Pudgy Indian

The morning has been so beautiful. I woke up and took my time, not having to be into work until noon. Took a shower. Prayed.

And most of the cloth that covers my bed was on the floor. All of my scarves, sarongs, sari, springy long flags (actually table runners) of purple, yellow, and brick red sunflowers were also...on the floor. My blankets were covering only half of my bed. All before the window. Their plan of escape foiled by a crazy Indian whom, after taking a shower, made his bed and replaced things gently upon the place where I spend most of my life. I didn't go through the lengthy ceremony I like to do when I have the time.

The clouds, my friends, are beautiful on the distant horizon I see outside my window. I...am the wealthiest man on earth!

Crazy racist roommate is still showing no signs of getting her rude passive aggressive ass the fuck out of our house. Heidi is still upset.

To top off all of Heidi's stress on this issue, one of her bunnies, Maude, the white one, was attacked last night by our neighbors dog. She is at the vet and it is questionable if she will survive. Prey animals, like bunnies, have a tendency to give up when severely attacked, whether or not they survive. There is a tear on her ass and a few of her teeth are loose. If they don't set proper, she can't eat. If she can't eat...

Heidi's husband, who is Romanian (the most depressed nation in the world), shows signs of being further stressed by these issues.

Heidi and I cooked together last night, but with the emergency, we didn't get to finish. I went as far as requested, then made myself a meal of potatoes and onions, went upstairs and did ceremony. I heard Heidi back in the kitchen about 8:30, but felt the need to finish my prayers and for Heidi to sit with her sadness a little before I joined her. When I did join her, she asked if I wanted to eat again, and since I didn't eat hardly anything other than those potatoes yesterday, I sat down to Afghan ravioli wrapped around leeks with a tangy cream sauce and topped with a delicious fake meat sauce made with mushrooms, carmelized onions, and other such wonderful tasty goodies. But the celebration going on in my mouth was intertwined with the sadness of a second bunny being attacked by a pooch...the same pooch.

I have taken to wearing a teal silk scarf. I have done ceremony with this scarf, but hadn't started wearing it until a few days ago. I love it when the wind on the bridge lifts scarf to caress my cheek and teaches me to feel Loved. I smile greatly. I Love the feel of the silk against my cheek and the way it teases my eyes as it dances with me and the wind.

Last night, while stirring up magic in my drawers in searc of red cloth for ceremony, I found a shiny brown paisley scarf with a soft brown fringe/friend. I wrap it around my neck where my teal silk goody was still hanging, go downstairs and check it out in the mirror and think, "Hey! That looks kind of cool." This morning I tried to wrap them together, but realize they look much better when I place them on my neck separately-together. The silk feels good all over my hands. The fringe of paisley feels so delicious to the back of my hand, and I am feeling glorious.

The bus ride in is amazing. I caught the second instead of the first bus. I whip out "Cunt," and start reading. I feel a certain tension in the air, mostly from women whom I know can read the title and probably know nothing of the book. I pray they are curious. I pray they want to know. I pray they find the book, read the book, and become "cuntlovin' goddesses of the universe," even if they already are.

Self-protection is the word I am studying in the book as I read through the "Reconciliation" section of said wonderful book, by Inga LaGringa Muscio. Self-protection, womanifesto, life is interesting. Life is Good! I know, as Inga has made peace with her "cunt," that I somehow must do the same with my "penis." My penis and I have a serious Love/Hate relationship, mostly hate. Even though the thing has brought me much pleasure, it has brought me years of pain that have made it hard for me to look in the mirror at my own image until recently, just months ago. Inga LaGringa has helped guide me to that place as well as many others; Starr, Mikhelle, Cynthia, Ani, Leigh Anne, Melodie, Lisa, Myself, and many others get credit here. A place I need to look and deal with and claim as my own and love and forgive myself has to do with my penis and my relationship with what defines me as a man.

I stared at a pine tree down 67th St., where I live in the Garden Home area, as it was blessed by the morning sun and blessed my eyes with such beauty before I caught the bus. I remembered the rhythms, fierce and gentle, that the rain prayed upon the skylights of our house the evening before like hundreds of drummers. This morning, the earth is damp, the streets are still wet, and the sky is mostly clear with spotty clouds. The sun is shining its great golden beauty upon the earth. It is a beautiful morning.

I observe the beauty outside the cloudy windows of the bus during spots of our journey. My little voices tell me to pack out early from my bus ride, and I get off in the heart of downtown Portland before Pioneer Courthouse Square instead of my usual Burnside stop, and there I am...standing in beauty. The light on the moist city is wonderful. I partake in a journey of the city I am so familiar with, yet not familiar with at all. I look in a shop window and see a ceramic Buddha covered in children and other Buddha ceramics. I see ceramic busses crammed full of humans and life. A magic bus ride all of us wonderful humans are on. I found a wonderful Russian shop that has cloths covered in rosy designs...mmmmm! I look up at a glass building and am amazed by the reflections of the spotty clouds in the sky.

I find myself on First Street, where the Max trains whiz by and suddenly I'm heading down a little alleyway where there are no cars and it travels under the Morrison Bridge. I see a beautiful woman walking my way. I see a troubled look on her face. I say nothing as she passes by because I realize she is in a place that is unsafe for her; narrow alley, few flight options, lightly traveled, lots of potential dangers from hiding places where men could be waiting to rape her. I have no idea really what she is thinking, but after reading the "Rape of Cunts" chapter of "Cunt," and what I've read of the "Reconciliation" section thus far, I know that here she is unsafe. I assess the positive and negatives of this area where There Is Always A Potential For Rape.

I make my way to the Burnside Bridge and am amazed at the beauty that I am always amazed at. I make prayers along the way to my praying spot, and then pray to you and the spirits. Then I come here to pray more to you with these words where I am greeted by the black fuzzy puppy known as Mazzy (Aileen's puppy)...and...in case you haven't noticed...listen...very carefully...pay close attention...look...

NOWS THE TIME FOR REVOLUTION!

I walked into the Plaid
where behind the counter
is the beautiful young blonde woman
whom I talked with
about my current marijana situation
last week.
"What bullshit?" she said.
We discussed my workplace issue.
She is intelligent
and has empathy for my situation.
She is a beautiful and powerful
young woman,
full of life and vibrant energy
intelligent, spirit, soul, important
I can tell
she is a treasure to this world.

She fumbles for the change
from the $5 bill
I handed her
for a box-o-Top.
She pulls a wad of strange looking paper
out of the cash drawer and
attempts to ball it into
some semblance of solidity
that would hopefully make it to the trash can
some six feet away.
I watch this ballet
which finales in
an attempted toss.
The paper stumbles
as it sticks to her fingers
just enough
to fall
a few feet away
onto the floor
which, amazingly,
seems to catch everything.
Floors are good for that.

"Failure," she says
and strikes a mild
dramatic pose.

I strike a mild dramatic pose
of my own.
In a moment of
real and thespian
pride, I say,
"Well, you'll always be a winner to me."
Part drama...
100% truth.

She beams
maybe at finding a fellow thespian
but I wish I wasn't too shy
to let her know
I mean it 100%.

As I leave,
I enjoy one more look
at her beautiful face
which looks like a flower
reaching for the sun.

I had maybe smoked some 20 times when I was in my early 20's. More than likely even less. It always made me feel like I was dreaming while I was awake then, so I used it minimally. I drank, mostly beer and occasionally hard liquor. I've been drunk about a dozen times. At one time I thought it would be a good idea (like an idiot) to become an alcoholic because all of the coolest Indians I knew had been alcoholics. I decided to go on a three day drunk. I woke up in the hallway of my apartment in a puddle of my own puke. I could not even be in the same room with an open can of beer for two weeks, let alone drink one. I was a failure at alcoholism.

My father was an alcoholic. He preferred the slower suicide methods. When he drank the most heavily, it was three quarts of beer for breakfast, three quarts for lunch, and three for dinner. Sometimes one or two for a snack. A few years ago I found out from my sister, Roxanna, that her and my mom would search the garage and find hidden whiskey bottles. His death started (it took a little over two years) one evening when I was sitting watching television in my dads favorite chair, and he was asleep on the sofa, his bed for the last several years of his life as he could no longer stand sleeping with my mother. Suddenly, he sat up, and then projectile vomit of blood. I was 14. After vomitting blood all over the living room, down the hallway, and ALL OVER the bathroom, all I could muster was to get up and take a few steps into the living room where I stood for I have no idea how long. When he finally stopped puking, he walked down the hallway to his bedroom and laid on the bed and waited to die. I have no idea what happened after that other than suddenly my mom was there and screaming. She couldn't get my dad to go to the hospital. Then my sisters showed up (I was the only kid living at home, I have three sisters). I remember my sister Ferrol actually hitting my father to force him to get his body off of the bed and out to the car where they drove him to St. Vincent's Hospital. I remember somebody, I think my mother, ask if I wanted to go as they rushed my father out the door. "I'll stay here and clean up," I told her. And out the door they went and I remember that was the first steps I took since the vomitting actually started. A few days later at the hospital after much chasing down of the doctor, my mom requested that the doctor tell my father to quit drinking. He REFUSED! "Why?" my mom asked. "Because he's just another alcoholic Indian?" "Yes," the white peckerwood piece of shit with a Ph.D said, "because he's just another drunk Indian." Thus, not only starting several years of crazy life wondering when my father was going to die, but also starting a thus far life long hatred of western medicine doctors which I still carry to this day. [on a lighter note, just found a lady bug crawling around on this keyboard, so I took it outside and placed it in the wonderful flowering tree just outside this station]

Dad didn't quit drinking, and several months later at our annual white family side picnic, dad again had a blood puking session. This time, he went to OHSU, where, doctors told my mother dad had only 3 to 6 months to live (he lived about 2 and a half years). They said the arteries veins and other blood vessels around his esophagus had become paper thin and had been torn open. They would have to cauterize (sp?) them. His liver was irreversibly damaged to 5% of its original working order.

