Saturday, December 31, 2005

 

Rain

The rain calls my name.
Reminds me of cleansing
and sadness.

24 years ago today.
Wow!
Has it been that long?

Sometimes I feel like I need
to wash my soul.
Good cry, maybe?
Ceremony?
That sounds nice.

Eh...Today I am sad.
I have missed so much in my life.
There is so much I haven't explored.
There is so much I haven't enjoyed.
What is going on here?
What have I missed?
What am I looking for?
Where am I going?
I want to help the people.
I want to live at least trying
to bring a better life to the people.
And yet,
I still feel like I'm missing something.
Is there something I left behind?
I feel change coming into my life.
Change happens all the time.
What does that mean?

At the same time
I feel like a quiet celebration
is going on in my soul.

It's foggy in the West Hills
behind big pink.
Outside the window of the BOO
it is wet and beautiful.
Inside
it is warm and cozy.
Big Pink in the distance,
bare bony trees quite a bit closer.
Brick buildings,
art covered with grafitti.

I wonder at times like these.
What does it all mean?

2.

I found out this morning
from my sister
a friend of ours
may be dying
and not telling us.
It seems she won't go to the doctor
or at least
won't ask the proper questions
nor hear the proper answers.

Nope...
Not gonna cry here.
Not yet.
What the...?
Not...

It never gets
any easier.
I guess one just gets used to it.
...I guess not.

There's a celebration going on in my soul,
somewhere.
I can feel it.
I can hear the laughter
pour like red wine
somewhere deep in my soul.
I can see the smiling happy faces
as cheers spread throughout
the room
and into the
world.
Somewhere...
Somewhere in my soul...
there is a celebration...
and I wonder
at the sadness I feel.

Friday, December 30, 2005

 

Consistent, Spelled With an "e", Not an "a"

Tiny golden ribbons,
the rivulets of rivers
whose songs I can hear
but can't understand.
They are brief poems
on this earth.
Tiny golden rivulets
that shine little golden ribbons
across the asphalt
and under the street lights
through the ditches
across my feet
to destinations that I can only speculate about.

Consistent, with an "e", not an "a"

Stepping back from that very powerful
urge
to look for Lover-Love
gives me time to breathe
and look at the consistent patterns in my life.

Lover-Love.
It's always been a one way street
for me.
The more I look back,
the more I realize
the truth
in that consistent pattern.
Many times
that desire
has brought me into great friendships.
Twice,
that desire
has lead me to abusive relationships.
And looking back,
looking at those patterns,
I realize it has always
been a one way street.

Another consistent pattern
is women in committed relationships
or in situations
where Lover-Love
is out of the question for us,
find me interesting.
Some have even had crushes on me.
But,
those things
cannot lead
to Lover-Love.
Those who have boundaries
that prevent us from becoming Lover-Loves
at times
express an interest in me
but it is safe.
It is a one way street.
They never have to wake up with me.
They never have to put up
with hair on the bathroom floor.

I have been told
that there are numerous women interested in me
around here...somewhere.
Single women
are not interested in me
as Lover-Love.
If...someone...
or a group of someones...
were really intrested in me...
don't you think they would make it known...
somehow?
None do.
No single woman
has EVER walked up to me,
talked with me,
expressed an interest
in getting to know me,
asked if I'd like to go for coffee
or something
and talk some more.
A clear and consistent pattern.
It doesn't happen.
It suggests to me
that what I've heard
is actually not true.

The women
I want to get to know better
I usually wind up becoming friends with
or they run off
and we become nothing more
than acquaintances.

It must be me.
I don't mean that in a bad way.
I mean that these have been
consistent patterns in my life.
They will continue to be persistent patterns in my life.
Why do I live my life like that?
Well...
I could tell you why I live my life like that...
but unless you're my friend,
or maybe if you've read some of my poetry,
I just don't want to talk about it here.

Consistent...
I found out yesterday
that it is actually spelled with
an "e",
not an "a".

2. P.S.

Walking to work
across the Burnside Bridge
I drink my white chocolate mocha
that has tiny droplets of rain
on the lid
that bless my nose
with every sip.

If my patterns remain consistent,
I will again feel desire
to Love and be Loved
to feel Lover-Love.
These desires will again
go unfulfilled.
If there is a woman
I had a crush on,
We'll become friends.
I will wake up
alone
every morning
which is much better
than
sleeping with the enemy...
as I have done.

My favorite part
of my consistent pattern
of behavior
is the inspiration to write.
One thing
my unfulfilled desires creates
that I absolutely Love
is my desire
to fulfill that creative energy
onto the page.

Lover-Love
can be
a dangerous thing.
And to feel
the pain of unfulfilled desires
is much better
than
waking with the enemy.

"Hey, Gringo!"
a man yells from
a second floor
hotel room window.
"Hey, Gringo!
I need a whore.
Can you send me a whore?
Can you get me a whore?
Hey, Gringo!
Hey gringo!"

I look up
at the white man
who leans out of the window
above me.
I laugh
shake my head,
and continue my journey
to work
through the rain.
I notice my coat
is soaked enough
to feel the rain
on my right elbow.

The beautiful pains of unfulfilled desires...
The beautiful joys
of writing my Love
upon the page...

One pattern
I'll never follow
again
is my pattern
of waking with the enemy.
My new patterns
are much more fun
and interesting.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

 

The "R" word

At the weekly protest in Beaverton, the organizer of the event was stricken with fear when my housemate mentioned the "R" word...REVOLUTION! REVOLUTION! REVOLUTION! REVOLUTION! Why the Fuck is that more terrifying than what this horrific fucking government is doing worldwide? Stay tuned for an intense "Mitakuye Oyasin" show on Thursday, January 5th, on KBOO!

 

Wounded Knee

Happy Anniversary! Today is the 115th anniversary of the Wounded Knee Massacre.

 

Passing Ditritus

I search the stars overhead,
see the big dipper
in a break in the clouds.
I search the skies for more stars
and clouds.

Crossing the Bridge this morning,
I saw something strange
floating down the river.
It is dark,
the lights are playing with
the thing
I can't make it out.
Is it a giant log?
I stop, wait, and watch.

It is a raft of tree ditritus.
Naturally formed, as it were,
and floating swiftly down the river.
The Willamette is strong
and travelling quickly this morning.
I get to the East Side walkway,
as it were,
and watch a big hunk
of the ditritus raft
that has been there since at least this weekend
break off
and float quickly down the river.

I have felt
such a desire to Love and be Loved
this last couple of months
since that ceremony.
The energy is
heading for a nap,
which is nice.

I sit amongst the ruins
of what used to be
the doorway to my Love.
I come here a lot
when I am alone
and ponder the effects
of abuse
in my life.
My desire for Love
to be reawakened who knows when
is taking a nap.
I'm giving myself a much needed rest from it.

They say
that when like this
it is usually when Love comes into your life.
I don't know, though.
I've never had Love In my life
other than friends.
Lover-Love has not come to me
in those times
when my desire for Love has laid dormant.
So this is nothing unusual for me.
It is a clear and consistent pattern.
So I am enjoying that letting go
and don't honestly expect Lover-Love
to show
during it's nap,
either.

So I sit amongst the rubble
of my blown apart doorway
that I used to keep me separated from you.
I look at all the beautiful nature
that surrounds the ruins
of this barrier I had kept
so strong and well maintained before.

I smoke an imaginary bowl.
I light up and imaginary Cohiba.
I rest
and laugh
and hear echoes in the silence
of the ruins being reclaimed
by nature.

I recall looking through the doorway
seeing the empty pathway to my door
seeing the empty streets outside.
And here I am again,
alone...
laughing...
and smoking those things I enjoy most.

OK...
A Wild Huckleberry Truffle from Moonstruck...
mmmmmm!
Life is good!

And when that desire comes back,
I know I'll be writing
some of my best poetry and short stories.
Writing is so much more fun
during those times
of the beautiful ache
for Lover-Love.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

 

Today?

Love?
What do I know of Love?

I ride the waves
and as each peaks
I look for you.

I've tried to ignore you.
I pretended I didn't care.
I wanted to never look for you again.

I hope I learned my lessons.
I know I'm more careful.
I Love the ups and downs.
I Love those painful desires.
That is so full of life!
That is life, brothers and sisters!
Life is good!

I look for you,
I know you're out there.
It's more like
keeping my eyes open.

I have never truly felt the desire
to Love and be Loved like I do
right now.
I could be kidding myself.
I really don't know.
But I enjoy the feelings.
I Love the ups and downs.
I feel so ALIVE!
It's a fun ride.
LIFE! I'VE CREATED LIFE!
within myself...

I watched little rivers, today...
I watched them form
and find their ways
through the asphalt
grass,
ditches,
across rocks,
limbs,
roots,
worlds...
Wave after wave
would dance in the golden light
of the street lamp
as I waited for the bus
and they blessed my shoes and feet.
Rain drops spashing in puddles
dance in the same light.
What a beautiful dance!

I cross the bridge in the rain
this morning.
I love the beauty,
the dance,
of the clouds,
artificial lights,
wave after wave
of beauty
right there
before my very eyes.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

 

Introduction

Although I've discussed a second book project with my publisher, he strongly stated, "let's get this first one finished." That said, and having too much time on my hands, I've just finished putting together the possibilities of book #2. Sorry, Leas, but I just havta do it. We'll discuss it later, I'm sure.

It is Christmas Day, 2005, and I am sitting at KBOO, and have, for the last 2 and a half hours, written one more Jesus story, and have the formings of a new book. The title I am thinking of is the also the title of one of the stories I want in the book, "Kill Whitey (A Love Story)." We'll see, however.

I'm sure that a lot of people who pick up this book are wondering what some crazy Indian is doing at his favorite radio station putting together what is obviously gonna be book #2 instead of spending this special day with family and friends. For the most part, I don't celebrate Christmas. The last Christmas I celebrated was in '98. Last year I didn't celebrate anything.

