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*Rise Up by Leslie Christian*

December 31, 2021 by Faith Phillips

Rise Up tells the raw, true-life account of what it feels like to mourn a child lost to tragedy from the perspective of an entire family and their community. This is a story of what it feels like to suffer unspeakable grief and still cling to your faith.

Good morning, Frequenters of the Flog! What a year, eh? I reviewed my journal entries this morning and I must say this was one that defied prediction in so many good and bad ways, as life happens. We’re decidedly ending 2021 with The Good by announcing the opening of our pre-sale period for Leslie Christian’s “Rise Up”. This sales period is exclusively for subscribers to ReadBooksBy.Faith and the Leslie Christian Facebook Group, “Rise Up” until January 3, 2022, when sales will be opened up to the general public. The book is 125 pages long. Pricing includes shipping costs. Copies will be shipped out in order of purchase. Our first printing is a limited series of just 250 copies shipped out January 31st. Please be sure your shipping address is accurate on your PayPal account. The pre-sale link is live here and now!!! Click below to be the first to order:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rise-up-leslie-christian/1140911569

This was a year of great change. My students became #MMIW activists, appeared on Frontline PBS, published their own books, placed Cherokee poetry in the Chicago Field Museum, debuted an original stage play, and basically just slayed, in general. My teaching career came to its conclusion in May and I returned to my true love: writing. But before that, I wrote in April: “I’m writing a screenplay about my teaching experience. Mark it down, dude, we are going to make a film.” I had no idea those words would come true within a matter of months. I signed my first contract with a production company in June.

The students lit a fire in me to figure out some way to continue serving our community and showcase the overwhelming talent of our people. I brought in a number of stakeholders from the Adair County community and the Oklahoma Arts Council to make a plea for an Arts District. The response was immediate and overwhelming. Watch for major, exciting announcements about this in the first quarter of 2022.

We suffered devastating loss this year. Our grandmother died in June, taking with her a source of light and pure joy that, for us, can never be replicated in another human being.

My friend, Lindsey Wise Spirit, who took me in and made me her sister at Standing Rock, died of COVID-19 after many weeks in the hospital. She leaves behind a grieving husband and four precious babies. They are my family. The pandemic continues to wreak havoc in society. Perhaps even worse than the virus is witnessing our fellows tear each other apart in political and religious hatred.

In the face of grief my answer is clear. Lean in and love. Do all things in love. Work to unify even when it seems impossible. That’s what I’ve been sent to do. I am a peacemaker. Above all things this year, this book by Leslie Christian has taken precedence. That’s because its ultimate message is one of love, service, and unification. Consider this excerpt:

Facebook Entry, Leslie Christian:

August 31, 2020 – 6:04 a.m. 

We are so humble and thankful for every prayer, word, deed, and financial support. They pour into our broken hearts. 

Kayden’s lungs are struggling. We knew this might be the road but watching the struggle unfold is scary. These words give our family sustaining breath when we are not sure how to breathe. 

More than anything, we desire this horrific time to have eternal meaning. So share, speak up to lost people, ask each other and yourself, “If I die today, where would I spend eternity?” If you cannot without hesitation say, ‘In heaven, because I ask Jesus to forgive my sin that separates me,” then today is the day. We are so thankful Konner only knew love and that God holds him for us until we meet again. 

“God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved when morning comes.” Psalm 46:5

These words! One more for Jesus.

Facebook Entry, Jody Pruitt:

August 31, 2020 – 7:32 a.m. 

We all have a habit of taking life for granted. We all wake up and proceed with our day thinking, “there will always be tomorrow.” As we know, that is not always the case. Our days are given to us as a present and never promised. 

I unfortunately found this out the hard way, ten years ago, when I lost my baby brother to an accidental drowning. 

I have learned since then to love my children day in and day out. I make my life around them so that they know if anything was to happen to me or them that their mother loves them until her last dying breath.

To see the Miller family going through what they are going through right now breaks my heart and makes me even more open to letting my kids know that they are never unloved, nor a mistake in my life, nor an option. It makes me realize that there are more things that I need to correct in mine and my children’s lives. We need to be a child of God and draw closer to him.

