Slain by capital interests
So, I visited a graveyard in Butte, MT, this weekend, ’cause that’s what I do. I went looking for the graveyard of a Frank Little. Frank organized mine workers in the Northwest, including in Spokane. But when he came to Butte in 1917 – the town itself is still a vast relic to the bygone days of gold, silver and copper rushes – Little found himself unwelcome. A group of men dragged him out of his hotel in the dead of night and hung him from a rail trestle. Testament to the fact that bringing people together to demand a better life is one of the most potentially dangerous ideas to established power.
Oh, and I saw Evel Knievel’s grave, too. Huzzah!
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Tags: Butte
So, I visited a graveyard in Butte, MT, this weekend, ’cause that’s what I do. I went looking for the graveyard of a Frank Little. Frank
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Archeology
Standing
in ruins,
bits of stone
gazing around
from within,
tapping
wreckage,
with an
absent-minded
boot
rubble that
lies upon
rubble
that lies upon
breakage
histories
that rhymed,
civilizations
gone cold,
nothing here
but wisps
of histories
memories
buried beneath
memories
buried beneath
lies and
promises
and
polaroids
why excavate?
[why not?]
you study
to pretend
you won’t
repeat it
besides, one
rarely denies
the liberty,
the solitary
confinement
of
digging
up
old
heart
break
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Absence
I hurt my shoulder boxing and kept on working out and kept thinking – what’s the Alcoholics Anonymous definition about outcomes and insanity? – that my body would magically heal itself and I could continue with nights of punches and push-ups, as if I owned a duel existence where nothing inconvenient ever happened.
But instead of magically healing, the pain spread, and now I’m hobbled with tight, sore muscles running the length of my left side, derailed just as i took possession of the strongest body I’d ever known.
I haven’t gone into the Spokane Boxing Club in about four weeks, haven’t told explained my absence to Rick Welliver or fear that he’ll chalk my injury up to stupidity or weakness. He’d be more likely, of course, to have a remedy, or the number for physician specializing in sports. (I haven’t gone to the doctor. It’s cheaper and more convenient to self-diagnose myself based on prior injuries and wikipedia entries.)
My pain is slowly receding due to an intense regimen of ibuprofen, ice packs, hot baths and stretches.
The devil now is in the waiting. Patience is not my strong suit, and a nurse to me that even as the pain disappears the inflammation will for some time remain.
So I must wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait and fume in impatience. Patience is always the most difficult remedy to swallow.
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Tags: Spokane boxing club
City Stories – Spokane
For my essay on Spokane as the next underdog city, head over to After It Burns Out.
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Tags: Spokane







