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  • white clay, ne
    I've always seen the wonder of it, the beauty. The culture there i think, must be one of brotherhood. If you think about it, though they drink, they watch out for each other. They share their big cans and their blankets, their fights and their love. It must be a hard to live such a way, but they do.
    Ive always only respected and prayed for the "zombies" of white clay, because some of them are my uncles, my grammas, or my cousins, a new pain hard to see.
    i know the immense strength it would take to exist in a way, the hardship of not eating or being cold at night. I always think, if the apocalypse hit right now, in this very moment, they would be the ones to survive.
    When i used to live at home, I live in Omaha now, I would drive through white clay everyday, early in the morning, with a cigarette and a dream, on my way to school, I drove through everyday, with a fleeting moments honor, i would honk at them; a small moment of honor, a small song with one drum beat and one sound, a death song perhaps, I would honor them.
    I miss that, giving them an honor song every morning, the way of our people, to sing songs for heroes.
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