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So this led up to my decision to photograph the tipi from the street, and bash on all the horrible shit that Americans have done to the native people of our land; (torture, rape, forced assimilation into whiteness, into ghettos called reservations, the decimation of families, and the genocide of so many people and their distinct cultures, now with nowhere left to go etc. etc. the list goes on, and on, and on). At least that’s what I thought till the owner of the house drove up while I was taking pictures =O. I assumed he’d grab a shot gun and tell me (in a southern accent) to get off his property. But alas, my assumptions failed me.. again.

He was actually really nice, and invited my boyfriend and I to go into his backyard and see it up close. As he led us to the huge, Sioux style structure, he told us about his decision to construct it. “Well, I thought ‘where did guys meet and share with each other since the beginning?’” The answer was some sort of hut, simple and natural; a tipi. He showed us inside, which had designs that illustrated the phases of the moon, there was a fire pit in the middle and dream catchers near the entrance. He knew a lot about the history of the design. He said that the tipi was an ongoing project, and he invited to have dinner there sometime. He seemed so genuinely interested in what he had created, as well as the heritage of the people from whom it had originated, and it was really admirable. On our way out, he gave us a copy of “The Indian Tipi”, just one of the sources he had used to research his project.

When I got home and flipped through the pages, I found the dedication: “Dedicated to the Plains Indians in the hope that their young people will recapture a pride of race, a love of color and beauty, and the appreciation of the good things in their own great heritage-today the heritage of all Americans.” I thought this was a beautiful passage…so simple and hopeful. I’m starting to see that it’s not all so bad. Not everyone’s terribly blind. There’s still some realness out there, some real hope. Will this hope fix all of the past mistakes? I don’t think so. Will it fix things now? I don’t know. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt.

look at what i sift through
grains of fright
descend into
the aftermath
all topsy turvy
they are descendants
of self loathing
and a fear
I could
never quite
put my finger on.
cause that little finger,
and this tight lip
zip stitched mouth
could never
put it forth
into fruition
even though
it is scribbled
within
the pages
of my dusty history.
i was in denial
because I was
wrapped up
in a love I’ve
always wanted to be in
and never wanna lose
and i will suffer
all that my foolish
heart, sad and cracked,
has wrought
and with my
lack of common cents
I bought
a ticket
to misery’s hometown.
it’ll take me in.
show me
it’s hospitality
make sure I get what
I deserve:
not sunset light upon my hatred
but a renewed dawn for it
What’s wrong with me?
oh god, what’s wrong with me?
I spit on something sacred
what I knew
was holy I desecrated
now I dread
the hole
where I had to pluck
any love i ever
have had
for myself
and throw it
with all my other mistakes
have these grains
of fright run out
so that I had to
meet the
burning dark
of nightmare’s
material
face to face
with the thing
I abhor
I’m waiting for a monster
but all I find
is myself