It Ain't Over Until we Smoking On the Drill Pad
MARK TILSEN
It Ain’t Over Until we Smoking Cigars On the Drill Pad Mark Tilsen 2017 photo credit: Brandie MacDonald cover poem: Langston Hughes "Dream Keeper" book design: Joy Enomoto
It Ain't Over Until we Smoking Cigars On the Drill Pad By Jewce
"Every now and then you do cool shit, Mark." - Heather Milton Lightening "You've come a long way from not doing shit." - Naca Charging Crow Oglala relative, always keeping it real
In The Beginning We sleep to the sounds of song and laughter Young men trying their first war cries and mocking rooster crows answer from the tipis If we win These sounds will greet our great grandchildren and one day I'll be there on the hill with white hair on the microphone hologram Talking about these mad days when the Hunkpapa called and We answered. I might even embellish how brave I was Or important If we fail only silence I ask all my grandmothers and grandfathers living and dead Be with us now Bear witness Help us find the will to do what needs to be done I am not going to die here I don't want to be arrested And I am too big to run But I am not a fighter, not really I don't see what lies ahead There is so much that could've be done We ought to have reached out to our Black brothers and sisters to stand with us Sent out our most respectable to every Mayor's office, city council meeting PTA, School board, and town hall
We wake to geese calls, before sunrise the loud yapping of packs of coyotes that always remind of a small horde of freshmen jostling one another in the hallways The Bros of the animal world on the Missouri, every town and farming community that drinks this water or the pipeline crosses And Doesn't really matter now. We are here They are coming All I ask of myself is to live these next few days well The Camp is waking up Hoka. Today We rallied and smudged And we rolled out And the caravan stretched over a mile And they ran from their job sites And the cops were coming down south in force And since we already won They thought we were going to zig But instead we zagged Next time We zog
Enough Is Too Much How much of what we do is delusion? How many beautiful native people do you know, are living their lives out over the edge like Wiley coyote, who stay alive as long as they don't look down? How many do you know, that function so because we don't let our loss touch our soul? If we had to feel it all at once, every broken heart, every buried body, every shattered person and tortured spirit, it would end us Our compassion has to have a limit Our empathy needs a boundary Dear God Let us be an island in this great sea only so we don't drown in the suffering we see I need to sleep We need to not feel pain if only for a minute let me flinch blink away turn my head Pass this cup before me I've drunk enough of it But it goes on stretching out pass me out into the thin lines of tomorrow and you bandy at me with words like Hope I spit it out of my mouth you come to me with paltry phrases Come down here with me
give up you've been fighting so so long surrender You've been too brave for too long and you're tired of running Let us sit in our grave for a minute Let our death be a metaphor an imagined release here in the inky calm feel the soil below the freeze line into the black shhh it's ok now It's All Oh Kay Now get up. We have work to do.
You can have too much of a good thing Sometimes people pray Instead of doing As if God Can fight your battles Who ever said "Water is life" Never talked to a drowning man
On being burnt out: "You're no good to the cause if you're burnt out!" Said to activists, youth workers, and anyone doing movement work. Have you met EMT's or school teachers or new parents? There are times in our lives where we are perpetually exhausted beyond what we normally comprehend. There are times where our bodies adjust to three or four hours of sleep a night. Yes, ideally we move forward with self love and self care and recognize that how we resist oppression is important so we don't just internalize the systems we are fighting. But, eyas, this isn't an ideal situation. And sometimes you run on coffee instead of meals and the bed don't get made and the hair don't get brushed because the meeting with the lawyers goes late or some people have ideas that need to get hashed out or someone needs to get kicked out of camp or brought into camp, the wood needs splitting and they need a ride to airport at five or from the bus depot at 3 am be sure to pick up a fan belt for a Winnebago and the people coming out of jail need support and you're on interview five and there is two more to go. And you can't quit. You're not alone, this isn't a one person job but everyone needs to stay in motion doing their part even though it hurts physically mentality and you are spiritually drained. A more spiritual person than I could rely on the metaphysics knowing we have resources and energy beyond what we can see but being a materialist, I say I'm tapping into my years of slothful not doing shit and cashing in my reserves of every sunken Sunday spent reading in bed or hung over Saturday sleeping it off.
