Twenty-eight days have passed since my littlest brother Luis died. An entire Black History Month later, and I still feel like Iron Man punched me in the groin.

Thank you to everyone who expressed their sorrow and condolences to our family. I'm truly sorry that I have not taken the time to thank you personally. Please understand that I'm not trying to appear mysterious or emotionally complex, not this time. During the funeral service and memorial held for Luis, I was at home. In my closet hung a freshly dry-cleaned suit and polished boots, but I never made it into that suit because I was in bed hugging my old Care-Bear and crying into my pillow.

I loved my little brother and I miss him. He was so funny and frustrating and I know I'll never have that again. I can't speak for how other people feel about their siblings but my brothers and sister are like my soul mates, if soul mates were required to be alternately wonderful and annoying in inverse proportions.

I've lost a whole world.

I am not religious, and I'm glad I'm not because if there was someone or something I thought I could blame for taking my brother...I would be lost in my own anger.

Luis is dead; Long live Luis.

I am left, we are left, to continue living. My heaven and hell are here, my paradise and paradise lost, the cost of having loved him, the debt for having lost him.

I wish everyone could have known him. He was so beautiful.

The desert knight rides again. I'm off to investigate reports of monster sightings in northern Arizona. I'm pretty eager to find out more about these "sparkly vampires" that are said to roam the area. I'm not sure how to take them out, or even what they are fully capable of.

I strongly suspect that they have the same weakness as almost all vampires: strong narrative style, scenic descriptions that contribute to mood and theme, and a story driven by character action and growth and not expedience of plot.

Oh yeah, they hate that shit.

I do not have a superhero name, or maybe all names are mine. Nor do I wear a costume, or maybe I wear all costumes. It's irrelevant because no one is meant to recognize me as a superhero. No one will ever call me on the superhero phone or a shine my emblem from a spotlight.



But they know me. Every time someone says "That was close," or "Things could have been a lot worse," that is where I am, where I was. My hand is unseen, if I'm doing it right. Because it's not about cool gadgets and sweet costumes or a league of super friends. I am here and I cannot save the world. But I believe things could be a lot worse if I chose to do nothing at all.

I've activated my cell phone. My old number has been snatched up by a Spanish-speaking male who, according to anecdotal evidence, becomes increasingly enraged when someone asks for "Guillermo" or "Gurg".

I can solve his problem. Since I speak Spanish, I'll call him up and ask him to forward any calls to my new number. Those Mexican types train real quick.

Quite a bit of rain has fallen on me. Not heavy rains, but soft whispering rains that pester me from just over my shoulder even as I see sunlit parts of my city in the distance. Middling rain or heavy rain is my preference as I ride my motorcycle. Light rain strikes the ground and the ground spits back a mist that blurs the face shield of my helmet, turning my field of vision into one metastasizing cataract.

Heavier rain beads nicely, obedient to the laws of hydrodynamics, and rolls away. Light rain mist will gather into a stray droplet, tear-like, and trickle leisurely along. These drops tend to surprise me. There have been slow-waking misty mornings where I startle and for an instant, think they are my own tears. Heavy rains are more polite, and almost never toy with my emotions.

I cut a piece of a windshield wiper and I meant to attach it to my wet-weather gloves, but I never did. I don't know where the piece is now. But I know where there are windshield wipers.

* * * *

I've not written much on ye old blog. I'd like to say I've been very busy working on the screenplay for Murk, but the agencies have blacklisted me after I Rick-Rolled the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. How did I manage it? Simple enough. I merely kidnapped his son and claimed that I was "never gonna give him up" alive if Rick didn't meet my demands.

Works every time.

Shoe of Freedom
Carry my soul with yours
Crack the pale forehead
And let all the air inside
Escape into the atmosphere
Where it might actually do some good