Beyond Me: Daily Prompt: Fight or Flight

Personify a black hole…

Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change~ Sephen Hawkins

I had the most bizarre feeling yesterday while watching one of son’s history channels together. The same feeling when I was about to give birth to him 12 years ago and how I became one with fight or flight:

OK, I don’t want to be here. I want to run from this pain, stress and place… I don’t want to be here…but it hit me hard: the reality that what was happening to me was beyond me. I had to go through with it. So I let go.

We were watching a program about black holes from the program The Universe on the History Channel. At the center of the whole universe there is supposed to be one massive black hole. Gravity pulls it all. Also there are many black holes which are believed to be within all galaxies as well as our own. More than just the advanced telescopes, technologies and terms for the universe and how it works, our mind has the ability to expand out and see these things: To realize and imagine that we are part of something so fantastic.

I felt the need to run away from… from this realization. I felt that feeling of fight and flight intensity again.

We are bound to this planet due to the gravity of black holes and dark matter… shit I don’t like this!

Yet, science so often takes things to the “bones” of reality. I realize and know that it is beyond me and relaxed into the face of a child that pulls me to him like gravity towards a black hole… his love!!! The fight and flight left me and I was at peace again.

The Case of David Blevins aka Dave Damage

Flipside Fanzine # 27

Cover 45 Grave Image by ROBERT HILL

Dave Damage & Pete and a couple of gals…1980s..Ironic you think?

He had the bluest eyes of a borderline serial killer,

He could memorize lyrics live,

Reciting them back after the show,

He also told me,

“Did you ever notice that you could carry a woman with your fingers like a six-pack of beer?”

David wrote reviews for Flipside Fanzine in the early 80s,

He followed Helen Jewel to us,

We had fun…

Beers, jokes and solving puzzles from beer caps.

He then called us and came by excessively,

Becoming critical and argumentative,

While insulting our friends.

Once he called at 8 pm,

I pulled the phone plug,

We got back at 2 am,

I put the phone plug back in,

He was still calling us,

ring ring, ring ring….

Then there was the dog we buried near

the Whittier dam on the Rio Honda River,

Helen, Al, and me…

Dave hung the long white hair mutt on our front porch,

A poor dog he just got from the animal shelter.

A few years raced by…

We never saw him.

The only person to see him was a friend Mr. Joe Hudson,

He saw him downtown at a horror film festival…

One day our friends Paul and Kori

Found an article in their local paper

Dave was a serial killer…

Caught in a love triangle,

He killed two women,

With a gun,

And rolled their bodies in two separate carpets,

And left them at the Beach,

He is serving two life sentences…

Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Staph 1977 to 1989 Those Who Caused Considerable Trouble

Narcissism comes to play on our birthdays

Narcissism comes to play on our birthdays… we…once little babes. Now that special day comes to say ,

“Hey it is my birthday!”

I have waited 66 years and Dr. Seuss’s Birthday Bird has not come yet to visit with the official birthday bird greeting… but I know it well. Do you know the official birthday bird greeting? Finger to toe and finger to nose?

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

― Happy Birthday to You! Dr. Seuss

I can wait. As a mom I always get it all going for the kids and my husband on their birthdays. Yet, I would not find the same for me. I think if I did have a little girl instead of two boys things might be different. I take responsibility for my own narcissist birthdays. I prepare a birthday table, get a cake and make up some food. I share these birthday pictures too with you.

Flowers and a cake will make you smile? A Morning Glory Greeting might take the place of a Official Birthday Bird Greeting. A little baby praying mantis on the mesh

My narcissistic shadow and foot with Mr. Po Po

Beef stew with sweet potatoes, onions, and wild thyme in the slow cooker…

Metamorphosis takes aeons, generations and sometimes within the proper cyclical season.

All around me I feel the invisible walls. Maybe a cell membrane that holds me in.

It is a cocoon.

The darkness melts my body and whispers stories of weeping, hate and betrayal. As the full moon ascends on the horizon, I feel the depth and heat of her breath as she addresses me. She is dark and hides the light. This is the process of metamorphosis.

Living in the patriarchal world this process is outright ignored. Yet, women throughout history know it well, for those of us who pass through it. I am not talking about the happy, good, rise-above women who functions as if in a dysfunctional relationship to men. I am talking about the women who hold owls, serpents, and insects.

The mermaids and sirens that men can not violate or listen to.

Women bear up children, and mysteries, which are not meant for the souls of men. Women hold within them those freaky looking, metamorphosis looking, creatures in their wombs.

