One of my favorite pictures of myself…

It’s weird and moody. And it’s me…

Ralph’s Friend’s Band/ And Ribbit…

Florence and The Machine, these people are NICE, and this video is gorgeous…

I’m not sure I’ve had a truer visual kindred spirit ever…Daughter’s from another mother…

She’s like me. All arms…

4 Williams and 4 Alices/.

I’ve always known that I was of Native American decent, in several ways. But I’ve finally gotten confirmation. My grandmother sent her records my way, and I’ve been doing some genealogy digging on my own. I’ve always known that I was of the BlackFoot, which makes me distantly related to a woman, an artist and novelist who I greatly respect Michelle Brotherton. Which makes sense, of course. 

See Michelle here w/ Marina Abramovic at the MoMa: (after a 12 hr shift at The Pig which included throwing 15 ppl out the side door…and then waiting in line, but anyway, she is a genius who these throwaways will never be truely close too…)

So my friend is a genius. Yes. Holding her hand to her heart as Marina did..

But I read those reports, and I did some more digging. And they all made so much sense that I think that I always knew. Most of the records were destroyed during the French/Indian War, but the Bump side of my family were Mohican. And of course! I freaking write circular stories. I shaved my head into a mohawk as a 16 year old why? The main character in The Last of The Mohicans is my family. Nathaniel Bumpo. A white man. White man and Indian woman. The Bump Family. And why yes…

And as a proud descendant of the real people of this land, I was always so thankful that my European ancestors were fairly recent to this land. That Thanksgiving was an uncomfortable excuse to make pumpkin pie, but that I never wanted to buy into the whole happy happy version of all of this, and I justified this by not being a part of that history. Friends of mine have said that their ancestors were on the Mayflower and I was so proud to say that mine were not, but I must’ve jinxed myself…

Mary Queen of the Scots, fine. She’s pretty fucking bad ass, and sketchy. Of course. But I could understand that connection. Strong woman in the 1500’s. Marrying a relative and getting her head chopped off, alright…

But then I found out, 2 days ago…my breadcumbs are attached to Governor William Bradford. On the Mayflower, yes. He left the Church of England because he felt they weren’t true, he became a separtist. And he had to flee England to the Netherlands, to live. And he met a woman there. And then they set upon a ship…w/ one son in tow to  America. And she died upon the ship. Suicide maybe, although never proven. And when he landed, he more than settled in to Plymouth (Rock). And uh…

He married a woman named Alice. And was Governor of this land, and re-elected 30 times. And they had a son William, who I am decended from. And said William married an Alice too.

But this isn’t where isn’t where the story stops. Because we need to go back to where the story begins…

Governor  William Bradord had a son w/ his wife Alice. And he named him  William. And that son married a woman named Alice. But reverse direction for a second. Governor William Bradford’s father was named William and his mother was named Alice. Weird enough, yes…but I’m not done. Governor William Bradford’s grandfather was named William, and yes, his wife’s name was Alice.

Holy fucking man alive…

This is a strange world indeed my friends, a strange world indeed…

And here’s the irony. He is the man who is credited as “the first to proclaim what popular American culture now views as the first Thanksgiving”.

And give me some silence here…

This is unbelievably crazy. I am somebody who works every Thanksgiving, but I get sick every year. Food poisoning of some sort, the day before. Or some sort of gene mourning, apparently. I make pumpkin pie for my friends as I am holding my stomach in cramps. Every year. Seriously.

And you have to wonder…

Maybe one set of genes aren’t mixing so well w/ the other…

My best friend on the cover of L.A. Weekly…

Miss Carolynn Spence, Executive Chef of Chateau Marmont

I’m watching Dexter and Charlie is watching me…