carrot whip

horse whisper my long gone name
braid my mane,
maid my brain less bardy

test my temple
with storm waters of life,
the only boy ever could

sink and float the spice
be at the same place twice at once,
neigh, non-blindly obey

byte sized tomb

at mayabel the huts slowly rock
the howler monkeys sing and shake the giant mushroom trees
the leopards unseen slink under flutes
hammocks built for samoan sized tourists
harbor me and two women who like Neruda
built over a thousand years of composted frogs and fern skin
a snake fills the all night cafe, no walls,
thirty feet long to feed the music of the jungle
if only we'd hoped the fence
to roam the stone pyramids, paid the night guard off,
i took my ticket down legit
by day into Pacal's tomb
not a claustrophobic spider byte sized to fit
into the stone solitude
and do mystic math for the pleasure of the labyrinth
called to play, i play
the game rolls snake eyes

all dates blind dates and crosses

she came to the crossing laden with kisses,
in my bed the following
mornings, a week or two went by
and i learned she was 19,
not 21 (1989)
the first time a lover
threw up in bed
                      (not the last time, naturally)
3 point 2 beer at least has an air of innocence,
                      like a pie in the windowsill
there at the east Lawrence ramshackle
hippy living arrangment
in which i shared a room with those mammal asses
filthy greek pederast lawyer
honoring every Bastille day like Xmas
with bells and ribbons on his dong.
"Leave it to the Professionals,"
his mantra of midnight bliss there at Waldo's
dad's cabin. the other roomie,
Bone as he was called, was roomie
with Brad Pitt in Mizzou. she came to 
the X-ing and was looking for Robert Johnson,
                          she got her forest
i got my gump, on, with gumption. trusted her
but not Kris Kunning there with her
Valentines evening i showed up
unexpectedly, with boyfriend candy and flowers,
caught her red handed then on the verge
of betrayal, so wasn't surprised
when after going out of town for the weekend
she went hot-tubbing with the Paw dude,
mark. mark. marks---my face
a mess, having drunk-dove into a shallow
lake, dumb and bruised, she tells me
she's not moving to San Francisco
like we planned. OK. i go there,
she comes to visit, a month or so in,
me living off Pierce between Fell and Oak,
Fred Douglass Plaza, a good spot.
she wants to stay. no, no thanks
former. ex. back to dating old men, or
our friends, for you. she came 
to the T-ing, our roads born to diverge,
shafted. Les Claypool,
pass the balloon, before you pass out.
sing the crossings,
the splintered wood of the bar
where Dan Rather gave his Vietnam War
broadcasts, as the Student Union burned
to the ground, amidst riots, and
heroin needles across from the University
Chapel. Fog Allen, or Forest,
slam dunks the leather. Naismith calls the game
his own: casketball. a year or two later,
i'm a gringo Mayan at Teotihuacan,
fasting for 2 weeks, dressed in white
high as a kite, tethered on a string of 500 years
of Viking and Spanish savagery, 1992.
not Quetzalcoatl himself could have
more red hair, or plumage of pain, dragging
hieroglyphics in my mind's skin,
thinking of crossed loves.
she came,
crossed my I, and swore to never bye.
Quantrill's raid, terrorism by any
other name: treason hewed of limestone,
66 million years old, patterns of
sea skeletons crisscrossed, there in Hoch,
when the thunder bolt blew fire down into the
old Koyaanisqatsi basketball court, GOAL.
the opposing team walks to the blot
godi, willingly, in that old cult of honor,
their hearts in their foe's hands
dopple-cross



" In August 1863 Quantrill led an attack on the town, killing more than 180 civilians, supposedly in retaliation for the casualties caused when the women’s jail had collapsed."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantrill%27s_Raiders

idunno, six?

"Forrest Gump is a 1986 novel by Winston Groom. The title character retells adventures ranging from shrimp boating and ping pong championships, to thinking about his childhood love, as he bumbles his way through American history, with everything from the Vietnam War to college football becoming part of the story.

Throughout his life, Gump views the world simply and truthfully. He really does not know what he wants to do in life. Despite his low IQ, Gump is full of wisdom.

