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Travel: Clothes Partially
Make the Man I feel sassy in my regalia. I remove my urban wardrobe: T-shirt, jeans, Chucks, black socks. I fasten animal parts and feathers to my body, splash paint across my face like fireworks. It feels great to expose my bare chest. My flab just there for all to see. I'm vain. I'm very aware of my naked skin, but in primal ensembles I lose it. It's summer clothes. It's time to dance, to drop the white world, exercise the cages of time, let my beige skin return to the dark. I love it. Dressed like this, I can ride horses like nobody's business. (Though I rode a horse only once in my life. Hey, I'm Urb-Indian. It's genetic.) I untie my ponytail and let my black mane flow. I had a few lovers in my life both male and female. Love is hard anyway you go. Though I don't smoke much I carry my pipe. I look very collegiate with it. My blood pumps through the powwow circuit. It's my life. I should be the cover of a romance novel. My American gut on the up when my feet hit down with the drum beat. Forget flutes. History is afraid of drums. That's all I talk is drums. I drank a six pack [drum hit] of bottle water [drum hit] last night. [drum hit] I smile too much. [drum hit] I crack jokes [drum hit] at inappropriate times. [drum hit] I'm in the 21st century. I don't plan to leave any time soon. Trevino L. Brings Plenty, Portland, OR Native Travel Changing Spirits of past generations rule time traveling through millenniums of particulate matter swirling in and out of earthbound warriors. Each generation is connected through ever-changing molecules arranged by the blowing-winds-of-fate. Leni I. Friedland (Artist/Poet: author of Off-Key) Mt. Sinai, New York Native Travel Some Native Americans speak with 'forked tongue' but that is not my style. I'm Gerry Tosie, Nakota Mystic, you see, I aim to be around a while. Once my great-grand fathers rode a war-pony fast, now I'm the owner of a Harley Davidson and I aim to make it last. I'm extra keen to find my roots and dig deep, and deeper still. Every spare moment of my time I peep into books in the library to read and let the story unfold, of all these wonderful things our past, for me, must hold. I often travel into the jungle, not the city life, where the gamblers go, rather the desert place where you might never take your wife. It's there I get a buzz , it is Mother Nature and only me, when I change my clothes, my mindset blows and I'm a hunter again, you see. I pick, I stick paint on my face, I think it suits me too. Add jingle jangles to my clothes and the sound it makes seems new. I pick up a bow and arrow and try my skill at night, if I did hit anything then I'd think it right. One day I bought a map of all the deserts in the world. It opened up my eyes to places to visit , places to love and dream. Now in the desert of the Sahara I've ridden my HD, of course, the steel machine of two wheels kept me on my course. Next the Gobi desert , perhaps onto China too. It great this travel thing. I wonder how you knew. Perhaps the Moon Goddess tells all , Miakoda spirit is everywhere. I'd love to travel on my HD up, up into the sky when she calls for me to die. -Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, Oxon, United Kingdom |
