Old school – NEW world

Bridging the gap . . .

Back atcha

Re: Scripted

Revisiting the previous scribble . . . “Scripted” . . . scripting . . . YouTubers . . . you should have a plan . . . keeps one on task . . . but there’s a time to get off the wire and get a little crazy . . . once you got yer system or methodology embedded you can step off the edge . . . you know . . . like in the military you got reaction drills so when the shit hits the fan you don’t shoot one of yer own people . . . something like that.

Brings to mind 81/2 . . . the movie . . . seemed like such a cluster fuck everyone was running around feeling up somebody lolling on the beach building rocket ships . . . oops maybe that was La Dolce Vita . . . no matter you get the idea . . . Fellini . . . Fred . . . I can never remember if it’s Fredrico or Fedrico . . . DUH . . . it’s “Federico” . . . had to look deep into the brain cavity (google) for enlightenment . . . hmmm same spelling as Federico Garcia Lorca y Lucientes . . . Spain Italy . . .

Moving right along . . .

You can blame or point the finger at Celine for the liberal use of “. . .” the three periods or little dots sprinkled throughout the text . . . think of them as pauses contemplation taking a breath between thoughts . . . flakes of black pepper. . . seasoning . . . like in Japanese when you pause groping for a suitable word or phrase you say “. . . ani . . “

Back to the thread . . . scripts . . .

Re: Huell Howser Cali Gold (California Gold PBS)

Huell didn’t use extensive post shoot editing . . . when he was shooting/recording he simply moved from site to site . . . crisscrossing backtracking to maintain story continuity . . . hmmm . . . Fellini . . . all in the interest of reducing time spent in the cutting room (editing-budget) . . . are you awake YouTubers ?

Oh sorry . . . I forgot yer prolly too busy “looking“ at yer “anal”ytics . . . don’t get me wrong . . . I watch YouTue and at some point the “creator” gotta throw in the like/subscribe prompt . . . only worried about “watch time” and fucking “monitization” . . . GET A FUCKING REAL JOB !!

Taco Bell is hiring . . . Macca/McD is is renovating AND hiring . . . merde . . . first j-o-b I had was at McDonalds . . . bun man potato peeler and burger pattie grill wizard . . . yeh you got that right . . . potato peeler . . . back in 1969 used to have a mo-sheen down in the basement that peeled the spuds before automata stepped in to slice-n-dice flash freeze . . . yousta be we used heavy duty t.v. style make-yer-own hand-powered French fry cutter . . . down in the basement.

Got to visit in-person the original Macca’s in Lakewood CA when I was burger flipping maniac down on Anaheim Street Long Beach Cali-land . . . unh!

Unh !!

You ever see watch or remember the movie “Bus Stop” . . . yeh nah? Marilyn had a plan . . . big red line from bumfuck Iowa or someplace straight across the U ess of A to HOLLYWOOD !!

Big map on the wall . . . Greyhound redeye/redline special to California palm trees sun . . . uh . . . smog . . . lost my train of thought . . . oh yeh . . .

The framed or famed Silver YouTube bellybutton to hang on the wall . . . in the background . . . visible over the Creator’s shoulder . . . that is if their smug ass face isn’t hogging the camera frame . . . I thought or used be of the opinion that the Creator was G-O-D . . . but turns out the Almighty done been replaced . . . OMFG !! Yep.

Couple of bitcoin guru brothers said it best when asked about their YouTube channel . . . I paraphrase: “. . . we don’t create, we document.”

So much for all those fucking wannabe “creators” out there . . . trendy bastids

. . . you get anything worthwhile out of this ? Yes no . . . think I’ll go nuke some chili beans and move my Toyota under the trees in the shade . . . the garage is too full of useless crap . . . no room at the inn for baby Yota!

Later . . . ciao.

Scripted

My day is pretty much scripted . . . if not fully asleep or awake I’m subconsciously waiting for my phone’s alarm to go off . . . then it’s locate the phone and try to find the orange spot so I can silence the annoying metallic rattle . . . the alarm’s ringtone reminds of an old doorbell that can’t decide if it wants to ring or just make some half ass try . . . kinda like someone who is holding the ends of two electrical wires and is scared off by the sparks when the two ends accidentally touch.

