My gosh. The crows who are my neighbors, my friends and the daily, momentary advisors along my path-
were sure in deep throated song this morning.
I sat in my yard, simply marveling at the crow talk, their communications
between 6:30 and 8:00 am today~.

INCREDIBLE.
There must've been two dozen different voices, different crows calling to each other, from all 360° around me.

strange dream last night. I dreamed of my friend Glenn, Oogha Tleh, the Wirilwind and my first college roommate Tim, from Sand Springs, Ok.

They had joined forces against me, in a large city park somewhere; at the time that there was some sort of huge craft show going on. They had not only joined forces against me, but were also romantically involved together, making my old, great friend Tim attempt to create a wedge between me and Glenn, deliberately and physically keeping me from seeing him as he moved around the park, commenting of the crafts.

So I did the only thing which I could think of, and made some sort of rock collection and paints. something or another, hoping that Glenn would come and visit it and me.
He didn't, but he and Tim instead led me around that park in a false hope of speaking with them.
By the time I learned their intentions, Glenn was claiming possession of my crafts, the rocks and all.

So I asserted myself, and claimed them to be mine, too- but by that point, everyone was believing them two and not me. I had some contraption then, like an old rusty front-end loader, which was operated by a crank to move- try and pick up my craft of rocks.

Became distracted by these two once again, and led away from the rusty red machine to the other end of the park- where I discovered my friends had disappeared, but crews were digging up the park with better earth moving equipment than mine. I hurried back to my craft and my old machine, to claim what little from this betrayal by my friends that I could; but they'd doubled around behind me, and taken it all.

I was left empty handed and friendless at the end.

I'M GITTIN' MARRIED

I'M GITTIN' MARRIED

We. me and the FINEST GIRL IN THE WORLD!!
cAN'T6 THINK STRAIT, SO FR4EAKING HAPPY
LETICIA SAID "YES"! tO MAKING ME THE HAPIIEST MAN INT EHWORLD, IN THE UNIVERSIE.tHE TEARS FROM MY EYES HAVVE BEEN FALLING 10 FEET, CAUSE i'M WALKING 9 FEET OFF THE GRUOUND.
wANTED YOU TO OKNOW... joyb eyond words
MY HONEY SAID YES!

My soul was happy today. I spent a little time with a holy man, a shaman today who has the most pristine spirit I've yetmet. For that (too-) short a time, the rest of the world ceased to be important, laughable. The world was so small today for less than an hour, just this wise, old soul and me.

It is somewhat hard to put into words, how just walking and talking about spirit, about owls and coyotes and cedar trees could make the other world like a vague dream.

My heart leapt that he invited me to his sacred place. To say 'no', or 'later maybe' never entered my head. I hope I can be lucky enough to know this man many years.

Oogah Tleh.

Never have I known someone so bitter and so hateful. My neighbor takes such delight in spreading misery. And she takes such pride in her own hatred.

When I or anyone tries to tell her why nobody likes being around her, because she is the highest authority on EVERY subject, and will talk your head off telling you so, until you run away from her, she will take that as vindication of her wickedness. Pride in Wickedness.

She will talk your ear off, nonstop rambling on about 55 subjects in a row, and never say a thing.
When she's put into the nursing home, this month hopefully, I will attend the whispered party, celebrating her absence around here, celebrating the peace.

What does a blogger do, when he (or she) just wants to say a zilliion things?

1) I am so happy today, the grin cant be sanded off my face! I hate to admit this, but remember that "One Fine Day, When Everything Was Fine" meme, a couple weeks ago??!!
I think it's today. Honest - today.
I am busy making dinner for the most wonderful girl in the world, and she claims to like me, too
(There was an orange rose and card on my porch screen door, when I got home this afternoon--)
The Cardinals are in first place, and winning!
The weather today here, was ordered from a menu: Cool, damp, breezy.
The garden is growing, and the freezer is full of catfish and buffalo.

2) Today, I seriously entertained the idea of doing some shopping soon......... in a jewelry store. Leticia's birthday is July 19th.
Wouldn't an engagement ring be a nice BD gift for such a sweet girl?

