It all starts with the I-word.
I am tired.
I am depressed.
I am hungry.
I want to go skateboarding.
The I is always wanting,
Always needing.
I want to be comforted,
I want to be nourished,
I need gratification right now!
There is always something,
The I is never at rest,
The I is never satisfied.
I need to sleep,
I need to eat,
I need to do something . . .
How do I shut out the I?
How do I ignore the I?
I am going to ignore the I.
I against I.
I need I to shut up,
I need to live I-less,
No more demands from I.
Cross out the I’s.
Drown out the I’s.
And just be.
And just live.
And just . . .
11.26.2006
11.25.2006
mantra addict
the voice that i hear is a pain in more ways than one. it tells me i'm not good enough, I'm not worthy of whatever . . . it's not just pessimistic--it's fatalistic.
the voice says that there is no point to any of this (buddhism/skateborading/life--anything) and that i should just give up. on my bad days i allow this voice to paralyze me-- or i try to run away from it.
on my good days i don't care what the voice says. i live. i don't judge. i just do. not sure what to make of all of this, but i've been trying to be more positive in my outlook.
remember the last line from the Suicidal Tendencies song, "Institutionalized"? i liked it because it was silly, stupid, and so over the top--"it doesn't matter, i'll probably just get hit by a car anyway."
the problem is, that is the way that i have been living my life. that is the mantra that i repeat to myself day-in-day-out.
i need a new mantra. i never liked mantras much, i always viewed them as being tools for the weak. well guess what? i am weak. i need to admit that. over the years i have used various mantras-- it was just something i did almost subconciously. if i was chasing after a girl, her name would just repeat in my mind. after each of my children were born, their name would be utmost in my conciousness.
i need more positivity, need to have more "happy thoughts" like the Saturday Night Live skit. if nothing else, i need to end the stream of negativity that flows through my conciousness each and everyday.
the voice says that there is no point to any of this (buddhism/skateborading/life--anything) and that i should just give up. on my bad days i allow this voice to paralyze me-- or i try to run away from it.
on my good days i don't care what the voice says. i live. i don't judge. i just do. not sure what to make of all of this, but i've been trying to be more positive in my outlook.
remember the last line from the Suicidal Tendencies song, "Institutionalized"? i liked it because it was silly, stupid, and so over the top--"it doesn't matter, i'll probably just get hit by a car anyway."
the problem is, that is the way that i have been living my life. that is the mantra that i repeat to myself day-in-day-out.
i need a new mantra. i never liked mantras much, i always viewed them as being tools for the weak. well guess what? i am weak. i need to admit that. over the years i have used various mantras-- it was just something i did almost subconciously. if i was chasing after a girl, her name would just repeat in my mind. after each of my children were born, their name would be utmost in my conciousness.
i need more positivity, need to have more "happy thoughts" like the Saturday Night Live skit. if nothing else, i need to end the stream of negativity that flows through my conciousness each and everyday.
11.23.2006
spoke too soon
Depression stalking me as I pretend otherwise,
Spoke too soon spoke too often,
Always talking but saying nothing.
Promises made left unfulfilled,
Like the pile of leaves rotting in the yard,
Never quite made it to the curb.
Saying what should not be said,
Not saying what needs to be,
Going along resentfully resigned.
Thought I had learned from my mistakes,
I keep making new ones,
Another day another disaster.
Ruthie talking about her daughter in the kitchen,
Living on fish sticks and cheese burgers,
I ate ravioli and drank Faygo.
Either or reminds me of the blackest times,
I never mix the two together since,
Lest I unleash long buried demons.
Trying to forge a new path,
Asking for others to come along,
Journeying to cleanse myself.
Plans I make falling apart already,
Just wanted to do something positive,
Something out of the norm.
Jumpstart my new life,
Leaving behind the sordid ugliness,
Reaching for something uncomplicated.
My calls go unanswered,
My messages not returned,
And so it goes and so I shall still go.
Tired and sickened by the toxic youth,
But not a youth anymore,
Will choose something new.
What and who am I,
What do I want to be,
Within reason, within reach.
I wanna be free like Marley said,
Free from roadblocks along my way,
But there is no outer protagonist.
There is no policeman threatening,
Asking me for my documents,
There is only me.
Blocking my own way,
Tripping myself up,
Not willing to believe.
Sorry about the bombast,
Sick little puppy,
Striving to get well. . .
Spoke too soon spoke too often,
Always talking but saying nothing.
Promises made left unfulfilled,
Like the pile of leaves rotting in the yard,
Never quite made it to the curb.
Saying what should not be said,
Not saying what needs to be,
Going along resentfully resigned.
Thought I had learned from my mistakes,
I keep making new ones,
Another day another disaster.
Ruthie talking about her daughter in the kitchen,
Living on fish sticks and cheese burgers,
I ate ravioli and drank Faygo.
Either or reminds me of the blackest times,
I never mix the two together since,
Lest I unleash long buried demons.
Trying to forge a new path,
Asking for others to come along,
Journeying to cleanse myself.
Plans I make falling apart already,
Just wanted to do something positive,
Something out of the norm.
Jumpstart my new life,
Leaving behind the sordid ugliness,
Reaching for something uncomplicated.
My calls go unanswered,
My messages not returned,
And so it goes and so I shall still go.
Tired and sickened by the toxic youth,
But not a youth anymore,
Will choose something new.
What and who am I,
What do I want to be,
Within reason, within reach.
I wanna be free like Marley said,
Free from roadblocks along my way,
But there is no outer protagonist.
There is no policeman threatening,
Asking me for my documents,
There is only me.
Blocking my own way,
Tripping myself up,
Not willing to believe.
Sorry about the bombast,
Sick little puppy,
Striving to get well. . .
thanks-giving
Knee feels loosely slipping pain shoots down leg,
Foot pain back at the heel instep fiery as I walk.
Left knee pain now right knee kicks in,
Small of back left shoulder aches sorely.