Rather than admonish people who are burnt out come to Standing Rock. Make the switch in mentality from this is what "They should do" to "This is what we should do" and the quantum leap of transformation, "This is what I am willing to do!" Repeat after me: This pipeline will not be built because I won't let it.
Why I'm Atheist I look at the horrors of the world my mind recoils at the sight and remember a line from some film "This can't go on forever God won't let it!!" but it does and there is no God and we are his prophets I say to myself this won't go on because I won't let it and I look at my hands and the smallness of my words feel so insignificant and weak I look to my people and remember I am not alone This world will change because we are flame given form we are the passion of righteousness put into motion and we may fail even in our failure the world changes a little To the bodies falling into tear soaked ground I am sorry. I am sorry to every child dead in wars I could not stop. For every relative dancing on air with limb and rope that I could not lift you into breathing I failed you and I am sorry To every broken boy crashing through the guard rail getting your face on a tee shirt
that I wasn't there to turn you back onto the road ... The world will change because we will change it.
Ode to the bathroom at Prairie Knights Casino Not the one on the casino floor but the one tucked back near the big empty conference room Through some oddity of design it is only half lit so while you sit it feels like a monastery bathed in in shadow and soft fluorescence clean disinfected The Calm Place away from the crowds at camp the chaotic frenzy of the frontlines the rage filled monotony of endless meetings and the porta potties filled to the brim with frozen shit A candle and altar would not be out of place here wash your hands clean let go in a camp of thousands this is the only privacy you get.
Support your poets in your life Connect them with audiences Help them find work Give them nice journals and cash for coffee because our office is any moment of respite with a pen in hand kick down for library fees, because they still sacred to us in their quiet and glowering rows If you give us books, we may not read them We're sorry for how we acted when drunk or angry and only meant what we said with all of our conviction And in turn we will reach inside our chest root around for that first hard hurt in our lives take out that shard of glass bleed out for you Hold it high until the light catches it shows the way forward through the lie that the world is boring And we can ask you questions like when did mourning turn you into a leper which funeral numbed as you lost pieces of yourself that you call family Are we more than ghosts wrapped in flesh? We can tell you that hope is like falling in love for the very first time with that lover that will never love you back no matter what you do Not like you need them to
Even though you know You know if they loved you back Just like that It would heal you both But they never will You see we know how to live without hope And we need those hopeless people who are still in love with this world Unafraid of death or speeding cars Who find joy in reveling in our embarrassments Who can shout at tyrants because truth is our only god We can tattoo you a sunset with our words But we are in the trenches for you Finding words that you may feel but can not speak And there are hard days ahead Days of rage resistance and revolt The people are being pushed too far and so many of us have so little left to lose We are holders of flame the throwers of sparks We come with the fire Let us look into our small powers find the words that will break the world And carry the love to build a new one But then again What do I know? I am but a poet.
The Ride of Bryce Iron Hawk and his Camaro SS '13 Reckless driver in camp. Two minor injuries Driver arrested. Driver was not able to pass through Crazy Horse Lane due to intervention by Oglalas
Tipi was rammed into. We are down one Oglala and one tipi, please send replacements
My Girlfriend
My Relatives
She does a pretty spot on impression of me. "and Mark's all, 'Whatever, I do what I want. I am a sovereign entity. I answer to no god.'"
We are the people of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, we are also the people who killed them.