Now if a YouTuber was doing a-day-in-the-life you would hear the sound of the alarm and then they would have an image of the phone or Seiko nightstand clock . . . personally I don’t think bloggers can write . . . see Jane . . . see Dick . . .see Spot run . . . See Dick n Jane . . .

Anyway . . . after untangling from the bed sheet hoping I don’t get a cramp in my foot . . . it’s up and at ‘em . . . time to face the fucking weather channel . . . I wish Yanet Garcia was working the weather . . . the tight skirt wet dream telling me the sun’s gonna shine in my backdoor today and the grass is gonna grow so the yard guys will have a job and I’ll finally drown that shit for brains gopher . . . tell me Yanet . . . tell me that fucking gopher is going to eat the cat shit I dumped down its cellar stairs and contract some unspeakable parasitic worms and they will proceed to eat its miserable body from the inside out.

Got my socks on now pants next then my t-shirt . . . frumpy dumpy t.v. weather woman . . . on my way to take leak.

The WC . . . the crapper . . . pissoir . . . wash my face brush my teeth and confront Ezra Pound . . . we stare at each other through the mirror all the while me secretly wishing I had Ezra’s voice so I could read my poems . . . rolling the r’s . . . fuck.

Damn . . . Bukowski could read . . . Henry Miller could talk . . .the gift of gab . . . if I had Brenda Venus or Twinka hanging on my every word I could wax poetic in a very sonorous voice . . . “pull down thy vanity” something like that. . . maybe I should start writing on toilet paper instead of just using it to wipe my ass or blow my nose . . . osso buco. Hmmm . . .

Scripted . . . haven’t even got to swallow the pill stick yer finger part yet.

Hasn’t this been more exciting than being shown someone’s boring little apartment? So far . . . Oui ou non?

Moar later . . . ciao.

Poe-em

Here’s a little something something for yer palette . . . little piece of cheese little piece of meat . . . stole that tidbit from the Kingston Trio . . . the first part lyric is: “Look at them or’durveys ain’t they sweet” . . . etcetera so on and so forth . . . that’s been stuck between my teeth for awhile.

Wam bam thanky m’am . . . short n sweet.

On a somewhat more serious note . . . a Poe-em.

Dying moon . .

(by SalVidali)

Kara . . . say . . .

“bla” . . . “bla”

ba bla bla

ma jolie . . .

ma petite jolie

raw moon on the wane

Holla me . . . holla my name

holla me ala time

the moon waning . . .

bung bung tympani oil drum

50 gallon trommel empty

BING!! BANG!!

BUNG!!

Taka . . . taka. . . taka

takatakataka

ta-kashi-ta . . .

ramen noodle bowl

bam bam bam

wham bam . . .

BAM!!

Moon went down . . .

bung . . .

BUNG!!

. . . bung.

ricochet

over moonless mountain . . . yama

yama tani

. . . bung.

A variation on the dada poema “Karawane” by Hugo Ball or some such Dadaista . . . just wanted to see if you were paying attention.

Content

Upon reflecting on who or what people have stumbled over my blog . . . who they are and what they’re interested in reading about . . . yes folks you have to be able to read it’s a blog . . . and you will find I have a total disregard for punctuation thanks primarily to Celine . . . can’t do ASMR on a blog no how-to-DIY that I know of or haven’t figured out . . . yet . . . I guess I could insert . . . yeh nah . . . no!

Travel and FOOD two things of interest to most people.

I like to eat . . . gotta watch what I eat cos of the old dia-beet-ees . . . fortunately only type 2 . . . keep an eye the carbs eat the veggies take the pills stick yer finger . . . bore-ing . . . capital I-N-G! . . BUT . . . life’s good . . . just follow the rules.

Food . . . I like to eat . . . (said that already) . . . chili dogs tacos roasted chicken ala Mexicano (meh-hee-cano) Polla Loco or S&F (Smart &Final) pressure cooked KFC . . . rice bowl with pork or chicken.

