Sent this letter to the Forks Forum on the 14th. The newspaper's reporting of the memorial service for the dead boys had been very slanted.

"Thanks for the article on the memorial. I attended because it was strongly hinted to me that I be there, as a new community member, even though I had not known the boys personally, although I was aqquainted with Damian's mother.

It was extremely kind of the Makah to sing medicine songs at the memorial, and to describe their uplifting beliefs concerning the afterlife. Perhaps the four (sometimes 5) eagles that have been circling over the center of Clallam Bay really are watching over their town.

I hope that that if any of the young men's friends or family were non-Christian, they did not hear the pastor's remark that only those who have accepted the pastor's dieties can find comfort after the death of a loved one. This was a very insensitive thing to say, and, considering the circumstances, cruel and thoughtless. The pastor's hinting that young people's turning toward suicide under stress being the work of an evil spirit was also unfortunate. He should know that young people sometimes take this drastic escape because they are in pain. They do not need guilt heaped upon their wounds."

Just got back form the Clallam Bay/Sekiu Chamber of Commerce meeting.

Had told Rick at Final Destiny (tattoos, art gallery, future art supply store, even band and party place) that I'd pick him up for the meeting.

He was all ready. Linda at the Cove restaurant had groomed him -- nice painted blue jeans, nicest boots, nice white shirt, all his silver jewelry all polished up, his tattoos displayed just so. QUITE the spiffy biker guy.

And he had one of the worst cases of stage fright I'd ever seen. Heck, I don't know how we got him out the door. "I've always been MC at biker meetings all over the country -- but I was drunk!"

"Stay cool, man, you'll do great. You look very professional."

Suffice to say that the CoC welcomed him with open arms, especially since I've been constantly repeating what we plan to do. I've got catalogs coming, for art, ceramic, and native jewelry supplies. Now I have to find a good lapidary supply wholesaler. And the restaurants are getting into the idea of fresh local produce and animal products.

With the cheap rentals ($375.00 a month for a nice little trailer!), and art supplies, this view, gorgeous weather, and the restaurants upgrading -- this could be another arts district!

Which reminds me, the only official arts districts in Washington State are in Spokane and Bremerton.

Better get off my ass and go see what it would take to have Clallam Bay/Sekiu declared an arts district.

And not forget to apply for the State Grant, and see about the event money for setting up an arts program at the prison.

Whew! There is too much for an artist to do up here! The potential is staggering. And the people are grand. Just itching to make their town beautiful. AND the huge grant from the feds and the University of Washington to put in a local museum down by the old lighthouse site -- THAT ain't gonna hurt!

ANOTHER correction.

NOT a cabezon. (The fish I caught, see below). A sculpin.

Cabezons are bigger, and differently-colored. The one I caught was one of the many sculpin species. A lovely golden-faced fish with dark eyes.

And since I found out that the Cabezon season is May 1, this means I wasn't catching the wrong fish out of season.

Still the best eating I've ever had come out of the water. The chowder was, according to Dan, "The best chowder I've ever eaten."

Swallow attack!

The tree swallows -- those metallic-green-backed ones with the white rumps -- flying like Spitfires all over the front of the kitchen and computer-room windows.

AND how I got out of mowing the lawn more than once a year.

"Look," I said to Dan, who was wrinkling his brow at the green grass coming up, and the neighbors mowing theirs. "It's only trying to set seed. Let it set it, and give the finches something to eat. And the swallows bugs to catch. Then, when the dry season comes on, and the grass is dying back anyway, we'll chop it down and let it mulch."

Anything that helps the birds, you can talk Dan into. It's how I kept from raking leaves at the old house. "If we rake them up, where will the towhees and robins find bugs? Let's let 'em rot over winter, and mow 'em in with the (seed-headed) grass and let it all mulch."

Grass is for cows. What have we got it in our front yards for anyway? When I was a kid, we had a sheep for grass, and a goat for brambles.

What's this buying ancient bacteria-poop juice to run engines to cut grass animals should be eating?

