I’m a lucky girly..


“During the life of the garden, women keep a diary, recording the signs of life-giving and life-taking. Each entry cooks up a psychic soup. In the garden we practice letting thoughts, ideas, preferences, desires, even loves, both live and die. We plant, we pull, we bury. We dry seed, sow it, support it. Pg. 100.”

~Women Who Run With the Wolves, Charissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.

I just recently read the above quote. I’m touched when another person understands things that I do but don’t often talk about.


Our one-bedroom apartment in Van Nuys California was a tree fort apartment. The west, north and east sides of our apartment were open. Not being a joined to another apartment was nice. We were right above a parking structure on the second level. No one living overhead us either.  To the south a wall was originally shared with a gay black man. He made my husband chicken soup when he was sick. Next came a Hispanic family whose children went to school with our son. A small elementary school on Erwin Street. I walked him to school and back each day.

One year for Christmas I purchased a little rosemary Xmas tree. A small little thing with a red bow. Eventually I planted the little tree in a colorful pot. Placing it right outside our front door. It grew nicely with fresh air and sunshine.

When we moved into a house in the San Fernando Valley, I took that hearty little rosemary bush and planted her in front of our new home. The rosemary plant went through many changes. Droughts, water rainstorms and bad trimmings by gardeners.  Twenty years later this evergreen bush is mature and lovely. Being large and full of life and busy bees. Her purple aura now is radiant with the sounds of nature and humming.


Loves grows where my rosemary goes…


Wild Promethean fennel, taken as dry little seeds from the Santa Monica Mountains, is now heading into third generation. I have been sowing the seeds around our yard. As delicately and respectfully as possible!  This year I found some youthful green shoots. Distinctly wild Promethean fennel. Add more to my pleasure these green fennel shoots are right next to my mystery Holly Hawk. Her seeds were sown too by you know who?



Rape at Mar-a-Largo

The Daily “FUCK” Gazette Feb/2020

A prime oracular from Flopside Comics. It has been awhile ! We at Flopside Comics listened to The Dumpster give his weird ass oracular speech of lowest degree. Also known as “the state of ‘fuck the union’.”

Mr. Fuck remarks that,

“His speech is poorly written and lacking facts , bad grammar, word propaganda and bull shit … it deserves to be ripped up ! I’d burn it too!“

Yet Dumpster mentioned California as a sanctuary state , he pronounced it as “stank- uary” state , a place of rape by Illegal Immigrants.

Mr. Shit also loudly declared,

“It Is the worst illogically written propaganda I have witnessed! It is like saying how bad Florida is because a ‘serial-killer’ killed in his home State of Florida! I wonder how many young girls were or still are being abused at Mar-a-Lago?”

We at Flopside comics all agree that

Donald John “Jackass“ Trump aka as Dumpster is the lowest of the low!

Hudley’s Manifesto

1977 – 1981 Jimmy Carter, 1981 – 1989 Ronald Regan, 1989 George Bush.

Be More Than An Animal

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“Life is not primarily a quest for pleasure, as Freud believed, or a quest for power, as Alfred Adler taught, but a quest for meaning. Pg. 27, Frankl.”


Anarchy, chaos and no government were unending slogans within the punk rock community. Remember this structure. We turned the peace hippie finger symbol into vice, vandalism and violence.  Plenty of clubs were destroyed and punks were not asked to come back. We rebelled against authority. The music and lyrics of songs moved us. Our persona as punks defined many of us but not all of us.

Today I see a President who is using these same ideals. Less government, anarchy against our United States constitution. Every day he creates chaos by dividing the people of our republic.

It is strange to me to see this. I am not the young punk I once was. When young I rebelled because I was angry at a world that let me down. I had the freedom to rebel. Other countries do not have this freedom to speak out.

Now as an older woman I see how corruption does not care about the goals of freedom. Without a conscious we have no chance of drawing a line.

As a young punk I developed and learned about compassion, integrity and creativity. I have a moral compass. I have come more to see the world as in a constant state of duality or contrary perspectives.

When Trump uses anarchy, chaos and less government to take from the poor and give to the rich, I rebel.