According to him, he "can think things pretty good", but when he tries "sayin or writin them, it kinda come out like Jello".

His mathematical abilities, as an idiot savant, and feats of strength lead him into all kinds of amazing adventures"

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_Gump_(novel)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_Gump_(novel)

________________________________________________________

"Kermit L. Mowbray A 20-year resident of Santa Fe, died May 22, 2011. Born 1934 in McPherson, KS to Carl and Frances Mowbray, he received a bachelor's degree from Bethany College in Lindsborg, KS. After serving in the Army, he earned a Ph.D. in Economics from the University of Kansas.

While in graduate school, he married Linda Gump and moved to Topeka, KS to work at the Federal Home Loan Bank of Topeka. After 25 years, he retired as president of the bank. Kermit taught at Peru State College in Nebraska before moving to Santa Fe.

He was an accomplished jazz pianist who loved tennis, travel, reading, music, and, most of all, his family"


_____________

ONE heck of a coincidence, living with the daughter of a Gump for over a year, watching Kermit testify on CSPAN to Congress from Lawrence....driving past Enid, where my great great-grandfather was once the VP of  The Bank his brother HH owned (along with the biggest independent fully integrated oil company in the world circa 1930-1950, Champlin Oil.


Good at numbers (kinda/good), ping pong, and being at the right place at the right time, and strong. OK.

I share this only because there is a new song playing in the bars called Forrest Gump, and it is weird.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhU2GNZAOFI&list=RDOhU2GNZAOFI&t=20


 Coulda been that very name, in an alternate universe of matrilineal status quo. I share this, just as i shared an evening with Richard Secord's daughter in 1987.

Innocently. Talking to Wilson only floats the time past in fiction.

Watched the movie last year , or year before. Bubba, Gump's friend, his tombstone carved with my birthday, coincidentally.

How many coincidences does it take to make a pattern, FG?

idunno

_____________

"Eric R. Roth (born March 22, 1945) is an American screenwriter. He won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay for Forrest Gump (1994).

 He also co-wrote the screenplays for several Oscar-nominated films: The Insider (1999), Munich (2005), The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (2012)."

"Roth lives in Malibu, California.[3] He is one of the investors defrauded by Bernard Madoff in a Ponzi Scheme via Stanley Chais.[8][9]

 He stated that his losses were heavy and he has lost his retirement money, although the full extent is unknown. As a result of the fraud and the associated losses, Roth is suing the estate of Chais, who died on September 26, 2010. "

*Go visit the ButtonWood Tree at Wall Street, and make an offering, to the sycamore. The money tree numbers will soon compute. FG :)

eye laces

rude rude rude
women, their own skunkesque
demeanor
an invitation to perfume
with prose,
how dare they.
captain of their barstool,
texting while eating,
her juniper berry dry and floating
over the happy happy hour,
turn so sour, cough cough cough.
rude rude rude
women, self entitled
in pretense,
makeup, gear. texting while eating,
"don't look at me."
the gall. the cud.

"Cud is a portion of food that returns
 from a ruminant's stomach to the mouth
 to be chewed for the second time. 

More accurately, it is a bolus
 of semi-degraded food regurgitated
 from the reticulorumen of a ruminant.

 Cud is produced
 during the physical digestive process of rumination.
 The idiomatic expression
 chewing one's cud means meditating or pondering;
 similar expressions such as 
"he chewed that over for a bit",
 or "chew on that!" 

i make love with my eyes,
look at my shoes,
                            the laces.

migration route

on the bus toward home, west more
-land river bluff
built by floods, long hence
routed animal motions,
geese honk passing o'er head
drip their logs
over the golf course,
scat made of fish bone puree
hole in one.
on the bus, weaving its way
thru the toney wood
-stock/reed college neighborhood,
from a painting gig
my black dungarees palomino speckled
the bus halts as a pickup truck
parked impedes our bumpy hustle.
i walk to the driver
to ask directions,
return to seat, and a girl
pops into the seat next to me
"hi dad!"
her hair has changed since last week,
my punker teenaged daughter,
she's older. we chat,
she tells me about mom,
sister starting school this week and
sister's friending which is sweet.
i have to stop to pay
my phone bill, my spoonbill, dip deep
in the wallet, fish out me
-saw, a corner of my identity,
one chip off my blot
-good block.