Chicken shite still didn’t drop in—
Six feet? Five feet? Four feet? Seems like ten.
Coping kicks out two, three inches,
Then the tranny-no vert, not really.
Four feet probably, why can’t I drop in,
Three feet no big deal-extra foot foils every time.
It’s just mental that I know-can’t let go,
Biting concrete-hip, back, exposed parts cringe.
Three slams today nothing too bad,
Front-side carve into corner taken too fast.
Tried going fakie in the bowl,
Carving back-side lost control.
First slam felt like nothing at all,
Padded and bucketed for safety’s sake.
Several other close calls near disasters,
Doing wheelies coming off pyramids.
Two-hour session about my limit,
Two shirts drenched with sweat.
Gave the groms something to laugh at,
Wearing pads over my khakis padded to the gills.
Still too chicken to drop in at four feet,
Not five, not six, certainly not ten.
Only four feet and it beats me again,
Didn’t even try maybe it’s nothing.
Only one way to find out,
Gotta let it all go and ride that sucker.
Hitting the walls backside frontside carves,
Barely on the board flirting with disaster.
Nearly hit the coping on one of the runs,
Came off the wall semi-wheelied.
Back of the knee bottom of the hamstring,
Pain shoots down to heel only hurts when I stand.
Foot pain back at the heel instep fiery as I walk.
Left knee pain now right knee kicks in,
Small of back left shoulder aches sorely.
Chicken shite still didn’t drop in—
Six feet? Five feet? Four feet? Seems like ten.
Coping kicks out two, three inches,
Then the tranny-no vert, not really.
Four feet probably, why can’t I drop in,
Three feet no big deal-extra foot foils every time.
It’s just mental that I know-can’t let go,
Biting concrete-hip, back, exposed parts cringe.
Three slams today nothing too bad,
Front-side carve into corner taken too fast.
Tried going fakie in the bowl,
Carving back-side lost control.
First slam felt like nothing at all,
Padded and bucketed for safety’s sake.
Several other close calls near disasters,
Doing wheelies coming off pyramids.
Two-hour session about my limit,
Two shirts drenched with sweat.
Gave the groms something to laugh at,
Wearing pads over my khakis padded to the gills.
Still too chicken to drop in at four feet,
Not five, not six, certainly not ten.
Only four feet and it beats me again,
Didn’t even try maybe it’s nothing.
Only one way to find out,
Gotta let it all go and ride that sucker.
Hitting the walls backside frontside carves,
Barely on the board flirting with disaster.
Nearly hit the coping on one of the runs,
Came off the wall semi-wheelied.
Back of the knee bottom of the hamstring,
Pain shoots down to heel only hurts when I stand.
recite the lyrics
Thinking about the way art affects us
Changing the colors and the fonts
Does art imitate life or is life set free
Or does it just create new needs and wants?
Looked at the same screen different layout
Different but yet the same somehow,
What is the product what is the meaning
Same questions then as there are now.
Too caught up in the visual, the scene,
Medium is the message instant contact,
Instant dissatisfaction only keystrokes away,
Life is the same what is it that I lacked?
Artists rendering creating with every brushstroke,
Breaks free from the mundane illuminates the everyday,
What was once simple and plain
Sets us free and we are rendered sane.
A new vision of the same old thing,
Recrafted, redrafted instantly rearranged,
Something comes from nothing,
And nothing springs outta something.
The images are in our minds and our souls,
A new day is dawning, the world ever changing,
We are creating all of this as we go,
Sometimes, some days the way is slow.
Something magical and special about creating
Whether its art, music, writing,
Seems like it refuels our spirits,
Music for our souls, recite the lyrics.
Changing the colors and the fonts
Does art imitate life or is life set free
Or does it just create new needs and wants?
Looked at the same screen different layout
Different but yet the same somehow,
What is the product what is the meaning
Same questions then as there are now.
Too caught up in the visual, the scene,
Medium is the message instant contact,
Instant dissatisfaction only keystrokes away,
Life is the same what is it that I lacked?
Artists rendering creating with every brushstroke,
Breaks free from the mundane illuminates the everyday,
What was once simple and plain
Sets us free and we are rendered sane.
A new vision of the same old thing,
Recrafted, redrafted instantly rearranged,
Something comes from nothing,
And nothing springs outta something.
The images are in our minds and our souls,
A new day is dawning, the world ever changing,
We are creating all of this as we go,
Sometimes, some days the way is slow.
Something magical and special about creating
Whether its art, music, writing,
Seems like it refuels our spirits,
Music for our souls, recite the lyrics.
odaawaakwe
Udāwā‘kwäg.
Odaawaakwe.
Ottawa-Woman.
from Ojibwa Texts collected by William Jones (1919).
The first entry is the phonetic pronunciation, followed by the Odwaawaa spelling and lastly is the English translation. Odaawaa/Ojibwe/Potawatomi are beautiful languages and I'm including this in my blog to share with anyone. The three languages are closely related, but pronunciation and specific words can be very different depending on where the speaker is from. This group of languages is spoken on reservations from Ontario to Minnesota and north to Manitoba.
Ningudingsa kīnwän kī·a·i·ndā udāwā‘kwä, niji‘käwizi. Kāwīn ininiwạn udayāwāsīn ạnōdc kägō udōji‘tōn, a’picimunạn ka‘kina gägōn ka·i·jitcigäwād i‘kwäwạg, mạckimudạn kayä; mī ·i·’u äniwä‘k kāwin ā‘pidci kạckändạnzi nicikäwizit. Apa‘kwaiyạn gayä udōj·i·ān pạ‘kibōdcigä.
Ningoding sa giiwen' gii-ayindaa odaawaakwe, nizhikewizi. Gaawiin ininiwan odayaawaasiin anooj gegoo odoozhitoon, apishimonan gakina gegoon gaa-izhichigewaad ikwewag, mashkimodan gaye; mii iw eniweg gaawiin aapiji gashkendanzii nizhikewizid. Apakwayan gaye odoozhi'aan bakiboojige.
