elders & hip kids: white people problems | November 4, 2014

I have been thinking of what maturity means…

Picking nails & stacking tales,


this capitol exchange creates swindlers of us, the barter of something, a symbol holding so much weight, so much harm, so much violence, so much experience.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, are we ready for you?

Smoke, puugghhhh…



The trigger is pulled by the pointer finger.

The lovers were shot in bed.

At the gate of the underworld, at the temple of birth and death triggers were pulled.

Shots cumming forth.

Picking nails to pin it down,

stacking tales to lay it out.

Tending our hides & what our hides keep hidden

like our tail bones & the bones of our tales.

Smoke pugh & mirrors.

There is a terrible pain.

That of the whore standing up.

That of the harlot tree growing from the earth up through the babelonian tower.

That insurrection of nature through civilization.

That battle cry through all  of the air waves to the womp womp of the eternal womb.

Back straight, shoulders back, heart open.

What do you think of the way a doe fears?

The way the eyes and the ears work together to express concern.

Heads up, frozen muscles, deep breath.

I am aware of a sensation in my body around money, time & property.

There is a clasping around my heart and a shorting out feeling flooding my skin

when I think

where can I rest my head?

Perhaps, like a doe presuming she is tip toeing through an earth,

a doe who instead turns a corner and finds a dunkin donuts.

I am confused like that.

Like, can’t everyone feel the emptiness of these buildings?

Can’t everyone feel how fast we are going and how much we are expected to pack into each moment?!

Money, time & property to a doe.

Is that deer immature for not taking these things seriously?

Money, time and property to a doe,

when instead she thinks, madrone, pine, cypress tree and snow.

 There was a lot that the 20 to 35ish range folks learned from the radicalism of our older generations. There was a lot of space we were given, intentionally and unintentionally, to explore our truths. There is a lot of wisdom handed down to us & we’re bright and brave. We are able to find health and reinvent strength.

The recent generations above us 20 something to 30 somethings, our settler elders… well, in the north west of this land we are actually sorta lucky, in a way & in another way we’re paralyzed by a generation that gave up. A generation of radicalism that said, “Nah, never-mind, we gotta work with capitalism and how it kills us.” A generation of feminism that was drowned by the second wave and won’t go down with any further attempts. “Just let it go.” I hear.

There are a hand full that are still open.

I also hear, “This generation is so entitled.”  This youth so lazy.  This species so lost.

Elders and hip kids. Hangin out all the time and yet so far from each other.

There is this culture of whiteness. It has been called capitalism, professionalism, middle class moralism, white people madness, success, etc. It’s that keeping up with the jones’s or better yet, take ’em for all they got. It is important to really expand on what white culture is because it is rancid and in every citizen’s pantry… tis worse than the contagion of moth balls. White culture consumes and we are consumed by it. It is that thing that makes us unable to see guests as equal beings not inconveniences to one’s success. It is that thing that makes cops kill for the rich. It is that thing that when marginalized people are in the room or the group, there are egg shells that are blamed on the marginalized. It is that rushing around, that never stop moving, that scoff on the climb up the ladder of society. It’s realizing that the forest service is selling the last wilderness. Still. Still. It is forgetting.

Entitled. Efforts towards listening to the land now fall under an umbrella of entitlement & of coarse it has all been entitlement since this land was colonized. I hear our elders say we are entitled because we do not work enough to sustain ourselves and we do not respect time. So our elders resent us and our culture is fragmented with a discontinuity.

& we resent them for encouraging us to jump in the crocodile’s mouth that we watched squeeze every drop of life and creativity out of them. Their demands and guidance sound like the tic of the clock to Captain Hook.  The curmudgeon thrashings of a Neverland that never was our land. The frustration of  never fully being able to dominate, own & control to a point where consumption is limitless.  The spite of living an entire life of planned obsolescence rather than fluid integration into the regenerating cycles of this planet. The anguish of attempting to survive on a land base that our settler forefathers did not have the time to listen to. Genetic perceived scarcity embedded in our veins.

This intergenerational resentment sustains civilization. It is our platform of violence & haste.

Imagine the first time the top soil was turned to plant seeds so that hunters and gatherers did not have to walk in those hoops so far anymore. Imagine that gash and forced pregnancy. I wonder if those folks felt the cacophony of agriculture thrashing  through all life from that first cut.  I wonder if they knew innately then that act was rape. From that rape, settler colonialism was birthed. To think one species knew better than an entire interdependent planet.

There are screams in the streets again. People thinking this could be the one, the great revolution! “Movement!”, they shout.

