Chris Bailey’s psychic being is still very strong

Nov 29, 1956 to April 9, 2022.


“A gentleman with the mad soul of an Irish convict poet’: remembering Chris Bailey, and the blazing comet that was The Saints.”

~John Willsteed


Rendering of the band The Saints. Hudley Flipside, 2010.

Happy I bought tickets to see the reformed Saitns this November in Southern California. Autumn 2025.


The author reflects on their deep connection to the band The Saints, particularly after the death of Chris Bailey. They express grief for both Bailey and the passage of time over the decades.

The band has been a part of their life journey, leading to discovering a sense of belonging among misfits and a punk community. The author connects their experiences with Bailey’s life timeline, moving from youth to adulthood.

In their grief, they turn to the works of Carl Jung for solace, recalling insights from The Black Books.



I call it random reading. I read from the last paragraph, allowing my mind to wander freely within the words. The intuitive response is amazing to me, as each reading seems to unearth memories and thoughts I had long buried.

Encouraging action also flows from this process, inspiring me to take bold steps forward. So, with this so much is shared, whether it’s with friends or in solitude, and I am content to move on past my grief, cherishing the lessons learned along the way.

Into a new season of life, knowing that, life endures and blossoms in unexpected ways… this gives me hope like finding the Sun, illuminating the path ahead and igniting a renewed sense of purpose within me!

“In this moment the enormous tension was released and like rain it swept away [57/58] everything that was tensed, too highly strung. And soon sleep returned and brought with it a curiously beautiful image.” {138}

(p.162) The Black Books, Volume Two, Carl Jung

“Forms walked clad in white silk in a colored atmosphere. Each surrounded by a strangely fragrant, glowing tinted aura, some reddish, the others blueish and greenish.” {139}

{138} “This paragraph was replaced in LN by “Then I had a second vision.”



Chris Bailey “a curiously beautiful image”


The Saints (Barry Francis, Ivor Hay, Janine Hall, Bruce Callaway, Chris Bailey) at The Hero of Waterloo, Sydney. 1980. Picture by Judi Dransfield Kuepper. Image taken from an article by John Willsteed. Link Below.


https://theconversation.com/a-gentleman-with-the-mad-soul-of-an-irish-convict-poet-remembering-chris-bailey-and-the-blazing-comet-that-was-the-saints-181059?fbclid=IwAR3o-g8RRKpyNxgIQ6x7QsihP9fTBaDqaBZhzozuQI0oHlaWVenjLWeZ_F8


“Jung recounted this dream to Aniela Jaffé and commented upon it as follow: This is some kind of in-between realm (the term definitely occurs in the original version of the dream) The idea was that if one is confronted with the shadow- as was the case through the experience of Siegfried’s dream then the idea comes:

I enter into a twilight: I am this and yet also something else. And this doubleness an abdication of the unconscious, which reached strangely far beyond me.

If one is in the company of several persons, and one knows them and knows about their shadows, one then sees these people as they are, but are also something entirely different. They are surrounded by a strange sphere.

They live in a strange, light-colored sphere, which circumscribes their ‘other’ state. This seemed to me to be like a vision of the world beyond, where men are whole and complete, unlike here. The saint’s halo also characterizes his transcendent shining light, his psychic being.”

{139} (MP, p. 170)

The reminder of this entry was replaced in LN by “I know, I have stridden across the depths. Through guilt I have become newborn.” (p.162)  Carl Jung’s Black Books. Volume two page 175-6.


Siegfried’s dream http://mlwi.magix.net/siegfried.htm https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Books_(Jung)



The Yucca Poem


Upon the wall was a painting

Simply framed of a Yucca plant

My parents’ home enfolded it

Hanging on the living room wall

always smiling at me

The artist’s hands painted

it upon a wild hill

I looked at it all my life

From babe until the painting

Was stolen away after

my parents’ death.

It had a constant white bloom.

Curiously I looked

at the flower many times

I am sure it sung me to sleep.

The Yucca is a wild plant

Growing along

The aromatic California

coastal ranges

further into the valley and hills

Tall thin and tenuous

boldly spread throughout

valley canyons.

Yucca calls us to our

nobility of character

Yucca calls us

to a wild uniqueness

Singing if you listen quietly

A hum older than we know.

Just call me HUD…

Once at a pub a guy came up and said,

“What do I call you HUD, Hudley Flipside or Holly?”

I told him, “… just call me what you want…. ‘Hey you’ will do.”

From Hudley Flipside to Literary Legend: 45 Years of Making Words Dance!

Being a behind the scenes punk was fun. It was a lot of hard work and was often boring. Such as picking up the mail every day, typing endless words written by punkers whose writing was hard to read. When no one else would do the work, I did it.

