Jesse-Jane McParland signs Letter of Intent to star as me!
Jesse-Jane McParland and her agency InterTalent Group have signed a Letter of Intent to play me in Nokosee: Rise of the New Seminole and its sequel, Nokosee & Stormy: Love and Bullets. The 17-year-old martial arts expert and actress (Robyn Hoodie, Into the Badlands, The Martial Arts Kid) was part of the legendary YouTube Rewind when she was just 9-years-old and getting discovered by the world on Britain’s Got Talent. The YouTube event was one of the most watched virally-- with almost every video posted receiving hundreds of millions of views with retweets by the likes of Hillary Clinton and Ellen De Generes (who later had Jesse-Jane on her show). She also won over China when World’s Got Talent appeared there. Clearly she’s known world-wide by this screenplay’s target audience, their parents, and grandparents!
Oh, how I hope she can help get this movie made about Nokosee and me.
Oh, how I hope she can help get this movie made about Nokosee and me.
Hvtvm cehecares
"I will see you again."
Nokosee says the Muskogee language doesn't have a word for good-bye. The usual greeting is "I will see you again." And I will. You can count on it. For those who care about us, don't worry, we're still free, like the Muskogee word "Seminolay" which means "wild, not fenced in, free."
This is what I left open on a computer monitor that night-- like I did every night while doing Sanctuary at the Miccosukee Embassy-- just in case I'm captured or lucky enough to escape with Haalie. It speaks for me in my absence. Yeah, that's right, I'm a Renaissance Terrorist.
Nokosee says the Muskogee language doesn't have a word for good-bye. The usual greeting is "I will see you again." And I will. You can count on it. For those who care about us, don't worry, we're still free, like the Muskogee word "Seminolay" which means "wild, not fenced in, free."
This is what I left open on a computer monitor that night-- like I did every night while doing Sanctuary at the Miccosukee Embassy-- just in case I'm captured or lucky enough to escape with Haalie. It speaks for me in my absence. Yeah, that's right, I'm a Renaissance Terrorist.
wtf?
Spoiler Alert: If you haven't read the books, stop here.
Apparently our presence at the Miccosukee Embassy has made me and my baby political pawns.
Following the New Seminole defeat at Rendezvous Point in the middle of the Everglades, Nokosee and I were desperate to find shelter and get help for our newborn baby Hallie. I won't tell you how we got here, but it wasn't easy. Thankfully Nokosee's Miccosukee friend Houston gave us sanctuary. He's one of those Natives who figured out how to live in both worlds, i.e., the Outside (where I come from) and the Inside (where Nokosee comes from). He set up a TV production company at the Embassy and produces a weekly half-hour show for the tribe called Miccosukee Magazine. It airs every Saturday at noon on our local Fox affiliate. Before I met Nokosee, it was one of the ways I learned about Miccosukee culture.
Anyway, for a long while the Outside never knew we were holed up here. But when it leaked out, Uncle Sam got all uppity and threatened to remove us by "any means necessary" in order to stand trial for our "crimes against humanity." To Houston's credit, he invoked the rights of the independent Miccosukee nation and told the Old Man to go fuck himself.
That's when we became Florida's latest tourist attraction thanks, in part, to all of the media coverage and Houston's weekly interviews with us. Back then you could still see the spear tats on the sides of my Mohawk before I let my hair grow out. Nokosee did those shows in full warpaint, feathers, and loincloth as we sat in plush black leather swivel chairs. He looked like a damn fool and I told him so but he didn't care. And he insisted on talking like a movie Indian, you know, the stereotype we've all become use to with the slow, deliberate cadence with lots of allusions to the four winds, the water, and the spirits. When he did that he got me laughing on camera which didn't help our cause despite Hallie's adorableness-- who couldn't love that kid, right?, and yes, she laughed too-- but Nokosee, who I know wanted to laugh with us, showed an amazing amount of self-control.
I'm sure most of America-- thanks to YouTube and viral videos-- thinks we're certifiably bonkers, which we may be considering the stuff we did.
Although Houston's show's ratings skyrocketed, he couldn't get anyone to advertise on the program. Guess we were too much even for advertisers willing to drop big bucks on shows like the Maury and Jerry Springer shows which probably do more harm to the country than we ever could.
Or maybe Uncle Sam threatened potential advertisers with an IRS audit. Who knows?
(Hey, if you've been on the run from Uncle Sam as long as we have, you'd be a little suspicious too, maybe even a bit paranoid but in our world, that's kept us alive.)
Now not a day passes without thousands of cars stopping by to look at the embassy which is just off the north side of Interstate 395 on your way to MIA. Traffic jams have become a big headache for everyone. Selfies are the norm. The weird thing is everyone waves at us real friendly-like and Hallie lives to wave back.
Unfortunately, this is bringing way too much attention to the tribe and they don't like it what with their ongoing squabble with the IRS over outstanding taxes in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Plus, they don't need to alienate themselves-- all 600-members-- from the rest of South Florida, a population of around two-and-a-half million potential tourists and gamblers for their enterprises out along the Tamiami Trail, including their casino and hotel on the edge of the Everglades (where Nokosee and I did "it" for the first time up in the Presidential Suite overlooking the burning Everglades* which, BTW, is still on fire). Rumor has it the new Chairman is ready to give us up in exchange for some IRS concessions and to appease all of those poor bastards stuck in traffic along the "I" outside the embassy.
I hope it's not true. Only time will tell.
*You can read about it in the first Nokosee book.
Apparently our presence at the Miccosukee Embassy has made me and my baby political pawns.
Following the New Seminole defeat at Rendezvous Point in the middle of the Everglades, Nokosee and I were desperate to find shelter and get help for our newborn baby Hallie. I won't tell you how we got here, but it wasn't easy. Thankfully Nokosee's Miccosukee friend Houston gave us sanctuary. He's one of those Natives who figured out how to live in both worlds, i.e., the Outside (where I come from) and the Inside (where Nokosee comes from). He set up a TV production company at the Embassy and produces a weekly half-hour show for the tribe called Miccosukee Magazine. It airs every Saturday at noon on our local Fox affiliate. Before I met Nokosee, it was one of the ways I learned about Miccosukee culture.
Anyway, for a long while the Outside never knew we were holed up here. But when it leaked out, Uncle Sam got all uppity and threatened to remove us by "any means necessary" in order to stand trial for our "crimes against humanity." To Houston's credit, he invoked the rights of the independent Miccosukee nation and told the Old Man to go fuck himself.
That's when we became Florida's latest tourist attraction thanks, in part, to all of the media coverage and Houston's weekly interviews with us. Back then you could still see the spear tats on the sides of my Mohawk before I let my hair grow out. Nokosee did those shows in full warpaint, feathers, and loincloth as we sat in plush black leather swivel chairs. He looked like a damn fool and I told him so but he didn't care. And he insisted on talking like a movie Indian, you know, the stereotype we've all become use to with the slow, deliberate cadence with lots of allusions to the four winds, the water, and the spirits. When he did that he got me laughing on camera which didn't help our cause despite Hallie's adorableness-- who couldn't love that kid, right?, and yes, she laughed too-- but Nokosee, who I know wanted to laugh with us, showed an amazing amount of self-control.
I'm sure most of America-- thanks to YouTube and viral videos-- thinks we're certifiably bonkers, which we may be considering the stuff we did.
Although Houston's show's ratings skyrocketed, he couldn't get anyone to advertise on the program. Guess we were too much even for advertisers willing to drop big bucks on shows like the Maury and Jerry Springer shows which probably do more harm to the country than we ever could.
Or maybe Uncle Sam threatened potential advertisers with an IRS audit. Who knows?
(Hey, if you've been on the run from Uncle Sam as long as we have, you'd be a little suspicious too, maybe even a bit paranoid but in our world, that's kept us alive.)
Now not a day passes without thousands of cars stopping by to look at the embassy which is just off the north side of Interstate 395 on your way to MIA. Traffic jams have become a big headache for everyone. Selfies are the norm. The weird thing is everyone waves at us real friendly-like and Hallie lives to wave back.
Unfortunately, this is bringing way too much attention to the tribe and they don't like it what with their ongoing squabble with the IRS over outstanding taxes in the hundreds of millions of dollars. Plus, they don't need to alienate themselves-- all 600-members-- from the rest of South Florida, a population of around two-and-a-half million potential tourists and gamblers for their enterprises out along the Tamiami Trail, including their casino and hotel on the edge of the Everglades (where Nokosee and I did "it" for the first time up in the Presidential Suite overlooking the burning Everglades* which, BTW, is still on fire). Rumor has it the new Chairman is ready to give us up in exchange for some IRS concessions and to appease all of those poor bastards stuck in traffic along the "I" outside the embassy.