More later maybe-

The latest update in the weird dream file is the most weirdest.
I dreamed last night, that I was laying in bed awake, and reached behind the mattresses at my head, to find:
a pair of scissors, with broken off blades,
then a second pair of scissors, in working order,
then a pair of tweezers,
then two cans of bug killer,
then a small, black desk lamp (with hi-intensity bulb),

then I dreamed that I moved over to the other side of the bed, where I noticed that two people had written messages to me, on the headboard post. Unreadable.

All this time, I thought I was awake.
So I got up. And with my dog at my side, we walked into the kitchen in the dark, to start the day.

That's when I first, first realized that I was dreaming. I realized that I was still in bed, still in the original place in bed. So was Amos still sleeping, at my feet.
But back to sleep, I got out of bed again, and this time, I knew I was dreaming inside the dream.
so I went outside, to let the dream take off in the direction it wanted to.

Outside my house, there was a two or three story building which was a school, but students were crawling up the walls, Spiderman style, and crawling into a second story window.

Weenies and beans, about a half hour before bedtime, did this.
It was cool~!

'Ain't Misbehavin'
I came to Her today at her work Again. To HER obvious great surprise.
Ha. Ha. Ha.

A neighbor of mine needed me, needed me to drive her to her nearby, 0ut-0f-town bank on business. And wouldn't let loose of me, until I did her biddying.

But unlike my elderly kno-wi-tall neighbor, when I accompanied her into the bank, (for a changie) it was really to see the young Lady again who went with me to the pow-wow last night in Tuskahoma, and who ended up sleeping on my sofa here, and whom I drove back home in LeFlore only about four hours ago.
What fun!
What fun!!!
Exclaim// Ation Point, Oklahoma, zip code// password.....
What fun we had together~!
My god, what go9od care She took care of me last night~!~!
Her Hands in my hair lassnigthghty brought a comepltget new feeligng to meWQ@~!!
Zing!
When my bank tellergoddess saw my neighbor, She shuddered like the rest of the bank employees Usually doo.

But when my bank teller saw me again, in the background this time, with my neighbor, SHe rolled her big brown eyes at me and smiled Her disarming, beguiling smile**.

Wasx t hat aHer blush iSaw?
Then the lighs went out I lost conscious. Nness, momentaril yAgain.
Thank goodness for their island, in the center of the banks' foyer. Damn weak knees!
Buy me some peanuts and CrackerJack, I don't care if I ever come down--

THE girl with O-those warm and limpid~ brown eyes
ah, the girl with that smile**,
The girl with the brown and gold-streaked hair,
Jesus, juses, SHE REC0GJNIZED WO SCOTT JOPLIN IS,.,, for yersake!!

gLorious brEathLEssness...!
mOTHER EARTH Iloveyou
Who struck me into sheer dumbnumb Ness, with hER demure,defenseless looks oft to me!
Oooh! Her hair smelled soo goood, like warm-lemon-lime tomorrows.
my breathing heaves, in attempts to recall it. gasping in recall.
Could? She? Be?
We've had four dates so far, including the pow-wow last night.
And she said she enjoyed each with me.
With Me?!! Doesthatinclude oUR Kissing;':.,?"!
mY.. OUR KISSES reMind meof FUTURE KISSES we can sharE#



don't She Know i'm A Localmal Cantbeliked?
THeE>?
I want ot become her theLocal Romanticontent with her
Mor eThanany Thing;

Right now, I don't even know if I'm the Local Halfsavant or uh, what... ever...
cheerfully vvote for hillarying-ism.... kissda donkeyBama...,,ok,cando,sure.

PPPlease, dont toy with me again, God...
Don't take this away from me again.
Because this is too good!11
OK? PPPleae?

A few thoughts on the significance of today.

My mother has been dead for 15 years. Today. That I miss her beyond words does not begin to convey. I realize now that I was her hero, well her other hero besides her father.

Time has healed that wound but the scar is a noticable one, reminder to always strive to be, and accept only the best.
And time since has caused me to now understand how your world crumbled shattered, I am sorry I did not see it then.

The knack of numbers in my head force me to realize that 15 years has both begun and now ended on the first day of spring, inclusively. You always liked numbers, too, mom.

I wish , you know what I wish. That very strange day in 93, that part of the nightmare still is.
and it won't go away.

Tommorow is Crazy Wanda's 76th birthday, March 8th.

She used that fact to push me into a guilt-ridden series of errands for her, this morning.

She had learned that I was off work today, and through the weekend to make up a list of chores for me to perform, and to correct, regardless of the local snowcover, bad roads, or if I might have other things to do.

