Another stunner from our own Eric Lastick
MARDI GRAS ON THE LENS: Chieftain Bordeaux prepares at his craftsman warehouse for the best tribe’s person’s winnings in these hardened times of 1929. A real placement of maddening depression—sweeping all across the Louisiana Parish lines, and right here at 4th and Pine, New Orleans. Bordeaux, racing with the clock to assemble the very best of costume for the ceremony of French African Creole Indian descendants. Granting all adversity…all his poverty; and last but not least, his estranged psychopathic son, Hanuka, whom somehow has found a great niche, as a heavy blues based guitar rock ‘n’ roller. He has become quite a legend along the darker paths of small time blues bars at Bourbon street. Hanuka has this strange ambivalence towards his own native people—with it’s pure and powerful mother earth to which his ancestors once thrived in. He likens only to the sounds of the howling winds, and the witch queen of New Orleans…as his free will extends it’s lethal hands, while his father and Chieftain has done all he can to raise this man, yet his own blood is likened of a deadened shark eyed son. Indifferent to anything pertaining to his family…& also who shows no lack of care for his own mother who raised him with all her love.
Hanuka walks in the dirges…and far distances from the extreme outer banks of Lake Pontchartrain. The bull-sharks foster in salt water…and rely on the eventful eye of the thin veiled of a Voodoo networking—while alligators stew in the very wet spots of the dark heart of the Louisiana Bayou. This notorious Witch Queen, centers her cast-to-call…as if ”The Bats of Ages” Entices the young, and conjures up their little impressionable minds. Mardi Gras dark side is of an old tradition…and famous revengeful factor. A nafarous payback of sorts among those small groups of Native Creoles. Hanuka takes to this like a duck to water. Lengthy in high brow. The thrill of the city lights; and his guitar—while detesting those mighty sounds of Trombones…and the saxophones at Preservation Hall. An act of his gentlemanly and scholarly father. Hanuka does the lesser to stew the barges before the storm. His Creole Cheifton dad, honor’s the day at his ware cloth to tweak and care for his fine uniform for tomorrow’s Mardi Gras festival. If rhinestones had eyes…and peacocks wondering in their bright scape to the new founded feathered frill, this world of Creole Native run. A life of liege of one great Chieftain whom glow in the moment. Meanwhile Hanuka bypasses the preliminary, while his brothers and neighbors rehearse in participation of an Indian cultured display of various percussionary drumming and chanting. Chieftain observes from his craft shop cobwebbed dingy windows… looking over at his son Hanuka with disdain and real hatred. The boy keeps on walking past in complete ignorance, just outside, as his dad applies the last stitching’s… & tied on threads of his detailed feathered friendly purple dye—with sore-eyed, his son; clinging to the dark end of these same streets. Fellow comrades in their teenage battle. Damn-bong the native light of day with disharmony…pain and blame; as all eyes grow cold and calculating too those so misguided. Hanuka bellows-out, an evil laugh, anytime his Cheifton father recognizes Native Creole Indian tradition…and to insist of a common good. The proper headdress and native French African dress up for Mardi Gras. One of greatness & respect. Native pride can be held up finally for all to see. Hanuka holds this time of event very differently. Call it anarchy (Pay back day) A small cast of evil that transpired long ago. A hell-hound fix tradition of a match date for this Witch Queen of New Orleans. A required seal of the deal of her Voodoo watchband.. Hanuka has gladly taken up reins…hacked toes and chicken clawed of methodical blood-lets…extending his spear and his blade to cut about to call: “Oh war path!” A direct link to one member in particular who is in his Chieftain father’s dance group.
This is a time of great depression. So.little of everything. A time for family to join and rally; although Hanuka remains a moot point in this hardened story. Great Chieftain father agonizes in deep thought riding the rails at St Charles street trolly. A sullen and solitary heartache row— knowing the tradition his own son has failed at… and joined in an actual Creole psycho bloodline too ”expand” in the game—and the very bite… and it’s scorn of the great depression. That night the Cheifton leans over and kisses his wife goodnight. Turns over in bed as both of them are so sickened by what their horrible son will do; as the light switch goes out in the bedroom, a lethal dose goes off in spontaneous mode of their son. A head-on collision course— right on bourbon street…cow tailing to whomever many anti gods will spent him of 180 degrees differential; although tomorrow’s event is quite good, to the whole gather of tribes of French spoken mixed African Native Americans…as one great people. Old school (Chitimacha) Chief Creole…and one of non violence. A carried traditional ceremony of peace and good. Meanwhile, the night being young to Hanuka, with no regard at all for anyone but himself…takes his god given talent as the new King Creole guitar virtuoso—too out gun and out play any takers. Striving in a kind of new fangled death metal blues…abandoning his own ensemble to his power of one soloist. Soldier of the drink. Dodging the hatred and tossed tomatoes at the stage. Hanuka whoops it up…and finds just about any street walker that has the distance to hold up and sew the night; and their willingness to be bruised up and tossed to the curb at daybreak!
SO AS A NEW MORNING, MARDI GRAS 1929: The handles of what are old fixtures..and new lamps for old;. Hanuka singlehandedly sceam his plan of attack at the Mardi Gras fest. His so called friends now see just how caustic, even for them; and to what evil will strive—while kissing the Witch Queen the first of the morning, he does; as she just smiles wickedly–pushing him forwards to blend with the celebratory sights and sounds of the Mardi Gras crowd—seeking his own father Cheifton’s tribe. Cousin Joseph who ended up marrying the only woman Hanuka ever really cared for. Although it was strictly a physical activity that was taken away from this lustful soul less beast! Joseph a spy-boy for Cheifton daddy…and the yellow Pocahontas tribe. Spots an incoming violent thrusting from a switch knife lunged—right for Joseph in particular! Chief Bordeaux quickly approaches the assailant; and without delay physically snaps the man’s neck! There is a silence…not a whisper, for all know of the madness. This hardship of family in 1929 America. Yet today is no ordinary day…as next, The Cheifton rolls the dead man over, noticing that it is Hanuka, his son! “Did he cut you, Joe?” ”No sir, i am fine.” says Joseph. ”No we are fine” says the Chief. Ironically the show and it’s proceedings continue as if nothing happened…trampling and dancing all over Hanuka. Even the authorities too! The price one pays in evil; as the cops pass the dead Hanuka, as if he never were there! A musical display. The former King Creole spread the ground, knife in hand. His guitar on display…and half way busted. Mother earth a native Creole advance…fully and truly. New seeds planted…as old ones fade away—sad but true…as Haruka’s mom grieves. Still this Chief is a fine native Creole whom payed an odd kind of hero on this Mardi Gras day; and sure as he will always feel the pain of what he did…It was what had to be done. The Omen join the owl…and the drum roll to real peace on this strange but needful day. Cathartic as it may seem,the Chieftain’s family and tribe are greatly relieved. Also a first prize for costume and song…out of 16 other takers. Hugs and prayers as this African French Creole Native Indian group joins hands and hearts. The Chieftain looks over to the corner of the street, and spots the Witch Queen packed and ready for her leave, awaiting the Trolly on 4th and St Charles. She glares over at him with a wicked smile…and voices a hiss. A basic claw over. Then she boards the trolly car staring at him from the window. The Chieftain prayers come true. Honor family, home, & the law of the land. There were never any charges brought upon him. Mother natures big smile back in sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky.
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