Alternate title: Dance With My Knee at Wounded Heart?
On the road now, headed south on my seasonal migration, not at all in a hurry, as September/October, even in the high desert, is uncomfortably hot. So yesterday I only did about 150 miles, about the same the day before, when I left my ‘home town’ of Spearfish, South Dakota. (Still more scare quotes, different reason than usual.)
Yesterday, I think, is worth a few words.
Hay Springs, Nebraska, whence I write.
To set the context, I’ll start with last night and work back in time. Having pulled into a closed up rural gas station just over the Nebraska border, a town called Hay Springs, I was in the mood for a movie, so I browsed Youtube’s freebies. Dances With Wolves came up. Hadn’t seen it in years so I hit play.
Didn’t take long to realize the irony of my pick. (I’ll assume you all are familiar with the story, but for our purposes the crucial element is the very noble and sympathetic portrayal of Native Americans. Also relevant: The ‘noble’ tribe depicted in the flick is the Oglala Sioux.)
Within sight of the tribal supermarket I came across this welcome exhibit on the roadside.
See, in the afternoon I’d tooled through the Pine Ridge Sioux Reservation and had two encounters with tribal members (three, if you count the cow, how it came to be there and in that condition), and in fact had more or less fled from the second.
First, I’d stopped at a tribal-run supermarket, a huge quonset hut disarrangement plopped down in mid-nowhere on the vast prairie. (Although I verified with Wiki, I recognized that Dances With Wolves was shot (at least primarily) in South Dakota; the prairie in that part of the country is that distinctive.)
The food store was crowded with… fuck it, with Indians, and every one was wearing a fucking mask. Plus I was immediately accosted by an employee and told I had to wear one. You can imagine how that went but I’ll tell you anyway.
‘Why?’
‘Because you have to.’
‘Says who?’
On second thought, enough predictable details. Suffice to say it went on from there, with me getting more and more aggravated as I explained to the dead-eyed squaw all the reasons that masks don’t work and can even kill you. Blah Blah. What occurred to me, though, as I rambled, was that I was only a few miles from the site of the Wounded Knee Massacre (it’s on the map and capitalized), and was planning to stop there, maybe even spend the night. Pay some respects. Get depressed, which I always seem to welcome.
‘The masks and the vaccines are the latest in the U.S. Government’s continuing attempts to kill you all,’ was my parting shot, referring back to Wounded Knee. I said it loud and as I wheeled my cart away I noticed that pretty much everyone in the place was staring at me. I of course could not read their expressions, what with the masks and all, but no one was nodding in agreement.
Please try to imagine Dances With Wolves playing in the background as you read this, especially the scenes — pretty much the whole goddamn movie — wherein the Sioux are depicted as ‘noble savages,’ spiritually advanced folk from whom the nasty white man could learn a thing or three. (It just occurred to me that this is actually pretty important if you guys are going to get the intended irony.)
Maybe ten minutes later — and I’m pretty sure the byway I was on was ‘The Crazy Horse Memorial Highway’ — I pull off onto the ‘Historical Marker’ named for the Wounded Knee Massacre. (I’ll embed the sign if you want a refresher on the event, which was the last ‘armed’ U.S. Army conflict with the Sioux [the scare quotes here meaning that the Sioux were not really armed]). 
There was a wizened old (meaning about my age)… uhh, person by the sign, a Sioux, I assumed, with a table spread of trinkets and, well, rocks (‘minerals,’ I suppose) for sale. I could not tell if I was addressing a male or female (see photo), so I sidled up as we spoke (the voice told me nothing) and peeked to see if there were female breasts under the shirt. Looked like there were. Problem is that when I intro-ed myself, I got back ‘Jimmy’ as a name.
So I’m sort of at a loss re pronouns here. It was discouraging that I might have run across some sort of LGBTD (or whatever it is) phenom amongst the remaining Sioux, those noble warriors of the plains.