I have a rice cooker that my sib gave to me makes the perfect rice every god dam time!

When I’m tired of cooking for myself I dive into the drive-thru at Jack-in -the-Box for a chicken teriyaki bowl and a slice of cheesecake fishnet stockings and the cute manager . . . I can dream . . . eye candy don’t mess up my sugar intake.

Speaking of travel there’s a donut shoppe somewhere in Tokyo called Jack-in-the-Donut walk-in service only . . . not many drive-thru’s in Japan or Taco Bells.

When Taco Bell took the franchise to Japan it was a BIG fail . . . in Japanese tako is the word fo octopus sounds like taco . . . oh shit . . . oops . . . Japanese ppl said “WTF? . . . where’s the TAKO?”

Back to gourmet aisle . . . chili dogs with diced onion queso (grated Tillamook mild cheddar ) and Cattle Drive chili (with meat) . . . Hormel and any other brand ruins the . . . it’s like . . . would you put Velveeta on anything but a fish hook?! Methinks not . . . Cattle Drive or die . . . hmmm . . . let’s see . . . gourmet aisle oh yeh . . . wine.

Once upon a time I worked with this guy who used work for Sun computers over in Silicon Valley . . . sales rep or something anyway kind of a wine snob . . . had a monthly subscription to a wine thing and Peets coffee . . . so anyway he asked me if had opened the bottle of wine that he had ordered for me and i told him “Yeh . . . last night” and he wants to know what I drank it with . . . a very nice dry white French vino . . . “Chili dogs” I said . . . “CHILI DOGS” he screamed “you drank that wine with CHILI DOGS?” Yep . . . he turned walked out the door down the hall to his office . . . I could hear him . . . “He drank that wine with chili dogs . . . chili dogs . . . fucking savage!”

Hee hee hee ho ho ho ha ha ha . . . fucking savage.

We also had a gruyere encounter after hiking to an abandoned ashram . . . buts that’s another story . . . fucking savage.

It’s 20 something days since the sun started its return to the northern hemisphere . . . looking forward to the Chinese lunar new year as the days lengthen . . . awaiting the emergence of the little Mojave desert tortoise . . . it went into hibernation in early October 2020 . . . should be crawling out sometime around March, 4718 year of Golden Cow White Ox Metal Bull . . .

As you might have gathered this text was generated ca. January 2021 . . .

So much for the new year . . . hopped in the time machine . . . slid to a stop at some point in the very distant past . . . I became the proud owner of a Schwinn one-speed road bicycle . . . narrow tyres and touring handle bars . . . ny birthday I think.

I was enamored with bicycle racing . . . road racing . . . Tour de France . . . Eddie Mercx.

I rode my bicycle like you would ride a motorcycle . . . sliding through turns on dirt roads like a flat-track motorcycle rider . . . flat-track motorcycle racing . . . the San Jose Mile . . . something I wasn’t aware of at the time . . . it wasn’t until the mid-1960’s that I learned about dirt bikes . . . my grandfather paid for my first motorcycle, a BSA trails bike . . . anyway, I rode the Schwinn like a madman . . . touring handle bars turned upside down to mimic the European road racing bicycles . . . no toe clips on the pedals mostly cos I didn’t know about them . . . BMX before BMX.

I had a course set up that traversed the paved streets and dirt roads in and around the small town I lived in . . . it was something of a miracle that I never seriously injured myself or broke the front forks (no shocks) . . . oh . . . and the bicycle only had the brake built into the rear wheel hub . . . no caliper brakes with rubber brake pads . . .

I probably would have been influenced by Ettore Bugatti if I’d known about him and the comment someone made about the poor brakes on his racing cars . . . Signore Bugatti said, “I didn’t make the car to stop, I made it to go fast . . .”

The brakes on Bugatti’s car were hand operated . . . by the right hand . . . the brake lever was situated outside the car body next to the shift lever. Steer with the left hand clutch with the left foot right foot on the gas pedal (no heel and toe dexterity necessary) shift gears and brake with the right hand (no high tech F1 paddles on the steering wheel). Oh, and the engine in the Type 53 was a straight 8, hence the long nose.

