Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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Easter is a question they got around to answering on Tuesday

"That coming this way?"

I size up the overweight mestizo astride his bike, sunglasses and stubble armoring his face with character, cowboy hat festooned with decorations, gauzed over in a plastic wrap to keep them from too much elemental damage. The bike is weighed down with a selection of personal belongings, also plastic wrapped, and a battered Elmo doll strapped to the back of it all, lending it’s goggle-eyed ward to those few possessions.

“Traffic?” I ask, mind still slumbering, adrift in Channel 1.

“Clouds,” he replies, attuned to a more substantial frequency, and it is a moment before I catch up.

“Let’s see, east is that way… yeah, rain could be. Couple hours,” I estimated, studying the laden dark sky lumbering in our direction.

“Been good weather, though. Been a good day. Guy gave me this,” he conversates, offering for my inspection a large copper belt buckle bearing a glyphic Eagle. “And this,” he adds, pointing to the bead and ceramic necklace, one among many, feathers and maybe bones as well, all bearing talismanic meanings I cannot quite decipher, or maybe it is enough that I see that there is meaning.

“Nice,” I murmur, nodding gravely.

“Found a ring, too, gold. Hearts and a diamond shape. It was over there, you know, where they’re planting the new trees like that, in the ground. I just looked down, and there it was.

“Forgave my enemies last night, too,” he adds, to my bemused, “No shit?”

“Yeah. I mean, you know people have had to deal with that shit before. Like Crazy Horse, you know. And Red Cloud. Sending that fool off to die,” he dissolves in an earthen shower of unafraid mirth that I cannot help but chuckle along with. “Forgive Judas, you know?” The light changes, and I nod towards it, but we both hesitate for a moment.

“What’s thirty silver pieces, anyway?” I answer finally. “It’s Easter, after all,” he muses as the light changes and we begin across the street, he putting foot to pedal, and distance to the moment; there are things to do today, and neither of us hit the walk button, so the light will last only briefly, and traffic is much less merciful than the rain.

“Easter!” he calls back over his shoulder, and then, in parting, “You know? I keep coming back from the dead!” And I can feel a grin, dormant in this long and dark season, split my face wide open and birth itself before the world, fierce and real, ready to bite the wind.

I am Bruce Lee. I am Jim Morrison. I am the Betrayer and Betrayed, Forgiver and Forgiven, Alone and With You, and the crows keep an eye on me, for my eyes belong to them. Watch over me, Crazy Horse.

I keep coming back from the dead.

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Interesting conversation you had.

Yes, very interesting.

It is one of the great blessings in my life, I think, that I have at least one interesting conversation almost every day. Some of them come from out of nowhere; and some, of course, come from having good friends. ^_^


Has anyone else noticed an odd discrepency in the time stamp for these things? Or is it just my computer messing with my head?

Thank you. I will be sifting the layers in that one for sometime, it feels really familiar, or perhaps I just recognize something in it; the same way you recognized the talisman for its meaning, if not its translation.

You also inspire me to dig at a box of ideas my mother dropped at my feet on Easter. She's really good at that, just dropping comments, so simple but they're like a slow explosion in my brain later.

"I'm sure Judas thought he was doing what was best."

She was watching Jesus of Nazareth on the History Channel, to which I was utterly dubious. But some of the director's (Zefferelli, or something) choices were amazing. James had a sailor's mouth (later author of a famous section on taming the tongue no less). My favourite was that he "created" a backstory for Judas, that the man had been wrapped up in some huge political agenda that he could not later extract himself. In fact, Judas was way more forefront than any other disciple.

Anyway, it got me thinking about forgiveness and mercy. Your piece further propells my brain down the track.

P.S. I think you captured Neil Gaiman's American Gods tone, and blew it out of the water with this. Well done.

I often fail to give my mom credit for being the smart cookie that she is; we disagreed so often about so many things over the years, but now and then she'll hit me with a sharp political or social observation from left field, reminding me that I'm not a changeling baby after all.

Iscariot has always been a fascinating figure; anybody can make a bad judgement call, after all. Hanging with a mad prophet ain't easy, especially when the senseless fools are clearly hell-bent to get themselves killed. I think many of us in this life will betray someone for love before we're through.

And hey, I got nothing on Gaiman, but I have been feeling very Shadow lately. :P

Not a changeling baby, eh? The Amazon Queen often asks, even after all these years of being practically sisters, how the hell I came outta my family. I wonder too. And then sometimes, I get my answer, whether I like it or not.

As for feeling very Shadow, I never woulda guessed! And even if you feel you got nuthan on Gaiman, here is a true statement; it reads well, where you're at, what you're going for, it's all being nicely transmuted into your reader's brain candies. SO FUCKING TAKE YOUR PROPS!


And have a lovely day.

One would think, by this time in my life, I'd have learned better than to contradict a lady in public. ^_^

Props taken; merci beaucoup, mademoiselle.

De rien, mon ami. Je te felicite, et je suis contente de te visiter en juin. C'est voyage sera tres amusante, sans doute.

A plus!

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