Rena’s Cosmic Letter

The sky during the summer is usually clear, so when I saw few high clouds drifting by in the weather satellite photo, I took the opportunity to go up to Mt. Tamalpais above the fog. So did a couple of other photographers on the hill to the right. They seemed so small compared to the grand scene before them, but they also became a perfect focal point for this scene. Even though they were far away, I could still hear them discussing where to stand and point the camera! I could also hear the waves crashing more than 2,000 feet below in the fog. You can see the two photographers in the 1280x1024 wallpaper file, and in the full sized tiff file, you can tell what they are wearing!

The sky during the summer is usually clear, so when I saw few high clouds drifting by in the weather satellite photo, I took the opportunity to go up to Mt. Tamalpais above the fog. So did a couple of other photographers on the hill to the right. They seemed so small compared to the grand scene before them, but they also became a perfect focal point for this scene. Even though they were far away, I could still hear them discussing where to stand and point the camera! I could also hear the waves crashing more than 2,000 feet below in the fog. You can see the two photographers in the 1280×1024 wallpaper file, and in the full sized tiff file, you can tell what they are wearing!

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Rena and I shared out of body experiences in our tent atop our mountain. We left our bodies because of the extreme abuse we suffered as children. We found each other over a long distance. I looked in the ocean and asked where she was. A minute later, she came out of a dark doorway. She came to me last night, while I was awake, and in my dream. When I called her at her grandmother’s in Nebraska in 1971, she said she was just thinking of me.

“I love you more from afar, than near!”

She recites poetry all day while at work. She says she has committed a million poems to memory. This is dissociation. This takes Rena of reality, and keeps her grounded. She is incredibly intelligent. She got all As, and was skipped a grade. Rena needs to be examined and helped by a top rate psychologist. She tore up my letter because I MADE HER AWARE she was leaving her body – and traveling! This is why she avoids people. I saw she had a façade by a waterfall, and talked to that extremely beautiful being, who said;

“Nobodies talked to me before!”

“What do you mean? You’ve conversed with others, right?”

“I mean, no one has really talked to me. You are the first.”

I also made her aware – she really loves me, and never stopped loving me, because she never left me. She didn’t have to. She captured the essence of me, like a long poem. I made her aware of this, and she was afraid she would have to give me back. She saw that we had been sharing the same soul. We were twins. We are soul mates. Christine saw this. This is why she took up art after seeing the large canvas of Rena standing atop our mountain watching the sunset. She wanted to go with!

Trump is a sexual and psychic abuser who uses fear to get people to submit to him. He lies in order to get his victims to doubt reality, and, be dependent on him, not his view of reality, but HIM. I am going to create a Soul Sanctuary, a refuge for us cosmic travelers.

Rena danced with the Royal Ballet. The movie ‘The Black Swan’ is a good example of dissociation. She is all about – perfection! She never misses a step. I asked her for a dance. I have to laugh! She tore my letter into tiny little pieces, put them in a paper sack, and threw them on the Sheriff’s desk.

“I want this man arrested – thrown off my stage!”

She then produces my letter she has rewritten in her hand, that she committed to memory. What kind of creature is this? I asked the Deputy Sheriff………if he was spooked. I asked him if she was still beautiful.

“She danced with the Royal Ballet.”

Jon Presco

Copyright 2017

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dissociation_(psychology)

https://www.myptsd.com/c/threads/dissociation-and-out-of-body-experiences-are-they-the-same.31227/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Out-of-body_experience

Rena Easton’s Christmas Letter

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Two years ago before I recieved a letter from Rena, I learned she was a widow living on the Isle of Wight. I called to her in a blog, with this song.

Rena begins her letter, thus;

“Here I am!”

She is responding to another post. She had not read this one posted on July 26 2012

https://rosamondpress.com/2012/07/26/jesus-and-orpheus-in-hades/

I thought she was dead. I grieved. Her ghost came to console me, be by my side. As fate would have it Rena’s daughter died in a car accident when she was twenty..

ttp://rosamondpress.com/2013/07/21/irene-rena-victoria-easton/

 Former Bozeman High School state debate champion Kathleen Anne
“Katie” Easton, passed away as a result of an automobile accident early
Sunday, Jan. 10, 1999.  She was born April 20, 1979, to Irene (Rena) and
Admiral Sir Ian Easton, K.C.B. D.S.C. on the Isle of Wight, England.

I had compared our relationship to Orpheus and Eurydice. This time, I rise from Hades to be with my beautiful and beloved muse once again. I called to her, while looking down at the waves. She emerged from a darkened door in te dead of night, and asked;

“Can I walk with you?”