For the next few years, I would leave school before noon to come home and hang out with my dad and watch Perry Mason. We used to cheer Perry on (we had seen all the episodes already) like people do football games on TV. Somedays he wouldn't be there when I got home, and I would be fucking scared. Was he at the beach? the store? dead? dead? in the hospital? dead? driving around? visiting family or friends? dead? in the hospital?

He passed away on December 31, 1981 at around 4:30am.

Now here is the clincher. If dad was a pot smoker and didn't drink, he would still be alive and healthy and we'd be struggling to get EVERYTHING BACK TOGETHER! However, dad drank alcohol, a legal and deadly substance. Most importantly, NOBODY BUT HIS FAMILY GAVE A FUCK THAT MY DAD WAS AN ALCOHOLIC! Why? Because dad had a fucking JOB! It wasn't like he was begging on the streets for money to drink, where people fein concern and superiority over their fellow human beings who suffer from various issues that no one REALLY GIVES A FUCK ABOUT, otherwise they would do something about it.

For a couple of months this summer, I was drinking a beer every day. I was starting to worry that I may actually be heading down that path and expressed my concern to my friend, Leigh Anne, who said she would keep an eye on me and be honest should I take that path. I smoked pot everyday as well. I stopped drinking a beer a day in November after I went to a Tipi Meeting, also known as a Peyote ceremony. These ceremonies I was told were "the easy way" by people who hadn't done them. When I did it, I discovered it aint easy. It was good to sit and pray and use that medicine. That ceremony changed my life. I've been to one more since, and plan on attending more as time wears on.

When I was in my early 20's, I experimented with cocaine and crank. I never paid for the stuff myself, I always had friends who were generous with this unhealthy and occasionally deadly substance. It made me feel tense. It made me more open. It can be compared to something like drinking 3 or 4 pots of coffee in a matter of a few minutes. When my friends all moved out of area that did the stuff, I figured it was creators way of telling me to knock it off, so I did.

I've done mushrooms a couple of times. The first time I did mushrooms with my ex wife, I reverted back to the age of 5 and had flashbacks to being raped. My ex thought it was a good idea to beat the living fuck out of me in my EXTREMELY vulnerable state. She stated it was to help "bring me out of it." Instead, I had hallucinations I was a woman in 1936 being beaten to death by her husband, and she was my husband. Domestic violence is another issue that society at large doesn't really give a fuck about either, otherwise they would do something REAL about it.

Stepping aside from the use of marijuana, the wonderful creator earth mother given gift to humanity, I am taking the time to look at how the wonderful herb has helped me in my life.

I started smoking some 6 years ago. I've read "Marijuana Myths, Marijuana Facts," after I started smoking. I've read many books on the "Drug War." The drug war, one realizes after educating oneself, is a form of "population control." You get cheap prison slave labor. You get a populace that feels under threat because they use illegal substances for recreation or health. If you are a member of "high society," you can do all the drugs you want, illegal or otherwise, and get away with it. Ethnic groups are SPECIFICALLY targeted in order to keep them under control. CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL. This has nothing to do with the health and safety of the people and everything to do with a government that dosen't want the privilege of extremely wealthy white men to lose even a modicum (sp?) of said privilege. This...is alleged to be "freedom."

Smoking pot gives me the feeling very similar to that of how one feels after a wonderful rousting bout of glorious sex. It is more paralell to that feeling than actually like it. That is the best comparison I can give to the effect it gives me.

Not smoking the wonderful creator earth mother given herb at the moment, I can see more clearly the benefits it has given me. It helped me survive a horrifically verbally abusive relationship where I was SCREAMED at daily by my now ex-wife, humiliated, dominated, controlled, etc. Marijuana helped me to deal with the issues that surround being a survivor of childhood rape. (great book to read, "The Courage to Heal." One of the editors is a pot smoker.)

When I started dealing with my rape, I cried for months (this was shortly after starting to smoke on a regular basis some six years ago). I'd walk down the street and start crying a hard to breathe hurting my stomache muscles cry. Marijuana carried me through that pain. I could have used legal pharmaceuticals to suppress those feelings, but marijuana helped me move through them. It helped me heal from them. If I had used pharmaceuticals, I would have health damage from their side effects and probably still be suffering greatly because they only act as suppressants and NOT AS HEALERS, which is why I refuse to use them.

In the last four months, I have gone through a lot of healing. Healing from my abusive marriages, healing from my childhood rape, healing from self-hatred, healing healing healing. I probably could have done it without the use of marijuana, peyote, and mushrooms, but I GUARANTEE you I would still be in the midst of some serious damage. Marijuana has helped me as a medicine and the ONLY damage that comes from the use of this creator-earth-mother given medicine is the punitive DAMAGES caused by the U.S. Government for making a PLANT illegal. Now, in the alleged land of freedom, my current workplace has control over my personal life. THIS, BY THE WAY, IS A VIOLATION OF MY HUMAN RIGHTS! (the right to self-determination). A violation of the law as well.

Again, nobody really gives a fuck about my health in all of this. Whoever sent that letter to my workplace did so knowing that only punitive control would be exercised or my life would be damaged by the sudden lack of income. It was an act of cruelty, because, like I said, the only damage that comes from smoking marijuana are the punitive controls given to my workplace by the U.S. government.

One last thing about alcohol. Alcohol was introduced to the Indigenous population of the Great Turtle Island (North and South America) because it is useful in our continued genocide. You know, like smallpox blankets, except not quite as effective. Genocide is a crime. Genocide was/is enacted upon the indigenous nations of the Great Turtle Island by the criminal organization known as the lethal and deadly U.S. government which is under the control of a handful of WEALTHY WHITE MALES! People tell me smoking marijuana is a crime and therefore they have to be concerned about my personal use of it. Genocide is a crime, too. But no one other than those who are survivors of and in it seem to give a shit about that UNHEALTHY crime. So my smoking pot really has little to do with the law. It would be much preferred that I drink myself to death like my father because it is unhealthy and legal. I use an herb that has no potential to kill me. Unlike alcohol, sterioids, PCP, many over the counter drugs, some perscriptions, etc., marijuana doesn't make people prone to violence. It doesn't motivate us to kill ourselves or others. Maybe that's the root, really, of why marijuana is illegal?

Heading for the bridge
I see my Crow buddy
as he yells at a motorist
from the other side of Burnside
as the drivers moment of life
revolved around the manly art
of smoking tires
and burning rubber.

I yell at him from the curb
and as I wait for him
to cross the canyons of traffic
that have divided us,
I have to jump back
as I'm almost hit
by a Jeep Cherokee
whose driver
must have been looking to count coup
on the body/bodies
of a Red Nigger or two.

My buddy looks at my scarf
lets me know he thinks it makes me
look gay.
Suggests he'd like to set it on fire
as it caresses my neck
in its beautiful soft blue
and shimmering gold.
This is the first suggestion of violence
against me
for wearing my feminine side
around my neck
out in the open
to catch the attention
of the feminine
all around me.

I have looked into
many eyes
that suggested violence toward me
for wearing beautiful
colorful
scarves.
I
not being what they would define for me
as what is manly.
Man is supposed to be
cold hearted violence rape
all of which
I refuse to be.
And I am aware
of the potential violence
people are willing to enact upon me
for wearing what I do
just as I'm aware of the
potential violence
people are willing to perpetuate on me
for being born
a color that doesn't please them.

I dress to catch the attention of women
because I Love the feminine
soft, beauty, curvaceous, charming, fun
and people are willing
to enact violence upon me
for perceptions of gayness
or Indianess...

I cross the bridge
and there is a couple ahead of me
and the woman is beautiful
soft curves
feminine
she holds the hand
of her male companion.
I Love to hold hands.
I Love to touch.
I Love to kiss...

I catch up to them
and am only a few feet behind
when they head down
the stairs
just above the Max line
heading down to First
when the man
sits down at the switch back
in the stairs
and his beautiful woman companion
wraps herself around his back.
"How Sweet!"
I exclaim
as he lifts her into the air
and they continue
their beautiful Lover journey
around the area
world
life.
I clap my hands in joy!

I Love to touch, to kiss...
and I imagine
how your skin
will feel against mine
as we would entangle
in a Lovers embrace...
bathe in each others Love.
I want to make you feel so good
that it echoes the wonders of
beauty and pleasure
into the universe.
I want to feel the beauty of your body
as it quakes in orgasms
of beauty and pleasure
and I hold you
touch you
kiss you
and want to do it to you again!
And I know you feel the same about me
and I imagine things
that make me twitch in my seat
on the bus ride home
and know
you're out there...
soft, curvaceous
and wanting me
as good as I want you.

Here at the BOO,
I am greeted by Aileen's
sweet tiny dog.
It seems to be a pledge drive tradition
as I look forward to asking Aileen
...again...
what the name of her precious
sweet and kind dog
is.

I usually look South at my sister
the river
as I cross the Burnside Bridge,
but today,
I looked North
to see along the West shore
in Waterfront Park
a line of blossoming trees
with soft pink blossoms
BURSTING from the limbs
of trees
looking to have some serious
righteous sex
in this great and glorious world.
I imagine myself
flying through the air
to land gently
upon their compassionate beauty
in an episode
I would have like to have seen
in any of the Superman
presentations.

and then, I think of the lie called freedom.

I told Heidi last night
about the "Rape of Cunts"
chapter
in the book "Cunt"
by the "Goddess of the Cunlovin' Universe"
Inga LaGringa Muscio.
Here in the land
that perpetuates the lie of freedom
Heidi
does not feel free
to go out hiking alone.
The dangers present
in this rape culture
are just too much
for her
and the thousands,
millions,
billions of women.
The simple act of having a "cunt"
puts them in serious danger
from people who wish to dominate
and do harm
in order to satisfy
ABSOLUTELY CONTROLLABLE DESIRES!