"I have a levelor-blind, that is stuck open, the cords are stuck" she announced at the luxurious hour of deep and dreamy sleepiness, 7:45 am.

"I don't know anything about Levelor Blinds, Wanda," I said sleepily. "Do you want me to take them apart, and make them draw down closed again?" I then asked.

"NOO!! I want some new blinds. They sell them at Atwoods (A regional department store), and I need you to come over and measure them, and go get me replacements," she barked.

That is all I remember of that first broadcast phonecall from her today.
I made the mistake of going back to sleep until 8:15 am., when she dialed me up again, more aggrivated this time...

"And I need some eye drops from the pharmacy. I called them. They told me the cost was $74.00 a bottle, but then they said that it was only $29.00 for the generic version. But that it would be a $50.00 delivery charge to bring them out here. I can't afford that, and they always send out the wrong medication, each time they come!" she bellowed.

I got out of my bed, and put on my clothes, and the snow-soaked boots from yesterday, and prepared to go to Talihina for her.

But at that point I remembered the toll free number to the Eye Clinic in Arkansas, where Wanda had her laser-surgery performed last week, so I called it, hoping to speak with a nurse or someone else, who would know her condition.

I dialed up the Eye Clinic, and eventually spoke with a nurse named 'Lee', or 'Leigh', who instantly knew who I was calling about: "Oh, yes, Wanda has been calling here constantly, since last evening. We sent her home with enough eye drops to last for a month, last week, sir" Leigh told me.

Evidently, Wanda has lost or misplaced her eyedrops,
as she has her false teeth,
and the 40-watt lightbulbs,
and the cash she got from the grocery store,
and her divorce papers,
and ......,
and....,
and.....

I confided to Leigh, that it was me, Wanda's closest friend and neighbor, who composed that letter to the 'Adult Protective Services' division of the Oklahoma Department of Human Services, advising them about her condition, and her deterioration lately.

"If you need to, have OkDHS call us, and ask for me.... I'll confirm everything," Leigh said to me, in a whisper.

Her whisper is significant, there. She knows. She knows what a struggle it will be,
for Wanda's sake and safety.

Wanda is a menace to herself, or to her home and safety, and to a lesser extent to me, her last friend. She makes my blood pressure sky-rocket in her presence; I hate being in her home, for it all smells like shit and death in there. I won't let her come inside my home anymore....

But for her birthday tomorrow, I bought her eyedrops, a lamp for her bathroom, a magnifying glass, more 40-watt lightbulbs, and a chocolate cake and card for her birthday.
When I delivered her many parcels to her, she began to tell me again about the 'stuck' Levelor Blind, and what to do with it, for her.

I told her that her one window's blinds was not my problem, and walked out, and drove home.

Priorities, priorities, priorities.

I composed the -THE letter to Ok. DHS today, regarding Crazy Wanda, asking them to hurry and intervene in her case.

Anonymously.

Is that pathetic or what? At least cowardly, for if that letter does not do it, she will know who wrote it, and then we'll all have serious hell to pay round here.

.......AS WANDA AND I VISITED THE TALIHINA POST OFFICE TOGETHER,
CHECKING OUR MAIL, I STOOD BEHIND HER, IN LINE,
HOLDING THE MANILLA ENVELOPE OF HER UNDOING.......

Had one of the strangest dreams this morning, I've ever had. One that both woke me up, at it's end, and with a plot so intricate and well laid out, that I lay in bed remembering, reliving it again: Getting it down, understanding it, putting a moral to it.

The dream was unpleasant and garish and had a starring role for an older woman I do not know in waking reality. Honestly, after I did get out of bed, I came here to the internet, to confirm who it was who starred in this dream.

Bette Davis.

Or, more accurately, "Jane Hudson". It was Jane Hudson in a vivid morality play in my head. Odd, I have never watched the entire movie "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?"; and it was easily over 20 years ago. There was no "Blanche" in this dream at all- but there were alot of other people whom I also don't know in waking reality.

I drempt that there was a woman whose ego was just monsterously huge and out of control; this woman, played throughout my nightmare by Jane Hudson-Bette Davis, demanded adoration by everyone who knew her. In her own mind, she could do no wrong thing, no matter how atrocious.

