OCCUPY VANCOUVER DAY: 6
Today I spent all of my time at Occupy with my new friend Ricky, who is featured in this picture. Ricky was handing out leaflets with a picture of a girl named Victoria who was killed in a residential (boarding/assimilation) school in 1959, that told the story of her death and the horrors of residential school. Ricky is also first nations and attended a residential school. His brother was killed in his school with 9 shots of a cattle prod to his head. He told me about kids getting their braids cut off and the abuse that went on. He also told me about the disrespect he received when talking to Langara college when telling his life story. I sat and listened to Ricky’s story forever, he at one point started breaking down from the emotions and told me how it was amazing that I stayed to listen to him, I had no idea what to say to him and overwhelmed with emotion I broke into tears as well. He had hitch hiked from Manitoba to British Columbia to stand with the Coast Salish women in their fight for the inquiry into the Pickton trial. We talked for about an hour and he introduced me to his friends he had met since being at Occupy. We hugged goodbye and he was so ecstatic that I asked to hug him, he said “All I want is love and it is so rare anyone will listen to the trials of native people”, I told him that I will always remember his story and asked if I could get a picture with him, he was very excited. I want to get a copy of it printed to give to him this weekend, I think he would like it. When we said goodbye he told me if I didn’t see him again it would be because he was in the hospital, the then informed me he was dying of H.I.V. If I don’t see him this weekend at Occupy I will phone the hospitals in search of him, I owe it to him to make sure he gets home ok. I have never been so grateful to hear someones story, he is the strongest human being I have yet to encounter. The word oppression will never affect the privileged the way it had affected him. Sorry this is not an update on Occupy Vancouver the way it “should be” but I spent all my time with my new found friend and comrade, and it was worth every second, and every tear. He told me tonight he would talk about me, which was funny because all I wanted to tell people was about him and his struggle.
To all those truly oppressed, to the awakening of consciousness, to listening instead of speaking, to all of those who suffer what I will never understand.
To life and living for each other, and love for those you’ve never truly known and will never truly know.
(via thefuror)
swallowing hatchets, handle first
there is some place where he doesn’t recognize anybody’s voice,
and it’s here where he wishes he were right now.
By Anis Mojgani
(Source: hither-thither)
Fifteen Minutes With You: "Two Birds" by Andrea Gibson
“Love is the only war worth dying for.” —Derrick Brown
When you ran for the border
I spent three months calling your name
‘til I watched your feet leave our country
and I bunkered down in your cheerleader pajamas
to stare at our photograph
of the two birds.
Two birds.
Give me one stone,
or a rifle.
I’ll collect the feathers from the ground
to make pens
to write poems to Obama.
Remember how we fucked
in the bathroom stall
during his inauguration
at Invesco Field?
Later in our seats
you held my hand and said,
“Look at Michelle. She is so in love.”
There were so many snipers in the stands
when the fireworks startled us in the stairwell
I thought for sure we were being bombed.
For five minutes we sprinted
frantic through the tunnel.
I kept saying, “I love you, I love you, I love…”
I thought for certain I would turn to dust
in your arms.
Dear Love,
I hope your new home is beautiful.
I hope you rise to your feet
every time she sings her anthem.
I hope your hand is forever on your heart.
I hope your heart is forever safe.
Here at home
they are saying Obama is not the saint
we had hoped he would be.
I wonder if you’d notice
that Michelle is still in love.
“Before our white brothers arrived to make us civilized men, we didn’t have any kind of prison.
Because of this, we had no delinquents.
Without a prison, there can be no delinquents.
We had no locks nor keys and therefore among us there were no thieves.
When someone was so poor that he couldn’t afford a horse, a tent or a blanket, he would, in that case, receive it all as a gift.
We were too uncivilized to give great importance to private property.
We didn’t know any kind of money and consequently, the value of a human being was not determined by his wealth.
We had no written laws laid down, no lawyers, no politicians, therefore we were not able to cheat and swindle one another.
We were really in bad shape before the white men arrived and I don’t know how to explain how we were able to manage without these fundamental things that (so they tell us) are so necessary for a civilized society.”
(Source: androphilia, via thefuror)
"Maybe I need you the way that big moon needs that open sea,
Maybe I didn’t even know I was here
Until I saw you holding me…."
Andrea Gibson “Maybe I Need You” (via bevthegreat)
"
When the hangman of tomorrow comes to hang the sun in it’s daily execution, say this me:
Sarah, we are apples and our love in an arrow. I’m unbuttoning my shirt, painting a circle around my heart - please just shoot straight.
"“Milos” by Anis Mojgani.
I think always of you.
(Source: cathythedestroyer)
“The Vinegar Club” is one of my favorites by Andrea Gibson. It was incredible to hear her live.
"She did not think his chest a well.
Did not wish to cast him, to armor his organs.
No heart toll.
No love tax.
She was not a poet,
found no beauty in the way his hips
jingled when they made love.
It was a necessity. The only way she knew to make a man stay.
Love. What worthless currency."
Megan Thoma, excerpt from Weight (via holdonmagnolia)
(via holdonmagnolia)
Buddy Wakefield is a beautiful person.