She's a frontline girl Been all over the world Got friends from standing rock to Cairo She laughs and drinks wine all night Will roll you a joint on the morrow She's up for a fight As long as the pictures are tight Hair like the sphinx full of tear gas and kinks, Heart full of sorrow She's a frontline girl
My update. remembering the day. After a week of false alarms, letting go of my mortgage for my house, and living in the squalor of my own vices I saw smoke on the horizon. Radios were squawking "Contact!" or "Incoming!" and "COPS!" I languidly made my way up there to the front lines. There was a big camp made on the direct line of the pipeline and levels of people all spread out along the road. When the police rolled in they finally had two sounds canons and humorously told us, "If you leave on foot to the South Camp, we will not use The Tone again." It puts the DAPL in the earth's skin, otherwise it gets The Tone again! The Bearcat and MRAP finally had some teeth but it was loud and annoying more than scary. A blockade was built out of vehicles and tires and wood and straw. People could have made an impressive stand there. There was a fight on the line on how to proceed but I saw rank ugliness, I saw us at our worst, raucous and ego filled, loud and un-listening. I saw people who learned to work together clash. And I saw honest men, good men, dismantle the barricade and push the people back, doing the police' work for them. In Lakota one of our societies is the Akicita, Faces The Enemy, and I saw my brothers turn their backs on police and face us. I saw my friend's fall back, I saw my allies try to hold their ground. I did not witness one act of cowardice, not a damn one, I saw people choose to back bad tactics. There was fire, and shoving. The Line fell back. There was chaos. A friend yelled at me, "We are not here to fight cops, we are here to stop the pipeline and that's the fight we should be doing!" Then do it, I told them. "I will!" but they didn't. I asked my friends what their play was. "I'm going down with the ship." We were trying to hold onto the camp and they sent an army at us, there was no holding on to it. "Calm down!" one of the security screamed at me. I was calm. One hard moment is when one of my solid bros screamed at us, "You need to pray god damnit! This isn't a fucking war!" And through the smoke and the line of police with AR-15's, if he turned around he would
have seen two rows of war machines facing us down. I looked at the cranes digging in the allegedly sacred ground, and I saw the security watching us as the work went on nonstop. I asked my friends do they want to be arrested on the defense or offense, Do you want to stop the pipeline. Someone asked me to get on a megaphone "Tell them why this is IT, why we need to hold." I had nothing left to give to these people. Nothing in me left. "We need to hold the camp!" and I snapped. "This camp IS GOING TO BE GONE BY SUNDOWN! NONE OF US ARE GETTING OUT OF HERE!" I seen my friend say, "We are going to pray now! We can hold them if we pray." I smiled and told them I'm an atheist, that won't work for me. I heard the shout of my friends, Black Snake Killaz! Over and over like a mantra or a prayer as if repetition made it real. They gave my heart the shove I needed. I am not ashamed of what I did next, but if I am to be judged (i'm still in tears as I write this) I will be judged because I left my friends. I do two things on actions, I deescalate and try to keep people safe but there was no keeping anyone safe or de escalation. I left my friends and I tried to stop the pipeline. I quietly walked out. I didn't want to make any half-ass inspiring words to lead a sortie of rallied warriors into doom. I couldn't stop what was going to be done to them and I didn't want to have to bear witness and I didn't want to be responsible. So I went to stop the pipeline. but still, I looked over my shoulder like the Jim Breuer in Halfbaked, "All I wanna know is who's coming with me!?" And one lone hero sumbitch with a flag is all I saw. There were more but I saw that dude. A journalist by my side asked me, "What are you doing?" I looked perplexed. "Going to stop the pipeline?" As I looked at the sky and was huffing and puffing I muttered, "Good day for the crows." They sent what felt like a hundred police at me. I did not run, I did not change pace or direction. "HANDS HANDS SHOW ME YOUR FUCKING HANDS!" AR-15's drawn, fingers on the trigger, I am cool incarnate, I am Jack's complete lack of fucks given, I wave nerdishly. I keep moving, not a run or a slowdown. Five tackle me like and I go down quick and hard. They scream and shout and cuff me, lift be my
arms until the pain is too much. The rest is booking and jail and out and anger and today. The rest is a news story on the tv in cell block B in Burleigh County lock up in the common room, you saw it. This is it friends. Mississippi Stands has Fallen, they march on unopposed in South Dakota. We will see if we are here in a week. Victory or failure. The military check point glows over the hill like the exhalation of some demonic god. It casts the camp in this surreal dead light. They are here. They are near the river. I don't know what's going to happen. We can see the pipeline being built from camp. If we win, I'll smile. If we fail and you suggest what we should have done, I will knock you the fuck out until your friends have to drag me off of you. This is it. We win or fail now. There is no more ground to give and an army between us and the pipeline. I will see you on the beach.
From October Twenty Seventh "... And anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?" "Yeah I got you and do you understand you are literally on top of an Indian burial grounds right now? Have you ever seen any horror movie ever? I don't want to spoil the ending but it doesn't work out so good for you."
