Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Essay from college [of interest anyways]

A place called “no-name”

            I’ve been homeless three times.  The first time was out of stupidity and the other two were simply because while the world said I had no right and no business to be here, my dreams told me otherwise.  The common denominator you will find with me comes with a label, and should probably include a warning label.  It asks “is he worth the risk?”  Most who have been smart enough answer the question while on the grind in the 9-5 routine, then turn off the light, lock the office, and leave it at that.
            There are numerous angles and approaches that one may come to view my life in.  The spectacles are multi- colored, in 3D, and draw the comparisons and criticism of that of a blockbuster.  Stories are written about me, I’ve made the headlines a time or two, my so called success has gracefully outweighed my failures.  Yet this is not the vision I have sought.  This is not the life I envisioned or the one others have envisioned for me.  I’m not sure if this would be the right prescription a medicine man would offer me.  This kind of medicine has always been tricky and more times than not, it has proved to be lethal and disastrous.
            It was once written that I “began moving toward a middle ground”[1] I wasn’t sure of how to exactly respond to that at first.  The more and more I thought about it, the less the confusion held sway.  When I first came to Montana State University I sought something.  It can be called refuge, but beyond that, there isn’t anything I could say.  This place was supposed to be anything but spiritual.  And that’s how I liked it. The thought of being rebellious and somehow feeling righteous in the voluntary exile from my land, my people, my culture, my heritage, and my inheritance triggered a half hearted grossly misplaced sense of altruism.  That isn’t much of a middle ground.
            The one thing I didn’t count on though was consequence and fate.  Consequences because all the pain, the heartache, the miserable disappointment, the constant and intense fatigue, the draining and swinging pendulum of guilt, despair, and hopelessness and fate because of the violent struggle and transformation that, to this day, I am enduring.  The simple question is why?
            This takes history, eschatology, and cosmology into consideration.  The first bit is the history, namely my family history into consideration.  The cherished nugget of visits that I do pursue back home often times has led me invariably to one man- my uncle.  A hard ass, a recovering alcoholic, a logger, who at times was prone to angry outrages at the world and whoever, took me in and I got to learn the oral tradition and what that looks like in the twenty first century.
            It was nothing meant to be romanticized unless you saw it that way, but by telling me stories about life, I learned a great deal about the character of my family.  Told with the precise measure of words, diction, delivery, and gifted sense of humor, I would laugh into the night with my uncle as he told stories.  The one that comes to mind involves a broken up Toyota pickup with no windshield in which my uncle and his brother were bombing around a mountain side with goggles on, smoking pot, jamming ACDC and shooting a hole in the floor board  of this dirty little Toyota pickup with a 30/30 rifle[2].
            The eschatology and cosmology really come close to home.  I sometimes try to re-imagine my grandmother’s last day one earth.  After years of severe health complications, a literally decaying and dysfunctional body- it was hard to watch her struggle.  I imagine that she woke up that last morning, opened the blinds, looked to the east, said a prayer, sung a hymn, and proceeded to her few cups of tea.  The newspaper had been delivered but it would be some time before her granddaughter would be awake to bring it to her, so I imagine she had a lot to think about.  Throughout the day I see her walking back and forth through the house, taking in every little detail from this world; the layout of the house, the pattern of decorum, faded and stained in some areas on the wall, the arrangement of all of her houseplants, the prayers she offered, the tears she cried, the uncertainty and joy of her loved ones awaiting her arrival.  Then I imagine she went to sleep peacefully.  Please let her be in heaven.
            I asked my oldest living grandmother a question once.  I asked her why her little sister- the one who raised me didn’t believe in Jesus Christ.  She told me it was too hard and too strict for her and that she preferred the traditional ways of our people[3].  This concerned because my conversion experience is well documented and is seen as a monumental shift in the cultural geography of Native people.  This dynamic isn’t new, but the pedigree from which it comes is unique.  I was raised in the Longhouse singing and dancing to the songs and drums of my land and peoples and yet I have chosen to accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.  I know of heaven and hell and I always ask myself “will my grandma be there to welcome me home into heaven?”  They didn’t teach too much about it in church and they still don’t.  For now though I take everything into my mission.
            My uncle’s stories put a voice and breath into my makeup as Yakama man and as a believer in Christ.  They are practical and are my proverbs.  My grandmother’s life gives me the sense of direction and curiosity I need to continue on with my own life.  She reminds me of the temporary alien I am.  I live with no regrets and remorse.  Since the beginning of time and creation, we as human beings have failed to coexist with our evil and unbalance.  It is we who, after all, the unnatural.  Yes I reflect back on the homelessness, the nearly 2 times I’ve lost my life, and all the people who have taken a risk in just believing in me and I come away with this- faith is beautiful, it offers relationships, adds color to the canvass, stresses imperfection, and most of all, cultivates and nurtures purpose.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Why I laugh at non- christians [and why you hate me]

