Pudgy Indian

I found an article on Indianz.com where the Cherokee plan to kindly and gently ethnically cleanse their rolls. They are going to vote as to whether or not to allow the Cherokee Freedmen, blacks who were once slaves of the Cherokee turned members of the tribe after the Emancipation Proclaimation, to remain Cherokee tribal members. In other words, they are cutting off one of their arms in order to protect racial purity.

Of course, let's not include the fact the the Cherokee are using the "White Man's" definitions of "racial purity," in order to make such a decision possible. "What's your blood quantum, Tonto?" "You're not a real Indian?" How many times have Indians heard this from non-Indians, and now the Cherokee are attempting to set a trend by defining some of their own people out of existence. This is called "auto-genocide," ahy the Bush administration isn't doing the same -- or threatening to -- in the Che term coined by Inga Muscio meaning a group of folks who faced genocide continuing that genocide without the help from the Master Race which usually comes with it.

In the article, the judge basically states it is a sovereign right of the Cherokee to make such a vote possible.

http://www.indianz.com/News/2007/001496.asp

"This is strictly an intra-tribal matter," [Diane Hammonds] told the judge.


Intra-tribal matter? Sounds like what Reagan and Bush 1 said about Saddam Hussein committing genocide against the Kurds. It's an intra-tribal matter.

"The United States does not inject itself into elections, in intra-tribal matters," said Catherine Blanco of the Department of Justice.


That must make it legal for the Whiteplumes to grow hemp on the rez property then, right? Then this quote follows:

In a closely-related case, the Interior Department did take a position when the Seminole Nation voted to deny citizenship to its Freedmen. The Bureau of Indian Affairs refused to recognize the leadership of the tribe and cut off all federal funding until the Freedmen were restored.

The last paragraph of the article states this:

The roll includes Cherokees, Delawares, Shawnees and Freedmen. But the upcoming election would only deny citizenship to the Freedmen because it would require them to prove they have Indian blood.

Ethnic cleasing...Indians are doing it, too! We've learned a lot from you colonialist invaders. We've learned self-hatred, auto-genocide, and how to define ourselves using your dictionaries in order to make such things possible.

Oddly, there are Cherokee that cannot be federally recognized because their names are not on the original roles. They could be "full-bloods," and still not be able to "register" because they cannot be linked to a person on the original roll. Again, this is our white colonialist masters defining who and what we are and the Cherokee using it as a tool in order to commit "auto-genocide."

There are so many ways to keep us divided, and DAMMIT! IF WE AINT GONNA USE EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE SO THE WEALTHY OF THIS NATION CAN CONTINUE TO OPPRESS US ALL FOR THEIR OWN GAIN! But that's OK, we'll do the oppressing for them. Their precious arms might get too tired if they had to pick up a gun and actually use it in one of the many forms of war that create their wealth. We'll do it for them.

I've been thinking some about my personal history lately.

I've been having this wonderful feeling that I will be hiking the North Face of Mt. Adams twice this year. Once in early summer once in late summer. It's a tough hike, but fun and gorgeous. For some reason, this made me think of an incident, one of the first things I wrote about on my blog.

I was hiking on Hamilton Mountain behind Beacon Rock in Washington. A guy broke his leg sometime after I hiked by there. His wife ran by and I did my best to make contact with 911 finally getting the folks almost at the bottom of the hike and was asked to hike back up and hang with the man until the first rescue worker got back up there. When I got there, he was talking a lot to a couple that had stopped to keep him company until help came along. They were talking books. I stepped to the side and was hoping he wouldn't talk with me because I really didn't feel like talking. He started asking me about what I was reading and I told him, "Conquest," by Andrea Smith. Which eventually led me to talk about the genocide of indigenous folks in this nation and prompting me to say "I want everything back." After the rescuers got there, I got ready to head back down and the man shook my hand and said he hoped I did indeed get everything back. Far contrast from the usual discussion that happens when bringing this up to white folks, which is: "Where will I get deported to?" And I find one of my copies of the book here at the BOO in my box. Thanks LA.

Life is really really good considering all the crazy crap I've been going through. Through it all, it has felt like a tidal wave and when the wave retreats, there I am, still standing on the beach, soaking, heart racing, alive and unhurt, wondering what the fuck just happened.

I look forward to my hikes this summer. I look forward to concerts, singing and dancing, laughing, hanging out with friends, Revolution, making new friends, finding and meeting more heroes, eating good food, taking care of myself, writing, etc. Life is good! Life is really really good!