Jimmy wanted to bum a cigarette and when I said I didn’t smoke, I got a raised eyebrow and a gesture at the cigar in my pocket. ‘Don’t smoke ’em, just chew ’em,’ I said, then realized I’d cornered myself.
‘You want one?’
‘Sure.’
Jimmy. Male? Female? In between? (I swear I saw boobs.)
Okay, so Jimmy wanted a cigar. But I saw breasts down there, I think. And I could swear they jiggled a bit. Jimmy was way too thin to have ‘man boobs’ (not really scare quotes in this case, right?)
The only other gender-hint was dropped when I enquired about Jimmy’s Dallas Cowboys hat and got the reply that Jimmy was a ‘big time’ Cowboys fan. (In fact, Jimmy was itchy to get home since there was a Cowboys game on right now.)
Addendum: Yes, there is of course some added irony here, of the ‘Cowboys and Indians’ variety but it’s hardly worth a mention, given how my day went from there. (And also given that there are no cowboys in Dances With Wolves, which I do hope you are keeping in mind [as context] as I ramble on.) Our conversation did take a potentially interesting turn as Jimmy complained about the NFL’s renaming of teams — the (Washington) Redskins and the (Kansas City) Chiefs come to mind — for reasons of PC. Jimmy didn’t give a shit about PC.
‘Pisses me off,’ Jimmy said.
By the way, Jimmy’d gotten the two doses of the vax. ‘The masks and the vaccines are the latest in the U.S. Government’s continuing attempts to kill you all,’ I said again.
I had already taken in the scenery and got a brief description of where the Massacre took place: ‘Right there,’ Jimmy had said, pointing to the clearing by the Wounded Knee Creek, less than 100 yards distant. ‘And up there is the cemetery,’ Jimmy had told me, indicating the hilltop right across The Crazy Horse Memorial Highway. Lots of ‘Indians’ buried up there, Jimmy told me.
I wanted to photograph the cemetery (the Massacre site wasn’t photogenic) but the light wouldn’t be right until near sundown, so I asked Jimmy where I could park, maybe overnight. Jimmy pointed at a dirt road and a nearby copse with a tall oak, fifty or so yards from the highway. After seven years on the road I’ve developed an instinct for campsites, i.e., safe as opposed to iffy. Although there was very little traffic on The Crazy Horse Memorial Highway — I had not noticed any old pickups with gun racks (a bad sign) whizzing by — or run down shacks or junked cars within sight, I did not get a good vibe.
View from the cemetary. Red sign in the distance, beyond that the copse where I tried to camp, the ‘headquarters’ upper left. The massacre took place just beyond the sign.
But I really wanted to get the photos, and for some reason wanted to camp on the site of a famous massacre, possibly the most infamous massacre in U.S. Army history, given the recent historical drift of the PC movement. It might be interesting if the site was somehow haunted, I was thinking. (Really.)
So I parked under the oak, just enough out of sight of the road to feel comfortable, let Gus out for a stroll, and reclined in the rig to listen to the audio of The Invisible Rainbow (I’d read it via Kindle but wanted another dose).
All went well for about 20 minutes then I hear a bellowed ‘Hey!’ from right outside my door. Startled the hell out of me, given I’d heard no vehicle pull up (I’m attuned to that sort of sound when I’m camped off grid).
This is not the Indian who yelled ‘Hey!’ at my door.
It was a very large… a huge.. very drunk Indian, wearing thin, electric blue nylon shorts and nothing else. I’m talking six foot four/five, 300 pounds, big belly, with flushed, very Indian features, and… as I say… very drunk.Teetering drunk. No question about gender this time.
He wanted money. Just came right out and said so. ‘I want money.’
I’d fucked up and come outside without my pepper spray, which I always keep handy. Don’t know why I forgot it this time, when I potentially really needed it… but Gus, god bless her, was standing right at the Big Drunk Semi-Naked Indian’s feet, looking up at him. Her tail was not wagging (as it pretty much always does when meeting a new human); her ears were slightly pinned back, also an indication of alertness. 