For all the good punks celebrations going on around here. I want to join in and say a little something about the Hudley Flipside name. My last name was Hudson. Someone called me HUD… maybe X-8… and it caught on. Or maybe it was someone from a band before Flipside Fanzine… who knows?

 The point being it became my name as a publisher and co-owner of an underground punk Fanzine. I am kind of put upon to say that I did not think the “punk rock community” would be so uplifting and supportive of itself. There were times in the 90s when I ran away from it and hated it. Not the case now.

I’ve learned to appreciate it and try to flow with the best of it. I am part of the punk community whether I like it or not. Anyway, as I am an old dame now, I want to join in with one of the best pictures taken of me as a youngster by Al Flipside. He took a lot of them too. We had thousands of pictures and negatives all around the place. Pictures of cats, bands and beyond.

https://www.amazon.com/author/hudleyflipside

Picture by Al Flipside 1980

Old post…..

Today I was watching as the wind blew a whirlwind on top of a pool of water. It moved around as a tornado or Golden Ratio. A soft movement as it was. I authored this poem at the end of a Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine CATALOG that I put together. I was most likely 20 or 21, maybe younger or older. A 1980s me. I wonder where I was back then? So goes my journey of Intellectual Property and gathering Flipside merchandise together. It was nice to see it all again. So, here is a place if anyone wants to know some original source of Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine. I will continue to look for more of it from the 1980s.

Who Cares?

Somewhere in a realm

of something true and light,

Is a purple flower!

And all who pass it

Can never find it,

Because somewhere

Between the loud

Music at shows,

And the morning after shows,

The purple flower

(Which is always shining)

Is lost in us.

This is tearing us apart.

From what all of us could be,

Friends trying to

Understand each other.

Among all the dragons and desires

And lies

are the purple flowers.

Listing to people’s minds

and seeing their desires

Float through their

Personal orbits.

These mystical blooms

Are trying to reach.

Some and help some.

Usually, I find myself.

Painfully talking to

illusions of people

Who are disconnected?

From the reality

Of the purple roses and

Of friendship and of

Life.

The silent ear

Has died, no!?

The loud music is now

Replacing it,

Trying to scream it,

the truth,

but falling away

From the truth.

Is revenge or hate or gossip the trip

You take

or is the silent

Purple flower in your grasp!

… Hudley (1980)

Something’s a foot and I am not talking a rabbit charm!

I am on a journey with Rabbit or Hare. She appeared last night on the kitchen table. A large shadow in her shape.

“Light in the darkness, concealed wisdom, arcane information, intuition and the Goddess”

~ The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols / Adele Nozedar


Earlier, I remember looking up into the night sky to see the Pleiades above the house. I saw the waxing crescent in place blocking me from seeing the seven sisters. I looked again to see a night star next to the moon. It was not a planet. I checked my sky map. The brilliance with a foggy haze made the night seem altered in some mystical way.


Nanabozho

So close to Easter I am a little amazed Hare came to visit. I cleaned my kitchen table off and put up my happy bunny on the table. I will make this Hare’s place! Honoring the presence of this shape shifting, sometime androgynous, multiple symbolic and multi-geophysical spirit.

Three Hares joined at the ears and running in a circle. terriwindling.com

I am waiting to see what story she is sharing with me. A newness, a new awareness comes forth. This is good news.

A note!!! I had a picture with my kitty and a Easter Lily . I took it down and got rid of the flower . I did not know !

“All parts of the Easter lily plant are poisonous – the petals, the leaves, the stem and even the pollen. Cats that ingest as few as one or two leaves, or even a small amount of pollen while grooming their fur, can suffer severe kidney failure.” I did not know ? Never had an issue but out it goes.


April is Poem Month Hate / Love

By Hudley Flipside April 3/ 2022


I hate festivals

And big shows

I love small clubs

And intimate shows

I hate covid-19.

I hate the divide… big chasm

between punk bands

and their fans

I hate the good security sherpas!

I hate being a face in the crowd

I love being backstage

I love Queen

I hated seeing them at the Long Beach giant coliseum in 1977.

I loved riding in the Santa Monica mountains on my white mustang.

I heard Native American braves screaming

in the wind as we ran our horses through the hills together.

Around the time Elton played at the TROUBADOUR in Hollywood in the early 1970s.

I love my Empty Sky LP I bought from friend Brady at his garage records for sale day.

I hate big Elton John shows

I hate The Angry Samoans

I love a few of their songs

Metal Mike is a wise old fool

I guess he hates me now

I love Bernie Taupin

who is only 3 inches taller than I