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
the quote marks on ‘armed’ mean ‘our history calls it an armed conflict, but the arms were basically all on the Federale side.’ These quote marks are a shorthand for the word [sic], which is Latin for ‘Hey, don’t look at ME.’ This is what seems to be meant by Scare Quotes.
the quote marks on ‘man boobs’ mean ‘i know it’s a vulgar phrase, but hey that’s what people call the phenomenon, which after all is quite real and perhaps important.’ These quote marks are more like an Elizabeth-Bishop call to bravely deplore. Shall we call ’em Eye-roll quotes ?
now if Jimmy, say, or anybody else around there were to maintain that Jimmy were male, and that the pendant breast tissue was accordingly simply a case of ‘man boobs’ — then Allan, not buying it for a minute, would write about sharing cigars with Jimmy while being confronted with these ‘man boobs’ — and THAT would be Scare Quotes.
Great comments. I’d like to answer more but I’m in the serious Colorado outback and offline for a few days, maybe longer. I’m just below the headwaters of the mighty Colorado at a white water place WiFi. Hate to say it but a beautiful Indian Summer….
Met an interesting guy yesterday, a retired spook, a true cold warrior, now pissed with his former employers. More about him when I get back online.
I try not to think ill will towards men, women or what-have-you, but me thinks Ol’ Jimmy set you up with the drunk and his backup. And after you bought stuff from her/him/what have you! Insulting. Glad you and Gus didn’t get robbed or worse.
Once upon a time I was a reporter doing in-depth stories on Indian life in the Pacific Northwest tribes and in Alaska. It was grim reporting for sure. They lack a key enzyme to process booze, so it affects them much more seriously. Or perhaps the right word should be “drastically.” I saw some residents drink hair spray until they would pass out. On one “dry” reservation, residents would swim across a fast-flowing, dangerous river to buy booze on the other side when they got their monthly checks from Uncle Sam. Some would get so hammered they would drown trying to get back across the river with their haul of booze.
The U.S. government would build them brand new homes on the reservation. But because they didn’t value them, they would become uninhabitable within a few months. They would do things like remove a wall in a bathroom, so their horse(s) could use the tub as a trough. Or they would tear out all the copper plumbing out of the house, to sell for booze money. Then they would use the basement as a toilet and the resulting stench would cause the tribal council to eventually condemn the home. It was as predicable as watching a train round a bend.
I stayed on the reservation for a while writing these stories. A fellow reporter warned me, DO NOT DRINK with them, a warning I abided by. Some male Indians, apropos of nothing, would show up at my front door, knock politely, then when I came to the door, offer to fight me. I was like, wth? Um, no. Then they would ask me for booze or money. I have no idea if all tribes are like this, but the ones I was writing about were super gossipy. Everyone seemed to know about everyone else’s business. I found the whole experience claustrophobic, so I was so glad to leave the reservation after my assignments were completed.
Interesting reading, and revelatory too. I didn’t know it was that bad! Keep in touch when you’re in the mood.
I wonder if this link will post – look at what is going on in Australia – and police admitting they are only doing all this tyranical shit for PAY! > odysee.com/@thecrowhouse:2/The-Rule-of-Law-is-Gone-in-Australia-it-is-Now-Under-The-Rule-of-Thuggery:f
Allan,
Yeah, you can’t be right or left, in what you think to write about, then re-check to be politically correct, whenever, whatever, that means. There’s always someone that gets a crawl up their ass in waxing and taxing of
“We the people”.
Depression is an ongoing puzzle, constantly looking for the newer, never-ending, next piece to try to solve it in “The Pursuit of Happiness”.
Your face-to-face real-time experience turned nightmarish with strange people thinking it’s OK to do a shakedown on ‘white man’.
That was a bizarre welcome to a US Trust socialistic bizarre place, an eerie edge of the massacre on the reservation. Hmmm. They’re different. A stoic runs through it. I guess that’s what makes ’em tough too, or… a lousy govern ‘mental’ way of life. Sad.
A vacuous mind stained with victimhood is a stagnant terrible thing.
What a waste.
The photo of Jimmy is a complete irony. The photo of the grave headstone
‘Lost Bird’ is too. They’re consciously stuck in an empty reserve. Why, what, where, when, who am I?
https://www.history.com/topics/native-american-history/indian-reservations
Glad you didn’t get physically wounded off Crazy man highway or turn that impaired heap big injun into the stiff cow. Your adventures are great fodder for your best artful writing that leads to hilarious reading.
Take a bow, Allan.
You’ve just passed through the fallout area of a genocide. What else what you expect to experience exactly? This is the normal product of invading cultures typically Christian on indigenous populations.
