My First Blog 

My First Blog

Okay, so this is my first blog. I have no clue what to write, and no clue of how often I'll write. All I know is that I've got a lot of pent-up anger and am in desperate need of a place to vent.
Why an I angry? Oh, a lot of reasons. Should I start with the superficial ones? Ok.
I am angry because I am walking and living on land that my ancestors one dwelled upon but is now overrun with stinking, bloated noisy monsters known as whitepeople. I am angry because I can't be openly Native without some stupid ass giving me some story about how they had a native grandmaw or some shit. I am angry because I can't just beat the crap out of people who ask me dumb questions like "Are you an Indian?" NO! I am NOT an Indian goddamit! Indians are from INDIA, and they get pissed off about stupid whiteys fucking that shit up too. And I am so Tired of people making some big f-ing deal out of my heritage.
I hate those stupid whitepeople who come to pow-wows with their ugly pink offspring dressed up like the disney version of pocahontas. That slut was a white-loving collaborator. The Atlantic Coast tribes Really fucked the rest of us over when they fed those damn people. I would have let their nasty ignorant white selves STARVE to death. It would have sent a message to the rest of the damn potential squatters: stay away!

I don't know who wrote this, but it is one of my favorite poems. I couldn't possibly say it better than this Sister.

I AM NOT YOUR PRINCESS
Sandpaper between two cultures which tear
one another apart
I'm not a means by which you can reach spiritual understanding or even learn to do beadwork
I'm only willing to tell you how to make fry bread
1 cup flour, spoon of salt, spoon of baking powder
Stir Add milk or water or beer until it holds together
Slap each piece into rounds Let rest
Fry in hot grease until golden
This is Indian food
only if you know that Indian is a government word
which has nothing to do with our names for ourselves
I won't chant for you
I admit no spirituality to you
I will not sweat with you or ease your guilt with fine turtle tales
I will not wear dancing clothes to read poetry or
explain hardly anything at all
I don't think your attempts to understand us are going to work so
I'd rather you left us in whatever peace we can still
scramble up after all you continue to do
If you send me one more damn flyer about how to heal myself
for $300 with special feminist counseling
I'll probably set fire to something
If you tell me one more time that I'm wise I'll throw up on you
Look at me
See my confusion Loneliness fear worrying about all our
struggles to keep what little is left for us
Look at my heart not your fantasies Please don't ever
again tell me about your Cherokee great-great grandmother
Don't assume I know every other Native Activist
in the world personally That I even know names of all the tribes
or can pronounce names I've never heard
or that I'm expert at the peyote stitch
If you ever again tell me how strong I am
I'll lay down on the ground & moan so you'll see
at last my human weakness like your own
I'm not strong I'm scraped
I'm blessed with life while so many I've known are dead
I have work to do dishes to wash a house to clean
There is no magic
See my simple cracked hands which have washed the same things you wash
See my eyes dark with fear in a house by myself
late at night
See that to pity me or to adore me
are the same
1 cup flour, spoon of salt, spoon of baking powder, liquid to hold
Remember this is only my recipe There are many others
Let me rest
here
at least

Do you get it? Do you understand? This I how I feel. This is how a lot of us feel. We get spit on, beat up and you people still expect us to be gracious to you! I am not some quaint, colorful remnant of early american history. I am a living person! I am so tired of whitepeople getting all pissed off and everything like I've disenfranchised them by not living up to what they thought a "Real Indian" is.
I don't wear warpaint or live in a teepee or smoke a peacepipe or any of that. I wear gothic and Punk styles and listen to Rammstein and Bikini Kill and all sorts of music.
I paint and draw and slamdance and sing absurd songs about my hubby's smelly boots at the top of my lungs in the shower. I laugh at stupid movies and Cry at the sad ones. (I bawled at the end of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. That ending Blew! No one got to be happy.)
I am so tired of people thinking that all Native artistic expressions are frozen in time around the 1800s We are a living, dynamic culture just like everyone else, so why is it that you think that all our shit has to be primitive?
Go check out the NMAI website and look at some of the gorgeous art that some of these Native Brothers and Sisters are producing. A lot of them are frustrated and pissed too.
Well, now that I've made myself sound like a total psycho racist, I'm gonna go to bed.