‘This is my dog, Gus,’ I said. He looked down at Gus, looking up at him. His expression changed slightly, his swaying seemed to dampen; not to say he sobered up, but he seemed to be calculating.
‘Twenty dollars,’ the Big Drunk Semi-Naked Indian mumbled.
I feigned surprise and a bit of disappointment, saying, ‘You showed up here to ask me for money?’ Yes, sort of rhetorical, given the previous dialog, but I needed a moment to think. I was not going to part with twenty bucks, that was for sure, notwithstanding my forgetting the pepper spray.
‘Ten dollars,’ the big, drunk, semi-naked Indian countered.
‘I don’t have cash,’ I said. ‘I use credit cards.’
I wonder: Is the Youtube Algorithm keeping track of me? Saw where I am, figured what I’d do, and offered Dances With Wolves? It was suddenly # 1 on my page. Never know.
The fucker just stared at me. What was he gonna do, call me a liar? (Had he done so, I would’ve just feigned added disappointment.)
Jesus was he drunk. After what seemed like a long time, he looked past me, seemed to remember something, and trotted unsteadily off into the tall grass and bramble of the Wounded Knee Massacre Site, mumbling something I didn’t catch.
This was a not unpleasant surprise, but I knew time was of the essence so I got Gus in the rig, did a quick walk-around (to see if I’d left something), fired her up and, after several forward/reverse maneuvers, managed to pull back onto the dirt road just in time to see a ratty old sedan appear 20 or so yards ahead and stop in the middle of the road, the big, drunk, semi-naked Indian in the passenger’s seat and another big (probably drunk) Indian behind the wheel; at least he was wearing a shirt. The moron had enlisted reinforcements.
There was tall grass on either side of the road they were blocking but I just floored it and blew past them with a casual wave out the side window. They were visibly startled. I was relieved that I didn’t drive into a ditch or run into a log or some such, which could easily have happened.
Almost everyone interred here died young. And now they are all getting the shots.
I was quickly out of the woods, literally and figuratively. And I was pissed. I don’t have a quarter ounce of guilt in me over Wounded Knee or any other goddamn thing I had nothing to do with, nor over the moron who’d fucked up my day being a fat, drunken fool who needed twenty dollars for more alcohol, Indian or no.
So I drove up to the cemetery and got the photos I wanted, although the light wasn’t great. I had a 360 view of the Wounded Knee Massacre Site, The Crazy Horse Memorial Highway, and of the Indian Movement headquarters about a quarter mile back toward the dead cow that had welcomed me onto the reservation (see photo). No sign of the Big Drunk Semi-naked Indian or the sedan. They had poofed out of my world.
I dunno if this was worth the words. Maybe you had to be watching Dances With Wolves to sense the irony.
Herzog would be clueless.
Allan
Not sure if this appears anywhere else –
Pro-Trump attorney Lin Wood suggests Twin Towers weren’t hit by planes: “we got played”
https://boingboing.net/author/mark_frauenfelder_1
Ice Age Farmer is right and I’ve thought about it for some time now – once automation/robots start controlling the human control points (i.e. removing humanly decisions by humans out of the way) , we are in seriously more trouble.
https://www.bitchute.com/video/34AVwjWe8joH/
Let Me Not As Other Men
Let me not as other men,
Turn my face from hurt
From beggars with their empty hands,
Digging in the dirt.
Let me not as other men,
Lock myself away
In shelters, safe while homeless folk
Walk the streets all day.
Let me not as other men,
Toast, with rarest wine
And can’t be bothered to spare a crumb
From banquets where I dine.
Let me not as other men,
Ignore the cries of pain
Coming from the little ones
Who won’t go home again.
Let me not as other men,
Pass the dead-eyed faces
Of people who have lost it all
And dropped out of their races.
Let me not as other men,
Sneer at the reservations
Those ghettos full of broken spirits
Descendants of proud nations.
Let me not as other men,
View girls as less than boys
Use, abuse and then refuse
And throw them away like toys.
