#decolinization

[afro-guanaco]

Knowing you have Indigenous ancestry that is not from Central Mexico yet naming yourself or vowing to name your kids with Nahuatl names is a big slap to your non-Nahua ancestors.

Promoting Nahuatl names instead of promoting people name themselves/their children from their individual cultures is just another form of Mexican hegemony. 

I am LENCA. 

[healingwithtania]

On this day let us remember and honor those who were the true settlers of what we now call our land. May we forever be grateful for their gifts that they bestowed onto us. May we strive to live as they do, upholding community, care for the planet, tending to our spiritual and physical health and healing. Never forget✨ #decolinize #decolinization #whitesupremacy #indigenous #indigenouspeoplesday #indigenizingcolonizedspaces #indigenouspeople #nationaldayofmourning #nativeamerican #nativeamericanheritagemonth #indigenouspeoples #firstnationspeople #thanksgiving #autumn (at Granada Hills) https://www.instagram.com/p/CIEfJ3shiGB/?igshid=szgky06kiz9q

[agentskyhouse-blog]

you will be taught which side to pick you will be taught by the violence of your peers by the shaming adults pour onto you into you your small frame when your parents are gone by the lies everyone clings so desperately to we will not be taught that no mater the side you pick the lies you agree to and fabricate to save your own skin that you are marked forever Other that you will die slower and more painfully pretending to be anything else

[agentskyhouse-blog]

Librarians at the Pamunkey library were confused about my question of where the "Indigenous or Native American section is". They tried to also tell me there "are no modern indian books". The "section" is about 10 books hidden in the back stacks, along with an equally small section of the effects blacks "had on the old wild west" and African poetry/resistance books. Fuck that. Looks like I'm going to have to make them start ordering shit to this place. Will take suggestions for colored lit kthnx.

[agentskyhouse-blog]

Songs of Betonie

When we protect the earth, we are not only protecting ourselves. We are protecting those that poison it. We know this planet will survive and thrive again after they have destroyed themselves. After most of us are gone. But not all of us. We survive their atrocities everyday. We adapt. We evolve in toxic and unlivable conditions, while they become dependant and too sick to tolerate even the simplest joys. We find ways to grow as they wither. We will go on, after they are gone. We will adapt and survive in the wake they leave. And this is the truth they fear. Why they fight us. Why they destroy themselves. Because they fear their lie, and their mortality. Just as they fear that we always have and always will survive despite them. Without them.

[agentskyhouse-blog]

You snuffle you snort you cough you spit because it's all husk dust at dusk here. Though it's midday. No, morning. Whatever the people call this shit. And then you "ALMS? ALMS FOR THE POOR?" "Whatchoo jus say?" I'm finding that my presentation may be a bit off but this itch at the piercing through my left nipple is jivving me something fierce so I chatter my molars a second to give a release to the parexcellence feeling they call "relief" of all the bladey tips of my metal fingers doing a light scrimble about it. The vapours coming out my mouth after as I lit my head back all jingles jangles precedes a stretch so my spine can pop along back into a proper cordion, and it's by then and only then that I can really turn my attention back to Wicket. But first "I SAYS I SAYS ALMS? FOR THE POOR? OI!" "Yo stargaze whatchoo" "Alms." "Arms?" "Nuh nuh I don think arms but maybe that's righ I mean yeh give, poor tem arms and ten.." "Then?" "Well armed poor sounds like it could right fix up the place. Boot the 5th ave crowd shibbity quick and then you got revamp and recol to decol but Wicket if yeh think about it OI!" "OI YESELF whatcha slappin for I'm just fillin my gid while you yigging on" "Don't do that, Wicket, doin the human thin, Wicket, the ask and divvy off" "But Sky I AM human. I keep tellin" "OI! SHUDDSIT! All yeh with yer interuptions how yah even tell stories in this place? Eh? Nobody minds their fuckin ears." "I heard ya I heard ya revamp and recol and decol.." "Good cause the question comes if tey do that then betcha tey jus gonna turn out the same, non?" "I guess... but what's an alm?" "I dunno. I saws it in a movies once. Maybe alamony."

[agentskyhouse-blog]

The greatest advice no one ever told me in defining my own gender was to never define it. The most relatable stories I never heard were of those that transitioned through genders and never got stuck in their current flavor. The most inspiring tales of heroism were never of how to rise from the constant deaths and violence of old labels, old skins, old wounds, only to die and shed and be wounded again. I have come to come unstuck. I answer to none, not even myself. I am Other despite your hatred. I am you though you can not love this piece of self.

[agentskyhouse-blog]

Altman's foot touched the graying top of the road, cracks roaming freely out from under tar patches and rivulets that came with no discernible age, and were something to focus on as he slowly moved his oxford to the side to stare at it. It let him focus on how much he hated the shoe, and the forced image that came with it, when at his job. Outside of work, things were very different, but here Here the sky was upside down. Or he was upside down. He wasn't quite sure which.

In a house in a town at a distance from here things move forward as they move backward and she knows she knows she knows

His hand remained rested against the door's rolled window, something he was unaware of at first, but also was something to focus on. He was upside down.

The nail on his soft brown thumb rubbing over the rubber that the glass would rise from. Blue dress shirt like dark like wet ash under a very off-black suit, a combination he was fond of.

He was upside down. Why did they send him here? Could he even remember? Suddenly the job was unimportant and lost to the expanse of blue below him, which was still above him in a sense, but slowly he was starting to understand that by looking down he was doing nothing but.

Altman's hand left the car, resting at his side a moment before stepping back and away. The moment of truth was upon him, and he was making a choice to meet it. With every step away from the company car and back "down" the road, the less he could remember the importance of details centered around his job, his life. Instead he descended along the curve, not once feeling a need to look back to the car until he felt his body follow the fullness of the curve that had changed his perspective. And then

In a room in a voice without space or time we feel ourselves hear the song through out and they know they know they know

he looked up.

Up at the car on the road in the sky high above, but did not feel much concern. Once upon a time, he would have. Moments ago. But those moments were also now and they had changed. And he knew this had no been the plan they had for him, they from where he had come. Instead he should have walked that road, some sort of "off into the wilderness" finding self ordeal  that you typically read about. Something to shake him up, and ordeal that may kill him. Even as he thought it, "an ordeal that may kill him", he thought about how he could relate himself to those stories, of sudden great adventures and then closure or comfort, and he couldn't. That was not the stuff of life. Not for Altman.

Instead, the road back, down, in, was new knowledge. He knew the idea of forward wasn't right. Because to move forward one must also have a backward to come from, or even a here to be leaving behind, and everything behind in, further back than he could think of, was a long line or things that did not, and would not add up.

But things were, now. By moving backward along a road traveled. He was changing something, even if it was himself. But he knew the idea of himself too was too small and confined. Once so expressive, he suddenly found the modes of expression he always used did not fit here. But something else would. And he would remember it.