To my brothers,
most of you whom I cannot stand,
let me explain to you
that our sisters, mothers, lovers, friends, neices, Grandmas, etc.
live in fear of us
and people will still tell me
this is the land of the free.

BULLSHIT!

And don't give me that BULLSHIT
either
that women shouldn't dress like they do!
I have heard of old women
unable to escape their beds
being raped by you
in old folks homes.
I have heard of women
dressed in sweats
to hide their physical beauty
being raped by you, my brothers.
Look at yourselves
my brothers.
No matter what a woman wears
no matter how old she is
no matter what size she is
no matter how she looks
in times of war
and in times of peace
if you force women to sacrifice
her most sacred anatomical jewel
to your shitty and controllable
violent desires to dominate her
and extract from her what you want
against her will
the act is called
RAPE
and you are a
RAPIST!
And don't you dare
give me that fucking bullshit lie
that you couldn't control yourself
either.
If I had my way
you all would walk a gauntlet
of grandmas
completely naked.
The grandmas will be armed with dowels
and willow switches
and if you made it out the other end alive
that would mean you have
...one...
...last...
...chance...

I went to Grendel's this morning
and visited with the barista
whom I have a crush on
from time to time
but am too shy
to ask her out,
too shy
to see
if she'd like to get to know me better
as I'd like to get to know her
better.
But life is different
life is changing
and sometimes I don't know what I want
and sometimes
I figure things will happen
the way they're supposed to
and I try to listen
and take my queues.
The barista is beautiful
active
intelligent
dances
wears some cool belts
and earrings
and
I
know
I
am
too
shy.

And my heart...
my heart...
is reaching for you
because I know you're out there
and I know
someday soon
we'll be touching
and the connection of our skin
will electrify
our worlds
with beauty and Love!
Being slutty and shy
is a combination that
not only frustrates me
but also
helps me to understand
the beauty
that surrounds me
in this
truly
crazy
insane
and wonderful
world.

"The Genocide In Me," is a film that was in Portland's International Film Festival. Heidi went to see it and bought a copy of the movie. Heidi also recognized the man who is the Turkish tour guide in the film. In fact, he was her Turkish dance teacher at one time.

The film, a four year project created by Araz Artinian is amazing. Her father is obsessed with getting the Turks to admit to the fact that they committed genocide against the Armenians in 1915. There is old family footage, and the fun of children growing, all mixed in with photos of a horrific genocide and testimony from the survivors. She goes to Turkey and witnesses the lies that are told by Turks. She goes to sites where massacres occurred. In one church, some 2000 Armenians had gathered for protection, only to have it lit on fire by the Turks and everyone inside murdered.

All of this mixed in with her personal life as a survivor of genocide. Her father is adamant about her marrying an Armenian, continuing the blood line, cultural line, language, etc. It would not be acceptable to her father should she marry anyone other than an Armenian.

It is an excellent film. It is a great example of one of the many ways in which we survivors of genocide survive and find meaning in our lives in this crazy and insane world.

Find this movie, watch it!

I just got back from going with Felicia and her mom to a spring break dance class being given by the Milwaukie High School dance team. After hanging out for a few before the class, I was informed by Felicia's mom, Lisa, that we are not allowed to hang out because it is a closed session. I don't get to watch the little girl dance. I have danced with Felicia and plan on doing so on into the future.

I requested a ride from my ex, Lisa, Felicia's mom, on back to KBOO where I enjoy hanging out. Chuck has since called me and is going to buy me a cup of joe, where I am heading right now and will write the drugs end of this post later.

Time to finish this post (hey! did I tell you all I'm part Finnish?).

While driving across town and back to KBOO, Lisa started telling me about a friend of hers that has four young boys and is worried that two of them may be huffing. They have mood swings. One sprays some sort of cologne around his room when he hears his mom approaching the door. There is no smoke present, so it is not marijuana, and mood swings are not a symptom of smoking anyway. Mood swings are usually a reaction to a chemical or a stimulant (natural or chemical). I also asked if her boys were big, as in size of their bodies. She said no. I was thinking that it might be sterioids because that drug causes big mood swings and often times violence. Alcohol also causes major mood swings, but that would be more apparent and have other easily recognizable behaviors which are not apparent in these cases. Huffing is an easily available activity for kids to self-medicate. It is also completely fucking dangerous as it has killed people and has caused serious physical damage in some people as to leave them seriously disabled. It is also popular among young people since the legal stuff is illegal for them because of their age.

I asked if the mother has asked if her children if they are huffing. She said no. I suggested that she do, even though they may lie. She could then take the opportunity to educate them about the the dangers of consuming these forms of drugs: glue, felt pens, paint, gasoline, etc. I strongly suggested that she tell her friend not only to educate and be truthful to her children about the effects of these types of drugs, but to educate herself as well. MOST IMPORTANTLY, EDUCATE YOURSELF!

Lisa told me she is very honest with Felicia about drugs. I am as well. I've already been strongly suggesting to Felicia that she avoid stimulants when she grows up should she choose to start experimenting, from caffeine to meth, cocaine, crack, etc. She was born addicted to meth. Her mother was a meth user. I also strongly request that she educate herself about any substance before she puts it into her body. For a long time, when Felicia would consume caffeine in the form of soda, she would literally change personalities. She would not be able to control certain aspects of her communication. She still drinks caffeinated sodas, but not all that much. I do my best to teach her the truth about drugs on the whole; their effects on the body temporary and long term, the dangers both physical and punitive, etc. She is intelligent and wonderful and more than anything, I want her to have the ability to make good and healthy decisions for herself. I will not be able to keep an eye on her the rest of her life, and I will have to trust her to take care of herself, and if I can do a good job as a parent, I will be able to trust her to make those decisions when she becomes an adult.

I also suggest this...go to http://www.mamas.org. This is Mother's Against Misuse and Abuse. They take factual information and offer it to people in order for people to make informed decisions about drugs and their uses. This goes for illegal and legal drugs. Over the counter drugs. Caffeine, alcohol, tobacco, perscpriptions, etc. "Drugs are bad...m'kay," just aint gonna work when our children are watching us drink alcohol, caffeine, zone out on television, etc. Try a little honesty. Works for me and hopefully, it is working for my daughter.

I have been trying to decide what to do about my current work situation. I thought of continuing to smoke and fighting this for reasons of personal autonomy and having chosen to smoke for reasons of good mental health. This would have resulted in the loss of the job and income and no one would really care about this story anyway. This would also create great stresses on my friends, family, co-workers, etc.

I could just take it on the chin and just stop smoking and pass the tests and let the man have control OVER my personal life.

After discussing the issue with my friends Mikhelle and Starr last night, this is what came to me. This is the decision I feel great about making. This decision will allow me to keep my job and still lay claim to my autonomy.

I will stop smoking marijuana and pass the tests when they come. I will also educate the people I work for about the issue of marijuana use. I will explain why I used it. Kind of like Jeff and Tracy attempted in purchasing a full page add in the Willamette Week admitting they were a couple of U.S. citizens who smoke pot and are very functional and helpful in the community at large. I, however, have simply decided to stop smoking along with this type of activism. I gave up some autonomy to keep my job, and am reclaiming some of my autonomy to educate those I work for that the only unhealthy aspect of smoking pot is the punitive damage caused by its regulation (there are six people in prison for LIFE on marijuana charges, at least one having none in his possession and none within his system).

I have sent e-mails to my bosses requesting AT LEAST two more weeks of in-store employment, preferrably three, to make sure the stuff is out of my system, but also because I believe I can actually get caught up on some of the things I feel the need to get caught up on and have been unable to because of my work schedule. As well, this current schedule will allow me some time in order to possibly get my foot in the door in other organizations that I have wanted to get involved with but because of our work schedules being the same, have been unable to create such contacts.

To stop smoking pot is NOT a sacrifice at all.

I am in the "Rape of Cunts," chapter in Inga Muscio's book, "Cunt." One of the issues present in ALL women's lives is the issue of RAPE! This is a RAPE CULTURE. Women, as an act of survival, have to be on the alert for potential rape NO MATTER WHERE THE FUCK THEY ARE! Women always have to live with the possibility and actuality of being raped by MEN! Certain actions to cover their appearance as women when they are alone and in public. They cannot safely express their sexuality as women when going out ALONE especially at night. This is an issue that ALL WOMEN FACE. It crosses class, race, and all other boundaries. Rape is something that ALL WOMEN have to keep themselves protected from and I have no doubt is at the VERY LEAST in the back of their minds almost constantly. For the simple act of having a "cunt," women have to live in fear of people like me...Men.

I have seen many counterbalances to bring about change in this area. I have a friend with two sons whom she raised to be respectful of women, and they are. I do my best to educate my fellow men on this issue as well. I myself have been raped when I was five. Culturally, however, I can walk down the streets relatively without fear no matter the time of day whenever the fuck I want and I am aware that WOMEN ARE NOT ALLOWED THE SAME PRIVILIGE. I also wear scarves and I see men's reaction and some, I can tell, would like to challenge my choice of appearance, but they don't, but I know the potential is there. I, however, have a better chance of fighting off these assholes than a woman or gay man does, and they know this. It also shows them that there are many expressions of ones masculinity, and this is mine. It also expresses my feminine side. When I see women walking by themselves down the street especially at night, I know that I am perceived as a potential rapist. This does not hurt my feelings, this is a tactic of survival that women have to live with in this rape culture society. Unless they know me, they cannot safely let their guard down around me, nor would I request such an action out of any woman. This is, sadly, A RAPE CULTURE!