This month has many negative feelings attached to it for me, and I want to change that. This time of year I remember the Buffalo Gap Massacre, the assassination of Sitting Bull, Wounded Knee ride and Massacre, my father's death, the taking of my car, abuse surrounding solstice, etc. I don't have a whole lotta reason to celebrate this month and especially this day, but now I do. I have put together what I believe will be book #2. What better way to celebrate a holiday I don't believe in, at least not in the Christian sense?

I have written a series of Jesus stories where he takes on many forms, man (untraditional), an alcoholic on the skids, an Indian woman, a transvestite, and several other forms. It is also filled with stories and poems about Love and Life.

My first book I believe is helpful in making you aware of what is going on in the world, this one, I believe, will help change your perspective and see the world beyond whatever limits you have put on it. What I would like to do with this book, however, doesn't matter as much as what it becomes to you. It is you the reader who carries the stories. Good health to you all and many blessings.

REVOLUTION NOW!

 

Santa Christ

I rode into KBOO from home on the bus. It had been raining, and I thought of waking at 4:30am to see the clearing sky and the stars sparkling with my blurry vision as I gazed out my window.

I share the morning with my friend, and then off to KBOO. Some habits die hard, and some of my habits, like this one, I absolutely Love.

I keep forgetting today is Christmas. I just don't think about it anymore. It used to be one of those days that came every year where my dysfunctional family would act somewhat functional. It wasn't until I got older, discovered history, discovered lies, etc., that I became disillusioned with this time of year. Even the actual Solstice, the natural, didn't hold a place in my heart anymore due to a damaging history surrounding that holiday as well.

It is difficult for me to celebrate anything this time of year anymore. Last year, my first year of freedom from abuse, I did nothing. Nothing for solstice, christmas, nothing.

I've created some of my own celebrations this year, though, and have decided that is what I want to do. Create celebrations for this time of year that are unique. I've had some of the most unique celebrations this year, but I will not go into those here.

I walk across the Burnside Bridge for the first time in weeks. I feel like a stranger in a strange land. I don't feel at home here. I feel at home in various spaces here, or at least pretty strongly connected to various places around here, but I do not feel at home. I don't know if I could feel at home anywhere, to be honest. I do feel at home in my heart, in my body, in the hearts of my friends, I just have a strong feeling of being disconnected to my surroundings.

I Love the green moss growing on the concrete pillars that form the handrail barrier on the Burnside Bridge. It's so soft and fuzzy, and a quiet revolution of nature reclaiming that which is believed to be above or separate from nature.

I walk to my offering spot, open up a new box of tobacco, look at the river below. I Love her. She is so beautiful. But there are signs of this weird disrespectful culture that surrounds her beauty. A raft of wood docked under the pillars of the Eastside Walkway, complete with trash and a combination of other pollutants seen and unseen. I see bits and pieces of wood floating swiftly down the river. The tide must be going out the current is moving so fast. I bridge to two sections of bridge and make my offerings. I step across the void of permanent parallels that never touch, and look across the void that spans several inches and see Jesus standing on the otherside of the crevass that is nothing but a symbol above water to be walked upon.

Jesus looks like the Jesus portrayed being nailed to the standing tree nation. White and blue-eyed with long dirty blonde hair, beard and mustache, scrawny, about six foot, in long beige and brown robes. I accidentally spit in Jesus' face as I start to laugh so hard. Jesus laughs and wipes his face, and laughs harder. I look at his feet and see sandals of no style I'm aware of or seen. I laugh harder. Jesus laughs. Tears pour down our eyes. What a great joke? We shake hands across the void, wipe our tears, and laugh some more.

"Got any pot, Jesus?" I ask. We laugh some more. He reaches into his left sleeve with his right hand and pulls out a bud that is at least a foot and a half long with beautiful hairy blossoms to offer the greatest of blessings, beauties, and insights. I reach into my pocket, pull out my tobacco and hand it to him to offer many great blessings, beauties, and insights. We shake hands as the gift passes. He places it in his left sleeve with his right hand. I place the cola in the left inner coat pocket of my jacket with my right hand where it rests above my heart.

Jesus and I chuckle, then give the "good trade" sign to each other at the same time across the not so great divide. We chuckle a little at our wonderful and fun personal joke. Jesus turns West and walks into town. I turn East and ran right into this story.

Friday, December 23, 2005

 

Don't Underestimate the Power of Doing Something

A man I knew told me of his death vision, which I believe I've talked about in a previous post. In his vision, he was shown that some of the things he did that were big and he thought did much good work for the people turned out to be very damaging. He was shown insignificant momentary events in his life where he did things he had almost completely forgotten that helped far greater than you think a little event like that would.

I was listening to Howard Zinn coming into work on my long commute (thank you Jewels). He talked about how people would look at defeats in their movements. But when you talk with people who were in the thick of it, they would tell you it wasn't as big a defeat as you think and would point out all the change that came out of that movement even if the goal wasn't met.

Everybody says we're in for tough times. I don't know. Nothing seems to happen the way we predict it will. Heck, California was supposed to slip into the sea in 1999. I don't know. I do know I Love the people. I want my fellow human beings to be successful, help each other, have true equality, peace, confict resolution without violence, no more imperialism or colonialism, etc. We can all do our part. No matter how insignificant we feel, no matter how defeated we feel, no matter how overwhelming the odds may seem, we can create a world of real equality and peace. If we don't get to see the outcome, at least we were heading down that path for future generations to take up that torch.

As Jim said on the show yesterday, most of the time you won't be able to defeat evil. Evil has no boundaries. There is nothing that evil wouldn't do to win. We have boundaries. There are things we won't do. If we struggle our whole lives and lost all our battles, we at least will not have become one of them in order to win. Don't underestimate the power of that understanding. That makes you a winner in my book. Even if there are no songs made about what you did, even if there are no books, you and people who knew you will know. Don't underestimate the power of doing something.

And, like I have learned, I have a limited amount of time on this earth. What am I going to do with it? Sell out, make lots of money for myself, join the forces of evil for my own benefit, etc, or am I going to do what I can, clumsy, straight and beautiful, failures, triumphs, and move forward or at least attempt to gain equality for one and all.

And how about you? What are you going to do?

 

Impeach Bush

There is a lot of talk going around now about potentially impeaching the shithole that stole the presidential elections in 2000 and 2004.

This would put George in a difficult position. To cover something this huge would require that, well, a whole lot of killing start happening. Killing is always a good distraction from the criminal activities of the white house which have been in place since its inception, and prior. But to do so at this point in time would backfire because of its obvious use in distracting the world from words like "impeach."

It would be nice to have fuck face out of office, but there is still that system that will continue the rape and oppression of the world in order to steal the resources of other nations for the wealthy of this one. I say we go after the whole fucking system myself, but I also enjoy the idea of fuck face getting tangled in his own lack of intestines and watch his ego become sriveled and decayed.

Here is also another fun fact; According to Noam Chomsky and many other scholars, should the Nuremburg Laws actually be in effect, EVERY president and their administrations in the United States since WWII would have been arrested, tried, and when found guilty, hanged. ALL OF THEM! Interesting, huh.

Impeachment...It would definitely be fun to watch the piece of shit squirm. Privilege, however, will keep him out of prison for his horrific crimes. And still, the U.S. will have its use of force to create wealth for the already wealthy. Impeachment....It would definitely be fun...aint shit gonna really change though until we get off our asses and MAKE IT CHANGE!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

 

Pour the Wine

I went to a Solstice feast and celebration last night. I'm still looking for those celebrations.

I would look at the wine in my glass and think about the centuries, eons, of wine. All the wine drank in celebration, ceremony, life, Love. How long that's been going on. The many people who celebrate using this wonderful little creation. What an interesting elixir in that glass. Somehow, I feel a connection to all of that. To all of that celebration.

But a friends girlfriend has made it her personal task to make sure my wine glass is filled at all times. She is beautiful, and sweet, and she brought the venison and salmon. I feel like I have been friends with her for a long time, except this is the first time we have met. Space has been offered to sleep, so I don't worry. I let her pour the wine. What a sweet little celebration, but as I start to feel a little to tipsy, I start to hide my glass.

I look at my hands and realize they've been with me for every word I've ever written. What amazing instruments. I move them. I look at them from different angles. I think of all that time they've been there for me. They have experienced every story I have ever written. Every word. They have held every book I've ever read. All the basic tasks they help me perform. Driving. Eating. Etc. So I sit there, and since I don't feel to comfortable with the idea of standing up, I stare at my hands and see the things they have done. I wonder at other peoples hands. Lots of hands in the world. People without hands. Or only one. Or pieces. How they communicate.

I'm finding ways to celebrate this time of year. I believe that from now on, every celebration I have during this time of year will be interesting and fun. That sounds like a fun tradition.

Blessings and celebration to one and all during this winter time of year. This time of cold, snow, rain, and all sorts of fun weather. Have a great time because you all deserve it.

And while we're at it, in between the celebrating, let's have a Revolution and take everything back.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

 

Afro Cuban

I finally get to sleep after all the hubbub with grandma and fall almost immediately into dream.

I wake up in Africa. I know it's Africa, but it doesn't look anything like I've seen in documentaries, movies, anything. I had no point of reference, but here I was in Africa, somewhere, in a village.

Then I'm in a building. A type of building I have never seen. There is a doctor sitting in a chair, examining patients. Her black hair is pulled back into a pony tail. She has dark skin.

"I'm Cuban," she says without looking at me. She gives a shot to the little boy that she is examining. The boy doesn't flinch. He just stares at me like I'm not supposed to be there.

The boy walks away. "I'm Cuban," she says looking at me. I can't tell what language she is speaking. But I can understand her. I'm confused, but I look into her eyes and realize it's Jesus. What the fuck? Why won't the bastard leave me alone?!

She says something like they have to wait, or something, to a person who is helping her.

"What the fuck am I doing here?" I ask all confused.

"I didn't call you here," she tells me. "You came here on your own accord."