Now, once on a time, it is said, there was an Ottawa-Woman; she was alone. She did not have a husband, yet various things she made, - mats and all the things that women are wont to make, likewise bags; for that very reason was she not so very sad that she was alone. Reed mats she also made, and she spun twine.
Ningudingdạc ugi‘kändān abinōdcīyạn ayāwāt wīyawing. A‘pī ·i·dạc cayīgwa wānīgi·ā·wạsut, pînäwạn nî‘tạm kīnīgiwạn ga‘kina tạc ạnōdc päbāmisätcig ändạswäwānagiziwāt - pînäwạg ga‘kina gayä pinäsiwạg. Mīwạni’u kānīgi·ā·t ga‘kina ogī·a·ninạgạnigō, mīyä‘ta pînäwạn, kāwin ugīnạgạniguzīn. ‘Aga’u bînä gī‘kito: “Kāwīn nīn wī‘kā ninganạgạnāsī waga’u kigạnān; a‘pạnägu mōnjạg pä’cu ningạtayā tibitci·a·yāgwän kigạnān.”
Ningoding dash ogikendaan abinoojiiyan odayaawaad wiiyawing. Apii dash zhayiigwa waa-niigi'aawasod, binewan nitam gii-niigiwaan gakina dash anooj bebaamisejig endaswewaanagiziwaad - binewag gaye binesiwag. Miiw aniw gii-niigi'aad gakina ogii-ani-naganigoo, miiy eta binewan, gaawiin ogii-naganigoosiin. A'aw bine gii-kido: "Gaawiin niin wiikaa ninga-naganaasii wa'aw giganaan; apane go moozhag besho ningad-ayaa dibi ji-ayaagwen giganaan.
Now, once she felt that there was a babe within herself. And when the time came for her to be delivered, there was born first of all a ruffed grouse, and then all the various creatures of the air, as many as there were, - ruffed grouse and all the birds. Now, by all those to whom she had given birth was she forsaken as fast as they came, save only by the ruffed grouse, by it was she not abandoned, The Ruffed Grouse spoke, saying: "Never will I leave this mpther of ours; for always will I be near by, no matter at what place our mother may continue."
Mīdạc ‘igi’u ā‘pidci wändciwângawizit ‘aga’u pînä.
Mii dash i'iw aapiji wenji-waangawizid a'aw bine.
Such is the reason why so very gentle a ruffed grouse is.
Minawā ninguding ugi‘kändān abinōdcīyạn ayāwāt. A‘pī ·i·dạc minawā wädcidcisänig tcînīgi·ā·wạsut, minawā ugīnigi·ā·n ga‘kina ändaswäwānạgisinit awänsīyạn. Mīgō·i·’u mīnawā kā ·ạ·nījinạgạnigut ka‘kina, mīyä‘ta wâbōsōn, kāwīn uginạgạnigusīn. Kī ·i·‘kitō ‘aga’u wâbōs: “Kāwīn wī‘kā nīn ningạngạnāsī waga’u kigạnān,” kī·i·‘kidō. “Mī·o·mān pạnä tcînạmạdabiyān”.
Miinawaa ningoding ogikendaan abinoojiiyan ayaawaad. Apii dash miinawaa wejijisenig ji-niigi'aawasod, miinawaa ogii-niigi'aan gakina endaswewaanagizinid awesiiyan. Mii go iw miinawaa gaa-ani-izhinaganigod gakina, miiy eta waaboozoon, gaawiin ogi--naganigoosiin. Gii-ikido a'aw waabooz: "Gaawiin wiikaa niin ninga-naganaasii wa'aw giganaan," gii-ikido. "Mii omaa pane ji-namadabiyaan."
Another time she felt that she was with child. And when the time was come again for her to be delivered, again she gave birth to all the game-folk, as many as there were. Now, by them all, too, was she forsaken as fast as they came, save only by the hare, she was not deserted by it. Said the Hare: "Never will I leave this mother of ours," he said. "Here in this place will I always sit."
Ạsîn idạc wâbōzunk ijināguzitug; mī·i·’u äjini’kādägwän ī·i·mān wâbōs nạmạdabit. Mōnjạg īgi’u anicinābäeg ugītîbādotānāwa ‘igi’u wâbōs nạmạdabit ijini‘kātäg. Mī·i·dạc ‘aga’u wâbōs mōnjạg wändcipimādisiwād anicinābäeg; usāgi·ā·n īni’u ugīn, ‘aga’u wâbōs.
Asin idash waaboozoong izhinaagozidog; mii iw ezhinikaadegwen i'imaa waabooz namadabid. Moozhag igiw anishinaabeg ogii-dibaadodaanaawaa i'iw waabooz namadabid izhinikaadeg. Mii idash a'aw waabooz moozhag wenji-bimaadiziwaad anishinaabeg; ozaagi'aan iniw ogiin, a'aw waabooz.
There was a rock, probably in the likeness of a hare; accordingly it may have been called by the name of A-Hare-that-is-seated-here. Always have tje people referred to what was called The-hare-that-is-seated. Therefore such is why the hare is always around where dwell the people; he loved his mother, the hare (did).
Mīdạc mīnawā kī·a·i·ndāt ‘aga’u udāwā‘kwä. Ninguding mīnawā ugi‘kändān ayāwāt abinōndcīyan. A‘pī mīnawā nāgi·ā·wạsut kīngōnyag ugīnīgi·ā·g, ga‘kinagu ändaswäwānạgisiwād kīngōnyag.
Mii dash miinawaa gii-ayindad a'aw odaawaakwe. Ningoding miinawaa ogikendaan ayaawaad abinoojiiyan. Apii miinawaa naagi'aawasod giigoonya' ogii-niigi'aa', gakina go endaswewaanagiziwaad giigoonyag.
