Thursday, June 22, 2006
I'm Lucky to be Alive
As I continue reading Winona Laduke's book, "Reclaiming the Sacred," I must admit...I feel lucky to be alive. I mean...America's attempt at genocide against us Indians...Oh Lay! What the fuck!?
The depths of the genocide America has enacted upon the indigenous nations of the hemisphere is amazing and almost unfathomable as I read about how museum curators are reluctant to return things like the foot of a baby that was cut off as a trophy by a soldier at the Wounded Knee Massacre in order to get her moccasin. And her foot is still in it...mummified, they say.
It is a poem. A poem of the depths of the most brutal sorts. A poem of death and murder and genocide that has created this nation like the rape of women, destruction of earth, genocides of other nations, lynching and enslaving blacks, brutalizing and slaughtering Chinese immigrants, and the list goes on and on.
It's a poem. A Red Nigger babies foot, cut off as a trophy, kept in a museum by people who don't want to return their trophies, their Red Nigger baby's foot, like a lucky rabbits foot, like genocide, like a sweet scalp, like stripping Pawnee graves and stealing the clothes off of the carcasses of the deceased for sale, profit, or amusement.
It's a poem, like bullet ridden cradle boards, also stolen from the Wounded Knee Masscre, like the skulls with bullet holes in them housed in the Smithsonian, University of Oregon, Peabody Museum, All of them ALL OF THEM want to keep their trophies of the long gone..."lost"...Red Nigger race. Reminders...reminders...reminders of the dominance, fucking us up the ass like dogs showing their dominance, who's the boss? who's the master?
"Say Uncle?" "FUCKING UNCLE ALREADY!"
And I'm lucky to be alive, and Rhonda is lucky to be alive, and Felicia is lucky to be alive, and David is lucky to be alive, and Eli is Lucky to be alive, and Clifford is lucky to be alive, and Trevino is lucky to be alive, and Mikhelle is lucky to be alive, all of us Red Niggers are lucky to be alive...
As we have faced...
and continue to face...
one of the most horrific genocides ever in it's scope,
intesity,
and continuation...
And I am here to tell you that I WANT IT ALL BACK!
And NO! I will not treat you
in the manner you have treated me
or my people
because that behavior
is absolutely reprehensible
and well...
in my opinion...
...wrong...
So don't start thinking about yourself/worry about deportation/and all that stupid bullshit you all so often do when I tell you to your face/that I want it all back/instead.../think of that lucky babies foot/that little red nigger lucky babies foot/housed like a trophy/like a mistake made by your god/to be corrected/a problem to be solved/think of her/she is a poem/a beautiful living being/destroyed by american's like you/in order to create/this great nation we allege it to be/a nation that by mere rule of force/never has to pay for its crimes against humanity...
lucky red nigger babies foot/
trophy in a museum/
where lucky curators/
refuse to do what is right/
in order to keep their little trophy/
lucky red nigger babies foot/
mummified in her moccasin/
from the genocidal massacre field/
known as Wounded Knee/
a poem/
a poem about america/
and I...
like all the Red Nigger race...are lucky to be alive...as you continue to possess our dead...like you would your dining room table...where you eat potatoes...taste the corn...that are grown...i'd like to say...on the dust of our bodies...but they are housed in museums and universities instead...like the Smithsonain and University of Oregon...
while the lone white man
remains eternally alone
on Memaloose island
who wanted to be buried with his indigenous brethren
having lost faith in his own people
but they stole them from him
and now he is alone...
alone...
alone...
and I am lucky to be alive...
all of us indigenous are
lucky to be alive...
lucky to be alive...
lucky to be alive...
and i want it all back
The depths of the genocide America has enacted upon the indigenous nations of the hemisphere is amazing and almost unfathomable as I read about how museum curators are reluctant to return things like the foot of a baby that was cut off as a trophy by a soldier at the Wounded Knee Massacre in order to get her moccasin. And her foot is still in it...mummified, they say.
It is a poem. A poem of the depths of the most brutal sorts. A poem of death and murder and genocide that has created this nation like the rape of women, destruction of earth, genocides of other nations, lynching and enslaving blacks, brutalizing and slaughtering Chinese immigrants, and the list goes on and on.
It's a poem. A Red Nigger babies foot, cut off as a trophy, kept in a museum by people who don't want to return their trophies, their Red Nigger baby's foot, like a lucky rabbits foot, like genocide, like a sweet scalp, like stripping Pawnee graves and stealing the clothes off of the carcasses of the deceased for sale, profit, or amusement.
It's a poem, like bullet ridden cradle boards, also stolen from the Wounded Knee Masscre, like the skulls with bullet holes in them housed in the Smithsonian, University of Oregon, Peabody Museum, All of them ALL OF THEM want to keep their trophies of the long gone..."lost"...Red Nigger race. Reminders...reminders...reminders of the dominance, fucking us up the ass like dogs showing their dominance, who's the boss? who's the master?
"Say Uncle?" "FUCKING UNCLE ALREADY!"
And I'm lucky to be alive, and Rhonda is lucky to be alive, and Felicia is lucky to be alive, and David is lucky to be alive, and Eli is Lucky to be alive, and Clifford is lucky to be alive, and Trevino is lucky to be alive, and Mikhelle is lucky to be alive, all of us Red Niggers are lucky to be alive...
As we have faced...
and continue to face...
one of the most horrific genocides ever in it's scope,
intesity,
and continuation...
And I am here to tell you that I WANT IT ALL BACK!
And NO! I will not treat you
in the manner you have treated me
or my people
because that behavior
is absolutely reprehensible
and well...
in my opinion...
...wrong...
So don't start thinking about yourself/worry about deportation/and all that stupid bullshit you all so often do when I tell you to your face/that I want it all back/instead.../think of that lucky babies foot/that little red nigger lucky babies foot/housed like a trophy/like a mistake made by your god/to be corrected/a problem to be solved/think of her/she is a poem/a beautiful living being/destroyed by american's like you/in order to create/this great nation we allege it to be/a nation that by mere rule of force/never has to pay for its crimes against humanity...
lucky red nigger babies foot/
trophy in a museum/
where lucky curators/
refuse to do what is right/
in order to keep their little trophy/
lucky red nigger babies foot/
mummified in her moccasin/
from the genocidal massacre field/
known as Wounded Knee/
a poem/
a poem about america/
and I...
like all the Red Nigger race...are lucky to be alive...as you continue to possess our dead...like you would your dining room table...where you eat potatoes...taste the corn...that are grown...i'd like to say...on the dust of our bodies...but they are housed in museums and universities instead...like the Smithsonain and University of Oregon...
while the lone white man
remains eternally alone
on Memaloose island
who wanted to be buried with his indigenous brethren
having lost faith in his own people
but they stole them from him
and now he is alone...
alone...
alone...
and I am lucky to be alive...
all of us indigenous are
lucky to be alive...
lucky to be alive...
lucky to be alive...
and i want it all back
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