Life: It is about the gift not the package it comes in.
– Dennis P. Costea, Jr.
Mr. Fuck does not bowl, play football, kickass in soccer or shoot the moon…he is a poseur for the dames!!
He is the ultimate trophy whore too!
I wrote this post 11 years ago. I write every day on my WordPress page, pouring out my thoughts and experiences into the digital realm. I don’t listen to the whispers of what others say much anymore; their opinions are like fleeting shadows that rarely touch my steadfast resolve. I have continued to do what I wish to, regardless of what I think others criticize me for.
My love for writing is unwavering, a passion that has deep roots in my soul. I think I always have loved it, though there was a time when I was unaware that we could do rewrites.
I remember watching my sister diligently type on her old-fashioned typewriter for her classes, the clacking keys echoing in the air. Yes, the kind with a back of paper ink that seems so antiquated now. She never did rewrites; her confidence filled the room as she would send her work out into the world as it was, perfection and all. Now I know that is hogwash.
We all rewrite, revising our thoughts and crafting our narratives until they resonate with our true selves. Writing is a journey that evolves over time, allowing us to articulate our stories with greater clarity and depth.
Jane Russell
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
~Ernest Hemingway
The chair supports my back as cool air dances around my feet. The balls of my feet touch the carpet. Cat is brushing by my legs. The film The Fuzzy Pink Nightgown is softly talking in the background as the refrigerator motor clicks on. A helicopter is flying overhead, and I see a big white van pass by the computer room window.
I can hear the major streets, which we live between, filled with fast moving cars. It sounds as loud as Niagara Falls. My heart is beating softly.
I taste breakfast on my tongue and desire another cup of coffee. Now I hear the quiet as the bees work outside and as the brakes from the trash truck squeak. Time for a cup of coffee and to powder my nose. (10:50 AM)
Jane Russell’s beauty mixes well with her clever ways. She has taken off the blonde wig to reveal her true brunette self instead of the sexpot she was falsely portraying: A sip of coffee. I am thinking of renewing my WordPress account.
I am finishing my second year. I have over five hundred posts on this site. I hear the echoing laughter from professional editors and writers that think what I am doing here sucks. I fight this every day. I know now that a writer writes!! I am addictively sincere in my efforts.
Writing is a cause to be vulnerable. Yes, every day we write here on WordPress opening our hearts and minds to be read and judged by others; here and now, I know, it is all about the story. (11:11 AM).
“Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
~ William Blake
The colors became dark. The night air and clubs filled with dark colors and darker tattoos. She remembered when bright colors expressed the vibrant nights in contrast to the dark nights and loud music. To bring the bright colors back was a problem for her.
Bright lipstick and red pants. The joy of watercolors on paper brought the essence of the flowers to life. Why not on her round body, green, purple, and red were the colors she wanted to wear!
She would put the colorful colors of clothing on her body before going out, but at the last-minute took them all off, slipping into her dark cloths again. She put on her old ripped and torn clothing to blend into the crowd. She was hiding her light and cravings for color.
Her friend told her once,
“don’t be afraid to show yourself, and don’t care what anyone thinks…it is you that you have got to please!!”
Tonight, is the night she wore her red pants, black shoes with open toes and a black shirt with a bright red logo. She put the red lipstick on her pale lips.
Another friend told her once to wear lipstick.
“Wear lipstick no matter what. You can get away with skipping all the other makeup, but lipstick is a must. It brings color to your face, and it makes you look finished.”
The night was dark, but her red pants, lips and band-logo were anything but!!
Last week was a week of fulfillment.
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”… “It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Early spring roses in my secret garden.
The loss of parents and all of their life together has come to a final close. A good living pattern has been set up for family and I got to hang out with my friends at the local pub. Now, this is an important touch with my community. Son finished his story for English class!! The taxes are done!
Yes, all cooked up and thrown into the Federal and California tax fire!!
The rain fell on the roses yesterday; if only for a few minutes. I pulled weeds and vines from them the day before…revealing a secret garden. Another thing that was fulfilled the last week .
Hear the sound of the VW Squareback starting up..wow… miss that ..
Varinia and Spartacus’s love song resonates through the ages, embodying a profound connection that serves as a backdrop to their epic tale.
Yet it brings forth many myths and stories of the love of a woman and her man, illustrating the timeless struggle between the heart’s desires and the harsh realities of life.