And so there continued Ottawa-Woman. Another time she felt that she was with child. When the time was come for her to be delivered, to fishes gave she birth, to all kinds of fishes, as many as there were.
Mīgu menawā gakina gī·a·ninạgạnigut unīdcānisag mīyä‘ta ạdi‘kamägwạn kāwīn ugīnạgạnigusīn. Mī·i·’u kā·i·‘kitot ‘aga’u adi‘kamäg: “Kāwīn nīn wī‘kā ninganạgạnāsī ‘aga’u kîgạnān. Ka‘kina miziwä a‘kīng tîbisāga·i·gạn tcî·a·yāgwän, pō‘tcîmān ningạtayā,” kī·i·’kidō.
Mii go miinawaa gakina gii-ani'naganigod oniijaanisa', miiy eta adikamegwan, gaawiin ogii-naganigoosiin. Mii iw gaa-ikidod a'aw adikameg: "Gaawiin niin wiikaa ninga-naganaasii a'aw giganaan. Gakina miziwe akiing dibi zaaga'igan ji-ayaagwen, boozh imaa ningad-ayaa," gii-ikido.
So again by all her children was she forsaken as fast as they came, save only by the whitefish, she was not left by it. For this was what Whitefish said: "Never will I leave this mother of ours. In every place upon earth wherever a lake may be, even there will I be," he said.
Mīdạc iu kaega‘t äjiwäbạ‘k, miziwa ayāwāt kīngōnyạg ka‘kinagu sāga·i·gạnīng kīngōni‘kāwạn. Mīdạc minawā ạnōdc kägō inạnu‘kīgubạnän. ‘Aga’u odāwā‘kwä änāwindubạnän ku‘kumisinān.
Mii dash geget ezhiwebak, miziwe ayaawaad giigoonyag gakina go zaaga'iganing giigoonyikaawan. Mii dash miinawaa anooj gegoo inanokiigobanen. A'aw odaawaakwe enaawindobanen gokoomisinaan.
And that, sure enough, has come to pass, everywhere are there fishes, and in all the lakes are there fishes. Thereupon she took up her work again, making all sorts of things. Ottawa-Woman was the name that our grandmother was called.
Ānīc mī ä‘kosit.
Aaniish mii ekoozid.
Well, that is as far as (the story) goes.
Odaawaakwe.
Ottawa-Woman.
from Ojibwa Texts collected by William Jones (1919).
The first entry is the phonetic pronunciation, followed by the Odwaawaa spelling and lastly is the English translation. Odaawaa/Ojibwe/Potawatomi are beautiful languages and I'm including this in my blog to share with anyone. The three languages are closely related, but pronunciation and specific words can be very different depending on where the speaker is from. This group of languages is spoken on reservations from Ontario to Minnesota and north to Manitoba.
Ningudingsa kīnwän kī·a·i·ndā udāwā‘kwä, niji‘käwizi. Kāwīn ininiwạn udayāwāsīn ạnōdc kägō udōji‘tōn, a’picimunạn ka‘kina gägōn ka·i·jitcigäwād i‘kwäwạg, mạckimudạn kayä; mī ·i·’u äniwä‘k kāwin ā‘pidci kạckändạnzi nicikäwizit. Apa‘kwaiyạn gayä udōj·i·ān pạ‘kibōdcigä.
Ningoding sa giiwen' gii-ayindaa odaawaakwe, nizhikewizi. Gaawiin ininiwan odayaawaasiin anooj gegoo odoozhitoon, apishimonan gakina gegoon gaa-izhichigewaad ikwewag, mashkimodan gaye; mii iw eniweg gaawiin aapiji gashkendanzii nizhikewizid. Apakwayan gaye odoozhi'aan bakiboojige.
Now, once on a time, it is said, there was an Ottawa-Woman; she was alone. She did not have a husband, yet various things she made, - mats and all the things that women are wont to make, likewise bags; for that very reason was she not so very sad that she was alone. Reed mats she also made, and she spun twine.
Ningudingdạc ugi‘kändān abinōdcīyạn ayāwāt wīyawing. A‘pī ·i·dạc cayīgwa wānīgi·ā·wạsut, pînäwạn nî‘tạm kīnīgiwạn ga‘kina tạc ạnōdc päbāmisätcig ändạswäwānagiziwāt - pînäwạg ga‘kina gayä pinäsiwạg. Mīwạni’u kānīgi·ā·t ga‘kina ogī·a·ninạgạnigō, mīyä‘ta pînäwạn, kāwin ugīnạgạniguzīn. ‘Aga’u bînä gī‘kito: “Kāwīn nīn wī‘kā ninganạgạnāsī waga’u kigạnān; a‘pạnägu mōnjạg pä’cu ningạtayā tibitci·a·yāgwän kigạnān.”
Ningoding dash ogikendaan abinoojiiyan odayaawaad wiiyawing. Apii dash zhayiigwa waa-niigi'aawasod, binewan nitam gii-niigiwaan gakina dash anooj bebaamisejig endaswewaanagiziwaad - binewag gaye binesiwag. Miiw aniw gii-niigi'aad gakina ogii-ani-naganigoo, miiy eta binewan, gaawiin ogii-naganigoosiin. A'aw bine gii-kido: "Gaawiin niin wiikaa ninga-naganaasii wa'aw giganaan; apane go moozhag besho ningad-ayaa dibi ji-ayaagwen giganaan.
Now, once she felt that there was a babe within herself. And when the time came for her to be delivered, there was born first of all a ruffed grouse, and then all the various creatures of the air, as many as there were, - ruffed grouse and all the birds. Now, by all those to whom she had given birth was she forsaken as fast as they came, save only by the ruffed grouse, by it was she not abandoned, The Ruffed Grouse spoke, saying: "Never will I leave this mpther of ours; for always will I be near by, no matter at what place our mother may continue."
Mīdạc ‘igi’u ā‘pidci wändciwângawizit ‘aga’u pînä.