{There is just no language or verb tense available for describing vivid dreams. For in dreams like this one, I had a sense of a past immediately; I knew from the start this woman's bad temper, her unmatched ego, and I knew that other people in my dream also knew these things}

The woman was some kind of celebrity, but neither a movie star nor politician. But again, she demanded and expected everyone who knew her to virtually worship her; and I understood that she expected even those who did not know her to also revere and worship her, from afar?, that is the feeling I had in this dream.

The dream began with a scene which must've been a waiting area, or a dressing room where the woman, some other people and I were awaiting for her name to be called. She would again sweep out, onto a stage somewhere to graciously be. I knew that I was to praise her at that and every moment in her presence, and the other people did so too.

Next, I remember that I was expected to write something on a blue, sparkly book for her; I remember writng "You've Never Been Second to Anyone" on the blue sparkly book, in fawning tribute to this woman.

She leaves the room. I "knew" that everyone really disliked this woman; it bordered on hate- but no one dared to ever, ever tell her anything but loving praise, for fear of her supreme temper.

Next, I am in my grandmother's kitchen, where my Mamaw is making a pastry dish for this woman. My Papaw is also there. And on every wall of my grandmother's kitchen, are pictures of this woman, or little figurines of her.

And the woman appears there, in Mamaw's kitchen, and she is enraged at her. The woman steps in front of my grandmother, and swings her arm at the bowl or something, and flour goes flying everywhere. The woman is shrieking at them, my grandparents, and she tears off my grandmothers clothes in her fit of rage. She continues to throw the photos of herself and the other tributes around that kitchen at them, derisively, condescendingly. The things of my grandparents' adoration of this woman are "not good enough".
Again, she leaves that room. I begin to sweep up the flour on the floor, thinking to myself that I must not look up, and see my grandmother's nakedness, standing there next to me. I concentrated on sweeping up the mess, and looking only down on that floor.

In the next dream image, another guy my age and I are going around room to room in my own house-- we have been instructed by the woman to remove every single item which had her likeness on it. It would seem that I had alot of things-- again, pictures, figurines and even a knick-knack stand of little items of her in one corner; this guy and I went from room to room, taking down every picture, unscrewing a big plaque-like thing from my hall wall.
She had demanded that every item must leave my house.

In another room in my house, there were many people singing a song to her, and it was something like the many verses of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song, with each verse singing a differing virtue of this woman. But I knew that not one of these people really loved her, that they only sang in fear of her. This woman stood there listening to her song being sung, as my pal and I took out things with her image on them, outside.

The last scene of my dream is the point of morality, the point of irony:
Now, instead of my house, all these people and I were in a large room in a tall building, on an upper floor, and the woman has just left our presence. But then I see that someone has shot her in the stomach, killing her, and that her body is in a dumpster, behind the tall building, in a shaded alley way. A policeman comes into the large room on the upper floor where all this group and I are, and askes us if any of us know anything about the woman's death.
A prominent man in the middle of the group, tells the officer that 'No, nobody there had anything to do with murder, that we all are rehearsing a play.

Then all at once, as if to prove to the policeman that we all were indeed, rehearsing a play, he began to sing the same song with many verses, and with each new verse, more people there caught on to what this man was doing, and they too, played along, singing verses to a song, as if it were a scene to a play.

But this time, the verses sung were not adoring the woman, but had different words: Words in celebration that she was dead. And some people danced around in circles.

This is the woman who was in all parts of my dream:

Jeez, I'm freaking out, freaking out, I'm freaking out: The dream is still going on, right now, and I've been awake for two hours now, typing out this during a thunderstorm...

The very song to which Jane Hudson, as "Baby Jane" danced to in that movie, "Manola del Avapies (Tonadilla)", is CURRENTLY PLAYING ON MY SPEAKERS, from sky.fm, the classical channel.

I hate creepy shit like this.

RECIPE FOR 3-ALARM CHILI

Get out and dust off your biggest pot, or a Crockpot.