Reading this chapter shows me that to stop smoking marijuana is NOTHING...NOTHING, compared to the fact that women ARE RAPED in this world on a regular basis in ALL NATIONS! These women are our mothers, sisters, aunties, daughters, grandmothers, etc. These women have given birth TO ALL OF US, and have to live in fear of men because this IS A RAPE CULTURE! Women's anatomical jewel is the gateway of life into this world. It is also the gateway to women's pleasure. It is also the gateway that can be violated by men in the act of RAPE and OFTEN OFTEN OFTEN IS!

Anybody who knows ANYTHING about rape knows that it doesn't end when the penis is no longer violating your body. It IS something a RAPE SURVIVOR has to live with the rest of their lives.

Sacrificing the autonomy I enjoyed in smoking pot is NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING compared to what all women HAVE to face in the potential of being raped which women are NOT SAFE FROM ANYWHERE!

I, as a man, will do all I can to educate my fellow men on this issue. I have somewhat, but reading Inga Muscio's book, "Cunt," makes me more determined. "Cunt," though a book for and about women, should be absolute required reading for EVERY MAN ON EARTH! This book has taught me more about being a man than ANY OTHER BOOK I HAVE READ...EVER! This book has educated me on the importance of being a good citizen in this world as well as how to behave as a man. THERE ARE NO BOOKS LIKE THIS FOR MEN! Or if there are, I have not heard about them. This book has lead me to explore my sexual nature as a man, the sexual nature of women, individuality, self-expression in the world and personally.

There are few men I really enjoy being around. For the most part, I cannot stand men. I prefer the company of women. I am comfortable around gay men because they have a greater understanding of their sexuality since they are so defined by it in the world at large. This is because I WAS RAPED BY A MAN/BOY! Yes, a woman/girl was involved in the second round, however, SHE DIDN'T FORCE A PENIS INTO MY BODY WITH THE PURPOSE OF DELIVERING HUMILIATION AND PAIN!

The sacrifice of smoking pot and giving up that tiny piece of my autonomy which I will turn to my advantage is nothing compared to the fact that ALL WOMEN are FORCED to surrender at least A PIECE of their autonomy out of fear of living in a world where rape by men IS GENERALLY ACCEPTED AS A NATURAL ACT! RAPE IS NOT A NATURAL ACT BUT A BUNCH OF FUCKING BULLSHIT TO HAVE CONTROL OVER WOMEN'S LIVES BY MEN!

All you men reading this better work on that issue within ourselves. Do you want your mothers, aunts, daughters, etc., to live in fear of you if they don't know you? Would you want you mother to live in fear of you or your fellow men?

All of the above has everything to do with CONTROL. So please, nobody give me that bullshit that this is the "land of the free." The first thing I'll do is point out women's fear of being raped, the second will be of pot smokers facing punitive damages for using a substance that is healthy for them.

Time to change the world!

REVOLUTION NOW!

Went to a sweat at my buddy Chuck's, yesterday. It was a good one. Nice and intense. Just perfect. A much needed ceremony to bring about a bit of balance considering my most interesting situations at the moment.

I've gone through many healthy changes in the last 4 or 5 months. Combine this with the recent work place challenges. I'm coming to terms with my sexuality, self-image, self-Love, self-forgiveness. That took me almost 42 fucking years. My view of myself, the world, the universe is all changing. I feel like I'm making some sort of change and have lead myself to my current situations in order to expand who I am and the work that I am doing.

I have many wonderful friends who have helped me and I hope I have helped along the way. I have a wonderful wonderful daughter. I feel really good about my situations but know some kind of change is coming in my life. Things are shifting for me. Better? Worse? Only time will tell.

I'm still working on getting attention for my book. Leas, the biggest helper in that, is sick and quarantined along with my books, currently, but once he is healthy again and the books can be released...we're on that focus again and will be attempting to bring attention to issues people are unaware of or looking for allies in or some other realm of beauty and wonder in this wonderful and insane world we live in. Here, I also thank Leigh Anne and Julie for their help in editing and their personal support of the work I do. I hope I support them as well. They are awesome women and Leas is an awesome man. Thank you all.

I am doing a video of my poem, "Oregon Holocaust Memorial." Felicia is in it and we have done the location shooting. What will happen with this? I don't know. More work to come for that yet.

I'm helping to get attention for the documentary of Christopher Swain put together by Andy Norris, who will be on the radio show this Thursday. Christopher Swain swam the length of the Columbia River a couple of years ago in an attempt to bring attention to the damage done to this great waterway by dams, sewage, nuclear waste from Hanford, shipping, and many other man made forms of waterway destruction. Unfortunately I forget what the documentary is titled, but will bring it to your attention once I remember.

The radio and TV show are going well and I am hoping to start a First Nations Communcations Collective. Here I would like to thank Leigh Anne because she is getting our foot in the door to arenas I've had problems getting into. THANKS LEIGH ANNE!

There is a co-writing project I'm working on with a friend that is starting to get birthed.

Pledge Drive is on at KBOO. I Love pledge drive because it is the time when many people converge down here to support each other in getting support from the community at large and get them involved. There are so many wonderful people who come down here and offer their time to share in this form of communication. These people have jobs and families and other Loves in their lives but still make the time to come down here and help out...it is that impotant to them. Think about that and make the call during this time to offer some financial support. Locally, the number to call during pledge drive is 503-232-8818 or long distance at 1-877-500-5266. The least you could do is check under the seat cushions of your sofa and or automible and send us that change. Heck, you weren't going to use it anyway until I just suggested sending it to us, so you might as well send it to us, eh!

What life will hold for me in the month to come, I have no idea. I pray about it. I want to stress hard about it, as is my style. But spirit keeps whispering in my ear "...Everything will turn out well. Everything will be OK. This is an important rebirthing for me." There is no exact meaning I can put to this, but what can I lose in trusting them. I must listen carefully, take my cues from my heart, mind, soul, spirit world, friends, imemdiate world, and many other factors. Most importantly, I must do so with a playful joyous heart.

Don't forget...503-232-8818, or long distance 1-877-500-5266. KBOO...the most rocking and wonderful place on earth.

Here are the articles of my Last Chance Agreement signed with my soon to be former work place. There are 10 little pieces of bullshit that make up the meat of this agreement. This might take a couple of posts over several days.

In the preamble it states, "For the purpos of granting Eugene D. Johnson every opportunity to demonstrate his ability to be a successful employee..." I guess driving the fuck out of the truck and doing a damned good job in being not only a grunt, but an ambassador for the charity in which I work for is just not enough.

It also states in the preamble that this agreement is "necessary because [of] Eugene's abuse of marijuana..." You cannot abuse marijuana. How can something that is healthy and has never killed anyone in its centuries of use be abused?

"1. An anonymous informant reported, on 13 March 2006, that Eugene was using marijuana and comint go wrok under the influenece of marijuana."

I do not know who said this. I do not get to face my accuser. So, anyone can send a letter to anyone's employer stating they use an illegal substance and therefore can lose their job, whether or not they actually have (in my case, I actually do smoke pot). Here, testing one's urine cannot tell the exact time in which I was high, however, it is simply accepted as fact that I was high on the job. Absolutely no proof is necessary other than the fact that the urine test lets them know that sometime in the last 21 days I smoked pot. If I drank and woke up on the streets in a puddle of puke and barely able to move, that would be perfectly acceptable because doing that is legal.

"2. staff members have observed mood swings in Eugene that do not seem normal."

No one has ever asked me why I have had these mood swings, which indeed, I have. No one. Here, I will tell you why. I have worked with two different men that I could not, after a few months, stand to be around. The first would sleep on the truck and not get out often times until I was done doing the work myself or absolutely needed his help. The second is pretty much the same way. "Knock on the side of the truck when you need my help. I'm gonna sleep for awhile." I have heard these words many times. Both of these men made me feel like a servant to their great and wonderful lazy white asses. So, I'm just supposed to be happy about this. I'm just supposed to smile all the time. Nobody else is ever in a good mood all of the time. It is really hard for me to be treated in such a discriminatory way (I'm the white man, you're the darkie. Darkie's are here to be servants to white men. I was am treated accordingly by one of my co-workers and when I have to work with this institutionally racist bullshit that I can't take anyone to court for, I am just supposed to be a happy little redskinned nigger.) But don't ask me why I get moody when I have to work with that fucking asshole. Just use it as evidence in the case to get my ass out of this workplace.

"3. one staff member witnessed, approximately two weeks ago, what appeared to be a drug transaction between Eugene and an unidentified individual, on [noe of compay withheld] property."

Again, one and all were too fucking good to say, "Hey, Eugene, what was that about." You see, if this is the event I believe it to be, I was writing poetry as I was warming up the truck. After being interrupted a couple of times by staff, a man came up and knocked on my truck window. "I'll be honest," he told me, his eyes were desperate. "I'm starving. I don't have anything to eat. I'm so hungry. Can you spare a few bucks so I can have something to eat?" So I gave him some money. Me, being open about pot smoking, am now alleged to be making transactions on company property. As stated, no one came up and asked what happened, they just make assumptions and then it is considered as fact. This happens in Indian country a lot as well. Again, institutionally racist, but nothing I can anyone to court on.

"4. Upon returning to work at [said company], Eugene shall be on a one-year probaation du to his impaired work performance as a result of marijuana abuse."

Exactly what impaired work perfomance is unclear, other than testing positive for marijana use. I do not abuse marijuana. I use it to help with specific PTSD I have surrounding having been raped when I was 5, being raised in an alcoholic family, living through thirteen and a half years of verbally abusive marriages, etc., as well as it just feels fucking great! It doesn't do one physical harm. So what exactly this "impaired work perfomance" is, is unclear. There again, one doesn't need proof of these particular statements other than I tested positive for marijuana in my urine.

"5. Eugene must stop using marijuana and be clean and sober at all times that he is at work or about our business, on our premises, or in our vehicles. No substance abuse in any form will be tolerated."