“A year ago the spirit of Rena Christiansen came to live with me. She is still here. She married a Commodore and lived on the Isle of Weight. Her husband died, leaving her with two children. Her grief at being left behind was overwhelming. She had no ties with her natal family, and may not have been accepted by her husband’s family. I believe Rena died in an automobile accident in a foreign land, and her husband’s upper class family took her children into their closed circle. When I began my portrait of Rena – she winged home. She is my Eurydice. She is Andromeda I was her Hero who rescued her by the sea. I took her to the mountain of the ‘Sleeping Maiden’ and showed her heaven, we above the blanket of fog that came in my the sea.”

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https://rosamondpress.com/2012/07/26/the-dead-communicating-with-the-living/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orpheus_and_Eurydice

Apollo gave his son Orpheus a lyre and taught him how to play. This Orpheus did to such perfection that even Apollo was surprised. It is said that nothing could resist his music and melody, neither enemies nor beasts. Even trees and rocks were entranced with his music.

Orpheus fell in love with Eurydice, a woman of unique beauty; whom he married and lived happily with for a short time. However, when Hymen was called to bless the marriage, he predicted that their perfection was not meant to last.

A short time after this ominous prophecy, Eurydice was wandering in the forest with the Nymphs, when Aristaeus, a shepherd, saw her and was beguiled by her beauty. He made advances towards her and began to chase her when she attempted to flee. As Eurydice sprinted through the forest, she managed to escape him, but was tragically bitten by a snake and died instantly.

Orpheus sang his grief with his lyre and managed to move everything living or not in the world; both humans and gods were deeply touched by his sorrow and grief.

Apollo then advised his son to descend to Hades and see his wife. Any other mortal would have died, but Orpheus, protected by the gods, went to Hades and arrived at the infamous Stygian realm, passing by ghosts and souls of people unknown. He also managed to charm Cerberus, the monster known to have three heads. Orpheus presented himself in front of the god of the Underworld Hades (Pluto) and his wife Persephone.

Orpheus played his lyre, melting even Hades’ cold heart. Hades told Orpheus that he could take Eurydice with him but under one condition; Eurydice would follow him while walking out to the light from the caves of the Underworld, but he should not look at her before coming out to the light because he would lose her forever. If Orpheus was patient enough he would have Eurydice as a normal woman again by his side.

Orpheus was delighted; he thanked the gods and left to ascend to the world. He was trying to hear Eurydice’s steps, but he could not hear anything and he started believing that the gods had fooled him. Of course Eurydice was behind him, but as a shadow, waiting to come to light to become a full woman again. Only a few feet away from the exit, Orpheus lost his faith and turned to see; Eurydice was behind him, but her shadow was whisked back among the dead. Eurydice was gone forever.

Orpheus tried to return to the Underworld but a man cannot enter the realm of Hades twice while alive. According to various versions of the myth, Orpheus started playing a mourning song with his lyre, calling for death so that he could be united with Eurydice forever. Orpheus is ultimately killed either by beasts tearing him apart, or by the Maenads, in a frenzied mood. According to another version, Zeus decided to strike him with lightning knowing Orpheus would reveal the secrets of the Underworld to humans.

In any case, Orpheus died but the Muses decided to save his head and keep it among the living people to sing for ever, enchanting everyone with the lovely melodies and tones.

As for the Christmas card that came with Rena’s letter, I wonder if it was the source of alarm. A tiny piece of glitter had come off of it, and found its way to page one. For me, this speck became a star, that we could follow like Hanzel and Gretal, it taking us out of the darkness children of alcoholics find themselves in. Did Rena believe I was suggesting we live happily ever after together, and thus feel stalked? What I was suggesting was bringing our stories together so that we can be a shining star of hope to others. This was how I saw my autobiography ending.

Before you read what’s coming next, there is an account of me having a conversation with Jesus. My major copyright is a special one that protects all the writing of ministers. I am the head of my Nazarite Church. Let us not go bothering the sheriff with any more – alleged fear!

In 1989, I read the Bible for the first time. At 4:00 in the morning, I put Jesus to the test. I was not a believer. I closed my eyes and asked him to come into the darkness of family incest, and help us. And, there he was, radiating slivers of gold light. He said this to me;

“Be not afraid. I and my father in heaven are already working with these matters. Spiritual Courage, will be met with Spiritual Courage.”

