Um wow. Holy flying monkays and cheesecake cats on pogosticks. Utterly bugflagging crazyness. I’ve recieved replies to the little note I sent my father. They’re sort of “I would contact you, but they would kill us, because the government is secretly run by nazi aliens” letters. I wish I was exaggerating. I asked my mother for his middle name and offered to forward them to her. Vicki doesn’t want them and I don’t blame her. I, however, am going to reply. I want to know more. Where in the city to avoid, if nothing else. As I said to someone already, I would point you to a film illustrating his violence if that sort of film weren’t banned in Canada.
HI Jane
I was rather shocked by your email (20 years of constant effort to reach you) and should have included some further information re safety. Don’t give me any information about the people in your life as Vicki (and all the Gibsons) hate talented people and (obviously) will stoop to anything to destroy them. They particularly like to pick on children – information pending. Every decision Vicki has ever made in her life has been hate based and her only criteria for association is anyone who would assist her in the destruction of my children’s educations. You could have made millions. I have been so afraid that they might kill you that I dropped out of performing music and I have lived in hiding ever since. As long as you have any association with anyone from your past, I will never associate with you. It’s the only way they feel satisfied and won’t kill you. I will maintain email with you for the rest of my life, if you wish. You do deserve to hear the truth before I die. You must also consider that you have been brainwashed by extrememly violent people for twenty years and we are rather concerned about your potential sociability’s around here. (Not your fault … but …)
The government (Genocide) agencies make money by promoting violence and drugs. They have 50% of all N. American children being raised in these violent circumstances. I have never been asked a single question. I have never been answered a single question. They kick my doors in and smash my studios. They will frame me without question about anything at all. Basic Nazi protocol style. I have pounds of letters distributed to every media, Government, United Nations, and enough copies of those letters at the Hall of Fame to wallpaper the joint, and have never received a single concern for your life.
I’m still gonna kick their ass. Look at the blockbuster Farenheit 911. I’m setting up a ‘GenoFighter’ – mock-u-mentarie series. Watch for posters and the Straight. Soon.
Oh Yea – it’s very likely the government has my email tapped. Hell, I’ve got a hotmail generator. Big Deal, I wiouldn’t use it though. Bye Danny
Subject: what is this?
Date: Mon, 19 Jul 2004 00:48:10 +0000
Hello,
It was brought to my attention that there was an ad run in the Vancouver Straight with this e-mail address. May I ask who this is and what you are looking for?
thank you,
J. Holmes
what a bloody week. no time at all but enough time to create a life
I sit here feeling hollow, to discover Dean on-line. Roping words from the cybernetic saddle. He’s made me feel a bit better. Two more people asking why I’m not moving to Calgary, one my mother. She made a little verbal moue of dissapointment when she found out how old he is. “I would just like it if one of these days you date someone closer to your age than mine.” I’m glad I was there at the airport with him. Conversation drying up at first in the car, turning into wit with his friend Dave. There was a brilliant moment of true deja-vu at the Starbucks. Dave leans over, tilt of head just so, “would you like anything?” then seconds later Gavin does it himself. Inflection perfect. I am real now somehow in a way I wasn’t before. These people who are that much his life. I thought at first it was theatrical irony. Leaning over the velvet cord to meet my eyes exactly as the other. *laughter* He makes me happy. Falling to pieces inside, leaving a shell of a life to walk back to. Slowly, step after step, walking instead of taking the bus, some part of me praying I would meet someone I knew. Wanting a ghod, a spark of recognition bringing me back to life.
I swear I felt it. The moment they stepped on. Climbing into the air and what it looked like out the window. Back of my mind, too logical for my own good. The stewardess in the front was a brunette. Best thing I ever had, that Knowing, and I discard it partly always. G-Forces tugging gently at my blood. Best thing I ever had for a long time, that boy. That stretched out body asleep in my bed. Feeling the cord stretch tenous, no break. I can climb these stairs. This won’t be for five years. If I could be on that plane, if I could be there, I might even say no.