 I just want to remind everybody what's going on up at Standing Rock, please support what's going on. They're not only fighting for their rights, they're fighting for our rights and the rights of their enemies. There's been a lot of stuff going on, Amy Goodman's got an arrest warrant for doing the news and they've been beating up reporters and of course the mainstream media hasn't been really covering it. Peace is called crying when. After traveling underground, I arise into the light. I hear the chaos of our lives but underneath the sound of the drum, the heartbeat of pain, passion, racing, escalator pushes me off, I turn and see the drummer. Aged by the street, this sad-eyed native with the blues, chants and drums that drives the dancer. This aboriginal dancer dances from past memory, drowned in alcohol, fueled by fury. This dance is his protection. He bobs, weaves, hands pump, jabs, eyes blacker than the deepest caves, long dull black hair blows into his face, sticking to his skin. Divorced from himself as well as his people, he dances among the Americans with their manifest destiny eyes who only see just another couple of drunken Indians. I know this dancer. He would pick a fight so he could feel something, anything, even if it was filled with hurt. His name was crying wind and this is how he lived. I will truly never know all the things that drove him to this but I do know this man was robbed. There is a story where one character who complains about all the drunk Indians, the other answer is that maybe we ought to be glad they're all drunk. Imagine what would happen if they all got sober. And I, I so long for that day. Thank you.