Tales from a dead shaman
GO FIGHTING WHITIES!!!!
(Hee hee… it’s about fucking time!!!)
Sometime in 1995, I was half asleep, in my apartment in Maspeth, Queens, with the spirit of a Massapequadi Shaman sitting on my bed telling me a story….
Not that this is anything out of the ordinary. We had the landlord’s dead mother in law there all the time too (She loved us. We took turns torturing the assholes upstairs.). And I’m sure this kind of stuff happens to you guys too (‘cuz you’re a bunch of pschizophrenic fruitcakes!). But I thought the story was cool, and I have nothing better to post, and it’s been on my mind for two weeks now for some reason.
The story begins thousands of years ago, with a ferocious, unstoppable beast roaming the land… devouring everything (or anyone) in his path.
Tribal hunters were commissioned to go out there, intercept the creature, and protect their villages… But the beast was too smart to ever become “the hunted”, and they all met their horrible fates, along with their villages.
Well, it was ruled by the Great Spirit that there would be nothing left on the earth if this beast was to continue in its path of destruction. He broke one of his own rules, and stepped in.
The beast was split to form other creatures. His massive size and strength became the bear; his cunning became the fox, and his never–ending appetite became the wolf.
It has been also said the spirit of this indominable creature returns to take on other forms, and it was prohesized one day that he would take on the form of a human, the species he hated most, and usher mankind into a new era of light, or darkness… whatever he chooses it to be.
What is any of this supposed to mean?
Hell if I know. But it was a cool story, wasn’t it?
He also went on to tell me that early in the next (21st) century, I would meet a “Kelly Lewis” in another land, and this would be the person my “tortured soul” has searched for and my life would change.
Uhm… well, okay.
So, here I am, it’s the next century, I have indeed traveled to another land (“Pennsyl–fucking–Tucky”, as us Native New Yorkers like to call it.)… and I have heard of a “Kelly Lewis” too.
I, somehow, don’t think he (or his wife) would appreciate me sending him roses or chocolates, y’knowhutI’msaying?
So, if there is any kind of a moral to these stories… I guess it would be this:
Dead Indian Shamen, though I’m sure they’re really nice people, and they mean well… they don’t know everything, okay? Next time, I’ll ask for that night’s winning lottery numbers before I obsess on stuff for, like, eight years….
Is our life pre–planned in a universal grand scheme?
… Or do we control our own destiny?
…. Or am I a whackjob for talking to ghosts, and a closet case, ‘cuz I really think Kelly Lewis is a great guy, and has done some amazing stuff in the short time he’s been our State Rep?
Hell if I know.
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