“I saw the star making its way from your tree, to the snow in your poem, and then to me. It was so full of life. It was the promise of a completely happy life that has eluded you and I since we can remember.

I too was held prisoner. Both my parents were violent and insane alcoholics that played evil games with their four children till the day they day – and after.”

In her letter, Rena told me she deals with fear almost every hour of the day. That tiny little speck of glitter, was the fulfillment of a promise.

Jon Gregory Presco

President: Royal Rosamond Press

Copyright 2014

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Dear Rena

About ten this evening I put on my slippers and went to get my mail. I pulled a bundle out and noticed your letter nestled in a packet. On the walk back to my apartment I took a peek and noticed the beautiful handwriting, and the name “Rosemond”. There was this energy pouring from the envelope and flowing up my arm. When I opened it and saw the name “Bozeman” I began to cry. For several minutes I sobbed, let go tears of great relief as if you were my child who had been kidnapped, or lost, for all these years. And, now…..you are found.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Love Letter to Rena

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Here is my love letter to Rena. It ends thus;

“And as for our dance – may I take your hand and lead you to the floor?

Enclosed is my story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I wrote in one day in 1989. I then spliced Enya’s music into it, the next day. Since then I have approached a couple of dancers about making this story come alive on stage. None cared to listen. When I read Kathleen loved Celtic music, I wondered if Enya was her favorite. Of course I wonder about the child we never made. But, she is born in this story. She is reborn with the vision of a sculptor, to dance once more, she a fair maiden, always with a song in her heart.

Play this while lying on the floor with a quilt and a candle – and no interruptions.”

I contacted Rena three years ago. We had not spoken since 1971. I asked her to send me a photograph of her profile. She sent me a long letter, and I replied. We have not seen each other, nor do I know where she lives. We are Heirs to the Benton Artistic and Historic legacy. Christine Rosamond Benton took up art in 1972 after seeing my portrait of Rena, whom she met in 1970.

https://rosamondpress.com/2013/07/27/the-birth-of-venus-5/

Here is a warm-up video. Note Steve Bannon lurking in the background.

Jon Presco

My Letter To Rena

cabin33I just got off the phone with Deputy Sheriff Dan Mayland. I called him to see if a professional arbitrator could contact Rena, so we could resolve the misunderstandings between us. Dan told me this would be third-party contact, and not permitted.

I asked Dan when the charge of Stalking was made against me. He said it was around Jan. 24. I asked Dan if he read Rena’s letter on my blog. He said no, but, he had read a copy of Rena’s letter to me. What?

Dan then told me the strangest thing I ever herd. Rena copied her letter to me, from memory, and, I think he told me she copied my letter to her, because, she tore that up in anger after she showed it to someone who read it, and, concluded I was a very dangerous person. What? This has got to be making literary history! I mean, this is the final contact between the artist and his muse! This has a Japanese feel to it.

The way Dan told it, Rena was not quite sure if she was in grave danger, and thus this un-named person offered their interpretation. Did Rena trudge though five fee of snow to get to the other loner on yonder hill?

Let us assume this person is a woman who has been abused, and, she may be a Christian. It can not be a dude, because he is not interested in the slightest of reading a letter from another dude. This is not guy entertainment. If she is a Christian, this would explain the destruction of my letter, because – it is of Satan? Can you imagine owning a photographic memory that doesn’t forget anything – including your abuse? It is as fresh and freshly fallen snow. Why, let it go?

I told Dan Rena expresses being afraid several times in her letter. The question is, if I wanted to get next to her as a Stalker, why would I say anything alarming? I told Dan Rena was responding to my blog in her letter. I said there were things on my blog that might alarm Rena. Dan said Rena had no problem with my bog. How about the third party who got to read my private correspondence? I am the one whose privacy is being invaded. I am the one who is being harassed and intimidated by – paranoids! Here are exerts from Rena’s letter;

“I enjoy being peaceful instead of afraid. I have felt way too much fear.”

“I actually have a few friends. That is not easy, as I tend to isolate myself.”

“I feel apprehensive about wolves rather than rapists.”

Afraid of wolves? Doesn’t Rena’s husband own a gun?

Children who are severely abused have a problem with fear and trust all their lives. After fearing her normal fear, she goes to her friend to get her opinion on whether she should trust me. This friend reads my letter and makes a mental note of the things I say that might indicate I am not to be trusted – and my intentions are to get next to Rena and hurt her. This friend thinks she is helping Rena, but, they are tweeking on fear. They get spooked and destroy my letter. Then, they reconstruct it, along with Rena’s letter to me, and take it to the sheriff. How many times has Dan dealt with this kind of stuff in Meth Boon State?