. . . back to the “now” . . .

Ciao . . .

Time travel

Aaah the halcyon days . . .

The past seems to bubble up on certain days more frequently than others and this is one of those days. It seems to start while I’m still in bed trying to decide if it’s worth the effort – getting up . . . and then something, a thought or thought fragment flickers like a neon light when it’s just switched on . . . something long forgotten, and I force myself into a sitting position, complaining . . . I know that if I don’t get up, that little flicker will dim and return to the emptiness from whence it came.

Henry Miller said he wrote for 15 minutes every day whether he felt like it or not, and then he would sometimes end up writing for several hours as the result the initial 15 minute foray.

I was in Mexico back in the mid-1970’s . . . Manzanillo . . . Las Hadas . . . dazzling white in the midst of a tropical forest . . . on the beach or bay. Manta rays off the jetty tequila sunrise on the table . . . in the background the Lullaby of Broadway . . . subliminally . . . not Doris Day but some big band like maybe Tommy Dorsey filtering through whitewashed walls of a misplaced MexicanTangiers.

After 50+ years I can still see in my minds eye, the room, the beach, the little green gecko on the wall . . . and I can remember the desk clerk’s smile when I told him we’d like to stay for another week.

Guy on the beach says, “You from the U.S.?”

I say, “Yeh . . .” Shit, all I need is someone disrupting my tequila induced inertia . . .

He says,”Where?”

I say, “L.A.” I know he’s with someone . . . I saw them earlier.

He says, “L.A. is a big city.”

I say, “Yeh.” So I’m beginning to feel like someone with a hangover that just wants everything to go away, but you can’t ignore the fact that your head hurts and someone is knocking on the door.

He says, “Where in L.A.?”

I tell him and lay my arm over my eyes thinking he’ll take the hint and leave me alone.

He says, “What Street?”

I tell him. Shit, he’s fucking persistent!

He says, “What’s your street number?”

I tell him . . .I’m thinking he must be FBI looking to start something . . . do I look like a fugitive?

He says, “We live one block down on the same street . . . small world.” And then he leaves.

I been readIng too much Burroughs . . . the junkie paranoia was beginning to infect me . . .

I see the guy several years later back in California and he says, “Hey Karmont, it’s been awhile, how you doing?”

Small world . . .

The Ranch

“Skinwalker Ranch” (hereafter SWR) . . . airing on the so called “History Channel” and produced by the monkeys that are responsible for “The Curse of Oak Island”. . .

There are a lot of YouTube videos that are “reviewed” by other YouTubers . . . this however is review of a teevee program . . . And it’s not a video . . . 5th grade reading skills required.

First off the SWR format is just a spin-off of the Oak Island dream of the Money Pit . . . they (SWR) got the “Command Center” instead of a ”War Room” . . . woohoo!

How much $$$ did the owner of SWR “contribute” to History org?

Enough . . . Enough . . . what I really wanted say was the hype . . . the name is just that . . . HYPE . . . fucking media hype. . . I mean . . . it (SWR) was even on Post Malone’s bucket list . . . merde . . . what’s that saying?

Moving on . . . numbah one: the “History” channel is using photos taken by Edward S. Curtis of Navajo yeii back ca.1900 in the SWR promo video’s . . . specifically Talking God . . . Child-born-for-water and Monster Slayer. These beings are not skinwalkers . . . GET YER fucking History facts STRAIGHT!!

This is the reason why we indigenous North American tribal people are now called native Americans . . . y’all pale skins can’t take the time to get yer shit straight . . . ha ha get it?

Pale skin walkers (backpack hikers) . . . I like it . . . SMASH the LIKE button . . . buy me a Kofi . . . Yowza! gotta wrote that down for the future.

Back to the NOW . . . misrepresentation of indigenous people is typical of the media . . . they (the media) have their nose so deep in the butt crack in front of them they can’t see nothing . . . as bad as CNN.

“Calm down my son . . .”

