Sting like a jelly-fish

Today while walking into Ralph’s super market I saw the familiar old lady under yellow plastic. She was holding a white tissue to her red nose. She sat in her wheelchair at a prime target getting her ‘a little sympathy’. She got mine. I went into the store and purchased a $1.95 Starbucks house coffee medium. I am still amazed that a ‘cup of joe’ costs so much now. I remember when it was 25 cents.

“I like watching Noir films,” I said to the barista. “It is a wonder in those films that a ‘cup of joe’ only coast five pennies.  Twenty-five cents got you a cup of coffee, a ham sandwich and a piece of pie.”

The barista smiled at me as I took the coffee, put in some cream and sugar and then headed towards the old lady in a wheelchair.

“Here is a cup of coffee, you look cold.?!”

“I don’t drink coffee it is bad for you.”

“Really I thought it would warm you up. Coffee is not as bad for you as you may think.”

“I have never had any.” She looked down to her right at a dirty bag of oranges. “It is all right I had an orange…I am fine.”

I was a bit upset. I never thought that she would reject a cup of coffee on such a cold and rainy day.

“Lady sometimes beggars can’t be choosers?!”

I realized that I could not reason with the lady. She had her right to say no.  So, I walked on remembering what an old myth taught me. All about a woman’s psyche.

As Persephone went on her journey, she was advised not to give anything to those needy people who asked for something along the way. It was important for her to hold on to her strength and parts of herself that were precious.

I guess I failed the test today.Then that sorrow thread pulled in me. I call it the thread of sorrow.

I think that our current society does not embrace their share of sorrow. That is why we have so many drug addicts and alcoholics. A social epidemic.

We all need to hold on to or embrace our threads of sorrow. It can pull hard. It can be an echo that mocks. It can sting like a jelly-fish. When we run from our share of sorrow, ignore it, or get lost in our addictions hating it, it only manifests in our world as a monster shadow. Creating hate, chaos and terrible politicians. That is why I love Jazz because it speaks to the human heart and soul. It embraces it’s share of sorrow.


Massage as a profession or occupation

At about 8 o’clock PM.

The unpredictable Crazy days are far behind me and the routines of life have set in. Family and cats bring the little rituals of life which brings symmetry into the chaos of living such as; racing through traffic and surviving, watching current politics and not having a heart attack, and realizing that we all die. It is comforting to know that we live in a recycling universe, or so it seems. The point being within the light and darkness of life are the routines of everyday living that does bring joy.

Last night was a normal trash night. The difference in the routine is when husband said that there are two cars parked in our unmarked-marked trash can places. The usual sounds of annoyance on his part made me think about visiting with our new neighbors and asking them to move one of the cars so we might have a place for our trash cans.

The green sweat coat with 1976 on it pulled over my shoulders and I was off. I found myself in front of the neighbor’s house. Placing a knock knock and then pushing a ring ring upon their door and door button. Something expanded when I heard the ring ring.

It was a different kind of ring ring. It being a tasteful and alluring sound. The front door was half window and I could see in as one of my neighbors looked back at me. I mumbled something about the trash cans. The neighbor’s eyes widened open. Dressed in a light blue robe, looking confused my neighbor opened the door slightly. Having a face that was angular like something out of a Pablo Picasso paining such as Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907 during his cubism period; caught me off guard.

The new neighbors had radically changed the format and structure of the house since the last owner. As the door opened there was only a white hallway that met about half way through the house. Directly on the wall before me was a giant painting of what looked like a  Toulouse-Lautrec, Jane Avril Dancing painting. Yet this painting was one woman with her leg up and a giant red dress like a blooming flower. Once there were two rooms here one leading right and one left. One into a game room and the other into the kitchen. Not anymore. Straight ahead was a veil into another reality.

Our conversation was quick. I told the neighbor our problem. Nicely I was told that each of them had a  masseuse come out for a special treat message and that the cars were theirs. I was also told that both of them were almost finished.

Like clockwork each masseuse left in their two separate cars. I put out my two trash cans under the crescent moon of a very dark night. Feeling nicely surreal and wondering about our new neighbors?

 

It all ends up in the trash or thrift store… only sometimes it does end up in the Museum !

My progressed moon and sun are entering Taurus. The sun is a bit ahead. I guess the active Gemini moon and sun fun are going to be leaving me~ thinking wise. Says I will need to sleep a lot and I will  not take all this political strife too well either.

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Today at Trader Joe’s while checking out my groceries , I talked to a young punk checker. He declared himself punk! He looked more like a 70s punk than a current morphed-up pretentious one. We talked about thrift stores, art and a Polish artist that was considered a polish Picasso. After his death they found his work in thrift stores.  I told the young punk my punk line, that I tell all young punks.

“Yes, I found my first punk record at a used book-thrift store, The Saints.”

He told me he thinks he heard their name but will check them out.  I will check out the Polish Artist. He told me about,  a film / documentary came out about the genius Polish Picasso. I told the young punk about the Museum of Fred.

While driving home I thought about a few things the young punk and I talked about. It was nice to have an interesting conversation with someone in real-time. That the core “lifestyle” of punk is not dead. The idea of art as a process is a message I enjoyed sharing. Also, I admitted to him something I never have admitted to anyone. Though some have tried to label me an artist.

Young Punk Checker at Trader Joe’s: Are you an artist?

