Punk Rock Colleague & Historian and Professional Consultant
Hudley Flipside
Holly and Sony 1975
“We’re not gonna take it
We’re not gonna take it
We’re not gonna take it
We’re not gonna take it.”
Two rock operas came to mind today… both flashed through my mind as the songs also dashed by.
Tommy is a 1975 British psychedelic musical fantasy drama film written and directed by Ken Russell and based on The Who’s 1969 rock opera album Tommy and Quadrophenia is the sixth studio album by the English rock band the Who, released as a double album on 26 October 1973. Quadrophenia is a 1979 British drama film, based on the Who’s 1973 rock opera of the same name. It was directed by Franc Roddam in his feature directing debut.
Why I thought, why is my psyche pushing these memories up? It was 1969 and 1975, both interesting years. I was 12 and 17. Turning points in my life for a generation of us. Generation Jones is an awkward generation. But what about turning sixty-seven this May? Why am I so often having these rock opera ideals ascending from my being? More than 50 years ago.
The uncertainties of growing up? About to turn thirteen and about to turn eighteen?
Between thirteen and eighteen I left nature and my wild mustang for boys. I started working at miscellaneous jobs around town. Mostly still in a state of essential existential shyness of many inward thought forms.
You know, at certain times in life you can go through a bullet. So much happens. From seventeen to nineteen I rode a fast train. At the end of the train, I did find myself awake and aware.
“Why do I have to move with a crowd
Of kids that hardly notice I’m around?
I work myself to death just to fit in.”
It is a youthful call to the senior I have become. A bubbling up of possibilities and fast times again. Rebellious time again. Of speaking up and out and not giving up. OK with never fitting in the crowd when it comes to my Individuation.
Iris Berry, Stan Corona, Shane Enholm, Hudley Flipside, Rob Silva.
Stan Corona, a tattoo artist on the panel, shared his experiences traveling worldwide as a tattoo artist. Notably, he mentioned Brisbane, Australia and looked at me.
I about stood up and shouted Halleluiah… the band The Saints come from Brisbane, Australia!
From L-R Stan Corona with his son, Rob Silva, Hudley Flipside, Iris Berry, Shane Enholm, and our fearless leader Nathan Peterson of Nathan’s Tattoos & Piercings!
The five panel members had close friends in common. Three characters who have passed away. Big Frank, Snickers and Mad Mark Rude. Where Tattoo & Music Collide.
My theory is that those punks who died are looking over us. They bring us together in synchronistic ways, intimate and beautifully measured ways.
Similar to the work Nathan does at his Tattoos & Piercings shop. I called him a Hub Master. Crystal was not running the show tonight, but I don’t believe that. It was fun watching them working tight in action as a team.
Big Frank, whom we met in the 1980s while he was in Whittier, CA, joined us for our first Charged GBH interview at the Hollywood Troubadour Hotel, and his connections through Flipside Fanzine led to opportunities with Goldenvoice and Zed Records.
He sure inspired a lot of people and all on this panel especially. I heard stories about Frank’s work as an amazing Tattoo artist. GBH mentioned that they visited him in San Francisco and obtained one or two from him. Rob Silva shared an intimate and moving account of visiting Frank close to his demise. A very moving story to share that grabbed at my heart.
Similarly, stories were shared about Snickers, the singer of The Simpletones. A smart-ass kid when I knew him in the early punk scene. When we still did the pogo. I will never forget the night he jumped in front of me, and we danced the Tiger Beat Twist together live in front of his band.
I never met Mad Mark Rude, yet the rest of the panel knew him very well, especially Iris Berry. Once her boyfriend, yet his influence is massive. I only knew him through correspondence where he ended up in our Flipside Fanzine # 33. The 1982 Comic Relief Issue with many upcoming and amazing punk artists.
47 years give or take. Tattoo & Music did collide last night. The night will be rolling in my heart for weeks, as the whispers from friendly punk ghost friends. Fine by me.
I got the hat from Nathan and now a T-shirt to go see GBH soon. A fun show.
What is going on in my country, the United States, is horrendous and I am so ashamed of our leaders in the White House. SO much is going on in protests and events that the air feels thick with tension and uncertainty. In light of these turbulent times, my cats and I decided to protest in our own way, finding solace in our solidarity.
