by Gwagwagwe
Warning this bison segment contains none of the usual balderdash about animal-people, plant-spirits, or even high adventure. You were warned.
It's the eighth moon of our flight from the one right way. We are continually finding out that most of the people we meet are of the opinion that life's a crock of shit. No one asked to live in this Rube Goldberg contraption we call civilization. OK, let's just face it, some of the cynicism that made us such misanthropic assholes for the ten years while we "lived the right way through wage slavery" in that megafart region of the Puget sound is creeping back in. We've had some setbacks. Most concern this loneliness that has yet to be filled with tribesman. The few people who have spent enough time around us to get a little glimpse of vision were non-readers (I suspect a few of the majority sucked into the cathode tube world of illusion), so instead of having them just read Quinn and then discuss it in normal conversation, we have to sit back and listen to mother culture fight us tooth and nail right from the lips of initiates. It's a sickening display, like leading a horse to water with fake horse's ass in a sandstorm, fuck analogies. I haven't read a newspaper, watched a "news" program, or ,my old favorite, listen to that leftist crap radio from a computer in eight months, and I still can't break lose from the thought police. I miss those college towns, where you can sit on the corner and listen to a couple of winos discuss Vonnegut or even Louis Lamour'. Our stories are only new to the spring flowers, and storytellers gain nothing from a unresponsive audience; Are you awed or just bored to death, yea you poppy in the back perk up or I'll et' yo ass.
We are hearing from more and more people, and I think I must again explain a couple things. This "perpetual camping trip" is a transitional lifestyle. We want a tribe, and accordingly we need to find a way to live. We can't "make a living" without others to live for, but and this is a huge butt, I don't want tribesman who don't understand the idea of tribalism. It's like playing Russian roulette with six slugs. What keeps them from quitting when things get tough? Only if they understand the beauty of reciprocity and leaver values will they be truly committed. And of course if I hound initiates about verbalizing the concepts we drive them away.
All we want is to have a one room shack with light for reading, a library card, some decent food, a little Jah-bless to drive our rational mind away while we read and tell stories to our loved ones. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FROM THIS MINDLESS EXISTENCE WE CALL LIFE? Well since all I've done is rant you could probably tell our stress level is sufficiently high. Our village is becoming a pigsty of weekend warriors/weekday wageslaves. All they do is shoot their wads, which scares the piss out of bison yellow ball, play their booming radios drowning the magic of the river of song, and ride their off-road toys, with its awful rattle and whines. The bison will be leaving the three sister hemlock village site, maybe just moving to a higher elevation site, or hell I don't know what we're going to do. Our summer hunting ground is looking a whole lot smaller. Does anybody want to start a book shop/ open mike tribal venture in some college town? Does anybody want to invite us into their tribal venture, we are hard workers when the work has meaning. A theater group tribal venture? Any tribal venture would do, and with our hard work we could definitely expand the tribal lifestyle to include ourselves. Anyway, although we are now getting more interest in our transitional lifestyle (warm weather I guess), we find ourselves on the verge of another evolutionary step, maybe. Did anybody ask Quinn about our writings during his book-tour?
I Just wanted him to say "At least they're being inventive". Or are we? Without some decent conversation we will most likely choose door number two, and we'll miss that trip to fairy land. Thanks for listening to a bison rant, and now for all those dedicated readers prepare yourselves for Bison band and dreams of South Kelsey, the one story that couldn't be written is about to take wing.
For the sake of our sanity will someone write us a letter on vision letterhead, I'm so sick of small talk I could brain myself with my fish spear. A bison shishkabob.
Gwagwagwe of the bison band.
Tribe of the crow, and sometimes I think the meaningless, insignificant part of the new tribal revolution. Those who talk about it all the time don't count, talk just makes the doing easier.