I skip. Into Anthropology class. I haven’t been here in three weeks. I got a D on the test. I’m not fairing too well. S’okay though, everyone in here has green fluorescent ooze dribbling out of their foreheads. Night class Miller time sports loving empty-headed conversationalist drones. College football sweatshirts and references to current sitcoms bludgeon me with trite saltine cracker culture, one after the other after the other. I’m completely stoned. Every sound has this dry institutionalized drag on it, the pencil being sharpened, the particular ruffle of book bags being slid off shoulders, these college environmental ambient nuances, gym shoe squeaks, the dry dry dry informal formalled voice tones, scraping around campus events like tired old men with glasses in tan sports coats with no ability to drag their aged, vintage experience and knowledge their entire life and all their good hard work to end up bald, middle class and unbeloved by students, the fake cracking facial expressions as bare and off-white as the walls the smiles like junk food love I smell my fingers and the trace of Dorritos from hours before in a sickening plume of stench like the smell of a whore’s cunt on your fingers when you scold your child the next morning for not getting out of bed on the first call. These fucking Americans. These fucking lords of all creation advertised, gun blazing foolhardy craving the sweet sexy naivety of the cleverly half-assed dashing middle class Nike wearing – A people have passed this place. A people long ago. They’ve left skeletal remains along the way to mark their trail, we weren’t even aware of this place as they buried their ancestors. To the savage, his title was clear and ambiguous to him. That was all the land a land that was a ripple of grass promising to be there forever, the Grandmother land, the creed of the blackened faces, the snake people, and the pawns, the people of the blue clouds. It had been given to them to share with the grasshopper. All living things with feet, and hooves, and roots, are our people. The whispered wind related to the everywhere spirit – Doritos, Pringles, The Cosby Show, a shining metal seemed to magnetize us further and further. I’m sorry I don’t understand the clock people, the lite beer people, the sports people, the sit-com people, the Gatorade people, the people of the tucked in shirts, the tanning bed people, the dead language people the tried people tiring people the matching skin people, the surprisingly romantic people, the pony herds, the war smiles, the enemy.

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