Florida Water

Here's a fresh batch of Florida Water made just this afternoon. Florida Water is used to spiritually cleanse and protect a home or space. It is also a base for many ritual formulas used in rootwork, hoodoo,conjuring and other magical craftwork. If you'd to purchase or know more about this wash check out my Etsy shop.         got juju?

note to self :

do not go into again
this store smells like and is jam-packed full of sad dead people.
yuck!

She came before me

 (pictured : my great gran Sallie Lee Anderson and grandmother Josephine C. Anderson Burnside)
i am grateful to have a whole line of artistic+intelligent+self-sufficient+industrious+interesting+strong and rather witty women-folk that i come from. they are/were diverse and the same. they are/were wild and conservative. they are/were boisterous and stoic. they are/were complex and simple. a midwife,seamstress,farmer,doll-maker,teacher,storyteller,medicinewoman,lodge mistress, organist, cook, and a laundress made me who i am. for better for worse.

WE ARE DESCENDANTS OF OUR ANCESTORS AND THEY GO WHERE EVER WE GO 

Tell the stories

According to Patricia Riles Wickman, the importance of the role of the storyteller cannot be overemphasized:

Cultures in which the entire responsibility for replication and perpetuation of the cosmogony is bounded by the ability of its members to hold its elements within the living memory of each generation, without recourse to written codification, embody a type of dynamism within themselves that is unique to orally codified cultures.  This dynamism is both parent and child of the process: such cultures are constantly required to perform, at the same time, twin activities, regenerative and perpetuative.  They encode and institutionalize a ritualized cosmic past that objectifies the culture, even as they reinvent and reinvigorate a social present that uses as its benchmark the very cosmogony that is constantly being reinstitutionalized. This is the process by which, within orally codified societies, the reproduction of a structure become[s] its transformation. [p.60, Wickman]

Where are all the birds?

sad.for true.
David Lewis, Jr. is the last living medicine person of the Bird Clan of the Muscogee in Oklahoma.  Lewis description of his role as medicine person to the clan, and the void that will be left if he is unable to find a replacement for himself underscores one of the ways in which Creek culture is being eroded by modern pressures and influences:  

 excerpt from Creek Indian Medicine Ways, by David Lewis, Jr. and Ann T. Jordan

" I know that I'm the only living, true medicine man left who has actually been initiated.  It is nothing to brag about; it makes me sad.  We have a lot of carriers (uninitiated medicine people) who practice our medicine and they are very strong people, but they do not know the history of the origin of our medicine.  The tribe has ceremonial grounds and they use these red roots all through the summer and the other medicine people use the red roots, but they don't know the history of where red roots come from.  The history of our medicine is only taught to the initiated medicine people.  I haven't found a replacement to initiate to carry on this medicine culture.  There is an old story that says you will be given time to find one.  Maybe that is why the medicine people lived to be old people; they put off finding a replacement.  But you just can't find a candidate as easy as it sounds because the selection process is so strict.  I don't think I will ever find one. "

mirror, mirror on the wall

 

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Who's the fairest of them all


while walking the my breakfast joint i ran across this mirrored tray on the street.  

i was very tempted to bring it back home...

but not into my house.

still, i may decide to rescue it.

Riddle me this?

seven sot,
six sprung,
from the dead the living come.

Bird sat on a dead tree and laid her eggs. six birds hatched. one fell out.

one of my favorite words

espantapajaros....

The Bee-King

" Dream o' honey, Lots o' money
  Dream o' bees, Lib at yo' ease ...

broom malfunction

all my spooky friends will agree :
doesn't it look like somebody parked their broom in the tree!

the newest broom

In Pagan & New World African tradition, the jumping of the broom is
symbolic of taking a leap into a new life together. A marriage is
consecrated after the couple jump the broom.
Presently, the broom I am making for this purpose is drying off in my
backyard. I stuck it in the tree to dry and I tell you, if my neighbor
didn't know up until this moment, I'm sure they think I'm crazy now...
picture to follow,

thedarkcyde
Sent from my iPhone

Making New

Trees are people too

Here's a pen and ink drawing I did back in my Tuskegee Days. It was a designed to be a backdrop for the play Waiting for Godot.

new materials

I just gathered more material for a wedding broom I'm making for my
friend.

Sent from my iPhone

motif

Twin Beliefs

Seems that in both Yoruba and Muskoke Creek traditions, twins were thought to be a strange thing.
They were feared and deemed dangerous because it was said that they are privy to the unknown, unseen
and untold things. This power made them an oddity.
If twins are same sex, they were thought to be friends or relatives in their previous life.
If they are opposite sex, they were thought to be husband and wife in their previous life.

I feel strange around my birthday and around samhain because i am a twin. My brother decided
after just a short time here that he didn't like it. He wanted to stay on the other side. He can totally cover more ground
than me that way!! Maybe he didn't wanna be here but I've always wanted
him to be here and that feeling never subsides.

Happy Birthday to us!

--
bloggin from gmail

the book of night women : marlon james

this book is really making me think about what made these womenfolk
that came her, or born here in the hostile climate of bullwhip days
tick. how did the manage and what secrets do they keep from us in this
present time.. I'd like to think I wouldve been one to run.. but would
I have???

Sent from my iPhone

rural tendancies

i am increasingly aware of the fact that the older i get, the more like my grandmother i wanna be. for the fact the more like my great-grand, my mom, my great-aunt..... all of them are crafty/folky in the kitchen,garden or the sewing room. i never learned to sew BUT i have learned alot of things through JUST DOIN. i guess it's the knowledge that handed down through the blood. if i put my mind to it, i KNOW i could sew. i started a patchwork once, last year and i kid you not i sat down and when i got up, i was like " how did i do that? " , " did i do that?"
it's almost like i go to this place in my mind and they are there, and if i focus really hard they show me what to do through the work.
weird huh.
i am the weird one.

just saw this at lunch

why is this cotton in a shadowbox on the wall of lake merritt bakery
in Oakland?

obamanos

trying out the new phone

Gotta get the voice activation to work

Sent from my iPhone

Obama o's

the stories shall unfold

--
- n g a t i -

O

self-banishment

i haven't been able to post for a long while now. computer problems and lifestyle changes has made the worldwideweb almost out of my reach. which isn't necessarily a bad thing. i like the down time. now, let's get to some ranting....

old time law

creek laws before the whites came

Before there was a constitution, there was just rules, laws that every talwa town abided by. If a woman with a husband was goin around with another man and the woman's husband's kin found out, both would be whipped without count. Then if the kept seeing each other, the second time they had an ear cut off. If they still didn't quit, they had the soft part of the nose, the tip, cut off. Same law applied if a man had a wife but went with another woman. If that woman's kin found the same actions were carried out.
This was the law of the old ones.
The women enforced the law.
In some cases only clan members from the specific families involved were used to carry out the law.