A revolution. One full cycle.

Agriculture: control of one cycle of the life of a plant in mass.

The earth is our akashic record & we are only listening, reading & mapping one book & it’s a played out story. Agriculture.  & we show up to life like the plants that we tend. A cabbage plant in a garden of resistance. Right now, St.Louis has a garden where us cabbages reside. Urban gardening, one plant bed expected to feed the whole world. Egypt, Greece, Oakland, St. Louis, we are mono cropping our resistance. Comodifying it and traveling to it, rather than tending the land we are on, listening and having relevant understanding of it for when the police state comes to the neck of the woods we are in.

“A” revolution, people want. One. One revolution and then we all go home to that (one) plot of land we each own. Like clocking out of the 9 to 5.

But like I said, we settlers have (some) elders that understand the imminence of this. They see, at least slightly, how this all ties into class, race & gender. They knew we had to slow down so they homesteaded and handed us mythology of the great collapse. As they breast fed us in business suits they told us bed time stories of government conspiracies. With glazed antidepressant eyes and aerosoled clown hair, they spoon fed us subliminal pleas for insurrection. They thoroughly & brilliantly reflected on that one cycle/revolution of agriculture. They found all the flaws and laid them out. They took a big step for us.

They taught us to remember it is not all one revolution. That our health is wrapped in the endurance of knowing the cycles never end and that is where wisdom is. The struggle.  One after the other as infinite as the stars.

Wealth, true wealth, is the ability to slow enough to listen to the land. Not our gardens of control but the land beyond our control. Listen to the feminine beyond your control. Listen to people of color beyond our control & fear. We are directly blocked from that wealth by a culture of whiteness… All of us.

Hip kids, those 20 to 30 something’s hip to this notion, those with the “land projects”. Hip kids are settlers, though some are 2nd or 3rd generation earth listeners. The wisdom is a little muffled with the concrete gags in her mouth.

We are blocked by a culture of whiteness because to have access to land and time to listen takes money & privilege. It takes entitlement, an innate entitlement. But we don’t know what innate entitlement looks like. It is a harmony and homeostasis we have lost touch with though it is in our blood. So we, hip kids, default to the entitlement of capitalism most consistently.  This looks like us not trusting the consistancy of each of our cycles, us not trusting our ability to return to each other. Us not being willing to realiZe that white people/settler problems are the white people/settler’s problem and we must cultivate each other to move past appropriating and assimilating everything. The only way to stop consuming insatiably is to nurture each other and meet each other’s true needs. I say true needs because we as hip kids are packed with a whole suburbs of taught needs. We are so deeply sheltered that we think our needs for affluent abundance are righteous enough to have our own individual everything & we expect others to have their own individual everything & even though we know that is impossibly unsustainable we isolate others that can not keep up. This is a place our elders are not guiding us. Our elders encourage us to make these divids of isolation. It was too deep for them to witness, the depths of our collective domination. The humility too saturating. & they’d like their retirement now from a life of activism. They forgot it wasn’t a career, that movement, it was a shift in how we be, from consumptive to cyclicly reciprocal. & this is how our elders teach us to be white supremacist. To believe we are supreme enough to deserve a shelter and consistent rest and a shower AND a mac, a smart phone & coconut water. To deserve so much comfort that we have analyzed our entire genetic predispositions and we tell friends we don’t have room by our fire because we have to have an enima of ghi so that our chi is buzzing.

So yes, schizophrenia is your problem settler kids & elders, working through the victimhood of white girls and supporting them to like themselves beyond their image is our problem, juggelos are our problem, feather heads are our problem, sold out hippie’s buying up hella native land is our problem, realizing our whiteness is what hooked us up with that land project and that hip collective house is our problem. Digesting the anger of poc’s only having place in cities where cops kill them is our problem. Heteronormative patriarchy on steroids in every single place is our problem.

& not like, show up at other’s protests and have a photoshoot. Our problem, as in follow through with each other and hold each other to a standard of not feeding the machine, not individualizing because you’re stressed, not saying “that drama” ain’t your problem. Work on each other so we stop spewing onto other cultures.

We hip kids walk this tight rope from our industriously civilized elders to our indigenous decendants. Cry all you want but the beauty is it’s not getting any easier and agriculture taught us that the short cuts aren’t worth it.

This never land never was our land and we must face that humbly each moment.


Posted in Uncategorized

1 Comment »

  1. Thank you

    Comment by Chris Adams — December 4, 2014 @ 3:32 pm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

    About the Author

    Mother Lover. <3

    Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 930 other followers

%d bloggers like this: