The original "Indian Head TV Test Pattern" was drawn in 1938 by an artist working for RCA known only by the name "Brooks." Used until the early 70's when the industry stopped building black and white TVs, an engineer in a local TV station could simply look at the Indian on a dedicated TV monitor to see if the station's signal was broadcasting properly, i.e., was clear and not blurry or wavering. The Indian Head TV Test Pattern was used to fill those periods in the 24-hour day that were not broadcasting TV shows, like at the time a station would "sign off" following the playing of the National Anthem.

So, when I found this on a Native Outlawz post today I had to laugh. And then it got me to thinking: how ironic it is that at one time we looked at a picture of a Native American Chief to see if we could see him clearly. Too bad that didn't include seeing what he symbolized in all of its implications, including most importantly reverence for the earth.  Unfortunately the Indian Chief is no longer there to guide us, to help us find our way clearly to a better vision of the world.

Busimanolotome Osceola, founder of the New Seminole and my father-in-law, would use the questionable and disputed work of a renegade scientist to interpret this symbolism as another example showing dark matter/energy-- the mysterious stuff that fills the spaces between the stars in the universe-- is really irony. 

Well, are you, punk? 

I'm no Travis Bickle (or Dirty Harry), but sometimes I want to be as tough as the FBI thinks I am. But I'm not. I'm just a little white girl with a couple of tats, some piercings and a Mohawk hiding out in the Miccosukee Embassy, seeking "Sanctuary" from big bad Uncle Sam. The toughest thing about me is my attitude.  And the pronunciation of my Seminole name: Holatte-Sutv Turwv. It's supposed to mean "Sky Eyes." That's Nokosee's name for me. It came with our wedding as a gift, so I didn't have much choice. Sky Eyes is okay but sometimes I wish I had a more badass Native American name, you know like, Kokipapi, They-Are-Afraid-of-Her.* That's the name the great Lakota Sioux warrior Crazy Horse gave his daughter. (Spoiler Alert: stop reading if you haven't read Book Two). At least Nokosee and I gave our daughter a semi-badass name: Haalpatee. It's the Muskogee word for "alligator," a thing that killed Nokosee's dad, Busimanolotome Osceola, in our final battle with Uncle Sam deep in the Everglades. We hope his brave spirit came with the name for Hallie, what we call our beautiful little girl for short. And we hope she grows into a fierce heroine who will face down injustice and the destruction of our world like Busimanolotome and Crazy Horse did. 

*The name was given to Crazy Horse's daughter in honor of an aunt who raised him. The aunt earned that name after beating up her husband. The baby girl, who died when she was only two or three years old in 1873, was Crazy Horse's only child and had nothing to do with the aunt's "bad reputation." As an aside, Crazy Horse doted on the child and mourned her death for many years. To commemorate her passing, he formed the "Last Child Warrior Society," whose members were the younger or youngest children in their families. He selected them for their bravery.

I was having a slow day at the Miccosukee Embassy-- the FBI seem to have more important things to do since the Liar in Chief became President than bothering with me and Nokosee and the New Seminole (NS)-- when I stumbled upon a Miami New Times story about a new Miami record company called Gumbo Limbo Music. 

WTF? If you've read my books or this blog you know I had a favorite tree in the deep Everglades I use to climb up into to read, to think, to make love to Nokosee, and to really, really get away from everything. That tree was, of course, a gumbo limbo, aka, the "tourist tree" because of its reddish, peeling bark (sunburns, get it?). So, when I saw this, I had to listen to the music. Partially what drove me there was the story about the guy who founded the company and his vision.  Richie Hell is an Argentine living and working in Miami. His influences are the Blues and Heavy Metal.  His new record label-- releasing on vinyl LPs-- wants to create a new niche that flourishes between blues/rock and EDM.  A style that also includes world and indigenous music.  Give it a listen. I give it a Full War Bonnet (from the NS rating scale of 1-eagle feather for a "pass"). It's muy worthy. "Good Moaning" -- not "morning" as I first read it-- is good sensual fun and could easily be the soundtrack behind the leaves and branches of my next gumbo limbo tree when I make sweet crazy love to Nokosee. Actually, I can see me with earbuds firmly in place bopping to all four tracks in my next gumbo limbo tree. Or dancing to them through a cypress swamp, splashing water with each stomping step-- something I hope to do real, real soon because doing "Sanctuary" at the Embassy has become a real drag. Once I'm free maybe the NS can kidnap this guy (he's also a DJ) for our next soiree at a secret location in the Everglades. Just kidding. Our last kidnapping of entertainers to play at my wedding reception at what we thought was a hidden hammock camp (Book Two) didn't turn out so well what with the shooting down of two F-18 Hornet jets. But then again, no one invited those wedding crashers either.