Each day, we gather by the window, watching as the world outside becomes a stage for voices demanding change. Their meows echo my sentiments, reflecting the desire for a better future. Together, we might not have a loud voice, but our small acts of defiance remind me of the strength that resides in unity, even among a family of kitty cats, pussy willows or puss. With a punk rock side kick.
“An early leavened bread was baked as early as 6000 BC in southern Mesopotamia, cradle of the Sumerian civilization, who may have passed on the knowledge to the Egyptians around 3000 BC. The Egyptians refined the process and started adding yeast to the flour. The Sumerians were already using ash to supplement the dough as it was baked.”
(quote 1)
Woman baking bread (c. 2200 BC); Louvre.
A morning like any other. I made breakfast. It was simple but an ancient meal. As I opened the smoked salmon packet my kitten went to an instant crescendo of meowing want. As ancient as this little hungry kitten’s story is, so is this meal I was about to prepare.
I toasted two pieces of white bread putting a pat of butter on each. Then entered my active imagination, a whisper from my ancestors sharing with me a story.
I placed crumbled buttermilk blue cheese and sliced smoked salmon on the toasted bread. All this was placed on a plate. Next came an even more ancient tradition and ritual.
I dripped in a spiral olive oil around and over the two pieces of bread with blue cheese and salmon. Then I dripped a spiral of sweet vinegar in the opposite direction over my meal. Seasoning it all with salt and pepper. Sometimes I put a bit of maple syrup but not today.
Olive oil represents the universe, and the sweet vinegar spiral the counter aspect of life. The worlds of our ancients who lived before us knew about these contraries too.
I envision a scene of my mother telling me about her father making this same dish for her as a child.
“The salmon is an important creature in several strands of Celtic mythology and poetry, which often associated them with wisdom and venerability. In Irish folklore, fishermen associated salmon with fairies and thought it was unlucky to refer to them by name. In Irish mythology, a creature called the Salmon of Knowledge plays key role in the tale The Boyhood Deeds of Fionn. In the tale, the Salmon will grant powers of knowledge to whoever eats it and is sought by poet Finn Eces for seven years.”
(quote 2,3)
An old Gaelic recipe from Cornwall by the Celtic Sea handed down from the Romans by way of Egypt and firstly the Sumerians.
“The sagub-vat and lamsari-vat made a bubbling noise for her.
They prepared gag-bread in date syrup for her.
Flour, flour in honey, beer at dawn.
They pour wine and honey for her at sunrise.”
(quote 4)
Inanna Queen of Heaven and Earth.
Image taken from the book by Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Noah Kramer
Her stories and hymns from Sumer.
Quotes:
Arzani A.: Emmer (Triticum turgidum spp. dicoccum) flour and breads. In Preedy V.R., Watson R.R., Patel V.B. (Eds. 2011), Flour and Breads and their Fortification in Health and Disease Prevention, Academic Press, California, pp. 69-78.
Ní Fhloinn, Bairbre (2018). Cold Iron Aspects of the occupational lore of Irish fishermen. University College Dublin. pp. 105–123. ISBN 978-0-9565628-7-6.
“The Salmon of Knowledge. Celtic Mythology, Fairy Tale”. Luminarium.org. 18 January 2007. Archived from the original on 16 November 2018. Retrieved 1 June 2010.
Pg. 106. Inanna Queen of Heaven and Earth. Dine Wolkstein and Samuel Noah Kramer
“But when women succeed in maintaining themselves against the animus, instead of allowing themselves to be devoured by it, then it ceases to be only a danger and becomes a creative power. We women need this power, for, strange as it seems, only when this masculine entity becomes an integrated part of the soul and carried on its proper function, and, at the same time, also being herself, to fulfill her individual human destiny.”
Pg. 42 Animus and Anima; Two Essays by Emma Jung.
INANNA AROSE
At the time creating this, I was going through a very dark experience and so this is my mythological and mysterious visit “to the great below.” A documentation creatively. Extremely hard to do. Thanks to Inanna. Her service in sharing with me “Kurgarra, the food of life, and Galatur the water of life.” I came back to life. A good life indeed!
Transformation: From Winter to Spring
Symbolism of Seasonal Change
The transition from winter to spring is a powerful symbol of transformation. This change marks the conclusion of winter’s dormancy and the beginning of spring; a time often associated with renewal and growth. On a symbolic level, this shift can be seen as a journey into the underworld, reminiscent of Venus’s forty days in the wilderness, representing a period of challenge followed by emergence and rebirth.