People are stupid.

Or, let me specify -- the group of people who designs systems like this are stupid. They also put the shut-off valve to entire household plumbing systems under the house. And think they can win nuclear wars.

It's not MY people, as a group. I am so tired of Their dumbness. And putting up with it.

Jeeze. These are the people who invented everything from slavery to Nazism. They are lucky my people even talk to them.

Pft.

Let me change that. It wasn't a rockfish -- it was a cabezon. A kind of bullhead. And good eating? Oh, man. They're better than halibut or salmon or rockfish. White, and moist, and ... a subtle sea flavor, almost sweet. The kind the Makah used to catch for breakfast. I coated it with a mixture of ground rice and ground barley, spices, garlic powder. Fried it in butter. Luscious. Crunchy, tender -- a little homemade tartar sauce, and nothing else was needed for supper.

But they're like eel... when you cut their head off, the mouth keeps working. How the hell do you kill a cabezon quickly? I AM a carnivore -- and I will kill an animal for food if I can do it quickly. ONLY for food. There has got to be a way to kill a cabezon quickly. And don't tell me to drive a nail through its brain. That's the first thing I tried, and no go. The damn thing must have the nervous system of a clam. I am NOT going to split a live animal open and clean it; there is a special karmic hell for that. What about putting one in the freezer until it goes to sleep? I dunno -- help.

I didn't do a great job filleting it, but all those fins and head and meat left on the bony bits got thrown into the stew pot. Meat will all be picked off, combined with little white potatoes, onions, a little sage or rosemary. Chowder that would make Melville drool. Nobody's going to disrespect THIS fish by wasting a scrap of it.

The locals thought we were starving because I made a chowder out of two nice halibut heads somebody had left on the beach. "NO!" I insisted. "I just wanted to see if I could do it." They made very nice fish stock. Not a lot of meat on 'em, once somebody scooped out the cheeks, but good chowder base. The Makah used to pick up lingcod heads that washed in from shark kills and boil 'em for soup. If they can do it, I can do it. Perfectly nice fresh fish-heads, from a clean beach. So what?

Once saw a deer head, fresh, lying by the freeway. Musta bounced out of somebody's truck. First thought through my mind -- "Soup!" If the traffic hadn't been insane, I'd have pulled off and grabbed it. Believe me, you don't see traffic-killed deer by the side of the road, here. They are not left to rot (or make vultures happy -- sorry, vultures!). I DO take guts and things down to the beach to give to the seagulls and crows. Spirit animals need fed.

Richard Simmons, who is one of our wood-sellers, said that he once hit a deer, crippled its hind legs, and got out to kill it -- and found himself in a fight with a buck that was using front hooves and antlers to try to kill him. He had the antlers in his hands, and didn't dare let go. If is girlfriend hadn't shown up with a skinning knife, it's a question of who would have got left on the road for Raven. Leaving an animal crippled up here is one of the Mortal Sins. The other Mortal Sin is leaving it to rot. Or wasting anything.

It's the reason you see no garbage or pieces of paper up here. PAPER you can start your wood-stove with. Garbage? That's not garbage. I can FIX that! That's the attitude. Now if we could spread it around.

Anyway, kinda shot from helping load a woodshed full of wood. We are feelthy with wood! If autumn comes around and we have no money -- we have wood. That's the same as money, and smells a lot better. Hurts, tho'.

Must be getting old.

I caught a fish.

I'll be damned, I caught a fish!

About a foot long, nice rock-fish. On an egg hook, a St. Vinnie's sparkly plastic worm, and a chunk of rock mussel. Darn fish SWALLOWED it.

I asked to catch a fish in the name of one of the boys who'd been killed recently (see recent postings) -- Cassidy Hunter. Cassidy was known for his love of fishing. He might not have finished his math homework, but he could sure count the fish he'd caught. And up here, fish counts more than math.

It was kinda like, "Cassidy, if you're not an eagle, and you'd like a body to inhabit to fish in, then come fish in me."

And bam! I had me a rockfish.