It is sad that it takes a tragedy to open people’s eyes, but sometimes it does. You have to take it and learn. You have to grow and realize that your life and every life around you is a gift. You are to conquer everything God throws at you.  Know that he gave it to you for a reason. You will not know that reason right away but it will soon come to light. 

Just remember your life may be hard today. It may be hard tomorrow. But God loves you and He is teaching you. He’s teaching people around you, maybe using you as an example. Just be strong and pray every day. Love your family, show them you love them, tell them you love them. Never take one day for granted, because it might be your last.

Ok, that’s all for now, my friend. I am always grateful for your love, trust, and generosity. Let us meet again in 2022.

Donadagohvi, Faith.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: cherokee nation, Cherokee writer, Christian, grief, Okie Noir, Oklahoma, Rise Up

Burning All The Time

October 13, 2021 by Faith Phillips

Christopher Murphy’s short fiction collection, Burning All the Time, feels like pulling back a curtain to peer in on a strange and hidden world. The collection of twenty-three shorts, with stunning cover art by Roy Boney, bursts with all things NEOK: dark humor, deep affection, wonder and dread. The book is delivered with an undertow, much like this land that keeps pulling us back, even against our own will at times. 

Within these contemporary sketches the reader comes to understand characters on an intimate basis. Murphy manages to capture the people of NEOK so well that we know them. The reader continues to mull over the possibilities long after the book is closed. Was it her, one wonders? 

Burning carries a mysterious thread throughout its pages, with a distinctive style akin to Ondaatje’s Billy the Kid. Its secrets are interwoven with skillful technique, sometimes apparent and other times camouflaged, providing the reader with a satisfying intellectual pursuit. Murphy’s powers of observation prove exceptionally keen here. He captures our families and friends, even our enemies, with such precision that it almost feels embarrassing. He caught us. He got us down. 

It is written that a Joycean epiphany is “showing forth” a disclosure of one’s authentic inner self. That masterful literary technique is on full display here, with the writer disclosing his affection for the flawed gem of this land and her people, even as he lays her bare. This is a work from an observer who’s been around long enough, invested enough tears and blood of his own, to have earned a turn at the mic to speak on the subject. Murphy doesn’t waste time or words getting down to business from the first turn of the page.

Herein, we experience Tahlequah and northeastern Oklahoma as a landscape with a hole; a figurative exploration of concealed caves where once there existed a shallow sea. We know because we still find the fossils of those old sea creatures in our hills. It is representative of the holes and fossils left behind in us, bored by generations of grief and trauma that we constantly seek to fill. It is a collection of broken hearts rendered too tough to do anything about it except to rage. We experience this place as one of isolation and concealed honor. He takes us on an outsider’s tour of the Trail of Tears exhibit and helps us understand the emotional complications of the experience. For some, the subject is too complicated to fully unpack. It’s ok for Murphy to say it out loud because he has soldiered alongside. He gets to tell the truth, fiction as it may be.

The English professor’s grasp of technique is awe-inspiring. He builds sentences like skyscrapers, grand in scope yet meticulous down to the element. One such example: “There are elements in this town like carcinogens: everything is literal; there are pocket cruelties, apathies and disenfranchisement; distrust in general.” How did he do that? 
Our very own dark humor is on display here – the kind of jokes we make about our own families but, by God, nobody else better. Sometimes the work is naught but pure, ecstatic joy: “they vaped moon pie weed until it steamed roaches out the wall“.

Christopher Murphy demonstrates in Burning All the Time that while he is, by definition, an Observant Transplant here, his words feel like the kind you’d allow from an uncle. He has witnessed it all: Del Rancho, e-coli, Tyson chicken houses, Travis Meyer and Jose’s Mini-Video …

It’s too late now, y’all, we have been exposed. “A weary world rejoices.”