Mt Tqbor, Portland, Oregon

smock of skin

one part hero-twin, 
two parts ox and gin,
water bops down

(of the sky,
 by the sky
 for the sky)

hydro grin
smocks of skin,
what we are.

water p
-arts





mt tabor, oregon
spring

dew dew

spiritual fog cuts her brush
into my spidery nook
sunlit hunch
itsy bitsy
dew,
does

Palantir sort of Fascism SHHHHHHHH!!!

 "Palantir Technologies is denying claims made by Cambridge Analytica whistleblower Christopher Wylie that it has links to the controversial company."

http://money.cnn.com/2018/03/27/technology/palantir-cambridge-analytica-facebook-peter-thiel/index.html

____________


"Palantir Technologies is a private American software and services company which specializes in big data analysis. Headquartered in Palo Alto, California, the company is known for two projects in particular:

 Palantir Gotham and Palantir Metropolis.

 Palantir Gotham is used by counter-terrorism analysts at offices in the United States Intelligence Community (USIC) and United States Department of Defense, fraud investigators at the Recovery Accountability and Transparency Board, and cyber analysts at Information Warfare Monitor, while Palantir Metropolis is used by hedge funds, banks, and financial services firms.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palantir_Technologies

________________


Odd how the GRU logo is a BAT, huh?

sisters squeeze

Love in pajamas

Sometimes, a picture of beautiful people hugging is just the right thing for the day.

Amati, bloggod

something for everyone bloggod smorgasbord

I'm always happy to see that people around the world find interesting things at bloggod:

page views this past week:

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   Since I can't make it to your beaches anytime soon, send your waves of eyes, minds, and hearts here to lovely Mt Tabor, Oregon

photo of vegan burger at home

food food food is good good good

vegetarian for 27 years.

The First Lowering, Moby Dick

 "There, then, he sat, holding up that imbecile candle in the heart of that almighty forlornness. 

There, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair."


from The First Lowering, CHAPTER XLVIII, MOBY DICK

http://etcweb.princeton.edu/batke/moby/moby_048.html

bumpkin bunch

smells worth a thousand memories or
sights borrowing a thousand finger brushes,
a picture worth half a bounce
a word is equal to lots of swords made of diamond
a word is smite as a wheelbarrow is to coal
a nose never ever smelt
iron ion bunched up in a boquet
hear you go

Fliers, Michael Hurley with bloggod on fiddle, 2009-2010

Micheal Hurley, Dustbowl Refugees, Ekone Ranch 2009

Surreal and Obama 2007 Iowa

President Surreal

"the gift"

Surreal and Senator Barack Obama, Pleasantville Iowa, 2007---just before the caucus*

Steve Weber, Robin Remaily, Peter Stampfel 1999, Crystal Ballroom Green room

(photo of my photo. sorry for blur)

Weber, Stampfel, Remaily-------original Holy Modal Rounders

in the Green Room at the Crystal Ballroom, Portland Oregon 1999,
(where Jimi Hendrix got fired from Little Richard's band.)

Played fiddle with them, and the next day too, at Pickathon/Hornings Hideout. If You Wanna Be a Bird....Same Old Man Sitting at the Mill.

Fort Anomaly, the Dalles,Oregon: once, Captain Gray's Guest House

Free Speech makes the world Stay Round

Last Week visitors to bloggod's smorgasbord 

Entry	Pageviews
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Grazie!

Je vous remercie

Dank Je

Спасибо

Obrigato

mulțumesc

Дякую

謝謝 

bloetgoet 1994

Little did I know that Woodstock was our ancestor's stomping ground, for several hundred years.

Woodstock 1994

Forest and Surreal
bloo

The Rotten Mane

Earth nameless stumbles into human form,
     a suit derides in mealy pleats;
the phaeton drops them at the curb,
     his cape over his klannish sheets;

Dim don treads, alligator shoe-horned,
     toward his minaret of unflinching greed;
composure escapes him, a raped morn,
     liberty lady ravaged need not plead.