Let me not as other men,
Forget from whence I came
And set up kingdoms for myself
And play a rich man’s game.
Let me not as other men,
Turn my back on love
That diamond that is still mined here
But formed by God above.
Let me not as other men,
Disdain the world around me
Who wandered deaf and dumb and blind
And lost till someone found me.
Let me not as other men,
Leave here not knowing why
And for what purpose I was born
Before I lay down and die.
Let me not as other men,
Die lonely and alone
Buried in a crypt of gold
That will never be my home.
Let me not as other men,
Though I am as weak as they
Leave this world a far worse place
When my footprints fade away.
©by Voo
July 6, 2011
11:40 p.m.
I am pt Cherokee and Blackfoot as well as Spanish and French. Every race has it’s problems
and good and bad apples. People can be scary, people can be good. My recent experience proved that.
For every evil person I encountered, there was an angel or good person sent to comfort me. We just have
to forgive and forget and refuse to judge lest we be judged equally. That’s how your heart and spirits stay clean.
The world is full of evil, more so than ever. Meet hatred with kindness and love. The most powerful force in the universe. Don’t let anger rule you though all of us have reason to be angry. Go to bed with a clean spirit and sleep in peace. Love to all who read this and hear my heart. Voo
No II live in the South. I just typed out a comment and before I could post it it vanished.
Too tired to retype it now. I was sharing how I was urged to go check on a friend on the way from the hospital/rehab yesterday and we found him lying half dead on the floor, had been for 5 days and nights!!!! omg, I was in shock! He’s in ICU in critical condition and we found him just in time! Someone found me not breathing and saved MY life and then I found him and saved his life!!!! Is that not amazing???? Stay safe all. Voo
Asi say, you have to get your hospital records, especially the name of your doctor. Then think about going public. Do you have the doctor’s name?
As I say, you have to get your hospital records, especially the name of your doctor. Then think about going public. Do you have the doctor’s name?
Allan,
Replying to one of your earlier comments: I can’t wait to hear about what the old spook had to say about all our sorry state of affairs.
On a more humorous note, good George Carlin – told a lot of truth in his days. Wish he was still around.
George Carlin – Germs, Immune System – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X29lF43mUlo
Must read! “Spartacus” explains everything! See Jim Stone’s website today (jimstone.is) or Robert Malone’s tweet. https://twitter.com/RWMaloneMD/status/1441418989767323653
From Spartacus:
By inoculating people with a vaccine that causes their bodies to produce Spike in-situ, they are being inoculated with a pathogenic protein. A toxin that may cause long-term inflammation, heart problems, and a raised risk of cancers. In the long-term, it may also potentially lead to premature neurodegenerative disease.
Absolutely nobody should be compelled to take this vaccine under any circumstances, and in actual fact, the vaccination campaign must be stopped immediately.
ok. Let me run this by you first. There are secret wards within the reg hospital I was sent to when a relative
found me not breathing the first of Aug. I didn’t know I was sick. Just went to sleep and woke up in this hellish place
the middle of Sept! No one told me why I was there. I had all kinds of tubes in me. They would move me around all hrs of days and nights. They did mind control sessions on me, programming like stuff. Once two women came in my room and pulled a good cop/bad cop routine on me. It made no sense to me. They told me I was going to lie in that bed for the rest of my life. Then they yelled at me to try to get up. They made me cry.(I was not the only one)n I saw others, especially really old people being abused and crying so pitifully but there was nothing I could do. I was told they had Dementia and
had no idea what they were saying. I didn’t believe that based upon how they were treating me. They kept me nude most of the time, men kept coming in and giving me “baths”. I had no strength due to all the drugs they were giving me. I was a rad doll. They could do anything they wanted to to me. Later I found out I was on fentanyl, the drug that killed Prince and Micharl Jackson. That freaked me out! But not as bad as when my relative found a DO NOT RESUSCITATE sign on my bed when they moved me to another ward. She yelled at them…What the heck is this???? No one told you to do this!!!
they took it off, Or I would be dead now!!! Geez!