All peoples have made people who have gone before into deities, minor or great.

From now on, I'm fishing in the name of Cassidy Hunter. Call me superstitious, call me lucky, I'm giving Cassidy the credit. I never met the kid, but if I can help him keep fishing, I'll make sure my fishing license stays active.

Better go thaw us some potatoes -- fish for supper tonight!

Five young men died in this very small community recently. One shot himself, four more were destroyed when their car flipped into the Pysht river on the way back from Port Angeles. For details, go to www.forksforum.com and hunt the archives.

Even though I didn't know the boys, it was strongly hinted that, as a member of the community, I attend the memorial service in the Clallam Bay School Big Gym. And we'd bought the house from the mother of one of the boys. So even though I didn't want to be presumptuous upon anyone's grief, I agreed that adding to the number of people in the audience would be comforting. Dressed up in my spiffiest New-Yorker black, and went up the hill (Dan had a cold. And he hates these things).

The services began with the playing of hymns upon a piano as the people filed in. Kinda nice -- I like those Protestant hymns.

As is usual at such services, winced through the Christian minister's opportunistic exploitation of the community's grief to remind everybody that, "unlike others," nobody but those who had Found The Lord would find comfort.

How do these guys live with themselves? They have no clue that there might be other than professed Christians in the audience, and they drive a knife through these people's hearts. I wasn't even related to the boys, and I felt the hackles go up on my neck. And if these guys DO have a clue, there is a special hell for them.

He went on to speak of the fact that so many young people today have the "dark need, the strange need" to leave life themselves. With "dark," I think he was hinting that Sa-Tan was involved. Well, first of all, Satan is a Christian god. And second of all, people off themselves because they're in pain. And a lot of kids today are in pain. The devil didn't make 'em do it -- they just want to get out.

And then the people spoke.

First of all, the kids had chosen songs like "Where's my Homey?" for music. Ghetto songs about grief and death and loss. A cry from the heart. I felt mine constrict.

And then a member of the Makah tribe got up and told everyone (I may be wrong in thinking defiantly) that among her people when young men die, they are reborn as something strong. She spoke of four eagles that had showed up over the town. The eagles are mating right now, but they don't usually hang around downtown. So come to your own conclusions. She finished with, "So when you see something strong -- an eagle, a bear, a raven, a mountain lion, know that they are still with us."

The Makah elders had come down to sing Medicine songs, too. Their song had a spooky chorus that sounded like a ghost hoo-ing in the woods. Their take on offing yourself from grief or trouble: anything you do reflects on your relatives and your community. So hang around and bring honor upon your people.

Both ways of pushing people back from the brink, but one had less threat and more appeal to the community status of the kids in the audience. The minister was more subdued after that. See? Even Christians can learn tolerance.

The kids at the school put together a slide-show about their lost friends, that was heartbreaking AND funny. And then a second slide-show, that treated the five boys as if they were running on the field at a ball game, and the school was encouraged to clap and make noise.

Did you hear it? I don't know why not. They were on their feet screaming and stamping.

We should all be very glad that young generation is coming on -- they're fighting generations of war and damage and hate, and they're fighting hard.

Tough times. Tough kids.

The house at Clallam Bay is nice -- but the walls were WHITE.

So I've been doing murals. Killer whale, phoenix, bamboo. Good stuff for the spirit of the house.

And I've painted the central hall-way drop-dead Chinese red. That's why I need the windchimes at the mirrors...

Any of you artists get out here (Clallam Bay) for the summer season, I've got a nice working space in the studio, looks right on the water.

And 'puter capability. And 56K that isn't half bad.

So even if you are on a deadline, you can get roughs, messages in to a publisher/agent, and get pages done in a cat-free environment.

And your own full bath, while we're at it.

(And don't be asking me if you can eat anything out of the 'fridge or take a bath or throw clothes in the wash -- you'll be living here, crimeny's sake! I'm not THAT old and crotchety and boundary-crazy YET. Any of you hear me say "This is my house" as an excuse to push you around, you have my permission to go down to the beach, find a BIG stick, and whup my butt. I am not so nuts I will bring down the Gods of Hospitality on my head. Those are evil gods, and big into payback.)

