| More Ravan | Ravan & Pat |

December 20, 1998

Hello everyone! This isn't a new bio or a poem, just an old letter my brother sent me while I was going through boot camp. Some of you may find it humorous, and well, some of you maybe offended by the contents. What ever your standing is on the "Easter bunny" or the holiday in general has little to do with the story I'm about to share with all of you. The story does involve the Easter bunny himself, but not the holiday or any religious mumbo jumbo. This story is graphic in nature, it deplics violence, the use of shotguns and cute innocent girls that love soft, furry and cute animals like bunny rabbits. Please, if you have small children, dogs, cats or other innocent creatures in your midst, ask them kindly to leave the room. I will NOT be responsible for any mental anguish this letter may cause them! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This letter is typed as is. So please don't criticize the spelling, punctuation or the run-on sentences you will encounter in the letter. Take a deep breathe and start reading, if you pass out, finish it later. Use you brain and correct the errors in your mind please! I don't want to hear about it and NO! I'm not going to correct it ENJOY!

So man, what's going on with you? They treating you OK there; giving you cupcakes every morning and maids to clean your lockers and give you head, or what? I've been one busy son of a bitch what with the end of the semester at school. I'm going crazy; colliding realities and the unending convolutions of the mind lead me to ponder just what the fuck our existence upon this planet, this one tiny, putrid, polluted, noisy, smelling, cold, hot, (IL fait chaud, monfrere) place full of assholes, cockswains, thieves, trollops, whores, pimps, junkies, plumbers, cock suckers who wear cowboy's clothes but have never fucked horses, wimps, politicians (the worst scum of the lot) and fortune tellers; just what our existence here is. The only answer I've found is eating and sex. Any way that's where I'm at this point in my soliloquy that is this letter. On to things real or imagined. There's been a lot of fucking snow out here. The rabbits are hopping all around outside, so cute like the Easter bunny.

" C'mere cute little Easter bunny, oh you're sooooooo cute. Boobsey come here and look at the cute bunny. Grab the shotgun and some shells on the way will you? Oh it's going to be a wonderful thanksgiving! Oh, Boobsey you got the twelve gauge. That's wonderful, and double ought buck. Do you think it's big enough? There weren't any slugs? Darn!"" Now I guess I should tell you at this point of our saga of Boobsey and the Easter bunny that Boobsey is a ten year old girl who wears frilly pink dresses and has tea at precisely ten o'clock every morning. Frug, her father, is a psychotic fashion designer who uses these funny little incidents in their lives for ideas to design with.
"Daddy is that the Easter bunny?" Boobsey hands him the shotgun and a handful of shells.
"Oh honey my poopookins of course not. Now what I want you to do is run out there in the snow and chase the cute little bunny around here to me." What Frug and Boobsey don't know is that indeed this very bunny is in fact the Easter bunny. The Easter bunny is taking a well-deserved vacation and is visiting his family that lives down the hill from Frug's house. His family and children had warned him about coming up to the house for they knew Frug, but he dismissed them by saying, I know all about those asshole humans. They're just a bunch of fucking little pansies that want hard-boiled eggs painted all pretty. Why I'll bet they run around all day with limp wrists jouncing around and eggs in their fucking pockets. If I see one of them up on the hill, I'll stuff an Easter egg up their ass! The Easter bunny was tired of his job. He bounced up the hill grumbling. At about the time the Easter bunny circumvented the hill, Boobsey trounced out of the house. She smiled and made a little yelp of glee when she saw him. She skipped toward him, snow skiffing around her feet, her curled blond hair bouncing in the crisp, cold air. Her smile widening showing her perfect, white teeth. By this time the Easter bunny had thoroughly worked himself into frenzy. His mind screamed at the thought of pansy ass, putrid humans, then he saw Boobsey smiling and bouncing at him. His reaction was instant, she thought he would turn and run like all the other rabbits had before. She didn't know this was the Easter bunny. He launched himself into the air with his powerful hind legs, straight at her face where he landed with a jarring thud. Her scream was cut off by the Easter bunny's foot ramming into her mouth. His other foot dug into her neck, claws extended and he sunk his teeth deep into her scalp. The Easter bunny began gnawing viciously as the blood spewed from Boobsey's skull. Frug lit a cigarette and watched his daughter fall to the ground. He walked up to his thrashing daughter and bent down to examines the furiously moving rabbit on her face. Her screams were muffled but becoming louder as she chewed through the Easter bunny's leg. The Easter bunny's front legs were tangled hopelessly in the girl's hair and it was now gnawing on a piece of her ear that had come away in its mouth. Frug poked the rabbit with the barrel of the shotgun until it was in a position where the blast wouldn't kill his daughter and pulled the trigger. The Easter bunny exploded sending blood and bits of flesh and bones everywhere. Boobsey sat up dazed. Her dress was spattered with blood and bits of gore. Had one seen the dress in other circumstances, they would have thought the design one of purpose and even beauty.