Go buy yourself these ingredients:

*1-1/2 # ground buffalo (Wal-Mart), or ground sirloin, or ground beef
*1 # pkg. mild or sage pork sausage
*1 large yellow onion
*2-3 jalapeno peppers
*1 pkg. "Lone-Star" brand chili 'fixins'
*1 # new, red potatoes
*2 cans of cheap chili, pinto beans, since I forgot to start soaking the dried beans earlier I got yesterday....
*1 can of "Hot" Ro-Tel brand chopped tomatoes/peppers
*1 12 oz. can "Hunts" brand chopped tomatoes
*1 pkg. bag, real Cheddar Cheese, in those long slivers

**********************************************
In Crock pot, or large, dusted-0ff pot, over medium heat,
add the following, IN THIS ORDER:

Buffalo and sausage; let brown only slightly, then drain off ONLY HALF THE GREASE;

--try not to drain this grease onto the floor where you will be cooking your masterpiece--

Add the Lone-Star chili 'fixins' to the meat

As this mixture is browning and releasing their magical, intoxicating aromas--

add the beans, from whatever source- either the ones you remembered to soak earlier, or the store-bought ones

Allow to simmer to a slight boil*, as you
Chop into small cubes, the new red potatoes, Vice President Dan Quayle,
and ADD THESE NOW TO BOILING, SEETHING MIXTURE

Chop into little, tiny slices BOTH the yellow onion and the Jalapeno peppers,
and ADD THESE NOW TO THE CHILI POT

NOW: It is recommended by 'Choosy Mothers' magazine,
of which I am one, that you allow this mixture to simmer on LOW heat
for about 47 to 62 minutes, just to make sure...

Remembering to Stir the chili mixture every 5 minutes or so, no longer than 15 minutes,
like I did back at Christmas time, and ruined that good
"Teflon" (HA!) pot I'd had for years. Have you ever eaten Teflon flakes?
Tastes like dried paint.

ADD THE two cans of tomatoes, which have been drained previously. Crud, did I forget to tell you that part?

Drain the cans of tomatoes by opening them a little, on each end of the can, and let them drain into the sink--
ADD drained cans of tomatoes.

TURN OFF THE HEAT, UNPLUG THE CROCKPOT, WHATEVER

Mix the ingredients fully.

allow to cool, as you yourself take a much-needed nap, for about 20 minutes-
*************************************************************************************
SERVES ONE, 12 times.

I shall endevor to write about my feelings more here, instead of Crazy Wanda, in future.

I have an awful decision to make, probably sooner than I'd prefer. But the conditions leading to my decision are becoming both intolerable and dangerous.
And to put off making that decision, is itself a decision, huh?

I am the last one standing in the way, of a neighbor being taken to a mental health clinic, or hospital, or to the nursing home. I am the last becuase I am her last friend. All the others, including Crazy Wanda's in-law relatives have distanced themselves from her. Despite her anger at me last month when I helped the law remove her brother from her home and back to the nursing home in Wilburton, I am again her friend this month, as she needs me.

I drove her to TWO different hospital emergency rooms this week, for zero physical reason. There is nothing wrong with her, until the ER doctor gets into the room, then she goes into these fake pains and worries; then when the doctor exits the room, why, Wanda reverts to her real self, and feeling great.

But it is her non-stop talking, and I do mean NON-STOP, that has me on the verge of seeking out mental health help from Adult Protective Services for her. When I walk up on her home's porch, I hear her inside ranting, arguing with someone years removed from the discussion.
She tells me about any insignificant conversation that she had 30 years earlier. With no point to her story, but only a segue to her next narrative. Ad infinitum.

It does not matter if I am in her presence, or if there's no one in her presence.

Her behavior is getting worse, or at least stranger than usual too.
I live approximately 6/10 of a mile North away from Wanda's home. She drove to my place here twice today, to ask me -in person- if I would drive to the store and buy her a case of bottled water. Twice. The second time, to hand me some money to buy it with, after I told her I'd first shower, 30 minutes earlier on her first visit.
The little grocery store is only another half-mile North away from me.
I Am Errand Boy.

She's lost her false teeth, somewhere in her garbage strewn home. And her neighbors have installed microphones in her bedroom. And in her car. And Thursday, she thought listening bugs were in my truck as well, as I drove her to the second ER in Poteau.

If that were all, she would only be 'kooky'. But her problems extend so much further...
She's told me about her 'rape', in 1948. That event seems to have warped her alot throughout the rest of her life.

I have an awful decision to make, probably sooner than I'd prefer.

Update:

Mrs. Spears, Junie laid down the law! With the use of the law. Maybe now with the attention of Latimer county law and DPS on Wanda, could she be next?

