Posts Tagged ‘history’

Before the white man or the Wasi’chu made their appearance into our lands, our world, we were the Mother’s people.

She, the Mother Earth, gave us the great herds of buffalo which gave us food, clothing, shelter and our tools.

We were a peaceful people, only at war when times required it. We were not feared but were respected as we still are, even by the Wasi’chu, the people of the sky and water.

Our ancestors’ hearts were proud.

The wind was our breathe, the sun our gaze, the earth our bed.

Our chiefs were chosen by the Mother Goddess before they were even conceived.

We were the first people, the first to make the trek across the great land bridge. The first to touch those great lands, our voices became that song of this great land.

We were born from Mother Earth and when the time came, we were return to that Earth, to be reborn.

My father was a young chief when the Wasi’chu came.

He made the first treaty with them, they would move quietly through our lands and in exchange we would be allowed to live as we had.

Their great leader had promised.

He had giving his word.


When you dream,
Do you dream,
In Technocolors?

When you walk,
Through bitter streams,
Do you flea,
With bitter winds,
A social disease?
Based off of colors?
Skin paler,
Makes you any better than them?

May 28th,
Men, wandering through the world,
Tearful, rejoicing in the silence of the world,
Spinning through the cosmos,
Hatred based on the color of one’s skin,
Do not sit at this counter,
Because you are darker skinned!!
All we want is to eat.
Go away,
Do not stain our lovely seats,
You’re not wanted here,
Can’t you see?

A simple sit down,
Nothing to see here,
Became a movement,
Towards equality,
Still churning to be free!

On the first strike,
We killed the Press,
On the second strike,
We killed them all.

We were dancing on a neon cloud,
A nation lost,
In the TV screen,
Club girls,
Fucking a machine,
As we flew away,
We dropped the bomb,
We saw the world,
Go aflame,
Like a bad disease
You know what I mean!

Jesus died,
For somebody’s sins,
But he sure didn’t
For my fucking sins!

We are the terrorists,
We are the disease,
Everybody here,
Is going to Hell!

Girls in the bathroom,
On their knees,
Sucking in a disease,
The new nation,
The creed,
Born from lies,
We all be dead,
But we just won’t care.


We lost.

The system, built on the backs of the people, visualized but never realized for the people, began to breakdown completely.

It did not go with a bang but a slight whimper, only noticed by a handful of roaches who sat at the bar after hours on 21st Street.

Did anarchy rule?

Not a chance.

It was a school night and all the kids were in bed, dreaming of electronic sheep, virtual drugs coursing through their neurons.


A coma-like state, the sheep, tucked into their shells, lines feeding their brains their preprogrammed dreams, with limited commercial interruptions.


Would the Media really lie to us? A visit to the future world

They launched the nukes, that final solution, on July 10th, 2065, the president’s birthday, a grand day indeed as declared by the media drones.

We had been at war with Eurasia.

We had always been at war with Eurasia.

It was the only solution, the killer of giants, the multi-headed dragon, rising from the sea, Sao Lu, leader and Great Mother of that venomous beast, her true name was Diana Dewitt, of Lutherville, Kansas but at the age of 16, she became a leader.

When she was 23, she was “taken out” by an ‘Agent’ of American forces known only as ‘Black 87’ an organization that’s official mission was classified and even the president was ‘Off the list’ when it came to clearance.

We tried to build a wall, it failed.

It was a planned failure, a trick, to control the opinion of the American brainless twats who were controlled by the talking heads on their touch screens, that ’20 second flash’ of news directed by directors of secret places.

“Sao Lu has nukes! She WILL use them first…..” the talking head of Jane Austen said from the screen to the viewers of Fox News live.

She crosses her silk clad legs, left to write, we watched intently.

“We can be nothing but great….” Charles Anderson smiled.

His peppered gray and black hair rustled in the fan generated breeze.

Both nod.


Sao Lu, standing in front of a parade of military vehicles is shown.

There are the missiles, the fangs of her dragons.

We all gasped in horror

“She must be stopped! We can be nothing but great, the victor in this aggression….” President Alan Franklin, previously a contestant on “So you think you can dance….”, sits at his desk, smiling, bright white teeth shining through a shit fake orange tan.

Lu has been dead for 12 months but by the magic of computers, there she stands, split screen to the President who would send Canada back to the stone age.

“They called my dancing crude and unoriginal!” he screamed at his generals.

Congress had been eliminated.

Deemed “Fake and unneeded” in 2022 by an executive order.

The “Majority” spoke.

The Speaker of the House was publically hanged on pay-per-view.

5 billion people watched.

The swamp was drained.

The President’s approval rating was at an all time high.

273 percent.

“He’s the greatest President we have ever had!!!” the masses roared and cheered.


None were available.

But unemployment was at negative twelve percent.

Would the main stream media lie to us?

They might, you silly rabbit, they might.

And we, standing there, rising over all, watched as the missiles launched, our greatest and glorious feat…

Dear K-Mart,

I know you’re still alive, out there on that web at and in the real world, brick and mortar places, fewer and fewer each time the Sears monsters throw out a new list of closing stores.

