What am I doing?

Bit of a status update!

Tweeting too much. Not writing as much fiction as I’d like, though I’m still setting words to the page almost every day. If you count my tweets, I’m getting a pretty good word count.

I’m also really sick/ill/feeling the effects of my physical disabilities piling on. I’ve had this leg infection now for months, and I have a nasty cold/virus that I cannot kick. I recently had surgery for my jaw/teeth, which was not cheap, and has in essence turned me into a digital beggar due to my Medicaid being canceled and no longer covering the gap in my Medicare payments. It’s getting to the point where I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pay off my medical debt,  afford my suddenly really expensive meds, and pay my part of rent.  Eeek! All the more reason to crak the writing whip!

I’ve also been polishing the manuscripts for various things, since getting my novel Escape Light ready for the next #DVPIT pitching session. Aside from that project the novella Withering Earth proceeds slowly but surely, and the final book in the Space Opera Trilogy is teasing me with its percolation. So maybe I can get that going too!

On the published front, I have a story in the amazing Indigenous Queer Sci-fi Fantasy anthology Love Beyond Space And Time, which is an amazing collection of Indigenous/Native written queer stories with such luminaries as Dr. Darcie Little Badger, Daniel Heath Justice, Gwen Benway,  Nathan Adler, Richard Van Camp and Cherie Dimaline to name a few. It’s an awesome collection where I feel like the newbie amongst masters, but it was a fun story to write! Go pick it up!

I also have something coming out that’s… well. It’s pretty dangerous. Head over to Erica Friedman’s website for more details. I’ll talk about this next week!

As always, I am surrounded by amazing friends, allies and family, even though some of them are only over broadband. But thank you. Thank you all so much for pulling for me. For praying for me, for holding me up when i’m crying like a baby and wanting to give up, for donating to help pay for my medical needs, buying my work, leaving reviews, and generally just making me smile. I appreciate and love you all!

See you next week!

Pain level 9

( don't worry, it's just a poeme)

oh death take me from this wretched plane
crack my mind into glowing starsand again
give me no more years of tormented empathy
let go my pulse and grant eternal end to me
Creation hath filled itself with foul contemptibly wild beasts
who think themselves better than everything else that they see
They kill each other for no damned reason at all
Tear themselves down to pretend to stand tall
They speak lies of compassion, progress and humility
while burning the skies, and destroying all of the seas
They enslave, rape and murder their own children!
Oh death when will you take me away from them?

Ain’t Like Water

I keep falling
for the wrong kind of love
for the wrong kind of smile.
And the wrong kind of gravity
so easily trips up a fool like me.

All these leaves keep changing color
governments keep killing our brothers, our mothers
black snakes rise, don’t tread on me, don’t tread on me

Men keep droning,
spewing their constant disease
that money honey
will meet all of our pressing needs.
Easy to drink in their lies
but oil won’t sympathize
don’t choke on me, don’t choke on me




Song for the Dead

Song for the Dead

Baby girl in the ground too soon
who sings on the ice for you?
big brother gone away
empty seems the everyday
tears come
tears don’t come
singing stones over the water
grief and rage like oil and blood
thunder booms through rains’ flood
drums lift the canyon’s colors up the wall
listen for the eagle’s keen companion call
Cry out your names to the clear blue sky
listen for the heartbeat in your loving eye
Blood and pain are all we know
dancing through the haze and red snow
drum calls us home
drumsong warms our bones
we cry for you
we live for you

When they say they honor us


Their honor
is eating our bones
crunching our bodies
stealing our children
crying about how noble we were
crowing that we are now dead, gone
painting their faces in scarecrow skins
of our cultures
calling themselves thunderbirds and
white buffalo
wondering why we don’t see their honor

Grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles
your honor is my lifeblood
your honor is cold spring runoff in the river
your honor is a drum’s heartbeat by roaring fires
your honor is that absolute stillness of
ice beneath violet skies shivering with Ghost light.
Thank you my ancestors for resisting their honor
for refusing their ways, 
their soulless, clawing desperate mockery
May my children remember your names

In the Woods.


I see our kids drowning in silence.
Oil burning off irradiated water. 
Demons laughing in their copper wires,
Redskins, squaws, prairie niggers,
their kids dressing like our corpses. 