Burning All The Time is published by Mongrel Empire Press. http://mongrelempire.org/catalog/fiction/BurningAllTheTime.html?fbclid=IwAR2NtpC4zppKPQm8pccLXSLXZ9VnkDkGnYSf_TWma6b_6QYMxGIgBcotA-A

Filed Under: okienoir Tagged With: cherokee nation, Literature, Okie Noir, Oklahoma, Oklahoma Author, tahlequah

Okie Noir Press Announces Debut Title: “Rise Up: A Story of Tragedy and Triumph” by Leslie Christian

August 26, 2021 by Faith Phillips

Leslie Christian hails from rural southern Oklahoma. Born and raised in red dirt and sand, Christian’s life consists of nourishing crops, animals, and family. Leslie describes life as an adventure with the Lord, both at home and abroad. Her years have been filled with faith. That faith was put to the ultimate test in August 2020, when she received a devastating phone call that upended the world as she knew it.

Osiyo, dear Floggers! Faith Phillips here. So good to be back in regular contact with you again. I’m here to tell you about a new book, but this time it isn’t mine. We opened Okie Noir Press as a small publishing house over a year ago, with a future plan to publish my books and the books of other regional writers, especially young people writing in the Cherokee Nation. I finished teaching in May with the intention of finally publishing my fifth book, “The River Book”. But my plans almost never work out. The Creator usually has something better lined up when I ask for guidance and listen for the answer.

Exactly one year ago, on August 29th 2020, I received a strange call. The name of my precious friend, Jimmy May, showed up on the caller ID. We almost exclusively communicated by text, so I immediately sensed trouble. I answered and Jimmy said, “Leslie Christian’s twin grandsons have drowned. They’re being life flighted. Pray now.”

I didn’t ask for details. I hung up and dropped to my knees. After I finished praying, I contacted The Rev, our home group, friends and family to ask for fervent prayer. Leslie had been my roommate during the single most paradigm-shifting experience of my life – my first trip to Malawi. She had been a critical part of my experience there, accepting and encouraging me even though I was riddled with self-doubt. She made such an impression on my life that I wrote about her in my second book. I felt at least a small fraction of her pain as I waited for news.

As the days passed by after the initial drowning incident, it became clear that my friend would live in a state of long-term grief. My prayers changed then and I began to ask, “What can I do to help my sister?” I waited. Then, several months ago, the answer came in the form of a manuscript. This manuscript told the raw, true-life account of what it feels like to mourn a baby from the perspective not just of Leslie, but of her entire family and their community. More importantly, the book tells the story of what it feels like to suffer unspeakable grief and still cling to your faith. As I read through the manuscript I was struck by its gut-wrenching honesty. I wept many times and I still do as I continue to prepare the book for publication.

This book is not just about one family’s loss. Ultimately, Rise Up will foster a community of people who can network and provide support for one another in the face of great tragedy. We welcome you to join the Rise UP Leslie Christian Group page here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/520386559052657

I am always grateful for your loyal readership. I leave you now with an excerpt from Leslie Christian’s Rise Up.

From “Rise UP: A Story of Tragedy and Triumph”

  • Kayden and Konner Miller on the morning of August 29, 2020

We questioned our decision as we pulled out of the kids’ driveway. Has that ever happened to you? I mean, really, what would it have hurt if we had just taken the boys with us? We could have tag teamed with the errands. We could have had one more night making memories with them. 

“Nah,” we thought. 

“There will be more time,” we said.  

We knew we would see them tomorrow.  Have you ever really considered how precious time is and what you should prioritize as your most important decisions?  In our story, we will consider that question forever, from now on.  As for our choice, we pulled out of the kids’ driveway having made our decision.  We would see them in the morning for church.  Little did we know in a few short hours our lives would be changed forever. We would learn that we were wrong. There would be no more time tomorrow.

My husband and I went on to complete our errands.  I purchased my outfit for the Colorado family pictures.  Clayton got his hair cut and we headed back home to finish chores.  We had a roast with potatoes and carrots waiting on us for supper.  After a busy weekend schedule with toddlers, it wasn’t just the twins who had a scheduled nap. We looked forward to one, too. 

That plan was interrupted at home by an unexpected call from our youngest daughter’s boyfriend.  He wanted to come by and talk with us privately about our princess, Bridgett. Up we went to the country Dollar Store to get the gravy mix we had forgotten.  