Those monsters closed two of the stores I previously worked at; my first job with you was helping to expand a K into a Big K in New Albany, Indiana back in 1998.

My second job for you was working at the K in Butte, MT as a cashier 2015 to 2016 (a feat the one lady at my next job at Safeway told me was awesome as she thought you were horrible employers. I didn’t. I actually liked you ).

I did get fired from the Butte store for my own stupid mistake but I still cried when I read that my store was shutting its doors.

I wept even more when she shut her doors this April; I still had lots of friends I consider family working there.

2018 was the year the music died for me.

Kmart was my go to place; like that slutty drunken aunty, who isnt your real aunt but you love her more than your real aunt, that bitch Walmart!!

Now, my nearest drunk favorite aunty is nearly 70 miles away one way, in a land known as Indiana (I now live in Louisville, Kentucky)

I know I can log into the website and use my Shop Your Way points to buy some “geniune imitation black leather shoes, $9.95. Buy one get one (BOGO!! I get it now!!!) free!!” but it just isn’t the same as walking into a real-life Kmart, the blue light enticing us to scream in delight.

The store manager chasing us out with a broom. (Yea, the dude at Walmart does the same thing! I think it might be me!)

I know you’re not totally dead yet but it is getting close, like Toys R Us, soon, you’ll be gone, just a memory, something to tell the grandkids about, you and Radio Shack, another of my teen years spent.

Your former stores will be (are) filled with a Peddlers Market or an Adult Erotic Super Warehouse but they still have that Kmart feeling, the service desk still waiting to help you, their garden shops still full of fruits and vegetables, if you go to the peddlers markets.

I won’t say what it is filled with at the Super Warehouse.

Don’t try and guess.

Trust me.

I remember when you made your way into Butte.

Early 90s.

Possibly sooner though my memory is getting foggier as I age too.

You busted through the unions, a major feat in Butte, the first I believe.

This bust through paved the way for Walmart later on, your killer in some way.

You did kill off my Woolworth though, which angered me, but I forgave you.

The blue light was hypnotic.

I miss you K.

Please don’t die Real Time, online just ain’t the same, pushing a cart through your living room naked just isn’t the same as doing it at the K!!

Your loyal Nephew,


Wandering down the street, coke flying high, each person a sole grain of sand thrown against the beach, wind blown into infinity.

Greats mingling with the whores, the homeless, the young hipsters, their coats pulled tight against the freezing winds and driving rains.

The street, a micropolis of puss filled wounds slammed against the dying of the earth, she weeps fire from her veins, raped in silence.

The sky becomes a dull gray, dreaming, while you are awake, sinister storms on the horizon, the sky, awashed in vibrant dark colors of misled fortunes.

Does death suit you, oh dear one, in Heaven’s embrace, where the moon holds you, till we meet again?

I could not feel my soul, it felt like it was already gone, my mind was left, somewhat, the body, a meat bag, walking among the other meat bags, eyeless hunks of flesh, crashing on the ground.

What a beautiful day,
The sky was blue,
And the tears were rain.
I didn’t feel pain,
I only felt that rage.

Nobody knows
What the sorrow knows,
Nobody knows
What the feeling is,
Pressed against the flame.

Every eyes,
Every body,
We are too sober to see the world,as it should be seen.

Flesh ripped from our bones,
When we die,
Will they care?
Will there be a memory?

We are the dreamers,
Blinded by madness,
Flesh scarred,
Bones broken,
Minds laid bare
To troubled times,
Against the tides
That is the world
In that last breathe,
To see,
When the time has come,
And to be remembered…




Every family has one or two or half a dozen or more, those family feuds that can last centuries – Uncle A cannot stand Aunt B and such.

Seemingly, the holidays are the perfect time for these feuds to begin.

Take for example in my family; in 1958, or sometime in those hazy times, when the clouds form inside the brain fogging out the reason for the feud but giving it still a hint to know there is a feud, Great Aunt 1 took a piece of cake and began eating it.

“This cake is kinda dry.” she whispered to Great Aunt 2 who, unbeknownst to Great Aunt 1, had made such cake.

Great Aunt 2 huffed and puffed and  threw her hands in the air.

“How rude!!” And stormed out of the house to never speak a word to Great Aunt 1 for close to 50 years.

A feud soon started over chocolate cake.

I guess wars have started over less.

My aunt, my pop’s sister, will not speak to my uncle, her brother and hasn’t since basically time began.

I was born in 1971 and they weren’t on speaking terms since before then.

It always puzzled me and I asked both sides what was going on.

My uncle would tell me, “I have no idea! I’ve tried to mend the relationship many times! I love my sis!”

My aunt would reply, “He knows!” and then would hang up the phone angrily.

My pop would smile slyly and reply, “I think it’s over her bike that she thinks he chopped down into a chopper. I did that!”

Years have gone by, Presidencies have changed hands more than I can count, and still, my aunt will not speak to her brother, my uncle.

I got a reason this summer, as I stayed a few nights in a motel room in Butte, Montana.

I had bought a bottle of Black Velvet and was drinking it with diet coke(I have to watch my shape and yes, round is a shape) and soon found myself dialing my aunt.

