Piping songs of pleasant glee with the Moody Blues and Charged GBH

Tralfamadorians watercolor by Hudley

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The fabric of prophet’s ages old

Drones on and gathers mould

Gets a weekly airing from a fool on high

Who talks and talks till his throat’s dry

The Prayer of a Realist

GBH ~ City Baby Attacked by Rats

I awoke to an amber moment this morning swirling in my mind and like Kurt Vonnegut’s character Billy Pilgrim from the novel Slaughterhouse-Five, I like to dwell and investigate these moments of experience. See if some golden truth is pushing itself up from my unconsciousness to my consciousness. It may be similar as a grain of sand irritating an oyster some wonderous pearl. Maybe only linking up a few different generations of people or friends like butterflies taking their nectar from the same sunflower. Is it all randomly placed in time … maybe not? In truth I do not think so. Which gets an old dame to pondering.

Two bands from Birmingham, a major city in England’s West Midlands, brought forth two of my favorite bands. Each band speaks and supports a different generation. The members of the band walked the same streets and know the smell of their home. Mothers (music venue) lingers in both of their memories.

The Moody Blues and Charged GBH were playing the same week. One at the Greek theater and the other at the Roxy Theatre (West Hollywood). They both touched down on southern Californian soil. It was revelatory to me. Just the fact that they were both playing the same week was enough to satisfy my glowing and rebellious soul.

Was this a random happening or is there more to the story. What is the possibility of this happening and did anyone else notice this random act of Birmingham music? A mist joining two generations of music ached in my inner being of light and dark particles and both danced and started vibrating to a strange tune.

It was a contrary experience for me. I got two tickets for the Moody Blues. I bugged Ross to be on the guest list at the Roxy. This was going to happen … I felt it when they both touched Los Angeles county. I think the best feelings are when waiting for a band to play while they are touring. The element of music and surprise and favorite songs playing is a revolutionary experience… even if I am the only one feeling this.

It was so intense that coming week. It was like when I found out that my great Grandfather was born in Middlesex a historic county in southeast England. It was a big deal for me because William Blake also was raised there as a child, they both walked the same streets at one time. Both sharing the smell of their home. Though I never met either my great grandfather or William Blake they both left me with stories and share in that pleasurable place of my good imagination.  

“Piping down the valleys wild

Piping songs of pleasant glee,

On a cloud I saw a child,

And he laughing said to me:

‘Pipe a song about a Lamb’…”

The “Song of Innocence,” ~ William Blake.

On Sunset. May 2015.. also I am wearing my Bernie Sanders T-Shirt for president 2016…

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Husband was not able to attend the Moody Blues with me. I could not find another at such short time to go with me. I was not strong enough to attend myself. The parking, crowds, and elements of being alone did not appeal to my nature at the time. Maybe in younger years I would have taken on the challenge by myself. I do regret not going.

We hit my old romping punker ground on Sunset. The streets and the alleys of friends, clubs and running wild in the streets. It was different now. Husband and I had a pizza and then a couple of beers at the Rainbow Bar and Grill. When we got to the Roxy, I found I was not on the guess list and the show was sold out. Since it was a Goldenvoice event, I spied Gary Tovar and he got us in the show. There I found Ross Lomas hanging out with Dora Sundoval and Alison Elliott.

Ross: You must have been bumped off the list.

Hudley: Do not worry Gary got us in.

Giving Ross a big hug around his waist I said.

“It is so good to be back and walk the streets of my youth as a wild young punk.”

Ross gave me a look and that was the last time I talked to him.

The aroma of the event was exhilarating but filled with smoke. Husband had a major asthma attack and we had to leave early. The good news is I met up with some punk chicks from a younger generation. We had met up at other shows. The continuity of them going to see GBH made me happy. I’d have to say I think the band most likely prefer these beauties then the old punker I’ve become.

There are times in life when one must pursue a dream. Run to it and become one with it. Other times one needs to step back and let it happen without you. I read about the Moody Blues in the news after their event. I saw the pictures posted on Facebook backstage with GBH. It irritated me a little but not too much. I made the effort, yet I guess the random act was not complete. At least I can write about it and share my memories.

What would the Tralfamadorians say?

“There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.”

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Peter Fonda is the sensitive man and genius in unique ways.