Now, let me just say here, part of our country life almost always involves living off the grid.  Cell phone service is terrible on a good day.  So, as we were driving, you can imagine our surprise when a Facetime call from the twins’ mom came through.  We were excited to see the boys because, as you might have already guessed, we thought they were calling to show us their swimming pool moves. You will recall I had promised a big pool swim after they woke up from nap. 

But nothing in that moment matched any scenario we could have predicted or imagined, even in our worst nightmares. When I swiped the green button on my phone to speak with my daughter all we heard were terrified screams.  

“Mom get here…(pause)….Mom my boys…pool….drown!” 

Lost connection.  We called back to see our baby girl giving CPR to the babies and screaming, “Mom, get here….(compression)….(breath)….Mom, my boys have drowned….(compression)….(breath).” 

We lost the connection for a final time and that was it.  Clayton and I flew north with the understanding that the big pool swim had somehow transformed into the most tragic moment of our lives.

My first thought: PRAY.  Pray boldly.  Pray with confidence.  Pray scripture.  God has performed miracles before.  Believe.  Believe in God.  Believe He will do it again. Then what? Call. Call my dad. Call my strongest prayer warrior.  Call someone I know who will have service and will call all our family prayer warriors.  

FAST, Clayton.  Go FAST.  Get to my kids.  REPEAT. 

Decisions.  Let’s just go ahead and talk about that right now.  Clayton and I will be presented with more decisions in the future. As you read this story, you will too.  Let your decisions be guided by what is most important in life.  You really are not promised that, “we will see them in the morning for church,” moment. Weigh that final decision carefully when you pull out of the driveway.

But the Lord is our banner!“

Pre-orders available this fall, exclusively on ReadBooksBy.Faith. Publication date, December 1, 2021. #okienoir

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: grief, okienoir, riseup, swimsafety

Okie Noir Press Presents: Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ na uwoduhi The Beauty

August 22, 2021 by Faith Phillips

Tyla Sawney is a writer, editor, activist, researcher, poet, and photographer living in Bell, Cherokee Nation.

Siyo, my name is Tyla Sawney. I’m from a small yet beautiful community called Bell, Oklahoma. Although I’m from a small community, I come from a big family. I’m the middle child of seven. I attend Salem Baptist Church. I’m a writer, editor, recorder, MMIW activist, podcast host, researcher, published poet and photographer for “Same Ship, Different Storm”. My work was chosen for display in Tulsa, Oklahoma, during the centennial remembrance of the Black Wall Street Race Massacre. I’m a proud full-blood Cherokee! I love everything about my culture. I grew up hearing my Cherokee language and I’m blessed to say that I still do! My first language is actually Cherokee. My language might have been taken from some, but it will forever be with us in our hearts, just as our ancestors are. In everything I do in my life I want to put the Lord first. He has blessed me in many ways! I want my people (young or advanced) to know that we are the peace of this Earth. We are who we are! We are Native Americans who can overcome anything no matter where we come from. I’m honored to be a Cherokee! Our language isn’t just the words we speak. It’s powerful. The words have meaning and we speak them with dignity, courage and love. Always remember everything we need is within us. I’d like to thank my dad for always keeping his language in his heart. When I hear him speak the language it is music to my ears. To my fellow teacher, Mr. Panther, Tlvdatsi, thank you for making me fall in love with who I am and my culture! Wado for keeping the language alive and for helping it to come alive within me! Someday, like you, l will teach others.

Donadagohvi.

-Tyla Sawney

Please enjoy one of Tyla’s selections from the Chicago Field Museum:

Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ
na uwoduhi
Tyla Sawney

Na uwoduhi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏗᎦᎶᏍᎬ ᎥᏙᎵᎥ ᏗᎩᏁᎦᎸᎯ
Na uwoduhi digalosgv igtselii diginegalvhi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏗᎦᎶᏍᎬ ᎥᏙᎵᎥ ᎦᏙᎯ
Na uwoduhi digalosgv igtselii gadogi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏗᎦᎶᏍᎬ ᎭᏫᎾ
Na uwoduhi digalosgv hawina
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏥᏗᏬᏂᎰᎢ
Na uwoduhi tsidiwonihoi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏥᎩᏲᎰᎢ
Na uwoduhi tsigiyohoi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᎢᎩᎲᎢ
Na uwoduhi igihvi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏥᎩᏂᏴᏐᎢ
Na uwoduhi tsiginiyvsoi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᎢᎩᏃᏎᎸᎢ
Na uwoduhi iginoselvi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏥᏂᎦᏍᏓ
Na uwoduhi tsinigasda
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᎢᏗᏴᏫᏴᎢ

Na uwoduhi idiyvwiyvi
Ꮎ ᎤᏬᏚᎯ ᏥᏂᎦᏛᎾ
Na uwoduhi tsinigadvna

The Beauty
The beauty that comes from our skin
The beauty that comes from our land
The beauty that comes from within
The beauty that we speak
The beauty that we seek
The beauty that we have
The beauty that we hold
The beauty that we are
The beauty of Native Americans
The beauty of us

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: cherokee, cherokee nation, Cherokee writer, chicago field museum, field museum, poetry, poets

Holiday Flash Sale!!

November 24, 2020 by Faith Phillips

A holiday book set from ReadBooksBy.Faith

Holiday flash sale! From now thru December 18th ReadBooksBy.Faith offers a signed & wrapped complete book set for $55. That’s four books, including our latest release “2020 Visions”! The book set covers all the bases: a fiction supernatural thriller, a true crime novel, a hilarious collection of true mishaps, and the memoirs of a new teacher and her students negotiating the year 2020.

Order now and we guarantee your gift-wrapped present will arrive just in time for giving. Buy local unless you live far away and then go ahead and buy far away! 🙂 Order details included below #okienoir #2020visions #cherokeewriters

Place your order for a signed box set right here for $55.00, includes shipping!

https://paypal.me/FaithPhillips?locale.x=en_US

2020 Visions

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Cherokee artists, Cherokee Writers, Okie Noir, shop local, small business saturday

Dispatch from a Red Zone

November 1, 2020 by Faith Phillips

The intercom sounded overhead. Students recited the pledge of allegiance and remained standing afterward, heads bowed in a moment of silence. This community is a religious one; we are a Christian majority. We are also unabashed in our rural identity. Another notable fact is that Adair County is the only minority-majority county in the State of Oklahoma. Our population largely descends from Trail of Tears survivors. As a proud borough in the Cherokee Nation, our suspicion of the federal government and its motivation lingers.

School staff members gathered beneath stately pine trees at the beginning of August. There, masked in a socially distanced circle, many of us prayed together. We were one of the few Oklahoma schools to open in person on the first scheduled day. The school board made that decision, prompted by an overwhelming majority of political will from the community. 

My faith wavered that day. I stood just outside the circle, unnerved by the real plausibility of exposure. My husband, a diabetic and a heart patient, is at high risk for complications from Covid 19. Almost a year ago I said a vow to honor and keep him, in sickness and in health. I meant what I said. Some of our most highly skilled, veteran teachers are high risk, too. They show up anyway.

My other confession is that I never believed there was a chance, not a single chance in hell, that we would make it past the first three weeks of school in the midst of this pandemic. I anticipated a massive outbreak in the beginning. That did not happen. I was wrong. For that, I owe some people an apology, including my colleagues and the administration. 

One of the arguments against coming back to school was that it was ridiculous to expect high schoolers to wear masks every day. Guess what? They did it. These students, when presented with an optional quarantine, did not choose to exercise that option. They want to be here. They need to be here. They will do whatever it takes to have a routine, to experience some semblance of normalcy in a time when there just is no such thing. Two of my advanced creative writing students recently appeared on a statewide news program for an interview about their political views. One part of the poll asked about their hope for the future. These two students happen to be on opposite ends of the political spectrum but they engaged each other with civility and respect. They recognize the dignity inherent in one another. The journalists remarked that the students conducted themselves with much greater decorum than the presidential candidates during recent debates. What a statement. Res ipsa loquitur. The thing speaks for itself. 