I hesitated, but he did compliment me on my green hat with silver flower & purple stone. (Even if it was a thrift store joke).

Me: Yes, yes, I am an artist. I love the process of art.

I also confessed that I am not struggling and I’m quite content.




The Museum of Fred

http://www.museumoffred.com/


Gallery

Age, shadow and beauty

This gallery contains 1 photos.

His beauty was notable even in a province where the lack of it is more exceptional in a young man. It was the sort of beauty that is celebrated by the heroic male sculptures in the fountains of Rome. Two … Continue reading

Anthropomorphism

Here is my latest praying mantis caricature. A holiday greeting from long ago ancient times.

Attis brings Liberte’

At the darkness time of the year, the longest night, the winter solstice… here comes some ancient anthropomorphism… and praying mantis is here to make life so meaningful.


Kindle Direct Publishing release

It took some time but I release it to the fucking whole world… it feels awesome too!

A Pint of Orange Blossom Amber ( Indian Wells brewery) and the Saints… life is awesome..Celebrating Kindle Direct Publishing release of my book The Seminary of Praying Mantis; My Punkalullaby. Happy Happy

.

All in one eBook… awesome to the highest degree… very very happy.. yet my hand made ones are still available…


Download free kindle App with purchase

https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/fd/kcp


https://hudleyflipside.com/the-seminary-of-praying-mantis-presents-once-more-my-punkalullaby-1-4/




A restoring appeal…

After the Woolsey Fire Dec. 17, 2018

 

A restoring appeal bound for
the Santa Monica Mountains
The highway moves by way of serpentine.

Black mountains and summative clarity of once
Overgrown trees and sage,
Wild Promethean fennel and yucca plants.

Fog embraces
The black burned earth hills
Holy sprinkles of rain upon the concealed seeds.

Ivy; It will be a good day !


(11-18-18)

Feet steeping around
In light purple tennis shoes
Morning crisper than it was
Cyprus tree tall as a tower
Dark green tall I upward gaze
Looking straight up
Noticing the ivy that embraces the climb
Wild element of the neighborhood
Sadly, gardeners often slash off all the blossoms
most times, yet not here
Half a block overtaken by tall Cyprus
And wild dark shiny green ivy
Light greets angled points and blossoms
Look up and stand still
Wild order
Sound of harmonic honey bees
Everywhere
Enthusiastic peace
The humming bees
As I gaze silently and listen
A dark crow lands on the tip-top
Upon towering Cyprus tree
Gloria told me once
“When the bird rests on the
Tip-top of the Guest house
At the Rosy Fellowship
It will be a good day.”

(11-24-18)

Today I knocked
An old gentleman
Opened his door
I thanked him for his
Climbing ivy
How he lets it blossom.

He told me he planned
To cut it down
Yet the branches were too thick
He will not be
Cutting the ivy down.

How happy we were
I told him how the
Sound of the bees
Is a religious experience
For me.
He said “thank you:
“For your kind words!”

I know the bees, humming birds
And song birds as yellow as the sun
Love the blossoming ivy.

My chapel is mutable
Here the goddess be
Humming and shining
For all who take the time
To hear, feel and see.

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The wild ivy is an ancient plant… let a part of your garden be wild…for her. 

` Hudley 11/18-24-18


wild burning hills

 

Praying Mantis Kachina ~ Praying and dancing for fog and sprinkles of rain to cool the earth !!

A crescent of fire surrounds us. This is not the first time I have seen the San Fernando valley surrounded by fire. Yet, as the Santa Ana winds blow, I remember nightmarish times of fires and even earthquakes while growing up here. How precious everything becomes as my blood pressure peeks. Our truck is packed with valuable and important things. If we had to leave much will be left behind. Packed away in our truck I have our tax returns, Flipside Magazines, artwork and my Red Book (Jung) and journals. My family members have their few special items too. Funny what one puts in their cars in an emergency. I am saddened for those who did not get the chance to do what we have done. It is good for the psyche to prepare and organize when possible danger approaches.

I write when I am confronted with change, stress and heartbreak. Maybe a well-deserved karmic war zone~ who knows? I think upon all the wild animals. The deer, buck, cougars and coyotes , the wild animal are surviving their best too. Bless all the wild things that grow in the Santa Monica mountains.

I am consecrated by my wild Promethium fennel growing in my front yard. Taken from the Santa Monica mountains, a wild shaft that was once filled with seeds. On the wild burning hills the seeds will survive the fires. The wild yucca will come forth once again….

Below are a few posted embellished stories that I wrote that are indirectly about the Santa Monica mountains. A positive movement in dark times of vast destruction as my head bounds painfully with grief !!

Blues For Baby and Me / Adventures of Sony and Raubie https://hudleyflipside.com/2016/11/02/blues-for-baby-and-me-the-adventures-of-sony-and-raubie/


The Snake https://hudleyflipside.com/2012/04/15/1950-2012-on-the-snake/


https://hudleyflipside.com/2015/06/11/the-chapel-of-the-oaks/


https://hudleyflipside.com/2018/05/15/bitchin-drive-over-box-canyon-this-morning-in-my-car/

Beto O’Rourke Badges…

YA !

The Seminary of Praying Mantis

A few Flopside Comic  people asked us to do some badges of our buddy Beto O’Rourke…so we did. Mr. Dang got to it… image, scan and badges in the little old computer bedroom of creative delight…

Beto



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