Burleigh county jail Burleigh thinking burleigh eating burleigh breathing Watching the army trucks burn on the backwater bridge on the tv common room The other inmates are Native to They offer cake and jailhouse coffee Commissary cash to make phone calls back home They share jokes and drug stories they feel a little empty Like someone who is not filled with purpose they don't come with the fire They are relatives but I can't relate to them Lying in the bunk staring at the ceiling The decision is made: All in What are you willing to give? The job The house The car The girlfriend freedom life But the last thing to give up is the future Always like some hopeful dream of spring just out of touch Jesus take the wheel Tunksila I'm in your hands now I don't like it Trust your struggle There is nothing else but this moment feels like falling in a dream or hanging from the Sundance tree by the skin of your back Pulled off the earth as a living sacrifice for something greater than yourself
The way is forward The way is up The way is clear as a lake of azure blue
It Is Simple Cross the bridge guarded by two armored personnel carriers with the sound cannons over the Jersey barriers and burned out trucks March a mile up hill against a battalion of 300 cops, take the job site with a hundred workers protected by several dozen mercenaries, then you have to capture the drill pad over the moat and chain link fence and its fifteen foot walls wrapped in razor wire. Chad, "So, one of the easier actions?"
These are mad times we are living. These crazy days are beautiful I know you wish you were here and we are holding it down for all who ain't. Be jealous, history is happening, and I get to see heroes step up and create stories that will echo down past their grandchildren. This is it. It's going down.
Cannonball Runner I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe Army trucks on fire off the shoulder of Backwater bridge I watched DAPL lights glare in the dark near the Drill Pad Gate All those moments Cannot be washed away like oil in rain Time to stop the pipeline
Repeat It Until You Believe It On a plane back to rapid city he's thumping his head against the window pane of the plane Mumbling to himself You weren't meant to die on the drill pad You weren't meant to die on the drill pad You weren't meant to die on the drill pad You weren't meant to die on the drill pad He does not believe His Indian name should be Little Faith He exists there spirit dwelling in a fortress of stone wrapped in razor wire
I think I need to say this. I'm going to be with IP3 as we tear down over the coming weeks but in many ways I feel this is it. To the Water Protectors and our Supporters: I have been at Standing Rock, for the most part, since August 17th. I came here living in a little tent by myself, I am leaving with a whole camp full of relatives. I have followed, and led. I have rolled on actions, kept non-violent, trained people and educated many. I kept the faith, held the line, and stood so proudly alongside all of you. No one can take anything from us. We took this pipeline to task and costed them near half a billion dollars. My mistakes here are too many to mention. I learned to be brave and to hold more rage in my heart than I ever thought possible. If you need permission from one of the long term campers to go home, this is it. You have earned your place in history, you frontline warriors. We paid for this success with our sacrifices, we bled until we demanded the world noticed. Hold your head high. When Standing Rock called the Oglalas answered, we all answered. From our vast struggles we came and found home and purpose. I have never been more proud. We didn't know it before this but we are ready to give our lives for the water, so the children may live, so the people will live. Now some are going to the Black Hills, others Texas, Iowa, Florida, Manitoba, and New York. Some are going back home changed people. If the Water needs us we can be back in Standing Rock within days. This isn't over. We stood at Standing Rock when it was the center of the world. I will write more but my time here is done. I love that vast majority of you and I'm grateful for all. Thank you for all that gave. Toksa Ake. We will see each other again. No DAPL
Sundancer Battle Ground Wiwang wacipi wopilalo Thank you for ceremony for four days no food or water thank you for the sunblasted skin blistering holy days warring against our minds and finding our prayer dancing in the broken dust that cracked our feet raw heads lolling in delusional motions our brothers laughing at us and pointing “Fuckerʻs losing it!” We would not have fought at Standing Rock if not for our sundancers Because we know hard days sacrifices of blood, offerings made flesh And the frontline became a macabre ritual of baton and rubber bullets of tasers and pepper spray of bodies pushed to their limit of thousand yard stares and water cannon When our friends who left and came back they saw us as strangers to ourselves In those terrible empty months while camp kept getting smaller and smaller we wore our patience down to a dub and our souls thin We danced on the sun and became strong we dragged buffalo skulls from the skin of our back our ancestors trailing behind us
forgiving us for being fucked up, for being drunks for being stupid for being stupid fucking drunks “Keep going!” that screamed at us in ghost voices pulling at our dreams Telling us Telling us to remember Remember why you are here You do this for so the children, so the people may live, for the those unborn and if we die here our bodies will be the roadmap of our struggle and maybe our relatives will greet us We will tell them We tried We kept the faith and danced into the beyond
Skoden Once he was a man but Pernell Bad Arm became a meme and died and we laughed at him and ourselves But we do love you Pernell You are Uncle Skoden and you are us: drunk greasy faced, thin mustached, defiant and undefeated Life might have beaten you down but you still stood up like a broken tooth god spraying out a bright red prayer “Is that all you got!?” They took the land our kids the old gods our grandmothers’ tongue and beat it out of us for a hundred years bulldozed our holy places taught the world lies about us taught us to hate ourselves until our lives are roman candle clichés burning phosphorus white and poof gone into self destruction
