No one cares anymore. I’m fucking tired of having to be a boy so people pay attention.

My Name

Thirza is not my name. It’s a name my mother gave me to hide under. It’s worked well on that front, but I can’t use it anymore. You can use it if you like, but it’s imprecise, it only talks about half of who I am. The name I prefer is Marion. Although I have taken on over a thousand names during this journey. My real name is the Boat Puller, or Sacajawea in Shoshone, which was a tribe I belonged to in my last life, among other tribes. I’ve been jumping around from tribe to tribe working with the underside of what people see. At this point everything is in place, there is no more work to be done except tell you a story, and old story. And you can tell me it is a myth if you like, if that makes you sleep better at night. And you can tell me I am crazy if you like, but it won’t make a difference. We have been sowing threads and clues through history and time, but people who can see only half the world can’t see what the reality is.

In truth I came for my men in my last life, I showed them things, I taught them things, but they still missed half the lesson. So I repaid a karmic debt to them by sacrificing myself to the sea in the Gulf of Mexico. There is nothing tying me to this plane anymore, that was the end. I did sacrifice myself another time though during this life, to find out what was going on with the sleeping people, I made myself forget things for a while, and I sent something to come and wake me at a specific age, and I spent eight years learning the secret of darkness, which is not always darkness.

I have been watching silently, it’s an old trick of Queens, to sit on the sidelines and observe before making decisions. I have been unravelling this thread and finding out where it goes. And I can start to explain why things happened the way they did.

The Spaniards came to take our gold, but what was truly precious got hidden before they came. Gold has two sides to it, to most people it is only seen as wealth, something which can be taken from others and used to your advantage. But that’s not how gold works. Gold follows a bloodline, it follows a path, it carries memories and sometimes it will seek it’s own revenge when it falls into the hands of people who aren’t meant to have it. Nazi gold is operating the exact same way, it’s been following a bloodline, and it’s been listening to stories, and it dressed itself up nice and fine so that it could follow it’s enemies.

I can only laugh when I think of how Europeans took New World gold, smelted it down and turned it into their icons, how they have been praying to it not even realizing they are praying to an old old old being that is not who they’ve made it become. I can only laugh when I think that our gold is in every major centre of a warring fighting dualistic religion.

I had to bring them here. I had to entice them to take what wasn’t theirs. I had to trick them, to become very wiley, to lure them into bringing a base of brute power to the New World, where they could be ambushed. I’ve been toying with bloodlines, adding some here and there, mixing them in certain ways, calling people over waters to come to this place and be free, even though they pretend freedom is slavery. I had to spend time with them listening to their half stories, filling in the missing spaces. I have done legendary things just so I could follow the trail, go backwards, find out who I am, even if I become mythic and a half story. There are people who can read the untold story, the other half. It’s not really so hard. I’ve been watching them too, I think they’re ready. And I think to the people who can only read a half story, this story too will be seen as a half story, I can speak the truth and people will say it’s a lie and that is fine by me. I didn’t come for the people who think in half stories.

At this point most of my people are hiding in America, in ways you can’t see, with drops of my blood sprinkled in them, some more than most but all of it calling them to remember something so old it’s become too good to be true. They have stories to follow and tell, stories from their tribes, and sometimes it seems to be the same story over and over. They sometimes don’t even know they have this power, they assumed that they were so diluted one drop didn’t matter. And sometimes they felt they owed more to other bloodlines, and sometimes they do, but they can access this story anyway because it’s the story of us all, and all of us are hearing it pulling at our root.

Curious, That

Have you ever noticed they don’t give military technology female names? Like there’s no Sacajawea Ballistic Missile or anything. I dunno. Is there some female named warhead? Like the Medusa 6000 or something? Probably not. Mother Mary Mines. Whatever Fatima’s third secret was, you can bet it’s not Tesla powered weaponry.

Dear Sophia

I hear they are attacking the Mandeans now, the last group of Gnostic Christians in the holy land. I don’t think it matters who they say is attacking the Mandeans, we both know it amounts to the same thing. What irony that a dictator like Saddam would be ruling a secular country where the last whiffs of Gnosticism exist, and now under the guise of liberation and strife, the Mandeans are being wiped off the face of the earth.

Gnostic Christianity was the oldest sect of Christianity to exist, before the Roman Empire declared itself holy. It had your name at the top in all the bright lights, Sophia, mother of Jehovah. But you got written out of the script, and everyone is waving from halfway up the ladder, with half an eye and half a heart and half a brain.

