The Derivation of Cowboys and Indians

By Joseph D. Reich

The Derivation of Cowboys & Indians represents a profound journey, a breakdown of The American Dream from a social, cultural, historical, and spiritual point of view. Reich examines in concise detail the loss of the collective unconscious, commenting on our contemporary postmodern culture with its self-interested excesses, on where and how things all go wrong, and how social/political practice rarely meets its original proclamations and promises. Reich's surreal and self-effacing satire brings this troubling message home. The Derivation of Cowboys & Indians is a desperate search and struggle for America's literal, symbolic, and spiritual home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fomite
• Release date: Mar 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781937677275

Book preview

One

Cowboys & Indians #1

When they rolled out the initial suburb i wonder what that must have been like?

how that must have seemed? like heaven? a dream? pure make believe? the yellow

brick road? or something more transcendent, archetypal (foreign/familiar playing

at your local movie theater) like paul goodman’s brilliant sociological novel entitled—

growing up absurd all based on some fleshed-out shangrila propaganda blueprint

postcard for guaranteed bliss and promise for the future: the spotless sparkling split-

levels and rambling ranches on postage stamp lawns looking towards some forward-

thinking long-lost landscape of other neat and tidy lawns; spaceship shaped hourglass

shrubs that perfectly protect and measure how culture might treasure or distinguish

and determine the term of what it meant to feel stable and secure; the manicured lawn

a manic cure to the core of man’s quixotic soul (to hope to heal all wrongs and make

sense of it all) some idealized externalization of liberation to all those self-defeating

feelings of negative self-talk, negation and nihilism; first breed of trees and grass

seed and flowers they planted in the ground to placate and pacify the king and

clown to make sure they felt all safe and sound; glimmering appliances which

seemed to glow, an extension to the most eternal of all internal organs we know

the flesh and bones and heart and soul, umbilical cord to our emptiness and

excesses and successes and sacrifices; our overcompensations and obsessions

really a result not so much of a collective unconscious, more so an individual

instinctive anguished subconscious, even a collective oppressiveness (situational

depression) caught somewhere between the sweet dream and repressed nightmare

like some real-life personified, passive-aggressive, hard to get truth or dare, only

to soon discover there’s psychodynamically an absurd and ambiguous fine line, yet

massive schism between perception and presentation, instinct and introspection,

overcompensation and decompensation, externalization and internalization, pain

and pleasure, love and hatred, intuition and inhibition, superstition and religion,

insular and ignorant, mythology and nepotism, communication and dysfunction

and (silly or self-righteous) suspicion and prejudice; the planned-out projected

psychosocial baseline for which to civilly thrive and function; even curious where

and when they first decided to start predicting such phenomenons as weather?

to put in bingo and bombshelters? shutters and man sheds? (to insure a comfor-

table and convenient life of leisure or rather to stave off or block and deny and

compartmentalize the inevitable final end) the growth and development, evolution

and degeneration of the vibrant life guard to somber crossing guard, piano tuner

and tutor who still live with their moms; all the regression and rumors, beer and

barbecues (the banana seat bicycles that would prove true-blue mythological

vehicles which would forever deliver us from our daily routines and rituals to

our zooming rich and racing escapist imaginations, that may even help us to

function, dancing and ducking around in daniel boone, davy crocket coonskin

creations with squirrel tails scurrying down chicken wing shoulders for a day

of action and adventure in and out shadows with cats and crows through the

man-made, cut-out, cut-down, cul-de-sac of clones) obscure phenomena

of superheroes who would heal all our existential woes, angst, out of reach

expectations and fears and flaws and conflicted superegos; batman and robin

in their flamboyant disguises, technicolor masks and tights highlighting erogenous

zones and stuffed bulges and lone ranger, black and white all over, with his sidekick

indian tonto, who was an archetypal friend, never a foe; the vacuum cleaner and bible

salesmen who would respectively clean our stained and filthy rugs and soul (getting out

those deep and damaged spots from years of...sex dreams we weren’t supposed to have

ashamed of and never got used to, yet somehow got used to, got used too, like some

secret rendez-vous, righteous and true, never a part of you, but really a part of you

that action/adventure substituted for something romantic, for the deepest of desires

to get ultimate approval and would somehow save you, the growing and developing

psyche all consumed within the darkened simplicity of a solitary room) girl scouts and

avon lady who’d redeem and restore the dream and primal scream and self-esteem

and bring back once more that spontaneous spark of love to a ‘happily ever after’

home integration/diversity coming in the form of some lanternman in black face

adorned in lawn jockey uniform, brandishing beacon to keep away the boogie

man; when did the ice cream man make his first appearance? the paper boy?

mailman? milkman? school bus delivering pupils and their specimens, science

experiments and musical instruments, dandelions and dioramas, lunch boxes

and love letters and fluff and peanut butter; the blob and u.f.o’s making

their surprise visitation then sudden invasion on this sacred

superficial suspense-ridden planet that we never ever really

got too familiar or for that matter became fully acquainted

---

As much as you try to tame a wild horse you can never ever break its spirit...

Two

Cowboys & Indians #2

I wanna know whose eye-

deer it was to make

the paper boy

& have him

wrap up

world news

& weather

with a nice

rubber band

in a tight little

bundle while

peddling his

pre-dawn

bicycle

and tossing

it onto dewy front

lawns then some

beautiful prudish

mom slipping out

in her slippers

and bathrobe

somehow feeding

it to her old man

who sits at the

head of the

breakfast

table

and manages

to ignore everyone

---

want to know whose

idea it was to make a milkman

with his little white truck in his

milkman hat and milkman duds

and to leave milkbottles in a perfect

little safe & secure milkcrate to keep

it all eternally crisp & cold under the

baking sun right below milky-white

shingles of a seductive slow-slamming

screen door

wanna know who made him

---

a stud

& wife a whore

---

sons starting wars

with magnifying glass

& sun

---

want to know who

made the mob in chicago

---

As much as you try to tame a wild horse you can never ever break its spirit...

