T-T-Tommy Orange

In the prologue of Orange’s There There, he writes: “The Indian’s head was just above the bull’s-eye, like all you’d need to do was nod up in agreement to set the sights on the target. This was just a test.” Just words on a page, yet such a force of anxiety imagining the image, then imagining what a target is, then imagining this is how you/we have felt many times, in a myriad of situations cross-pollinated through lifetimes, personal and professional. How would you feel to insert “your group” or identifier into the “Indian’s head” place?

It is true that we are a sum of our experiences; and it is also true that we are an amalgamation of all the experiences that course through our DNA and memories. I believe you can run, hide, confront, dismantle, revise, undo, redo the past–it has been proven, regardless of truth and ignoring the burden of proof, to be a thing that can be done. Some times we choose for ourselves, other times someone or something chooses for us. This is why we read and tell stories. We find ourselves at the core of being simply wanting to connect to Being–this happens through life, through death, through joy, through sorrow. We all want to Be.

Y’all should read Orange’s book. And be.


In Assholes *A Theory, Aaron James states, “The asshole is not just another annoying person but a deeply bothersome person—bothersome enough to trigger feelings of powerlessness, fear, or rage. To make matters worse, we may be unable to understand why exactly someone should be so disturbing” (3). There are so many assholes out in clear view today, that I feel the need and rage to call those who cross my path out. A call out that has bite, as my bark is often dismissed because, you know, I got a big, bad mouth. James goes on to define the theory of assholes as having three main parts:

(1)  allows himself to enjoy special advantages and does so systematically;

(2) does this out of an entrenched sense of entitlement; and

(3) is immunized by his sense of entitlement against the complaints of other people.


Sound familiar? This is the book and bullshit part of the blog, obvs.

Here is some beauty (and recommendations for summer reading):

”Sometimes, I say, just trust your heart/and if it’s right, a sign may come./As I say this, hand on the pole,/I see the gliding brown and white/of outspread wings as the osprey/swoops from across the lake.” Joseph Bruchac, No Borders, “On Lenape Land”

”Everything added to her and everything taken away had led to that moment and from her perch, she had radiated love for every animal she could not help, with nothing left over for any human being. Not even in the parts of her that were human.”  Jeff Vandermeer, The Strange Bird A Borne Story

Between Grammars by Danielle Vogel, in addition to being gorgeously printed (see pic), is gorgeously written, for example:

The first line of “VOLUME: PAGE”:

“Flesh had an alphabet. To Keep them.”

Beauty is fleeting. The power of beauty is not knowing how long one will notice, feel, be emerged in the beauty. I am not speaking simply or just of physical beauty, although it is on my mind, having a teenage daughter. Some days, the narrowness of beauty threatens to cut off my airway. The beauty of a young, curious mind; the beauty of discovering purpose or place; the beauty of the future. How can these girl-women find their own personal beauty amidst daily onslaughts of social media continually showing them they are not worthy? How do I protect my daughter’s big, bad mouth from ignorant attacks as she lights her path in this world, so desperately in need of a paradigm shift? No matter how much progressive, open-minded folks talk about “voice,” they do not want to actually hear “voice” when it is directed at them. Refer back to the assholes part.

We will never be without assholes, and we will never be without beauty. And we can call bullshit whenever we want.

In love & fight,


Brain Eaters

Awakened this morning, before the sun rose, because my freaking peri-menopausal uterus decided to organize a sloughing off fiesta–for the muthaffin’ second time this month–sooooo, I grab pillows, make coffee, and scan the news.

I read about Ivanka Trump and hope she has multiple menstruations and cramps and mood swings so severe that her forever daddy’s princess smile is wiped from her smooth, unlined, seemingly in a state of perpetual delight face. Truly, I do. I feel no shame in my wish.

Next I read about twitter and the 25th amendment, and I question for the gazillionth time how the hell this settler colonized, Christian-zealot-led, infestation of greed and disregard for fellow humans has not been thwarted, overrun, smashed, burned and disassembled YET! Soon after this thought, AIM, Chavez, Huertes, MLK Jr., Malcolm X, Revolutionary people crowd my brain; eating, swallowing whole the frustration and helplessness…

MOTHERFUCKER. The next click and I’m reading about real life brain eaters! Brain eating amoebas living in TAP WATER in two counties in Louisiana. The CDC states its okey-dokey to still drink the water, but just don’t get any of it near or up your nose. Uhm, WTFH???? How often do you wash a face or bathe without getting water by your nose? And go ahead, drink up those lil’ brain eaters; apparently, they can’t travel from your mouth, throat, or gut to your brain.

So, I’m wondering what kind of brain eater DT has? I mean it can’t be the southern variety because he’d be feverish and dead by know. It’s some form of life sustaining brain eater, although that sounds like an oxymoron, but given the state of this land and humans destroying it (and each other), Edna St. Vincent Millay said it best:  “I like humanity, but I loathe persons.” And yet if we take a stance such as this, albeit humorous and witty, we might as well be snorting that infected water.


The titles I hold true and close:  daughter, sister, wife, mother, writer, community organizer, fighter (4justice)…and I’m searching for a word to replace educator that recognizes the implicit reciprocal relationship between giving and getting knowledge–ideas welcome :).

I read and write and tell stories in attempt to make sense of the world. I carry myself through my ancestors, my history, my story in all its pain and beauty; I have a tumbleweed temper and enough tears to fill the Columbia Gorge. I hope to do my part in this life by actively participating in being a simple good human–that is one Who falters, makes mistakes, but Always tries to help and protect others. I can also get in on protecting the Mother Earth (atrocities abound). There is SO much to change. We, as conscious beings with conscience, hold that power!!!!!