The vouch of slime undoes his tongue,
    all fair and noble creature recoil;
rather air or water to quench his lust,
     don's bearings gurgle Oil.

Land promises, evict the rotten mane
of Tyrant's Tirades and more of the Same.





12-14-17

Mt Tabor, Oregon

fake mozart, fake

mozart wrote nada poetry, zero, not a scrap
fuck him and his fake legacy
he me tooed everything in sight
the movie told me so
the blood blot
fuck amadeus he wasn't an asshole, like
pie
crasso

fuckyou stitches (1986)

when i say she left me
in stitches
we don't mean
it was funny

love is nothing 

like talking to 
your plants. we

can justify
that confidence by 
feeling at least
it can't hurt


*


i thought i was immune,
given a special gene
or antibody to protect me from

fuckyou

i reckoned love
was a cross on a chain
to ward off vampires, alas

my blood sped quickly
over fangs that regretably
transformed me
into a jetblackcaped

fuckyou


*


when lightning slaps
the ocean, no translation is
arranged for the reality impaired

when trees drop
their leaves, used
remains of a lover, 

no one whistles
the world feeds itself
to itself with cool& steady hands


*


spit and rinse
is a lover's lullabye
hung on the steam of a heavily mirrored apt.

wash and wear
can be heard darkly echoing
thousands of feet down
in mines by black-dusted men 
with canaries in their lunchpail psyches

disposable for sensitive skin
is a common joke
in our capitol's bathrooms,
tissues and baldheaded towel dispensors
wipe
drain
flush



1986 Lawrence, Ks

tagteams (1999)

reasons and excuses
seasons and crucifixes

words are good trouble
send me these, on the double

po-lice and senators
burglars and creditors

sharing a pizza pie
while nukeing earth's 3rd eye

good moms and holy men
never tire of supporting them

their community base is strong
thru profits from the Hall of Wrongs

sight-see the warzone
(fertile thoughts were wince sown)

here on the mainframe
the reference point is our brain


1999 Klickitat, Wa
Swale Creek

lassitudes (1999)

corrugated chantings
serenity disclosed
obsolescence primordial
refactification
preludes to stupendous cart
wheels & cartwheels & art 
chose cohesion
minuscule agendas within multi-faceted
buffer zones
hormonal antifreeze
frosted snapdragons 
radiant tools of lassitude
abrupt pontification
halos and ulterior shinescapes
leisurely weighted beams of joy
loud good baby grunts
while sleeping 
between night/day



1999 Swale Canyon-Portland

seize this this (1999)

seize this this poem as evidence
   of the worlds inside which collide
with clashing scimitars resounding
   muffled by a buffalo hide

seize this this home as nonsensedence
   of the love of the air and the tree
breathe the fragrance of your own doings
   exemplify the peace of one, free

seize this his body as beneficence
   limb by limb fold me into thy cell
only then could i awaken
   from relentless consumer spell

seize this this entire universe
   stick a barcode on the moon
buy grafted simu-cool reality
   with microscopic digital spoons

seize this this flagrant malevolence
   a pile of consumer's bones
shred the passive neuroses to smithereens
   burn quaint Timorese in their homes

seize this this wrapper by providence
   left on the smudge of the hook
them heathen needs be crucified
   but spare 'em if they can cook

seize this this moment as medicine
   for the soul of the earth is food
acorn, creekmint, broccoli
   feed flesh as well as its mood


1999 Swale Canyon, Wa

simplicity rounded-off (1998)

folksongs & cobblestones
anointed, simplicity rounded-off

cars that work,
yet eat Future.

if only posture
could pay for all the starch.

homerun, deep
into congregation.

speech been raked
to tidy bonfire pillage,

homework, pure
TV coal. spawning,

genius death verve
dissipates, until

city skin subliminal
concrete dermis closes

tearducts of bull run rain,
10 inches in one day

over a polluted utopia



portland-swale creek, 1998

Flatitude

Google a word, and see how a Monopoly controls Meaning.

"Google began uttering fascist platitudes."-----*fixed that.


plat·i·tude
ˈpladəˌt(y)o͞od

noun
plural noun: platitudes

a remark or statement, especially one with a moral content, that has been used too often to be interesting or thoughtful.