Mythological Connections
The arrival of spring is echoed in various mythological stories that emphasize themes of resurrection and liberation. These include the resurrection of Christ Jesus, Prometheus’s release by Chiron, and Persephone’s return from the underworld. Each tale illustrates the concept of change, the overcoming of darkness, and the emergence into light and new life.
Persephone’s Journey
Central to the symbolism of spring is the story of Persephone, who spends half the year with Pluto in the underworld. This separation from her mother Demeter is a poignant metaphor for the seasonal cycle and the temporary descent into darkness before a return to growth and abundance. Persephone’s narrative closely parallels the legend of Inanna, the Goddess of love and Queen of Heaven and Earth, who also experiences a journey of descent and return, further emphasizing the cyclical nature of transformation and renewal.
The story holds the feminine trinity. It is a cuneiform Sumer text about three thousand years old. The characters of this story are Inanna Goddess of love, Queen of Heaven, and Earth, Ereshkigal~ Queen of the Underworld, and Lilith ~ the dark rebel adolescent of Inanna. The feminine trinity. In the Inanna story we also find a similar part as with Persephone’s story where Inanna’s king Dumuzi as the shepherd king of Uruk spends 6 months in the underground.
“His heart was filled with tears, the shepherd’s heart was filled with tears, Dumuzi’s heart was filled with tears.”
~ Pg. 160. Inanna by Diane Wolkstein
The wisdom god Enki helps Inanna from the underground.
Inanna was given authority over the heavens, earth, and underworld. Alongside her sister Ereshkigal, she helped shape the Earth. After journeying through the underworld, Inanna emerged transformed, becoming the heroine of her own story.
At the time Inanna descended, she had everything to lose, yet at the end she gained everything in the transformation. The symbolic death and resurrection or transcendence.
As a woman you are both the dark and the light, just as Inanna embraces both.
Pg. 160. Inanna by Diane Wolkstein
A Rendering of Inanna’s Trinity
God of Wisdom and Shepard King.
“He creates from the dirt of his fingernails the Kurgarra, the food of life, and Galatur the water of life”
Or is it the old punk bitch ? I forgot how Jan said it ? Ha ha !
“… after you put this down, in the darker times, the deeper times, when you are looking up our of a hole that you feel like you’ve dug yourself into and can’t get our of, the connections that you’ve made from music, art, community and the people who have grown to become your family are all in there with you, because there will be lonely times, times of betrayal and doubt and unimagined anguish, but in twelve to twenty-four hours with the help of all the work that you’ve done the worst of it will have passed.”
~ “Three or Four Times a Month, Part III” By Daryl Gussin. The Forgotten Edge. May 2024 and September 2024. Booklet printed at Razorcake. darygussin.com
Naturally, many of us leaned against the wall while before us were fanzine people. It was crowded, and the vibe was filled with curiosity and wonder to find something to catch your eye. I call it synchronicity walking that what you find is meant for you.
I also achieved my goal of bartering my little bubblegum cartoon / fanzine with other fanzine people. A couple of things I put money forth. The pretentious attitude was not there, that is the best part and merging with mostly a younger generation who thought fanzines like this started with the Gen-X generation,
In line I said,
“It started a lot earlier than that.”
The young man smiled at me seeing my age and he received my high five with a loud slapping sound. Oh, I love doing that.
John and Jan and time for coffee
I was forced to come to this event by a fanatical fanzine person and his friend. Trust Fanzine and Razorcake. Jan Rohlk and Daryl Gussin were table sitting for fanatical music fanzines.
Sample fanzine one. Three or Four Times a Month, Part III” By Daryl Gussin. The Forgotten Edge. May 2024 and September 2024. Booklet printed at Razorcake. darygussin.com
After the free event outside the Broad my John and I walked around under the hotels, apartments hid within the Los Angeles City Hall and court buildings.
We ended up at The Redwood Bar & Grill. For a beer and a band. No band but to our surprise we again found Jan and Daryl doing something on stage. A performance of some sort? I punk rock charged them and then we went back to the bar for beer and some food.
Sample fanzines two IG:@mdzine89
The bar was easy and exceptionally low key. Next to us was a man giving toasts and told us about a certain word in Spanish.
“Do you know what SOCKS means in Spanish?”
“Tell us.” We all said.