Do you stand with the Water Protectors? Now that the Army Corps of Engineers has greenlighted the continuing construction of the pipeline, the Standing Rock Warriors are going to need all the help they can get. And since history has a way of repeating itself out there on the plains, I suspect what is about to happen next won't be pretty. Few of us can put our lives and health on the line with them but some of us can help them financially by supporting their cause through direct donations and/or through petitions. Here's one through the Sierra Club. It may not be as influential as compared to the NRA, but it might have some effect on those Repugnicants who still give a damn more about the land than the gun in your hand.

The movie was released in 1971, over twenty years before I was born. The first time I saw it I was 18-years-old on "Movie Night" deep in the Everglades in a chickee with my new husband Nokosee Osceola and his family. It's the first time I saw Busimanolotomee Osceola, my hardass, monosyllabic father-in-law and founder of the New Seminole, cry. I don't know if he ever read Frankl, but I do know he had surprisingly eclectic tastes in reading so I wouldn't be surprised if he did. I do know he loved Billy Jack,* having taken on his persona more than once in front of me by quoting and behaving like him. I also suspect he raised Nokosee, the "First of the New Seminole," to be a living, breathing karate-kicking Billy Jack. Unfortunately, Busi, as I came to call him affectionately, didn't get a grand sendoff like Billy did. (Spoiler Alert: Stop here if you haven't read Book Two). He died before my eyes, a gruesome death shared by only him and me. I will never forget it. I was pregnant, about to give birth when Army Rangers attacked us on a moonless night deep in the Everglades. We put up a good fight but a bunch of ragtag renegades-on-the-run aren't no match for overwhelming professional soldiers and their Blackhawk helicopters. Nokosee and I split up after I got shot. He tried to divert enemy fire while his father carried me through the Everglades jungle, bullets whizzing by all around us. They won that night but Nokosee and I were able to find each other and escape. And Hallie, our baby girl, was born moments later hidden among the sawgrass.

​The other thing I will never forget is the last thing Busi said to me, his last words ever: “Ooshtayke...” Daughter. 

*Click here for a unique look at Billy Jack's creator, Tom Laughlin. Apparently he isn't much different than Busi Osceola.

The first time I read those words was up in one of my favorite gumbo limbo trees deep in the Everglades. My new father-in-law Busimanolotome Osceola gave me "Leaves of Grass" as part of a wedding gift. Getting daddy's "blessing" however for the marriage of his first born-- the "First of the New Seminole" (as Nokosee likes to remind me with a finger pointing into the sky and his voice dropping an octave or two to register the gravitas of the position)-- to a white chick wasn't easy. He had big plans for the boy and none of them included getting his son hitched up to me. If you read my books, you know I had to prove my worthiness by going on something the Chief cooked up called a "walkabout" around the Everglades. Alone. With no food or water. By the time I returned to the tribe a couple of days later, stark naked and covered in mosquito bites, the only thing I had on my mind was killing the old bastard. But I didn't-- I fainted from lack of food, loss of blood (the mosquitos got it), and dehydration while firing shots from an AR-15 at his feet. Perhaps things would have been different if I hadn't fainted but the fact is we grew much closer than I ever expected. Anyway, he told me Whitman pretty much speaks for the New Seminole. Especially that part where Walt/Busi asks us to "... stand up for the stupid and crazy..."). I'm pretty sure he was talking about himself. He knew the New Seminole was based on a cockamamie plan: returning South Florida to its rightful caretakers, the New Seminoles, by any means necessary. That's basically an unwritten requirement for anyone wanting to join up with us. You gotta be a little bit nuts. Like me.

Thanks, Mitch, for giving women everywhere-- even here in the middle of the Everglades-- something to rally behind. I, like others, stand with Senator Elizabeth Warren. Unlike others, I carry an NRA/Repugnicant approved  AR-15-style semiautomatic rifle and I know how to use it.