There will always be:

a better writer
a more organized doer
a more articulate teacher, speaker, leader
a smarter student
a more dedicated student
a more creative mind
a more disciplined person
that somebody who is always cooler
that somebody who is always sweeter
that somebody who is funnier and has more wit
that somebody who took that extra step
that somebody who knew the risk was worth it
that somebody who cared more when you shed a tear and not so much when you shined a smile
because, you can a trust a person who cries and smiles

This person is most likely you.  It isn't me.  My favorite person in the world isn't my mother, my father, my brother or my sister, or any friend or relative.

No.

My favorite person in the world is a peasant.  A peasant who is homeless, a peasant who is poor, a peasant who's family disowned him and wanted nothing to do with him.  A peasant whose best friend was the drunk.  A peasant whose best friend was the whore and the prostitute.  A peasant whose best friend was the crooked and corrupt schemer that stole from unsuspecting and hard working and honest people. A peasant whose best friend is the rape victim.  A peasant whose best friend is the addict.  A peasant whose best friend is the the man or woman who cheats on their spouse.  This peasant as impoverished as he was, as much as he was disowned is still pretty legit.

He was a peasant. 

Now he's coming back as a cosmic bad ass. . . . and yeah, that's laughable until you really think about it

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

adrenaline to creativity.com

I've decided.  I am ready to lose an appendage or two.  I am ready to be admitted to the psycho ward or Insane asylum.

Let's do this.

With three fully functional pieces of metal crammed into my beating, seven pound, black hat of magic; I am ready to let the fat lady warm up her lungs.

Let's rock this.

This is going to be a process and I may need to lifeline in Bill Gates or if need be, the Donald.  I could be insensitive here and say I'd page big gun upstairs [no not Tim in accounting] but his response requires faith and I enjoy the fact that he is laughing at me, at this very instant.  I wonder if Kourtney or Kim could bring some urban swag with them to my reservation blues.  I wonder if Pete Carrol could give me his 'win forever' speel and have the pyramid rocking the room sized projector in the back room.  I'm native and we have this meta- spiritual crush on things that bring tears.  I wonder if the youtubers could loan me three minutes of fame with good humor and an appealing message.  I wonder if Lance Armstrong could roll in on some bike sporting a 'Live Strong' bracelet and finely beaded mocs.

I wonder if enough film could bring Crazy Horse back to life for 8 seconds.

I wonder if I could ask a stenographer to fine tune Chief Joseph's 'I will fight no more forever speech' and allow MLK's 'I have a dream' speech to prace along side it to the tune of Yo Yo Ma.

I wonder if one era is more relevant to another. Andrew Jackson meet Barack Obama.

I wonder if it is all a numbers game. . .  nah, I still love the butterfly effect

Jesus loved the butterfly effect.

