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
Monday, June 27, 2011
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.
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.
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
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.
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
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
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