"she began uttering liberal platitudes"

synonyms: cliché, truism, commonplace, banality, old chestnut, bromide, inanity, banal/trite/hackneyed/stock phrase

"boring us with his platitudes"


*Origin*


early 19th century: from French, from plat ‘flat.’
_______________

Dead Poet Society and the Irish ballad of Bloet Goet

"In a mean abode
 On Shankill Road
 Lived a man named William Bloet

 Now he had a wife
 The plague of his life
 Who continually got his Goet

 And one day at dawn
 With her night shift on
 He slit her Bloody Throat"

Dead Poet's Society, 1989
(at minute 38, in the cave)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Poets_Society


"In a mean abode on the Shankill Road
Lived a man named William Bloat
And he had a wife, the bane of his life
Who always got his goat
And one day at dawn, with her nightdress on
He slit her bloody throat

Now, he was glad he had done what he had
As she lay there stiff and still
'Til suddenly awe of the angry law
Filled his soul with an awful chill
And to finish the fun so well begun
He decided himself to kill

Then he took the sheet from his wifes cold feet
And he twisted it into a rope
And he hanged himself from the pantry shelf
'Twas an easy end, let's hope
With his dying breath and he facing death
He solemnly cursed the Pope

But the strangest turn of the whole concern
Is only just beginning
He went to hell, but his wife got well
And she's still alive and sinning
For the razor blade was German-made
But the rope was Belfast linen"


Raymond Calvert

1906-1953




http://www.kinglaoghaire.com/lyrics/320-william-bloat

___________________


The Dead Milkmen cover the ballad:

http://kinginyellow.wikia.com/wiki/The_King_In_Yellow/William_Bloat

"David Schulthise (September 16, 1956 – March 10, 2004), otherwise known as Dave Blood, was the bass guitarist for the punk band Dead Milkmen.

 Schulthise was born in Ridley Park, Pennsylvania. He helped form the band in 1983 along with fellow pseudonymous musicians Joe Jack Talcum, Dean Clean, and Rodney Anonymous. Prior to this he was a Ph.D. candidate in economics at Purdue University.[1]

He stopped playing music in 1995 after the band broke up as the result of developing tendinitis in both hands."

math problem

looking for work
looking for work
looking for work
________

work is looking
work is looking
work is looking
________

yo,
over here.

kangaroo moccasins

Unless you were in an Oklahoma public school, you probably didn't do the annual Land Rush
picnic day, a brown paper sack lunch all ready to go, and a stake to plant and claim one's
spot out on the playground lot there at Highland Park, after a hurried survey of the lay of
the land and its proximity to water, dry goods, and ammo: dirt clods. Unless you were some
pagan waif buried in the sweaters of 1970, you probably didn't do the Maypole on this same
playground, or know what a Maypole is at all, the crisscrossing rainbow streamers just
a social hurdle, the merry rub of shoulders as trees blossom and bees make economy in the
sun.
Vague remembrances, all those crisscrossing rainbow serpents, all those weird games that make 
no sense, and towns of faces of the conquered, dressed up as blue jean victors. Pawnee Bill,
Woolaroc, the Salt Flats, Woody Guthrie, and Jim Thorpe, place names and names of places,
veins and heart. A sack lunch, a Fox and Sac Swede, getting sacked by Eisenhower, or the
other way around. Barefoot running those section lines barefoot, past the home of the woman
at the farmhouse she opens the door as I knock, selling magazine subscriptions to fund the
school orchestra program. She opens the door, her robe opened from a couch-side nap, her
chest a scarred pit where the breast once better homed and gardened. Learning what the word
mastectomy means. 
Laid sleeping in the back of the VW station wagon Big Blue, four a.m., under a pile of blanket
on the way to Hydro, or Ames, it could be time for the farm and barns and cotton fields and
ponds where cattle drink when it isn't frozen, or it could be at Aunt's house and that time 
sledding I busted my lip as they say, and the drama of blood on snow. Loaded like cargo in
the hold, carried sleeping from place to place, checking our name tags, making introductions.
I wanted my name to be Steve, not Forest. I wanted to be the 6 Million Dollar Man, but 
hadn't thought it through, with inflation. Waiting to be picked up from school, bored, I hoofed
it toward home one day age five, or six, starting walking the 5 miles out of town along the
HW 51, picking up curious things and putting them in my metal lunchpail, lots of parts of
crushed turtles. Dad was flummoxed to find my a third of the way home, and who didn't get
the lecture that night.
Nineteen years in the same home, on the same land, in the same town, means nothing. Our 
random names, our organs and skin, or addresses. Weather, wind and water, and the variety
in fashion at the moment. Kangaroo skin running shoes, I left you on the bank of a river
as we hurried on to some destination, a museum, or scenic midway point to the next postcard.
Topsoil so loose the Land Rush stake has nothing to grab and bite into, other than the crust of
a PBJ others buried last year, in that corner of the playground where the 4 leaf clovers pop,
where there is a hole in the chainlink fence that means a home run if one can kick the ball
there with enough luck, wearing the right toenails. 
All the kids in white-face, in dirt-face, in OK-face, our own reservations. Wanting to be
Indian and Cowboy, both, not knowing anything. Still dumb, or numb, or a patient butterfly
waiting for the pin, the ether, and the placard. When you're young, you're a plot that hasn't
mapped out, a prospecting pan just dipping the stream for water, nothing else. It may look
like a feudal rodeo, if one can get the clown out of the way, and keep enough peanuts 
in the pocket for a ride up the ferris wheel. 