 


That is a double good thing too. He inspired me to see life differently. As a young girl living through the 1960s and viewing the film Easy Rider to just recently with a film called The Hired Hand (1971) directed by him starring himself, Warren Oates, Verna Bloom. Both films are amazing films but the second one is a film that speaks to the modern woman today and her wounded psyche. I am speaking about my own. He told me a story that reaches generations. So beautiful and healing too. Truly fulfilling to watch. I am in love with the film.

As a youth he had an accident with a family gun and almost died. He told this story to his friends The Beatles and they wrote a song about his experience.

My heart has been heavy today…  now I know why. It is always sad when a free spirit leaves us. I don’t think death was something he feared at all.


A post about the Film The Hired Hand ! A must see unusual western.

The Wild West and The Gospel of Thomas


Song the Beatles wrote about Peter Fonda’s near death experience as a youth.

A Letter to Bernie Taupin, Alfred E. Newman and Gahan Wilson.

Dear Teachers,

These are the Benadryl days.

Too much listening to Elton John and remembering my crush on Bernie Taupin. Foggy dreams. Dreams where the threads of remembering can’t be pulled down into this world. A changing mixture of memories swirling around me that I have experienced in real time. Remembering my, heart heart ~fun fun, days as a youth and teenager.

As sitting under the pool table in the boy’s room reading Mad Magazine and Playboy. Alfred E. Neuman or cartoonist Gahan Wilson went on to inspire me in my own fanzine. Where I created images or doodled between the pages.

Magazines are now becoming obsolete. Newspapers stands too except for the billionaires that do resurrect some. A fight that is not going to win.

To my teachers that came from those awesome perverted magazines.

Love,

Hudley Flipside aka Holly


Centrifuge Going So Swiftly

Rocket Man Review: The Film

“And we went to California and up and down the Pacific Coast for a day and a half, settling at last on the sands of Malibu to cook wieners at night. Dad was always listening or singing or watching things on all sides of him, holding onto things as if the world were a centrifuge going so swiftly that he might be flung off away from us at any instant.”~ Ray Bradbury. The Rocket Man

“I’ve been a cunt since 1975.”- Elton John

Rocket Man explained a lot about Elton John that confused me since 1975. I love autobiographical stories and memoirs. What a joy! Elton John shared his psyche with the world. A healed psyche that was given more then a second chance.

The film has that real deal 1970s thing going that sprang forth from the late 1960s. The chance that two genius dudes like Elton John and Bernie Taupin found each other is amazing. So grateful! I enjoyed the integrity, depth and darkness shared in this film. The world of rock & roll was not romanticized.

Fun musical choreographed dance scenes moved through the film. Bernie Taupin’s lyrics enhanced by being sung clearly and slowly made me want to sing and dance along.

I love Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s music especially the years between 1971-1974. I include in this review a conclusion with an early song written 1971 entitled Friends.  I think the song Friends was a song of amazing foresight. As if Bernie knew the journey ahead would be a difficult one. Especially for Reginald Kenneth Dwight!


“Friends is a 1971 teen-romance film directed and produced by Lewis Gilbert and written by Gilbert, Vernon Harris, and Jack Russell. The soundtrack, with music composed by Elton John and Paul Buckmaster, and lyrics written by Bernie Taupin, was released as the Friends album, and John’s recording of the title selection charted when released as a single in the United States.”



1970 my favorite


 

tight scene of nobodies going nowhere

My ‘initiation woman’ who abducted me into the punk scene was Donna Rhia but she no longer was playing drums with the Germs. I am not going to amplify the loss of Lorna Doom because there is enough on social media already. I guess she was a part of the tight scene of nobodies going nowhere but lost and having fun. It was so exciting back then which is what keeps me going on the subject… Courtesy of  Lost Angeles Flipside Fanzine number two. (1978)



Sample Free Read from My Punkalullaby  by Hudley Flipside


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My story too… in support of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford !

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange ~ The Doors

Julie sang the above song to me. We were on the hill playing. She acted like she made it up. I knew that maybe she did not. This song marked a change in the neighborhood. The 16 and 17-year-old boys were smoking funny cigarettes.  

Confronting ghosts from years ago and feeling much better.

I am writing this because of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s story. Maybe her narrative was not successful in stopping the nomination to the supreme court of Judge K. I believe she told the truth and with great risk to her family and to herself. I admire her honesty. So, in support of her naming those who assaulted her, I will name mine. Mike Hansen and Michael Myers (maybe more). Dr. Ford is free now yet the lies and darkness within Judge K’s being will continue to manifest until it destroys him. Maybe not today or tomorrow but eventually. That is how karma works.