Where did she go?
She was just walking the road home,
they’ve soaked this road in our blood,
their dogs’ bodies churning red mud.
I want to scream so loud and  for so long,
for everything you ignore that’s so wrong.
Instead I swallow my rage, let it go and flame,
sing my prayers best I can through the pain.
They didn’t find her…
they found her


Unity, you see
That's the way
United, you and me
Hand in bloodied fist
Together no matter what

Times are tough, you know?
My country tis of thee
(Stop crying during the anthem)
This land was made for you and me

But we are united, mission accomplished—
Now we have all the oil and coal we need—
And the blood will wash off, probably—
Those dogs though, I can still hear the screams—
Making America great again isn't easy— 
You gotta break some eggs to make an omelette.—
And look at you, lady! You're a good egg! —
(The only good injun is a dead injun)—
But at least we got the oil and we're United, no matter what.
Weren't Christian graves we bulldozed anyway—
We got the oil and the coal, Amen.
America the beautif-the Great Again.


Edited by Hope L. Nicholson, Love Beyond Body, Space, and Time is a collection of indigenous science fiction and urban fantasy focusing on LGBT and two-spirit characters. And my story, Imposter Syndrome is included, which is YAY! It’s the first published story I’ve had in six years, which coincides nicely with the birth of my amazing but attention-requiring kiddo! 

Imposter Syndrome is the short story of Aanji, a noncitizen artificial life-form who is desperate to escape a grim fate, using her human ancestors’ memories. Set several (hundred?) years after the events of Escape Light, it details one person’s attempt to reclaim her soul. It’s also very autobiographical in some spots, which is why I’m nervous and pleased as punch that the wonderful Hope L. Nicholson is publishing it, alongside amazing Indigenous authors like Doctor Darcie Little Badger, Daniel Heath Justice, Nathan Adler, Gwen Benaway, and Cherie Dimaline.

So if you like my work, make sure you preorder the book from Bedside Press, here. At just $10 it’s an amazing deal. It’s scheduled to be shipping from September 16th. I can’t wait for you to read it with me!

a poeme


water, shifting, swirling dancing whirling
sunlight—distant, imperious warm eternal bright
soil—bones and blood of a trillion mountains’ toil

She is verdant, soft, spiky, alluring poisonous
He is bright, uncurling, yearning, soft, lethal
They is ethereal, smooth, translucent, real

Three together as one under the bright star
we have begun to think of as our only sun
We think so much of our conceptual empires
but we have many stars yet to touch, so many so far.

Wars suffering agony bone fire and flesh crushing
snowflakes of death spinning into the night, rushing
our plastic and glass and steel tombs luring us into
believing that we can forget the Earth, our first womb

But star dust does not lie
either we aim skyward and fly?
or under our sun’s fire, we die. 

Natives get nothing for free. Nothing.


Estimates of Pre Contact North American population are 75-150 million Indigenous people. 525 years later there are only 6.4 million left . That's 68 million to 143.6 million people murdered. Not by accidental disease (it was planned) but by murder.  That's %95.6 of the total population of a people gone, with the remaining %4.4 survivors put into prisons, adopted away from families, and the survivors were  forbidden from practicing and maintaining their cultures. All so that the land could be "given" to Settlers. 

But we turned those prisons into the hearts of our cultures, we made the reservations our own, & we maintain our cultures. Our families are reuniting, our people keeping the histories and the sacred ways of our ancestors. Descendants of Settlers? We see you. 

We see your oilfields and mining operations and logging and city construction on the sacred land and bones of our people. We see you mocking our peoples and cultures as though we are long dead. We are not. We see the oil spills, the forest fires, the radiation leaks in the water. We see the inaction of your Environmental Profit Agency, the laws you write to make theft legal, the babies you've stolen. 525 years of Indigenous genocide and erasure, but we see you. We know your part in this. We see how you benefit from our deaths & erasure. Think long and hard on whose land you really sit on. Whose blood soaks the soil where your home is. Because we see you, & we remember. 

"That's all in the past! It has nothing to do with me!” you cry.


We are still being murdered by Settlers and the State. In Canada, USA, and Mexico. The Dakota Access Pipeline HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH YOU. Lands are being destroyed, along with the peoples, & it has everything to do with you. It's where your food, gas, & homes come from. TODAY. And the colonizers and settlers stole an entire people, from tribes and clans and lives of their own, and treated them worse than tools. Millions of lives interrupted so people could be brutally made into nothing more than labor units. From free humans to slaves, And now the freed descendants of those Stolen People have to fear for their lives from the police—groups created to hunt them. Kids shot dead. Mothers murdered. Therapists shot, lunchroom workers killed. No, the genocide continues in Native & Black communities.

And. It. Has. Everything. To Do. With. You. 

If you live in the USA, Canada, Mexico. Indigenous & Black Genocides, ongoing, and they are for your benefit. 



Very very Not Safe For Work: 
by @CyborgN8VMari 

People asked me to collect these in a book with illustrations, As I am too sick to do that, here's the list as is, with a few new editions. If you like this and my other tweets and work, please consider donating at http://paypal.me/CyborgN8VMari 


Oh you disappointing little poop turtle. You whiny useless tiny barfcricket. Go chew a urinal cake, you pubestink. 

