Friday, July 6, 2007

Why I came back



I know the last blog might have thrown you off. It's not a complaint about living here. And if you came here you may not see "ghetto." For real you would see 3rd world country conditions.
I seen it when i came back. Now it don't phase me. All the trash and such.
Which is harsh that I don't care as much as I used to. I mean I do, but now it's the way of life...or A way of life.
People live here without electricity, water, plumbing. Not everyone but I bet everyone here knows or is related to someone that does.
That's how it is on the reservation. The life expectancy here is the lowest in the nation.
I'm sick of it being like this. Sick of it.
I know one person can't change it. I know I can't. But I came back because this is my home and I'm sick of it never changing. This is my home and I need a place for my kids to go home to. We have roots here. I'm sick of it but I love being home.


2002 Current Statistics Concerning the Pine Ridge Oglala Lakota (Sioux) Reservation

by Stephanie M. Schwartz

UPDATE! For 2006 update, please read Stephanie's latest article: The Arrogance of Ignorance
* Median income is $2,600 per year with 85% to 95% unemployment
* Infant mortality rate 300% higher than the U.S. national average
* Diabetes and Tuberculosis rates 800% higher t than the U.S. national average
* Elderly die each winter from hypothermia (freezing)
* At least 60% of the homes are severely substandard, without water, electricity, adequate insulation, and sewage systems
* School drop-out rate is 70%
* Recent reports state the average life expectancy is 45 years old while other reports state that it is 48 years old for men and 52 years old for women.

* With either set of figures, that's the shortest life expectancy for any community in the Western Hemisphere outside Haiti, according to The Wall Street Journal.
* And the list goes on and on….

Thursday, July 5, 2007

ghetto ass


pic of my kids, by me
ghetto ass
ghetto ass broke mofo

thats me and just about everyone around me.

I'm broke.

ghetto

People when you say broke but you have 20 dollars in your pocket, you ain't broke, you still got 20 dollars.

Or when you say your broke but you have money in the bank, that ain't broke. You still got money in the bank. You can get it out.

When you say your poor but you have gas in your car and your fridge stocked with food and beer, naw...your alright.

When you say you're lonely but you have a grip of kids, you'll never be lonely unless your a mean person.

When you say your hard up but you had a one night stand in the last week, you doing better than most married folks.

When you say your house is a mess but there is only one dish in the sink and plastic over your furniture, shut up. You never SEEN a mess yet.

Let me tell you about living in the ghetto...away from the suburbs with their central air, morgtages up the wazoo, stripmalls and seasonal roadwork.

I live in the ghetto. People haul in furniture other people threw out. People scheme every day for beer or cigarettes. 3 year olds run around in diapers, I don't know whose kids they are and for real I don't care because when one ran in front of my car and I stopped and saved his life, he turned his snotty face at me and threw a rock at me.

People come over to borrow the phone and a roll of toilet paper. And you give it to them because you owe them one.

The lady next door watches your every move and every neighbors move. She is a known cop caller who will call the cops on you even if you crawl in your own window because you locked yourself out.

The kids across the street play basketball in the street in front of my house and actually put lightbulbs in my front porch light so they can play longer.

Kids stand in the street on food stamp day with soda pops and big bags of chips all happy. The whole neighborhood is happy that day. cook-outs and birthday parties galore.

People stop by to visit at dinnertime and leave when the dishes need to be washed.

If people see you take beer in your house they stop by to visit. Unless its the lady next door, then she calls the cops.

Young kids think they are gangsters, the only for real gangsters in this neighborhood are the dogs. The run in packs. Gangs.

And they bark all freakin night.

People come out at night and sit on their porches, watching the young ones cruise by and remembering when they were that young.

That is how life is in my neighborhood here in the Northridge Housing Project on the Pine Ridge Reservation in the poorest county in the nation, the beautiful United States of America.

Yup, it's ghetto, and yup I'm home.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Carols Random Writing Challenge

The following is a challenge i still take part in on 360. Carol gives you 7 phrases to build a story around. Most people choose all 7, I always just choose one. Oh and you have to have a pic to go with it. The following is fiction based around true events. The people are fiction, although the man's name is a last name from around here that I admire. Read on



*pic taken of my reservation by my friend Father Bucko



"Breathtaking! Just Breathtaking!" said the agent who was showing the family of 5 their new land.


"Under the Dawes Act this land is now yours and your family. Well of course we will hold it in trust for you for 25 years before you are allowed to sell it. At that time you may sell it. Materials will be provided for you to build a house so the days of the tipi will be gone. You will now be civilized." The agent turned to the family of five and shook the hand of the father, Kills Enemy.


Kills Enemy watched as the agent rode away and his wife and daughters set up the tipi. He looked at the land that was to be his own. He was now expected to farm. The thought made him sick. How could he, a great warrior be expected to farm? Only a little over ten years earlier he was in the Battle at Greasy Grass where they had taken out General Custer (Long Hair) and took the flag of the 7th calvary home.


