its most creative artists last week. Cancer stole Catherine Vandertuin from us when she was far too young. In her too-short time here, Vandertuin, the founder and artistic director of Eugene Chamber Theatre, applied enormous energy, creativity and collaboration to the innovative theater/music productions of Dust and Dreams, Antigone, The Descent of Innana and Ice Cure, the last adapted from an original manuscript. She also collaborated in various puppet and mask theater productions. Her vision was to create multi-disciplinary works that explored themes of balance and wholeness. Catherine brought Javanese gamelan music to Eugene in 1992 with the founding of Gamelan Nuju Laras, well known for accompanying labyrinth walks created by her partner, Jeff Burch. Although her theater work and family obligations eventually forced her to give up the gamelan, Catherine’s contribution continues in Nuju Laras’s successor, Gamelan Sari Pandhawa, and the 90-piece Javanese gamelan Gamelan Kyai Tunjung Mulya, whose construction she commissioned and supervised. Gamelan Kyai Tunjung Mulya was ultimately donated to the UO where it is used to teach UO students and other community members. Through her teaching at LCC, collaborations with other community artists, and irrepressibly creative spirit, Catherine made Eugene a much more artistically vital place, and her legacy will live on in the audiences she touched and the artists she taught and inspired.
The Pacific Rim Gamelan Mariposa Tulip
The Pacific Rim Gamelan is an Indonesian orchestra, comprised of metal xylophones, drums, and gongs, which plays a rhythmic and colorful music of bell-like textures and deep gong resonances. Western audiences have flocked to hear gamelan music and have found it to be entrancing and captivating in its dynamic rhythmic energy. The ensemble, directed by University of Oregon Professor Robert Kyr, is an orchestra comprised of twenty musicians who perform on the beautifully crafted instruments of this Balinese gamelan, formally named “Gamelan Suranadi Indra Putra,” which is literally translated as “Gamelan Holy Springs: Ascent of The God of Rain.” Each member of the Pacific Rim Gamelan is both a composer and performer–hence, the repertoire of the ensemble is composed and performed by its members. In the Pacific Rim Gamelan, the musical cultures of Indonesia and North America are joined in the creation of a new music, which is cross-cultural and is composed by the community, which performs it.
Gamelan broadly describes musical ensembles from Southeast Asia usually comprised of percussion instruments dominated by magnificent bronze gongs and metallophones mounted on intricately carved wooden frames. Nuju Laras plays traditional music from the royal courts and villages of Central Java and also new compositions by both Indonesian and international composers. Nuju Laras’ gamelan instruments include a forged bronze set from Central Java. Nuju Laras is a group of thirteen players learning both traditional and contemporary international gamelan music from Daniel W. Schmidt, an instructor of Central Javanese gamelan music and founder of the Berkeley Gamelan in California. Nuju Laras is a community gamelan players group and a performing arts ensemble of Eugene Chamber Theatre. Founded in 1990 and directed by Catherine Vandertuin, her emphasis is to offer unusual opportunities for participants to study and perform music and theatre influenced by Asian forms.
The Medea” on the myth of Jason and the Argonauts. Medea, who betrayed her father and brother for the love of Jason is, in .turn, betrayed by h i m . Over-‘ whelmed by her thumbs (a Greek word implying a mixture of violent emotion and guilt) Medea destroys her husband and children. Directed by D a r l e n e Hansen, the classic Greek tragedy, will be staged w i t h traditional c h o r u s , and choreographed .by chorus leader Catherine Vandertuin.
Steiner wrote four mystery plays between 1909 and 1913: The Portal of Initiation, The Souls’ Probation, The Guardian of the Threshold and The Soul’s Awakening, modeled on the esoteric dramas of Edouard Schuré, Maurice Maeterlinck, and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.[93] Steiner’s plays continue to be performed by anthroposophical groups in various countries, most notably (in the original German) in Dornach, Switzerland and (in English translation) in Spring Valley, New York and in Stroud and Stourbridge in the U.K.
In collaboration with Marie von Sivers, Steiner also founded a new approach to acting, storytelling, and the recitation of poetry. His last public lecture course, given in 1924, was on speech and drama. Anthroposophic speech trainings generally last four years and offer an accredited diploma. Topics include: differentiating the styles of epic, lyric, dramatic poetry, the language of gesture, and speech; variously known as creative speech or speech formation (Sprachgestaltung). Graduates receive the Goetheanum diploma which allows them the option to pursue a training in Anthroposophical Therapeutic Speech.