Socks like ‘eso sí que es’ in Spanish which means ‘that’s the way it is.”
We enjoyed this and glad I remembered it here.
Sample fanzine three
This gentle man turned out to be a retired firefighter. We talked about the latest fires in Los Angeles. I was amazed by how he defined why the current fires happened. It was parallel to my campaign and his expertise. My “Mandatory Stop building in the San Fernando Valley,’’ is so right on and yes, he agreed with it and told me to keep up the decent work.
He knows that fires are part of an effect of bad or corrupted city and county planning. He affirmed,
“Who do you think is giving out these permits?!”
They are all taking money as they talk… in their back pockets. We have agreed that building big apartments right on the freeway and building big homes and massive apartments in fire prone areas is a sin.
This gentleman affirms my theory with experience and firsthand knowledge.
Sample fanzines four Rimona Eskayo Artist . workers
Driving the freeway from the San Fernando Valley to downtown Los Angeles is not one of my favorite things to do, we had no choice.
I am very happy we followed the night through realizing something. Always keep that meeting with a real friend! Who is more of a music fanatic than you! It is well worth it.
Punk Rock Colleague & Historian and Professional Consultant
Hudley Flipside
A reflection of my turmoil and my search for peace in the midst of the storm
Last night was a dark one, filled with palpable heaviness that lingered in the air. As the planets Pluto and Neptune danced in their contrasting orbits, I felt their influences swirling within me—conflicting energies that stirred both my body and my psyche. It was an unsettling experience, as if I were caught in a cosmic tug-of-war that left me disoriented.
In the depths of my mind, dreams—some eerily prophetic—unfolded like delicate petals blooming in the night. They whispered secrets of the heart and echoes of long-forgotten desires, blending into a arras of haunting beauty. Yet, there was Pluto, that enigmatic force, reaching deep into my being, pulling at my very essence with an intensity that felt almost invasive. It was a reminder of the darker sides of transformation and the raw, sometimes painful, nature of rebirth.
Amid this turmoil, as I finally drifted into a state of fragile sleep, a fleeting glimpse of clarity surged through the chaos. It reminded me of a particular song that resonated deeply within my soul. The melody and lyrics intertwined perfectly with the essence of the night—a reflection of my turmoil and my search for peace in the midst of the storm. It was strange how music seemed to emerge from the depths of my consciousness, illuminating the shadows and giving voice to the inexpressible emotions that flickered in the corners of my mind.
This song has a way of capturing the essence of what it means to navigate the complexities of life, especially during nights like these, when the celestial bodies collide within and around us, leaving us to decipher the meaning of our own existence.
“He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” is a ballad written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell. Originally recorded by Kelly Gordon in 1969, the song became a worldwide hit for the Hollies later that year and also a hit for Neil Diamond in 1970. It has been recorded by many artists in subsequent years. The Hollies’ version was re-released in 1988 and again was a major hit in the UK.
As 2025, 1969 was an interval of time in our American history as is now. Seems sometimes a dark part of our American psyche shows its ugly face. Absurd politics, greed and power. Like some awful rouge wave that manifests for a rift of time in our history.
It is a constant here and we just have to know this. We all know this.
“If I’m laden at all I’m laden with sadness That everyone’s heart Isn’t filled with the gladness Of love for one another.”
Don’t let them find you stashing your Flopside cOmics PUSS!
Bound to the hospital bed for 7 days. No food, only moisture from an I.V. and a tube in my nose taking moisture out of my belly.
I thought about the Oceanids watercolors I did during our California Fires only a week earlier. It was so terrible.
I thought upon Prometheus and fire. Zeus bound him to a giant rock… yet it was the Oceanids who trembled and came to his side to hear his stories. Furthermore, to comfort him.
Again, I thought about these amazing creatures so when I was in hospital craving a drink of water, the nurse gave me a small cup of shaved ice. I did a ritual and put it on my legs, arms, and face. I could not drink it, but I sure could enjoy the bliss of moisture on my body.
The day I got out I felt the rain on my face. Two weeks later I finished my project with a place for the Oceanids … yes, it is good, and we are expecting more rain.
The anthropomorphic Praying Mantis is part of this wild story of water, nymphs and moisture. Praying for fog, rain and moisture we can call upon the Oceanids. A mystery, mythology and now a bubblegum Flopside cOmics.
