“Did I ever tell you about the time I cut my hair short, Billy?  Turns out I looked so unlike an Indian that until my hair grew back I took to wearing a Poarch Creek porcupine roach headdress* and ribbon shirt just so people wouldn’t mistake me for a Norwegian sailor.”* “I hear you, brother.  Before I started wearing the hat? I would get propositioned in Arizona public toilets like,

“200 professors at CU have stood up, Billy.  They’ve stood up and been counted and have made clear that they recognize that this whole controversy has never been about anything other than an attempt to chill speech that is unpopular with the criminal right-wing establisment and its soulless lackeys.  To try to make this about anything else—my heritage, my scholarship, my art—is yet further proof of the systemic undermining of

“Here’s what I know for sure, Billy:  the Colorado board of regents is scared to death of me—scared of the way I deconstruct traditional notions of ‘art’; scared of my willingness to condemn their bogus country, built over the bones of our ancestors; and finally, scared that I’ll sue their asses off for civil rights violations should they dare try shitcanning me.  In fact, rumor has it that they’re planning

“What people don’t understand is that we Native Americans think of ‘art’ as a communal gift. So the idea that any one person can actually claim ownership over a piece of art is as alien to our culture as Moo-shu pork or ceramic angels, and about as ludicrous, to our way of thinking, as trying to claim ownership over the concept of beauty itself.”* “I hear you.  I stole this

“The thing is, Billy, it doesn’t even matter what kind of ‘blood’ I have in me, y’know?  Because the essence of my Native-Americanness—the essence of all Native Americanness—is a desire to fight the Establishment, and to do it on my terms.  I believe in an organic societal structure—not the forced inequities of a market system responsible for more genocide in the world than all of history’s Hitlers combined.  That’s the

“Looks like my fifteen minutes are about up, Billy.  Helluva ride, though.  Helluva ride.  Wish I coulda kept it going, to be honest with you.”* “Sure.  But next time?  Theme song. Trust me—the consumerist rabble eat that shit up, man.”

“You hear about that chick who scalped a teenager last month?  Well, I like to think my work in raising the profile of oppressed Native Americans had something to do with that little bit of authentic American justice.’”* “Sometimes—just for fun—I refer to corn as ‘maize.’ And there’s not a damn thing the Man can do about it.” **** More here and here.

“So then I look Paula Zahn right in the eye and say, ‘I don’t believe I owe an apology, baby.  I don’t know if the people of 9-11 specifically wanted to kill everybody that was killed. It was just worth it to them in order to do whatever it was they decided it was necessary to do that bystanders be killed. And that essentially is the same mentality, the same

“The so-called ‘victims’ of 911 formed a technocratic corps at the very heart of America’s global financial empire…and they did so both willingly and knowingly. If there was a better, more effective way [than incinerating them or forcing them to leap to their deaths] of visiting some penalty befitting their participation upon the little Eichmanns inhabiting the sterile sanctuary of the twin towers, I’d really be interested in hearing about

So. A fake pragmatist and real Marxist has decided, quietly, to back a fake Indian and real Marxist against another fake centrist and real Marxist.  Oh, the intrigue!  Except that no matter how you slice it, the Democrats are looking once again to nominate a Marxist.  Which should do wonders for the economy. Better hope Hillary doesn’t have any dirt on you, Mr Obama.  And as for you, Ms Warren,