We now return to our regularly scheduled program. Oh so where was I? I had this strange dream. Rabbits and dresses or some kind of shit. Anyway, you're in the marines, so remember the lesson of the Easter bunny. He's a mean rabbit fucker who doesn't give a damn! That's how you gotta be, kick ass mother fucker and don't give a fuck who's ear you bite off. Got it? Take care and I'll see you later.


This is a short poem my brother Gordon wrote his sophomore year of high school. If you all could see the picture that went along with it, you'd have a better idea of what it's about. Since Gordon is no longer with us, I can't say for sure what the poem was really about. My translation suggests that he was taking about how "everyday" life was repetitive, yet the challenges life presented him and his friends on a daily basis and the work that was involved made it all worth while. The moral I see before me is, "Don't see life as repetitive and boring, look a little harder and find that new challenge! Get off your ass and open your eyes, there are always new challenges being presented to each and every one of us, but you must put in the work and be dedication to see the finished results. At the end of the day, look back on the events of the day and ask yourself, "Did I accomplish anything new?" Analyze what was done during the course of the day. You maybe pleasantly surprised to find out that life isn't so repetitive and boring after all. If you can find nothing in the course of the day, you need to look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself "Is it life that's boring, or is it me that makes it boring?"

Gordon was a very accomplished artist. Most of his works were based on his imagination or his feelings. After his death in May of 1984, all of his works were returned for Douglas county high school to our mother. To this day, many of them can be seen hanging on the walls in the house, unfortunately many of his art pieces remain unfinished :/

Dawn soon, comes enough!

For the working class

Here we sit

A shot and a beer

After another hard earned day

My brother Jay wrote this poem in 1993. I don't have a lot of his works, but if you like it and want to see more, let me know and I'll see what I can dig up, or maybe I'll just go bug him for more. I'm not entirely sure what its about, but I'm sure if I read it a few times and keep an open mind, I may figure out what Jay was writing about. Jay currently resides in Fort Collins Colorado. He has a master in English and a minor in math. His dream is to become a college professor and teach creative writing to students that are interested in expanding their minds. His love for writing has motivated him to write a book and get it published. I think the book is about our entire family, which spans 28 years of foster kids and two loving individuals, which everyone of us, call mom and dad. The book is complete, now if he would get off his lazy ass and go find a publisher!

We Were

An easy passing answer in newspaper.	Children
But they weren't		quite there.		I remember the
			Oak were deep green in cold morning.
The sunrise	dew	birth from frost		rusted fences, 
Our legs to our knees.	Yucca spear's pale	flesh in dew, metallic
	Slanted birth sun, 	fallen silver before	after 	before
passing on
The morning		Hair resting dark silvered sun sparks
Coins in an impossible well I wish				I wish
				I wish
I never stop beneath brown grass.  Every where else she was wet
Still warm everywhere else and weeds.		Bruises risen
ripped skin.
	Sun and coins across frost hair.	On this prairie no time
for time
			Clocks.  She still had her
	Still had		stop
	Eyes		open.
In newspaper she was an easy hooker	answer.
		(no bare footprints two
		answer.		Miles down the muddy road)
We stopped, never passed by,	always	stop
			Always goddamn		stop

Matthew M Ketterling "AKA Ravan"

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