Tadpoles, tails, and big heads swim in the hot environment.

Asleep she was drawn to the being-0f-light outside the open window; upon the wall of the old garage converted into a boy’s room.

“Come with me there has been an airplane crash.”

She flew and followed the being-of-light over the valley. They both whipped through the air. They were swimming through the air. Her belly felt as if riding on a swing.

“That does not look like an airplane crash,” she said.

The fire and flames turned into a spacecraft. There was a large door. It opened and there before her and the-being-of-light was a small little grey-being with elaborate clothing. Not a word was spoken but a beam of light, like a razor beam, focused from the little grey-being to her.

“What is this? All these images are pouring into my brain. Symbols, numbers on and on they go… I cannot manage this…I think I will collapse.”

She then noticed the beam of light stop. It was over.

The being-of- light flew her back to where she was sleeping.

The Kurgarra and the Galatur

Fourteen years of the most popular post. I extend my gratitude to my global community. In reflecting on current events worldwide, it is evident that there exists a profound sense of peaceful continuity among readers across the globe that transcends borders. This is truly commendable, and I express my sincere appreciation.

jfbradu.free.fr

Taken from Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth ~ Her Stories and Hymns From Sumer. Book by Diane Wolkstein

The kurgarra and galtur

“From under his fingernail Father Enki brought forth dirt.
He fashioned the dirt into a kurgarra, a creature neither male nor female.
From under the fingernail of his other hand he brought forth dirt.
He fashioned the dirt into a galatur, a creature neither male nor female.
He gave the food of life to the kurgarra.
He gave the water of life to the galatur.”

(p. 64)

The kurgarra and the galatur heeded Enki’s words
They set our for the underworld
Like flies, they slipped through the cracks of the gates
They entered the throne of the Queen of the Underworld
No linen was spread over her body.
Her breasts were uncovered
Her hair swirled around her head like leeks.
Ereshkigal was moaning:
“Oh! Oh! My inside!”
They moaned:
“Oh! Oh! Your inside!”
She moaned:
“Ohhh! Oh! My outside!”
They moaned:
“Ohhhh!! Oh! Your outside!”
“She groaned:
“Oh! Oh! My belly!”
They groaned:
Oh! Oh! Your belly!”
She groaned:
Oh! Ohhhh! My back!!”
They groaned:
“Oh! Ohhh! Your back!”
She sighed:
“Ah! Ah! My heart!”
They sighed:
“Ah, Ah Your heart!”
She sighed:
“Ah! Ahhh!! My liver!”
They sighed:
“Ah! Ahhh!! your liver!”
Ereshkigal stopped.
She looked at them.
And asked:
“Who are you,
Moaning-groaning-sighing with me?
If you are gods, I will bless you.
If you are mortals, I will give you a gift.
I will give you the water-gift, the river in its fullness.
The kurgarra and the galatur answered:
“We do not wish it.”
Ereshkigal said:
“I will give you the grain-gift, the fields in the harvest.”
The kurgarra and the galatur answered:
“We do not wish it.”
Ereshkigal said:
“Speak then! What do you wish?”
They answered:
“We wish only the corpse that hangs from the hock on the wall.”
Ereshkigal said:
“The corpse belongs to Inanna.”
They said:
“Whether it belongs to our queen,
Whether it belongs to our king
That is what we wish.”
The corpse was given to them.
The kurgarra sprinkled the food of life on the corpse.
The galatur sprinkled the water of life on the corpse.

Inanna arose

(Pg. 64-67)

Inanna’s Trinity

The weight of the world for Praying Mantis.

Praying Mantis Kachina

Praying Mantis Kachina T-Shirt

Designed and sold by Hudley Flipside

Order Print on Demand.

https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/80206956-praying-mantis-kachina?store_id=1424027

Who needs to use chemicals,

poisons or pesticides when

you have us in the garden.

There is absolutely no reason

To go after, too many, crickets,

aphids, black widows, and termites.

I keep things in balance.

Yes, sometimes

I get a little greedy

Eating a butterfly…

but I am your comrade

Your friend

of the garden…

sometimes hanging

on tall buildings in the city

Then I am one

With Superpower!

Environmental Etiquette

There is magic in all gardens….Weekly Photo Challenge: In the Background

One with a shadow of a tree in my garden.

Our little Sony Cyber-Shot camera takes amazing pictures. This camera was a christmas present to my son from his grandmother. My son and I both use it. It is our creative friend.