This is my life. And I'm just now squirming to get to inception.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Heartless

If I could pick my own Indian name it would be "breathes- easier"

It's a name, but it probably is a good strong one.  Updating a FB status seems as bad as taking a Philosophy or Sociology mid- term. It's not about the number of likes or the number of comments it's generates, it's how uninteresing the things I have to say is I guess.


youtube is more of a drag.  I don't even know how to browse properly and most times I'm headed to a repeat of a movie trailer, some music video I've viewed a dozen times, or to the Church Pastor's channel reverberating a message I still seem to be strongly convicted by.  Heck the ads seem more interesting than my half hearted attempts to be creative.  And they say I am highly engaging and innovative- yikes. Netflix it is.

On the other hand, I am making changes in my life.  In the sincerest effort to reboot "native love" and intimacy I've decided [prayerfully] to make commitments to future what-shall-we-call-it/her "partner in crime".  I blocked one person from my FB lists and effectively left my phone alone in dead battery mode so the temptation wouldn't be there to slither into that mode of idol worship- *snap snap snap* I just went there.. .  and I also took the liberty of taking my HS love out of the horizon.. .


thanks to a conversation all of this happened about faithfulness this all happened.  At least I can be grateful- and I pray it keeps on going strong that I'm not a porn addict.  I wouldn't be a cool drunk. . .  or an entertaining host, so I'll just stick to this.

The everydayness of Nick.  I haven't lifted a finger to push on in the much anticipated life story I am manuscripting myself. I haven't the ambition to work on my poetry either.  Short stories are becoming chores and life is becoming ordinary.  I think I need an intervention. I look at the bare walls in my apartment, the murals in my office, the alignment of the breezy trees and green stuff and passive aggresively blame them for stealing my creativity.  But other than that I'm still trying to figure out how the genie in the bottle, plot devices, how come almond joy's are so good and why talking walks is still a good release valve and decent inexpensive therapy.. .


in the office tonight earning it

- Nick

Monday, June 6, 2011

Tyler Perry

June 6, 1944

Omaha Beach

Normandy, France

To heaven, whose name in I trust as representing heaven at this unGodly hour,

Raymond Jerome has blessed his papa
Tell my baby boy they're going to sing songs bout him
They'll whisper his name
and call him "Thunder Boy"

I am thinking of you constantly
as my hands tremble and shake at the terrible deeds and act they have done today
where would I be
not here
Pahto [Mt. Adams] is where I'd rather be
where the breeze makes even the ugliest blade of cheat grass look pretty
where drunks and inferiority are much more comforting

The day I left
you don't know it
but baby
I left my soul with you
so that it could stay beautiful prancing in your shadow
that it might have a chance at still being human as I lie there in bed with you that one morning
as I prepared to jump onto the Greyhound down Highway 97 and into Hell

and I think of my son again

I wonder
is he taking care of our favorite girl
does he smile at you for me
laugh and cry and hope
tell him to hold his mama for me
His eyes say it all

This place I am at
we came before the sun rose
just like the ancient ones
we called it a sacred ceremony
it is dark now and many have been lost
it isn't so sacred now

It was a massacre
instead of flesh tearing
and instead of blood spilling
I saw spirits
and dreams
and hope
blown to the skies
Today there is no heaven

I want to sing
I want to dance
I want to feel human
but I can't

All I can do is pray
I can wish
I can wonder
Do you, my love
Still love me tender


.... Some time later [beginning in German]

süße Liebe, [sweet love]

Ich dich auch weiterhin ängstlich schreiben [ I continue to write you anxiously]
und hoffentlich [and hopefully]
die Inder unter meiner Obhut [the Indian- the American Soldier under my care]
spricht mit mir noch mehr [talks to me even more]
Ich frage ihn, Fragen [I ask him questions]
Er fragt mich, von mir im Gegenzug [ he asks of me in return]

