I have an old friend who calls me “Outlaw” Not “The Outlaw”, just “Outlaw”. He is a Texan so I figure he knows a thing or two about outlaws and when he calls me outlaw in the that Texas drawl? Well it just sounds like it should. It started pretty early in our friendship, though I don’t know when exactly but suddenly whenever he called it was “hey outlaw”. I asked him once why he called me that but I don’t think he really knows beyond that it just seemed to fit. I have to admit that I loved it, I still do. To me it was badge of pride, I have always been someone who rankles under controls, regardless of how gentle. My mother has a strong sense of what is right and wrong and I can tell you that her sense of right has nothing to do with the rules or what is legal. I am pretty sure I either learned this from my mother or maybe I inherited the outlaw gene from her, if there is such a creature. Tom Robbins covers the subject of outlaws in Still Life with Woodpecker and his take is pure poetry, as always. “If you’re honest, you sooner or later have to confront your values. Then you’re forced to separate what’s right from what is merely legal. This puts you metaphysically on the run.” Outlaw. It’s a good name.
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