You fart-stalking dickpacket, You strained ass-wine, You vile bloodsnot, Hold your sewer tongue and find a dung cave you donkey whiffer!

Your complaint is bullshit and you are a glass of recycled mule piss. Launch yourself into the sun, dirtfucker. 

Hi, you're a dumptruck of flaming shitmaggots. Fuck entirely the hell off the earth & give yourself a cactus enema.  

Bitchy McWhinePants is the best you can do, you pus-spewing fistula? You're more disappointing than a drunk Santa

Aren't you the cool apathetic cock-wart for trying to comment on shit you know fuck all about. 

Go chew a grenade, you sack of whining anuses. 

Haha what a pisshole. What a barking shit basket. What a cheese turd. You are hilarious, scumnuts.

It's okay to admit you're a marble-gumming toadfucker. 

You are so far wrong it's like you're trying to tie your shoes through your butthole. Just stop.

Fuck that and fuck you, pissmouth. Seriously close your tongue-hole, you're spilling urine everywhere. 

So again, you bullshitting sack of piss-fucking maggot magnets, get the fuck out. 

Tangling with terrible turdlets is so much more refreshing the work I normally do.

Staple your fingers to your anus and go self stimulate elsewhere, snailfucker. Your disingenuous vomit bores me.

Ask the proctologist who found your head, you fart cock. 

Well you are the most articulate witty sack of shit-covered duck penises ever to assume I give a flying fuck.

Why are you such a rectal vacuum? It's ok to just admit you're a turd-swamp.

Holy mice penises this thread exploded like a rabbit in a Viagra factory.

Or maybe it's god's way of saying you're a mouse-fucking vomit-box, you sentient rectum. 

Who ever called you that probably smells like stale skunk-farts and unwashed butt, and has  a truck of marbles shoved up their ass.

You’re a douche cannon. When you open your mouth douchebags just go shooting out everywhere.

 Your words sparkle with the same wisdom as emitted from a dying cow's ass, with twice the stink.

Listen,  you shitboxed piss ribbon, don't be such a fuck wall of assnozzles.

You ever wonder what a gnat-fart sounds like? It sounds like you, every time you open your mouth. Just endless high pitched peeping.

You’re like a tasty snickerdoodle, if they replaced all the doodle with cat-vomit.

Well aren’t you just a stack of puke pancakes soaked in shitfuck syrup and buttered with buttmuching ignorance?

I’ve seen pools of piss with better logic than you, poop-pony.

Oh go fuck a firehose up the nose, you vainglorious vomit-sack.

You are a rectal wart-goblin. See a proctologist and get your head fixed, buttface. 

Fuck you, you racist donkey-faced shit-yodeling fart-maggot.

Talking to you is like having sex. With a dental drill. Up the butt. While on fire. Listening to elevator music.  

Now staple your fingers together and eat a box of FuckOff Charms

You are a piss dribbling wrench-mouthed shitcock with your head so far up your ass you can kiss your prostate. Get the fuck out. My gods you are a privileged assboil,  you wheedling cock-slime, you fuckbarker, you shitpoodle. you cock-beetle, you fart-martini, you soggy crate of crap-covered yoyo-strings, you pusticled labial-wart,  you twirled poop twig. YOU UNDER CHEWED SHIT CARROT, YOU MISPUKED TATERTOT, YOU SNIVELLING BUCKET OF BUTTOCKS, YOU SMELLY FISHBANGER,  YOU DUCK-DICKED ASS BALL,  YOU SACK OF RECTAL SNOT.  YOU TREE SODOMIZER! YOU LEAF BANGING MONUMENT TO PARENTAL DISAPPOINTMENT! YOU SAND-CROTCHED FLEA FUCKER. YOU ENTITLED IGNORANT LITTLE  NOSEFUCK


A Poeme, Savages


cultures are not a flavour
a historical buffet
a people’s history is not an asthetic
nor are our rituals
(borne of nourishing survival
through intense pain)
 a prop for you to wear,
a plaything.
You do not get to rip the skins off
our stories, our lives, 
and weave them into your own
look at your own murderous cultures
for inspiration and appropriation
look at yourself for uncivilized savagery



How many Native Americans/ First Nations People/ Indigenous people do you personally know? Do you know how many Natives died this month? Not natural deaths, not “walking on,” but being murdered, or dying under suspicious circumstances? My answer by this writing, is at least 4, if not 6. Media attention is all over the horribly unjust killings of others this summer, but is relatively silent of the murders of Native people. 

oey Tiiah English Calgary, Alberta Canada
A Native woman, Joey English was dismembered, and yet the man caught for it was just granted bail. Joey Tiiah English was 25. 