Mii dash i'iw aapiji wenji-waangawizid a'aw bine.
Such is the reason why so very gentle a ruffed grouse is.
Minawā ninguding ugi‘kändān abinōdcīyạn ayāwāt. A‘pī ·i·dạc minawā wädcidcisänig tcînīgi·ā·wạsut, minawā ugīnigi·ā·n ga‘kina ändaswäwānạgisinit awänsīyạn. Mīgō·i·’u mīnawā kā ·ạ·nījinạgạnigut ka‘kina, mīyä‘ta wâbōsōn, kāwīn uginạgạnigusīn. Kī ·i·‘kitō ‘aga’u wâbōs: “Kāwīn wī‘kā nīn ningạngạnāsī waga’u kigạnān,” kī·i·‘kidō. “Mī·o·mān pạnä tcînạmạdabiyān”.
Miinawaa ningoding ogikendaan abinoojiiyan ayaawaad. Apii dash miinawaa wejijisenig ji-niigi'aawasod, miinawaa ogii-niigi'aan gakina endaswewaanagizinid awesiiyan. Mii go iw miinawaa gaa-ani-izhinaganigod gakina, miiy eta waaboozoon, gaawiin ogi--naganigoosiin. Gii-ikido a'aw waabooz: "Gaawiin wiikaa niin ninga-naganaasii wa'aw giganaan," gii-ikido. "Mii omaa pane ji-namadabiyaan."
Another time she felt that she was with child. And when the time was come again for her to be delivered, again she gave birth to all the game-folk, as many as there were. Now, by them all, too, was she forsaken as fast as they came, save only by the hare, she was not deserted by it. Said the Hare: "Never will I leave this mother of ours," he said. "Here in this place will I always sit."
Ạsîn idạc wâbōzunk ijināguzitug; mī·i·’u äjini’kādägwän ī·i·mān wâbōs nạmạdabit. Mōnjạg īgi’u anicinābäeg ugītîbādotānāwa ‘igi’u wâbōs nạmạdabit ijini‘kātäg. Mī·i·dạc ‘aga’u wâbōs mōnjạg wändcipimādisiwād anicinābäeg; usāgi·ā·n īni’u ugīn, ‘aga’u wâbōs.
Asin idash waaboozoong izhinaagozidog; mii iw ezhinikaadegwen i'imaa waabooz namadabid. Moozhag igiw anishinaabeg ogii-dibaadodaanaawaa i'iw waabooz namadabid izhinikaadeg. Mii idash a'aw waabooz moozhag wenji-bimaadiziwaad anishinaabeg; ozaagi'aan iniw ogiin, a'aw waabooz.
There was a rock, probably in the likeness of a hare; accordingly it may have been called by the name of A-Hare-that-is-seated-here. Always have tje people referred to what was called The-hare-that-is-seated. Therefore such is why the hare is always around where dwell the people; he loved his mother, the hare (did).
Mīdạc mīnawā kī·a·i·ndāt ‘aga’u udāwā‘kwä. Ninguding mīnawā ugi‘kändān ayāwāt abinōndcīyan. A‘pī mīnawā nāgi·ā·wạsut kīngōnyag ugīnīgi·ā·g, ga‘kinagu ändaswäwānạgisiwād kīngōnyag.
Mii dash miinawaa gii-ayindad a'aw odaawaakwe. Ningoding miinawaa ogikendaan ayaawaad abinoojiiyan. Apii miinawaa naagi'aawasod giigoonya' ogii-niigi'aa', gakina go endaswewaanagiziwaad giigoonyag.
And so there continued Ottawa-Woman. Another time she felt that she was with child. When the time was come for her to be delivered, to fishes gave she birth, to all kinds of fishes, as many as there were.
Mīgu menawā gakina gī·a·ninạgạnigut unīdcānisag mīyä‘ta ạdi‘kamägwạn kāwīn ugīnạgạnigusīn. Mī·i·’u kā·i·‘kitot ‘aga’u adi‘kamäg: “Kāwīn nīn wī‘kā ninganạgạnāsī ‘aga’u kîgạnān. Ka‘kina miziwä a‘kīng tîbisāga·i·gạn tcî·a·yāgwän, pō‘tcîmān ningạtayā,” kī·i·’kidō.
Mii go miinawaa gakina gii-ani'naganigod oniijaanisa', miiy eta adikamegwan, gaawiin ogii-naganigoosiin. Mii iw gaa-ikidod a'aw adikameg: "Gaawiin niin wiikaa ninga-naganaasii a'aw giganaan. Gakina miziwe akiing dibi zaaga'igan ji-ayaagwen, boozh imaa ningad-ayaa," gii-ikido.
So again by all her children was she forsaken as fast as they came, save only by the whitefish, she was not left by it. For this was what Whitefish said: "Never will I leave this mother of ours. In every place upon earth wherever a lake may be, even there will I be," he said.
Mīdạc iu kaega‘t äjiwäbạ‘k, miziwa ayāwāt kīngōnyạg ka‘kinagu sāga·i·gạnīng kīngōni‘kāwạn. Mīdạc minawā ạnōdc kägō inạnu‘kīgubạnän. ‘Aga’u odāwā‘kwä änāwindubạnän ku‘kumisinān.
Mii dash geget ezhiwebak, miziwe ayaawaad giigoonyag gakina go zaaga'iganing giigoonyikaawan. Mii dash miinawaa anooj gegoo inanokiigobanen. A'aw odaawaakwe enaawindobanen gokoomisinaan.
And that, sure enough, has come to pass, everywhere are there fishes, and in all the lakes are there fishes. Thereupon she took up her work again, making all sorts of things. Ottawa-Woman was the name that our grandmother was called.
Ānīc mī ä‘kosit.
Aaniish mii ekoozid.
Well, that is as far as (the story) goes.
11.19.2006
artwork by Norval Morriseau
These are a couple examples of Morriseau's work.