Roman Polanski

The mid 1970s and early 1980s held wild times. A new sexual revolution that became dark fast. I did not live far from where Roman Polanski was arrested, at Jack Nicholson’s home, for the sexual assault of 13-year-old. I knew the girl who was drugged and then molested. I never imagined something like that would happen to me.  Drugs, sex and fun was fundamental at that time. Luckily, my mom and dad kept guard. They were not always interested in school stuff, but they did keep guard. I was protected from the house down the hill. A single mom with an empty nest most nights. Except for the teenage boys.

The endless drug parties were unchecked by the adults in the neighborhood. Michael Myers, no relations to the character from the film Halloween, ruled there. Any girl 13 to 16 was not safe from his advances. The peer pressure was enormous!! Once he was 18 he continued to make his moves. That is where Mike Hansen came to my aid. He was my boyfriend who protected me from the age 15 to 17. Until Mike cheated on me and we broke up.  I started going out with another boy who was a friend of my girlfriend’s boyfriend. We dated on and off for about 6 months.

Mike Hansen wanted us to get back together. One night he invited me to a party where he was living with Mike Myers.  They lived in an old apartment next to a local Catholic Church. It seemed safe enough. A few friends were over and someone handed me a beer. The next morning, I awoke naked and alone in Mike Hansen’s bed. I did not remember anything from the night before until years later. This narrative gets worse because I became pregnant. As a 17-year-old my voice was invisible. I was confused and overwhelmed.

Pregnant with two boyfriends. It was not a good place for a 17-year going on 18 to be. The bad words spoken, tension and moral pressure made me crazy. Mike Hansen wanted to entrap me into marriage. I said no. The other boy was helpful, but he soon broke up with me. I blamed myself. It was not until years later that the images of that night came forward. Memories became clear to me. Around the time after giving birth to my first son at 34. Yes, slowly it was clear to me. I will not go into the years of grief and despair that I worked though.

Looking back, I remember Mike Hansen was mad at me, so I assume he or another drugged me and let me be raped by whom ever was at the party. I feel that they planned it with intent and foresight.  In a sense I felt relieved that I remembered this. I felt sad too for a long time. I did not regret the abortion back then. It was intuitively the best thing to do. I realize that now.

The window from Mike Hansen’s room.

Today I went back to the apartments. I don’t live far.  The apartments have expanded. There are more parking areas. The apartments are now secured and closed from strangers. The apartment where Mike Hansen and Mike Myers lived are at the corner of Serrainia Ave and Ventura Blvd. or De Soto Ave and Ventura Blvd. The streets change as one crosses Ventura heading west.

As a kid I knew this area. I walked by these apartments everyday, Jr. High School and later in High School. A few of my friends went to the Saint Mel Catholic School right near the apartments. Across the street, where there is now a Wells Fargo Bank, there was a 7- Eleven. My friends and I could get a Slurpee for 10 cents. Why wouldn’t I feel safe there. It was where I grew up? My dad owned a building only a few blocks down on Ventura Blvd. My family had history here.

Julie Myers was a good friend of mine. Even though her brother and I never got along. Yet, like her bother, I never could really trust her. The late-night stories she told me. I listened to her tell me stories about both her brother and Mike Hansen. They were revealing.  They pursued girls. I heard many stories that made me jealous and unsure. Something wasn’t right. I guess I was one of the girls too. I never believed Julie’s stories…. maybe I should have.

 


 

Mother’s Eyes

(this is a post about our humanity and is not political!!)

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Taking children from their parents is what is happening at this time and place in the United States. It bothers me terrible. I think about the loss of my own two parents over the last ten years. The grieving is done. There is still a place in my mind and heart that will always miss them. My parents were in my life for over 50 years. I remember lying in bed at night as a babe thinking, ” what would I ever do if I lost either one of my parents!?” I would cry alone at night. Maybe this is what we all go through as children in our imagination? A reality for many children now in our country!!

Yesterday oldest son came home from his third week from his new job. I ran and greeted him outside. Under the olive tree I looked into his eyes and smiled. We talked and he was happy to have the weekend off. His eyes were a beautiful green. I remember that color ! The same color as my mother’s eyes. As a mother it is a wonder to see my mother’s face echoing in my son’s face!

I wrote a poem for mother about her eyes. I wound like to share.

Entitled Mother’s Eyes. Written 12/87.