No, I'm not desperate to see anybody -- there's loads of folks up here and the place is filthy with artists. But if I have anything THIS good, I want to share! It's a gorgeous summer day, the breeze is blowing through the house, and the eagles are dancing in the sky. I'm going to re-wind the reel and go see if I can catch a rockfish for supper. Around the corner from the house.

(Anybody want to bring anything, I'm looking for wind-chimes, mirrors and spherical crystals. Yeah, yeah, that's Fung Shei -- it's making the place look better, if nothing else).

Some stuff I sent to the Forks Forum when I moved into Clallam Bay:

The Numbers Game
2 September, 2003

New to the area -- just moved into Clallam Bay. Love it.

But I can't believe it -- you people have been taken over by the Numbers Game! Same as the poor fools in the Big Cities.

Back there, the computers say you can get so many people on so many planes, out of so many airports. The numbers say so. And since everybody believes in the numbers like religion, they pack their bags -- and at the crowded, backed-up airports, discover that numbers are just math, and that they don't move the meat around in our reality. Your ticket may SAY you have a seat on that plane -- but if it's backed up in Toronto, you're not getting on it.

Out here, you may have the "right" to 30 -- or 50 -- razor clams, but if the clam population won't support it, or there's an acid infection, or if the other tribe catches you poaching on their beach -- you're not bagging your limit. Species aren't numbers. Weather and tribal relations aren't math. And us white folks -- if we don't stop acting like a bunch of crazed football fans and damaging the clams left and right, we’re going to find ourselves banned from using anything but a clam gun -- and then only if we’re married to a tribal member.

You may have the "right" to take salmon, for sport or sale, but if you've killed off the last five years' parents, the kids aren't going to be there for you to catch. You may have the "right" to 10 salmon, but if you catch 50 and throw away 40 to keep the bigs ones (or so I was told -- you'll have to guess whether that's scare-the-tourists BS or not), adding to the stresses that the fish already face to survive, your rights may come to mean no more than an overbooked ticket to Salt Lake City.

These are species, people. Not numbers. They're living, breeding beings, not a Resource. They're not going to breed by the numbers. And it doesn't matter what your rights are -- they won't be there for you to catch. What was the old rule? Respect the Salmon People, or they won't come feed you? Looks like it works.

Stop thinking numbers like the people in the Big Cities. Lord knows, I moved out here to get away from THAT.

The Triangle Trade
11/6/03

Why the confusion and outrage over jobs moving overseas?

Wealth is based on a triangle. Two legs of that triangle are theft and slavery. At their most extreme, these legs are empire and conquest. At their most disguised, they are (perceived) benign colonization. The heavily industrialized version is, of course, facism. All versions require unpurchased resources and cheap labor, and the flow of profits upwards into the hands of those who do not work.

America has disguised the requirement of cheap labor with abundant free resources. We’ve gone through this bequest like newlywoods in a 4-star hotel. The honeymoon is coming to an end. With everything from 40,000 toxic superfund sites to the extinct cod fishery to shrinking and stunted forests, there is ever less support for the growing population.

Once the resources in the triangle are gone, the population leg kicks in. When all wealth is taken from service and human labor, plantation owners will buy the cheapest serfs, with the profits stripped from the serfs themselves. It worked for sugar, rum, cotton and gold. Now it will work for high-tech industries.

Plantation owners have no care for the lives of their serfs, any more now than they ever did. They do not recognize or care about national borders. More than any of the serfs, they realize that national borders are artificial, imaginary constructs, and they take full advantage to find the cheapest source of serfs.

Unless the third leg of the triangle, in the search for more free resources, comes down.

The Third Leg is War.

(*Europeans are wary of conquest today because the Germans – who will always take concepts to logical extremes – taught them that conquest, colonization, enslavement and genocide are NO FUN -- when they’re done to YOU.)