After the things I've been through in the last couple of weeks, I'm usually an emotional wreck. But this go round, I sought out healers to help me through some big transitions, and things are going well! There is lots of healing going on, and not just for me, and life is moving in a direction which I am enjoying very much. LIFE IS GOOD!

I am about to interview Ishmael Beah, a former child soldier from Africa. I am almost completely cold on this interview. I only heard about him yesterday evening. This morning, Lisa informed me she will be unable to do the interview and asked if I could. I haven't read the book. I still have to read the press packet. While making breakfast for Felicia and my self, I did a cram session with Lisa, who also wrote numerous questions for me to ask as an outline. I worked with a man who was a child soldier in Africa and learned a lot, but that was several years ago. I'm nervous and scared but I want to let you all know about this book and this man. He will be reading at some 5 different Starbucks around town. Starbucks, believe it or not, is publicizing his book heavily. Ishmael works in a deprogramming program for child soldiers based in New York. He will also be reading at Powell's tonight, and why I'm writing to you all while I should be doing some more cramming... Find out where this man is reading, get there, listen, I'm nervous as all fucking get out!

So, I got stuck in a truck with a racist sexist piece of shit for two days.

Mind you, I have my racist and sexist issues as well and try to deal with them as good as possible. I'm no innocent man. But this was ridiculous.

One of the first things he said on Monday when we were out in the truck, and I have no idea why he said it or in what context it was even brought up, "Like I say: Give a nigger a fur coat and he'll think he's king kong."

I couldn't believe he said that. I was thinking "where's my gun...oh wait, I don't own a gun."

So he goes after every race. He does it with a sense of humor, which is also offensive. Like he is giving shit to every race as a joke. It aint funny.

He talked about women like they were holes. His wife, he talked about her like she was a b****, but they seemed to have a good and respectful relationship.

This man has also been through a lot in his life. Kids and former wife disappearing on him one day and he was left with the clothes on his back. Finds out a few years later his kids had been adopted out because the ex and boyfriend were abusing them. Speaks Russian and Spanish. Lived in Siberia for 6 months. Former jet liner mechanic. As well as being a racist sexist piece of shit.

I feel like I was put in a position where I'm damned if I do damned if I don't. I could speak out and get serious shit. I could my bosses and receive serious shit. I could start facing harassment for saying anything because I know how this system works. I figured it was one day as I was told I would be alone on the route the next day.

Next day, there he is again. He starts out about the blacks wanting reparations for slavery and saying that's wrong. "That shit effects you for generations," I told him. I told him of how I see the effects of genocide of Indians every day. I started bleeping out facts quite often, and his tune started changing. I let him know that many of us Indians are still fighting. He stopped talking racism.

Later, he again talked of women as holes. "I thought it was great that a few years ago that the strippers in this town tried to organize and unionize." "They did?" I told him of Danzine and we both started talking about health care and safety for women in the sex industry.

Last half of the day he didn't say shit about race or sex.

Top this off with all of the other shit that has been going on in my life, and I've been one pretty grouchy asshole the last couple of days.

Last night, my friend Sharon and her two daughters, my sister Roxanna and her daughter, and Felicia and I were all hanging out in my room BSing. Mostly, it was Roxanna and Sharon talking shop as they are involved in a similar trade. It was good to see Sharon again. I hadn't seen her in over a year.qr

I can see
pieces of my life
in the folds and creases
of my purple pashmina
that has wrapped around my neck
like the comfort of a Lover,
that I have stroked
when alone
and needing the comfort of a friend.

My purple pashmina
has comforted me through some of the
roughest and craziest
times of my life.

My purple pashmina
has comforted me on my bed
during the strongest tears
from yet another break up.

My purple pashmina
comforts me through
being accused of crimes I have not committed
by friends who should
know me better
and helps calm
my bitter anger.

My purple pashimina
laid quietly on my bed
above a turqouise silk scarf
and a white lace wrap
as the healing hands
of a reiki master
guided me to healings
I didn't know I needed.

My purple pashmina
danced with me
across the Burnside Bridge
after I made friends with
my lonliness.
It flapped in the wind playfully,
tickled my face,
and looked so beautiful
with the black background
of my wool coat.

My purple pashmina was present
at another healing
from a friend
doing feather doctoring
and witness to all the crazy energy
sent through my body and soul
to you...