Anyway . . . the SWR (aka the Sherman Ranch) is out in Utah somewhere in the United States . . . but NOT on the dinehtah . . . dinetah . . . that’s the Navajo Nation Rez for the white eyes not yet “woke” . . . yeh I know what that means . . . had to consult with my cultural consultant on that word.

However the Navajo Reservation does occupy a small south east portion of Utah but not a significant amount and not close enough to SWR for the purposes of this rant.

The big thing that really pisses me off is that the yeii are Holy People to the Navajo . . . the skinwalkers are a dark part of the witchcraft aspect of Navajo mythology . . . and to use photographs of the yeii to suggest that they depict the mythical skinwalkers is misleading and bullshit . . . just like that cows ass mouth donald trump’s fake news.

You “woke” now?

Hmmm . . . where was I . . . oh yeh . . . SWR north east Utah . . . Unitah County. The Sherman Ranch (usetahbe) mothah lode of paranormal action bovine (cow) mutilations ufo sighting etc etc etc so on and so forth . . . until it sorta slipped into obscurity . . . then the Money Pit was running out of gas up someplace in the Atlantic so the History CFO says let’s stir up the sediment in the attic see if we find any $$$ . . . Attica . . . Attica . . . et voila! Sherman Ranch bubbled up from the depths . . . O.K. . . . but . . . gotta have a catchy moniker . . . hmmm . . . let’s see . . . then a tiny voice from the shadows whispers, “. . .vampire . . .” SAY WHAT?! . . . “vampire.”

CFO says, “Hmmm . . . vampire.” (vampire=skinwalker)

Well somehow Sherman Ranch became the mysterious secretive SWR (see above) kinda like Area 51 . . . is that where all the water went? More about the water later.

On a different note . . . my fav personality on the show at SWR is “Dragon“ . . . scruffy ass looking dude dressed in black ops “black” . . . packing sidearm heat and a holding a fucking shotgun . . .1st season (lmao!) he always be lurking looking threatening . . . 2nd season the Dragon is STRAC . . . M16 walking stick to slay trespassers and badass ultrasonic vibrators . . .

Oh yeh . . . and they be drilling holes flying drones bringing out-of-work ufo desk jockeys and paranormal sidekicks onboard even got an astrophysicist at SWR . . . WTF ?! Holee shit!

Well they be flying drones so better safe than sorry I always say . . . just saying.

Speaking of drilling holes . . . the SWR drilled a hole and dumped like 30-40K gallons of water in to see what they could see . . . oh . . . I didn’t mention they added dye to the water so it would be visible when it surfaced . . . never found out where all their water went . . . Sri Lanka maybe?

I once stuck a hose in a gopher hole in an attempt to drown the little bastard . . . 30 minutes later the water was still sounding like it was falling into a bottomless pit . . . Sri Lanka rice paddy? . . . yep.

p.s. the name “Skinwalker Ranch” trademarked 2012 . . . whaaat?

Caio . . . y’all have a good day.

The author is an enrolled member of a federally recognized eastern California Indian tribe (not Native American).

Neesh/niche

Just a RANT on How-to-make Money on YouTube or the YouTube Niche market . . . you can say “nitch” . . . or you can say “neesh” . . . both are correct you just gotta raise yer pinkie finger when you say “neesh” . . . sounds more sophisticated.

Well it’s all about the algorithm . . . the fucking robot code that drives YouTube and all the other social media platforms . . . not a bit of creativity involved just “if . . . then, go to” . . . It’s like Al Bundy or Homie Simpson . . . their eyes can’t see past the cleavage butt cheeks or can of beer.

Duh . . .

So once you’ve been suckered in by the clickbait (thumbnail/caption) Al-got-no-rhythm locks the click data into the “if (thumbnail/caption) then, goto . . .” code and shit like or similar to the thumbnail/caption start popping up on yer home page as “recommended” video content based on what Al has decided you want to see . . . that’s all the algorithm is . . . a piece shit program code that “thinks” for social media junkies.

An algorithm can be very sophisticated but it is still a simple programming code that less than honest YouTubers use to exploit viewers so they can avoid having a responsible j-o-b.