Something in my mother’s eyes
told me something more!
Something in her wondering words
as we walked downstairs
Passing the front door.

Her eyes, her eyes!!
Her peace,
I felt,
She talked of crystals as spiritual,
She talked about protecting and caring
for her son and another son’s wife
I saw her and felt her smell the roses L’Amour.

I drive away from her
going to a place
she has visited before
I wondered about a ghostly her
that I never saw before.

In her eyes, her eyes
green crystals
dulled and well-rounded
as pupils are
I almost started crying
seeing the wet tears
which never left
the whites of her eyes.

Her eyes, her eyes
told me something more
then the simple room there knew
Her eyes told me of new feelings
which words can’t capture
and fear brings in its true meaning.

Her eyes and fear and lots of love
could it be I’m capturing
her soul shape
a dove?

The little secrets she threw my way,
silly me,
I bet she knows me
past, present, and future days.

I don’t know whether to be happy or cry,
All because of her eyes, her eyes.


Oldest son had an invisible friend that soon disappeared as he grew up. “Beek Owl” was a large bird that watched over him and talked to him. I tried to capture Beek’s image as son described him. We did not have much back then to create with. Some cardboard and a few watercolors for arty farty projects. I made a stencil of Beek Owl so I could always remember him.


“Beek Owl is winking at me.” said son.


knowing life

Youngest son is turning 18 this year. I turn my back pages and remember. Sitting below my parent’s house. On a cement ditch. My friends and I were surrounded by trees and weeds and the smoke from the same. We were turning 18. It seemed so old. So very very ancient. Our youth was dim memories.  Now I look at youngest son and think how young his age is. So very very young. A flip-flop in perspective. Funny how a song grasps a feeling over time and generations. It’s been with me most of my life. This song still holds the magic of knowing life.


 

 

Mavericks of Night Fever

Here comes one of those narrowing openings. A flash from my past. All initiated by a song. Youngest told oldest son to play some Bee Gees.  Oldest son was driving so he did. The song came on and while sitting in the back of the car it happened.

Lynn 1977. She took me to see Saturday Night Fever in Westwood, CA. The late night showing of the film. A long drive at night. We had the night fervor of youth and freedom flowing through our blood.  It was a fantastic time to be young.

Disco, new wave, rock and punk were merged tight as the proverbially creative spark upon the music scene unknown.

“Those who tune in with its powers will be mavericks who will drag us into the new era…” ~ Uranus the planet insight quote .





 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/loophole/

penny candies

I sometimes miss the wildness of the street. Every street corner there were many people hanging out. Most were friendly and handing out flowers. Most eventually grew up and went on with there lives. 


1968–69: Manson Family crimes Main article: Manson Family

In the late 1960s, Manson attracted a quasi-communal cult based in California that was later dubbed the “Manson Family”. The group gained national notoriety after the murder of actress Sharon Tate plus four others in her home on August 9, 1969,[15] and LaBianca murders the next day. The Tate–LaBianca Murders were executed by Tex Watson and three other members of the Family, acting under the specific instructions of Manson.[16][17] Family members were also responsible for a number of other assaults, thefts, crimes, and the attempted assassination of United States President Gerald Ford in Sacramento.[18] 1971–present: third imprisonment


rowing up in the San Fernando Valley during the 1960s was wild. All the corner streets were filled with hitchhiking youths. Carrying incense and their innocence. Topanga Canyon was a way to the beach. They moved towards the Pacific Coast Highway.

As a kid I would walk down to Gary’s Market on the corner of Dumetz and Topanga Canyon. My friends and I bought penny candies. We also got bakery goods. We would sit and eat. We sugar gazed at the craziness.

Now I often take a drive to Box Canyon. That place where the Manson Family once lived. I love writing about this place and that time. It seems to be a place that has not been touched by time. It still feels and smells like the late 60s and early 70s.

As kids we walked or rode our bikes there. Not as many cars made the ride or walk easy. There were trees to climb and plenty of friends. We felt safe. Gone for hours at a time! Funny my parents never seemed to worry about us.

It was not until after the Manson trial that I learned to fear the wild places of my youth. Yet smoking pot would always highlight this paranoia.

Charles Manson is dead or is dying. The creepy crawl is not over though. Today I will take a drive-up and down Box Canyon. With freedom there is always danger lurking about. Those corner streets filled with hippies were not so innocent as I thought they were. As I once was. Maybe darkness gazed at us, unaware to us, back then as we ate our penny candies.