leaving everyone stunned rubbing their eyes blinking away after images of car crashes, abandoned dreams and families But you sing our song We will not be defeated! Torn down to the atomic level and cannot fracture anymore we look at our enemies while the world leaps into flames Jack Lamotta swaggering into the thirteenth round “You never got me down!” Thank you Pernell, I don’t know if anyone every told you that but thank you Water and tobacco will be put out for you May you travel well and know peace
A Man Has Gone
because he wanted to make sure she would be taken care of
One man with a gun versus an entire pipeline recoil to shoulder after every shot rocking back and forth as if davening in prayer
And a man has gone Did his family bury him? Did his spirit find the land of his ancestor? I hope he didn’t die scared I hope he was brave and knew the righteousness of his actions A man has gone
Pushed to the limit because sometimes enough is fucking enough for every billionaire getting a handout and ever brown kid gunned down because profits over people because oil over water and air Enough! So he did what he thought was best trying to hold back hell for another day with his bare hands bullets fired into equipment car chase cops surrounded, open fired gunned him down And a man has gone and what can be said? His name was Jim Marker he fed homeless women and men and pirated electricity for their camp His name was Jim Marker he wore coke bottle glasses and was legally blind His name was Jim Marker he willed his house to his ex-wife
My Nephew You went out like a G, the kids say But there is nothing less gangster than having your grandma screaming over your body in a pale dressing gown and a winter coat your mother’s truck flipped on your neighbor’s lawn, your head crushed underneath We waited for moments in silence, from midnight to sunrise your father knew you by your tattoos and the pain in his chest We sat like dumb soldiers on your bed watching the life we only knew the edges of drinking in the last of your lingering presence the tears of that house drench me now They said by the marks you left behind you didn’t even try to slow down and that is so so true Little warrior boy needing to be a man so much you couldn’t let the years catch up like wind over hills, you ran rez circles ‘round time standing still loved young girls fist fought grown men looked at your dad and said ‘I will never let you fall’
We don’t want to let go forget a smile or a story we need to etch you in us so deep that souls become art our lives are a dance and you never leave You are not a statistic a number a fucking trend Flint. Bryan. Tall. Junior. young man, a beautiful boy child Wicked smile and drawing came out of finger tips lightening cross paper like your feet would’ve taken you future track star would’ve been We worried so much that you’d be safe you are of my blood There is no pride in your passing and we Did all fail you so broken that we wrap ourselves in your love because we need your warmth, young blood Go now on the old trail of those who have come before I don’t know what life is beyond this one, Nephew but I will see you one day, the far side of that great river where the air smells of fresh rain we’ll still have scars, cause we earned the pain
Make way A warrior, is going Home.
I love my people I love my people because they are mine, we wake up with a little bit of Rage Against the Machine screaming in our heads “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me!” I love my people because with a gun pointed at our heads We were told to assimilate or die and we said No. We don’t have the same god as you Taku Skan Skan that which moves all things and movement is holy I love my people we are infatuated with ourselves, The proudest people you have never met and the only folks who insist on telling you how humble we are. We are humble as fuck. Lakotas killed Custer, we captured his flag, gouged his ears with awls so in the next life he can hear we get really literal make metaphors real Your flag is not mine. My mom was a teen at wounded knee in ‘73 Federal Marshals came fired bullets she learned to shoot a thirty-ought with arthritic hands she’s been in pain since I’ve known her I love my people and we are scarred
when we feel we don’t have enough of ‘em we have the guts to give ourselves more, We carve our wrists in declaration jump into gangs with heated knives to our shoulders we give flesh as an offering of prayer We spit rhetoric to fill our bellies when the prayers don’t work we balance feeling worthless with knowing of all the people of the Earth we are the best, we kicked down doors, because we sacred, because we think in circles and really dig it when white people say stuff like “culturally appropriate application of….” whatever, If you hear that in a meeting it means you’re going to get funding I love my people because we know how to hustle, do that special alchemy that turns government cheese into gas money even though life at times is not worth living we solider the fuck on, Because family is life, right or wrong they’re your beating heart but I hate my people I hate my people because we die
we die young, we die stupid, we die hard Everything becomes a got damn metaphor for how it was we don’t crash cars we wrap our war ponies around sacred trees going 90 At the Battle of Little Bighorn Sitting Bull said today is a good day to die! But messages dilate over time the distance between here and then has left us confused we forget about today we forget about good we are left with, “die die
die” and we’ve been marching on those orders ever since I love my people and One day we will know ourselves by more than the trail of our dead In The Aftermath Be kind as hell to those still in Camp they're toughing it out Be patient with those of us fresh outta camp it was a crazy time and we went crazy.