"Well why are you healing people like that? You're Jesus. Aren't you supposed to do that Jesus shit like with the lepers and all that?"

"Fuck you," Jesus says to me. Her eyes narrow to slits of focused anger.

"Why would I come to hang out with you?!"

"Look," she said, taking my hands. The energy suddenly changed. I felt an understanding, a familiarity. Suddenly relaxed in front of this human being. "You came here because you are ready to hear a message."

I thought, "this is so full of shit."

"No it isn't," she said. The fucker can read my mind.

"OK. So what's the message?"

"You're a healer."

"FUCK YOU!" I scream, but suddenly find myself in my room at Chuck's. The candles are still burning. I look around. I'm angry. I know what it means to be a healer, and I aint it. I'm pissed. Then I turn to logic. Maybe Cuban Doctor Jesus meant that my words have the ability to help heal. Yeah. Ain't me. I'm just a human being. I'm no healer. Maybe she meant it in the generic sense, like everyone is a healer. Yeah. That must be it.

I roll over, grab my stuffed puppy and kitty, cuddle real close, and call for dreams of grandma and dad as I fall asleep again.

 

Grandma Jesus

I sat down to write this story at Chuck's place on his computer. A beautiful place it is. Then I heard a commontion in the kitchen.

I stood up, walked around the wood stove, walked around through the ceremonies of cleansing the house, and into the kitchen to discover standing there...my grandma.

"GRANDMA!" I scream, and she turns from the stove where she is cooking me pancakes, eggs, and thick slices of bacon. She is still less that five feet tall, hair black with many lightning streaks of gray. I cry at the sight of her and weep and weep and weep. I give her a big hug, as big as her fragile old woman body can handle. I don't want to let go. She is still wearing those old drab dresses and those flat soled shoes. Her left arm is still deformed before her body, above her slightly swollen belly.

I cry, stand back, hold her working hand with both of mine to make sure she can't escape. Inside with her is Jesus. I can see them both inside her old body, but she is the most prevalent. I see Jesus wink at me through grandma. I almost learn to Love him. And then I do Love him. How can I not? He brought my grandma to visit. I will never Love him like a Christian. The fucking bastard knows how to get to me.

"Are you hungry?" grandma asks in her warm soft voice. Her false teeth smile sends me into years of weeping.

"I Love you Grandma," I cry, "and yes I'm hungry."

She goes back to her task.

After I don't know how long of staring at her as she cooked, I finally spoke. "I'm sorry Grandma?"

"For what?" she asks, pushing her glasses back onto her nose with her deformed hand. She squints at me, crinkles her nose to keep her glasses in place.

"For not taking you out of that fucking hospital and letting you die outside with all of your family where you should have." I weep and weep and weep.

"Don't worry about it," Grandma said with her false teeth smile. "Things happened they way they were supposed to. If I were pissed, I'd a beat your ass long ago. I Love you grandson. Always have. Always will."

I weep and weep and weep and weep.

"If you keep crying like that, grandson, you aren't going to be able to eat."

I wipe the tears, hug her again, not wanting to let go, but knowing I'd have to let go.

"I know, Grandson. I Love you too. Now sit down and stop crying long enough to eat your breakfast."

It's 7:15 at night, why would I argue with my grandma, she passed away almost 15 years ago. And Jesus brought her so I could have a visit. I hate that fucker, whose name is called in war, a man of peace, yet, he brought my grandma for a visit. I would never Love him like a Christian would. I Love him like a friend. A fellow human being, who just did something very special for me. The fucking bastard.

I sit down to eat at Chuck's table in front of the West facing window and look into the darkness. Grandma places before me a plate with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She places salt and pepper and butter on the table. Instead of placing syrup and peanut butter like in the old days, she places strawberry jam in a plastic margarine container before me.

I had just heard the story of first man and first woman and the creation of the strawberry, but will not tell it here because I must learn to tell it correctly. The strawberry is about Love.

"Eat up," grandma instructs. I smother the pancakes with butter and strawberry jam. I salt and pepper my eggs. I start to eat. Everything is so delicious. The strawberry jam is the best I have ever tasted. Life is good.

"Grandma," I ask between bites, "how's dad?"

"He's fine," she said.

"What's he up to?"

"You wouldn't understand."

I look at her. "You're probably right."

"But you will," she says.

I nod with a smile starting to cross my face. "Probably."

"So how long do you get to stay?" I ask.

I turn my head toward her, and she is gone. She is no longer sitting there. I start to cry. I look at the table, the food is gone. Nothing. I cry and cry and cry and cry. But wait...sitting on the table before me, almost hidden behind a bowl...a...single...tiny...strawberry.

I pick it up. It's real. It feels good in my hand. I put it to my nose, and it is the most beautiful scent I have ever smelled. "Thank you, Grandma," I say with a tear. Reluctantly I say, "and thank you too, Jesus." GODDAMN, I hate sounding anything close to christian.

I put the berry in my mouth...ambrosia...

I came back to the computer and finished the story.

 

Lover-Love pt. 2

I sat down to write on my blog, when Jesus came walking down the hallway of the BOO, pulled up the brick red rolly office chair with the loose back and sat close to me and stared at the side of my head as I wrote these words.

Jesus is wearing a beautiful white dress that outlines her hourglass curvy figure, long black hair, dark skinned beautiful legs crossed. A beautiful smile on her beautiful face.

I don't turn my head from the screen, but I gaze at her from behind the edge of my glasses. My smile is light and flirtatious. Sweet scents fill the air and my heart starts to race.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Jesus?" I ask as she sat there silently beside me.

She smiles, turns her head slightly, gazes at me with her beautiful black as charcoal eyes and that wonderful smile... "Maybe," she says. "Are you trying to seduce me?" she asks.

..."Maybe," I say.

She laughs a little and sits back in the chair.

"Can I touch you on your knee or something?" I ask. [inside joke from work]

She laughs, leans in to whisper in my ear. Her scent spins tornadoes of lust in my soul. As she whispers, I feel her seductive breath tickle my neck and ear and it sends tingles to my bikini area. "If you're a good boy," she whispers, "you can touch me anywhere you want."

I look her in the eye. We smile. I kiss her gently and touch her knee. Her skin is soft, warm, joyous and inviting. It sends lust throughout my soul and my body. Dreams of kissing and licking her knees especially that soft space on the back of them filled my lustful imigination. We stood up, held hands, and walked down the hallway together. Today would be a GREAT day to call in sick to work.

MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS!

Monday, December 19, 2005

 

A Poet's Ceremony

A bug attempted to crawl up the screen
as I sat to write these words.
His left legs were reaching,
looking for a grip.
And then it fell to the table,
scrambled on its back,
fell onto the keyboard table,
and after what seemed like a fairly long recovery period for a bug,
it walked off.

As I start to transcribe
the hand written pages to the blog,
the bug reappears on my left hand
as I type away
and laugh.
He crawls to the tip of my middle finger.
I tried to put him on top of the monitor,
he refused to de-board the plane.
I tried bouncing him off to no avail.
Laughter erupts from my soul.
"I thought that's where you wanted to go, buddy,"
I laugh.
"So, where do you want to go?"
He flies from my middle finger
and onto the grey plastic
casing surrounding the monitor,
and crawls to the top
on his own.
OK, OK, OK...
I get it now.

Life is different yet again.
Rain falls gently on the earth
wet, moist, goodness
I sit on the back deck
by myself.
Just out of the rain...
and listen.

The snow is melting
had a good snow ball fight with Felicia
Took her on a ceremony
another step
a journey
a completion...?
She takes her paces,
listens to instruction,
falls once on the way there
Once on the way back.
Ice hidden by snow.

As it first started to snow,
Felicia and I sat on a swinging chair
in the back yard.
From time to time
in our lives
their comes those special moments.
Those moments of great indescribable beauty
Snow on the hills
touching the grass
the limbs of the trees
our faces and hands
sharing the moment with my daughter.
The beauty.
The beauty.
There are times
when poets don't have to right words
to describe a poem that happens right before their very eyes.
Yeah...you know what I mean
We've all had them.

Felicia has told me she is a Christian.
Although I will never be a Christian,
I wonder if she'll be able
to cling to it
when change comes to visit?
I'll be there
should she remain
Or move.

Peppery, Cinnamon, Partagas #4 robusto...BABY!
I can still smell the wonder on my fingers!
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
I sit on the back deck
smoke
listen ot the rain
trees silhouetted in gray cloudy twilight
I marvel being alone
here
watch...
watch...
the raindrops splash
on the wet deck
with its dark stain
it dances with the light
water, tree, light, energy, birth
slush snow
near the corner.
Listen to the raindrops.

A poets ceremony
reflections
cleansing with smoke
outside
writing on water
smoking on wood
...hey,
is there room in here
to write about how cold
my ass is getting?

A poets ceremony
I thought I had no words today.
The broom was used
to sweep the mess
from the doorway
during the ceremony
by the little girl
who displays an understanding.
She sees something.

Inside the frame of the tipi
while the snow is still fresh
I look up and remember.

A poets ceremony
on a back deck
in a house
in the country
listens to rain
cleansed his soul
with water and smoke smoke smoke
it's twilights journey into darkness
and I am starting to feel
a different calendar,
a different clock.

Friends!
Cynthia has been here,
I can see her now
smiling laughing telling jokes
stories life children fun
beauty adventures teachings
ceremonies herbs relationships.
Julie
blue hair on the back deck
talking news politics
love relationships
nature listening
clouds trees silence
I could see her journey around the place
and telling me what she saw.
Leigh Anne would lean against the wall
listen talk about life ask questions
sister I'm writing in almost darkness
let's have some chocolate smoke walk and talk.
Ani...
Ani would do ceremony
even if I didn't see her do it.
A reading in the living room
A journey to the trees
find some sap maybe?
Jim would talk politics
smoke eat laugh tell jokes
walk be silent listen
and find the sacred

Outdoor kitty
has joined me,
a manifesttion
a point of reference
many blessing to my friends.
I ask him questions.
"Where did you come from?"
"You were an indoor kitty I can tell."
"Did you get lost?"
"Where you tossed out?"
"You seem like a good hunter?"
"Are you safe out there?"
"Things are much different for you now than they were, huh?"
"You seem to be bearing the cold ok. Is it tough?"
Although he didn't answer my questions,
at least not that I understood,
he eventually took his leave from me
as something more important
caught his attention.