For example there’s this big thing about a mysterious cave and a person who disappeared while attempting to prove he wasn’t lying about it . . . now if you want to boost your viewership or subscribers use the guy’s name or caption yer thumbnail referencing the cave and BINGO! . . . YouTube addicts will swarm yer post like stink on shit. Thank you Al go a-rhythming . . . You like Thelonius Monk?

. . . my YouTube home page . . . it’s all fake news or recycled B.S. keywords . . . spooky . . . unknown . . . mysterious . . . how-to . . . never seen before etc etc etc.

Or the U-F-O . . . holy crap . . . the Pentagon has said “o.k. Oh fucking KAY . . . there’s something flying around out there but we don’t know what they are.” Lots speculation . . . one lady says they aren’t operated by aliens and suggests the objects are unmanned vehicles . . . hmmm . . . I’ll buy that, but how do you explain how they just vanish? POOF! . . . gone. This female person had an interesting theory . . . flat earth concept . . . poke yer finger through a sheet of paper and the tip of your finger represents the UFO (UAP) as a visible manifestation . . . pull your finger back out of the hole and POOF . . . gone.

All well and good but . . . let’s say you have a vehicle that can move Mach 3or 4 unmanned (UAV) and it’s fitted with a “skin” that allows it to “cloak” itself

. . . like the Predator . . . you’ve prolly seen the video/movie . . . yeh nah.

The Pentagon has acknowledged their existence (UFO/UAP) . . . sworn to secrecy . . .

I read (past tense) a comment on a YouTube video said . . . “Without comments & the philosophers who write them we wouldn’t have answers . . . Whaaat? . . . like: is cereal soup? Why photos of the moon are black and white , , , and the best one: is a hot dog a sandwich? Thanks Fran, you know who you are.

I guess I’ll wrap this up . . . got tuna sandwich to eat gotta check action on the Fig and out on 27th Avenue & Indian School Road in Phoenix AZ . . . lookin for lizards and shapeshifters . . .

Ciao 4 now . . .

Bing Bang Blog . . .

STOP THE COUNT! . . . STOP THE COUNT! . . .

STOP the STEAL!

WHAT THE FUCK America?! The “flat earth” sewage has bubbled to the surface across the RED states spreading its stench . . .

The ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE is upon us!

What is baffling is, how can people become so gullible?

Well, it’s not really a mystery . . . I watched a sci-fi movie some years back titled “5 Million Years to Earth” . . . British movie . . . starring Prof. Quatermass. British version was “Quatermass and the Pit.”

Cut to the chase . . . turns out that the people in London were genetically descended from Martians who had come to earth many years ago and started a colony . . . got jiggy jiggy with the local ladies and voila! . . . Anyway some electronic vibration triggers the Martian genes and everything goes to shit . . . Martians hopping about wreaking havoc on the humans generally fucking up London . . . kinda like what’s happening to the U.S.

Got the “no-maskers” sounding like NAZIS . . . chanting “STOP THE COUNT” . . . FRAUD!

If you say ZEIG HEIL it sounds a bit like STOP the COUNT . . .

Whenever I see “protesters” on the telly I see the insect Martian mobs hopping. . . . hopping and destroying . . . disrupting . . . mindless shit.

This ain’t my country anymore . . . NO ONE wants to follow rules . . . too busy with TIK TOK Instagram Facebook trying to become a YouTube star . . . you’ve gone “viral” America . . . and the virus is killing you.

‘Nuff said . . . wear yer “face diaper” . . . ciao.

Bringing It All Home

A Coyote Story (2020)

I’d better insert a disclaimer: The views, thoughts and opinions expressed herein belong solely to the author and are not to be construed as pertaining to any other group or individual, indigenous or otherwise. There, done.

LS, my dads father, was talking about the Coyote and how he’d mistakenly thought a song he heard one day was his “doctor” song coming to him. T.C. (The Coyote) was walking along talking to himself when he heard singing . . . faint . . . drifting on the breeze. He stopped so he could hear better . . . “Yes,” he said, “that must be my doctor song. I heard that when you get up in age you might become a doctor and that’s my doctor song coming to me. Yaa-pah!”

