An Irritable Métis

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A Few More Sentences – 04

chrislatray.substack.com

A Few More Sentences – 04

Namebini-giizis (Sucker Fish Moon) Edition

Chris La Tray
Mar 1
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A Few More Sentences – 04

chrislatray.substack.com

Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to the SEVENTH EVER PAID SUBSCRIBER ONLY EDITION! of An Irritable Métis, and the fourth edition of the monthly sentences. That’s where I post my daily, single sentences for the previous month, based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018. This post (and every subsequent one to this theme, which will arrive on or around the first of every month), as mentioned, is for paid subscribers only. This edition also features the FIRST EVER AUDIO INCLUSION! I experimented with recording a reading of these lines, complete with ambient firepit sound and neighborhood noises. That’s after the paywall, of course, so….

If you’re someone who really digs this newsletter but just can’t add more expense to your existence, I get it. Just contact me and let me know, no questions asked, and I’ll hook you up. I want a community here, not customers.


The Flathead River after another bitter cold spell, where I tried to capture the sound of all the ice scraping between the banks but really only managed to get the voice of the vicious wind….

February, 2023

2023_0201: The Road North begins early as ever but at long last the shiftless light begins to rise with me.

2023_0202: Despite a general phobia of small talk, I will never not enjoy spontaneous winter “How are the roads?” conversations initiated by strangers.

2023_0203: Migizi cuts a regal shape high atop a bare-branched cottonwood, bringing glory even to the neighboring grove of carefully-rowed shit poplars.

2023_0204: Tiny tracks traverse Waterworks Hill.

2023_0205: I wish I could wax to my full glow on such a consistent schedule.

2023_0206: Out after 9pm on a Monday and I didn’t even turn into a pumpkin.

2023_0207: Reflecting on the ubiquity of whiteness in almost every aspect of all the joys of my earlier years.

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