Hello world
here by myself...
wait...
here with smoke
rain
and you.

If you were here
now
with me
would we hold each other
kiss
roll on the bed
on the floor
on the couch
in the kitchen.
Would we tell jokes and stories
read poetry and books
cleanse in smoke
make love until recharged
have dinner
watch a movie
and recharge some more.
Are you my imaginary lover
or my real lover imagined?

My cigar,
turned in the right direction,
looks like a devil
smiling fire.
Spirits have a sense of humor.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

 

Kill Whitey (A Love Story)

Jimmy George and Michael Knudeson had been friends for a little over a year. Both in their late twenties, they had met at Michael's Glass where they were glazers together. They became friends quickly and started doing all sorts of things together. Jimmy was even Michael's best man at his wedding.

Jimmy is a Umatilla who moved to Portland in his twenties. He grew used to city life, liked his work, and had a girlfriend from time to time, but never anything serious enough for long term. Mutual fun for people looking for someone else but needing that good energy to get there. Enjoying the journey, as it were.

Michael Knudeson was a city boy. He went to college but dropped out after three years. He became disillusioned because...well, that would be a whole other story all together. Michael...Mike...was white and didn't experience a lot of life beyond the suburbs and occasional trips to nature spots. The furthest he had been from Portland was when his parents took him to Disney World in Floida when he was 12. He lived in various areas of Portland, Oregon his whole life.

Mike...this Mike was not the owner of Michael's Windows, by the way. Mike left Michael's Windows about six months ago for a higher paying job that his father managed to get him.

Jimmy and Mike had a favorite bar that they would meet at from time to time and usually watch sports on TV. Today was one of those days.

Mike had a question on his mind that had been burning ever since he first heard of the issue. He never felt comfortable asking Jimmy, and they never discussed these issues. But he just had to ask. He braved up.

"Jimmy," Mike said. "Why are Indians so upset by the mascot issue?"

Mike felt something change at that moment. He wasn't sure what it was.

Jimmy looked carefully at his friend. He put his fork on his plate, placed his hands carefully in his lap, and finished chewing his mouthful of food. He had faced these questions before, but not from Mike. He was careful to avoid this issue with his friend. He was never sure about discussing these things with him.

"Simply," Jimmy carefully explained, "it's dehumanizing."

"What does that mean?"

Jimmy couldn't believe that his friend was a fucking idiot! He liked hanging out with Mike. They had a lot of fun together. But now something was changing. He knew it. There were things in his friend he would no longer be able to overlook.

"It means we are not being treated like human beings. We are a character. It's racist. It creates the idea that we are something other than human. When you are seen as not human, then it makes it possible for others to treat you inhumanely."

Mike just couldn't understand. "I don't get it. You guys have it good now [Jimmy's soul burned]. You're being treated like human beings now [Jimmy lost his soul]."

There was a silence, and Mike just thought his friend didn't understand. He tried to explain more clearly.

"You are an conquered people. We conquered you. Now you have things better than you ever would have left in your primitive state."

There was a horrifying silence that leapt canyons between them. Jimmy simply lost his soul for his friend as he sat across from him at the tiny round bar table. There was a pause as Michael watched his friends eyes turn cold. Having never seen anything like that before, he suddenly became uncomfortable and was no longer sure of himself. He felt something was going wrong.

"What if I put a gun to your head and forced you to suck my cock?" Jimmy asked in a tone of voice completely unfamiliar to Michael.

"What?" Mike almost whispered. Confused and starting to get scared. He knew is buddy had a nine milimeter, but he never carried it in the city, he hoped. He suddenly wasn't so sure. He was becoming quickly scared of his friend. What had he said that was so wrong? It was all true.

"To conquer," Jimmy explained in that same unfamiliar tone, "is to force a people to do something against their will in order to steal what is rightfully theirs so a few people can have great wealth."

Michael was starting to see the folly in his words. He was tumbling down some sort of hill. He could feel his soul slipping into a world he never had empathy for. His friend seemed to be further and further away.

"What if I were to kill you," Jimmy said leaning toward his friend, "rape your wife and children and steal your house?"

It still wasn't sinking into Michael's mind. Everything he said was true. His head turned and he wasn't sure about the change he was watching in his friend. Almost like the wolfman.

Like lightning, Jimmy reached his right hand to the left side of the table, flipped it so hard and fast it lifted off the ground and slammed into the wall above the empty booth beside them. The top shattered into pieces and one of the metal legs on the base bent as it smashed into the wall. Splinters and noise everywhere as the base bounced back across the booth table and onto the floor. Broken dishes, food, and silverware were like crumbs left on a trail by Hansel and Gretel, but there would be no return from here. Were it not for the game on the television, the bar would have been completely silent. All heads turned and everyone was in sudden terror that echoed silences generations back.

Michael knew he had just destroyed his friendship. He wanted to blame Jimmy. His temper. Too many beers? No, he only had a half a beer and was never violent. He was taller and stronger than Jimmy. He had done the guy thing of measuring him up a few times even though they were friends [no longer]. He looked up at Jimmy's face and suddenly became terrified. His anus contracted and urine was running down his urethra. He managed to stop it.

"GET UP!" Jimmy screamed.

There was a horrifying complete silence. Foot steps were heading their direction, but neither cared nor heard. Michael wondered at the weight of the table. 50 maybe 60 pounds. Flung one handed against the wall like a piece of kindling by a man whose arms are smaller than his. Whose reach wasn't as long. Michael suddenly feared for his life.

"GET UP!" Jimmy screamed again. He worked up a loogey and spit it in Michaels face. It hit under his left eye beside his nose. It trickled down his cheek, across the side of his mouth and dripped a little off of his chin.

"GET UP YOU CRACKER PIECE OF SHIT! GET UP YOU PECKERWOOD SON-OF-A-BITCH! GET UP YOU INHUMAN WHITE SKIN NIGGER! LET'S SEE WHO CONQUERS WHO! LET'S SEE WHO GETS TO KILL THE OTHER AND TAKE ALL THEIR STUFF AND GET AWAY WITH IT! GET UP! LET'S SEE WHO CONQUERS WHO YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!"

Tommy was a big security guard at this bar and knew both men very well. Tommy had been in 114 fights and won most of them. He was strong and tough and not afraid of anything. He was so confused by the situation as to allow it to delay his reaction. The feirce tossing of the table was unusual in this place. The noise was dangerous when he first heard the crash. Almost deafening. And then to see these two men, one standing, the other sitting. They were good friends. They were regulars. They were always friendly and never caused any trouble. They were a joy to be around and socialize with. Jimmy was a hugger, too. He hugged everybody, man or woman. So he was even more confused when he heard the screaming voice. He couldn't believe it was actually Jimmy screaming at his friend like that. That was the voice of someone about to kill. Tommy had heard that several times in his life. Men coming after him. He barely came out of those fights with his life. He had seen a few fights at this bar and stopped the worst with ease. This one made him hesitate in fear. He had to pretend he was the man he usually was in these situations. He knew this was a dangerous event. He knew he had to be real careful with this scene. He started walking, but hesitated several times on the way, hoping it would calm itself down. Tommy got to the scene just as Jimmy screamed at his seated friend [no more], "GET UP! YOU RACIST SACK OF FUCKING SHIT!"

Tommy reached his left arm across Jimmy to try to defuse this obviously dangerous man. This man who never gave a hint of being this type of person. Before his arm could reach Jimmy's right shoulder in attempt to turn away his focus from Michael, his arm was slapped down so hard and so fast as to cause what would become a severe bruise on his forearm and put a pain in his shoulder that would last four days.

"GET UP! LET'S PLAY A TINY GAME OF CONQUER WHITEY!"

There was a silence that echoed from generations of imbalance and death. ...genocide...

Jimmy's breathing was slow, deep, and filled with electrified tension. Michael knew he carried the Thunder Beings in his body. Knew that he could easily release them through his fists and feet, knees and elbows, and whatever else he could and would use as a weapon to extinguish, to conquer. Conquer...he was beginning to understand. The doorway to his empathy had been torn off, and it wasn't pretty, and it wasn't safe. He had just been conquered, but in such a tiny, miniscule way. So individual, and nothing like a whole race being wiped off the face of the earth so...so...someone...like him...could stand before...a conquered...unconquered...and explain...life to them...on his own...land. His breathing became light and shallow. Something, anything, to take away the focus of his former friend. Something, anything, to get out of there alive.

Tommy took a cautious step barely into the space between the men. That seemed to shake the energy a little. Tommy's arm started to ache painfully. He hadn't been this terrified in years. It seemed to calm Jimmy just enough for his former friend to get up...slowly. Slowly side step to his left until he stood to the side of his chair. He backed up slowly with his head down. He could never look at his former friend again. He had broken something very special and it would never be mended...ever. Nothing would ever be the same. He picked his coat off of the back of the chair, put it on, and backed up slowly about four more feet before turning and walking towards the door. Listening for possible footsteps or commotion following him. It didn't come.

Tommy started to relax, and he took another step in front of Jimmy.

"I CARRY GENERATIONS OF HATE YOU FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!" Jimmy yelled at his former friend. As he calmed, Jimmy looked at the people who sat terrified, silent, barely breathing. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wanted to tell everyone he carried generations of Love as well, because he did, but he knew that he would have to watch his back as he left now. Aint nothing like walking out of a bar and not having someone challenge another acting tough. Fucking Penis Driven Patriarchy. He was so much more than this angry person. A few people there knew that, but most would remember this burn. They would remember this rage. They would see it in every Indian they ever met, now. And they would have to learn to deal with the lesson the creator saw that these people needed. Everything happens for a reason.

