i'm excited and depressed at the same time. i'm in between, flitting from thing to thing. my head is bird, tree, cloud, crack, itch. i'm in between skins. maybe others, maybe new skins. holdingsteady. this nature, this is my nature. i talk about it like it's always now. though i've heard it before, as have you.
yesterday in the free box i found tristes tropiques, splendors of china, indian sign language. i don't know how to tell a story unless a story tells me. what could i possibly do with indian sign language. sign, i suppose. i think i'll try it on someone and take a picture of their face. for that matter what could i do with the splendors of china, or obomba's riches? sad tropics i know what to do with.
someone new is going to read this today. i wonder what will happen inside their skin.
i still get bothered by "indians". they are not indians. they are not what lost men named them. what people become afflicted by another's name. it's a crying shame. well maybe it's ok, i'm just bothered by conquest, genocide, and careless naming.

Indian comes from Greek Ἰνδός ‎(Indós), the Indus River which is from Sanskrit सिन्धु ‎(sindhu) which, as it happens so many times, means "river". Indigenous comes from Latin indigenus (same meaning), formed by inde ("from there") and genus ("born").