Tall Tales

I used to live in an old house near Gautier Street. It ran right through the center of town straight into the square. There in the square stood a bronze statue of some long forgotten confederate soldier and an elaborate fountain that contained everything except water. A sparse but beautiful wrought railing wrapped the balcony of the Rexall Drug store near the corner. Whether a windy autumn day or a still summer night, the black and orange metal sign would bang against the underside of the porch.
On Thursdays at 11:00AM sharp, the businesses around the square would shut down for an hour. This included the bank, courthouse, a couple of local eateries and the ABC State Store. Apparently, this moment of silence was supposed to be in memory of the thousands of slaves that were sold in the town square just a couple hundred years prior.
I still cannot figure whether this sort of homage was fitting for such an event of our time.

The house was located just beyond the town square on the road headed towards Eufaula.
The road was long and two-cars wide. In the spring the scent of gardenias and magnolia trees filled the warm, humid air. People could be seen working outside on their yards for most of Saturday. Southerners have always had love affairs with their lawns and southern towns are famous for these main drags. Usually they are the streets with the largest homes, great cascading landscapes and giant oak trees that flank the edges of the streets. Their thoroughfares seem massive in comparison to city-sized streets because the homes are setback quite a ways from the road.

I remember when I saw the house for the first time. It was a gorgeous spring day. Every bird was out of its nest and every lawn was freshly cut. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed it, as I rolled down the car window. Coming at the house from the side, I could faintly make out an enclosed porch near the entryway. The color was a muted coral with dark green, almost black, wood trim. Two visible chimney stacks stood at opposite sides of the house. Along the front, there was an arched plate glass window and a small portico at the main entrance into the house. This was all it took. With this one glance, I was in love. I needed to be here. Days later I dreamed I was sitting on the side porch in a giant, white wicker chair, with a pot of tea reading my favorite book, Castle of Otranto.

an excerpt from Bottletree Diaries, Chapter 4:  Tall Tales

vacation

the white wood. a place of legend.
sand creek sits in a shallow valley surrounded by spook hill.

interesting saying

SOME PEOPLE SAY the right to make a Flute is hereditary, The right to play it is hereditary too. Flutes should be played to greet important strangers and to attract the attention of a young woman. Flutes have magic and speak a language known only to the birds, the wind, and Ohfvnkv. Flute music is Silence made solid.

Blue Hole Spring or Big Spring

Blue Hole Spring is a greenish and murky pool location in Jackson County Florida. The small pool that is separated from the main pool by a land bridge is alternatively, crystal clear and blue. In the days before, slaves would use the caves near Blue Hole for worship. They also used the original spring as a natural refrigerator keeping meats preserved.
Later the Baptist churches in the area held there baptisms there at Blue Hole Spring.


orignal photograph credit :R. Means,
from the Florida Geological Survey

who came here first? RIGHT.

excerpt from TNGenWeb: The Keetoowah Society

Myth-understanding and Early America

There is little doubt that the first contact between Africans and Native Americans did not occur within the contexts of European colonial expansion in the early sixteenth century. Though most texts detailing red/black relations on the Southern frontier begin with Africans among the explorations of Spaniards De Allyon, De Leon, Cordoba, De Soto, and Narvaez, evidently contact was much older. It is an underappreciation of this often untold history of the deep relationship between Africans and Indians that lies at the root of modern misunderstanding of much of American history.

Long before Christopher Columbus, Africans had been using favorable sea currents and small boats to come to the Americas. One of the reasons that Columbus was sent on his return voyage was "a report of the Indians of this Espanola who said that there had come to Espanola from the south and south-east, a black people who have the tops of their spears made of a metal which they call `guanin' (gold)." [6] The North Equatorial Current runs from West Africa to the Caribbean Islands and Southeastern United States; Thor Heyerdahl, in his Kon Tiki and Ra expeditions, proved that even the smallest boats could make this passage. [7]

There is also ample evidence of pre-Columbian contact with Africans in a variety of settings in Mesoamerica. The African characteristics of Olmec sculptures, similarities between African pyramids and reed boats and their counterparts in Mesoamerica, and pictographic/linguistic similarities between Northern African and Muscogean cultures are all evidence of ancient contact. [8] Upon observing the Olmec sculptures in 1869, Dr. Jose Melgar y Serrana reported "As a work of art, it is without exaggeration a magnificent sculpture, but what astonished me was the Ethiopic type represented. I reflect that there had undoubtedly been Negroes in this country." [9]

Dr. Leo Wiener proposed that African traders from Guinea founded a colony near Mexico City from which they exerted a cultural and commercial influence extending north to Canada and south to Peru. He also suggests that Native American ancient cultures, including the Maya, Aztec, and Inca civilizations, were directly or indirectly of African origins. [10] Historians and scientists from Augustus Le Plongeon in the nineteenth century to Barry Fell in the latter half of the twentieth century have asserted African contact with ancient America. [11] Whatever the truth is, it is certain that it was along the coastal rim of the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico where the early explorers encountered most African-Indians and tri-racial mixtures. [12]

Taking the African presence in ancient America seriously causes us to reframe our understanding of the relationship between African Americans and Native Americans in the Southeastern United States. What are the implications of this research for understanding Native American attitudes regarding race; moreover, what are the possibilities of African influence in the development of the temple mound culture in the Southeastern United States? Does this historic background explain the ease in which in which Africans learned to speak and translate indigenous languages and the ready assimilation of runaway slaves into Native American communities? It is not the purpose of this paper to fully explore the meaning of this critically underexplored phenomena, but to simply offer up the possibility of a thicker description of southeastern culture. [13]

Modern historians believe that the first Africans to be encountered by Native Americans were those who accompanied the early Spanish explorations of the Southeastern United States. Estavanico, "an Arabian black, native of Acamor," who accompanied Narvaez into Florida distinguished himself by his linguistic ability and "was in constant conversation" with the Indians. [14] In 1540, Hernando de Soto encountered the Cherokee and kidnapped the Lady of Cofitachequi, a prominent Cherokee leader. Escaping from De Soto, she returned home with an African slave belonging to one of De Soto's officers and "they lived together as man and wife." [15] Black slaves also played a critical role in Luis Vazquez de Ayllon's aborted colony in South Carolina; a slave revolt occurred in the colony and many of the African slaves fled to live among the Cherokee. [16]

It is important to understand the purpose of these early Spanish explorations in the Southeast. Ponce de Leon's 1512 patent from the Spanish authorities provided that any Indians that he might discover in the Americas should be divided among the members of his expedition that they should "derive whatever advantage might be secured thereby." [17] De Ayllon's 1523 cedula authorized him to "purchase prisoners of war held as slaves held by the natives, to employ them on his farms and export them as he saw fit, without the payment of any duty whatsoever upon them." [18]

When De Soto landed in Florida with his soldiers in 1539, he brought with him blood-hounds, chains, and iron collars for the acquisition and exportation of Indian slaves. Hundreds of men women and children were captured by de Soto and transported to the coasts for shipment to the Caribbean and to Spain. [19] A Cherokee from Oklahoma remembered his father's tale of the Spanish slave trade, "At an early state the Spanish engaged in the slave trade on this continent and in so doing kidnapped hundreds of thousands of the Indians from the Atlantic and Gulf Coasts to work their mines in the West Indies." [20]