Allan, I did not have covid nor did my relative who died. He had just tested negative for covid 3 days before this happened. I certainly didn’t have it. I had been isolated in my house for almost 2 yrs since my city went on lockdown.There was no way I was contaminated. I had Lyme disease as I had told you, that’s all. My relative had diabetes and congestive heart failure but living with iit fairly well. But his death certificate says…Death from complication of covid 19, And they are telling me that I had covid, was on a ventilator (which rubbed a big area of my nose raw and may leave an ugly scar..
When I asked a nurse what was wrong with my nose she told me I had Nose Cancer!!!! I said, Oh I do not! why are you saying that? It was mind game after mind game! Just insane! Some sweet caring people occasionally but lots of just
flat out scary demonic people. I swear ! Allan, if I had covid , they gave it to me when I got there! And the others. I know that sounds insane but I know what I saw and heard. The worst part was hearing my relative down the hall crying and calling and they would not let me see him or talk to him and his dr telling him…You will do what I tell you to do or
you are going to die!!!! so cold bloodedly..On Labor Day someone came in to tell me, I’m sorry but your family member just passed away.I went into shock, I guess. It’s still not real.I never got to see him again. He was cremated almost immediately.
I could tell a lot more but I need to rest before the therapists come for me. I think they were so shocked at the other place that they sent me here to continue healing and get rid of me. I was so mad and determined to survive that it amazred them.
Lots of people come in to meet the Miracle Lady! Hopefully some good will come out off this ordeal. It’s going to take
time to get over the trauma and shock of it all. It affected my memory, my mind, eyes, everything. Started over like a newborn baby. They haven’t mentioned the vaccine. I hope they didn’t give it to me while I was in the coma. I have no idea.
Stay out of St Vincent’s Hospitals is all I can say! Secret wards, staff all keep their name tags turned around so you can’t see who they are. wear scary bird looking masks that freak you out. Just insane stuff!!!!!! well, enough for now. You get the picture. While I was in the other place, my bank account was cleaned out. All kinds of attacks from all fronts. Just one long nightmare. Pt I’m still here, Allan!!!! This covid was created by man to kill millions and to experiment on us like rats in a lab. I just hope they don’t have special plans for those of us who survived all the crap they did to us! Right?
Do NOT let Fear into your head or heart. It feeds off fear. Walk in forgiveness and faith. That’s what saved me . God is going to turn this all around soon. Do a reset of his own. TPRB are terrified, believe me!!!! be safe, Voo
Bless you, Voo. I only have a few minutes to write, but for now, is that St Vincent’s in NY? One thing you must do is demand your hospital records. We’re you billed? Insurance? You can’t let this lay. Start with the records. Demand to know All That was done to you. Do you have a relative as witness to this? Keep me/us informed. This appears to be a crazed escalation.
A shocking state of affairs story. It’s like underground at area 51 or something.
Here in little old NZ, it’s just as bad and worse.
If you want to live, you have to get a lawyer > https://youtu.be/6H11c-nvlmw
I am going to request a copy of all my medical files but I don’t think they will contain
most of what was done to me but I will try. The hospital has called me at home several times now “checking up ” on me which is kinda spooky. Never heard of that before. Twice they called for me to take a survey about what I thought of the care they gave me!!!! Are you kidding me!!!???? I almost choked! Now my poor friend Phil is in the same hospital! I hope they don’t find him a suitable candidate for experimentation! God help him!!! You guys out there keep on your toes!
Believe me, I thought for some time that I was in Area 51! Rooms that were totally
blacked out, weird screens showing scary images on them. People appearing and disappearing.
I don’t know how I stayed sane. Pumping me full of drugs, God knows what all. They were NOT
trying to save me, they were trying to see what it took to kill me but God had other plans.
Voo, tell us why you think they chose you for this and based on what they did, what was the purpose. Speculate.
Weird timing on your YT recommendations Allan to have Cosner’s movie show up. What are the odds?