Their bond is not merely a romantic ideal; it symbolizes a fierce rebellion against oppression, where the struggle for freedom intertwines with the yearning for love.
In the face of insurmountable odds, their love becomes a powerful anthem of hope, inspiring others to dream of liberation and the unbreakable ties that bind two souls together in the pursuit of a shared destiny.
Spartacus 1960
The focus here is on the Love Theme in this film announcing and following throughout the film about the love between Spartacus and Varinia. They are both slaves of the Roman Empire and so history unfolds.
A remarkable love story and theme song that has haunted me my whole life. Here is a jazz interpretation of the Love Theme of Spartacus by Lalo Schifrin!!
Varinia and Spartacus
If you have not seen this film, you must! It is directed by Stanley Kubrick which always guarantees an interesting experience. A film is always enhanced by a good musical score or soundtrack.
Spartacus is a master at this. The original score for Spartacus was composed and conducted by Alex North. Kirk Douglas produces the film.
Originally, Howard Fast was hired to adapt his own novel as a screenplay, but he had difficulty working in the format. He was replaced by Dalton Trumbo, who had been blacklisted as one of the Hollywood Ten. Douglas insisted that Trumbo be given screen credit for his work, which helped to break the blacklist.
Isis Goddess and Osiris
https://egypt-museum.com/statuette-representing-isis-and-osiris
The best thing I did, the best decision for me, is the kindness thing I do every day for my kids.
Breakfast for Son ~ Hudley
Mom and Dad’s gift to me
Humor on the side… always
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/23/daily-prompt-kindness-2/
An experiment in recording oral tradition..
The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.
~ Alan Watts
Our local Orchard Supply went out of business and now the local Albertsons. I understand that life is change, but does community have to change too: at this particular time in my life? The routine and getting to know people is an art form that takes some work. Unaccepted waves wash this all away. Yet, Mission Burrito is open again!
A UFO flew over the valley last Friday. It seems even though the Rocketdyne property is being sold, the aliens don’t seem to know this yet. They are flying over it as they always have: since my youth. I remember the rocket testing, the sonic booms and Friday alarms. It sounded like the end of the world!!
Rocketdyne
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rocketdyne
Disillusionment started around this time in my life. 16!
What inspired me were the mysteries of life. The dark places of life. I kept it to myself. I was young and wordless, quiet, and impressionable. Times were dull and I was asleep in the world around me. I did not study or read much.
I innocently walked home on my own from school. I had close friends and life was easy. I had a boyfriend who watched over me. I thought he loved me. Well, he enjoyed my body. Last night I watched a documentary on Carl Panzram.
He is a serial killer. He wrote his memoir in prison and when I compare my life growing up to his, I become sick. He went to reform school and prison at an incredibly immature age. He was a cowboy-hobo. He did not live a glorious life.
His was not an easy life. Mine was. I am sure I went through the normal psychological changes of a youth becoming an adult. I was safe and made the transition through a few years, or a generation of the fifties through the eighties.
Carl Panzram was not so fortunate. He grew up in a different generation during the Great Depression. Yet his youthful rebellion as a boy pushed him into being brutalized by a system that creates killers.
I am not justifying the unspeakable acts he did as an adult; I am comparing my life to his. Maybe to my own two boys who I protect like a mama bear hawk. Some sort of paranoid mythological female mother figure. They are extremely fortunate indeed!
Serial killers, gangsters, and the cruelty they inflict on society is terrible. I am not afraid to look at them. I wish I could change how this shadowy part of our human nature manifests in our society. Sometimes at night I find it hard to breathe when I think of how many people are locked up, especially our youth.
One cannot fight the shadow with more shadow because it only makes a bigger shadow. If I could go back to being sixteen, I would inspire myself to wake up! I would study and apply myself to life. I would learn, learn, learn!
I would take back my body and go to college at a youthful age. I would study criminology, psychology and get my degrees. I have my regrets and so did Carl Panzram!!
Our penal system is wrong. I would try to change it from the inside out starting with our youth!! I know that Carl Panzram made the same analogy in his memoir.
Carl had a remarkable ability to reflect. A friendly prison guard inspired him to write his memoir. This guard was a rare bird because he treated criminals as human beings. Carl’s revealing memoir is one to ponder, a remarkable confession from a terrible and angry soul.