Alcohol doesn't stay in your body all that long. I could drink the night before and not test negative the next day. I can smoke pot, and for 21 days it will be in my system. Since I smoked within that 21 day period, that only means to my accusers that I was high at work even though as stated previously that one cannot prove what time I was high. It could have been at work, at home, or during the weekend. It is just accepted as fact that I was high on the job because legally, they can assume this.

[I do plan on addressing the rest of this, and will add the other five articles of this document with my arguments sometime during this weekend. Right now, I'm gonna go play with Felicia somewhere outside on this wonderful property.]

"6. Eugene will not be allowed to drive [the company] vehicles until he passes two random alcohol/drug screen tests with no indication of substance abuse. If Eugene is arrested for any alcohol/drug-related offense, at anytime, he shall be terminated from employment, immediately."

Abuse is the word so often thrown around often here. It is so official sounding and has an alleged sense of expertise on the subject of marijuana. The statement that I could be arrested at anytime makes me a little nervous. Is my workplace gonnna call the cops on me, further controlling my life away from the workplace smoking the flowers of a plant that doesn't harm anyone other than the punitive sense of the law which was designed by racists in order to control the population. However, I could still be arrested for say, if I was still married, beating my wife and not have to worry about getting fired. If I beat somebody up walking down the street and was arrested, my harmful physical violence would still allow me to have a job. However, if I get arrested for smoking pot, I will lose my job. Let me point out here that the police do not have to drug test. It is alleged that many Portland police use steroids which has been proven to cause violent behavior in people. Perfectly legal in a sense because cops don't have to be urine tested.

"7. By signing this agreement, Eugene authroizes the disclosure of pertinent medical/treatment records (as they relate to alcohol/drug abuse) to his Department Director and the agency Executive Director."

Now, because I use Marijuana, my work place gets to have access to limited personal information. It is extortion to make me sign this. I signed it willingly because I don't want to lose my job. This means my work place can and will have control over a part of my personal life simply because they can.

[more later]

"8. Eugene's return to active employment and his continued active employment depend on his ability to meet established standards of conduct and job performance required of other employees. Failure to meet these standards, whether related to alcohol/drug abuse or not, shall result in the disciplinary procedures outlined in the [company] personnel policies."

I am actively working in the store, I'm just not driving the truck. What does "meet established standards of conduct." Is there a document that goes with this. I have never seen anything that states what I do away from my workplace can and will be controlled by the company I work for. I guess that is part of the freedom that Americans slaughtered my people to create here. What is this "job performance" comment? No one has ever complained about my job performance. Other than mood swings that, again, no one has ever asked me about, has my job performance come into question, at least to my knowledge. Mood swings have not seemed to damage my job performance. However, there are people I work with who are probably sober, as it were, who hardly work at all.

"9. Eugene shall agree to submit to unscheduled alcohol and/or drug testing at any time. failure to take such requested test or testing positively for any intoxicant shall be cause for immediate termination of employment."

Here I will point out some Laws that were not discussed in my meeting with the head honcho and my direct boss. The Covenant on Social, Economic, and Cultural Rights, a legal document signed by the U.S. government, which also encompasses the Universal Declaration on Human Rights, states that employment is a human right. Also unemployment protection is a human right. My work place is violating my human rights. But all of this is OK because I use a substance that helps me.

"10. Eugene's continued employment at [the company] depends upon him being free of alcohol and drug abuse for the entir duration of his employment. This Last Chance oportunity is conditional on the forgoing terms and does not restruct [the company's] right to alter the employment relationship at will and for any reason."

Can you say control. My place of employment doesn't only want control of my personal life, but has control of my personal life using my employment as extortion to force me to do what they would like me to do and I am not allowed legally to question their behavior.

[closing statement] " The signatures below attest that all parties voluntarily agree to the provisions contained in this Last Chance Agreement, understanding their meaning and consequences."

First, I did not voluntarily sign this agreement. The agreement was signed because I am being extorted via my use of marijuana. My job is being held over my head. Again, a violation of my Human Rights, but here in America, no one really cares about Human Rights. Most people haven't even read the document. (I read it at least 3 times a year and the UN Charter at least once a year, as well as many other international covenants of LAW!).

During my discussion with the representatives of my employers, it was brought up repeatedly by the head honcho that Marijuana is illegal. Well, my human rights are being violated, and that is illegal. But these are not laws he will be concerned about. Other laws include Genocide. This alleged nation has and is committing genocide against indigenous peoples and many other peoples mostly of the darker persuasion all over the world. These laws will not be considered. The fact that most countries will turn their head to marijuana smokers and some absolutely refuse to submit to the master known as the U.S. government should be telling. The United States is the ONLY country that forces employment drug screenings. Only the United States. I already told you about William Randolph Hearst and Harry Anschlinger and their racist hatreds.

So, on what is legally an occupied territory (I'll get into the legalities of that if you'd like, but not here), illegally occupied by what is currently known as the United States Government, is and will violate my human rights and the human rights of millions of its citizens to control their lives, their employment, etc. This has nothing to do with our health, etc. It is all control. And then these same Americans will call this freedom.

I smoke pot for my mental health. Head Honcho told me I could use something else for my mental health. You know, like legalized pharmaceuticals that are outrageously expensive and many horribly unhealthy for your body...but hey, they are legal.

So why should we look beyond our noses? Why should we look at the greater issues? All we need to do is "submit" to the masters. That is the word that bothers me most in this document..."submit." I must submit to my white masters and live my life like they tell me to, otherwise I will be punished and my Human Rights will be violated. And then they WILL tell me this IS freedom. This is legally MY LAND! Every last bit of it. These are NOT laws that my employer will consider, even though they will hold this law over my head. They will NOT look at the whole picture because they DON'T HAVE TOO! Afterall, they are the ones with control over my life, and if I don't live like they want me too, then I will be punished.

Folks, my story is one of millions of stories and will be used as a tool to control the lives of many of us, simply because OUR MASTERS said they can and will and most of their subordinates will follow blindly...just like they are supposed to.

Not very many people showed up at the reading, however, it was still a fun and great event.

Since my books were quarantined along with my publisher, Leas, who has some sort of stomach virus.

My friends Pat and John showed up. I haven't seen them in a bit, and they recently moved from Ashland to someplace in Southern Washington along the coast near Astoria. I have known them for years. We used to sweat together many years ago. They also used to be my neighbors and were there when Felicia first came to join the family. Awesome Awesome people.

A few friends from KBOO were there for a while. That was fun. They had to leave early due to exhaustion from working all day and then some at KBOO. It is pledge drive afterall.

Leigh Anne and Felicia were there. They ate together at the Back to Back.

Katrina showed up a little later.

I actually read "Food Story 1" to them, and was a embarassed when I read my sexual pleasure from food sections. It was well appreciated and Katrina told me repeatedly that I shouldn't be embarassed by such things because it is very common, even with her.

Mikhelle was there in spirit. She sent me this wonderful Quarantine document that was so cute, I printed up four and shared them with my audience.

The best feeling I get from this is that my book is taking it's own pace. It, too, as in all nature, has it's own clock, and I am beginning to sense that.

The event itself wasn't that well advertised, and I think we'll hopefully be able to get a foot into the Indian organizations around town and get some more publicity on the thing. I want to get the word out and now I have financial motivation since I may not have a job much longer. That, however, will be an article I'll need to get some help on from my friends once I get the thing written up, and then sent off to whoever will publish it.

It was so good to see my friends. I really Love connecting with people like this. It is really good to open the door to these connections. With all the crazy stuff that happened surrounding this one particular event, I feel like it went really well.

Thank you all who have helped in this event. Thank you all for everything! You are all so fucking cool! Life is good!

Today...I sweat! Many blessing to everyone!

I had a conversation with the head honcho and my boss today. I received a pay cut of $3 an hour. And they have decided to random me for my next two urine tests. I am planning on taking a principled stand. They know that it takes at least 21 days for this stuff to clean out of my system and have alleged to wait that long. However, I am going to continue to smoke pot. It is a principled stance. I let the head honcho know that I'd been smoking for about 6 years almost daily, and in that time I have had no auto accidents. I did have 2, however, many years ago when I was clean and sober and didn't fucking cuss a whole lot either.

The reason I am taking a principled stance is to add my story to the millions of similar stories around this alleged nation. Here is the situation:

A person anonymously accused me in a type written letter of being a pot smoker. I am very open about smoking marijuana, and know that possible consequences like this can happen.

I informed the head honcho that marijuana has never, and will never, kill anyone. He was aware. None of what I said on the issue made any difference. He stated that it is illegal. Which, of course refers to the law. The fact that it is ridiculous that marijuana is illegal in the first place doesn't matter. Of course, genocide is illegal and it IS being perpetuated against my people as well as the people of Iraq and many other nations by the alleged United States of America. Killing and oppression, however, can and will be overlooked. Marijuana smoking, which doesn't kill, will be treated accordingly. This is a very important issue to look at in this society.

Now let's look at that DEMON OF ALL DOCUMENTS, the UN Declaration on Human Rights. It is a HUMAN RIGHT to have a job. It is a HUMAN RIGHT to have unemployment, in case said job disappears or is not available. These are HUMAN RIGHTS that are constantly violated in this nation around the marijuana issue.

The simple act of sending an anonymous letter has hurt a helluva lot more people than me. My boss will be under a lot of stress in an attempt to find a new driver. One of my co-workers, the other driver, doesn't like driving, but he will now have the driving position pretty much permanently. This will effect his life adversely, however, I did get a guarantee that he will be paid my wage as long as he remains the driver.

I will do nothing to get any others at my work place or any other work place randomed. It is bullshit. But like I said, it is a principled stance that I am taking because I don't really have a whole lot of other choice.