On the jab issue, a good interview with Crowhouse (surprisingly since he’s a bit questionable since the Christchurch gig) featuring a UK funeral director. The director is seeing the jab as THE death shot. Very disturbing.
https://www.bitchute.com/video/gigUyK3yLtMU/
Yes, a good link, although (as you hint) I don’t trust the guy at all (yes, Christchurch, etc.).
More weirdness. On my Mac we have 45 comments as we do have on my iPad (which I am writing on). But on the Mac the first comment (not this one) was from Voo, who just got out of the hospital from a ‘covid coma’! We want to hear more, of course, but why is Voo’s comment not on my iPad? (Yet their are or were 45 comments on both.) Any thoughts?
Although the mobile(ipad/iphones etc) look the same they are 2 different operating systems and can vary wildly and the distance between the two is increasing, the mobile devices are backdoored even more than the static stuff and more often than not at a hardware level.
Have you ever come across the dead internet theory??
An interesting read that somewhat explains why the net “feels” different these days.
https://forum.agoraroad.com/index.php?threads/dead-internet-theory-most-of-the-internet-is-fake.3011/
Hope you are well and avoiding most of the covaids bullshittery.
Allan, did you try using incognito mode or force the browser to refresh because sometimes updated content doesn’t become viewable.
Hey yes I have noticed this, and very often the comments count doesn’t tally up with what is found on the blog. I don’t know why (even when refreshed).
Brett, I’ve seen the count difference occurs when Allan removes BS comments which doesn’t change the original count. Most likely a bug in the version of word press.
Going home Monday!!!! Yay!!! sorry this is the only place Ican log on to to contact you. Email won’t work here in Rehab. But I’m going home. I’m getting my ife back, Allan! 2 mos of hell.
Why? I don’t know but I certainly have a lotof inside info about this covid crap. Eye witness info!!!! It’s even worse than you imagine. But I survived! Praaise God, Voo
Depending upon what account of “history” you wish to read, you get a different story about how “violent” the Native American tribes were, either towards the Europeans or each other.
For whatever reasons, when European settlers first arrived on these shores, and were low in numbers and resources to defend themselves, the native population didn’t wipe them out completely… as they clearly could have.
We call our ancestors “settlers”, but that word is easily replaced with “invaders” from the perspective of the “losing” side of things.
(I’m not judging, btw… just stating)
If a person is capable of empathy, it isn’t difficult to imagine how the last remnants of a dying culture, relegated to a small area that was “given” to them as a compensation for being utterly destroyed, would harbor ill will toward those people who they still consider “invaders”.
It matters not that the people alive today had nothing to do with the invading or killing or lying, etc…, when a white person in on “their land”, some may act in a hostile manner.
Clearly I don’t condone a group of drunken native americans assaulting a single, white guy who is peacefully visiting their land.
But I can understand how they rationalize it, based upon the circumstances.
If you finally had a gut full, and wanted to end it all – head within stones throw of Sentinel Island. The natives there are the most savage on earth, and are like barbaric animals with less reasoning & compassion than a microbe.
Go near there and you are killed without question. Even if they obviously know you come in peace or have been boat wrecked there.
They are stuck on the stone age forever.
Even the taxman doesn’t wanna know Lol!
Looking at the rest of the world… I don’t blame them one bit.
They are their own worst enemy with a murderous bad attitude towards other humans.
Umm, leave them be? Or must they conform to your lifestyle? It’s not like they are forcing their ways on you… or anyone.
Don’t be ridiculous Klauster.
Just pointing out what is out there, and what they like to do – murder and mayhem – and no other race has “settled or invaded” their land in centuries.
You are lost for a real answer.
Back in the summer of 2006, I took two weeks off from my business and wandered around MT, ID & WY. Stopped in an IGA on the Blackfoot reservation east of Glacier to buy film. There was none, shelves were over 60% empty, and the place was filthy, everyone staring at me. Got the hell outta Dodge el pronto.
Yep, had that experience near 4-corners – with my young children. Eye-opening back then.