….So why didn’t that Indian guy go and work for his money??….instead of an obvious “passive aggressive” robbery attempt on Allan??.
And why do they love money so much?? 😉
BTW Allan, you are dead right – Jimmy snitched on you to the big guy, and he turned up at your door with the “HEY” (he knew who was inside your rig with $).
Did you know that the first slaves in territories what will become USA were native ? In fact when the spanish, english or dutch have killed all the warriors of a village they used the women and childrens as slave…some of them were even sent to africa and none of them come back…this is one of the reason the native showed the road of the Mississipi, and after the one for the Rockies to the frenchs…because they were trustworthy…BTW my ancestor, Charles Philippe Aubry, the last french governor of Louisiana (wich included also large pieces of land along the Mississipi) kicked the ass of the lieutenant Georges Washington
Samuel de Champlain shot dead three Mohawk leaders in 1609, initiating a state of war between Nouvelle France (Canada) and the iroquois League which lasted with varying intensity until La Grande paix de Montréal (1701).
I see all viewpoints and all sides of this conversation commentary dialogue situation etc etc
You will just talk this whole thing up to experience and ill-timing or maybe good timing depending on one’s viewpoint.
They were the stewards here of this land known as turtle Island for thousands of years before the colonizers in the settlers showed up and stole and killed most of what they held dear.
Depression is endemic on the reservations in pine ridge is one of the most impoverished areas in the United States.
They could have just strong-armed you and buried you out in the middle of nowhere your rig and belongings disappeared without a Trace so be thankful the Creator was watching out over you and that 300 lb indigenous were in a gracious mood.
America has a lot to atone for and even though we may not have personally wrong them our presence here in number has allowed our government to break treaties displaced in genocide the very people who are the stewards of this land we live upon, but we all already know that right?
So Allan one experience it was in his Chief sitting Bull used to say Hoka Hay-today is a good day to die…
Aloha
What I didn’t mention is that I’m sure Jimmy — to whom I was very friendly and to whom I paid $75 for a trinket — tipped the others that I was there for the taking. I got away b/c of my dog and some luck (no ditch in the grass), not a gracias mood from drunk Indians. And as far as stewards of the land goes, every tribe slaughtered every other tribe who got in their way. This is even in Dances With Wolves.
Another way of looking at it: They had me trapped and outnumbered and were so incompetent they let a 73 yr old white man make fools of them. Warriors? Stewards? A joke.
You were very kind to buy that trinket.
And yep!, the very early native tribe against tribe slaughters and even exterminations here, would make your hair stand on end.
And when they got their hands on guns, they went mad, killing like there was no tomorrow. Even gentle tribes that didn’t believe in violence/fighting – they were blown away.
For those interested in a more accurate portrayal of the tribes (primarily west of the Mississippi) I suggest “The Comanche Empire” Pekka Hamalainen.
That was a great read ..
Have had similar encounters every time with natives from reservations across western Canada. Beware. Wild. However, when way off reservations, far north, still in natural small hunting/fishing communities, then okay.
Great story Allan, and I am glad you got the hell away from that situation!, and I firmly believe wonderful buddy Gus definitely brought you safety and time.
Hey I can’t believe what they have left up on YT for years on end , while they pull yours and many other folks stuff down! – Herzogs “The act of Killing” documentary… horrible shocking low vibration stuff.
Anyway Herzog and his associates are honest enough to state, the movie industry is there to kill thinking – in here > https://youtu.be/LLQxVy7R9qo
….Oh, and first glance at Jimmy and I would guess female, but bloody hard to tell eh! 😀
And yes isn’t that dead cow a fright!, I come off a Dairy Farm, and when they die they often bloat up with gas like a balloon, and their legs stick up at crazy angles – luckily they don’t pop! :-O
In connection with your account, I can’t help thinking of the old adage, “A conservative is a liberal who was mugged.” I think you’re also trying to deal with the disillusionment of the idealization of the American Indian. A friend of mine who lives in Montana, now, told me that his historical research showed that the plains Indians did not hunt buffalo in the manner described in Dances with Wolves. Rather they herded them off a cliff.
Friends of mine were on a motorcycle trip to Alaska, and it was either Montana or western provinces of Canada where we had a similar incident, though the Indians were not so big and menacing… but definitely drunk. I believe it’s a biological intolerance they carry, and a sad statement on both white-controller-freak behavior as well as native weakness. Speaking of which, my The Decollaring Book is finally out, ref. http://BreatheUp.org for info; the overwhelming majority of WASP society is suffering from what I’m calling collective-brain syndrome (CBS). It’s an addiction, similar to alcohol, with biological roots. And I do believe I’ve stumbled on its roots, causes, and an AA type cure.