Tethys
Tethys was a Titan goddess of freshwater and the mother of the Oceanids and the river gods. She was the daughter of Gaia and Uranus, and the wife and sister of Oceanus. Tethys was a nurturing mother to many of the more popular gods, including Hera, the grandmother of Athena.
Moon of Saturn
Tethys is a moon of Saturn with a diameter of 1,066 km (662 miles). It was discovered in 1684 by Gian Domenico Cassini and named after the Greek Titan goddess. Tethys is known for a fissure that circles most of its circumference. It orbits Saturn every 45 hours, while its moons Telesto and Calypso maintain stable positions in its orbit.
Thalassa
THALASSA was the primordial goddess (protogenos) of the sea. Mingled with Pontos (Pontus), her male counterpart, she produced the fish and other sea creatures. Thalassa was the literal body of the sea and in the fables of Aesop, manifests as a woman formed of seawater rising from her native element.
Poseidon and Amphitrite, the anthropomorphic king and queen of the sea, were the rulers of the elemental Pontos and Thalassa.
Thalassa is depicted in Greco-Roman mosaics as a matronly woman, half-submerged in the sea, with crab-claw horns, seaweed for clothes, and a ship’s oar in her hand.
Thetis
Thetis is a figure from Greek mythology with varying mythological roles. She mainly appears as a sea nymph, a goddess of water, and one of the 50 Nereids, daughters of the ancient sea god Nereus.
Styx
STYX was the goddess of the underworld River Styx and the eldest of the Okeanides (Oceanids). She was also the spirit (daimon) personification of hatred (stygos). Styx was a firm ally of Zeus in the Titan Wars, who brought her children Nike (Victory), Zelos (Rivalry), Bia (Force) and Kratos (Cratus, Strength) to stand beside the god in battle. Zeus rewarded her by making her stream the agent of oaths which bound the gods.
The River Styx was also a corrosive Arkadian (Arcadian) stream which allegedly flowed forth from the underworld.
Styx was sometimes identified with several other chthonian goddesses, including Demeter Erinys the wrathful earth, the oath-protecting Eumenides, and Nyx the darkness of night.
Telesto
Telesto. In Greek mythology, Telesto or Telestho (/tɪˈlɛstoʊ/; Ancient Greek: Τελεστώ means ‘success’) was an Oceanid, one of the 3,000 water-nymphs daughters of Titans Oceanus and Tethys. She was the personification of the divine blessing or success. Hesiod describes her as “wearing a yellow peplos”.
Thoosa
Thoosa. In Greek mythology, Thoosa, also spelled Thoösa, was, according to Homer, the sea nymph daughter of the primordial sea god Phorcys, and the mother, by Poseidon, of the Cyclops Polyphemus.
Triteria
Triteia was a sea nymph and the daughter of Triton, the sea-god. She was the lover of Ares, the god of war, and they had a son named Melanippus. Melanippus named a town in Achaea after his mother, and sacrifices were made to both Triteia and Ares in the temple of Athena there.
Tritonidis
Tritonidis / Tritônis was the goddess-nymph of the salt-water lake Tritonis in Libya, North Africa. In the story of the birth of the Libyan Athena, Triton–a Libyan sea-god sometimes identified with Poseidon–and Tritonis were the parents of two daughters named Athena and Pallas.
Celebrating 13 years on my WordPress site, I embrace a vibrant global community of support. It continues to astonish me that I receive views from every corner of the world. This platform is where my ideas thrive, and my creativity flourishes. I have been blessed with a gift that has enriched my life immensely. From my documentaries and paperback books to an abundance of posts and cartoons, I proudly showcase my work through the Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing.
I do not often show my religiosity training. Be it from university or experience or the blending of the two.
In the 1980s I had a long correspondence with the Poor Clares of Long Island New York, who led me from the Anglican Church to the Episcopal Church. Yet in my heart I was hearing a call from the Franciscans who are members of a Catholic religious order.
I explored the concept of Episcopal women serving as Priests after reading “Womanpriest: A Personal Odyssey” by Alla Renee Bozarth.
I liked them all in their essences of spirituality and integrity of faith, believing in something beyond themselves. Yet it is always the dogma of the church that makes me wonder off.
Professor Hap at university was an Episcopal Gay Priest who would talk about synchronicity and Fellini’s Satyricon with an odd look on his face. We both knew, recited and prayed the Rosary.
