White Man. © Marty Two Bulls.

White Man. © Marty Two Bulls.

And from Tiffany Midge, ‘Ars Poetica,’ by Donald J. Trump:

Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.

~E.E. Cummings

Trust me, I’m a poet.

I have all of the words.

I have the best words.

The most tremendous words.

Bigly. Yuge!

Those other poets are a disaster,

just a disaster.

I’m going to build a wall

around those other poet’s

words, because no one

has more respect for words as me.

I love words, I respect words so much.

I love them so much that I would date

my own words if I wasn’t already

related to them.

I’m going to make poetry great again.

And I’m just the poet to do that too.

When it comes to words—

they’re just so beautiful

I just start kissing them,

and I can do that too,

when you’re a poet they let you do that,

they let you do anything,

I’m on those words like a mystic,

I grab ‘em by the muse.

Words are great, they’re a beautiful thing.

I have the best ones though,

because I’m the best.

I’m a winner, words love me.

I’m yuge.

Standing Rock: Camp Story, Part 4.

Picking up from where we left off at Camp Story 3 (Remember, starting with this post, all these events being related are happening on one day, Tuesday, September 6th, 2016. I’ll get to Wednesday eventually. The Osage Delegation from Oklahoma arrived. They spoke with great pain, grief, and anger over the cost to their people, in blood, of many lives, in their fight against oil. A prayer was sung, and the Osage flag took its place among the many.




Delegations from the Pit River Indians and Winnemem Wintu arrived. The Winnemem Wintu are a tribe that have been brutally crushed under the steamroller of U.S. government, yet refuse to give in, refuse to fade away. They stand strong, and they continue to fight. Like too many other tribes, vast amounts of lands were stolen by means of dam building and flooding the land. The Pit River Indians are also fighting, for their rights, their land, and for the salmon, too. They are also threatened by the black snake of oil. If hasn’t occurred to you yet, ask yourself why all the risk of oil is being placed on Indian land, from one state to the next here in uStates, and why it’s the land of Indigenous peoples in other countries who are facing similar threat and loss.*  The colonial mindset is alive and well, and Indigenous people are still the ones expected to pay for everyone else’s convenience and greed. And yes, a whole lot of Indians and other indigenous people drive cars, and use modern things, just like everyone else. There’s little choice, is there? We aren’t exactly set up for horses anymore, and most employers wouldn’t care to accommodate the time of travel. Is there money being poured into sustainable infrastructure, such as mass, public transport? No. As you should be able to tell from photos, the Dakotas are a place where you’re far away from everything else. The camps at Standing Rock, map wise, aren’t terribly far from us, but it’s a long drive.

*In the comments, Lofty highlights this ongoing problem:

Meanwhile South Australians have their own battle against Big Oil. BP want to drill in a pristine marine reserve in the Great Australian Bight, an important whale breeding area and clean fishing resource. In the event of a spill, BP won’t have any resources available to fix anything. Time to make waves.



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Carla Hayden: Technosavvy public warrior.

News of the Nerdy kind, the best kind of news! For those of us with a deep and everlasting love of books, of libraries, of books about libraries, and *deep breath* okay, there is amazing news. Carla Hayden is the new Librarian of Congress, and for the first time in its 200 year history, not male, and not white. Dr. Hayden is also an actual librarian, which will make a change from the usual scholar appointments. This is making history, and it’s history a lot of people will miss. Don’t be one of them, read up on Dr. Hayden, and the importance of the Librarian of Congress. Think Progress has a great article up.

Morass of Nastiness



A poem, by Johnny Vector.

Morass of Nastiness

There’s a morass of nastiness well on the way,
From peyote to peeing, it’s coming to stay.
We said it would give you the freedom to pray,
Oh thank you so much for the RFRA.

It may have at first seemed like Truman Quixote:
Trying to legalize taking peyote.
But for logic, religion is most antidotey.
So excuse me if now I’m a little bit gloaty.

We made it all happen, we got us some laws
To make sure you never get out of our claws.
Keep away from our bathrooms and lunch counters, cause
We’re putting this country back, just like it was.

There’s an army of lawyers with claims to seek who
Have a living to earn, and some harm to wreak too.
With their war-cry of “Freedom!” they’ll help to keep you
From having to deal with LBGTQ.

But wait, that’s not all; we’re preparing a bill
(Which we know that the libs will be trying to kill)
To remind you that sex is a dangerous thrill,
We’re going to prevent you from taking the pill.

There’s a morass of nastiness well on the way,
A bit evil, for sure, but we’re happy to say
That it isn’t our freedom we’re taking away
With the ever-expansionist RFRA.

The Lambda Literary Awards


The winners of the 28th Annual Lambda Literary Awards (the “Lammys”) were announced last night in a gala ceremony hosted by comedienne Kate Clinton at NYU Skirball Center for the Performing Arts. The Lambda ceremony brought together over 500 attendees, sponsors, and celebrities to celebrate excellence in LGBT literature and 28 years of the groundbreaking literary awards. The celebration continued at Le Poisson Rouge at the Official After-Party with celebrity DJs Sammy Jo and Tikka Masala, VJ Bleue Liverpool and an electrifying performance by Macy Rodman.


Clinton summed up the event saying, “Never have the Lambda Literary Awards ever sounded so much like the People’s Choice Awards.”

You can see a host of photos here. 28th Annual Lambda Literary Award Winners:

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My ride showed up. Celebrate love, celebrate life.

John Trudell (Santee Dakota) walked on in December, 2015. His last words: My ride showed up. Celebrate love, celebrate life. I still haven’t come to terms with this entirely. John Trudell touched so many lives, he was the voice for so many people, a lot of them voiceless. He was a part of my life from childhood and the occupation of Alcatraz. I’ve listened to him throughout my life, heard his words, sang his words, read his words, his words have inhabited my heart. So, what to share? Once again, I’ve been listening to the words that have been part of my skin for many decades, how can I decide? Maybe you’ll go look for yourself, find those words that speak to you, that find their way to your heart. For me, I guess it will always come back to one of JT’s central messages, that human beings were losing their understanding of being human. So, Bone Days it is, specifically, Crazy Horse.

We Hear what you say
One Earth, one Mother
One does not sell the Earth
The people walk upon
We are the land
How do we sell our Mother ?
How do we sell the stars ?
How do we sell the air ?
Crazy Horse
We hear what you say

Too many people
Standing their ground
Standing the wrong ground
Predators face he possessed a race
Possession a war that doesn’t end
Children of God feed on children of Earth
Days people don’t care for people
These days are the hardest
Material fields, material harvest
decoration on chain that binds
Mirrors gold, the people lose their minds
Crazy Horse
We Hear what you say

One Earth, one Mother
One does not sell the Earth
The people walk upon
We are the land.

Today is now and then
Dream smokes touch the clouds
On a day when death didn’t die
Real world time tricks shadows lie
Red white perception deception
Predator tries civilising us
But the tribes will not go without return
Genetic light from the other side
A song from the heart our hearts to give
The wild days the glory days live

Crazy Horse
We Hear what you say
One Earth, one Mother
One does not sell the Earth
The people walk upon
We are the land
How do we sell our Mother
How do we sell the stars
How do we sell the air

Crazy Horse
We hear what you say
Crazy Horse
We hear what you say
We are the seventh generation
We are the seventh generation

John Trudell, Bone Days.