"One last beer before you leave?" asked Tiffany, the bartender. Jimmy instantly fell in Love with her. Extremely intense situations create energies like this sometimes. He thought he would never see her again...or maybe he would. She pulled a Guinness from the tap. A harp that would play music to calm the soul even more.

Jimmy picked up his coat from the back of his chair and walked over to the bar. Tiffany was a quarter Cheyenne. They shared a common history. They often talked of this when Jimmy came to the bar alone. She placed the Guinness on the bar before Jimmy just as he arrived. He stared at it as Tiffany pulled a pen from behind her ear, wrote her phone number on a napkin, and passed it across the bar to him. She knew he was much more than this moment. She, too, fell in Love with him. Jimmy picked up her phone number, folded it delicately, placed it in his shirt pocket.

"I'm off at 10," she said. "You can walk me home if you come back. You might want to wait for me outside, though."

Jimmy started to rise, and had to concentrate to keep from being too embarassed as he would soon walk out of his favorite bar for the last time.

He picked up the pint, and in 7 seconds, it was joyously sloshing in his belly. The Thunder Beings were fed and starting to leave his body. His passions were now aroused. He was ready to create beauty in the world. He would much rather create beauty in the world. Beauty. Beauty is worth fighting for. Everything would be beautiful around 10pm.

Jimmy walked from the bar. No one called the cops, everyone was too scared. Everyone was trying to keep their closet doors closed...more like...trying to close them again.

The door closed behind him. It was starting to get dark, and starting to snow. He would be back at 10. He wanted to stay warm. He smiled and the snow touched his face like a familiar friend. He pulled his coat around his neck and figured he'd head to his grandma's for a few hours before his New Lover got off of work. Life is good! Life is beautiful. The Revolution had begun. Tonight...he was going to dance.

 

Celebration

At my friend, Cynthia's, yesterday, as I was about to leave, she asked me to date the cover I gave her to my upcoming book. When I wrote the date 12-17-05, I remembered that it is the 115th anniversary of the beginning of Chief Big Foot's ride with his band of Lakota to Wounded Knee, where they would be slaughtered by the 7th Cavalry.

"Wow," she said. "Another reason to hate this month." I had told her how I feel about this time of year and why.

"It is also a good reason to celebrate. I don't want to have that negative connotation with this month anymore. I want it to be a great celebration. This has been a great celebration for me."

Don't forget to celebrate in whatever forms you can! Send all that good energy out into the world! LET'S START A REVOLUTION!

 

Transus

I went to Darcelle's for dinner and a show.

After some good food, I saw Jesus talking with some men, giggling, moving his arms with his hands limp at the wrist. His hair was dread locked and pulled up to the back of his head. He was tall, and thin and had a great big smile. His face was all tattooed and the make up on his eyelids was pink, loud, and sparkly. He wore a fat pink boa around his neck, tight shorts, tight top pulled over his flat chest. I watched him as he flirted with three men. I could tell the men were ready to rip his/her clothes off and have a Love feast right there in the middle of the room. Jesus is such a slut.

Jesus motioned with his arm around the room when our eyes met.

"EUGENE!" she/he screamed and came running up to me. I stood and received a strong hug from her She kissed me on the lips and sat down.

Jesus placed her arms on the table. They were slender, but her forearms still had hints of strong man, muscular, with bulging veins and beautiful tattoos.

"How are you, honey?" she asked excitedly.

"Fantastic," I said. "How about yourself?"

"Me tooooo!" She looked over at the three men who were staring at her. She waved and they waved back.

"Looks like you're gonna be having some fun later."

"Uh-huh," Jesus smiled her big beautiful smile and nodded her head. I thought it was cute the way her dreads bounced as she did so. "Care to join us?"

"Thanks, but not thanks," I turned the offer down. "I'm not that kinda guy."

"Bummer," she said.

I laughed.

"You know, Jesus, this is really gonna piss off your followers."

"Fuck my followers," she said with a grin, leaning across the table and looking at me intently with those beautiful joyous eyes of hers. "I want to. I want to fuck every last one of them. I want to give all of them pleasure and happiness. Maybe it would loosen them up a bit and they'd quit trying to kill everyone. They don't seem to get it that killing is wrong."

She looked over her shoulder at the men who were still standing where she left them and waved. They waved back.

Jesus looked at me and smiled. "They want to keep their eyes on me. They know what I'm capable of doing," she grinned even broader and leaned closer and whispered to me, "and I know what they are capable of doing to me!" Jesus sat back and laughed her beautiful Winkte laugh. It sent great beauty into my soul. Suddenly I could smell lavender.

"So, are you part of this evenings show?" I asked.

"Not on stage," she laughed. "But I do perform. I have a stage name, too. Wanna know what it is?"

"Yes!" I smiled.

"Transus."

We laughed and laughed and laughed.

She grabbed my hands, leaned in close and spoke softly and clearly, "listen. That was a great lesson you learned. You are a brave man for looking at your own demons and realizing they aren't demons at all. Love yourself and forgive yourself. Those are very important gifts. Use them well."

I leaned across the table and kissed Jesus on the lips. She smiled.

"Sure you don't want to join us."

"Yes," I said. "You know how I feel about guys."

"Maybe you should get over it?"

"Maybe, but not like that."

She smiled knowingly. "Well then...I'm gonna go get greasy with some men!"

She stood up.

"Have a good time," I told her.

"Oh I'm gonna." She looked over her shoulder at the three men who waited with grins on their faces knowing what was about to...come. "And they're gonna, too. See you later."

Transus spun around, swung a white, sequinned, tiny purse over her right shoulder and started swinging her hips as she walked away. She had a cute little ass that wiggled in her cute Winkte way. They walked out of the building arm in arm, the four of them, giggling in anticipation of the pleasure they were about to give and receive. I smiled.

As Transus left the building with her men, she turned her head and winked at me in her best, sexy, Winkte way, and disappeared into her world of joy, happiness, and pleasure.

 

I found a treasure!

Cynthia and I have decided to be friends, which is FANTASTIC!

Listen, folks, I learned a few very important lessons from they peyote ceremony to the wonderful time I had Friday and Saturday helping Cynthia out and talking with her. Here are a few important lessons. If you take them as your own, as I feel I have, sit with them. Be with them. Feel them. Learn to understand what they mean to you. Listen...listen carefully...

How often do you tell yourself bad things about yourself? Be honest for a change, then stop lying to yourself... YOU ARE GOOD PEOPLE AND WE NEED YOU HERE IN THE REVOLUTION. Stop beating yourself up so much and use that energy for something more creative. Easier said than done for the most part as I've been working on mine at least 37 of my soon to be 42 years (as many of my friends could tell you), so here is part 2.

Love yourself and Forgive yourself. ...now sit with that. Live with it. Carry it like a back pack or a hand bag. Make them your own. I've started to. Don't think it's a simple solution either. We back track often and then beat ourselves up some more. So listen. Listen carefully. If you can't Love or Forgive yourself...then PRETEND to love and forgive yourself. Ask yourself what it would be like if you actually Loved and Forgave yourself. Sit with it. Live with it. Be it. THEN GET YOUR ASS TO THIS SIDE OF THE REVOLUTION AND LET'S CHANGE THE WORLD.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

 

Sitting Bull

Today is the 115th anniversary of the assasination of Sitting Bull. Two days later, Big Foot and his band and others were on their way to Pine Ridge.

Baby it's cold outside.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

 

Lover-Love

I sat at the counter, writing my pain and crying into my coffee, when suddenly, there is Jesus sitting across from me. This time she is a beautiful woman. I looked up, sighed in disgust, and went back to writing and crying into my coffee. I was hoping she would just go away, but she didn't. She just sat there across from me and smiled a compassionate caring smile.

I look up and ask, "What the fuck do you want?" She just smiles.

I shook my head, and continued to cry into my coffee and write my pain onto the white pages in black ink. My booklet is college ruled and green, the color of the earth. Jesus continues to remain silent and sitting there with that fucking smile.

I put down my pen, and look in her eyes. I wait patiently, and impatiently for some fucking bullshit wisdom to come from her beautiful lips. I hope she won't say anything. Just sit there with that fucking smile and either disappear or get up and walk away. After miles of silence, I state very clearly and in block letters the same question: "What the fuck do you want?"

Again, miles of silence and soul filled beauty. I sighed heavy, look down at my unfilled page, and reach for the pen again...

"Sometimes..." she says, and pauses. I looked back into her eyes.

"Sometimes it happens the way we dream."

I remain unmoved by her words.

"Sometimes it doesn't."

Another long pause as I stared into her beautiful soul filled a deep, wise eyes.

"That it?" I ask.

Jesus just sat there and smiled.

"Jesus Christ, Jesus! Don't you think I fucking know that?! Is this just the continuation of the joke you and your buddies are playing on me? What the fuck, Jesus? Why the fuck are you here? Can't you let me wallow in my pain in peace? I know I'll get over this fucking shit! I know I'll be OK. I know I'll not try this again because it has NEVER worked out for me. I know! OK! I know I will continue my life mission. I know. I know I hurt now, and I know I will heal. What the fuck do you want?"

Jesus stepped around the counter, walked up to me, and opened her arms.

My heart is breaking, and here is this fucking asshole disguised as a beautiful woman wanting to hug me, and I cry and I cry and I cry. I finally push my stool away from the counter, wipe my endless tears, stand and look the beautiful woman Jesus in the eye yet again.

"I hate you Jesus," I tell her. "I hate you for all the horrible shit your followers have done to my people."

She still holds her arms open for me. She still has that warm, compassionate, beautiful smile. We wrap our arms around each other and I cry and I cry and I cry all the pain of my empty soul I cry.