The writing on his prints are Cree-- he was born/raised up around Thunder Bay, Ontario so I'm guessing he's Ojibwe/Cree-- Oji/Cree. . . the term "Anishinabe" can be used to reference the Three Fires Tribes (Ojibwe/Odawa/Potawatomi) only or can be expanded to mean all Algonkian-speaking tribes. Algonkian speakers would include tribes on the Atlantic seaboard (Pequots, Algonkins), Great Lakes tribes (Three Fires, Menominee, Kickapoo, Sac/Fox, and even Plains tribes (Cree, Salteaux, Blackfeet).
The writing on his prints are Cree-- he was born/raised up around Thunder Bay, Ontario so I'm guessing he's Ojibwe/Cree-- Oji/Cree. . . the term "Anishinabe" can be used to reference the Three Fires Tribes (Ojibwe/Odawa/Potawatomi) only or can be expanded to mean all Algonkian-speaking tribes. Algonkian speakers would include tribes on the Atlantic seaboard (Pequots, Algonkins), Great Lakes tribes (Three Fires, Menominee, Kickapoo, Sac/Fox, and even Plains tribes (Cree, Salteaux, Blackfeet).
old time hockey
Here's photos of Chris Simon--
I'm not sure exactly how they're related-- third-or-fourth cousins, I think?
He was an enforcer for the teams he's played for-- the Nordiques, The Avalanche, the Capitals, the Flames, the Rangers . . . I think there's one more . . .
He was raised in Wawa, Ontario--just a little ways north of Sault Ste. Marie--his father's reservation is on Manitoulin Island.
I only met him once, at the annual Pow Wow in Wiky--at that time Chris did a summer hockey camp for Native youth, which is really cool in my book. Not enough role models in our community and here was a guy who played professional hockey-- quite a few of his teammates also taught at the camp as well . . .
My wife is from a hockey family-- she and her brothers played hockey, her dad still plays hockey-- most of the cousins on that side played in the minor leagues and played college hockey.
My wife and I think that E is gonna be our hockey player-- we're getting him started on skating lessons soon, but he told us that the ice was "too ICY" and he didn't want to learn to skate. Jess, one of B's cousins said the same thing around the age of three-- told his mom Max that the ice was "too slippery." Jess turned into a pretty good hockey player and a really good kid . . .
Woodlands Art
These were done by Chris Simon's (hockey player for NY Rangers) father--James "Mishibinjima" Simon. The Simons are distant cousins of my wife’s family.
There was a movement spearheaded by Simon and some other artists from Manitoulin Island in the 60's and 70's that utilized "spirit drawings" and recently they've even incorporated pictographs into their art as well . . .
they are meant to represent the spirit world as well as the material . . .
Norval Morriseau was the originator of this school of art, most commonly referred to as the Woodland or Anishinabe School.
A LOT OF THESE WOULD MAKE GREAT TATTOOS . . .
This blurb is about Morriseau:
Hailed as the "Picasso of the North" by the French during an exhibition in Saint-Paul-de-Vence in 1969, Norval Morrisseau may conceivably be the greatest Aboriginal artist ever to have lived. He is a shaman, a storyteller and the inspiration behind one of North America’s most colorful and original art movements, the Woodland or Anishnaabe School of Art.
11.09.2006
avatar
how you like my new avatar? made it myself on Paint--rudimentary program, but what the hey. . . based on a dude i used to draw back in the day that i called "angst" kinda my alter-ego back then-- his hairstyle changes all the time, but still the same old kat-- Tones was my nick back in the day-- really liked the band Tones on Tail--ex-members of Bauhaus minus Peter Murphy ("Cuts You Up"). An in-between gig they did before forming Love and Rockets. . .anyways, thats kinda cool, really easy program to work with. . .
11.03.2006
musical ramblings
I bought the MATISYAHU-Youth cd today . . .
the very first song, "Fire Of Heaven/Altar Of Earth" is AMAZING . . . first time listening to it, I was just blown away . . .
trying to listen to the other tracks, but Track 1 is one for the ages . . .
the lyrical content is real cool, really like that--
I remember when I first starting listening to Bob Marley--
I was pretty anti-religion, but something about his sincerity. . .
his way of conveying his love of Jah, God, the Creator,
impressed me and I let down my guard enough to listen to his message--
there are some other works which are also deeply spiritual--
from Handel's Messiah to church hymns, but Marley was something else . . .
the music and the message aren't separable, it's a part of who he was--
most modern pop figures don't seem to be able to convey that-- or their spirituality is something separate from their music . . .
I don't like so-called "Christian Music" because it doesn't feel organic, they're focused on a specific message but they don't live or embody their beliefs in the way that someone like Marley and Matisyahu seemed to . . .
Most of what I’ve heard of modern religious music tries to be religious first and foremost and the music seems to be an afterthought. We live in very different times than Handel and Bach and the like--we seem removed from our religions and our spiritual core. With Marley and Matisyahu, they are involved with spiritual doctrines that assert the primacy of spirituality in the lives of its followers. Spirituality is an everyday and the music is an extension of it as well.
Perhaps I am only saying that because that is what I’m struggling with, trying to forge some kind of synthesis between the sacred and the profane . . .
i remember the first time i heard Public Enemy, i was totally blown away by the mixes, the lyrics-- it was like discovering punk rock all over again. i've leaned toward rap with heavy lyrical content ever since.
i do like some of the melding of forms tho--
remember Afrikaa Bambattta and Johnny Lydon doing "World Destruction"? that was crazy good.
i grew up around 8 mile, which i hated, the north side was all white and the south side was all black-- not a lot inbetween in my neck of the woods, but not really fitting in i got to experience the best of all worlds.
i listened to motown, listened to hard rock, listened to hip-hop/breakdancing stuff, hardcore and whatever else . . .
Punk Rock will always be my fav, but that's my personal preference.
I like Bach and the Cro-Mags, too.