I see bits and pieces of my life
in the creases and folds
of the purple pashmina
given to me by a wonderful friend
and one of my many heroes
upon the return of her journey
from Thailand with her family.

"I knew you would choose that one,"
she tells me.
"I even told David.
Eugene will pick the purple one.
Just wait and see."

Unloading produce at Elephant's Commisary
at 4am in the morning
a woman approaches me
as I prep their order.

"Can you help me out?
My boyfriend kicked me out
and I haven't eaten in a long time
and I'm so hungry
I just need a couple of bucks
to get something at the Hot Cake House.
It's the only place I know
that is open at this time of day."

"Hold on," I say
pull out my wallet
hold it to the light to look inside
and see two buck right there.
But I know that aint enough to get a good meal.
I find a five and another one
and hand her $8.

"Thank you! Thank you!"
She says
taking my left hand in both of hers.
I feel her skin against mine
her life force.
"Bless you!"

As she walks away I ask,
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"No," she says.
"Well there are plenty of organizations
around town
that are willing to help you out."

She smiles and is on her merry way.

After I'm done with my delivery,
I see her walking with a lightness in her step
as she heads toward her next meal.
I honk
and we wave to each other.

Sometimes
all we need is for someone
to know we exist
and our existance has validity
just like every one else's.

2 (or something like that)

The master has come
(she'd laugh if she read
that I called her "the master")
and she leads me
with her magical hands
creating energy flows through my belly
to an old friend of mine...
Mr. I Want To Be Alone...
AKA...Mr. Lonliness.

The sentry opened the door
from the darkness
where me and The Master wait.
He is suspicious
and doesn't want any visitors
as the light from his room
shines new life into the darkness.

He opens the door wide
in an unwelcoming welcome
and there
behind the door
is my body
laying in a form of depose on the floor
not dead
not alive
and we enter.

3 (numbers, slices)

Lonliness and I have a good time togther.
We wrap an arm around each others shoulders
walk around the house
in a sluggish form of drunkeness
from the reawakenings
from the Reiki and Massage
my friend has blessed us with.

We laugh!
We embrace.
We plan on drinking a Maudite beer together, later.
Maybe we'll go see that movie
with Heidi
about the Japanese folks
who started a Hawaiian dance thing
in order to get tourists
to visit their town.

But right now...
right now...

4 (?)

After another break-up
I knew to look for healers.
Those with the ability
and magic within their souls
to heal the wounds and aches
that come with such actions.

I find my friend Cynthia
at the airport Holiday Inn
where she is doing a show
for her herbal works.

I sit and talk and talk and talk
while she brings a cup of salt water
does a cutting away ceremony for me
heals my energy using cedar spray
and rose water spray
and a few others as well.

"Yesterday," I tell her
"Through all my depression and pain
I started having this funny feeling in my body.
I didn't know what it was.
It didn't feel bad.
And then I realized.
It is how my body feels when I'm in Love
or have a crush on someone."
[Another friend, Kelli, tells me
that I'm falling in Love with myself,
and I think she's right]

The next day
Stacy comes over
and I get another Reiki Massage.
She has magic in her hands.
The next day
I feel so good.

I have her come over again on Sunday
and she leads me to Mr. Lonliness.

Tomorrow...
feather doctoring from Chuck.

5.

Sometimes we need to know why we attract certain things to ourselves.

I decided to be fat when I was a kid
because I didn't want anyone to bother me
because I was pretty bothered by...

I held all my lonliness
my desire for lonliness
in my belly.
No one wants to get to know the fat kid.

Which is funny,
because I remember two girls
in fourth grade
when asked to find a partner to dance with
they both chose me.

In looking for my good buddy, Mr. Lonliness,
It took years and years of work
hard times
good times
beauty and tragedy
and in a simple ceremony
with her hands on my belly
that until about five years ago
I would not allow anyone to touch
man nor woman
Lover or friend,
I found him.

"You're the one who is doing the work,"
Stacy tells me
when I heap great praise
upon her magical hands
and her spirit that guides them.

I tell her that after this last break-up
I have actively sought out the healers I know.
Her, Cynthia, Chuck...
I set up another appointment for two weeks
from today.

I tell her that I used to smoke pot
for my depression
and it helped put me in a head space
for dealing with it.
Her hands
and my willingness to accept the magic that comes through her
has done more for me
than the fields of pot
I have smoked in years past.

And Mr. Lonliness and I...
We have plans for our day.