At Night I went four months without nightmares until last night. I seen a tornado made of ice headed towards my friends and family strangers were panicked and crying There was no place to hide no shelter. There is a storm coming So says my dream
The Dream Not every night but most nights I am walking down the Boulevard of Flags northgate past the empty pit of the sacred fire bitter snow crunches under my feet I hear no one but in the snow I see hands fields of hands stretching all the way back to where Red Warrior used to be I reach down and pull one up it ends in a bloody stump I drop to my knees and dig in the snow and I see my relatives face I try to pull them up but it's just their face like a frozen mask and I'm pulling all my friends faces out of the snow and grabbing their hands by the armful And I'm looking for the rest of them And I can't find the rest of their bodies and I'm trying to put them back together but I can't find all the pieces I only have faces and hands I look up the pipe is on the horizon it's not green like in real life but black, of course, In the dream it is taller than a man The DAPL lights breath brighter and dimmer and I'm left holding fragments of loved ones Not every night, but most nights
Los Angeles Your rain and fog wrap my heart In sublime melancholy How perfect is this? water, flowing everywhere If only I could see the stars
She Sometimes I still think about that tall dark haired woman with the long braids who stopped by my camp Are you Mark? -yeah? They told me you like paracord -I do *she hands over three hundred feet* She smiles and walks away forever
I seen the Missouri for the first time in four months The sun was low in the west There are clouds falling rain and rainbows over the shimmering Bluewater I looked to her like a grandmother I had disappointed I wept We gave so much, we tried so hard, and I am so so sorry But we are not done not yet. NVROVR
Home? Made it to the graduation and I don’t know if I'll ever settle down and raise a family so this might be the closest I ever get to see my kids get a diploma. I haven't cried yet but oh it’s a coming. I’m so fucking proud of you all. Being away from my students is the biggest sacrifice I've made this year. I am sorry I wasn't there for you, but you are all in my heart and in my thoughts (but what good does that do us Mark?!) I know I know. You are the shining stars in the constellation of my life. #GoSaders
Home? 2.0 Black Hills Rez Pine ridge The old house Red cloud Mousseau lane My brother's grave The Poets Even thunder valley I will write you forever I saw my ex from a distance The students I would've taught The house I would've built I'd still choose to go north I'd do it again Thank you for being my home even though I don't have a house I'll be back back soon
Go now, there are other worlds than these There is a world where I died on the drill pad and I am greeted Home covered in glory by my brother Eli and Bama surrounded by my little nieces and nephews and the Old Ones and every relative ever lost is found Another where my friends and I are tangled in razor wire covered in so much blood There is one world where I smile back at that dark haired goddess by the sacred fire and we raised children out on the land who never are counted or numbered by Them There is a world where I stalk my solitary cell Pacing like a zombie wolf That refuses to die Another where the story ends in gunsmoke fires free bird plays the credits roll Another where we free Leonard or raise the great bear And the Ghost Dance works Where we push them back Tasunka Witko comes back and I am a humble lieutenant in his service and we win
There is a world of dreams where the nightmare children with black smudges for eyes, pale white translucent skin, who haunt me deep under the earth Are not enemies but teachers and the little man who Kills me in my dreams pumpkin headed, red eyed red mouthed Razor teethed hands of iron there is one world where we are friends There is a world where the night terrors are different and the pieces I find of my loved ones can be put back together Sometime we are movie stars and rich but that's not this world But this place? It is enough as long as the rain falls a little whiskey flows It is enough