When Trump and his fossil fuel industry take from the land and give to the rich. I rebel.

When immigrants are housed in cages, similar as a concentration camp, and separated from their children to be sexually abused. I rebel.

When the republican party supports anti-abortion propaganda while taking healthcare away from children. I rebel.

Trump takes the truth and inverts it and surrounds it with emotionalism. A heated propaganda simile.  Politicians do play their games, but Trump uses his ministry of propaganda like Paul Joseph Goebbels did. He was a German Nazi politician and Reich Minister of Propaganda of Nazi Germany.

As a young punk I unconsciously searched for the dignity of life. As young punks we questioned the status quo. I guess I am still doing this. It is a good quality to have. I want to believe that most living punks have this insight. A joined movement inside us individually and collectively.  An inside continuity. A search for meaning.

I am sure we all see this differently, but this is my perspective. There was something that brought us together.

At a current Youth Brigade show I heard similar words spoken about politics, age and being angry. No longer young punks we are standing up for life as something to believe in. Something is very wrong with our current President.


“Three possible sources for meaning in work (doing something significant, in love (caring for another person), and in courage during difficult times. Suffering in and of itself is meaningless; we give our suffering meaning by the way in which we respond to it. At one point, Frankl writes that a person “may remain brave, dignified and unselfish, or in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.” ~ Victor Frankl, Man’s Search For Meaning.


40 Years of Punk Advertisements

 


This video was presented at a UCLA Punk Event 2018; Curating Resistance Punk Conference. Now 2020 is a time where some very important punk bands are celebrating 40 years of punk rock. Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine is there. I also want to celebrate the many advertisers that also share in this celebration. This is a sample from when the Ten-Year Anniversary Issue # 54 came out.  Record labels, promoters and the list go on. We were a phenomenon of punk adventure as we grew and supported a scene together. The bands and the behind the scene punks are the symbolic friendship, an explosion, of those who made it happen. Photographers and bootleggers, with the growing punk fans, who also are the ones who helped to shape the direction that the punk scene took.  I will never forget you. Financial backing of advertisements in each issue of Flipside Fanzine helped us publish each issue. Thank you!

Reed


In the circle
Of fire
He came forth now
A motif of youthful
Rebellion.

We remember together
A time of music
And knowing attraction.

A smile
A wink
Water guns 
both soaked to the skin
Your test cassette of Metallica.

Outside
The Whisky A Go Go
He circled round me

Slowly dancing and singing
“Me and Mrs. Jones
we got a thing going on”

I walked around him
following round
his circle 
embarrassed
boldly declaring.

Two punks.

Who else observed this friendship?
And this continues still
From the start.

The good feeling of being desired
Innocence and fun
I will remember you always this way.

~ Poems about punks by Hudley Flipside


X on 93.1 Jack FM

I was pulling out the truck to pull in the trash barrels. I was very surprised to hear X on the radio. Especially on 93.1 Jack FM. This radio channel is usually very repetitious with their music.

The last time I saw X live was at the 30-year Golden Voice show.



Recently I have sadly been hearing about Exene Cervenka “Christine Notmyrealname,” in conspiracies as a Trumpian. Yet there has always been a hair of this type of thinking moving through this controversially surviving band.

When I saw them at the Golden Voice celebration, I knew every song by heart. That surprised me and my body went a bit out of control too. The young punk chicks looked so pretty and cool around me. Yet they were giving me a look, as if thinking,

“Who is that old fool?”

I didn’t care and was thinking back at them,

“Just old, like X , and a fan of their music…homies.”

The contraries of life are all around us… and it is perplexing at times.


“she had to leave
los angeles
all her toys wore out in black
and her boys had too
she started to hate every nigger and jew
every mexican that gave her lotta shit
every homosexual and the idle rich”

X – Los Angeles Lyrics


Interview with X issue Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine 10 1979 Interviewed by Al and X-8


Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine # 54 The Ten Year Anniversary Issue. (replica)

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691716995


Quote

Thinking strings… The Praying Mantis Has A Voice !!

via Thinking strings… The Praying Mantis Has A Voice !!