Slavery as a phenomenon was not unknown to the Cherokee Nation or to Native Americans. However, it is distinctively different in both its content and its context as that which was practiced by the European. Rudi Halliburton in Red Over Black, his extensive work on slavery in the Cherokee Nation, concludes that "slavery, as an institution, did not exist among the Cherokees before the arrival or Europeans." [21] Booker T. Washington concurs, "The Indians who first met the white man on his continent do not seem to have held slaves until they first learned to do so from him." [22]

The Cherokee atsi nahtsa'i, or "one who is owned," were individuals captured or obtained through warfare with neighboring peoples and often given to clans who lost members in warfare. [23] To the extent that these individuals existed outside of the clan structure, they were in essence "outsiders" who lived on the periphery of Cherokee society. It was up to the clan-mothers, or "beloved women" of the Nation to decide upon the fate of these individuals. [24] If they accepted these "outsiders" as replacements for those individuals who had lost their lives in battle, these individuals became members of the clan and thus the nation. [25] If the "outsiders" were not accepted into the clan, then they served as the "other" in promoting clan self-understanding and solidarity. [26]

There was not a race-based understanding of "difference" within Native American cultures as that which had come to exist within the European mind over the hundred years following the discovery of the New World. Race as an identifying component in interaction did not exist within the traditional nations of the early Americas; into the nineteenth century the Cherokee were noted for their cultural accommodation. [27] William McLoughlin stressed the importance of clan relationships or larger collective identities (e.g., Ani-Yunwiya, Ani-Tsalagi, Ani-Kituhwagi) within indigenous nations as the critical components in their interactions with outsiders; race was not considered a critical element in perception or hostility. [28] In her pivotal work Slavery and the Evolution of Cherokee Society 1540-1866, Theda Perdue states that the Cherokee regarded Africans they encountered "simply as other human beings," and, "since the concept of race did not exist among Indians and since the Cherokees nearly always encountered Africans in the company of Europeans, one supposes that the Cherokee equated the two and failed to distinguish sharply between the races." [29] Kenneth Wiggins Porter, an African American historian, concurs with this conclusion: [we have] "no evidence that the northern Indian made any distinction between Negro and white on the basis of skin color, at least, not in the early period and when uninfluenced by white settlers." [30]

However, racism and religious intolerance were critical components in the European dispossession and enslavement of Native Americans in the colonial period. Originating in the Aristotelian concept of natural rights, the concept of white supremacy as it developed in the sixteenth century ran along these lines:

Those, therefore, who are as much inferior to others as are the body to the soul and beasts to men, are by nature slaves. He is by nature born slave who...shares in reason to the extent of apprehending it without possessing it. [31]

in the family

my sister sent this email two years ago. (she was supposed to be working at the time... not sendng email)
can you tell storytelling runs in the family?

I recall many things from my childhood and some things still resonate with me today. For instance, my Aunt Honey, as she was affectionately called, was a school teacher in Quincy, Florida. She always wore dark A-line dresses with stockings knotted at her thighs. As soon as she arrived home from work, she would unknot those stockings, and free her legs for the evening! She wouldn't take them all the way off, the nylon would just hang out around her ankles until her shoes and other clothing were removed.

I would always know when Honey was approaching. That loud, comforting swish, swish sound preceded her, and on Sundays, the swish was even louder and coming from all directions as all of the women in the house and at church were accompanied by that familiar sound. Although I didn't know it at the time, it was the sound of the nylons rubbing together at the thighs! Not knowing why, or what was making the sound, I knew that it only happened when Honey, or other ladies were all dressed up! For many years, and until recently (today), I associated being dressed up with that swish, swish sound. The louder it was, the more fabulous your outfit must have been, I thought.

Last week, that swish, swish sound was following me around! Not that I hadn't heard it before, but it seemed to be echoing through the halls at my office. After walking 50 or so feet from the break room back to my side of the suite, I made a bee-line for my co-worker's office and before I could ask the dreaded question, she told me that she could hear me coming from the other side of the suite! I told her that I was dressed up and was supposed to make that sound while walking! She then shared the secret to silencing those loud undergarments, and I didn't believe it until 10 minutes ago!

As I slipped into a new pair of stockings (excuse me, pantyhose), I remembered the advice from my co-worker. As I gently pulled each leg to its opposite side, I couldn't wait to see if her theory worked and to hear the sound of silence. Low and behold, as I walked through the corridor, no one heard me coming until I asked the question, "Did you hear me walking down the hall?" As I glanced in my startled co-worker's office, she could only laugh and tell me, I told you so! She was right! Just because I look good in my pulled together outfit, doesn't mean I have to sound like I look good!

So, Ladies, take off those pantyhose and turn them inside out! Unless, of course, you already know this trick -- I would advise to leave them on the "wrong side!"

Swish, swish . . .

Wilma (Cookie)

membering ancestors

Thank you Anissia for the poem

<>
Building An Altar For El Dia De Los Muertos:
Things I Remember You By

To my ancestors
I give you
a cross of red beans and rice
johnny-cakes as you liked
hot tea to chase it
and four books
I remember you by.

I give you
some wheat like that you’ve sown
some patches of cloth I sewed
black eyed peas (for the evil eye)
and some coffee beans
I remember you by.

I give you
some cedar I cut and dried and
a mason jar of traditional
tobacco
for your pipe.
That,
I remember you by.

I give you
Senegalese drum art for the heart beat,
Baby-girl’s first pair of stomp-dance shackles.
Hear her? -turtle cloth around,
and my patchwork skirt so when next I dance,
I'll remember you.

Anissia West

green corn

here comes the fall , my second favorite season.
and coming back from vacation i feel like letting some things go.
the simple life.
since i've gotten back i've realized how much i am a third world-type woman. living a simple life would be great if i could maintain the life within the lmits of the bay area.
here's my wishlist:
a porch to sit on a eat, drink coffee, and chill
a place to garden
to keep my same commute (relatively)
a colored girls circle
monoi tiare tahiti and lots
to let go of that storage unit & stuff
to go to AL
visit g-grandads/& granmas grave
get the business stuff in order
get the final book edits to the editor.

make it to a labor day powwow

fantasy lover

when i was a teenager i had the most awesome boyfriend. his name was Cody Six Kills (or was it Cody Six Killer. god he the boy was FINE) he lived in a small town(read THE STICKS ) where the most fun was had out shooting cans , drinking beers and running around wild waiting to start fights with whitefolks. i worked at the diner on the outskirts of town where he'd come by for a visit once and a while. usually he'd come into the diner about the time when i was really ready to kick the high school football players far out the door. the rednecks in that town were just a bore. i had already had my pay witheld because i kicked a guy in his throat. but hey, dude deserved it. i'm not your bitch. ya know. i remember sitting out on Cody's flatbed watching the stars and the strange cabbage patch across the street from the parking lot. cody was walking towards the truck with a smirk on his face. he put his beer down when he stepped up to me and slowly bent down to kiss me. i opened my mouth to his and fell into him. it felt like this almost everytime i kissed him. like liquid fire. his skin always, warm and brown. and whenever the mood hit him , he would sing a song. it was usually a powwow song or something like that. cause the boy could never remember the words to any other pop songs.

