So I guess I can conclude this long dissertation, although I will always write here. By now you might have guessed that I really am the reincarnation of Sarain Stump. And Sarain Stump really was the reincarnation of Quetzalcoatl. Quetzalcoatl’s reign ended when the cult of Tezcatlipoca took over. A young man would be chosen for a year to live as Tezcatlipoca, and he had all kinds of girlfriends and was treated like a prince for a year. And at the end of the year, he would go up the pyramid and have his heart ripped out. And the next year it was the same, with a new boy. And Quetzalcoatl went into exile, and said he would be back. And he was trans. I think I have always wondered why Tezcatlipoca would be a more popular god. So I did spend many lifetimes following cults, trying to crack the code, trying to get people out. And I always died as a political prisoner. ALWAYS. Actually, that’s not true, the last time I needed to make amends to the Americas and clear my conscience and jump into a body that would be this age now, which is why I set my mom and dad up. I don’t think they need to be together, I think they just both have some awesome genetics. I’ve never gotten this far before, but then, this is the first time I have had the internet.
I’ve actually been working for six months on contract to my uncle, Doug Cuthand, who is a producer. He’s got some amazing scripts. I had to research HIV for him first, and then he sent me to the Merchant office to research residential schools. I couldn’t touch the files anymore. I know exactly what is in them, but I honestly don’t want those files near me again. Those are stories of some of the worst things that have happened to my people, those are stories of our Holocaust. And we are still in the Holocaust. I wanted to compare Nazi Germany, because that happened the same time the residential schools really got started. And our Holocaust was focused on our children, in the end. Uncle Doug has this amazing script he’s been working on based on the story we heard through Louise Mandell, about her grandfather, who was a Holocaust survivor. His camp was liberated by a regiment of Canadian aboriginal men. And they were amazing with the camp survivors. They held them and let them cry for the first time and gave them watery soup because they knew that they couldn’t have solid food yet. And that was when they felt free. And then some Americans came in for a photo op. He told her she should always work for Aboriginal people, and she has, she is one of the finest Native rights litigators in Canada, and it was lovely to apprentice in her office.
Anyway, I know he wants the research, and I know he’s kind of disappointed that I just took off and freaked out, but I was planning it. I didn’t expect to get so wrapped up in it, but I think I did crack the code and I think I did find a way for us to actually talk about it. I hope someone produces his script so that he does get something out of this, I didn’t mean to derail his project. But the research is all here, everything, everything I know.
Anyway, I have to go get tested for cervical cancer now. Because I contracted HPV and Indian Affairs wouldn’t pay for me to take Aldera. And Aldera is about six hundred bucks for a course of treatment, but they made me take some shoddy second rate one, and I don’t think it worked. No one was willing to pay for me to take care of an STD, because if I got an STD I probably deserved it. But I know who gave it to me and it was a girl. I have to put my time sheet in anyway, because I haven’t been paid for my last two weeks of work yet and I need to buy supplements for my brain and honestly, no one is lending me money anymore. And I have no job after this. So hopefully I can get paid and I can work this out with my uncle. He’s a legendary guy actually, he spent time in Haight Ashbury when it was all going on. There’s a rumour he helped draft dodgers. I’ve heard another story about him meeting the King of the Roma in a parking lot in Paris. He told me all about the sex workers using Smart Cars at Cannes. And he lost his son, my cousin Christopher, this year in an industrial accident. And we all miss Christopher so much. I didn’t want anyone to mess him over while he’s grieving. He’s had no clue what I’ve been doing, I think he’s kind of paranoid, poor guy. So I should go face up to that. Linda, who works in his office, was great fun to talk to. She’s worked in the Industry for ages and ages and she’s ridiculously good at what she does. And I hope he’s okay with the direction I took his research, because it really is all here. I just don’t think you need to hear about the shitty things they did to kids. That would be too hard on the remaining survivors. And other survivors, because it continued.
I dunno, I really hope I don’t have cervical cancer, but I’m honestly not sure. And some weird unknown liquids were injected to me in the ward, I have no idea what they were. They didn’t tell me. It was easy to believe I was a crazy person, because then somehow people feel safer. But I was never crazy. I was a political prisoner. And I doubt highly that I will get any recompense for it.
My whole file is in Montreal. I don’t want to look at it, but I’m aware it might come out after all of this, to prove I was fucked up. I think Mohammed is alive and well, by the way, because I see it in Maher Arar. I hope he can have a life again, he deserves to be able to relate to his family. He’s coming here this month, I was hoping to meet him. I dunno, I just want him to have some hope. Ten million dollars still won’t give you back your life, especially since he can’t even get on a plane anymore.
My last HIV, Hep, Syphillis, everything came out clear. I just have HPV. Which could still kill me unless I can get it out of my system and check my cervical cells on a routine basis. I guess it wasn’t important for Indian Affairs to actually provide proper treatment, but they sure did go balls out to pay for all kinds of psych meds, some of which are ridiculously expensive. If other people want to write on here they can send me an email, and I’ll add them, if they can tell me a good reason for them to add their voice to this Fit of Pique. And I’m out of pot, which I should get so I can keep healing, but again, people don’t want to give me money until I can prove I deserve it and that I’m a hard worker. I think they mean making shoes. Directing is not an option for me right now with the way government funding works. And I missed a bunch of deadlines, because I had to sort this out. I was writing about the psych ward, but it’s a long story that one.
I am curious about the ships here. I don’t know, maybe they can help me. Maybe I can’t get help on this planet the way it is. Maybe you do prefer Tezcatlipoca. I don’t want to commit suicide, and I won’t, so if you do find me dead I didn’t do it. I know we have to disarm all nukes in order to get out of quarantine, but I’m not sure that people are ready to let go of the ballistic missiles they’ve been cuddling while falling asleep.
And really, truly, I mostly just want to be a director again. And I want to live forever. Somehow I do believe that forever is possible.
So I’ll end my formal presentation with one of my favorite songs in high school by The Cranberries, Salvation. And they come from another one of my homelands that knows colonialism inside and out. I’ll still talk on here, but I do hope that the floor opens up now, because I know they are waiting in the wings. And I hope it makes sense now. Have a good Easter, and I will write again after the holidays are over. But feel free to write during that time. I have friends here who are checking up on me and they are really good. And now I should go fill in my time sheet.