6 (I think)

We hop in the car.
It's been a long time...
A long time since I walked across my favorite bridge
Walked across the beauty of my sister
Danced circles above that magic place.

We start out at Grendel's
of course,
Where Maureen, my favorite barista, is making sandwiches
and Eric is busy with other things
and the newer barista
whose name I forget.

Large Grendel's Ghost
with whipped cream, of course.

I step outside
set my drink on a planter
and light up...
you guessed it...
A Partagas No. 4
from Cuba.
Yeah baby!

I make my prayers at my old offering spot
where I haven't been for over a year
because of the construction on my bridge
our bridge,
The Burnside Bridge.
I remember the time
Mikhelle walked me there
on the phone
from the East Coast...
and Bear finds me.

"Do you have one of your books with you?"
I ask.
"I just sold them all,"
he tells me
"But I have more at home."
I give him a $20
and he promises me
he will bring my change
and my book
tomorrow to Grendel's.

Lonliness and I decide to go get tobacco
at the one Rich's I have never visited
by the pillars
decorated by the Greek fellow
who used to throw the switch
for the railroad.
Now the space is filled with Condos.
And DAMMIT!
They aren't open on Sundays.

But life is good
and I head back to Grendel's
with a bladder full of pee
so I walk rather fast.

I offer my cigar stub
to the river
my sister
whom I Love so much.
and I make it back
and pee
just before my bladder was about to explode.

7 (ahhh)

Ah yes...
A poet's ceremony.

I reclaim my life.
I send Mr. Lonliness on his merry way.
I offer him is own life
from where I kept him a prisoner
and set up the sentry
to keep him safe.
The sentry is no longer needed.
Lonliness has again
taken his breath of life
from where he laid
lifeless
and is walking into his own world.

We will undoubtedly meet again
but under different circumstances.

We will laugh
and drink water
maybe a beer
smoke a cigar
and tell each other stories
of what we have been up to.

We will embarce
and say "Good Bye"
to each other
until we choose to hang out together again.

I am reclaiming my life
in my Poet's Ceremony
as I dance across the Bridge.

Hi Folks. It's me.

It's been asked of me that I update my blog a little more frequently. It's been a little tough for me lately as I've been going through some big changes in my life in the last couple of weeks.

Just so you know, I'm doing well, and just trying to reclaim my life. I don't feel much like talking about these things on this forum, but suffice it for now, that I am doing well.

The wind washes over my soul
making me clean again.

We are all poets.
Our poems carry
tragedy and Beauty,
Love and healing.
Our poems carry our souls,
a breath of our essence
into the world
and our place in it.
Our poems carry gifts
for us
and gifts for us to share
with others
and the world.

Though life can be hard
and painful
there is still Beauty
within each and everyone of us
to share
whether or not we remember.

We are all poets...
We are all poems...

Go forth
and share your Beauty!
You were all born
to offer
Beauty to the world.

Kiksuye
Remember
Kiksuye
Remember

At the vigil on Tuesday, there was a small group of folks heading back to San Fran after hanging out at the beginning of the Watada trial at Fort Lewis.

We were all chit-chatting and discussing this and that. I was talking with an indgenous woman whose name I forget. An elder homeless woman came up and asked for some money. We both immediately dipped into our pockets and gave her money. It was great to see someone else who gave to the homeless without question. I always give when asked, if I have it. Even if they are going to medicate, I'll give. Who the fuck am I to deny them something that makes them feel comfort in their dire times?Then the woman said something I never heard anyone say that gave money to the homeless: "Pray that we bring an end to this war, grandma. Pray for us to bring our people home."

I also like what Martin Prechtel said when confronted by friends about giving money to the homeless that asked for it. They, of course, were telling him things like, "You know what they are going to do with it." A kind of feigning concern because they don't seem to care the person is LIVING ON THE STREETS and how did that happen. They also don't care about people with jobs and what they do with their money, why do they put restrictions on these folks. Anyways, Martin told them, and with his rather large beautiful smile: "What if they're a spirit come to see if Martin is being generous?"

The surge protectors attempted another shut down of the recruiting center on 13th and NE Broadway. I missed all the action.

Three of these wonderful women were cited as the owner of MILO'S CITY CAFE, that's the owner of MILO'S CITY CAFE, had these three wonderful elder women who Love their children and grandchildren so much that they put themselves on the line to protect them from joining the military (as well as other people's children and grandchildren) where they could be exposed to depleted uranium, get harmed physically and mentally, and possibly commit war crimes for chicken hawks to chicken shit to commit them themselves.

