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| Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. |
To do anything, actually, but I'm referring to my writing.
I have been running, flat-out, for days. Pain, fatigue, migraines; they never let up, but I'm doing it anyway.
In between I squeeze in time to make sure the post at Wings's site gets done. I do my own writing, usually late, and apparently pointlessly, but I do it.
Meanwhile, I chase sales to keep the lights on, which is becoming an increasingly futile proposition — all the more so when wealthy white people feel perfectly comfortable letting it be made clear that 1) we're just poor Natives who should be grateful for scraps, and so we have no business refusing to devalue our inventory to nothing so they can crow over their bargaining power like Lindsey Graham, or, in the case of certain white women, 2), making it clear that I stand in the way of their big romantic fantasy about landing a trophy Indian brave (yes, even when they're already married, too), and as long as my very existence is acknowledged in front of them, they will not buy.
Yes, I'm fucking bitter.
A holiday weekend coming up, and no sales in the offing. Vehicle insurance and other bills due in a matter of days. One single solitary supporter on Patreon (and I love you for it). Oh, everybody wants my writing and imagery: They want to take it, use it, take credit for it, get paid for rewording it or simply stealing it outright. Those who don't do that to me are quick to tell me how great my work is, but that and a buck-fifty still gets me a cup of shitty street-vendor coffee.
Over the last couple of weeks, I've watched people who, over the years, I've been let know (and entirely without subtlety) are my "betters," people to whom I'm supposed to defer and allow to take credit and erase me wholly in the process, completely betray their much-avowed "principles" for the most venal and self-interested and utterly self-promoting of reasons.
Yes, I'm fucking bitter.
I am fully aware of how flawed I am as a person. Unlike some people we all know, you will never see me pretend to the contrary. I have never and will never make any claims to sainthood, nor to the whole bullshit-filmy fake love-and-light veneer so beloved of faux Natives, used to disguise their own many sins. I am human and complex and much more inclined toward warriordom than [fake] spirituality. I am impatient, I am profane, I don't suffer bullshit gladly, or at all. But we both do our best to be decent human beings. We don't set out to hurt people, nor to elevate ourselves at others' expense. But it gets done to us pretty routinely, and I'm tired of the karmic balance always seeming to support those who damage others. It's a trickster world, one that favors those engaged in the trickery.
None of this matters, and it won't change a goddamn thing. Comments aren't needed, nor is anything else at this point. But sometimes I need a safety valve, and this is it. No comments. I just need to vent, and I have no place to do it but here. No one's obligated to read it, after all.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