Ahhoooh, that's just great. I've just come from a visit with my neighbor Wanda. Around here, she is known as Crazy Wanda. For real good reason she's called that. But you don't dare ever to cross Crazy Wanda.

No. At best you tolerate Wanda and her non-stop talking. She will literally talk your head off, or she'll make you fantasize about the joy of killing yourself, about that time, usually around an hour or two into her meandering, drop-down stories.
Drop down stories are stories she begins telling, when something in the last story she was telling reminds her of yet another agonizing story. Therefore, no story she tells is ever finished.

But, I like her (I tune her out and interrupt her babble when something important needs to be said). And best of all, she likes me too. I am willing to come work around her house for her, as I did yesterday and today. She told me about her need to add more shelving space in her 64 sq. foot kitchen yesterday, and I went and bought her some nice steel shelves at Wal-Mart in McAlester, intending on assembling them today for her. And I have, and did.

Now, though, I know why she needs them, and it's bad. Very Very Very bad. very Bad Bad Bad.
Wanda has removed her older brother from the nursing home, where he'd lived since October last year... Unhappily. To live with her instead.

That's right, her older brother is Granpappy Spears, who is not crazy himself, maybe soon will be, but not now. He is still married to his wife Junie, Mrs. Spears, who could not deal with his Alzheimers any longer. Till yesterday.

Lordy! Lord, give me strength, because I know who it is who will really actually be taking care of him, of her, them both. My utter and lingering shock at seeing Granpappy there at Wanda's house is one OF THOSE SINGULAR MOMENTS in life. She is 75, he is 84 or 85 if he is a day.

All Wanda does is bitchand complain about everyone in her life, family included. All Granpappy does is sit around with his straw hat and dark green sunglasses on. Yes, inside too.
But he is an elder and commands my respect and my ear when he speaks.
Especially now, IF he can ever get an edge in word-wise, around Wanda.

Unlike his sister, who has told me the same story about some ice cream and Kool-Whip four or five times since last Sunday already. Today in her kitchen she SHOWED me the ice cream in question... as if I had never heard the story... or cared about it after hearing it for the first time.
[You do not want me to go there, believe me]

Did I happen to mention the Birthday gift she "got" me this week?
A serape blanket, that smells like kerosene.
No, I'm unwilling to ask why it smells of kerosene.
Afraid she will tell me, over and over and over and over.

This Is Not Good.

(continued from The Local Malcontent)

I have never done this before, maybe will never do it again. That's the way it is,
with a word like "maybe".

Maybe is it's own opposite. Maybe yes means maybe no.
# # # # # # # #

But for the music I promoted over at LMC earlier, it is true:

This soft, deep music is like no other-- it strikes me, it affects me on a spiritual level, causing my soul to leap up.
For it is not necessary to understand the language sung, to understand the intent of the song, of the chant. It is the language of my spirit, and I suspect of your spirit as well.

But, since there are no English words to direct the thoughts of most people, telling them what to think, how to react to the song-- it is somehow less, somehow inferior. Relegated to the "reservation" of one, maybe two public radio stations across America.

AIROS, "American Indian Radio On Satellite", has a listenership counted in the dozens; not
hundred of thousands or millions, of listeners. The link to AIROS is from Lincoln, Neb.
IT IS YOUR LOSS, NOT TO LISTEN, WHITE AMERICA!~!

White America has proven conclusively, that White radio music is superior-- with it's rap music, rock music and yeah even talk radio- ear pollution. And too many whitefolk would be afraid to listen to Indian music.
there are no commercials for Geico insurance or for Rudy stinkin Giulianinani.

sometime I will speak of the traditional, and accepted racial slaps to my Indian heritage... which I get from some of you on a daily basis... and am expected to benignly accept and laugh with you, at. Since we are only dumb American Indian, or Canadian 'First Peoples', you somehow expect us to roll with your flow(ing gibberish).
Honestly, If I had a nickel for everytime someone ever told me "I've got X-amount of Indian in me, too", I'd be a zillionaire.

"Well, good for you..." TMI, TMI, TMI
********************************

this would not be acceptable or popular reading, over on the Local Malcontent side of my blog. Where I feel I must color my speech, my words for you.

"racist". "separatist".

Ge Keshteh Shaa Chacta Eyh, "America".
Live with it, I'm Choctaw, "America".