I prayed in July that school would not resume in person until a vaccine was available. It was a selfish prayer because I knew without a doubt if school officials voted to return, I would report back and finish my obligation to the school and the students. There was no way I would bail on these people, my people, when the deal went down. The school feels very much like a microcosm of society right now. Some of us believe wholeheartedly that a mandatory mask policy is the only way to sustain this remarkable feat and then safely return home to our families at the end of the day. Many others remain equally convicted that masks are a blatant political infringement upon fundamental freedoms. They wear their masks and show up anyway. Unspoken tensions exist. We don’t discuss politics in the hall. It feels a bit like whistling past the graveyard. Yet we come together day after day for the students and do what has been asked of us.

My reverend explained it like this, “ask yourself one question. Are you willing to die for your students?” It’s that simple. Every person I work with made that decision, although many would never frame the issue in such dramatic terms. Whether or not we agree politically, that is the one place where we stand united. I would stand shoulder to shoulder with these people to defend our community. But what do you do when the invader is already on the inside? 

Am’re Ford, a teacher in a metropolitan area on the other side of Oklahoma, wrote this last week:

“Things I’m juggling as a teacher rn:

Teaching content

A pandemic

My mental health

Students mental health

Coworkers mental health

Canvas not working like it’s post to

6th graders who are adjusting to middle school and online learning

Hella missing assignments

Adults concerned about aforementioned missing assignments

Remembering there’s a pandemic and that I need to extend grace

Planning content to teach

Incentive program

Making orchestra fun

Students that still don’t have materials

Prolly 4 other things that I can’t remember becaws all the things

It ain’t a pity post but some folx don’t realize all the stuff we be doing”

Mr. Ford nailed it up there on the wall for all to see; everything in one post. Back here at home we are about to enter week thirteen of in-person instruction and it appears the viral surge is upon us. Many people in our community have comorbidities. We’ve lost elders. Is it survival of the fittest now? Are we ok with applying that concept to our fellows? On the other hand, are we ok with sending students home, knowing full well that some will receive neither adequate nutrition nor instruction? Our people are extremely resilient. Yet in a community that is already at war with poverty, addiction, crime, and associated health issues, an education is one of the only sure tickets to rise above it all.

Another colleague of mine is a rare gem of a human being. He is one of about 2,000 living Cherokee speakers.  His life is dedicated to teaching the language to our students, the population of which is 82% indigenous. I knew at the beginning of the year he would be especially susceptible. I confided my anxiety about him early on. About a month ago, my nightmare came true. He was walking across the parking lot and I was leaving for the day. He said, “Ms. Phillips, I had a sniffle so I went for a test. Now they want me to quarantine.” 

Not long afterward he wrote to say his test came back positive. I feared the worst and prayed for the best. He suffered at length with Covid and later explained that in the most frightening moments of the virus, he sensed a dark presence in his home and hallucinated, alone. Everyone who lives through Covid has a different experience. Already, as we enter the fall, some of us in the community have not made it out alive.

The word “fear” gets tossed around like a hot potato just lately. We’ve used it as a weapon against each other. I’ve been guilty of saying “no fear” to insinuate that I operate my life without ever experiencing the chains of that basic human emotion. But that was a facade. I do feel fear. Fear for my colleagues, fear for my family, fear for my students. I read somewhere that courage is feeling fear, knowing something is more important than fear, and taking action anyway. I hope that’s true. I desire so much to be a courageous woman.

It feels trite to say it out loud, yet the question remains, have we passed the point of no return? For the sake of these students, we must say no. Won’t we unify for each other? The ultimate test should be this: will we be able to look each other in the eye when all this is over? Did we love and look out for each other? Did we fulfill the promise? 

Yesterday I heard the most difficult question of my short tenure as a teacher:

 “Ms. Phillips, is this the end of the world?” 

My student was dead serious, in search of comfort and assurance. It’s past time now to step up, show leadership, provide real hope, and bandage the wounds of our fellows. The election happens in two days. Our young people are looking to us in this moment. I don’t feel safe at school right now. I don’t believe we should be there. But we are there and we will continue to be until we get sick or officials say it is time to go home. I’m grateful I don’t have to make the call and I pray for the ones burdened with that heavy decision. It’s time for empathy now. It’s time for hella grace. We are all in this together and the time is now.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: 2020 Visions, cherokee nation, Cherokee writer, chrome dreams, Okie Noir

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