The image is of a human shadow that is “one” with a tree nymph of a cypress tree in a garden. Two shadows merge together as one. It you study the image you will notice aspects of the tree shadow blending with the human shadow. A hand and thumb extend out from the cypress. The human is slightly bent to right with a hidden shadowy tree nymph. There is magic in this garden.

Look to the background: look towards the shadowy places in your garden.. and you will find the nature spirits there.

Daily Prompt: Goals: express myself as others do!!

An average person with average talents and ambition and

average education, can outstrip the most brilliant genius in our society,

if that person has clear, focused goals. ~ Mary Kay Ash

http://www.coagula.com/

I shall keep moving forward no matter what the gossip, criticism or silence…

The above image is of a written interview I did some years ago with Coagula Art Journal. I am a resurrected personality from days gone by. I felt the need to remember those days and share them. So, I went to places where I use to express myself, which are… fanzines. Mat Gleason, the creator of Coagula Art Journal, is an old-time buddy of mine. He promotes and educates his community about art, which is beyond my expertise.

Yet, Mat was willing to humor me by publishing this little introduction of my dream to awaken people to the long-lost days of late 70s and the 80s punk rock culture. Hark Hark… wait a minute. As the ghostly fog cleared over the next few years, I witnessed that the world remembers. Punk nostalgia has since overwhelmed me, as the old days used to. My goal was to remember, write and express myself. Yes, this is achieved!!!

In “Hudley Flipside’s Public Image,” located here on my WordPress site, I show the journey I have taken to get the word out. I have been interviewed by individuals that I respect, and to my amazement, respect me back: enough to interview me about my days as a co-editor and publisher of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine.

As an introverted Gemini I then made my connection with MySpace, Facebook and other online business and social networks. Anytime I feel myself ‘sinking in the quicksand’ of another person’s manipulation or control: working for them over working for myself. I pull myself away. I have painfully earned my individuation and need to vibrate this to the world on my own terms. I am gentle too!!

My goal is to create a place to publish what I wish to share.

I’m thrilled finding WordPress and to see the vast ocean of others who are doing the same thing as I which is writing and sharing their stories!!

“This is it” I thought.

It has been over a year now.

I am creating a wonderful promotional page on WordPress. I share my stories by writing about what interests me. Quality over quantity is my ambition. I still have many goals… but I am on the right independent path. I shall keep moving forward no matter what gossip, criticism, or silence…

The Seminary of Praying Mantis is my achieved goal. It is natural for a crone woman to sit back, reflect and remember and tell her tales and adventures… there are always a couple of people interested… or maybe just my cats, or the muses that echo back on this oracle called computer.

jasminewanders.com

Wendy Greuel and Eric Garcetti

“Give to every other human being every right that you claim for yourself – that is my doctrine.”
― Thomas Paine, The Age Of Reason

Today is the day to vote for mayor of Los Angeles.

I am going to vote by not voting:

not because I am dumb

or because there are problems, such as

redistricting issues or minority relocation issues.

I think the whole political machine

of running for office lacks integrity.

The media sucks money from the campaign machine.

I am voting by not voting because it lacks dignity.

I don’t care if the fist Jew or first Woman may be our new mayor.

I wish one politician would run a campaign with integrity.

promotional and media dust blowing machines

lacks integrity it sucks royally

This is why I am not voting today.

Ray Bradbury 1920-2012

Ray Bradbury 1920-2012.

“The path of its departure still is free.” Mutability

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is bernie-wrightson-bernie-wrightson-mary-wollstonecraft-shelleys-frankenstein-unused-illustration-original-art-c..jpg

Bernie Wrightson (American, 1948–2017)

Bernie Wrightson Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s Frankenstein Unused Illustration Original Art (c. 1975), ca. 1975

We lived in a little art loft over a quaint bookstore up town Whittier. Ames is the name of the bookstore. A funny fellow with a beard owned the place. To get away from the overwhelming nature of the business I was involved with: I found this cave in the city. A new world opened to me at Ames. Books came alive and one of the most influential books I found there is the classic story, Frankenstein Or The Modern Prometheus. Mary W. Shelley’s novel inspires me on so many levels and I cannot thank her enough.

This is a quote for the day. This quote speaks of life and freedom resonates there. I love the reflective and subjective nature of her book. I recommend this gem to everyone: read it and life will not be the same…if you have read it already, “so it goes!”

“If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene can surprisingly mean a great preciousness to us.”

I think and feel Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote The Modern Prometheus. Or maybe Mary and Percy authored the book together. Percy’s poem Mutability was written before the novel which seems very revealing to me.

