Final Thoughts From the Van

I think Scott Walker’s face would make a great Halloween mask.  Where is Leatherface when you need him?  Wouldn’t the movie Texas Chainsaw Massacre be way better if Scott Walker was the one running down the road at the end of the movie while Leatherface swung the chainsaw over his head?  What could possibly be more just than Walker meeting his end by an unemployed uneducated hillbilly?  Unrivaled karma.  The Whale drowning Ahab.  Make the dream real…

Oh don’t be so serious…

Postscript: Who voted for that dude? I have a lot of Republican friends and I can’t imagine one of them voting for him. Is he the proof we’ve been waiting for that the game is rigged? I feel when I see him that there is some evolutionary force at work, one that makes me want to club him over the head and feed him to the tribal dogs. I mean I never liked Rick Perry, but he looked like an alpha male. He at least could play the part. Walker looks like he would be the Penguin in a Batman remake. What is going on here? Strange things are underway.

Under Different Deities

Heading back to Austin from a brief tour of Louisiana.   I will catch up on posting when I am home.  I did see a sign in a gas station today that said:  “Jefferson Davis Law – No Alcohol Sold Between 2 and 6am.”  So that happened.  I am glad that the ghosts of the Confederacy are attempting to keep me sober in the wee hours of the morning.  

In Denis Johnson’s book Tree of Smoke, his epic Vietnam novel, one of the characters come to the conclusion that different parts of the world are governed by different deities.  Each area operates under its own unique set of supernatural laws.  When one travels the United States, one can’t help but feel the same way.  Louisiana is not Texas is not Colorado is not wherever.  It isn’t just different cultures and economic forces shaping human behavior, but almost nature itself.  The haunted swamps of Louisiana create a different emotional context than the comforting greenery of the Texas hill country.   “God is alive and magic is afoot.”  The only question is what god and whose magic?  Anyone that claims to know is deluding themselves…

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

Indian legislation’s on the desk of a do right congressman
And he don’t know much about the issues so he picks up the phone
And asks the advice of the senator out in Indian country
A darling of the energy companies ripping off
What’s left of the reservation

I learned the safety rule
I don’t know who to thank
Don’t stand between the reservation
And the corporate bank
They’re sending federal tanks
It isn’t nice but it’s reality

Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Won’t you cover me with pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee

We got these energy companies
Who want to take the land
And we got churches by the dozens
Trying to guide our hands
And turn our mother earth
Over to pollution war and greed
No no

Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won’t you cover me with pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee

We got the federal marshals
We got the covert spies
We got the liars by fire
And the FBI
They lie in court and get nailed
And still Leonard Peltier goes off to jail
(the bullets don’t match the gun)

Bury my heart at wounded knee
An eighth of the reservation
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Was transferred in secret
Bury my heart at wounded knee
We got your murder and intimidation
Bury my heart at wounded knee

My girlfriend Anna May
Talked about uranium
Her head was full of bullets
And her body dumped
The FBI cut off her hands
And told us she died of exposure

To bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won’t you cover me with your pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Talk about a revolution
They stole my land
They won’t steal my soul

We had the gold rush wars
Why didn’t we learn to crawl’
And now our history gets written in a liar’s scrawl
They tell me “don’t be so uptight
I mean honey you can still be an Indian
Down at the y on saturday night”

Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee
I said deep in the earth
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Won’t you cover me with your pretty lies
Bury my heart at wounded knee
Bury my heart at wounded knee

Bury my heart
It was an eighth of the reservation
Bury my heart
Yeah was transferred in secret
Bury my heart
Got your murder, murder, murder and intimidation
Bury me
Bury me
Bury me
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
Bury my heart
Bury my heart

By Buffy Sainte-Marie.  Just to put an exclamation point on my last blog. 

Up Where We Belong

Rolling into New Orleans soon.   Listening to Buffy Sainte-Marie’s Up Where We Belong.  It is available in the store of her website for only $7 I believe.  It is basically a greatest hits, but one that features some songs not available on other records.  Everything has been rerecorded to give the album a unity.   Usually I hate rerecordings of older songs, but I think her discography is so varied that this actually works in the record’s favor.  Some of the production is slightly dated, but it doesn’t matter.  Front to back great songs with tremendous vocal performances.  Some of the bravest political music you will ever hear.  Beautiful poetic love songs and sketches of Indian life also appear.  She can do it all.  She would be a superstar if she hadn’t frightened so many people.  I have talked her up many times, but I don’t care.  She has better albums, but none that serve as well as an introduction to her work.  If you value intelligence, passion, and bravery, this is for you.  Never be afraid again…

Fun In the South

Day 3 in Louisiana – Headed towards New Orleans.  Due to the weather that has been going down, the countryside looks like West Virginia in winter, without the allure of the mountains.  “Slate grey Victorian skies” hang over leafless trees.  Cigarette butts and plastic bags dot the landscape all too frequently.   I have been reading Dante’s Inferno and listening to Lou Reed’s Sally Can’t Dance.  The soul is a flexible thing.  Mine is mirroring the landscape, slithering to the rhythm of the haunted South.  One of my favorite quotes of all time is from Oliver Stone’s Nixon.  “Nixon is the darkness reaching out for the darkness.”  Another is when Lou Reed said after making Berlin, an album many deem the most depressing of all time, that he was, “just having fun.”  That is the key and secret code to unlock it all: fun…

Nicholas Winding Refn Documentary and Interview

Nicholas Winding Refn Documentary

The above article is an interview with director Nicholas Winding Refn and his wife Liv Corfixen,  who just made a documentary about her husband.  He has long been one of my favorite working directors.  All of his movies have a emotionally intense poetic quality to them.  He is someone that can deal in abstraction and have it resonate.  You get a sense that he understands how to communicate on a personal level through imagery.   If you think of how many things have to be put in place for a film image to be just right, that is quite a chore.  One of the best.