He jumped on his horse and rode looking for something for his wife to cook. When he looked back Red Shawl was watching him go. He rode on all of the land the government gave him. It was dry, even the wild weeds were dead. He couldn't see anything moving, perhaps it was too hot. Maybe if he rode near the water. It took him forever to find some water but when he did he also was able to shoot a rabbit. It was a small rabbit, but he was the man. He had to provide for his family.


When he arrived back at his tipi, the white agent was there again. He had brought blankets.


"I forgot to tell you Kills Enemy, you are no longer allowed to hunt. You can go into Pine Ridge once a month to pick up your rations."


"Those rations are full of worms. We cannot eat those." Kills Enemy told him.


"You shouldn't complain, they are free." The agent rode away. "We will be bringing your supplies to build your own house tomorrow."


Red Shawl went to work butchering the rabbit. Their daughters had gone out and dug up tinpsila's (prairie turnips) to go in the soup. The word the agent used to describe this land, breathtaking. she wondered about it. What did he mean by it? Did he really mean breathtaking? Was this land going to take their breath? Because it felt like it. She felt as if she couldn't breathe here. Her husband couldn't hunt. They couldn't live in their beloved tipi. How much worse was it going to get?


After dinner their girls ran around and her husband sang her a song by the fire. Red Shawl was lonely for the other women of the camp. For her mother and sisters and her husband's mother. Why did life have to change so much?


Only years earlier they were allowed to live in the Black Hills. Allowed to hunt under the 1868 Treaty. Then the Great Chief of Washington came and took it all away again. After the Greasy Grass Battle, then Crazy Horse was murdered. Nothing went good for the people after that.


Red Shawl remembered hearing of the last time Crazy Horse spoke.


"My friend, I do not blame you for this. Had I listened to you this trouble would not have happened to me. I was not hostile to the white men. Sometimes my young men would attack the Indians who were their enemies and took their ponies. They did it in return. We had buffalo for food, and their hides for clothing and for our teepees. We preferred huntiing to a life of idleness on the reservation, where we were driven against our will. At times we did not get enough to eat and we were not allowed to leave the reservation to hunt. We preferred our own way of living. We were no expense to the government. All we wanted was peace and to be left alone. Soldiers were sent out in the winter, they destroyed our villages. The "Long Hair" [Custer] came in the same way. They say we massacred him, but he would have done the same thing to us had we not defended ourselves and fought to the last. Our first impulse was to escape with our squaws and papooses, but we were so hemmed in that we had to fight. After that I went up on the Tongue River with a few of my people and lived in peace. But the government would not let me alone. Finally, I came back to the Red Cloud Agency. Yet, I was not allowed to remain quiet. I was tired of fighting. I went to the Spotted Tail Agency and asked that chief and his agent to let me live there in peace. I came here with the agent [Lee] to talk with the Big White Chief but was not given a chance. They tried to confine me. I tried to escape, and a soldier ran his bayonet into me. I have spoken."


Now that he is gone, she wondered if life would ever be like it used to. Would the people give up the fight? Would the Oglala Lakota stop fighting? They were forcing the people to live like they were poor, how long would this go on?


She started to grab the blankets the agent gave them.


"Hiya" (NO) her husband said and he threw them in the fire. "They may have sickness on them. My cousin died from government blankets."


Thye went to bed that night under buffalo robes and dreamed of the days they were able to roam and follow the buffalo. Someday those days would be back. Someday.


For Carol's Random Writing Challenge


Excuse me while I get corny for a minute here


To my husband who won't read this until he comes back from the pow-wow trail. I love you dearly and miss you with all my heart. I can't wait to see you again.
Here are some songs I play while you are away.
http://www.seattlepiper.com/Richie Valens - We Belong Together.mp3


miss you so much, hugs and kisses
D

If none of these are me, who are they then?



In response to this-
Anonymous said...
hiya dana well i just wanted to ask you why don't you use a real pic? instead of these fake pics of you? dont be scared!!!!

July 3, 2007 7:52 AM


Dana Dane said...
aren't you the scared one if you use anonymous....about that pic it is of me but it was photoshopped by a friend from chicago i know i am not really blue...and FYI I did take that shot close up because I am a bigger girl and I know this. Excuse me, but I want to know who you think that is if it's not me? And who are you...come on, don't be scared?