Antonin Artaud was a member of the surrealist movement in Paris in the 1920s, and was well known as an actor, playwright, and essayist of avant-garde theatre.[1] Much of the avant-garde theatre developed in France from 1914-1939 can be seen as a revolt against tradition. Deeply affected by the events of World War I, the artists of the movement felt increasing skepticism of the existing societal structures that had allowed for global warfare.[2]
While Artaud would eventually break away from surrealism, the movement helped to shape his later theories on the Theatre of Cruelty. Led by André Breton, surrealist theatre reflected a belief that the unconscious mind is a source of artistic truth. In his manifesto on surrealism, Breton writes, “pure psychic automatism, by which is intended to express, verbally, in writing, or by other means, the real process of thought. Thought’s dictation, in absence of all control exercised by the reason and outside all esthetic or moral preoccupation.”[2]
In 1926, in association with surrealist playwright Roger Vitrac, Artaud founded the Theatre Alfred Jarry, which only produced non-realistic drama. The theatre lasted only two years.[2] After his work in surrealist theatre, Artaud went on to develop his theories on the Theatre of Cruelty after he was inspired by a Balinese dance troupe performance that he viewed at the Paris Colonial Exhibit in 1931. The performance conventions of Balinese dance were different than any Artaud had previously experienced, and he was struck by the intense physicality of the dancers.[3] Artaud went on to publish his major work on the Theatre of Cruelty, The Theatre and Its Double, seven years later in 1938.[2]
What Are the Consequences for the Students in Our Care?
“We should ask ourselves…what were the characteristics, the particular qualities of [students’] souls before birth when they were guided by the Hierarchies on the way down to embodiment? … If we deepen this line of thought, we shall take into account [students’] spiritual origins as they manifested themselves in previous incarnations … [W]e should without jumping to quick conclusions also consider to which spiritual streams the students belonged … Rudolf Steiner [said] we should consider what we do in education as a continuation of the work of the Hierarchies … [T]he Christ Being working through the Hierarchies can accompany us in our everyday task … Christ in our time is truly reappearing … [I]t is for each one of us to strive towards this reality and find like-minded colleagues [i.e., other Anthroposophical Waldorf teachers] … Rudolf Steiner [said] ‘Anthroposophy seeks in every detail to be a striving towards the permeation of the Christ Impulse in the world.” [pp. 84-88].
To wrap this up, let’s return to the first quotation I offered from THE ESOTERIC BACKGROUND OF WALDORF EDUCATION. It specifies the ultimate religious purpose of Waldorf schooling and it tells how this purpose shapes the curriculum. Waldorf teachers should enact the Christ Impulse, receiving guidance from different godly sources when teaching at different grade levels:
◊ “Rudolf Steiner dealt with the Christ Impulse in pedagogy even before the founding of the first Waldorf school in 1919 … I have made an attempt to bring many of these indications together and especially to follow the ‘golden thread’ of teaching out of the background of the Father (and Mother) forces in the early grades, of the Son forces in the middle grades, and through the Holy Spirit in the high school.” [p. xii]
The references here to Father and Mother have to do with the various complementary sides of spiritual power and wisdom. See, e.g., “God” and “Goddess“. When Anthroposophists speak of the Son and Holy Spirit, they are attempting to link their faith with
“What is the difference between a Waldorf teacher and one who works in the pedagogical world at large? … [T]he Waldorf teacher discovers his or her own profound need to embark on the meditative path … [L]et me quote a verse given by Rudolf Steiner:
In the beginning was Christ,
And Christ was with the Gods,
And a God was Christ.
Deep in each human soul
The Being of Christ indwells.
In my soul too He dwells
And He will lead me
To the true meaning of my life.” [pp. 2-3]
Waldorf teachers seek this meaning, this is their meditative path, and this is the path they hope to steer children toward. (Note, by the way, that in Steiner’s verse Christ is not the Son of God or a member of the Triune God. Christ is a god, one of many.)
◊ “Steiner…called upon the founding circle of twelve teachers [at the first Waldorf school] always to remember that their karma had placed them in that situation and that they would have to reckon with the reality of the spiritual world. He advised them that in the evening, before proceeding with the meditation they had chosen, the should beseech Angels, Archangels, and Archai.
On January 25, 2016 I spoke before Eugene’s Mayor and suggested a Labyrinth Walk at Ken Kesey Square
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.
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
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 
Leave a comment