I hope it's not true. Only time will tell.
*You can read about it in the first Nokosee book.
Ousted chairman of the miccosukees gets his job back
Billy Cypress
Today's Miami Herald (3/7/16) reports that Billy Cypress is running the show again. Never met the guy but I suspect my one true chief (and father-in-law) Busimanolotome Osceola would have a problem with him. "Dad" had little tolerance for Natives who weren't "traditional" to the max which means just about every Native American who didn't see things his way: embracing the past and shunning the "Outside" and all it has to offer, from modern miracles such as air-conditioning (something I LOVE here at the Miccosukee Embassy) to living and working for the all-mighty dollar and the "needful things" it can buy.
Anyway, Chairman-- that word may say more than anything about what the Miccosukees (and the Seminoles up the road) have become-- Cypress was elected to help the 600-member tribe fight its biggest enemy since they were being chased through the Everglades by a fledgling U.S. Army during the Seminole Wars (1817 - 1858): the IRS. Apparently the tribe failed to pay a $1 billion+ tax bill.
Battling a million dollar plus outstanding tax bill of his own, Cypress once led the tribe for nearly two decades until 2009 when the tribe accused him of stealing $26 million from tribal bank accounts. He was replaced by Colley Billie who recently got canned for trying to work out a deal with the IRS by taxing gambling distribution profits to the tribe (each member receives from $120, 000 to $160,000 per year). That didn't go over very well with the Miccosukees. So they ousted Billie and had another election and Cypress got re-elected according to the Miami Herald because of his "tough stand" against the IRS' "crackdown on the tribe's income from its casino profits."
I don't blame them for wanting to stick it to the Man after hundreds of years of raids on their freedom, murder of their origins chief, and disrespect and indifference thrown upon them following the Indian Wars, but it still seems the tribes today have lost their way. Unlike Busimanolotome Osceola who stuck it to the Man the old fashioned way with a modern twist: an eco guerrilla war, in effect saying, "I doan need your stinking money. Or you."
BTW, according to the Miami Herald, "the IRS estimates that Miccosukee tribal members owe personal income taxes totaling $280 million and an additional $160 million in penalties and interest."
Good luck, guys and remember what happened to Al Capone: the only U.S. agency that could put him in jail was the IRS. Even the FBI couldn't pull that off what with all the bodies lying in pools of blood around ol' Scarface.
Anyway, Chairman-- that word may say more than anything about what the Miccosukees (and the Seminoles up the road) have become-- Cypress was elected to help the 600-member tribe fight its biggest enemy since they were being chased through the Everglades by a fledgling U.S. Army during the Seminole Wars (1817 - 1858): the IRS. Apparently the tribe failed to pay a $1 billion+ tax bill.
Battling a million dollar plus outstanding tax bill of his own, Cypress once led the tribe for nearly two decades until 2009 when the tribe accused him of stealing $26 million from tribal bank accounts. He was replaced by Colley Billie who recently got canned for trying to work out a deal with the IRS by taxing gambling distribution profits to the tribe (each member receives from $120, 000 to $160,000 per year). That didn't go over very well with the Miccosukees. So they ousted Billie and had another election and Cypress got re-elected according to the Miami Herald because of his "tough stand" against the IRS' "crackdown on the tribe's income from its casino profits."
I don't blame them for wanting to stick it to the Man after hundreds of years of raids on their freedom, murder of their origins chief, and disrespect and indifference thrown upon them following the Indian Wars, but it still seems the tribes today have lost their way. Unlike Busimanolotome Osceola who stuck it to the Man the old fashioned way with a modern twist: an eco guerrilla war, in effect saying, "I doan need your stinking money. Or you."
BTW, according to the Miami Herald, "the IRS estimates that Miccosukee tribal members owe personal income taxes totaling $280 million and an additional $160 million in penalties and interest."