The Chapel of the Oaks

Another time to remember my mother’s death in a bright way. Love you mom RIP. January 6th.

The Seminary of Praying Mantis

A rose on the grounds Of the Chapel of the Oaks

FullSizeRender(10)


Youngest son wanted to take a summer drive. We stopped by the local fast food for a ‘buck iced tea’ and away we flew. Driving up hills that ascended into our imagination as the trail turned our minds.  The Yucca plants were standing tall, hidden within the snake turns of the mountains. Familiar objects of man and earth passed us by. The road driven as a waterfall that flowed onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Then something winked in my heart to the right of the canyon at Lassen and Valley Circle. The Chapel of the Oaks.


FullSizeRender(6) A bright day at the Chapel


It was bright today. The roses outside, and the stain glass windows inside the Chapel, were radiant. It was positively illuminated. Only one man was in the chapel as we sat down pulled into humbled silence.


FullSizeRender(8) A bright place …

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Imagine it all coming together again.

Prince Buster

Amazingly we are still alive. Punk Rock Bowling with the celebration of 40 Years of the Circle Jerks and Charged GBH this spring. I am besides myself with joy to be attending. Yes, all the bands seem interesting, yet my history also includes Madness. When I was a 19-year-old punk I was looking for a 45 by Prince Buster entitled Madness. This stirred me on a strange journey to a Los Angeles record store. They never could locate that 45 for me. Then the band came touring. At least the name of the band was right. Playing the Whisky A Go Go. I remember dancing to the band with Kick Boy Face from SLASH MAGAZINE (my first Punk Rock correspondence.) (Slosh and Flopside) It was grand beyond grand. Imagine it all coming together again.

Punk Rock Bowling 2020

Some of my best punk memories.

Ross’s bass guitar case. GBH 1980s

I am standing in this image next to Ross’s first bass guitar case. He gave it to me. He bought a new one. I lost it. Yet, my mom had put it in a special place. After her death we cleaned out the basement and their it was. How happy that mom preserved some wonderful punk history. I still have it and will give it “will it” to my sons. I love it like punk rock. I hope I am not sucking on Ross’s “tits” when I say I love him too. Thanks for thinking of me back then. All the best and looking forward to Las Vegas for a week of punk and beyond bliss.

FLipside Fanzine

Circle Jerks Cover


https://hudleyflipside.com/2013/07/23/city-baby-from-highgate-to-hawaii-life-and-gbh/


https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691716995


Lee Thompson’s song and (saxophonist) wow!

A hippie kills a punker

Life can be many things at once. Goodness and badness, light and dark, friends and enemies. These are the polarities that we are facing currently in our world of extremes.  Even though there is a third path, as in the fact, regardless bees are still making honey. Just go outside and find a bush with flowers. If you live in the very cold you may have to wait until spring. Here is California my hanging rosemary is going to town. The sound of bees is my convent to the earth. My repetitious theme song is by 10 Years After, If I Could Change The World. Redone by another band more on the punk side. So here we come to the core of my focus. The 60s, and the late 70s, and 80s. A decade each.

The 60s were an amazing time for free thinking and youthful rebellion against corruption. A sick government and a terrible war. Yet in this illuminated time darkness was born by the name of Trump. Likewise, the 80s a new music scene revolutionized forward with unclassified music that became divided and classified. Still mighty awesome. Then we have the general Qassim Soleimani who was just assassinated, who was born as a prime one for the punk scene.

Donald Trump born June 14, 1946 (age 73). He was prime for the 1960s as his youthful young adult time. Hippie time. Now we have the general Qassim Soleimani who was born March 11, 1957. He was born at a prime time for the genesis of the punk rock phenomenon. A punk.

The most creative times and inspired times in history the dictators are born. In the darkest times and in a vacuum of hate the best are born that humanity has to offer this troubled earth. In generational time frames a hippie kills a punker.

Nonetheless, do not lose sight of what is now happening right now.  We have a few knights rising to the call. I can see their light crescendos in the darkness. Very androgynous like most bees.