How long did it take Rena to rewrite both letters? You’ve seen her precise handwriting. Did they work on it through the night, they desperately trying to recall my every word, and get it right? Do they need this as evidence in order to file a stalking charge? Why not go on the internet and look for evidence there I am the most deceptive and cunning Stalker of Women of all time. Why didn’t this Big Bad Wolf write a simple letter if I wanted to get in the front door and rape and murder? The answer is, if they show Dan my blog, then he’ll say;

“Riddle solved! It’s another crazy-ass blogger! These dudes can’t tear themselves away from their computer long enough to kill the ants in the kitchen.”

I talked to my friend Chris and Marylyn about the charge Rena filed. Both are abused women and were very sad to hear this.

Chris and I wondered why Rena spent hours writing her letter, on Christmas Day. She is not a work reciting poems. Why isn’t she cooking a X-Mas meal for her husband? Does he have friends, if so, why are they not at his friend’s house? How about family? Rena has not family. She says she has a few friends, but, they are with their family. Rena is all alone.

In Rena’s letter she agrees to be my Muse, but, says she can not be my Muse in residence. Here is the first sentence that got the attention of the Dynamic Witch Hunters From Outer space;

“I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you?”

If you are a Christian the words “psychic search” or of Satan. The Two Tweekers of Fear, recognize who is looking for Rena and employing her old boyfriend. My letter is heading for the flames as these women work up a froth and a sweat.

After it is burned, they realize this was not enough to foil Satan, so, eight hours is burned up recalling Satan’s letter so the sheriff can be summoned, because, Rena does not have a husband! She lives in that trailer by herself. This is why she feels afraid. She says her husband is very ill, but, if it is judged I am safe, Rena might consider living with me, after they bury the piece of fiction they created. My neighbor takes her father’s big shoes with her when she camps by herself and puts them outside her tent.

Dan reassured me Rena has no problem with me writing about her on my blog. Of course, THEY are tracking me, studying my every move, scrutinizing everything I say. Then, out come the kit.

I asked Dan how the weather was, being another Artic Vortex is on the way. He said it is snowing and is about 30 degrees below zero. Yep, it’s going to be a long boring winter, where you only got your fear to keep you company.

I do hope Rena has a computer in her trailer. How about a T.V.? How about as the wind howl outside creating snowdrifts, there is Rena wrapped in blanket, reciting poem No. 12,678 that she had memorized.

“I fear you better afar, than near!”

Yep, I am the winter thriller! And, I am reminded of ‘The House of Flying Daggers’ and the Echo Dance. The actress Ziyi Zhang is the only woman on earth who comes close to Rena’s energy. They are both dancers. I was the happiest man in the world when I was certain I would see Rena dance. When I learned she recites poems while she works, then here is a Haiku Poem for every bean tossed.
Here is the pure beauty of genius, captured, and wasted. Somone had to do it. I may be so unlucky I knew her.

A witch poisoned her mind against me, and against the world. Is that not how the story goes? So, we sit upon out lonely hill, in the snow. We stare into the flame of the candle. And we go, where only a very few have gone, as we feel the utter desolation of our Supreme Loneliness. For we erred so long ago. We were the one, for the other. We understand destiny more than any two souls.

The people are gone. The city is gone. We can feel each other in our Buddhist state. Shall we drop our veils of illusion, upon the summer’s grass, beneath the snow?

I dedicate this song to….The Artic Freeze!

Greg

Dear Rena

About ten this evening I put on my slippers and went to get my mail. I pulled a bundle out and noticed your letter nestled in a packet. On the walk back to my apartment I took a peek and noticed the beautiful handwriting, and the name “Rosemond”. There was this energy pouring from the envelope and flowing up my arm. When I opened it and saw the name “Bozeman” I began to cry. For several minutes I sobbed, let go tears of great relief as if you were my child who had been kidnapped, or lost, for all these years. And, now…..you are found.

In the history of letter writing, and receiving, I don’t think anyone was ever so moved. Then, I opened the envelope and read; “Here I am”.

If these were the only words this letter contained, then I had way more then enough to read for the rest of my days. My cup runneth over.

Before I discuss the content, I found something when I read your letter the second time. In the white-out on page one there was the faintest speck of green glitter. It sparkled at me like a distant star. It was the essence of you to go with “Here I am!” It went with the date the letter was written – Christmas Eve. I saw the star making its way from your tree, to the snow in your poem, and then to me. It was so full of life. It was the promise of a completely happy life that has eluded you and I since we can remember.