Near Pearl Harbor Natives bobbing in the waves Our Hawaiian friends tell us this place is Kalalaeloa was once an Army base During The War, now reclaimed for swimmers An Oglala man notices the white people staring at his open wounds fresh from Sundance and his old scars “Fucking wasicus” he says I cock my head quizzically “Fucking haoles I mean” he corrects himself I laugh our friend who has never seen snow and has his retirement spot on The Big Island already picked out tells us They won't always be here Our Pueblo friend is pounded by the surf near shore ʻYou have to learn to swim!” she tells him “No I don't, I'm a man of the desert!” he yells back the aqua green blue waves look unreal in real life, a man sits under a concrete shade at a cement picnic table a long cigarette dances on his lip while he fights with his daughter on his cell phone bored by the endless rolling sea in front of him The ocean is bathwater warm I never thought I’d be here in Hawaii I never thought I’d be alive this long I survived Oceti Sakowin We survived The Rock
Two emotions crash inside my chest sublime gratitude in seeing the surreal beauty and this feel of dreadful awe at how unworthy I am to be here
Some of the reasons I loved camp The fact that I'm not good at earning money didn't matter My dubious personal hygiene was normal Analysis of limited flawed data was a hot commodity and I was a supplier A little information and a lot of confidence was almost the same What I miss: Turk screaming Mni Wiconi! at 1am to get the whole camp fired up for no reason other than he could Peyote drums every night Seeing young people fall in love Getting the doors blown off my truck by a screaming MRAP on the back roads and seeing those glaring faces from that war rig Imagining I heard their soundtrack AINT NOTHING WRONG WITH ME LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR! Being lead car on a caravan that stretches as far as the eye can see Seeing my relatives pray like never before as if it mattered that we feel the eyes of our Old Ones on us Their gaze gave us courage I miss Grumbles cooking I liked seeing my friends put their bodies in front of equipment risking their lives to stop the pipeline Sunrise bird calls People calling themselves warriors and some of them actually being warriors I will remember all of it I saw the most beautiful native women in the world from every tribe I listened to a Yurok woman sing to me and it broke my heart it felt like bathing my soul in ice water then letting it warm in the sun
thing as being in charge Some people did the hard work of creating new songs because we've never seen a ceremony like this I was given so much coffee and cigars because that was my fuel I loved walking up to a line of men with guns and demanding that no fuck you, YOU move! she sung like she was mourning the death of a river but smiled like it was a study of rebirth I trembled I will remember my students charging the line The great bravery of my people Let me forget the dramas and our smallness Let our enemies record that tally I want to do it again I want another standing rock I want to protect the river and we need to shut down the Bakken away from the stand down crowd and controllers I want it all again I want victory
Just In Case If I really had to make the tough call and sacrifice my life for the cause, the world will still have a sarcastic Lakota poet in the form of Trevino Brings Plenty.
The Modern Lakota Man (Trigger Warning: homophobia and misogyny) The men of my generation look at these new ones and laugh and think of them living back in our day we know what we'd call them Pathetic Weak Pussy Faggot And there even is some jealousy there What privilege and right do you have? Who the fuck are you not to kill part of yourself?
Don't you know we must brutalize ourselves before the world does? How else can you survive? Because they will kill you we tell them And they do not care They have the audacity to love themselves even when others don't They hug each other and are not afraid of what others think They have the strength to be tender to each other when our ways are wrapped in poison What we'd call Tough Hard Real and old school They label toxic masculinity And there is so much fear They're going to punk you You need the be ready to step up Bloody lips throw hands And they dance while we try to instruct They fight to keep themselves intact and their unbrokenness shocks us These are the boys who will become the men who hug and kiss their children They will literally listen to their hearts of their lovers
Not afraid to be vulnerable In this chaos and smoke a generation of gentle men are growing up They don't want to die like us That grave and void which calls to us like some strange siren doesn't sing to them Their own apocalypse isn't tattooed on their hearts Their personal destruction does not fascinate them They might even be worthy of the women in their lives when many of us are not My beautiful boys My beautiful lakota men Stay you Stay true Lead us out of the darkness and brutality and mental infection that has been ending us Let us not be the monsters we were trained to be I don't not need to be a terror on my people Be like that Just like that wahwahala