“We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.

We rise; one wandering through pollutes the day.

We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;

It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,

The path of its departure still is free.

Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;

Nought may endure but mutability!”

Page 99: Chapter X

Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus

Mary Shelley

Mutability

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!–yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.–A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.–One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!–For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Happy Birthday John

Siegbert Tarrasch

I’ll say it again and again,

Life is listening to synchronicity.

Thrift stores and garage sales are where it happens. I play games sometimes. I imagine things I would like to have and then let my imagination go. I shop with the glow of possibilities and magic. It is amazing to find the things I thought of.

The days of thrift stores, any Salvation Army or garage sale, have pretty much ended. Yet, I remember going back to a certain bookstore. It was a place that supplied us with some interesting used books. We found some great books there. This bookstore was having a garage sale because it was a garage sale of used books; Old and dusty; histories that are enchanting.

My husband collects too many Chess books. One day we went out to breakfast and then turned into the local used bookstore for our terrible addiction to books. On this particular day a big book sale was happening; an array of books were for sale outside and it was about to rain.

The two of us separated looking for a gem or heart of gold. We both were coming up empty. I wanted to find something special for my husband on his birthday on that same day. He has studied and played chess for years and I do not know much about the game.

I have been known to try to fool him by going into his chess closet, taking out an old one and wrapping it up for Christmas or on his birthday as a NEW gift. He remembers them all. I sometimes put little notes in his chess books thinking he will never find them… but he always does (even years later).

Anyway, on this day from our past I found a small selection of game books and noticed one with the word “CHESS” on it. It was a book about Siegbert Tarrasch and I thought,

“How do I say this name?”

I tried hiding the book behind my back, but John wrestled it out of my grasp: A big smile came over his face because he knew about Tarrasch.

“Happy birthday John.”

I took the book back from him and looked through it. It smelled old and while reading through the preface… I stopped and read the short biography.

Siegbert Tarrasch was born on March 5, 1862. He was one of the strongest chess players of the late 19th century and early 20th century. Tarrasch was Jewish, and a patriotic German who lost a son in World War I, but lived to suffer under the early stages of Nazism.

“Wow that is the same month and day as John’s birthday.”

March 5th, John and Siegbert birthday are one hundred and four years apart.

Fun

Morning-Glory Flowers and Vine

“Didn’t you hear the morning-glory flower is very independent!!?”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, kind of wild too I hear…and not dependable in the garden.”

“I see them, often, climbing fences and in alleyways, the flower is very beautiful and bright too.”

“Maybe so,” said the old black bird as he flew away.

Overhearing this conversation between two blackbirds I imagined that they were both correct in their observations of the morning-glory flower, which is a wild vine-with flowers that grow around residential homes and alleyways, very beautiful to look at and always a pleasure to find. I have had a packet of morning-glory seeds for a few years and when I clean-up around the house I always seem to find the packet. I put it in one place or another until I find it again.

This year I decided to take a chance and plant the morning-glory seeds in a long wood flower box that my parents gave us years ago. Originally, the flower box was put in on the walkway of our apartment for seven years. Now it has been with us thirteen years here at our home. One side of the box now has a menthol succulent growing in it. I have had that plant for many generations: about twenty-five. I originally was given the plant from my first mother-in-law Mary Kowalewski. My mother and I took many trimmings from the original plant from Mary. It is the kind of plant that will grow with or without water. It took well to the box, so it lives there happily alone now. Next to it there has been a dry spot where nothing seems to grow beside a few weeds that dry off quickly. It was about three months ago I planted the dark little triangle seeds there; the morning-glory seeds from the packet.

Hudley flowers and her little Sony camera

Something started to grow. At first, I was not sure what was growing. Then my heart jumped because it was vining outwards. I knew at that time it was the independent morning-glory. How strange, the place that no other plant wanted …it wanted! I think this shows the unique nature of this vine flower. I put a long stick from a nearby branch in the earth of the box to help the plant vine up it. The one vine leg of this plant did not show any interest. So, I stopped trying. A few days later the other leg of the vine was nicely wound around it. I laughed out loud. I fell deeply in love with this morning-glory vine.

Today I awoke early and went outside to give the vine some water. The days are hot now. I noticed yesterday that the leaves have started to wilt. To my surprise I found two wonderful flowers. Again, my heart about jumped from my chest from joy. So, it goes.