Been looking for some Kronos Quartet CD's, replacing my Takes a
Nation of Millions . . . cd, need some Fall, got some P-Funk but want some more, dig that choral cd with the Tibetan Monks, and I love the pow wow drumming.
I seen the KODO drummers twice live-- they were really good--man those guys are in shape . . . they did a show in Boston a few years ago . . . after having run the Boston Marathon earlier that day!
I'm not musical at all, but I've always been interested in mixing musical styles-- melding different forms to make something new . . . in some ways, thats why i enjoy hip/hop rap--- you can take a rock guitar riff and use it in a rap song that might also feature African drumming or anything else you want . . .
Jazz/R&B/country/Native drums . . . anything . . .
I'm all about the merging of old forms to create something new . . .
I've always like punk bands that do cover songs--- there's always some gems to be found-- but bands that give their own unique interpretation of a song . . .
I always hated the Carpenters when I was growing up, but hearing Sonic Youth redo "Superstar" was totally amazing-- it made me view the original in a whole different light . . .
I'm listening to Sonic Youth's "Get into the Groove" right now . . . again, a masterful retooling of a song that I could care less about. It's not them redoing it as much as it is them almost deconstructing it . . .
I look at good hip/hop as a deconstruction of the original, a reworking of the original . . .
The Circle Jerks totally skewered so many 70's classics with the album Golden Shower of Hits-- as sung by Keith Morris, the lyrics seemed so ridiculous . . . but i've always liked the sonic crunch of hardcore annihilating some well known pop song.
Chant Down Babylon was produced by several of the Marley kids, with guest vocals-- a hip/hop reworking of the master's classics . . .
some of the songs are quite good-- not better than the master himself,
but a different lens to view them through . . .
they even have Steven Tyler singing on a song—
The reggae cover album of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon was pretty good, really out of context, but thats me being semi-sober for the last few years . . .
i have yet to see The Wall sober, i.e. not dosed-up--
is there really anything comparable to that in hip-hop? maybe i am old and out of touch--
maybe Eminem's flick covers that territory-- semi-autobiographical story about a young person's struggle to make it in the music biz/adult world . . . but is it on par with The Wall?
I thought of Husker Du's Zen Arcade in much the same terms as The Wall, or the Replacements' Tim.
the very first song, "Fire Of Heaven/Altar Of Earth" is AMAZING . . . first time listening to it, I was just blown away . . .
trying to listen to the other tracks, but Track 1 is one for the ages . . .
the lyrical content is real cool, really like that--
I remember when I first starting listening to Bob Marley--
I was pretty anti-religion, but something about his sincerity. . .
his way of conveying his love of Jah, God, the Creator,
impressed me and I let down my guard enough to listen to his message--
there are some other works which are also deeply spiritual--
from Handel's Messiah to church hymns, but Marley was something else . . .
the music and the message aren't separable, it's a part of who he was--
most modern pop figures don't seem to be able to convey that-- or their spirituality is something separate from their music . . .
I don't like so-called "Christian Music" because it doesn't feel organic, they're focused on a specific message but they don't live or embody their beliefs in the way that someone like Marley and Matisyahu seemed to . . .
Most of what I’ve heard of modern religious music tries to be religious first and foremost and the music seems to be an afterthought. We live in very different times than Handel and Bach and the like--we seem removed from our religions and our spiritual core. With Marley and Matisyahu, they are involved with spiritual doctrines that assert the primacy of spirituality in the lives of its followers. Spirituality is an everyday and the music is an extension of it as well.
Perhaps I am only saying that because that is what I’m struggling with, trying to forge some kind of synthesis between the sacred and the profane . . .
i remember the first time i heard Public Enemy, i was totally blown away by the mixes, the lyrics-- it was like discovering punk rock all over again. i've leaned toward rap with heavy lyrical content ever since.
i do like some of the melding of forms tho--
remember Afrikaa Bambattta and Johnny Lydon doing "World Destruction"? that was crazy good.
i grew up around 8 mile, which i hated, the north side was all white and the south side was all black-- not a lot inbetween in my neck of the woods, but not really fitting in i got to experience the best of all worlds.
i listened to motown, listened to hard rock, listened to hip-hop/breakdancing stuff, hardcore and whatever else . . .
Punk Rock will always be my fav, but that's my personal preference.
I like Bach and the Cro-Mags, too.
Been looking for some Kronos Quartet CD's, replacing my Takes a
Nation of Millions . . . cd, need some Fall, got some P-Funk but want some more, dig that choral cd with the Tibetan Monks, and I love the pow wow drumming.
I seen the KODO drummers twice live-- they were really good--man those guys are in shape . . . they did a show in Boston a few years ago . . . after having run the Boston Marathon earlier that day!
I'm not musical at all, but I've always been interested in mixing musical styles-- melding different forms to make something new . . . in some ways, thats why i enjoy hip/hop rap--- you can take a rock guitar riff and use it in a rap song that might also feature African drumming or anything else you want . . .
Jazz/R&B/country/Native drums . . . anything . . .
I'm all about the merging of old forms to create something new . . .
I've always like punk bands that do cover songs--- there's always some gems to be found-- but bands that give their own unique interpretation of a song . . .
I always hated the Carpenters when I was growing up, but hearing Sonic Youth redo "Superstar" was totally amazing-- it made me view the original in a whole different light . . .
I'm listening to Sonic Youth's "Get into the Groove" right now . . . again, a masterful retooling of a song that I could care less about. It's not them redoing it as much as it is them almost deconstructing it . . .
I look at good hip/hop as a deconstruction of the original, a reworking of the original . . .
The Circle Jerks totally skewered so many 70's classics with the album Golden Shower of Hits-- as sung by Keith Morris, the lyrics seemed so ridiculous . . . but i've always liked the sonic crunch of hardcore annihilating some well known pop song.