a writer's impression

my next door neighbor kindly gave me his impression of Bottletree Diaries and it was great! thanks alot jeff! i will take his notes and continue the work. he called me a great writer and i was impressed.... wow.
little bit more structure & character development in a couple of the stories and hopefully i'll be set to go to an editor.
and then....
publish?

but first i gotta figure out how i'm gonna establish the pele and hi'iaka theme in the story without referencing the deites themselves. how can in one second someone be loving and caretaking yet, a minute later be a firey ball of vengence.
that's easy. pele. oshun. yemaya. all gods are like that.
aren't they.
jealousy can make you do anything.

Hatfields & McCoys

the news story on the death of bodie miller's cousin ( and the cop he shot ) made me think of the hatfields and mccoys. i would love to write a story centered around feuding families in backwater towns....

Hatfield-McCoy Feud

Beckley Post-Herald
August 7, 1957

By Shirley Donnelly
courtesy of West Virginia Archives & History

Seventy-five years ago today was the beginning of some terrible times along the Tug River. At that time, what is now Mingo County was a part of Logan, home of the Hatfields. Across the Tug is Pike County, home of the McCoys.

Aug. 7, 1882, fell on a Monday and they were having an election in Kentucky. If you are up on the history of Kentucky you are well acquainted with the fact that an election in Kentucky is an occasion on which anything can happen - and usually does. They were voting that day on the usual state and county offices and on whether to increase the school tax. Such elections were days when the men of the mountains of Kentucky not only looked on the wine when it is red but maintained close communion with the mule when it is white.

Many are the tales one might tell about that election of three- quarters of a century ago but only one must suffice for today. On Blackberry Creek, a tributary of the Tug, the polls were open at sunrise. This particular polling place was on Hatfield Branch, a small run that empties into Blackberry just above Mateways, W.Va. Jerry Hatfield's home was there.

Across Turkey Foot Ridge on Blackberry Fork of Pond Creek stood the cabin of Randolph McCoy, who had a bunch of bad boys. Hatfields lived on both the West Virginia and Kentucky sides of the Tug and they had some bad boys, too.

Since the days of the Civil War - it had then only been a bit over 17 years since Appomattox - there had been bad blood and ill feeling between these two large families. William Anderson ("Devil Anse") Hatfield was the father of 13 children and Randolph (Rand'l) McCoy had done equally well in production. Those 13 children in each of these old mountain families spelled out bad luck in capital letters, - that is, bad for each of those two families.

The McCoy family hated the Hatfields because Johnson ("Johnse) Hatfield, handsome son of Devil Anse, had enjoyed a clandestine affair with Rose Anne McCoy, comely mountain lassie, the daughter of Randolph McCoy. Then too, the death of Harmon McCoy distilled still more hatred between the two big families. These two families had been on opposing sides in the Civil War, it should be stated. Also Floyd Hatfield, cousin of Devil Anse, and Randolph McCoy, had married sisters.

In 1873 these two brothers-in-law had a law suit over a sow and some pigs. Rand'l McCoy claimed the hogs but Floyd Hatfield said they were his'n. But the hogs went to Hatfield. Witnesses were accused of lying in Squire Anderson (Preacher Anse) Hatfield's court which was held in his house. Fuel was added to the flame of hatred between the two families, the McCoys and the Hatfields, as a result of the trial. From then on it was plain to see that the devil was to pay sooner or later. A man with one eye and only half- sense could see that, provided he was informed on local history along the Tug.

On that Monday 75 years ago today, Preacher Anderson Hat- field was one of the election officials and he was the best one of all the Hatfields, it was thought. He had a brother they called "Bad" Lias because he was a heavy drinker and was mean besides. Devil Anse had a brother named Elias but he wasn't as bad as "Bad 'Lias."

Both "Bad" 'Lias and Devil Anse's brother Elias were at the Kentucky election to watch political trends and otherwise pass the time of day. Preacher Anse Hatfield was only 47 years old at that time but most of the Hatfields minded him because he was a "Hardshell" Baptist minister. Among the Hatfields present that day, but not voting, was Ellison Hatfield, a Lieutenant in Pickett's Division and one who was in Pickett's immortal charge at Gettysburg on July 3,, 19 years before this election day.

Father of 11 children, Ellison Hatfield was a handsome and powerful man. He was wearing a big broad straw hat which they called a "Sundown" hat and everyone was kidding him about. Ellison turned taunts, aside by saying "I brought you some roughness for your cattle," alluding, of course, to his immense straw hat.

Drinking was rife that day and those with old grudges were carrying chips on their shoulders. Everyone was looking for trouble, it seemed. Beneath a big tree was a table and about it sat the election authorities. There the Australian ballot had not been heard of, apparently, and voter's choices were publicly stated to the poll clerks. This made more ill feeling.

Suddenly an open quarrel flared up-back under other threes at the rear of the polling spot. It seems that Tolbert McCoy, 31, son of Randolph McCoy, had bounced "Bad 'Lias" Hatfield to pay him the $1.75 which Tolbert claimed was due him on a fiddle he had recently sold "Bad 'Lias." This Bad 'Lias" lived a couple of miles up Blackberry Creek from where the trouble broke out.

Tolbert's two brothers, Phamer, 19, and Randolph McCoy Jr., 15, joined in the quarrel and backed up their brother Tolbert. At this juncture, up came Ellison Hatfield, drunk, and in a foul mood. Tolbert McCoy stalked Ellison Hatfield and reported to the Gettysburg hero that, "I'm hell on earth."

Ellison said, "You're a d-n (vulgar word) hog."

A fight ensued and Ellison Hatfield was stabbed and shot. Guns leaped from pockets and other shots were fired in anger. Those three McCoy boys were subsequently arrested and were being taken to Pikeville jail when Devil Anse and his friends took them away from the law officers. .

After being taken to the home of Anderson Ferrel in Warm Hollow, just back of the depot at Matewan, Ellison Hatfield expired the afternoon of Aug. 9,1882. Those 26 stab wounds and gashes, plus his gunshot wound, were too much for him.