I think it is interesting that it has happened during a time in which I have been doing lots of healing. So in a way I think it is a message from the spirit world and I better keep my ears, eyes, and spirit open to whatever it is I need to do. I better go sweat tomorrow.

I know I'll be OK. I'll probably have to do a lot of self-promotion about my book (I hate self-promotion, but when one wants to keep food in their faces and a roof over their head...).

Well, lotsa people talking and trying to get my attention so I'll update you all more...sometime soon!

Last night, I pitched for Reggae Bob's program, "Good Times," which airs every Thursday from 7-9pm. Reggae Bob is a wonderful and great man and human being. He is always smiling. He always makes one feel good and important. Bob Has a Great Big Heart! Another example of the men I like hanging out and working with. We pitched our hearts out and talked Revolution and all sorts of good things in the world.

During this time, I also met The Vacuum Cleaner Lady, as Bob affectionately refers to The Vacuum Cleaner Lady...Just kidding. Her name is Katrina. I saw her in between pledge pitches and she was cleaning. I was about to wash my cup when she came up behind me and told me she'd take care of that. A few seconds later she's looking me straight in the eye. "You're my favorite poet!" She tells me. What does one say to something like that. I shook her hand and then immediately gave her a big fat hug. She and her boyfriend missed the last reading for reasons I don't remember, I was was still breathing under water from that comment. I told her of the reading tonight, and she is going to try to make it. I gave her a shout out because, my friends, there are people out there who Love this radio station, like Katrina, who take time out of their weeks to come down her and help. People like Katrina are my Hero! GREAT JOB KATRINA AND THANK YOU SO MUCH! Hope to see you tonight!

Yesterday afternoon, my friends Janice, David and I went to pick up Felicia to do the location shoots for the video of my poem, "Oregon Holocaust Memorial." It was fun hanging out with my wonderful daughter and doing this video with her. We worked three and a half hours for what will probably amount to 90 seconds of actual video. While shooting at the actual Memorial site in Washington Park, I saw a woman whom I saw get out of her car earlier and head down toward the memorial. She was reading the stone, and it's spring so I walk right up to her and start talking. Her name is Kelly, and she is a student at PCC where she learned in a class about genocide that there was a Holocaust Memorial. We got to talking genocides past and present. I told her of my reading tonight as well. I pointed out that you don't see the name of the Jasenovac death camp. She looked around and noticed it was true. I told her of "The King of the Cut Throats," Peter Brzika (or Brzica), who cut the throats of 1360 Serbs in a single evening with a butcher knife. The reason you don't hear about this death camp which was in Croatia is because it was ran by the Catholics.

I got a call before the shoot from my publisher, Leas. He is under quarantine and, well, so are the 200 copies of my book. Seems Leas has some sort of stomach virus which is very unpleasant. It is his second time having this thing. So, I guess I'll take orders for the book tonight. As well, I feel completely unprepared for this reading tonight, but the funny thing is, they always work out, so I'm not as stressed as I'd usually like to be.

This morning, as I was crossing the Burnside Bridge, I'm wearing my favorite blue scarf. The wind taught it to dance around my neck and a few times it graced my face with it's soft and wonderful beauty. One time it completely covered my eyes, and I got to see the world through my scarf as it danced with the wind.

I read more of Inga Muscio's book, "Cunt." HOLY COW! Nothing gets me twitching around in the back of the bus like that book. I LOVE IT! The greatest benefit I get from this book is I have become more open in exploring my body and my sexuality. I don't just masturbate, I play and have fun and not only is that a good thing, it is a healthy and wonderful thing. Inga, in writing this book to help teach women what it means to be a woman, is teaching me what it means to be a man. INGA! YOU FUCKING ROCK THE "CUNTLOVIN'" UNIVERSE, SISTER! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

That said...HAVE A GREAT FUCKING DAY!

PS, I think I still have a job.

"Depressed? Researchers say hang in there." This is a headline in The Oregonian newspaper I glanced at in a paper box on my almost daily journey to the BOO. Oddly, I've been unable to find it on the internet, so I went to Grendel's to get a cup of coffee and to see if my eyes were mistaken by checking out their copy. I was right. Turns out these researchers are suggesting drugs, and lots of them, or new combinations of drugs.

I have/do suffer from depression. It stems around many events that have happened in my life and how I interpret them into my soul: I was raped as a child. Sexual repression. Alcoholic father (deceased) and despondent mother. Raised on television. Living in a completely insane world. Living in a world out of balance. Living in a world that I know in many places is absolutely CRUEL!

When I went to a therapist, especially when I was starting a powerful series of breakdowns in dealing with the child rape I hadn't dealt with until that time, he suggested anger management and sending me to a psychiatrist for drugs. I told him there is only one drug I would use to help my depression. Marijuana. I've heard of the horrific side effects of the pharmaceuticals that big corporations are trying to shove down the throats of the nation in order to make capital. They don't have this business because they want to cure anything. If it's cured, you can't make money off of it. I don't trust those fucking bastards. Marijuana has worked for me. Therapy is a good way to deal with depression, but each therapist is as individual as the depression. You have to find one that fits or it aint gonna work.

My depression is going away. I haven't had a breakdown in months. This is what I did.

I have gone through a series of breakdowns, and I claim each and every one of my emotional breakdowns as mine. I Love each and every one of them. Why? Because they moved me to healing. They were a release of emotional and physical tension built up from years of abuse, an alcoholic father, living in an occupied territory, sexual repression, genocide, and so much more. My breakdowns consisted of fetal position mild to intense convulsions, finger knotting, uncontrollable crying. My body was releasing all that shit that had been held in for so many years because of abuse and pain. These would last from just a few seconds to three and a half hours, one time three in one day, five big ones in a whole weekend, and a series of small ones along with it. These are MINE! They are not bad. They are not horrible. It was a natural cleansing of my body and spirit. Claiming my own pain as mine and letting my body and spirit deal with it in the best ways it knew how was a great healing ceremony for me.

My daughter is a good helper, though she doesn't know it. It is the fact that I am helping a fellow human being grow up to be a beautiful human being. To teach her to Love and Forgive herself. To explain to her the beauty that is within her by being born a woman. I am reading her the book, "Cunt," by Inga Muscio. Her mom is very much repressed and to her mom, the human form is one of the most disgusting things on earth (she is a Christian). So I try to teach my daughter the beauty that is her because she is a woman. The best way I figured out to do this is to use the knowledge gained by that wonderful goddessy woman, Inga Muscio, who expressed women's beauty through her wonderful book, "Cunt." Felicia, here is the expression of women's power by a fellow woman. I also share with her all the cool women I know. There are a lot of them out there, and they all express their beauty differently. I try to expose Felicia to as many examples as possible of the expressions of beauty women create in this world: journalism, radio, sexuality, clothing, food, anger, television, self-understanding, etc. I enjoy doing my best to help my daughter become the wonderful human being I already know she is, and that helps me deal with my depression as well.

Activism is another big helper for me. "Action is the antidote to despair." I've heard that a million and a half times in my life. A friend and I produce a radio program and host a cable access television show. There is nothing so sweet as telling people, "What we need is a Revolution? But don't forget, in this Revolution, there should be no killing, because not killing is a Revolutionary act! So we have to be clever. How do we get it all back and not kill anybody? How do we bring down this patriarchal rape culture and change the world for the better so generations to come can enjoy this world as well?" I get to say that to a lot of people. We are all leaders in the Revolution. As a leader in the Revolution, what can you do to change the world?

Smoking pot has helped me. In a world so crazy and insane, one of the best and healthiest choices I've made is to become a pot smoker. I read "Marijuana Myths, Marijuana Facts." I've read many books related to the drug war and know the potential problems (all punitive) that can come from being so open about what I do. But this is mine. It may not work for you. Marijuana doesn't kill. Alcohol and cigarettes kill. War kills. Marijuana gives me a euphoria not unlike the feeling one gets after a real wonderful orgasm without all the wet wonderful fun. The best marijuana is, afterall, the flowers of the female plant. Flowers are the sex organs of plants. Their leaves also play a role, and when prepared in the many wonderful fashions one can do and are consumed, create a wonderful euphoria even more intense than when you smoke it. Sex, for me, is FANTASTIC when in this state. Sex is FANTASTIC in any state, but this state is another creative way in which to explore sexual expression. Unlike pharmaceuticals, there are no unhealthy side effects from smoking pot. When high, I can function like I am sober. In some ways better, in some ways, head in the clouds. Works for me!

Sex. Sex is a great way in which to deal with depression. Sex is the natural expression of beauty and tension that build in our personal worlds. There is nothing like a good orgasm to keep us become strong and beautiful in the Revolution. To share orgasmic beauty with one or more partners or, more importantly, YOURSELF! Sexual exploration is OK! In fact...It is healthy! I Love Sex. I haven't had sex with someone in a year and a half. I'm slutty, but I'm also shy. I Love talking about sex because when I get back into it, I want it to be BEAUTIFUL! I want it to be FUN! Until then, I masturbate. I am reading Inga Muscio's book, "Cunt," as I've mentioned many a time on this blog. I'm currently in the chapter about orgasms and she encourages women to explore the possibilities of female orgasms. FUCK YEAH! We all need good orgasms. She also mentioned that men are afraid to explore their sexual natures, which is true. It's sad. We don't talk about jacking off with each other. I've heard many songs about female masturbation, but rarely hear songs about male masturbation. For me, there is nothing like having an orgasm. They feel so fucking great! It's much more fun when I'm sharing, but the intense pleasure I feel when I cum is very healing and most excellent for depression. I Love myself enough to make myself feel good. It hasn't been until recently, that I really explored this part of myself other than hand to cock, rub profusely until wonderful magic happens...repeat. It is how I know I'm a slut. I have to exercise this part of myself, my sexual expression, otherwise, I'D GO CRAZY! Lately, my solo sexual expressions involve lighting, touching my skin with various cloth or fingers, full body massages, smells and atmosphere, then BANG! BiG OlE OrgaSMO! YEAH! Then I'm off to face another day of this Crazy Beautiful World, and repeat said action more often than not, several times a day. INGA MUSCIO! YOU ARE A GODDESS, AND SO ARE ALL OF YOU WOMEN! Orgasms, affection, fun wonderful wet beautiful sex is good for depression. You can't fuck a pill. You can't masturbate with a pill. And those pills, figuratively speaking, will fuck you up and often have the side effect of decreasing ones natural sexual desires.

