"UP AGAINST THE WALL & OFF THE RESERVATION, MOTHERFUCKER."
Shoshone Indians in full war paint, carrying rifles and giving blood curdling : war crys are putting white hunters up against the wall and running them off the reservations in Nevada.
"They looked up and saw us coming -down on them, and they didn't even have time to get their trucks formed into r. circle, they started pleading and crying, it was sickening, one of them went berserk and tried to give us cigarette lighters and mirrors, saying they were magic, 'look, fire comes from silver box'. It was really sad. We gave them 15 min to get off the reservation ha! you should have seen them go!"
Spokesman for the renegades, Rolling Cloud said, "The white man has raped his own land, how he comes to rape what little we have. The white man: wastes our meat while our people go hungry."
Stanley Smart, a Shonone Indian, was convicted Oct. 11 for possession of deer out of season. Smart contends that as an Indian he has the right to hunt anywhere regardless of seasons rar.de by the white man.
Rolling Cloud, "We're not making threats to anyone, we just want to feed our people, we'll use whatever means necessary."
Pink is the color of love because when you kiss someone you turn pink sometimes. The color of love is like a Pinkest color.
If you love someone you either kiss them on the lips or Fuck them. -Edwin (4th grader, P.S. 166, Harlem)
King just got killed. Inevitable. I used to want to die f rom natural causes until I realized murder is the most natural cause of all. War, assassination, murder. The stupid killer shot him in the throat, we heard, & probably figures he cut off King's balls . That's not what happens . They get transferred. Kennedy' s got transferred to American students, Malcolm X's to black people -- King's to me a bit, where else? If I die by any method other than assassination I haven 't lived as boldly as I intend to.
REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #4
Left to themselves people
grow their hair.
Left to themselves they
take off their shoes.
Left to themselves they make love
share blankets, dope and children
they are not lazy or afraid
they plant seeds, they smile, they
speak to one another. The word
coming into its own: touch of love
on the brain, the car.
We return with the son, the tides
we return as often as leaves, as numerous
as grass, gentle, insistent, we remember
our babes toddle barefoot thru the cities
of the universe
Dianne Di Prima