[Mallick]

I have to write all of this down, you guys dun have to read, but it's ****in' epically wise.


An old drunken Indian lady was walking towards the rez, which I was returning home to, so I figured I should give her a ride. In exchange, she gave me wisdom.

There are things you should learn. Your past is a skeleton walking one step behind you, and your future is a skeleton walking one step in front of you. Maybe you don't wear a watch, but your skeletons do, and they always know what time it is. Now, these skeletons are made of memories, dreams, and voices.

And they can trap you in the in-between, between touching and becoming. But they're not necessarily evil, unless you let them be.

What you have to do is keep moving, keep walking in step with your skeletons. They ain't ever going to leave you, so you don't have to worry about that. Your past ain't going to fall behind you, and your future won't get too far ahead. Sometimes, though, your skeletons will talk to you, tell you to sit down and take a rest, breathe a little. Maybe they'll make you promises, tell you all the things you want to hear.

Sometimes your skeletons will dress up as a beautiful indian woman and ask you to slow dance. Sometimes your skeletons will dress up as your best your friend and offer you a drink - one more for the road. Sometimes your skeleotns will look like your parents and offer you gifts.

But no matter what they do, keep walking, keep moving. And don't wear a watch. Hell, indians never need to wear a watch because your skeletons will always remind you about the time. See, it is always now. That's what indian time is. The past, the future, all of it is wrapped up in the now. That's how it is. We are trapped in the now.

[Moonear]

you high or something?

[Ironsight]

^ I was just going to say something similar.

[Mallick]

Maybe.

It was a cold, cold night. I had crawled through the brush for hours, moved by inches so the others would not hear me. I wanted one of their ponies. I needed one of their ponies. I needed to be a hero and earn my name.

I crawl close enough to their camp to hear voices, to hear an old man sucking the last bit of meat off a bone. I can see the pony I want. He is black, twenty hands high. I can feel him shiver because he knows I have come for him in the middle of this cold night.

Crawling more quickly now, I make my way to the corral, right between the legs of a young boy asleep on his feet. He was supposed to keep watch for men like me. I barely touch his bare leg and he swipes at it, thinking it is a mosquito. If I stood and kissed the boy full on the mouth, he would only think he was dreaming of the girl who smiled at him earlier in the day.

When I finally come close to the beautiful black pony, I stand up straight and touch his nose, his mane. I have come for you, I tell the horse, and he moves against me, knows it is true. I mount him and ride away silently through the camp, right in front of a blind man who smells us pass by and thinks we are just a pleasant memory. When he founds out the next do who we really were, he will remain haunted and crowded the rest of his life.

I am riding that pony across the open plain, in moonlight that makes everything a shadow. What's your name? I ask the horse, and he rears back on his hind legs. He pulls air deep into his lungs and rises abouve the ground.

Flight, he tells me, my name is Flight.

[Moonear]

Quote

What's your name? I ask the horse

Yep, definitely high.

[I'm Always BROKE]

I like this topic. More indian wisdom!

[Mallick]

Indians make the best cowboys. I can tell you that. I'vebeen singing at the plantation since I was ten years old and have always drawn big crwods. All the white folks come to hear my songs, my little pieces of Indian wisdom, although they have to sit at the back because all the indians get the best tickets for my shows. It's not racism. The indians jump camp out all night to buy tickets. Even the president of the united states, mr. edgar crazy horse himself came to hear me once. I played a song I wrote for his great-grandfather, the famous Lakota warrior who helped us win the war against the whites:

Crazy horse, Crazy horse, hat have you done?
Crazy horse, Crazy horse, hat have you done?
It took four hundred years
and four thousand guns
but the indians finally one

Crazy horse, Crazy horse, are you still singing?
Crazy horse, Crazy horse are you still singing?
I honor your old songs
and they all keep on bringing
because the indians keep winning
ya-hey, the indians keep winning

Believe me, I'm the best guitar player who ever lived. I can make my guitar sound like a drum. More than that, I can make any drum sound like a guitar. I can take a single hair from the braids of an indian woman and make it sound like a promise come true. Like a thousand promises come true.


After one of my shows, I saw Big Mom. Big Mom was the spiritual leader of our tribe. She had so much good medicine I think she may have been the one who created the earth. "I know what you saw," she told me, "I know about your visions."

"I didn't see nothing," I said, but we both knew I was lying. Big Mom smiled at me, shook her head a little, and handed me a little drum. It looked like it was about a hundred years old, maybe older. It was so small it could fit in the palm of my hand.

"You keep that," she said. "Just in case."

"Just in case what?" I asked."

"That's my pager. Just give it a tap and I'll be right over," she said and laughed as she walked away. Now, i'll tell you that I haven't used the thing. In fact, Big Mom died a couple years back and I'm not sure she'd come even if the thing did work. But I keep it really close to me, like Big Mom said; just in case. I guess you could call it the only religion I have - one drum that can fit in my hand, but I think if I played it a little, it might fill up the whole world.

[Someone Else]

**** yea indian wisdom

[Golden Legacy]

*standing ovation* Encore! Encore! Brilliant stuff.

[Ironsight]

F YEAH!

[Toasty]

If this was a hot chick, I'd have a boner right now.