I too was held prisoner. Both my parents were violent and insane alcoholics that played evil games with their four children till the day they day – and after.

Over a year ago I began a painting of you. One night after I lie down to go to sleep, you lie down next to me. You were seventeen again. I jumped out of bed. For a month you appear by my side as I walked. When I went to a movie, I was not quite alone. I told my friends I have a very friendly – and beautiful ghost.

“Do you think she is dead?” a friend dare ask.

I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you? I wondered if you were held a prisoner of a abusive and crazy man who had to have you all to himself. I saw that you were in a very dark dungeon. I wanted to free you. I was heart broken when I could not. I have never known such emotions. I don’t know if anyone ever has. I had to stop working on your portrait.

I told my childhood sweetheart about your visits. We concluded you had a very abusive childhood, and were a prisoner of that abuse. Marilyn was abused by her father and we have helped each other break the bars to our cells.

To read that you were abused and scarred for life is a hand and a voice that comes across the chasm, and I embrace these dark truths with all my heart and soul. For, it is said we recognize each other from across the room. And this is how we met! When you saw me walking on the pier you sent out that angel abused children own, to test the waters, to see if I was the one you could trust – when you really need someone to trust. Our damaged trust is like the tiny speck of green, so full of hope that is not diminished, but only in retreat. You were so brave to ask your question; “Can I walk with you?”

“I was expecting you!” I answered.
“What do you mean?

I walked with you tonight, my dear Rena, in the field of your forever fears, you fearing the wolves rather then the rapists. Is this you preparing me for the truth you are not that stunning beautiful for of perfection, anymore, and just a redneck meal on the way t the outhouse?

I heard you debate for the last six months, you wondering whether I would judge you because the man you love is a cowboy, and you his cowgirl. I heard you arguments, and you read mine? Have you been peeking at my Rosemond blog. Do you recall my plan to move to Lincoln and rent an old barn that would be my studio. I mean, I was willing to come on over, and buy me a chicken or two?

“You won’t like it here.” You said. “There’s nothing here!”

“You’re here!” Was my reply. And you could hear the sound of the tumbling tumble weeds way off in the distance.

“Here I am!” You could not have began you letter a better way. I guess you changed your mind? LOL!

I come from real Redneck stock, and of late I have admitted I always wanted to be a cowboy. And you were my land-loven archetype who feared the sea. That you lived on the Isle of Wight with a Sailor man – blows my mind. Did Ian get you in his boat – and out to sea!

For you, my dear, I will kiss the first redneck I see. For you, I will overcome my fear of them. If he don’t break my neck, I’ll let you know how it go.

However, folks in Springfield (Springtucky) think I’m a lovable Redneck because I drive ‘The Truck’ a 1972 Ford four wheel drive with a great shell folks try to buy from me. It’s Oregon law that some guy with Grey hair has to drive ‘The Truck’. that I named ‘Big Blue’. In the bed I got a antique gas can, ice chest, a water cooler, and a real hemp rope. My grandfather, who I never met, was raised in Montana. He was a real cowboy.

I am so glad you love to work, and you are a janitor. I was afraid you had fallen in with the Lords and Ladies of the European Jet set. You must write about that crowd some time, and tell me about your life with Ian. I love this man because he loved you and you born his children. I was so concerned you would grow old, childless. Did Ian buy you a fine evening dress?

Sometimes when I got ‘Big Blue’ out on the highway I make a left turn in my mind, and come to Nebraska to get you. And then we head to Alaska where we build our cabin. Have you ever wanted to build a house from scratch? Do you wear blue overalls?

Since your visitations ended, I began to design a house for you to dwell in. It’s a hobby of mine to turn on the T.V. And work on floor plans. You have been placed in a home with only 670 square feet, to a castle with 6,000. When I learned you married a Commander, I built stone estates with seven gables around you, so you would always have a place to dwell in this cruel word. I did consider a trailer. I did! Yes, Rena wants to live here, I said; And alas you said…………

“Here I am!”

Oh, sweety. You were not cruel and mean yo me. I guess you read in my blog where I made you so. I did this because I got no reply after I found you. I was having trouble with my sexual identity. When we met. Both my parent were sexually abusive to their children. Abused children have intimacy problems and are very inventive, even magical in their attempt to over come them. This was us – is us! I don’t think we knew how beautiful we were, together, in our bravest attempt to own what others have, so easily. Our little fist-fight on the Dodge were blows aimed at our true betrayers who still create great distances between the one we love, the one we deserve. If we can be that to one another, then, we can love anyone, let each other go, let the darkness go, to be loved in all the majesty. We’ve paid our dues! We are home free! Dont you know I embraced the darkness in you? Don’t you know I was in love – with even your shadow?

Here I am, Rena. Your dear brilliant friend who alas knows he met and fell in love with a brilliant woman. You are a Poet. How wonderful. We can meet here, in our poetry. There is such a refinement in you. Where did it come from? I know you wonder about it – every day!

In our meeting again, we can do anything. We can be perfect. We can own that idea of perfection that has eluded us for most of our life. We will forever be Adult-Children of Alcoholics, but, this time we get to choose our play-mates -without fear. We get to be happy – forever. We are special siblings. We will never be rejected again. We get to behold that tiny green star at the end of our lives and know;

“Alls well, that end well!”

It has been such an honor to know you.

Love

Jon Gregory

P.S. Rena, I thought I spent Christmas alone. My family let their abusive back ground take them to the dark side. My sixteen year old daughter came into my life in 2000. She bonded with a abusive drinker, and he wants my seven year old grandson to only bond with him. I was in such grief over this as I made my way to the mailbox. I did not get one Christmas card this year. Never was I ore convinced there was nothing in the mailbox for me.

Then I beheld the date on the letter. Your words came to me in my loneliest night from faraway as you wrote them. This is beyond romantic! There is justice in the world, There is love in the world. I will never be that alone again. You brought me a glimmer of great hope. You freed me of something that I can not describe. What a gift you have always been, and, a inspiration. My family took everything from me, but, they didn’t get you! They didn’t get you!

You found me again, in my greatest need to be found. And you free me from my dark dungeon.

I have no Muse Hall of Fame. I do have a dear friend in the world. Sing Hallelujah!

P.S.S. Rena, I can’t sleep. I am so excited! We were in our tent and I was telling you I was a great dancer when I was when I was 13 to seventeen years old. I used to dance in front of a big mirror a half hour before I went to school, and a half hour when I came home. I choreographed my own moves. I invented dancing without a partner at Oakland High School in 1962, when I was sixteen. Fifty of my schoolmates would surround me and my partner as I did a solo ten feet away from her. I would go into a trance. When Marilyn turned sixteen, I danced the Bolero for her with my shirt off. Lucky girl!

When I heard you had become a dancer, I was thrilled out of my whits because, this proves you were ‘The One’. You see, I have been jealous of the world since I met you. – before I met you, I was utterly jealous that we never got to dance together, that the world got to see you dance – on your beautiful stage. When did you get into dancing, and why?

When I was young, and before we met, I had a dream about you almost every day. You were my invisible dance partner. Was that our destiny that we missed? Was that the big chance of our lifetime? What a dance team we would have made. They would know us at the ‘The Kiss of Eternal Fire’, or ‘The Fiery Kiss of Eternity’

“They loved each other better afar, than near. And when they came together, they did the Fandango!”

We are playing with fire, Aries woman. Playing with fire! Right here – and so very far away!

I mean, my God, I read about your hip replacement, and we are in a movie, based upon a book, that I am writing, and……are we really going to spend the last days of our life together wondering how many eggs the chickens laid today!

I will take care of you when the needs arises.

And as for our dance – may I take your hand and lead you to the floor?

Enclosed is my story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I wrote in one day in 1989. I then spliced Eny’s music into it, the next day. Since then I have approached a couple of dancers about making this story come alive on stage. None cared to listen. When I read Kathleen loved Celtic music, I wondered if Enya was her favorite. Of course I wonder about the child we never made. But, she is born in this story. She is reborn with the vision of a sculptor, to dance once more, she a fair maiden, always with a song in her heart.

Play this while lying on the floor with a quilt and a candle – and no interruptions.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

High Noon In Florida

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Trump and Melania did High Noon in Florida. Alas, Helen of High Noon makes her appearance, as promised. In broken English, she defends her beleaguered man who just wants to defeat the bad guys, and bring a Great Safeness to America. But, the evil press do not want Americans to feel safe. This is why they fill the airwaves with fake news that alarms the Children of God, who don’t like to be alarmed, and hate to be afraid. That’s not true! They pray for the End of Days and Armageddon, which Tiny Trump is appearing to start with his Muslim Ban. The Trumps are not Christians!