Three

Cowboys & Indians #3

I.

---

So tell me again, what were

the rules and regulations

of cowboys & indians

when kids came flying

our of forests, foyers,

flower gardens, full-

fledged ahead, going–

"bang! bang! bang!

bang! bang! bang!

bang! bang! bang!"

when the swamp

and lagoon and smoky

pines came into play

when that neighbor

who always drank

just a little too much

staggered zombie-eyed

through halloween and

all the kids screamed–

hey mista! hey mista!

and kept on stumbling…

obscure and obscene down

dead ends, driveways, as

if in a bad dream, as though

eternally shell-shocked by

the circumstance of living

and decided to start clipping

his silhouetted shrubbery

to reseed, unscene…

oblivious and pie-eyed

while all the ghosts

and witches moved on

proceeding from door

to door and so tell

me what it is

about our

adulthood

that causes us

to so obsessively

feel the urge to keep on

justifying, overexplaining

ourselves when it seems

like none of this awkward

or futile dialogue ever existed before

when all we need do was run mad and wild

from the woods as the cool cul-de-sac crows

took a deep drag sigh of relief looking down

on these scenes perched way ‘a top fir trees.

---

II.

---

If you could be any superhero in the world who would it be?

yeah i guess there was always those quazi-postwar symbolic

father-figures, such as batman and superman, spiderman

closer to the vision, swinger swinging in silhouetted in big

bad crooked seamy sketchy masquerade underside of life

at night but you know even though suppose they’re all

supposed to have their own particular and peculiar

character and code they all in my opinion end up

falling short and in the long run becoming part

of the same ‘all-inclusive’ exclusive club most likely

through who-you-know nepotism just handing out

awards to each other, the most valuable superhero,

the most improved superhero, the one most likely…

as i’d be more likely to go with someone who

gets absolutely no fanfare at all maybe someone

let’s say like the real salt-of-the-earth and humble

soul tonto conveniently muted and monosyllabic

whose whole immediate and extended family got

‘redistricted,’ reduced not by coincidence to a cruel

cookie-cutter campaign of campground reservation

due to some classic classless bureaucratic prejudicial

social political rigid system of let’s keep them quiet

out of sight out of mind (better to be ‘spoken’ to and

not heard) historical constant and cruel betraying

subjugation by the lovely lowly herd of all-american

‘white man’ in a land of discrimination discrimination

discrimination discrimination describe/nation dis/crime/nation

eventually afflicted with all those reactive traits and character-

istics due to a pattern of consistent coercive mean-spirited

and humiliating tactics and behaviors still having to take

mistaken identity anonymous transit system across america

after having been historically and spiritually raped and betrayed

and violated and still having to ask for permission from the oppressor

(false savior) eventually causing a chronic case of self-loathing (a collective loss

of self-esteem, identity and purpose and meaning) disorientation and loss of direction

still those outcasts that those perfect jocks and

cheerleaders talk under their breath about and

do everything they possibly can to make them

feel left out to try and prove they do no exist

make them feel like shit about themselves still

the tricks of the sticks and stones ‘white devil’

to confuse and abuse whole groups and cultures and make

them take it out on themselves ac/cult/rating stigma-

tazing them with such formal and familiar names and

titles like ‘reservation’ and ‘project’ and ‘internment’

from some false father figure or god or martyr or

authority figure in a constant state (act) of denial

making deals and negotiations treating these people

like pawns and possessions (at their own expense) in

the hopes to forget and relieve their guilty conscience

never once following through on their solemn word

their solemn oath solemn promise (solemnly swear

to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the

truth yet in truth never once told the truth and wouldn’t

even know anything close to the truth because they’re so

damn far from any form of truth and so used to the

lie justifying and rationalizing while it’s simply

become a hardwired and natural part of their

psyche and everyday lives and what the hell

could any of this ever possibly mean coming

from the obscene hole of a soulless white devil

who would sell their mother and brother down

the river moreover from a practical, literal, surreal

point-of-view of ‘removal’ of so long suck-ka!)

so thus psychodynamically in the long-run just become

another burden, another mean and malicious slur uttered

by the delusional ‘all and powerful’ know-it-all convienently

referred to as red man and injun and savage now a phantom

paradigm poster child for the final self-fulfilling prophecy

self-destructive and forgotten, constantly on-the-run

still at it, gossiping when they get off the greyhound

bus, a literal ghost of former selves turned into

the eternal characature, so yeah if i could be

anybody was that the question it’d definitely

be somebody like the holy self-effacing

and forgotten eternal ‘sidekick’

understudy indian tonto

---

As much as you try to tame a wild horse you can never ever break its spirit...

Four

Cowboys & Indians #4

I

---

Out,here,in,panic,ramic,america

everything,replays,in,slowmotion

theassassinations,thehomers

rounding,thebases,theporno

normajean,throwing

finalfarewell

wave,tothe

raucous,raw,of

drunkenspider

silverscreen

spectators

anguished

desperate

& eloquent

they’re,yawl

1,inthesame

in,a,land

inan,island

ina,nomans,land

where,youhide

your,gritguilt

& shame

conflicts

& impulses

growth &

development

pocketknife

&32caliber

pornomags

&loveletters

only,weapon

masturbation

escapism

redemption

for,example

ifyou’re

withdrawn

&inward

morelikely

toget/hooked

onheroine

extroverted

&impulsive

coke

&liquor

no,wonder

why,we,all

hunger,for

superheroes

spidaman