“I do not believe in man, God nor Devil. I hate the whole damned human race, including myself. I preyed upon the weak, the harmless and the unsuspecting. This lesson I was taught by others: Might makes right.” ― Carl Panzram
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/20/daily-prompt-sixteen/#like-67108
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You’ve been kidnapped and given a choice: would you rather be stranded on an island, dropped into an unknown forest, or locked in a strange building?
Dropped in a deep dark forest the last few years. Just by chance I see a book with illustrations. Is this any different from life? I say not. I have had the literature and often looked for the illustrations. Today in this strange forest I have found my holy grail of art. I am overwhelmed with what I have found!
Do I walk down the path of its illumination? Do I follow this mad mystic, as a fucking stupid literature professor once called him?
Sometimes rolling around with Pluto in the dark forest, one finds gifts. In the open forest above the dark inviting caves I have found more than his darkness but a path out of this dark forest.
Pluto did kidnap me into his dark forest. I addressed him and so, out of Persephone’s love and their Jester’s humor, on their behalf… I found my get away.
A mossy green stone which is soft for sitting, and light from the sun slanting upon my book, make the Illustrations shine forth. The sound of a bright clean stream that echoes each joyful heartbeat is my gift today!! Here I will study the Master’s creation!!
http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2014/01/17/william-blake-dante-divine-comedy/
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/19/daily-prompt-choice/
“…And wit. And, finally, satirists, who are needed as truth is needed-for is not satire, simply, truth grinning in a solemn canting world? “
~ Gore Vidal, United States Essays 1952-1992 Pg. 30
Nanette Parry
The most delightful character in Make Mine Mink is character actress Hattie Jacques who plays Nanette Parry. Her facial expressions are simply marvelous darling. I want to watch the film repeatedly just to study her facial expressions.
This whimsical, funny, and thrilling film is a must see for all. It is offbeat and hilarious. Terry Thomas was at his best. The film is about how some unusual characters get together for bizarre reasons. The motif of the film sounds like something that might be tried today, which is to take from the rich and give to the poor…or your favorite charity.
A British “B” film that is in your face humor with an excellent soundtrack that will make you laugh, giggle, and spill your coffee.
Satire at its best…yes…I would say so!!
Lionel Spanager: [Speaking to his wife concerning his “barmy” mother-in-law]
Why don’t you put her to sleep?
[His wife looks shocked]
Lionel Spanager:
I mean take her to bed!
Girly Girl, a thin and unassuming pussy willow, was born to a Black Persian kitty during uncertain times. She provided comfort to her owner and her mother’s next litter, often cuddling with her baby siblings when their mother was absent.
Not to mention the time that passed moving from my parent’s home to an apartment and then to our own home; Girly Girl was always with us.
In the apartment Girly Girl use to rest on my belly, every night; until it grew, until the new baby came.
In our new home I set up a little table for my spirituality; a candle and some flowers and a book of inspiration, a special place for me to relax, rest and reflect. Life was remarkably busy then and Girly Girl was independent outside the house as well as in the house. I did not always give her time like I once did. Now that life had become so busy with a new house and a baby.
Before she passed away, she came into the house unassumingly. We found her peaceful under my special table. It seemed like she was just taking a nap. We buried Girly Girl in the back yard.
Now Football the ‘love kitty'” sleeps over her grave some 11 years later. Wild leaves, cypress tree needles, grass and vines gracefully snow on her resting place.
Seeing Football resting there made me remember Girly Girl today: that grey puss that unassuming pussy willow!
Hudley’s Tattoo flower 2012
The Seminary of Praying Mantis is about nature politics and human beings. It is a voice of a little creature that survives the continuity of the seasons. It is all about life, death and rebirth.
I took on this title for my WordPress blog because I wanted to move away from my history of punk rock. I needed to expand to include all my interests. I admit the reason for creating this site was to promote a book I was working on entitled, The Seminary of Praying Mantis: A PUNKALULLABY. (The Punkalullaby title is based on stories I once wrote in Flipside Fanzine during the 1980s when publishing the fanzine.) Instead I found myself moving in other directions when writing. I still pivot and jump into the punk scene now and then, but not all the time.
I have been through some changes in the last four years. I lost my mom, dad and best friends. I also went through menopause, which was a bitch. Having this WordPress blog has saved my life. Writing is my cure and I love it.
I do not have a perfect writing style but a natural style. I am not trying to get anywhere or achieve some great success through writing. It is an “ising” experience.