Good luck, guys and remember what happened to Al Capone: the only U.S. agency that could put him in jail was the IRS. Even the FBI couldn't pull that off what with all the bodies lying in pools of blood around ol' Scarface.
nEW sEMINOLE THEME song ARTIST RELEASES controversial HIT
ANOHNI, formerly of Antony and the Johnsons, releases "Drone Bomb Me," a new track from her upcoming album, Hopelessness. I stumbled upon her music on the Net through a Google search. Never knew about her or her band until I heard "Another World," which pretty much summed up how I felt at the time and made it our "theme song." Naomi Campbell lip syncs the lyrics which are wrenching and counter intuitive to the ethereal music.
“Hello, drone bomb me/ Blow me from the mountains/ and into the sea/ Blow me from the side of the mountain/ Blow my head off/ Explode my crystal guts/ Lay my purple on the grass.”
These are the kind of lyrics you'd expect from an angry headbanger-- but the music doesn't play along. According to an interview, ANOHNI says this was no accident.
Nokosee & Stormy shooting down a Predator drone.
Anyway, this is all so ironic or as my Micco and father-in-law Busi Osceola likes to say, slipping into that ominous deep male movie trailer voice, so Dark Energy because, as you may know from reading my books, he believes Dark Energy and Matter-- the stuff that fills the space between the stars and atoms that scientists are clueless about-- is really irony.
Why ironic? Because if you read my books you know that we shot down a Predator drone with a Stinger missile from a small airplane over the Everglades.
Why ironic? Because if you read my books you know that we shot down a Predator drone with a Stinger missile from a small airplane over the Everglades.
gOT mY WAR BONNET on...
Holatte-Sutv Turwv Osceola (Stormy Jones) modeling her war bonnet.
Holatte-Sutv Turwv Osceola (Stormy Jones) modeling her war bonnet.
Last night Nokosee stopped by the Miccosukee Embassy unexpectedly-- as is his wont, Micco Mann (Ha! You'll never catch him!)-- and gave me a war bonnet. Told me I earned it. Said he made it for me but I knew he was lying because the guy is basically all thumbs-- except when it comes to keeling with his leetle finger. Got my big, bad Renaissance Man Wannabe to fess up that he bought it online. Is nothing sacred anymore? Anyway, I really did earn it. I was only 18 and very pregnant when Nokosee threw me over his shoulder and had me lay down some cover fire with my AK-47 at the Army Rangers chasing us through the swamp on that moonless night. Trust me, it's something I'll never forget. Bullets were flying past us-- you could actually hear them whizzing by-- chewing up the water around us as Nokosee channeled the spirit of Jim Thorpe, the first Native American Gold Medal winning Olympian. I never knew my man could run like that. Anyway, we were lucky to escape with our lives. If you read my last book, you know some of us didn't make it. The only good thing that came out of that cowardly sneak attack was our baby Hallie. All that jostling and gunfire scared the little girl right out of me. Some day this war bonnet will be hers as a reminder of that terrible-- and beautiful-- night.
And you wonder why Busi took matters into his own hands...
Today's 2/22/16 Miami Herald reports the Repugnicant ran state government-- thanks to greed, corruption, and an incompetent bureaucracy-- "failed to stop pollution from Florida Power and Light cooling canals" at its nuclear power plant just south of Miami. Now the Biscayne Aquifer-- the river of fresh water running below south Florida-- is in danger of becoming contaminated with salt water from the ocean at a rate of over 600,000 pounds daily. At this pace the drinking water well fields will soon become contaminated, making them worthless to hundreds of thousands of people living in the keys and parts of Miami-Dade County. Critics are urging Florida's Department of Environmental Protection (what a misnomer!) be "stripped of its responsibility because this isn't the only case."
Ain't that the truth! If you read my books, you know my father-in-law Micco Busimanolotome wouldn't wait for government officials to fix the problem. He was an irascible died-in-the-wool proactive eco-terrorist. He also believed that Dark Matter-- the stuff that fills the space between the stars and atoms-- was Irony and would be laughing his ass off right now at the stupidity of "The Outside" like Nelson does so gleefully: http://bit.ly/1j9CU87
Ain't that the truth! If you read my books, you know my father-in-law Micco Busimanolotome wouldn't wait for government officials to fix the problem. He was an irascible died-in-the-wool proactive eco-terrorist. He also believed that Dark Matter-- the stuff that fills the space between the stars and atoms-- was Irony and would be laughing his ass off right now at the stupidity of "The Outside" like Nelson does so gleefully: http://bit.ly/1j9CU87
iMPLICIT tREE
Spoiler Alert: If you haven't read Book 2, stop here.