Yet my esoteric past held me at a place that could not be bound by dogmas.
“So nigh is grandeur to our dusk,
So near is God to Man!”
~ Ralf Waldo Emerson
“Though the individual fact there ever shone for him the effulgence of the Universal reason. The great Cosmic Intellect terminates and houses itself in mortal men and passing hour. Each of us is an angle of its eternal vision, and the only way to be true to our Maker is to be loyal to ourselves.
“O rich and various man!”
he cries,
“though place of sight and sound, carrying in the senses the morning and the night and the unfathomable galaxy; in thy brain the geometry of the city of God; in thy heart the bower of love and the realms of right and wrong.”
Pg. 1121, Address at The Emerson Centenary. William James.
Mariann Budde A new postcard part of the Brave and Strong Women Postcard series.
“In thy heart the bower of love and the realms of right and wrong,” and this is what she calls to all of us, it is the ability to discern the willingness of compassion or the lack there of. I think so.
We need more of “the effulgence of the Universal reason.” Effulgence means radiant splendor or brilliance. It can also refer to the state of looking exceptionally beautiful or being full of goodness!
Compassion is the “splendor of brilliance.”
The beauty of a flower resembles Mariann Budde, who embodies the connection between “the great Cosmic Intellect and mortal [woman].”
As Mariann Budde said,
“But the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, gurudwaras and temples. I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. And that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here.”
In the late 1980s I read “Womanpriest: A Personal Odyssey by Alla Renee Bozarth.” Alla talks about her triumphal cry and about her courage… she had to go on in life after great loss. A lovely biography and what was special is how she said she danced to this song barefoot… it was her song of liberation… let’s hope for the liberation of all who are struggling right now around the world… and hope for the good hearts of our leaders to grow stronger with compassion and mercy in the dim times that we now face.
January 29, 2025 “Sabrina Cowgirl Extraordinaire,” is published.
The seasons were four and very dependable. Each had a call from a bird or native animal that roamed the land. Cowboys carried their gear selfishly and often were more interested in moving on than causing any trouble. No one noticed the small, framed cowgirl that often bossed the guys around.
Click on Image to view and purchase.
Originally posted on Amazon’s Kindle Vella, this story is now shared here to preserve its essence and to invite readers into a world where the past intertwines with the present. Nature remembers our history and ancestors, whispering their tales through the rustling leaves and flowing rivers, and sometimes, we are gifted with stories that deserve to be remembered and treasured for generations.
In the summer of 2021, a story took shape as I gazed over the late summer pool, the sunlight glinting off its surface, and was inspired by visions of three characters: Sabrina, an adventurous spirit with a heart full of wild love; Colin, a rugged soul bound to the land, wrestling with his past; and Hawk, a storyteller who weaves their lives together with his words.
This tale, born from the wind, captures life beyond the present—a romance amidst changing customs in the deep-rooted wild west, a place where love, loyalty, and the relentless passage of time challenge the very essence of who we are.
The captivating realm of Novella storytelling, rich with emotion and steeped in myth, beckons us to explore its depths and uncover its profound beauty.
“Let me tell you… don’t you look at those illustrations too long, because they’ll come alive, and they’ll tell you stories.”
~Rod Steiger is The Illustrated Man (1969)
Shane Enholm talked tonight about the history of tattoo machines. He also shared he was a young punk influenced by many of the same individuals of the early punk scene as I. From Steve Human helping him to print up his large posters, to Darby Crash and Shame Williams (the Rock & Roll Bank Robber) whose wife led him into being a bank robber serving for fucking 10 years at San Quentin, from ages 18 to 30 years old.
My home in the San Fernando Valley holds many treasures and ‘Nathan’s Tattoos and Piercings’is a shining star. Right off of Sherman Way and Topanga Canyon Blvd. is a well rooted history which amplifies art and music. An approachable hub or community of many distinctive individuals dappling in the world of skin illustrations and beyond.
As the fires burn around the Valley amongst my beloved Verdugo and Santa Monica Mountain ranges, a helpful refuse is amongst this grip of psychological terror and fear.
Yet regardless an honest tattoo artist tells his story. The focus was not on technique but on the machines used in the tattoo artist’s world.
The tools of trade and history was the discourse this evening.
I told Nathan,
“I always focused on the images and my feelings when getting a Tattoo not the machine doing the work.”