I am not going to bet on it, but I am sneaky and hopeful, that these two legs vining outwards will eventually take over our garden net fence,

“But don’t tell anybody…I don’t want my independent morning-glory and vine to find out!”

The Wisdom of Grandmother Aggie of The 13 Indigenous Grandmothers

Whippet

HUD

I am not naturally a dog person. There was one dog Peepers, a red collie we grew up with, that I loved. She would roam the fields and golf course near by. Life was wild then.

In the late 1970s my sister-in-law breed Whippets. I learned to loved her dogs. They were thin and very loving. This particular picture is a fun one.

The sweater I am wearing was found at a thrift store in the late 1970s. It was my Jackson Pollock sweater. Most of my clothes then were throw backs from the 1950s: twenty buck’ got you a lot of clothes from the local thrift store or salvation army. I wore this sweater until it was threads.

Nola laughed when she heard this song on the radio. In her mind it was about her Whippets…

this is about devolution and nothing else… ;>

Tralfamadorians

This is our time for “amber moments,” those fleeting instances that capture the essence of joy and nostalgia, where we pause to savor the warmth of the sun as it dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange, reminding us to cherish the beauty in our everyday lives, creating lasting memories that we can revisit long after the day has ended.

“Earthlings might learn to do.

If they tried hard enough:

Ignore the awful times

And concentrate on the good ones.”

~ Tralfamadorians: Slaughter-House Five/ Kurt Vonnegut.

Opossum

Day starts with a baby possum in the door screen,

put it on a tree branch in the backyard,

for mama to find,

get in the car with a run,

soon we are caught in traffic…

but then this song comes on our car radio…

and living is sweet

Daily Prompt: The Glass : oscillating dualistic

Looking with eyes shut. A cup appears. It shines and comes to focus and out again, as an image in a cloud. Clear then vague, at one moment, and then gone. Life is this way. Rain falls and awakens the smell of the earth in all of her sweetness. This is when the cup is full. As the new moon approaches on the 10th of May one can feel emptiness as if one is holding an empty cup within. The moon then slowly pulls around again and again to reveal her fullness. The ocean waves respond to the wane and waxing that naturally show us the motif of a full or empty cup; and within the emptiness is a void. In this darkness one can find the bliss of creation and dance into fulfillment. The fullness of too much cake with too much frosting, at first, brings the joy of taste and pleasure… only to burden the body with a belly ache,. Expressing the empty cup and enduring days of sadness will be altered by a few full pints of beer with friends and music. To ask the question,

“Is the glass half-full or half-empty?”

It is an absurd question of duality and death. It can never just be one or the other, half-full or half-empty; for it is always oscillating dualistic within the continuity of time eternally. An impossibility to answer. It will be hot and sunny or cold and foggy, fires will burn and snow will fall. This too will pass…as a body & mind feels and thinks, as a sun dies another is born, as also another pint is filled with beer into an empty pint glass…

Collaborations are thrilling and I do a trilling dance!

A brief story: I co-published a music fanzine. I collaborated with others via our post office box through a real Whittier California Post Office. We included a letter section in the magazine. It took a couple of months to receive letters, respond to them, and publish them in the fanzine. It was a time-consuming process. I loved it. As you know, it is radically different now.

DETOX (RIP)

2009: Steve Pfauter (Human RIP), Hudley, and Tony Malone (RIP)

Hudley and Detox !! Steve Human and Tony Malone...

Image by Bob Cantu at the Scotland Yard Pub.

I love this oracle computer, this place!

I was once enrolled in an online course for a master’s program. I found it thrilling to express myself online. My classmates were not so thrilled. I was thrilling here and there, on campus and on the internet. They complained about it being too much extra work for them. The class meets once a month, as well, to discuss and show materials as a kind of delicate touch base.

I enjoy online engagement and find it more interesting than meeting in a classroom. I realized at this point that I found a place that I love.

Online communications are for me; MySpace and then Facebook after my experience with online courses. The world opened up to me. I met up with old friends and made new ones. I was reaching out to people from all around the world.

I am thrilled about having access to others via the internet.

During the 1980s I was one of those geeks who corresponded with Quantum Link via the 64/ 128 Commodore computer. At the time bulletin boards were popular but very underground via the computer scene. No one really understood what I found through my Commodore computer. Most of my friends did not have a clue and thought I was weird.

I joined an online group called Midnight Mystics as a host. We went online at the witching hour of 12 midnight. It was a place where I found myself inside a mysterious world where I communicated with others from across the country. It was thrilling to me.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_World_Wide_Web

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_Link