Monday, December 12, 2005

 

Social "Disharmony" happening in Australia

Seems there are race riots happening in Australia. However, the Australian government is saying there is no such thing as racism in the great occupied nation of Australia. The horrific shit those nasty fuckers did to the aborigines...never happened (Rabbit Proof Fence). No horrific genocide enacted by the aborigines in that great nation. Just like the U.S. officially denies ever committing genocide against the horrific red nigger nation of this country in order to clear the land for the truly wonderful white folks and currently occupy our nation. Well, anyway, of course all of this is completely fucking racist. White against darky Muslims. But there is no racism anymore ...chuckle chuckle chuckle.

"PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN! I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ!"

more later, REVOLUTION NOW!

http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/121205G.shtml

 

Feeling Great!

I keep getting the message to be patient. Patience is important. This is a toughy for me. I want to know things now! But I'm not supposed to. It's the journey that is the important message in learning the lesson. Nothing is instant. Nothing. And don't believe anyone if they tell you otherwise. There is a journey that takes place to get to where you're going. I just have no idea where I'm going. That's OK. I can dig it.

So I walk around with this wonderful feeling in my soul and in my body. I get to journey with this wonderful feeling in my soul and in my body. Where I'm going, I have no idea, really. But...there you go. Where the Indian stops...nobody knows.

I'm also looking for a reason to enjoy this season. I haven't celebrated Christmas in years, as stated previously. I have negative connotations connected with Solstice as well. This is the time of the last great slaughter of Indians, specifically the Lakota (I'm not Lakota). Wounded Knee is the symbol of the end of the slaughter of Indian people, although it continues with a kinder, gentler hand. Plus, December 31st is the anniversary of my fathers death. It'll be 24 years. This is also such a consumerist capitalist season. That's tough for me. So...I'm looking for a reason to enjoy the season. Any suggestions out there? Theresa Mitchell said on Press Watch that December 25 is the actual day when the days start getting longer and that there traditionally was a lot of sex happening on that day. Maybe I'll find someone willing to... Eh! We'll see! But WOMAN AND MAN that would sure brighten up the season for me! WOO-HOO! Feh! We'll see. We'll see.

 

Readjustment

I am readjusting OK to my new temporary environment out on the otherside of Yamill.

It took me an hour and twenty minutes to get to work this morning.

The kitty I'm taking care of I thought escaped yesterday while I was transferring my stuff from the porch to inside the house. I had to keep the outdoor kitty out and the indoor kitty in. I wandered around the property doing ceremony and praying that Samhain, the indoor kitty, found his way home because I couldn't find the little booger anywhere. My spirit remained calm though I wanted to panic many a time. This morning after I woke up, I found the little booger in the living room giving me a serious little hiss at his unhappiness that his people were gone and this stranger was here. I even drove back into town to get tuna for Samhain, and he still didn't show his face. But...he is still inside like a good kitty.

Tried to hook up with the Cynthia this weekend, but our schedules didn't click.

I sense lots of spirits in my new environment, so I talk with them a lot, though they haven't made themselves apparent to me, you can definitely feel them around.

I wrote by hand for about 3 hours last night. I did some reading as well. Currently, the kitchen is a mess and I'm not quite settled in.

By the way...LIFE IS GOOD!

Sunday, December 11, 2005

 

Sitting Bull

Thursday will be the 115 anniversary of the assasination of Sitting Bull. This lead to Chief Bigfoot taking his band of Lakota to Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation where, on December 29, 1890, the 7th Cavalry slaughtered 300-560 Indians. Most of the Cav had whiskey the night before.

Yesterday, December 10, also marked the 115 year anniversary of the Buffalo Gap Massacre, where some 50 Lakota where murdered by white settlers in South Dakota. One woman survived. She walked to Bigfoot's camp in about a week where she found everyone to be gone. She followed the tracks and, on her own, she got to Wounded Knee on December 30th, a day after the genocidal murders of the Lakota by the United States Government.

Yes, I take this fucking shit personally, and don't give me that "just get over it" BULLSHIT either.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

 

Human Rights rally, 12-10

I participated in the Human Rights Rally, since it is the anniversary of the signing of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I was kind of upset, though, that the Human Right most focused on was the right to join and form unions. The rest of that particular document seemed to be ignored.

I believe that there were close to 1500 people at the peak of the march. It is good to see so many people coming out for events like this.

The cops were well behaved, even when a portion of the crowd started swarming into the Benson Tower I guess it's called, The 1515 Building is all I saw. I positioned myself to walk away if the cops got hostile, but they were well behaved and there was no incidents nor arrests.

Like usual, very few people of color, and I understand this. Indians were not represented in the speakers, but then again, most Indians are apolitical. It's very difficult to get Indians to understand that politics is what was and is used to commit genocide against our people. We were trained to stay away from politics and the evil that the U.S. does because they will probably come after us directly again. I just refuse to live in fear.

I talked with my TV show producer, Jim Lockart, who was out their filming for his Friday cable access show. We discussed the Indian issue for a bit. Since he knew the organizers, I suggested that he get me invited to speak. But then again, I don't think anyone wants to hear what I have to say at these type of events. The crimes enacted against my people historically, currently, and on into the future. That according to all laws this is still our land. I have a tendency to believe that people at these types of events want us Indians to remain invisible. Don't want us to be a problem. But then again, hardly ever any Indians at these types of events. So why the fuck would they want Indians to talk at these things?

I didn't get hassled are arrested. No dirty looks from the cops like at other events. Early on I kept checking the perimeters. Looking for the escape routes. Worrying for the safety of the people from the thugs who are there to protect the wealth and the wealthy that own it. But the cops curbed their thuggery as stated previously. I never felt threatened as I have at other rallies.

Good rally. Good work. Got a lot of attention. Hopefully made some of the spectators think. Although I whipped it out a few times, there was really no need for the peace sign, it went that well.

 

English only

I am NOT surprised at the arrogance of this society. I constantly hear how immigrants when they come to this country should learn to speak English and no mention of the language of their peoples. Mostly, this refers to Mexicans. You see, America hates immigrants with dark skin. You wont see much, if any, screaming that German immigrants should learn to speak English only.

The United States does NOT encourage people to learn a different language. It's best to keep the people focused in here and not the outside world where the U.S. does horrible and unspeakable acts.

Remember that "great American melting pot" bullshit. Lies.

However, one thing people so arrogantly don't give a fuck about concerns Indian languages. You see, fucking heartless Americans came here and said basically, "your worthless heathen red nigger langauges are too LOW for us superior white folks to have to learn." The U.S. government interned thousands of Indian children in boarding schools and reservations and beat, tortured, imprisoned, and murdered our languages out of us. Nothin like destroying darkies and everything darky in order to show the TRUE superiority of the truly good and godly Whities.

So, FUCK YOU U.S. with your English only white supremacist racist hearless idiotic bullshit.

 

Get that Foreign Laugnage [English] OFF MY LAND!

Spanish At School Translates to Suspension

By T.R. ReidWashington Post Staff WriterFriday, December 9, 2005; A03

KANSAS CITY, Kan., Dec. 8 -- Most of the time, 16-year-old Zach Rubio converses in clear, unaccented American teen-speak, a form of English in which the three most common words are "like," "whatever" and "totally." But Zach is also fluent in his dad's native language, Spanish -- and that's what got him suspended from school.

"It was, like, totally not in the classroom," the high school junior said, recalling the infraction. "We were in the, like, hall or whatever, on restroom break. This kid I know, he's like, 'Me prestas un dolar?' ['Will you lend me a dollar?'] Well, he asked in Spanish; it just seemed natural to answer that way. So I'm like, 'No problema.' "

But that conversation turned out to be a big problem for the staff at the Endeavor Alternative School, a small public high school in an ethnically mixed blue-collar neighborhood. A teacher who overheard the two boys sent Zach to the office, where Principal Jennifer Watts ordered him to call his father and leave the school.

Watts, whom students describe as a disciplinarian, said she can't discuss the case. But in a written "discipline referral" explaining her decision to suspend Zach for 1 1/2 days, she noted: "This is not the first time we have [asked] Zach and others to not speak Spanish at school."

Since then, the suspension of Zach Rubio has become the talk of the town in both English and Spanish newspapers and radio shows. The school district has officially rescinded his punishment and said that speaking a foreign language is not grounds for suspension. Meanwhile, the Rubio family has retained a lawyer, who says a civil rights lawsuit may be in the offing.

The tension here surrounding that brief exchange in a high school hall reflects a broader national debate over the language Americans should speak amid a wave of Hispanic immigration.

The National Council of La Raza, a Hispanic advocacy group, says that 20 percent of the U.S. school-age population is Latino. For half of those Latino students, the native language is Spanish.

Conflicts are bursting out nationwide over bilingual education, "English-only" laws, Spanish-language publications and advertising, and other linguistic collisions. Language concerns have been a key aspect of the growing political movement to reduce immigration.

"There's a lot of backlash against the increasing Hispanic population," said D.C. school board member Victor A. Reinoso. "We've seen some of it in the D.C. schools. You see it in some cities, where people complain that their tax money shouldn't be used to print public notices in Spanish. And there have been cases where schools want to ban foreign languages."

Some advocates of an English-only policy in U.S. schools say that it is particularly important for students from immigrant families to use the nation's dominant language.

California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger (R) made that point this summer when he vetoed a bill authorizing various academic subjects to be tested in Spanish in the state's public schools. "As an immigrant," the Austrian-born governor said, "I know the importance of mastering English as quickly and as comprehensively as possible."

Hispanic groups generally agree with that, but they emphasize the value of a multilingual citizenry. "A fully bilingual young man like Zach Rubio should be considered an asset to the community," said Janet Murguia, national president of La Raza.

The influx of immigrants has reached every corner of the country -- even here in Kansas City, which is about as far as a U.S. town can be from a border. Along Southwest Boulevard, a main street through some of the older neighborhoods, there are blocks where almost every shop and restaurant has signs written in Spanish.