If you read my books, you know I have a thing for trees, that I have been known to spend much of my time in them dreaming, reflecting on life and death and the meaning of it all and, of course, making scream-out-loud-scare-the-birds-out-of-the-tree-love with Nokosee. So, it's exciting to find a story about the power trees hold over us, how they help us measure time and memory. Lynda Sexson's Implicit Tree captures these feelings in prose so beautiful I have to share them with you. In it, she writes what I have been thinking-- but have been unable to express so eloquently-- at the top of my tree before the war with the Outside; and now as a political pawn taking sanctuary at the Miccosukee Embassy in Miami where I have so much free time on my hands I scan the Internet looking for things to read (and where I found this thought in Sexson's essay):
If you read my books, you know I have a thing for trees, that I have been known to spend much of my time in them dreaming, reflecting on life and death and the meaning of it all and, of course, making scream-out-loud-scare-the-birds-out-of-the-tree-love with Nokosee. So, it's exciting to find a story about the power trees hold over us, how they help us measure time and memory. Lynda Sexson's Implicit Tree captures these feelings in prose so beautiful I have to share them with you. In it, she writes what I have been thinking-- but have been unable to express so eloquently-- at the top of my tree before the war with the Outside; and now as a political pawn taking sanctuary at the Miccosukee Embassy in Miami where I have so much free time on my hands I scan the Internet looking for things to read (and where I found this thought in Sexson's essay):
"The implicit tree invisibly centering the flood story is not like the central tree of Eden. Between the taboo tree of Eden and the instrumental tree of the crucifixion is the deluge tree, unnamed, which, though never seen but for a leaf, bears the same watery suffering that the earth endures."
I sat in that Deluge Tree just before our pivotal battle at Rendezvous Point and know its name: Gumbo Limbo. How ironic, right? The name reminds us of our separation from God, that we are forever thrown together in a mixed-up swirling pot of races and genders seasoned with the ironic spices of hate and love, peace and war; left there on the stove unattended-- in a state of limbo-- by a God with more important things to do. Yet we still pray, adding more irony to the pot. I suspect that Einstein's "spirit" controlled universe, the one who's "laws " turn the wheels of the machine, has forgotten the kettle on the stove. Yet I still pray. To Jesus.
Like Todd Davis, one of my favorite poets, writes in his unflinching meditations on Nature in his book Winterkill: "I believe, despite my unbelief."
Davis calls us "Death-loving" human beings limping inexorably toward “a suitable burial, to the pit / we’ve dug that consumes / what we love, and feeds / those who come after us.”
That's what Micco Busimanolotome, my chief and father-in-law, had us doing in my last book, acting out his death wish with him. We're lucky any of us our alive following the moonless night attack by Army Rangers on our camp in the Everglades.
Thinking about him and Jesus and the words of Todd Davis makes me think Busi (as I call my Micco) was as far as I know the only Native who was an atheist. Never heard of one in history, all were True Believers in a spirit world. But not him. He had no use for "such foolishness"-- but he could exploit it at the drop of a hat by seguing into the stereotypical language and cadence of Native Peoples-- "As Seen On TV"-- by invoking the "Spirits of the Four Winds" yada, yada, yada in a press release or a YouTube post. To give you an idea of where he was coming from, he use to joke that Dark Matter was really irony, that the spaces between the stars and atoms were filled with irony and that we could never know The Truth-- even if it was Out There-- until we were dead-- although my mother-in-law, that crazy Hialeah Cuban bitch, insisted Jesus was the Way, the Truth, and the Light. (BTW, "Mom," if you're reading this, please know that your granddaughter is gorgeous and you're missing every precious one-time-only moment with her.)
But I digress. You can read Sexson's full essay here.
2/15/16
Like Todd Davis, one of my favorite poets, writes in his unflinching meditations on Nature in his book Winterkill: "I believe, despite my unbelief."
Davis calls us "Death-loving" human beings limping inexorably toward “a suitable burial, to the pit / we’ve dug that consumes / what we love, and feeds / those who come after us.”