In case you didn't catch that, the owner of MILO'S CITY CAFE had the three of the women cited for trespassing. There are allegations that he was somewhat coerced to do it by the cops, however, the owner of MILO'S CITY CAFE still had them cited.

Later, 6 of these wonderful elder women were arrested by the cops and the doors to the recruiting center were re-opened. Good work Portland cops, protecting the public from elder women who care about their children as well as other peoples children as well as the people in the military doing all the dirty work for an administration that is too chicken shit to do it themselves.

As well, while I was there, an SUV full of young men got all superior and mouthy to the few that remained because, well, they aren't donning uniforms and going to Iraq. I screamed to them to "SIGN UP!" but, of course, they are too chicken shit to do the dirty work themselves, also. Why should they. I don't think they bought that SUV themselves. I think it must have been borrowed from one of their possibly wealthy parents. So other people can do their killing for them, and they will remain here, stateside, safe and protected by their semi or very wealthy parents, while the poorer classes do all their dirty work for them.

GOOD WORK SURGE PROTECTORS! SORRY I MISSED ALL THE ACTION!

At the vigil on Tuesday, I started realizing that the guys are really liking it when we come down. I think they like having us around on a regular basis. We Love these guys. We don't want them going to war where they will come back damaged in physically and or mentally or come home in a box. I think they are starting to understand that, and we all wind up chit chatting. I have this idea that at some point, maybe when the weather is warmer, we'll be taking folding tables and chairs out there with our signs and having coffee or tea with these guys. Cookies, let's not forget the cookies. And we will end all war as we know it.

Rhonda and I made a stronger relationship together this last week, but first it crashed around on the rocks pretty hard. I'm glad our relationship is stronger and much more joyful and easy, but may we never go through that ever again. I Love you, Rhonda! Have a safe and wonderful journey this weekend! I'll be with you in my heart!

Jenka is the new PM news director at the BOO. She is joined by her wonderful husband, Saed. These people are absolutely wonderful, and tonight, we will be having a party for them at the BOO. It starts at 8pm. Come on down for a visit and welcome these wonderful people.

I Love living here at the Loving/Lichtenstein rez. Last night, the family received their Christmas package from Lisa's sister. Lisa got a box of "Horror Film Victim Action Figures." Yes, there actually is such a thing. James shared a bit of his Chocolates. Lisa cracked so many jokes my face hurt from laughing so much. Then she gave me one of the "Smush Bush" dolls. The back of his head has a hole that says "no brainer." Who knew they could make it so life like!

Rhonda is taking a much deserved weekend vacation to the Redwoods with her kids this weekend. I have made this weekend busier than shit for myself, which is good:

Friday (today), work my ass off. Go to Surge Protection Brigade shut down of recruiting center. Come home, maybe work out, definitely nap. Go to Felicia's Staff vs. Students basketball game for half an hour. Go to BOO candlelight party which is also a welcoming party for Jenka and Saed.

Saturday, work ass off again. Come home, work out if time, then do volunteer work at the African Film Festival for the BOO from 4-5pm. I know I made plans for something else on Satuday, but right now, it comepletely escapes me... Oh wait! Yeah! I want to try to make Warren's show in Salem, at least for a few, to show support for that wonderful poet.

Sunday, work out. Get a reiki massage. Maybe go to sweat or an art show with Felicia. Felicia wants to go to the sweat because there are horses. Drop Felicia off. Go see Rhonda if she gets home before my bedtime and hear all the wonderful things she has to tell me about her journey.

I LOVE MY LIFE!

We had Saed Bannoura on "Mitakuye Oyasin" yesterday. We talked alot about the Palestinian plight. We compared it to the Indian plight historically and currently. So much horror in such a short time. That wall has to be stopped and what is up has to come down. People have to make peace with each other, not the Israeli government doing horrible things to the Palestinians to create conflict. We just have to stop killing each other. That will be the biggest rule when WE GET EVERYTHING BACK! And we will get everything back!

The Surge Protectors are absolutely awesome. Don't forget, they will be at the recruiting center, 1317 NE Broadway, and shutting it down for the third Friday in a row. Go on down and show support. Talk to those recruiters. The more we all stand together, the sooner we end war altogether.

Hello Leigh Anne, Julie, and whoever of my other friends that read this blog. David, Chuck, and all those I haven't mentioned.