stale were(d)s

Tȟatȟáŋka

After giving two prepared speeches, evaluator feedback urged me to avoid reading my detailed notes. They said that people don’t want to hear stale words. The audience wants to hear engaging thoughts, fresh as southern biscuits from the oven (instead of crackers). Words that vibrate and wiggle instead of were(d)s written down and pinned to thick paper like a Swallowtale butterfly.

I know this is a good criticism and I know it’s something I need to practice. I need to trust and let flow. I should remind myself why I joined Toastmasters. I don’t aspire to be a showboat and the shy reserve of other members demonstrates that they don’t either. I want to practice clear thinking and verbal communication to avoid confusion in a very confusing world. Spontaneity inspires while prepared statements can be monotonous. The mouth puppets what the heart sings. Fresh words are lingering wind chime tones. Written notes follow a clef to memorialize melody.

The Thanksgiving holiday promotes family. Thanksgiving symbolizes shared meals between Colonists and Indians, US(A) and the ALL. For those awfully starving in a “new” America, natives shared mercy. “Pagan”, to a Colonist, means worshiping a plurality of Gods in a naively superstitious manner . Paǧáŋ (bah-hunh), spelled almost identically in the Lakota language, means to be willing to part with, donate, and give away. The past solidified a prevailing power. The white world made it the Indians’ turn to slowly starve away on their pitiful Reservations. One God continually blesses the Missionary’s zeal.

Oratorical polish versus flashy immediacy. To write is right; modern culture shakes its head in disbelief that native cultures depend almost entirely on what’s uttered (uddered) instead. Great at-itude (where IT’s- AT) shoves aside meek gratitude. A library guards book vanities while a woodlot merely guards assorted trees. Assertions slam flaky vibrations.

We drive following the directions of a geolocation app and turn when the AI robot tells us to; really, what use is Itókaǧata, the way the river flows? Simply get to work without poetic dillydally. Early to bed and early to rise; a stargazers’ insomnia has little to show from the night dampness. We cured you from your sacred buffalo foolishness. “Slaughter” is just a blunt synonym for what every butcher understands belongs to a hook and razor knife. What etiquette asks its next meal to Paǧáŋ (bah-hunh) itself for consumption? Pray aloud. Prey allowed. Only common sense commends bursting forth with spiked wolf paws than quietly panicking away on spindly deer legs. Firefly magic abruptly ends just after it’s shoved inside a glass jar. Sprinkle gusto liberally over anything that reeks stale.

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