Beauty! Yassir! The world is a beautiful and wonderful place. I will, from time to time, fall to my hands and knees on a sidewalk here in town to gaze into the Loving beauty of a flower. I have many scarves and other beautiful cloths and things in my room. I Love flowers. Flowers remind me of the gateway of life, the pleasure center of women. Women's anatomical jewels look like a flower. Gladiolas are my current favorite for that physical likeness beauty. Daphne is one of my favorite smells. I Love iris, and roses, and daffodils, and cherry blossoms, and corcus, and so many more. I Love crossing the Burnside Bridge and seeing the beauty of my river as many times as possible throughout the week. I Love the Beauty in all of the women I see walking by. I Love looking at architecture and choosing which style I like best. I Love parks and trees. I Love animals and babies and playgrounds. I Love the sounds of the busy city and the nature of birds and wind and squirrels, goats, cats, dogs, rabbits. I Love the beauty in my friends and the beauty we share together. I Love to touch the trees and the plants along my journeys. I love to feel flower petals against my face. I Love paintings and sculptures and poetry and writing and there is beauty all around me all the time in this crazy and wonderful world. Beauty! It helps with depression. I Love hugging and experiencing and sharing life with my fellow human beings, especially those I Love dearly. Beauty! Fantastic for dealing with depression.

Laughter. In earth based societies, laughter is a SACRED act, just like sex. To laugh is to release through humor the tensions of the day. To laugh. Margaret Cho is my favorite comedienne. She has made me laugh so hard that one time tears were actually squirting out of my eyes, an act I have not been able to duplicate since. She is so beautiful and so funny. I used to have fantasies of telling her I want to have sex with her, because, well, I do. I would tell her the sexiest thing about me, besides the fact that I would do all I could to send her to the world of many or wonderful orgasms (Eugene Wonka and the Orgasm Factory), but if I snored too loud, she could kick my ass out of her room and tell me to go home. "South Park: The Movie," had me laughing so hard that after it was over, I laughed for at least another half hour. Laughter, there is a good, natural tool, to help with depression and not have the horrific side effects that pharmaceuticals have, with the exception of the occasional sore rib, belly and face muscles.

Crying is another great form of release. Aint nothing like a good cry. THANK YOU OH GODESSES AND GODS FOR THEM THERE TEAR DUCTS! Some movies are designed to make you cry. Tears of joy. Tears of sadness. A physical expression of wondrous emotions. Explore them. Feel them. FEEL THEM REAL FUCKING GOOD! And release them. There needs to be a flow to them. Cry when you need to cry. I met one of my friends, or I should say that I created a great friendship, because I needed a shoulder to cry on one day, and the only person I could find was my then acquaintance, Julie (since then, fantastic friend). I had found out my cousin had been murdered over the weekend about a year ago and I needed a shoulder to cry on. [I'm crying now]. She was the only one I even vaguely knew down here at the BOO, which is where I was when I found out. I just told her, "I need a shoulder to cry on. I just found out a cousin of mine was murdered on the rez. Can I cry on your shoulder." I was already crying, and she was so compassionate. She even took me to her home and fed me. A few days later, I hooked up with my friend Leigh Anne, though we were more like acquaintances like Julie and I were. I wound up crying all over our lunch. She took me to her home, and I spent most of my time there crying on her couch in front of her and her husband and I am so glad they were there for me even though I barely knew either of them. SEE THERE IS BEAUTY IN THE WORLD! Crying, it's good for depression.

Dance. Emma Goldman, Awesome historical woman extrordinaire, said something like: "If I can't dance at your Revolution, I aint gonna come." Che Guevara, worlds greatest Revolutionary, was also the worlds worst dancer. How do we know he was the worlds worst dancer? Because he danced, frequently, and every time was not a very good dancer. My housemate, Heidi, is a folk dancer. She has studied many different forms of dancing from all over the world and has a children's international folk dance troupe. The woman is FUCKING AWESOME! When we first started getting to know each other, I think the big opener to our friendship was the Megaband event last year, which we both missed this year. It is an annual Contra dance, which is a form of partner type line dancing that has been done for centuries in parts of Europe. You create this great and fun flowery patterns by following the callers instructions. It requires a little teaching prior. My favorite thing to do is spin. There are some wonderful spinners out there. It is great feeling, sharing, that centrifugal force with a woman, though I've done it with men also, who were also excellent spinners. I Love women's energy more, however. It's not only fun as all get out to contra dance, it is also a lot of fucking fun to watch all the wonderful flowery patterns that get created and the occasional humor one feels when someone in the line fucks something up. It is even more fun if they are actually able to find their way back into the pattern. I also do a spinning dance. I spin by myself, arms out and swinging as my feet and legs turn my body round and round. This is the type of dancing I do when I'm walking across the Burnside Bridge especially, but it doesn't matter where I'm at or what I'm doing, if I feel like doing it, I'll dance right in front of your face to no music at all, just the natural rhythms in my soul. Dancing works for me in dealing with my depression as well as just being an out and out fun way in which to express beauty in the world.

Exploring ones depression. As stated, my depression stems a lot from my historical issues. I take the time to sit with my depression, which, is not always easy. As I've told my friends recently, it has taken me most of my 42 years just to be able to look in the mirror and to be honest about the person I see looking back at me. Not judge, just see my face, who I am, how I dress, and even more recently, to Love that person looking back at me. To Love myself. I ask myself why I'm depressed. Lack of sex? Current solution, masturbate in fun and beautiful ways. Father deceased from alcohol, I miss him so much and so much pain has been caused in my life around the process of losing him to that medicine that can be abused and used as a tool of self destruction. Sexual repression from abuse both sexual and verbal. I try not to judge the things I see in myself, but instead, explore them for what they are. I hurt right here in my soul. OUCH! THAT'S TENDER! OUCH! I experience the pain to release it to the beauty I see in the world. Sometimes it was expressed in serious breakdowns. Lately when I feel it, it is crying that comes forth. And it is all mine, and it is beautiful. I make friends with it, which is not always an easy process. None of this happened for me overnight. It took time and patience of which I would occasionally run out of one or the other or both. To Love myself. To forgive myself. To heal. To create beauty in the world.

Scarves work for me. Men's clothes are so fucking boring. I have been exploring a new expression of who I am by how I dress, and I like using scarves. Currently, I only wear several as I just started this exploration. I have, however, probably a hundred or more. I also have a sari, which I don't know how to wear, but is fun. I also have many sarongs, which I wear at home and have not yet felt comfortable in wearing in public. Bright beautiful colors infused into the cloth that surrounds my body. But I love wearing the scarves I've started wearing. And why do I wear them? That's right, to catch the attention of women. And it works. And it makes me feel beautiful. And I enjoy feeling beautiful with women, because most women are beautiful to me. In today's patriarchal society, women understand and know the joys of beauty that are needed in the world and I Love getting women's attention using cloth. It is my natural sexual desires in action. I am too shy to go beyond just catching their attention and talking with them as I sit around the BOO or work or whatever. "Hello beautiful woman. I am wearing this bright plumage to catch your attention."

Let's be honest. All creative expression comes from our sexuality. Sexuality is a beautiful and wonderful thing whose desires and beauty often spread out into the world of art. Music and musical instruments represent both male and female and come together to create such a beauty to motivate us to dance, all of which is an expression of our beautiful and natural sexual desires and how we express them. Anger, Love, Beauty, ugliness, Fear, Joy, Sadness, landscapes, the beautiful form of the body and it's natural expression in the world, to interconnect, and make a better world for one and all. SEXUALITY IS A GOOD THING! HECK! IT'S A GREAT FUCKING AND WONDERFUL THING! Sexuality is what creates the wonderful tensions where I find beauty. Flowers is the natural sexual expression of plants. I Love flowers! I Love sex! As difficult as the journey has been for me to get here to tell you all of this on a public forum such as my blog, I just have to tell you, especially from reading Inga Muscio's book, "Cunt," which I hope more people, male and female and otherwise gendered read. Women are the gateways of life, and that gateway is also the center of her pleasure. Men should honor that! I Love it! I Love women's sexuality. I Love women. I Love them as friends and Lovers and fellow Revolutionaries and sometimes all of the above or any combination and much much more. I Love sharing orgasms with women and myself. I Love holding hands and walking down the street with women. I Love talking and cooking with women. I Love eating food with women. I Love going to concerts with women. I Love brainstorming ideas of Revolution with women. WOMEN FUCKING ROCK! My writing is a form of my sexual expression. My rage, my joy, my desire, my depression, all of it.

My best advice to anybody who suffers from depression is to avoid the drugs unless absolutely necessary. If you use the pharmaceuticals, wean yourselves off as soon as possible because that shit in the long run is not good for your health. There are other methods that work for healing depression that don't involve using pharmaceuticals. I use the above tools because they work for me. They may or may not work for you. Try them on for size. See if they fit. See if you can create something unique and beautiful for yourself. Most importantly, Love and Forgive yourself as you explore those things that create a strong and beautiful mental health within you. You deserve to Love yourself. You should forgive yourself for all self perceived short comings. Use them as examples to help live your life by, because more often than not, they aren't short comings, just expressions of unhealthy ways in which we look at ourselves.