That's what Micco Busimanolotome, my chief and father-in-law, had us doing in my last book, acting out his death wish with him. We're lucky any of us our alive following the moonless night attack by Army Rangers on our camp in the Everglades.
Thinking about him and Jesus and the words of Todd Davis makes me think Busi (as I call my Micco) was as far as I know the only Native who was an atheist. Never heard of one in history, all were True Believers in a spirit world. But not him. He had no use for "such foolishness"-- but he could exploit it at the drop of a hat by seguing into the stereotypical language and cadence of Native Peoples-- "As Seen On TV"-- by invoking the "Spirits of the Four Winds" yada, yada, yada in a press release or a YouTube post. To give you an idea of where he was coming from, he use to joke that Dark Matter was really irony, that the spaces between the stars and atoms were filled with irony and that we could never know The Truth-- even if it was Out There-- until we were dead-- although my mother-in-law, that crazy Hialeah Cuban bitch, insisted Jesus was the Way, the Truth, and the Light. (BTW, "Mom," if you're reading this, please know that your granddaughter is gorgeous and you're missing every precious one-time-only moment with her.)
But I digress. You can read Sexson's full essay here.
2/15/16
Miami Beach unveils official ground zero sign for sea level rise
The city of Miami Beach unveiled its official "Ground Zero" sign yesterday to bring attention to its seasonal "King Tide" problem and to announce the city's official stance on global warming and sea level rise: they believe it.
The sign at the corner of 10th and Alton Road immediately became a top tourist attraction with scores lining up in the dirty, oil and gasoline laden salt water-- and yes, horror of horrors... "floaters"-- to get their pictures taken in front of it.
I guess if you can't win the battle against sea level rise and the idiots who won't believe it's happening-- like Florida Repugnicant governor Rick "Skeletor" Scott-- you might as well try to exploit it for the tourist industry. Maybe it will work in getting people to accept the inevitable and the causes behind it. Who knows? As for me, my take on this is all Dark Energy-- or as my chief would say, irony-- taking another bite out of the Outside's obese ass. Excuse me while I point my finger and laugh like Nelson.
10/27/15
The sign at the corner of 10th and Alton Road immediately became a top tourist attraction with scores lining up in the dirty, oil and gasoline laden salt water-- and yes, horror of horrors... "floaters"-- to get their pictures taken in front of it.
I guess if you can't win the battle against sea level rise and the idiots who won't believe it's happening-- like Florida Repugnicant governor Rick "Skeletor" Scott-- you might as well try to exploit it for the tourist industry. Maybe it will work in getting people to accept the inevitable and the causes behind it. Who knows? As for me, my take on this is all Dark Energy-- or as my chief would say, irony-- taking another bite out of the Outside's obese ass. Excuse me while I point my finger and laugh like Nelson.
10/27/15
south dakota resort to open nation's first MARIJUANA resort
First off, I'm not making this up. I had a slow moment at the Miccosukee Embassy this morning and thought I'd check out the Miami Herald Online and caught this story. Apparently the 400-member Santee Sioux tribe (about 350 more than the New Seminole before they got slaughtered in the battle of Rendezvous Point) has gotten permission from Uncle Sam (the same guy who kicked our butts in the swamp and killed our Micco) to grow and sell pot on the rez at a resort. The AP article by Regina Garcia Cano says "The experiment could offer a new money-making model for tribes nationwide seeking economic opportunities beyond casinos." Like, yeah. Oh, if only Micco Busimanolotome was still alive to see this; how he'd exploit it for "The Cause." And I'm sure he'd agree that it's a heckuva better business model than his first one, the one where we took on the Outside with guns drawn in order to reclaim South Florida for its rightful owners, the New Seminole.
9/30
9/30
Our children's trust
Spoiler Alert: If you haven't read Book 2, stop here.
No matter how much Nokosee reminds me everything is going to be alright and that we did nothing wrong, as each day passes at the Miccosukee Embassy where we are basically prisoners and I watch Haalie grow up, I can't help but think, he's wrong. Haalie deserves better. If you've read my books, you know saving the environment never was on my "Things To Do" list. I was only 17 when I met Nokosee and 18 when I had his baby. In between that short amount of time a lot of people were killed in the battle between Uncle Sam and the New Seminole. I hope its over. I never want to go through that again. Although Nokosee keeps referring to it as the First Eco War, hopefully he feels the same way I do, that revenge has left his heart because of Haalie. For all of those who keep emailing us or going the old school route of writing letters to the embassy wondering how you can join up with us, forget about it. It's never going to happen. Instead, consider joining up with Our Children's Trust. They're trying to save the planet in a way that no one gets killed, through legal action. Nokosee says "Good luck with that" but I say "Go for it!"