Er fragt nach Siena [He asks about Sienna]
unsere schöne Tochte [our beautiful daughter]
rseine Augen leuchten [his eyes light up]
Er erzählt mir, das ist, was wir gemeinsam haben [he tells me we have a lot in common]
Liebe, [love]
Trotz der schrecklichen Dinge getan hat jeder Mensch [despite the horrible things each man has in common]
das ist, was wir gemeinsam haben die meisten [this is what we have in common]

Although it is my responsibility to treat this man harshly
I can do nothing but respect him
His life and his fate are in my hands
He asks if he will die soon

He observes that the Jew and the American Indian have a lot in common
the difference is that they put a M1 Garand in his hand
Both are oppressed people
each with their own death camps
how can people do such things to each other
this is what he asks

We never find an answer
though we ask a lot of questions about it
He says he's glad to have been captured
now it might be possible to see his wife and child again

he tells me that he wrote to his wife and son while out on the beach
He says he lost the piece of paper it was on
he tries to recall it from memory
I tell him I will help him rewrite it.

-Nick Ross [10.24.2010]

I can't remember how it happened exactly.  All I was told was that I was not say a word and most likely not even make eye contact with the ticket person.  I didn't and it wasn't hard.  My two uncles were excited to go to the theater this time.  They usually weren't. Between the kids, the jobs, the wife, etc. there wasn't enough time to enjoy something petty like a matinee flick in the air conditioned movie house. 
I figured as much because I thought that was how my life was supposed to be as well. I was aspiring to be a dude's dude, a man;s man.  I would ride horses, do the whole cattleman's and ranch hand bit.  I would pour myself into the art of earning the life by the sweat of my brow and weariness of my muscles.  I would be a logger, a jock, a local legend worthy of a conversation starter. . . "you remember that Nick..."  I would tear it up on the gridiron and on the hardwood.  I would be a fierce lover, a playa, and just a stud.
It never happened that way.
No when I went into that theater, I came out sporting a new cultural DNA.  I would learn to pay attention to my uncle's story telling ability.  I would pick up on diction, pauses, the tone and depth.  The flow of energy. I would pick up on a new love and to beat it was my first church service.  I loved stories and story telling.  I loved my poverty.  I loved alcoholsim. I loved pedophilia, perversity, and hyper sexuality, I loved addictions, and I loved saitire .  Body parts being blown to bits was no different.  I realized that in the span of a 10 minute scene.  I loved Steven Spielberg.  It was Saving Private Ryan that turned me to this love.  And when Quinten Tarantino and Ingllourious Basterds came along it confirmed it.
Project Zero is underway...

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Where the heart is

"And just think, you weren't even that big."

7lbs. and 6 oz.  I wasn't even that big.  I ain't even trying to hide it.  I have baby fever.  Today is already a good day and despite how it ends up, it will still be a good day.  I got to see a little baby right after he was born.

His name is Ivan- b. June 2, 2011

And although this is a visit home I didn't expect, it's been nothing short of boring.  Nobody is stopping and dropping everything on my account, for the most part everbody is excited I am home to visit. Some even go as far to politely ask me to make time to visit them because "I know you're busy."  I'm homeless- along with my mother and baby sister [don't ask] and am the rez version of slumdog millionaire.

It's nice to be away from the whims, the updates, and the drama of technology.  I get to veg out.  I have gotten most of my business that I needed to get done here.  I for the time being, am enjoying my poverty.  There is no mission, no strategy, no pep talk, no counseling.  Only Lilo and Stitch, Scooby Doo, and chicken nuggets and fries courtesy of my niece.

Praying is a mummer, reading the Word is convenient- a habit I must break, and I see a broken family; yet I'm not stressed.  Heck I'm not even phased.  Tribal and national politics holds very little interest.  Faith based conversations continue to hold hope and humor/  Nobody around here has time to be interesting in anything magnetic or epic and that suits me fine.  I just want to be able to enjoy them.  All of my loved ones and their imperfections.