That night the three McCoys were taken across the Tug at Matewan and shot to death in a paw paw thicket. From then on for years there was open warfare and fueding [sic] between the Hatfields and the McCoys

flying with my cousins

As we approached the clearing we looked at one another with a slow-burning grin. It took them by the hands, one on my right , the other on my left and we began to fly. When we reached just near the top of the treeline I let go of their hands. We were like kids playing in a field of tall grass, bopping up and down while screaming like banshee. We flew far and wide. We entered a white forest slowing down to a nice cruising speed. As we passed through K started to sing, I joined in and Ku followed. The song was an ancient rhythm, one neither of us really knew. But, blood memory kicked in and our gut took over. Mvscogee song? Cherokee song? Tuscarora song? I don't know. What we remember is that it is IN the melody.

Hush harbors

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In antebellum America, a hush harbor was a place where slaves secretly gathered to practice Christianity or syncretic forms of worship, and to sing religious spirituals. Hush harbors were generally located in fields, swamps, or wooded areas so as to make the sounds of the slaves' worship inaudible to nearby slaveowners. As slave spirituality was feared and discouraged in antebellum America, hush harbors were forbidden and participants were often whipped or otherwise physically punished when discovered in the act of communal worship at hush harbors.

"In the slave quarters, however, African Americans organized their own "invisible institution." Through signals, passwords, and messages not discernible to whites, they called believers to "hush harbors" where they freely mixed African rhythms, singing, and beliefs with evangelical Christianity. We have little remaining written record of these religious gatherings. But it was here that the spirituals, with their double meanings of religious salvation and freedom from slavery, developed and flourished; and here, too, that black preachers, those who believed that God had called them to speak his Word, polished their "chanted sermons," or rhythmic, intoned style of extemporaneous preaching."

Has the Western Band completely lost their minds?

Thanks uncle. somebody with some sense of the truth speaks. THANK GOD.
Glad to see southern cloth speaking out against this stupid ass shit.
 
A vocal minority of Cherokee Nation votes to reject tribal black Freedmen

By ALBERT BENDER

Tennessee Voices

Oklahoma Cherokee voters recently revoked the tribal citizenship of the Cherokee Freedmen — descendants of African slaves and free blacks, who have lived in the Cherokee Nation since before the Civil War and many since the 18th century.

But tribal policy is often determined by a few registered Cherokee voters who don't hold Cherokee values, and this vote is a clear example.Out of 45, 000 registered Cherokee voters, only 8,733 cast ballots (6,693 in favor of citizenship revocation and 2,040 against). Thousands of full-blood and high-blood quantum traditional Cherokees don't participate in Cherokee Nation politics. The overwhelming majority of registered Oklahoma Cherokees are of minimal blood quantum (some as little as 1/2,000) and are, by physical appearance, white, and they control the Cherokee government at will. This election stemmed partly from a Cherokee Supreme Court decision in March 2006, which declared that Cherokee Freedmen are tribal citizens, under the Treaty of 1866, and struck down a newly minted 1992 Cherokee law that held citizenship was restricted to Cherokees "by blood" (many of the Freedmen have documented Cherokee ancestry). The Cherokee Nation has no blood-quantum requirement, and blood degree varies from full-blood to 1/2,048.

Tribal membership is based on descendence from the Dawes Roll of 1906 and stands at 260,000. Tribal members, opposed to the court decision, collected more than 3,000 names and requested the issue be decided by voter referendum.

Blacks had been with the Cherokees and other Southern tribes in Tennessee and adjacent states since the 1700s.

The first enslaved Africans were brought into the Cherokee Nation by white traders who married Cherokee women and sired mixed-blood families. Later, these same wealthy families purchased more captive blacks to labor on their farms and plantations. Even so, there were never more than a small fraction of Cherokee families who ever owned slaves.

The full-blood Cherokees, then the majority of the Nation, did not own slaves and considered the "institution" as alien to Cherokee culture. But from the early 19th century, slavery grew, largely due to a very complex cultural process. By 1835, there was a strong movement to free all enslaved blacks and make them Cherokee citizens. This was derailed by the Trail of Tears.

Blacks shared all the horrors of the Trail of Tears, including a high death toll. During the Civil War, Oklahoma Cherokees were divided between the minority Confederate slaveholding mixed-bloods and the majority Unionist non-slaveholding full-bloods. The Unionist Cherokee government emancipated all slaves in 1863.

By all accounts, Cherokee slavery was very lenient compared to white plantation slavery ( blacks often ran away to the Cherokee and other Indian nations), but it was slavery, nonetheless. In Tahlequah, the western Cherokee capital, there was a slave market as in Southern white towns.

Historically, the Freedmen have endured all the agonies of native Cherokees and more during slavery, and it is only right that they should have continued Cherokee citizenship. Reportedly, the Freedmen are preparing legal challenges to their ouster ... ( see article link for full view )

southern skies

i remember the sky.
the sky on the first of spring days in central alabama were spectacular.
blue as the deepest, clearest, sea blue. god, the sky was so striking and the sun was a fireball beating down on us. i remember the bird songs like it was yesterday.
on days like this in sunny california. i miss the southland.

to all the dead.... huzzzah

to all my faire posse, st. lazarus' guild of the danse macabre
i miss thee,

dm. forever

bedlam boys

for to see mad tom of bedlam
ten thousand years i'll travel
mad maudlin goes on dirty toes
fr to save her shoes from gravel

still i sing bonny boys
bonny mad boys
bedlam boys are bonny
for they all gor bare and they
live by the air......
and they want no drink nor money

now i repent that ever
poor tom was so disdain'd
my wits were lost when him i cross't
which makes me go thus chain'd

still i sing bonny boys
bonny mad boys
bedlam boys are bonny
for they all gor bare and they
live by the air......
and they want no drink nor money

my staff has murder'd giants
my bag a long knife carries
for to cut mince pies from children's thighs
and feed them to the fairies

still i sing bonny boys
bonny mad boys
bedlam boys are bonny
for they all gor bare and they
live by the air......
and they want no drink nor money

for the other nine verses search: Bedlam Boys

dreaming in technicolor

i have a very weird problem.
i live on two different planes and when they collide it's bad. just they other day i woke up having this inclination to buy a gift for a friend. i didn't know what but i was thinking (dreamin) about where i was going to go shopping for it and i was all excited. it was a korean market that had a of these great housewares, teapots, stone pots , herbs, chopsticks, mortar & pestles, hardware, etc... and the vibe of the place i remember being awesome. so like i said i was REALLY excited to go out shopping. while i was in the shower i came to the startling realization as i was remembering driving directions from my house. this place was not real. well, not in this plane. i was maneuvering around places in my dreams. this place is a very real place in my dreams. but not here. i know how to get to it there.

that is a very weird confession i just made.
i'm a weirdo though so i guess it's normal

to turn a black cat

twist the bones and bend the back
yikety, yakety, magikal mystikal
trim him of his baby fat
yikety, yakety, magikal mystikal
give him fur black as black
yikety, yakety, magikal mystikal
just like that

300

i might just go see 300...... just for the fun of it
and since reading AFROGEEKS comment i 'm sure i'll be throughly amused. i could just watch the trailer over and over to see dude yell " this is spartaaaaaaa! and kick broman into the pit.