What he actually heard was the Cottontail singing, and if he’d listened carefully to the words, he would have known he wasn’t hearing a “doctor” song.

Let me clarify what’s meant when I’m say “doctor “ . . . I don’t be referring to a medical doctor M.D.

When the old people has something wrong with them they send for a “doctor” . . . Indian doctor. No medicine man shaman mumbo jumbo . . . the Indian doctor will “talk” to you find out what’s the problem. If you need some medicine they get the plants can fix you . . . if somebody’s talking witchery they will go and tell them “Stop talkin’ shit – you know what’s gonna happen you keep talkin’ that way.”

Anyway, to put an end to this . . . the Coyote wasn’t on no “vision quest”. . . he was just out doing things Coyotes do . . . up to no good most likely.

Where is this going?

Sometime around 2003 I co-authored a paper about the possible use/purpose of petroglyph panels in Lower Renegade Canyon (Little Petroglyph Canyon, NAWS China Lake).

If you be familiar with petroglyphs you’ll know that they are abstract representations of humans, animals, birds, etcetera . . . then you also have pecked geometric shapes and patterns curvilinear lines dots all sorts of nonobjective detritus . . . early Juan Miro without color.

Well . . . after the gathered rock art cognoscenti heard the paper, they was rolling on floor laughing . . . cos we dint have no track record no PhD . . . in other words no rhetorical paper bullshit gathering dust in some obscure file cabinet corner. Not only did we lack academic “credibility” . . . but we also lacked anthropological “visibility” . . .

That’s just the “exposition” of the theme . . . the variations followed. O.K. Now where was I?

So some years later (in the past 2 weeks) I built a MOC . . . a figure made up of miscellaneous bits and pieces of old Bionicle snap together figures that I had in my collection of stuff from the past. MOC is an acronym for My Own Creation.

So what did I build?

I made a fétiche, a physical manifestation derived from all the anthropomorphic petroglyphs that I had seen during my numerous archaeological survey field trips at NAWS China Lake . . . a 21st century relicant of a being from OVP mythology . . . the Coyote.

*fétiche – (religion) fetish, idol

Sculpture se limite à des fétiches et des représentations de dieux toujours de petites dimensions. (Claude Lévi-Strauss, Anthropologie 1958) trans. – sculpture is limited to fetishes and representations of gods always small.

This ain’t the “trickster” no, no . . . it’s the Coyote . . . “T.C.”

In Navajo mythology he is known as the Reckless Coyote.

The name “trickster” is like the word “Native American” . . . a generic term, politically incorrect . . . the latter coined by the Federal Gov’t to avoid having to comply with CFR 25 policy . . . and “trickster” by Academia . . . thank you Gerald Visenor et al, purveyors of the “trickster” mythos.

T.C. is a clown, not the present day psychotic Halloween freak, but what Tony Hillerman called a “sacred” clown . . . a persona there to remind you and me that we aren’t who we think ourselves to be, but rather mere mortals.

Mythologically, a double edged sword . . . supernatural, at the same time human.

I’ve seen the ceremonial clowns at Taos Pueblo during the San Geronimo Day festivities, and I’ve seen the Navajo Yeibichei “clown”. The Apache have a similar figure and the Puebloan people have the “koshare.”

And that’s the concept for the figure, the “why” . . . the Owens Valley Paiute (OVP) dint have no Geronimo no Crazy Horse no Emiliano Zapata no Caesar Chavez or Tony Stark . . . the OVP only have The Coyote.

My fétiche wags the proverbial finger at you if you get “too full a yo’sef” . . . he’s there to let you know that he sees through the sham, the artifice . . . because, in reality it’s you who’s the “trickster.“

The Coyote stories are the Aesop’s Fables of the OVP . . . there’s a moral in the Coyotes misadventures.

Anthropologists have tagged the Coyote stories “The Coyote Cycle” . . . . tricycle . . . bicycle . . . they don’t say.

But as Brer Rabbit said, “Please Brer Fox, don’t trow me in da briar patch, whatever youse do, jus’ don’t trow me in da briar patch.” Or something like that . . . you know the rest.

Y’all have a good day.