Love letter to Gomez

If you bike in the Chicago burbs, you may have seen me. I'm the one hustling along with the crack-monkey grin. You see, I love my bike.
It's been like dating, I've had to straddle a few before I found exactly the right fit. There was some squandered money, until I decided that the longer rides I was taking justified a nicer bike that fits me and my needs. I cannot understand the love of mountain bikes, especially in this flat, manicured trail having portion of Illinois. They're like the bike version of an SUV. They require a ton more energy to push along, they aren't all that comfortable, and it's not like 90% of the people who have one are going to be doing any of the extreme types of riding the bike is built for.
So Gomez, my bike, he is tall and has mid weight tires, not only for streets, but not hugely knobbled for the gravelled hills I won't be seeing. He's a guys bike (mostly because that was less expensive for all the same features and I don't see the point of bike sexism).
As to the biking itself, well, the small part of my mind that likes to make contingency plans for the collapse of society is much pleased by the fact that I can finish up a twenty mile ride in just over an hour. The cheap bit of my brain is WAY pleased with being able to drive once a week or less. It just makes me feel free and effective and happy, and gives me a measure of respect for how cool my body can be.
Also...I love how the witch's theme music from Wizard of Oz always goes through my head every time I ride, and it just keeps getting funnier!!

This is a fiction piece, a short story which may become a long story and may also garner some illustrations....we shall see.

Raising Al


“Did you bring the myrhh?”
“Of course. Here’s the poppet.”
Both of us, Vivian and I, were shivering with excitement. She lit the quarter candles, called the directions and cast the circle round with salt,water,smoke and flame. I readied our altar as Vivian paced solemnly round me deosil. We crossed our fingers and thought hard about how invisible we were. I laid our poppet, actually a mildly reconstructed cabbage patch doll, on his grave. We linked hands over the top of the poppet and meditated to build energy, I felt jittery as she started softly chanting. I focused hard on feeding is into the ether, calling, seeking creating a funnel with the poppet at the end. I marked him with a glyph and joined the chant with his full name. Alphonse Gabriel Capone envisioning it a beacon to guide him home…or lodge him in the doll that was a much more whole receptacle than the remains laying below. I felt a snap, a draining, and the jitters were gone. I sagged on my knees.

We each pricked a thumb and put the required three drops of blood upon the doll’s lips. We purified the circle with a smoking bundle of sage. Vivian closed the circle, walking with our athame and laying its blade flat to my heart as she finished. I felt slightly revived and looked to the poppet. No trace of movement from the doll.
“I told you, we should have used a handmade doll. he doesn’t feel welcome.”
“Maybe we should have stuck to the Latin.”

“or dug up a bit of his original body…?
“Ah well.” I said. “There’s always next Samhain.”
“True enough. Hey, Heather, could you get the gym bag?” I picked up the black nylon bag she indicated. We stalked quietly back across Mt. Carmel towards our house. I felt heavy with disappointment, but tried to focus on being stealthy. The cops tend to ignore the explanation of religious service when you creep around the graveyard at three a.m. on Hallows morning.
“Man, this bag stinks.”
“Vivian, keep your voice down. You wanna get caught?”
“I didn’t say anything!”
We both stopped, electric chills zooming down our legs, and crouched in the shadow of the huge central mausoleum. With the slight dip in the land, we were cupped in a moonlit city of the dead. Vivian tenderly laid down her burden and it squirmed as if a cat were trapped inside. We looked up at each other in the moonlight, insane grins looping our jaws.
A stuffed hand poked out savagely as she slid down the zipper. The doll sat up in the chill light of bella luna and shook it’s brown mop of yarn hair. The insipid plastic pout didn’t change as the rough growling voice berated us. “What the hell died in here? Your ass? What the..? “ The wide childish eyes never moved nor blinked but his head rotated jerkily on the stretchy fabric neck. “this ain’t Miami!”
Vivian looked at me and nodded gently. I am the diplomat when we meet new people, she likes to sit back and observe quietly. “No, Mr. Capone. You have been dead for quite a long while. My name is Heather, this is Vivian. We’re ummmm, witches. Your soul kind of slipped and was lost, so we brought you back into, well, a sort of replacement body.”
he rotated his head down to take in his little stuffed body. We tried to be kind and dress him in a pinstripe suit so he’d feel better than a diaper and overalls. He still wasn’t happy as he realized he had little to no sensation and no, hmm, male equipment.
“what the fuck is wrong with you? This isn’t no replacement. This is.....is...” He was sputtering and we were concerned about official involvement. I gently suggested that we take this to the house. He sighed and pushed himself to his squishy feet. he toddled a few steps and went straight don on his cushy signatured rump.
“here, Mr. Capone, I’ll give you a ride.”
Vivian picked him up and we moved along towards the house. He was silent and when I glanced over Vivian gave me a wry grin. His face was snuggled into the sweet cleft of her breasts. We squirmed through the gate and ran home, afloat with success. Al had nothing to say of his jouncing ride. we panted into our living room and flipped on lights. Vivian set Al on the papasan and we grabbed some grounding peanut butter bread and soy milk. He grumbled but settled in with interest when we turned on the t.v.
“So, how come you ladies put me in this little package? Afraid?”
I laughed at him.”No, too hard to smuggle a full size poppet into the graveyard.” Vivian nodded in ruefull memory.
“I don’t get it. I was in prison, Miami……I died, then.....” He shuddered and I laid a calming fnger on his sloping shoulder.
“You were in the land of Set. ‘
“ The land of what? I’m a catholic! I mean...mostly.”
Vivian and I both rgimaced. “Your soul wasn’t bright enough for Yahweh or his son to see, and you most likely disregared Charon, Anubis, and Hel. So, you went to...limbo, hell, the desert....”
“Heather is a priestess of Anubis. It’s her sacred duty to pull souls like yours back for assistance .”
I nodded sagely. “well, you can also assist us.”
“Hmm, never something for nothing, especially with broads.”
“Hey, man, they don’t call it a Karmic balance for no reason, Mr. Capone.”
He died too soon to think hippies, but he did call us freaks. We were both exhaustde and having a mellow swooping high of successful spellwork, so we just giggled like goons.
“So whatta ya want?”
“Well, it’s getting late, or early. So we’ll explain all that tomorrow night. Unfortunately, while the eye of Horus blazes you will rest. you are a child of Thoth and Anubis.”
His rigid face gave no clue to what he thought of this bit of information. But his body language did brighten considerably when we asked whose bed he would like to share.