Tonight, I got to see, appreciate, and understand the technology or machines being passed around. A full house as machines were overseen and passed from hand to hand like gold or precious items.
Shane highlighted his discourse by saying that when someone fucking gets a tattoo the pain needs to be experienced. That each tattoo is like a form of magic. And it does not matter if it is your first or after many, each is unique and changes your life after the episode in your life of getting it. I see it as a time and place in your life. It feels magical! You dig?
Recently my son and his friend went into Nate’s to get their first tattoos. It was on a dare from me because their birthdays are so close together in December. I never knew they would follow through with the crazy old lady’s offer. But they did. I got another too.
This is when Nathan invited me to this event. And I am so happy to have followed him up on it. I almost gave up due to the fires but there was a strange sense of continuity of a group of individuals being fearless together tonight.
The ghost echoes of those who I have known within the realms of this art form and music scene were there, whispering persistent memories that lingered in the air. Those living and dead, their spirits intertwined with the melodies that filled the night.
Like many of us tonight, they were sharing a common bond in this world of time and place, a connection forged through shared experiences and emotions, just like receiving a tattoo that permanently marks our journey.
It is a fucking history that keeps giving, shaping our identities and enriching our stories with depth and meaning; this is what we do as storytellers of our lives, weaving together individual narratives into a larger tapestry that celebrates resilience, creativity, and the unique threads that bind us all.
A gathering around pizza and irresistible fudge. A warm community or hub of brave souls under the full moon and Venus.
“The odors of perfume were fanned out on the summer air by the whirling vents of the grottoes where the women hid like undersea creatures, under electric cones, their hair curled into wild whorls and peaks, their eyes shrewd and glassy, animal and sly, their mouths painted a neon red.”
Ruff and I traveled the eastern Santa Monica Mountains of Southern California on our horses. Yellow weeds, dirty sage hills and shady glens held endless treasures to us. Yes, the hills and fields of Mulholland and Los Angeles County were still wild.
Even the new asphalt streets that came soon to cover the earth echoed with the sound of nature and children playing. We were somehow the hillbillies of Woodland Hills.
Not too rich and uncontrollably wild. The neighborhood was horsey, and Ruff and I noticed the for-sale signs on the empty fields. At dusk, we pulled the real estate posts down with a rope looped around a saddle horn. The signs always were reassembled the next day.
-To Ride a Painted Pony WIld. Hudley Flipside
Today while checking out the supermarket a mature man and lady talked about his red cap that said, “Make America Great Again.” I tried to be a good girl, but it is difficult sometimes to refrain and keep to my new moto of, “Let Go, Stand Aside and receive the gifts.” The guy behind me with the face of St. Francis of Assisi said, “It makes no difference. This country is divided.” I agreed with him. I still have that naivety which thinks that goodness is the way. Yet discernment is not what rules the world, it is lacking. This earth is not a place of good or evil, it is a place here where all that is admirable resides in each individual. I told them I am leaving the democratic party. Become an anarchist once more. Biden did betray us. He should have rounded up the criminals at the get go after his win. So here we are. A twilight zone episode. Where homes are torn down to make big fucking ugly apartments. Where sacred land is raped and recruited for the plenteous and powerful. It is a time of the abounding and potent and their souls are dark. The light may be somewhere because it is getting dark out there.
“A noir story is about people who know what they’re doing is wrong, and they do it anyway. And, typically, there’s hell to pay. We love watching them break the law; we love watching them reap the consequences.” ~ Eddie Muller
I live on an island surrounded by a powerful river and close to a mighty waterfall. One can hear the sound of the waterfall for miles. It sounds like Niagara Falls.
How creative my mind can be. The island is my single-family dwelling. A home with a front and back yard. The house was built in 1958. 66 years old as I am. The river around us is Sherman Way, Fallbrook Ave, and Vanowen St. The sound of the waterfall is really the sound of car tires on asphalt. The sound of traffic with too many cars.
The sound of the city has grown over the last ten years as the monster apartments expand at an alarming rate.
Environmental Etiquette is a theory I have focused on. I see it as caring about our environments and the future. Our living ecosystems. Common sense and caring about our neighborhoods.
Implement building restrictions.
Environmental concerns, Infrastructure limitations, Community planning.
Hope you will take the time to support my cause. Thank you. And buy a T-Shirt!
The image was seized from my backyard. A praying mantis hides in her world practicing Environmental Etiquette.