July 3, 2007 9:39 AM


77MBogLJg/Rop_50bH8rI/AAAAAAAAAMk/T9TedSGMNoQ/s200/99b0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083015760742707890" />







This is for the chickenshit who asked me to quit posting fake pics. These are all me and if you think the pics above are someone else i want to know who it is, if it's not me. Sure I put my best pics in my profile, who wouldn't. and as for the photoshop pic I am really not blue you dumbass! All of these are me. I have silver hair, freckles, wear glasses, I am overweight and sport a double chin. SUE ME, you anonymous SOB! I know you must be local, because only local people hate on other local people like that! Do you even read my writing? I don't apologize for who I am. I don't care how I look, I am still me! If you even read any of my writing you would know that! Also if you read this blog you would see real pics of me throughout! I hope your fuckin happy now you shallow bastard!

Monday, July 2, 2007

WARNING: contains profanity, on purpose

It's so fuckin hot and dry on this little patch of weed infested land that I call the middle of nowhere. And fireworks are totally LEGAL!


Put the those two together and yes, this is what you get. FIRE!


My oldest son just got through putting a fire out in the backyard. Thank god I smelled it when I did. Damn fireworks.


On my column in the paper's website, I got my first criticism. Which is fine, because everyone has an opinion, like me. So I like to hear it all. And it was sent in the nicest way from Goodtime Charlie. He think I use too much curse words. Words that the initials are BS and such. He also thinks that I shouldn't write about people getting high and shit like that because I may be influencing young kids to do so. So even though I wasn't offended I had to write a letter to my readers, and here is what I submitted for this week.


Dear readers,


When I started writing for people, I started a blog on Yahoo 360. I made my blog public last January of 2006 and was surprised at the number of people that spoke up to support me and enjoy my writing. Of course there was always the naysayers who would step up and critique me or the one guy who wrote about my writing.
I knew there would be criticism and I know there always will be.
I finally got a bit of criticism on the Lakota Country Times website, but it was in the nicest way. He was a bit offended at my use of the word which initials are BS and the fact that I wrote about a guy I once worked with that would get high before he went to work. Well even though no offense was taken, I would like to explain more about myself and who I am. And why i write the way I do.
I am a strong winyan like he stated in the letter. Using curse words is something I do, probably too much. It is a bad habit for me, as my husband and children told me too many times. Sometimes that gets out in my writing. Anyone who reads my blogs would know that. I try to curb it, especially in public places. Like at the grocery store when the line is a mile long, and someone is writing a check. Or at the gas station when the person is done getting gas but decides to talk on their cell phone for the next 5 long minutes about Friday night. Or in the IHS waiting room when I take my kids up for a physical and it takes 4 hours because everyone is there with their kids for a runny nose. If the use of the BS word or any other words I use offend anyone I am sorry, but that is just who I am.
And about the guy I was talking about in the story "On bein' a skin", he was a dear friend. I don't condone his drug use because I wrote about it and I would actually like to express that I am against it. Especially after knowing that he moved onto harsher drugs that ultimately led to an early death. I miss him dearly as do many of his friends and family.
So here is my rant for this week. When I write about something, I write because it's me and it's mainly things i experienced in my life. I don't write with the intention that I hope I can make someone, whether it be child or adult say the BS word or run out and get high.
I write about things that I care about, that strike me funny, or things I think people should take notice of.
I write for me, first and foremost. That is how I always been. It is nice knowing that people read and appreciate it. I write as a way to release pent up emotions and feelings. If any offense is taken for my use of language, suck it up and deal with it. Just teasing, I am sorry to anyone that I may have offended. It was never meant but I will not change because I used the BS word.
After all, according to the Bill of Rights I am guaranteed Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Press, right? Or is that all a bunch of b*llsh*t?



sincerely, Dana




For the record I don't think I cuss all that much. If I do, excuse the fuck outta me!

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Not to be morbid, but...

I opened this bulletin from this chick on myspace...way over yonder. It was one of those surveys 50 odd things about you or whatever.


Anyway, in it she stated that the song she wanted at her funeral was Letter To Elise by The Cure.


I was thinking, if something ever did happen to her, would that be the song that gets played? Probably not. She would probably have the same type of funeral that all Natives have with tons of food and some guy strumming a guitar singing church hymns. People eating the tons of food that go with the wakes and funerals.


My mom said she wants to be cremated and her ashes spread somewhere like Bear Butte, near Sturgis, South Dakota. She will haunt us if we throw her in water. She wants all Prince music playing, people to wear purple. And butterflies released when we either bury her or spread her ashes.


I think she is like me and a bit iffy about what I want done. I seen to many movies. I seen that part from Scrooged where they are shoving his coffin into the oven thingy and his legs start burning and he is screaming. Then I seen many movies from the grave's view. Both scenarios have given me the willies, for real. Made me a paranoid freak of either. Of course I would just rather live forever, but death is a part of life and something we all have to think about someday.


At this point, I guess the song I would want is Drops of Jupiter by Train or World at Large by Modest Mouse...I don't know.


Who knows though, I mean the songs will be about 60-70 years old when I hit the check out line so...anyway.


What song would you want? Not to be morbid but, just curious.