"Most people, they don't care where you're from," said Zach's father, Lorenzo Rubio, a native of Veracruz, Mexico, who has lived in Kansas City for a quarter-century. "But sometimes, when they hear my accent, I get this, sort of, 'Why don't you go back home?' "

Rubio, a U.S. citizen, credits U.S. immigration law for his decision to fight his son's suspension.
"You can't just walk in and become a citizen," he said. "They make you take this government test. I studied for that test, and I learned that in America, they can't punish you unless you violate a written policy."

Rubio said he remembered that lesson on Nov. 28, when he received a call from Endeavor Alternative saying his son had been suspended.

"So I went to the principal and said, 'My son, he's not suspended for fighting, right? He's not suspended for disrespecting anyone. He's suspended for speaking Spanish in the hall?' So I asked her to show me the written policy about that. But they didn't have" one.

Rubio then called the superintendent of the Turner Unified School District, which operates the school. The district immediately rescinded Zach's suspension, local media reported. The superintendent did not respond to several requests to comment for this article.

Since then, the issue of speaking Spanish in the hall has not been raised at the school, Zach said. "I know it would be, like, disruptive if I answered in Spanish in the classroom. I totally don't do that. But outside of class now, the teachers are like, 'Whatever.' "

For Zach's father, and for the Hispanic organizations that have expressed concern, the suspension is not a closed case. "Obviously they've violated his civil rights," said Chuck Chionuma, a lawyer in Kansas City, Mo., who is representing the Rubio family. "We're studying what form of legal redress will correct the situation."

Said Rubio: "I'm mainly doing this for other Mexican families, where the legal status is kind of shaky and they are afraid to speak up. Punished for speaking Spanish? Somebody has to stand up and say: This is wrong."

 

Powwow!

There is a powwow today at PSU Peter Stott Gymnasium that starts at 1pm. I'm hoping my honey will make it. We'll see. OWL DANCE! WOO-HOO!

Friday, December 09, 2005

 

Didn't I see you nailed to a stick?

I walked to the Burnside Bridge to make my offerings. I stared at the half moon over the Willamette when I tripped over a man passed out on the sidewalk. I almost fell on my face but caught myself on the concrete railing.

"HO!"...I shouted out. After I got my balance back, the man moaned and started moving.

"You OK, Brother?" I asked.

The man's looked at me, and wouldn't you know it, it was Jesus.

"Fuck! Dude!"

I pulled Jesus to his feet, flung his arm across my shoulder and walked him out to my offering place. He wobbled at the railing as I made my offerings to our sister.

"Fuck, Dude!" I stated again as I feared he would go over the rail...for what it's worth.

I flung his arm over my shoulder again and we walked to Taco Del Mar.

"Want something to eat?" I asked him.

"No thanks," he moaned.

I got my food and we went to KBOO to talk at the table in the back.

"What the fuck, Jesus?" I asked after finishing my burrito.

"I just can't take it, man. It's too much for me."

"You need my help, man?" I asked.

"I'll be fine."

"You need a few bucks?"

"Dude, I'm Jesus. I'll just go beg for money in the street, get myself another bottle."

"What's so hard to handle, son?"

"The fucking people. The killing. The responsibility to try to fix it against such overwhelming odds. Nobody listens. Nobody cares. I don't know what the fuck to do anymore. Hide in a bottle."

"You should stick to pot, grandpa. It's better for you. Won't kill ya."

"What the fuck does it matter if I die? No one listens anyway."

"Well, you've been there and remember. But what's the use of drinking yourself to death. Isn't someone supposed to nail you to a piece of wood or something?"

Jesus' body heaved, he stood up, and ran down the hallway. He barely made it to the restroom and his world revolved around a vomitous mass of internal booze and dry heaves.

When he came out of the bathroom, his eyes were bloodshot and he looked so worn. I couldn't stop him as he headed out of the door. I followed, but when I got out the door, he was gone.

I guess nailing the man to stick wasn't an option this go round.

 

www.Indianz.com

These are some articles from www.indianz.com.

"Grammy announces nominees for Best Native album"

http://www.indianz.com/News/2005/011662.asp

I noticed that the albums in this article are the tame albums. The ones that don't deal with the conditions of Indians in the world today. But then again, I bet you none of the albums nominated for grammies, Indian or not, deal with the situations of the masses in this nation. Tame. Tame.

"U.S. forced Aleuts into internment camps"

http://www.indianz.com/News/2005/011646.asp

I ran into Anthony Stoppiello, a long time KBOO person, and told him about this fascinating article about the Aleut being interned in Alaska during WWII. 881 of them. What the hell was that about? But then, Anthony, a second generation Italian, told me that there were internment camps for Italians as well. WHAT THE FUCK? And why Aleuts? The article did not explain as to why the Aleut were interned. But there is a documentary, and I plan on trying to find it around town or getting it myself.

"Non-Indian challenges reservation hunting law"

http://www.indianz.com/News/2005/011649.asp

This article is interesting especially in lieu of the fact that the man who has filed the lawsuit is doing so on constitutional grounds. Let me just say this..."treaties are the supreme law of the land." This, of course, would start a slippery slope should this piece of shit win. You see, there is already an encroachment on indgenous sovereignty in forcing the Indians in Kansas to pay taxes on their reservation gas pumps and Indians in New York in forcing them to pay taxes on cigarettes and gas (Gov. "Piece of Shit" Ptaki at one time even talked of sending in the National Guard complete with tanks in helping with this "persistent Indian Problem"). These invasions of Indian sovereignty are against international law, but since when has the U.S. recognized international law, right? Especially in the case of Indians. Shit, the U.S. doesn't even recognize their own fucking laws in concerns with Indians.

Check it out! Good website.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

 

Thanks, but no thanks

It is becoming very apparent that the woman I was interested is not interested in me. That's OK. If it was meant to be it would be. I'm still very interested, she is so special, but she is no longer calling me. I'm not sure if I offended her, scared her, or what. I just know she is no longer calling.

When I first fell in love with her, I felt like I was being shown how it was supposed to feel. The first words out of one of my spiritual advisors when I told her was I was being shown how it was supposed to feel, though not necessarily for this woman. I guess maybe that's true.

Seeing her at social functions and going out on one date, I could tell there was a lot of validity for the way I felt for her. I thought it might be a little mutual (all of my relationships thus far have been me working hard to gain a little trickle of love or abuse or no love at all from the women I loved). I guess I was wrong.

But now I have all this energy in my body. This energy I wanted to share in just hanging around with her, but, I guess not. Maybe she isn't the one. I just hate the not knowing. I'd prefer a kiss off call. I'm used to those and easily accept them. The not knowing thing after feeling so wonderful about her and thinking at one point that it might actually be somewhat mutual...Oh well. Knowing the way I feel right now, I'll probably try again. I'm in no rush and there aren't too many interested parties to try to influence. I just know I have this wonderful energy in my body and will probably let it trickle away in flirting with women until it is drained out.

I've been flirting heavily with a couple of women regularly, but I don't think either of those are going to go anywhere either. That's OK, because life is good. I just hate the not knowing thing. The least she could have done is call me and tell me, "Thanks, but no thanks." But not even that kind of leaves a horrible limbo.

Speaking of limbo. My alleged last meeting for my book, which was supposed to happen for the last month, is now allegedly going to happen on Sunday....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Well, I'm off to cross the bridge and take the bus home. All plans for this afternoon all the way to Sunday have been tossed out the window. I even took the day off tomorrow to pick up a buddies vehicle and go out with the woman I thought was interested in me, but now all that is open, too. Feh! I'll probably just come down here and write the next couple of days now that I'm not doing anything.

The woman...She was worth the shot. She is so awesome. She is so wonderful, intelligent, cool, beautiful, active...I tried. At least I tried. At least I now know how it is supposed to feel.

 

Playlist

Someone called and requested a playlist from my last show, December 8, 2005, which also featured Elizabeth Woody (google her and get lots more information on this wonderful woman).

1) "She Had Some Horses" by Joy Harjo from her CD Poetic Justice.

2) "Exile" by Blackfire from their CD One Nation Under.

3) "Unity" by Jim Boyd from the compilation CD Urban Skins #1

4) "Stolen Land" by Bruce Cockburn from the compilation CD In the Spirit of Crazy Horse.

5) "Indian Karz" by Keith Secola from the compilation CD Urban Skins #1.

6) "Thinking of You" by Harpo Marx from his album Hi-Fi.

7) "Going Home" by Ulali from their CD Mahk Jchi (mock chee)

Somewhere in there I also played "Guilty 'Til Proven Innocent" by WithOut Reservation from their CD Are You Ready for War?

That's the play list. Don't forget to look up Elizabeth Woody and buy some of her books.

more later, REVOLUTION NOW!

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

 

The Fall...

Walking to the bus in this dark and windy morning, a large blow-up santa (blow up santa?...kinky) is laying on it's side in someone's front yard. You can see it coming a mile away, can't you?

"...HELP! I've fallen and I can't get up."

OKOKOK...enough of that.

We haven't had the same bus driver any day this week, and this day is no different. I see the man and think..."Rasputin."

Getting off of the bus, spirits are whipping the leaves, jumping between two flag poles and bouncing against the concrete barrier of the driveway leading into the bowels of "Big Pink." I run up and dance with the spirits before I leave...they leave...we both leave.

The wind is strong this morning as it holds my face and body in its hands as I push my way up Burnside and smile. I think of John Redcorn except shorter, pudgier, with smaller arms, and a 24-pack. The wind feels good and crisp against my body and face. There are still some golden leaves holding onto the trees, unwilling to release, even in the face of this wind. This wind that wants to dance with them and will tease me.

I say hello to the same woman every morning as we cross in opposite directions on the Burnside Bridge. I make offerings from my usual place. As I place the tobacco back in my pocket, there is a man standing on my right, the side from which I came. It's my buddy, Jesus.

"Got a Guinness," I ask.

He smiles.

"Okay," I say casually. "What the hell do you want?"

He just smiles, puts his arm around me, and we look at our sister, the water, the river.