that's probably the best scene of the movie

nalo hopkinson

met nalo hopkinson tonite at a reading in berkeley. she 's a great lady. she's even a weirdo like myself. wow.
her new book THE NEW MOON'S ARM'S seems like something really awesome though it's not like her other works. i was happy to find that someone other than myself and friends analyzes black women's roles in sci-fi or fantasy to such a degree. it's strange yet not so suprising. i am really encouraged now to promote my work.

now if i can just get that mechanical license.....i 'd be all set.


wow. it's almost as exciting as meeting octavia e. bulter.

snippet #2 from the anthology

Supposedly there was an old woman that lived in a house on the outskirts of town near a lovely pecan grove.
In her time, the time of her youth, she had been one of the most beautiful and sought-after girls around. So adorned, so smart, so pretty she was, yet so unhappy. Her parents had passed on before she was of marrying age, leaving her with the family homestead where she lived alone for many years.
One night at the very beginning of a thunderstorm, she sat near the fireplace. The lights had gone out the day before and she was almost down to the last couple of bottles of lamp oil. If worst came to worst, she knew she could always use some leftover bacon grease.
The windblown raindrops pelted against the kitchen window. She remembered her mother singing through the thunder to settle her nerves. Unlike her mother though, she loved thunderstorms and the lightning that followed. But since her parents had gone she had taken to singing in the rain. At the writing desk near the window, the young woman sat down and began to write. She wrote and wrote and wrote some more. She had no idea of what she was writing until she began to read it aloud.

….. And finally. I want a lover for me, someone who is kind, honest
and respectful. Who will love will all his heart and never leave me broken.

X X X

She signed her name, folded the paper and placed it in a flannel pouch.
It rained for nine days straight and on the last night of the storm a man appeared on her doorstep. She invited him in out of the downpour without question. He sat at her kitchen table, his boots dripping water clenching the cup of tea before him. When he spoke his voice was deep and melodic. She kept his cup warm and full.
He entranced her with his words. She enthralled him with her charm.
And so it began.

The townsfolk whispered as they passed them, at the church, at the jook joint, everywhere. No one knew why but they just knew something wasn’t quite right. Months passed as their love affair blossomed into a love that the young woman could not have imagined in her wildest dreams.
One cold spring night after dinner they sat next to the fire staring into the golden glow.
They exchanged kiss after kiss until the fire began to die down. The wind outside had just begun to howl and the young man offered to fetch more kindling before the weather worsened. She kissed him and retreated to bed.

He stepped off the porch and into the darkness of the pecan grove.

As the sun rose, the young woman found herself wrapped in blankets on an empty bed.
She gathered the covers in her hands and took in a deep breath inhaling the last remaining scent of her lover.

a very cool website

the moonlit road is a GREAT website. if you like folktales and ghost stories, check it out!

you can read as well as have a story read to you! i think that's awesome. storytelling is all about the storytellers and the delivery of the content.

storytellers spotlight

the internet is a strange thing...... looking for one thing always leads you to another.

this is my EX-boyfriend's mom :

Turtle Island Storyteller Yvonne Fox

My name is Yvonne Fox. My Indian name is White Buffalo Woman. It's Danaha Daga or it's Danaga, Dana Hadaga. My great grandfather was Little Sioux who was a scout with Custer during the battle of Little Big Horn and did have a medal from that time.

Grandma Philamine, Mom's mom, she had an Indian medicine and so she was a really good example. I never knew of her getting mad at people or saying things about people or anything. She was just a good person. We got some of her medicine and that's what she said. When you get some of the medicine they give you advice on how to live and not to be doing this and that and saying things and all that stuff so I think she was really a good influence on me. She lived around here all the time and she took her grandchildren with her all the time. Finally she had her great grandchildren and she just kept them with her. She just took care of them all the time, but she always always took care of us the old way. Not always but most of the time you know, she'd use the Indian way of taking care of like flu or diarrhea and different kind of things that you can use herbal stuff with. She did that all the time with us, she didn't. In the early days you couldn't jump in a car and run to the hospital or a clinic or anything. It just wasn't. So we learned, you know, that if a person knew how to do all this stuff with the medicine and stuff, that it was helpful.

Arikara elder, Yvonne Fox lives in the eastern part of the Fort Berthold Reservation, North Dakota. Her great grandfather, Little Sioux, was one of the scouts for Custer's Seventh Calvary at the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Her grandmother, Anna Dawson Wilde, was raised and went to school in Hampton, Virginia. After finishing school she came back to the reservation and became a field nurse. The tribe's sacred bundles tell of migration starting in Central America and traveling over large water and was the first recorded location along the Mississippi River. The migration continued west along the Missouri River where today village and lodge circle remains are still in existence. After the Garrison Dam flooded the bottomlands, the tribe was forced to move up to the prairie.

Yvonne holds a Bachelor's degree in elementary education and has been a teacher for more than 30 years. She was awarded "Teacher of the Year" by the National Indian School Board Association. She holds the position of Treasurer of the Sahnish Society. Sahnish is the name we call ourselves. She is also a member of the Ladies Auxiliary of the Local Legion Indian Post, a member of the Old Scout Society, and most importantly is a holder of a medicine bundle from her grandmother.

Yvonne belongs to a cultural society made up of teachers from local school, White Shield. They developed a curriculum for non-Indian teachers to teach Arikara history and culture. The type of storytelling Yvonne does depends on the audience. Her presentations are usually geared to children, but she has also presented to teachers and at education conventions. She tells stories about sacred rocks and places. One story is of the Medicine stone and how medicine people danced on it when it was heated up. Another story tells of the Grandfather rock that was carried all along the migration and they still have it today. At Fort Yates on the Standing Rock reservation, Standing Rock is an Arikara woman who turned to stone.

Yvonne is also a tribal culture specialist. She shares her knowledge of tribal dances and songs, along with the history of cultural artifacts, environmental issues, and tribal government. The Arikara have many tribal dances and songs, but ceremonies are kept within the tribe. Out of twelve sacred bundles they have seven remaining. The bundles contain a symbolic history of the Arikara tribe tracing the people back to the very beginning of their existence. The Arikara are also known for their burden baskets and pottery, which is in the process of being revived.

Yvonne E. Fox
1025 B 61 st Ave. NW
Garrison, ND 58540

Why the Sun Lives in the Sky

copied from text:

The sea has always lived in the low places such as valleys, but the sun has not always lived in the sky. The sun used to live on top of a mountain. The sun and the sea were good friends, Often the sun would come down from its mountain home to visit the sea, and they always enjoyed their times together. The sun would invite the sea to come visit its home at the mountaintop, but the sea never came.

After a time, the sun became both sad and a little angry. The sun called to the sea, "Why do you not come see me as I see you? True, you are much larger than I, but do you not think I would be a good host? I have enough food for you. I shall make a place big enough for you here on top of the mountain."

The sea replied, "My friend, I am afraid that I would drown you. I am wide and deep. I am your friend, and would rather always serve you than do something that might hurt you."