Good luck with the book. Looks interesting.
You were surrounded Kemosabi! Hit the beach.
“I explained to the dead-eyed squaw”
It’s obvious you were angry. This is your site. Fine.
But I am wondering why you use such racially charged language?
‘Squaw’ is a native word — meaning female — and ‘dead eyed’ was my interpretation, my way of saying, that no critical thinking was going on. And yes, I was angry. These folks have been fucked for centuries in every way a people can be fucked, and they don’t defend themselves, or even acknowledging the fucking they get.
My alternate title is Bury My Knee at Wounded Heart?
Drunks are drunks no matter what their genetic or cultural heritage. Sadly most of the “white folk” who currently pass through there nowadaze are probably voters and so are legitimately guilty of supporting the current tyranny heaped upon these natives.
Yes, drunks are drunks but my point was the context of finding Dances With Wolves at the top of my YT recommend list and so forth (pay attention while reading, please), and I don’t buy your voter blame any more than (or any less) than I blame myself for the massacre (to repeat myself again). The big fat drunk Indian came back with his buddy to rob me or try to intimidate me into giving them my money or belongings, and fuck that.
I am armed and would have defended myself possibly with deadly force had I not left when I did. You gonna blame the voters for that? Or me?
Hi…you should check the VAERS data at the FDA committee video conference. You have to multiply those number by 41. Because deaths and severe event linked to vaccine are under reported. 41 is the normal multiplier for those data. But in this case the multiplier should be greater du to the fact that the majority of doctor dont want to seem to endorse any anti-vax claim. FYI its a crime to fill a false VAERS report…Check at 4:10:22. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFph7-6t34M&t=15022s&ab_channel=U.S.FoodandDrugAdministration
My research revealed multipliers of between 10 (Havard) and 100 (multiple sources). Where did you get the very specific number of 41?
It mentioned 1 in 600 have an adverse event. That’s before adjustment.
Using your value that’s 6.83%.
https://www.globalresearch.ca/study-government-own-data-reveals-at-least-150000-probably-dead-us-following-covid-19-vaccines/5756347
“What she found was that anaphylaxis was being under-reported in VAERS by 41X. Taking that variable and then applying it to other events, such as death, she arrived at the 150,000 death figure. See the full analysis below.”
This guy do a good job: https://odysee.com/@Infoweapons:1/TFNT1—Vaccines-have-killed-over-200K-Americans:7
These are important links. Good work. (Although they still assume viruses are real and causative. No one has read The Invisible Rainbow, the most important book of our time.)
I’m furious (at every thing fucking up this world), and I supposedly have the easy white male life. Can you imagine finally waking to the truth that you’ve been figuratively, and literally fucked for generations – and everyone but you had known it? Just start a list with raw hatred on top and go from there. Maybe, only a slim chance by most peoples mindset, but just maybe, the beat-down would realize that you, or I had absolutely nothing to do with this klusterfukk. In the meantime, how about a little fire-water?
I sympathize to a certain extent, but somewhere, someone, of these various tribes, has to tell the U.S. to fuck off. It may be naïve, and simplistic, but they are [lawfully] sovereign, they have land (some livable, [enough], would be debatable). I have none, and, as far as I know, it is no longer possible to actually lawfully ‘own property’ in this country… sure with enough money, and play by their rules, it may SEEM like ownership, but I’m pretty sure it is not (except for holding, and defending, a Land Patent). Just try stop paying your property taxes and see what happens.
Anyway, I’ve put my miles in through the very same areas that Allan is currently touring. I am always VERY cautious – now moreso than ever.
[The controllers] of this country have fuct over so many, many, people and peoples, here and abroad it is a wonder how the Great Spirit leaves it be. Wipe it clean baby. And stow your ignorant red, white & blue bullshit.
You will notice all the white politicians, all the rich like Rothschild, Rockefeller, Hell Gate, Suckerberg, Elon Much…they are never labeled with the “white privilege” tag. The white privileges is only for the low, middle class and bottom high class…the higher ladder are untouch
Wow, that was a dangerous situation!…The latest Project Veritas video is worth a watch. A nurse at the Phoenix Indian Medical Center said they’re basically killing people with everything they do…The New England Journal of Medicine came out and said that there is no evidence that the vaccine is safe for pregnant women. So, do you realize that if you’re pregnant in New York City, and want to protect your baby by not giving it poison, you are not allowed in a restaurant or a gym? What kind of a society denies a pregnant woman access to food?…Gabby Petito (who?) is all over the news. The story has “news noise” and “distraction” written all over it. Anything to take away people’s attention.
You obviously don’t have the charisma of Kevin Costner. 😉