3-6-18 Portland, Or

Sherman Alexie ,Tattoo Tears

Hairbrain (1988)

http://www.calibanonline.com/store.html

#9 includes an art portfolio by Kisoon Griffith, interviews with zydeco musicians Wayne Toups and Nathan Williams, and work by Gerald Vizenor, Wanda Coleman, Dionisio Martinez, Diane Wakoski, Antonio Porta, Spencer Selby, Forest Bloodgood, Dieter Weslowski, Christopher Davis, John M. Bennett, Melissa Monroe, Ronnie Burk, Ray DiPalma, Edouard Roditi, Simon Perchick, Louise Erdrich, Michael Dorris, John Bradley, Sonya Hess,  Joel Lewis, Amanda Yskamp, Edward Smallfield, Sheila E. Murphy, Stephen Ratcliffe, Kevin Walker, John Lindgren, Silvia Curbelo, Greg Mulcahy, George Kalamaras, Raymond Federman, David Huerta, Jeanne M. Beaumont, Edward Mycue, Nico Vassilakis, Jay Passer, Christina-Marie, John Bell, Jose Quiroga, Judith Roitman, Gaspar Aguilera Diaz, Lisa Cooper, B.Z. Niditch, Tyrone Williams, and Guy R. Beining.

___________

#9 Issue of Caliban has my poem "hairbrain," about my friend Ann, who underwent
emergency brain surgery for an aneurysm. I had been publishing poetry by sending small
manuscripts to magazines, and got a tip from that Caliban wanted a submission. It was
particularly rewarding to be published alongside established "names."

I hadn't looked up Caliban online in awhile, not knowing it continued in some form. Yesterday,
I was thinking of Sherman Alexie, who at present is in the news from multiple women
accusing him of bad behavior (in a nutshell.)


"Writer Sherman Alexie last week issued a statement admitting he "has harmed" others, after rumors and allegations began to circulate about sexual harassment. Without providing details, Alexie said "there are women telling the truth," and he apologized to the people he has hurt. "

https://www.npr.org/2018/03/05/589909379/it-just-felt-very-wrong-sherman-alexies-accusers-go-on-the-record

Issue #10 of Caliban has several Alexie poems; the first is "Tattoo Tears," which is
dedicated "for Joy Harjo." It begins with "1. No one will believe the story I'm telling, so it must
be true." The poem explains that the tattooed tears for the woman exist as the "real ones
failed to convince."

Caliban print issues featured a Free Speech Corner, wherein contributors are given an
additional chance for publishing unedited comments. Sherman Alexie wrote,

"I'm a Spokane/Coeur d'Alene Indian
 from the Spokane Indian Reservation.
 Nearly full-blood, which means I can play
in the all-Indian basketball tournaments,
 but still not sure which parts of me
 are federally recognized as white."