The sun insisted that the sea come and visit, and at last the sea consented. The sun watched as the sea swelled up around the mountain. Soon the sea was nearly covering the mountain. But the sun was too proud to admit that its home could not hold the sea, so it let the sea keep coming. Soon the sea had covered the sun's mountain and all the other mountains. The proud sun, fearing it would drown, had to leap into the sky where the sea could not come. The sea went back to its home, and the sun stays in the sky rather than go back to the mountaintop.


The End

feelin it

Martha Redbone.... paving the way & making it known

click picture to go to website

tribal affliations

i will get this book.

occupation

Fort Neoheroka was the final stronghold destroyed by colonial forces during the Tuscarora War of 1711-1713. The 1713 siege on the fort, led by Col. James Moore lasted for more than three weeks, beginning about March 1, 1713 with the final attack being launched on March 20. The Tuscarora resistance, however, continued their defense of the fort until the early morning hours of Sunday, March 22, when they were finally defeated.

At the battles end, more than 950 Tuscarora men, women and children were either killed or captured and sold into slavery. Of the Tuscarora who had originally taken refuge within the confines of the fort, there were a number who managed to escape prior to the final siege by making use of the fort's intricately planned underground tunnel system.

Fort Neoheroka is located on what is today a privately-owned family farm. Excavation of the fort began in 1990 and was sponsored by East Carolina University's Institute for Historical and Cultural Research in conjunction with ECU's summer field school for archaeology students. Years of digging yielded boxes and boxes of artifacts, including Tuscarora skeletal remains, as well as personal items. According to an ECU press release issued in 1995, the archaelogy lab in the Old Cafeteria Building was, "lined wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with cardboard boxes that contain the fruits of their [the archaeologists] labor. The boxes contain items numbering into the thousands."

The Tuscarora people presently involved in the "peaceful occupation" of the fort site have expressed concern that the area continues to be farmed and that no steps have been taken to section off the site to protect it from further disturbance. Concerns have also been expressed that neither the State of North Carolina, nor the federal government have allowed for the Tuscarora people of North Carolina to be involved in the decision-making process regarding the fate of the site. The Tuscarora have also stated that they want all ancestral remains being presently stored in boxes at ECU to be properly re-interred.

One of the organizers involved with the occupation at the fort explained, "More Tuscarora lives were lost in the final three days of battle at the fort than at any point during the war. These weren't just warriors, there were hundreds of women and children and elders who were killed in the siege on Neoheroka. This place is a sacred site to our people and we want it treated as such."

Support ' em : http://www.myspace.com/tuscarorasforneoheroke

who's who

recently i've come across a grave number of places across the internet that are debating the issue concerning who is indian and who is not. i refer to indian people as indian people cause when i was growing up i was still a black girl with indian roots. most of friends whether they are standing rock sioux, arikara, navajo or miccosukee will still call us and one another indian. yet it has occured to me that in the recent past ( for me it was around the time the seminole tribe of hollywood opened that casino across from the village ) blood ties have been overlooked for money. money that can't go too far when most of your tribal members are spending it in god awful places for ridiculous reasons. and i thought to myself, oh wow, our cousins over here are gonna stick it to the man. still a sovereign nation, the seminole tribes of florida had a great start. like everyone else who was hoping to be self-sufficient all that stopped....... yes you have people who took advantage of all the money for selfish reasons... all those folks jumping to get on rolls and get some money. but there are soooo many folks who don't care two craps about being on any roll and they have been silenced. we need to hear that story. and because i haven't heard enough of that story i felt i needed to post this. i am very much FOR the freedmen's cause. it has brought up a history that america should not try to forget. don't try an deny me my heritage because it doesn't fit your own idea of what and who you think indian people are. and indian people too have learned bad manners and stupid-ass , condescending, rascist attitudes from white people. guess what...... they don't have your best interest in mind. check history. yours and other indigenous people. AND IT"S STILL GOING ON.
i don't need blood money....... ok i'm lying, i'd like that 40 acres and a mule.......
money is nothing went you don't know where you came from. and who you came from.

the good evil

my friend said something very funny last night after i gave her advice on what she should do concerning a pain-in-the-ass, wasting-her-time, infantile man. she says ,
" oooh you're a good evil. i forgot how good your are "

i thank her for that comment!

what a cool shirt that would be
...... a good evil

MEDUSA

odd man out

the fourth story, the odd man out is about to get re-scripted.
need new context for the werewolf tale.

i think i'll take it out of africa.... bring it down south. where i can fix all the problems i see with it now. we'll see what happens when i add the bird clan..... i'm tired of vampires fighting werewolves. we need a third party to step in.

lemme check this mvscogee/creek legend before i go any further.......

excerpt from Bottletree Diaries anthology

from Nightingale

Although there was a hell of a lot more money to be made working weekends in the coroner's office, Josephine couldn't bring herself to leave the all-glamorous world of bartending. Ok, so all her friends worked during the day, that is, the ones who counted did. They always seemed to call the minute she would be leaving to go to work, with some invitation to some fabulous party uptown that would be supposedly crawling with freaks. rat bastards. all of them. fine. i didn't really want to go anyway.

Being there allowed her the illusion of going out and partying all night. Well, sort of. Working in an establishment that catered to the trendy, money-hungry, banal inhabitants of the city, was foreign to her. It was plastic. It lacked the dirt, grit and substance of reality found in the places that she frequented.

A guy in a purple colored oxford takes a seat next to her on the train, immediately showing his absolute discourtesy for everyone, including the sleeping baby to his right, by making a couple of calls on his cellular phone. look at me. can i be any more obnoxious ?

They come into the bar ordering drinks like cosmos, orgasms and belladonnas. will someone, for once, order a rum & coke or even grapefruit juice & vodka? if someone asks for a Guinness, i’ll be shocked. The other thing this locale gave her was anonymity. The fact that she was not associated with these people in any way, made it much easier to listen to their silly rumors and nonsense that breed at barstands. Josie had the privilege to sit back and watch the habits of this peculiar subculture. It was safe.....It was normal.
The only familiar she had in the club was Martin. He was one of the three doormen, who also worked at the trance club near her house. They spoke throughout the night through a system of looks and hand signals that would impress even a deaf person. It was almost the only real conversation she had all night. She always setup the bar with her walkman on loud trying to mask the irritating pop music that the dj would play just before opening.

And so it begins.

It's a meat market frenzy. Women ogling over way too eager guys for free drinks, companionship or just a little non-obligatory attention. The guys on the other hand, are looking to score. Don't they see it in the dark pupils of their bloodshot eyes? you buy that girl one more drink and she just might puke all over you and your eighty dollar shirt.

She glimpses him in the mirror behind the bar.

now what's a nice dark boy like that doing in this zoo? must be lost. maybe he will realize it. new to town, must be.

An hour passes. The stranger never shows up at the bar.

so much for being cordial, she thought. Standard policy is, you see a freak like yourself and acknowledge them in some sort of fashion. Particularly in places where you are the minority. comradery it's called..