Rena is always afraid. She is………the Beating Heart of America! We Americans are more than happy to spend a million dollars protecting Melania. Beautiful women need to feel safe, more than other women. This goes for Christian Women. Grace Kelly married the Prince of Monaco and wore a real crown. Do women want beauty, money, power?

http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/mccain-defends-free-press-thats-how-dictators-get-started/ar-AAn5wJE?li=BBmkt5R&ocid=spartandhp

Jon Presco

Waiting For Artaud

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cooper8The Theatre of Cruelty and Cultural Warfare is coming to Emerson Center For Arts & Culture





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The Merciful Bare-chested Angel

Dedicated to Rena Easton.

Rosamond Press

The Merciful Bare-Chested Angel

by

Jon Gregory Presco

January 14, 2014

Has there been enough said
about the memories of old men
their dalliance with lovers past
when their sex is gone?

Somehow, very gradually
we came to terms with the end
of our ability to bring home our prey.
We patiently awaited the bad news’
we would never again attract her
that beautiful young thing.

No sooner has the raw deal
been sewn to our missing manhood
in increments
and just after the doctor of the older souls
creeps out of the room
here she come
our bare-chested angel

And she come over you
and lay her breast against your breast.
You feel the tingling touch
of naked skin against naked skin.
Heart beating against heart
she whispers in your deaf ear
so no one but you can hear
“Is this enough? Is this what you miss
most of…

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Artaud’s Homage to Van Gough

In January 2014 I did a series of posts about a imaginary Art Festival being held in Bozeman Monatana. Artaud and VanGough were coming in on the high noon train to attend. They represented the foreign eliment lacking in this cowboy town. To read the article wherein the Bozeman Arts Thing, defends the National Endowment of the Arts, is why Trump fears artists more than the press. “As executive orders continue, Americans need to keep their focus on assessing their merits in terms of community. For example, the federal arts and history funding programs, National Endowment for the Arts and National Endowment for the Humanities, are possibly going to be terminated.
Budgetary considerations can hardly be the reason as these organizations operate in the millions, not billions, something akin to one or two military aircraft. Yet they touch every state, providing funding and opportunities for opera companies (consider Bozeman’s own Intermountain Opera), for hundreds of Shakespeare productions through outreach to rural communities, for museums, theatre companies, and for grants to arts and history training programs for young people – cultural enrichment for communities in 50 states.”

Rosamond Press

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Rena Victoria’s return in a more fleshy form (ink and paper) is equivalent to Eve returning to Adam in Paradise. A New Genesis is under way, as I own four pages of divine suggestions worthy of the Sistine chapel, such as this one;

“I see you are quite left-leaning. Please do not, in your urban world, be too hard on cattle producers and red-neck women. We are human too!”

Perhaps this is not a commandment from the omnipotent pedagogy, but, it is a wished for course correction that points the prow of my ship towards a more feminine, thus peaceful star. If I don’t want the source of my inspiration flow, to be cut-off, I will do my best to write the most profound apology in the history of the English language. James Joyce, move over.

For a warm up I am going to author a short story about two…

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Employing Beauty and Fear

Melania Trump disembarks Donald Trump's plane at a campaign event at the Wilmington International Airport in Wilmington, North Carolina, on November 5, 2016. The cost of housing Melania in New York's gold-gilded Trump Tower costs roughly $1 million a day, far outstripping the budgets of many programs Donald Trump would like to abolish. (Photo: Damon Winter / The New York Times)Melania Trump disembarks Donald Trump’s plane at a campaign event at the Wilmington International Airport in Wilmington, North Carolina, on November 5, 2016. Housing Melania in New York’s gold-gilded Trump Tower costs roughly $1 million a day, far outstripping the budgets of many programs Donald Trump would like to cut. (Photo: Damon Winter / The New York Times)

Donald Trump has vowed to cut the federal budget by $10.5 trillion over 10 years, eliminating approximately all of the federal government’s discretionary spending. One of the few specifics of his proposal involves eliminating the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), along with The National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH), and the privatization of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

Homeland Security Secretary John F. Kelly has signed sweeping new guidelines that empower federal authorities to more aggressively detain and deport illegal immigrants inside the United States and at the border.

In a pair of memos, Kelly offered more detail on plans for the agency to hire thousands of additional enforcement agents, expand the pool of immigrants who are prioritized for removal, speed up deportation hearings and enlist local law enforcement to help make arrests.

their areas. Museums, musical groups, history and humanities programs, annual festivals and creative arts projects not only bring cultural and employment opportunities for residents, they attract and hold the attention of people looking to relocate.