Chant Down Babylon was produced by several of the Marley kids, with guest vocals-- a hip/hop reworking of the master's classics . . .
some of the songs are quite good-- not better than the master himself,
but a different lens to view them through . . .
they even have Steven Tyler singing on a song—
The reggae cover album of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon was pretty good, really out of context, but thats me being semi-sober for the last few years . . .
i have yet to see The Wall sober, i.e. not dosed-up--
is there really anything comparable to that in hip-hop? maybe i am old and out of touch--
maybe Eminem's flick covers that territory-- semi-autobiographical story about a young person's struggle to make it in the music biz/adult world . . . but is it on par with The Wall?
I thought of Husker Du's Zen Arcade in much the same terms as The Wall, or the Replacements' Tim.
11.01.2006
black asphalt
Gliding down the black asphalt,
Tree-lined street decked out in fall splendor,
Leaves on the curb waiting to be picked up,
Halloween in full effect on this quiet street.
The moon peeks through the leaves,
Lighting our way down the traffic-free avenue,
Trick-or-treaters scrambling from house to house,
Carving never felt so good so pure.
“Skateboarders,” they say as we glide by,
Stating the obvious but its all good tonight,
The neighborhood feels so small so intimate,
We just pushed and kicked ourselves into heaven.
Butter smooth concrete at the parks has me spoiled,
Cracked broken streets and sidewalks avoided,
But here we are sailing along blissfully,
And all this time it was just around the corner.
On our way back I saw an old friend,
We grew up in the same neighborhood,
Back in Detroit back twenty years ago,
Seen him a few times here and there.
Now he snowboards now I skateboard,
Plans made and numbers exchanged,
Twenty years came and went,
But we all forge ahead.
Z and I cruise back home,
He with a bag of goodies,
Me feeling stoked and happy,
Just a short little trip down memory lane.
No one even asked us to do any tricks,
Treats galore greetings and hellos,
Didn’t have to do any bonelesses
Or lame ollies for our bag of booty.
My memories were never as good as this,
Right here right now is what I enjoy,
And the future holds great promise,
Cruising along faster than I could ever run.
The unexpected joys are always the sweetest,
Expecting nothing I stumbled onto something,
Opening to the moment and living,
Not confined physically or mentally.
Gliding on black asphalt carving turning,
Balancing heelside toeside just riding,
Self-propelled self-controlled on these four wheels,
Speeding dizzily down the street past tricks-or-treats.
Tree-lined street decked out in fall splendor,
Leaves on the curb waiting to be picked up,
Halloween in full effect on this quiet street.
The moon peeks through the leaves,
Lighting our way down the traffic-free avenue,
Trick-or-treaters scrambling from house to house,
Carving never felt so good so pure.
“Skateboarders,” they say as we glide by,
Stating the obvious but its all good tonight,
The neighborhood feels so small so intimate,
We just pushed and kicked ourselves into heaven.
Butter smooth concrete at the parks has me spoiled,
Cracked broken streets and sidewalks avoided,
But here we are sailing along blissfully,
And all this time it was just around the corner.
On our way back I saw an old friend,
We grew up in the same neighborhood,
Back in Detroit back twenty years ago,
Seen him a few times here and there.
Now he snowboards now I skateboard,
Plans made and numbers exchanged,
Twenty years came and went,
But we all forge ahead.
Z and I cruise back home,
He with a bag of goodies,
Me feeling stoked and happy,
Just a short little trip down memory lane.
No one even asked us to do any tricks,
Treats galore greetings and hellos,
Didn’t have to do any bonelesses
Or lame ollies for our bag of booty.
My memories were never as good as this,
Right here right now is what I enjoy,
And the future holds great promise,
Cruising along faster than I could ever run.
The unexpected joys are always the sweetest,
Expecting nothing I stumbled onto something,
Opening to the moment and living,
Not confined physically or mentally.
Gliding on black asphalt carving turning,
Balancing heelside toeside just riding,
Self-propelled self-controlled on these four wheels,
Speeding dizzily down the street past tricks-or-treats.
vicious circles
I only told two people,
But then they told two people,
Then they each told two people,
And so on and so on and so on.
I don’t make the news I just report it,
So I said in my own defense,
But that really doesn’t cut it,
Just justification for being an asp.
Who am I to judge someone else,
Who am I to spread gossip true or not,
Just to compensate for my own insecurities,
Patchwork job to cover up my failings.
On and on it goes these cycles of samsara,
Vicious circles of hate and vengeance,
Twisting and turning and destroying,
Whirlwind twisting out of control.
I have to stop this at once,
Make the choice to end this cycle,
Take responsibility for my own karma,
Begin living a righteous life.
The Eightfold Path sounds so easy,
Seems so simple and plain,
But as it happens it is not as it seems,
It is the most difficult path to tread.
The Eightfold Way seems dull and uninteresting,
But interesting will be the downfall of me,
Unless I adhere to sense and caution,
Unless I choose right over wrong.
Right views right words right actions,
Just three of the eight but plenty for me,
Those three alone will take all my effort,
And it begins today and it begins now.
But then they told two people,
Then they each told two people,
And so on and so on and so on.
I don’t make the news I just report it,
So I said in my own defense,
But that really doesn’t cut it,
Just justification for being an asp.
Who am I to judge someone else,
Who am I to spread gossip true or not,
Just to compensate for my own insecurities,
Patchwork job to cover up my failings.
On and on it goes these cycles of samsara,
Vicious circles of hate and vengeance,
Twisting and turning and destroying,
Whirlwind twisting out of control.
I have to stop this at once,
Make the choice to end this cycle,
Take responsibility for my own karma,
Begin living a righteous life.
The Eightfold Path sounds so easy,
Seems so simple and plain,
But as it happens it is not as it seems,
It is the most difficult path to tread.
The Eightfold Way seems dull and uninteresting,
But interesting will be the downfall of me,
Unless I adhere to sense and caution,
Unless I choose right over wrong.
Right views right words right actions,
Just three of the eight but plenty for me,
Those three alone will take all my effort,
And it begins today and it begins now.
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