Culture

"3 petals falling off a wet black bough" New York, Jan. 1st 2012 appx: 12:30am

We Jumped Fences

Heart racing,
breath, cold fog. 44th street.
underneath the scaffolding. we run. Just 3 petals falling faster than the others off a wet black
bough.

NYPD. No one knows for sure the answers to our questions. They all just keep pointing
us further and further away from the great sparkly spear. Telling us we won’t          we can’t
make it. All the roads are closing.        At 47th              Officer Mike said “if you run . . .

“so it’s not fuck all the police” – Dec. 31st 2011 New York, approximately 10:45pm

you just might see it” — a photo op for our bucket list, so it’s not fuck all the police
and further we run. 54th street.
Barricades we don’t run right through ‘em. Shift left, shift right, underneath support beams,
ladders anybody superstitious yet? We scream for a friend that doesn’t exist.
Makes us look like we have purpose.
59th we made it? It’s still—open. But full of faces, some don’t like that we’re impatient

“3 petals falling off a wet black bough” New York, Jan. 1st 2012 appx: 12:30am

Some don’t like that we won’t wait. Many don’t get that we’re on a mission—
that’s                 not impossible?
They refuse to understand some part of us is better than what we’re seen in passing on the
streets. They don’t get that we
don’t care                about what some don’t comprehend. Cause the little liberty in front of the
Rockefeller tree never gave us anything in our dreams. Just false hopes from a vision that was
always unclear. And here we were chasing another.
A chance of a lifetime . . . one to see a giant orb. Fall                     for what? Havoc! Cause
that’s what we’re reeking of. “Officer! She has asthma . . . we have to get 4 blocks down”
Fuck him           he’s in our way, taking up valuable time. So we run, before he can think to stop
us. we jump. Leaving our wretched stench on the other side of fence number 4

On 7th street in the midst of thousands of people we saw. it. In all its vim and vigor. Zoom
is a marvelous creation. All that looks glorious . . . clearly just knows where to shop.
The countdown began. 10
9
8, 7. . .We got lost.
Lost in the numbers. The voices.
Never saw the shiny marble
drop. and it was over. But for a second,
back at fence three,
we swore we heard Lady Liberty snickering through the streets as we laughed. (more…)

Vibrations don’t dance to the rhythm of soundlessness …

A nation of people are only as dead as their language.

Growing up my family never spoke our native languages. To be quite honest, we hadn’t set aside very much time to revisit our family’s archives and find the value in our rich heritage either. Aside from all of the stories and struggles passed down from generation to generation we had very few concrete facts about our lands, heritage and culture. The latter—tragic results of being native to America attending European schools for so many generations. Yet, as I grew, learned more, and revisited our history and herstory I became ever so determined to teach my future children their native heritage, culture, and language. After all, each of us is the master of his or her own ship or destiny. It is my duty, like many who share this generation with me, to help recover, reclaim, reestablish and restore the heritage, the culture and the balance for future generations now and forever to come. (more…)