"They always call your name out in war," I say.

He looked down and shook his head at the one. A man of peace whose name is called out in war.

"That's why I don't like you. Nothing personal. It's your fucking followers."

He shakes his head some more.

"Got any pot?" I ask.

Jesus reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a little wooden box. I looked in and saw the most beautiful tasty buds. I stuck it in the pocket of my jeans. "Thanks," I said and pointed at him with my lips.

"Jesus?" I ask.

He looks at me with that smile of his.

"Tell me about True Love. Tell me about soul mates."

He knew why I was asking. He knew who I was asking about. His smile brightened. Using his hand for leverage, he leapt over the "what a lovely shade of beige" cast iron guard rail. I looked at the river to see him standing on it. His face shined in the red light. He stuck his hands in his pockets. He started whistling a little tune as he looked up at me. He then faced up river and started walking on water.

"Fucking poets!" I think to myself.

I stuck my hands in my pockets, and headed on across the bridge. A smile in my heart. Other smiles in my heart.

I remembered what I needed to talk to him about. I ran back to my offering place and screamed to him as he neared the Hawthorne Bridge. "HEY! YOUR BUDDY SANTA HAS FALLEN AND HE CAN'T GET UP!"

Jesus laughs hard. What a good laugh. He slapped his knee, turned back up river, and started whistling again. Then he'd laugh some more, shake his head, and start whistling again. This went on until he was out of sight.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

 

Book

It's beginning to look like my book will NOT be out before Christmas. Maybe after the new year sometime.

 

Change

I sense a big change in me. Ever since that ceremony. I have started to see things differently, and feel that in the months to come, a big change will happen in my life. I like to think I know what that is, but rarely do thinks turn out as I expect. Sometimes they do, though.

I haven't celebrated Christmas since '98.

Growing up, I celebrated for greed. Then I celebrated for greed and giving and the joy and happiness that my dysfunctional family would feel one of the few times throughout the year. As I got older and learned a few things, I failed to understand any purpose in the holiday for me. It is a holiday to celebrate a great peacemaker whose name pours from the lips of some of the most horrific genocidal maniacs on earth. Sick and twisted world this is. Plus, Jesus was born during tax time which was in the spring. That's why they were all being gathered was to be taxed...in the spring. Jesus was born in the spring. Then I read articles of the cooptation of pagan ceremonies: wreaths, holly, mistletoe, winter solstice, etc. Then...I married a Christian. Not a whole lot of talk about Jesus during this time of year, and when there was it sounded like propaganda, not like admiring the journeys of a peacemaker whose name is screamed out in war.

But I am a man who believes in freedom. You are free to celebrate Christmas and put whatever it means to you in it. To make it your own. For many it is a time where people can be nice to each other. For others it is deep depression. For some, it's the annual dysfunctional family gathering. It is many things for many people. Who am I to stand between that?

The last Christmas I celebrated was in '98 with my first wife. My next wife is a pagan and didn't believe in Christmas. However, those holiday seasons were mixed with people who do, and celebrating with them. The gifts we bought each other had to be called "Solstice" gifts. The lights had to be called "Solstice" lights. And when I'd slip...and call them Christmas lights, there was hell to pay, and boy did I ever pay for it. Thus, not only did I now feel iffy about Christmas, "Solstice" was getting pretty sucky as well.

Last year, I really didn't celebrate. My daughter and I had dinner with the woman whom I would become housemates with. I gave my daughter some money. The purist of capitalism. I'm not so sure I'll be celebrating it this year, either.

Yesterday, I fell asleep riding home on the bus. I sat in the back row of 5 seats and fell asleep almost immediately. Upon waking up, half way home, I was surprised to see a beautiful indigenous woman sitting two seats beside me. I kept glancing at her. She was so quiet, I didn't eve hear her. She had a beautiful face, and a mannerism that seemed very sweet. A few stops later, as I'm still shaking the cobwebs from my brain and wondering if I should talk with this beautiful woman who keeps her eyes forward with a soft sweet smile and black shiny hair.

"Gene!" I hear the loud voice. It's the crazy talking lady. Harmless, nice, and won't stop talking. She finds the compassionate people who will either just let her go on and on or those who engage her, like I had in the past.

"Hey," I respond, and now am really starting to come awake.

"You know Eugene?" she asks the beautiful indigenous woman.

"No," she says quietly.

Without word, crazy plops herself and bag between me and the beautiful indigenous woman and...well...basically pushes her aside. I know why the Crazy Lady is there. She is a reminder. I smile and appreciate it as I try to talk with her until it just becomes her talking. I smile and listen. Sometimes we just need someone to listen to us.

The woman I am interested in celebrates Christmas. Honesly...I like it. Of course, however, I know I like pretty much everything about her.

I have been breaking my own rules, lately. A friend of mine, a vegetarian, called me once and told me with laughter and joyous abandon that she had just eaten a piece of pork, something severely punishable by her vegan boyfriend, who happened to be out of town. I have eathen the wrong types of junk food since I left my last wife. I have even eaten at McDonalds twice, still, something I don't want to make a habit of, in fact, probably never again. However, it felt good to break those rules.

And remember. Remember the story I have told all of you? How the day I left that abusive fucking asshole, my sister and I went to Jack in the Box and got dinner? How my sister had to give me permission to eat my fries before we get home because the asshole won't be waiting there to be offended if I did, therefore I could now live by my own rules and not those of someone who wanted to be my master instead of my partner? I did tell you that one...right?

 

Spirits

They looked like spirits in the water this morning. The artificial lights on the Willamette. Her waters calmer as the storms change and become something else. So easy, that the shine of the artificial lights look like spirits dancing in place on the water. Each one has a name. Each one changes with every step. More appear on the otherside of the water. Offerings Offerings Offerings... don't forget to dance

Saturday, December 03, 2005

 

Perspective

The last several weeks I've started looking at things differently. Myself, my writing, my relationship with my daughter, my...well, everything. Everything looks different to me.

Since that ceremony, I'm not so hard on others. I don't yell at traffic anywhere near as much. I also feel Love in my heart and don't know where that is leading me. But everything seems so much more beautiful. I feel like I've just woken up to a new world and am discovering many beautiful things. I also know that many horrible things are happening in the world.

Hmmmm!? What does one do with this kind of stuff? I want to create. Put words together and make stories. Spiders, crows, cats, trees, daughter, dogs, goats, genocide, life.

I want to watch the stories fall from her hair, through those little dark curls, sparkling eyes, delicious smile, beautiful hands...

 

204

It's another beautiful day. It is so beautiful. The weather is cloudy. The energy thick. Clouds who suggest rain, not ready to commit. That energy, that beauty, that power.

Another day, Felicia and I catch the bus and head into town. We stood under big pink. I had her look up, and she thought that was so cool. A little change of perspective, because you see, she asked that question yesterday. Where's Waldo? I think it's been in her head a while. She points to a drawing of Indians. Indians in a conoe. Goofy looking Indians in a canoe. "Is that racist, dad?"

"Yes," I told her. I explained that in order to be recognized as a certain group, we are portrayed as looking a certain way. You'll see Indians doing things like rowing canoes, wearing headresses, women in buckskin, etc. You won't see an Indian doing everyday things. Going to the library. Feeding their kids before school. We're not everyday people. We are an odd living history of America. Those who refuse to die. Those who will still tell you we want it all back!

We cross the Burnside, and the power of the air is all around us. We laugh. We joke. She always wants to make me laugh. That is very important to her, but sometimes tries my patience.

Post: 204

Friday, December 02, 2005

 

Stealing Horses?

Driving down the road for work, we spot a Matt Weurker VW Bug. We force it off to the side of the road, remove the driver, set them on the other side of the guardrail (for safety purposes), load the VW Bug into the back of the truck, and head back for the store. At the store, I open the back and show Judi, my boss. "I'll give you $5 bucks for it," I tell her. "Sounds good to me," she says. I pay my money, and with my employee discount, it comes to $4. I get my receipt and drive away in my new Matt Weurker VW Bug. Having dark skin and long hair has taught me a lot of lessons here in America. How to do business is one of them.

 

Cool

A young man strolls across the street
before the bus.
Cigarette hanging from his lips
back arched forward
shoulders hunched
to protect himself from the wind and rain.
The street lights
dance flickers across the waves
of water
on brick, concrete, and asphalt.
The dance on this stage,
the perfect ballet.
He pauses in the street
pulls his arms up,
strikes fire into life through his lighter
holds the flame
protected from wind and rain
by his arching body,
head properly turned.
Mission accomplished,
smoke pours from his mouth.
A few puffs
then his arms return to his sides.
In his right hand,
the burning ember.
Three more steps
and he's on the curb.
The street light turns green
and we continue through our world.
I can't help but think
that the young man
had seen that move before
and thought it was just the coolest thing.
That was a move
of a certain type of coolness
combined with timing,
creativity, ingenuity, improvisation.
A pattern.
A pattern relived.
An interesting pattern.
A cool pattern.
Something that can take many different forms.
Patterns
like riding the bus
seeing the same people
seeing different people
sleeping
waking
patterns patterns patterns patterns.
Four is a sacred number
a pattern.
Pattern.
We change patterns.
We drop patterns.
We enhance patterns.
Some we enjoy.
Some bring us pain.
We live in patterns.
Patterns can be changed.
Like the pattern to kill and destroy.
Like the pattern to rape.
Like the pattern to oppress others.
Like the pattern of "penis driven patriarchy."

Have you ever taken the time
to look at the tiniest of flowers?
Have you ever kneeled
on a sidewalk
to look into the world
of something you walk by
every day
and see the beauty
of a few
tiny blossoms.

Ever rub your hands on lavender
and rosemary
and savor the scents?
Ever look at their tiny purple blossoms?
Aren't they beautiful.

Rub lavender and rosemary
put your hands to your face
and inhale...
right there...
smell that...
feel it in your soul...

I smell a Revolution.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]