Here's something that makes me chuckle:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVWLHMZ-ceE

I think I will write about the importance of humor and faith next time ;)

Nick

Monday, May 30, 2011

Greyhound superstar [maybe the first place Jesus would hang out today]

The following is brought to you by broken and intercepted smart phone service... 'cause smoke signals is just too tacky in the 4G generation.

"Just watch out for all the crazy people." pause. "Wait"- the proverbial giggle and chuckle anticipate the punchline, "whenever somebody wants a relative to come home and doesn't want to put up with them, they put them all on the Greyhound."  It makes sense. I'm crazy and here's how I know:

- A man let's his pants drop while blocking the door to the bus before I even get on the bus and manages to cause fellow transients discomfort while a cigarette sticks out of his mouth. The Driver agitated, brings a wheelchair to aide the man and immediately shoves the man outta the way once off the bus.

- A man is chasing and yelling at the driver persistently badgering and pestering the driver about some piece of great value that was supposed to be on Bozeman that day.  I mean it's 4am and this guy is bold enough to annoy the driver after witnessing the first bit.  The driver angrily mummers "I've got a job to do" because the man is disrupting that duty.  A few moments later, the man emerges with a manilla envelope and unwraps 2 license plates, pumps his fists and smiles a condescending smirk for the rest of us to see.  He drives off in a Land Rover.  Looked like a brand new Land Rover too.

- On the first stop [Butte, MT] I was dutifully and greedily chewed out by a fellow passenger for supposedly not allowing a timid looking foreign couple sit next to me.  I had swollen and puffy eyes and considering I've done far more grievous and offensive things, the woman's patronizing bus patrol tactics were the least of my worries.

I redeemed myself

and

 
 Two Stops latter I'm the mens restroom and I get asked "what tribe are you?'  I am not offended 'cause it's another native and I tell him I'm from Washington.  It didn't feel right talking to a guy while. . . well you get the point.  St. Regis, MT- it's our breakfast stop. For 30 minutes fellow passengers flick cigarette butts, mothers comfort fussy babies, and characteristic to our means of travel, meticulously calculate and recalculate a budget for purchasing snacks.  If I buy now am I willing to sacrifice a meal or snack at future stop?  Decisions decisions.  
Irritated for some reason about being interrupted  because of the way the morning has gone so far I am drinking a black cherry gourmet cream soda and a sausage egg muffin [kinda different now that I think about it.]  I see the fellow native walk by and I feel convicted.  I know how it feels to be on the road, at a food market, uncomfortable and hungry.  I think of my faith and I walk up to the native and ask "hey man, you need anything to eat or drink?" a confused look.  "I mean I can spot you a couple of dollars if you need it man."  Clarity.  "oh no bro, I'm good.  I got some stuff right here.  Shit I thought about getting a beer but that will be later.  Thanks for looking out though."  I go back to my table.
A short time later "you starting early or what?" I look at the pop bottle.  "Nah, it's just pop."  This guy goes on to tell he's coming from Sioux Falls, SD- treatment.  My eyes light up as I tell him I been there before as well.  He asks me it it's for treatment . Laughingly I say no.  We talk about our respective heritages and try to figure if our genealogies cross and we're cousins.  It was nothing.  So I thought.
Now we're in  coeur d'alene, ID and I see the bag of Swedish Fish candy I brought the night before for moments like this.  I need a high after all the thinking I have been just been through.  Mostly it's love sickness and about the woman who I'm still trying to decide if it is lust or love, comfort or commitment.  My native brethren like a cheetah sniffs out that I have Swedish Dish and asks if I he can have some- from halfway up the bus.  I get up and hand the bag to him.  A young guy and young girl in the seat across are asking if it is Swedish Fish.  I turn to walk back to my seat and then offer some to them.  I get left with like 3 but I am rewarded with "you're a good man." 
Then as we get to Spokane, tension is at it's highest.  Another young dude is putting down Spokane as trash and is violently confronted by a woman about how insensitive he's being- this is somebody's home and loved ones are here.  The  young woman who took a good chunk of my Fish is now cussing trying to be cute and to "look hard" as a celebratory means to let everyone know this is her last stop.  She boldly and stupidly yells at the people lined up to exit to "hurry the F^$k up."  This prompts another woman and a mother to chastise her about the indecency of her behavior.  Verbal jarring ensues and the girl impatiently says to the first woman "I'm done to you, you can shut the f^$k up."
The native on his way to Seattle, fresh out of treatment- which he tells me he got kicked out of, asks me for a couple of dollars.  Naively and instantly I reach into my wallet and hand him two dollar bills. He will probably will buy a bottle with that money.