We know the arts bring communities together. They give people opportunities to learn about our local, national and world histories, our stories. The arts are expressive and develop our minds. Developmental education research shows children thrive personally and intellectually through the arts. In turn, learning about our history is crucial for understanding and connecting to place and community, and for helping our communities thrive in the future.

http://www.broadwayworld.com/article/In-Their-Own-Words-Arts-Organizations-on-the-Importance-of-the-National-Endowment-for-the-Arts-20170218#

https://www.aol.com/article/news/2017/02/18/melania-opens-president-trumps-campaign-rally-with-lords-praye/21716918/

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First lady Melania Trump kicked off President Donald Trump’s campaign rally in Melbourne, Florida on Saturday by reciting the Lord’s prayer and telling the crowd she will “always stay true to myself, and be truthful to you.”

“I didn’t know Melania would be reading the Lord’s prayer,” Trump said following the first lady’s remarks.

The crowd at Orlando-Melbourne Airport greeted Mrs. Trump with a loud ovation. “It is a great honor and great pleasure to stand here before you as the first lady of the United States,” the former model said.

Imortalizing Belle Burch

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https://rosamondpress.com/2014/05/19/25716/

Belle Burch
To Me

Apr 19 at 9:41 PM

Hell yes I want to see a dance show on Broadway. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show. I’ve been in NYC twice but failed both times to get overpriced tickets to any Broadway shows enough in advance to make one. Why do you ask?

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?

Jon

I feel I have emerged from the Labyrinth. I feel, so free to say this without regret, without shame, without remorse….I am in love with Belle Burch!

This is a victory for both of us, for within minutes of beholding her, I knew I was going to immortalize her. I knew she was the one after capturing her in a video. I turned off my camera in order to explain to her why she is the one. I just said the name “Rosamond”.

I regretted turning off my camera, and later, wondered why. The answer is……….this was something that just concerned us. This was something just between her and I. This was love. I did it………..for love! This is what lovers do, they retreat from the world, and go to that very special place. How many lovers believe they were destined for one another?

Belle took my number. For a week she did not call. I went looking for her in Ken Kesey Square. She was not there. Three women is costume were selling tickets to the Roller Derby. I bought two. When Belle did not call, I went by myself. Perhaps fate would have it that she bought a ticket too. As the skaters went round and round the track, Belle did not appear. I assessed how old I was, and came up with thirteen. My heart was pounding. My breath was taken away, more than once. I could not stop looking at the video, and that shot where she looks dead at me. Then, she smiles. She feels the truth. She knows, as many women know, I am attracted to her. This is the oldest ritual known to Humankind. Am I aware of our age difference. Yes. But for that, everything would have turned out different. But for that, I would not be hunted down as a sex fiend and stalker.

Jennifer Murphy – Miss Oregon

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Jennifer Murphy, Miss Oregon at the Miss USA 2004 Official Swimsuit Photo Shoot poolside at the Universal City Hilton, Universal City, CA. 04-02-04

Jennifer Murphy, Miss Oregon at the Miss USA 2004 Official Swimsuit Photo Shoot poolside at the Universal City Hilton, Universal City, CA. 04-02-04

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https://rosamondpress.com/2016/09/28/beauty-and-the-anti-mission-statement/

Krysta Albert – Racist Republican

“Back in December, after Natriana Shorter, who is African-American, won the crown for Miss Oregon, Albert commented on a KEZI news story that, “I know this is going to sound racist and it’s not my intention. But I can’t help but think it’s awfully strange that a woman of color would represent [the] state of Oregon. The state that has one of the smallest amount of minorities of any race compared to other states. And yes, she is very beautiful.”

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Artful Stalker Four

I made these videos three years ago. I am seeing the coming of Melania and Trump who is obsessed with capturing beautiful women.

Rosamond Press

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On January 27, 2014 I got a call from Deputy Sheriff, Dan Mayland, that my Muse, and old girlfriend, Rena Easton – who I had not seen since 1970 – had filed charges in Galliten County Montana – saying I was Stalking her. Rena had written me a four page letter on Christmas Day. She made references to this blog. I do not know how she got my address. I did not know whether she was dead or alive.

After receiving my letter I mailed on January 10th. Rena became alarmed at all or some of the content, and showed it to a un-named person. This person confirmed Rena’s paranoia was spot-on, and she angrily destroyed my letter. In order to own proof I was Stalking her, Rena wrote a copy of my letter, and a copy of the letter she wrote me, and showed it to Dan Mayland. Dan…

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