Native man Cyril Weenusk was beaten to death last week while in Winnipeg Manitoba to help his dad with cancer treatments. There are no suspects. 

Jocelyn George Calgary, was arrested, and died the next day after one night in police custody. The 18 year old woman was a mother of 2.. 

Crow Agency Native Roylynn Rides Horse 28, of Montana was beaten and burned alive, dying much later in a hospital. 

Back in March ( 27 ) Loreal Tsingine was shot to death by police In Winslow Arizona. She was reportedly wielding a pair of scissors after being accused of shoplifting. Not guns. Scissors. 

There are over 2000 ( some reports estimate as many as 4000) Murdered or Missing Indigenous Women in Canada, many of whom vanished along one stretch of road informally called the Highway of Tears. 

Native Americans are the race/ethnicity with the highest number of people per million to be killed by police. (3.4 per million according to The Counted, a website that tracks People Killed by Police in the US.) So why is there virtually no news coverage of Native deaths? According to US Census Data for 2015, there are 4,500,000 Native Americans in the USA. Or as Siri puts it, statistically Natives just don’t exist. 



Native Dispatch News- At least I made a dent:

Highlight of my day, being blocked by JK Rowling after calling out her cultural theft of real Native beliefs as props for her "Magic In North America Series on Twitter:

Thankfully, I'm not the only one to call her out on this, but so far her publicist asserts JKR has "no comment" on the Issue. Well, that's just heartbreaking. She blocks critics and won't even address the issue at hand? Really sad when you consider that JK Rowling has more followers on Twitter than there are Natives and Indigenous people in the USA & Canada.  

All Bad News

Super bad not great really damaging court decision today:


it has me depressed and reeling.
Recap, SCOTUS ends abortion hurtles, but decides Native land claim cases too disruptive for NonNatives.It's ok when US disrupts tribes tho? There's no justice in this country for Native peoples. None. Not when the highest court of the Settlers decides it's disruptive. A fair hearing on Native land claims is disruptive. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE LAST 524 YEARS HAS BEEN FOR NATIVES?

Our identities as a people = based on our connection to our tribes & our lands, & SCOTUS won't even GIVE US A HEARING. Erasure = Govt policy.

"American Justice" isn't. Not for Natives. When you refuse to let a tribe have a hearing because it might disrupt NonNatives? No Justice.

JUSTICE FOR INDIGENOUS PEOPLE IS “TOO 'DISRUPTIVE' TO LOCAL GOVERNMENTS AND NON-INDIAN RESIDENTS" -SCOTUS. SCOTUS basically said no tribe in the US has a right to have their case about ancestral land claims heard, because that disrupts NonNatives Not a "no you're not right" decision, but SCOTUS won't even HEAR the case. After they admit Natives had been wronged. I'm reeling over this.

My feelings on the Shinnecock land claim dismissal are inchoate; rage and despair & mix of both. I suppose I should have expected this, because the Settler law system, like the rest of the colonizing infrastructure has only ever sought to erase & commit genocide upon Natives.but I can't work up the cynicism necessary to be protectively jaded by this. It hurts. & reaffirms my fear that whiteness = always the enemy

status quo?

If you needed proof that the government, or rather the oligarchy conglomerate megacorporations  behind the government doesn’t actually care about any of us, not me, not you, no one, take a look at how much money they poor into lobbying against gun control, against LGBTQIA rights, against removing money from elections. Every shooting is damning evidence that the OCM-government has zero interest in the welfare of the people it feeds off of and controls.  To the OCM-government, shootings are population control. Oh sure, there may be trials or token statements and lip service paid via “thoughts and prayers and the call to act”, but I guarantee you no real action initiated in the snake pit of self-serving vipers they call Congress will ever make it far enough to mean something. War, the weapons of war, are far too profitable compared to our lives. Proof? Look at our military budgets versus our healthcare spending.

The OCM likes things as they are.




Colossal Prank
by mari

justice, much like faith,
is a faerie-tale, 
wrongs done
cannot be made right not when
the killer is a white man and
the victims looked too dangerous,
too black, too transgender too
Cheyenne-Arapahoe, too female,
too Muslim

America, land of the free, much like hope
is a bed-time story we tell ourselves, hands
red from the days denials, justifications, 
righteous prayer to our pale-skinned

god damn us all. He was only 12 She was unarmed, They were only walking, 
but the Second Amendment
craves more blood
to water the tree
of patriarchy.
I’m sorry, patriots
those that die so we can be free
Tamir , Bettie, Paul, Yvette, Tanisha, Akai, 
on and on a thousand names more

Emma’s poem, “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,”
is just a joke now, don’t you know
it’s all been a joke back since Wounded Knee
Justice, indeed.