6/23
No matter how much Nokosee reminds me everything is going to be alright and that we did nothing wrong, as each day passes at the Miccosukee Embassy where we are basically prisoners and I watch Haalie grow up, I can't help but think, he's wrong. Haalie deserves better. If you've read my books, you know saving the environment never was on my "Things To Do" list. I was only 17 when I met Nokosee and 18 when I had his baby. In between that short amount of time a lot of people were killed in the battle between Uncle Sam and the New Seminole. I hope its over. I never want to go through that again. Although Nokosee keeps referring to it as the First Eco War, hopefully he feels the same way I do, that revenge has left his heart because of Haalie. For all of those who keep emailing us or going the old school route of writing letters to the embassy wondering how you can join up with us, forget about it. It's never going to happen. Instead, consider joining up with Our Children's Trust. They're trying to save the planet in a way that no one gets killed, through legal action. Nokosee says "Good luck with that" but I say "Go for it!"
6/23
Miccosukee Embassy
Spoiler Alert: If you haven't read Book 2, stop here.
That's Haalie and me at the window in the Miccosukee Consulate and Embassy. When I first saw the picture in the Miami Herald, I nearly had a heart attack. Since then, it doesn't bother me so much. Thankfully the clouds reflecting off of the glass obscure most of us which is kinda important if you're a "renegade on the run." Nokosee says it don't matter because the Feds can "interpolate"-- my man is becoming quite the Renaissance Man nowadays-- and construct the missing parts of the photo on a computer. Go ahead and try. See if I care. How we got here and how the world is watching our every move re the legal fight "Morton Silver" is putting to the Feds on our behalf-- we're claiming "sanctuary" through the Miccosukee tribe which the U.S. recognizes as an independent nation-- will be part of my next book.
That's Haalie and me at the window in the Miccosukee Consulate and Embassy. When I first saw the picture in the Miami Herald, I nearly had a heart attack. Since then, it doesn't bother me so much. Thankfully the clouds reflecting off of the glass obscure most of us which is kinda important if you're a "renegade on the run." Nokosee says it don't matter because the Feds can "interpolate"-- my man is becoming quite the Renaissance Man nowadays-- and construct the missing parts of the photo on a computer. Go ahead and try. See if I care. How we got here and how the world is watching our every move re the legal fight "Morton Silver" is putting to the Feds on our behalf-- we're claiming "sanctuary" through the Miccosukee tribe which the U.S. recognizes as an independent nation-- will be part of my next book.
BTW, if you would care to say "Hi," please consider stopping by. Although we're not allowed visitors aside from our legal team, you can stop along the Dolphin Expressway and wave to us from the side of the road. This is something Haalie never grows tired of. The Embassy is easy to get to-- you can see downtown Miami only a few miles away. It sits on a canal jutting off of the Miami River facing the highway. You can't miss it. It's a modern, two-story glass building that towers over everything around it. Here's a link to a map (which lists it as Miccosukee Magazine TV, but trust me, it's also the tribe's Embassy). Hallie, Nokosee, and I look forward to seeing you.
9/16
9/16
Funeral for a friend
Spoiler Alert: If you haven't read Book 2, stop here.
We buried Our Father, the Father of the New Seminole, a month later after the Battle at Rendezvous Point. We would have done it sooner but since his death we have been living our lives on the run as he taught us. We waited until we thought it was safe to go back to Manchester, England, the NS camp deep in the Everglades that was destroyed by Army Rangers. By that time, there wasn't much to find. What the Feds didn't confiscate, the Inside was already reclaiming for its place in the Natural Order. But, of course, it helps to know where to look and I did. I was the only one with my Micco when the gators got him that moonless night. I found his Purple Heart medal snagged on a cattail. He always wore it pinned to the front of his bandanna with a couple of eagle feathers sticking out behind it. I wear it now. Proudly.
Nokosee found his Viet Cong necklace, the one made of the human ears of the men he killed for Uncle Sam. Nokosee wears it now. Proudly.
