“That's one more thing people don't know about Indians: We love to talk dirty.”

“Those Montana Indians were so tough that white people were scared of them.Can you imagine a place where white people are scared of Indians and not the other way around?That's Montana.”

“I didn't literally kill Indians. We were supposed to make you give up being Indian. Your songs and stories and language and dancing. Everything. We weren't trying to kill Indian people. We were trying to kill Indian culture.”

“All of the Indians must have tragic features: tragic noses, eyes, and arms.Their hands and fingers must be tragic when they reach for tragic food.The hero must be a half-breed, half white and half Indian, preferablyfrom a horse culture. He should often weep alone. That is mandatory.If the hero is an Indian woman, she is beautiful. She must be slenderand in love with a white man. But if she loves an Indian manthen he must be a half-breed, preferably from a horse culture.If the Indian woman loves a white man, then he has to be so whitethat we can see the blue veins running through his skin like rivers.When the Indian woman steps out of her dress, the white man gaspsat the endless beauty of her brown skin. She should be compared to nature: brown hills, mountains, fertile valleys, dewy grass, wind, and clear water.If she is compared to murky water, however, then she must have a secret.Indians always have secrets, which are carefully and slowly revealed.Yet Indian secrets can be disclosed suddenly, like a storm.Indian men, of course, are storms. The should destroy the livesof any white women who choose to love them. All white women loveIndian men. That is always the case. White women feign disgustat the savage in blue jeans and T-shirt, but secretly lust after him. White women dream about half-breed Indian men from horse cultures.Indian men are horses, smelling wild and gamey. When the Indian manunbuttons his pants, the white woman should think of topsoil.There must be one murder, one suicide, one attempted rape.Alcohol should be consumed. Cars must be driven at high speeds.Indians must see visions. White people can have the same visionsif they are in love with Indians. If a white person loves an Indianthen the white person is Indian by proximity. White people must carryan Indian deep inside themselves. Those interior Indians are half-breedand obviously from horse cultures. If the interior Indian is male then he must be a warrior, especially if he is inside a white man.If the interior Indian is female, then she must be a healer, especially if she is insidea white woman. Sometimes there are complications.An Indian man can be hidden inside a white woman. An Indian womancan be hidden inside a white man. In these rare instances, everybody is a half-breed struggling to learn more about his or her horse culture.There must be redemption, of course, and sins must be forgiven.For this, we need children. A white child and an Indian child, gendernot important, should express deep affection in a childlike way.In the Great American Indian novel, when it is finally written, all of the white people will be Indians and all of the Indians will be ghosts.”

“My grandmother's greatest gift was tolerance. Now, in the old days, Indians used to be forgiving of any kind of eccentricity. In fact, weird people were often celebrated. Epileptics were often shamans because people just assumed that God gave seizure-visions to the lucky ones. Gay people were seen as magical too. I mean, like in many cultures, men were viewed as warriors and women were viewed as caregivers. But gay people, being both male and female, were seen as both warriors and caregivers. Gay people could do anything. They were like Swiss Army knives! My grandmother had no use for all the gay bashing and homophobia in the world, especially among other Indians. "Jeez," she said, Who cares if a man wants to marry another man? All I want to know is who's going to pick up all the dirty socks?”

“...it's like this white-Indian thing has gotten out of control. And the thing with the blacks and the Mexicans. Everybody blaming everybody...I don't know what happened. I can't explain it all. Just look around at the world. Look at this country. Things just aren't like they used to be.''Son, things have never been like what you think they used to be.”

“Do you know why the Indian rain dances always worked? Because the Indians would keep dancing until it rained.”