THIS, MY FRIENDS, IS ALL PART OF THE REVOLUTION. THIS, AND SO MUCH MORE! Get out and in there and explore your world and find what works for you a create MUCH OVERWHELMING BEAUTY AND LOVE. I think your worth it. I think I'm worth it. I think future generations are worth it. Find what works for you. Don't be afraid to change things, discard things, pick other things up, discard them later. Don't be afraid to share. Explore these things and find out what works for you. All things have natural flows and most work on their own times and not that of the clock or current calendar. Some will remain with us for the rest of our lives. Some we may only try once. It is up to us. Do what you can and make this world a better place for one and all, including yourself.

REVOLUTION NOW!

Currently, I still have a job. I was pulled off of the truck, however.

I am also amazed that here in the alleged land of the free, some vindictive asshole can do something to really fuck up your work situation. In other words, any outside force out there can have control over ones work. Mind you, if I wasn't a pot smoker, this shit would still be negatively effecting my work. But I am, and that will effect it negatively enough as far as dealing with the administration.

More in a bit, I'm gonna go pitch for the BOO!

I'm nervous and confident about what will happen this morning. I know no matter what happens...Life is still FUCKING GREAT!

Hanging out with my buddy, Leland. Haven't seen him in a while. He is Crow! Awesome young fella!

OK...Time to face the music...or at least the walk to the music...maybe I'll dance...Dancing...Dancing sounds really fun. Maybe I'll dance a little across the bridge. What the fuck?

Life is always good! I find beauty in many things! Walk in Beauty!

Here I sit
on the verge of being
terminated...fired...let go...
no words seem to fit what I am trying to say,
but you know what I mean.

Someone who knows I'm Siletz
and have a 10-year-old daughter
wrote a letter to my work
telling them I smoke pot.

Pot is illegal because of two people,
William Randolph Hearst
because he didn't want hemp paper
cutting into his pulp paper
business, and
Harry Anschlinger
Because he hated Mexicans and Blacks
especially when they were having a good time
and consuming marijuana in order to enhance
their joy and happiness.

Whoever wrote the letter is a vindictive asshole
with no consideration
for what it means to me, my daughter, my housemate,
my family and friends.

I don't plan on stopping smoking pot.
It helps me to deal with
the current occupation of my land
the effects of genocide and rape,
etc.
It makes me feel good!

Plants
Flowers
Beauty
It's Spring!

2.
Now I'm at Legacy Hospital
and wonder...
...strongest thoughts...
standing my ground.

Marijuana, pot
is a gift,
a "useful plant."
There are studies ("The Schaefer Report,"
the book, "Marijuana Myths, Marijuana Facts.")
I somke pot for the above reasons
and more.

Marijuana is a medicine,
it alleviates tension
and one is much more funcitonal
high on pot
than drunk on alcohol.
Marijuana never killed anyone
...ever...
and it is not addictive.

I am number 26
as I wait in the hospital
which has laid claim to my name
and choose to identify me by a number,
another number.
I have more numbers
to identify me by
than I do names
and now
I am no longer a human
but a commodity to be processed.
These people
are people who NEED
to smoke pot.

Keeping pot illegal
is a good way of controlling
the working populace
to prevent
any kind of Revolution.
Constant threat of losing your job
or going to prison
for using a plant medicine
that is even approved in the bible.
I have heard the story
of the violent man
who got the program started in Washington state
because he would smoke pot
and it would seriously cut down
on his desire to do
physical harm to people.

Maybe that's why it is illegal?
Because those who would tell me killing is wrong
really want a bunch of killers around
to control the population
that doesn't believe in their bullshit
which benefits the wealthy few
and NONE of us here at the bottom.

Nothing better to control a populace with
than by making a substance that is healthy
beautiful and wonderful...
illegal,
thus being able to use it
against the population at large
as a form of justification for
abuse and control.

That said (and much more unsaid)
Freeing the weed
is indeed
part of the
REVOLUTION!

3.
And the flowers are so beautiful today,
aren't they?

The flowering trees look like they are just exploding
with love for the people.
The tulip trees are starting to open,
and all is beautiful in the world.

I guess this means I should look
into doing things that I Love
to make some money.
Heck, maybe I could create a clientelle
as a male whore?
Eh! I don't think I have the body type
to make it a lucrative business.
Besides, I have that shy thing
going on, too.

Anybody want to buy some books?

For some reason, I'm not worried about any of this.

Spring is in the air.

We'll see what happens tomorrow.

I make my offerings on this cloudy beautiful wet morning as I cross the Burnside Bridge. As I continue my journey from my morning prayers, I see a fish jump straight out of the water, and I know it's spring.

As I continue through Inga Muscio's book, "Cunt," I am just completely amazed and more in Love with women and have more respect for women and beauty in the world. Holy Fuck! Inga is so FUCKING awesome and so are all women. The creators of nations from your centers of pleasure, joy, and happiness.

I just finished reading the chapter about whores, and I really wish we had those wonderful honoring of women temples for the whores, those who teach us of our sacred sexuality, beauty, affection, teach us to Love. Sweet Goddesses!

I have suffered through two abusive marriages. Neither woman wanted me, and must have felt like they settled. They were both abusive and treated me like shit, especially verbally, and like a fool, I put up with it for so many years thinking that if I just put more Love into it, then it would become much better. Doesn't work. And I have to wonder, if there was a temple these women could have gone to that would have taught them the sacred beauty of Love and sex and sharing, they would have treated me better, or found what they wanted.

A Great Friend of mine, a woman (most of my friends are women), bought me a whore at the Mustang Ranch many years ago. I was being an ass on a road trip, and my friend offered. At first I said no, then I realized what an ass I was being and thought that maybe this would help me from being such an ass. It was weird, how you choose a woman. I didn't like that part. I saw a woman sitting in a chair, and she asked if I wanted to party and I thought, OK.

I had to get to know her in the brief time before my time with her was up. It felt very business like, though not so bad after I got to know her a little. Still, there was something very weird about it. Could it be because the Ranch is owned and ran by a man? I don't know. But I would think it would be so much more beautiful in a woman ran temple style teaching of sex, Love, orgams, beauty, etc. I bet there would be a whole lot less war, if no war at all, if every community had their temples to teach and to create beauty to FUCK IN BEAUTY! To create a Loving and caring community and world through the beauty and Love and birthing and pleasure of a woman's..."cunt."

Inga also mentioned "women trained male whores." I bet you can guess what I'm thinking. I'd be good at that job. It is spring! WOW IS IT EVER!

I bought some gladiolas and they are in a Calililly shaped vase. I woke up this morning to their beauty, and I thought of your beauty, and as slutty as I am, I would still probably be too shy to see if you wanted to come home with me.

I rub tobacco
between my fingers
and watch the tiny brown flakes
sparkle in the morning sun
in a twisty gentle dance
in the light air currents
as they journey
to you...
my wet sister of life.

It's Spring Equinox,
official springdom
which started in me
three weeks early.
Thinking of water and equinox
I think of Mikhelle
taking her Equinox bath
in a creek
near her home...
HOW SWEET!

On the way to the truck
I saw pink blossoms
exploding from a tiny green stem
and I feall to my hands and knees
in the wet wonderful grass
and inhale the beauty
into my lungs
and share life briefly
with this sweet sweet sister!

Gladiolas!
I have to buy gladiolas today,
for, of all the flowers
I have seen this spring
gladiolas, as their blossoms unfold,
make me think of the
heavenly flower...
pink
the flowers
the glads I see
are pink.
Do they come in red?
Do they come in other colors?
Their petals unfold
and I think of you,
of flowers
sweet scents
that make my mouth water
like the river
...I imagine...
........you.......

This morning, as I drag my tired ass out of bed and am trying to get dressed, but only fast enough in order to fill all the time allowed before I have to catch the bus. I hear geese outside my window. At first I thought they were a new creak in the floor. No...Geese, outside my window somewhere.

Driving into work, everything looks beautiful in its dark gray morning gown.

I start my foot journey across the Burnside Bridge to come and write to you when the Sun pours light into my eyes and soul. I think of the Sundance, the morning song that calls the dancers to their feet. The Drums, The Songs, but mostly The Eagle Bone Whistles. The energy rises in intense prayer to the creator, spirit world, earth mother, our fellow human beings. The sun calls to my eyes, and I smile.

I hear the honks of the geese, and a few seconds of silence as they fly beneath my feet and out from under the Burnside Bridge and head South, upstream, together, the pair. I think of the geese outside my bedroom window this morning.

I think of the march the day before. At least 10,000 people, that's about 2 or 3 dozen to the oregonian piece of shit alleged newspaper. Wow! That many people gathered together in one spot to say NO MORE FUCKING WAR YOU ASSHOLE BUSH AND YOUR WHOLE FUCKING CRIMINAL ADMINISTRATION. Fuck yeah! Downright fucking awesome! The Revolution is here and now, everyday, with everybreath. Don't underestimate your ability to do something, my fellow human beings. I will appreciate the work you do, but more imporantly, you will and future generations will.

It is so wonderful to feel the energy of the sun as one works to end this crazy shit called war. It is so wonderful to know there is beauty in this world, and "beauty is worth fighting for." Struggle for beauty. Create Beauty! Live Beauty!

I start to remember the song, the entrance song, to the Sundance, and I sing it and laugh as I walk or dance across the bridge, make my offerings, and sing that song, so beautiful, as I stare into the sun and realize...IT'S EQUINOX.

Spring is in the air, and it's official, now, as my friend Mikhelle reminded me on the phone last night. And I also realize, my little Aries daughter, Felicia, HER BIRTHDAY IS ON THE FIFTH AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK HER MOM HAS PLANNED...AAAHHHHHH!!!!! We discussed it briefly a few times, but there was nothing definite set.

And spring is in the air and flowers are everywhere and spring is in the air and the sun is out and it's solstice and everything is BEAUTIFUL!