I know you can’t die though, ever, no matter how many people they destroy. We’re in the underworld, waiting for a glimmer of hope and shooting it every time it shows up.

Hmmm

I seem to be remembering older things than me. How unusual. And deeply ironic. Life’s just funny that way.

Soteria Canada

This is what we are going to do. We’re going to access some of the healing fund money from the Residential school settlement and build the first aboriginal run soteria house here in Saskatchewan. It will be an octagonal structure in a rural area with various places for people to hang out. It will have one room made JUST for destroying things for when people get into the first destructive aspect of psychosis. And there will be other areas too, a snoezelen room for people to just experience their senses, an art room with 24 hour access, a library/internet learning room, a place for people to learn languages, religion, art practices, whatever they want. No one specific truth will be imposed on the people who go there, it’s all about them and letting them become who they are even if/when they make mistakes on the way. And I’m not letting any “traditional” methods of healing take precendence, irregardless of what culture they come from, this uses everything that the person wants to explore. There isn’t any “wrong” way for people to go through there experience, the staff are there mainly in a serving capability, cooking and cleaning and guiding people away from self harm. And no fucking psychiatrists, they can bugger off. And I don’t know that I want the staff to only ever want to work in that job, I think it’s better as a job where people do it for a few years and move on to other things. And if someone working there is being abusive to the clients, they are fired immediately, no second chances.

And I also think that after the first one gets off the ground, we can start building other places across Canada, and maybe the world. I don’t intend for this idea to be owned by only one tribe or region. But there are specifications that I’m still working out. And people can come by and hang out and teach their own skills to people there if they want, but no frickin’ programming and no telling anyone that they’re bad or hopelessly fucked up.

There Is My People Sleeping

Poem by Marion Sarain Stump

And there is my people sleeping since a long time but aren’t just dreams the old cars without engine parking in front of the house or angry words ordering peace of mind or who steals from you for your good and doesn’t wanna remember what he owes you sometimes I’d like to fall asleep too, close my eyes on everything but I can’t I can’t it’s with terror, sometimes that i hear them calling me but it’s the light skip of a cougar detaching me from the ground to leave me alone with my crazy power till I reach the sun makers and find myself again in a new place he goes away very far away without anybody on his tail teeth of snake, birds’s wings the shaman goes far away gotta be the best at the ball game and hunt something every time i go for a walk put together a few wise words in front of the elder ones all because she smiled at me and her father said he ain’t gonna give her to who’s not a man I heard them talking about her with love in their minds I have seen them start their dances to call her out great names I heard in the dark of the night but a name can’t steal the bear’s child to the homeless man nobody sews his mocassins all he had was a cedar flute who could guess that with that one he’d call her and she’d run to him? now he’s a bear and the little bears of spring call him ‘father’ I had to see her heart to have her had to see his heart to have him with a south horse I came at the scalp dance with two little bones I lost all I had and still I was rich then a cow right on top of the hill and it was all over seven men on the rock upon the house the deadman’s head is laughing at my mistakes lazy flyin’ of crows in the sky brings me away in a returnless run like red leaves carried by the autumn wind with an iron blade I was trying to write on rock hearts hoping to see them laugh hoping to see them cry I was mixing stars and sand in front of him but he couldn’t understand I was keeping the lightning of the thunder in my purse just in front of him but he couldn’t understand and I had been killed a thousand times right at his feet but he hadn’t understood little traces in my mind brought me back where I was born and there wasn’t any explanation just my back shook at the crying of my dying mother.

Without a doubt my favorite fan vid

This is Absolutely Fabulous set to Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny by Lemon Demon, a very funny song to a very silly show. Yeh, brit comedies, yeh.

Oh yeah, I had the funniest thing in the mail, it was an invitation to a BDSM workshop called “Everything I Need to Know I Learnt in the Dungeon,” and some other workshops on corporal punishment and flogging. Too cute. I’d like to think I learned in other places though. As Margaret Cho’s mother says, you must have moderation otherwise it’s not special anymore.

Weird Dog

Oh crap, I said I wasn’t going to look at the news and then I did. Bugger. Well, that’s okay, I’m still trying to deal with all of this on an internal level, but I was always talking politics anyway.

And if I don’t talk politics you’ll think something’s wrong with me!

Whatever. I actually am just trying to sort out my head, and it’s going well. I’m sleepy again, recharging which is nice. I like sleep. And hot baths. My dog tried to steal money from me again, and I have the photo evidence!! What a weird dog.

Yvette Fielding a la Jennifer Saunders

This is for my favorite cousin who has a titch of a Yvette Fielding thing going on but it’s cute.