It's been an hour since she'd seen him float through the crowd of shiny happy people dressed in a greyish black fitted shirt , leather pants, covered with a black woolen coat. Reaching into the ice bin, she glances a dark figure approaching the bar on her side. Trey, the other bartender walks over to him to help him. The man declines with a mere nod. Josie continues with her drink order trying incessantly not to stare in his direction. too late. As soon as he thought she was going to look up, he set his stare in such as way that she would have to catch his eye, whether she wanted to or not. And they did. She felt strange, as if he looked right through her. As if he could see times, like when, she and her friend Tiff would practice making out with each other at sleepovers. Or when she stole candy bars from the newsstand at the airport.

Before she had a chance to look away, some bimbo clear on the other side of the bar is waving her arms at her annoyingly. Watching her walk away, he notices a slight limp in her step. He wonders if it could be the boots. Knee high, buckles up the front, platforms? Probably a very real symptom of running around serving these overgrown lab rats.

Josie, a slight of a woman, had, an incredibly large aura. Hair the color and density of night with crimson highlights. Yes, dark. Yes, mysterious. Yes, intriguing, he thought.


She poured the icy blue liquid into a tall,slender frosted glass. She allows her eye to wander back over to the stranger. He looks rather amused by his surroundings although, never quite notices the women behind him stunned by his everything. Finishing up her drink, she makes her way back, grabs a drink card.

"Far from home aren't you?"

He grins. "Like you're all tucked into bed here."

She smiles back, slamming a giant shot glass onto the top of the
bar. Ignoring the guy to her left screaming something about a vodka martini, she grabs a bottle from under the bar. Looking towards him for some sign of approval. He nods. She pours. Returning to him with a metal shaker, she pours the red liquor into the glass before him. He looks as if to ask her what damage he may be about to inflict upon himself. She turns the drink card over, circling the last listing:

Josie's Special - Dragon's Blood

He nods emphatically, taking the entire shot in one gulp. The stranger's green eyes glaze over instantly. She wanders off behind the bar.

In the two years she has worked here, she never peeped a single person as he. He was just that kind of dark that almost blends into the background without standing out too much but, in the same instance always stands out. Very subtle in his darkness. She was kind of excited. feverish. time for a cigarette. He sees her reach for her pack of cigarettes. He then takes his hand into his coat pocket to find a heavy pewter lighter with a red dragon monogrammed on the back. He looks down and smiles.

The sticky, hot film attached to her skin begins to disappear as she gets closer to the rear exit. The cool air dances over her body as she stands at the doorway of the deck.

"I followed you . I was on the train with you." he confessed.

"Huh?"

"You were wondering how I got here. Or even why I am still here."

Looking perplexed a bit, Josie responds without thought, "Was I? What if I was just wondering who the freak in the overcoat was? "
"And if you were just remember birds of a feather... "

Josie takes a long drag off her cigarette perched between her lips, thinking of what to say to the man. He makes her eyes dart. That hadn't happened in a long while now. wow. The conversation went on a little longer than expected and Josie found herself having to return to the bar in quite a hurry.

Soon as her shift was over, she slipped out of the club without seeing even Martin.

.... end of excerpt

day six: taking yule back

so, it's day six and here's new information i have learned with my quest of taking back yule from the masses of gentiles and wanna bees.
dogs, specially little lap dogs don't what to do when they see the shadow of me coming. very funny. and little dogs sitting inside cars that look like miniature red foxes just bark like all get down when they see me.
litle kids..... 50% are scared ... YAYYYYYYYYYYYY ! and the others are facinated and wanna talk to me.
people in general are strange, some just get a great laugh and that's good, some don't know what to do so they stare...like i don't know i have antlers attached to my head .....and some get so caught of guard they crack up. the last bit of 'em wanna wish me merry christmas and all or say how i'm all ready for christmas and such. there's where i draw the line and throw the gaunlet down. " i don't celebrate christmas. "

if i really wanted to go there i could change my line to:
" i don't celebrate the fraud that is christmas "

...oooooh i like that. it'll get'em thinking.
so far, i haven't tired of wearing them BUT, i am starting to get a headache from wearing them. although i'm toying witht the idea of wearing them the first week of school next quarter.... my students already think i'm a raver ( HOW LITTLE attention they pay ) with the pieces of antler ripped off and a jack daniels bottle hanging on the horn.

taking back yule for all my pagan friends

email post

so i decided to spice up my dreadful holiday ritual of grading numerous projects before i leave to go down south by
'going christmas'. yesterday before going to a holiday party i'd walked into walgreens for the purpose of buying some of
those OBNOXIOUS headband with reindeer antlers. and i got some. no, not just some but the ones with the ribbon on 'em
and the blinking lights. when i got to the party yesterday me and my other reindeers friends did a little duel and it was then i
realized that these can come in very handy if you're having a pissed off day. so this morning before leaving work i put the antlers
in my bag thinking that they might just come in handy this last week of school at some point in the day. and by god they did....
before leaving work to go to our holiday party i put them on and all my student drama melted away.
interesting thing i noticed :
when people see you the do weird things like smile at you and their all nice. would they if i didn't have the rudolph thing goin on?
( ps. when people assume i'm rudolph i tell them no, blintzen here. )
and when you look at my shadow it looks like a cross between medusa and the green man. it's kinna cool. i think the dreadlocks
make the silhouette look more zoomorphic.
maybe tommorrow i will take a foto.

i put a spell on you

I put a spell on you
Because you're mine

Stop the things you do
WHOAHUH - what's up?
I ain't lyin'
Yeaaah, I can't stand - HOO!
No runnin' around
I can't stand
No put me down
I put a spell on you
Because you're mine
WHOAHAA - yeah!
WOAH!

[saxophone solo]

Stop the things you do
WHOAHUH - what's up?
I ain't lyin'
AAHH!! AAH! I love you
I love you
I love you anyhow
I don't care if you don't want me
I'm yours right now
I put a spell on you
Because you're mine, mine
Mine!!! AAH WHOAHH HUH

first christian rockers then christian rappers NOW christian goths.....

- email post -

now, does this make any sense???????????????

-posting
" I am Octuber. I live out in the midle of nowhere on a farm. My favorite books are the series by Stephine Meyer and Lynn Ewing. I am a christian goth. I am active in sports and school work. I live with my parents and younger sister. "

what the fuck is a christian GOTH ??????????????!!!

i have no words.

some people are just bored in their lives.
christian goth.

--
- n g a t i -

pride and prejudice

going down south for christmas....
can't wait to piss off all my ultra-christian relatives and their friends. it never fails that someone will ask me, "where do you worship" and my only reply is "what? i don't go to church." and i wait for a comeback from them. usually i don't get one but once in a while somebody's fool enough to ask me why AND I LET'EM HAVE IT. it's sooooooooooooooooo much fun.
how is it christians are harder to offend than pagans???