NOW we know which parts are recognized as white: the shamed part.

""It's a story about power, and abuse of power," says Jeanine Walker, one of three women who came forward on the record, and whose stories NPR has corroborated with several sources. In all, 10 women spoke to NPR about Alexie, who is a married man. Most of the women wanted to remain anonymous, but a clear pattern emerged:

 The women reported behavior ranging from inappropriate comments both in private and in public, to flirting that veered suddenly into sexual territory, unwanted sexual advances and consensual sexual relations that ended abruptly.

 The women said Alexie had traded on his literary celebrity to lure them into uncomfortable sexual situations."

Mines (Wars)

"----Monitor readers will remember
the report was once circulated of the destruction of the family of Freeman Bloodgood, by Indians, in New Mexico. But we learn that though some of the neighboring ranchmen and their families were destroyed, he learned of the approach of the Indians in time to escape from the ranch with his family; but nearly all of his cattle were taken. Though, as ranchmen brand their stock, he afterwards found about a hundred head that had strayed from the rest. Mr. Bloodgood occasionally visits the ranch, but does not yet consider it safe to endeavor to make it his permanent dwelling place. He has also a share in two mines."


(1883-ish) Kingston, NM

Geronimo avoided the reservation until 1877, when he was captured by Indian agents and brought to San Carlos in chains. He tried his hand at farming, but like many of the Chiricahua, he longed for the freedom of the frontier. Geronimo and his allies would eventually stage three escapes from the reservation between 1878 and 1885. Each time, the renegades fled south and disappeared into the mountains, only resurfacing to conduct marauding expeditions on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border.

 During his second breakout in 1882, Geronimo even staged a daring raid on the Apache reservation and forced several hundred Chiricahuas to join his band—some of them at gunpoint. By the time of his final breakout in 1884, Geronimo had earned an unparalleled reputation for cunning, and stories of his ruthlessness—both real and imagined—were front-page news across the United States.

http://www.history.com/news/history-lists/7-things-you-may-not-know-about-geronimo

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"In December 2014, President Barack Obama signed the 2015 National Defense Authorization Act, which would give land sacred to the Apache in Arizona to Resolution Copper Mine [RCM], a joint venture owned by Rio Tinto and BHP Billiton. The Act cleared the way for the land swap in which Resolution Copper would receive 2,422 acres of National Forest land in exchange for deeding to the federal government 5,344 acres of private land.[11]

A proposal or rider in Section 3003 of the Act, titled "Southeast Arizona Land Exchange and Conservation Act", would allow RCM to develop and operate an underground copper mine 7,000-feet deep (approximately five Empire State buildings) in the publicly owned Tonto National Forest near Superior, Arizona.

The mine would destroy an area set aside in 1955 by President Dwight D. Eisenhower that is sacred to the San Carlos Apache.

 United States Secretary of the Interior Sally Jewell said she was "profoundly disappointed with the Resolution Copper provision, which has no regard for lands considered sacred by nearby Indian tribes".[16]

By January 2015 over 104,000 had signed a petition to President Obama, "We the People|Stop Apache Land Grab".

 Bills introduced in 2015 by Sen. Bernie Sanders (D-Vermont) and Rep. Raúl Grijalva (D-Tucson) would reverse the land-exchange deal, but neither has received a hearing.[18]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Carlos_Apache_Indian_Reservation
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Carlos_Apache_Indian_Reservation

hola ciao aloha

Ireland's 6 shells
France's 4 loaves
Portugal's 4 herrings
Brazil's 2 barrels
Canada's 2 glaciers
Romania's 2 castles
Ukraine's 2 books
Spain's 1 bell
Honduras's 1 cloth
_____________

United States's 16 salad-poetry heaps


hola
ciao
aloha

farm peace

March 26, 1674 Bloetgoet/Bloodgood

Documents Relative to the Colonial History of the State of New York

https://archive.org/stream/documentsrelativ02brod#page/590/mode/2up/search/Bloetgoet

Freeman Bloodgood, great grandfather. Born 1832.
Ophelia Shoemaker Bloodgood, great grandmother.  Born 1844