I include a smörgåsbord of writing styles here. I am a punk rock writer that learns as she goes. My symbol for my style is the Praying Mantis.
The future may bring good news of publishing such as articles, books and more down to earth manifestations of my writing.
I am grateful for WordPress for giving me the opportunity to express myself; it is a great gift!! I think it is a big part of my destiny.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/being-serbian/#respond
“I bet if a terrible happening occurred and we had to take things and run for cover, you would go after your chess books instead of me”
” Ha, ha, ha I would not!”
sunday morning garage sale. Kids are making some dough on the side. You might not notice it, but the other day I was looking at some houses for sale a few miles from here. Something bigger and closer to a good high school for son. On ZIllow.com I found almost all of the houses foreclosed. It was disturbing to see.
Pewter bowl and pewter small knives and one fork. Pewter mugs among other things.
“Good Morning, how much is this?”
Sabtain is a wheeler and dealer. He starts high and stays high , but is generous to a flaw with his bilingual style . The rest being blind to his skilful speaking tongue.
Munching on snacks and clouds forming over head. Today is not going to be warm. Bees buzzing over the crawling rosemary as young men bond. Waiting to sell that large box of multiform and many-colored legos for 300 bucks.
The glee in their childhood eyes was once bright while handling their legos projects, but this has transformed into master minding the strategic moves of the card game Magic. The money made here today is for new cards which they have already purchased in their minds.
“What is papa thinking?”
“I’m just reading this book.”
“How about selling some of your chess books at the garage sale?”
“No way, we need an airplane hangar so I can have more!”
“I am lucky you do not collect women as you do chess books!”
The pewter is not selling today. Maybe it wants to stay and maybe the strange cloud hovering over the young men is grandmother who once acquired this pewter through her best friend. Grandmother eventually ended up marrying her best friend’s husband. She acquired a whole bunch of stuff too besides a husband.
Laughter, stories and good friends. Sales are low; guessing that everyone is still at church.
Pink brassière and gargoyle stained glass window by Hudley 2014
When I was given my first brassiere, as mom called them, it wasn’t a day to remember. She secretly slipped them into my underwear drawer. This was under my closet. I was 13 years old when I found the two brassieres; little wee bras that they were.
My response was rebellion. When I saw the bad little flower-lace decorations on the front, I ripped them off and threw them to the floor. I jumped on the bras after throwing them to the ground also!!
I proceeded to run out of the house screaming, and then climbing the eucalyptus tree in front of my parent’s house. I crawled up to the rock-roof and climbed up the red brick chimney, a place for gargoyles, eagles, and squirrels. My hideout!
“Tomboy, little tomboy as I reflect on this memory now, I realize what Mom was doing some forty years ago!!”
Mom was indirectly trying to wake-me-up to the woman I was becoming. She knew my wild ways. This seems the only way she could have done it, but I would have nothing to do with it. It was not going to happen to me, but it did!!
Our patriarchal culture spends a great deal of time focusing on this part of a woman’s anatomy, I scored big. Humor aside this is not the point of this essay.
Indirectly this post is about the perfect brassiere which I have found. It has a flower- lace decoration on the front. It makes me feel feminine, beautiful, happy, and womanly. It is a Magic Glamorise-1003. A perfect fit!! My new pink brassiere with flower-lace.
Somewhere in Simi-Valley CA by HudleyEvil and the Devil are two different things. The Devil is how humans like to imagine evil, with horns and a tail. Evil is part of our personality. I’ve never believed in occultism or the Devil, and I’m not at all religious. I’d rather read science books than something about occultism. When it comes to cinema, evil is simply a form of entertainment to me. ~ Roman Polanski
We all have our personal style that we project to the world around us, which, as in my case is often counter-productive to the general and personal world around me: Being loud when others are quiet or being quiet when other are loud. I think William Blake and Samuel Clemens write about the concept of being contradictory.
Do what you will, this world’s a fiction and is made up of contradiction. ~William Blake
To succeed in life, you need two things: ignorance and confidence.~ Mark Twain
I let my personal style out like colorful balloons filled with colorful paint which are projected and exploited on a four-dimensional wall. Only a few at a time: then back into my cave of safety. That is my contradictory self and my personal style.