While I am processing this walking off the bus, I let a smile break across my face.

These are Jesus' best friends and the ones he would've wanted around him.  I love being crazy

Nick

Friday, May 27, 2011

itunes, netflix, and facebook aren't interesting anymore!..

I'm not even trying to be a sneaky Indian anymore. . .  sheesh, I am getting soft.

As I'm painting left to write with the words in this space, I am realizing how either A.) how easily entertained I am or B.) how uninteresting my life really is.  I can go with both for the time being.  As it is, it's the summer time and I am bored so here I am, promulgating more nonsense.  For your sake I hope it's entertaining.

First off I want to say that as quickly as the thought passed through my mind, I couldn't find a decent frybread recipe to post.  My granny didn't leave it in her will and if she did, my gramps was sure to hide it, should it be the case that I attempt to try it and burn down any structure. I thought about posting a link to a famous drum group singing at a pow wow but that would be jumping the gun and effectively chop a good chunk out of future posts and all you'd be left with would be me trying to sing.... yeah I don't want to traumatize any of you.  I thought of sharing some literature with you but that takes another chunk of posts and the whole challenge of me doing this is to be creative and tell you stories with my own creative agency.  So I thought I'd start with me and see how well I do and go from here.

Right now, Jenifer Lopez and Ja Rule are bumping my speakers singing 'I'm real' and as a side note, yes most of my itunes library has songs that are all "explicit" in rating which contains naughty words.  I enjoy the rawness of lyricism, because songs are stories in a way too. Included in this playlist [btw, I'm using the Genius feature which groups songs together that are similar and plays them like an automated DJ] is Bobby Valentino,Drake, Rihanna, Usher, the Black Eyed Peas, Diddy, Keisha Cole, Alicia Keys, and Jeremih.  I must be a literate ghetto kid.

In my Netflix account you'll find that I have recently watched David Ayer's Harsh Times, Antoine Fuqua's Brooklyn's Finest, a cute but failed attempt to watch Julia Roberts in My Best Friends Wedding, and some episodes of Glee. I'm a total guy and will watch anything that blows up, shoots at poeple, and portrays violence.  But It's not the 2 dimensional aspect I crave, it's the intensity and pressure of trying to make these character's interesting.  I respect the art.

Here's is my latest nerd moment- don't hate I love Batman....

http://screenrant.com/batman-dark-knight-rises-bane-mask-costume-kofi-116351/

On the up and up, I'm also wanting a couple of Books too- Vintage Church' by Pastor Mark Driscoll from Sea- town's Mars Hill Church and the Pastoral autobiography from Eugene H. Peterson- the gentleman who translated the bible in contemporary language- The Message.

And a few last tid bits that I'll share to close this one out

- I'm a God fearing, bible believing Christian.  I love Jesus Christ with all my braid, frybread greased heart and soul.
- I'm a Sagittarius but I don't believe in horoscopes
- I'm secretly a ninja
- I'm the most uninteresting person usually in any room or situation until you hear my life story
- I love women

That ought to do it for insert number one.. I'll make it a habit to leave you with something cool.  Here it is

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xs9X8NhQJF4

love, peace, and chicken grease

Nick