Aside from one of his cherished Crocs floating in the water, trapped in the sawgrass and awash in muck, that's all we found. His remains are lost to history. Or the Feds got to them first.
We carried the Croc back to our new camp and buried it with much solemnity and all due respect. Well, as much respect as you can give to one of those hideous things (and if you read my book, you'll know what I'm talking about). Nokosee read Carolina Saldana's poem The Message over the buried Croc. They were inspired by American Indian Movement (AIM) leader Leonard Peltier who is now serving a double life sentence for shooting and killing two FBI agents in 1975. Nokosee made it personal by substituting his father's name for Leonard's.
We buried Our Father, the Father of the New Seminole, a month later after the Battle at Rendezvous Point. We would have done it sooner but since his death we have been living our lives on the run as he taught us. We waited until we thought it was safe to go back to Manchester, England, the NS camp deep in the Everglades that was destroyed by Army Rangers. By that time, there wasn't much to find. What the Feds didn't confiscate, the Inside was already reclaiming for its place in the Natural Order. But, of course, it helps to know where to look and I did. I was the only one with my Micco when the gators got him that moonless night. I found his Purple Heart medal snagged on a cattail. He always wore it pinned to the front of his bandanna with a couple of eagle feathers sticking out behind it. I wear it now. Proudly.
Nokosee found his Viet Cong necklace, the one made of the human ears of the men he killed for Uncle Sam. Nokosee wears it now. Proudly.
Aside from one of his cherished Crocs floating in the water, trapped in the sawgrass and awash in muck, that's all we found. His remains are lost to history. Or the Feds got to them first.
We carried the Croc back to our new camp and buried it with much solemnity and all due respect. Well, as much respect as you can give to one of those hideous things (and if you read my book, you'll know what I'm talking about). Nokosee read Carolina Saldana's poem The Message over the buried Croc. They were inspired by American Indian Movement (AIM) leader Leonard Peltier who is now serving a double life sentence for shooting and killing two FBI agents in 1975. Nokosee made it personal by substituting his father's name for Leonard's.
Silence, they say, is the voice of complicity.
But silence is impossible.
Silence screams.
Silence is a message,
just as doing nothing is an act.
Let who you are ring out and resonate
in every word and deed.
Yes, become who you are.
There’s no sidestepping your own being
or your own responsibility.
What you do is who you are.
You are your own comeuppance.
You become your own message.
You are the message.
In the spirit of Crazy Horse,
Busimanolotome Osceola!
But silence is impossible.
Silence screams.
Silence is a message,
just as doing nothing is an act.
Let who you are ring out and resonate
in every word and deed.
Yes, become who you are.
There’s no sidestepping your own being
or your own responsibility.
What you do is who you are.
You are your own comeuppance.
You become your own message.
You are the message.
In the spirit of Crazy Horse,
Busimanolotome Osceola!
Haalie was with us when we found what little our Micco left the world. When she gets older, we will regale her with some wonderful and not so wonderful stories about her grandfather-- the good, the bad, and the ugly.
For those who want President Obama to free Leonard Peltier from prison, please watch this video and consider calling the White House Clemency Line: 202-456-1111. Or tweet POTUS @BarackObama.
7/27
For those who want President Obama to free Leonard Peltier from prison, please watch this video and consider calling the White House Clemency Line: 202-456-1111. Or tweet POTUS @BarackObama.
7/27
Busi didn't do it.
r Alert: If you haven't read Book 2, stop here.
Micco Mann, our favorite FBI Special Agent, has accused Micco Busimanolotome for masterminding the big bad ending to Book 2. From what Nokosee and I can tell, it was that idiot Indian Larry. Busi was with us when the shit hit the fan in the middle of the Everglades that fateful night. Indian Larry was nowhere to be found. If anybody did what has been alleged by the Feds, it was that nutjob from New Jersey.
6/16
Micco Mann, our favorite FBI Special Agent, has accused Micco Busimanolotome for masterminding the big bad ending to Book 2. From what Nokosee and I can tell, it was that idiot Indian Larry. Busi was with us when the shit hit the fan in the middle of the Everglades that fateful night. Indian Larry was nowhere to be found. If anybody did what has been alleged by the Feds, it was that nutjob from New Jersey.
6/16