It is passionately manifested and a bit too fiery at times… but with age I can redirect it but will never control it. I embrace it as my own unique personal style.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/08/daily-prompt-style-2/
http://elray.bandcamp.com/album/shoot-from-the-hip
Dark like to-night
deliciously, longingly, wonderfully
all mine..
http://www.rogue.com/beers/chocolate-stout.php
This morning, I went out to be with my cats and nature. A bee came up to me. Gentle from one ear and around to the next. This went on for some time. A type of buzzing communication. A bee blessing. I watched the bee fly away. To the lavender with the other bees. I thought how intelligent bees are. More than we realize. How flowers, bees and nature and the sun coexist in a type of timeless harmony.
I asked the bees,
“Why can’t humanity live like this?”
A usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure.
Throughout the ages and across diverse cultures, we engage with the rich tapestry of oral traditions and myths that define this season. Every culture and religion possess narratives that convey significant meanings; the perpetual interplay of light, shadow, and darkness surrounds us, embodied by the sun, moon, and stars. In the solemn cave, the fire of our ancestors communicates profound truths, marking this moment as an epiphany.
Last night I read some more from the book Madame Blavatsky: The Mother of Modern Spirituality, A Biography by Gary Lachman.
It was some thirty-two years ago when this woman opened my eyes to worlds I only dreamed of; as inkling, wanderings and pondering.
I have traveled and wandered through many spiritual journeys and coming back towards her, this Epiphany of 2014 (2016) (2023), (2025) makes me realize that in truth she has never left my curious side.
Gary Lachman’s book is not an easy book to follow. He walks with us through so many chums and characters that it is more of a reference book than a simple reading biography. Yet, it can be both enjoyable and a challenge.
True to the motif of my own religiosity, I find myself aligned directly to a quote from Lachman’s book,
The central message is that the dull, dead, mechanical universe which a triumphant modern science was applauding as the height of human consciousness, was, quite simply, false, and that the world was infinitely more mysterious, more fascinating, and more alive than what the Huxley, Tyndall, and others believed. The ancients knew that and built a deeper, more profound science on that belief, a science that Blavatsky was here to revive.
Today is the last day of the divine hierarchies of the Holy Of Holies. I have focused on things that inspire me and synchronicities draw me to what pertains to a particular holy day. Today the focus is upon the hierarchy of Pisces. The body associated with this is our feet.
The Goddess Luna comes to mind today. I found an image of a wonderful earthy Luna. Notice how she places her feet upon the earth. The crescent moon is held in her right hand and a staff of power and authority in the other.
A crab is below her to the left. This is the sign of Cancer, another watery creature as Pisces which is the symbol of two fish. This represents the earthy quality as well as the spiritual quality we all share.
What is special about Luna is that she symbolically represents where we place our heart in the things that we do, and the people we associate with.
As well as how we manage compassion when dealing with those ugly parts of our life. Cancer and the moon hold the nadir of who we are. The hidden and often mysteries parts of our nature. Luna lights the way in these unknown places of darkness; as our internal flashlight.
So often we associate the moon and being loony as part of this dynamic. Our passions, creativity and genius can expand and get crazy at times, but if we hold our feet to the earth as goddess Luna does in the image above, we find our balance.
To live in the present is not easy. The past moments of my life do come forth.
As a young woman life was about everything wanting to touch me or me wanting to touch.
Now as a senior citizen the only yearnings to touch or be touched by a person, place or thing is mostly by memory, current simplicity of life, or the doctors who we pay to touch in trying to heal me.
Remembering honest true stories is a type of touch inside that keeps revealing the real to me… as to the lived experience of my life.
Now is the time of Aquarius…
The last few nights my dreams have been awful.
To be human with spiritual ideals seems a paradox of living.
I once experienced two owls on a tree,
late at night. the Medicine man said,
“Don’t look too long into their eyes, they are powerful beings!”
The owl’s eyes were molten lava,
Then I heard the chanting come round us,
like smoke rising in the night from the fire.
The medicine man’s face changed form,
and the chanting was around us…
A hundred chanting Native Americans Elders.
Magical and mystery are my life.
Libra and our knees
Life is a contrary experience
We are all dependent on balance
Of walking and making changes
Be it nothing or something
Reflecting and breathing.
When I walk sometimes
I feel like between each knee bend
I have little wings
And briefly I fly
Between my forward movements
From leg to leg
And knee to knee….
I may someday
Have legs and knees as Raven
Developing large wings to fly
And be able to fly away
You will hear my wings
Through the air…