“Hello?” she answered.


We both laughed.


I have no idea.

After some small chit chat about cousins, friends and other stuff, I approached the topic easily, with just a touch of harshness to make it seem like a grill session at the police station.

“Why do you hate your brother?” I half yelled drunkly into the phone.

“I don’t hate him, I hate his wife!” the truth came out, though, my aunty S, had figured that out many years before.

Apparently, on a Christmas Day, back before the dinosaurs or 1958, the family had gathered at my grandparent’s place, a place that does not exist any more, even the town it was in is now gone, swallowed up by The Berkeley Pit.

After a feast, the family moved to the living room, for conversation and homemade beer.

Something happened that day, a fight of words broke down between my Aunty S and my grandfather; hiss growl, you, no you!!!

And soon the great rift between the family would begin; though no one remembers what started the fight, I believe it was over chocolate cake!

2016 – the presidential election year that would go down in history as the biggest circus ever, mostly filled with clowns.

Hillary Clinton was suppose to win, according to polls, everyone was on board the train.

Donald Trump won.

I knew he would.

It wasn’t because I liked Mr. Trump and to be fair disclosure I voted for Hillary Clinton.

It was because he told the right people what they wanted to hear.

“Damn Mexicans! Build the wall!” Etc. Etc.

To the world who ask, no, he did not win the popular vote which yes I knows seems strange, trust me, I am confused too.

But I will also admit I do not like Hillary Clinton and in her run against Bernie Sanders to become the nominee, I voted Sanders.

Yes, my dear friends, I became “one of the sexist assholes” who did not join in line with the idea of our first woman president.

Not that I don’t want a female president, I think we as a country are way overdue in that field, I just didn’t and don’t want Hillary Clinton as president.


She, like all politicians, lie, cheats and steals.

This does not mean I wanted our first game show president to be Donald Trump.

He is our worse president ever and I doubt there could be another as bad as him.

It is possible that he could be our last due to the nuclear doomsday clock striking closer to midnight, that final countdown as portrayed in song.

Would we be in the same muck and mire if it was President Hillary Clinton?


Would she really act differently than Trump if the Russian hacks and bots had swung the votes to her?

We’ll never know.

Do I know without a doubt such meddling happened?

It’s highly likely but in that election year of 2016, it just seemed normal, like part of the process.

Not only the Russians but the DNC screwing the odds against another candidate but again “not proved!” screams the machine but if the tables had been turned, would they have screamed the same?

I do not know.

It just became the norm.

Welcome to the new order… doesn’t matter what you offer but how the TV ratings goes or how much the books sell.

Now I sit here, Trump screaming at NFL players using their freedoms of speech.

And Hillary calling me a sexist as she does her book tour interviews.

I feel shame.

A system I have loved since I was child is becoming a joke.

Both sides should be ashamed.


Butte – A grand city of bars and prostitutes, according to a random tourist at the Safeway store.

Well okay she didn’t say grand.

I can’t say what she called Butte.

We were someplace around “The Pit” when the drugs began to take hold.

I kid.

There were no drugs, not even a we, except for my imaginary friends.

I was drinking whiskey and cokes in a room at the Motel 6 in Uptown Butte.

In a few days, I’ll be leaving Butte for the 2nd greatest city in my life, Louisville, Kentucky.

Butte is the city that made me who I am today.

A drunken writer.

I’ll miss this town.

She isn’t for everybody.

But maybe that’s what makes her so great.

She isn’t a typical tourist trap.

She ain’t no beauty but she has a huge heart and a brilliant beautiful soul.

She is pock marked hard with a long mining history.

But without Butte, a lot of “better” cities in Montana and even the USA wouldn’t even exist.

Many family fortunes would not have been gained off the backs of the Butte miners.

My grandfather being one of them miners.

He raised a family here.

His son, my dad, Rudy Giecek, saved part of Butte’s “wanted to forget” piece of history, The Dumas Brothel which he bought from the last madam, Ruby Garrett back in 1990.

He kept trying to save it till 2012 when his health finally wouldn’t let him.


I just write about her.

A lady, a tourist, came through another checker’s line at my store.

She was pissed.

“There’s nothing but bars and prostitutes in this town!!”

She had read on some website that Butte was a great town to bring kids.

She stormed out of the store yelling about giving Butte a negative review on Yelp.

I think Butte should market her bars and prostitutes.

And our casinos.

We have the best casinos.

No, I don’t know which bars have the best prostitutes.

I was once hit on at a bar by a mother of the bride to be.

We were both pretty drunk.

I almost went with her on a bar cruise but instead I stumbled off my bar stool and wandered off.

I fell into the Blacktail Creek instead.

My fiancee laughed at that story.

Butte should be marketed as a writer and artist colony.

Wander the streets and the alleys and discover the real Butte.

Its heart and soul.

Butte is a historic town.

And yes she is still rough from her years of mining.

But she will always be my city, my hometown.

I love her bars and prostitutes.

And okay, she has some pretty good people in general.

Remember to “Tap ‘er light” and see ya later Butte, I’ll be back!

I’ve always been horrible at goodbyes.